Chapter 273
The *Terminus* hummed with restrained power as the fleet prepared for launch. Hangar bays echoed with the final checks of starfighters and the low thrum of capital ship engines warming up. We had managed to convince Zule Xiss out of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant without drawing too much attention—her cybernetic arm still a stark reminder of the horrors on Mission to Queytan, her master Glaive long gone. In the original timeline she was supposed to be lost on Jabiim, crushed under the weight of war and fate after losing everything. But I had been there on Ohma-D'un. She hadn't set foot on that doomed planet this time. She still had her master in the altered flow of events... or at least, the Force had twisted the threads differently. Yet the galaxy's cruel sense of balance seemed determined to claim its due anyway. The Force finds a way. Always.
I couldn't let that stand. Not when I had the means to change it.
Zule sat on the edge of the medical bay bed aboard the *Terminus*, her posture rigid despite the lingering pain. The Temple healers had done what they could—sealed the worst of the old wounds, stabilized the cybernetic interface where her left arm had been severed by nightsister selena blade. But it was never the same. Cold metal and servos couldn't replace the warmth of living flesh, the instinctive connection a Jedi felt through every nerve. Her green skin, typical of her Falleen heritage mixed with that fierce Zeltron-like fire in her spirit, looked paler than usual under the sterile lights. Her eyes—sharp, defiant—flickered with confusion as I guided her here instead of letting her rest in quarters.
"Why are we in the medical bay?" Zule asked, her voice carrying that familiar edge of sarcasm even through exhaustion. "The doctors at the Temple already healed me the best they could. I'm not some fragile padawan anymore."
I stood across from her, arms crossed, feeling the weight of Ahsoka's presence just outside the bay doors. My Togruta padawan—lover, partner, firebrand at sixteen—had insisted on coming along, her new orange-and-blue starfighter docked nearby like a bright beacon of her personality. She hovered now, lekku twitching with curiosity and a hint of protectiveness. The girls—stella, kayla, the others—loved me deeply, but moments like this tested the bonds we'd forged. Closeness didn't erase jealousy or uncertainty; it only made it more intimate.
I met Zule's gaze steadily. "Would you like your arms back?"
She blinked, the words hanging in the air like a live thermal detonator. "What?"
"Would you like your arm back?" I repeated, softer this time, but no less serious. "The real one. Flesh, blood, nerves. Connected to the Force as it should be."
Zule laughed—a short, bitter sound that cracked at the end. Tears welled in her eyes despite her efforts to blink them away. "Yes. A thousand times yes. But I can't. Cloned limbs aren't possible for Jedi—the Order forbids it, the ethics, the attachments... and even if they allowed it, the process is long, painful, and often rejected. I'm stuck with this kriffing metal thing." Her remaining hand clenched into a fist, the cybernetic arm hanging limp at her side, unresponsive in ways that haunted her every lightsaber form.
"We don't need cloning technology," I said quietly. "Just the Force."
Her eyes widened as I reached into my belt and withdrew three kyber crystals. The first bled a deep, angry red—the corrupted remnant of a Sith blade I'd claimed long ago. The second gleamed purified white, its light soft and cleansing after I'd poured my will into healing its darkness. The third shimmered with a rare blue-green hue, balanced and vibrant, drawn from my second lightsaber. They pulsed faintly in my palm, attuned to me through bonds forged in battle and meditation.
"You have a red one," Zule whispered, voice laced with suspicion. "But those are Sith crystals. Bleeding them—"
"Never mind that," I cut in gently. "Yoda already knows. He's... aware of my path. The balance I'm walking."
"Master, what are you—" she started, but the title slipped out naturally now. In this timeline, with the changes I'd wrought, lines between master and padawan, ally and more, had blurred for many.
**Dagon POV**
The dark side is a path to many abilities some consider to be unnatural. Sidious had sneered those words once, in a vision or a half-remembered echo from my fractured past lives. He hoarded power like a dragon on a pile of credits, twisting life and death to his will. But I had seen the other side. When I purified a crystal, channeling raw intent and light through the Force, it didn't just change color—it healed something in me. A wound I didn't know I carried. Balance should be able to heal her too. What was more balanced than kyber crystals themselves? Born of the Force, shaped by emotion, capable of bleeding under rage or singing under hope. Life and death, light and shadow, all in one resonant heart.
