I am experiencing this issue also. Really looking forward to Legacy of the Sith, hopefully this will be resolved before then.

Thanks everyone for the super warm welcome back! It's awesome to see everyone here. Between working on this story, some other projects, and catching up on everyone's fics, I got a bit overwhelmed. But I finally managed to sit down and eke out this next part of the prologue. Prologue - Part Two I never doubted that last string of words Doctor Magaro uttered to me, but my body seemed eager to prove them true regardless. Time passed in a murky haze following that first interview, punctuated only by the wrenching bouts of nausea and splitting migraines that plagued me in an indeterminate tempo. Magaro and his assistants could only feed me intravenously. I was certain that by the third day after my reawakening, I had regurgitated my bodyweight in vomit. At least, it felt like three days; I had no way to be sure. The room they placed me in had neither clocks nor windows. Lighting came only from the ceiling, where ill-maintained fixtures poured pale luminescence downward in flickering splashes of green. They were never turned off completely, not even during the minutes of respite I managed to salvage during sleep. Neither were the cameras that hung in the four corners of the ceiling. For a while, I tried counting the minutes between interactions with my sole visitor: the togruta girl Tava. The effort was made impossible by each bout of my affliction. Nausea was always a preamble to more headaches, which themselves heralded unparalleled agony. It felt like my skull was being split open, its cracks widening into canyons. By that point, any chance I had at keeping a record of time went out the nonexistent windows. Even so, Magaro’s assistant came with enough regularity that I suspected the visits were conducted on a strict schedule. Each time, she brought what she claimed to be treatments: hyposprays filled with brightly-colored liquids, disgustingly-sized pills, and various stimulants and adrenals. I briefly considered refusing them all out of a sense of pride, but the torment proved too great. I took whatever they gave me as quickly as possible. Nothing seemed to help. In a merciful moment of respite, Tava whispered to me at my bedside, “You must keep fighting, Lord Andora. Do not give up hope.” Her voice carried with it a note of genuine concern, of actual, authentic caring. I was never one to admit surprise, but having heard the togruta girl’s words, I could not hide the disbelief from my tone. “What do you care whether I live or die? Is your fate tied to mine? Does Siphon intend to kill you if you and your master cannot save me?” She did not answer, but merely pushed more pills and a glass of water toward my lips. I swallowed, obedient, and then felt a wave of self-loathing wash over me at my own weakness. “The Doctor is close,” said Tava. “Close to a solution, close to a cure. You must survive until then.” Cold, mirthless laughter fled my lips, followed by a torrent of words I did not even know I had prepared to speak. “I should be dead already. I defied my master, stood between her and the woman I -- between her and Hallie.” Tava leaned in close, eyes widening with curiosity. “Do you remember more, my lord? Of what happened?” “I remember. I remember the battle. Our lightsabers clashing over and over, my master’s furious roar, the rage she commanded against me. I was overwhelmed, outmatched, out of her league. I remember her readying a killing blow. I should’ve been slain then and there.” The togruta girl looked away briefly before returning her attention to me. When our eyes met, I grabbed her wrist with my palm, sweaty and weak as it was. I needed answers. I needed more than what they had given. “I should be dead. Why am I not?” Tava tried to slip her hand free of mine, but at this moment, what remained of my will was still enough to overcome hers. I would not free her from my grasp, would not tolerate her to duck and dodge and avoid my questions any longer. I had to know. And I would have this girl answer me, whether I could compel the truth from her tongue or not. When at last she realized she could not escape, her struggles ceased. She turned to me, looked me square in the eye and spoke what I knew immediately to be a lie: “Doctor Magaro saved you.” “Who does he serve?” I pressed, careful not to release an ounce of pressure from my palm around her wrist. The girl’s voice quavered in the face of my interrogation, but her next answer I could trust, that much I could tell. “Your master. Darth Siphon.” I shook my head. “That makes no sense. She was going to kill me, she should have killed me! Why would she then turn me over to be saved?” “I’m just Doctor Magaro’s assistant. I don’t know what any Sith thinks, much less a Darth! Let go of me!” The fear in her eyes was palpable. She was not lying anymore. Not about this. As the last of her words left her lips, she tried again to tear her hand free from mine. My hands loosened their grip as a sickening lurch in my stomach foretold an all too familiar sequence of events. It was not long before agony pierced my skull and I found myself once more hunched over a nearby waste bin, emptying spit and bile into it. There was a time I would’ve died rather than allow any of my vulnerabilities to be exposed to anyone in such a humiliating fashion. For a second, I wanted to go back to that time - back to when things were simple, when I had clear goals, when everything made sense. My place in Darth Siphon’s powerbase, my purpose in the Empire, my understanding of the Sith code: everything was once crisp and clear and in focus. Now, everything was a muddled nightmare from which no amount of grasping, clawing, and struggle would ever free me. And then I remembered. That was before I had known her affection. That was before I had known her love. That was before Hallie. I felt a hand on my back, gently but firmly kneading my muscles, freeing the tension from my debilitated body. In that instant, I had never been more grateful for another’s touch. Even in the midst of retching an empty stomach, the reassurance that I was not alone filled my heart with warmth. I had only ever known such comfort from one person, the one woman with whom I had dropped my guard and allowed myself to be vulnerable. “Hallie?” I turned, hoping against hope that it would be her auburn hair and warm smile that greeted me. Instead, I found only the togruta girl, eyes filled with sympathy. For a second, I hated her and her expression. But as my nausea renewed and my migraine intensified, I could only muster gratitude for her comforting hand on my back. “ … she’s coming for you. You have to fight. You have to be here when she arrives.” Tava’s words overwhelmed all other sensations. Hallie was coming for me? I whirled on her, spittle still staining my chin. “How do you know?” “I overheard your master making a holocall. Darth Siphon is using you as leverage to force your friend Hallie and Lord Rend back into her service. Once they have accomplished what your master asks of them, she will give them our location.” I listened with every muscle, every bone, every fiber of my being. There was no deception in the togruta girl’s voice. This was the truth! Before I could ask if my old master’s bargain had been accepted, Tava answered the question: “They’ve already agreed. They’re going to rendezvous with Darth Siphon.” This was hope. Hallie was coming for me. In an instant, all the solitude and isolation I felt since waking up in this unfamiliar facility vanished. The despair I nurtured after discovering my affliction grew silent; I cast it aside like throwing off a tattered cloak. I wasn’t alone anymore. I had someone … and they were coming for me. For the first time since I found myself drowning in that kolto tank, I felt a sense of peace spur in my breast. With Tava’s help, I dragged myself back to my bed. She applied the medicines, injections, and supplements she brought with her; I didn’t object. I took them all willingly. If it meant I would be able to see Hallie again, I would endure an eon’s worth of torments. If it meant I would be able to wrap my arms around her and feel her touch against my skin, I would suffer whatever agony this miserable existence could conjure. * * * * * Days passed. Whether it was Doctor Magaro’s prescribed treatment or knowing that my beloved was coming for me, my condition suddenly took a remarkable turn toward recovery. The bouts of nausea and the headaches gradually became less and less frequent, eventually fading altogether. The feeding tubes were extracted. I returned to eating solid meals; though they could not match the exquisite palette that was once afforded to me within Twinspire Keep, the rations Magaro supplied nevertheless felt good to chew, to gnaw, to tear with my teeth. My limbs grew strong as muscle and sinew returned to form. The rate of my rejuvenation was particularly astonishing, even to my caretakers. “You are making excellent progress, my lord.” The loudspeaker overhead bleated at me like a timid sheep; Magaro’s voice had lost none of its simpering obsequiousness. I had yet to meet this doctor in person and the more he spoke, the less I desired to do so. “Does that mean I can leave this place?” I asked, eager to be free of this desolate facility. “Not yet, my lord,” came the reply. “We still need to run some more tests. You still need more time to recuperate.” I could tell he was lying the moment the words hit my ears. He didn’t want me to leave. Siphon still had plans for me, that much I was certain. She would not allow Magaro to free me beforehand. The doctor was simply too afraid to admit it. “Can I at least be let out of these chambers? I’d like to stretch my legs a bit.” The loudspeaker rang out again, ignoring my question: “Tava. If you please.” Again, the togruta girl entered my solitary quarters. Again, the pillow was set down to the ground before she departed, though this time