Good. She can use the girl as focus.

She takes her knife back. "It will likely be angry when it gets here. Try to not respond."

She nods.

She extends both hands and channels power into the circle. It lights up and the droplets of blood hiss as they vaporize.

She casts about, seeking the untethered presence, passing over her own and the Jedi's and the master's and the other learners' until- there you are. She tightens a metaphorical fist around the ghost, pulling it in.

It resists, of course. They always do. But she is the stronger. This close, she can sense its identity. Kalatosh Zavros, as she suspected. She pushes the narrative she prepared, willing him to take it as truth, a necessary distraction for the next step. The runes on the floor get brighter and brighter, as does the light in the ceiling until with a sharp pop it burns out.

A suggestion of ghostly outline appears in the center of the circle.

Impressive. She continues to be very impassive—she's had a while of training.

Occlus grits her teeth and pulls-

The ghost solidifies. A Togruta. He looks around angrily until he spots Rafa. He bares his fangs and hisses.

"You! Trespasser! Defiler! You will burn for this blasphemy."

Uh huh. See how unimpressed Rafa is with you.

"I am God-King Zalatosh! Supreme among mortals! Kneel before me and repent your heresy and I may yet spare your pathetic life."

She will not snort. She promised no reaction, and no reaction he will get. She even manages to keep from rolling her eyes! She deserves the highest of praises for this feat of self-control.

Occlus is in the background, muttering an incantation. Her eyes glow a vivid purple.

"You think this amusing, blasphemer? You will learn proper respect!" He raises his hands and crackling energy spears forth.

She doesn't scream, but has to bite her tongue not to. "You said not to react!" she cries.

She doesn't respond to the call. Bringing her hands up, still muttering, a bright point of light between them.

The lightning abates as the ghost's posture stiffens. His mouth twists into a livid snarl.

"Traitorous filth. You and all your ilk shall hang for this, Proconsul."

What the hell does that even mean. She just groans.

The ghost gets fainter and the light in Occlus's grip gets brighter. It begins to suck him in, like a black hole devouring a star.

With a final cry of rage, he disappears entirely, and Occlus absorbs her light with a manic smile.

"You," she grunts, slowly sitting up, "made it sound like the ghost was harmless."

"You're still alive. Only slightly singed. Take it as a lesson about trusting strange Sith, no matter how, " smile, "reasonable they may seem. And be glad of the cheapness."

She frowns. "Fine. Small price. Are you happy? No one got hurt, can we go now?"

"Oh yes. Yes, let us be off and away. Things to do, galaxies to conquer. Teachers to escape."

"Okay, good." She takes a bit to steady herself, walks to the door, opens it—

—and someone is on the other side. He doesn't even look at her; his gaze falls immediately on Occlus. "Sith," he says.

"Jedi! How llllovely to see you!" she sing-songs. "I'd ask what brings you here but I suspect I can guess."

"You probably can," he agrees, and now he deigns to look at Rafa. "What did you do, child?"

She looks down at her feet and does not answer.