Mebeth raced through the first few rooms at breakneck pace, but sense soon forced her to slow down. She could feel something in the shadows here, something other than the oppressive weight of dead air and the cloying stench of dust and mould. It was a silent rage, a whispered dread, similar to the one she had felt in the cave on Alderaan all those years ago. But this was different. More insidious. Like something you caught at the edge of your peripheral but had trouble to trace.

She glanced over her shoulder. Four-Three still walked behind her — it was difficult not to notice with the noise its feet made across the stone floor — and it had been strangely quiet ever since they entered. She didn’t trust it, she realised. Not because of anything it had said or done, but because of the information withheld. False alarms. Smugglers. Security on alert.

What else was the droid not telling her?

Chewing on her lip, she considered things for a moment before turning around. “Stay here,” she said.

The droid nodded and stood still, but made no other reply, so Mebeth carried on without it. Loose rocks, crushed to gravel over hundreds of years of wear and tear, crunched underfoot. She realised that she hadn’t asked Four-Three for the coordinates, but carried on regardless. No point turning back when time was a factor.

The air grew thicker still, carrying with it a hint of humidity. A thin sheen of mould coated the walls now and she reached out to touch it, leaving a clean trace along the path of her fingers.

There must be water nearby, she thought, examining the slime on her fingertips.

Yet even as she entered the next room, she couldn’t hear any flowing noises, any dripping. There was no indication of moisture other than the mould, so perhaps it was caused by groundwater beneath her.

A slight tug at her consciousness stilled any thoughts of water. She could feel it — her blade — somewhere up ahead, calling to her. Caution disregarded, she raced through the next corridor, passed through another chamber and up a flight of crumbling steps before stopping by the entrance to the final room. This one had collapsed at some point and one rear corner opened up into a natural cave. The pale light Mebeth had attached to her belt to see down here failed to illuminate it, touching only upon the rubble pile and the darkness beyond.

The blade rested in a pool of stagnant water and the putrid stench that accompanied it. She almost stepped forward to take it for herself, but something held her back. This room showed no signs of use. Nothing. No chairs, no storage crates, no sign of human passage. If smugglers were supposed to have brought her blade here, there was little sign of them.

She wheeled around, expecting this to be a trap, expecting Lord Constantia to be right behind her, but there was only emptiness.

A few rocks clattered in the room behind her.

Turning around again, slower this time, she realised she could sense something in the room with her. There was a discernible but disjointed presence, a stalking ripple in the Force. She paid closer attention, chills *****ling the hair on her arms as anticipation gripped her. There were footsteps — she could hear them now, muffled by the air of this place.

From in front of her came the whisper of a hiss. Indrawn breath. A bunching tension in the air.

She threw herself to the side and felt the invisible creature brush past her sleeve as it leapt. Shingle clattered under its limbs and it hissed, louder this time, in defiance. It was going to make another leap for her — she could sense it — and more like it began to move across the floor from all around her.

I can’t trust my eyes for this! she told herself, gritting her teeth. The difference between what she could see and what she could feel was disorienting, but she wouldn’t let it get the best of her.

Even so, these things moved faster than she could think. She span out of the way of the next attack before vaulting off her feet to clear the next, but another lay in wait behind it. Invisible jaws snapped at her ankles. Invisible tails whipped through the empty space she left behind.

She poured her focus into her blade and brought it to life, flying from the pool into her hand. A raw thrill accompanied it and she lashed out. One creature screeched as the light cut into it. It fell to the ground, a sinuous ridge of scaly hide over two metres long. She felt the darkness ripple around it as it died, but she didn’t get a moment to wonder at it.

Sidestepping past another attack, she thrust the blade to her left. It impaled a creature mid-air, cutting a bright gash all along its side before she drew it away and swung in an arc to the right. She clipped one of the creatures’ horns and it faded into view as it slithered back, hissing in anger. The others writhed as a living mass around it, but she could sense them being driven back as she swung again toward them. Her mind raced to keep up with her perceptions, trying to track each individual in the swarm.

Too late, she felt movement behind her and strong jaws latched onto her leg. Pain lanced through her. She stumbled back, bringing her blade high over her head, and plunged it into the creature’s brain. Even dead, it wouldn’t let go, and the flesh near its jaws was beginning to burn. Fire raced through her veins, searing an agonising path through her body.

Throat tight with pain, she lashed out with the Force to keep the others at bay, drawing her lightsabre out in front of her to ward them off and backing up against the wall. She screamed as she reached out again, releasing the grip from her leg with such fury that the dead creature’s jaws slammed open with a sickening crack. Her leg trembled beneath her. Her mind reeled.

Poison. She could feel it coursing through her, sickening her mind, corrupting her muscles. She could trace its insidious path.

Then fury overtook her and the pain made her strong. She drew herself upright and bared her teeth at the creatures before her, taking a firmer grip on the blade. She pushed the poison from her blood, burned it as it burned her, and, like a brick slotting into place, Four-Three’s advice came back to her. Don’t think.

When the creatures renewed their assault, she reacted to the flux of the movement. It was an organic flow that saw her blade move as an extension of herself, striking in line with her perceptions. One creature fell, and then another, and then she was standing in a room of lizard corpses, injured but triumphant.

She stood for a moment, catching her breath, before she took a shaky step forward and retracted the blade. The vanishing of its light and the absence of her torch, damaged in the fight, left her in darkness, but she could feel the way as clear as in daylight.

Taking a deep breath, she set off. She staggered out of the ruins, clutching her blade tight in her right hand and trying not to put too much weight on her leg. The issue of security forces weaved through her mind. She would have to deal with them when it came to it. Slip away, somehow. The droid wasn’t where she’d left it, so perhaps they’d taken it outside and prepared a trap for her.

But when she reached the entrance of the ruins and stood squinting into the bright gloom, there were no security forces. Four-Three was there, at attention to one side. In front of him stood Lord Constantia.

Mebeth hardly dared breathe. She tightened her grip on the sabre further, eyes darting between her master and the shuttle peeking out from around some stonework behind him.

Lord Constantia stepped forward until he stood a few short feet away from her. His eyes stared down at her.

And then he smiled.

She flinched as the warmth of it spread across his face, creasing skin until recently carved of stone, folding it in warm lines around his eyes.

“Congratulations,” he said, extending a hand toward her.

Mebeth hesitated before taking it in a weak grasp, herself gripped by confusion. “Congratulations for what?”

“For passing the test.” He gave her hand a squeeze before drawing his back to his side, then started walking back to the shuttle. “Come, now. We have to get you on the transport to Korriban.”

“Korriban?” Her heart leapt at the thought of leaving this planet, passing on to new pastures, but it was quashed by annoyance at the web of lies that was only now being illuminated.

“Yes. To complete the next stage of your training.” They filed into the shuttle, each taking their own seat as Four-Three moved to pilot. “Now I want you to listen to me carefully. There is a lot that I haven’t taught you.”

He could say that again. Lord Constantia had taught her basic principles. History. Maths. Philosophy. All taught out of context. Mebeth had had to supplement her own education. She knew the code, but had never heard it spoken. She had read about alchemy, but never seen it used. She had learned the use of rage, but never witnessed him angry.

Her eyes flickered over to him as he sat beside her. You taught me nothing.

“Be careful when you go to Korriban,” he said. “Ways are different there — the true ways of the Sith. And the true ways consume all those who follow them. You must show strength, but avoid arrogance. Be wary of the schemes of others. You will be told that you must seek power and follow your passions to the exclusion of all else.”

He fixed her with his gaze again, trying to impress the importance of his words upon her. “Down that path lies only destruction. Go along with it, but be wise. Don’t fall prey to it. Just come out of the other side alive.”

