"When all's said and done, this is about Daddy Issues."

Valkorion gave his latest project, the famed Outlander, a supremely dry look. "Speaking from experience, are you?"

Lord Wraith, who still went by Cale Walker in his everyday life because titles were of little importance to him, looked out over the mountains of Odessen, hands clasped loosely behind him. As usual, he managed to appear as though having the pressure of the Emperor's power on his mind was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Only the steady, balefire glow of the runes etched like embroidery into the hems of his coarse white robes revealed the constant battle taking place. Wraith was an able sorcerer and had extensive experience with Force Ghosts. Valkorion wasn't really a ghost any more than a human being was a common ape despite being of similar parentage, but Wraith's skill and cunning with Force manifestations put them almost on equal footing in the battle for supremacy.

Almost. In the end, the deciding factor was that Valkorion didn't want possession of Lord Wraith's body. What he wanted was, in many ways, so much more intimate – a full and total merging, a union with the only creature in his exceptionally long existence who'd had the ability to stand against him toe-to-toe. He didn't encounter near-equals very often. As an old Sith philosopher had once said, if friends were in short supply, the next best thing was an enemy who knew you well.

"My parents were lichen farmers," Wraith said. "This isn't about me; this is about you and the fact that you're a shite parent."

In light of recent events, Valkorion couldn't dispute that, nor was he offended. "Yes. I've made many mistakes with my offspring. So many disappointments."

"I'm not even referring to your actual offspring," Wraith told him. "Though they're certainly an excellent example of how your selfishness poisons everything you touch. I'm referring to the empires." He finally met Valkorion's eyes. His were the dull red of long-dried blood, which had long been thought a sign of weak Force sensitivity in the Empire, especially compared to Valkorion's regal gold. In this case, superstition flew wide of the mark. "You've left the whole bloody Sith Empire with a daddy complex, and for what? Zakuul? I think the fact that the Eternal Empire is the favored son is extremely telling."

His eyebrows rose. "Zakuul is resplendent," he said. "Wealthy, powerful, free of the dogma and linear thinking that has plagued both the Jedi and the Sith. My understanding of The Force goes so far beyond a dichotomy of Light and Dark, but the Sith never would have broken with their ancient chains of religious adherence. I had no choice but to start clean somewhere else, somewhere I could shape the culture in light of my own enlightenment."

"The citizens of Zakuul are mewling, pathetic wretches," Wraith returned, his voice as winter-cold as his aura in The Force. "They are utterly dependent on automation to do everything for them. They lack personal ambition, courage, stamina… all the qualities that are earned by having to struggle for what you have. You know that. Force knows the Sith have problems," he said, his tone turning venomous, betraying his own personal frustration. "And the Empire with us. Infighting, pettiness, short-sightedness, selfishness. We have always lacked a true sense of national loyalty or unity. Only a common enemy could truly unite us, and then, not for long. I understand being fucking exasperated with the Sith – I'm exasperated every bloody day. But we TRY. We take risks. We dream, and we dare to let our reach exceed our grasp on the off-chance that we might seize hold of something magnificent. We are a nation of individuals, all of us chasing destiny in our own way. Even Imperial citizens follow those precepts. And that's why you left," he concluded, watching Valkorion from under messy strands of frost-white hair. "Because a child who focuses on their own betterment, their own goals and desires, will necessarily move beyond the need for a patriarch. We were going to outgrow you. So you went and found a group of people you could keep forever dependent on their wise Eternal Emperor. We weren't lacking," he said with pointed disdain, ignoring the growing burn of Valkorion's gaze. "You just can't stand not to be needed."

"I would be careful how you speak to me," Valkorion rumbled. "My patience is not infinite. You speak of fathers and children, but your understanding is that of a child who insists his opinion carries a weight he has not earned."

"Or you could stuff it," Wraith said casually. "You know nothing about me Tenebrae." Valkorion's eyes darkened, and so did the sky above them, clouds thickening at the use of his birth name. "You decided I was the belle of the ball and now you want me to follow your lead, but this is not your dance. Do you know what I do for a living? I have to make one of those, you know, since I'm still annoyingly incarnate."

"You are a mere Sith Lord," Valkorion said, a dangerous growl still threaded through his tone. "Not a Darth, which I find very curious, given all your talk of personal ambition. Master of many students, a teacher of some petty renown."

