Shadows skittered in the corners and along the dark walls of the Academy’s entranceway, seeming to flee from the bourgeoning dawn as Authenta passed between the gargantuan carved and inlaid doors half a dozen metres tall. Beyond the doors the entrance itself was bisected by a large pillar etched with pictograms and texts describing the history of the Sith and ending with the Empire’s inevitable conquest of the galaxy. The hallway flowed around the pillar and she followed its course reading the history of her people. She traced her fingers along the spidery aurebesh script, awed in the sensation of being home.

Where the two halves of the hallway fused together, a small antechamber lay flanked by a pair of Imperial Guard, resplendent in their head to toe crimson regalia, vibrostaves held at attention. For all their attentiveness the pair seemed little more than statues, her presence evoking no reaction or deviation from their duties.

Giving a slight bow as she moved between them, she could feel their eyes watching her with steely resolve behind the dark transparisteel visors of their fully enclosed helms. The archway at the terminus of the antechamber opened up into the main hall of the Academy, and as the ceiling fell away so too did her breath; dominating the centre of the immense room was an obelisk black as night. Carved with reliefs, the anguished faces of the vanquished alternated with their Sith conquerors across its glossy black surface, roiling with inky darkness. Authenta stood silently, taking in the sight of concentrated darkness encased within the artifact.

Several smaller statues and glass cases sat in frozen orbit of the obelisk, a few lining the walls enclosed by the paired spiral staircases. A handful of early-rising acolytes and dark-robed Sith wove around the displays without giving them a second glance. Walking past each display, she read the plaques beneath: a replica of the protosaber used by Karness Muur in the Century of Conquest, an inscribed stela from the tomb of Marka Ragnos, a tattered textile which was once white, faded to an ugly sort of beige with time – said to be the remants of the robes worn by the dark healer XoXaan. Resting on a stand in pride of place beneath sealed glass, was the helm of Tulak Hord himself, drinking in the cool spotlight illumination of its case, death’s head faceplate inscrutable and merciless. She reached out to touch the glass for a moment, hesitating, before thinking better of it. The annals say if you go back far enough... She snorted derisively as she turned away from the display case. My family… and half the Empire.

Authenta trudged up one of the curvilinear staircases flanking the small museum, sack of artifacts in one hand and her travel bag in the other. Unerring on her path towards the library, she met the gaze of the odd acolyte. There seemed to be a curious familiarity in their eyes – as if they already knew her – but she supposed the sight of a bloodsoaked and wearily triumphant acolyte must be fairly common here.

As she wandered in the dim corridor, checking the waypoint she’d set for the library on her padd’s Academy map she traced a path back from it to her location, studying the winding hallways of the second level. Searching for Overseer Tremel’s office, the map informed her that she had passed it already; his office lay at the end of a hallway in a wing of the first floor. Rolling her shoulders, she continued her journey to the library, following the many turns of the hallways until she reached the first of her destinations.

Pushing open the ornately carved wooden doors, Authenta searched the signage for cues about either the curator’s offices or perhaps even specifically Lord Samus. Unable to spy useful information, she caught the attention of a passing grey- and black-robed acolyte. “Where is the curator’s office?”

Scowling at her, the man snapped a merciless backhand in her direction. “Mind your tone, acolyte.”

Not quite managing to dodge while holding both bags, the tips of his fingers raked painfully across her cheek. She swiftly backed out of arm’s reach and proffered a quick, respectful bow. “Apologies, overseer…?”

“Overseer Markan. And if you try to dodge your way out of your punishment again, I will simply crush you.

“Lord Samus’s chambers are hidden in the back of the library’s third floor. Now begone!”

Authenta silently bowed a second time and moved away from the volatile overseer, angling towards the turbolift system. Passing silently down a dark aisle, she looked up, marveling at the library collection surrounding her. On shelf after shelf lay databanks, padds, a few ancient bound tomes, and surprisingly, even a handful of holocrons, glowing dimly crimson and violet. It looked much as her family’s library back home, but the difference in scale and works collected was tremendous.

At the back of the library, opposite the entrance, the aisles gave way to an open atrium ringed with a balcony on what must be the second floor. Individual desks and larger tables furnished with chairs were largely deserted at this early hour, weathered wood and grey metal islands on a sea of onyx floor tiles. She wove between them, headed towards the triptych of doors against the wall.

* * * * *

Sliding into a seat in the Korriban Sith Academy’s dining hall, Phyne spun her breakfast tray onto the table with a flourish, barely managing to keep from accidentally spilling her caf all over. Teeno was munching on a buttered roll, hunched over his tray as if he suspected someone might come and steal it away from him. Given Teeno’s imposing stature and acolyte rivalries always roiling just beneath the surface, Phyne wouldn’t be surprised if someone had already tried. He noted her arrival with a gentle and noncommittal tilt of his mug.

Phyne stirred her oatmeal with a spoon, watching the ghosts rise up from it. “Did you hear about that new acolyte added to Vemrin’s group? For her trials? Has to be strong in the Force! She’s skipping the whole academy!”

Teeno shrugged, taking a long draught of his tea. “Maybe she’s got connections.”

“Even if she does, Teeno, somebody influential wouldn’t just call in favors to get their daughter killed because she isn’t ready.” Phyne paused, taking a bite of her oatmeal and pointing the empty spoon accusatorily at him. “No, I think she might be our ticket to start making names for ourselves.”

“Heard she’s a pureblood.”

“Really? I’ve never seen one before! Think she is? That would be wicked!”

“What if she’s like him? Pures are all snobs, I heard.”

“You’re killing me here, Teeno. Start thinking more positive! We should have a chat with her, see what she’s like.”

“After breakfast, right?”

“We don’t even know where to find her anyway, so after breakfast. I heard she went through one of the tombs at night, so maybe she’ll be in the academy sleeping it off all day.”

“Good, I’m hungry.” Teeno took another bite of his roll, and Phyne sipped her caf, conversations yet unspoken taking root in her mind as she smiled to herself.

* * * * *

Moving haltingly across the page, the pen left black streaks with an appearance not dissimilar to the bold but unrefined lines of a child’s painting. Across the room, its master stood pointedly ignoring the hazardous piles of research on his desk, holding a padd while an ancient codex hovered in front of him. He occasionally glanced at a statue in the center of the room, a spindly thing with a head evoking some kind of bird.

With the knock on the closed door of his study, his concentration was interrupted. The stylus crushed into the page with enough force to break, although he caught the floating book before it could strike the floor and be irreparably damaged. Grumbling in annoyance, Lord Samus set his padd and the Book of Sith Names neatly on an already oversold shelf. Crossing his arms before him, he stared lightsabers at the back of his study door. “What do you want?”

“Lord Samus? I recovered several relics of various kinds from witless and base grave robbers in the Tomb of Ajunta Pall. I was told you might be interested in their safekeeping.”

Though the acolyte beyond the door could not see, Lord Samus waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. “There is no reward for bringing the library artifacts.”

Her response surprised him. “I have no need of money, nor do I require recognition for doing my duty.”

The latch clicking twice, the door slid into the wall. Standing in the doorway was a strongly pureblood woman, perhaps twenty, covered in drying bloodspatter and holding out a tattered burlap bag. “I see you were quite serious." A small, proud smile crept onto her lips as the pudgy Sith, skin weathered and pocked with age spots, continued to speak. “I will take these from you then and have my assistants clean and store them. The Sith Academy’s archive thanks you for your contribution to understanding Sith history.”

With a bow, Authenta handed off the bag of artifacts to the elderly Sith curator and turned away. Frowning, she recognized the words as a rote response, yet gathering dust in a storehouse in the Academy was vastly preferable to the black market on some backwater world. With a small sigh, she checked her padd for the location of her assigned dormitory. The hour was early – not yet the seventh hour of Korriban’s day – and she suspected she would be disturbing her assigned room-mate.

* * * * *

Authenta could hear several thuds and crashes through the door after she rang the chime once more. Muffled cursing strong enough to melt durasteel rang out through the door, coming incongruously from a silkily feminine voice. Something about casual sex, removing a particular offending organ, and the person at the door having the smallest one this woman – likely her assigned room-mate – had ever seen. The door finally slid into its pocket with a rusty hiss, revealing a most curious sight.

The acolyte on the other side had greasy black hair falling just past her shoulders in an unkempt sort of way, wearing a thin and tattered grey nightshift. Her face was surprisingly unmarred and deeply tanned, and eerily yellow almond-shaped eyes regarded her with a spiteful, intelligent gaze. Hoping to defuse the situation, Authenta favored the woman who was presumably her room-mate with a grin paired with some gentle sarcasm. “Well I would think, not having one, that it is the smallest you’ve ever seen.”

The other woman pressed her hands against the doorframe, hanging her head and muttering something under her breath about “why me…”

“Are you Defixiones?”

A sigh. “Unfortunately.”

“As you wish; I have been assigned to this dormitory. I presume we are to be room-mates.”

The woman finally looked back at her, eyes darting up and down, hastily observing. “Fine… Don’t touch my s.hit, especially don’t get blood on my s.hit, stay on your side of the room, and don’t try to start conversation.”

Authenta shrugged. “Your terms are acceptable. I only need to be here currently to drop off my effects, and then I will be out of your way.”

Defixones’ eyes narrowed, but she retreated into the room to allow Authenta to pass. “Good.”

* * * * *

Vemrin seethed, relentlessly funneling purple sparks into a failed acolyte shackled to the interrogation table. The man screamed hoarsely, thrashing impotently against the rusted metal fetters binding his wrists and ankles to the durasteel slab.

Inquisitor Zyn clapped his hands unhurriedly, a usual vaguely awkward grin splitting his face. “Oh I know! Once you get started with the torture it’s so hard to stop! But I’m afraid you must… we wouldn’t want to kill this poor sod before other acolytes have had a chance to get more information out of him.”

Balling his fingers into fists, Vemrin growled in frustration as he crushed his desire to inflict endless suffering on the prisoner. Risking the anger of the Inquisitor would not be in his best interests.

“You’ve done quite well! I think you have passed your interrogation trial, so return to Overseer Tremel and report your success. Good luck!”

Vemrin ignored the overseer as he stomped out of the torture chambers, fuming. Tremel thinks he can just throw me out, does he? Maybe I’ll just kill that stupid b.itch of his and then we’ll see who’s laughing!

Clawing his holocom out of his pocket, he mashed in Dolgis’ digits. Without regard for whether he had picked up or not, Vemrin started throwing orders. “We have a problem, Dolgis. Meet me outside Overseer Tremel’s office. Now!”

Behind the flickering blue image of Assistant Overseer Loun, the door to Tremel’s office silently opened. Skipping hardly a beat in his writing as Loun rattled off openings in the sparring timetable over the next two days, Tremel watched his daughter walk over to the couch below the window, reading from a padd.

“Nights are off-limits except under special circumstances and reservations – which a routine test of a new acolyte’s martial skill is not. Tomorrow, there are openings at the 11th, 13th, and 18th hours, and on–”

Tremel planted his palm on his desk, punctuating his demand. “Tonight, at curfew. I don’t need curious acolytes where they don’t belong.”

Loun waved her hand dismissively. “You will have to file a request, and Rance is scheduled for leave beginning this afternoon.”

“She is no routine acolyte. You will administer the test.”

“She will be utterly outclassed!”

“That is for me to decide. Make preparations.” Tremel closed the channel and leaned back in his leatheris chair, reviewing notes on his padd.

“Eskella you know you cannot use my office as your private study. There are things Overseers do which acolytes must never know.”

His daughter pouted, but did not get up from the couch. “It’s quiet in here! And now I want to meet this ‘special’ new acolyte of yours!”

Tremel sighed and glanced at the timepiece on his desk. “Fine, Eskella. You may stay and observe. Silently. She should be here any moment.”

Eskella smiled silently in satisfaction and continued reading.

* * * * *

Ebony and turquoise robes softly dragging on the floor behind him, Darth Baras paced around his desk on the Academy’s second floor. Splayed out before him were myriad displays and maps, covering assets all across the galaxy. He examined each in turn – astrogation charts, troop manifests, ship logs, casualty reports, a dozen other types of list – for something he could pin down and exploit.

His master was brash and temperamental. Good in a brawl but not much else… there had to be something.

Wait.

Vengean planned a tour of Imperial planets, installations, and fleets lying along the predicted front lines if war reignited against the Republic. The proposed itinerary and flightpath of the Bonesnap and her escorts would put it near Quesh in just over a year’s time.

Monk’s fleet patrols the Perlemian Trade Route. If he were to pass Quesh at the same time as Vengean was inspecting the chemical factories… he could be goaded into a trap. My master’s lust for battle will be his undoing.

Making a note with a reminder and encrypting it on his personal datapad, the flash of an incoming message caught his eye. Opening it, he skimmed the transcript of recorded dialogue. Tremel’s whelp had done well, confirming his suspicions. The Overseer sought to undermine him by rushing a fresh acolyte through her Trials to be played against Vemrin.

Tremel had overstepped his bounds and needed to be dealt with. But first, his haste merited closer inspection of this acolyte. Keying in the unlock code on one of the drawers in his desk, he pulled out a disc-shaped camera droid the size of his palm. Setting it on his desk, he and picked up a dataspike. Inserting it into his padd, he input a brief series of commands and removed the spike. Grasping the droid, he inserted the dataspike into its memory port, activated its localized cloak, and sent the silent and invisible observer on its way.

* * * * *

Tapping a padd against the edge of his desk in irritation, Overseer Tremel took a deep breath and blew a puff of air out of his nose. His new acolyte should have been in his office by now. There was neither reason nor excuse for such delays. Vemrin’s voice in the hall beyond his office door snared his attention. Tremel bolted to his feet and unholstered his saber, sprinting to the door.

His daughter reading silently on the couch eyed his actions warily, but returned her attention to studying.

Tilting his head, Tremel listened.

“. . . my honor is not to be questioned.”

“We’ll see about that. Coming, Dolgis?”

I had hoped to delay this encounter. Vemrin is faster than I gave him credit.

“Be right there, Vemrin.”

The footsteps of Vemrin’s boots faded as Tremel’s breath returned. He clipped his saber back onto his belt loop. Dolgis was as stupid as Vemrin was dangerous, and presented nothing to worry over.

“Listen, you useless priss. Acolytes aren’t allowed to murder each other. But accidents happen. It isn’t murder without witnesses.

No more warnings. Vemrin’s the alpha monster here. You go after him, you die.”

“I won’t have to. He will come crawling to me.” Tremel could hear the smirk plastered to her face.

If her sarcasm didn’t get her killed, he just might do it himself out of frustration. A heavy, metallic thud reverberated through the wall. Tremel’s saber hand reflexively dropped back to the hilt, and he threw the office door wide. Acolyte Authenta stood leaning against the wall with one foot pulled up, arms crossed and a sardonic smile playing across her lips. A dent in the durasteel wall across from her was the only indication that anything had transpired in the dead-end hallway as the fading echoes of Dolgis’ footsteps trickled back down the hallway.

Tremel gestured her into his office, locking the door behind them. “I see you’ve finally returned, and in one piece. Tell me, how do you like your new blade?”

His tone not lost on Auth, she bowed slightly before replying. “I hope it is thirsty; I plan on drowning it.”

“What are you doing, father?!” Eskella screeched. “I only just got my warblade and I’ve been here for six months!”

He held a hand up to silence her. “I have my reasons, Eskella. And you will not breathe a word of this to anyone. Do you hear?”

“Ye- yes, father.”

“Acolyte, this is my daughter. One of the Academy’s advanced students. On her way to becoming Sith, if she minds herself.”

“I’ll keep quiet, father. But I won’t be there if whatever you’re planning blows up in your face!” Cheeks flushed with anger, she stalked out of the office and slammed the door.

“Don’t mind her; she’s sore I’m keeping secrets. She growls but she is loyal.”

Authenta resisted the urge to turn and look to where Eskella had left as Tremel continued to speak.

“Now, I heard Vemrin’s voice in the corridor before you arrived. Did he make his move so soon?”

She shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“If he didn’t attack, he must not fully comprehend the threat you represent.” He stroked and scratched his chin, contemplating. “Good, good. Still, I’d hoped to have more time. Vemrin’s not the type to sniff too long before taking a bite.”

“He will find I bite back.”

“Mind your tongue, acolyte, lest it get you killed! Vemrin is the invisible rot eating at the heart of the Empire. He must not be allowed to advance. Unfortunately, he’s caught the eye of one of the most influential Sith Lords, and is being groomed to be his new apprentice. I’m sure you are familiar with Darth Baras?” Tremel clasped his hands behind his back, prowling his office like a tuk’ata that has caught the scent of blood.

Authenta followed her overseer’s movements with her eyes alone. “A master manipulator and strategist; he orchestrated events which forced the Republic into signing the Treaty of Coruscant.”

“So you understand what we are up against. As Baras’ apprentice, the power Vemrin would wield is considerable. He could change the Sith…. For the worse.”

The magnitude of Tremel’s audacious plan dealt a punishing blow to her resolve. Another acolyte she could handle… but she had been told stories from her father. If Baras even thought Tremel was plotting something, he already had contingencies in place and she had been outplayed before the game even began. Auth steeled herself and kept her expression a placid mask; these thoughts could not betray her.

"He is crass and inelegant. I will not allow this.”

“Then you must proceed to your next trial immediately. There are three prisoners in the academy jail. Interrogate them; decide their fate. Then rest. The jailer will inform me of your judgments.

At curfew, you will report to the main sparring arena. You will be tested in combat, because I must know that you are ready to face what awaits you.”

Authenta bowed, taking a step back before turning away on her path forward.