Mebeth nodded, but the only thing she planned to pretend to go along with was his advice. His teachings had given her nothing. Only her own power, her own strength, had brought her success. The Sith way was to use your passion as a weapon, but he hadn’t taught her that. If she hadn’t harnessed it herself, she wouldn’t have made it out of that cave alive.

She’d go along with his ‘advice’ until she set foot on Korriban. Then she would carve herself a path to power under the presence of those who came before, under the watchful ghosts of the founders of the Sith. She would bring herself to power, if only so that she never had to bow to another’s teachings again.

As the shuttle lifted off the ground, her heart was set with certainty. Whatever faced her on Korriban, she would face it. She would embrace it.

3646 BBY, Korriban

She had expected it to be warmer — the fury and passion of the Sith embodied and made heat. But it was cold. The bitter malice of the Empire made its grasp known on Korriban, pressing its chill fingers over the sands, gnawing away at the rock and stone and wending into every crevice. It staked its ownership of the land and every living thing upon it. And as she stared up at the statues lining the entrance, so too did the accumulated weight of its history bear down upon her.

The red sun Horuset sat like the Empire’s own eye on the horizon. Its light enflamed the statues, painting one side in proud hues even as the dark of their shadows grew longer behind them. Mebeth watched it set, slipping into a blooded dusk to rise again in the morning.

Gravel crunched behind her and she heard an in-out wheezing of breath approaching, its intakes shallow, its exhalations rattling with phlegm.

“You must be Lord Constantia’s pet,” the wheezer addressed her.

She turned to see a man barely taller than herself, dressed head-to-toe in dusty robes that belied the stick-thin limbs beneath them. He seemed fragile, but he didn’t sway in the strong winds as he looked like he should. A stern face glared down above a metallic voice box twisted into his heavily scarred throat. His eyes were an unnatural red, standing out in pale and pitted skin that rippled up to a light dusting of brown hair.

“I am his apprentice, yes,” she replied.

The man grunted, although it could just as easily have been a chuckle. “I am Overseer Kant. You are to address me as such, if you are to address me at all. Follow.” Without a further word, he span on his heels and walked toward the academy entrance.

Mebeth hesitated, eyeing the guards that peered out of every alcove. She’d hidden the blade beneath her clothes — a loose black top and trousers — but worried that they might notice it anyway. She didn’t think she was meant to have one and didn’t want a repeat of the walkway incident on Ziost.

Then she felt a sharp pain at the base of her skull and stumbled forward. She locked eyes with the overseer as his mind send that wordless command to obey, felt the pressure ease off as she began to follow him as directed, and decided that announcing anything now would be a bad idea. She wouldn’t let her lightsabre out of her sight again, anyway. Not after she’d worked so hard to retrieve it.

She followed the overseer in silence past a group of slaves unloading rubble from a haulage container. A stern-looking girl only a couple of years older than her watched over them, an intensity to her burning eyes that somehow suited her. Mebeth had been taken aback at the concept of slavery at first, but it had made perfect sense when she thought about it. For society to be ordered and stable, it must be inherently pyramidal. And if a person could work their way out of slavery on their own merits, she saw little to protest. The strong rise, leaving the weak where they belong. Vital in the grand scheme of things — individually, not so much.

The girl disappeared then as they passed under the entrance to the academy. They marched along its high-arched corridors, past Sith and slaves, purebloods and humans and aliens. She’d never seen one before, except in journals and studies. There seemed so many here, of so many species, even though she knew there were few. Most of them seemed to be slaves, or no better than them, but some met her stare with fire-filled eyes, backs straight, hands resting upon the hilts of sabres. The Force marked power. Nothing else.

Eventually they came to a low-ceilinged cubbyhole of a room, lined with narrow bunks. A group of adolescent humans clustered around a table to the side playing cards while two other acolytes — a twilek and a zabrak— kept to themselves on their beds. She felt all their eyes turn to settle on her as they both walked in.

“Acolytes,” the overseer announced, coming to a halt. “This one will be joining you. She is acolyte to Lord Constantia. I doubt you’ve heard of him. Regardless, do try not to get caught if you kill her.”

Mebeth shot the man a frown, but he’d already gone, leaving her alone in yet another room of strangers.

The group clustered around the card table returned to their game with cowed expressions that almost covered the contempt and envy in their eyes, loud laughs and curses soon ringing out to mask the awkward silence. With each sound, she could see the twilek in the corner flinch. Just how competitive was it here? Only the zabrak maintained his gaze at her. A small smile played across his lips as he did.

Mebeth took a moment to think before acting. These students had already been here a while. They all knew each other. She was the outsider, but as Sith, she may have more leeway than the aliens. Friendlier or no, showing them favour would cast her lot in with them. Any respect for her skin that may force the humans to steer clear would vanish. Safer to keep to herself. Wiser.

Avoiding the zabrak’s eyes, she made her way to an unused bunk. She reminded herself of her heritage, her strength, and as she did so she felt confidence creep back in. She sat back against the wall, stretched her legs out and reached inside her pocket for her datapad, eyeing those at the table. She was born to the Sith, both in genetics and spirit. No one would keep her from ascending to her heritage. Let them try to hunt her. Let them try to kill her. She’d see that they failed. She’d see that they paid.

One of the card players shuffled uncomfortably as her eyes bored into his back. His friends threw each other unsettled glances. The weight in the room shifted, leaving the group exposed and vulnerable, minds suddenly uncertain of the object of their contempt.

Understand who you shun, she thought, and be wary of the vengeance you shall call when you strike them.

The academy’s wake-up call left much to be desired.

Mebeth had been awake for some time, listening to the breaths of the other students as they lay in their bunks. Only one was truly asleep; the others measured their breathing, resting in a state of alertness. Mebeth was wondering at the reason for it when she sensed someone approach down the corridor.

Through half-closed eyes, she saw Overseer Kant approach, feet gliding in silence along the bare stone floor. In his hand he held a narrow strip of wood or some other material, about a metre in length, supple in make. Those students who were already awake had begun clambering out of bed as soon as he came into view and now they stood in readiness by the side of their beds. One of the humans glanced in her direction, assumed her to be asleep, and twisted his face into a mocking sneer as the overseer turned her way.

Kant raised the strip above his head and stepped closer. He slashed toward her. The strip made a sound like tearing paper as it ripped through the air, but it only struck the bed. In one fluid motion, Mebeth had twisted around the overseer’s outstretched arm and now stood on the floor behind him. She noticed the human acolyte’s face register disappointment before she turned back to Kant.

He glowered at her, but said nothing. Instead, he stepped along one bunk and brought the strip down on the twi’lek who still slept in it. It met flesh with a resounding crack, launching the twi’lek in a scampering mess onto the floor. She — Mebeth found it curious how aliens were so physically familiar that she could tell their gender — rose to a stand on unsteady feet, grasping onto the bed for support. Her eyes follower Overseer Kant as he turned his back on her. Her own back, Mebeth could see before she straightened her shirt, was laced with thin red lines, old and new.

A slow learner, she thought.

“For so many months,” Kant began, pacing the room, “I’ve had to listen to you all natter on about a trial and a chance to earn your place.” He sneered at the words, then shot a twisted glare at Mebeth. “Those who were even here, anyway. Quite frankly I am fed up of the matter, so in two days’ time you will get your wish.”

He paused his pacing. “I don’t expect you to live, only to be out of my hair once and for all. There will be a test tomorrow — a pointless refresher for those who have already complete the requisite exams and a stumbling block, I imagine, for the one who has not. I would suggest you prepare yourself both mentally and physically, but such actions are meaningless in light of your impending death.

“Any questions? No? Good.” Even as he said the words, he span on his heels and strode away.

Mebeth waited until he was out of earshot before muttering, “Talkative.”

