Free ebook! Thanks for the heads up Luna.

Chapter 4 Ziost’s two moons hung like lanterns in the sky, only partially shrouded by storm clouds. Rays of moonlight shimmered through the windows in Lethe’s quarters, painting her room with a faint glow, while a chilling breeze made her breath visible on the air. Lethe debated closing the window and adjusting the environmental controls, but thought better of it. The chill brought a sharpness to her mind, one she suspected she would need. She settled into the seat beside her personal terminal and then activated her holocom, issuing a directive to the Citadel’s central security station. “Redirect the commissary camera feed to the console in my quarters.” Agent Shiro Thresh, a crotchety pureblood Sith who had served Orthas for over thirty years, responded. “My lord?” Lethe never thought she would grow weary of hearing those two words. Then again, she never anticipated she would hear them so often posed as a question to her commands. “Just do it. Now.” The agent did as instructed and her console whirred to life, giving her a good view of the Citadel’s commissary. Rows of tables and benches lined the large hall; from the camera’s vantage point, Lethe could see almost the entire room. In the dead of night, it was entirely abandoned save for a frail-looking young woman - Sierra. The girl looked surprisingly stoic as she proceeded to half-heartedly mop the floors; the faint crimson ceiling lights bathed the room in a bloody hue and gave Sierra a foreboding appearance. Lethe smiled curiously from behind her mask; there was something about this girl that she found intriguing. The next hour would decide her fate. Lethe activated a separate comlink. “Don’t speak. Dump that carton of blue milk on the table to your right down the nearest sink and I’ll know you can hear me.” Sierra obliged, then returned to mopping the floors, glancing about as inconspicuously as she could manage. “Are you sure this is going to work, Master?” Sierra whispered. “I said don’t speak. Don’t worry. There’s no way Rime will let your grievance go unanswered. He’ll find you.” “That wasn’t what I was worried about,” Sierra muttered as she adjusted her earpiece, pulling at her strawberry blonde hair to ensure her link to her master was hidden. Lethe sensed the rising tension in the slave girl’s body language and decided to forego rebuking her for speaking yet again. She needed the young woman to be on her game for their gamble to pay off. The reality was Lethe had no idea if her plan would work … neither did it really matter. She risked little in making this move. All she needed was to drag out a battle between Sierra and Rime; if she had evidence that Rime had trouble putting down a simple ‘slave’, she could discredit and disqualify him from ever taking a seat on her council. Hadrax would have no choice but to withdraw Rime’s nomination. A small victory, yes, but Lethe had no problem asserting her dominance one step at a time. In truth, Lethe doubted Sierra would survive the night … but if the slave girl could eliminate Rime completely, Lethe certainly would not object. Of course, she wasn’t going to tell Sierra that. “Remember. Follow my instructions and you’ll be fine,” said Lethe. Through the video feed, Lethe watched as Sierra’s grip on her mop handle tightened. “I can taste blood in the air.” “Don’t you know yet? It’s yours.” The durasteel doors to the commissary shunted open. Lord Rime stepped into the dining hall proper and whipped out his lightsaber without any fanfare; the scarlet blade spurred to life with a crackling hiss. Lethe set her video feed to record. Sierra backed up two steps. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Lord Rime. Please!” The girl was already going off script. “Don’t beg. Break out your lightsaber.” “Siphon might have saved you this afternoon, but she can’t protect you forever,” said Rime. “Even she has to realize that a slave isn’t worth risking my support, or that of Lord Hadrax.” The Sith lord brandished his weapon, assuming - as Lethe predicted - the first stance of a Makashi offensive. “Now or never, Sierra,” whispered Lethe into the comlink. “Show me you have what it takes. Show me Harkun was wrong about you. Show me you are Sith.” Sierra took a deep breath. Rime charged. The Sith lord’s lightsaber flashed forward and back with lightning-quick strikes. For a second, Lethe thought it was all over. Rime moved with the practiced skill and familiarity of a master - Orthas’ apprentices were all expert duelists - and his attacks were delivered with precise intent. Facing this onslaught, Lethe feared her failed apprentice’s defense would collapse. Instead, Sierra dodged each of Rime’s attacks, countering with thrusts of her mop aimed at Rime’s head and chest. Rime laughed, dodging the attacks easily while baring his yellowed teeth. “You still haven’t learned, have you? You are a slave; you don’t have the right to strike at me!” With three decisive swings, Rime severed Sierra’s makeshift weapon into four pieces, leaving only the handle in the girl’s hands. Sierra didn’t flinch. She flipped what remained of the mop over; from the hollow interior, an apprentice’s training saber fell out. The girl caught it in her free hand and then activated it. A crimson blade emerged to match Rime’s own lightsaber. Of course, Lethe had arranged for that little gift. Training sabers weren’t exactly ideal weapons, but it was all Lethe could manage on short notice. Plus, it would draw the least attention in an investigation and be the most difficult to trace back to her. Sierra pointed her blade at Rime, dropping into the first of the basic Shii-Cho defensive stances. “Step into Soresu,” said Lethe through the comlink. “Rime’s Makashi will pulverize you unless you can parry every single one of his attacks.” Sierra reacted immediately, but her movements did not go unnoticed by Rime. “Not just sensitive to the Force, but trained with a lightsaber? You are no ordinary slave, are you? No wonder you seem so eager to rush to your death.” The two opponents began circling each other as Lethe’s holocom activated once more. Thresh spoke, panic in his voice. “My lord, are you seeing this? There’s some sort of attack going on in the commissary. Should we dispatch a security team?” “No. Lord Rime can handle it.” Lethe didn’t even bother turning to face the agent. She needed to focus on the battle. “Are y-- … Yes, my lord.” The hesitation was evident in the agent’s voice, but Lethe ignored it. Rime made the first move, delivering a series of rapid thrusts. Sierra parried each, dropping low to attempt a sweeping counterattack. Rime dodged backwards, so fast that his whole body was barely a blur through the video feed. As he landed, he slammed his hands forward and then yanked them back, catching Sierra with the Force and pulling her towards him with horrendous speed. “Don’t let him control the tide of battle. Make him fight on your terms.” “UNNGH!” Sierra grunted as she broke free of Rime’s grip at the last second, leaning backwards to slide a hair’s width beneath a slashing attack that would have bisected her had it connected. Not pausing, she leaped over a table, kicking her foot down on the edge and using momentum to bring it up as a makeshift wall. A jolt of lightning followed not half a second later, striking the plasteel harmlessly. Lethe was impressed, but there wasn’t time for praise. “Keep your eyes on your enemy. If you miss his transition to Djem So, you’ll have missed your best chance to survive this battle!” Sierra leaped out from her cover, eyes darting to find her opponent, but Rime had anticipated her move. He dashed forward and sliced downwards with his blade, aiming to cut into Sierra’s shoulder; she barely reacted in time, bringing her own saber up to guard. The collision sent sparks showering everywhere. “Mongrel filth! You dare defend yourself?!” Lethe scoffed; Rime’s words amplifying her disgust. His arrogance was more boundless than she had thought. She held no expectations that Sierra would emerge the victor here, but she hoped - now more than ever - that it was this failed apprentice that would emerge the victor. Sierra was doing well, all things considered. Lethe had the footage she needed; the slave had delayed Rime’s vengeance, longer than Lethe had hoped. With this, she could defame him, and force Hadrax to withdraw his nomination, all without being accused of favoritism or bias against the contender. After submitting a disgrace like Rime for consideration, Hadrax’s future counsel would also be undermined in the eyes of the entire power base. At this point, the girl was entirely expendable. And still, she couldn’t help but root for this slave, this failed apprentice who abandoned the Academy. Not just because Rime was a self-important imbecile. She saw something in the girl - something that reminded Lethe of herself. “Stay cautious,” she whispered through the comlink. “It won’t be long now.” Sierra, still struggling to keep Rime’s overhead swing from cutting into her shoulder, summoned the Force to fling nearby benches at the pureblood. The first smacked into Rime’s head; screaming his fury, the pureblood redirected his attention to the incoming debris, knocking his lifeless assailants aside with swings from his free arm. The distraction was enough to allow Sierra to break free from their stalemate; she dashed away from Rime as quickly as she could - towards Lethe’s camera. “Reposition,” said Lethe. “You’re moving outside my field of vis--” But it was too late. Rime pursued with a thrilling howl, boxing Sierra into a corner of the room before she could escape: the corner just beneath the camera, just outside its view. Lethe cursed under her breath. There weren’t any other cameras in the commissary. Sierra would have to fight without her direct guidance. “Remember, strike when you see him change saber forms!” For what seemed like an eternity, all she could hear were the vicious swings of lightsabers and their collisions with each other as sparks sprayed in all directions. Her video feed bathed in the crimson light from the duelists’ weapons. Without being able to see what was happening, Lethe could only wait. She briefly considered heading to the commissary herself, before dismissing the idea. Better to let things play out; she couldn’t risk being accused of actively siding with a rebellious slave or she would risk invalidating everything she had accomplished A howl pierced the comfeed, unmistakably Rime’s, bursting with rage. A pained cry followed from Sierra. “N-no, please! Mercy! Mercy!” It was over. Lethe heard the unmistakable sizzle of a lightsaber piercing flesh, followed by the thunk of a body hitting the ground. A resigned sigh escaped her lips … still, she had what she needed. Sierra’s death would not be wasted, her sacrifice, not forgo-- A lithe young woman’s body emerged back into the camera feed. Sierra was exhausted, struggling to keep herself standing, but there was no doubt: she was alive. That could only mean ... Lethe felt a surge of adrenaline course through her veins. A victory for the deserving. Death for the pompous and unworthy. There could be no sweeter outcome. “My lord?!” came the startled cry from the security command center. “Are you seeing this? Lord Rime … I think he’s fallen!” “Yes, it does appear that way, doesn’t it?” said Lethe, not bothering to hide her utter apathy at the Sith lord’s death, indeed, desperately trying to ensure her glee could not be discerned from her tone. A screeching alarm began ringing out through the Citadel. The fool Thresh had activated a stronghold-wide alert. “Sending word to Lord Hadrax. I’ll have a security detail rendezvous with him and --” “Belay that,” snapped Lethe. “This matter is beneath Hadrax. Your security team will be enough to arrest that woman. Have her brought directly to my quarters - unharmed. Do you understand?” “My lord, she’s slain Lord Rime!” “DO AS I SAY, Thresh. And silence that infuriating alarm.” Begrudgingly, Thresh conceded. “As you command, Darth Siphon.” As soon as the communication with the central security station cut out, Lethe returned her attention to the failed apprentice that had slain a Sith lord. The girl seemed unsure of what to do with herself, continuously glancing towards the camera. “You’ve done marvelously, Sierra. Truly, magnificent work.” “I … what should I do now?” “Put down your weapon and be ready to surrender yourself. I’ve sent a security detail to fetch you. Do not resist.” Sierra nodded, setting down her training saber and preemptively putting her hands behind her head as she fell to her knees. “ … is it over?” Lethe smiled, unseen. “It’s only the beginning for you.” As Thresh’s team descended into the commissary, Lethe deactivated the comlink and adjusted her robes. The exhilaration from her victory still rushed through her veins; in one fell swoop, she had eliminated Rime, undermined Hadrax’s credibility, and gained an invaluable tool. Things could not have gone better. All that remained was to welcome the young woman that was about to become her first true apprentice. * * * * *

