Afterimages: Dawn

[bright_ephemera]

Kettrien, yes. Sample all the Chiss drinks.

[Vesaniae]

Kettrien finds the fun in all situations!

 

Thirty-Five

The Citadel, Dromund Kaas

17 ATC

 

 

The invitation had listed no time other than “your earliest convenience,” so A’tro had headed for Nox’s chambers immediately.

 

There had been no details in the message about why Nox wanted to see her, but that was not particularly surprising. No, what was surprising was that Nox was back on Dromund Kaas, and A’tro hadn’t yet heard about it. Requesting a meeting must have been one of the first things she’d done upon arriving.

 

As A’tro reached Nox’s chambers, she found her Dashade warrior standing guard outside. That was unusual, and it made A’tro nervous even as the Dashade stepped aside and beckoned to her to enter. Something strange was going on. She could feel it.

 

Nox’s antechamber was very similar to A’tro’s, with a large glass-paneled wall overlooking the city, but the glass had been darkened to nearly complete opacity, as if to prevent anyone from looking in. A small astromech droid sat off to one side, emitting a low hum, probably to interfere with any listening devices. A’tro slowly made her way into the room, keeping her lightsabers within close reach.

 

Nox herself stood with her back to the window, a bright spot against the dark glass. She was wearing an emerald green dress, cut low to expose her shoulders and an expanse of pale bosom, close-fitting around her torso with a flowing skirt that pooled around her on the floor. An ornate collar of green stones the same color as the dress adorned her long neck. Her hair fell in waves around her bare shoulders, the black locks blending in with the tinted glass behind her.

 

She looked dressed for a party rather than a secret meeting, but A’tro had come to expect that sort of thing from her. What she had not expected to see was Darth Marr, present and standing close enough to Nox to suggest that the two had been engaged in conversation.

 

Nox spoke first. “Lovely to see you, as always, my dear.”

 

A’tro cautiously approached the two Sith Lords. “What’s this all about, Nox?”

 

“The future of the Empire,” Marr said softly.

 

“Ah,” A’tro muttered. “One of those meetings. I’m guessing something has happened to set this off.”

 

“On the contrary,” Nox drawled, “nothing has happened. Not yet. That’s the whole point.”

 

A’tro put her hands on her hips. “Are you going to explain properly, or will I have to drag it out of you one ambiguity at a time?”

 

“I’ll explain in a moment.” A hint of mischief curled Nox’s customary half-smile. “Not everyone is here yet.”

 

A’tro went down a mental list of people Nox might invite to a clandestine conference. It was very short. Unless… “Don’t tell me you invited Ravage.”

 

Nox shrugged one shoulder. “After the three of us, he is the next most powerful member of the Council by a large margin, so yes, I did.”

 

A’tro frowned incredulously. “Do you really expect him to show up?”

 

“He won’t,” Marr interjected.

 

Nox kept smiling. “We’ll see. You may be surprised.”

 

“I highly doubt that,” A’tro said, shaking her head. “You may as well tell me what this is all about.”

 

“If you insist.” Nox folded her hands neatly together in front of her. “Intelligence sources in the Republic report that—”

 

A’tro felt the Force presence approaching an instant before the door opened, but she still turned around to watch Darth Ravage walk into the room.

 

I don’t believe it, A’tro thought. What in the Emperor’s name did Nox tell him?

 

“I regret this already,” Ravage said sourly, coming to a halt some distance away from the other Sith.

 

“Afraid?” Marr asked, his voice going soft and meaningful.

 

“Of what?” Ravage said scornfully. He looked around the room, his gaze settling on A’tro for a moment, then on Nox for a moment more. “I’m in no danger here.”

 

“Believe me, Ravage,” Marr murmured, “you are always in danger.”

 

Nox glided forward, interposing herself halfway between them. “Gentlemen, I must ask for the sake of the Empire that any fighting be postponed until we have come to a decision. And then I’d like to watch.”

 

A’tro suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

 

“For the sake of the Empire,” Marr said with noticeable reluctance.

 

Ravage only scowled.

 

Nox beamed. “Now, then. As I was about to say, Intelligence sources in the Republic recently presented me with a rather interesting report.”

 

“Had Saresh assassinated yet?” Ravage broke in.

 

“Oh, dear me, no. She’s far too useful to us alive.” Nox’s tone became brisk and businesslike, a startling change from her usual drawl. A’tro had only heard her speak like that on a few occasions. “Case in point: thanks to Saresh’s continued escalation of the war, a significant number of Senators have become disenchanted with the stalemate, which seems unlikely to end any time soon. Their troops, money, and resources are being used in massive quantities with very little reward, and they and their worlds have grown tired of it. These Senators want peace, and they are willing to do whatever it takes to get it—including negotiating a truce with us.”

 

There was a long silence.

 

A’tro spoke first. “What exactly are you proposing?”

 

Nox met her eyes. “I’m proposing that we take them up on it.”

 

“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” A’tro said grimly.

 

Marr sighed faintly. “This…may be necessary.”

 

A’tro turned to stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“Marr is always serious, trust me,” Ravage said. “And though it pains me to admit it, I’m inclined to agree.”

 

Is this really happening? A’tro wondered. “I know the war could be going better, but surely we needn’t resort to this.”

 

“We resorted to a truce with the Republic once before,” Ravage pointed out.

 

Marr sighed again. “I have spent much of the past five years on the front lines. I know the state of our forces. Unless something truly extraordinary occurs, the Empire is no longer in a position to win this war. We can only hope to survive it.”

 

“We are not losing,” A’tro snapped. Anger blossomed, smoldering in her chest. “The only reason our forces are in their current state is because we continue to fight each other rather than the Republic! I have said this time and again, and I have been ignored—by our counterparts on the Council, by the rest of the Sith, by everyone who would pursue petty squabbles and wallow in a sea of Imperial blood instead of crushing our enemies!”

 

Her voice echoed through the room. She took a deep breath, clenching her fists at her sides. Emotion is weakness, she reminded herself. Maintain control.

 

“Sith fight one another. That’s how it is,” Ravage said flatly. “I will agree that involving the military in personal conflicts is a waste of resources. Fight your own battles, or be killed.”

 

“But Ravage,” Nox murmured dramatically, “that goes against Sith tradition.”

 

Ravage ignored her.

 

“The Empire is slow to change,” Marr said. “That is why I believe we need to seize this opportunity for a ceasefire.”

 

A’tro pressed her lips together into a tight line, thinking hard. A truce with the Republic? She had been seventeen when the Treaty of Coruscant was signed, her dreams of going straight from the Korriban academy to crushing Jedi on the front lines snatched away in an instant. Years later, during her service to Darth Baras, she had relished the opportunity to be a part of the first strikes that reignited the conflict. War was all she had ever trained for, all she had ever wanted.

 

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that the others were right. Peace would give the Empire a chance to recover, to stabilize volatile elements within the power structure and approach the future more unified than before. Without the Republic nipping at their heels, they could afford to turn on one another, weeding out those unwilling to follow the new order.

 

Peace would let A’tro stay on Dromund Kaas and raise her daughter. It was a sentimental thought, but also a practical one. Saryn needed her mother alive and present to guide her along the path to becoming a strong, disciplined Sith, the kind who would lead the Empire into a new golden age.

 

“Very well,” she said finally. “I see your point. This…this is for the best.”

 

“Of course, that’s all assuming we can even make this work,” Nox pointed out. “The Senators may change their minds, or be found out and arrested for treason—Saresh isn’t exactly forgiving. And then we would have to convince the rest of the Council.”

 

“They will fall in line,” Marr said coolly, “or they will fall.”

 

Ravage looked at A’tro. “What about the Emperor?”

 

She kept her face expressionless. “If he objects, I’m sure we’ll know about it.”

 

“Wonderful,” Ravage muttered. “I always wanted to go down in history as part of a Dark Council that overstepped and got itself purged.”

 

“Cheer up,” Nox told him. “If the Emperor’s Wrath is being so reasonable about this, I’m sure the Emperor himself will see the wisdom of this plan.”

 

A pang of uncertainty ran through A’tro. She did her best to ignore it. “So we’re decided, then?”

 

“I’m all for it,” Nox said airily. “I lose so many agents in wartime. I could use a chance to replace a few.”

 

Ravage eyed her suspiciously for a moment. “If we can make this work…it would be useful.”

 

“I do not make this decision lightly,” Marr said. “But I believe it is the best option.”

 

Nox reached up and twirled a lock of her hair around one finger. “Lovely. I’ll have my people reach out to the Senators in question and let them know we’re interested in talking. Now leave one at a time, at intervals, and do try to be discreet about it.”

 

A’tro made the walk back to her apartment slowly, deep in thought. It seemed odd to her that Ravage and Marr had both acquiesced so quickly to the possibility of a truce with the Republic. Not only was it the first time she had ever seen the two of them agree on something, the thing in question was peace, something to which both Sith normally seemed staunchly opposed.

 

Maybe Nox had blackmailed them both; as head of Sith Intelligence, she was certainly in a position to do so. Then again, Ravage and Marr had both been on the Dark Council when the Treaty of Coruscant was signed. The Empire had had the upper hand, then, but perhaps they both recognized that the time had come once more to stall the conflict.

 

It still made A’tro uncomfortable, but she had to acknowledge that the Imperial military was stretched thin. The Republic was not faring much better, and the Jedi Order had certainly sustained enough losses to—

 

A’tro stopped in mid-step. The Jedi.

 

K’saria.

 

I think we should talk, the message had said. Was her sister connected to the Republic faction that wanted peace? She would know the costs of fighting the Empire better than anyone. And she had always been pragmatic.

 

Having the support of the Jedi would make the Senate faction’s bid for a truce much more legitimate. Meeting with K’saria could be a way to ensure that support.

 

A’tro resumed walking. The Dark Council would have to manage without her for a few days. It seemed she would be going to Alderaan after all.

[MilaniGrey]

I know what Alderaan means.

 

[bright_ephemera]

“Wonderful,” Ravage muttered. “I always wanted to go down in history as part of a Dark Council that overstepped and got itself purged.”

 

Ravage is a national treasure.

 

Great secret meeting. What's the Empire supposed to be, if not soaked in blood?

[Vesaniae]

Sorry about the long wait. Between the amount of things going on in my life right now and the difficulty of this chapter to write, it was slow going. I'll do my best to keep the updates coming, but things are very busy for me right now, so I can't guarantee how often I'll be able to work on this. The fic's still going, though. I'm in this for the long haul.

 

Thirty-Six

Chiss Expansionary Defense Force warship Tempest

17 ATC

 

 

The latest round of discussion was in full swing, so the bulk of the Chiss soldiers were positioned around the conference room. Thaera managed to make her way all the way to the Aristocra’s quarters, located on the opposite side of the ship from where the Imperials were staying, without encountering anyone at all.

 

That was good, because she was wearing her black Intelligence uniform, and it would have been difficult to explain what she was doing in that area. She had worn it for a reason, however. She had to make the proper impression.

 

Thaera sliced the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside the Aristocra’s cabin, closing and relocking the door behind her. It was a much larger room than the one she was staying in. The furniture was sparse, but elegant in the distinctive Chiss minimalist style. A small viewport on one wall gave a view of deep space.

 

A table with two chairs was set up against one wall. Thaera sat down in the chair facing the door and waited.

 

The negotiations were not going well. Verani, for all her famed prowess as a diplomat, was failing to make any sort of headway. Although Thaera had not said so, she was not surprised. Mitth’elen’invari had led the anti-Imperial faction within the Ascendancy government for years. Her staunch isolationist views had never wavered. Now that the Empire was starting to falter in the war against the Republic, it was inevitable that she would find enough support to attempt to break all ties.

 

As she sat and waited for the Aristocra to return from the talks, Thaera wondered why she bothered. She surely had no more hope of success than Verani. The Ascendancy’s alliance with the Empire seemed destined to come to an end.

 

But she was going to try anyway. She had to.

 

She was reluctant to admit it, but she was glad that she would soon be returning to Dromund Kaas. The way the other Chiss looked at her and at the Imperial uniform she wore… To those loyal soldiers, she was a traitor to their species.

 

Even after a decade in the Empire, even knowing that she had left of her own accord, she couldn’t entirely disagree with that.

 

Thaera waited, trying to keep her thoughts on the moment. It was some time before the door opened and the Aristocra walked in, alone.

 

She spotted Thaera immediately, and she froze in place, her eyes going wide. For a moment, Thaera thought she might call for the guards, but instead she keyed the door shut and walked forward slowly until she was less than two meters away.

 

Ten years had passed since Thaera had last seen her. Mitth’elen’invari, core name Theleni, had grown no softer with age. Indeed, the lines on her face had deepened, and her hair was starting to turn gray, a rare phenomenon among Chiss. Surprise was an odd expression on her face, which seemed made to show only sternness and disdain.

 

“I don’t believe it,” Theleni said softly in Cheunh. “It’s really you. Mitth’aer’akuesa.”

 

Thaera stiffened at the sound of her full name. “Can I even still be called that?” she asked, lapsing effortlessly into the Cheunh dialect unique to the upper echelons of the Eighth Ruling Family. “I thought you would have disowned me by now, Mother.”

 

“I thought about it,” Theleni admitted. “But I couldn’t. You are still my daughter, even if you did desert our house for the Empire.” Her lip curled on the last word. “I notice you’re in uniform.”

 

“I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea and think I was coming back to the Ascendancy.”

 

“Ah, I see.” Theleni strode forward and seated herself in the chair across from Thaera. “You’re here on behalf of the Imperials, then. To convince me to see ‘reason,’ as it were.”

 

“Yes.” Thaera’s hands balled into fists in her lap almost of their own accord. “That’s why I’m here.”

 

“You’re wasting your time. You and that Verani woman both. It’s a shame, really—for a human, she is almost enjoyable to debate with. But in the end, there is nothing to debate.”

 

“I had a feeling you would say that.”

 

Theleni raised an eyebrow. “What, no argument? No attempt to convince me that cooperating with the Empire is more beneficial than harmful?”

 

“I’ve changed,” Thaera said quietly.

 

“I suppose it’s plain enough to see. I barely recognized you.”