it was not before she offered an encouraging smile. “My lord. If you would indulge me,” Magaro said over the loudspeaker. “Reach into the Force and lift the object into the air.” I did as he asked without bothering to object. I knew the result before I even expended the effort: nothing happened, just as before. “A pity. But perhaps it is too much to expect that you would have established a connection to the Force so soon. Your body is already healing at an extraordinary rate.” The relief was audible in the Doctor’s voice, despite what his words might have tried to convey. Despite my own fears about being permanently severed from the Force, at this moment, I only hoped my handicap would serve as a measure of reassurance to this cowering voice. Surely he would not object to loosening the chains around a Sith that had been so thoroughly disarmed. “I could really use some fresh air.” It took several days and even more sets of mindless tests before the Doctor finally agreed to my request. I suspected Tava had a hand in securing his approval; Magaro left the intercom on by accident once and I overheard her asking for me to be let out of my cage: “Doctor, it could help the subject’s recovery to get out of that confined sp--” Magaro was quick to notice the mistake and shut off the intercom, but I had heard enough to feel another surge of gratitude for this stranger who seemed so eager to help me, despite me having given her no reason to do so. She did so absent any request on my part; when the Doctor finally relented out of the blue, I knew the credit for this small mercy had to go to her. “My assistant is to escort you at all times and you are not to step into any prohibited areas,” Magaro’s voice instructed. As if on cue, the durasteel doors to my quarters opened before me. I nodded my head through ground teeth. I was not accustomed to being given orders by my lessers, but I knew if I had any chance of exploring Magaro’s facility - and possibly confirm his location and send out a message - I would have to swallow my pride. “Tava, keep a close eye on the s--” Doctor Magaro paused, seemingly thinking better of his word choice. “ … on our patient. Make sure he does not stray.” “Yes, Doctor.” “You understand, girl? We do not have the resources we once did. If we allow this, you will be the first and last line of guardianship. You will be his keeper. Should anything happen to Lord Andora … you will assume full responsibility.” “ … yes, Doctor.” Tava was already waiting for me outside my room; a small smile played on her lips as she greeted me. I did not respond immediately; I waited until we were out of range of the security cameras in and around my room before grabbing and cupping one of her hands in both of my own. I forced my eyes to meet hers, despite the awkwardness of the exchange; I hoped it would be enough for her to understand what I wanted to convey. I never was much for offering spoken gratitude. From that day on, a guided tour of my generous prison was included in my daily routine. Doctor Magaro’s facility was not large at all; my walks with Tava took barely thirty minutes. She was charitable enough to explain each of the rooms as we passed: medical bays, testing laboratories, administrative offices, holonet server rooms. It did not escape my notice that the facility was woefully understaffed. There were no guards that I could see and besides Tava, I only noticed a few other assistants. From what I gathered, they were often assigned to a myriad of roles and duties. It took only a few more days for me to notice that there was one set of doors that Tava never stopped to describe. Curiously, they also led to a chamber that seemed to see frequent activity from Magaro’s staff. Personnel were always rushing in and out, sometimes wheeling carbonite blocks, other times bringing in medical supplies. I caught a glimpse of one of the captives; he looked familiar, but I could not put a name to the face. Even more curious, the following instance I caught a glance at one of their carbonite block, I could’ve sworn it was the same man frozen inside. A week after we began our daily walks, I could no longer contain my curiosity. “What’s behind those doors?” I asked. Tava glanced briefly in the direction of the mysterious chamber and immediately looked away. “Nothing. Storage.” She was not a good liar. I stopped in my tracks, forcing my togruta companion to a pause as well. Slowly and purposefully, I approached the doors. They were solid durasteel like most of the entryways in Magaro’s facility; opening them required a passcode entry into a nearby side panel. I had seen Magaro’s assistants dance their fingers over the panel a dozen times now, but I had never been able to decipher the access code. “We shouldn’t linger, my lord,” Tava said, her voice taking on the nervous tone I usually only heard when we spoke about Darth Siphon. “What is the good Doctor storing in here?” I asked casually, running a hand over the metal aperture. “Medical supplies. Nothing … nothing worth your attention, really.” “Deception is not your forte, Tava. You might consider devoting some time to practice it, if you’re going to lie so often.” I couldn’t help a smirk. And then, the doors opened on their own. One of Magaro’s assistants - a pureblood sith I had seen before - rushed out with several vials of indistinguishable liquid in his hands. So focused on his own task, he did not even bother to stop and question what Tava and I were doing right outside the room. I ducked aside as fast as I could so as to not get bowled over; in a flash, the pureblood had turned a corner and was out of sight. This was my chance. I knew I only had a second before the doors shut again. I could not let my curiosity go unsated. I had always been too quick to indulge this particular flaw, often to my own detriment. Perhaps if I had only been able to contain myself this time, things would’ve turned out differently. In the blink of an eye, I was inside. I heard the door shut behind me, too fast for Tava to follow. Only her cries of “My lord! My lord!!” made it through the durasteel. They all went ignored. The chamber was dark and cold; the lights only flickered into life as my hands found the appropriate switch on a nearby wall panel. Outside, I could hear Tava frantically working the access keypad. I knew I had little time. The fluorescent illumination infused the chamber with an eerie quality; the structure was much larger than any of the rooms I had seen thus far and for good reason. Tava had not lied completely; the room was being used for storage. Massive shelves occupied much of the space, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, dozens of meters high. The upper stretches went unoccupied, the middle layers were filled with crates of unidentified research materials, and those at the bottom were stacked with carbonite blocks. I made my way through the labyrinthian walkway between the shelves, musing if Magaro’s assistants ever got lost in this maze. In the distance, I heard the access doors rumble open once more. Tava was on her way in. I was hopelessly lost, but I figured being lost would only make it harder to be caught. As I wandered, I paused to examine the carbonite cells. More than ten out of the dozens of chemical prisons stored in this chamber passed under my gaze. Seeing the frozen faces embedded in the blocks confirmed a nagging suspicion I held about their occupants. Each of these captives wore the exact same face - that face that I still could not quite remember. They could not have been siblings; even a Sith would have felt pity for a mother that could bear so many children. No. These weren’t siblings from a single pregnancy, or siblings at all for that matter. They were duplicates. They were clones. I had heard of limited successes achieved in the field with animals, but humanoid cloning on this scale? That was beyond anything I had ever encountered before. It would be a research breakthrough worthy of the ages, as significant as the development of the hyperdrive. Was this the reason Magaro was so intent on keeping me from this chamber? Was he conducting this research illegally? Did he fear I would spill his secrets? “My lord, please! This area is restricted, we must leave!” Once more I ignored Tava’s voice, even though I could tell she was gaining ground on me. Something did not quite add up here. There had to be more. I pushed forward, making my way out of the labyrinth. I could hear Tava’s frantic footsteps follow after me. They were close. She was about to reach me, I knew, but all my attention was focused on what was in front of me. A gray tarp wrapped around what appeared to be a cylindrical container large enough to shelter a man. The sound of bubbling liquid filled my ears. An aquamarine glow - all too familiar to my eyes - penetrated the cloth. At last, Tava caught up to me, panting heavily from her pursuit, breathless words falling on deaf ears. “We shouldn’t be here, we need to leave before --” I reached out my hand to pull back the covering. Tava’s own hand darted out to grab my wrist. “No! Don’t --” But she was too late. I cast aside the tarp in a single defiant motion and revealed the truth of what was hidden beneath. Right before me rested a single kolto tank, so similar to the one I had occupied, filled to the brim with that same viridian molasses that once coated me in its cool embrace. Besides the healing liquid, the receptacle was occupied by a single humanoid figure, one that was mesmerizing in its familiarity. Scarlet-toned flesh wrapped around a muscled body. Twin lekku hung from the back of his head. Scars lined the torso … one appeared to be from a recent lightsaber wound. But what demanded my full and complete attention was the man’s face. His face was not a copy of the clones in the carbonite blocks like I expected … it was an exact mirror of my own. Beneath the glass, a label scrawled itself haphazardly on masking tape. It read: Lord Andora - Original Specimen.

