The green mist swirled thicker, denser, pulling Asajj's fragmented memories to the surface like bodies from a shipwreck. Mother Talzin's chanting reached a crescendo, and the Waters of Life did their work—knitting flesh, mending bone, healing wounds that went deeper than skin.
But memory, once unleashed, could not be contained.
Wanda felt it before she saw it—a surge in the ritual's energy, memories bleeding through the connection she'd maintained with her magic. Her scarlet power, still cradling Asajj's unconscious form, acted as a conduit. Images flooded Wanda's mind, vivid and sharp as broken glass.
A Republic cruiser, corridors painted with blaster fire.
Red and blue, weaving between clone troopers—Steve's shield, cutting through the chaos.
Sam's wings folding, dodging crimson lightsaber strikes.
Natasha, moving like water, impossible to pin down.
Rhodey's repulsors lighting up a hangar bay.
Scott shrinking between the legs of battle droids. Hope expanding mid-kick, taking out three at once.
And other heroes, unfamiliar faces fighting alongside her friends.
Then—Pietro.
Silver blur. Impossible speed. Dodging, weaving, buying time for the others to retreat.
And pursuing him—this woman. Asajj Ventress. Dual lightsabers carving red arcs through the air, hunting her brother like prey.
The memory hit Wanda like a physical blow. Her breath caught. Scarlet energy crackled up her arms, spreading like wildfire, no longer gentle, no longer healing.
This woman. This enemy.
The rage came sudden and total, a red tide that threatened to drown reason. Her power surged, wild, demanding release. One thought—one impulse—and she could end this. Crush the threat. Make her pay for—
"Wanda?"
Merlin's voice, small and frightened, cut through the fury like a lifeline.
Wanda's eyes snapped down. The girl stared up at her, worry etched across her young face. Illyana pressed closer to Wanda's other side, silent but trembling.
They could feel it. The shift in her. The rage turning the air electric.
Wanda closed her eyes. Drew a breath. Then another. Forced the magic back, coiling it tight in her chest where it burned and seethed but stayed contained. When she opened her eyes again, they still glowed scarlet, but the killing edge had dulled.
Not gone. Never gone. But controlled.
"I'm okay," she whispered, though she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.
She looked back at Asajj on the stone table, this woman who'd fought the Avengers, who'd chased Pietro, who was cousin to the girl currently gripping Wanda's hand like an anchor. The situation's cruel irony wasn't lost on her—of all the planets in the galaxy, of all the sanctuaries Wanda could have found, fate had brought her enemy's family into her care.
The universe, it seemed, had a vicious sense of humor.
The green mist dissipated. The ritual's power receded like a tide, leaving Asajj gasping on the stone table. Her eyes flew open—pale yellow, touched by the dark side—and she bolted upright with a strangled cry.
"Dooku!" The name tore from her throat, raw with betrayal and rage. "He—he betrayed me. Left me to die."
Mother Talzin stood unmoved, her expression carved from ancient stone. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."
"What?" Asajj's head whipped toward the matriarch, eyes blazing. "What? You saw what happened! The flagship—the clones—he ordered them to kill me!"
"Did he?" Talzin's voice held the patience of mountains. "Or did someone else pull those strings?"
"Don't—" Asajj swung her legs off the table, nearly fell, caught herself. Her body still weak, still healing, but fury gave her strength. "Don't defend him. Don't you dare."
"I defend nothing." Talzin moved closer, placed one gnarled hand on Asajj's shoulder. The touch seemed to drain some of the fire from the younger woman. "I merely suggest that revenge sought in ignorance is revenge wasted. You must rest. Recover. Think."
"I can think just fine." But Asajj's voice had lost its edge. She slumped slightly, the adrenaline fading, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. "When he least expects it, I'll—"
"You'll what?" Talzin's eyes narrowed. "Storm Serenno alone? Face Dooku and his dark acolytes with barely the strength to stand? You would die, child. And for what? Pride?"
The words struck home. Asajj's jaw clenched, but she said nothing.
"You have forgotten the lessons Ky Narec taught you," Talzin continued, softer now. "Patience. Discipline. The Jedi way, though you abandoned it long ago."
Asajj flinched at her master's name. "I haven't forgotten. I've just—" She stopped, eyes drifting across the assembled Nightsisters. Taking in her homeworld, her clan, the place she'd been ripped from as an infant.
Then her gaze snagged on something that didn't belong.