 

“It’s been ten years. What did you expect?”

 

Theleni looked away. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

 

“You never expected to see me again,” Thaera stated, calm and matter-of-fact. Her initial tension was fading. She had changed, and her mother hadn’t. She could handle this.

 

Theleni turned to meet her eyes again. “No, I didn’t. Once I saw that that woman from Imperial Intelligence had gotten through to you, I knew there was nothing I could say or do that would convince you to stay.” She sighed. “I should have tried harder.”

 

“Don’t act like this was your fault,” Thaera said sharply. “I chose this.”

 

“Yes, and look at where it’s gotten you!” Theleni snapped. “I heard what happened to Imperial Intelligence. You were lucky you weren’t killed by the very people you swore to serve. All those years of complaining that you had no freedom to choose your own path in the Ascendancy, and you signed your life over to those who are within their rights to end it on a whim. Can you really sit there and honestly tell me that it’s better? That you’re happy?”

 

“Happiness is no longer a factor. I do what I have to.”

 

“Have to?” Theleni repeated, crimson eyes going wide with outrage. “You don’t owe them anything. You never have. You’re a Chiss. You belong here, not serving an Empire that hates and fears you.”

 

“You don’t understand.”

 

“Clearly.”

 

There was a long silence.

 

“When I first saw you,” Theleni said softly, “I thought you might be here to kill me.”

 

Thaera frowned. “What?”

 

“I know how the Empire operates. Eliminate all opposition. And I certainly qualify.”

 

“Mother…” Thaera started, although she had no idea what she was going to say.

 

“It would have been a brilliant ploy, I must admit. Send my own daughter to assassinate me.”

 

“Mother,” Thaera said again, feeling no more certain of her words. “Did you really think that I would—that I could—”

 

Theleni stared her down. “I don’t know. You said it yourself: you’ve changed. For all I knew, it was your idea.”

 

Unease whispered down Thaera’s spine. “How could you possibly think that?” she demanded, trying to burn away the uneasy feelings with anger. “I’m still me. I’m still a Chiss. Family is everything to me. I came here to talk to you, nothing more.”

 

“I couldn’t help but be suspicious,” Theleni said grimly. “I may not like the Empire, but I would be a fool to ignore everything that happens in it. I know more than you think.”

 

“Really.” Thaera tried to remain calm, to pretend that she didn’t know what was coming. Lying to herself, however, had never been something she was very good at.

 

“I know, for instance, that you are the head of Sith Intelligence.”

 

She hadn’t been expecting that. “That’s classified information.”

 

“Officially, perhaps, but almost everyone in your organization knows who you are, ‘Seeker.’” Theleni said the word in Basic, the frown lines on her face intensifying as she spoke. “And some of them can be persuaded to talk. But that’s not your only title.”

 

No. “You don’t want to do this, Mother.”

 

“Do what? Ask how my daughter managed to become associated with an individual who, as I understand it, was one of the most feared Sith in recent history? How my daughter is said to have cooperated with this Sith to carry out an attack that cost thousands of innocent people their lives?”

 

Thaera’s hands clenched tighter in her lap. “You don’t understand.”

 

“It seems clear enough to me.” Theleni shook her head. “You don’t deny it. I had hoped you would. Not the answer I wanted.”

 

Thaera’s hands started to tremble. “I had to.”

 

“You had to be an accomplice in mass murder. Of course.” Theleni’s lip curled. “So this is what the Empire has made you. I suppose Darth Jadus gave an order, and you felt obligated to follow it, no matter what.”

 

“I didn’t want to,” Thaera whispered.

 

Theleni arched an eyebrow. “Is that how you justify it to yourself? I’m sure most of the victims were only human, but that’s still a war crime by any civilized definition of—”

 

Thaera’s self-control shattered.

 

She was on her feet with no memory of rising, her hands slamming down on the tabletop. Theleni jerked backwards in her chair, fear rising on her face.

 

“I didn’t want to do it,” Thaera said, half-choking on the words. “I would have died before I gave up the command codes. I would never have—I never—” She gasped in a breath. “Jadus made me do it. The darkness was inside my head, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t fight him.” She closed her eyes. “I couldn’t stop myself from killing them.”

 

She leaned heavily against the table. It was so hard to stay upright when the darkness was weighing her down. It receded a little each day since Jadus had vanished from the known galaxy, but it would never be gone. It was still there in the back of her mind. Waiting. She would never be free of it.

 

Never.

 

A soft touch on her shoulder broke through the fog of despair. Thaera opened her eyes to see her mother standing beside her.

 

“Thaera,” Theleni said, “I apologize. I had no idea—”

 

“I don’t need pity,” Thaera interrupted. “And you shouldn’t apologize.”

 

“Very well,” Theleni said stiffly, removing her hand from Thaera’s shoulder. “If that’s what you want.”

 

She lowered her hand to her side, and Thaera noticed it was trembling. Looking upwards, she noted the set of her jaw, the tight line of her mouth, and realized that she was shaking with rage.

 

“What I do not understand,” Theleni said slowly, “is why, after everything that’s happened to you, you still came here to convince me to support the Empire.”

 

Thaera swallowed hard, pushing herself away from the table to stand upright. “Because you have to.”

 

“I have to? After what you’ve told me, I’m more convinced than ever that the Ascendancy needs to stay as far away from the Empire as possible. Our people’s history has had its dark moments, but the Sith are monstrous.”

 

“They are,” Thaera agreed. “And that’s precisely why we have to stay allied with them.”

 

Theleni put her hands on her hips. “Explain.”

 

“The Sith are just a fraction of the Empire. A powerful, dangerous fraction, but still only a small piece. Most of the Imperial citizens are just people. Ordinary people, not so different from us, except for the fact that they live under the perpetual durasteel fist of the Sith.”

 

“And?”

 

“And they need us, Mother. They’ve never known anything other than the Empire. They need the Ascendancy to show them that a society can be great without the Sith. A society as advanced and orderly as their own, but where the people don’t have to live in fear. We’re the only ones who can show them that.”

 

Theleni frowned, clearly thinking hard. “I will have to consider this.”

 

“That’s all I ask.” Thaera started towards the door. “I should be getting back.”

 

“I suppose…I will see you later, then.” Theleni moved back over to her chair and sat down, turning her back.

 

“I suppose so,” Thaera said, and left.

[MilaniGrey]

Thaera pls

[RikeG]

Wow, the last bit between mother and daughter was very intense.

I just don't know if Thaera's argument is enough to tip the balance.

[Vesaniae]

Thirty-Seven

Alderaan

17 ATC

 

 

Snow crunched under A’tro’s boots as she made her way through the tall conifers, their deep green boughs frosted with white. It was early spring in Alderaan’s northern hemisphere, but this high up in the mountains, winter still held sway. A’tro, who had grown up on Dromund Kaas, found the snowy forest to be a novel and beautiful sight.

 

Quinn walked beside her, silently surveying their surroundings. There was something nostalgic about the two of them traveling together into unknown territory with only the vaguest idea of what they would encounter when they got there. It had been a long time since they’d gone on a mission like that.

 

The last time A’tro had been on Alderaan was when she had hunted down Jaesa’s family on Darth Baras’ orders. She had left Jaesa behind on Dromund Kaas to watch over Saryn, and she had a feeling her apprentice was glad to be able to avoid returning to her homeworld. The past was a tricky thing, and A’tro could understand wanting to distance oneself from it.

 

It was a darkly amusing thought, given that she was on her way to meet her sister. The reminder soured A’tro’s good mood. She drew on that anger, letting it strengthen her. She didn’t think it would come to a fight, but if it did, she intended to be prepared.

 

“My lord,” Quinn said quietly.

 

A’tro wasn’t sure why he was using her title; who was going to overhear, the trees? Then again, this was Alderaan, where the noble houses had espionage down to an art form. Perhaps it was best to be cautious.

 

“What is it?” she asked.

 

“We are drawing close to the target coordinates. Do you have a plan of action?”

 

“I don’t think we know enough to formulate anything solid. Just follow my lead.”

 

“Always, my lord.”

 

A’tro glanced over at him, a small smile appearing on her lips in spite of herself, but he was looking out into the trees and not at her. She forced the smile to fade and returned her attention to the walk.

 

The ground slanted sharply uphill for the next several meters, then plateaued as the trees gave way to a large clearing. A small stream, half-choked with slush, ran down one side. Footprints in the snow led from the far edge of the clearing to its center, where a figure in brown hooded robes knelt as still as a statue.

 

A’tro reached out with the Force, and recognized K’saria’s presence. Steeling herself, she walked out of the woods and into the clearing, Quinn following cautiously a few steps behind her.

 

K’saria raised her head, pushing back her hood. Her black-dyed hair was starting to show red at the roots. She watched as A’tro stopped a few paces away, looking between her and Quinn.

 

“I’m here,” A’tro said flatly. “Talk.”

 

K’saria slowly rose to her feet, bits of snow clinging to her robes. “I would have expected you to come alone.”

 

“You expected wrong.”

 

“So I see.” K’saria eyed Quinn with open curiosity. “Who’s this, then? A loyal follower, one you clearly trust a great deal. Interesting.”

 

“Concern yourself with me, not him.”

 

“Of course.” K’saria looked back at A’tro. “We didn’t have much of a chance to talk on Telos.”

 

“I seem to recall you spouting dogma and then trying to kill me.”

 

“You attacked me first.”

 

“You were an enemy combatant in the middle of a battle.”

 

“I’m still your sister.”

 

A’tro scowled.

 

“Besides,” K’saria continued, “if you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

 

“You might be surprised,” A’tro muttered.

 

K’saria sighed, her breath emerging as a cloud in the cold air. “Always so hostile. Did you really come all this way just to argue?”

 

“No, but I doubt you set this up solely for the purpose of a sisterly chat.” A’tro shook her head. “The Jedi are hardly known for their support of familial relationships. Their teachings wouldn’t lead you to want to reconnect with me. You’re here for some other purpose.”

 

“The Jedi and I…haven’t always seen eye to eye,” K’saria said after a prolonged hesitation. “What I’m doing now is not sanctioned by any stretch of the imagination.”

 

“Your message said as much. So what do you want?”

 

“I want to know what happened to you after I left. How you ended up like this.” K’saria made a sweeping gesture that seemed meant to indicate A’tro and all that she represented.

 

“An intelligence-gathering mission, then.”

 

“If I wanted intel on you, I would contact the SIS,” K’saria said dismissively. “This is a personal matter for me. It’s true that the Jedi aren’t much for family, but they’re not the only people I’ve spent time with these past years. You’re my sister. I just want to have a civil conversation.”

 

A’tro thought it over, trying to get a sense of her intentions through the Force. She couldn’t detect any lies or hostility, but that did little to reassure her. K’saria had always been good at hiding things.

 

She could be making these overtures as a lead-up to discussing that potential treaty, A’tro reminded herself. It could be to everyone’s benefit if I cooperate for the time being.

 

She’d made greater sacrifices for the Empire. She would do what she had to.

 

“Very well,” A’tro said. “I suppose you deserve that much. I’m not revealing any sensitive information, however.”

 

K’saria looked at Quinn. “I had hoped we might talk alone.”

 

“Fine.” A’tro turned towards Quinn. “Wait for me out of earshot. This shouldn’t take long.”

 

He bowed silently and walked back the way they came, disappearing into the trees.

 

A’tro returned her attention to K’saria. “Now, then.”

 

“Such remarkable devotion,” K’saria remarked. “I’ve rarely sensed anything like it.”

 

A’tro said nothing.

 

“I somehow doubt my curiosity on that subject will be assuaged any time soon.” K’saria shrugged. “It’s not important. What happened after I left?”

 

“I swore I’d kill you if I ever saw you again.”

 

K’saria sighed quietly.

 

A’tro ignored her reaction and continued. “After that, I continued with my apprenticeship to Darth Evendre until I discovered that she wasn’t really a ‘fallen’ Jedi at all, and had been reporting to the Republic the entire time.”

 

K’saria’s eyes went wide. “Evendre…was a Jedi?”

 

“Indeed. I discovered some rather damning evidence. Unfortunately, she caught me in the act of taking it. When I refused to join her in her treachery, we fought.” For a moment, A’tro was very aware of the scar angling across her right eye. “I narrowly escaped. It was my word against a Darth’s, so I went into hiding, and delivered the evidence to someone better placed to see it utilized: our aunt Ravinia.”

 

“Wait. Evendre wanted you to join her? She tried to turn you to the light?” K’saria’s veneer of serenity gave way to a frown.

 

“Yes. She thought I had potential in that regard.” A’tro grimaced faintly. “If she wanted a Jedi apprentice, she picked the wrong twin.”

 

“So it would seem,” K’saria murmured, her frown deepening. “You didn’t even consider it?”

 

“Why would I?” A’tro sneered. “I serve the Empire. That has always been my calling, and nothing short of death itself will lead me to abandon it.”

 

“Of course you say that,” K’saria said bitterly. “You were always the gifted one, apprenticed to a Darth straight out of the Academy. You’ve never had to struggle, to see the ugly truths that lie beneath the Empire’s proud exterior.”

 

“You sound angry. What happened to your Jedi calm?”

 

“I am not angry.” K’saria took a deep breath. “I am disappointed in your lack of vision.”

 

“You think I’ve never known hardship? I faked my own death, changed my name, spent a year traveling from border outpost to border outpost, always afraid that someone would find me and take me back to be convicted of treason alongside my master. I know what fear feels like. But in the end, my power freed me.” A’tro shook her head. “If the system failed you, K’saria, it was because you let it.”

 

“I never had a choice!” K’saria snapped. “I am no weaker or less worthy than you, but you overshadowed me. The Republic accepted me, valued me, gave me a purpose. I’ve changed for the better. But I can see now with certainty that you have not.”

 

The Force began to resonate with foreboding. “Is that why you asked me here? To see whether I was past redemption?”

 

“Yes.”

 

In the blink of an eye, K’saria’s lightsaber was in her hand, a blade bluer than Alderaan’s sky blossoming to life at her side. A’tro had just enough time to draw her own weapons before K’saria closed the distance between them.