Chapter 3 Ten Years Prior - Sith Academy, Korriban “You and me, Retra. We’ll make it out of here. We’ll be the ones at the top.” Retra’s voice trembled with fear. The back of the overseer’s hand had left a visibly scarlet imprint on her face. “You don’t know that ... we’re going to die here. They’re going to kill us.” “I won’t let that happen. Trust me. Stick with me, and we’ll show them there’s a better way. We’ll prove that together we are stronger than any of them could be alone.” Her friend looked at her with skepticism. She pressed their hands together, interlocking their fingers. “You and me. Together, like it’s always been.” The gesture brought a smile to Retra’s face, wiping away the fear and despair that had taken up residence, at least for a little while. Slowly, Retra nodded. “Together.” * * * * * 3637 BBY - Siphon’s Citadel, New Adasta It wasn’t possible. How could anyone know that she was not the real Siphon? Two days had passed since she received the anonymous message accusing her of being a pretender to her throne. An accusation she could not deny. She had felt her master’s death in the Force, she was sure of it. There had been no others present, none to see her pick up her master’s golden mask, none to witness her putting it on, testing her voice through the modulation, verifying that she could assume Siphon’s very identity. How could any have guessed? It could be a hoax, a prank. She wouldn’t put it past some of her new followers to call her an impostor, a false Sith, a pretender - Orthas had certainly levied those denigrations and more at the real Siphon, like daggers meant to cut away at her credibility. Even so, Lethe suspected that any who wished to challenge her now would have made the accusation openly, not under the anonymity of an encoded message. She found no indication that anybody other than herself knew or had even seen the nature of the message at all. No subtle hints or clever words meant to dig at the allegation from any of her interactions over the last two days. And then there was that piercing agony that had seized upon her just before she received the message, a pain she felt keenly through the Force. A power that felt both overwhelming and terrifying. No … someone knew the truth. But who? Astraad? The man had been acting strangely, even before she seized Orthas’ throne. Could he have discovered her secret somehow? Lethe had already begun to suspect that he was Siphon’s double agent within Orthas’ power structure; her former master had seemed so confident right before a battle that by all accounts was Orthas’ to lose. And then there was that exchange that Lethe had shared with Astraad at Twinspire’s entrance - the man had attacked her, and then severed his own arm … for what? As some sort of theatre? To further sell the magnitude of her power? It was an empty gesture: what was a disciple’s arm compared to a master’s corpse? It didn’t make any sense. Astraad was only too eager for her to assume Orthas’ position. Why would he seek to undermine her now with a hushed indictment? And yet, she couldn’t ignore the possibility. If Astraad truly intended to challenge her authority, she would have to ensure that a battle would work in her favor. She needed to firmly establish her position as the dominant Sith. Which was why Lethe now headed toward the Citadel’s repository. She needed a means to arm herself, to rapidly grow in power before the Astraad and his upstart supporters - or whoever had sent that message - made their moves. She had studied the texts and projects that Orthas had presided over for the last two days, mulled over potential alliances and reinforcements, but none had provided a solution to her need, not without risking revelation of her identity as a fraud. That left only one option. She would scour the collection of Sith artifacts Orthas had accumulated over his years as a Darth. There had to be an answer there, a solution to Lethe’s problem. Somewhere in those relics, she would find power. The price? Whatever it cost, Lethe steeled herself to pay. As she rounded the corner of the main hall towards Orthas’ vault, she heard what sounded to be an argument. She recognized one of the voices: Lord Rime, a sith pureblood whom Hadrax had submitted for consideration to take the empty seat on Lethe’s council - the only name, in fact. Strident and ruthless, Rime had become infamous on Ziost as a merciless killer. From the sound of it, it seemed he had gotten into a heated exchange with one of the Citadel’s slaves. Lethe hung back to observe. Hidden by the corner wall, she had a good view of the whole exchange. The slave was a youthful-looking human woman with strawberry blonde hair and crisp, sea-green eyes. Lethe guessed she was eighteen - twenty, at most. A cart of what looked to be clean laundry had fallen over beside her; Rime had pinned the slave against the wall, gripping both of her wrists above her head as he roared at her, spittle showering her whole torso. “What did I say about taking this route, slave?!” “Forgive me, master!” said the slave, struggling to free herself, head leaning as far away as she could from her assailant’s salivary deluge. “What is it about you that makes you think you can ignore my express command?” hissed Rime. “I am a lord of the Sith! What are you, but a slave? And what use is a slave if she cannot follow instructions?” “I was just delivering robes to the apprentices, my lord. I meant no offense!” Lethe knew the girl’s protests would fall on deaf ears. Rime was known for his especially cruel treatment of the Empire’s slave caste. He enjoyed tormenting them, torturing and often killing them for minor offenses, sometimes for sport. He insisted the occasional culling ensured others of the slave class would behave; the rest of the lords didn’t care one way or the other. He was a type of Sith Lethe was all too familiar with. She had suffered her share of indignities while she trained at the academy on Korriban, had nearly been executed herself for disobeying her taskmaster’s commands. Her training had taken everything from her, had stolen from her a piece of herself that she could never get back. It didn’t have to be that way. There was a better way … and now that she was Darth ... For a brief second, Lethe wondered if she should intercede. She quashed the thought immediately. There would be no point. Even if she wanted to protect this slave now, Rime would simply find his satisfaction another day. Slaves died all the time in the Empire. It would be impractical to deny a Lord his sport over one middling life. Or so she told herself. Still, Lethe found Rime’s methods distasteful and the man himself repugnant. Wanton death and destruction served no useful purpose. Not in the new order that Lethe had planned. “Delivering clothes? A likely story … more like snooping in places you shouldn’t be. You need to be taught a lesson.” Lethe watched as the pureblood released one of the woman’s hands to reach to his lightsaber. Unclasping it from his belt, he pressed the still-deactivated saber into the slavegirl's gut. She winced, glancing about desperately for aid. “The lesson will be particularly enlightening for your slave friends. You, on the other hand, probably won’t live long enough to appreciate it.” Lethe decided on the spot that this man would never have a seat on her council. She expected to hear the woman cry out, to hear her scream … but no such sound emerged. Instead, Lethe felt a surge in the Force. At first, she thought Rime was going to choke the slave girl, but his hands remained still, save for his thumb inching towards the activation button on his weapon. In that fraction of a second, the slave had pushed out her now free hand, trying desperately to shove Rime away. Rime flew five feet into the air and ten feet back, slamming into the opposite wall and falling to his knees with a pained grunt. Lethe’s eyes widened from behind her golden mask. Now this, she had not expected. “You … you dare lay your hands on