You know, normally I am not interested in any stories involving female SW and Quinn, simply because male SW and Jaesa is my favorite pairing in the game, and Jaesa barely appears here, however....

This story is simply amazing. The writing, the characters are top notch. I spent all night reading unable to stop and I can't wait to find out what's next. It's simply awesome. Hope new chapter is coming soon.

And we're back! Bendcti and Gelious, thank you for your kind words! I'm glad you're enjoying the story

Sixty-Six

Aboard Imperial warship Oppressor

35 ATC

The blast doors between the bridge of Darth Angral’s flagship and the corridor outside it were closed. They were sturdy-looking, plated with a material that would probably even give lightsabers a challenge. Such measures would not be necessary, however. Rhys could see on the readout of the access console that the doors were unlocked.

This did not come as a surprise. By now, Angral surely knew that the Jedi he wanted dead above all others was aboard his ship. There was no point in trying to keep Rhys off the bridge, not when Angral wanted a confrontation.

He wants to fight me, Rhys thought. He wants to kill me himself for what I did. And yet he threw away the lives of his soldiers trying to stop me from destroying the Desolator’s power generators.

Cutting through the ship’s defenders had pained him, but Angral’s troops had given him no other choice. Caught between their Republic enemies and an Empire that had condemned them as traitors, they had fought to the death. Such a waste. Rhys tried not to let it haunt him. He could not afford to be distracted.

Kira stood beside him, catching her breath from the last fight. She kept sneaking little frowning glances at him, probably thinking that he wouldn’t notice. After their conversation on the Mistchaser before arriving at Uphrades, he supposed he couldn’t blame her for worrying.

He had never experienced such violent emotion before. Despair had welled up within him, opened beneath his feet in a bottomless chasm that had threatened to swallow him. He could not begin to imagine what lay within that chasm’s lightless depths.

But although he had teetered upon the precipice’s edge, he had not fallen. Rhys tried to tell himself that it was his training that had preserved him, kept him focused and steady on his path, but he could not quite make himself believe that lie.

It was Kira. Kira had been there, saying all the right things, drawing him back from the edge. If she had not been there…

But she was, he thought. She was there, and I…I don’t even know how to tell her how grateful I am. I probably made a fool of myself.

I can’t let that happen again. I have to learn to maintain better control. I can’t fall apart every time something bad happens—and if I do, then I need to learn to pick up my own pieces. Kira shouldn’t have to do that for me.

He ignored the small voice in his mind telling him that Kira had almost certainly only talked him through it because she wanted to. She could have easily left him alone to meditate and figure it out on his own. Instead, she’d shown genuine concern. Compassion. Caring.

Rhys looked over at her. Kira had her hands clasped together in front of her and her eyes fixed on the closed blast doors, a steely expression on her face.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” she said.

“Good.” Rhys took a deep breath. “Time to finish this.”

He marched towards the doors. As he moved, he felt neither fear nor doubt. He did not feel confident, either, but he did not need to. A river did not need confidence to flow; it simply did so.

The Force was with him. It would be with Angral, too, but that was all right. The end was upon them. One way or another, it would soon be over.

When he was close enough to trigger the proximity sensors, the doors slid open. A dozen soldiers immediately took up position in the entrance, training weapons on the two Jedi. Behind them, the other crew members ducked down behind their consoles to avoid ricochets.

Beyond the soldiers, standing before the viewports at the farthest end of the bridge, was an implacable figure in red armor. In the Force, he was a blaze of dark fire beside the crew’s dimmer lights.

Rhys looked at the soldiers. “You know who I am and why I’m here. My quarrel is with your master; stand aside, and I will not harm you.”

The soldiers exchanged glances, but did not move.

Rhys took a deep breath and raised his voice. “Angral!”

“You will not steal my victory,” Angral declared in a ringing voice. “Not now.”

“Then do something about it!” Rhys challenged. “Stop hiding behind your men and face me.”

“Very well.” Angral gestured to the soldiers. “Stand aside and return to your posts. The Jedi is mine.”

The soldiers in Rhys’ path quickly parted, taking up positions among the bridge crew. Rhys moved forward, Kira following a step behind him, until he stood at the foot of the short flight of steps leading up to the dais where Angral stood.

Rhys had seen Angral in holoimage form often enough, but the Sith Lord looked different in person. Veins blackened by dark side corruption were clearly visible beneath pale skin stretched too thin over his skull. The implant on his left cheek seemed a rivet holding it in place. His thinning, stark white hair and the harsh lines embossed into his face bespoke his age—it had been thirty-five years since Angral’s greatest accomplishment, the Sacking of Coruscant, and those years had not treated him well.

Of course, Sith who survived for so long tended to be exponentially more dangerous than their younger, more reckless brethren.

“I foresaw this confrontation,” Angral said. “I welcome it.”

“What was there to foresee?” Rhys retorted. “This was inevitable. Or did you think I would simply stand by and watch while you destroyed the Republic?”

“I was surprised at first when the Jedi Council continued to send you to undo my work. I thought perhaps they would entrust their salvation to someone older and more experienced.” Angral smiled. “But I am pleased that they did not. Now you’ve come to me to die instead of forcing me to sift through Tython’s ashes for your corpse.”

“Forget Tython. This crusade of yours has nothing to do with the Jedi. You want me.” Rhys met Angral’s eyes. “Because I killed your son.”

“Oh, young Jedi,” Angral murmured, “you know so little of vengeance. To seek an eye for an eye accomplishes nothing. If I were to simply kill you, another would take your place. Pointless. But by destroying not only you, but all the Jedi, I make my mark upon history. I give my son’s death meaning.”

Rhys glanced briefly at Tython, shimmering in the viewport. An involuntary shiver ran through him. “I can’t let you do that.”

“No? We shall see.” Angral raised an eyebrow. “Your master perished asking me to surrender. Will you do the same?”

Rhys shivered again. The air seemed to be getting colder. “Tarnis fought me to the death. I would expect no less from you.”

“You have some fire in you after all.” Angral sounded amused. “Good.”

The space around them darkened, as if the lights had started to power down. Rhys tensed, bracing himself for an attack. Angral, however, was looking around, frowning suspiciously as the temperature dropped further.

If he isn’t doing this, Rhys thought, then what—

The cold was coming from beside him.

Rhys slowly turned to look at Kira—Kira, who had stood so silent and so still throughout the confrontation. It wasn’t like her.