 

“You didn’t try very hard,” A’tro noted, keeping her tone casual even as she deflected K’saria’s surprisingly ferocious attacks. “I think you came here determined to kill me no matter what I said. You hate me more than you realize.”

 

K’saria’s jaw clenched. “You are a threat to the Republic that needs to be removed. This isn’t personal.”

 

“Even you can’t lie well enough for me to believe that.” A’tro countered her attacks and riposted, going on the offensive. “What would the Jedi Council say if they knew about this? I doubt they’d approve.”

 

“The Council lacks the resolve to do what’s necessary.”

 

“Oh, K’saria,” A’tro said mockingly, “you’re still such a Sith, even now. We have more in common than you think.”

 

“I am nothing like you.”

 

“Perhaps you ought to reconsider.” A’tro crashed her blades against K’saria’s, locking them together. “Think about it. My Empire isn’t the same as when you left. You might like it.”

 

K’saria disengaged and leaped backwards, landing gracefully with her lightsaber outstretched. “No. Never again. I know where I stand now, and I have no regrets.”

 

“Will you regret your death at my hands?” A’tro inquired, slowly advancing.

 

“There is no death. Only—”

 

“The Force, yes, yes.” A’tro darted forward into melee range and swung. “Such hollow comfort that must bring.”

 

“A Jedi does not need comfort,” K’saria said, parrying. “Only the Sith fear death.”

 

“Wrong.” A’tro batted aside her counterattack. “I am not afraid to die for the Empire. I never have been.”

 

“We’ll see.” K’saria raised her voice. “Now!”

 

Half a dozen Republic commandos charged out of the trees. A’tro cursed silently; they must have hung back, out of range of her Force senses, and waited until she was distracted to approach. Normally, they would not have posed much challenge, but with K’saria engaging her at the same time, the fight became trickier.

 

The commandos quickly flanked her and opened fire. A’tro rolled away from K’saria, dodging the initial volley and getting back on her feet in time to deflect the second. She directed the bolts towards K’saria, who blocked them easily.

 

“I won’t waste my breath asking you to surrender,” K’saria said. “Besides, it’s better this way.”

 

“Shut up,” A’tro snapped. “You haven’t won yet.”

 

As if on cue, blasterfire rang out from the trees behind her, and one of the commandos fell to the ground, the snow turning red beneath him. A’tro glanced over her shoulder and saw Quinn direct several more shots at the startled Republic troops, then take cover behind the bole of a large pine as they returned fire.

 

That glance nearly cost her, as K’saria sprang forward like a vine cat spotting prey. A’tro blocked her attack at the last moment. With Quinn occupying the commandos’ attention, she was able to retaliate with full force, driving K’saria several steps backward.

 

“Your servant is brave, but foolish,” K’saria said. She was starting to sound slightly out of breath. “It’s five against one. Will he die for you?”

 

“He won’t have to.”

 

Though her response was confident, A’tro knew full well that while Quinn had many talents, close combat was not among them. She had only a few moments to kill K’saria or injure her enough that she could take out the commandos before Quinn was overwhelmed.

 

Doubt filled her, fear trailing close behind it. She shouldn’t have let him come with her. Never mind that he was the more expendable of the two of them by a considerable degree; she would much rather fight alone and outnumbered than be forced to watch him die—

 

Stop it! she told herself. This isn’t the first difficult fight we’ve faced together. We’ll both survive this. We have to.

 

Detachment was out of reach. With nothing else left, A’tro fell back on her earliest teachings. Fear turned to anger in an instant, and she looked past the red and blue whirl of lightsabers at the face identical to her own. For the first time in years, she surrendered to hatred.

 

Peace is a lie.

 

She attacked with newfound ferocity, each blow sending K’saria staggering. She was no longer aware of the cold, of the commandos advancing steadily on Quinn’s position. She no longer cared. There was only K’saria, standing before her like a distorted mirror showing the wrong reflection. A mirror that would soon be broken.

 

A’tro took a step forward, then another, and K’saria retreated. She caught every strike of A’tro’s twin blades, but each successive parry was clearly starting to cost her. The white clouds of her breath came faster and faster, her assured demeanor beginning to crack.

 

Her defense wavered for just a moment. A’tro started to move to take advantage of the opening, but the Force whispered a sudden warning and she twisted away at the last second, bringing her blades up just in time to deflect a series of blaster bolts.

 

The impact jarred her out of her blind fury. The commandos were attacking her again. She backed away from K’saria, trying to keep them from circling her, and realized that they were now focused entirely on her rather than Quinn’s position. There was no sign of him.

 

A chill ran down her spine. No. He couldn’t have— I would have felt it if he—

 

She sensed a new presence in the Force an instant before a dark-clad figure launched itself into the glade, sending snow flying as it hit the ground hard.

 

“Hello there,” said Elaedrin Myn.

 

A bright green lightsaber lit in her hand, and she cut down the nearest commando before he had time to react.

 

“Traitor!” K’saria hissed.

 

For a moment, it looked as if she might break off her attack and engage Elaedrin, but A’tro gave her no opportunity to do so, redoubling her efforts to break down her defense. Elaedrin waded into the middle of the commandos and began taking them down one by one.

 

“It doesn’t matter how many of you there are,” K’saria said resolutely. “I will prevail.”

 

“No, you won’t,” Elaedrin retorted, finishing off the last commando. “Look at you. Luring an enemy into a trap so you could kill them.” She twirled her lightsaber, making no move to interfere in the duel. “Satele would be disappointed. Setia would be disappointed, and it took a lot to disappoint her.”

 

“You would know.” K’saria’s gaze darted between Elaedrin and A’tro even as she continued to fend off the latter’s attacks. “You stood by and watched her die.”

 

“Oh, I did more than that,” Elaedrin said coolly. “The unexpected number of Imperial troops, the presence of a Dark Council member…all arranged by me. I was in contact with the Empire for weeks before I finally left you weak fools behind.”

 

K’saria flinched. “You—no. No, I would have known. I would have realized.”

 

Her guard faltered for a moment.

 

A’tro was on her in a heartbeat, knocking aside her blade as she started to raise it in an instinctive defense, and drove her right lightsaber to the hilt through her chest.

 

Golden eyes met.

 

“I failed,” K’saria whispered. “K’hera…”

 

“You were wrong about me,” A’tro said grimly. “Goodbye, sister.”

 

Then she stabbed her with her other blade.

 

K’saria’s lips moved, but no sound emerged. A’tro extinguished her lightsabers and let her crumble into the snow. She waited for some sense of loss in her mind; they were twins, after all, and Force-sensitive twins shared a bond like no other. But hatred had come between them too early in life, and all she felt was the usual brief resonance as K’saria’s Force presence flickered, then faded away into nothingness.

 

Elaedrin stowed her lightsaber on her belt. “I never did like her. So hypocritical.”

 

She wandered off into the trees for a moment, then re-emerged into the clearing supporting Quinn. He looked paler than usual, and he had one hand pressed against his side, mostly concealing a dark stain on his gray uniform.

 

He was alive. He was injured, but he was alive. A’tro breathed a quiet sigh of relief as she started walking towards them.

 

“Elaedrin, what are you doing here?” she asked. “I didn’t expect to find any Imperials in this area.”

 

“I was running an errand for my master.” Elaedrin looked askance at Quinn as he pushed himself away from her to stand somewhat unsteadily on his own, then shrugged. “I happened to slice into local Republic communications, and I caught a mention of some sort of ambush for a high-ranking Sith Lord. Thought I’d stop by and help.”

 

“Your assistance is appreciated,” A’tro said stiffly.

 

“It was no trouble. As I said, I never liked K’saria. She deserved what she got.”

 

A’tro nodded, then looked at Quinn. “You’re injured.”

 

“I’m fine, my lord,” Quinn said. “I regret I couldn’t be of more use in the fight.”

 

“You’re most useful to me alive.” A’tro struggled to maintain her usual composure. “On that note, we should get you medical attention.”

 

“Feel free to take my speeder,” Elaedrin said. “I can walk back.”

 

A’tro frowned suspiciously. “I’m going to owe your master for this, aren’t I?”

 

“Not at all. Lord Ravage doesn’t need to know every detail of my activities here. I’m just happy to assist the Emperor’s Wrath however I can.” Elaedrin smiled pleasantly.

 

“I see. I will remember your part in this nonetheless.”

 

“That’s very kind of you, my lord,” Elaedrin murmured. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to grab a comlink from one of the bodies. Sending an all-clear signal will delay Republic discovery of what happened here.”

 

She bowed politely and walked away. A’tro turned and headed in the opposite direction, Quinn following close behind her.

 

As soon as they were out of the glade and concealed by the trees, A’tro darted to Quinn and put an arm around him. He exhaled sharply, shifting to lean heavily against her. She had no difficulty supporting his weight; she could have easily carried him if necessary.

 

“Are you going to be all right?” she asked, not bothering to keep concern out of her voice.

 

“I’ll be fine,” Quinn said tightly. “Lord Myn’s arrival gave me an opportunity to use my emergency medkit. I can make it back to the ship.”

 

A’tro was not reassured. “This is my fault. I should have anticipated that K’saria would set a trap for me.”

 

“Despite her efforts, you are alive, and she is not. This is a victory, for certain.”

 

“You could have been killed!” A’tro protested. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

 

“I expect you would have carried on perfectly well without me.”

 

“Malavai…”

 

“Lord Myn’s speeder is right over there,” Quinn said, lightly pushing A’tro in the appropriate direction. “I believe she offered us its use.”

 

A’tro had nearly forgotten. It was a small, sleek model, designed for a single passenger, but she managed to get herself positioned with Quinn sitting behind her. The vehicle had been left in standby mode, and she was able to start it up without difficulty.

 

“It seems I owe Elaedrin quite the debt,” she mused as she drove, going as fast as she thought she could manage while weaving between the trees. “Remind me to settle that as soon as possible.”

 

Quinn’s only response was a soft affirmative noise.

 

He’s going to be fine, A’tro told herself, but she still drove faster.

[Stormfury]

you're really so good

can't wait for next chapter

[Lunafox]

That was great! I really enjoyed the descriptions and the duel scene. I was getting worried about Malavai there for a while. Very exciting, thanks for the great read!

[wangxiuming]

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. Edited April 21, 2016 by wangxiuming

[JennyFlynn]

Oof, just read through all of this. Excellent writing and a very interesting story. I have to say I really enjoy your Nox.. and I've become guilty of 'shipping' as I keep hoping she and Ravage will argue so fiercely that it can only be solved in one particular way.. Keep up some great work.

[bright_ephemera]

Here in the darkness before the dawn we listen. We listen and we wait.

 

Kidding, write on your own schedule.

[Vesaniae]

*brushes dust off thread* I suppose after three months the fic seems pretty dead, doesn't it? Sorry about that. Life kind of got in the way for a while. But I'm still here, and the fic's still going, hopefully at a faster rate than once every three months from now on!

 

Thirty-Eight

Chiss warship Tempest

17 ATC

 

 

Under any other circumstances, Verani would have been annoyed to be interrupted in the middle of talks by a high-priority holocall. This time, however, she was grateful for the opportunity to get away from Mitth’elen’invari’s icy red stare for a few moments. She made her excuses, ducked out of the conference room and into the nearest supply closet, and answered the call.

 

The projector in her handheld comm flickered as the encrypted connection was established, then produced a miniaturized image of Darth Ravage.

 

Verani’s sense of relief vanished. This is it. I took too long, the Chiss won’t agree, and now he’s going to strangle me via holo.

 

“What can I do for you, my lord?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice level as she fought to suppress panic.

 

“Verani,” Ravage said, crossing his arms. “There has been a new development.”

 

The panic came swarming back up to the surface, and she forced it down again. “A new development, my lord?”

 

Be reasonable, she told herself. Remote executions were not Ravage’s style; he preferred a more personal touch. And if he were taking the time to call her, something very important was probably going on.

 

“This channel will only remain secure for a short time, so pay attention.” Ravage sounded more irritated than usual. “Intelligence reports that elements within the Republic may be amenable to a peaceful resolution to the war. I need you to finish this business with the Chiss and return to Imperial space to prepare for this eventuality.”

 

“Yes, my lord.”

 

“Get to it, then. Ravage out.”

 

The holo vanished. Verani slowly put away her comm, her mind already whirling with possibilities.

 

So, the Republic wanted peace—or at least, part of it did. After six years of bloody war that had accomplished very little for either side, that was not particularly surprising. What was surprising was how willing Ravage appeared to be to go along with it. Perhaps the rest of the Dark Council had forced his hand, somehow.

 

As she made her way back to the conference room, Verani found that she was rather excited by the prospect. If all went well, she would have a chance to pit herself against the finest diplomatic minds of the Republic. It would all have to be very secret, of course, all done behind Saresh’s back for the remainder of her term, but if enough of the Senate wanted peace, they might be able to ensure that a more moderate individual be elected after her. An individual who might be open to Imperial interests.

 

Verani forced her mind back to the present. There was no sense in speculating until she had succeeded in her impossible task of convincing the Chiss to remain with the Empire.

 

A thought occurred to her, and she focused on it even as she re-entered the conference room and traded niceties with Mitth’elen’invari. The Aristocra spoke often of the Chiss lives lost for the Empire’s war. If peace were now on the table…

 

The information was no doubt highly classified, but Ravage had given her no orders to not speak of it. She could drop a few hints, make a few carefully phrased implications. Perhaps this was the bargaining chip she needed.

 

Verani took her seat at the conference table and began laying the groundwork.

 

 

*****

 

 

Kettrien was starting to question the point of it all.

 

She’d gone all the way out to the Unknown Regions, and then proceeded to have absolutely nothing to do. She would have considered it a vacation, but warships weren’t exactly the most relaxing of locales. The Chiss wouldn’t talk to her because of the language barrier, the fact that she was human, or both. The diplomats wouldn’t talk to her because she was a Sith, with the exception of Vector. But he had places to be and things to do and she didn’t, and so she found herself alone and bored.

 

She made her way over to the lounge. Even deserted, it was a considerably more interesting place than her cabin. The view of space was just as beautiful as ever, and she took a moment to admire it.