I closed my eyes, sinking into the Force. The three crystals rose from my palm, orbiting slowly in a triangle of light. The red one throbbed with residual anger—echoes of pain, betrayal, the raw severance Zule had suffered. The white one hummed with purification, a gentle counterpoint that soothed and mended. The blue-green bridged them, a nexus of equilibrium. I wove my will through them, drawing on the living Force that flowed through every cell, every nerve, every possibility.
A flash of multi-colored light erupted in the medical bay, bathing everything in swirling hues—crimson bleeding into pristine white, then blooming into oceanic blue-green. The energy coiled around Zule's stump like living vines, warm and insistent. She gasped, body arching as the Force knit flesh from nothing, regenerating bone, muscle, skin, and delicate nerve endings in a rush of power that defied the natural order yet felt utterly right. Her cybernetic arm detached with a soft click, falling harmlessly to the floor as new tissue bloomed in its place. Fingers flexed—five of them, sensitive and whole. The sensation flooded her: warmth, touch, the subtle pull of the Force through living midi-chlorians once more.
Zule stared at her restored arm, flexing it experimentally. Tears streamed down her green cheeks unchecked. "You... you healed me. It's real. I can feel it. The Force—it's singing through me again."
"Yeah," I said, a tired smile tugging at my lips. The effort had drained me more than I'd expected—this wasn't something I could do on a whim. "Ahsoka, keep this quiet. This isn't technically possible. Just something I could do... only certain times. This was the first. Hmmph."
I was interrupted mid-sentence as Zule surged forward, her newly regenerated hand fisting in the front of my tunic. She pulled me down into an aggressive kiss—fierce, grateful, hungry. Her lips were warm and demanding, tasting of salt from her tears and the faint metallic tang of adrenaline. Falleen pheromones hit me like a wave, that natural allure amplified by raw emotion, sending heat straight through my veins. She pressed her body against mine, the curves of her athletic frame molding close, one hand sliding up to grip the back of my neck while the restored arm wrapped around my waist, fingers digging in possessively.
Ahsoka, watching from the doorway, flushed a deep crimson across her orange skin, her lekku stiffening in a mix of shock, embarrassment, and something sharper—jealousy? Curiosity? Our bond thrummed with her presence: *Dagon...* A silent question laced with heat. She'd seen me with the others—stella' quiet intensity, flare graceful passion—but this was new, spontaneous, born of miracle and relief.
Zule broke the kiss only when she needed air, her forehead resting against mine, breaths coming in ragged pants. Her green eyes burned with a fire that had nothing to do with the dark side she'd once flirted with in her grief. "Thank you," she whispered fiercely. "Not just for the arm. For seeing me. For not letting the Force take everything again." Her hand trailed lower, bold and unapologetic, brushing over my chest as if confirming I was real, solid, here.
The medical bay felt smaller, the air thicker. Zule's restored touch was exploratory at first—testing strength, sensitivity—then bolder, sliding under the edge of my tunic to trace bare skin. "I've been half a person since quetyaq" she murmured against my jaw, lips brushing stubble. "Angry. Hollow. But this... you gave me back more than flesh. Let me feel alive again. All of me."
Ahsoka stepped inside fully now, the door hissing shut behind her. Her cheeks still burned, but her eyes held that determined spark I loved—the one that said she wouldn't be left on the sidelines. At sixteen, she carried herself with the confidence of someone who'd already tasted closeness with me, tangled nights where master and padawan lines dissolved into mutual need. "Zule..." she started, voice husky. "He's... we're..."
Zule glanced over, a sly, grateful smile curving her lips. The Falleen allure mixed with genuine affection. "I know about you two. The girls. The bond. If he's willing to bend the impossible for me... maybe there's room to share the gratitude?" She didn't pull away from me, but her free hand extended toward Ahsoka in invitation, not demand.