She stood rigid, staring straight ahead as shadows pooled around her. The air warped, light bending and elongating towards her—but no, the level of light on the bridge had not changed, it was an illusion of perception. It was the Force that that had turned so dark and cold as a singularity coalesced into being, a point of utter darkness eclipsing the bright light of Kira’s presence.

Rhys reached out desperately with his senses, trying to find some trace of her, but no light escaped from that obscuring void. She was gone.

She did not look at him as she walked slowly, as if in a dream, up the stairs to stand beside Angral. Her lips moved and a man’s voice emerged, echoing and hollow. “Finish this, Angral. I command it.”

“My master?” Angral asked faintly.

“You have done well,” Kira said.

No, Rhys thought. Not Kira. The Sith Emperor. He’s here.

“The dead of Uphrades sing my glory, and it is good,” the Emperor stated. “But it is not enough.”

“I—I do not understand,” Angral faltered. “The Dark Council branded me a traitor for my actions. Your own Wrath—”

“My Wrath is a double-edged blade, but one that ultimately strikes as I see fit. Why do you think you still live?” The Emperor smiled with Kira’s face. “You are serving me well, Angral. I am pleased. Complete your work here, and you shall return to the Empire vindicated, bearing my favor.”

The shadow ebbed. Kira gasped, falling to her knees as her presence in the Force returned. Relief surged in Rhys’ chest as the temperature rose back to its normal level. She wasn’t gone.

“What…what was…” Kira clutched at her head. “The Emperor…”

Angral regarded her with a reverent expression. “You are his Child. His eyes, his ears, his weapon to command. You belong to him, no matter how hard you try to cover yourself with the trappings of the Jedi.” He extended a hand. “Come, Child. Fight by my side. It’s where you belong.”

Kira glared up at him. “I’d rather jump out an airlock naked.”

“You think you have a choice in the matter?” Angral shook his head. “If the Emperor wishes you to fight this battle…you will fight.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Rhys said. “You can fight this. I know you can.”

“He’s still here,” Kira whispered. She lowered her head, her entire body shaking. “I can feel him in my thoughts. He wants you dead. He wants me to kill you. I won’t—” Shadows rippled over her. “You can’t—don’t let me—”

“It’s all right,” Rhys said. The sense of resolve that had filled him as he stood upon the threshold of the bridge returned. “The Emperor won’t get what he wants today. Not from either of us.”

“Enough!” Angral cut in. A Force-enhanced leap brought him down the steps to stand in front of Rhys. “You will die now.”

Rhys drew his lightsabers. “You’ve done enough damage. No more.”

Angral drew a scarlet blade and leveled it at Rhys. “For Tarnis,” he said softly, and attacked.

It immediately became clear to Rhys that Angral was a very different opponent from the other Sith he had faced thus far. Praven had had sheer physical power on his side, Nefarid an arsenal of stealth-based tricks, and Sadic had been augmented by the Power Guard project’s technology. Those advantages had made facing them challenging, but Rhys had managed to prevail through sheer skill. When facing a Sith who had mastered the lightsaber before he’d even been born, however, his natural talent suddenly seemed entirely inadequate.

Angral fought not with brute strength or cheap tricks, but with guile and strategy. He moved with the utmost precision, testing Rhys’ defenses, using feints and false openings to lure him into overextending himself. Rhys had no choice but to let him dictate the flow of the battle, retreating several steps under the onslaught.

Angral struck out rapidly towards Rhys’ left side. Rhys caught the attack on both blades, pivoting slightly as he did so. Angral pushed for a moment, then stepped back. Before Rhys could take advantage of the opening, Angral took one hand off his lightsaber and sent an arc of lightning crackling through the air.

The Force gave Rhys the speed he needed to intercept the lightning on crossed blades—barely. The impact sent him staggering backward. He had no time to recover before Angral was on him, battering at him with unnatural strength. Rhys could feel the dark side surging in Angral, letting him push himself well beyond the limits of what his body could otherwise do. His presence in the Force was pure, seething fury.

He spun them around so Rhys’ back was towards the stairs leading up to the command dais. He attacked with unrelenting, two-handed strikes, and Rhys was forced to retreat. He tried to remain calm, maintain his focus, but the ease with which Angral seemed to be controlling the battle was starting to unnerve him.

I have to do this, Rhys thought. I have to defeat him. I can’t fail again.

He took another step backward and stumbled against the stairs. Angral seized the opening and lunged forward. In the brief moment before Angral’s blade could connect, Rhys drew upon every last scrap of strength he had and pushed.

Angral was blasted backwards several meters, fetching up in an undignified heap on the deck. Rhys quickly retreated up the stairs to stand atop the dais, their starting positions now reversed. Kira still knelt a short distance away with her head in her hands.

“Are you all right?” Rhys asked anxiously.

“No.” Kira gritted her teeth. “I’m trying—but—”

“Just hold on a little longer,” Rhys urged her. “Once Angral is dealt with, I—I’ll get you to Tython. The Council can help you—”

“Don’t think I’ll last that long.” Kira smiled shakily up at him. “Sorry in advance.”

“No,” Rhys said. An echo of the pain he’d felt over Orgus resonated through him. “You’re going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“He wants me to kill you,” Kira whispered. “I’d rather die than let that happen.”

“You’re not going to die,” Rhys said. To his own ears, it sounded like pleading.

Below, Angral had finished picking himself up and dusting himself off. He began striding purposefully towards the dais, lightsaber at the ready.

Rhys looked from Angral to Kira, cold clutching at his insides. This has to end, he thought. This has to end right now.

Could he do it? Could he prevail? What if he defeated Angral and saved Tython, but Kira—

You know she can’t fight the Emperor forever, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. Either the strain kills her, or he takes over and forces you to do it.

No. There has to be a way. I can do this.

I will do this.

First, Angral. Rhys looked down at the approaching Sith Lord. He had been caught off guard by the power of his fury before, but he would not allow that to happen again.

Angral would likely expect him to continue with conventional Jedi tactics, stay on the defensive and try to wear his opponent down. But Rhys didn’t have time for another prolonged engagement. Kira didn’t have time.

In an echo of how Angral had started the battle, Rhys gathered the Force and leaped.

Angral was ready for him. He met Rhys’ charge with perfect form and tried once again to take control of the flow of their duel.

He did not succeed.