me?! You dare strike your master?!” “Stay away from me!” screamed the woman. “You’ve just sealed your fate, slave. A quick death is clearly too generous for you. I’m going to make you r--” Rime’s words died in his throat as Lethe once again felt a surge swell in the Force. She almost couldn’t believe it. The power itself was raw, untested, unrefined … but its potential inspired awe. More than that, Lethe felt that same sensation she did when she stumbled upon her master’s mask: opportunity. She wouldn’t risk losing Hadrax’s support for any slave … but for an apprentice of her own ... “N-no,” the slave said, voice quivering in terror even as she held her Sith assailant pinned by the throat to the wall. “You won’t.” Lethe stepped into view. “Release him.” The slave whirled around, panic-stricken, her eyes filled with equal parts rage and terror as they darted between Lethe and Rime. Lethe could see the cogs spinning behind them: fight or flight, survival or destruction. She filled her voice with that imperious tone she had so often suffered from her own former master: “Do your ears fail you? Release him, now.” The command finally registered; Lethe could see things click as the girl finally realized who she now faced. She dropped to the ground and released her hold on Rime. “M-mercy, Darth Siphon! Mercy!” “I’m going to kill you,” wheezed Rime, clutching at his neck. “You’re dead!” “Hold that thought, Rime,” said Lethe. “Girl, what’s your name?” “Sierra, Master Siphon. I swear, I did not mean any offense. Please.” Rime finally got to his feet, hands flying to his lightsaber. “It’s far too late for apologies, you stupid b--” “Quiet,” said Lethe. “I want to hear what Sierra has to say. You are a slave, and yet you’re clearly touched by the Force. Tell me, why aren’t you at the Sith Academy on Korriban, training to become an apprentice?” She was the right age for it after all, and her potential ... Lethe did not doubt the young woman’s powers could easily match her own with the proper training, perhaps even surpass them. The girl, however, did not respond immediately; she glanced from Rime to Lethe and back, clearly still terrified. “Rime,” said Lethe. “Your presence is no longer required.” “Darth Siphon! This slave had the gall to strike me. I demand satisfaction.” Lethe whirled around to face the pureblood, projecting her voice into an imperious boom. “You think you can make demands of me? Have you forgotten your place, Rime? Choose your next words carefully … or suffer your former master’s fate.” Instantly, Rime demurred. Lethe smiled from behind her mask; she had seen Siphon do this a hundred times: kow upstart apprentices into submission with force of personality alone. It was gratifying to know she could command the same reaction. “No, my lord,” stumbled Rime. “Of course not. I … misspoke.” “That’s what I thought. I suggest you run along now. You’ve tested my patience enough for one day.” She could tell Rime was furious, jaw clenching as he ground his teeth together in frustration. Still, he was either unable or unwilling to challenge her authority; he offered a miniscule bow of the head before retreating without another word. “Come with me,” Lethe said, activating the nearby vault doors and stepping within. She beckoned to the girl to follow her, taking her past shelves of ancient texts and relics, through aisles of datacrons and artifacts. Sierra stepped behind her dutifully, though Lethe could not help but notice the girl glancing around, as though she still suspected Rime might appear at any moment to carry out his threats. Lethe paused occasionally as well, making mental notes of artifacts and holocrons she thought had potential; she had only been here twice since she had assumed ownership of the Citadel. Astraad had ensured that only she and those she authorized had access to this vault of vast knowledge. The only reason she had not delved deep into its stores earlier was to fend off the impression that she needed to bolster her own power to command the Citadel’s denizens. She needed to assure her new power base that their new leader remained strong, independently powerful … without needing to resort to stealing a hated enemy’s secrets. With the possibility that a traitor could be at large, however, Lethe had no choice but to leap headfirst into Orthas’ stores of knowledge. Somewhere here, she would have to find a way to overcome her enemies, both those hidden and those lying in plain sight. First, however, she would explore this opportunity that had walked straight into her path. Lethe and Sierra finally reached a small study tucked in a far corner of the repository. She took her seat at a magnificently ornate desk; she directed Sierra to take the seat across from her with a wave of her hand. “Now that we’re alone … I think it’s time you answered my question.” Sierra paled. “I …” “It’s a simple question, Sierra. You are connected to the Force … you command it with ease; more than even many apprentices. And yet you remain a slave. Why are you not training at the academy? Why have you not reached for the title of an apprentice to the Sith?” Still, the blonde-haired girl balked. Lethe sighed audibly. “... perhaps I was wrong about you. Perhaps I should have let Rime have his way. Shall I fetch him?” Sierra shook her head vehemently. “N-no, master Siphon. I … I’ll tell you.” Lethe sank into her chair for more comfort, motioning with her hand for Sierra to continue. “I did spend time on Korriban … but I never attained the rank of apprentice.” “You failed your trials … and yet you live?” Lethe’s modulated voice did not carry skepticism well, but it would have to do. “I … I fled the Academy,” said Sierra. “The overseer, he … he favored the purebloods among my class. No matter how well I did in the trials, no matter how much stronger I became, he never acknowledged me. I soon realized he never would. He was determined to see his favored pupils ascend and leave the rest of us to languish. I couldn’t overcome him … so I ran.” “Let me guess,” said Lethe. “Harkun.” Sierra nodded. It wasn’t a difficult guess; Overseer Harkun was a renowned xenophobe and classist among the apprentices at the Academy. “I stowed away on a freighter to Ziost,” Sierra continued. “It wasn’t hard to convince the nearest local lord that I was a regular slave, looking for a master. I’ve been hiding my powers ever since then.” “Until Lord Rime forced your hand.” Sierra nodded, shivering. “I … I’ve endured beatings and humiliation before, but it was different this time. Lord Rime was going to kill me, I - I was only defending myself, my lord, you must believe me.” “Of that, I have no doubt. Putting aside your status as a deserter, I’m afraid the fact that you were acting in self defense won’t save you from the wrath of a sith lord.” Sierra’s eyes didn’t blink. “I’m doomed no matter what then.” “So quick to leap to conclusions,” Lethe chuckled lightly; the sound that emitted after modulation sent chills down even her own spine. “If you are resigned to being executed, I certainly can’t stop you. I think you’ll find the alternative I have in mind just slightly more appealing, however.” “My lord?” “I think you just might be the solution to a vexing dilemma.” “Dilemma? Master Siphon, I --” Lethe continued, unabated. “I trust you’ve been trained in the saber forms?” Sierra nodded. “Good. Rime favors Makashi, but tends to transition to Djem So when he cannot overwhelm his opponents with the former. His transition between those two forms is critical; it presents a singular opportunity to take advantage of a blunder in his training, where he exposes a vulnerability on which you can capitalize.” At least, if the intelligence she had received from Astraad was to be believed. It had not failed Lethe yet. “My lord, I don’t understand. What is it you want me to do?” asked Sierra. “Isn’t it obvious?” Lethe smiled from behind her mask, the wheels in her mind spinning with possibilities. “I want you to kill Lord Rime.” * * * * *