The humans scowled at her, but the zabrak smiled, eyes glittering. The twi’lek was nowhere to be seen, although she could just about hear her walking tremble-legged down the opposite corridor to the Overseer Kant.

Now that he was gone, the room felt strangely dampened, like he had deprived it of what little spirit it had with his departure. The humans departed in a gaggle, muttering amongst themselves with the odd glance spared for Mebeth, and headed down the corridor. That left her alone with the zabrak.

A silence stretched between them, uncomfortable only on Mebeth’s side. She felt the alien was sizing her up somehow, but not in the way of hunter or prey as she thought to expect. It made her insides recoil, a movement which worked its way up to a frown on her face. Her bad mood only seemed to amuse him.

“Know your way around yet?” he asked.

Wary of showing any weakness, she declined to answer.

The zabrak chuckled, a slight smile creasing the pale grey and black markings around his lips. “Well, I’m heading to the library.” He leant forward and said, in a conspirational whisper with a crisp wink, “I won’t judge you if you happen to ‘follow’ me.”

Mebeth stayed put as he shrugged, turned around and sauntered off. She waited a few more moments, reluctant to move, before setting off after him. A few brisk steps brought her alongside him, where she glanced to the side and asked, “You expected me to walk behind you?”

He let out a short breath of a laugh and shook his head, grinning. “And here I was thinking ‘finally, a pureblood without the emperor’s golden fist up their arse!’”

Mebeth glared at him. She felt conflicted about his disregard of the emperor. On the one hand she was meant to worship him, of a sort, but on the other hand she had never really heard or experienced much about him.

“You can talk outside your head, you know,” he prompted.

She shrugged. “There isn’t much to talk about.”

“There’s always something to talk about,” he said. Mebeth was having a hard time getting her head around his enthusiasm. “First things first: name?”

“Yours first.”

“Fine.” He sighed. “I’m Bo. Bo Botru. Not my original name, of course. No one knows that, ‘cept maybe an abandoned datafile in the archives or something. No one really cares about slaves’ names.”

“You were a slave?”

Bo gave her a mocking stare and gestured to his face. “Seriously?”

She looked away. “Hmm.”

“You still haven’t given me your name.”

“Mebeth.”

He paused for a while before prying further. “Family name?”

“No,” she said, and left it at that.

Any further questions were mercifully cut short by their arrival at the student library, a small room filled with dusty archival units whose chip lights only just shone through the grime.

She looked around, marvelling at the filth. “Does no one here read?”

“Oh, they do,” Bo wandered over to an alcove and brushed off the seat of a chair, “but someone had a fight and brought some of the roof down the other day.”

“Were they reprimanded?”

Bo rolled his eyes and whistled. “Preference for big words. Must be a reader. Yeah, they were reprimanded.”

“…And?”

“And they’re dead.”

Mebeth was silent.

“Technically every live body counts, otherwise they wouldn’t be scrounging for slaves, but following that rule kinda depends on the overseer. Wrong one and you have to watch your step. I should know. Been here a while.”

“What about Kant?”

“Bark’s worse than his bite, for the most part. Too scared of being punished if he contravenes the rules. Still, wouldn’t push him.”

All of a sudden, he clapped his hands together, startling Mebeth. “So,” he said, “Where’re you up to?”

“What?”

“You know, for the test? Sith code, all that kind of thing?” He dipped his head. “Kinda the thing we’re all here for?”

“I studied it. I know it.”

“Yeah, but did you study it?”

She frowned. “I just told you I did.”

Again, he rolled his eyes. “Do you know what it means, is what I’m asking.”

“Peace is a lie,” she recited from the memory of her books, “there is only passion.”

“Good.” Bo jabbed a finger at her. “Now meaning.”

“It means peace is a lie.” She frowned. “It means change, growth and accomplishment only come through conflict. It means the Jedi are wrong, because they believe in serenity, and being the absence of emotion, serenity is inhuman.”

“Ugh. So academic. What does it mean for you, your actions?”

“Don’t… be a Jedi?” she suggested, trying to grasp the angle of his questions.

“It means be free to change, carve out your own path and screw everything else. It means be spontaneous. It-“

He darted forward out of the blue, planting a kiss full on Mebeth’s lips. She automatically kneed him in the groin. He curled inward and drew back, spluttering.

She spoke down to him, dryly, “Does it mean being an idiot, by any chance?”

Bo coughed twice before answering in a pained voice, “Sometimes.”

“Right, no funny antics this time,” she said. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”

He nodded. “Let’s.”

Mebeth regarded Bo through wary eyes for the rest of that morning as the two of them tried to cover the full extent of Sith philosophy and history in the space of a few short hours. Needless to say, they didn’t scratch the surface on the half of it, but she reluctantly admitted it at least reaffirmed and consolidated some things she already knew.

One of those things was that Bo was a shameless flirt, driven only a margin into hesitance by her earlier rebuttal. He was also quite knowledgeable on the subject of the Sith, despite being in constant denial of any love or like of books. It was a necessary ploy, he explained, to keep himself afloat in a world that didn’t want him.

The light in his eyes when he spoke of the code, however, gave it more weight than that. The excitement was contagious, and some of the trepidation, the fear of unworth and unpreparedness, that had built up in Mebeth’s mind over the past few years began to ease away.

They continued far past the time allocated for lunch and had their food brought to them by a mute twi’lek slave at Bo’s request. The scuttling creature reminded her of their fellow student. She took the opportunity over a dry section of battle reports to quiz Bo about it.

“The little guy?” he said when she asked about him. “He’s been here longer than me. Apparently started out sweeping the floor in some old house’s estate, was lucky enough to have his skills recognised and luckier still to be slave to a lady with the kindness not to kill him on the spot for posing a threat.”

“He doesn’t say much.”

Bo raised a painted brow. “You say that of a lot of people, but you don’t say much yourself.”

She was going to respond with silence but, realising that would make his point, she added, “He seems scared.”

“Oh, he is. All the time. Makes you constantly think he’s going to piss his pants. But he fights like an absolute demon. Frantic. Unpredictable. Likes to train in private when he thinks that no one’s watching.”

“But you watch him?”

He nodded. “I was curious how the others hadn’t bumped him off yet. Rules say they can’t, but imply it’s cool if they’re not caught.”

“If the others haven’t seen him fight, surely they’d see him as weak and go for him anyway?”

“They did.” Bo leaned a little closer, prompting a swift glare from Mebeth, and lifted a corner of his mouth as he spoke. “Stumbled back all bloody and bruised one night. Wouldn’t look me in the eye. Got a beating from the overseer for their shame, though he didn’t ask who did for ‘em. Guess who walked in later that same night?”

“The twi’lek?”

“The one and only.” He leant back again, smug smile still playing across his lips as he recounted the story. “Don’t even know his name, just that he’s tougher than he looks.”

“Why do they still treat him as they do?”

Bo shrugged. “Compensating. Plus,” he said, “twi’lek doesn’t fight out of skill or ‘martial prowess’ or anything of the sort. He doesn’t think except to panic, doesn’t plan except a jump at any chance to flee. Fear powers him-“

“Fear powers nothing,” Mebeth interrupted.

“No,” Bo chuckled, “but it makes for fine survivors.”

“Hmph.” Mebeth twisted her face into a scowl. Her own combat skills had been frantic, once — spurred on by the panic that came with trying to think too fast in response to a situation. In many ways she hadn’t changed, much, but she thought to herself that she had always been above fear as a motivator. Fear as a warning, yes. Fear as an object to incite rage within herself, yes. Fear in the pursuit of victory? It wasn’t a path she approved of.

Once again, Bo’s eyes watched her, laughter glittering through the blue of his irises. Sometimes she wondered if her speaking to him was only meant as a way to break these silences.

“What about the others? Why couldn’t they beat him?”

