Asajj held the double-bladed lightsaber like it might disintegrate in her hands. Her fingers traced the Sith script carved into the hilt—ancient, precise, unmistakable. When she looked up at Wanda, her expression held something between awe and horror.
"Where did you get this?"
Wanda, who'd been watching the girls practice their meditation forms nearby, turned. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Asajj holding the weapon. "What does that have to do with you?"
"Everything." Asajj's voice cracked slightly. She clutched the saber tighter, knuckles whitening. "Do you even know what this is? Whose weapon you've been carrying around like some common trophy?"
Wanda's posture shifted—shoulders back, chin up, arms crossing over her chest. The air around her crackled faintly with scarlet energy. "Enlighten me."
Asajj pointed at the weapon with her free hand, the gesture almost accusatory. "The inscription. You must have seen it. So tell me—whose lightsaber is this?"
"I don't read Sith." Wanda's tone could have flash-frozen water. "In case you've forgotten, I'm not from this galaxy. The people who might have taught me that particular skill have been somewhat preoccupied with, oh, surviving and not dying to worry about ancient language lessons."
"You never asked?" Asajj couldn't keep the disbelief from her voice.
"No."
"You're insufferable."
"And you're stalling." Wanda took a step forward, magic flickering brighter around her clenched fists. "Are you going to tell me, or are we going to stand here trading insults until the suns set?"
Asajj wanted to strangle her. The urge was visceral, immediate. But Wanda's power—that chaotic, reality-warping force—made the prospect suicidal at best.
Perhaps if she used the Force, caught the witch off-guard—
"Done fantasizing about killing me," Wanda asked, voice dripping with annoyance, "or do you need a few more minutes?"
"Enough!" The word exploded from Asajj's throat.
Silence crashed down. Even the twisted trees seemed to hold their breath.
Asajj forced herself to breathe, to center, to focus. She pointed at the double-bladed saber. "That weapon belonged to Darth Zannah. First true apprentice under the Sith Rule of Two."
Wanda's head tilted slightly. She studied the lightsaber with new interest. "Huh. Looks rough."
"Rough?" Asajj's voice climbed three octaves. The word came out strangled, disbelieving. "ROUGH? Do you have any idea—that lightsaber represents the evolution of the Sith Order! A thousand years of dark side mastery, passed from master to apprentice in an unbroken line, and the Force saw fit to put it in the hands of someone who calls it rough?!"
"I don't follow the Force, you idiot." Wanda's magic flared brighter, responding to her irritation. "So maybe the Force had nothing to do with it."
Nearby, partially hidden behind a twisted tree trunk, Merlin whispered to Illyana. "Your cousin looks like she's about to explode."
"Yeah," Illyana whispered back, eyes wide. "Think we should get Mother Talzin?"
"And miss this? No way."
The girls settled in to watch, fascinated despite themselves.
"I cannot believe," Asajj continued, her voice shaking, "that a weapon with such legacy, such power, ended up with someone like you."
"Someone like me?" Wanda's smile was sharp enough to cut. "And what makes you so special? What exactly qualifies you to judge?"
"I trained in the Sith arts. I understand the philosophy, the tradition, the cost of that power." Asajj gestured at herself, then dismissively at Wanda. "You're just an outsider who stumbled into something she can't begin to comprehend."
Wanda laughed.
The sound was unexpected, genuine, and somehow more unsettling than her anger.
"What's funny?" Asajj demanded.
"Oh, if you only knew." Wanda's smile turned cryptic. She reached for the double-bladed saber, and Asajj reluctantly released it. Wanda spun it once, testing the weight, then clipped it back to her belt beside her own curved hilt.
Asajj opened her mouth to protest, to demand, to—
"Tell you what," Wanda said, cutting her off. "Since you're so convinced I don't deserve these weapons, why don't we settle it properly?"
"What are you suggesting?"
Wanda shrugged off her crimson outer robe, letting it fall to the dust. Beneath, she wore simple training clothes—practical, allowing full range of movement. She reached for her lightsaber, the curved one Asajj recognized as her own, and ignited it.
A red blade sprang to life, humming in the still air.
"A duel," Wanda said simply. "No magic. No Force. Just lightsabers. Pure skill."
Asajj stared. "You're serious."
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Wanda settled into a ready stance—Form VII, Asajj recognized with shock. Juyo, the Ferocity Form. Aggressive, unpredictable, requiring complete commitment to each strike.
How did an outsider know Juyo?
Asajj considered refusing. Walking away. But pride—that old familiar demon—wouldn't allow it. She ignited her own lightsaber, the red blade casting shadows across her tattooed face. She shifted into Form II, Makashi, the dueling form. Elegant, precise, designed for lightsaber-to-lightsaber combat.
Then she reached for her second weapon—
"You have one saber," Wanda said. "I have one saber."
"Yours is double-bladed."
"And I'm not comfortable using it that way." Wanda's tone was matter-of-fact. "So we're even."
Asajj rolled her eyes. "How noble of you."
"I could still blast you across the village if you'd prefer."
"Try it."
They circled each other slowly. The girls watched, barely breathing. Other Nightsisters began to emerge from dwellings and shadows, drawn by the humming blades and the electric tension.
Asajj moved first.
She lunged forward, Makashi precision guiding her strike toward Wanda's center mass. A testing blow, meant to gauge reactions.
Wanda twisted aside, barely. The movement was clumsy, unpracticed, but effective. Her counter-strike came wild, all power and no finesse, forcing Asajj to disengage.