While I have overall really enjoyed KOTFE's focus on storytelling, one thing that does kind of bug me is the sheer volume of companions. There are so many companions from all the original class stories, plus the new ones introduced from Shadow of Revan and KOTFE itself. And so many are yet to be re-introduced! For the most part we don't really interact with these companions; they're like pets that occasionally shout a one-liner in battle. Sometimes looking at my follower list, I'm reminded more of playing Pokemon than Star Wars ... I guess my point is I'd rather lose most of the original companions if it meant I could explore more meaningful relationships with a select few, well-developed ones.

Chapter 2 “ … the resettlement of your forces into the Citadel is almost complete, my lord. I’ve left General Ravain in command at Twinspire to ensure the remaining transition remains smooth.” “Very good, Astraad.” Lethe nodded as she looked to the pureblood Sith lord across the circular council table. The man’s graying hair was rapidly turning white, but it was his cybernetic right arm that commanded most of the attention. The man had forsaken his own limb to help her secure Orthas’ domain as her own, a sacrificial token meant to prove her strength to the pureblood following. The least Lethe could do was to sponsor the highest quality of replacements, never forgetting that she still did not know why he seemed so intent on aiding her. Lethe allowed her eyes to survey the entirety of her advisory board seated around her. They were all sith purebloods, dressed now in plain robes that matched her own. With most of Siphon’s strongest disciples lost in the Kaggath, the ranks of Lethe's advisors were now drawn mostly from Orthas’ followers. Of those with the requisite status and power, only Ravain had been loyal to Siphon and now he had been assigned to remain at Twinspire Keep. It was likely for the best. Most of Orthas’ powerbase had been loathe to welcome the woman who slew their master into the heart of their command center in New Adasta, widely known to the rest of Ziost simply as “the Citadel.” Had Astraad not convinced his brethren to honor the terms of the Kaggath, Lethe suspected she would have had another war on her hands. Even with his support, she knew Orthas’ apprentices were wary of her arrival and the inevitable change she would bring with her. Stationing Ravain in a position of authority above them might have pushed them over the edge from dubious support to defiant resistance. She would not risk such a conflict. Not before she was ready. That wasn’t to say she didn’t have plans for change. On the contrary, there was much Lethe wanted to do. For too long, Orthas had mired his following in ridiculous notions of obsolete tradition and an unhealthy obsession with purity of blood. Siphon had been right about that at least; Orthas’ beliefs would have been the Empire’s doom. Lethe would see her empire freed from the chains of its old prejudices. It was up to her to right the course of these wayward Sith, to bring them into enlightenment. Still, she knew better than to rock a ship in a turbulent nebula. And if keeping her grip on her new following meant leaving Ravain behind, she was more than willing to make that sacrifice. Besides, Ravain was close enough to the true Siphon that he might have been able to see through Lethe’s little masquerade. A little distance might indeed prove more beneficial in the long run. Astraad continued his report. “ … the Citadel’s defenses have been shored up and I’ve ordered double patrols for the time-being. We’ve also dispatched envoys to other prominent Sith in New Adasta, including Lord Lector, successor to the late Darth Cerber.” “Why are we courting impure filth?” Lord Hadrax spat his disgust. A young pureblood of noteworthy power, Hadrax had been one of Orthas’ most loyal apprentices. Bald save for a long braid of raven-black hair and bearing the scars of his many battles, the man somehow managed an imposing air despite his relatively short stature. “Darth Orthas never would have needed the aid of false Sith.” “A mistake I would have assumed by now was all too apparent,” snapped Astraad, raising his hand to silence Hadrax before the younger Sith could object. “I won’t be dragged into this debate with you again. What matters now is that despite appearances to the contrary, our power structure is vulnerable. The Kaggath has taken its toll; that much is undeniable. We need to present ourselves as strong, or we risk inviting the hungry eyes of other aspiring Lords. Courting allies - even the appearance of such - is an effective way to ward off aggressors.” A low chuckle rumbled forth from the last of Lethe’s council: Lord Cyriak, a Sith widely known to be more proficient at politics than in combat. Brown locks of hair swept over a face heavily burned - rumor had it Cyriak’s previous master once poured boiling water over his face as punishment for a failed coup. “You bring with you much change, Darth Siphon. Though the logic behind Lord Astraad’s words are hard to deny, Hadrax is right. Orthas would never have allowed it.” “I value all of your counsel,” said Lethe. She chose her words carefully; despite her distaste for Cyriak and Hadrax’s clear dislike of her, she knew she would need them - at least for now - if she wanted to cement her position. “Orthas certainly was no fool in selecting his advisors. Similar wisdom will not go unrewarded while I command.” Astraad and Cyriak nodded, bowing their heads slightly in deference. Hadrax crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. Lethe smiled, forgetting for a moment that her face was hidden by an emotionless mask. But it was the act itself - more than the mistake - that drew her own attention. She never used to smile so freely. She never used to express any emotion at all. But now, from behind an impenetrable visage … Perhaps it was just the role she played. She often imagined Siphon smiling wickedly from behind that metal face, after all. Or perhaps she finally felt free. A whisper of her nightmare flashed through her mind; Lethe's smile vanished unnoticed. “Continue your report, Astraad.” “Yes, my lord. I have taken the liberty of assembling a tribute to the Dark Council on your behalf. It would not hurt to be in the Council’s good graces at the moment.” “What are you including in this tribute?” asked Lethe. “Minor artifacts of more historical value than anything else. Some journals and writings of ancient Sith, a sample of ancient weaponry. Credits. A show of respect, nothing more.” “Very good. If there is nothing else --” “Actually,” said Cyriak, “there is one more small matter, my lord.” The pureblood paused before continuing. Lethe turned to face him directly. “Yes? What is it?” “The relatively minor dilemma of the vacancy on this council, my lord. Darth Orthas always relied upon a council of five to advise him in all things. Of course we three remain your dutiful servants, and I assume General Ravain will be taking a position. That said, there remains one seat open.” Hadrax snorted. “And I’m sure you already have someone in mind to fill Hisseratt’s shoes, Cyriak. No doubt one of your witless lackeys.” “Pay Hadrax no mind, Darth Siphon,” Cyriak said, his sycophantic smile only widening. “But as a matter of fact, I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a - shortlist, shall we say? - of suitable candidates my lord would be most wise to consider for the position.” “You want to elevate another weakling who can barely handle their own lightsaber,” said Hadrax. “What this council needs is someone who commands respect, who has earned their place as Sith and who respects the long legacy of our teachings.” Lethe grimaced from behind her mask. This was naked ambition; she recognized clearly her advisors’ attempts attempt to further broaden their own influence. Siphon had endured similar demands, though not with much patience; she wondered if Orthas often suffered similar power plays. Siding with either Cyriak or Hadrax would undoubtedly earn one’s favor, but at the risk of snubbing the other. That was not a move that would benefit Lethe - not at the moment, anyway. She needed a way to extricate herself from this decision. “Is our power base in disarray?” she asked finally. “Are we besieged and in need of leadership beyond what you three can offer?” “No, my lord. But --” Astraad started to respond, but Lethe cut him off. “Perhaps it is time that this advisory council loses some of its excess weight.” Cyriak protested, apparently appalled at the notion that she would deny him this opportunity to bolster his own influence. “My lord … there have always been five on this council.” “I think you will all find that I appreciate efficiency and effectiveness over outdated tradition.” Lethe paused strategically, glancing to both Hadrax and Cyriak. “But … out of respect for your positions, I will consent to reviewing your proposals. Deliver your suggested candidates and I will consider them.” Her words could have been plucked straight from Siphon’s tongue: an effective stall tactic that offered suitable respect to opposing parties, only hinting at her true intent. She did not need another overly ambitious Sith Lord whispering in her ear, attempting to exert influence where none had been earned. She glanced to each of her current advisors to judge their reactions. Cyriak looked mollified. Hadrax appeared furious, though that one always seemed