Prologue - Part One Cold wrapped itself around me in a cadaverous embrace. It hungered for me like an insistent lover, clutching at the crevices between my limbs, stealing the breath from my lungs, sapping the spark of flame that drove my heart to beat. I could no more escape it than I could flee my own shadow. I could no more deny it than I could refute my own existence. As my eyelids flipped open, cool liquid surged forward to drown my sight, except … no. Not just my eyes. It was everywhere, all around me. Death had indeed come for me after all; I was going to drown. I was going to die. Every moment that passed stole from me precious oxygen. Every second I had left screamed questions that I could not answer. What was this place? How did I get here? Who had done this to -- “Calm down, Lord Andora. You’re in a kolto tank. You were injured; we had to bring you to this facility to recover.” Andora. I recognized my own name, at least. I knew who I was. Sith. Small details ignited in my memory, like jolts of electricity highlighting all the significant events of the last few decades. My home on Ziost, its place within the Empire. The battles that spanned decades. A Kaggath that pitted me against another Sith … his name slipped my recollection, but the battles I fought against his underlings had not faded. I was powerful. I was strong. I knew what a kolto tank was. It took me a few seconds to realize I was, in fact, breathing quite normally. It took another few to realize my lekku had not been detached from the back of my but were simply suspended within the same liquid that kept the rest of my body afloat, submerged, but alive. The knowledge I hadn’t awakened to a watery grave did little to appease the questions that followed, nor the disquiet that still permeated every bone in my body. How had I come to be here? I did not remember being injured, did not remember how I had been brought to this location. I did not know the aged voice that now rang into my ears, amplified by a loudspeaker but distorted through the kolto. Everything was fuzzy. Murky. Opaque. Trying to remember felt like watching a holovid through a stranger’s spectacles. Suddenly, the liquid drained from the tank. The cylindrical glass before me swiveled open and I found myself stumbling forward. The muscles in my legs felt weak. Beyond weak, even. Unfamiliar. As if even the simple act of standing was now a new experience to them. Had I been stuck in that tank for so long that I had forgotten even this? Before me, a large, mostly empty room with a single entrance stood in silence save for the still-churning echoes of the kolto tank I escaped. The windowless walls were pristine durasteel, kept in meticulous condition. Cameras with loudspeakers beneath them hung in all corners of the room. A single mirror dominated the landscape of the wall directly before me. I watched my reflection teeter on the soles of its feet, naked, lekku dangling behind me, scarlet flesh painted in splotches of veridian kolto. A young togruta girl rushed forward to wrap a blanket around me before retreating to retrieve a durasteel chair that was clearly too heavy for her to lift. She struggled to keep its legs from rasping against the floor; I wanted to help her, started to do so even, but attempting a step caused me to fall to my knees. My bones cried out as they smacked against the plasteel floor and pain followed the sound in disjointed succession. Just what had they done to me? “What do you remember, my lord?” The voice repeated questions over a loudspeaker that I could not answer for myself, much less for anyone else. I struggled to communicate my confusion, my doubt, my anger … to no avail. The girl had her arms around me now, pulling me into the chair she had somehow managed to bring into the center of the diagnostic chamber. All the while, she remained silent, eyes averted in a clear effort to avoid meeting my own. I lifted my arm to grab her, to force her to answer, but before I could, the loudspeaker rang out again. “I know it must be difficult, but you must answer my questions.” The voice grated on my ears. It reeked of a man who had long since forgotten how to distinguish sympathy from sycophancy. I was neither an intellectual, nor a philosopher, but voices sparked my intuition. Subtle intonations, cadence, lilt and inflection, rhythm and pacing … they said as much as the words they carried. Often more. This one’s voice spoke of a man defeated, a man who had come to know the heel of a boot well and often. “Where am I?” I managed. The words came slow and obstinate; my tongue had to work to push them out. “My research facility. I am Doctor Magaro … and I’m here to help you.” I chuckled humorlessly. It was more difficult than I remembered. Did my laughter always sound so stilted? “Did I say something amusing?” asked Magaro over the loudspeaker, his question more curious than affronted. “Your accent. It's Imperial.” “It is.” The words came easier the more I spoke. “I’m still in the Empire. There is no charity to be found here. You want something from me.” The voice didn’t respond. “What is it then?” I pressed. “What is it you think you can get from me? Wealth? Influence? A Sith’s favor?” The loudspeaker sounded out again, but it no longer addressed me. “Tava, secure the patient.” In a flash, the meek togruta girl seized my wrists with surprising precision and strapped them into the chair’s armrests. My ankles followed suit despite my best efforts to resist. I didn’t understand how my reflexes had slowed to such pathetic straits, why my muscles seemed to process every one of my commands with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Once, I was a champion among my master’s apprentices. Now … It hit me then like a pail of ice water. Darth Siphon, my master; her golden mask gleamed against the light of Ziost’s moons as she advanced on Hallie. Hallie, my beloved. My arm and weapon shot out to deflect Siphon’s blade from running Hallie through. It was a move that surprised even myself. Instinct had taken over. I shouted at Hallie to run, to flee. To save herself while I sacrificed … everything. “You’re remembering something,” said Magaro. “Tell me.” “You work for her,” I replied. A guess, but the only one that made any sense. “Who?” “Darth Siphon. My master.” The voice changed. The false empathy evaporated, replaced by genuine giddiness. “You remember her. Good. Excellent! What else? What else?” My mouth answered before I could think to stop myself. “I … was trying to save Hallie. Siphon was going to kill her … I had to stop her. She got away, but …I don’t know what happened next. It’s all a blur … all empty.” “Agent Hallian Quen. That’s right. Very good. Last I heard --” The voice paused. It was deliberate. The tempo of his words was too calculated for their sudden cessation to have been anything but a precisely-timed piece of theater. I didn’t care. The desperate need to know what had befallen Hallie overwhelmed any curiosity at the purpose behind Magaro’s theatrics. “What happened to her! Tell me!” The voice over the megaphone ignored me. “Tava, please place the test object and then exit the chamber.” The togruta girl - Tava - did as she was told. Gently, she set a drab pillow down upon the floor before me. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second as she looked back up, but they fled as quickly as her feet carried her from the room. Moments later, I was once more alone, strapped into a heavy chair in a room where my only visible company was the reflection of my body staring back at me. That, and a pillow. I had no doubt the mirror was two-way. Magaro had to be on the other side, observing his patient from behind it. Why? Did he fear that I would use the Force against him? Did he think the mirror would protect him? The questions continued unabated in my mind, but my heart allowed for only one. “Tell me what happened to Hallie.” “I will, my lord. But I must beg your indulgence. There are some tests I need to run. Your cooperation would be most appreciated.” “What sort of tests?” “Simple ones, ideally. Please, reach into the Force. Use it to move that pillow.” I blinked in disbelief. “ … you insult me with this trivial task. I am Sith.” “You are, my lord. Even so, please ... humor me.” Against my better judgment, I acquiesced. My hand reached before me; it felt like lifting lead, but I needed no physical strength to access the Force. I still remembered its quirks and its vagaries. They were as fresh in my mind as anything else. I reached into the Force and willed the pillow to motion, to lift off the ground, in defiance of gravity, compelled by my power. Nothing happened. An eternity passed in breathless anticipation - expectation, even - and still, the silken cushion moved not a single centimeter. “ … I feared as much.” The disappointment in the doctor’s voice was clear even despite his attempts to hide it. I shook my head and tried again. When the second attempt failed, I could not stop myself from screaming at the man behind the mirror. “What did you do to me!?” “I’m afraid this is not our doing. This is simply how you are.” I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t. To be denied access to the Force, to be cut off from its connection ... it felt like I had just been told my limbs had been amputated. I lost something more precious than I had ever thought, something I did not know to cherish until it was -- An image of Hallie flashed before me in defiance of those thoughts. Memories of what it was like to lie beside her, to hold her in my arms, to be joined to her as one … they flooded back to me in a deluge of overwhelming emotion. She was the true treasure. Not the Force. It was her. “Hallie.” I turned my attention once more to the loudspeaker above, doing my best not to betray how desperately I needed to know of my beloved’s fate. “I did as you asked. Tell me what happened to her.” A pause followed the answer. “She’s alive. She escaped with one of your former allies. Lord Rend. Tell me … what do you remember of him?” Rend. That imperious snake that cared only for pleasing their master. Why would Hallie have escaped with him? “I don’t understand.” “You’ve missed a lot while you were resting, my lord.” My voice filled with cold fury. I had had enough of being toyed with. “Tell me. N--” But a sudden jolt of agony coursed through me and stole what remained of my frustration from my tongue. I felt my bones ablaze, as though someone had doused them in oil and sparked a match overhead. Anguished cries flooded my ears; it took me more than a few seconds to realize they were my own. When at last the torment ended and only echoes of searing pain were left, I finally managed to speak once more. “ … what have you done to me?” “I told you, my lord. You’re not well.” “What is it?” I pressed. “What’s going to happen to me?” A harrowing pause followed, too long to be deliberate. Even in this pathetic state, I still knew that much at least. The man behind the intercom was struggling to decide what to tell me. The silence spoke volumes, even absent any words. When at last he spoke, my ears filled with the resounding reply of a man admitting truth in the face of imminent failure. “You’re dying, my lord ... and only I can save you.”