* * * * *

Tremel stood on the gallery above the hexagonal arena, gripping the railing tightly enough that his knuckles ached. Below him, Authenta was preparing, the cool sandy glow of her sparring blade flowing through the basic motions of makashi to warm up her muscles. Her warblade had been placed reverentially upon a rack behind her.

Across the room, he could feel the Dark Side coiling serpentine about Assistant Overseer Loun, who knelt in preparatory meditation.

He took a deep breath and input a timer to the small console built into the rail on his left. “Combatants! Prepare yourselves. After a ten-second countdown, the gong will sound and your duel will begin.” This was, of course, purely for his acolyte’s instruction. Loun had danced the same dance ten thousand times.

Without opening her eyes, Loun unclipped the dual sabers at her hips, placing them aside and stood. Authenta’s blade froze mid-strike and she assumed the basic stance of shii-cho. Blade held horizontally and pointing in front of her she eyed the countdown on the screen below the mezzanine where Tremel stood, waiting for it to start.

In absolute silence, someone slipped through the door behind him. Tremel cast a sideways glance at the intruder – and his jaw nearly fell open in recognition.

The Sith Lord, clad in lavish yet frayed robes, waved a dismissive hand.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

* * * * *

The timer started to tick down and Authenta shifted her gaze from it to her opponent. The Overseer across from her had the dusky rose skin of a lineage that was once pure, and Auth could sense the Dark Side flowing around her.

Three.

Two.

One…

The resounding brassy note of the gong echoed through the arena. Leaping towards her, Overseer Loun pulled two practice blades from the racks into her grip with the Force. Authenta shifted to the right and swept her blade up and left, blocking the overseer’s forward swing and dodging the trailing blade’s thrust. Rolling to her feet, she held her blade high with the blade pointing downwards to the right and widened her stance.

“An immediate switch to form three. You are no amateur, but I expect no less from a student of Tremel’s.” The overseer paced around her, occasionally flipping her gauche in a loop around her hand. On another flip, she snapped her right hand forward and surged towards Authenta following behind the blade thrown with deadly accuracy.

Dropping below the projectile, Authenta pitched her blade up to parry the wide sweep and grabbed Loun’s wrist, standing up and using the overseer’s momentum to throw her over her shoulder. Following through with a low stab, the practice blade bit into nothing as Loun rolled out of reach.

She favors ataru, as do most who wield two sabers. A soldier works out victory in relation to the foe whom he is facing.

Pressing the offensive, Authenta shifted her blade again horizontally, delivering a series of sweeping attacks.

Loun countered by vaulting over her head, blade pinwheeling vertically as she spun. Authenta dove out of the way and threw a wave of Force at the overseer, pitching her across the room. Loun twisted her body and impacted the wall feet-first, jumping off into a somersault, with a wide scissoring strike coming at an angle, one blade above and one below.

Straightening her arm, Authenta blocked the high blade and spun inside the reach of the other, snapping her elbow at Loun’s face. The overseer tilted her head back and passed underneath the strike, switching the direction of her lead blade’s low swing.

Using the momentum of her thrown elbow, Authenta continued her spin and dropped her saber down to parry the surprise attack. Her blade flowed around and caught Loun’s high assault above both Sith’s heads. The overseer growled her frustration and swung low with her other saber.

Authenta jumped over the attack, forcing her own blade forward and down in a two-handed grip. She overpowered the parry but Loun carried her momentum through, and the blade Authenta had forced away spun with preternatural speed and turned Authenta’s vicious overhead slash aside. She landed, and the two warriors danced around each other; Loun’s wide, acrobatic sweeps interrupted at every turn as Authenta flowed from parry to dodge to block with merciless elegance.

Frustrated, Loun somersaulted backwards to put distance between the two women, her blades held wide with the points towards Authenta. “When were you taught makashi?!” she snarled.

Auth held her arm straight with her blade pointing down and slightly to the left, the side of her mouth curled up in a predatory smirk. “As a child.”

Amethyst lightning coiled around the Overseer’s arms and blades as she shrieked, jumping again at Authenta. The Force-imbued attacks of the Overseer were weaker but faster.

Holding her practice blade with both hands, Auth sought not to parry but to turn back Loun’s attacks. To wear down her patience and endurance. With another low, sweeping strike, Authenta hopped forward and jerked her torso back, kicking one boot into the flat of the overseer’s blade and the other into her chest.

Loun’s blade snapped and the impact threw her back, skidding across the padded floor, as Authenta flipped around and rolled to her feet. She held her blade low, point forward.

“You have lost your advantage, Overseer. Submit!”

“Never!” Loun roared, violently casting aside her practice blades. The silvery hilts of her lightsabers spun into her hands and howled into bloodshot life as her eyes blazed crimson.

Authenta swallowed involuntarily, but dared not avert her gaze to see Tremel’s reaction. Searing memories made her scar ache.

Not again!

She silently called out to the Dark Side, hoping to build enough strength to push aside Loun when she inevitably vaulted again, but it was too late. The Overseer was already in the air, sabers poised to saw Authenta in half.

A wave of Force power smashed through the arena, throwing Loun into the wall hard enough to render her unconscious and hurl Auth to the ground, knocking the wind out of her.

I haven't gotten around to reading your story but I might have to go and do that! There are so many here! I never post though because I put a lot of thought into reviewing/critiquing one particular author's works and I'm kind of worried that other authors might be like "well why aren't you putting that level of detail into commentary on my story?" >.>

Another silent reader finally speaks out. yay! You're not wrong about that rocky start... I think part of the problem was that originally I pushed myself to get the post in weekly on Tuesdays. I'd like to do that again, but as I noticed re-reading the latest chapter today there's a lot of little awkward things that I'm just like 'OH GODS I LET PEOPLE SEE THIS?!" Because I pushed it out on a Tuesday. Next installment I have a really good idea what I want to do and go so it should write fairly fast this weekend and hopefully I'll actually catch all the derpy **** and fix it before posting it this time.

Part of it also is that I have great/interesting ideas for a lot of things - to me anyway, and my opinion matters least on this account - but laying the groundwork to connect them is a bit of a struggle. Almost as big a struggle as writing dialogue. It's easily my weakest point (after being a garbage self-editor unless I leave the writing sit for several days). It's not "George-Lucas-wrote-the-Prequels" weak but were my dialogue writing skills Force-sensitive they definitely would have been killed during the great Jedi purge.

I'm seriously considering going back through and fixing all the things that bug me or are poorly written, but it's kind of a question of effort vs reward. It'd take quite a while in some cases but no one would see/read it so I just kind of let it sit.

It absolutely, positively, made me feel amazing that you think my story is engaging and flows well!

I'm not sure how I feel about Palpatine reading my story lol "This intrigue is excessively amateur. Come back when you can spend 30 years plotting to take over the galaxy."

Wispy swirls of steam curled about Nomen Karr and his padawan, kneeling on either side of a low table on the balcony of a Nar Shaddaan rooftop café. The two cups of freshly poured Gatalentan tea lent a sweet aroma to the proceedings – but not enough to cut through the ever-present tinge of exhaust in the wind.

He absent-mindedly felt his lightsaber at his side as he observed Jaesa Willsaam serenely meditating across from him. Every thousand years, someone – Jedi or Sith – is born who expands the frontier of what it means to commune with the Force. With only a modicum of effort, she could strip away all the layers of lies surrounding others like so many cloaks cast aside. She had to hone this ability. Quickly.

“Let Nar Shaddaa fall away. The bright lights, gone. The popular music, gone. The smell of grease and smoke, gone. All distractions gone. Open yourself to the Force… become its conduit. Feel your awareness radiate out from yourself, along threads of the Force flowing through everything. Through me, through you, through the tea…. the table, the people, the moon, the galaxy. Even beyond.”

Jaesa's power could lay bare all of someone’s sins. She was his key, the secret weapon that would topple Baras forever. Every spy unmasked and every agent exposed. The Republic could take the war to the very gates of Kaas City and the Sith wouldn't know a damn thing until it was too late.

Baras. An ever-present black mark on his mind and on the galaxy, and Karr could feel him across the dark. He sat at a desk deep within the foul black pyramid on the rancid and noxious world the Sith called home. No doubt weaving rotten webs to ensnare half the galaxy. Carrying away the wretched secrets of the Sith and pulling the rug out from Baras on the very world hanging high and caustic yellow in the sky beyond the horizon was Karr’s crowning achievement; one that he sought to eclipse with the padawan before him.

Jaesa opened her eyes and pulled out her padd. She tapped a few buttons and slid it across the table to him. “Master, this is the meditation chair I mentioned would be most suitable for the Sanctum Cay.”

He had no idea what she was talking about, and shot her a stern glare as he picked up the padd. On it was neither images nor schematics but plain text.

The man in the Republic uniform two tables over is an Imperial spy.

Karr glanced at her peacefully sipping from her steaming tea cup, eyes once again closed. “You’re certain this is the one?”

She nodded.

“It looks like they’re low in stock. Perhaps we should leave now if we want to make sure we can get one.”

His padawan set her cup down. “Even without finishing our tea, master?”

“There will be other teas; let’s go,” Nomen Karr said as he stood.

Less than ten minutes later, he sat instead across from a lazy SIS agent whose feet were propped up on the corner of his desk. Karr tried to ignore the empty tumbler sitting near the agent’s reach, and Jaesa stood impassively by the door as instructed.

“We’ve checked and double checked everything. You’re sure this trooper is an Imp? I even cross-referenced his family tree – includin’ birth and death records. Everyone existed and checks out, more than a century further back than the start of the Great War.”

“My padawan is never wrong, Balkar!”

The SIS agent held up his hands “I get it, I get it: the Force. But I can’t go and order detainment on a Republic soldier… even if you’re sure he’s not.”

Nomen Karr surged to his feet. “Then the Jedi will.”

“That’s just gonna make both of us look bad. Look, I’ll send one of my top agents with some innocent but fake reason to bring him in for an interview and we’ll see what happens.” Agent Balkar pulled his boots off the desk and stood, offering a handshake. “Deal?”

The Jedi turned away fuming and gestured for his padawan to follow him out of the office. “Fine.”

“Yeah, she is,” Balkar said just loud enough to hope the padawan heard him as the door closed behind her.

* * * * *

Authenta struggled to her knees, gasping for breath. She kneaded a fist into her stomach just below her ribcage to try and work the kinks out of her diaphragm. Across the arena, Assistant Overseer Loun groaned, lying mostly face down on the padded floor.

As Auth pulled herself to her feet, the sound of firm clapping drifted down to her from the mezzanine. Turning around, she looked up to see not only Overseer Tremel, but a vaguely familiar woman. Her onyx hair tied back in an elegant chignon and upper lip painted to match, both contrasting with her ivory skin, the woman appeared as if she had walked right out of a soirée. Yet, her fraying robes in crimson, shades of ash, and teal accents were a strong counterpoint to her elegant countenance. She could be nothing else but a Lord of the Sith. Authenta bowed to her.

“My Lord, not that I would dare to think my Overseer incapable, but I presume I have you to thank for saving my life?”

Tremel flicked his gaze between his acolyte and the Sith, seemingly content to let the comment slide in favor of deferring to his superior.

“Quite right. It would be a shame,” she said, “to waste a Sith with potential on the ire of an Overseer who can’t admit defeat.”

“My Lord, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The woman smiled, and unusually for a Sith it reached her eyes, radiant and unnatural orange in color. “If anything, I owe you the pleasure after having a chance to witness such a duel. Alas, I am here on business.”

She disappeared into the balcony, and Tremel turned his head to watch her for a moment before leaning over the railing.

“I’ll send a medic for Loun. You have tomorrow for yourself, Acolyte. Return to my office in two days’ time. May the Force serve you always.” Tremel turned and followed the Sith away from the edge of the observation deck.

Authenta shrugged, wondering who the mysterious Lord was. Wiping down her practice blade, she replaced it on the rack and began to buckle the scabbard for her warblade over her shoulder. With more than forty hours’ downtime yet again, the library sounded like a much more practical pursuit than the cantina, especially after the debacle on Sorzus station.

Her hand stopped midair, just short of the handle to her warblade, as her eyes narrowed in mild irritation born of the implication of both Tremel’s and the Sith Lord’s words to her.

For someone in such a hurry to push me through the Trials – to waste more than a day sharing a bed with someone seems rather counterproductive.

Flicking a hand in an effort to dismiss the musings, Authenta turned to leave the sparring arena. Before she could grasp the recessed door handle, it pulled open and the curiously familiar Sith from before glided through.

“Get the overseer out of here and leave us.”

The Imperial soldier carrying a portable medkit nodded at the Sith’s order as he followed her in. Making a swift beeline for the prone form of Loun, he slung her over his shoulder and bolted from the arena.

Authenta bowed once more at the woman, the fog of memory refusing to yield its secrets as to who this Sith was. From closer, networks of fine black veins were visible at the corners of her mouth and at her temples, marring her otherwise flawless skin.

“I’m impressed at your skill with a blade, acolyte. I can think of more than a few Lords who would lie dead at your feet even now.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, a lascivious smile dancing on her painted lip. “And strong in the Force.

But, I’m not here to flirt.”

She splayed her fingers on her chest and bowed lightly. “I’m Darth Lachris, and my master has sent me to deliver a message to you.”

Auth returned the gesture, the Sith’s name burning away the fog. “I thought I recognized you; the apprentice of Darth Marr. But forgive me, my Lord… what news is so dire that a Darth is made the messenger?”

Lachris looked away for the briefest of moments before answering. “The Fist of Tulak Hord was sabotaged and destroyed. We don't know yet if it was a failed power play or if the Republic was involved.”

Her throat closed up. She couldn’t breathe. Authenta reeled backwards against the wall, moisture beading at the corners of her eyes. She bit down on a balled fist. No. No no no. Not dad too.

“Fleet Admiral Threno. Is he…”

The Darth’s expression grew contrite. “I’m sorry but your father was killed. Not that it is any–”

Authenta screamed wordlessly at her and Lachris was blasted off her feet, smashing into the wall. Carmine lightning cascaded out from Authenta’s body, burning lattice patterns in the room’s padding. Dark tendrils of Force the hue of blood entwined with the lightning around her arms, hands twisted into claws like a kell dragon rearing to strike.

With a calm demeanor more suited to Tython, Lachris waved a hand before her face and dropped back to the floor, landing lightly on her feet.

“Harness your hate and anger! Feed on it. Let it make you stronger – stronger than Tremel. And I will overlook this attempt on my life.”

The blossoming storm about her dispelled, Authenta slid down the wall, sinking to her knees. Holding herself, she sobbed silently, dark tear stains pattering intermittently on the floor.

“As I was saying. Not that it is any consolation, but he sacrificed his life to save my master and most of his crew. He is to be posthumously awarded the Order of Glory.”

But Authenta was no longer listening.

“You have to wake up, Auth… I know you’re not sleeping under there.”

Authenta grumbled and threw off enough of her covers to resignedly sit up. “Dad, it’s too early. It’s my birthday and I want to sleep in!”

Her father sat on the edge of her bed with a soft smile on his face, but there was a sadness in his green eyes and he was wearing his uniform. He had to leave again, she just knew it! Authenta’s eyes began to glisten and she reached for her pillow, clutching it close.

“But you promised!”

Barus Threno looked down at the gloved hands balled in his lap. “I know, sweetheart. I know. I was supposed to be here for a week. But this is important. I don’t have a choice; something terrible has happened on the capital.”

“More important than my birthday?” she huffed.

He pulled her close into an embrace, squishing her pillow between them. “Even more important than your eighth birthday, I’m afraid.”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you, but it’s very bad. People have been killed.”

“I want to come too! You won’t miss my birthday if I do!”

Her father stood and run a hand through his hair, considering his options. “It’s probably a terrible idea but…. I did make a promise. Pack only what you need and get dressed. You have five minutes! A shuttle is coming to bring me to the spaceport in ten.”

“Spaceport, dad?”

“Yes, we’re going to Dromund Kaas. The capital capital, not New Adasta.”

Authenta jumped out of bed, grinning. “Yay! I get to see space!”

Barus smiled and shook his head slightly. “Just be in the atrium in five ok, Auth?” He shut the door behind him as he left her to get ready.

* * * * *

Clad in a crimson cloak trimmed in silver with matching boots, Authenta’s face was glued to the shuttle’s window. It lifted above the skyline of New Adasta, toothed with both spire and mountain, and the flight wings folded down giving the little sith girl a view of the curve of her homeworld. “We’re so high up, dad!”

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Auth. Just you wait!” He smiled to himself, hand on her birthday gift still hidden in his officer’s long coat.

The shuttle smoothly pitched upward and accelerated, a dark arrow piercing the autumn night’s cloud cover. The sterling early morning sky fell away and Authenta involuntarily gasped at her first sight of the ebon veil pin-pr.icked with yellowish white dots. Ziost became a huge silver and black orb below the shuttle. She turned to her father, eyes wide and wearing a huge grin.

“That's what home looks like? Space is so pretty, dad! Does it always look like this?”

“Well, the stars are in different patterns around other planets, but mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Sometimes ships do battle. The Republic put a fleet in orbit over Ziost. All those flashes of light you said you saw in the sky the other night? That was war… A lot of good men and women died.”

“Did… we win?”

“I'm here, aren't I?”

Authenta whipped her head back and forth between the window and her dad, stopping only when she pressed her nose against the former once more. “You were there! What-?”

“Commodore Threno, incoming com for you.”

He sighed and slid forward from the passenger seat beside his daughter to the vacant copilot’s. “Patch it through, Veii.”

The holoprojector on the main console crackled to life, displaying an image of a man in the distinctive cape of a Fleet Admiral. Barus fired off a salute of regulation length. “Sir!”

“This is the White Nova to Imperial Shuttle Peremptory. What is your destination and authorization?”