to be angry. She could deal with him and his empty posturing later. It wasn’t until her gaze landed upon Astraad that she began to question herself; his smile brimmed with forced airs and inauthenticity. Astraad had been an invaluable ally and a true advisor through her transition in taking over Orthas’ power base - indeed, he had even provided Lethe detailed reports on all of Orthas’ Sith followers, including assessments of tactical strengths and weaknesses - but she didn’t doubt for one second that he had his own motives for supporting her ascension. And while Lethe could read Cyriak and Hadrax like they were active datapads, Astraad remained a mystery. No matter. She would unravel Astraad’s agenda sooner or later … and these pureblood Sith would all fall in line. “That will conclude this meeting. You’re all dismissed.” She watched as the three purebloods stood up and offered respectful bows - Hadrax however reluctantly - and made to depart. Astraad hung back however, waiting for Lethe to follow. She sighed inwardly. What did he want now? “What is it Astraad?” she asked. “Have you a list of candidates you’d like me to consider as well?” “No, my lord. I’m content leaving the politics to Hadrax and Cyriak.” said the pureblood, bowing slightly in deference. “I only have a word of advice: you must be cautious in dealing with those two.” “What ever do you mean, Astraad? Are you saying my own advisors pose a threat to me? That they might attempt to undermine me, to seize power from me, to act perhaps anything like a Sith? Why, I would just be flabbergasted at such a prospect, simply and utterly devastated.” Lethe hadn’t intended to launch into a sarcastic deadpan, but it felt so good to get it out. In truth, she did not expect rebellion from any of her followers. Not yet. Siphon’s victory over Orthas was still a mystery to the latter’s disciples; they would not challenge her until they were sure they were as strong as their master at the very minimum. Astraad didn’t react at all to Lethe’s outburst at all. “I realize that you are a Darth, my lord; I do not doubt your skill on the political stage. But our situation goes beyond simple struggles for power. I'm sure I don’t need to remind you that of the last dozen Kaggaths that were fought, how few of them resulted in the unification of two houses at war. And of those who forced such a union, how many managed to survive even six months afterwards? Most tore themselves to pieces within the first month, leaving only the dead to serve as cautionary tales against such an effort.” Lethe hadn't known that, but she would be damned if she let Astraad know it. “I believe we’ve already overcome that particular challenge,” said Lethe. “It’s been two months since I assumed command of this faction. And if you’ll note, our powerbase - my powerbase - remains standing.” “My point is that a certain degree of caution is warranted,” insisted Astraad. “Hadrax is brash, but he nevertheless commands the respect of a particularly ambitious faction within Orthas’ old hierarchy. Cyriak - as much as he appears the simpering sycophant - also holds sway, especially among the older and more experienced apprentices. Their support was critical in ensuring our two houses could unite.” “And angering either of them could threaten that unity.” The pureblood shook his head, looking just slightly surprised. “No, my lord. Whether they are angry is irrelevant. They need to respect you. They need to fear you. Anger from a disciple is preferable to contempt from a rebel. Without their fear, the powerbase is doomed to collapse.” Lethe rolled her eyes, knowing that Astraad would only see her mask’s blank stare. “They do fear me. I killed their old master. Why else would they follow me now?” “They follow because your victory over Orthas is a mystery they have yet to solve. They follow because I assure them that our power united can only lead to greater status for us all. None of them would be with you if not for that. Hadrax was particularly resistant to unification. I was only able to convince him based on your victory over Orthas in combat, that if you could defeat him, you must surely be the better Sith. Regrettably, your battle had no witnesses; none can attest to how you bested our former master.” Neither did Lethe. She merely stumbled across his body and her abandoned mask. “Does it matter?” asked Lethe, careful to hide her own ignorance. “It was his corpse - not mine - that was paraded before the battlefield. There could be no greater evidence that I am the stronger Sith.” “Perhaps to most. But Hadrax and Cyriak still ascribe to the traditions that Orthas touted while he was master of this Citadel. They may have gone along with this transition out of ambition for themselves, but they won’t know respect for you until they see your power firsthand …” Astraad paused, eyes darting towards Lethe. For once, she was glad for the mask. She knew what Astraad was waiting for - any true Darth would have demanded either Cyriak or Hadrax - perhaps even both - to be dragged before her, to engage them in single combat and emerge a victor to prove to all that their leadership could not be challenged. As a Darth, defeating two upstart lords should have posed no problem. The problem was … she was not really a Darth. Lethe didn’t know if she would be able to defeat either Cyriak or Hadrax. The latter numbered among Orthas’ most powerful disciples, and while former’s reputation could not boast the same, he nevertheless had survived dozens of years serving under one of the most ruthless Sith Ziost had ever seen. One didn’t outlast the rest of one’s class of Sith peers through weakness. And while Lethe certainly numbered among Siphon’s strongest … she could not assure victory against Orthas’ best. And therein laid the rub. If she demanded a duel with Cyriak or Hadrax and lost, she would lose everything. Her masquerade as Darth Siphon would have been for nothing; losing a duel to a Lord was a humiliation from which a Darth rarely recovered. Even victory might cost her more than she could afford - if it did not come with ease, her power would be called into question, undermining her authority and opening the door for ambitious disciples and rival Lords to exploit. No. Lethe had to preserve Siphon’s reputation, at least until she amassed enough power to truly embody a Darth. And that meant she would have to deflect Astraad’s unspoken challenge. It would be curious to not demand such a duel, yes … but it was the price she had to pay to maintain her cover. “As I said … you will find that I value efficiency and effectiveness over tradition.” Lethe laughed lightly through her mask, grateful that the modulation hid her uncertainty. “Why go through the effort of humiliating my own followers when I can earn their loyalty through other means?” Astraad could not hide the hint of surprise in his eyes. “As … as you say, my lord Siphon. But if you will not put them in their place, how will you keep them in line?” “Your concerns are duly noted, Lord Astraad,” said Lethe, willfully ignoring his query. She was tired of his prattling. “You are dismissed.” Astraad hesitated only for a second before dutifully retreating from the council chambers. Lethe followed a few minutes later, heading towards the nearest turbolift. Her new quarters in the Citadel resided on the top floor of a thirty-floor high-rise, bought and paid for by Orthas himself. The lift was slow, and hummed its age. Lethe briefly wondered how many had stood in the very place she now did. How many Sith and Imperial dignitaries had Orthas entertained in his stronghold? How much influence and power had run through these halls, wielded at times like blunt cudgels and at others like surgical knives? She wondered how many of her supposed servants now plotted against her. Lethe was no fool. She recognized how precarious her situation really was. She may have grasped at power … but at every moment, it struggled against her grip. A single mistake, a single oversight, and her tenuous hold on it would be lost. She couldn’t lose it. Not yet. She still had so much she wanted to accomplish. Stepping out of the turbolift and into her massive penthouse suite, Lethe breathed out a quiet sigh. Cold but fresh air wafted in from the open windows as speeder traffic buzzed below. A shiver ran up Lethe’s spine. Over the holocom, one of her operatives’ voices rang out. “My lord. We’ve received a message addressed to you. I’ve forwarded it to your personal terminal.” “Thank y--” Her mind exploded in agony. She recognized the the pain, the terror, but recognition did nothing to alleviate the experience. It felt as though an iron gauntlet had closed itself around her skull, pushing inwards at the fingertips, determined to crush, unwilling to yield. It was the Force, unleashed with unadulterated fury. And then it was gone. The holocom rang out once more, dulled by Lethe’s throbbing head. “My lord? Are you alright?” There was no one else in her room. She was alone. It took Lethe a moment to gather herself, breathing a muddled “Yes, I’m fine.” But she was anything but fine. Her heart raced, pounding against her chest as the echoes of excruciating pain rippled inward, shook her to her very core. It took her a second longer to recognize that the message she received had begun an automated playback. A single word manifested in the air, projected by her holo terminal, laying bare an accusation in pulsing, scarlet light: IMPOSTOR.