Hi everybody! It's been a super long while since I've posted anything but I've finally decided to try and wrap up the trilogy I started just over 3 years ago with The False Sith, continued in The False Empire. I'm also looking forward to catching up with some of the community's stories I've missed out on since I've been away! As mentioned, the False Emperor is a direct sequel to my previous stories. The stories take place on Ziost; The False Emperor continues where the False Empire left off, centering on returning protagonists Tosin and Hallie, along with their new ally, Sierra. The entire saga is set after the "Shadow of Revan" expansion storyline, but whereas The False Sith and The False Empire took place prior to the "Rise of the Emperor" game update, The False Emperor takes place during that sequence of events. I will do my best so that readers don't need to have read the first two stories to understand what's going on in this one. However, as it's the conclusion to a three-part trilogy, I do still think having read the prior stories may provide helpful context. As with the False Sith and False Empire, characters in The False Emperor are mostly original, though there will be the occasional reference to events that occur in the main storylines of the SWTOR class stories. If there was anything that needed to be researched, I used wookiepedia.com, though if I got anything wrong, please let me know! Thank you very much for reading and as always, I welcome any and all feedback. HERALDS OF THE FALL - THE FALSE EMPEROR Prologue

Of course it was Vowrawn that was pulling at the marionette's strings. That sly weasel! Can't wait to see what's next. My favorite bit: a twisted and dread-inducing beauty in the language.

An exciting and intriguing chapter. When Arielle rose up against Arkous' assault, that sent chills down my spine. I think you hinted at her powers earlier? They didn't come as a shock (har har) so much as payoff for the buildup. Looking forward to the next chapter.

