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The Academy: Acolyte Ascension


Osetto

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Chapter Twenty Five: Partners

 

Emerging from the mists was Lord Tash, garbed in his suit of armor, saber ignited within his hand. Darth Omnus watched as the figure approached with a calm and collected gait, a smirk planted firmly upon his face.

 

“It’s good to see you, Darth Omnus,” Tash declared. “I promised Syrosk I’d keep an eye on you.”

 

“I know… exactly why you are here,” Omnus admitted.

 

“Is that so. Let me guess. A vision?” Tash asked in a mocking tone.

 

“Yes. I’ve come to terms with my fate. I know that today is the day I die. And I know that it will not be at the hands of the Republic.”

 

The smile faded from Tash’s face. His eye twitched and he let out a snarl as he rushed to be face to face with the Darth. Omnus didn’t move an inch from his position, watching as the younger Human’s nostrils flared as he locked eyes with his own.

 

“How dare you call yourself a Sith,” Tash said through gritted teeth. “How could you just lay down and accept your fate?”

 

“I’ll not lay down. I plan to continue standing when I meet my end. But there is nothing worth doing beyond that.”

 

“Then you are weak,” Tash declared. “There is always something worth doing! If you will not fight, no matter what, you are no Sith! Syrosk will be better off without you.”

 

“Of that I am certain. After all, it is the natural progression of things for an apprentice to take his master’s place. There is nothing left for me to teach him. He can survive on his own now.”

 

“You Seers truly are blind. Without you, Syrosk is nothing to the Empire. Without a master, no Sith will tolerate him, no matter the skills he may possess.”

 

“Except, of course, you,” Omnus suggested. “I am not as blind as you might think. I know the only reason you have remained close to my apprentice is because you knew you had something to gain.”

 

“Selfishness is in our nature,” Tash declared. “I have much to gain by using Syrosk’s talents, but I am not shackled by the petty ambitions of lesser Sith. I am going to change the Empire. And your apprentice is going to help me.”

 

“I’m sure he will,” Omnus commented. Tash continued to stare down the elderly Human. “What’s the matter? Expected more? More declarations? More explanations? More protest? You despise mysteries, don’t you? Ever since you were a student of Leshai. You were kept in the dark. Given absolutely nothing. And everything he did, you could never understand even to the day you killed him. And you hated him for it. He possessed unlimited knowledge while you wallowed in confusion. You couldn’t understand how someone like him could end things the way he did. You can’t understand how I stand before you right now, unafraid of my own death.”

 

“Your kind don’t deserve the knowledge you’re given! If given the answers you or Leshai had access to, I would be on the Dark Council by now!”

 

“Knowledge is worthless. Wisdom, is what has value,” Omnus explained. “And that is the last you’ll hear from me. If you intend to end my life I suggest you-“

 

Without another word, Tash lifted his saber and plunged the blade through Darth Omnus’ chest. The elderly Human maintained a stoic facade, even as the life left his body. The Sith Lord withdrew his blade, allowing the Darth to slump and sink into the wet ground. The area had become consumed by silence. Tash stood alone, surrounded by fog and the fallen bodies of Republic and Imperial forces. The Lord reached down and retrieved the lightsaber hanging from Omnus’ belt, then did the same with the Jedi, picking up the weapon that stuck out of the mud a short distance away. With that, he departed, leaving the scene to its stillness.

 

----------

 

Korriban. Omnus’ sanctum. Within the living area, Lord Syrosk and Vai Thorel sat locked in mutual meditation. Meditation that was interrupted by a series of soft knocks on the door. Syrosk stirred from his trance and rose to his feet, signaling the young apprentice to stay put. Opening the door, Syrosk was greeted with the sight of Lord Tash, donned in his battle attire, baring none of his usual jovialness.

 

“Tash? What are you doing here?” Syrosk asked.

 

“Syrosk it’s… it’s about your master,” Tash began, almost whispering. “Omnus… I’m sorry, he didn’t make it.”

 

Syrosk took a step back, breathless, as he clutched at his chest, gripping the amulet that rest beneath his robes. Tash rushed in, stabilizing his friend as his legs grew weak.

 

“Omnus… he’s dead?” Syrosk muttered, increasingly exasperated. “How is this possible?”

 

“He was ambushed by a Jedi strike team,” Tash explained. “The planet we were on was dense with natural cover, it only bolstered the Jedi’s stealth tactics. They blocked communications, masked their presence. It was a miracle I was able to find them… but I was too late.”