Part One: Usurpers Chapter 1 Two Months After the Battle of Twinspire Keep (3637 BBY) - Siphon’s Citadel, New Adasta The face that stared back at Lethe in the mirror was no longer her own. She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the sight of her former master’s golden mask gazing back at her with all of its imperious nonchalance. Every time she saw her own reflection, she heard her master’s voice echo through her very core, delivering accusations that she could not deny: Liar. Pretender. Usurper. It helped that she had so few opportunities to actually remove the guise. She couldn’t afford risking anyone discovering her true identity. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. As Darth Siphon, she had power. As Siphon, she inherited the glory and pride due to a victor emerged from a Kaggath. As Siphon, she commanded a power structure that would rival Darth Nox’s in the days before her ascent to the Dark Council. As Lethe, she had nothing. Still, wearing the visage was at times unbearable. The metal face had been welded to a leather sleeve meant for the head, the only circulation granted from the two holes carved into the metal nose to allow for breath. More than unbearable, it was a jail cell for her face. She wanted to feel it again, wanted her cheeks to know the touch of fresh air free of sweat and grime. More than that, she longed to see her old face again, to know that somewhere inside of the persona she projected, some semblance of her true self still remained. Before the ornate mirror placed upon her dressing table in her new quarters, she gingerly pulled at the golden mask. Its impassive expression stared back at her, reflected in the mirror, its dead eyes somehow filled with judgment. It fought her every effort, clung to her face like a babe to its mother, unrelenting, unbowed. Its defiance was by her own design; what use was a mask in battle if it could be jostled or knocked loose? It was how her master had lost the mask she now possessed in the first place. Better now that it be obstinate than risk the revelation of secrets that Lethe could not afford to reveal. But something felt wrong - the mask would not come off, no matter how her fingers peeled at the golden caricature or worked at the leather bindings. Her heartbeat quickened. It was one thing to choose to don the mask - it was another to be trapped within it, unable to extricate herself from the permanent prison of another’s identity. To be denied herself, to be denied Lethe … it was not a sensation she had ever thought she would fear. Not until now. Why would it not come free? She clawed at the mask now, angling her fingernails into the leather, digging into the grooves of the metal to peel it away - by force if necessary - desperate to unveil her face. It was ridiculous; she would have laughed had urgency not overwhelmed all other emotion. She knew only one thing now. She had to liberate herself from this cage. Through the Force, she found her answer. Reaching into her well of power, she pulled at the mask from two ends, two hands compelling the mask to rip, to tear, to shatter. She no longer cared if the mask was destroyed - so long as the metal remained, she could always restore the rest later. She threw all of her power behind her effort - she could feel the mask tearing, loosening around her head, buckling under her will. She closed her eyes and screamed as her efforts bore fruition; two halves of the mask flew to separate sides of her room, the half with the metal face slamming into the wall with a violent screech. She felt it immediately: freedom. The caress of a gentle breeze flowing in from the open doors of her balcony, whispering upon her skin sweet release. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she opened her eyes, eager to reclaim her identity … if only for a few minutes. The sight of her own reflection snuffed out her hopes as her heart skipped a beat. What looked back at her now was a face … but a face without features. Dark skin wrapped around a skull, without a nose, without a mouth. In place of eyes, two gaping holes revealing only darkness as black as oblivion, widening in terror. She didn’t understand; she wanted to scream, but no sound could come from a mouth that did not exist. She watched in horror as her jaw and chin reflected her efforts to shriek, only for silence to follow. No trace of her former self remained. Without the mask, she was nothing. She was no one. She woke, covered in sweat, heart pounding against her chest with insistent declaration. She raced to her mirror, tearing off the mask as quickly as she could. Desperate, she didn’t care that the metal caught against her cheek and scraped against it painfully even as she finally extricated herself from it. It was not until her old face finally came into view that she breathed a sigh of relief. It was just a dream. She glanced down at the mask now lying on the floor of her quarters. It looked smaller … and yet somehow more terrifying than it had ever seemed before. She glanced at a nearby digital clock; 0400 hours. She would have to put the mask back on, assume the role of Siphon once more. She had no choice … only Siphon could command the power base she had amassed. If she ever wanted to achieve her goals, to expand her power, to ascend to the Dark Council … she could not waver. Not now. Not when she was so close. Lethe reached down to pick up the fallen mask. For just a second, her fingers paused before grabbing the visage and gingerly donning it once more. She told herself her hesitation was nothing, a side-effect of being groggy and half-asleep. But in her heart of hearts, she knew the truth. * * * * *