 

But starscapes, no matter how spectacular, could only hold one’s interest for so long. The lounge also had a bar, and while no one had told Kettrien that it was available for use, no one had told her that it wasn’t, either.

 

Upon moving behind the crescent-shaped metal counter, she discovered a series of cupboards secured with old-fashioned mechanical locks. She took the nearest one in her hand, concentrated, and manipulated the tumblers with a few delicate touches of the Force. The lock sprang open.

 

I hope this doesn’t cause a diplomatic incident, Kettrien thought, opening the cupboard and perusing the contents. There were bottles in all manner of shapes, sizes, and colors. All were neatly labeled in a flowing script that may as well have been blank for all she understood it. But really, if they didn’t want us coming in here, they surely would have said so…

 

She chuckled softly to herself and picked up a tall, slim glass bottle half-full of acid green liquid. The cap unscrewed quite easily, and she took a tentative sniff of the contents. It smelled like dead shyrack.

 

“Okay, not that one,” Kettrien muttered. Wrinkling her nose, she quickly replaced the cap and returned the bottle to the cupboard.

 

An opaque red bottle with a long neck caught her eye. She removed it from the cupboard, then ducked down behind the bar. Apparently, the Chiss saw fit to lock up their liquor but not their glassware. Selecting something with similar dimensions to the standard shot glass—some things were fairly universal across species—she stood up, set the glass down on the bar with a clink, and popped out the bottle’s stopper with a subtle touch of the Force.

 

She upended the bottle over the glass. A liquid as black as the empty void outside undulated out.

 

“That’s…interesting,” Kettrien muttered, lifting the glass and eyeing it dubiously. The black liquid seemed to absorb all incoming light. “I’m not sure I should drink this.”

 

Then she shrugged and drank it anyway.

 

It was good. It was damn good. It was so good, in fact, that she found herself downing the rest of the glass and pouring another before she quite realized what she was doing.

 

“Whoa, now,” she mumbled. “Easy there, Kettrien. This isn’t happy hour at the Slopes.”

 

She started to set the glass down, then jumped in surprise as Seeker of all people strode up behind the bar, reached into the cupboard, and grabbed a stout bottle of something bright blue. The contents of Kettrien’s glass sloshed with her sudden movement, and she hastily finished setting it down before it could spill.

 

“Uh, hello sir,” she blurted. “Fancy meeting you here?”

 

Seeker retrieved a glass from the cupboard under the bar, filled it with the bright blue liquid, and downed it all in one go. Kettrien stared.

 

“Agent Byrd,” Seeker said coolly. She refilled her glass and drained it again, more slowly.

 

Apparently they were both going to pretend that they were not raiding a Chiss warship’s liquor cabinet.

 

“So,” Kettrien said, not wanting to let silence fall and make the situation even more bizarre and awkward. “How uh, how are the negotiations going?”

 

Seeker pressed her lips together tightly, her crimson eyes narrowing. “As well as can be expected.” She poured herself a third glass of the blue stuff.

 

“Ah,” Kettrien muttered. “So not well, then.”

 

“Perhaps. There may yet be new developments.” Seeker took a long, slow drink.

 

Kettrien looked back and forth from her glass to Seeker several times. One did not drink with one’s boss in the Empire, especially when said boss was the head of one of the galaxy’s most infamous intelligence organizations. Then again, Seeker didn’t seem to be giving the proprieties much concern at that moment. In fact, this was the most blasé that Kettrien had ever seen her.

 

Or maybe, she thought, looking at her glass of black liquor, this is all a dream, and I’m really just passed out on the floor. In that case...may as well live a little.

 

She picked up the glass and took a sip. It went down silky smooth and left an aftertaste of spices and something vaguely floral. Delicious. Maybe she could smuggle the bottle back to the Empire.

 

“Do you have any family, Byrd?” Seeker asked abruptly.

 

Kettrien raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was in my file.”

 

Seeker closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, and Kettrien got the sense she was staring at a point somewhere beyond her. “Refresh my memory.”

 

“No family, sir.” Kettrien frowned into her glass. A distinct tingling was starting to build up in the back of her skull. “Not for a long time.”

 

“I see. No loose ends, then.” Seeker took a drink, then shook her head. “I apologize. That was overly callous.”

 

“It’s fine,” Kettrien assured her, perhaps too quickly. She wasn’t sure where the conversation was going, but she didn’t think she’d like it.

 

Seeker finished her drink and muttered something in the Chiss language, then set her glass down on the bar. “I believe we’ll be leaving soon,” she said in Basic. “Be ready.”

 

She started to walk away, then paused. “Oh, and don’t drink too much of that—” Several euphonious syllables followed. Kettrien doubted she could replicate any of them. “I believe one of the ingredients is toxic to humans in sufficient quantity.”

 

With that, she left the room, and Kettrien was once again alone with her thoughts and a Chiss liquor cabinet.

 

She looked at her glass. There was a good amount left; it seemed a shame to waste it. The tingling sensation in the back of her head was getting stronger, though. Inebriation, or a reaction to whatever the stuff was made of?

 

Well, she hadn’t learned how to use the Force to purge toxins from her system just so she could play things safe. Kettrien raised her glass towards the stars outside, then downed the contents.

 

 

*****

 

 

“I agree to your terms,” Mitth’elen’invari said gravely.

 

For a moment, Verani thought she’d misheard. “You do? I mean, of course you do. I’m pleased we could come to a satisfactory arrangement.”

 

Mitth’elen’invari smiled a small, secretive smile that did nothing to make her face less cold. “I still have my concerns. But I’ve been convinced that this agreement will ultimately be in the Ascendancy’s best interest.”

 

Convinced, Verani thought. Not by me, surely. Seeker, perhaps? I haven’t seen her in quite some time… “I assure you, Aristocra, the Empire will do its best to ensure that you have no cause to regret your decision.”

 

“I’m sure you will.”

 

“Then all that remains is the formal signing of the amended treaty.” Verani tried to maintain her usual aplomb. It was difficult; relief was making her lightheaded. She wasn’t going to be executed.

 

“Correct. I assume you wish to have that settled as soon as possible?”

 

“Yes—if it is convenient to you, of course.”

 

“It is.”

 

“If you wish any drastic alterations to the original terms,” Verani pointed out, “that will require more time to negotiate.”

 

“That won’t be necessary.”

 

“Very well, then.” Verani picked up her datapad from where it lay atop the conference table. “I can put together the document right now, if you like.”

 

“Do so.” Mitth’elen’invari’s smile faded. “I would like to be finished with this business.”

 

That makes two of us. “I’ll only need a few minutes.” Verani started opening documents. “And so the Chiss stay with the Empire.”

 

Mitth’elen’invari turned to look out the viewport at the distant stars and did not answer.

 

 

*****

 

The next day

Once word of the agreement got out, the Imperial party made its preparations to leave the Tempest with a speed that might have seemed impolite had the Chiss not been eager to see them go. Thaera found her mother in her quarters.

 

“I suppose you’ve come to say goodbye,” Theleni said without preamble.

 

“Would you rather I didn’t?” Thaera asked, and immediately regretted it when Theleni’s expression darkened.

 

“Of course not. Despite our disagreements, you are still my daughter. I love you.”

 

Thaera tried to return the sentiment, but she couldn’t quite get the words out. She looked at the floor.

 

“You don’t have to go back, you know,” Theleni continued.

 

Thaera lifted her head, frowning in confusion. She hadn’t expected this. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You don’t have to go back to the Empire,” Theleni said quietly. “You can come home.”

 

“I’m the head of Sith Intelligence. I can’t just leave.”

 

“But you could. You know how to make yourself disappear, if you wanted.”

 

A shiver ran down Thaera’s spine. Somewhere, locked away in the most hidden depths of the Intelligence Archives, was the Black Codex. She didn’t have access to it. She wasn’t sure if even Darth Nox had access; the Codex had gone to Darth Jadus’ servants, and they had been the ones to arrange its security. The second-worst crime she’d committed.

 

But if she found a way to reach it…

 

No.

 

“I can’t,” Thaera said firmly. “I won’t. I have already made my choices, and it is far too late to turn back. I’m staying in the Empire.”

 

“Fine.” Theleni sighed. “I didn’t really think I would convince you, but I had to try. I suppose I’ll never see you again, then.”

 

“Probably not.”

 

Theleni nodded once. “Is there any message you would like conveyed to your siblings? I know your brother in particular has always regretted not having a chance to say goodbye before you left the Ascendancy.”

 

Thaera stood straight and still, clasping her hands together behind her back. “Don’t tell them anything. Don’t even tell them you saw me.” She took a deep breath. “It’s better this way. For all of us.”

 

Theleni’s eyes were as cold and hard as rubies. “As you wish. Goodbye, Thaera.”

 

“Goodbye, Mother.”

 

Thaera turned quickly and left. An icy dagger seemed to have been driven through her chest, making every breath and every step agony, but she kept walking until she was aboard the Imperial shuttle. There, no one spoke to her. Even Vector kept his distance, perhaps sensing her dark mood.

 

She sat in the cargo hold behind a stack of crates and listened to the shuttle’s engines rumble a solemn harmony to the quieter thunder of her heartbeat. There was no place for her in the Ascendancy, not anymore. The Empire needed her, a knife to command its other knives. Someone to stand between the Sith and the people who kept their Empire running like the machine it was.

 

That was her duty, and for the time being, it was enough.

[Vesaniae]

Thirty-Nine

Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

17 ATC

 

 

Ravage couldn’t quite figure out what exactly it was, but there was something aggressively likeable about Elaedrin Myn.

 

When she walked into his audience chamber, she bowed low, then straightened and looked him calmly in the eye. Respectful without groveling. That was one point in her favor; Ravage hated groveling.

 

“I’m happy to report that my mission on Alderaan was a success, my lord,” Elaedrin said.

 

Ravage’s mood improved considerably. She got results every time, which was more than he could say for most of the other people who served him. “And?”

 

“Well, I did some digging. A lot of digging, actually.” Elaedrin clasped her hands together in front of her. “I found my way into the Organa estate where Countess Leraine used to live and made a few inquiries.”

 

“How did you manage that?”

 

“Oh, I dug out my old Jedi robes and strolled right in. No one thought anything of it.” She smiled smugly.

 

She had the proper attitude, she was consistently competent, and she was young, blonde, and pretty. The perfect apprentice. Ravage reflected that he really ought to make her a Lord, and soon. “Tell me what you learned, then.”

 

“Very well, my lord. This Katilya Mavess woman you wanted me to investigate started working for the Organas about six months before the countess’ death, and she disappeared immediately after.”

 

“I knew that much already.”

 

“Ah, but there’s more. You see, Leraine was found dead on the ground under a balcony several stories up, and I found a former member of the household staff who swears that he saw Katilya follow Leraine onto that very balcony just a few minutes before. And nobody saw Katilya again after that.”

 

Ravage frowned, wheels starting to turn in his head. “Are you certain this testimony is accurate?”

 

“The man was adamant, and I didn’t sense any deception from him.”

 

“So Katilya Mavess murdered Leraine Organa,” Ravage mused. “But why?”

 

“Well, with Leraine dead, her husband took over her estates. He was big on Alderaanian independence, apparently, and he refused to allow the Republic to move troops across his land. Very inconvenient for them—but advantageous for the Empire. That made me start to wonder.”

 

“You suspect the Empire had a hand in this?”

 

“I do, my lord. I think Katilya was hired by the Empire to assassinate Leraine. After that, it seems she just disappeared.” Elaedrin shrugged. “Maybe the Empire had her killed, too. Loose ends and all that.”

 

“Perhaps,” Ravage said to maintain appearances. His mind raced. Katilya didn’t die; she became Darth Nox. He was certain of it. But how? There were still pieces missing. “I don’t suppose you found any evidence to support this theory of Imperial involvement.”

 

“Oh, I did.” Elaedrin smirked. “I found plenty.”

 

Ravage scowled when she paused dramatically. “Don’t waste my time with theatrics.”

 

“Sorry, my lord.” Elaedrin ducked her head. “Uh, right to the point then. Yes. After I made those inquiries about Katilya, I got a holocall. No image, voice disguised, but they claimed to be an Imperial who’d been involved with the assassination. Said for enough credits, they’d tell me more. I set up a meeting here in Kaas City for…let’s see, that would be three days from now.”

 

“Very interesting,” Ravage murmured. “You’ve performed outstandingly, Elaedrin. I am most pleased.”

 

“Happy to do my part,” she said smoothly. “I should have more information after I meet with—well, whoever it turns out to be.”

 

“Yes, about that.” Ravage considered for a moment, then made a quick decision. “I have more important matters for you to attend to during that time. Give me the details of this meeting, and I’ll arrange something.”

 

He was close to the truth. He could feel it. This was no longer a matter that could be trusted to apprentices, even ones as capable as Elaedrin. This was something he had to deal with himself.

 

And once he found out the truth about Nox’s past, then he would have power over her…

 

 

*****

 

 

Dark Council Chamber, Korriban

17 ATC

 

 

Darth Pherebus had never expected to stand in the chamber of the Dark Council and be told that one of the twelve great seats lining either side of the room was now hers.

 

She was a researcher, not a warrior. An academic with no interest in politics. And she was an alien, a Zabrak whose family had served the Empire for generations. Always of their own accord, not as slaves, but that made little difference to the conservative sensibilities of the Imperial elite. She had ambition—she had fought and schemed her way to a Darth title, after all—but the Dark Council had never been within her sights. That highest of heights to which a Sith could rise had always seemed beyond her reach.

 

Yet there she stood.

 

“My lords,” Pherebus said, “I am honored that you have chosen to bestow this position upon me. I shall do my best to live up to the example of the Dark Lords who have gone before me.”

 

She paused, looking around the chamber. No one seemed to be paying much attention.

 

Darth Marr’s mask was turned towards Darth Ravage, who was frowning thoughtfully at the floor. Darth Acina looked bored by the proceedings, but her eyes were darting from one Sith Lord to the next. Darth Mortis had the air of a man who had just stepped in a sleen trap. Darth Rictus sat apart from the others, watching.

 

Pherebus’ stomach tightened with unease. She knew her history. To have so many members of the Dark Council gathered together in person could mean a number of things, but none of them were good. Most were violent.