 

“You… you were there… you said you’d protect him,” Syrosk rasped, gripping at the other Lord’s shoulders.

 

“I know I did. And I tried. I really did,” Tash somberly explained, He felt the alien’s grip lessen, fury turning to solemn despair. The Human guided Syrosk to the dining table where he sat him down. Reaching behind his back, Tash retrieved two lightsabers from his belt and placed them on the table. Syrosk’s eyes widened at the sight of the objects. One was utterly simple with a black case, absolutely no frivolous adornments. The other was an regally crafted silver hilt.

 

“His saber…”

 

“And the one that belonged to the Jedi that ended his life. I plucked it from his cold, dead hand after I killed him. His squad was weakened, almost reduced to nothing. Omnus put up a valiant fight, if only I could have reached him sooner. I’m sorry.”

 

“No. It’s okay Tash,” Syrosk stated, not lifting his eyes from the items on the table, followed by a few beats of silence. “I think I’ve done all I can for your apprentice. He’s a good student. Everything else is up to you and him. Now I’d… like to be alone. I’ve some things to take care of.”

 

“If you need anything, please, do not hesitate to ask,” Tash said, placing a gentle hand on the Lord’s shoulder.

 

“Omnus took our ship when he left for war. I could use a new one.”

 

“That can be arranged. Anything else?”

 

“No. Just some time for myself.”

 

Tash offered a silent nod as he called to his apprentice. He raised himself from the floor, having knelt patiently throughout the entire proceedings. The master and apprentice exited the establishment, Tash looking back one final time to see Syrosk still staring at his master’s lightsaber.

 

The door shut and the alien Lord was left alone with his thoughts. His fists clenched as an intense anger brewed within him. Snatching up his master’s weapon, Syrosk leapt to his feet and ventured deeper into the sanctum. Within his personal dwelling, he opened the door to his closet where his suit of armor resided. Reaching in, Syrosk grasped his old helmet and began staring into its featureless visage. Two slots rest on either side of the helm for the alien’s horns. When fully garbed for battle, the Sith Lord was nothing but a shadow. A horned devil. He saw the helmet as a tool for fear, one he could use against the Republic. And use it he did.

 

Syrosk received his new ship, and with it he ventured to the frontlines with his master’s saber in hand. He was a warrior with no face. A force of nature. In the presence of his fellow Sith, he never removed his mask. Never spoke. Never revealed his identity. He simply longed for battle, and the chance to strike down the Knights of the Republic.

 

For two years he did battle against the Jedi, against the Republic. His armor was battered and beaten, burnt and slashed. And as time went on his body fared no better. But he refused to yield, driven by the purest of passions. But his righteous drive would prove his undoing. He could not rest. He could not falter. But over the course of constant warfare, he could not forestall defeat.

 

He charged alongside his fellow Sith in battle, lashing out at the forces of the Republic. But during one such battle, the force of a blow knocked the helmet from his head. In the aftermath, his Sith allies could only stare at the alien. The veil had been lifted. The shadow had been given form. And they found it unsuitable. Syrosk was cast out with none to speak on his defense. No troop would have him. No Sith would command him. He was utterly alone. Abandoned. The thoughts and feelings of his fellows seeped into his head. His rank had lost its meaning. He had reached his endpoint. He could not continue alone.

 

He reached out to the only person in the Sith Empire he knew he could count on.

 

----------

 

16 BTC

 

Within the cockpit of their Fury-class Interceptor, Tash and his apprentice were eating a meal of rations.

 

“You know, I was thinking,” Thorel spoke up, taking a bite of his brick of rations. “My attire could use a little updating.”

 

The apprentice was approaching twenty years of age. His face was soft, possessing zero signs of scarring or fatigue. His garb was a simple set of dark gray, form-fitting robes, unadorned and without armoring.

 

“What, do you want a cape or something?” Tash asked, himself dressed in his casual black robes.

 

Thorel recoiled. “Ugh, no.”

 

“Wait, what’s wrong with a cape?”

 

“I was thinking a coat, or something. Not a cape.”

 

“I’ll have you know capes are a sign of dignity and superiority.”

 

“Do you want a cape?” Thorel asked.