Prologue Writer's Note: After reflecting a bit on Misha's invaluable feedback, I've decided to hide the Prologue chapter behind spoiler tags. My intention with the prologue was mainly to serve as a bridge between the False Sith and the False Empire. However, as Misha pointed out, I don't want to scare readers away by bombarding them with too many names and lore-dumps at once if they don't know the background of everything that's happened. I think you'll get more out of it if you've already read the False Sith. If you haven't, and don't want to go back and read that fanfic that's admittedly a bit of an editing nightmare, I would recommend starting with Chapter 1 instead.

Hi everybody! It's been a while since I've posted anything here but I've been working on a sequel to my first story and wanted to share it with you guys. The False Empire is a direct sequel to my first story, Heralds of the Fall - The False Sith. Both stories are set after the "Shadow of Revan" expansion storyline, but before the "Rise of the Emperor" game update. The stories take place on Ziost; False Empire centers on the aftermath of the Kaggath fought between two powerful Darths. While the main characters from the False Sith will reappear, False Empire will focus on a new set of characters as they try to survive the treacherous path that is Sith politics. I did my best so that readers don't need to have read the first story to understand what's going on in the False Empire, although knowledge of the events of the first story will shed light on certain developments. As with the False Sith, characters in False Empire are mostly original, though there are occasionally some subtle references 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! As always, thank you very much for reading and I welcome any and all feedback. HERALDS OF THE FALL - THE FALSE EMPIRE Part One: Usurpers Part Two: Exiles Part Three: Interlopers