Thanks for the answer frauzet! I will continue trying to update everywhere I can. Also, I realized I totally brain-farted and didn't mention that if anyone wants to follow me outside these forums, that can be done here: Twitter: Tumblr: http://swtor-chronicles.tumblr.com/ FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/~wangxiuming

Happy holidays to you too Luna! I'll still be around, just ... quietly haha =X And on other sites! I'll pm you I'll miss everyone too! But I'll still be lurking around threads - No friends are being lost! Does anybody know if you can still send PMs after your subscription runs out? I'll pm you! Thanks Red And yes, I did check - I have something like three or four days left. Really glad we can still keep in touch via ff.net though. I will resubscribe eventually! Thank you for your kind words and you take care of yourself too. I added you on ff.net!

Hey there folks! Just wanted to say that my hiatus from posting may be extended somewhat as my subscription is about to run out and I'm not sure if I'm going to renew it right away. Even assuming I don't renew, I'm pretty sure I will come back to the game at some point, just not sure when. Still, as I'll lose access to posting on the forums until I resubscribe, I won't be able to post or comment here on the stories that I've been following. That said, I will still be lurking around the forums and will continue to follow what I can here and elsewhere. It has been an absolute blast reading other people's stories as well as receiving feedback on my own story over the last half-year or so. I learned a lot from this experience, and I think I know where to concentrate my efforts to improve in the future. Hopefully when I'm back, I'll have the False Emperor ready to share. Thanks to everyone who has commented or even just lurked in this thread. I truly appreciate it. See everyone soon!

I'm all caught up! Many kudos! Definitely looking forward to see what's next!

I really do enjoy this budding relationship between the two. Thorns' thoughts and the pair's exchanges continue to provide a lot of texture to the unlikely camaraderie with Ciner. I like that even though they're working together, there's still a bit of hesitation on Thorns' part. Looking forward to see what's next.

Another thrilling pair of chapters!

I have to agree with everyone else. I haven't gotten the sense that there are too many characters; rather, it's all the interactions Dek has with friends, allies, enemies (side characters or no) that make him feel real. I'm not going to complain about a refocus toward the main mystery, which I am still very interested to see unravel. But I think you've done an amazing job balancing the mystery and character development Misha. Looking forward to more.

Definitely another great read. Can't wait for more!

I'm still catching up, but I just gotta say, I sat down today to read one chapter and somehow ended up reading 8. I only stopped because I'm about to head off to dinner. I just wanted to express how much I'm enjoying this story. I have to admit I'm a bit surprised I am that I am having a blast. I'm not typically a fan of romance (even though Luna and Misha have already proven to me that I can be drawn into anything as long as the characters and story are interesting), and I wasn't expecting to be sucked in. But the plot you've woven here with Arielle and Scourge has been quite compelling. I think the thing I like the most is that Arielle's companions don't pull any of their punches and really let her know when they think she's off her rocker. That's the realistic kind of can't-look-away drama that keeps my scroll finger busy.

Haha! I figured Not late at all! I very much appreciate you taking the time and reading through until the end and I'm super happy the surprises and reveals worked for you. I had a lot of fun planning and writing them, even despite the constant worrying of whether I had hinted too hard at certain details. I'm absolutely honored that you would even consider reading it again. Thank you so much for your kind words!

Things are really getting interesting. Looking forward to the next!

Title: Heralds of the Fall - The False Empire Link: http://www.swtor.com/community/showthread.php?t=888404 Author: wangxiuming Class: Inquisitor, Agent (Though not the Player Inquisitor or Agent) Donning both her master's mask and her identity, Lord Lethe navigates the treacherous landscape that is Sith politics within the Empire in order to reform it. But can she achieve her goals with all the machinations working against her? Sequel to The False Sith.

They are not shared. According to dulfy.net, Uprisings and PVP are the fastest way to get CXP. http://dulfy.net/2016/11/29/swtor-galactic-command-guide/#Earning_Command_XP

... at first I thought the title meant we could have 8 companions out in the field with us at the same time and I got super excited ... That'll teach me to look at which section of the forum the post is in.

Thanks ssppeeiirr! I'm thrilled that you stayed. Really appreciate it. I'm going to take a little bit of a break to recharge my writing juices, but will be back, hopefully soon! I have some broad ideas about where False Emperor will go, but don't know the details yet, so the break will give me some time to figure things out too.