 

If she were about to witness one of the Council’s notorious upheavals, she certainly didn’t want to do it from the center floor. She inclined her head respectfully, trying to include the whole room in the gesture, and hastily moved to take her seat.

 

The moment she sat down, Darth Mortis stood. “I assume we’re finished here?”

 

“Sit down, Mortis,” Marr said coolly. “We have another matter to discuss.”

 

Mortis remained on his feet. “I was unaware of anything on the agenda besides the appointment of our newest member.”

 

“You seem very eager to leave,” Ravage noted. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

 

Mortis frowned. “There is a war on, in case you’ve forgotten. I have a great many things to attend to, and I do not care to have my time wasted here.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Ravage said softly. “This won’t take long.”

 

As if on cue, the door to the Council chamber opened.

 

“Oh,” said Darth Nox. “It seems I’m late. My apologies.”

 

Pherebus sucked in a breath.

 

Nox glided forward, her feet invisible beneath the floor-length hem of her red shimmersilk dress. Her hair was done up behind her head in an elaborate braided coil, leaving her neck and shoulders bare above her dress’ low neckline. Watching her, Pherebus did her best to suppress the corrosive envy that surged in her chest. Not so much because of Nox’s sophisticated appearance, though it did make her feel quite plain by comparison, but because of what Nox represented: power.

 

Pherebus could have done so much with the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge. The libraries, the artifacts, the whole Reclamation Service at her disposal…imagining all those resources made her giddy. But Ancient Knowledge was firmly within Nox’s grasp, and Pherebus had to be content with the Sphere of Sith Philosophy.

 

“What kept you?” Ravage demanded.

 

Nox smiled languidly. “I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

 

“If she dressed like a proper Sith…” Acina’s whisper was clearly meant to carry.

 

“And you look lovely today, Acina,” Nox said sweetly, strolling across the floor to take her seat beside Darth Marr. “Have you done something different with your hair? It’s quite flattering.”

 

“You’re too kind,” Acina said through gritted teeth.

 

With so many forceful personalities mixed together, Pherebus thought, it’s a wonder the Council gets anything done.

 

“I know, darling. I know.” Nox folded her hands in her lap. “Shall we, then?”

 

Mortis slowly sat back down. “Yes, I’m interested to know the nature of this secret business.”

 

“It is simple,” Marr said. “Elements within the Republic Senate have reached out to us to ask for a ceasefire. We have agreed.”

 

Pherebus’ eyes widened. The war had dragged on for many years with no real progress on either side. It was no wonder that the Republic was growing tired of it. She would never have expected the Empire to agree, however.

 

Acina stiffened. “The Council was not informed of this.”

 

Looking around the room, Pherebus saw similar expressions of surprise on Rictus and Mortis. Nox was as unruffled as always, and Ravage wore a small, grim smile.

 

They must have planned it, then. Nox, Ravage, and Marr working together, an unexpected triumvirate given Ravage and Marr’s well-known dislike for one another. Going behind the Council’s back to make a move that would affect the future of the entire galaxy.

 

“You have a great deal of nerve, Marr,” Rictus said. “And you overestimate your influence. I, for one, do not agree to this.”

 

“I know my influence well enough,” Marr retorted. “And I know this Council. The agreement was made without your knowledge because you insist upon bickering and fighting amongst yourselves while Imperial worlds burn.”

 

“So superior,” Acina sneered. “So self-righteous. Do you think us children who cannot be trusted with our own power? Every one of us has fought for this. We have earned this. I am a Dark Lord of the Sith, and I will not be bullied into submission to make peace with our enemies.”

 

“It’s only a ceasefire,” Nox drawled. “We’re hardly inviting Saresh and Shan over for tea.”

 

Acina turned to glare at her. “And I suppose you support this nonsense, do you?”

 

“Of course,” Nox said loftily. “It’s the only sensible thing to do.”

 

“As if you’d know anything about sense,” Acina scoffed.

 

Rictus cut in. “Ravage, you’ve been awfully quiet.”

 

Ravage shrugged. “I’ve been enjoying the show.”

 

“You don’t seriously support this,” Rictus said incredulously. “A ceasefire.”

 

“If it’s ceasefire or defeat, I daresay I know which I’m choosing.” Ravage crossed his arms. “The Treaty of Coruscant gave us an opportunity to gather our strength, gain the advantage—an advantage that we spectacularly squandered on each other. I suggest we do better this time.”

 

“See? Even Ravage agrees this is the right thing to do.” Nox chuckled. “So, we have three for and two against. Not that it matters, given that the agreement’s already been made, but I do love playing at democracy. Mortis, your vote?”

 

Mortis shook his head. “I cannot condone this course of action.”

 

“Tsk, tsk, and here I thought you had some sense.” Nox sighed dramatically. “That’s three and three. It seems the balance will be tipped by our newest colleague. Pherebus?”

 

Pherebus stiffened as everyone turned to look at her. Was this why she’d been appointed? To give a sham of a consensus?

 

There was only one logical choice to make, for the sake of both the Empire and her own continued survival. She had only just joined the Dark Council, and she would be damned if she picked the wrong side now.

 

“I agree with the ceasefire,” she said. “The advantages far outweigh the shortcomings.”

 

Nox’s smile turned predatory. “It seems the rest of you have been outvoted. Such a shame.”

 

Acina shook her head. “This is lunacy. You say you wish to avoid dividing the Empire, but that is precisely what you have just done. Or do you think that we will simply roll over and do your bidding like trained tuk’ata?”

 

“The Treaty of Coruscant was made in accordance with the Emperor’s wishes,” Mortis said. “I cannot help but notice that his Wrath is conspicuously absent.”

 

“I suspect she has better things to do than bandy words with fools,” Ravage said acidly.

 

“Besides,” Nox said, “if the Emperor didn’t trust us to do what’s best for his Empire, we would hardly be here, now would we?”

 

A tense silence fell.

 

Pherebus watched the other Sith and found herself wondering if she could get away with discreetly taking a few notes. Recorded data was the most reliable data, and there was so much to analyze.

 

Mortis was the first to break the silence. “Very well. If the Empire has already been set upon this course, then it would be foolish to oppose it.”

 

“My thoughts as well,” Rictus said.

 

Marr nodded once. “Acina?”

 

Acina hesitated for a long moment, tapping her fingertips against the arm of her chair. At last, she said, “Fine.”

 

“Then there is nothing more to discuss,” Marr said. “The details of our next course of action will be discussed next time we meet.”

 

Acina was the first to leave, stalking over to the door with indignation apparent in every step. Mortis and Rictus followed, engaged in conversation too quiet for anyone else to hear.

 

“And to think, we didn’t even have to kill any of them,” Nox murmured.

 

“I’m a little disappointed, honestly,” Ravage said. He frowned at Nox. “Where were you? You almost missed everything.”

 

“Like I said: choosing an outfit.” Nox smoothed her skirt. “I like this red one, but then I thought it seemed a bit too flashy for such a serious occasion. So then I was looking through my black dresses, but I only wear black when I’m planning on killing someone and that wasn’t really the ideal outcome here…”

 

Marr left the chamber. Pherebus fidgeted, trying to determine how long would be prudent to wait before doing the same.

 

“…and then once I finally decided on the red dress, I had to do my hair,” Nox continued with no sign of stopping. “I mean, it looks so lovely down, especially with the neckline on this dress, but I thought maybe I should put it out of my face just in case I did end up having to fight, and it takes ever so long to braid it and pin it up like thi—”

 

“Nox,” Ravage interrupted exasperatedly.

 

She tittered. “Am I boring you, dear?”

 

Pherebus decided that she’d been there long enough. Filing away her mental notes, she rose and quickly left the chamber.

 

“Never mind that,” Ravage said as Pherebus walked out. “Where is the Wrath? I thought she was going to be here.”

 

All humor left Nox’s voice as she spoke. “Some sort of business for the Emperor, I think. I doubt we want to know.”

 

In spite of herself, Pherebus shivered.

Edited August 23, 2016 by Vesaniae

[MilaniGrey]

ravage you will listen to nox prattle on about her fashion choices and you will like it

[Lunafox]

ravage you will listen to nox prattle on about her fashion choices and you will like it

 

Haha. That's kind of what I was thinking too. She loves to torment him lol. I love it too. Lovely chapter, I enjoyed it very much. ^^

[wangxiuming]

This is still one of my favorite stories and I'm glad to see it back. I love reading about Dark Council shenanigans, and sith politicking. Plus, Vesaniae's Nox is so wickedly delightful.

[Vesaniae]

Glad to hear you're enjoying Nox has been away from the story for a while, but she's back with a vengeance! And so am I. Doing my best to write more, and it's been going well so far.

 

Forty

Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

17 ATC

 

 

As he found himself at the mouth of a dark alley in one of Kaas City’s shadier areas, Darth Ravage took a moment to pause and question his sanity. Was he really going to go through with this? Would he chase Nox’s past to the ends of the galaxy itself if necessary?

 

It appeared he would.

 

You’re obsessed, whispered the small voice of reason in the back of his head. He ignored it. This was necessary. Nox was planning something, he was certain of it. And if he understood who she was and where she had come from, then he might have some insight into the nature of that plan.

 

With this rationale firmly in mind, he took a quick look around to make sure he wasn’t being watched or followed, then strode purposefully into the alley. He’d worn a hooded cloak to maintain a degree of anonymity—it was not exactly commonplace to see a Dark Council member traipsing about the city in the middle of the night—and he made sure that the hood was concealing his face.

 

There was someone waiting at the end of the alley. He could sense them.

 

Their presence lacked the telltale luster of a Force-sensitive, but Ravage remained wary. The possibility that this entire business was a trap had been present in the back of his mind from the moment Elaedrin had told him about the meeting. She seemed loyal, but she’d shown her capacity for betrayal when she abandoned the Jedi. She could just as easily turn on him.

 

He reached the end of the alley and stopped, discreetly putting a hand on his lightsaber. The presence he had been sensing belonged to a figure shrouded from head to toe in a dark cloak, scarcely visible in the gloom; the alley was a slot between two tall buildings that ended against a third, and the city lights did not illuminate far into it.

 

Ravage looked at the figure. The figure shifted, presumably looking at him.

 

And then its presence in the Force changed, blossoming like a datura flower in the moonlight, the dim light of a Forceblind giving way to a terribly familiar well of stygian power.

 

“I admit,” Darth Nox said, drawing back her hood, “I was not expecting you.”

 

Ravage had his lightsaber ignited and pointed at her in an instant. He unclasped his cloak and let it drop to the ground; it would only get in the way. “You set this up.”

 

She smiled, the light of his blade illuminating her face in scarlet. “Of course I did. You had that charming fallen Jedi of yours wandering around Alderaan asking all manner of questions. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I was going to send her back to you in pieces to make a point, but I suppose now I’ll have to improvise.”

 

“You hid yourself in the Force. That shouldn’t be possible.”

 

“Oh, that little trick? Simple, really.” Nox eyed his saber blade, but showed no sign of concern. “After my ancestor, Lord Kallig, was murdered by Tulak Hord’s assassins, his family went into hiding. They learned to conceal themselves from the Sith, passing the secret down through the ages.”

 

“A secret you just revealed very easily,” Ravage pointed out.

 

“It’s not as if I told you how to do it.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now, what am I going to do with you?”

 

He’d been waiting for that tone of smug certainty. After five years, he was ready for the way it needled at his temper, but Nox, unlike other irritations, had grown no less infuriating with time.

 

Unfortunately, she knew this.

 

“I don’t know,” Ravage said, keeping his tone light. How many times had they had this exchange? “Perhaps we’ll see if you can manage to summon any lightning before I cut you down.”

 

Kill her, urged the rational part of his mind. Kill her and be done with it.

 

“Ravage, my dear,” Nox sighed. “How long will you insist on pretending that you want me dead?”

 

“As long as it’s true,” Ravage snapped, tightening his grip on his lightsaber.

 

One step forward. That was all he needed to drive his blade through her wretched heart.

 

She laughed. “How much time and resources have you spent trying to figure out my origins? You won’t waste that.”

 

Just one step…

 

“I could,” Ravage whispered. “It might be worth it.”

 

“You could,” Nox agreed. “But you won’t.”

 

She met his gaze with glacial calm. He tried to stare her down, and she just looked at him, her gray eyes filled with unrelenting certainty.

 

Ravage deactivated his lightsaber, and Nox’s face became a pale hint in the shadows.

 

“There,” she said softly. “Much better.”

 

Ravage silently replaced his lightsaber on his belt. Rage thundered in his head and made his hand quiver. She was in control. Somehow, she was always in control.

 

“Now then, I think we should talk about all this sleuthing you’ve had your people doing.” Nox shook her head. “Why are you so interested in my past? It’s hardly worth all the effort you’ve put in.”

 

“If that’s the case, why go to such lengths to hide it?”

 

“Oh please, I have nothing to hide.”

 

“Enough of your damn games!” Ravage glared at her, though he knew she wouldn’t see the expression in the darkness.

 

“But I like my games,” she protested with mock innocence. “They amuse me ever so much. Almost as much as you do, in fact. So tell me, O fearsome Lord of the Sith, what have your agents found? What do you think you know?”

 

Ravage heavily considered not answering. But if Nox knew why Elaedrin had been on Alderaan, then she probably also knew what she had found there. Lying now would gain him nothing.

 

And so he told the truth as he saw it. “Twelve years ago, an Alderaanian woman named Katilya Mavess was hired by the Empire to assassinate Countess Leraine Organa.”

 

“Not my finest work,” Nox said blandly, “but I was on a tight schedule.”

 

Of all the responses he had anticipated, that had not been one of them. “You admit it.”

 

Her shadowed form shifted in what might have been a shrug. “You’re hardly the first person to figure it out. As I said, not my finest work.”

 

“Then you are Katilya Mavess.”

 

“Katilya Mavess wasn’t a real person.” Nox sounded amused. “Really, Ravage, I gave you the truth at the beginning of this conversation, and you didn’t even notice.”

 

Ravage froze. What?