Rhys held nothing back. This was not the time for restraint. In his mind, reality crystallized until nothing remained save one simple concept: defeat Angral. That was all that mattered.

Pure instinct took over. The Force rose within him in a dizzying flood. He lashed out against Angral’s defenses with the full ferocity that the Juyo form could bring to bear. Strikes that would normally have been attempts to disarm became attempts to kill. His aggressive tactics left his defenses weak, and Angral’s lightsaber scored several quick gashes in his armor. A few cut deep enough to burn his flesh, but Rhys felt no pain. His universe contained only adrenaline and the whirl of lightsabers dancing a dance that would very soon come to an end.

“Where,” Angral demanded, slightly out of breath, “did this come from? This focus—this power—”

Rhys caught Angral’s lightsaber on both his blades and pushed forward. Angral staggered backward one step, then another.

“Admit it,” Angral panted. “You want me dead. You need it.”

“I’ll accept your surrender,” Rhys said through gritted teeth. “If you’re ready to give one.”

“Never.” The interlocked lightsabers sent colored highlights dancing over Angral’s pallid face as he smiled. “I can feel the fear rising within you—for yourself, the Child, your Jedi friends. It’s making you stronger. Perhaps even strong enough to defeat me.”

“I’m not afraid,” Rhys said hotly. “But I am going to defeat you.”

“Are you? Can you still call yourself a Jedi if you strike me down in anger?”

Rhys disengaged their lightsabers and stepped back into a guard position. “I’m not angry.”

It was true, although he was not feeling particularly calm either; there was too much adrenaline coursing through him for that. His heart pounded at a frantic rate, and worry for Kira had seized him with a tight, relentless hand, but despite these things he was grimly and resolutely focused.

“Perhaps not,” Angral conceded. “And still, your light seems to be fading. There is more to the dark side than hate, you know. You would have remarkable potential if you didn’t have to die—”

On the last word, he lunged, perhaps intending to catch him off guard. But the Force had already warned Rhys, and he had already started moving out of the way while beginning a counterattack. Instead of Angral’s lightsaber slashing through him, it was the other way around.

Angral made a soft, pained gasp and fell to his knees, his lightsaber tumbling from his hand. “You…”

“It’s over,” Rhys said grimly.

Angral collapsed silently onto the deck. In the Force, his presence flickered like a guttering candle.

Rhys looked past him to where the bridge crew stood watching silently, their expressions ranging from resignation to open shock.

“Your master is dead!” Rhys declared. Or at least, he will be soon. “You’ve lost.” He pointed one lightsaber at them. “I intend to blow up this ship. I suggest you not be on board when that happens.”

Please, he thought, just go. No one else needs to die today.

The crew exchanged glances, then began to scramble off the bridge. One man, a nondescript human in a technician’s uniform, lingered behind, watching Rhys appraisingly.

Rhys frowned at him. “Did I not make myself clear?”

“You’ve done well disposing of this traitor,” the technician remarked. “The Dark Council will be pleased. Rest assured my master will hear every detail of your victory.” He bowed deeply and left.

Rhys’ frown deepened. A spy…? Should I have stopped—no, it doesn’t matter now.

Darth Angral’s presence in the Force finally faded away to nothingness. Rhys looked somberly down at the corpse for a moment, then turned back to the dais. “Kira—”

Kira stood at the top of the stairs, emanating a faint red light. Her eyes were empty; Rhys could feel the void lurking behind them.

“Unfortunate,” the Emperor said. “Angral was useful.”

“No.” Choking despair rose black and bitter in Rhys’ chest. “Kira. Kira.”

“She should not have fought,” the Emperor said gravely. “She is my Child. It is her duty to obey.”

“Let her go,” Rhys snarled. Despair turned to molten anger in an instant. His lightsabers quivered in his hands as his entire body trembled from the force of it. “You want to fight me, do it yourself. Leave her out of this.”

“That is unnecessary. This Child will learn her place, and so will you.” The Emperor drew Kira’s lightsaber and activated a single blade. “I see futures in you. Futures I will not allow.”

He attacked. Rhys barely mustered his defense in time. He could feel the Emperor’s presence, knew it was the Emperor’s mind guiding the blows, but it was still Kira’s hand dealing them. It was Kira’s face watching him with an expression of cold, detached interest, as if he were a specimen in a lab.

For all his confident talk, the Emperor was no duelist. Rhys immediately spotted flaws in his offense, openings he could exploit. Instinct showed him the path to take: move his right-hand lightsaber like so, and so, and then bring the left around to—

To what? Strike down Kira?

It’s not Kira anymore, he tried to tell himself. She wouldn’t want to exist like this. Just like how Galen didn’t want to exist…

The moment passed, and the opening was gone.

I can’t do it, Rhys thought desperately. I just can’t.

He parried the Emperor’s attacks, giving ground. Kira’s empty eyes bored into him. Was she still in there somewhere? Or had the Emperor’s dark presence utterly consumed her?

She believed in me, Rhys thought. When everything seemed hopeless, when I had all but given up…she believed in me. I have to give her that same chance.

“Kira,” he said. “It’s not too late. You can fight him.”

“How amusing,” the Emperor remarked. “She cannot defy me.”

“You clearly don’t know Kira very well,” Rhys retorted. “Defiance is something she’s rather good at.”

“Her will is nothing beside my own.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Another opening presented itself. Rhys took it without thinking, letting instinct and the Force guide him. He lunged forward and disarmed the Emperor in a single, perfect strike.

Kira’s lightsaber rolled away across the deck. Rhys stepped back into a guard position. He’d executed the disarm perfectly, he noted with relief, with no injury to her hand.

“Like her, you are stubborn,” the Emperor stated. “It is not enough.”

He lifted Kira’s hands. Force lightning blazed towards Rhys; he raised his lightsabers just in time and caught it on crossed blades. Stray forks of electricity crackled all around him. Earlier, he had deflected Angral’s lightning easily enough, but this was different. This was like trying to hold back a flood.

He gritted his teeth and held his ground as best he could, but the dark energy pouring towards him seemed to only be getting stronger. Something had to give. Slowly, inexorably, his lightsabers were pushed back towards him.

“Kira,” Rhys gasped. “I know you can fight this. I know…”

Holding back the lightning was not only a physical effort, but a mental battle as well. He tried his best to shield himself from the terrible darkness pouring towards him, but he was already strained to the breaking point from fighting Angral. Earlier, he had been so consumed by adrenaline that he’d been beyond pain, but now agony blossomed in his arms, in his head. His lightsabers were shaking in his hands, stray sparks making their way past his defenses and scorching his robes.

