Chapter Text
Rroshyyn watched blankly as a pulsing red blade stopped centimetres from their throat, hot plasma sizzling stray fur with an acrid smell. (300 years ago, a crimson saber sunk into sealed doors, an exile's death delayed—)
"You do not fear me anymore," Scourge muttered, extinguishing his saber.
Rroshyyn shrugged listlessly. "Why should I? You're not going to kill me."
Trust was the downfall of greater Force-users than them both. But—"No," Scourge agreed. His mouth tightened, gaze following as Rroshyyn wandered back to stare sightlessly out the ship's viewport into the void beyond. "There would be no point," Scourge murmured.