A woman. Auburn hair catching the crimson light. Human, but not Dathomirian—her clothing wrong, her stance wrong, her very presence an anomaly. And behind her, two children, peeking out with wide, curious eyes.
"Who are you?" Asajj's hand moved instinctively to her belt, to the lightsabers that should have been—
Gone.
Her weapons were gone.
"She is a guest," Mother Talzin said, her tone brooking no argument. "A friend to our clan. If not for Maximoff, our way of life might have been destroyed."
"Maximoff." The name resonated, familiar, scratching at the edges of recent memory. Where had she—?
"Pietro Maximoff." The auburn-haired woman's voice cut through Asajj's thoughts, cold and sharp as a vibroblade. "My twin brother. An Avenger." Scarlet light flickered around her clenched fists. "Like me."
Understanding crashed over Asajj like a falling starship.
Avenger.
The memories from the ritual—the Republic cruiser, the heroes, the silver-haired speedster—flooded back. And this woman, standing before her with barely restrained fury in her glowing red eyes, was—
Asajj reached for her lightsabers again. Found nothing. Then felt the pull—
Crimson energy lashed out, yanked both weapons from where they'd fallen near the stone table. They flew through the air, landing in the Avenger's outstretched hand with a metallic slap.
"Give those back." Asajj's voice dropped to a growl. Around them, Nightsisters tensed, sensing the shift in atmosphere.
"No." The woman—Maximoff—tilted her head, and the lightsabers spun lazily in the air above her palm, suspended by scarlet magic. "I don't think I will."
Asajj took a step forward. Power—the Force, the dark side—surged through her weakened body. "Give. Them. Back."
Scarlet light exploded outward.
Not attacking. Not harming. But pressing down with such overwhelming presence that Asajj stumbled back, gasping. The air itself seemed to thicken, to resist her. She'd felt power before—Dooku's cold mastery, Sidious's suffocating dominance. But this was different. This was chaos, barely leashed, reality itself bending under the weight of this woman's will.
Stronger than Dooku.
Possibly stronger than Sidious.
What in the blazing hells—?
"I wouldn't," Maximoff said quietly, and somehow that soft voice was more terrifying than any shout. "I saw what you did. Fighting my friends. Chasing my brother. So no, I won't make this easy for you."
Mother Talzin moved between them, hands raised. "Asajj, this is Wanda Maximoff. She is under our protection. And we are in her debt."
"Debt?" Asajj spat the word. "For what?"
"She saved us." Talzin's voice carried the weight of absolute truth. "When dark forces would have consumed Dathomir, she stood as our shield. Whatever blood exists between your factions, here, on this world, we owe her more than words can express."
Asajj stared at the witch—at Wanda—trying to reconcile the fury in those red eyes with the concept of savior. "What could you possibly have done?"
"Enough." Wanda's power flickered, then subsided slightly. She glanced down at the children clinging to her legs, and something in her expression softened. When she looked back up, the killing intent had banked to embers. "I helped save your clan. Your planet. That's all you need to know."
"Is it?" Asajj wanted to argue, wanted to fight, wanted to reclaim some shred of dignity after being stripped of her weapons, her strength, her pride. But exhaustion dragged at her limbs. The healing had taken its toll. And more—
Ky Narec's voice, a ghost from memory: "A true warrior knows when to fight and when to withdraw. Pride kills more Jedi than the Sith ever could."
She'd failed him so many times. Perhaps she could stop failing, just once.
"Why can't I have my revenge?" She directed the question at Mother Talzin, deliberately not looking at Maximoff. "Dooku betrayed me. He deserves—"
"Child." Talzin's hand found Asajj's shoulder again. "There are forces in this galaxy beyond even a Sith Lord's control. Perhaps Dooku acted on his master's orders. Perhaps circumstances you do not yet understand drove his hand. Do not run blindly into the dark."
"He's not my master," Asajj said flatly.
"Good." Wanda's voice cut in, sharp. "Then rest. Listen to your actual elders. We'll deal with you and me later."
Her eyes blazed brighter, and Asajj felt that presence press down again—not aggressive, but a reminder. I could end you. Remember that.
"How do you—?" Asajj started.
"Your mind was an open book during the healing," Wanda said. "The Waters of Life stripped away your defenses. I saw everything you saw. Felt everything you felt." A pause. "Including what you did to my friends."
The implications settled like poison. This woman knew. Knew her memories, her pain, her failures. Knew her dark deeds and her deepest shames.