 

He quickly went over the past few minutes. His arrival in the alley, Nox’s unexpected appearance, her explanation of her uncanny ability to hide herself—

 

Kallig’s family went into hiding. They learned to conceal themselves from the Sith.

 

During his investigation, he had not forgotten Kallig. The few records that mentioned the ancient Sith Lord at all said that his family had vanished, Tulak Hord having ordered their destruction. Ravage had assumed that they had fled the Empire altogether. He should have remembered that where Nox was involved, assumptions were generally wrong.

 

“You’re Imperial,” Ravage stated. “Not born into slavery. A citizen.”

 

Nox chuckled. “All these years of digging and searching and deducing, and I still had to point it out to you. I’m a little disappointed.”

 

The full implications of this revelation boiled in Ravage’s mind. He didn’t even care that she had just insulted him. He was far too busy connecting the new pieces of the puzzle that was Nox, and taking in the picture that they formed.

 

That picture made him angry. It was a quiet, futile anger directed at things he could not change, but he let it bleed into his voice anyway. “Who was responsible for this?”

 

“Responsible for what?”

 

“All Force-sensitives are to be trained as Sith. That is Imperial law.” Ravage found his hand had gone instinctively to his lightsaber. What was he going to do, attack the past? “To think that someone defied that law—kept someone of your potential from being properly trained for years—”

 

“Ooh,” Nox murmured knowingly. “Angry about the law, are we?”

 

“If random citizens think they can defy the will of the Sith, it undermines everything that the Empire stands for.”

 

“Indeed. And if I’d trained on Korriban at the more traditional age of…oh, I don’t know, twenty, that would have been a year before the Treaty of Coruscant. Around the time a certain new Darth might have been looking for an apprentice, hm?”

 

Ravage gritted his teeth. “This has nothing to do with me.”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“All I am saying is that having someone of your capabilities might have made a difference for us in the war.”

 

“I’m touched that you think so highly of me, truly. It wouldn’t have been me, though. Not really. Not the way I am now.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“The Sith take people young so they can change them,” Nox said matter-of-factly. “They mold them, remake them until they are something entirely different from when they started. That’s all well and good for some people, but my mother thought differently. She taught me to hide myself, determined that I would have the freedom to choose my own fate. And so I did.”

 

Ravage frowned. “You were brought to Korriban as a slave. You didn’t choose anything.”

 

“Don’t be obtuse. Do you think it was coincidence that evidence of Baron Tyvinian’s embezzling was suddenly leaked to the right people?”

 

“That was you?”

 

“Four years.” For once, there was no trace of humor in Nox’s voice. “I swore I’d have revenge. It’s a shame I wasn’t there to see the baron executed, but I did kill his wife. With the Force, in front of the Sith sent to do the job. My ticket to Korriban.”

 

Ravage considered his response for a moment. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

 

“I’m in a chatty mood. It’s not too often I get to reminisce.”

 

“I don’t believe for an instant that you’re just talking for the sake of talking. You have an ulterior motive.”

 

“Your suspicion wounds me.”

 

“And if I wasn’t suspicious, you’d wound me.”

 

Nox laughed. “Very clever! Prudent, too. You know, for a man someone saw fit to name ‘Ravage,’ you’re awfully cautious.”

 

“It’s how I stay alive.”

 

“Mm, yes. Of course. A bit of careful ravaging here and there, but not so much that you leave yourself open.”

 

Ravage peered at her intently, wishing he could see more of her expression in the darkness. “You’re in rare form tonight, Nox.”

 

“I feel rare. I blame you for dredging up my past. Reminds me of how much I am not your average decicred-a-dozen Sith Lord. Rare indeed.”

 

“Have you been drinking?”

 

“Not yet. You do tend to drive me to it, though.”

 

“Nox…” Ravage trailed off as he contemplated the entirety of their bizarre encounter. The more the conversation revolved around Nox, the more whimsical she became. Almost as if she were trying to distract him from something.

 

The truth, perhaps?

 

“What did you do?” he asked.

 

She tilted her head. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“Imperial citizens don’t get sold into slavery for no reason. You must have done something, committed some crime.”

 

“Other than the crime of not handing myself over to the Sith as a child, you mean.”

 

“Precisely.”

 

“Ah. Well.” Nox clicked her tongue. “Really, it all came down to being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Slavers got me on Nar Shaddaa; I’m sure you found the documents during your investigation.”

 

“I did. Kyalah Vern, originally of Balmorra, age twenty-seven, sold to Baron Tyvinian, who was evidently too cheap to buy Imperial. It was under that name that you were registered as a student of the Korriban Academy, though by the time you took your place on the Council you’d changed it to Vesania Serence for some reason.”

 

“I changed it because that’s my name,” Nox said dryly. “Don’t bother looking it up in the official records; you won’t find me. But I wasn’t about to become Sith under a pseudonym.”

 

Vesania. It suited her. And she’d never be known by that name again.

 

Ravage refocused his attention. “Since we’ve established that you are, in fact, Imperial, that raises the question of what exactly you were doing outside the Empire that led you to fall into the hands of slavers.”

 

Nox was silent.

 

“I see I’ve found the limits of your verbosity,” Ravage remarked after more than a minute had passed. “Astonishing.”

 

“Yes, I think I’ve said enough.”

 

The shadows rippled as she moved, and quite suddenly she was close. Close enough that Ravage didn’t need the Force to feel her presence. Close enough to touch. He took a slow, unsteady breath, and caught the scent of her perfume. Korriban lilies, said to grow only where Sith blood had been spilled.

 

“Oh, Ravage,” Nox murmured. “If only you knew.”

 

And then she was gone.

 

Damn her, Ravage thought bitterly.

 

No. Damn me, for letting her do this to me.

 

“If only I knew what?” he demanded of the darkness, then shook his head wearily. Muttering to himself in an alley like a madman. This was what she’d reduced him to. Pathetic.

 

He picked up his cloak and put it on, then turned and started walking towards the main street. Every time, she got the better of him. When would it end?

 

It would end, he knew, if he killed her. That possibility might have intimidated her at first, but it had been too long. Now, she taunted him with the constant reminder of his own weakness.

 

Mustering all of his will, Ravage put her out of his mind. He had a great deal to do. The Empire was about to be at peace, which was a far more daunting prospect than an impending war would have been. There were logistics to deal with, apprentices to organize, assassinations to arrange…

 

He reached the street. The sky was just starting to lighten, outlining the dark form of the Citadel looming on the horizon. Beside it, nestled in the Sith’s dominating shadow, was Intelligence headquarters. Intelligence made him think of Nox, which made him scowl.

 

Then he realized.

 

Nox’s strength didn’t all lie with her Force powers. She knew Imperial politics. She knew how to read people. She lied, seduced, and manipulated like no one else he’d met. She had successfully infiltrated an Alderaanian noble house and assassinated one of its members. And she had fought for control of Sith Intelligence, fought with more passion than he had ever seen from her, and ran it with the competency of someone who understood exactly how the organization worked…

 

Ravage clearly remembered the day that Nox had ascended to the Dark Council. Mortis had offered her the seat, not realizing what he was getting them all into, and she had looked through him into a distance only she could see and said finally, the recognition I deserve.

 

Finally.

 

Because Imperial Intelligence agents didn’t get recognition, no matter their skill—and Vesania Serence would have been among the best.

 

In spite of himself, Ravage began thinking of Nox with a new sense of respect. No wonder the woman was fearless; she would have hidden in plain sight from Darth Jadus himself. No wonder she spoke with such disdain of Imperial Intelligence’s dissolution.

 

On Nar Shaddaa, even a seasoned agent might be caught unawares by hostile forces. She would have been presumed dead, abandoned by the Empire, left to fend for herself. Some might have given up then, but she had fought, and in the end, she had triumphed. It was the Sith way, and she had embraced it.

 

I understand, now, Ravage thought, but he felt no sense of victory at his revelation, only apprehension. By knowing where Nox had come from, he now realized how dangerous she truly was. Intelligence operations had destabilized entire governments. What could an ambitious Dark Council member with Intelligence training do to the Empire, for good or ill, and could Ravage survive the process?

 

Time would tell. He continued walking towards the Citadel.

[MishaCantu]

Gah! Another one I need to read from the beginning. So many stories, so little time, I am just thankful you all don't post on the same day.

 

I do adore your portrayal of Nox and of course all the scheming of dark council business. Your writing makes it seem so intricate, even the petty moves give way to bigger plans, hairdos and wardrobe indeed. She is the splinter under the skin that just can't be dug out no matter how deep one cuts.

 

Wonderful!

[MilaniGrey]

so very chipper, indeed.

[Vesaniae]

Gah! Another one I need to read from the beginning. So many stories, so little time, I am just thankful you all don't post on the same day.

 

I do adore your portrayal of Nox and of course all the scheming of dark council business. Your writing makes it seem so intricate, even the petty moves give way to bigger plans, hairdos and wardrobe indeed. She is the splinter under the skin that just can't be dug out no matter how deep one cuts.

 

Wonderful!

Welcome to the thread, and thank you That is a lovely way of describing Nox. Very poetic. She'd approve.

 

Forty-One

Emperor’s Space Station, Imperial Space

17 ATC

 

 

The air in the station was cold. It was so cold that A’tro, whose Pureblood physiology was adapted to Korriban’s harsh climate, found herself starting to shiver as she walked. In her five years of service as the Wrath, this was her first visit to the Emperor’s secret sanctum.

 

Two masked Sith led her through the corridors without speaking. From the outside, it looked like a standard Imperial space station, albeit an old one, and she should have been able to make sense of the route, but the map in her head kept falling apart. The halls seemed to bend at odd angles. Even the lights looked strange, shining at full power but somehow unable to keep shadows from pooling in the corners and climbing up the walls, wrapping themselves around the lights and strangling.

 

A’tro’s head started to hurt.

 

Several minutes passed. Forever passed. And at last, her silent escorts stopped before a set of closed doors. One made a gesture, and the doors slid open, revealing a large circular chamber. Everything was shrouded in gloom, but A’tro could make out a single object situated in the exact center of the space. It looked a great deal like a throne.

 

Her shivering intensified, not from cold, but from fear. There was a presence in the chamber, a singularity that held eternity in a finite space. An overwhelming sense of wrongness seized her, and in that moment she would have given anything to keep from having to walk forward towards the presence.

 

Only pride kept her from turning and running. Only duty moved her forward, one step at a time, until she had passed beyond the event horizon and stood before the abyss personified.

 

The Sith Emperor was a humanoid figure swathed in black robes. The shadow of his hood completely concealed his face. His hands, resting on the arms of his seat, were gloved. For a moment, A’tro wondered whether there was even a man behind the hood, or merely a shadow wrapped in cloth to give it form.

 

“My Wrath,” the Emperor said. His voice was deep and resonant, echoing in her mind as well as her ears. There was a trace of amusement in his tone as he spoke her title. “You’ve come to me at last.”

 

A’tro knelt, both out of respect and to escape the crushing weight of his being. “I am yours to command, my master.”

 

“You have served me very well, these past years. I was right to choose you for this honor.”

 

“I live only to serve the Empire,” A’tro whispered, her mouth suddenly gone dry. Her headache was intensifying by the second; she fought to keep the pain from clouding her awareness.

 

“Indeed.” The Emperor leaned forward. “I have watched you very closely, my Wrath. I see all that you do.”

 

The strength of his full attention sent an icy lance through A’tro’s brain. “My lord?” she asked faintly.

 

“You are mine, Wrath,” the Emperor remarked with the casual assurance that one might use to note that stars emitted light and gravity pulled things in. “Mind, body and soul, you are entirely my creature. Did you really imagine that I would not know?”

 

His presence compressed around A’tro’s mind. “You plot against me. You would betray me, as your predecessor did—and you will fail.”

 

A’tro’s vision tunneled, then went dark. She fell into the void.

 

And then she was in Kaas City, standing at the edge of the Spires of Victory plaza. The sculpture had tumbled to the ground, the antigravity fields holding it in place offline. The city’s great skyscrapers were on fire. Some had collapsed, choking the street with rubble. She would have expected to hear screams, shouts, the crackling of the flames, the sirens of emergency vehicles, but there was nothing. Kaas City burned in silence.

 

The scene shifted, dreamlike, and she stood in a city she’d never seen, though she recognized it from holos. Coruscant, shining capital of the Republic. It too was engulfed in silent fire. Another shift, and she was on Nar Shaddaa. Then Corellia. Then Alderaan. The scenes shifted faster and faster, showing her worlds she didn’t even recognize, all in ruins. On every planet, the sky was dark and devoid of stars.

 

She was back in Kaas City, but the scene had changed. The plaza was full of bodies, lying still amidst the burning city, and A’tro recognized every last one of them.

 

Pierce still held his gun, as if he’d died fighting, though there was not a mark on him. Jaesa was crumpled near him, one hand half-obscuring her face. Darth Marr had half-fallen against a pile of rubble that kept him on his feet, defiant even in death. Darth Nox was close by, her face frozen in an expression of surprise.

 

Quinn and Saryn lay at A’tro’s feet. Her shuddering, horrified gasp broke the eerie silence.

 

The Emperor’s voice spoke in her mind. This is your future.

 

“No,” A’tro choked, trying to tear her eyes away from the motionless forms of her husband and daughter. It’s a lie—they’re not dead—they can’t be—

 

This is your future, the Emperor repeated. And you, my Wrath, will help me make it happen.

 

“No!” A’tro screamed.

 

The illusion shattered, and once again she was kneeling before the Emperor.

 

“I defy you,” A’tro said recklessly. Her heart hammered in her ears, all but drowning out her voice. She rose to her feet with legs that shook. She would not kneel to death; she would not cower before the dark and beg it not to take her.

 

She would be Sith, as she had always been.

 

“I will not serve you, Vitiate,” A’tro said, staring boldly into the shrouded face before her. To speak the Emperor’s name was heresy, but she was past caring. “I know what you are. I will not help you bring about the end of everything. You’ll have to kill me.”

 

The Emperor said nothing.

 

Adrenaline seared along A’tro’s nerves, buzzed inside her brain, made her intimately aware of every heartbeat, every breath. She had suspected from the moment she had received the summons that she was going to her execution. She tried to keep calm, but she couldn’t slow her breathing down.