Chapter 30 Six Months Ago, Siphon’s Citadel “Move! Faster, you worthless filth!” Lethe stared out the balcony of her new quarters - once the personal chambers of the late Darth Orthas - as Lord Cyriak, one of Orthas’ most prominent acolytes, roared at the line of slaves he had assembled. They now scurried to bring in furniture, clothing, paintings and decor from the shuttlebays into her new room. Lethe was not one to delegate such simple tasks, but Cyriak had insisted - doubtless to curry favor - and she had relented if only to appease him. Besides, the view of New Adasta from this height was almost too breathtaking for her to tear herself away. She couldn’t help smiling behind her golden mask. In one fell swoop, one single momentous stroke, Lethe had seized everything she had ever wanted. A powerbase to rival any Sith’s on Ziost. Influence to accelerate her rise. And the resources she needed to rebuild and reunite the Empire, one planet at a time. For all that, the only price she paid was to wear a simple mask. “What do you think you’re you doing?!” Cyriak hissed. “I ordered you to move our master’s belongings, not stare at them!” Lethe glanced back towards Cyriak. The pureblood enjoyed being cruel to the staff, the slaves in particular. The girl he now yelled at couldn’t have been more than eighteen or so, with strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. She cowered as Cyriak barked at her, spittle flying in all directions. “F-forgive me, my lord. It’s been days since I’ve had a chance to sleep, if I could just --” “You could just what? Abandon your duty? Spit on the privilege I give you to serve at our master’s feet? Get moving!” The girl scurried to return to her task. Lethe frowned. She would have to find a way to stamp out this streak of unnecessary cruelty from Orthas’ followers. Years ago and she had been but the child of a slave, subject to the whims of an equally cruel master. She had resolved then that if she ever ascended to power, she would not be like them. And she had renewed that promise with Retra. She had to make her old friend proud. Perhaps then, Retra’s memory would stop haunting her. “Cyriak. I’ll handle the rest. You’re dismissed.” Cyriak glanced to her, eyes arching curiously. “My lord, are you certain? There is still much --” “Yes. I will summon you should I need you.” “As you wish, my lord.” Lord Cyriak bowed and slowly exited her quarters. Lethe waited a few minutes in purposeful silence before addressing the rest of the assembled slaves. “You’re all dismissed as well. Take the rest of the day for yourselves. Rest and recover.” A few of the slaves glanced to each other in bewilderment. Others did not need to be told twice; they fled as fast as their legs could take them and still maintain a walking pace. Soon, her chambers emptied. All except for one. The slavegirl with the strawberry-blonde hair. She approached, cautious and meek, stopping a short bit away, head bowed in grateful deference. She looked so much like Retra. So much like her old friend. “I just want to say, master Siphon. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Lethe smiled behind her mask, her heart warming in her chest, forgetting that her expression could not be seen. “Things will be different now. You’ll see.” * * * * * Present Day, Outside New Adasta Lethe smiled behind her mask, fighting in a desperate attempt to hold back tears, forgetting that even should they fall, they would not be seen. Once more, Sierra was on her knees, brought low by Lethe’s power. Her voice trembled, unable to hide her emotion ... her fear. Her confusion. Her empathy. It was pathetic. “Peace is a lie,” said Lethe, struggling, failing, to hold steady her voice. “Do you finally understand?” Sierra looked up at her, voice pleading. “Please. Don’t do this!” “You reveal yourself the hypocrite that all Jedi are. I must admit I did not think I would be able to count a Jedi as a traitor. Three times, I’ve been betrayed. Hadrax and Cyriak. Astraad. And now, a Jedi.” “Astraad? What do you mean Astraad --” “Do not lie to my face! Do not feign concern you do not possess!” “You have to believe me. Master, it’s not --” The honorific sent a fresh wave of fury surging through Lethe’s veins. “Shut your mouth! I’m no master of yours! You are an impostor! Spy! Liar!” “And what are you?!” screamed Sierra. “What have you been doing all this time if not exactly that same thing! Lying to your followers, pretending to be someone you’re not. You lied to all of us, your whole powerbase! You are not Siphon!” Lethe brushed Sierra’s words aside. “I won’t be judged by some Jedi scum. Republic flunkey!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rend lift his hand in preparation to attack. The man had seared Siphon’s mask upon Lethe’s face, but so great was Lethe’s anger at Sierra’s betrayal, she didn’t even care he was here. He was an afterthought. A distraction. A spark of lightning flew from his hand towards her, but it lacked any conviction. The electricity wrapped around her, a fuzzy tickling that she barely acknowledged, and then dissipated. “This does not concern you!” Lethe slashed the air in Rend’s direction; both he and Hallie crumpled to the snow-covered ground, unconscious. She returned her attention to Sierra. Good. It was just them two now. No interruptions. No interference. “Where is the Holocron?” Lethe asked. Sierra stood to her feet, defiant. “It’s been destroyed.” “Still you lie. I can feel it here, echoes of it, a hint of the power that was mine. Every word out of your mouth is laced with deception. I see through it now. I see the truth!” “Ask them,” Sierra countered, glancing to Tosin and Hallie’s unmoving bodies. “The Holocron is gone! Its purpose has been fulfilled. It was all a trick, all from the start. The Holocron does not grant power. It takes it. It subsumes it for itself. It is the Sith Emperor’s weapon, and with it, he has taken all he needs to devour the planet!” Could it be? Could this be the truth? “Please! Lethe. Master! Help me. Help me stop the Emperor before it’s too late, or we’re all dead!” No … it was another trick. Another deception. Sierra spewed falsehoods to save her own skin. Lethe would not be taken in. Not again. “No more lies!” Lethe charged forward, blade whistling as she lanced it forward like a spear. Sierra grabbed her own weapon, brought it up to deflect, but instead of countering, she merely dodged a few steps to the side. Lethe seized the momentum, swinging her blade in wide, cleaving blows as she pushed Sierra further and further back. “All along you were my greatest betrayer! I made you Lord, I saved you from Rime! You made me a fool! A laughingstock of the Empire!” Sierra panted as she weaved between Lethe’s flurries. “I saved you! The Holocron would’ve consumed you, just like it did to my friends! Please, you have to let me help them!” “So they can strike another blow against the Empire?! So they can come back and spit on my corpse just as you spit upon my face?!” “Our only target was Vitiate! He is my only enemy! You may not have been my true master, but you’re still a beacon for the Empire! Its hope for a better future!” “Enough of your fawning!” Lethe was tired. Drained from the Holocron’s abandonment. Weakened by Astraad’s treachery. She was weak. Her attacks had only a fraction of their original power, barely any of their speed. Sierra sidestepped them all. Still, the girl refused to counter. Perhaps she was tired too. Each of Lethe’s swings left her wide open for seconds; it should’ve been easy for the girl to end it. It should have long been done. “Attack!” screamed Lethe. “Attack, you deceiver! Interloper! False Sith!” “No.” Lethe shrieked her fury, her rage, bellowing out the Force all around her. Ice cracked beneath her feet. In the distance, a small avalanche tumbled down a massive rock formation, shaking its foundations, collapsing it all to the ground. Sierra covered her ears, eyes wincing in pain, but still she did nothing. Lethe dashed forward to slice at her false apprentice once more. Sierra dodged - but her feet hit a patch of ice and she slipped. A cry loosed from the girl’s lips as she fell to the ground prone, vulnerable on her back. It was so like Retra's. It was almost as though the voice that called out to her was that of her oldest friend. Lethe raced to her side. She offered her hand for Retra to use as leverage. They needed to get back up, to -- What was she doing? One hand held her lightsaber high in the air, poised to strike, to slash down and end this traitor forever. The other held a hand forward, waiting for the girl before her to get back up, still wanting Sierra at her side. Sierra looked at Lethe, stared into the vacant holes of her mask, penetrated the veil of her shrouded eyes and glimpsed her very soul. “ … whatever lies we told each other, whatever masks we donned for each other … one thing was not false. One