All the while, Kira stared numbly at him, the violet-edged lightning casting eerie lights over her face and reflecting in her eyes.

The last of Rhys’ strength evaporated quite suddenly. He staggered and fell to his knees, lightsabers tumbling from hands that refused to cooperate any longer.

The Emperor’s power surged over him in a hungry tide.

Tongues of lightning crackled all around him, but it didn’t hurt. This was the dark side in its purest form, channeled by a being of incomprehensible power, and the sensation caused by that power was not pain any more than a glowrod was a star. The lightning left behind a feeling of pure, desolate emptiness, as if it were not damaging his body but rather corroding his very existence. He fought to hold on as reality twisted around him, fragments of thoughts speeding through his mind too quickly for him to catch hold of them. Where was he? The emptiness was swallowing him up, little by little, dragging his essence towards a yawning event horizon—

And then it stopped.

Awareness returned, and Rhys found himself curled up on the deck. Slowly, tentatively, he forced himself to raise his head and look around.

Kira still stood a short distance away. Arcs of lightning tangled around her, wrapping her in a scintillating cloud. Beneath the cloud, shadows grew, enveloping her until all that Rhys could see was an indistinct shape wrapped in darkness and electricity.

The Emperor’s voice sounded from within the cloud. “This Jedi will die. Even if you must die with him.”

“No,” Kira’s voice responded. “I won’t kill for you. I won’t!”

The shadow wavered. The lightning split and divided into increasingly smaller forks until it was gone. Kira slowly became visible again, darkness and red light interplaying and rippling over her body like light reflecting off the surface of water. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut; her arms hung stiff at her sides, quivering visibly as if under a great strain.

“I will not give in to you,” Kira whispered. “I am not yours any longer. I am a Jedi.”

Light pierced through the darkness surrounding her. It emanated from her skin, from beneath her closed eyelids. The darkness burned away, inch by inch, until it was completely gone. The light continued to strengthen, blazing around her and through her, and for a moment Rhys feared it would consume her.

Then the light faded, and only Kira remained. Rhys reached out with the Force, searching for the Emperor’s presence, but there was no trace of him.

Kira stared dazedly in front of her for a moment before her eyes tracked downward and went wide. “Rhysven!” She darted forward and skidded down onto one knee beside him. “Are you all right?”

“I feel like I should be the one asking you that,” Rhys said faintly, pushing himself up into a seated position.

“I’m fine, I think.” One corner of Kira’s mouth quirked upwards. “No, better than fine. It’s as if a shadow has been lifted from my mind that I never even knew was there.” Her half-smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. “I could have killed you.”

“The Emperor could have. You didn’t let him.” Rhys smiled at her, feeling light-headed. “You saved me.”

Kira frowned. “You seem awfully cheery about all of this.”

“What’s not to be cheery about?” Rhys looked around the bridge, which seemed to tilt wildly around him as he moved. “Angral and the Desolator have been dealt with, and even the Emperor couldn’t stop it. I’m pretty sure that means we won.”

“It…” Kira’s frown faded. “Well… When you put it like that, it sure seems that way, doesn’t it?”

Rhys kept smiling. Smiling felt good; it went well with the swimming sensation in his head. “We did it. We actually did it.”

“I almost can’t believe—hang on, my comm’s going off.” Kira took out her comlink. “Teeseven? Yes, I read you—no, he’s fine.” She glanced at Rhys. “I think his comm might have gotten a little fried, though…okay. Okay, we’ll meet you back at the Mistchaser.”

“What’s going on?” Rhys asked. His surroundings were starting to spin more slowly.

“Teeseven says taking out the Desolator’s power generators destabilized the ship’s systems. He’s managed to keep things together for a while, but if we don’t leave soon…”

“Ah,” Rhys murmured. “It would be unfortunate if we made it this far only to explode, wouldn’t it?”

“Quite.” Kira extended a hand. “Shall we?”

Rhys took her hand and levered himself to his feet. Reality wobbled around him, then steadied. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said softly.

Rhys thought she held onto his hand a bit longer than necessary before letting go and fetching all three of their lightsabers with a quick Force pull. He did his best to dismiss the notion as he accepted his weapons from her and clipped them back onto his belt. He was still a bit dazed, he told himself, and probably imagining things.

“Come on,” Kira said. “Let’s go tell everyone it’s all going to be okay.”

Sixty-Seven

Jedi Temple, Tython

35 ATC

The day that felt like the longest of Rhys’ life was finally coming to a close.

After reporting the details of Angral’s defeat to the Jedi Council and paying a brief visit to a medical droid, he had escaped to a quiet spot on the Temple roof. The temperature was beginning to drop as the evening wore on, but the metal roof tiles were still warm from the afternoon sun. Rhys was content to sit still, steady his breathing, and absorb the beauty of the landscape around him.

Below, the Temple grounds were laid out before him, well-tended and orderly. Further out, their neatness gave way without fuss to thick forest interspersed with sharp ridges of bare rock. A few curls of smoke rising up above the trees marked the position of Kalikori Village. Rhys let his gaze follow the smoke up into the sky, where it mingled with the dizzy scatter of clouds painted red and gold by the sinking sun.

Tython’s innate light was a comforting glow in the back of his mind. Perhaps the Council would let him stay for a while before sending him out into the galaxy again. What was it Kira had suggested he do? Go on a meditative retreat?

Kira. Worry pierced him like a dart, and the serene landscape was suddenly far less comforting a sight. They had spared no detail in their report to the Council—including, at long last, the truth of Kira’s origins.

He frowned down at the Temple grounds as worry turned to self-reproach. I shouldn’t have run off up here by myself. I should have stayed with her, made sure she was all right.

Surely, she was fine; she was Kira Carsen. She could handle anything the galaxy threw at her.

Rhys worried anyway.

He closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. She had to be down in the Temple somewhere. Could he pinpoint her in the midst of all the other Jedi? He focused his mind, stretching out with the Force.

For a moment, the metaphysical brilliance of many Jedi in one place combined with Tython’s own presence threatened to overwhelm him. He maintained his concentration, however, and one light emerged from the multitude. A presence that was shining, true and perfect.

Kira.

Rhys focused harder. The light was remarkably bright, and he thought he could almost feel its warmth against his skin—

“Hey.”

