001. NE'ER THE TWAIN SHALL MEET 

( ⁠—These two people, things, or groups are so fundamentally different from one another that they will never be able to coexist or think alike. ) 

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"We meet at last, bounty hunter."

Myra had never been worried about the future. Maybe it was the clairvoyance of the abundant wisdom in her mind, but she had always given thought to this mere concept called time that would be encompassed in her large speck of a lifetime. She just had so much time. Even if she were to sit pointlessly for the next hundred or so years without restrictions, it would cost no less than another hundred. Time was a fickle thing for most but for the golden witch, it was her dynamism origin. 

While descrying not moments ago, Myra had caught a Sight of her much-awaited visitor. Obviously, this one was human—a castaway human. Much like her, this one had an inflicting past and from the anger that coursed through him with every contraction of his fist over his rifle. The hunter's prosaic energy rolled off like pungent fumes; annoyed that he had been sent to this god forbidden cryptic planet for obtaining some warlock. He had to get his grammatical gender right, she decided. 

Myra unknowingly smiled at his displeasure. Her eyes flit open from the Sight to greet her silent predator with the same glorious grin, tilting her head at his appearance. Even when he had shattered her door off the hinges she had not predicted this. Now, this was different.

Her hunter wore a bulky helmet, a scrappy patchwork armour and honed an assortment of weapons all over his body. A tattered brown cape floated a few feet above her floor, his filthy boots leaving footprints in their wake. She cast it a stern glare before studying his appearance further; quite the warrior, he was. Non-traditional, nondescript yet laconic. A very quiet soul.

"You," he said, his voice curt and mechanical. It sputtered out like a bad interference from her father's radio networks which she hated, masking the reality of his voice. "Myra of Iego."

"I don't respond to that designation," she said indifferently, walking beyond him in all nonchalance. 

It was unnecessary and untrue—to be associated with this wretched planet was a sin to prophesy across the galaxy. She paid no regard to the hunter until she reclaimed the pendant that she had hid under a tile near her vanity room. She looped it around her fist with a relieved grin, turning to face the hunter again.

The friendly witch sensed his confusion. His hand flit from the aimed rifle to his tracking fob, she guessed, seeing the red, dazzling light blink rapidly. He looked at the metal box and at her. 

"Then what do you respond to?" A mocking remark, almost.

"Myra," she breathed out airily. "Call me that."

"I'd rather call you prisoner number forty-two," he grunted, irritability flooding him in an instant. Ah, he was one with quite a temper. Fast, fleeting and acrid. By now, his two-pronged, fork-like rifle was mere inches from touching her forehead but she was not the least bit intimidated. 

"Splendid," she grinned, gently pushing the rifle's aim away in lack of concern. "Anything but. Shall we start?"

The rifle made an aim back at her slowly. Her hunter was beyond bewildered now, starting to doubt his bounty mission's leeway. Realization fell over him like a shroud of buzzing lights, lifting his head higher. 

"You want to leave."

"Congratulations, dear hunter, you have finally succeeded in your comprehension," she held her hands, interlocked to her chest to express the copious amounts of sarcasm that was waiting to be left out. 

This time, the hunter moved his aim to her hands and shook his head. "Drop it."

"What, this?" She stuck out the pendant for him, letting the gleaming, blood-red jewel hang midair from the hair-thin silver chain. 

"I said drop it," his voice edging on fury. 

"Relax," she rolled her eyes, fastening it over her neck with a quick snap. The crimson, thumb-sized crystal glowed brighter as if sensing her touch, swirling like melanistic fluid in a silver cup. "It's of no consequence. Besides, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

His answer matched her former dryness, breathing out, "Try me, witch."

"It is..." She faltered with her usual reply, trying to phrase it for the faint-hearted human in right terms. She slowly shrugged in reluctance, damning it to hell. 

"It's my heart."

Myra nearly chuckled when she felt his disgust. It wasn't anything particular—everyone who ever laid eyes on her saw her the same way. Witches were scorned across the galaxy, looked at as slaves to the eclipse and followers of the darkness. They were a minority nowadays, slaughtered for transgressions that were never committed and judged for the appearance they took.