 

“Turn around,” the Emperor said.

 

What? A’tro was reluctant to comply, suspecting that she was being toyed with, but in the end what else could she do?

 

She slowly turned. Two Imperial Guards stood behind her.

 

“Look upon these men,” the Emperor said. “Newly sworn to my service, they have passed every trial laid before them. They have the potential to become great exemplars for future generations of their order. They have committed no crimes, no wrongdoing. All they have done is serve their Empire. And now, you will kill them.”

 

“No,” A’tro said, gritting her teeth. “I will not.”

 

“I did not ask,” the Emperor murmured, and then the darkness was inside her head.

 

She became utterly numb.

 

She couldn’t breathe, but she could still feel her breath cycling in and out. She couldn’t move, but her hands still went to her lightsabers, unhooked them from her belt, and activated the blades. Her eyes burned, and she wished she could go blind so she didn’t have to see. So she didn’t have to watch.

 

The back of her mind echoed with the Emperor’s laughter.

 

She could feel the guardsmen’s fear in the Force. Run, she thought desperately. Run away. Fight back.

 

They did neither. They simply stood there while she cut them down.

 

As their life-lights faded from the Force, A’tro abruptly regained control of her body. She stumbled forward, nearly falling, revulsion choking her as she looked at the red-armored bodies on the floor. In her thirty-four years of life, she had killed a great many people, but not like this. This was wrong.

 

“Why?” she demanded, turning to face the Emperor. “Why would you make me kill them? What was the point?”

 

“Because I could,” the Emperor replied evenly. “Because you needed to understand.”

 

“Just kill me, damn you!”

 

“Kill you? My Wrath, you are far too useful for that. No, you will continue to serve me as you always have. And if you refuse…there is nowhere in the galaxy where I cannot reach you.”

 

He could do this anywhere? Seize control of her body, make her a puppet… She fought back a surge of nausea.

 

The Emperor waved a hand. “You may go, now. Continue your little rebellion if you like. It has been amusing to watch you struggle against the inevitable. My servants will call when I have need of you again.”

 

A’tro’s pride wavered, then cracked, and she ran. She didn’t stop running until she had reached her ship and started it up with shaking hands. As the stars gave way to hyperspace, taking her back to Dromund Kaas, she collapsed to the floor in front of the navicomputer and curled up into a fetal ball, trembling from head to toe.

 

Such power. Such terrible, unfathomable power.

 

She did not know how long she lay on the floor like a dead thing, staring blindly into the distance. But slowly, very slowly, feeling returned to her quivering body. She pulled herself up off the floor and into the pilot’s chair. It was Quinn’s chair; echoes of his presence were strong within it, etched deeply after years of use. A’tro closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, letting the echoes wrap around her. The last traces of the Emperor’s presence receded from her mind, and she could think again.

 

Maybe the Emperor was right. Maybe his annihilation of all life in the galaxy was inevitable, and any attempt to stop him would prove futile. But she had stood before him with her head held high, prepared to die with honor. Even knowing that he could force her to obey whether she wanted to or not, what kind of Sith would she be if she did not stand and fight until the bitter end?

 

A’tro seized that thought and held onto it. A tiny flame of resolve came to life within her. It was her duty to fight for the future of the Empire, even if it was a losing battle, no matter what sacrifices she would have to make.

 

It was just before dawn in Kaas City when she arrived. The streets were deserted save for a few security personnel who recognized her as a Sith and left her alone. When she reached the Citadel, she was startled to encounter Darth Ravage of all people entering the building. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him; they exchanged polite nods and went their separate ways.

 

A turbolift ride and more walking later, and A’tro finally reached her apartment. As she approached, she noticed that the two Imperial Guards who normally flanked her door were gone. Nervousness formed a spiky ball in her stomach. Was this her punishment for her defiance? The removal of a very public sign of the Emperor’s favor would do immense damage to her reputation.

 

Or what if they hadn’t been reassigned? What if they’d been killed, the bodies hidden somewhere? What if her family was—

 

A’tro fought back panic and reached out with the Force. There were two beings inside her apartment. Quinn’s presence was intimately familiar to her, and Saryn’s glimmered bright with the seeds of what would one day mature into great power. A’tro took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. They were fine. Everything was fine.

 

She entered the access code and let herself in, walking quickly through the antechamber and into the main living area. Despite the earliness of the hour, Quinn was awake and in uniform, sitting on the sofa with a cup of caf in one hand and a datapad in the other.

 

A’tro had never, in the entirety of the seven years they’d known each other, been more relieved to see him.

 

He looked up as she entered the room, setting caf and datapad down on the arm of the sofa. “You’re back.”

 

A’tro tried to speak, but the memory of her vision of him lying dead in the burning city welled up and formed a lump in her throat that blocked the words.

 

Quinn stood, his movements stiff—he had yet to fully recover from his injuries on Alderaan—and crossed the short distance between them. “Are you all right?” he asked, his brows knitting in obvious concern.

 

“Not really,” she said quietly, tilting her head back to look him in the eyes.

 

“You didn’t tell me where you were going. Has something happened?”

 

“Yes. And no. And—” A’tro shook her head. She stepped forward and put her arms around him, careful not to squeeze too tightly where he’d been shot, and rested her head against his chest. “Everything has changed,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. “It’s all become so uncertain and I—I don’t know what to do.”

 

Quinn reciprocated her embrace. “You know I’m here to help however I can.”

 

“Is Saryn sleeping?” she asked. A clumsy avoidance, and one she knew he’d see through, but she couldn’t bring herself to describe what she’d experienced. Not yet.

 

“Yes, though I suspect she’ll sense your arrival soon enough. She missed you.”

 

“And I missed her.” A’tro sighed. “I’ll have to call Nox later, learn what transpired at the Council meeting. Once the ceasefire is in effect, I can spend more time here with her.”

 

“That will be good for her, I think. She needs your influence.”

 

And I will be a better mother to her than mine was to me, A’tro vowed silently. Safiel Dhakar had been a cruel, selfish woman, and both her daughters had suffered for it. From the moment Saryn had been born, A’tro had resolved to do better.

 

“Now,” Quinn said, interrupting her reverie, “will you tell me what’s wrong? If it’s not classified, of course.”

 

A’tro opened her eyes and looked up at him. “I met the Emperor.”

 

Quinn’s hold on her tightened.

 

“He’s…” She bit her lip. “Malavai, he’s so powerful. I was nothing next to him. Less than nothing. An insect. A pawn for him to move as he pleases—literally. He could control my very actions with nothing but a thought.” Her face burned at the admission.

 

“Dearest,” Quinn said. His face was grim, but his voice was gentle. “You should not feel ashamed.”

 

He knew her too well.

 

“Yes, I should,” A’tro snapped. “I was weak. I should have fought harder. I doubt his sorcery would have worked on Nox, or Marr, or—or—I don’t know, anyone with true strength. I should have made him kill me.”

 

“I, for one, am glad that you did not,” Quinn said quietly. “As is our daughter, I suspect.”

 

“Of course,” A’tro muttered, even more shame flooding her. “Of course, I didn’t really mean—”

 

“I know.”

 

“I should have been better prepared. I’d heard the rumors, I’d seen the Voice, I knew what he was capable of. But I wasn’t.” A’tro shook her head. “I thought I was special. Even knowing what he was, what he planned to do, I thought I was important to him. His blade. His Wrath. But I’m not. I’m just another minion. Not even important enough to kill.” She choked on a laugh. “Look at me. I met a being who wants to consume the entire galaxy, and I’m upset because he hurt my pride. Pathetic.”

 

“I don’t mean to contradict you,” Quinn said, concerned husband giving way to clinical analyst. “But it seems to me that the Emperor is in fact fully aware of just how important you are. He wants you to respond this way, to feel shame and despair, because he knows how much of a threat you pose to his power, and he surely wants that threat eliminated.”

 

“He said I was useful,” A’tro said bitterly. “But, Malavai, he—the Emperor made me kill. Two Imperial Guards, young men, probably just finished their training. Wholly undeserving of death. But he made me kill them. He could make me kill anyone.”

 

He could make me kill you, she tried to say, but the words stuck in her throat.

 

“I understand,” Quinn said gravely.

 

“I probably shouldn’t even be here. I’m not safe.”

 

“I don’t care.” He squeezed her gently. “I will endure any danger to stand at your side, my love. We will face this darkness together.”

 

“When I hear you say that,” A’tro said wistfully, “I almost believe that we can win.”

 

“It pains me to see you so devoid of hope.”

 

A’tro looked into his eyes and saw herself reflected there. Small. Grim. Unyielding.

 

“I don’t need hope to be able to fight,” she said. “If I did, I would never have made it this far.”

 

Quinn moved his hands to rest on either side of her face, one thumb tracing the old lightsaber scar on her right cheek. “You know that I will do anything you ask. Anything you need.”

 

The cynical part of her briefly wondered if he was so supportive because he loved her, or because it was his duty as an officer.

 

Stop it, she told herself. This is how Vitiate wants you to feel: paranoid and alone.

 

“Right now,” she said, “I think that all any of us can do is wait.” She took a deep breath, doing her best to steady her nerves. “The enemy is complacent, in no hurry to act. We can use that to our advantage.”

 

Quinn smiled. “That sounds more like you.”

 

“Your support gives me strength. I will do my best to carry on.” A’tro smiled back at him. “I don’t suppose you have more caf somewhere? I’m exhausted.”

 

Outside, the sky grew brighter.

 

 

*****

 

 

Although her conversation with Quinn had rejuvenated A’tro’s determination, she had not forgotten the question of where her Imperial Guards had gone. The issue lingered in the back of her mind, gnawing at her with tiny, worried teeth, until later that same day there was a ping from the security system of someone requesting admittance to the apartment.

 

Leaving Quinn and Saryn safely in one of the rooms farthest from the entrance, A’tro went to the door and opened it. Two Imperial Guards stood there, one slightly taller than the other.

 

A sense of déjà vu washed over her.

 

“I do believe,” A’tro said slowly, assessing their Force signatures, “that we’ve met before.”

 

“We are honored that you remember us, my lord Wrath,” Arden Zariel said. She bowed elegantly. Her partner, who could only be Vorin Janeth, echoed the motion.

 

“The Emperor has seen fit to assign us to your service once more,” Janeth explained.

 

A’tro raised a brow-ridge. “Zariel, you requested to leave my service before due to a conflict of interest stemming from your relationship to my officer, Malavai Quinn. Have you changed your mind?”

 

“Our commander made it clear that our orders come directly from the supreme master himself,” Janeth said delicately. “We would never object.”

 

“Of course not,” A’tro muttered darkly. “Very well. Welcome back, both of you.”

 

“It is our honor to serve you again,” Janeth said. “We’ll begin our duties immediately.”

 

“Before you do so, you should be aware that my circumstances have changed.” A’tro folded her arms across her chest. There was no point in keeping secrets from them; the Emperor surely knew everything about her. “I have a daughter, Saryn. You will protect her with your lives.”

 

Zariel stiffened noticeably. “Yes, my lord.”

 

A’tro watched her carefully. “Is something wrong?”

 

“No, my lord,” Zariel said. “I was only startled. Your daughter shares a name with my great-grandmother, the last Sith of my line.”

 

“Yes, Malavai told me as much.” A’tro had difficulty imagining the cold and reserved guardswoman as anyone’s mother, but Quinn certainly looked like her.

 

“He did?” Zariel said faintly.

 

“He also told me,” A’tro continued, ignoring her, “that the only reason you ever had a child was in an attempt to continue your family’s Sith legacy. Now, your son is not Sith, but his daughter—our daughter—is. You haven’t failed. The Zariel line continues.”

 

Zariel stood as still and silent as a statue. A’tro peered at her blank helmet, trying to imagine the expression of the woman within.

 

“Forgive her, my lord,” Janeth murmured. “You’ve just turned her entire universe on its head.”

 

A’tro frowned. “I thought this might motivate her.”

 

“I am beyond motivated, my lord,” Zariel said thickly. “This…this is a great honor you have done my ancestors. My life is yours.”

 

“I hope it won’t come to that,” A’tro said. “Would you like to meet your granddaughter?”

 

“I…” Zariel hesitated, then shook her head. “No, my lord. It is enough for me to know that she exists. Better that I remain anonymous. But I thank you.”

 

“If that is what you wish, I won’t force the issue.” A’tro nodded to both of them. “I’ll leave you to your duties.”

 

Even though they were servants of the Emperor, A’tro felt better knowing that she could leave Saryn under Janeth and Zariel’s protection. The two veterans were far from young, but they clearly had some fighting spirit left in them. She would use that while she could. Anything to keep her daughter safe.

 

She would start teaching Saryn to fight, A’tro decided. Her own father had put a training saber in her hands as soon as she could walk. It was time Saryn learned to defend herself. The Empire was soon to be at peace, but the galaxy seemed more dangerous than it had ever been.

[Lunafox]

Beautiful chapter I loved how you describe A'tros reaction to the Emperor and their exchange. Even more so, I enjoyed the time spent with Malavai and how he supported her. I love being able to hear their voices as clearly as I do. ^^

[MishaCantu]

I am up to page 5 in the story and didn't want to read this yet, but I couldn't help myself, so now I am ahead and behind. What a quandary. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the confrontation with Vitiate. He is so cavalier about life as long as it is not his own. I do love to hate him.

 

Malavai is one of my favorite LI companions. Perhaps I just like a redemption story, but I am glad to see him in a light that does not wish him dismemberment, spacing and prolonged agony. I have always seen him as compelling and you have captured him in a most delightful way.

[Vesaniae]

I've always been a big Quinn fan. I think he's a very complicated and interesting character, and it doesn't hurt that he's nice to look at and listen to!

 

Now, the previous chapter was effectively the end of part three. The next four chapters will each be spaced several years apart to illustrate the passage of time between part three and part four. Dates will, as always, be noted at the beginning of each chapter.

 

Forty-Two

Sith Academy, Korriban

22 ATC

 

 

Sometimes Darth Nox liked to walk through the Academy on her way out of Dark Council meetings. A great deal could be gleaned from the mood of Korriban’s Sith and their reactions to her as she made her way through the corridors, cutting a distinctive figure in her white dress. Ten years ago, none of them had known who she was.