Rhys’ eyes snapped open. Kira stood directly in front of him.

She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, no,” Rhys said hastily. “You’re not. Not at all. I was just…meditating.”

“I tried that. Couldn’t get my mind to stop bouncing around. Mind if I join you?”

Rhys smiled up at her. “There’s plenty of space on this roof.”

She sat down next to him. “The masters should teach classes up here. The view is…” Her eyes drifted from the horizon to his face. “…very nice.”

“Yes,” Rhys said softly. “It is.”

Kira’s smile brightened for a moment, then faded. “How are you holding up?”

“I was going to ask you that.”

“I asked first.”

“I…” Rhys exhaled slowly. “I’m all right. I think it might take some time to fully process the reality of everything that’s happened, but I can handle it.”

“You realize you’re being hailed as a hero, right?”

Rhys grimaced. “I really thought Jedi didn’t make this big a deal out of things.”

“Is that why you’re up here? Hiding from all the congratulations?”

“Something like that,” Rhys muttered. “Seeing masters pointing me out as an example for wide-eyed Padawans…it feels too strange. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“That’s why I came up here to find you; it was the most isolated place I could think of short of actually leaving the Temple grounds.”

“I’m glad you found me, actually,” Rhys admitted. “I was…I was just thinking about you.”

Kira raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“After what happened with the Jedi Council, I was just wondering if, well—”

“Am I okay?” Kira sighed. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I thought they would—I don’t know what I thought they would do. Kick me out of the Order, throw me in jail, pick apart my brain to figure out what the Emperor did to it…okay, maybe not that last one. Jedi aren’t big on vivisection, thank the Force.”

“I didn’t realize you were so worried.” Guilt gnawed at him; he should have noticed, he should have said something, but no, he’d been too focused on his own doubts. Looking inward when he should have been thinking about others.

Rhys silently vowed not to let that happen again.

“I don’t think I realized either. Not until I was actually standing there saying the words.” Kira frowned. “I just wasn’t ready for the way they all looked at me. The way Master Kiwiiks looked at me. Like they’d never seen me before.”

Rhys weighed his options and tried for gentle humor. “To be fair, I had trouble imagining you as a Sith too.”

“I know, black just isn’t my color.” Kira gave a brief, self-deprecating grin, then became serious once more. “I know it sounds silly, but I guess after all the worst-case scenarios I was imagining, I wasn’t ready for them to just…accept me.”

“You’re a good person. The Council knows that.”

“I do my best. Still, I’m worried.” She frowned off into the distance. “There’s so much we don’t understand about the Emperor’s power. I broke free of his control once; does that mean I’m inoculated now? Or could he make me turn on you again someday?”

“That doesn’t seem likely to me. You’ve proven that you’re capable of resisting his control, and the Emperor strikes me as the kind of Sith who only bets on a sure thing.”

Kira raised an eyebrow. “That is word-for-word what you told the Jedi Council.”

“It seemed like you needed to hear it again.”

“Well…maybe I did.” Kira smiled faintly. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate you standing up for me like that, by the way.”

“It was the least I could do,” Rhys murmured.

“Still, you didn’t have to.”

He met her eyes. “I trust you, Kira.”

“Likewise.” Kira glanced down for a moment. “I do feel bad that Master Kiwiiks is taking a leave of absence from active service, but honestly, I’m glad that the Council decided to officially make me your Padawan. I’d hate to split up the team after all the good we’ve done.”

“I’m glad too,” Rhys admitted. “I—I would miss you.”

“I’d miss you too.” Her smile widened, warm and bright. “I never felt this close to Master Kiwiiks, you know.”

Transfixed by that smile, Rhys fumbled for a response. “Adversity forges bonds,” he managed. “Or—so they say.”

“We’ve certainly faced our share of adversity.”

“Maybe now the galaxy will calm down for a bit.”

“That would be nice. Do Jedi take vacations?”

Rhys gestured around the rooftop and the scenic vista beyond. “I think this is a Jedi vacation we’re doing right now.”

“Ah. Well, at least the company’s good.”

“It most certainly is.”

“I guess we should enjoy it while it lasts.” Kira sighed wistfully and looked out at the sunset.

Rhys nodded in agreement. They sat in companionable silence as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky.

The Citadel, Dromund Kaas

35 ATC

Letters blurred in Saryn’s vision as she stared numbly at the ancient Sith tome lying open on the table before her.

It felt strange to be back in her apartment on Dromund Kaas, and stranger still to be alone. For nearly a year, Xalkory had been her nigh-constant shadow, and despite her initial misgivings, she had grown accustomed to his presence. With Darth Angral dead, however, the threat to her had passed, and so Xalkory had returned to his normal duties as Darth Nox’s apprentice.

She had expected to be relieved to resume her quiet, solitary existence. Instead…

Saryn sighed down at the book. Her mind had wandered yet again. At this rate, she was never going to get any proper research done. She reached for her datapad, determined to take at least a few notes, but was interrupted halfway through the motion by her holocomm chiming to indicate an incoming call.

She activated the device without checking the caller’s identity. A miniaturized hologram of Xalkory Arenthe appeared.

Saryn schooled her face to impassiveness, although her heartbeat had accelerated rapidly at the sight of him. “This is a surprise.”

Xalkory smiled. “Not a bad one, I hope?”

“Not at all,” Saryn assured him. “So, to what do I owe the occasion? Does Nox need me for something?”

“That depends on your definition of ‘need.’ My master is throwing a party tonight, and…” Xalkory made a show of putting a hand to his forehead and surveying his surroundings. “I can’t help but notice that you’re not here.”

Saryn noticed he was wearing a much more ornate version of his usual armor. “I have work to do.”

“I thought you might have plunged headlong back into your research.”

“You know me too well.”

Xalkory’s smile widened. “Can I convince you to take a night off and join me? No one else at this party is nearly as interesting a conversationalist as you.”

“Given the company Nox cultivates, I don’t believe that for a second.”

“It’s true. I swear.” Xalkory laid a hand over his heart. “Please? I can feel the boredom starting to set in. It’s terrible. I implore you, spare me from this torment.”

“Well…” Saryn glanced from the tome to the hologram, then smiled. “I suppose one night can’t hurt.”

“Wonderful.”

“I need some time to get ready, though.”

“I shall endeavor to be patient.” Xalkory looked around. “But really, take your time. This looks like it will carry on the whole night at least.”