thing was true. One thing was genuine.” Tears streamed down Lethe’s cheeks, setting her wounded face alight. But the pain was nothing compared to the emotions that raged in her chest, fought each other for her heart. Hatred. Longing. Failure. Betrayal. Despair. Friendship. Nihilism. Hope. A broken promise. A chance to start over. “I believed in your way. I believed in what you fought for,” said Sierra. Lethe screamed her pain. “Liar!” “I still believe in it. I still believe in you.” Sobbing, Lethe swung her lightsaber down. * * * * * Sierra laid on her back, half-in shock, watching as Lethe’s lightsaber swung downwards only to fly out of her hand, jettisoning to the snow; the blade retracting in an anodyne chorus. The masked woman sank to her knees, weeping. Sierra almost didn’t recognize the sound, the facade’s modulator distorted it so much. She rushed to Lethe’s side and wrapped her arms around her. There is no emotion. There is peace. But peace … is a lie. They knelt there in the snow of Ziost’s frozen wastes, together, for minutes. No words parted their lips. No movement stirred the calm. Only Lethe’s quiet sobs broke the calm, and even they soon stopped. Alone, but together. For just a few, short moments, nothing else mattered. It was over. Peace is a lie. But sometimes ... it’s not. Finally, Lethe stood up. She turned away from Sierra, hands reaching for her mask. They pried at the edges, pulled at them with what little leverage they could muster. With each tug Lethe cried out in pain; the jolts of agony seemed only to redouble her resolve. “What are you doing?” asked Sierra. Lethe didn’t respond. Sierra felt the woman before her summon the Force, the last vestige of her strength, to latch onto her mask and pull. Sierra got up and put a hand on Lethe’s shoulder. “Stop. You’ll hurt yourself.” “Help me,” pleaded Lethe. “I need to know. If it’s the last thing I do, I need to be free of it. Of her.” Sierra glanced towards the distance. She needed to hurry. There was no telling what he was making her true masters do at this very moment. Garault. Surro. All the rest … they were in danger. But as she gazed upon Lethe’s golden mask, she knew she could not abandon this false master yet. She summoned the Force. Together, they pulled. Lethe’s golden mask twisted and bent, screeching its displeasure as the Force realized their united will. The mask was no match for them. It was the last remnants of a lie that had been revealed. Empty. Hollow. Compelled by their power, the metallic facade split itself in half, tore itself from Lethe’s face. The pieces shot to opposite sides of the frost-covered valley, burying themselves in snow and ice. Lethe screamed as Sierra rushed to her side to ensure she did not collapse. And though what remained of Lethe’s face was now a mess of blood, spots of calcified metal and raw flesh, Sierra had never seen anyone more elated. * * * * * Through passion, she had found peace. The pain was nothing. Terrible as it was, it was nothing in the face of freedom. It was nothing, compared to her relief. She broke away from Sierra and stumbled a frozen patch of water - a mirror lit by moonlight. Once more, she saw her face. Her own face. Not any masquerade, not any facade or construct. Not a golden lie, but dark skin, covered in blood. Ripped to shreds in places that revealed muscle and sinew and tissue. Distorted by patches of metal, where her prison had seared into the bones of her skull. Marred though it might be, it was still her face. Her own face. Her own identity. No more was she Darth Siphon. No more could she have her master’s power, influence, strength. She didn’t even know if she would survive the night. She did not care. If she was to die, then she would die knowing she had reclaimed what she thought was forever lost. Once more, she was Lethe. Once more, she was free. Lethe was done all of it. She had played the Empire’s political game, had ascended to a throne atop a grand powerbase. And then she had lost it all. The powerbase. Her apprentices. Her allies. She had even almost lost herself. Her ideals. Her promise. It was clear now. Sierra might’ve believed in her, her way, her ideals. But she was wrong. Lethe’s way had no place here. There was no path for anyone like her, who held to her beliefs. Not as an Imperial. Not as it stood now. The prejudices, the hatred. The jealousy. The rage. They were ingrained into the very marrow of the Sith Empire’s bones. There was no chance for unity. No hope for allegiance. No room for honor. Lethe might have presided over a false powerbase of traitors, usurpers, exiles and interlopers … but hers was not so different from all the rest. She knew it to be true, saw it reflected through history. Thanaton had Nox. Baras had the Wrath. Orthas had Astraad. Siphon had Lethe. And with structures such as these as its foundation, the Sith Empire itself could be but a false empire. Doomed to fall. Doomed to a collapse heralded by its masters and its servants. Doomed to be defeated, not by any external foe or threat … but by itself. She glanced to the unconscious forms of Rend and Hallie. They too were cogs in a machine, pawns swept up in a game that was beyond them. Lethe’s heart should have filled with hatred and vengeance for them; they had conspired to destroy her. He had been the cause of so much physical pain in the last few months. Any other Sith would have destroyed them, would have annihilated them for their trespass. But that was not Lethe’s way. She was not that Sith. She never was, no matter how hard the Holocron had tried to shape her in that image. Slowly, Lethe lifted her feet. “Where will you go? What will you do?” Sierra’s tone carried the question as if she already knew what Lethe was planning. But Lethe herself didn’t know where she was going, and she didn’t care much to think about it. All she knew was that there was no more reason for her to be here. Not in New Adasta. Perhaps not even on Ziost. Better to leave it all behind, let it fade to a fleeting wisp of a memory. A half-remembered dream, just out of grasp, just beyond recognition. It was time to start fresh. She glanced back to her false apprentice. Her mouth opened, trying to find the right words to say, to piece together sentences that might somehow be able to convey to Sierra everything she now experienced. The echoes of betrayal that still lingered around her heart. The sorrow borne from knowledge that it was their destiny to be enemies once more, even if they could still delay that outcome. The gratitude she felt for this Jedi, who had saved her from the Holocron. Who had saved her from herself. It was futile. She closed her mouth, realizing that it had been opening and shutting in repeated and failed attempts to bring speech to emotion. How ridiculous she must’ve looked. But it was Lethe that was seen. Lethe that appeared ridiculous. Lethe whose face would be recognized. Not the mask. Not Siphon. There was nothing that could be said. She could only trust that Sierra already knew … and somehow Lethe suspected that it was so. She offered a weak smile - not because it was false, but because it was all the strength she had to do. And then she turned to leave. “Wait,” said Sierra. “Before you go … what did you mean when you said Astraad betrayed you?” Lethe paused in her tracks. So much still didn’t make sense … but it didn’t matter. Not to her. Sierra could sort it out, or not. But Lethe would leave it all behind. “ … he tried to kill me. He planned everything from the start. He’s behind it all.” Sierra asked, “Is he --” “He’s dead.” With that, she turned and left. Through peace, she had found freedom. * * * * * END PART THREE Epilogue Sierra looked on as Lethe departed. She allowed herself a moment of quiet relief … of grateful victory. Lethe was saved. That much, at least, she had accomplished. As her former master’s figure vanished into the horizon, Sierra returned to her now urgent task. She might’ve saved one master from the Holocron, but now she had a dozen that needed to be freed from the Holocron’s own master. The Sith Emperor. Reborn on Yavin IV. Empowered by the Holocron on Ziost. Was this his plot? Was this what he was after? Sierra had not forgotten Lethe’s words from just a few moments ago either. Astraad had betrayed Lethe. He had tried to kill her. Everything Astraad told Sierra about believing in Lethe’s way … it was a lie. But why? Why help Sierra try to save Lethe only to turn around and try to assassinate her while Sierra chased the Holocron? Unless … this was his intention all along. To get her to lure her true masters to the planet, so that they might be corrupted by the Holocron. To deliver to Vitiate bodies he could control and leverage for his own dark purposes. Astraad planned everything from the start. Astraad had somehow learned Sierra’s true identity, had somehow discovered her masters were nearby. No ... the answer