In his excitement, he had forgotten about the ship that Amon and his allies had arrived with. And so, after plugging in the coordinates for Nogatan, numbers he had long since memorized as a child, there was a loud crunching grind of metal against metal as the one tore free of the other. Then, they went to hyperspace, leaving the other as a derelict. "Whoops," he said, realizing the mistake he had made. Sith certainly, but he still had not been able to dismiss the youthful exuberance and impulse that continued to be a cloying weakness.
It didn't take long, no more than a few hours. Xanatos knew that the others would have to spend time getting the plan ready rather than yell at him over his error. The hammer would drop eventually, but hopefully by that time they'd all be wealthy enough ten times over that the loss of a ship would be inconsequential, failing the possibility that they very well could get it back, if the Force was with them. He didn't have much in the way to prepare, but kept his own senses sharp, withdrawing his dagger and feeling the blade before returning it back to its holster. He placed a hand then at his side, feeling at the holocron, almost perceiving it getting both hotter and colder somehow at the same time as they drew ever nearer to their destination.
At last, the lines of hyperspace broke, and there it was...Nogatan, at last.
It was...it looked darker than he remembered from the the holovid information he had always seen. And where...where was the airspace? He checked his chronometer, quickly compared it to what he was able to find on Nogatan's time, and confirmed that it was indeed night on Novus Vires...but that didn't account for the whole planet being dark. Had they...could they have all fled after Cadmus' death? Was this some extremely elaborate trap? Is it possible this was all orchestrated, unwittingly, through Sephlyl Sejo? Xanatos hurried towards the main hold, hoping to rejoin with the others. He had completely forgotten about leaving the other ship behind, and its ramifications. He was focused instead on the puzzling dilemma he saw before them. Again, as he fidgeted with his belongings his hand once again felt against the Sadarii holocron. Now, it burned with the cold of dry ice, and he pulled his hand away, putting it in another pocket.
"I...don't think anyone is home," he said, hoping his voice had a confident spin, indicating that things were ripe for the taking rather than extremely strange.