 

Cutting off the pair’s conversation was the blip on the ship’s control console signaling an incoming holo-call. The master and apprentice shared a knowing glance and a series of nods as they lifted themselves from their seats and make their way to the center of the ship. Activating the holoterminal, the grainy image of Lord Syrosk appeared. His body was encased in his battle attire, face exposed.

 

“Syrosk… we haven’t heard from you in so long,” Tash stated with worry. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yes, I’m… no, actually,” Syrosk rasped, his voice and posture exuding exhaustion. “I… I need your help.”

 

“Of course, of course, whatever you need,” Tash replied.

 

“I’m afraid… I could use another ship. They broke your first one,” Syrosk explained.

 

“The Republic?”

 

“The Sith.”

 

“I see. Don’t worry, give us your coordinates and Thorel and I will pick you up ourselves,” Tash explained. Syrosk’s image faded and a series of coordinates were uploaded to the Fury’s galaxy map. “The time has come, my apprentice. Now we must build, rather than destroy.”

 

“I’ve been a Sith long enough to know the two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Thorel pleasantly offered.

 

“I see you are not without wisdom, my apprentice,” Tash admitted.

 

“Syrosk was more than just mental defense tutor,” Thorel explained.

 

“Yes, and now, without his master, hopefully his ideals and talents can be used to their fullest potential.”

 

The pair made their way to Syrosk’s coordinates, where the three of them would make plans to change the Empire forever.

 

----------

 

Tash, Thorel, and Syrosk stood together as they waited for their ship to drop out of hyperspace over Korriban. The alien explained his actions over the last months, fighting for the sake of the Empire but being looked down upon, even lashed out at by his fellow Lords upon the revelation of his identity. As much as he despised the Jedi, his faith in the Sith Order was faltering. Tash offered a remedy.

 

For as much as Syrosk thought himself without allies, Tash knew of one besides himself. The headmaster of the Korriban Academy. Though the Empire no longer desired the services of Omnus and Syrosk, the headmaster was indebted to them for reestablishing the institution.

 

With Syrosk calling upon that debt and Tash pulling every string attached to his domain, they would set out to start a new classroom of Sith acolytes. Syrosk would meditate, searching for applicants ineligible for Academy acceptance. Thorel would follow Syrosk’s visions and gather the Force-sensitive children. Tash would do everything necessary to keep the operation running smoothly.

 

Even with the headmaster’s blessing, Tash knew they could not operate in the open. The Korriban Academy was an extensive facility, having received renovations since its reopening. But there rest untouched chambers. Halls dug low and deep into the surrounding mountains, even bordering some of the tombs the rest near the Academy. Halls not used since the institutions previous occupiers. Halls that would once again serve a purpose.

 

But if he wanted things to go according to plan, Tash needed to do more. He knew nothing escaped the attention of those higher up. He needed to assuage them. From the ground up, Tash ensured the acolytes wouldn't be admitted like normal students, nor treated like them. They could be guided along certain paths. If there was one thing a Sith Lord would appreciate more than an ancient artifact, it would be a loyal servant. And Tash knew how to make some.

 

Tash utilized those who continued to follow him since Leshai’s demise. The their number had shrunk recent years, there were still some to call upon. From them, he would find suitable instructors, who could teach acolytes in an altered form of Sith instruction befitting the students’ impure heritages. Each person who would gaze upon his crop would need to see a purpose in them. And Tash provided many. Indoctrinated servants. Tools of war, loyal to the Empire and only the Empire. The definitive next generation of Sith. But in the end, only Tash knew the true purpose of these students. Not his apprentice. Not Syrosk. Not the students themselves.

 

The foundations were in place. Tash had made his arrangements, his gambits. All that was left was to see them pan out, carefully managing expectations and perceptions along the way. Over the next few years, Syrosk would receive visions, and for once had he someone willing to act upon them. The two Sith Lords were partners, striving for a better future. For whom, however, depended on the Lord.

 

The time came when Tash’s classrooms were filled. Students were divided and assigned to suitable instructors. However, the time had also come for the two Lords to part ways my no amicable means. It was only natural, as confrontation runs through the Sith like blood. After seeking out the last of the future acolytes, Syrosk had one final vision. One that would prove to clash with Tash’s own.

 

Lord Tash severed all ties with the alien Lord. Once more Syrosk was alone, having lost everything. Everyone. A lone candle ready to be snuffed out by the first unpleasant Sith to cross his path. He had nothing but his master's saber and a set of armor. And once more he intended to put them to use. He had already lost so much. His master. His friend. His future. He didn’t care if his time was over. He marched to battle, uncaring of what his fellow Sith thought. He vowed to never hide his visage again. He vowed to keep fighting until he expired. But after countless battles, he didn’t.