Witches presented the forms of ethereal temptresses. It wasn't her fault that she had been gifted with divine beauty over her perspicacity, it was the passage of Nightsisters. Even though Myra wielded magick that could injure someone, she had vowed to never hurt a soul. 

She never meant to tempt or seduce anyone, it was too much of a smutty concept to wrap her head around. She dressed for her religion and her name, in tawny tunics and ornaments proud of her faith despite hard words. For her escapade night, she clothed light in a simple bronze peplo that drew out a perfect hood over her head. Her usual curls were tamed into a coif at the nape of her neck, a few strands left to frame her face. 

Just then, she could feel the hunter nearly sway under the influence of her presence. It was unusual to perceive desire from a human, to feel his heart race and his body starting to radiate higher temperatures. He gripped his rifle harder instead, not letting his aim falter. 

Myra blew out a breath, turning away before he got the wrong idea. The heavy footsteps of nearby palace guards alerted both of them, making them shoot toward the window that overlooked the jagged land of her planet. She acted quick, inclining the two-fold doors shut and pulling down the thick matting curtains. She wound a fast spell over the handle, a short incantation that would burn those who touched the metal of the door. 

When she looked at the hunter, he was fixated on the utter ridicule of this planet.

"Eternal night, if you must know," she informed him easily, leaning over the ledge to gauge the distance to the ground. Too high; a chance like that would mean squelching death. "We have never seen the light of day."

"How?"

"A thousand moons but no sun. Not a thousand more could prevail over the radiance of a star."

"I've seen brighter moons."

"Moons are mere reflectors. A star's luminance comes from within," she mumbled.

To the normal eye, it would have looked like a barren land with a towering mountain in the centre. An eclipsing, crimson moon married to the sky in the very centre, it's peeling rays of light glimpsing out from the edges. The rocky formation of a serrated mountain towered to the pinkish-black skies and watched as smoke continued to billow around the thousand gleaming moons. One of a kind indeed. 

How do these people live? He heard his thoughts as clear as day in her head, quickly conjuring an answer for him.

"We learn to endure it."

His helmet-shrouded gaze fell on her. "What?"

"Never mind that," she waved off, not wanting to scare him off. "Where's your transport parked?"

A beat of confused silence passed before he answered her, sparing her the exhausting feat of explanation. 

"Through there," he thankfully pointed to beyond the hilly range that stood over the curvature and past the basaltic spire canyon towards the right. Myra gauged the distance she would have to portal out before she exposed them in the main city. 

"Alright. Let's assume your ship hasn't yet been regurgitated by the reeksa."

"You mean the plants that eat people?" He almost seemed unimpressed. "After seeing this scumhole, it might as well exist."

She licked her lips, ready to accept the challenge. She had been practising the spell ever since she had sent out word of her bounty and believed she had gotten good. 

She held out her hands, palm-side up. "Take my hands."

"No way." 

"Take. Them."

"I'm not touching you, witch."

She let out a sigh. "Just take them, I won't hurt you."

He waited, deciding.

"See, we have one common purpose. I can help you." She extended her hands further. "Just... please trust me for a while."

"Are you insane?" He scoffed.

Myra was running out of patience when she heard her bedroom door unlock with a click. She judged by the sound of the footsteps of three to four of her father's foot soldiers for their daily inspection of her. Clearly, she was in a pickle.

"Do you want to escape or not?" She insisted with her mouth set to a grim line. "In another fifteen seconds, you and I might be facing something far worse than my filthy hands!"

"Fine," he accepted with a grumble. The rifle that he had pointed at her was reinforced back over his cape and sealing his blaster tighter to his hip. He was hesitant to touch her, retracting his hand one or two times before giving in.

The hunter's cool metal vambraces slid onto her skin, a strange itch coming to her to see what it would feel like to feel his actual skin. The soft gloves clutched onto her and she held them back tightly.

"Now," she cleared her throat to rid off her trance, "under no circumstance must you let me go."