 

Times had changed.

 

She kept her most mysterious smile on and maintained a careful air of aloofness, pretending not to notice the Sith, acolytes and overseers bowing respectfully when she passed. She didn’t really need to look at them, anyway; the Force let her gauge their emotions far better than her eyes.

 

There was the proper level of fear due a member of the Dark Council. Envy seethed in the ambitious ones. And as always, her presence never failed to cause desire to emanate from many of the onlookers. Forty-three year old Nox was considered one of the most beautiful women in the Empire, and she intended to stay that way for a long time. Forever, ideally.

 

Beneath all of those emotions lurked an undercurrent of resentment. When news of the ceasefire agreement with the Republic had gone public five years previously, the backlash against the Dark Council had been considerable. Many Sith Lords had openly rebelled. Nox had been more than happy to sit back and watch while Marr and Ravage crushed them; they were ever so good at crushing things. But her role in arranging the ceasefire was hardly secret, and the pro-war faction of Sith had been more than happy to hate her.

 

She relished the impotent rage directed at her from the shadows, letting her smile turn smug. Sith were emotional creatures, but most were capable of some measure of rationality. In time, they would understand that she had done the right thing. Until then, they would continue to plot against her, and she would continue to be untouchable.

 

As she descended the steps to the ground floor of the Academy atrium, she watched the acolytes mill. An Empire at peace meant a lower demand for battle-ready Sith, so the Korriban overseers had raised their standards for admittance and lengthened the duration of their training. Whether those measures were having an effect on the strength of the new generation, Nox wasn’t sure. She would have liked to have taken another apprentice, one more suitable for her political maneuverings than Xalek, but she had yet to find anyone she liked.

 

She reached the bottom of the steps and headed for the exit, fragments of conversations drifting to her ears from the edges of the room.

 

“—deaths in Naga Sadow’s tomb are getting out of hand—”

 

“Myn says he fancies her, but I don’t think—”

 

“How was I supposed to know he wanted the other holocron?”

 

“Of course, ‘research assistant’ meant ‘terentatek bait,’ so—”

 

“—head down, you idiot! Darth Nox kills men when she’s done with them!”

 

Now that was just slander.

 

Nox briefly contemplated looking for the individual the last speaker had been addressing, then decided against it. She had things to do. It also could have been a trap; she had dealt with a number of would-be assassins who had attempted to seduce her into a false sense of security. As a former Cipher agent, she found their efforts laughable. That hadn’t stopped them, of course.

 

Thinking of how frustrating her continued existence was to her enemies put her in high spirits. She started humming to herself as she left the Academy’s dim interior and stepped out into the open air. Korriban’s sun illuminated the stark landscape like the light over an operating table.

 

She paused for a moment, tasting the traces of dark Force energies that whispered in the breeze, and noticed two Dark Honor Guards standing off to one side, apparently blocking someone from entering the Academy. Normally, she would have thought nothing of it; people tried to sneak into the Academy all the time. But the figure, partially obscured from Nox’s view by the guards, looked strangely small. Like a child.

 

Only adults and a few very gifted adolescents trained on Korriban. Curiosity piqued, Nox strode over to the confrontation.

 

“No admittance without official authorization,” one of the guards was saying.

 

“But this is the Sith Academy,” the child protested—it was a child, Nox could see as she approached. A boy, with the red skin and facial ridges of a Sith pureblood. “I’m Sith. I came here to learn.”

 

“No admittance means no admittance,” the other guard said. “Turn around. Take the next shuttle back to Dromund Kaas, and this incident need not be reported to your family.”

 

The boy scowled. “You don’t understand—”

 

“Excuse me,” Nox said politely, “but what exactly is going on here?”

 

The guards turned, snapping to attention, then bowed deeply as they recognized her.

 

“My lord,” said one. “We are dealing with a minor security incident. Nothing you need concern yourself with.”

 

“Oh, but I think I will concern myself.” Nox looked at the dark eye slit of the guard’s helmet and smiled. “Return to your posts, gentlemen. I’ll take it from here.”

 

“But, my lord—”

 

Nox raised an eyebrow. “Guardsman, you weren’t about to question my orders, were you? That would be terribly rude. I can’t abide rudeness.”

 

“No, my lord,” the guard mumbled. “Not at all, my lord.” He beckoned to his partner, and they resumed their positions on either side of the Academy entrance.

 

Nox regarded the Sith boy. He was dressed in simple garments that were covered in dust. A small pack hung on his back. His bright red hair was disheveled, and he stared up at her with eyes the color of burning embers. In the Force, he was a gleaming wellspring of untapped potential.

 

“What is your name?” she asked.

 

“Xalkory Arenthe.” He paused, looking her over, and she felt him tentatively reach out with the Force, assessing her as she’d just assessed him. His eyes went very wide, and he quickly added, “My lord.”

 

Nox smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Xalkory. I’m Darth Nox, of the Dark Council.”

 

Fear spiked in his Force presence, but he stayed where he was and kept his face mostly impassive.

 

“How old are you?” Nox asked.

 

“Twelve, my lord.”

 

Nox nodded slowly. “You’re from the Truest, aren’t you? I’m impressed you made it all the way here on foot.”

 

The Truest Sith, as they called themselves, were a small group of purebloods who lived far from Korriban’s few civilized areas, eschewing advanced technology in favor of the Force and rejecting the Empire as impure. Occasionally, someone would propose wiping them all out, since they were traitors by the standard Imperial definition, but it had never been considered worth the effort.

 

Xalkory blinked at her. “I—yes. How did you know?”

 

“You’ve obviously been traveling for a long time, you aren’t familiar with the basic rules of the Academy, and you had no idea who I am.” That last was more bizarre than anything; Nox had grown accustomed to being recognized. “I do find it quite surprising that the Truest would let one of their own just leave to join the Empire.”

 

Xalkory’s face darkened, and he looked away from her. “I ran away. They would have killed me if they caught me.”

 

“Oh,” Nox breathed. “I see. Well, you got away, didn’t you? You’re here now, far from their reach.” She gestured at the Academy behind her. “Welcome to the Empire, Xalkory.”

 

He frowned at the ground. “I thought if I came here, I could learn how to be a Sith. A real Sith. But the guards won’t let me in.”

 

“Out of curiosity,” Nox inquired delicately, “it was my understanding that the group you came from believes themselves to be the only ‘real’ Sith. What made you think differently?”

 

“I found something,” he said hesitantly. “In a cave. It…spoke to me. It told me about the Empire. I was always told that Imperial Sith were weak because their blood was impure, but that’s not true. If it was true, then the Empire wouldn’t be so powerful. Being a part of that seemed so much better than spending the rest of my life sitting around and talking about how great the ancients were.”

 

Nox’s smile widened. “You have it quite right, my dear. What a bright young man you are!”

 

She had been wanting a new apprentice, and now this boy, fresh and full of potential, had been all but dumped into her lap. What a wonderful day.

 

“You will go far here, I can sense it,” she told him. “And don’t worry about what those guards said. You’re with me now, and I’m in charge. Now, come along.”

 

She turned and headed back towards the Academy. After a moment’s pause, Xalkory trotted up next to her, his small face determined.

 

Nox took a less used route to one of the upper floors, where the senior overseers had their offices. Xalkory looked suitably impressed by the austere building. The Academy’s own dark presence had to be difficult for a twelve year old to endure, even one who had displayed such remarkable fortitude, but he made no complaints and appeared not to suffer any ill effects. Perhaps having lived his whole life on Korriban, a well-known dark Force nexus, had inoculated him against the lingering essences of generations of Sith.

 

As Nox made one last turn into another narrow hallway, she saw that the door to her destination was open, and voices were audible from within. She slowed, Xalkory matching her pace, and listened.

 

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t complain so much,” said a woman’s voice.

 

That was Overseer Kaleva, whom Nox had intended on visiting. It appeared someone else had gotten there first.

 

“I thought we all agreed to keep the rabble out of this institution,” a man grumbled. “Yet I continue to see them. Commoners. Aliens. Slaves! Is this what Korriban has been reduced to?”

 

A wicked grin spread over Nox’s face. She knew that voice.

 

“How long will you persist in staying on the losing side?” Kaleva asked mildly. “The way of the Sith is rule by the strong. Enforcing artificial restrictions of purity does far more harm than teaching a few gifted aliens to master their power.”

 

“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to deal with the wretches day in and day out.”

 

Nox strolled up and leaned against the doorframe. “They can’t all be me, Harkun.”

 

Overseer Harkun whirled around to face her, the color leaving his face. “You—I mean—my lord Nox!”

 

Nox chortled. “Don’t act too surprised. I’ll think you’re not happy to see me.”

 

Harkun appeared to be struggling to find an appropriate response. Nox had considered killing him, but had decided that the best revenge was to force him to live with the knowledge that the acolyte he’d hated most was also the most successful he’d ever had.

 

“Of course not, my lord,” Harkun said stiffly. “Your presence was simply…unexpected.” His tone was deferential, but his presence in the Force bled bitterness.

 

“I was just here to speak with Kaleva,” Nox said, nodding at the elegantly mature Pureblood seated at her desk behind Harkun.

 

“I’m at your service, my lord,” Kaleva said. “Harkun was just leaving, weren’t you?”

 

“Quite right,” Harkun muttered. He gave a curt bow and stalked out of the room.

 

Nox shook her head, moving forward into the office. “Some people are just always unhappy.”

 

“He has his uses,” Kaleva murmured. She inclined her head in Nox’s direction. “Forgive me for not rising, my lord; my leg is being a bit inflexible today. Very inconvenient.”

 

Kaleva had been renowned as a peerless warrior for more than two decades until a speeder crash nearly killed her. She had amputated her right leg with her own lightsaber to escape the burning wreckage, personally constructed a unique cybernetic replacement, and retired with dignity to the Korriban Academy.

 

Nox suspected that her artificial leg functioned far better than she let on. Kaleva was a crafty woman. She had a reputation as a ruthless, but gifted instructor, and it was well-deserved. Many of the acolytes she trained ended up in the direct service of Dark Council members; another of her former students, Darth Pherebus, was on the Council herself.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Nox said. “Now, as I’m sure you can guess, I’m here because there is an individual who I believe would benefit from your personal instruction.”

 

The ridges on Kaleva’s brow rose. “Normally, I wouldn’t take such a request, but for a member of the Dark Council, I would be more than honored to comply. Who is this individual?”

 

“His name is Xalkory Arenthe.” Nox glanced out into the hallway. Xalkory stood close by, clearly intently listening to her conversation. She beckoned, and he walked into the office to stand beside her.

 

Kaleva’s brow-ridges went higher. “My lord, with all due respect, I came to Korriban to avoid teaching children.”

 

“I understand,” Nox said gravely. “But his circumstances are highly unusual. He escaped the so-called ‘Truest Sith’ and ventured here—on foot through the desert, I might add—in hopes of learning the proper ways of the Sith. He’s no spoiled aristocrat.”

 

“I see.” Kaleva’s brow-ridges lowered to their normal level. “I suppose I can make an exception if my lord insists.”

 

Nox gave her a meaningful look. “My lord does.”

 

“Very well,” Kaleva said, resignation creeping into her tone. “What exactly do you want me to do with him?”

 

“Train him well, and don’t rush it. He’s young. I’ll check in when I can, see how he’s doing.” Nox smiled down at Xalkory, who watched her and Kaleva with wide eyes. “If he grows up to be nice and powerful, and doesn’t get himself killed, I just might make him my apprentice.”

 

Xalkory’s eyes got even bigger. Nox was pleased to see ambition flare to life within them. She’d given him a goal; now all she had to do was wait. It would take years, but she was willing to play a long game.

 

Kaleva carefully rose from her chair and rounded her desk, stopping directly in front of Xalkory. She gave him a long, appraising look. “Not a drop of human blood in you, is there, boy?”

 

“Technically there is,” Nox pointed out. “Somewhere down the line, anyway.”

 

“I am familiar with the origins of my own species, my lord,” Kaleva murmured. The beginnings of a smile touched her lips. “Lord Abaron will surely faint dead away to see such purity.”

 

Nox snorted. “As much as I’d like to see that, I have other business to attend to. Although—Xalkory, dear. A question.”

 

He looked up at her, the picture of earnest determination. “My lord?”

 

“The object you said you found, the one that told you about the Empire. I don’t suppose you took it with you?”

 

“I did, but…”

 

“Might I see it?”

 

He shrugged his pack off his shoulders and rummaged around inside it, then produced a small, dark pyramid and held it out.

 

“A Sith holocron,” Nox breathed. “I suspected as much.”

 

“And that was just sitting out in the desert for anyone to find?” Kaleva asked incredulously.

 

“The Force works in mysterious ways,” Nox said.

 

Xalkory turned the holocron, revealing a large crack running down one side. “It’s broken. It had enough power to talk to me, but then it died.”

 

“Interesting. May I?” Nox carefully took the holocron from him. “I’m sure I can find someone who can fix it. Then I’ll let you have this back—if you do well in your training.”

 

“He’ll do well,” Kaleva said grimly. “My acolytes are the strongest. Ask anyone.”

 

“I did. That’s why I approached you.” Nox absently patted Xalkory on the head. “Good luck, dear. Kaleva, he’s all yours.”

 

She turned and left the room, running a thumb over the crack in the holocron. The devices were normally quite sturdy. Perhaps this one had been broken deliberately? A puzzle for another day.

 

“All right then, Xalkory.” Kaleva’s voice followed her down the hall. “Let’s get started. You will address me as ‘Overseer,’ have you got that?”

 

“Yes, Overseer.”

 

Nox smiled to herself as she passed out of earshot. She would have to keep an eye on Xalkory to make sure that some other Sith Lord did not snatch him up. An apprentice of such pure Sith blood and strength in the Force would be a great addition to anyone’s power base. She had found him, and she intended to keep him. He would mature like a fine wine under Kaleva’s expert tutelage, and then he would be ready for the game.

 

 

Many thanks to MilaniGrey for letting me use Xalkory!