 

He had faced soldiers, Jedi, Sith, but his body refused to die. And he knew why. His final vision. He had an obligation to see it through. And he had preparations to make. It would take many years, but Syrosk vowed to one day return to the Academy, to finally take an apprentice of his own.

 

 

 

End of Act 0

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  • 3 weeks later...

Act III: Supremacies

 

Chapter One: Survivors

 

The Academy was locked in its usual proceedings. As the bright and blistering sun watched over it with its enduring blaze, the next generation of Sith acolytes were in the throes of training. Humans of varying size and skill faced the trials readily provided by Korriban. The blades of its inhabitants, the claws of its predators, the shadows of its tombs.

 

But deep within the Academy, students of dissimilar make were progressing. Multiple classrooms, around ten students strong, studied and fought under the watchful eye of instructors satisfying the desires of their true master, Darth Tash. Things had changed for the peculiar bunch ever since the rousing appearance of the dark lord. The instructors had adopted a new lesson plan, one that progressed the atypical group faster than they thought possible.

 

And between these two groups was one accepted by neither. Lord Syrosk and his eight students. The acolytes were plucked from Tash’s classroom at the behest of their new alien master and placed into pairings of warrior and inquisitor. After facing trials unlike anything they had endured in their previous years, the eight individuals quickly proved themselves worthy of apprenticeship.

 

For more than a year the eight Sith had followed the wisdom and teaching of their master. They learned of their position in the Academy, and the Empire at large, as beings too imperfect to have been admitted to the establishment by traditional means. They did not yet know what Darth Tash had intended for them, nor what he intended for those who remained under the guidance of his instructors. Neither did they fully understand their own master’s intentions.

 

But whatever reservations they possessed for their peculiar master and their even more peculiar situation, they could not deny the results Syrosk’s teachings had imparted upon them. Greater strength and dexterity. Greater intelligence and wisdom. Proficiency with both Lightsaber and the Force. A mental acuity taught by select few. Such was the reason that even after months of agony, pain, and hardship, all eight apprentices still convened atop the same mountaintop, under the same sun, and listened with the same determination when their master declared he has prepared another lesson.

 

The eight apprentices stood as they did the first time they gathered at their master’s word, in a line, beside their respective partners. But for all that was the same, much had changed. Lord Syrosk now looked upon eight individuals, eight unique Sith. Each with a personalized weapon and outfit.

 

Lorrik stood at the leftmost spot in the lineup. The Human’s appearance suggested a maturing in the recent months. Though his face was still relatively soft and offered its usual pleasant visage, and his flesh had managed to remain amongst the lightest of his compatriots even under the constant rays of the Korriban sun, there was a focused presence in his eyes detailing the many months of progress he had endured. Meanwhile the once unkempt, dark brown hair atop his head had been tamed, slicked back and styled by a man who still found importance in personal appearance amidst Sith training. All of which was readily visible, as the Human had removed any head coverings from his new outfit.

 

The black robes weren’t dissimilar from the ones he had first received from his new master, but replacing the purple trim was a lining of a deep, dark blue. Sans hood, the outer coat merely possessed a thick collar that conveniently covered the brand on the back of the inquisitor’s neck. The clothes covering his torso ended at the sash that wrapped around his waist, below which rest a pair of form-fitting pants and sturdy boots. Gone were the suffocating gloves from the Human’s ensemble, offering his Force slinging hands freedom at the expense of protection. Most importantly, clipped to his sash was his lightsaber, completed a few short months ago. The weapon’s exterior was simplistically stylish, made up of silver casings and the occasional flourish such as an added emitter guard.

 

His companion Jresh stood by his side, ever the tall, adamant warrior. His face still displayed the same crimson stoicism, with the same allotment of fleshy tendrils hanging from his chin and cheeks. His hair, though, had been sufficiently shortened. After one too many occurrences of being dragged to the ground by a dueling opponent, he decided to sever the long braid that once fell past his shoulders. Instead, the black hairs stop his head had been styled similar to those of his partner, at his suggestion, slicked back in a formal yet fashionable form.