"I'm the headmaster of an academy of higher learning for Sith students," Wraith corrected him. "Which means I work with children all day, every day. Teenagers. This pattern you're playing out is one I've seen more times than I can count. So I know whereof I speak," he said acidly. "And you can put on as many airs as you like, prattle on about immortality and enlightenment and all that bantha shite. I'm sure it sounds impressive to Zakuulan rubes, since they don't bloody well know better. But I see you for what you are."

He turned to face Valkorian. Next to the shade of the ancient Sith Emperor's most recent incarnation, he wasn't a terribly impressive figure even though he was a little over two meters tall. His robes were plain, almost unadorned next to Valkorian's lush fabrics and stately armor. The Emperor looked solid and looming and unperturbed, and Wraith's lean-muscled frame was canted in rebellious opposition. But Lord Wraith's chin was high, and his eyes flashed direct, while Valkorian's mouth was tight with tension.

"You're that entitled prick who never really grew up," Wraith said, venom dripping from his tongue. "You want to prove you can do everything better than your daddy did, but you just keep fucking up, because you never learned the most critical lesson – putting something before yourself. The more power you gained, the more destructive you got, like a toddler playing with toys. Got to the point the healthiest the Empire ever was is when Darth Revan gave up his entire existence just to be a leash on your foolishness. Going silent was the best thing you ever did for us. And we may be sore," he added, shifting his weight toward Valkorion, power lashing around him in The Force, "but we'll get over it. We'll seize our own destiny because we. Don't. NEED. You."

Valkorion exhaled, relaxed, giving his subject a pitying look. "You still see so little."

"I see that you want me to rule Zakuul instead of your children," Wraith shot back. "I see that you can't stand to stick around and accept the consequences, or repair what you broke. You ignored your sons, you threw your daughter away, you turned your people into sniveling cowards, and now you want me to come fix everything. I will tell you this, now: if I get my hands on the throne of Zakuul, I will enslave every one of those privileged little fucks," he said, growling a little himself as his eyes began to gleam with a molten red light. "I will put them in chains and send them to far corners of the Sith empire. They will waste and die in the mines. Their soft hands will split and break and bleed. Their tears will flood The Force. They will know such suffering as has never been known in this galaxy before. And I will make sure that they curse your name for it: Valkorion, who led their society into excess and atrophy, Valkorion, who poisoned the spirit of an entire culture with his ridiculous games. Valkorion, who handed them paradise in exchange for their unthinking worship. Valkorion, who ruined them like he ruins everything he tries to build, because he can't see further than his own whims!" he snarled, his power bristling in spikes, dull silvery runes flaring with sickly power. "They love arena fights? I'll massacre them in arenas for Imperial amusement. They treat their poor with so much disdain? If they want to eat, they'll lick every boot I put in front of them on their knees and thank me for the privilege. I will RIP apart what you've built. And then," he said, just as thunder began to ripple overhead, and on the distant landing pads rain shields shimmered to life, "I will go back to what I built. And I will spend my days with my husband and my students, instructing the next generation of Sith, instilling values in them that you never bothered with. And your disappearance will be the best thing that ever happened to either Empire. You can live alone in the void knowing that. I will prove in the end," he concluded in a poisonous hush, "the only thing we ever needed to excel was to rid ourselves of the millstone around our necks. Who knows?" His smile was cruel, teeth gleaming white as the biting, icy snow that scoured the surface of Khar Delba. "Maybe I'll keep your offspring as my personal playthings. I couldn't possibly fuck up Vaylin any more than you already have."

Valkorion measured him for a moment, then smiled, making a scoffing noise deep in his throat. "Yes, your Force-blind husband. The one you don't want me anywhere near."

"Well," Wraith said, "you have serious boundary issues. And frankly, as disgusting and worthless as I find you, I wouldn't even wish you on my ex."

Valkorion bristled again, slightly, then visible smoothed himself out, shaking off the offense. "You will learn in time. You will see what I have seen – the nature of the universe, the axis on which The Force turns."