He gave her no answer but she heard his mind play out an acceptance of her order. Of course, a mercenary would never trust easily but it felt nice to know that they were on the same page. 

Myra shut her eyes, trusting her faith in the Ichor around them and the mystic force to do its job. Her lips moved slowly with a soft enchantment, pleading the sacred waters on her request and expending her strength. The air around them picked up speed with an ominous intensity—permission.

It was then that the hunter redoubled his grip on her: everything faded to black; they were crushed hard from every direction; breathless and iron bands weighing them down; every organ in their body being driven apart and forced back together. The Ichor spewed them out into the destined ether, collapsing into the arid sand and temperate belfries of the region. She felt her body go limp over the sand, exhausted and wearied from the teleportation. 

"Get up," a voice wheezed at her. The hunter. He was heady from the travel, trying to inspect his vast and deadened surrounding and staggering his way up. When he found his feet, the struggle was over and he glanced back down at her.

"You know, teleportation is a difficult spell to conjure," she panted out, forcing herself on her knees and doubling over to suck in lungfuls of air. The intricately tatted, magenta bands on her wrist started to etch itself a little farther into her skin, scrawling past the tunic that slinked around her elbows. 

Before she could scrutinise the inkling, a silvery item fell onto her lap. She caught it between her fingers, trying to investigate what it was—silver, two holes parallel to each other and it unlocked with a click from the hunter.

"What is it?" She looked up at him.

"Never seen cuffs before?"

"Precisely why I asked."

"Cuffs," he informed her briefly, poking at her intolerance to bullshit. "Put them on and spare me the magic."

"You can't restrain me," she scoffed at him with a grim smile, ready to hurl at his head. "I have a conviction of my—hey!"

"Shut up," he ordered. 

Myra let out an offended gasp when he grabbed her wrists with lack of interest and clicked it on effortlessly. With aggressive grunts, she tried to pry them off and bending her wrists in odd directions to yank them out. Once again, a hand landed over her shoulder to haul her up and her combat instincts kicked in.

Latching a hand over his vambrace, she twisted it in order to give herself an upper hand to find her feet as he let out a loud groan. Her hands formed fists to form a psychic chokehold around his neck despite the cuffs and he started gagging for air. Finding the mercy in herself, she let the chokehold die out.

The hunter fell on his knees and she looked away with a tough breath, brushing the sand out of her dress. He coughed out the strain in his body; the fiery seizure would take seconds to wane off. 

Myra looked to the starship that belonged the hunter, its strange disarray of silver panels and humongous enough to hold home to a little family. She had never seen one so ancient yet perfunctory and in working condition. She had heard the term Razor Crest in his thoughts and figured that it was the name of his ship. 

"Wow, so this is your ship," Myra said in awe, ignoring the still sputtering human. "It's wonderfully short of terms for trash."

Surprise reappeared in her when she found herself being tackled to the ground and the wind knocked from her lungs. Something heavy had restricted her legs, twining with her own and a blaster aimed at her temple when she tried to grapple her hand away from his iron hold. 

The witch wanted to use the Ichor, she really did. Voting against, she let the struggle in her die out. Going limp in his hold, she gave in to the weight of the blaster aimed at her.

"If you use another spell on me," his voice dipped dangerously low with a threat, "I will not hesitate to give your client a dead woman instead."

She nodded once and tried to form a coherent reply. "You just took me by surprise."

"What?"

"You can't touch a witch without her consent," she replied in a hard voice, hating the furthered contact. "It was instinctual."

"Well, let's just agree on an overall approval until I deliver you," he rasped, his tone edging on peril as the seconds grew by. His arm refused to loosen from around her and the heated tip of the unforgiving blaster biting into her skin. She looked away from the teeming moon sky with a resolute hiss.

"Because until then, you're my bounty."

∞

King Hyllus watched, from the High Palace of Iego, the lights in the gloom bound Cathedral flickering with life and echo a call for the first time in a millennium. At the time of a crisis, his thoughts had nevertheless swivelled to the source of his hope that had surreptitiously started to achieve foresight of the truth. 