 

The Pureblood had all but abandoned any vestiges of robes and cloth from his outfit. No hoods. No cloaks. Nothing but a suit of form-fitting armorweave accentuated with heavier materials upon his legs and torso. The black bodysuit protected him entirely below the neck, heavy boots and gauntlets guarding his extremities, as well as a compact pair of pauldrons atop his shoulders. His head meanwhile went unprotected, as the warrior had never held hiding his face in high regard, and wasn’t about to change that. The lightsaber clipped to his belt matched his suit in appearance and function. The weapon possessed only an unadorned black cylinder as its hilt, utterly smooth and seemingly without buttons or dials.

 

The lineup continued, each apprentice having shed some part of their former selves to promote a sense of individuality. Arlia stood next. The violet Twi’lek had discarded the robe’s gifted by her master for a set that seemed even further beyond her station in opulence. The black and purple garb wrapped her body with both graceful flow and martial structure. The tight under layer was accentuated by looser outer layers, yet nothing seemed capable of inhibiting the wearers movements.

 

Her companion Isorr had adopted a style similar to his master, an dark hooded cloak worn over a suit of armor. Though without the funds of a Sith Lord or Arlia’s knack for acquiring goods, the outfit didn’t hold the same grandeur as Syrosk’s. But still, Isorr was Sith, and knew what was required of Sith, and the reinforced armorweave served him just fine. There were no new additions to the markings upon the face of the dark skinned Zabrak, but there was a fierce determination in his eyes, one distinguishable from the haughty superiority he held in previous months.

 

Vurt was next, and of all the apprentices, he was the only one who seemed to dress down from his old attire. His body was wrapped in a simplistic set of black robes. Form-fitting, with no excess layers. Almost a pitch-black variant of acolytes robes, with the added protected of sturdy boots and wrist guards. But in its simplicity it had managed to convey a message fitting its wearer, one with no tolerance for needless expressions. If there was one thing that would never change, it would be the cold, silent brutality that rest behind the eyes of the orange Nikto.

 

Nesk hadn’t lost his ability to stand out from the crowd. The sandy-scaled Trandoshan and his companion were of one mind, as he too returned to the basics with his attire. Discarding the extraneous layers, the warrior protected his torso with a simplistic armorweave bodysuit. The thick material ended at his elbows and knees, leaving the lizard’s clawed hands and feet unadorned. He had opted for simplicity, allowing his mere presence to speak for itself. One atypical addition was a necklace that draped around his neck, baring a number of teeth and talons taken from fallen prey from the wilds of Korriban since his apprenticeship.

 

Ryloh possessed probably the greatest departure from his fellow apprentices, but the most in line with his previous studies. Loose fitting black robes befitting an inquisitor. A hooded, long sleeve jacket wrapped around his upper body, while his lower half was covered by a more traditional robe skirt. The only color in the Twi’lek’s appearance came from his light blue skin, exposed only above his neck. While the female Twi’lek’s lekku were wrapped in black cloth, Ryloh’s remain unadorned, draped in front of him and over his chest.

 

Kar’ai’s outfit greatly differed from her companion’s. Whereas the inquisitor had chosen flowing, conservative garb, she had opted for the opposite. Her lower half was protected by a form-fitting armorweave leggings and sturdy boots, whilst her torso was covered by little more than a skin tight wrapping around her neck and chest. Her arms and midriff uncovered, the warrior proudly displayed her toned physique and the numerous tribal markings that graced her pale flesh.

 

The eight students stood, eyes glued to the back of their master as the alien lord stood watch over the horizon, the only one amongst them who's appearance had not changed one bit in his time at the Academy.

 

“Students…” Syrosk began. “It’s been quite some time since we’ve convened atop this mountain. You’ve all shown remarkable progress as Sith, You’ve displayed great strength and cunning, and a willingness to persist despite all obstacles. You’ve endured hardships not only physical, but emotional as well. You’ve been deceived, by others, as well as myself. You were delivered here by a man who never meant for you to be true Sith. And by removing you from his classrooms, I cannot say that I have granted you the status of a proper graduate of this Academy. But I have trained you in the fashion I believe you all deserving of. In a manner that cares not for your family, your lineage, or your species, but for your skills.”

 

Syrosk turned to face his students directly. “And you have all proven yourselves skilled individuals. But no matter the individual, you will inevitably find yourselves impeded by limitations. As Sith, we believe ourselves capable of surpassing any such limitation through mastery of the Force. But even our connection to the Force can prove insufficient. The Empire draws its strength from remarkable individuals, but it is the individual whom holds it back. Isorr, would you care to recite the Sith code?”