"I haven't had much practice with lightsaber combat," Wanda admitted, circling again. "In case you couldn't tell."
Asajj smiled, sharp and predatory. "Lucky me."
She attacked again, faster this time. Three strikes in rapid succession—high, low, thrust. Standard Makashi combinations, designed to overwhelm through speed and precision.
Wanda blocked the first two awkwardly. The third forced her to retreat, boots kicking up red dust. But her defense held, and the scarlet energy that flickered around her arms—not magic, exactly, more like... enhancement—seemed to guide her movements, compensate for inexperience with raw power.
"You're sloppy," Asajj taunted, pressing the attack. "Reckless. No discipline."
"And you talk too much."
Wanda's counter-attack came like a thunderstorm—all fury, no technique. She swung the lightsaber in a wide arc that would have horrified any Jedi Master, relying entirely on strength and speed.
Asajj slid backward, barely avoiding the strike. The blade scorched the ground where she'd stood, leaving a glowing line in the dirt.
Impressive power. Terrible form.
But power could kill just as easily as skill.
Asajj reached out with the Force, subtle and precise. She found Wanda's second lightsaber at her belt, the curved hilt, and pulled.
The weapon flew free, sailing through the air toward—
Wanda spun, impossibly fast, bringing her active blade up in a defensive arc that caught Asajj's Force-pulled weapon mid-flight. The impact sent sparks cascading, but Wanda held firm.
Then scarlet energy exploded outward.
The shockwave caught Asajj square in the chest, lifted her off her feet, and sent her tumbling backward. She hit the ground hard, rolled, came up gasping.
"I thought we weren't using powers," she spat, dirt in her mouth.
"You cheated first." Wanda's expression was serene. She held Asajj's second lightsaber now, having caught it mid-air. "Using the Force to disarm me? That's not 'just lightsabers.'"
"That's—different—"
"Is it?" Wanda tossed the second saber back to Asajj, who caught it reflexively. "Try again. Fairly this time."
Asajj stood, brushing dust from her pale skin. They faced each other, both weapons ignited now, the clearing painted red by four humming blades.
Then Asajj stepped forward and their foreheads collided with an audible crack.
Both women staggered back, hands flying to their faces.
"What are you doing?" Wanda demanded, rubbing her forehead. Pain laced her voice more than anger.
"You looked like you were asking for it!" Asajj shot back.
"I can't imagine why your mother would give you up."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Asajj froze. Every muscle locked. Her yellow eyes went wide, then narrow, then blazing with such fury that the air itself seemed to warp.
"What did you say?"
Wanda's expression shifted—realization, regret, something almost like horror. "I didn't—"
"DON'T." Asajj's voice cracked like thunder. Power surged through her, the Force responding to rage and grief and decades of abandonment. She thrust both hands forward, and telekinetic force hammered into Wanda like a physical wall.
Scarlet magic flared in response, meeting the Force head-on. The two energies crashed together, neither giving ground, creating a shimmering barrier of red and invisible force between them.
"Stop talking about my mother!" Asajj's scream tore from somewhere deep, somewhere wounded. She turned, deactivating her lightsabers with jerky, violent movements, and stormed away from the clearing.
Wanda stood frozen, magic dissipating around her. She stared at Asajj's retreating back, mouth open, words dying unspoken.
Damn it.
Damn it.
Why had she said that? What possessed her to strike such a low, cruel blow?
She knew abandonment. Knew what it felt like to lose family. And she'd weaponized that pain anyway, used it like a blade, cut deep deliberately.
She lowered her head, jaw clenched. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the empty air. "I didn't mean... it just..."
"Wanda?"
The small voice cut through her self-recrimination. She looked up to find Merlin and Illyana approaching hesitantly, their expressions worried.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Wanda said, voice rough. "I shouldn't have—that was—"
They wrapped their arms around her waist, holding tight. Offering comfort she didn't deserve.
Wanda hugged them back, pulling them close, feeling the familiar ache of inadequacy settle in her chest. She was supposed to be their guardian, their protector, their example. And here she was, trading cruel barbs like a child.
"Why do you hate each other so much?" Illyana asked, voice muffled against Wanda's side.
Wanda sighed, stroking their hair. "It's complicated, sweethearts. Your cousin has fought against my friends many times. Against the Avengers. She's hurt people I care about. Almost killed my brother." She paused. "That history makes it hard to trust her. Hard to see past what she's done."
Both girls' expressions fell, sadness replacing curiosity.
"Could you try?" Merlin asked hopefully. "To get along with her?"
"Unless she stops being an ass," Wanda muttered.
"Please?" They deployed the synchronized pleading eyes—the technique that had never once failed them.
"I..." Wanda groaned internally. These two would be the death of her. "I'll try. To be civil. That's the best I can offer."
"Really?" Illyana's face lit up.
"Really."
They cheered, squeezing her tighter.
Wanda closed her eyes, resting her chin on Merlin's head. She'd promised to try. To be better. For them, if nothing else.
But as she stood there, holding the girls who'd become her world, she couldn't shake the image of Asajj's face—that moment when casual cruelty had carved through armor and struck bone.
She'd apologize properly. Later. When they'd both cooled down.
But the damage was done. And Wanda knew—from experience, from her own wounds that never quite healed—that some words, once spoken, could never be taken back.
They carved themselves into memory, into identity, into the map of scars people carried through their lives.
And she'd just added another one to Asajj Ventress's collection.
These two will be my weakness, Wanda thought, watching the girls chatter happily about reconciliation and family. My Achilles' heel.
But some weaknesses, she reflected, were worth having.