“Shuttle Peremptory to White Nova. Commodore Barus Threno enroute to Dromund Kaas. Service authorization Thesh-Resh-Esk-3688-Besh-10. Commanding officer of Fist of Tulak Hord.”

“Received. Confirmed. Have fun tangling with the glowsticks on Kaas, Barus.” The image of the man snapped off a rapid salute.

“Have fun scr.aping the ‘Pubs off your hull, Daven. Threno out.”

The connection faded away and Barus rubbed a hand over his face, muttering to himself. “How the kark did the ‘pubs get a strike team into Kaas City?”

Remembering his daughter in the seat behind him, he gave a fake cough and sidled back into the passenger seat beside her. “You never heard that, ok?”

“Heard what, Dad?”

“That’s my girl. I have something for you… part of your birthday gift.” He pulled the stuffed terentatek out of his coat and handed it to her. “Happy birthday, kiddo!”

Authenta squealed and grabbed the plush, hugging it close before holding it out at arm’s length. “A terentatek! yay! I’m going to name him Κτανῆς, Devourer of Jedi!”

“Quick! Look out the viewport!”

“Huh? Whooooooaaaaaa… what is it?” Authenta’s mouth fel agape as the stars went from pinpoints to long streaks before giving way in a flash to a swirling mess of blues, whites, and blacks. She tilted her body and craned her neck, trying to see out the window in every direction. Her father ruffled her hair and smiled.

“It’s what flying through hyperspace looks like.”

“You get to see this all the time? When I grow up I want to join the Imperial Navy!”

Barus shook his head. “You’re meant for greater things than the military, Auth. You’re Force sensitive, and from what Lord Prasutagos - your friend Beraxil’s mom - tells me, powerfully so. You’ll be a Sith Lord one day. You won’t serve on a ship - you’ll command entire fleets. I hope I’m there to see it.”

Authenta held her plush terentatek tightly. “Being a Lord sounds like fun! Do you think maybe I’ll be a Darth one day too, dad?”

“It’s a hard road to become a Darth. Auth, I won’t lie to you… most never make it that far.” He smiled wistfully, staring into the distance and remembering a woman long gone. “But I’ll do everything I can to get you there. I made your mother a promise.

“Your other birthday gift will have to wait for a couple of weeks, but I might as well tell you now. I enlisted Lord Carnarian - for as long as it takes - to train you in the arts of sabercraft. What I mean is… you’ll learn how to fight with a lightsaber.”

Auth’s amber eyes glittered and she pounced on her dad, hugging him with all her strength. “I’m going to get a lightsaber!”

“Not for a while, kiddo. You won’t get a real lightsaber until you graduate from the Sith Academy on Korriban and build your own. But you’ll learn how to use one first, so you’re ready when that time comes.”

Tears of joy welled in her eyes. “I’ll make you proud… and mom too!” She looked up at her father.

“What’s going on anyway, dad?”

Barus sighed and stared out the window above her head, collecting his thoughts from the swirling lights. “You can’t tell anyone this. Not even Beraxil.”

“I promise, dad.”

“Someone bombed the home of Darth Marr on the outskirts of Kaas City. His wife and daughter were killed. Murdered.” He looked down at his daughter and squeezed her tightly.

The pilot turned half around and looked at Barus. “Sir, with all due respect… is it wise telling a little kid Imperial secrets?”

His eyes narrowed threateningly. “I will decide what I do and do not tell my daughter, Specialist Veii.”

The pilot snapped back around. “Sir, apologies, sir!”

“The Empire is locked up as tight as it can right now. Just getting you on this shuttle was a red-tape nightmare. A Republic fleet getting all the way to Ziost is a big breach of our defenses, and the murder of the family of a Dark Councillor at nearly the same time is… it’s unthinkable. I was supposed to be on leave, and doubly so after the damage the Fist suffered in the battle.

But Marr has pulled every senior officer in his Sphere to Dromund Kaas. He demands answers, and rightly so. How did the Republic get past our defenses? How did no one catch saboteurs? Why was none of it prevented? Why didn't we see it coming?

And as far as I’ve heard, we’ve none to give. Heads… are going to roll, Auth. Literally.”

He gently nudged her back towards her seat. “Now, the flight is nearly four hours long. Get some sleep, Auth.”

* * * * *

Authenta had done her best to pretend she was asleep as her father carried her into the makeshift quarters he had been assigned in the Citadel. When he left the room she followed him, bare feet silent against the cool, dark metal of the floors, plush terentatek held faithfully at her side. She stole through hallways, being careful not to be seen shadowing her father. At the end of one hallway she heard voices arguing beyond the archway he had just walked through.

Peeking around the corner, she spied a group of people all dressed in uniforms similar to her father’s. She could see him seated at a huge, oval-shaped table, facing away from the entrance. Some of them were standing, others sitting… but none of the twenty or so officers were paying attention to the little girl looking in.

Soundlessly, she slipped in at a moment when their arguing voices rose in volume, and hid behind a small console tucked in the corner. She squeezed Κτανῆς, listening in.

“This is your fault, General! There should have been more troops patrolling Kaas City!”

“Don’t point your finger at me, Moff. The Esstran sector is your responsibility!”

“Stop. Both of you.” Her father.

He continued. “Where is the security footage for Darth Marr’s estate? Where are the witnesses? Someone had to have seen something.”

“We… don’t know.”

A woman’s voice. “You ‘don’t know’?! Put a stranglehold on The Minister of Intelligence if you have to! And then shoot yourself with the blaster at your side - save our Lord the trouble of ending your idiocy later.”

As Authenta listened to the bickering going around in circles, frost began to form on the edges of the console that made up her hiding place, and spidery tendrils of ice fanned out from scuff marks on the floor. She could hear the purposeful striding of someone in heavy armor, and could feel heavy footfalls through the metal. Just then she heard a voice - deep and powerful, but sounding as if it was coming through a damaged speaker. In her head, darkness bloomed and she shivered, an icy blackness worse than any winter’s chill from home cutting through her cloak.

“Report!”

Is that Darth Marr? He sounds so strong, she thought to herself. Peeking out, a man as huge as the voice stood near the door, hands clasped behind his back and covered head to toe in red and black spiked armor with an expressionless mask sitting under his hood. At his side stood a young woman with her black hair tied back in a pretty bun. Authenta thought she looked like she might still be a teenager. She wore fancy grey and red robes, and lightsaber hilts hung at both their belts.

All the people sitting scrambled to their feet to bow. The voice of the man who didn’t know anything was the first to speak. It was attached to a balding man wearing a Navy uniform, but it had more medals and rank pips pinned to the front than her father’s. She guessed he must be an Admiral.

“My Lord! Preliminary reports suggest that your twi’lek slave may have survived… there’s no evidence of her body and the explosions weren’t big enough to vaporize her.”

The woman that hates him, wearing a white uniform with a golden braid on the front, spoke next. “Reclamation thinks the bombs were planted outside the building. Don’t you think you should find her, Bardion?"

Marr held up a hand. “Silence, Sorin. Yet you are correct.” He turned to the woman at his side. “Rasenna, go to Intelligence. Obtain all information on this, by any means necessary. This cowardice will not go unanswered.”

"Yes, master."

Authenta watched the woman’s pretty robes spin outward as she turned and left. She swallowed hard and stood, looking at her terentatek, then at Darth Marr, and back again. She stepped out from behind the console, holding the toy in front of her like a shield.

Darth Marr noticed her first… she guessed he knew she was there because the Force told him. She could feel him, too… a blazing hearth surrounded by an inky black cloud.

“What is the meaning of this? How has a child infiltrated the Citadel?”

Most of the officers were too surprised to do anything but stare. Her father glared at her in a mix of shock and fury, too angry to move. The pudgy, balding man moved first and grabbed her arm.

“Come with me, you little brat!”

“Let go!” She was almost knocked on her bottom as he flew halfway across the room, hitting an empty chair. She stood still and stared blankly, feeling very small. She hadn’t meant to do that but the pudgy man wanted to kill her. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.

The man huffed and pulled himself up, mouth twisted in a snarl. He yanked the blaster hanging from his belt and pointed it at her. “You little sh.it!”

Her father’s eyes grew big as dinner plates and he reached his arm out, yelling “No!”

The man started to squeeze the trigger and Marr’s gloved hand curled into a fist. There was a sickening pop and the man’s arm fell along with his body, head turned at an odd angle.

With tears in his eyes, her father slumped heavily in a chair, blowing a huge sigh of relief.

Trying not to look at the dead man or at how mad her dad was, Authenta padded next to Marr and looked up. “Mr Darth Marr…?”

The giant man knelt in front of her. “You shouldn’t be here, child. Not at your age.”

Her father stumbled over his words. “My Lord! I - I’m sorry. She was asleep I don’t… I don’t know how -”

The mask turned under the crimson hood as Marr looked at her father. “Spare me the excuse, Commodore. She’s here now.

“Now little girl, What is your name?”

“Authenta, Lady Sarenrai, Mr Darth Marr.”

"Just ‘Darth.’ What are you doing here?”

She shrugged, looking at the floor and holding her terentatek. “I snuck out and followed my dad. You guys call him ‘Commodore Threno.’ He… dad says your family was killed. That makes me sad. Are you sad too, Darth Marr?”

“I am. And your father is not wrong.”

“I think you need him more than I do.” She held out her terentatek to him.

With a surprising gentleness, he took the plush from her with one spiked gauntlet. “Are you sure? Does he have a name?”

She favored him with a big smile. “He’s Κτανῆς, Devourer of Jedi! And I’m sure! My dad says one day I’ll be a Darth too and then I’m going to have a real terentatek anyway.”

Darth Marr chuckled and stood, regarding the plush terentatek for what seemed like a long time before speaking again. “Your father speaks the truth. A brave girl like you will become a fine Sith.”

He turned to her father. “Congratulations on your promotion, Admiral Threno. Now excuse yourself and return your daughter to bed.”

Gigantic thanks to Lunafox for letting me borrow her Operation: Cornerstone.

Operation: Cornerstone, copyright Lunafox 2015

Tried something very specific with the last section; that is, writing it with a 3rd person limited narrator following child-Authenta. Let me know if you think it worked

Lachris!

I do enjoy little details like you have here with the Gatalentan tea.

Thanks! Little details make worlds whole. I picked it up from Bloodline, which is a pretty solid book if you haven't read it yet.

And, I loved the whole exchange with Nomen Karr (you really captured his arrogance and self-superiority), about Jaesa's ability and seeing Balkar was a real treat! Loved his little aside as they were leaving. Love him to pieces. As you probably know lol.

Thanks! I tried to play it pretty low-key. He's mostly only thinking bad things this early, but there are subtle cracks in his facade! I do seem to vaguely recall that you love Balkar now that you mention it

I was a little worried including him here since he was the main character of Spy vs. Spy, but I couldn't find another character with the right skills and who could be in the right place at the right time, and his mannerisms are just too perfect for the exchange. Laid back and self-assured. The perfect combination to get right under Karr's skin! Spent quite a while watching youtube vids of him flirting with female Troopers to try and nail the dialogue. Did it work out?

Ooh, I know who the mysterious Sith is! You described her so aptly it couldn't possibly be anyone but

Hah, I knew it! I was right. *does a little dance* You captured her voice well, I could totally hear her in my mind.

Hahaha yea! I was kind of disappointed you didn't have a guess for last week, LOL I worked over that little bit for quite a long time to make sure the description of the Sith Lord was very nonspecific... I wanted people to guess "Is this Baras? Did Tremel miscalculate that hard? If it's not, who could it be?"

Darth Lachris is one of my favorite characters in SWTOR. She's so regal and honest unlike most Sith, and her VA did a spectacular job. She's also a lot like Marr (more on this later), so she's got that going for her too. When I picked SWTOR up again in 2015, I was kind of bummed that you were forced into killing her even as a LS consular.

Oh wow, the bearer of horrible news. Poor Authenta. I think the reaction should have been expected, the Sith had to know how it might affect her, but at least he died a hero.

Indeed. This is kind of a pivotal moment for Authenta. Everything's been smooth sailing for pretty much her entire life and fate has had quite enough of that... time for a hurricane. I vacillated a little on her reaction - not the anger outburst (that was another thing I've had in my head since early last year) - but being utterly consumed by grief as she was.

Yea I didn't want it to be like "oh your dad's dead... shucks." He cared a lot about the people under his command and I wanted him to die how he lived. It also explains a little about Authenta's unusual-for-a-Sith respect for the military.

I like how you transitioned into the flashback, it felt as if Lachris was droning on and Auth sort of blanked out a bit there when she receded into her memories.

I wouldn't go so far as droning on haha, but I definitely wanted to convey that it didn't matter what Lachris was saying, cognitively Authenta was long gone. Stuck in the past, one might say. Glad you liked it!

I was a little worried over how smoothly it would feel to a reader who wasn't me. None of my real-life friends or family know I write Star Wars fan fiction so I don't have any proof-readers/test audience (not even my girlfriend )

Young Auth...shades of young Anakin there, with the 'Yay!' rather than 'Yipee!'

I actually based a lot of the dialogue between Authenta and her father, and their reactions and stuff, on my brother and nephew. He's only a couple months younger right now than Authenta is in the flashback, even. But it's funny you mention a certain boy who grew up to be the personal executioner of Emperor Palpatine!

Love the name for the Terentatek toy. Also like how you chose to go with the Cyrillic for it. I didn't however manage to find out if there was a specific meaning to that word.

I thought it was a great name for a little Sith girl to give a stuffed animal! I'm curious how you got Cyrillic though. It's Classical Greek. I... kind of had to construct the word because I couldn't find an attestation, but it's an agent noun from the verb κτείνω, which means "to kill, to slay." I used the aorist tense (kind of equivalent to English's simple past), which is ἔκτᾰνον. So Κτανῆς just means "one who has killed in the past [and is likely to again]." So her plushie is "Killer, devourer of Jedi"

Interesting choice of name for her father, 'Barus' it's so close to Baras. Is that intentional?

Although I had names for both her mother and father decided upon before I started writing this last year it never even occurred to me until I was editing this for formatting on SWTOR's forum that the names were so close. I have no real idea if Bioware named Darth Baras for the same Greek word or not, but it was definitely unintentional. "Barus" is just a transliteration of βαρύς, the Greek word for heavy (it's related to our English word gravity), and Threno is also a Greek verb - θρηνέω - meaning to mourn or lament. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, one might say; people wear their hearts in their names if you know where to look

I love how you worked in my history and the events of Operation Cornerstone. It would make sense that DK would be locked down and the Council summoned. Definitely, answers would be sought, about Ziost and Marr's stronghold and the deaths of his family.

Pleased as punch that you loved it! This story has been percolating in my head for a LONG time in bits and pieces... far enough back that I had the idea of Authenta meeting Marr as a child even before you originally wrote the Operation: Cornerstone into The Foundation of All Desire. And then it clicked in my head that if you were cool with it, that event would explain why and thus would follow how. It was just too perfect,

and the timing fit for how old I wanted Authenta to be when it happened.

Loved the reaction of the powers that be too. Very authoritative, and very stressed out.

Yep. Most of them are more concerned with trying to shift blame so it's not their neck on the chopping block. Fun fact as well: although there are a lot of people in the room, the only character who wasn't invented (apart from Marr and Not-yet-Lachris) is Sorin - the only female Moff in all of Star Wars before the one created for the 2015 Lords of the Sith novel - who is basically murdered by the smuggler.

I enjoyed Darth Marr and the description of young Lachris. In my personal head canon, he didn't acquire her, until several years after his stronghold was destroyed, but as I said, that's my head canon. I enjoyed seeing her in your events and seeing how Authenta remembered her first sighting of Lachris.

I'm certainly glad you liked the description! Neither Marr nor his apprentice have particularly changed much in 15 years, have they I was sweating maybe a lot in giving a name to Lachris. She'd have to be known by her real name before becoming a Darth, but I was worried about reactions, since giving her a name takes away a little mystery and might mess with reader headcanons >.>

That makes sense! I was wondering while I was writing this chapter, especially after reviewing Marr.... why she never showed up. Now I know! Personally, I find her lore description would suggest that she had been his apprentice for a long time, because she's so much like him:

"A powerful Sith Lord with a despotic temperament, Darth Lachris has never failed in war. Her successes in the Empire's battles have brought her to Balmorra, where she faces the of putting down a resistance that has remained one step ahead of the military since the fight for the planet began.

Darth Lachris is sharp and wary, expecting a scheme behind every action her enemies take. The apprentice of Dark Council member Darth Marr, she is a warrior at heart with an embittered understanding of political necessity - and a lust for all the galaxy's bloody pleasures."

Remove "Lachris" in there and it could almost be Marr's codex entry, haha! It just struck me as a little unlikely that another Sith would end up so similar to Marr without a huge chunk of her life under his tutelage.

That was a touching scene, where she gifted Marr with her gift. I do appreciate the cool darkness you showed with Marr, even after his loss, he treated the child well. Marr is made of awesome.

I'm glad you liked it! I definitely teared up a little in a couple of places writing the flashback, and that was one of them. Authenta may be a little girl and she may not really grasp what's going on and certainly not understand the emotional turmoil Marr is hiding under that mask... but she knows when somebody needs something to hug.

I enjoyed the chapter very much and how you incorporated my bit of head canon there. I look forward to the next, Divi!

woot woot! You were gracious enough to let me borrow a little sand from your sandbox, so I really wanted to do it justice Your praise makes me think I succeeded!

The Beast of Marka Ragnos groaned with enough volume to shake stones loose from the ceiling. A dozen wounds marred its armored grey hide. She straddled its shoulders, warblade plunged deep into its back, just below its head. Spikes on its back had cut furrows in her boots, and her thigh oozed a crimson stain from a deep gouge. The terentatek was mammoth and virtually immune to the Force; killing such a magnificent animal gave her no thrill, no pleasure. It collapsed forward, and she was thrown across the chamber, the uneven stone floor raking bloody lines on her skin.