Asajj had never felt so exposed.
Movement in her peripheral vision. One of the children—the smaller one with the horns—stepped forward hesitantly. She approached slowly, like someone trying not to spook a wounded predator.
"Who are you?" Asajj asked, grateful for the distraction.
"I'm Illyana." The girl's voice was barely above a whisper. She looked up with eyes that held hope and fear in equal measure. "Your... your cousin."
The world tilted.
"Cousin?" The word felt foreign on Asajj's tongue.
"Yes." Illyana fidgeted with the hem of her tunic. "Your mother and my mother—they were sisters. That makes us—"
"I understand." Asajj cut her off, not unkindly, but the information was too much, too fast. Family. She'd thought that thread severed decades ago.
Illyana's face fell.
Wanda cleared her throat. When Asajj glanced up, the witch was giving her a look that could melt durasteel.
Apologize to the child or I'll make you regret it.
The unspoken message came through clearly.
Asajj glared back, but it was a hollow gesture. She turned to Illyana, forcing words past her pride. "I want my lightsabers back."
"You'll get them," Wanda said coolly, "when you calm down. And when you apologize to your family."
Every instinct screamed at Asajj to refuse, to fight, to reclaim her dignity through violence. But she looked at Illyana—young, innocent, staring up at her with those hopeful eyes—and felt something crack inside her chest.
Use the child to manipulate me. Clever.
"Yes," Wanda said, and Asajj's head snapped up. "Children sway almost anyone's heart. It's a weakness we share."
"Can you—?" Asajj's eyes widened. "Are you reading my thoughts?"
"Yes," Wanda said flatly. "And I'm getting very tired of your internal monologue."
"Get out of my head!" The violation of it sparked fresh fury.
"Stop being rude and I'll consider it." Wanda gestured pointedly at Illyana, who now looked close to tears.
Asajj's jaw worked. Pride warred with something gentler, something she'd thought the dark side had burned away. She looked at her cousin—her family—and the words came out stiff, grudging, but genuine.
"I'm sorry, cousin."
Illyana's face transformed. Her smile could have lit up the darkest corner of the galaxy.
"It's okay!" She bounced slightly on her toes. "I know it's hard sometimes. Being angry and sad and—and everything."
The simple acceptance hit harder than any lightsaber blow. When was the last time someone had forgiven her? Truly forgiven, not just tolerated?
Ky Narec. Years ago. A lifetime ago.
Something in Asajj's chest tightened painfully.
Then fury reasserted itself, because she couldn't afford softness, couldn't afford weakness. "I will kill you, Maximoff," she said, meeting those red eyes with challenge.
"No, you won't." Wanda moved closer, extended one hand. A lightsaber floated from her grip toward Asajj, who caught it reflexively. "You wouldn't really do that."
"I have two."
"And you'll get the other back eventually." Wanda held up the second blade, letting crimson light play across its curved hilt. "When you've earned it."
"That's mine!"
"Then prove you're worthy of it." Wanda turned away, dismissing her. The children fell in behind her like ducklings, though Illyana paused to wave goodbye.
Asajj stared after them, the single lightsaber heavy in her hand. "Why do they follow her?"
"Because she is their guardian," Mother Talzin said softly. "And they love her deeply."
"And their mother?" Asajj forced the next words out. "My... my mother?"
Talzin's expression held ancient sorrow. "Gone, child. Both sisters have returned to the Force. I miss them greatly."
The blow landed with devastating precision. Ilsigi. Her mother. The woman who'd wept as infant Asajj was carried away to safety. Dead.
She'd come home too late.
"But you are here now," Talzin continued, her hand warm on Asajj's back. "And here is where you belong."
Belong.
Asajj had belonged to Ilsigi, briefly, as an infant.
Belonged to the warlords as a slave.
Belonged to Ky Narec as a Padawan.
Belonged to Dooku as a dark acolyte.
Each time, belonging had ended in loss.
Did she belong here? On Dathomir? With these sisters, with this child who called her cousin, under the watchful gaze of a witch who could read her mind and wielded power that defied classification?
Asajj didn't know.
She wasn't sure she'd ever know.
But as the twin suns painted the twisted trees in shades of blood and rust, as Mother Talzin guided her toward shelter and rest, as exhaustion finally claimed her battered body—
For the first time in decades, Asajj Ventress allowed herself to wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, she might find out.