By the fourth day of on-again off-again headaches Molari was ready to admit something was wrong. As Flayr had mentioned Firrerreo were notoriously hard to injure for any long period of time - their natural healing abilities tended to take care of infections easily, even going so far as to close wounds - and he shouldn't have come down so apparently and obviously sick. Sinnest's concern over his inability to find something to purge when he'd thought it merely food poisoning was no longer an unfounded one, the Knight ready to admit there was a problem.
He was tempted to return to the noodle-shop doctor, Flayr, and ask for a medical work-up but knew that he should, no needed, to report to the Temple.
And the dreams...
The pain had been indescribable for the Knight. After a day of his symptoms receeding he'd figured that he had gotten over whatever infection he'd picked up while on Nar Shaddaa, thanking the Force as he'd begun to fall into his normal routine. Although his dreams had left him edgy and unsettled the santuary of his ship had helped ease nerves. Meditation had settled them further though he'd jumped at every noise, started at every unfamiliar sight, and had wondered more than once if his ship had been haunted.
But the pain - the headache had been building while he meditated, growing steadily before it'd spiked; he'd come-to with the start of a bruise but knew it'd quickly fade but the sounds had woken him completely, the ship rocking and shaking as the warning shots had gone over his bow.
It'd been so real, so real to him. None of the slight fog of a dream, none of the muffled sounds of a dream - his footsteps had been clear as he'd run the length of his ship, hailing the attacking vessel. He vaguely recalled he was somewhere near Republic space and had refused their orders to be boarded, leaving the defense of his ship in C6's capable piloting hands.
Stolen cargo? He'd gone down to his bay, following the feeling of fear and life, and stood transfixed.
His mind couldn't and didn't put a name and face to the Zabrak and and Twi'lek but he'd recognized the scent of Firrerreo in his cargo hold and then he'd seen her face. Heard her voice. She'd aged - she was older than he, her two-tone hair falling over her back freely like she'd always worn it and she'd matured. Grown into a woman. She'd been alive. Janus had been alive, her voice as vibrant as the daydream where she'd called out to him. Ari where are you? echoed and he'd thought maybe, just maybe, she'd been a figment of his imagination.
"You saved me... Molari are you all right?"
His world had tumbled, thinking of two realities - the one where his beloved, protective sister had died and the one where he'd managed to save her. Before he could question her too deeply or touch her, see if she was real, the ship had rocked, alarms blaring the hull breach. He'd ordered them to stay, drawing his saber and rushing up towards the invaders, blocking the doorway to bar their entrance. His path had been reckless though, leaving a few scores on the walls along the way.
The fight had been uneven and short. The Imperials - no mercenaries were they, though that had been the lie they'd given him when demanding he prepare to be boarded and hand his cargo over - had pushed into the ship. The battle was short and brief, the Knight overwhelmed and unable to truly fight, to defend, in the cramped space of the ship. The electronet had stunned him, incapacitated him, the commandos running past him while he struggled to get back to his feet. The shrill scream had drawn a growl, starting to break the net as the commandos dragged the three stowaways to the commons.
The blaster bolt made him feel like his world was ending again, watching Janus crumple. The Zabark lay dead, Molari tackling the last surviving commando and forgetting his saber in the sudden rush of primal and feral reaction. And he'd picked up Janus' body, saber clattering discarded somewhere on the floor. Molari had wanted to hold her but he knew duty when she told him to get the distress signal off and he'd set her down, moving quickly towards the console again. As he'd keyed in the sequence the pain had overcome him once more, the Knight coming awake slumped over the console.
He felt nothing, nothing alive in his ship when he'd awoken, pushing to his feet and running to the commons.
The hull was undamaged, the bodies gone, the air clean.
His head pounded with his heartbeat and he'd inhaled, scenting no traces of the blood he knew had been there. But his saber was still where it'd rolled during the battle and his hand felt the groove in the frame where his blade had clipped the metal. Absently Molari had picked up his saber, clipping it back to his belt. A hand went to his head as the pain picked up, feeling like an ice-pick was slamming behind one eye and taking an uneasy step back.
Had it just been another dream?
Hours later, after his stomach had again lost what food he'd consumed and his headache had eased, Molari thought to check his communications console. He'd sent a message? The only one he'd sent recently had been the one in his dream...
He couldn't trace the message nor retrieve its contents, his effort leading to a complete destruction of whatever had transpired. Molari admitted and recognized the concern he felt building, pushing away from the console and heading back to his navi system. He was halfway through programming the console for the needed jumps to take him to Tython when he stopped.
Would they think he was mad? His symptoms had faded by nightfall, deciding to hold off returning to Tython and see how he felt in the morning. But his dreams twisted cruelly, jamming the too-vivid dream of watching Janus die in front of his eyes; he cried out this time, but the dream faded and instead threw him into the last bloody clan battle he'd seen.
He woke up without a headache, without nausea, but he felt more on-edge, almost twitching before throwing himself to his feet. He threw off the visor and heard it break, turning his head to stare at the twisted and shattered contraption and wondering why he'd reacted so violently.
You should go to the healers. He could almost hear that in Janus' voice or Master Khem's. Hands ruffled his hair, mussing it until he looked as bed-haired as ever before, before he dug nails into his scalp, as if that sharp slice of pain would calm his racing thoughts. If he went to the healers he'd be kept there and although his rational mind said this would be fine, safe, acceptable, he found himself biting back a growl. Something was wrong but he couldn't trust the healers to find it or have an answer, not now.
He threw his hood up, starting to reach for his visor before remembering he'd destroyed it. His ship pinged, C6 calling out another hit on Knight Smith's appearance. He raced out of his quarters, grabbing the railing as he threw himself over the gap and to the bridge, pushing C6 aside to stare at the display. There. Maybe, maybe they had him.
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