"Emperor's balls," Wraith muttered, then realized who he was talking too and flashed a dark smile. "Who even cares about that? You try so hard to seem enlightened and relevant. What you are is bloody pretentious. Nobody gives a damn, Tenebrae. All this time, all this power, and you've got no idea about anything that really matters." He turned, the breeze ruffling ice-white strands of his hair, glancing contemptuously at Valkorion over his shoulder. "Even the idiots who admire you now will grow to pity you. That's your only legacy. Tenebrae, Vitiate, Valkorion – he rose so high and learned so much, but in the end, no amount of wisdom could compete with his own inflated ego."

"I can still destroy you," Valkorion reminded him, and the skies opened, pouring down rain as thunder snapped almost directly overhead. "I would tread carefully, Walker."

Wraith lightened his voice, mimicking a child's tone. "You better stop talking mean about me, or I'll hurt you!" The rain stopped just short of his person, creating a strange halo of splattering drops where he shielded himself from the downpour. "My lord… grow up."

He strode back toward the base, leaving the ghost of Valkorion behind in the rain. Valkorion, simmering with dangerous fury, chose not to follow for fear of destroying all his careful engineering in a fit of destructive pique. Walker was stubborn, he told himself, but he was also young, and he had yet to rid himself of attachments. The fact that he still kept a force-blind, brain-damaged soldier around as a mate was indication enough that he had a lot of growing to do before he would see the universe from Valkorion's perspective. In the meantime, he could huff and puff, but Valkorion's patience would prove superior to his obstinacy.

It was wise, he mused, for Wraith to keep him far away from his family. He gave Valkorion no opportunity to cut those ties and push him toward greater autonomy. But sooner or later, even the careful and canny Lord Walker would make a mistake. Valkorion would wait and let him grow complacent, and when the time was right, hurl his protégé from the nest. Severed from all ties, he would spread his wings or he would perish.

No matter which way it went, Valkorion was sure it would be glorious.

The wards remained quiet and still when Cale stepped into his private quarters. They were spare, a nod to the scarcity of resources among the Alliance. That, and Cale had never asked for the position he'd been thrust into. Lana had called him to go to Ziost because of his particular expertise in the subject of Force Manifestations, a reputation he'd gained on Oricon during the fiasco with the Dread Masters, and he'd been dragged into the Emperor's ridiculous family drama from there. Pulled in, captured, kept from his family and his school for half a decade… if Valkorion or Arcann thought he would ever forgive them for that trespass, then they would have a small eternity of torture under his hands to learn otherwise.

Since the wards were quiet, he indulged himself, settling at his personal comm station and dialing his husband's code. Before he could complete the number, his door chimed.

His hand clenched, but he reminded himself he couldn't take his agitation out on his allies. They'd left families behind too, to help him. "Come in."

The door slid aside to reveal Theron Shan, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together in worry. "Commander. Everything all right?"

Cale sighed and reclined in his chair. "Come in, Theron. We can talk freely here."

"You sure? I don't know if I trust all this…." Theron made a fiddly gesture, eying the rune-scribed wardstones Cale had placed around the perimeter of his room. Cale had to smile tiredly at his skepticism.

"The Emperor is strong, but there are rules to the form he's chosen. What's on your mind?"

Theron shifted his gaze to him. Despite not being Force Sensitive, he had his mother's golden eyes. "You took another walk," he said. This was a euphemism he and Lana had taken to using to refer to those times when Cale had to leave the base to converse with Valkorion in privacy.

Cale sighed deeply, lacing his fingers across his belly and propping his feet up on his desk. "He wanted to discuss inheritance. Apparently, our erstwhile Emperor is under the impression that I will rule Zakuul once Arcann and Vaylin are taken care of." He offered Theron a dagger-thin smile. "I let him know that I'm far more likely to destroy everything he's built down to the bedrock. He wasn't pleased."

Theron's mouth twisted, eyes roaming to Cale's feet on the desk and, from there, to the near-finished comm code on the screen. He didn't acknowledge it, and Cale didn't mind that he noticed. One didn't keep spies around and expect them to stay out of one's personal business. "Are you sure that's wise, Sith? These people… it seems like Valkorion led them along like nerfs to the slaughter. To hear Koth talk, he's practically a god to them." His voice softened significantly on the word 'sith', and he eased closer, shifting his weight to one hip in a way that invited Cale to reach out, slipping his thumb into a belt loop and tugging him closer, where he could slide his hand along the tense muscles in his lower back.