I reached through the bond to Ahsoka: *It's up to you. Like I told you before—this is new territory for me too. Mentally seventy-seven from that old life, single all the way. Just say what you need, and I'm okay.*
Ahsoka's response came back warm, laced with excitement and a touch of playful possessiveness. *Fast and bright, remember? Like my fighter. But... she's hurting less now. And she's pretty. If she wants to thank you properly... I want to watch. Maybe join.*
The tension shifted from healing to something far more charged. Zule's hands grew bolder, tugging my tunic open as she backed me toward the reinforced medical bed. Her mouth found mine again, this time slower, deeper—exploring with the same ferocity she'd once shown in battle. Her body was lean and strong from years of Jedi training, skin smooth and faintly scented with that natural pheromone that made rational thought flicker. I felt the swell of her breasts against my chest as she pressed closer, nipples hardening through the thin fabric of her tunic.
Ahsoka moved behind Zule, smaller but no less intense. Her hands slid around the Falleen's waist, helping peel away the loose medical garb. "Let us help you feel everything," Ahsoka whispered, lips brushing Zule's ear, lekku curling affectionately. Zule shivered, arching into the dual touch—my hands on her hips, Ahsoka's exploring the curve of her back and lower.
Clothes shed in a heated rush. Zule's restored arm wrapped around my shoulders as I lifted her onto the bed, her legs parting to pull me between them. She was slick already, heat radiating as my fingers traced her folds, finding her swollen and ready. A low moan escaped her when I circled her clit, her hips bucking instinctively. "Yes—Force, yes. Touch me like I'm whole."
Ahsoka shed her own top, her perky breasts free, orange skin glowing under the lights. She knelt beside us, leaning in to kiss Zule's neck while her hand joined mine between Zule's thighs. Two sets of fingers worked in tandem—mine dipping inside her tight warmth, curling to find that sensitive spot, Ahsoka's rubbing firm circles on her clit. Zule writhed, her restored hand gripping my shoulder hard enough to leave marks, the other tangling in Ahsoka's lekku.
I freed myself from my pants, cock hard and throbbing from the sight and sounds. Zule's eyes darkened with lust as she reached for me, stroking with newfound sensitivity. "Big... and real," she breathed, guiding me to her entrance. I pushed in slowly at first, savoring the velvet grip as her walls clenched around me. She was tight, eager, her inner muscles fluttering from the overload of sensation after so long without full feeling.
Ahsoka watched with hooded eyes, one hand between her own legs as she fingered herself in rhythm with our thrusts. "She feels good, doesn't she?" Ahsoka purred through the bond and aloud. "Fuck her, Dagon. Make her scream gratitude."
I thrust deeper, setting a steady pace that had Zule's breasts bouncing with each impact. She met me thrust for thrust, legs locked around my waist, her restored arm clawing at my back. Pleasure built fast—her pheromones amplifying every sensation, making my blood run hotter. Ahsoka leaned down to capture one of Zule's nipples in her mouth, sucking and nipping while I pounded harder.
Zule came first, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as her pussy spasmed around my cock, juices coating me. The orgasm rolled through her, body shaking, new nerves firing in ecstatic overload. "Dagon—! Yes, fill me—"
I followed soon after, burying deep and spilling inside her with a groan, the release intense after channeling so much Force energy earlier. Ahsoka climaxed watching us, her smaller body trembling as she rode her own fingers to completion.
We collapsed in a tangle of limbs—Zule between us, sweat-slick and glowing. Her restored hand traced lazy patterns on my chest while Ahsoka curled against her other side, nuzzling her neck.
"Thank you," Zule whispered again, voice soft now, vulnerable. "For the arm. For this. For not treating me like the broken padawan everyone else saw."
I kissed her forehead, then Ahsoka's. "You're not broken. None of us are. The Force brought us here—twisted fate, but we twist back. Rest now. The fleet launches soon, and there's a war waiting."
But for this moment, in the afterglow, the three of us simply breathed together. Zule's arm—whole, strong—held us both close. Ahsoka's bond thrummed with contentment and new possibilities. Balance, in all its messy, heated forms.
Outside, the *Terminus* engines roared to life. The fleet jumped toward whatever came next. But inside the medical bay, healing had taken on a far more intimate meaning.