Rapping his knuckles against a datachip for a few moments, Bo gave the question a nonchalant pause before replying. He swept the book closed and stood up. “They’ll be training now,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

Mebeth refused the hand that he offered and stood up, as before in two minds about whether to consider him with amusement or distaste. She imagined, as they walked the corridors together toward the training area, that it would take her a good while to get to the bottom of that conundrum. Depending on the result of this trial and what happened after it, she doubted she had time to waste on the pursuit of an answer.

The sound of training blades clattering against each other preceded their arrival in the sparring room. No one paused at their entry, although a middle-aged Sith was distracted and had her feet taken out from under them by her partner, much to his delight.

I wonder how much that momentary lapse will cost her reputation? she wondered.

He eyes drifted over to the human acolytes, paired one against the other on the right of the room. As she watched, they switched from muscle-memory practises of basic thrusts and ripostes to a rough all-on-all melee. Still their movements were structured. It was obvious they trained together — they almost seemed to be synchronised, each marching to a tempo prescribed by the group and bound to its inexorable step. It was a trap, woven by each of them, forcing them into a pattern their minds would be hard-pressed to escape.

Their fight started innocuous enough. The combatants erred on the side of caution, jabbing at openings and pulling back, darting to one side and the other as the attentions of their enemies shifted. The largest of them, by far the most threatening of the four, wielded one great length of metal as his weapon of choice. It moved around him in a blur and he grinned, movements making his plan obvious. He had the stamina and skill to hold off any attacks from an enemy divided. He’d wait for them to be picked off one by one, or deal with those who chose to face him himself.

But then the pattern changed. Still in tempo, but the other three reached an unspoken agreement. Without the largest noticing, one slipped around the back, whirling away from the blade of one assailant while the other made a dash for the big one. He fended the attack off with a lazy sweep, but didn’t notice the movement behind.

A sharp crack rang out as a blade struck his ankle joint. Another, and durasteel smashed into his kneecap from the front. He screamed, buckling sideways around his broken foot, one leg swept out from under him around his shattered knee. Three more blows rained down upon his unprotected head and spine before an overseer stepped out from the side to call a halt, face impassive.

Mebeth surveyed the ruin, wondering at the days ahead. She recognised the strategy, the decision of an underdog pack to take out a later threat. They were one down, but the question was whether they would turn on her before they turned to each other.

She glanced to her left and caught the expression on Bo’s face. He looked out over the carnage, smiling, acknowledgement in his eyes. Who else would pre-empt the rise of threats before this trial was over, before it was even begun?

The next day brought few surprises with its dawn, though a thin air of trepidation crept over the sleeping quarters as its occupants woke. One bunk remained empty. If the human had been taken for treatment or delivered to some other fate, Mebeth did not know. He was gone, she expected, never to return to this place.

The twi’lek, on the other hand, seemed to have collected himself, and stood proud-chested when the harsh footfalls of Overseer Kant first sounded down the corridor. Only his too-tense shoulders and a slight tremor in his cheek betrayed his usual demeanour.

Mebeth, along with everyone else in the room, turned to peer down the hallway. It was around five minutes later than their usual awakening and that alone was enough to put them on edge. Barring Mebeth, all knew that the overseer was never late, unless he so intended.

Whoever came down the corridor then, it wasn’t Kant. Instead, an elegant skirt flicked along the floor, kicked out by the pointed toes of soft-skinned boots. An embossed pattern spiralled up around the skirt until it met a jagged line of durasteel tassets, the lower half of a segmented breastplate with haphazard cuts of metal arranged in a light carapace. Above all and behind a high, stiff collar, a faceless mask arose, unadorned except in two gilded ridges which ran as frills along the back.

The masked woman drifted past them. With the merest flick of her wrist, she gestured for Bo to follow. As if jerked by an invisible string, he stumbled after her, and then the two were gone.

Once they were gone, Mebeth and the other students glanced around at each other. No plan had been given for this day, only that they would be tested. She wondered when it would be her turn, whether the woman would wait until Bo was done to return or if they wouldn’t have to wait so long. In half her mind, she considered that the woman may have nothing to do with the test, and Kant would soon arrive protesting the dilution of his orders.

It was some twenty minutes before anyone else came along and the twi’lek was beginning to grow restless with worry, eyes darting here and there. Mebeth maintained her composure. No one had blasted her with lightning yet. If anything, she was annoyed, but wary nonetheless.

Two more departed before Mebeth’s escort arrived. Another Sith, another mask, black and imposing with menacing red eyes.

This one has metal claws for feet, Mebeth thought. Does their fashion sense never grow old?

A hiss. “Come, acolyte,” came a mutilated voice through the mask. A clawed hand swiped the air.

Mebeth did as she was told.

After a long walk through many winding corridors with the Sith’s claws clacking along the flagstones, they arrived at a small balcony overlooking the Korribani desert. The wind clutched onto her with frozen fangs as she stepped out behind the clawed man.

Breaking a long silence, he asked, “Why are you here?”

Mebeth curled her lips. “Must every schooling begin with those words?”

She wondered, at first, why the man didn’t reply, but then she felt her throat constrict, a grip of steel encasing it, beginning to crush. She tensed her muscles against it and tried to fight it, but her neck began to burn and she struggled to breathe.

“If you expect your trials to be a schooling, take this as your first lesson,” said the Sith. “You will answer my questions without mockery.” And with that, he released her.

Mebeth sagged on her feet, trying — and failing — to maintain her composure. For the first time she wondered about the location of this test. It was a long drop from up here.

“This test,” he said, “is indeed about knowledge. All other tests you are submitted to here will be tests of power.”

“Knowledge-“ she started.

“-is useless without the power to wield it.” He sighed and tapped a claw against the stonework. “Now I don’t have time for this pitiful test. If you’re not suited to becoming Sith, you won’t survive the next days anyway.”

Unsure of a suitable answer, she waited for him to carry on.

He fixed his red eyes on her. “I heard,” he said, “compliments of Vowrawn’s galactic paperwork circle, that you killed your parents?”

Mebeth flinched and felt the Sith’s gaze intensify. “I did. Well, they were my grandparents, but I did” she replied. It was the first time anyone had mentioned it in years.

“How does it feel?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Time is short, acolyte. You heard me.”

“I…” She shrugged. “It feels like a lot of things. But I know I’d do it again.”

“Hmph.” He pulled out a datapad and checked something on it, changing the subject. “You know the code?”

She recited it, but she felt that his attention was elsewhere, and growing ever more frustrated.

“What is the Force?” he asked, almost in a monotone.

Unbidden, her master’s words came into her mind. “It is our gift, our burden, and our destruction.”

The Sith’s hands paused over his datapad and a low, rattling hiss issued from his mask. She felt herself grow tense, expecting some kind of retribution but not knowing the reason.

“An… impressive observation,” he said eventually. “Did your master teach you this? Who is he?”

She guessed that her ‘impressive observation’ was false, judging by the earlier hiss, and was overcome by a sudden burst of anger. Years, she’d spent, toiling under the intellectual yoke of Lord Constantia in the hope that he would teach her all she needed to know. She’d left under no illusion that all he spoke was truth, but for his words to garner such a foul reaction…

“Lord Constantia,” she said, voice sharp. “Lord Constantia taught me that. I take it he was wrong?”

The Sith finished writing a note on his datapad before putting it away and replying to her. “He was. The Force is our slave, to use as we will. It is our pedestal to lift us above the galaxy, the wings that bear us aloft. It is the destruction of our enemies, and to us the secret to eternal life.” By the time he finished, his voice was a growl.

Then he gathered his thoughts and, not sparing Mebeth a second glance, walked away with purposeful steps.

Mebeth paused for a moment before assuming that she had passed and setting off toward the training area. As she went, she found her thoughts returning to their abrupt conversation, if it could be called as much.