She came to rest against a fallen pillar, but as she tried to stand, she could see dark purple tendrils flowing into the beast. Covering her head, the burst of Force energy threw her again to the ground, pelting her with small debris. Her consciousness was carried out through the wave, and she found herself at the swirling center of a vortex populated by every Sith in the galaxy. Immense pillars of the Dark Council erupted from Korriban, Dromund Kaas, Vaiken spacedock. Far away, a series of bloodstained hollows on a frozen world turned her stomach, and out past the edge of the Galactic disc, a void of purest black sat on a golden throne, drinking in all light, warmth, and life.

The vision faded away and she had the strength to haltingly stand. The carcass of the terentatek crumbled into dust at her approach.

Authenta strode down the short hallway terminating in Tremel’s office with as little sound as she could manage. No doubt he would feel her coming through the Force anyway, but she would take any advantage to be had. A dark stain on the wall was a silent testament to the folly of Dolgis; the edge of Auth’s lip curled into a feral grin at the memory and she wondered if he’d ever walk again. Taking a steadying breath, she pushed open the door.

Tremel sat at his desk, resting his elbows on the surface and his hands steepled before him. He raised a solitary eyebrow at her entrance, but she could feel the faint wave of surprise at her presence.

“Acolyte, I hadn’t expected to see you so soon. Has Baras sent you back to me?”

“I’m here…" she shrugged plaintively, "to kill you.”

“Then I have been outplayed.” He looked down at his desk, the bridge of his nose resting upon his thumbs. “Baras has the authority of course, but I did not think he would do something this overt.” Tremel stood and pulled the lightsaber hilt from his belt.

“Either I die… or I am forced to kill you, and destroy my own plans. A master stroke.”

“It is a shrewd ploy, to be sure. But not one without faults.”

“Very well. You have your orders, it seems. Know that it gives me no pleasure to kill you.” His crimson saber blade ignited with a low-pitched purr.

Authenta unsheathed her warblade, smoothly sweeping it around into the opening stance of makashi. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”

Tremel shook his head slowly, a melancholic expression marring his features as he walked around his desk. “Do not hedge now. This is the way of the Sith. I will try to make your end as quick and painless as possible.”

He swung around high. Authenta sidestepped and tried to Force push him. Tremel staggered but held his ground. “You only delay, Authenta.”

She continued to dodge around his attacks, seeking to draw him away from the desk and into the open so that she would have more room to manoeuvre.

“Listen to me, Overseer!”

The Overseer and acolyte danced around each other, crimson lightsaber carving through empty air.

Harness your hate and anger! Feed on it. Let it make you stronger – stronger than Tremel. Darth Lachris’ words came back to her and she spun away from him, gaining distance.

“You can do nothing against a lightsaber and a fully-trained Sith. Surrender and it will be over quickly.”

“It is only a matter of time before I find a weakness in your defenses… but there is another way, Tremel!”

He lunged at her, saber held in both hands. “There is only one way!”

Authenta swung her warblade around at a low angle, deflecting Tremel’s attack just enough that the lightsaber bounced off her warblade. To the grace of the ancient smiths her blade held, but unlike a lightsaber it also had weight. Although his saber bounced away, her blade was barely moved. She seized the opening, pushing forward. Her warblade let loose an unholy screech as it sawed through the hilt of Tremel’s saber, half of which skittered across the floor, sparking feebly. She spun in behind her blade, smashing her right elbow into his face.

With her overseer stunned momentarily, she jumped up and poured the buried anger over her father out into the floor, cracking the duralumin floor at the epicenter of a blast wave of Force filled with seething crimson lightning. Tremel was flung away, impacting the edge of his desk and Authenta landed heavily, stumbling across the veined carbon scoring on the floor.

As he struggled to stand, breathing laboriously, Tremel succumbed to a wet cough and hissed in pain.

“No. I’m… amazed. I knew…. you were strong in the Force, but not… like this.”

She rushed forward to hold him up, pulling the wheeled chair behind the desk with the Force. “Overseer, you need medical attention immediately.”

“I’ll... survive. Broken ribs are… nothing. I couldn’t go to medical and you also return to Baras. …He would know we both failed.” He collapsed into his seat.

Authenta leaned on the desk, standing next to where Tremel sat. “I could still kill you, but it would be a waste. I did learn your lesson on potential resources.

“‘Therefore, the clever combatant imposes his will on the enemy, but does not allow the enemy’s will to be imposed on him.’

Baras has asked only for your hand. It will be given. Your head may stay attached.”

She picked up the two broken ends of his saber and pocketed them. “I’m afraid you’ll have to construct a new saber, however. A little extra proof can’t hurt.”

“I appreciate that you know… the classics, acolyte. But, my… hand?” He looked at his gloved fingers for a moment. “I’ll have to leave Imperial space. I instructed thousands of Sith… if even one recognizes me… Baras will hunt us both down.”

Tremel pulled himself up by the edge of his desk, and pulled off his glove. “I begin to understand. To the Dark Side… my cause… is just. You can see more clearly than one of the most powerful Darths. So be it! …take my hand.”

Authenta flicked her wrist, and the vibromotor in her warblade murmured quietly as the tip severed his arm, midway between his hand and elbow. Blood fountained from Tremel’s stump but to his credit he said nothing.

A single tear of pain threatened to roll down his cheek. He held out his ravaged arm and with his other, burned away at the end of it with violet lightning to staunch the bleeding.

She stooped to pick up her erstwhile overseer’s severed arm. Holding it in one hand and her warblade in the other, she began to walk away. Stopping for a moment, Authenta turned half around in the doorway of the office. “All Sith must die, Tremel. This office will be yours again one day, I swear it.”

He sat against the edge of the desk cradling his stump, and watched his final acolyte leave. Tremel shook his head at her words. For all her martial skill… Baras would outlive her. Baras would outlive them all.

* * * * *

Authenta slipped the ring Darth Baras had given her - a momento that had been Tremel’s - over her index finger as she turned her back on the cadaverous Sith Lord. Wearing it made her feel uneasy but it was a better solution than holding the ring until she returned to her dorm. She walked out of Baras’ spacious office antechamber on the Academy’s second floor, and at once was confronted with a group of four acolytes she had never seen before.

A rail-thin woman seemed to be the dominant force among them when she spoke first. “There, Teeno. That has to be her!”

The big man standing next to the woman spoke next. “Alright. Hey! You! Are you the big shot they’re all talking about? The one personally summoned by Darth Baras himself?”

Authenta crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “If you’re more of Vemrin’s lackeys, I suggest you ask him what happened to Dolgis.”

“We don’t know anything about Dolgis. Please pardon my overeager friend. It’s just that we’ve heard so much about you!”

“You’re not helping your case right now.” Authenta sighed and pushed herself away from the wall. The emphasis in the woman’s words gave lie to them; she knew precisely what had befallen Dolgis.

“We want to get in good with you.”

The woman pointed at herself and hitched a thumb at the tall man. “I’m Phyne, and this is Teeno. And what my blunt friend is trying to say is that if you need anything – or anyone – say… dealt with, we can help.”

“She’s talking about Vemrin. We could kill him for you.”

Authenta shook her head in mild disbelief. “I’m preserving that pleasure for myself. He’s done much to earn my ire, and all of it justified.”

“Fair enough, but consider this: everyone knows of your rivalry. If you kill him, the Overseers will presume your guilt.”

Teeno chimed in, “yea, if Vemrin croaks while you have an alibi, they won’t be able to pin it on you.”

Struggling not to laugh, Authenta replied, “do you truly think yourselves capable?”

“Let us prove it to you! Spar with us and then decide if we have the skills to benefit you.” Phyne unsheathed her vibroblade, and her companions followed suit.

Taking a step back, Authenta pulled her warblade from its scabbard, glowing with cool red light. “There will be injuries. I will not hold back against you.”

“That’s a chance we’re willing to take.”

Authenta dipped low and smashed her shoulder underneath Teeno’s ribcage with enough strength to plow him into the wall. Spinning away, she parried Phyne’s strike and flowed between the other two acolytes, a torrent of deflections and graceful parries in her wake. Plunging the tip of her warblade down and then sweeping high as she turned back around, both acolytes screamed as they fell. One clutched at his leg, nearly severed from a vicious slice just above the ankle, the other holding the stump of his wrist, sundered hand still clutching the vibroblade clattering against the metal floor.

A testament to the skill of her instructors, Phyne managed a half dozen parries before a J-shaped sweep of Auth’s warblade threw her weapon down the hall. Authenta flicked her wrist and Phyne hit the wall, held fast with her feet dangling a few centimeters from the floor.

She planted her boot on Teeno’s back between his shoulder blades, shoving him back down face-down on the floor. The tip of her blade hovered menacingly at Phyne’s neck just above her collarbone.

In one fluid motion, Authenta resheathed her warblade, dropped the thin woman, and stepped back, allowing Teeno to stand and catch his breath.

Phyne rubbed her neck, as if testing to see if she was dead and sagged against the wall. “You… tore all four of us apart. In the blink of an eye. This changes everything.

"And Vemrin is supposed to be your equal. If we couldn’t stand against you, we’d never be able to kill him!”

“I agree. You should stay clear of Vemrin.” She pointed at the two acolytes she’d savaged. One stared dumbly at his severed arm, the other crying for his mother. “Find them some kolto.”

Authenta stalked off, her purpose the tomb of Tulak Hord.

* * * * *

The crunch of dust and pebbles falling from the thin ledge beneath her boots echoed into the depths of the chasm below. Authenta looked straight ahead, torchlight flickering on the carved reliefs depicting mountains of bone and slain Jedi across the gap. Tulak Hord’s tomb was every bit the mortuary temple to match the greatest Sith the galaxy had perhaps ever known – after the Emperor. She shook her head, scarcely able to wonder what the mausoleum must have looked like when it was new.

Coming at last to the far boundary she dropped her hands to her sides. Her arms ached after holding her warblade and torch out to keep balance for so long. The carved bridge had long since collapsed over the chasm. Stains on its walls suggested it was originally filled with a dark liquid – blood? – and it was just deep enough to be a lethal fall in this age.

She took stock of her orders. Obtain sherds from shrine inscriptions in the crumbling tomb of Tulak Hord. Return them to Baras. Thus far, the ruins were the greatest danger she had faced; the reprogrammed droids and failed acolytes near the entrance fought with a mad fervor but the skill of a child swinging a stick. She had seen none of the other acolytes Baras had sent – not even Vemrin. Perhaps they had all been consumed by shyracks.

Each footfall summoned an expanding wave of dust around her ankles as she walked toward the center of the shrine.

Lachris held out a hand, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up, let alone rise to standing. The Darth was right of course… she would be well within her right to simply strike down Authenta where she had collapsed. Marr had trained Lachris well, that she stayed her hand.

Her thoughts flew to an estate on Ziost bereft of the warmth of family, the stone halls and wooden floors holding only sorrow now. She thought of the chthonic tomb that had for a thousand years burrowed its roots deep into the lands her ancestors had called home.

Her father. Hero of the Empire. Dead. She was alone.

Authenta reached up, digging the nails of one hand into the padded wall and clawing herself to her feet, head still bowed. Lachris took a tentative step back but reached out, fingers brushing with the touch of a feather on Auth’s forearm.

“If you should need help remembering what it is to feel alive, come find me.”

She looked up, her vision bleary, in time to see Lachris turning away and leaving, robes fanning outward just as she remembered seeing as a young girl.

At the time, the meaning of Lachris’ parting words hadn’t registered. Later, the implication had only served to push her dangerously close to losing control of her anger again. The timing of Lachris’ advance made her blood boil. The nature of it wasn’t unwelcome but she had no interest in dalliances at the Academy. And certainly not on the heels of news that had nearly ruined her.

Authenta knelt, setting her warblade down on the broken steps. She tugged open a pack hanging from her belt which contained one sherd already. This second inscription was much like the first – crumbling and barely legible after nearly three thousand years of disuse. The Sith in which it was written was archaic, even by the standards on Korriban. Unlike the first, however, this one was more intact; the missing bridge saw to that. As she idly searched for a suitable piece to bring Darth Baras, she tried to decipher the inscription.

Much was missing, but what lingered on the monolith of reddish-pink stone was disturbing, containing an account of the Red Engine deep within the tomb. Some of the language was peculiar, even for when it was inscribed. She ran her left thumb over the bone spur on her chin, considering what might be the purpose of such a thing. Authenta said the words quietly to herself, feeling their age on her lips. After the first few, her eyes narrowed. They fit together far more neatly than such disparate words should.

Pulling out her padd, she took a quick scan of the inscription. No one else could see this; it had to be destroyed. With her right hand covering her balled left, Authenta closed her eyes and pulled at the Force. The stela answered with the grind of stone and lifted from its base, rising into the air until it nearly touched the chamber’s ceiling. She threw her hands down, and the monolith crashed, shattering the floor tiles and splintering into a thousand sherds.

Authenta knelt and picked one up, sliding it into her belt pack. She turned back towards the timeworn pit and the ledge across it. Two down, one inscription to go.

Striding purposefully down the halls and stairways, she keyed open her dormitory. Defixiones was seated cross-legged on her bed, wearing new robes. An ancient clothbound codex and two padds hovered around her as she took notes on a third. Suddenly they dropped with muffled thuds as her concentration broke.

“Wonderful! The one time I’m trying to get work done in here and you show up.”

Authenta flopped onto her own bed. “We’ve barely spoken. For what reason could you hate me?”

One of the padds rose from Defixiones’ bed before settling down again, as if she had considered using the Force to throw it at Authenta but thought better of it. Her saffron-yellow eyes were narrow slits and her hand shook.

“Because I’ve been here for three years! Clawing my way from up nothing and you’ve had everything handed to you free!”

Auth sat up. “Free? My father was murdered last night. Nothing in the galaxy is free.”

I was a slave from birth! I have no family!” Her roommate continued. “And you’re a pureblood! All of you are arrogant, your heads stuffed so far up your own –”

“Enough!” Authenta smashed her fist into the top of the lone desk in the room hard enough to dent it.

A lightsaber appeared in Defixiones’ hand, seemingly out of nowhere. Wrapped in black leather, emitter pointed languidly at Authenta. A confident smile danced on her lips and a vindictive gleam burned in her eyes. “You’re not threatening me, are you?”

In spite of herself, Authenta inhaled sharply. “I see you’ve passed your trials and joined the ranks of the Sith. Congratulations.”

“And here I was just leaving. My shuttle to Dromund Kaas will be ready momentarily.” She piled the borrowed reading using the Force and stood, clipping her saber into a hidden fold inside her robe. As she strode out the door, the stack floated into her outstretched hand.

Authenta pulled her personal holocom from her bag and flipped the unit on. It hovered before her, repulsorlift quietly whirring; the display indicated a message from her father. She stared at the playback button for some time after Defixiones marched off to a new life, struggling not to let the tears in her eyes fall.

Eventually, she could delay no longer. Her trail awaited but she had to hear the message also. “Begin playback.”

The tiny cerulean image of her father just as she remembered – fitted cape over the Imperial Navy uniform – grew to life above the holoprojector.

“Dammit, Auth! I heard what happened on Korriban’s orbital dock. As your father, what in the Emperor’s name were you thinking?! You could have been killed or worse!”

He run his hand through his hair, and the whisper of a grin picked up the edge of his lip. “But also… as your father, go you! Barbequing a trained Sith with your bare hands. I’m very proud! Anyway.

“The Fist of Tulak Hord is scheduled to bring Darth Marr to Vardos tomorrow. He wants to tour the Imperial Flight Academy. I’ve got some fun memories of that place... wonder if any of my old instructors are still kicking.” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Enough about me. Contact me as much as you’re able; I want details! Doubt I’ll be able to pull strings and be on leave when you’re finished, but hopefully we’ll see each other afterwards.

Take care of yourself, Auth. Love you. Dad out.”

Her willpower fell away and warm drops streaked down her face. Still, she couldn’t help but laugh softly to herself as she remembered some of the stories her father had told her of his time training as a naval officer.

Authenta wiped her tears away on her sleeve. Lachris was right. She had to feed on this, become powerful. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then stood. Typing in a sequence into her holocom, she began recording a message.

“Thalassa, if you have not heard, my father has been killed in action. I know you’ve known him longer than I have and his loss wounds my very spirit; I can hardly imagine how this news must affect you.

I don’t have details; if they contact home, make sure they put his remains – if... there are any – in stasis. Things have changed rapidly here on Korriban, and my trials near their completion. Years ahead of schedule, I know. I will be a full Sith and returning to Ziost in a week, perhaps two at most. Make preparations for my father’s funeral and burial – but I will personally oversee ceremonies.

Please also let Beraxil and her family know if she hasn’t heard already.

Lady Sarenrai, signing off.”

Authenta hoped the unwarranted animosity from her former roommate wouldn’t become a problem in the future. She was obviously strong – and skilled – in the Force, and could be a dangerous enemy; one Auth would rather not have. Perhaps time on the Capital with her newfound authority would empty her mind of her racism towards purebloods, and her hate for Authenta in particular.

She idly wondered if her mantle and dress in house colors still fit; she hadn’t worn either in more than five years. Bex would be crushed, no doubt. Her own parents were nearly killed serving under Darth Angral at Coruscant; neither had ever returned to active duty.

The last dozen steps into the half-collapsed chamber within Tulak Hord’s tomb were missing, and Authenta crouched at the edge. Twisting around, she dropped down to the floor, stumbling slightly in the rocky detritus at the bottom.