The truth was ugly. The truth was that when we give in or conform to a seduction we generate sin. 

Absolute monarchy was a shit ton of work to tend to. With a Rebellion against the throne climbing up amidst the public, voting for a republic instead, King Hyllus was as cold as an enslaver. For two thousand years, he had been subject to the monarchy. A gamble of putting the poor into distress and let the havoc wreak between the middle class. Once they were battling it out at the bottom for vestige, capital declines. But the king always came out on top, sitting pretty and overlooking the growing anarchy. 

Unable to deviate solicitudes that laid within the Cathedral, the king lifted the velvet wine that had gone watery in order to submerge himself into a cloud of illusion. He knew this was coming, he knew what she was planning despite herself thinking that this was right.

The door to his palatial chambers whined open, the master of guardsmen sauntering in. His helmet came off and Hyllus was second to realize that the master did not arrive with good news. 

"Myra the Golden has been captured, your grace," he battled out of his debilitated body. "A Mandalorian bounty hunter took her."

King Hyllus sipped from the golden goblet, unfazed. "The princess has fled, Lorel. No need to hide." 

Lorel stood beside King Hyllus now, trying to decipher the cautiously hidden monotony that he had been so used to. Hyllus glanced at the master of guardsmen, seeing the armoured head with a sigh. Across the face was a phoenix with splayed wings, its body forming the warrior's nose, the tail his moustache and the wings his eyebrows. How ironic. 

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Lorel announced, playing the fool for his king.

"She has known for quite some time now," the king darkly chuckled into his goblet, offering the master a daring sip. Lorel declined in horror. "So has Karstark."

Lorel pretended to be baffled. "Sire."

"I fought off the rebels with my bare fucking hands, Lorel," he hissed, snapping his gaze to the master. "His armies are growing by the minute. I heard that he has an alliance with the new Imperial fleet."

"Why does he wait to kill her, then?"

"He will strike the capital first," Hyllus said, obvious to the Rebellion leader's attack plan. "Knox will round up the High Palace and after he is done with me, he will have her head."

"I won't let that happen," Lorel declared, ready to defend his king and the future of Iego. "The prospective ruler of Iego—"

"Iego will not have a female monarch," Hyllus cut in, enraged to the bone. "Not now, not ever. At least not while Karstark still lives."

The thought of his witch daughter taking on his legacy and facing the outcomes of his crimes made him fear. His first child had to be a girl, an heiress who was destined to a path that was forbidden to his policies. Iego and its thousand moons had fallen prisoner to a curse when his daughter had graced the lands, a baby born into nothing but turmoil. 

"Your grace, please, she's a mere juvenile," he pleaded. "She won't survive a day out there."

"The princess has lived for over four centuries under Luna's watch who has trained her to the hilt in the Ways. She has grown strong, beautiful and independent."

"But, sire." He is fraught with dread. "I've watched her grow. Like one of my own. She knows nothing of the galaxy. She is, quite frankly, a child."

"She will learn."

"I will send a patrol to look after her. She'll be safe from—"

"Lorel. She doesn't need us."

"Please, your—"

"A curfew will be announced to the citizens," he interrupted, raising a hand to desist any more words. "Send out troops to capture the Rebel leader."

"What of your daughter?"

His daughter. He did not know whether he loved or opposed the sound of that. He hated the thought of condemning one of his own to penalty or worse, an execution. Nevertheless, reaping was in order for the residents at the capital. 

"What is done, is done. She will know the cost of her actions when the time comes."

When speeches and insights were good anchors or authority; when leaders could eventually be in jails or openers; the bold comfort with erudition and the foolish, condemned man emerged as a king.

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woah-O, this chapter went from 0 to 100 reeeeeal quick. this was legit me when Mando ended with that sentence—

 lemme tell you, I'm starting to love Myra and Mando more and more. I literally cannot wait until baby Yoda comes in because my PARENTS WILL OFFICIALLY HAVE A BABY BOY— also, totally stanning this Hyllus plot that had started to wrack my brains so anyways here goes!!!! 🦉