What did he write?

It was the female Sith from earlier who awaited her in the training room, standing tall in her elegant skirt and armour. Bo was nowhere to be seen. Presumably he had passed on to the next stage of his test — if he had indeed passed at all.

The woman made no greeting behind her metal mask, but her wrist made the slightest movement. It drew Mebeth’s eyes to her waist, where a training blade lay loose in its cord noose.

A flick, and her wrist darted out. The blade flashed forward and Mebeth leapt to the side, just in time. Behind her, the air parted with a hissing crack. She felt the hairs on the side of her face buffeted as it passed.

Barely even thinking, she reached out and another blade rushed into her outstretched hand.

The woman straightened, then adopted a stance Mebeth recognised from Makashi, her arm held out to the side, tip of the blade pointing to the centreline, parallel to the floor. As innocuous a movement as it looked, it was a warning. A dare to ‘just try it’.

Mebeth sank into a wary crouch. If this was the test, she didn’t like it. Makashi was hard to beat. Clean. Concise. Slippery, somehow. Keeping its methods in mind, she stayed on the defensive for the first few blows, dodging and thinking.

The next thrust aimed at her midsection, so she forced the blade up and to the side. She rotated her wrists, sweeping her own blade over the top. But as she slashed down its length to the Sith’s exposed right arm, she saw the blade tip dart toward her ribs. She sprang to the side, disengaging to parry the jab with a downward block, then took a few quick steps back to put distance between her and her opponent.

Expressionless, the Sith continued toward her, never changing her pace. An indomitable, stick-thin colossus. With no further to retreat and the solid edge of a table pressing into the small of her back, Mebeth fumbled about for anything else she could use, only slightly trying to disguise her ineptitude. Her hand closed about another blade. An idea solidified.

No windmilling, she thought.

When the Sith next lunged for her, Mebeth leapt past it, blocking with her left blade and aiming for a fleche to the woman’s back as she dashed past. Either she was too slow or the Sith was too quick, and she found herself warding off a flurry of strikes, backpedalling to the other wall almost as fast as she’d leapt.

It was easy to read the patterns in the flow of combat, far harder to respond to them in a timely fashion. She could tell that the Sith’s style had changed a little between Mebeth’s use of Djem So and Jar Kai. Makashi could counter either. It could predict both and neutralise them. The only way Mebeth could see to win was to mix them up and, she realised as an afterthought, to stop thinking so much, as Four-Three and told her.

A hit sailed past her head then, quite emphasising the point.

With a shout, she pushed herself off the wall and brought both blades across in one great arc with all the force she could muster. Still the woman blocked it, and it had little effect. But her balance shifted, and that was all Mebeth needed. She parried another hit, sending her right blade for a subtle sweep at the legs that whipped across at the last moment. The Sith span away, but not without a parting tap to her ankle.

Her opponent redoubled her efforts. Where before she had been fluid but almost static in posture, she now moved with the pent-up momentum of a coiled spring. Mebeth matched her movements, tapping into the well of rage in her mind. The clash of their blades rang a staccato tattoo through the room, echoing off the walls.

Mid-bout, as Mebeth held off a sweeping strike to her neck, she feigned a cut at her partner’s side and lashed out with her right leg. The cut was blocked, but she knocked her feet out from underneath her. She stumbled and righted herself, but not before Mebeth got in three or four jabs.

Grinning, she continued her assault, dancing around the Sith’s peripheral to keep her off-guard. But her elation was short-lived, and the woman abandoned her rigid style. She barrelled into Mebeth like a freight tram, shoulder-barging her into the wall. She knocked her over with the same foot sweep she had just used and placed the tip of her blade against her throat as she lay on the floor, stunned.

“Report to your overseer,” she said eventually, and withdrew, placing her blade back in its loop. As a sentinel she stood, unmoving, where Mebeth had first seen her.

For a few seconds, the silence remained, and Mebeth picked herself off the floor. Thoughts grumbled in her mind, chafing at her recent defeat, chiding her for her error. Her heart began to sink. All of this for nothing.

But, she was quick to tell herself, there was no point jumping to conclusions, so she turned to the Sith and asked, “Did I pass?”

“Report to your overseer.” The Sith made no indication of a proper reply, but Mebeth thought she saw the barest hint of a nod.

As she turned to walk away, she couldn’t help the sudden lurch of excitement in her heart. If she had passed — and her mind couldn’t comprehend the alternative — she was closer to being Sith, truly Sith, than she had ever been before. Freedom. She sensed freedom, in spite of Constantia’s warnings, perhaps because of them now she knew that they may be false.

Ulterior plans and manipulations indeed, she thought. Through victory, such chains are broken.

Overseer Kant waited for them in their quarters. The air that followed each Sith hopeful in carried less tension than it had that morning, but a fresh note of concern lay within it; one of the humans had not returned from their tests. Their absence occupied the empty space in the room, daring the rest of them to join it.

“Those of you present have passed the basic-” Kant snarled the word, “requirements for your trials. Do not see this as an achievement. The tests are passable by any in possession of brains and motion.”

His eyes passed over Mebeth and she felt a new curiosity behind his gaze. Had one of her examiners spoken to him? Both? What had they said?

“What is our trial, anyway?” Bo asked, smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned against his bunk.

He did well, then.

“You will find that out,” the overseer replied, “on the journey. Pack whatever belongings you wish to take. We leave in five minutes.”

Most of them stood there, glancing around at each other. They all lived out of travel cases, neither having much to their name nor having much space or security in which to keep them. Only a human girl — Mebeth imagined her to be from an upper-class family — rushed to her untidy bed to fish clothes, jewellery and other things from under and around her mattress. Mebeth resisted the temptation to reach to check on her sabre.

The overseer shook his head and turned to walk away. “Be by the shuttle pad,” was his final command.

Bo sidled up to her as he left and she couldn’t help rolling her eyes at his predictability. But she was wary of him. Somehow just knowing he had passed the tests made her pay closer attention. A close eye would be needed for everyone in this room, she thought, and she only had two of those.

“Aced my tests,” he said, still facing front. His eyes darted over to meet hers and — as if it could ever be otherwise — he was smiling.

“How do you know?”

He folded his arms over and leant back. “Oh, that would be the looks on their faces when they told me I was worthless.”

“You don’t think the last part of that indicates what they really thought?”

“They were angry.” He ignored her. “At themselves. Glaring at my horns like they could burn ‘em off, screwing up their faces like you wouldn’t believe. They didn’t want me to pass, but I did.”

A laugh spilled out of him — a bright laugh, clattering from the masonry and echoing round the chamber. “They told me I was worthless and couldn’t work out why I wasn’t.”

Mebeth looked at him then, and wondered if he wasn’t about to burst into tears. She’d caught a pang of sincerity as he spoke, a tugging moment which rang truer than anything else he said. But he was still smiling, so she guessed that meant he was okay, even if she got the impression he wasn’t.

Before she could say any more to him, his eyes snapped back into focus and he lurched forward after the overseer. He took his travelling pack off his bunk as he went, hefting it onto one shoulder.

Following behind him, Mebeth soon found her thoughts turning elsewhere. Who was that clawed Sith who interviewed me? Even though he had passed her, she felt a current of worry grip her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that her words had set something in motion. She imagined his red eyes staring out into space, at the head of a ship to who-knows-where, taking a message into shadow and death.

What is that message, though? she wondered.

Light flashed at her eyes and she squinted up to see Horuset’s rays glinting off the hull of a transport shuttle, parts of its paint scraped away to the shining metal underneath. She glanced back to see how far she had come without realising, then trudged up to Bo and the overseer next to the landing ramp.

While they waited for the others to arrive, she decided to put a question to rest. “Overseer,” she asked, “who was the Sith who interviewed me?”