A rotten metallic scent invaded her nostrils, and she cast the torch about the shrine. In one corner, the mangled body of an acolyte surrounded by a dozen fans of blood suggested that whoever killed her kept hacking long after she was dead. The pool of blood beneath the body reflected very little of the flickering torch light, so it had to have been mostly dry. If Vemrin had been here, he was no longer.

The inscriptions in this shrine were utterly demolished, and fragments were strewn all about the chamber. Authenta quickly grabbed a sherd and threw it into her pack; she had no desire to linger near the butchered acolyte any longer than necessary. With one last piteous glance at the woman’s body, she turned away. Jumping the two meters up to where the stairs were intact, Authenta began to retrace her steps and return to the surface of Korriban.

* * * * *

Jaesa half-ran behind her master just to keep pace with him in the throngs choking the main Promenade on Nar Shaddaa. A lifetime of serving nobles gave her an uncanny ability to weave through crowds, but her master simply moved so much faster than she did. The spaceport tower - their destination - loomed high in the distance, the dozens of ships flying about giving it the appearance of a killik hive.

She narrowed her eyes, railing against the flashes of insight the Force poured onto her consciousness. Nar Shaddaa was a dark place, it said; contract assassins, cheating spouses, and worse. Jaesa struggled to push them back, but the visions were coming more frequently. She was beginning to see entire life histories laid out… joy, sorrow, pain, and first loves - or the inability to feel it - haunted her. When they returned to the ship, she would broach the subject of traveling somewhere with far less people. Perhaps Master Karr even knew someone who could help her gain some measure of control.

“Jaesa! Pay attention!” Her master’s voice jolted her from her reverie. They were on a landing platform on the outskirts of the Promenade, the same one where they had parked Master Karr’s Vondell speeder. He already had the gull-wing doors open and waiting.

“We're running out of time!” her master yelled over the wind.

Jaesa slipped into the passenger seat and the speeder lifted off. She pulled the door down, narrowly avoiding shutting it on her simple earth-tone and white linen robes in Master Karr’s haste.

“Master, is it wise to fly outside designated vehicle lanes?”

His teeth were gritted behind his beard, the strain evident in the muscles of his neck. “Is it wise to allow an Imperial spy to escape?”

Jaesa dropped her gaze before answering. “No, Master.”

The Vondell dipped and wove around civilian transports, private speeders, and Hutt sailbarges. Her master hardly took his eyes off the spaceport tower. When they neared the Republic-leased Deucalon level, he cranked the steering so hard the speeder flew sideways across the taxi platform. They narrowly avoided a collision with another Jedi and her Mirialan padawan.

Master Karr had already vaulted out of the speeder before it had even stopped moving. “Stay here!” He called over his shoulder as he ran into the spaceport.

She sighed to herself, looking out her window at the glittering lights of the Smuggler’s moon. Stuck watching the speeder. Again.

“Master Jedi! Lieutenant Narlan. It's good to see you again.” The man caught up to Nomen Karr just inside the spaceport. “Ready for your tour of the Vizunah Square?”

“What-”

The man held a finger to his lips and put his other hand around Karr’s shoulders. He leaned in close. “SIS field agent Sonosan, here on Balkar’s order. I believe you that our target’s a spy but we can't go arousing suspicion. Play cool.”

He raised his voice to normal levels. “She's been retrofitted recently and I think you'll be impressed.” He steered Karr not towards the lift for orbital shuttles but to the midsize transports.

The two men skirted past groups of soldiers, and Karr spotted the man his padawan had singled out earlier as Imperial. He had a duffel slung over his shoulder and a vaguely bored expression at a checkpoint terminal.

“Follow my lead,” Sonosan said low enough so only Karr could hear. “Excuse me, Corporal? A moment of your time?”

The soldier turned. “Sir?”

“There’s been some… problems with resource allocation. Not accusing you of anything but we wanted to bring you in for a witness statement. We’ll have you back on duty in an hour, tops.”

The droning hiss of a viridian blade cut Sonosan off. Karr had no time for pretenses and theatrics. The soldier’s eyes widened and he made a break for it, dropping his duffel. The Jedi ran in pursuit.

Sonosan pulled his blaster, shaking his head as he gave chase. “Of course Kothe’s training didn’t cover this!” he muttered. Karr at least had the sense to stow his saber, but he was still chasing after the probable spy.

The three men wove around startled groups of Republic personnel. The spy took a hard left and flew down flights of stairs. Sonosan fired a warning shot; they couldn't let the spy reach the Imperial-controlled Mezenti level. The bolt glanced off the metal railing and went high, serving nothing but to shower the spy with sparks. He fired back under his arm, and Karr stopped running to reflect the blaster bolts back.

Sonosan caught up with the wounded spy, skidding to a halt on his knee to check vitals. Dead. He looked up in time to see half a dozen Imperial troopers, rifles pointed at him. Glancing back up the stairs, Karr was nowhere to be seen.

“Kark…”

* * * * *

Back aboard the Sanctum Cay, Nomen Karr sat in the pilot’s seat and the ship pulled out of the gravity well of Nar Shaddaa. He hauled back on the hyperspace throttle and the stars streaked into oblivion.

Jaesa sat beside him, looking at the readouts but not seeing them. “Was killing him necessary? Was abandoning the SIS agent?”

“It was not my intention. We were vastly outnumbered and on Imperial territory. We couldn’t afford to start an incident.”

She stood precariously. “Master, it is much to ask but… may we go somewhere with less people? My gift is becoming a burden.”

He stroked his beard, keying in a holocom frequency. “I know a place where we can solve both. Get some rest, and remember ‘there is no emotion; there is peace’”

After his padawan had retired, he opened a channel. “Mashallon, there is an Imperial spy in resistance forces on Balmorra. His name is Rylon. Find evidence of this and return it to the Council. Then they will believe my padawan is as infallible as she truly is.”

“I will head there immediately, Master Karr” The hooded woman terminated the connection.

Outing one of his innumerable spies should keep Baras off our trail for now.

As usual, I'm trying new things to see what works. Wanted to speed me up some narrative: ten chapters and we're not even close to leaving Korriban yet! (I did the math and it would be years and years before I got through everything I wanted to...) So I turned a bunch of stuff into quick flashbacks in an attempt to show that in some of the mindless drudgery of walking around the Academy grounds, Authenta has time to think and reflect. Let me know how that went or how it could be improved.

I have to say your retelling of the Beast of Marka Ragnos was a good deal more exciting than the game. I enjoyed the visuals you put with it and getting to sample what it would feel like to be caught up in such a wake.

Thanks! I quite enjoyed writing that little snippet, and the imagery I poured into it. Some perhaps less subtle than I wanted but...

She should've killed Dolgis. He's such a dolt.

"Never leaves any survivors? Then where do stories come from, I wonder?" Vemrin came and threatened her, but then does exactly what he tells her not to do. A message needed sending.

In-game of course I always knife him extra hard. LS points? What LS points?

That was very well described, that duel between Auth and Tremel. In game, it always seems to be over so quickly. I also like how she handled what was expected of her by Baras. I often made the same choice, cause I kind of liked Tremel. I never felt right in choosing to kill him, even though I've gone that route a couple of times as well.

Valar Sithulis!

Yea, Tremel is a fairly compelling character; it's a shame so little happens with him, even if you spare his life. I always felt it kind of a waste to reward a lifetime of faithful service to the Empire with getting murdered by a random acolyte because a Darth is having a bad day. Thrilled you thought it was well done! I tried to paint a lot of emotion into it.... Did it work?

Glad you caught that SOIAF reference, too!

Haha, it's the Sith's answer to the Brady Bunch...urgh. I wish we'd had the option to just waste them.

You're doing very well with your fight/battle descriptions, very nice.

AHHHH, now I can just see them all in the little boxes from the Brady Bunch intro! Why must you torture me so? Definitely a bit of odd writing in-game, too. The DS option is just like "yes... go have fun with Vemrin."

I enjoy that you enjoy the combat! I run it through my head dozens of times just thinking, and many more while writing. One thing I'm very good at - blame the science background - is spatial reasoning and visualization, so I'm watching the whole scene in my head. Making sure everything fits, nothing weird happens, movements are physiologically and logically possible, etc. I can struggle to write dialogue but damn it, I'm going make other things as realistic as possible to compensate. But I'm always left wondering... is this detailed enough? Is it too detailed? Is it easy to follow, can my reader visualize what I want them to with what is written? Does it make sense? Is it compelling?

I still think 'Vemrin' is a play on the word 'vermin.'

Play on the word... food for... those are synonyms, right?

I can tell you have a special place in your heart for Lachris. I enjoy the flashbacks to her, and also the way Auth seems to draw on her at times she needs a bit more oomph.

She's such a wonderful Sith. Direct, merciless, but also fair - as governor of Balmorra, she refused to enslave the population, we find out in the Consular story:

"I decreed Balmorra would not become a forced labor world, and my reward? Your insolent little rebellion?"

Plus, her visit would be fresh in Auth's mind and really one of her only sources of emotional instruction. The trials have honed her cunning and her body, but not her control.

Interesting, her 'meditation stance' reminds me of the Jedi, and how Jaesa would do that as well, with her hands together as you described. I liked that she chose to destroy the monolith. You've really put a lot of detail in your retelling of the SW story and made it your own.

I may not always convey across exactly what I want, but as we will eventually see, nothing is by accident ...except typos, but we don't talk about those.

Thank you for the kind words! I'm overjoyed that one of my main goals for this is going so smoothly; to fill in the details that don't exist. To breathe life into what in-game is mindless combat. Or worse, hours and hours on a speeder .*has nightmares about 1.X Alderaan, when we didn't have speeder training yet and had to walk*

I liked getting to see the dorms and Auth's roomie. She's a piece of work lol. I have a feeling they'll be meeting again. I'm amazed that some of these people don't kill each other in their sleep lol.

You know, I am too. There should be a lot of bodies every morning to find at the Academy

Some characters I need once. Some wind their thread for a very long time before fate's inevitability catches up. I considered other actions or words of Defixiones, but that might give far too much away. Either way, she's very

hard to write dialogue for. Getting just the right mix of elements, the right words to give the reader a sense of who she is and what she is... show, don't tell. Not easy with Def. Behind Baras she's probably the most difficult character I have right now.

Oh, a flip to Jaesa's life...wasn't expecting that.

I played the long game a bit; chapters nine and ten are a rhetorical device called a chiasmos, that is... an X-shape. Nine begins with Jaesa and Karr, and ends with Auth, and ten is the opposite. Call it my attempt at pulling an Iliad, Aeneid, or Metamorphoses. Structure informs function shapes structure.

Interesting contrast between Jaesa and Auth's training. It seems Nomen Karr isn't exactly kindly or gentle to her either.

It's fun to see Jaesa's time before SW gets to know her. Loving the chase on NS.

I enjoy writing these bits, they're so far outside the realm of things we know. Parts of this scene - mostly Karr's actions - were things I wasn't happy with. In retrospect, some of it felt rather overdone. I mean, pulling a saber on a guy who is outwardly innocent is... too overtly Sithy, I think. Glad you liked the chase! I wrote it very sparingly and very quickly in an attempt to make it feel as fast as it happened.

But it's interesting that you bring up the parallel; I never would have considered the training angle. I was just trying to show much of an unrepentant pr.ick Nomen Karr is, even in-game. "Oh you poor defenseless listening post. I uhh, totally neglected to mention that you're monitoring a Sith Lord who will inevitably come and find you while I sit safe on a holocom. My bad, I guess."

Ah, I see we're already getting shades of Karr's corruption and Jaesa's noticing, I think.

Karr thinks he has walked away scot-free from the Sith. But deep roots are not touched by the frost.

Jaesa, on the other hand... is beginning to realize that it does not take walls to make a cage. She could have had such wonderful conversations with Liaseph!

Oh, Jedi Mashallon. I hope we get to see Quinn in action. That sequence on Balmorra where he cuts off Mashallon at every turn and then sneers about it at the spaceport is like one of my favorite parts of the entire game.

haha, I love that cutscene. I recorded every cutscene and convo from level one all the way through KOTFE as reference material (all fifty gigs of video lol), and when looking for other things, sometimes I watch that one as well just to go "HAHAHAH REKT!" ...And then be sad about the Quinncident.

Thanks for another great chapter Divi. Looking forward to the next!

Thanks for reading and reviewing as always, Lunafox!

Even the Academy’s dungeon levels were a bustle of activity at midday. The occasional scream echoed from some faraway corner, and dark stains littered the walls. More than once, Authenta was forced to press herself against the grimy stone at the passing of jailers escorting a prisoner locked in a carbonite tomb.

She shoved open the heavy door to the cell block administered by Knash. As the last time, he was getting his jollies shocking the detained blue twi'lek. Authentic leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "I would appreciate you not damaging my property."

Knash turned away from the cage and its occupant, wiping his mouth on his jailer's uniform sleeve. "The twi'lek ain't your property. Yer an acolyte."

"Perhaps check your messages more often, then... if you can even read." The electroshock control flew from his grip into her open palm.

"You don't have the authority!"

"No, but Darth Baras does. Or would you like to explain to him in person why you're preventing me from following his orders? Release the twi'lek."

The slave crossed her skinny arms and huffed. "I have a name!"

Authenta waggled the shock control at her. "And I have this."

"Fine! You win."

"I thought as much. Now, jailer: do as I say."

Knash muttered obscenities concerning Authenta's mother, but nonetheless relented. With a series of ragged clicks and the grind of metal, the bars swung open.

The slave stepped out and flexed her neck from side to side. “So we’re clear, I’m officially on strike when it comes to domestic duties.”

Authenta put her thumb on the activator switch in warning. “You don’t have a voice in the matter. However, I have other servants for such things. Get moving.” She turned on her boot heel and left the dungeon chamber.

As she turned away, Knash spit at the slave, “Seems you might be useful for something after all. This bruiser is taking you into the tomb where we caught you.”

The twi’lek half jogged for a moment to catch up. “Are we… really going back there?”

“That is the trial I have been given, yes.” Authenta glanced at her slave, appraising her appearance. “Our first task will be to obtain clothing; your rags will not do. And equipment. Are you Force sensitive?”

“Am I crazy, you mean? No!”

Authenta depressed the shock control, and the twi’lek screeched, stumbling against the wall. The jailer that had been approaching the pair nodded his appreciation for the show of discipline. After he had passed, Authenta surreptitiously changed the setting.

“Ow!” The slave struggled to remain standing, clinging to the rough-hewn wall.

“I would much prefer to not do that, but if you force my hand… then I have no choice.

Slowly,” she said as the twi’lek gingerly began to walk again. “The pain will be worse if you attempt to force yourself.” The cerulean-skinned slave glared at her and said nothing.

“I speak from experience. Now, I presume that if you can sneak onto Korriban you are proficient with a blaster?” Authenta sidestepped a filthy puddle near the elevator up and her companion followed suit.

“I know which end to point at people.” She crossed her arms, frowning at the Sith.

With another master, her sarcasm would have earned her another shock - or worse. Instead ignoring it, Authenta keyed in the access code to call the elevator down to this detention level. She threw her gaze down the hall but the two were alone, at least until the lift arrived.

“What is your name?”

“Why do you care?”

Auth shrugged. “‘Twi’lek slave’ it is.”

Her slave looked at the stone floor, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Vette. It’s Vette.”

The lift arrived with no fanfare beyond the labored metallic shriek of the double doors yawning open. Authenta waved her hand towards the empty compartment, indicating Vette should go first. The doors snapped shut on the heels of Authenta’s cloak as she stepped in.

“Not a twi’lek name, but if you prefer the alias I will indulge it.” She ran her left thumb along the bone spur on the side of her chin.

“We have half a minute before this lift reaches the surface so I will be brief: you absolutely must obey in the Academy. Your snide commentary betrays a keen wit, but such remarks will get you killed here. Consider yourself blessed you weren’t already tortured to death, merely for being on Korriban.” She could feel the lift slowing - there would be time enough for words on the trek to the tomb of Naga Sadow. “Play the part for now; we will speak more on this later.”

Vette grudgingly nodded at her as the lift doors opened.

* * * * *

Despite lifting her thumb off the scanner, a crimson outline of her print lingered in silent attestation. The quartermaster looked down at it and nodded. “Don’t know why you’d bother outfitting a slave, but it’s not my coin.”

“Nor is it your place to ask questions,” Authenta answered as she turned away.

Vette followed behind, new boots leaving divots in the ruddy sand. As they walked out of earshot of the Imperial soldiers, she whispered, “He’s right.”

Authenta said nothing, but slipped a hand into the supply pack she’d requisitioned, pulling out a belt holster with a blaster. Her slave eyed the weapon with a mixture of disdain and hope.

“You want this, don’t you.” She dropped the blaster back into the bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll make you a deal, then. I promised we’d speak more; we will. Your responses will dictate whether I grant you this measure of freedom. Fair?”

“Yeah, I guess.” The twi’lek looked at the ground as the pair resumed their eastward journey towards the tomb.

“First, your sarcasm. While I can appreciate it, nearly all Sith won’t. I suggest saving snide barbs for when they can’t hear.” She slowed her pace for a moment, allowing the slave to catch up. Authenta looked over at her. “Your life is not worth so much, I’m afraid, that another Lord couldn’t justify your execution regardless.”

Vette looked at her with a frown, but refused to speak.

Authenta unsheathed her warblade, holding it in an easy but firm grip. “Be on watch for other acolytes, or more dangerous beasts.

Second, since you’re plainly wondering, I need you outfitted. As much as it pains me to admit, my success is dependent on your survival.”

“None of you can figure out how to activate the tomb statues, huh?” Vette’s smirk was unmistakeable in the tone of her voice; Auth didn’t need to look at her to see it.