“I’ll see you soon, then,” Saryn promised, and ended the call.

An hour later, having made herself presentable as quickly as she could manage, she made her way through the corridors of the Citadel to the chamber where Nox usually held her parties. She wore the same dress she had been wearing the last time she’d attended one of Nox’s parties, a high-necked sleeveless affair of blue shimmersilk a few shades darker than her eyes. It might have been considered a slight faux pas to wear the same outfit twice in a row, but a year had elapsed between the two events and she was quite fond of that particular dress.

Xalkory was waiting outside the door. “Perfect timing,” he declared as she approached. “You’re now fashionably late.”

“I told you, I had to get ready.”

“And you look beautiful—if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Warmth rose in Saryn’s face, and she felt decidedly vindicated in her choice of dress. “I don’t mind at all.”

He held out an arm. “Shall we?”

Saryn stepped forward and took it, and together they entered the chamber.

The space was crowded with the usual assortment of Sith and high-ranking Imperials, all dressed in their finest garb. There had been no official reason given for the impromptu gathering, but there was no doubt in Saryn’s mind that Darth Angral’s demise was the true theme of the evening. He had made an enemy of Nox, and so she celebrated his end, regardless of how well-respected he had been by some.

“Quite a large crowd tonight,” Saryn noted.

“Everyone wants to show Nox they’re on their best behavior.”

“No doubt.” The memory of Acina’s voice flashed through Saryn’s mind: simply because she could…

“Speaking of Nox, we ought to find her. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you’re here.”

“She may be less delighted to see I’m distracting her apprentice from his duties,” Saryn said dryly.

“And what duties would those be, exactly?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be maintaining order? Drunken Sith and all that.”

“Khem Val’s on watch tonight.” Xalkory gestured over to one corner of the room. “Nox gave him leave to eat anyone who misbehaves.”

Saryn followed his motion and found the Dashade looming over the nearest guests, who were giving him a wide berth. “As much as I’d love to see his Force-consuming abilities in action, I think I can do without the more literal consuming part.”

“Let’s hope no one does anything foolish, then. Shall we find my master?”

Saryn wound her arm more tightly around his. “I’m guessing she’s located squarely at the center of attention.”

“Naturally.”

Xalkory set off into the crowd. Saryn was content to let him tow her along beside him. The other guests were quick to move out of their way; Nox’s apprentice and the Wrath’s daughter made for a formidable combination.

The faces were starting to blur together when the nearest group of Imperial nobles bowed and moved to one side, revealing a pair of familiar Sith. Saryn had not expected to see either of them, and let go of Xalkory’s arm in surprise.

Jaesa Willsaam smiled as her yellow eyes fell upon Saryn. Her dark red dress was sleek and elegant, accented with angular embroidery that recalled ancient Sith writing. She wore simple black gloves over the dress’ long sleeves, and cradled a glass of something clear and bubbly in one hand.

Beside her, Lord Praven made for an imposing figure in classically-styled gray armor. His bearing was different than Saryn remembered from the times she’d met him during his meetings with her mother. Whether it had been deference for the Wrath or shame over being a spy, she wasn’t sure, but there had always been something restrained about him. Now, he seemed to be standing taller than ever, proud, as if daring anyone to challenge him over his recent allegiances.

Xalkory accepted that challenge with icy enthusiasm. “Lord Praven,” he stated in the most openly threatening tone Saryn had ever heard him use. “I was not aware Darth Nox had extended her invitation to the apprentices of traitors.”

“Darth Angral was not my true master,” Praven said, unruffled. “Now that he is gone, I wish to make my real loyalties clear.”

“You betrayed Angral, then?” Xalkory’s voice remained cool. “Given your reputation as a Sith of rare integrity, I find that difficult to believe.”

Jaesa took half a step forward. “You sound awfully accusatory. I don’t think I like that.”

“It’s all right,” Saryn said quickly. “I can vouch for Praven. He spied on Angral on my mother’s behalf for a long time.”

“Did he, now?” Xalkory hesitated for a moment, then gave an incremental nod in Praven’s direction. “If Saryn says your intentions are genuine, then I believe her. You have my apologies.”

“Your suspicion is understandable,” Praven said smoothly. “I do not blame you for being wary.”

“I would be very interested to hear how you came to serve the Wrath,” Xalkory said.

“I realized that Angral was no longer the man he had once been.” Praven glanced at Jaesa. “I was…given an opportunity.”

Jaesa smiled and sipped her drink. “I’m an excellent judge of character.”

“I had hoped to report to the Wrath in person,” Praven said with a slight frown. “But not even Jaesa knows where she is. Lady Saryn, I don’t suppose you—”

“I’m sorry,” Saryn cut him off. “In this matter, I am no better-informed than you.”

A tense silence ensued.

“I was reviewing some intelligence reports recently,” Xalkory said abruptly. “Praven, I understand you had an encounter with the Jedi who killed Angral?”

“I did,” Praven replied. “Rhysven D’Anshir is a formidable Jedi, despite his youth. He bested me in single combat on Tatooine.”

“Formidable indeed,” Jaesa commented.

“You said he defeated you,” Saryn said. “How did you escape?”

“It was not an escape as such,” Praven explained. “We had an agreement: he won the duel, I gave him the codes to the weapon Angral had stolen. He told me to leave, and I felt it best not to force the issue.”

“He let his enemy simply walk away?” Xalkory shook his head. “Jedi.”

“Jedi,” Jaesa echoed. “They never change, do they?”

“I can’t pretend to understand why he would show me such mercy,” Praven said. “But, truth be told, I am grateful to be given this second chance to serve the Empire.”

“You seem a noble man, Praven—” Saryn started.

“He is,” Jaesa put in. “I checked.”

“—and I think you’ll be a fine official addition to the Wrath’s power base,” Saryn continued smoothly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really ought to speak with Darth Nox.”

Praven bowed politely. “My lady.”

Jaesa’s eyes flickered between Saryn and Xalkory. “Have fun.”

“You too,” Saryn said quickly, then hastened away before Jaesa could comment further.

“So how did Praven end up serving the Wrath?” Xalkory asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

“I don’t know the details. I just went to see Mother one day and there he was.”

“He and Jaesa seem…friendly.”

“They do, don’t they?” Saryn mused. “I would expect them to know each other; Mother surely had Jaesa confirm Praven’s intentions. Yet it seems as if they’re here at this party, well, together.”

