you and darth maul had fought the day before— over something small. a disagreement that spiraled. after that, the two of you had been distant, cold. neither one of you willing to break the silence.

during that small, fragile window, you wandered too far— out past the edge of the settlement, near a ridge patrolled by a rival syndicate. they took you and captured you before anyone could notice. you were gone for nearly seven hours before maul sensed it— the absence, the wrongness.

in that time, they tortured you, beat you, left you half-dressed and chained to a reinforced steel frame, your injuries raw and visible. they didn’t know who you belonged to.

maul arrived alone, he didn’t need an army, didn’t want one. his fury was sharp, focused, unspeakable. he cut through their guards with no wasted movement— a ghost in crimson and black, his saber carving through bone and armor like paper. the entire compound trembled with the weight of his rage.

he tore the door open with the force, splitting metal at the seams. when he saw you— broken, bloodied, barely conscious. something inside him cracked, he didn’t speak, didn’t scream, just moved— quick and lethally finishing off the people in the room.

when the last body hit the ground, he crossed the room in a single breath, his eyes locked onto yours. his hands, scarred and calloused, were gentle as they unlatched your bindings. the iron restraints clattered to the floor, and your body slumped forward— but he caught you.

“i should have been there.” he said as he pulled you to his chest, holding you as if you might vanish again. for the first time, you felt the war beneath his skin— not rage, not power. guilt. “they will never touch you again,” he said quietly “no one will.”