Choosing to ignore the bait, she continued. “And your survival is dependent on my success. Unless you’re suicidal, we need each other - certainly for now.”

“So you’re saying, I help you and I get my freedom? What’s the catch?”

“That you’re not, in fact, my property. My future master has claimed you, and you have been loaned to me to complete this task. There is... a chance you will be killed when we return anyway.”

Vette threw up her hands. “Then helping you is pointless!”

“On the contrary. You slipped onto one of the most heavily defended worlds in the Empire - right under our noses - and figured out a puzzle that has vexed the greatest Sith for a thousand years. That makes you intelligent and resourceful. Thus, valuable to me, and I may be able to argue that you be made my servant.”

The twi’lek stopped walking and turned away, crossing her arms. “Because I want so badly to be a slave again! To a psychopath!”

Auth traded her gaze between the shock collar affixed to the back of Vette’s neck, and the control mechanism in her own hand. “I only shocked you in the dungeon to keep up appearances. Had I known that dullard Knash turned the setting up so high beforehand, I would have changed it. I’m… sorry.”

Vette spun around so fast she nearly lost her footing in the sandy soil. “I must be going crazy. You shocked me because you can, then say sorry?”

“No.” Auth shook her head, looking away. “I shocked you because I had no other option. I would have looked weak. It would have been suspicious had I allowed a slave to backtalk like that. You had the ill fortune of sarcastic commentary while another jailer was able to hear you. For both our sakes, I had to make sure he saw you were punished for your insolence.

And I admit... it did irritate me that you would equate Force sensitivity with insanity.”

Vette shrugged. “Aren’t all Sith crazy?”

“This time you win, I suppose.” Auth held out her hands, shrugging. She pulled the holstered blaster from the pack

and tossed it to Vette. “Catch.”

Snatching it out of the air, she looked at the blaster in her hands. “You’re… serious?”

“I can’t risk having you completely defenseless. And if we were to be honest with each other, you’re not reckless enough to try and shoot me.”

Deftly securing the belt into place around her waist, “I did sneak onto Korriban,” she reminded her master.

“On one condition, however.”

Vette rolled her eyes.

“You must also carry the supplies. Ration bars, kolto packs, and a flare. Nothing heavy, but it hinders my movement. Less of an issue with your blaster.” She slipped the strap from her shoulder and held the bag out.

Her companion grabbed it. “Ugh, fine! ...How much did you spend, anyway?”

Authenta waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t concern yourself with trifling amounts. Shall we continue? With a bit of haste we might be able to complete our journey and return to the Academy before nightfall.”

The pureblood and her almost-willing companion trekked through the sand, neither saying anything. Within a short while, the merciless orb of Horuset had been obscured by cloud cover.

“Is it always this cold?” Vette shivered, despite the military-issue insulated jacket and leggings she was wearing.

Trudging just ahead of her, Authenta fanned the tip of her warblade back and forth in measured sweeps. Her eyes constantly traced the edges of dunes and the craggy escarpment they followed, searching for threats. “Korriban is not a warm world, no. The pervasive strength of the Dark Side only accentuates the chill.”

As if in answer, the wind bloomed, angrily swirling grit about them. Vette nearly dropped the supply pack which she had slung over her shoulder. Authenta shielded her eyes and fumbled with the map on her padd. They were nearly at the tomb.

On cue, the cliff peeled away into a small box canyon that had been shaped into a courtyard. Broken statuary and crumbled walls littered wide pathways and a set of weathered stairs leading down below the sands. The tomb entrance itself lay embedded beneath the base of a colossal statue of Naga Sadow, eroded with time.

Watching the entrance from behind a rock was a lone soldier, wearing the pale grey and red uniform of a Korriban sentry. Authenta recognized her at once from Sorzus station, and the sentry waved as the pair approached.

“My lord, may I speak to you for a moment?”

Authenta deactivated her blade’s vibromotor, but kept it unsheathed. “Sentry… Yashia? Go ahead.”

“The tomb of Naga Sadow is overrun by disgraced acolytes. They’ve banded together and have taken over!”

She wiped at her eyes with her uniform sleeve, leaving a damp streak. “My friend - he was an acolyte, too… he went in the tomb on a trial and was killed. My lord, I’m not allowed to go into the tomb and backup hasn’t arrived yet. Please… avenge my friend. His father is an Imperial Guardsman; his son deserved better.” The sentry choked back a sob.

Glancing at the dark entrance to the tomb and back to the sentry, Authenta pinched the bridge of her nose. “Someone is always dying around me.” She nodded at Yashia and powered on her blade once more. “I will do much to inflict vengeance while we are down there. Carry on sentry, and remember: we live as we die. For the Empire!”

Sentry Yashia saluted the Sith as she stepped down towards the darkness. Vette huffed, but nonetheless drew her blaster and followed Authenta into the tomb.

“Remind me to never bring you to visit my mother.”

* * * * *

For decades since the Empire’s return to Korriban, countless acolytes had fought and perished deep within the sprawling mortuary temple complex of Naga Sadow. Clusters of disgraced and half-mad acolytes had hindered their progress initially, but had been demolished; Vette’s skill with a blaster was certainly above what she had let on.

The fetid pallor of rot clung to Authenta’s cloak, and she fought her churning stomach. Beyond the first few chambers where the living stalked the halls, the dead prowled the rest. Fresh kills had transitioned into corpses with faces and abdomens eaten away by scavengers. They had walked through brittle skeletons and finally disarticulate bones littering corners, disconcerting gnaw-marks illuminated in the pale vermillion shadow cast by her warblade.

Her companion had fared far worse; the sickly-sweet pungency of vomit accompanied Vette gagging once more. Authenta turned around to see her doubled over, hands splayed against a cracked and fading fresco to have a semblance of balance. Her cerulean complexion had paled to a wan greenish-yellow, as if the stench of death sought her, too, for a victim. Authenta could not allow it.

“I should have anticipated this. I’m sorry. The tomb of Naga Sadow is often the location of an acolyte’s final trial. Many fail.” The meaning of her words caught in the noxious air.

Vette coughed, dry heaving. “The Empire prides itself so much on… rules. And you all rob a dead guy’s tomb to prove you can follow them?”

Auth turned slowly, observing the carvings on the ceiling with crumbling flecks of paint still visible. “Although Sadow built this place, he neither died nor was he buried on my ancestral homeworld. One cruel irony of many, down here.

Will you be alright? We still have some water.”

“Why do you care?”

Pulling her canteen from her belt with a pained expression, she responded, “because my father taught me to take care of those under my command, and I would do his memory proud.

‘Treat your soldiers as your children and they will follow you into the deepest valleys. Look upon them as your own beloved sons and they will stand by you, even until death.’”

She held out the container. “Drink as little as you can; there is not much left.”

Vette took a gulp, swished it around, and spat. “Your dad say that?”

“No. An ancient warrior - predating the Empire, even the Republic. Perhaps the first Jedi to ever embrace to the Dark Side. His writings are a source of battlefield wisdom, forgotten by most. The Jedi, especially, like to pretend he never existed.”

Her companion coughed once. “So, what happened to your-”

Authenta cut her off with a glare and a raised palm. “That is a mask I’d rather keep wearing.” Her companion coughed again, and Auth’s expression softened. She held out a helping hand; one Vette eyed warily for some time before accepting. “Are you well enough to continue?"

"I... yeah. We're almost there. Let’s hurry and get out of this gross place.”

At the end of the hallway, the ceiling ascended sharply into a vault lined with monolithic statuary broken with age, ancient stone sabers forever stowed. The Dark Side burned eternally in violet sconces, casting the room in a treacherous light that washed the life out of everything. Authenta sheathed her warblade, striding confidently into the room with her arms spread wide, drinking in the power.

Vette hesitated near the entrance, looking at the statues and ceiling. “Hey, this is it. The secret entrance to the hidden cavern is in here. Just… let me… get my bearings.”

About to glance back, Auth sensed something seething behind a statue between her and the lone door into - or out of - the vault. She visualized the room in her mind, how many paces she had taken, and silently counted down the seconds. As she ticked past zero, she lashed behind herself with a spin kick at approximately Vemrin’s height. The sickening snap of bone beneath her heel betrayed her aim’s truth, and an anguished cry rewarded her patience. To her opponent’s credit, he turned the momentum of the fall into a half roll, coming up on his knee.

With blood pouring from his shattered nose, Vemrin pulled the sleeve of his woven armor across his face and stood. “Take your time, slave. Just have the entrance uncovered by the time I finish killing your master.”

Authenta sighed in irritation. “Can’t say I’m surprised to see you, Vemrin. You’re remarkably predictable.”

“Whore! You broke my nose!”

The edge of her lip curled up in a predatory smirk. “Only two hundred five more bones before I’m through.”

“My passions run deeper than yours! I am the true essence of what it is to be Sith!”

“Are you blind as well?” She held up a carmine fist between them. “I was born more Sith than you’ll ever achieve!”

Vemrin unsheathed and activated the vibromotor on his warblade in one fluid motion. “My legacy has suffered long enough. After today, you will be forgotten. It ends here and now!”

She snorted derisively. “Your ‘legacy’? You’re a former slave. You have nothing, and you will die as such.”

The two acolytes stalked around each other, tuk’atas hunting for weakness. Memories, the voice of Lord Carnarian reciting passages to her, bubbled in her mind.

She leisurely parried a handful of feints from Vemrin. He was testing her defenses for gaps and would find none. His style was crude and flashy, based on intimidation. He relied on speed and strength in the Force to overwhelm opponents; a tactic which would now fail him.

“I’m beginning to think I should have simply killed your friend Dolgis.” She punctuated herself with a handful of exploratory jabs. Where is Vette?

“Dolgis was a meaningless tool,” Vemrin replied. About to strike again, he was forced to spin and deflect a pair of ruddy blaster bolts trailing ozone from the shadows.

Authenta snarled and threw her palm out into his moment of distraction. A wave of Force smashed into Vemrin, throwing him across the room and she surged after him. Flipping her warblade into a two-handed reverse grip, she ploughed into him in mid air, mass and inertia behind the tip of her warblade cleaving through his black synthweave armor. The vibromotor in her warblade overloaded, trailing the acrid smell of burnt wiring as the two combatants crashed into the broken floor tiles.

Vemrin screamed as Authenta’s warblade shattered with the impact, and she used her momentum to roll forward and away. Coming up in a crouch, she brandished the broken hilt, ready to fight to the death, but it was too late for that.

She stood and the handle rolled from her fingertips, clattering on the stone. The broken blade to which it was once attached smoked feebly, jutting from a ghastly tear in Vemrin’s chest, still pouring crimson life into the tomb. His eyes had glazed open, warblade dark and mute lying where it had fallen from his stilled grip. Authenta shook her head and stared at the body for some time, until it dawned on her that she hadn’t heard from Vette since she fired at Vemrin.

“Vette? Vette! Are you alright?”

“No, I’m dead! And I’m going to haunt you just like I promised!” Although met with her companion’s usual sarcasm, the obvious pain in her voice was unmistakeable.

She found Vette slouching against the base of a fallen statue, one lekku draped over her shoulder. She cradled her left arm just below a livid burn. “I tried to dodge when he bounced my shots back at me but it hurts and I can’t feel my hand.”

“Hold still.” Authenta scanned the chamber and found the rucksack Vette had dropped near the entrance.

Vette’s eyes followed her as she stepped around the spreading pool of blood beneath Vemrin’s body. “You, uh… wow, gross. You really got him.”

Rummaging through the pack, she pulled out a tightly wrapped packet of kolto gel. “I’m surprised you’re not throwing up again.”

Her companion started to shrug, but clenched her teeth, hissing in pain. “I’ve seen some sh.it. Murder I can handle when it’s fresh… it’s the rotten ones that get me.”

Returning to the twi’lek, Authenta knelt and unwrapped the kolto. Smearing some of the pale green gel on her fingers, she murmured, “this is going to sting.”

“I know ‘from experience.’” She stuck her tongue out at Authenta.

Vette scrunched her eyes shut, tears welling as her master applied the healing solution to her arm. Authenta tore ragged strips off her own cloak to bandage the wound. She stood, once again offering a hand to her companion.

“That ought to serve until we can get you proper medical treatment at the Academy.

See about opening the chamber, please. I need to deal with Vemrin.”

Violet torches cast flickering and malevolent shadows all around as the two worked. Authenta curled her fingers and yanked at the air, and a worn statue toppled from its base and burst into rubble. She dragged Vemrin’s body aside, leaving a murderous trail and began to pile broken bits of statue onto him. Vette clambered about the chamber, fiddling with statues and bricks within the walls.

Authenta placed the last dark stone onto the cairn she had built over Vemrin and stood, silently observing the makeshift grave. Vette dropped off the pedestal of a statue ruined with age, stumbling when she was unable to hold her weight with her wounded arm. Authenta dashed and caught her before she could fall and possibly injure herself further.

“Ow! Ow! That… should do it. Any minute now…” Vette looked around the chamber, struggling to not scratch at her arm. Before Authenta could reply, the two statues against the end wall rotated to face the corner and sank half a meter.

They completed their rotation and the wall began to pull apart in sections along seams so expertly crafted as to be invisible. The grind of stone on stone had enough power to make Auth’s teeth ache. Some parts of the wall shifted sideways into the walls, and some even rose into the ceiling. Sections of the floor on either side of the opening began to sink, one after the other, descending into a flight of stairs. Swiftly as it had begun, the tumult ceased, leaving the two explorers staring into the darkness leading down.

Vette took a step back. “Uhh, nope!”

Authenta held out her hand and the warblade Vemrin no longer needed sailed into her waiting grip. “I don't think you would be able to help now, regardless.”

“Wow, hey! You’re not gonna...” Vette’s eyes widened and she started to shuffle backwards.

Auth started to laugh at her companion’s reaction. “What? You thought I would-” she shook her head, hand on her hip as she sheathed the warblade into her own scabbard. “How would that benefit either of us? But I’m not going down there unarmed,” she pointed at the darkness, “and mine was ruined.”

“Had me worried. I'll keep watch, I guess.”

“Thank you, Vette.”

Authenta started down the stairs. No sooner had her boot reached the first step than a series of torches roared to life, painting the hidden chamber in unwholesome pastel shades. The dust-laden stairs ended between dozens of ancient pedestals, each bearing a statue of a Sith in ebon armor and cloaked in shadowy rags. An entire battalion taken to the grave. A tiered platform at the far end supported a sumptuous bloodstone sarcophagus, inlaid with electrum scrollwork.

Striding down, darkness coiled about her as water while descending into a pool. She could feel the Dark Side fountaining from the sarcophagus, flowing along the stone floor, and pouring out of the statuary into the air. Myriad whispers made indistinct promises just below hearing as she ascended the dais. Closing her eyes, she felt through the Force and the seal broke on the ornately carved lid as it slid aside.

To her shock, there were no remains interred within; only empty armor in the ancient style paraded by the carved statues. A single lightsaber hilt rested atop. The exquisite craftsmanship of the sarcophagus was such that time itself had revered the contents. She grasped the hilt, simple in its polished silver elegance, but dared not touch the armor beneath. The Force filled it with a ravenous malevolence; if she donned the armor, Authenta would be gone and only a husk filled with burning hate would be left behind.

She turned away from the sarcophagus. Holding the hilt out parallel to the floor, Auth experimentally depressed the activator switch. The blade droned its protest against the centuries, sputtering for a moment before extending in a smoky crimson. She twirled the lightsaber about, feeling the easy way the weapon balanced in her hand. Marvelling at the color - a naturally red crystal sat within, not a synthetic one forged through exhaustive ritual - a feral smile crept up the corner of her lip.

Authenta’s exultation was short lived; the current in the Force shifted as she stepped down from the first tier. Blasts of dust and ancient plaster heralded three of the statues below breaking free of their moorings, the empty eyes in their helms glowing perniciously violet. She surged with the Force, ploughing the lightsaber through the first of the revenants. She laughed exuberantly. As she dismantled the guardians, more came alive to oppose her in showers of debris. The ancient warblades they held did nothing to stop her, and they were torn apart swiftly.

Soon, Authenta deactivated the saber and clipped it to her belt as she climbed the stairs to where Vette awaited, leaning out from behind the wall. “I rather like it.”

“Just don’t point it at me, ok?”

“I’m not sure how to interpret that.” Authenta undid the buckles holding her scabbard in place on her back and dipped one shoulder down, rolling it off. Holding it carefully, she laid it atop the cairn she had built over Vemrin’s body.

Vette strolled over. “Thought you hated him?”

“I did.” She stared down at the makeshift grave. “He would have been a terrible Sith; the sort you constantly accuse me of being. But he was still a warrior.”

Authenta’s holocom chimed in alarm, interrupting their reverie. Checking the sender, her brow knitted together. “The Traya. Why would a destroyer contact me. Lachris?” She thumbed the grav switch and tossed it into the air. A faceless cerulean mask crowning a hawkish and lean frame greeted her.

“Apprentice. I am beside myself. Not only did you get the twi’lek to cooperate but you completed your task in recovering the ancient lightsaber.”

Vette shifted her weight, betraying her annoyance.

“Vemrin was not in my antechamber as I instructed. I take it he sought to stop you.”

“He tried and failed, my Lord. Vemrin was nothing if not consistent.”

Her nascent master clasped his hands behind his back. “Bravo. I see you may indeed become one of the strongest Sith in the galaxy. This is only the beginning. With you as my right hand, we shall strike fear into the Empire’s enemies. Take the twi’lek slave as a gift; you may do with her what you wish.

But we must move swiftly. I am already aboard my ship and about to leave orbit for Dromund Kaas. Acquire a shuttle and meet me at the Citadel.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Authenta hesitated a moment, and bowed before continuing. “My father was killed in action recently, as you are undoubtedly aware.

