The red lightsaber, flickering slightly in the clean air of the Odessen Enclave, had a different sound to it than Brant’s own. The handle was plainer, a smooth metal sheath over the base of the projected blade, and the pommel curved slightly to fit in his hand comfortably. Its construction had the austere look of a Jedi weapon.
But the red light beaming from its end hummed and moaned like a man caught in mortal fear. He could just sense the screel of a terrified child mixed in as well. Had that been a victim, or a reflection of something in the wielder’s own psyche? Brant didn’t know.
“I thought, seeing as how you Sith corrupt blades, yet yours remains pure, that you might also know how to cleanse this one,” Lathril said stiffly.
Brant flicked his eyes from the blade to the Jedi’s tense jaw and then his single, sky-cold eye. “This was yours?”
Lathril didn’t immediately reply.
Brant gave the lightsaber a few experimental swings, and it left a smear of light through the air. Once it would have cut swift and clean, Brant sensed, but now its balance was off, like something was jittering inside the hilt as it moved, throwing off its entire flight.
“You lie,” Brant drawled. “It has your stink, your lack of courage, writ all over it. You corrupted this blade, didn’t you?”
A shiver ran through the Jedi, almost like the blade itself. “It was when I was a prisoner of the Empire,” he said, and he sounded depressed. “They got in my head, and it’s never been the same.”
“What’s never been the same?” Brant already knew the answer — Lathril was not talking about the blade — but he wanted to see if the Jedi would admit it.
Lathril only glared at him.
“I can’t fix it,” said Brant abruptly, handing it back. “It’s your blade. Only you can do that. It stinks of fear… something deep-seated you have never faced. I warn you, Jedi, if we had met on the field of battle, I would have used this knowledge against you, and you would have died.”
“I didn’t come here to be taunted,” said Lathril coldly. “I came here for help!”
“And so you have been,” said Brant in another drawl, but then he smiled. “Draw out the fear. Purify it. That’s what you Jedi are always going on about, isn’t it? It should be easy for you.”
“Maybe I came to you for a reason, because this easy way was… not.”
Oh, the anger he was holding back was delicious! But Brant was honest when he said, “And so I would teach you the Sith way, and you would be corrupted.”
Lathril rocked back.
“I refuse you for your sake,” Brant said eloquently and pointedly turned his back. He felt rather than saw Lathril droop behind him, almost like a lost child. Brant began to walk way.
“If it were easy, it wouldn’t be right, and it’d change nothing,” he called back, gifting a rare moment of mercy to the Jedi. “When nothing is risked, the lesson doesn’t stick. Your fate is not in that blade, little Jedi, but if you don’t want to reinforce it, then stop doing what you’ve always done. Face the fear, or die slowly in agony. The choice is yours.”
The answer came back softly. “Thank you, Merce.” Brant didn’t dignify it with a reply however, and he closed the door behind him.