"I know." Cale rolled his eyes. "Ironic, isn't it? He had a great deal to say about the rigid dogma of the Sith, but Zakuul is religious to the point of credulity. Of course, a being who claims to be omnipotent is bound to be irritated when mere mortals presume to question him." He dragged Theron close enough to nuzzle his stomach, arm hooked around his waist, and Theron settled a hand in his hair, fingers sliding through strands so colorless they were nearly transparent, like a hinterfang's pelt.

"Am I interrupting?" he murmured.

"Yes, but you're allowed."

Theron nodded. He no longer struggled against the idea of having special privileges with a Sith Lord. "The vitriol toward the citizens of Zakuul just doesn't seem fair. People follow their leader. They're not to blame."

"I disagree. I have a choice about following my leaders," Cale said. "Plenty of Zakuulans are here with us, making that same choice."

"But the way they live," Theron protested. "Most of them may not even realize they HAVE that choice. Everything's been handed to them until now."

"You realize you're not improving my opinion of them," Cale said dryly, but he continued to soothe his lover's agitation by rubbing his back in slow, steady rhythm. "I'll find a way to give them the choice. And I never intended to make the poor and destitute pay for the Emperor's crimes," he added. "Zakuul's disenfranchised outcasts have nothing to fear from me. The upper class, on the other hand, is going to have a rude awakening unless they prove they have fortitude to make the leap."

"And how is the Empire any better?" Theron demanded, a thread of desperation in his tone, pleading with Cale to understand. "At least Zakuul uses droids for all its labor. The Empire enslaves sentient beings and causes so much suffering and death."

"You already know how I feel about that," Cale said softly. "Theron, I'm not in any position to solve all the problems that exist in BOTH of our governments. But if Zakuul falls, we'll have some leverage. Acina is ambitious, but reasonable, and we've done something amazing here, with the Alliance. Do you really think all these cross-faction soldiers will go home with the ability to hate one another like they did before? This war could end."

Theron's mouth thinned. There was a distress in his eyes that Cale ached to soothe, but when he slid his fingers into Theron's belt, Theron sidestepped like a skittish colt. "That's what I keep hoping for," he said, folding his arms again and staying out of easy reach. "But all this… the Emperor in your head, Arcann hunting us, Vaylin gaining power, and Saresh pushing her vendetta from behind the scenes… it doesn't feel like it's moving toward peace. Feels more like the other thing," he confessed, his tone bleak.

Cale wanted to reassure him. He started to straighten, to bring his feet down off the desk, but Theron shied further away, signaling clearly that he was NOT open for physical comfort at the moment. Cale leaned on his knees to communicate that Theron had his full attention, but he stayed in his chair, respecting his unspoken desire for space. "Regime changes take time. Don't give up," he urged softly. "The Empire has been skewing progressive for a decade now, and Malgus's schism put boosters on that process. Saresh may be pulling strings, but her power is in check. Things ARE changing. We may need a few more changes in leadership, a few more earthquakes to shake up the establishment, but that's exactly what we're looking at with Zakuul. You have more power than you ever did before, at my right hand, and I am taking you seriously. I promise, Theron, I'm listening."

He closed his eyes briefly. "That much, I believe."

Cale's mouth quirked. "Then it's way too early to give up. This is a long game we're playing – plenty of time to win the way we want to win without upsetting the board."

Theron sighed. "Right, Commander. I'll… try to hang in there."

"Theron." Cale let him feel the weight of his regard in The Force, and was rewarded with a shiver, Theron's spine stiffening as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. "Are you sure you don't want to stay? You're worth my time too."

THAT earned a blush. "I… yeah, I'm gonna pass," he muttered, reaching for the door panel. "It's not… it's not that I'm upset with you. I just… things are complicated enough right now."

"Give me an hour and I'll simplify them," he coaxed gently, but Theron just pulled in on himself tighter.

"No offense, Sith… that's exactly what I'm afraid of."

The door hissed, and Theron slipped out before it had fully opened. Cale sighed. He had one lover too skittish to be soothed, and another desperate for his attention but kept, for his own safety, light years away. He tapped the comm screen until the numbers brightened, then finished the code.

He couldn't have Zharast's arms, or his heat, but the sound of his husband's voice could cure a million ills.