“That would be Vodil,” he answered, and she detected a hint of jealousy under the sneer that accompanied his name. “If you were wondering at his… roboticism… I believe that is due to his being blown up at some point.”

“You don’t sound keen.”

The overseer appeared to consider his words, but eventually tutted and said, “Machines are an abomination to the Force.”

It was almost certainly a good thing Vodil wasn’t there to hear it.

The others arrived all together, although the twi’lek walked some paces behind them, and Kant commanded them all to board the shuttle without further explanation.

They did so, buckling themselves into the uncomfortable seats which lined its interior. The overseer walked past them, settling himself down in the cockpit alongside a droid before drawing a screen across their line of sight.

“Into the unknown,” Bo announced, grinning even as his knuckles whitened against his harness.

For perhaps the first time, one of the humans acknowledged him. He nodded to Bo’s knuckles, red hair wafting in the air. “Scared of flying?”

“No,” Bo replied. “Only dying.”

That earnt him scattered laughter from the two remaining humans. The girl who’d rushed to pack earlier look even more nervous than he was. She kept glancing about the shuttle as if it could implode at any second. It clearly wasn’t the class of transport she was used to.

“I’m sure we won’t fall out of the sky, though,” Bo added. Perhaps it was for the girl’s benefit.

The red-headed boy raised an eyebrow. “If you find that disappointing, I’m sure we can throw you out the door to make up for it.”

Mebeth had been examining the door to the cockpit, but looked back to see both boys smiling.

Bo gasped dramatically and placed a hand on his chest. “Oh would you? How awfully exciting! You hear that, Mebeth? He’s going to throw me out the airlock!”

She shot him a glare that could have dried an ocean.

The rich girl piped up from her seat, voice thin, “Where do you think we’re going?” She directed the question at Bo, who seemed happy with his newfound attention.

“Well,” he tilted his head back, pretending to be deep in thought, “digging stuff up is what goes on most here, so I reckon it’ll be some of that.”

“Digging?” She appeared horrified by the thought.

The red-haired boy frowned. “That doesn’t seem very trying.”

“Well, I don’t guess it’ll be easy digging. Likely really deep, really dark, guarded by monsters.” He shrugged. “The usual.”

“Monsters? Seriously?” The boy snorted.

Bo and Mebeth shot each other a glance before he replied, “You’re not a library person, huh?”

There was a pause, then the girl spoke again. “What monsters?”

At that moment, the shuttle juddered into the sky. Cold dust whipped past the windows, forming red-illuminated eddies in the wake of the thrusters.

Bo paled slightly and closed his eyes, then began to speak of nightmares.

Stark mountain molars, raised to the Korribani sky as if to gnaw its blooded sun, drew up out of the frozen desert as their shuttle approached. They had been travelling for hours, and though they could see little of the mountain range through the cockpit in the infrequent windows when its door was open, they could feel its titanic presence on the horizon.

Around Mebeth, many of the students sat hunched, eyes closed as they clutched to harnesses, to seats, to their own arms. The region was turbulent, rocking them about in the grip of Korriban’s chaotic weather system. It was a different feeling to the buffeting she had experienced astride a thranta, but it didn’t perturb her. Nor did it perturb the twi’lek, who sat with his hands clasped in his lap and gaze fixed at a point between his toes.

Bored but apprehensive, Mebeth heard movement from the cockpit and glanced toward the door just in time to see the overseer step out. She could be imagining it, but she could see a faint green tinge to his skin. He clawed at his throat box and, remembering his words about Vodil, Mebeth wondered if he begrudged his need for it. In any case, the way to the window was clear and all to be seen through it was mountain. Either the mountain was bigger than she had previously expected or they were near the landing point. Or both, she realised.

Finishing her thoughts for her, the pressure shifted, they began to descend, and Kant cleared his throat with a metallic rasp.

“We are approaching the landing site,” he said, “near to a location some archaeologists believe was a stronghold in the time of the ancient Sith.” The way it said it, and the dripping emphasis he placed upon the term ‘archaeologists’, suggested he didn’t believe them.

“In any case,” he continued, “your task is to find a way inside this supposed stronghold and make out with any artefacts you find.”

The human girl spoke up. “History? I thought the trials were meant to be, well, trialling.”

“Wise words from someone who has never had to deal with the traps of a paranoid Lord or any Sith submerged in the ways of alchemy,” Kant said, then shifted on his feet, eyes flashing back to some other time for a brief moment.

The girl blushed and grew silent.

Mebeth eyed the overseer as he swayed on his feet, wondering who he had tried to rob… or perhaps who he had tried to kill. As she did so, the shuttle flared up and touched down, legs touching the rock beneath the sand with a satisfying thunk after so long in the air.

Almost in unison, they unbuckled their harnesses with no command to do so, filing toward the lowering door with eager steps. Kant let them, and soon they all stood blinking in the afternoon light.

Kant himself took one step out from the door and halted, squinting. “I have updated your datapads with the relevant geological survey data. There are several potential entry points upon the cliff face,” he gestured to the side of the mountain, where haphazard alcoves and notches nestled among the rocks, “and I leave it up to you to work out which is correct. Return alive, and with something to show, and you will be rewarded with entry into the Sith proper. Fail, and if you live, do not bother to return.”

The red-headed human started after the overseer as he turned to leave. “Wait,” he said, reaching out, “you’re just abandoning us here?”

“Abandoning? No…” Kant rolled the word around on his tongue. “I’m giving you the freedom to carve your own path. Watch your shadows in the mountain.”

Mebeth watched him return to the darkness of the shuttle, monitored his disinterested eyes as the door swept closed and blocked out their last reflection. She took a few quick steps back, just in time for the craft to lift off with a sharp gust of wind which rocked to others on their feet.

Red, as Mebeth had taken to calling him, glanced around at them all and seemed about to say something before thinking better of it. He glanced up at the mountain, then down at his datapad, before looking back up and setting off toward one of the larger holes. The twi’lek had already slipped away without her noticing and the other humans set off after Red in alarm.

That left just Bo and Mebeth standing where the shuttle had left, facing each other over the chill of the sands. She examined him, still not having shaken her concern at his earlier behaviour.

Bo smiled, eventually, and inclined his head toward the cliff. “It’s dangerous to go alone. Where do you want to start?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Mebeth reached for her datapad and examined the information Kant had given them. It was spectacularly vague, with little written information to complement the numerically labelled map. She narrowed her eyes at it, rotating the data through its three dimensional axis to build up a picture of the area. It seemed to be a heat map, but whether one end of the spectrum represented empty space or solid rock, she couldn’t tell.

She made a vague, educated guess and highlighted a small fissure in the right-hand side of the face, which seemed as if it might connect to something further back. She pointed it out and Bo walked to her, leaning over her shoulder, breath whispering to the hairs on the back of her neck. Mebeth did her best to hide her annoyance; she didn’t like anyone standing so close behind her.

“That where we’re going?” Bo asked.

She nodded, biting her tongue, clenching her fist against a nigh-irresistible urge to smash the datapad into his face.

“Well, no point waiting,” he said. “The night is dark, ‘n all.”

“No,” Mebeth agreed, tucking the datapad into her belt and stepping to the side. “The sooner we get there, the better. If the archaeologists weren’t onto much, there might not be anything left for whoever gets there last.”

Don’t bother to return if you fail, Kant had said. But what if the archaeologists were completely wrong? Would they all fail?

Bo started forward then, and Mebeth stowed her concerns as they began to race toward the mountain’s roots. Time, for so long a dragged-out force to hold her back, was racing against them now. They would have to be quick. Quick, and brave.

Mebeth considered the others out of the corners of her eyes, bringing her gaze to rest at last upon Bo, who sped beside her.

Quick, and brave, and wary.