“It makes a certain sense,” Xalkory said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it was Jaesa who convinced Praven to betray Angral. She seemed to be hinting as much.”

“I noticed that. If they’re involved, my mother clearly doesn’t know; the last time I talked to her, she tried to set Praven up with me.”

Xalkory paused in midstep. “She what?”

“She made a half-hearted attempt to point out some of Praven’s more appealing attributes.” Saryn eyed him; he seemed to be looking everywhere but at her. “I told her not to bother. I have no interest in him.”

“Good.” Xalkory cleared his throat. “I mean—he’s a bit old for you, isn’t he?”

“A bit, yes. Honestly, I’m not sure what Mother was thinking. Just trying to distract herself, I suppose.” She shook her head, trying to ward off dark thoughts. “Can we just…I think I sense Nox over there.”

“Of course.”

They made their way through the crowd and out of it, entering a small circle of empty space centered around a table laden with drinks of every imaginable color, consistency, and luminosity.

Darth Nox stood near the table with her back to Saryn and Xalkory, brandishing a glass of something purplish-black. In front of her, Darth Ravage seemed to have deliberately planted himself between her and the table.

“You are no fun,” Nox informed him as Saryn and Xalkory approached. “No fun at all.”

Ravage glared at her. “I am not letting you ‘electrify the beverages.’ It won’t work.”

Nox put her drink-free hand on her hip. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Ravage retorted. “Alcohol doesn’t conduct electricity.”

“What if it’s a lot of electricity?”

“You’ll make the glasses explode.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little molten glass,” Nox said mockingly.

Saryn looked over at Xalkory. “You might have warned me she was in a mood,” she whispered.

“Sorry,” Xalkory whispered back. “She was fine earlier. I blame Ravage. Or the alcohol. Or both.”

“Oh, look,” Ravage said loudly. “It’s your apprentice.”

Nox turned around. Her dress was pure black and devoid of any adornment, cut low in the front with long sleeves and a skirt that pooled on the floor around her. She wore her hair in loose waves around her shoulders, bright against the dress’ dark fabric. Clasped around her neck was a collar of intricately worked silvery metal.

Xalkory bowed deeply. “I’ve brought a special guest, my lord.”

Saryn mimicked his bow. “Good evening, my lord.”

Nox smiled brightly. “Saryn! I’m so pleased to see you, my dear. Xalkory, since you have a moment, I need you to find Lord Rhiaa. Tell her to give the information directly to you; I am preoccupied with other matters.”

“Yes, master.” Xalkory caught Saryn’s eye and gave a brief, apologetic smile, then walked away.

Nox turned back to Saryn. “Again, it’s good to see you. I thought you might be too busy with your research to make an appearance this evening.”

“Xalkory convinced me, my lord,” Saryn admitted. “I came by to pay my respects.”

“You and half the Empire,” Ravage commented. “The way everyone’s been carrying on, you’d think she killed Angral, not that Jedi.”

“Didn’t I, though?” Nox took a long sip of her drink. “Did I not throw him to the metaphorical tuk’ata? Did I not, through inaction, allow him to bring about his own destruction?” She drained the remaining contents of her glass. “I believe I did. I warned him. And now he’s dead. You’d think, after all these years, the Sith would learn.”

“Angral was a Great War hardliner,” Ravage said dismissively. “You know what they say about teaching an old dog new tricks.”

Nox grinned at him. “And yet you heel when I tell you.”

“I have better survival instincts than most,” Ravage murmured.

“Is that what you’re calling it these days?” Nox thrust her glass at him. “Fetch me more wine, Lord Survival Instincts.”

“I’m not fetching you anything.”

“Then get out of the way.”

“And give you a clear shot to put a Force storm in the punch bowl?” Ravage sighed. “Fine.” He took Nox’s glass, refilled it from a bottle on the table, and handed it back to her. “Thirty years on the Dark Council, and this is what I’ve been reduced to.”

“You know you love it.” Nox turned back to Saryn, swirling the contents of her glass. “I’m just glad Angral never sent any assassins after you, dear.”

“I’m a little disappointed, to be honest,” Saryn said. “It could have been an interesting experience.”

“Ah, the enthusiasm of youth,” Nox sighed. “I do hope having Xalkory around did not inconvenience you too much.”

“Actually,” Saryn murmured, “I’ve rather enjoyed his company.”

Nox smirked. “I knew you’d come around. Consider it a trial run of having an apprentice of your own.”

Whatever her relationship with Xalkory had developed into, Saryn was reasonably certain that master and apprentice was not the term to describe it. She was not about to admit that to Nox, however, and she certainly didn’t want to say anything in front of Ravage.

“I’m beginning to understand the appeal, my lord,” she said politely.

“You realize the two of them are probably plotting against you, now,” Ravage quipped.

“I assure you,” Saryn said quickly, “I am not plotting anything.”

Neglecting to inform Nox of Acina’s survival didn’t count as plotting, she told herself. Just a lie of omission, no ill intent at all.

“Of course you aren’t. You’re a bright girl.” Nox gave Ravage a pointed look. “If only all Sith were as bright as you.”

“Oh, please,” Ravage scoffed. “I haven’t plotted against you in years.”

“I’m still not sure whether you actually changed your mind about me…” Nox sipped her drink. “…or whether you just ran out of assassins willing to take the job.”

“I decided if you were to be killed, I’d like to do it myself.”

“Is that so?” Nox purred. “Tell me, do you still dream of your hands around my throat…or mine around yours?”

Ravage shook his head. “I always forget how ridiculous you become when you’ve been drinking.”

“Ridiculous, am I? I’ll show you ridiculous.” Nox took an emphatic swig. “There once was a Sith named Darth Ravage.”

Ravage sighed heavily.

“Who was known to be ruthless and savage.” Nox smiled impishly. “He said murder has no rules—”

“Never going to let that one go, are you?”

“And honor is for fools—” Nox paused, tapping her fingers against the rim of her glass. “Only rhyme I can think of is ‘cabbage.’”

“That’s not a rhyme!” Ravage protested.

“Sure it is. It has all the same vowel sounds.”

“That doesn’t—”

And that’s my cue to make a break for it, Saryn thought. “I’ll leave you to your, uh, discussion, my lords,” she said quickly. “Good evening.”