was obvious. Beral. She was the one who had managed to peer into Sierra’s mind; had she managed to see that far? She had claimed to know who Sierra truly was. Had she told Astraad after all? Had he believed her? Were they working together? Or had Astraad finally succeeded in his interrogation? When the real Siphon stole the Holocron, he must have seen the perfect opportunity; knowing the truth, he contacted Sierra’s masters, gave them tracking coordinates to ensure they would arrive to intercept Siphon. And then he attacked Lethe while she lay vulnerable. If Astraad truly was behind all of this, he had succeeded in terrifying fashion. There were still so many unanswered questions. But they would have to wait. Rescuing her masters was the top priority now. And to do that she would need help. From within her robes, Sierra pulled out the quiet husk of the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery. It was silent now, unremarkable, but perhaps she would be able to find a use for it later. She glanced all around to ensure no one saw her tuck the relic away. Then, she moved to help up the already-stirring Rend and Hallie. Together, they would find a way to break the Emperor’s control. The task seemed nigh impossible. Sierra forced herself not to worry about the details yet. They would figure out the specifics later, when they had a chance to regroup and recover from the ordeal they had all just suffered. But for now, she needed only to focus on the overall objective. Saving her masters. Stopping the Emperor. That was all that mattered now. After all … there is no contemplation. There is only duty. * * * * * Some Time Later, Lord Beral’s Estate, Kaas City “Come to congratulate me? You shouldn’t have.” Beral sat across from the holocommunicator in her own estate, drooping over her chair in lazy nonchalance. Once more, the shimmering cerulean form of her pureblood friend with the cybernetic eye appeared before her, hands folded neatly behind his back. His eyes betrayed little emotion other than a faint glimmer of furious contempt. She smiled to herself. Doubtless, he now saw the folly of not backing her play. “I believe you’ve already been reminded that no accolades would be given for interference in a task not your own.” Stubborn to the end. Beral was used to it; she adopted an air of false affront. “Surely you and our brethren cannot be so shortsighted as to not see this for the victory it was. Our glorious master demanded powerful force-users for the final phase. I provided them to him.” “And yet the offerings you made seem lackluster in comparison to those that were intended. Our master’s task would be much simpler were the Dark Council under his sway, and not these treacherous Sixth Line Jedi.” A skeptical snort escaped her nose. “Our brother was still holding out hope he could somehow weave the Dark Council back into the loop; that was his mistake. Our Master’s plans were and are already underway on Ziost. He needed suitable hosts. I delivered them.” The cerulean figure frowned, stroking the tendrils upon his face for a long moment as he considered her words. “And what of our brother? What became of him?” “In critical condition,” said Beral, without a flicker of regret. “I sent for our allies to recover him, but I suspect it’s unlikely he’ll recover. More likely, he will need to be replaced.” “A pity,” said the man, but he seemed equally apathetic to the news. “But before we get to that, additional clarification is still required. Why put on the show? Why masquerade as servants to mediocre Sith? Why not deliver the Holocron to the Council personally?” “I would’ve thought that was obvious,” said Beral, smiling. “Indulge me.” She chuckled lightly. Even the man’s requests sounded like orders. “It was our brother’s estimation - and for once, I agreed completely with him - that it would be too risky to deliver the Holocron ourselves. You know full well the Dark Council has been wary of our presence ever since we chased Vowrawn off Rishi and our Master declared his rebirth on Yavin IV.” The pureblood before her folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, and Marr, his allies, and Sith Intelligence have been hunting all corners of the galaxy for signs of our master ever since. What does that have to do with your plot?” “Everything. If the Dark Council discovered our true identities, they might have decided to neutralize the Holocron rather than to empower it. No, it had to come from a powerbase they would not suspect.” “And yet, all that planning was for naught. The Dark Council remains free, and you’ve offered woefully poor substitutes in their place.” “I defy you to have done better,” said Beral. “It was clear months ago that our brother’s plot to dominate the Dark Council had failed. I did what had to be done to conclude that farce and bring our master’s plans to fruition.” She was growing annoyed with the man’s patronizing and judgmental tone. After all, it was she had done what none of them had been bold enough to do. She who had risked everything, who had sacrificed so much! She had completed a monumental task! And now, as she tried to bask in her success, they dared to try and minimize her achievement? The shimmering figure smiled. It would have seemed kind had Beral not known its wearer for as long as she did. “My point was that rather than allow the one to whom this task belonged his singular miscarriage, you have succeeded in the remarkably self-defeating endeavor of adding your failure to his.” She opened his mouth to retort … but the meaning of his accusation left her tongue dumbstruck. “What are you talking about?” asked Beral. “You just had to insert yourself into this fool conspiracy. You always were singularly focused on your glory-seeking.” Beral sat up straight, resting her hands into her lap as she struggled to maintain her composure. “I would argue that I salvaged a task that our brother only would have --.” Laughter drowned out her words. “Oh, you’d argue that, would you? Perhaps you’ve not been paying attention to events on Ziost of late. Darth Nox has arrived on the planet, some say accompanied by our prodigal sibling, the defiant Wrath, to join Marr’s investigation.” “We expected that outcome,” Beral protested. “Those two made their allegiance clear in the conflict against Revan.” “You’re right. But what was not anticipated, was that the Jedi Barsenthor and the Hero of Tython would be joining them.” A shiver ran down Beral’s spine. “What are you talking about? Why would those two go to Ziost--” And then realization struck. “Do you see now, fool?!” spat the pureblood. “Do you see the depths of your miscalculation? I thought you couldn’t do more damage to our master’s plans, but clearly I was mistaken. Your meddling has drawn the attention of some of the strongest members within the Jedi Order. They’ve come for their Sixth Line friends. Their involvement now threatens to throw all our carefully-laid preparations into disarray!” Panic filled Beral’s veins for the first time in ages. “Y-you … you don’t know that! Our Master is strong again, strong enough to devour them, all of them! Just as he will the planet!” “You’ve risked everything in drawing their attention! They are aberrations! Deviations in a ritual centuries in the making! And you invited them.” He was right. The Barsenthor and the Hero of Tython were powerful outliers that they had not accounted for. If they were on Ziost, if they posed a threat ... “So this is why you called. To chastise me, to reprimand --” “I am here to order you back to Ziost. You will tend to these outliers before things spin out of our hands. You will rectify this, Servant Eight. Immediately.” She bowed her head, shame and disgrace washing over her in equal measure. She could not allow her error to threaten everything they had achieved. Loathe as she might be to return to Ziost, she had but one answer. “Yes, Servant Three. It will be done.” * * * * * THE END But the story will continue in: The False Emperor Wirter's Note: A two-parter! It's all written so I didn't see a reason to drag out the postings. I want to thank everyone who has given this story a chance, as well as to those who have offered their feedback and encouragement over the course of the last few months. I almost can't believe it was July when I started posting this thing. If you have read all the way through, I do hope you enjoyed the journey. Please let me know if you did! I do appreciate the time you take out of your day to look at this little piece of swtor fiction of mine. Similarly, if you found any part of the story lacking, or have other comments/feedback/suggestions, please don't hesitate to let me know. I value your opinion, and while I am not likely to change anything about this specific story now that it's done, I do want to know what I can avoid or focus on improving in the future. Thanks to everyone and see you soon, hopefully!