Arms aching as she dragged herself up the last section of cliff face, Mebeth hoisted her bodyweight upward, at last swinging a leg over onto the ledge where Bo stood. She didn’t mind that he had arrived before her — a part of her realised that having a meat-shield (for wont of a better term) in front of her would guard her from any traps which lay ahead.

“This the entrance, you reckon?” Bo had his hands on his hips, gasping in air after the long climb. “Wish you’d picked one further down.”

Mebeth brushed dust off her trousers. “Why? Has the mountain beaten you already?”

Despite his exhaustion, Bo puffed himself up and shot her a ragged grin. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

Switching her focus to the wall of rock in front of her, she couldn’t help feeling a little dismayed. Although the scans had roughly indicated a cut back into the cliff here, there was nothing but grim orange stone. The area immediately in front of them was so smooth that, running her hand across it, she could almost mistake it for metal or marble. Too smooth to be natural, surely?

“Others are moving fast,” Bo announced of a sudden, looking along the cliff.

Mebeth followed his gaze and, sure enough, the group of humans were leaping from ledge to ledge, enhancing their jumps with the Force. They peered in each alcove before moving on, although one of their number lagged behind.

“No sign of the twi’lek,” she noted. “And they won’t find anything moving quickly like that.”

“What?” Bo shook his head. “You think here if we stand here and stare at the cliff it’ll just move aside?” He gave her a mock bow. “Why of course, your Sithiness.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, gaze catching on the sheer drop below, before turning back to face the smooth rock.

“Think about it,” she said. “It’s a stronghold, supposedly, built into a mountain. If we can’t see an obvious entra-“

Bo cut her off. “Supposedly. I’ve seen drawings of the ancient Sith strongholds. They’re insane. All angles and jutting square spires. Your lot liked to build ‘em big and bold. Main entrance? It’d be a massive gateway in plain view.”

“The main strongholds, yes, but what about personal fortifications? You heard what the overseer said about traps and everything. If you were a paranoid Sith Lord, would you want to advertise your address to your enemies? And what’s better than having a mountain of rock between you and your assailant? No,” she shook her head, “we’re looking for a hidden entrance. A way in that only the Sith and his close associates would know of.”

Bo frowned and chewed at his lip as he thought about it. “And you got this all from books?”

“And you got it all from drawings?”

He snorted a laugh in reply to that.

“We’re not archaeologists,” Mebeth continued. “We can only hope they got it right.”

While Bo folded his arms and went about inspecting the door more closely, Mebeth closed her eyes. She felt that if she could just reach out with the Force, she might be able to flip a switch and open the door just as she had taken control of the shuttle back in New Adasta.

Rock, it turned out, was far less clear to get a hold of. It was a formidable presence, warm in its wholeness, soft in its lack of circuitous logic. There was nothing to grasp and so she could only launch a vague push against the phantom sensations, but something brushed aside. A barely audible clunk sounded through the rock and two halves of a great door slid aside with nary a rumble.

Then Bo catapulted into her, grabbing her by the waist and dashing her to the floor of the ledge, where her head and shoulders hung precariously over the edge.

“What-?” was all she managed to say before an overhanging section of cliff crashed down where she had been standing.

They waited for the dust to die down before Bo pulled her to her feet.

“Wasn’t much time to say ‘would you mind awfully jumping aside?’” he explained.

Mebeth thanked him reluctantly before turning her attention to the door, which was just now fully open.

Bo regarded it in in amazement. “Okay, so ignoring that you got it working, and nearly got us both killed, I’m… How many years has it been since this was used and it’s still working?”

Mebeth shrugged, rolled her shoulders and walked into the opening. “I guess it must just be the latent ‘Sithiness’.”

She could almost sense Bo roll his eyes, but sure enough, he followed on behind.

The outside world hadn’t encroached on the halls of this Sith since the last day he — or she — had set foot in the place. Stale, dead air washed past them into the fresher air outside, clawing at their throats as it went. Mindful of the trap which had nearly knocked her off the cliff face out there, Mebeth moved slowly, on alert. Even if that had been an instability and a fluke, it had been too close.

Bo, on the other hand, took each step with a grin. His eyes danced over the carven stone, taking in the glyphs and sigils which had rested unchanged all these years. He traced one hand over its surface, leaving tracks in the faint veneer of dust which covered it.

Mebeth cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t…”

With a loud, grinding crack, the floor hinged open beneath them. Mebeth’s legs collapsed underneath her and she tumbled down a widening slope. Bo scrabbled at the stone beneath her, but within seconds they were vertical. Hurtling down into darkness.

As twilight faded into black, Mebeth reached out, pulled Bo to her with the Force and pushed. Almost too late. They crashed to the ground together, breaking their fall with a haphazard roll.

For a few moments they lay there panting in the shadows, the sound of their rasping breath loud in their ears.

Bo broke the silence. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I think I took one of your head spikes to the ribs,” she grumbled in reply, pushing him off her and wincing.

“What can I say?” Light glinted off Bo’s eyes, the only part of him visible. “I’m just a *****ly customer.”

Sighing, Mebeth got to her feet, Bo rising with her. They stood in a narrow passageway under the earth. Where it led, she couldn’t tell, but it was either straight on or up and she didn’t fancy climbing out.

“How about you try not touching anything this time, Bo?” she said, starting forward.

She heard him chuckle behind her. “Present company excluded?”

“Either case might see you suddenly deprived of limbs.”

“Noted.”

They continued in silence for several hundred feet before Bo stopped suddenly behind her.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Listen.”

Mebeth cocked her head to the side, closing her eyes to concentrate on the sounds around her. There weren’t many — small creatures moving about, wind howling around the entrance, dust slithering along the ancient stone. Then a scream, small and muffled in the distance. No other sound. No machinery or mechanism, no sound of fighting. Just a long, drawn out scream followed by silence.

“Others aren’t having such a good time of it,” Bo said.

“How many entrances are there to this place?”

“More than one, obviously.”

She started walking again and thought about what they might find in this place.

“Do you reckon taking back a trap’ll count as something to show?” Bo asked. “Only wondering. I mean, if we find one without walking into it, dismantle it, take it back…”

“Kant will send us back.”

“You reckon?”

Mebeth made no reply. They had come to an intersection. A pale shaft of light illuminated the way from above, marking out the delineation between wall and floor but not much else. She could make out Bo’s outline and the whites of his eyes if she turned around, but that was it.

“More light’s coming from up that way,” Bo said, pointing to the right. When Mebeth hesitated, he added, “What? Just because I haven’t done any fancy stuff ‘til now, doesn’t mean I can’t see with the Force as well.”

“I was beginning to wonder.”

True to Bo’s observation, a short walk along the right-hand path took them into a large chamber, other-wordly flames blazing from empty sconces along its sides. Their warm glow washed across the floor, but its light felt cold on her skin.

“Whoever lived here had a strange taste in furniture,” Bo said, striding into the centre of the room. He placed his hands on his hips, examining the area around him.

Great stone slabs, almost a head taller than Mebeth, littered the floor, casting shadows in strange places and making it impossible to see to any exit or escape.

“Maybe it was an underfloor heating system?” she suggested.

Bo shook his head. “If it was, where’s the floor? There’s nothing resting on top these blocks.”

Before either of them could think more on it, a splintering noise came from their right. They both span to face it, but could see nothing beyond the blocks.

“Can you see anything?” Bo whispered, crouched with training blade in hand.

Mebeth shook her head, then froze. A second splintering, closer than the last, came from behind her. She whirled round, reaching for her own training blade as cracks appeared in the nearest block. The cracks joined up, creating panels which expanded into the carapace of a giant, armoured droid. Flickering, its surface lost its stone-like quality and shone under the glimmer of the sconces.

“Bo!”