She strode off into the crowd, intending to find Xalkory. There was no sign of him, however, and the buzz of conversation and the mental weight of other beings’ presence in the Force began to weigh on her. Feeling suddenly stifled, she made her way across the chamber to the first exit she saw. The door slid open at her approach; she stepped through it and found herself alone on a balcony. The door closed behind her, muffling the sounds of the party.

The balcony overlooked Kaas City. Saryn leaned on the railing and looked out across the urban expanse, an island of hard shapes and lights amidst the formless darkness of the jungle. It was a rare clear night; stars were visible in the sky even through the light of the city. Far out on the horizon, however, a flash of lightning caught her eye. A storm was building, somewhere out there in the dark.

She watched the area where she’d seen the flash, listening for thunder, but it seemed it was too distant to hear. A feeling of cosmic unease rose in the back of her mind. Darth Angral’s death had set events into motion, although the exact nature of those events had yet to be revealed. Her dreams had been filled with more violence than usual. The galaxy had taken the first steps onto a path, and they were all racing inexorably towards the end like boats caught up in the current leading to a waterfall.

Behind her, she heard the door open, followed by footsteps and the feeling of a familiar presence.

“I apologize if I’m disturbing you,” Xalkory said. “I can go if you’d rather be alone.”

“Stay.” Saryn turned to look at him and smiled. “Your company isn’t unwelcome. I simply needed a respite from all of, well, that.” She gestured back towards the door.

“It can get a bit overwhelming, I agree.” Xalkory took up a position at the railing beside her.

“After everything we went through recently, I do feel a bit silly being intimidated by a room full of well-dressed people who aren’t even trying to kill me.”

“I think many Sith prefer life-and-death struggles over socializing.”

“You say that as if they aren’t one and the same.”

“Sometimes they are and sometimes they aren’t. For example, we’re socializing right now, but you’re not in any danger from me.”

“Nor you from me,” Saryn murmured. “Isn’t that nice?”

More lightning flickered on the horizon, followed by barely audible thunder.

“A storm is coming,” Xalkory remarked.

Saryn nodded. “Both literally and metaphorically, I think.”

He frowned. “You’ve seen something?”

“Not specifically. I just have this feeling.”

“It makes sense. After what Angral did, the Republic may very well want to retaliate.”

“If they do, we’ll be ready for them.”

Xalkory nodded. “So what’s next for you, if I may ask? Back to your research?”

“That is my plan, yes.” Saryn paused. “I also intend to spend some time with my father. He can always use a Sith at his right hand, and if the Empire goes to war…” She swallowed hard. “I may not get to see very much of him for a long time.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to spend time with you as well.”

“Yes,” Saryn said softly. “I…I suppose I won’t be seeing you very often going forward either, will I?”

Xalkory slowly shook his head. “Nox usually keeps me busy.”

Saryn looked at him, taking in every detail. His harsh Sith Pureblood features seemed designed for arrogant expressions, but there was only gentleness in the way he was looking at her. His ember-colored eyes held a warm, comforting fire.

“I’m going to miss you,” she admitted.

“Really?” One brow-ridge went up. “I thought you’d be happy to be able to do your research without me hovering over you.”

“I would have thought so too, but…” Saryn smiled wistfully. “I’ve never really had someone I could simply talk to without having to worry about Sith schemes. Someone I can trust enough to just be myself.”

“I’m flattered that you would place that kind of trust in me.” Xalkory looked out over the cityscape. “Truthfully, I…will miss you too. I’ve enjoyed your company a great deal.” He turned back towards her with a wry grin. “In fact, I’d say there’s no one else I’d rather tour an exploding ship or be captured by a former Dark Council member with.”

“It did get exciting towards the end, didn’t it?”

“Speaking of which, if Nox knows about our little escapade, she hasn’t asked me about it. I hope to keep it that way; she has enough to worry about without adding mysterious threats from the Unknown Regions to the list.”

“Agreed.”

“I think we ought to have a toast,” Xalkory said. “To friendship, and to surviving the aforementioned escapade. Shall I fetch us some drinks?”

“Assuming Nox hasn’t obliterated the table, that would be lovely.”

Xalkory laughed. “I’ll return shortly.”

Saryn smiled at him as he walked away. The expression faded as the door closed behind him and she returned her attention to the view.

To friendship, he’d said. Was that how he saw her?

I suppose I’m happy with that, she thought. But is that what I really want? Or was I beginning to hope for something more?

The storm on the horizon was drawing nearer, thunderheads rolling in to block the stars one by one. Saryn shivered as she watched the oncoming darkness; it reminded her of a vision she’d had.

I have no business fretting over my feelings for Xalkory, whatever they may be, she told herself. I’ll enjoy the rest of this night—just this night. After that, I have to return to my research. I have to find to a way to free my mother from the Emperor’s control. I can’t afford to be distracted.

Xalkory returned a few minutes later with refreshments in hand. Saryn smiled and laughed and indulged in safe, friendly conversation. All the while, in her peripheral vision, she watched the storm approach.

The Empire, and her mother, were running out of time.

Emperor’s Space Station, Imperial Space

35 ATC

The vast expanse of the throne room roiled and echoed with the Emperor’s rage.

Darth A’tro stood beside the throne, hands clasped neatly in front of her. Far above, lightning crackled in the hollows of the ceiling, filling the air with the scent of ozone. The lights along the edge of the chamber flickered erratically as the storm interfered with the station’s electrical system.

On the throne itself, the Emperor’s black-shrouded form was a silhouette of pure void that even the lightning could not seem to fully illuminate. Twin points of red light gleamed from within the shadow of his hood.

“She dares,” Vitiate growled. Thunder echoed through the chamber as if in response. “My own Child defies me. Betrays me!”

A small part of A’tro wanted to be satisfied at the thought of a creature defying the Emperor’s will. Awash in his power, however, she could feel nothing but the anger crashing around her and through her. It made her angry too. How could some small, insignificant Jedi defy this terrible darkness? It seemed impossible.

“This cannot be permitted,” Vitiate whispered. “My wayward Daughter will be punished. She will learn that in the end, I am inevitable. There is no escape.”

“Shall I hunt her for you, my master?” A’tro asked.

“No. Not yet. The time is not right.” Vitiate leaned back in his throne. “For now, my Wrath, I am much more interested in my Child’s Jedi companion…”

The storm in the chamber began to subside. In the wake of the thunder came a silence so deep it seemed as if the universe itself were holding its breath.