I support this! I remember a developer once mentioned they were looking into it ... once upon a time ...

Agreed! Really exciting chapter. I could really feel that bitterness and resentment in the dialogue between Atro and K'saria, made for a totally compelling read.

I also would really like to see this! The main trouble I see is that if KOTFE uses choices you made from the main class stories - which supposedly it does? - it might pose a conflict if the KOTFE you're running is based off choices that you might be changing in a replay of the class story. Maybe this could be solved by locking in those choices? Or by disregarding choices made in replays? I don't know, but it would still be nice to have the option!

I think one of the probes is linked to the helmet, and the other probe is linked to the chestpiece, but I just tested it now and the chestpiece no longer seems to have a probe.

It seems like I'm in the minority, but I think I prefer a 1-size fits all KOTFE spread out over 8 months to 8 separate 30-minute individual class stories that I won't see again for another year. I resubscribed for KOTFE and overall I am okay with it. Do I wish there was more class-specific content? Absolutely. But I definitely wouldn't stay subscribed to a game where I have to wait 11 months to play that one class story that I really want to play. That's just me though. I do wish there was more acknowledgement of our base classes. For example, it does annoy me a little that my sith inquisitor seems to have forgotten how to use Force Lightning in all the cutscenes. XD

Theron's not accepting them either, that ungrateful jerk.

Rise of the Emperor and KotFE for me. And while I liked Shadow of Revan overall, I personally was not a fan of the Rishi elements and it also felt itself like a expansion-sized prologue for KOTFE.

Really enjoyed this chapter! Took me about 2 hours to complete (though I did stop and kill every hostile mob and reset a few cutscenes because I didn't like what some of the dialog choices ended up being). Some really interesting developments, two very exciting fights, and some of the most beautiful sets in swtor yet. Thumbs up in my book.

I'm really glad the feedback seems mostly positive so far! Can't wait to get home now.

I support! I also support more male force-sensitive companions overall ...

Wow! Amazing, thanks for the share Luna!

Another Tosin:

While I do agree with this statement in general, for minority players such as myself, it can be helpful to know there is fan content being created with perspectives that might more closely match our own. I think advertising this perspective is just an attempt to connect with a specific audience.

Wow! This is an amazing accomplishment; congratulations! The quality of your writing is always excellent and in the few months that I've been lurking around your thread, I've always been impressed by the thought and care given to these characters and your story. Will eagerly look forward to see what's in store for us in Spy vs. Spy.

These are all really cool!

Another prompt! Interlude Something felt ... off. Tosin wiped his face clean with a soggy towel and stared into the mirror above the sink in the ship's lavatory. His face stared back at him, unimpressed. He thought a shower and a shave might restore a sense of normalcy, a sense of familiarity; it did, but only in the smallest sense. Something still didn't feel right. Everything was different now: he had gone from a Sith Lord respected by many of his peers to a fugitive. An apostate living aboard a starship, desperate to make ends meet where once he had been privy to luxury. In Darth Siphon's service, he could've expected the best meals, superior accommodations, and the service of only the highest caliber of slaves. Now, he ate ration packs and struggled to acclimate himself into living quarters barely larger than his old closet. Back then, Agent Hallian Quen would have addressed him as Lord, would have catered to his whim and needs. Now, they worked together as equals, sharing in all tasks aboard the ship from scrubbing the floors to cleaning laundry. She called him "Toes" entirely too often. Before, he could have asked for any of her possessions, and it would be expected and understood that she would offer them to him freely. Now, he had to hide his shame after swiping baked treats from her like a child. He thought back to before the Kaggath, how much the woman aggravated him. Now, he was grateful for her company. What's more ... he actually cared how she felt. Cared what she thought of him. That was perhaps the most unsettling of all. Why did he care? Everything had changed when he disavowed his former master. But could this single act bring about such a transformation within himself? Was this how he would have felt had he never joined Siphon at all? He glanced back to the mirror and his heart skipped a beat and a chill ran down his spine. For just a second, the color of his eyes seemed to flicker, the sinister yellow of his irises darkened to a pale mahogany. Tosin splashed water onto his face and wiped it off again. Returning to his reflection, he saw that his irises had returned to normal. Perhaps he was just seeing things. It had been a long day. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.