The droid brought both its weapon arms to bear on her and she leapt to the side, dragging Bo with her. They both regained their feet in an instant, but Mebeth’s cry had awoken everything else in the chamber. A staccato burst of cracks ricocheted around them.

“Good job!” Bo said, jumping onto the head of one droid to avoid the other’s gunfire. “Top marks for effort! Why fight one at a time when you can fight them all?”

Mebeth growled and sprinted straight for a droid which lumbered toward her. As it raised its arms to fire, she slid under it, jabbing her blade up at the last second to hit what she hoped was its exposed midsection. But she didn’t have time to check her damage. Another droid loomed over her, arm raised high.

She thrust out with all the power in her legs and the aid of the Force, leaping high over the droid’s head as its arm came down hard upon the ground. The solid stone shuddered and cracked with the force of him.

Running between the droids, ducking their blows and fire, Mebeth glanced over to where Bo fought. He alternated use of his blade with punches and jabs, driving hard blows into the droids whenever he had the chance. The attacks left him vulnerable, though. On his next attempt, the droid turned at the last second, trapping his arm between the plates of its carapace. Bo swung through the air until his arm dislodged and he flew free, disappearing into a further mass of droids.

Distracted, Mebeth caught a painful blow to the shoulder. She roared, ducking under the next blow. Fury rising, she let the anger and frustration permeate her. She moved faster, hit harder. She used the droids’ own weapons against them, dodging and weaving to spread their gunfire amongst themselves. Keeping one eye on Bo’s last location, she jumped foot-by-foot over the limbs of the nearest droid, balancing even as it span to throw her off.

Reaching its head, she pushed out again, cracking its head sideways as she arced across the room. She closed her eyes, pulling the air close around her as Constantia had taught, and unleashed it as she landed. The floor rumbled, droids teetering on their feet, and Bo raced to their bodies to finish them off.

The last droid, defiant, sent another salvo their way, but Mebeth swept the shots aside and Bo slammed it back against the wall once, twice, three times until its gun fell silent.

She sniffed. “Not bad.”

“’Not bad’?” Bo frowned at her, panting. “C’mon, let’s get out of this room.”

Mebeth nodded, but she made sure to check the droids as they went, making sure each was well and truly out of action. When they found the exit and left, she piled one against the opening behind them for good measure.

She turned to carry on, but walked straight into Bo’s back.

“What is it?”

“Company.” Bo turned to face her, then stepped aside.

Beyond him, hands firmly upon the shafts of their blades, stood the humans.

Mebeth stepped past Bo into the room beyond the doorway, scanning the scene. The shy girl, who until seconds before had seemed ready to charge them down, suddenly dropped her weapon. It clattered to the floor, one end striking the gauged and bloody knee of her companion. Red grimaced, sprawling. It looked as if the girl had dropped him in her surprise at seeing them.

“I’m guessing,” Mebeth said, a hint of amusement leaking into her voice, “those were your screams we heard.”

The boy scowled at her. “That or the screams of some… damned ghost,” he spat.

The girl nodded, eyes wide. “It was definitely a ghost.”

Bo brushed past her shoulder as he began to stroll around the edge of the room, arms crossed, blade hanging loose by his side as he walked.

“Likely story,” he said, quiet.

Mebeth frowned at him, glancing between him and the others, but said nothing. He thinks it’s a trap.

“You think this is for show?” Red pointed to his shredded knee, face furrowed in incredulity.

Bo shrugged. “Maybe.” He flipped his blade up into his hand. “Haven’t seen the twi’lek in a while. Maybe those were his screams? You done him in?”

“What? No!” he said, then winced again. “You know that one’s a slippery bastard, always disappearing when you least expect it. Last I saw of him was when we landed, same as you, unless that’s all the noise we heard in there.”

“Those were droids,” Mebeth cut in before Bo could say any more. “We haven’t seen him either. If he’s as slippery as you say, he’s probably scampering back to Kant-“

“Overseer,” the girl muttered.

“-as we stand here and chat.” She shot the girl a glare.

“Well. Then it’s settled.” Bo shrugged and began to head through one of the far doors which seemed to lead to the brightest light.

“You don’t want to go through there,” Red wheezed. The way he clutched at his side, he may have broken one or more ribs to go with his bloody knee.

“Why not?”

“Well,” said the girl, “there’s the ghost.”

Red pointed at her and added, “And the fact she set it all on fire.”

“It’ll take a while to die down.”

Bo’s face screwed up in bemusement and he shot a quizzical look at Mebeth before walking a little way back into the room.

“Stay the night with us instead,” the girl said. “The more company, the better, in a place like this.”

Bo shook his head. “No chance.”

“Sure,” Mebeth said, almost at the same time.

She ignored the heat of Bo’s glare and walked toward the girl extending a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to be properly introduced. I’m Mebeth.”

The girl took her hand and asked, “Which family?”

“What? Oh.” She remembered then that family was meant to be important — structurally and hierarchically, at least — for the Sith who had them. “None, I guess. Starting fresh. Dynasty of one.”

“You must have-“

“Dead.”

“Oh.” The girl blinked, flustered, then cleared her throat. “I’m Telbora. I… my family runs a labour exchange service on Dromuund Kaas.”

“Slavers, then,” Bo said.

“Licensed, of course.”

He snorted.

“I imagine Bo has already introduced himself on multiple occasions,” said Mebeth.

“He has,” said Red. As they’d been talking, he had bandaged his leg in shreds of cloth, and now he drew himself back up to a shaky stand. “Along with his stories. Should have paid more attention to them. My name’s Nigel.”

Mebeth took his hand, but noticed his grip wasn’t as warm as Telbora’s. His greeting came out of necessity, not civility.

“What time is it, anyway?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Almost night,” said Nigel. “It really crept up on us. Just like that twi’lek, if we’re not careful.”

Bo uncrossed his arms and marched over to Mebeth, pulling her to one side away from the group and leaning to hiss in her ear. “Damn the twi’lek. It’s them we should be worried about. They’re up to something.”

Calmly, Mebeth turned her head to reply. “You’re scared of a frightened girl and a cripple?” Her eyes flickered down to where his hand lay upon her shoulder. “And hand off, Bo.”

He scowled, but drew his hand away. “We should keep going. We’re not tired. We can get in and grab something before they do, get out quicker, leave them to find their own.”

“Kant didn’t set a time limit, Bo.”

“Oh, really?” He raised a smooth brow. “How much food did he send with us, huh?”

Mebeth opened her mouth to speak.

“We have no provisions. No supplies. Sure, spend as much time as you want here, but your stomach starts growling? Don’t complain at me.”

“You have a point.”

“Thank you.”

She glanced at the others again and — with no idea if it worked or not — attempted to manipulate the air so that sound carried well between her and Bo but not to the rest of the room.

“But we’re not leaving now,” she whispered. “They could have set traps for us and who knows what else, if you’re being that paranoid. If we stay the night with them here, we can set off with them again in the morning and avoid all of that.”

Bo hesitated. “If they want to trap us, they’ll find a way.”

“Then we may as well face them when we’ve rested.”

He took a few more seconds to come round, then said, “If I were Kant, I’d have given us food.”

“Really?” Mebeth found that difficult to believe.

“Not much. And to share.”

“You’d make us fight for it.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “but I wouldn’t say it in as many words.”

Mebeth realised the others were still staring at them, wary expressions on their faces.

“We’ll stay with you,” she explained, dropping her attempts on the air, “but I don’t think Bo’s about to let you stab us in our sleep.”

Nigel chuckled. “He’s wanting to stab you in your sleep, by what I see.”

Mebeth looked between the two of them, confused, before shaking her head. “Just get some sleep.”

The four of them spread to each corner of the room, taking up positions there, staring at each other across the cold floor. Gradually they nodded off, visions dimming, dreams brought to them by the mountain dark.