May I request a brief stop on Ziost that I may attend to funerary duties?”

Darth Baras looked to the side for a moment, checking something out of view. “An important delivery to me will arrive in the Kaas system in three days. You have that long. Do not make a habit of such requests, apprentice, or I will find a new one.” He closed the channel.

Pursing her lips at the obvious implication, she glanced sidelong at her companion. “I suppose you were going to find out eventually.”

And here just last week I said Defixiones was hard to write. Little did I know. Vette, why you so difficult?

Also, for any readers who are familiar with the Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread, part of this chapter is a rewrite (purely from memory) of the events described in my story Unconscionable. (Which is more than two years old now, holy crap!) I vacillated a long time on whether or not to do this, which would mean skipping until after Vemrin dies. But I thought it would be personally interesting to see how I wrote the same events told almost exactly two years later, and also I mean there'd be no proper closure of the Vemrin/Academy arc if you, my reader, didn't get to watch him die. What do you think?

...Does that still make it self-plagiarism?

Episode XI

-Very vivid description of the dungeons. Though in Sith land, I suspect they'd be busy *all* the time

You say that, but it's so much easier to just execute everyone

-Nice job with Vette, definitely had me chuckling at her lines. They're so her.

Love the exchanges between Authenta and Vette. I can really see this taking off.

Woot woot! Glad you like them. Vette's tough to write; it's not easy getting the perfect balance of snark without her sounding like a spoiled teenager, or a gigantic *****. Or both.

-First thing my Sith do with their slaves is dress them up too. It's a reflection upon the success of their Master, I think.

Indeed! If you can't make your slaves look good, what can you do? Besides, helps if your slave can do more than just cower in a corner in a fight.

-I enjoyed how you engaged them in a lively conversation as they travelled, it makes it more realistic, which I appreciated.

I appreciate your appreciation

Did it seem like a realistic conversation? Given the context and who was in it, I mean. I want to improve my dialogue and/or character interaction skills so I need to start somewhere!

You're very faithful to the game story, to include Sentry Yashia. That quest always made me a bit sad.

This is not the first time she has shown up, even! It is a sad quest, I tried to keep that. But the nature of it always confused me a little. "Yes I'm going to carry a probably mutilated body all over. This isn't going to look sketchy at all!" So I made some edits

Love how you illustrated the less than charming odours in tombs. Most people overlook that...tombs reeeeeek.

All depends on their use and how well sealed certain things are, I guess. The most noticeable smells should be mustiness/dampness unless someone dropped the ball on a burial. Or hundreds of acolytes kick the bucket

And right on cue...Vemrin!

Good job taking out Vemrin and very believable that Vette got burned in the action. I'm enjoyed the bits you're adding to the story, very much, makes it a lot more realistic.

I like realism in my stories, reading and writing. Things have to make sense from an in-universe perspective. Even Star Wars, as overtly fantasy as it is, has rules about what can and can't happen, what works, etc. Here, Vette was essentially horribly outmatched and although she tried to do her bit for Sith and country, she paid for it somewhat. The price could have been higher.

Well written chapter, Divi! I especially enjoyed all the bits where you made the story your own and the realism it brought to it. You did Vette very well, despite your doubts. She might have been hard to write, but we'd never know it, you did a fine job.

Looking forward to the next!

*happy dance!* I'm glad you think Vette works, and I'm glad people are enjoying it! And after posting this most recent chapter the thread jumped by almost 200 views so clearly I have a lot of readers who main Operative/Scoundrel and Shadow/Assassin

While overall not as coherent as I would like - even ignoring the year-long posting gap - this story massively eclipses everything else I've ever written in size already so it's basically one huge experiment. We'll see how things go in the future. I've been considering the past couple of weeks how to speed things up narratively, what I do and/or don't want to write. What I don't care about, what's not interesting (like seriously what even happens on half the planets in the game? lol)

It's as much adventure for me as it is my readers, and I'm glad to be able to share it with people!

Once again, thanks for reading and reviewing

“It's suicide! I'm not risking my ship on a fool’s errand, even if a Grand Moff and his wretched protocol droid demand it be done!” Captain Revinal Orzik paced the bridge, for all the galaxy giving the appearance of a trapped animal.

“Then the Black Talon is no longer your ship, I’m afraid.” Authenta stood impassively, hands clasped behind her back and watching the stars beyond the transparisteel viewport.

Orzik halted. “What? You wouldn’t dare!” He stole a fearful glance at the protocol droid. NR-02 had watched the entire exchange silently, no doubt relaying everything its sensors were picking up to Kilran.

“Private, escort Captain Orzik to medical, pending psychological evaluation. He seems to be rather unwell; it would be a shame if a temporary sickness ended his distinguished career prematurely.” She turned back towards the bridge as a pair of troopers escorted him away. “Hetter, set an intercept course for the Brentaal Star.”

“Y-yes, my Lord.” He tapped a series of commands into his console, and the ruddy orb of Korriban barely visible below disappeared as the stars streaked into a

swirling mass.

Auth turned back to look out the viewport. “Captain Sylas: congratulations on the field promotion.

Now, options. Gages have a crew complement of...what? Three hundred sixty, of which seventy percent are assault troops?”

Sylas bowed nervously. “Three hundred eighty, my Lord, and near enough. We also have two squadrons of supremacy fighters and four Breakwater assault shuttles.” She shook her head. “Not enough to fight head-on against a Thranta-class cruiser.”

Authenta traced the pad of her left thumb along the bone spur beside her chin, lost in thought. She saw Vette’s reflection in the transparisteel, leaning against a support strut near the back of the bridge, and an idea came to her.

She spoke with a revelatory timbre. “‘There are roads which must not be followed, armies which must not be attacked, towns which must not be besieged, positions which must not be contested.’” She turned back towards the bridge before continuing. “Orzik was right. We won’t engage the cruiser.”

“May I remind you that violation of direct orders is punishable by-”

“Silence, droid. Another word and I’ll tear your verbobrain out with my bare hands!” Carmine lightning flashed around the curled fist hanging at her side. Wisely, NR-02 said nothing further.

“My… Lord?” Sylas was unable to hide the look of plain confusion on her features, but she dared not speak her mind to a Sith. Even one who is a mere apprentice.

Authenta spread her hands wide. “We’re woefully ill-equipped in armament but not courage of the crew.” She stalked around the senior staff, a predatory smirk dancing on her lip. “With an assault shuttle and a platoon of marines could we board and secure their fighter bay?”

Captain Sylas caught on almost immediately. “Supremacies provide escort and distraction, clearing the bay for landing. The Black Talon will never have to get into turbolaser range.”

“Precisely.”

“Who will lead the landing party?” The fiery-haired communications officer piped up.

Already striding to the turbolift, Authenta turned around, indirectly answering her as she called out, “Sylas, prep my shuttle!

Coming, Vette?”

Still leaning against the support, she sighed, “do I have a choice?”

“You’re probably the best slicer aboard, so I’d rather you join me.”

“Am not, but only because if this ship explodes at least I won’t be on it.” her companion replied, finishing her sentence in a whisper as the pair rushed into the turbolift.

When the doors snapped shut, Authenta turned to Vette. “Orzik wasn't wrong… this probably is suicide.”

“You can't be- why are we going?”

“Duty demands it.” She bashed her fist into the bulkhead. “I should have killed Orzik!”

“I’d go for the droid first. That thing is nuts.”

Despite herself, Auth momentarily smiled. But it was fleeting. “He disobeyed a direct order. There are... consequences.”

“‘Consequences’ now pointing at us?”

“You have the right of it.”

Vette checked her blaster’s power cell. “Sooo... why didn't you?”

“I'm familiar in passing with his service record. Killing a man with nearly twenty years of exemplary service because he fears for the people under his command is a waste.” She ran shaking fingers through her burgundy hair, then tied it back in a loose ponytail.

“My family’s fire will not go out of the galaxy. I refuse it!”

The lift slowed to a stop and the doors hissed open, revealing the frenetic interior of a pre-combat shuttlebay. Pilots and troops scrambled to do last-minute checks before the Black Talon dropped to sublight. As Auth and Vette stepped out, an armored lieutenant rushed up, skidding to a halt with a quick salute.

“My Lord, Lieutenant Istan Tyrell. Shuttle Frostbolt prepped for departure; my men are at your command. If you’ll follow me?”

She waved her hand, palm up, indicating he lead. Half running, the three of them climbed the boarding ramp to the shuttle.

Disconnecting a hose, a ground crew mechanic wiped her brow with a uniform sleeve and called up, “You're ready to fly!”

The hatch slid shut behind Vette, and Authenta punched in a switch on the console. “Frostbolt to bridge. How much longer?”

“Ensign Brukara here. Estimated intercept in one minute. You’re cleared for departure.”

“Get us airborne. I want us out of here as soon as we’re out of hyperspace.” She turned to the lieutenant. “My companion and I will find the defector. Secure the Star’s landing bay behind us.”

Captain Sylas interrupted, “Shuttle Frostbolt, fighters will follow you in two waves. May the Force serve you well.”

“And you, Captain. Frostbolt out.”

The view tilted up slightly as the shuttle rose three meters from the flight deck, accompanied by the mechanical drone of the flight wings folding down. The bay doors parted before them, in perfect time with the swirling blues of hyperspace attenuating into thousands of unfamiliar pinpr.icks. The stern of the Brentaal Star could barely be seen off to port as the shuttle accelerated out into open space. No sooner had the shuttle left than a dozen Supremacy fighters streaked past.

They were too small to be tracked by the turbolasers, but the shuttle was large enough to be vulnerable. The pilot wove around seething red bolts big enough to blast a hole right through the shuttle. “Their blast doors are closing; they’re on to us!”

Authenta swore and slammed her fist into the comm panel. “Take down the blast door controls and ray shield generator!”

Two dozen Talon-class fighters swarmed around from the cruiser’s starboard hangar, engaging the Frostbolt’s escorts. Imperial and Republic starfighters danced in a crimson and emerald cloud punctuated with the occasional fiery disintegration of a fighter. The supremacies were outnumbered two to one, and slowly losing ground.

Watching the lethal display unfold through the transparisteel viewport, Authenta narrowed her eyes. The bay doors were still closing, and time was running out. “Could we get across the ship into the starboard bay?”

“Negative. Sensors show it’s starting to close behind the fighter squadrons.”

Just then, a lone Supremacy fighter peeled away from formation, letting loose with its twin laser cannons into the bay’s shield generator. Crackling under the viridian onslaught, the generator belched charged particles into space. The fighter didn’t bank away, instead smashing at full throttle into the colossal blast shield drive engine. It disappeared in a bittersweet explosion, glittering with shattered pieces of hull in both grey and Republic white. The doors ground to a halt with a sliver of space left open.

“Get us in there!” Authenta shouted.

“Gonna be a rough-” the pilot’s words were drowned out as the shuttle’s wing was ripped off by the edge of the blast door. It crashed into the fighter bay deck with enough force to shatter the transparisteel viewport, spiralling across the bay before finally colliding with the back wall.

Authenta clawed her way to her unsteady feet in the broken and sparking shuttle interior. “Vette! Lieutenant Tyrell!”

Her companion groaned, and a clipped “Sir!” from the lieutenant came in answer. She grabbed the broken comm station chair for support and turned towards the pilot, but her words of praise died in her throat. A strut from the Brentaal Star’s fighter bay had gone through the broken transparisteel, the still pilot, and his chair. A staccato rain of gloomy droplets onto the shuttle’s floor was everything Auth needed to know.

Vette uncoiled herself from a fetal position on the floor and jabbed at the hatch controls. She was rewarded with nothing for her efforts. “It’s stuck!”

Auth hauled her lightsaber from the clip on her belt, igniting it as she swung the hilt in an arc. The smoky crimson blade ploughed into the hatch, and molten swaths of durasteel sloughed off. She grit her teeth, straining with both hands on the hilt to push the blade through the metal. “Tyrell, get everyone who can still stand... ready. Fan out,

use wreckage for cover.”

“You heard the Sith, men! Form up!”

Pulling her saber from the ruined hatch, Authenta took a step back. “Ready?”

Tyrell hefted his rifle, and Vette nodded as she pulled her blaster from its holster.

Authenta snapped her palm forward, propelling the hatch off the shuttle with a labored screech of metal. It smashed into a group of Republic soldiers and she seized the confusion, leaping out after it. Her saber’s bloodthirst sang in a bass thrum as she tore the two nearest troopers apart with merciless elegance. The Imperial platoon poured out behind her, raking jade blasts across the Republic soldiers. Vette dashed between pieces of the shuttle and broken liberators, taking opportunistic but devastating pot shots where she could.

It was over, quickly. Republic corpses were scattered among the wreckage. Authenta deactivated her lightsaber, the blade peeling out of the Mon Calamari troop captain, a gaping ruin where his chest once was.

She stalked back to the makeshift barricades Tyrell had set up, tossing her tattered cloak aside. “Casualty report!”

Lieutenant Tyrell pulled off his helmet, sweat matting his dark blond hair to his scalp. “Three in the crash and six more troops in the fighting, my Lord.”

“Hold position here. Defend one of the ‘Pub shuttles so we’ve got a way back. Recover bodies if you can… those soldiers deserve to come home. Contact the Black Talon; keep a line open to Captain Sylas.

And find me the name of the pilot that got us in here!”

Vette jogged next to her, holding both the blaster Authenta had given her as well as a stolen Republic officer’s pistol. “Just the two of us, huh?”

A feral smile played across her features. “As it should be.”

The two women stalked through the halls taking down Republic patrols, four soldiers at a time.

Her holocom chimed and an apparition of Sylas bowed. “My Lord, the droid says he’s been intercepting comm chatter; thinks the Brentaal Star is planning to jettison the traitor in a rear escape pod.”

“Noted, Captain. Recall what's left of our fighter squadrons.”

“Already done, my Lord.”

“Good. I'll contact you if there is anything else.

Vette, can you pull up a map on this display? How do we get to the escape pods?”

Nimble cerulean fingers flew across the input keys as Vette worked. “Maybe? Civvy lockdowns are a lot easier than Republic military…” Unintelligible aurebesh strings in shades of green and yellow cascaded across the display panel as she worked. Soon, the patterns resolved themselves into a partial schematic centered on what might have been their location.

Vette studied the readouts. “Ok… down the corridor is a tram station. It’ll save us a half kilometre walking, and a bunch of fighting.”

“I’ll take it!”

They ran down the hall, finding the doors to the tram system locked down along with everything else. Authenta sighed. “Nothing is ever easy.”

“Well yeah. The universe hates you because you’re Sith.”

She snorted, trying not to laugh. “Shut up, Vette.”

Vette stuck her tongue out at the Sith, but Authenta wasn’t looking.

Her saber blazed to life in her palm, her right hand held out, fingers splayed. She felt at the door through the Force; it was weak and easily sundered. Twisting her wrist, she spun the tip of her saber through the thin doors and kicked the portal in.

Beyond, a single crewmember stood holding a blaster. It hardly pointed in any one direction, she was shaking so strongly.

“N-not one step closer, Sith!”

“Look at yourself. You’re so afraid of me - of what I am - that you’re more likely to shoot your own foot off than you are me. Put the blaster down.”

“I can’t. You-you can’t reach the General. I-I mean-”

“The general.” She curled her fingers, pulling the blaster out of the woman’s hands and throwing it against the floor. Her saber blade lanced through the barrel, and she kicked the sputtering pieces away. “That’s quite a high-ranking turncoat you’ve found.”

“Please d-don’t kill me… I just- I just work the tram...”

Authenta rolled her eyes and flicked her hand, sending the woman crashing into the wall. She landed heavily on the floor and was still.

“Was that really necessary?” Vette stepped through the broken door.

“She wasn’t worth killing, and shouldn’t be dead,” Auth replied in an offhanded way while she pulled open the tram door.

Vette knelt at the woman’s side and felt her neck. She stirred almost imperceptibly. “Fine! You win. The headache’s probably going to make her wish she was dead…

Remind me to pull the belt off the next officer you butcher. I need a second holster.” She stepped onto the tram and Authenta pulled the control lever, starting their ride.

“Butcher is such a strong word.”

“But is it wrong?”

“Says the twi’lek who barely has to aim not one but two blasters.” She shrugged, chuckling. “Apparently we need to drink heavily and trade stories sometime.”

“Ohhh no. I’m not gonna drink with someone whose emotional default is murder.”

“In point of fact, it is n-” Her holocom chimed, cutting short their exchange. Authenta pulled it from her belt pocket and thumbed the activation switch.

“This is Jedi Grandmaster Satele Shan hailing the unidentified Sith infiltrating the Brentaal Star. I’m enroute-”

“I’m well aware of who you are. Nice trick you have, finding my personal holocom frequency.”

“Among many others. I’m enroute to your location with sixteen Republic ships. I’m asking you to retreat before more lives are lost.”

“Only one life need be lost.”

“I just crippled three Imperial dreadnoughts. I don’t wish to destroy you and your ship. The peace treaty is fragile enough already.”

“My master was instrumental in orchestrating the treaty. It will survive.”

“Your base aggression serves no one. Incidents like this happen all across the galaxy, but only because we let them.” Satele waved her hand. “Leave the Brentaal Star to me.”

Authenta could feel fuzz in the back of her mind, the hallmark of Force persuade. She giggled softly behind a smirk. “Should I be impressed or disappointed that you thought mind control would work?”

“If you won’t relent, then may the Force be with you.”

“It would be unsporting of me to not wish you the same, Grandmaster.” She killed the connection and dialed out to the Black Talon. “Sylas, were you listening in?”

The tiny simulacrum of Captain Sylas bowed, “Every word, my Lord.”

“What's the ETA on that battlegroup?”

Ensign Brukara responded, “Twenty minutes at most.”

“More than enough time.”

Authenta ran a thumb along the spur of bone on her chin. “For being the leader of the Jedi, Satele Shan was curiously warmongering.”

Vette shrugged. “You’re the one who somehow made an enemy of the most famous Jedi in the Galaxy. You tell me.”

The tram ground to a halt. Authenta stepped off and vibrations crawled up through her boots; they had to be close to the escape pods if she could feel the sublight engines. Tearing apart this station’s doors as she had the last, she glanced down both paths of the hallway.

“Convenient. The Republic has labeled the path to the escape pods for us.”

“Doesn’t the Empire?”

“No. If boarders don’t know where the escape pods are, they can’t escape.”

Vette’s eyebrows raised. “That… actually makes sense.”

“Much to your astonishment, no doubt. You’ll find the Empire is full of surprises. But we need to hurry!” Authenta sprinted down the corridor, heavy boots thundering on the metal deck plating, Vette on her heels.

Rounding a corner, she was forced to come to a sudden stop. A circular blast door barred access.

“Kark.”

“And here I thought you were supposed to be a lady!”

“My father raised me,” Authenta smirked. “Stand back.”

Vette nodded, slinking back with blasters pointed down the hall.

Auth clipped her saber onto its belt loop and held out her hands, concentrating. Sanguine lightning coalesced along her forearms as she built up a stranglehold on the Force, tearing at the blast door with rage-fueled might. Fingers curled into claws, she twisted her hands around. Dark flumes cracked through the durasteel, leaking coils of shadow into the air. The bulkheads rumbled as the blast door started to shift. Titanic deadbolts finally sheared off with an awful wail, and the deck bucked in the balled-up energy release.

Vette was thrown to the floor, losing grip on her blasters. The impact forced the air from her lungs, and she struggled to get her bearings. Coughing, Vette pulled herself up and recovered her weapons. She looked over at her Sith master, who had collapsed to her knees.

“You’re not going to die, are you?”

“Not hardly.” Fighting to her feet, Authenta grabbed her lightsaber. The smooth drone of its blade extending heralded her march over the sparking blast door remnants. On the other side stood a pink-skinned twi’lek wearing unadorned brown robes, holding a green lightsaber at the ready. She should have known there would be at least one Jedi aboard.

“Halt where you are!” The Jedi called. “I am Yadira Ban, padawan of the Jedi Order. I was sent to protect the General. You will not pass.”

Auth released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Padawan? Isn’t that just another word for ‘apprentice’? You’re not even a real Jedi!”

“I will be! My final trial is to defeat a Sith in combat!”

The Force oozed through her smoldering saber; it almost felt alive in her hand, as if it yearned to spill the blood of a Jedi. “You cannot scare me.”

Despite the closing distance between the two, the padawan yelled back, “I don’t need to scare you, only kill you!”

Spinning her saber around her hand, Authenta replied, “Whatever happened to ‘There is no emotion, there is peace’?”

The Jedi answered only with a swift overhead slash. Authenta parried and spun, but the twi’lek’s saber was already there to block. She shifted her stance, holding her saber straight out. Each attack, Authenta turned the green blade aside with graceful sweeps, her every movement calmly calculated to turn the Jedi away from Vette.

Her companion stood with her back against the far side of a support beam for cover, blaster ready and waiting for an opportunity. Vette peeked out, leaning over enough to squeeze a series of shots out at the turned Jedi’s back. In the blink of an eye, the Jedi shoved Authenta away with the Force and twisted, avoiding or deflecting all of her shots.

Auth tumbled across the room’s floor, lightsaber temporarily silenced. She came to rest on her back, her right side against a shipping crate. As the padawan leaped at Vette, she dropped her blasters, putting her hands in front of her face in a futile gesture. In desperation, Authenta screamed and hurled her lightsaber, clawing at the activator with the Force. The incarnadine blade impacted the Jedi’s emerald one in the very last moment, bouncing away and throwing her off-balance.

Her companion cowered as the ancient saber hilt raced into Authenta’s palm. She charged the padawan, murderously slicing at her in wide sweeps. With each hit, the padawan’s blade was crushed farther back and her defenses were rapidly obliterated. Authenta spun her saber, carving off the Jedi’s arms. Snarling, she grabbed the padawan by the throat.

She twisted her body, hauling the maimed twi’lek over her head. As she spun, she flipped her saber’s hilt and when the padawan’s back hit the floor so too did the edge of her saber’s emitter smash into the padawan’s chest, Authenta’s blade impaling her through the heart and transfixing her to the deck.

She stood up, pulling her blade from the sizzling gash in the dead Jedi. Lightsaber weaving ferally, she called out, “Where are you, General?!”

Vette knelt in stunned silence at her companion’s ferocity.

A whisper of cloth against metal caught her attention. She grabbed one of her fallen blasters and dashed behind a crate. “Hello there.

Found him!”

Authenta stowed her saber as a balding, corpulent man wearing an Imperial military uniform shuffled out from behind a stack of crates, Vette’s blaster poking between his shoulder blades.

“Excellent work, Vette.”

“There’s a finder’s fee, right?”

She smiled but instead addressed the traitor. “'General,' is it?”

He shook his head and looked at the floor, a tear welling in his human eye. “I can’t fight you.”

She inclined her head, narrowing her eyes. “I know your voice. Years ago, in the Citadel when Darth Marr summoned my father. You were there! How could you betray the Empire? How could you betray Marr?”

“If you only knew what I knew you’d understand. What both sides are plotting... you wouldn’t be so eager to restart the war. Doomsday weapons and shields that will envelop planets. Missiles to destroy entire stars. The Republic and Empire will burn civilization to ash!”

The edge of Authenta’s lip turned. “Be thankful you won’t be there to witness it.” She held out her hand and balled her fingers into a fist. As her forearm turned, a sickening cartilaginous crunch echoed about them and the general gurgled his last, crumpling into a heap at Vette’s feet.

“Uhh, gross.” She stepped away from the sorry corpse.

Authenta pulled her holocom out. “Captain Sylas, do you read?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“The traitor is dead. What’s your status?”

“We’ve taken a couple of minor hits but our luck is beginning to run out. The Thranta is faster than we are at sublight.”

She and Vette were already running back towards the tram station. “Tell Lieutenant Tyrell to prep for evac. I’m on my way back to the hangar.”

Vette yanked on the tram control and it sped off back towards the hangar. “So… that was terrifying.”

The periodic lights in the tramway bathed the pair alternately in darkness and sunny light.

“The Jedi was a liar and a hypocrite.”

“Yeah, I thought I was gonna die there...” Vette cast a disquieted glance at the Sith. “But I mean you.”

Authenta blew a sigh out of her nose. “Killing him was a mercy. Had we extracted him, he would have been tortured for answers, then publicly executed.

However terrible you think I am pales to what would have happened.”

“And the Jedi?”

“I did what was necessary.”

Vette declined to respond as the tram halted. They tore out, following the trail of blaster burns and bodies they'd left behind on their return trip to the hangar.

There were new scattered groups of dead Republic soldiers; Tyrell and his marines had been holding their own despite the onslaught. Authenta threw her hand towards the Fortitude-class shuttle the Imperial soldiers had secured. “Move! Move!”

“We heard, my Lord. Shuttle’s ready!” He gestured and the other soldiers bolted up the ramp in a clatter.

The two women raced up under the engines after them. Vette grabbed the hatch’s edge to aid her swing around and slapped the controls. It snapped shut as the shuttle took off, wings swinging into flight mode.

Authenta surveyed the Imperial troops aboard the shuttle, sitting and standing, packed wearily in. Eleven distressing shapes lay beneath a purloined Republic camouflage blind. Her gaze dropped momentarily.

“Tell the Black Talon to make the jump to hyperspace as soon as we're in the hangar.”

“Done, my Lord,” Tyrell replied in clipped tones.

The shuttle rocked from an impact and Authenta stumbled into the wall. “Return fire!”

“We… can't. The ‘Pub shuttle has doesn't have rear guns.”

“Exactly how did we not win the war?” she asked incredulously.

“The Talon is providing cover fire!”

She looked out the viewport at their destination, banking starboard. Defensive heavy laser turrets rotated about, lancing Republic fighters with green death. The shuttle roared obliquely into the landing bay as Tyrell smashed the throttle to full reverse. The star field visible in the viewport corner stretched infinitely when the Black Talon made the jump to hyperspace.

Jumping out from the shuttle before it had even touched down on the deck, Authenta sprinted to the turbolift. Vette hung her head. “I’m not running.” When the shuttle settled down, she followed after the Sith.

Authenta burst onto the bridge before the turbolift doors had fully opened. Hand on the navigation console, Captain Sylas turned. “My Lord, you’re the hero of the hour.”

She waved a dismissive hand in response. “Hardly. We’d all be dead - or the Republic would have had one of our top generals - were it not for the actions of one supremacy pilot.”

“Corporal Versio, yes.”

“I’ll- Wait, no. Send me a full casualty report; I’ll contact every family personally.”

Sylas arched a dark eyebrow, but offered no comment. “Right away. Is there anything else, my Lord?”

Glancing a moment at the swirling blues and whites outside the transparisteel, Authenta replied, “Arrival at Ziost?”

“Two hours.”

“I’ll be in my quarters until then.” She turned away, undoing her hair. As she walked towards the doorway leading to the officer’s quarters, a thought occurred to her. She stopped and extended her left arm out to the side. She hooked her fingers and crushed them into a fist. The head of Moff Kilran’s protocol droid shattered, and its body collapsed awkwardly on the deck plating.

* * * * *

The short-range shuttle looped wide, affording its occupants a sweeping view of the snow-girded Tassivon mountains where they surrendered to the dark sea. The driver pushed the steering column forward and the speeder entered a gentle dive to the mesa nestled in the mountains’ roots.

Vette had spent most of ride from the New Adasta spaceport gazing at the natural splendour of Ziost. But Authenta had done nothing save sit rigidly looking at the back of the driver’s chair, saying not a word.

She turned her head away from the wintry vista, to her brooding master. “Staring daggers is great and all, but your saber’d probably be faster at poking holes in the seat.”

The driver stole a quick glance at his passengers. “My Lord, with respect could you not stab me? Cause a crash, like as not.”

Authenta put her balled-up hand to her mouth for some time before answering. “Enough. Please.”

Touching down on the landing pad hanging off the side of the plateau, the shuttle pilot turned to the pair. “And we’re here.”

“Excellent. Return to New Adasta; I will provide my own transportation on the return trip.” Authenta stood and exited the shuttle with Vette trailing.

She sidled up to her master. “You’re being more Sithy than usual, you know.”

“You do realized why we’re here, yes?” Authenta stared straight ahead at her family’s home while they walked.

“Yeah, I know. It won’t mean much but… I haven’t seen my mom or sister for fifteen years.” Vette looked around at the massive building they approached. The outer facade was forged in ashen volcanic stone and dark wood. Evenly spaced windows with elaborate frames were capped with pointed arches, interspersed with silvery imperial banners. Save for the occasional tower reaching into the sky, the entire spiked and imposing structure never rose higher than perhaps three stories.

“They could still be alive; perhaps you will find them one day. However, I no longer have family.

Still, I am a poor hostess.” Authenta gesticulated grandly, her cloak wafting behind her in the chill wind. “Welcome, Vette, to Fasthold Sarenrai. My family has lived here since the Great Hyperspace War. The current incarnation’s original wing was constructed more than twelve hundred years ago.”

“It’s… wow!”

A set of double doors twice their height, carved with bas reliefs of bloody combat unsealed and groaned outward, welcoming Authenta home.

Beyond the portal stood the estate’s seneschal and a stooped figure cloaked in black. A wizened hand capped the metal top of the figure’s walking staff carved in pale grey wood.

Authenta inclined her head. “Thalassa. Prepare guest quarters for this slave in the Skyfall tower. Vette, if you would follow her? I will be up presently.”

The old woman screwed up her face for a moment, but nodded and crooked a finger towards Vette as she scurried off. Authenta stopped just before the hooded figure and bowed profoundly. “Lord Carnarian. It is good to see you.”

Clawed fingers pulled back the cloak’s hood. Cutting red eyes framed by a gaunt and pale face were revealed. He pointed the metal handle capping his walking stick at her. “Surprised I’m not dead, you meant to say.”

She spread her hands. “I would have felt something.”

“Hah! Not as close to the grave as I am.”

The two Sith fell into step in the crimson-carpeted hall leading to main hall. “You’re too spiteful to die, anyway.”

Carnarian cackled shrilly. “Everything dies, girl.”

“A fact I know far too well.”

“Not as well as you could.”

The passage opened into a grand hall lined with gargantuan silver tapestries with the Imperial insignia embroidered crimson. More than twenty people, mostly Imperial military brass, milled about with pleasant conversation as servants offered aperitifs and light board. One such servant darted up to the two Sith with a curt bow.

“My Lord, preparations are complete; we’re ready at any time.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Mirren. Inform the guests to take their places.

If you’ll excuse me, Lord Carnarian?”

“Go! If I don’t start walking now, I’ll be late.”

Authenta laughed, “Lie to someone else!” She turned towards a recessed arch which led to a side stairwell, but was intercepted by a man and woman wearing white uniforms.

“Moff Sorin, Grand Admiral Heszt. How are the both of you?”

“Oh please, we should be calling you ‘my Lord’! Just Neliza and Daven, dear!”

Sorin offered a quick hug, careful not to spill wine on Authenta. Daven Heszt shook her hand, “How are you?” he inquired.

She ran her hands through her hair before replying. “Trying not to fall apart. Thank you being here. If no one else came, my father would be happy.”

Neliza took a sip of the sparkling wine she held. “We heard about the Black Talon. You are your father’s daughter.”

“I see rumors make hyperspace look slow.

Please, make your way to the central courtyard… We’ll begin as soon as I can get changed and ready.”

They both nodded and ambled off, arm in arm.

The next few minutes for Authenta were a whirlwind of autopilot. She hardly registered the walk to her chambers after summoning Thalassa and Vette via the intercom. Tossing pieces of her armor wherever was most convenient, she combed her garnet hair with one hand. Digging through one of her closets with the other, she finally found the attire she was looking for.

Authenta slipped on the flowing and form-fitting vermillion dress. Laced with fine thread made of spun silver, it was more suited for nuptials than funerary ritual, but it was the most elegant dress she had in house colors. Deft fingers of her majordomo, belying their bony age, laced up the intricate corset back. She slipped the matching lace mantle over Authenta’s shoulders, leaving the ridges beneath her collarbone visible above the top of the dress.

“Thank you, Thal. Remain outside, please.”

The seneschal shuffled out, leaving Authenta and Vette alone. She considered applying makeup, but decided against it. Now that the hour was finally at hand, tears threatened similarly to the dark clouds gathering out the bay windows.

Vette leaned against the bedpost wearing an elegant but simple asymmetric mauve dress, looking exaggeratedly uncomfortable. “Gonna get married in that dress?”

“Perhaps one day. My mother did. You look lovely; I’m surprised we had something in your size.”

“You’re not hitting on me, are you?”

“Only if you want me to.

The shock collar just doesn’t match, though. I’ll have it removed after the ceremony.”

Vette's eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open. “You’ll what?”

The edge of Authenta’s lip ticket upwards. “I said nothing. Follow me to the water gardens.”

She glided out, silver edge of her dress just short enough to not drag on the floor, Vette at her side. They passed through curving halls filled with resplendent art and down a spiral stair emptying into an empty sunroom with a floor of blue and black marble. Glass doors lined one wall, and one pair slid soundlessly open as Authenta approached.

“I’m afraid you must remain here. This is the best view I can afford you as a non-Imperial citizen.”

Vette frowned, but nodded all the same, taking up place against an onyx marble pillar.

The courtyard was hexagonal, a tremendous monument to the eternal glory of the Sith Empire. Bounded by channels of glittering water reflecting the grey evening sky. In each section among the foliage and fountains mourners come to pay their respects sat on the wooden benches carved from single pieces of wood.

In the central pond was anchored a floating bier, and she stopped being able to breathe when she saw it carried only an empty white uniform pressed crisply. Authenta took a deep breath and ascended the dais of carved obsidian that ringed the hexagonal pool. She grasped the unlit torch laid flat on the edge and held it out before her.

Sanguine lightning danced among her fingers, lancing to the end of the torch and setting it afire. The guests grew quiet as she held it vertically, crackling in the silence. A tear streaked down her cheek as she began.

She spoke in the ancient tongue of the Sith, language musical and harsh in equal measure. She spoke of his death, his greatest sacrifice for his ship, his crew, and Darth Marr. She spoke of his accomplishments, his victories. Of joining her family the day her parents wed. Of his courage and his fortitude and his service to Emperor Vitiate. Her voice grew to a crescendo as she thrust the torch upward into the darkening evening as she finally spoke of her own duty to honor his deeds, to wield the fires in his stead. Her pledge to conquer the Galaxy for the Empire.

She fell silent and shook barely perceptibly, warm rivulets staining her face. In one smooth motion, she plunged the torch down into the dark water before her. The hidden accelerant gel kindled and the pool blazed to argent life, silver fire roaring down the channels. More than one attendee gasped in surprise as the lustrous inferno spread through every source of water in the courtyard, igniting it brighter than the day.

Authenta stood with her hands at her sides, the conflagration reflected in her eyes as it coiled serpentine up the gossamer ropes anchoring the bier. She stood, weeping alone long after those in attendance began to file away. Long after the flames died away to flickering orange and ebon embers.

At long last, she closed her eyes on the ashes and turned away as chill rain began to fall.

“How strong you’ve grown, my daughter.”