 

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion,” Isorr spoke up. “Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, power. Through power, victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall set me free.”

 

“Very good,” Syrosk rasped. “Simple enough guidelines. However, where there is simplicity, there is room for misinterpretation. We take passions to mean rage. Power to mean dominance. And victory to be achieved by any means necessary. Too many Sith believe that for one to ascend, others must fall. But instead of focusing that energy on the enemy, they turn on their brothers and sisters within the Order. I believe the selfishness that currently plagues the Sith will be its downfall.”

 

“So that’s why you placed the eight of us in pairs?” Kar’ai suggested.

 

“In part,” Syrosk admitted. “As much as the Sith extol the virtues of the individual, they know that true strength cannot be gained without interaction. The bond between a master and his apprentice. A Sith Lord and his domain. The transfer of knowledge and skills from one person to another, from generation to generation. The new generation believes that anything beyond self-sufficiency is weakness. That couldn’t be further from the truth. More than half my life was spent within the Empire before the Great War started. Things were different back then. The entirety of the Sith Empire cooperated in anticipation of achieving their one, singular goal. Proving their superiority over the Republic. We had constructed the greatest military force in the galaxy, and not through the chronic backstabbings and betrayals that infest the Empire today.”

 

“So we’re your attempt at returning to the good ol’ days?” Arlia joked.

 

“If that were true, I wouldn’t have chosen you lot,” Syrosk corrected. “As much as I admire the state of operations back then, the Sith Empire possessed the same, if not more distaste of aberrant beings amongst its populace. My intentions are to merely consolidate the pasts, and futures, that I have seen, and use that knowledge to influence the next generation of Sith.”

 

“I understand the benefits of the eight of us remaining in such close contact over these past months,” Lorrik admitted. “Bouncing between cooperation and competition, it provides us with more than a single master could ever impart upon their apprentice. But you never did fully explain the reasoning behind the pairings.”

 

“Perhaps,” Syrosk rasped. “Then again, who’s to say it has a meaning beyond the one you assign to it? I mean, I have provided you no reason, and yet here you all stand, side by side with your companion, each pairing displaying the effect you’ve had on one another whether you realize it or not. You’ve each formed a bond unlike any other on this planet.”

 

“There is reasoning behind all things, whether we realize it or not,” Lorrik recalled. “That is what you told us after we returned from the wastes of said planet. I don’t believe you would cultivate something without a proper motivation.”

 

“I suppose you are correct,” Syrosk admitted. “In the inception of your previous classrooms, students were divided and parsed by certain elements. Species, background, gender, but the most important was your skillset. You all recall your first days after arriving at Korriban, being tested and assigned either the designation of warrior or inquisitor. I had the idea of pairing students years ago, but was cautious in carrying it out. I had seen firsthand the perils of certain types of Sith interacting with one another. Two warriors or two inquisitors with the same beliefs, same ambitions did not suit my plan. If you were to reach your fullest potential, I required you to face certain challenges.”

 

“But you put the warriors in charge of picking an inquisitor," Jresh declared. "We could have chosen anyone, regardless of how they compared to ourselves."

 

“Yes, you could have. But you didn’t,” Syrosk bluntly stated. “You all chose someone who ended up being a natural foil, yet compatible with the most integral aspects of your being.”

 

“By mere chance?” Ryloh asked.

 

“Surely by now you understand that there is no such thing as chance,” Syrosk declared. “But the main reason for these pairings will be revealed after today’s task. You’ve all constructed your lightsabers. You’ve all harnessed the power of the Force. In all capacities, you ought to be considered true Sith, regardless of whatever standing you may possess amongst the Empire at large. However, there yet remains a trial that you must complete. One that every acolyte or apprentice must endure at some point in their lives.”

 

Lorrik scratched his chin as his gaze drifted toward the ground. “Really? It seems like we’ve done practically everything in one form or another.”

 

“Is that so?" Syrosk teasingly rasped. "How familiar are you all with the surrounding tombs?”

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:ph_love_this:

 

Finally finished reading all the way through. Magnificently awesome, epically amazing, wonderfully fantastic. I truly love it. Thank you Osetto :)

 

You have my thanks for your thanks. And alongside them, I feel I should offer some apologies. Updates have been few and far between, and I know that can really upset someone's ability to enjoy a story. I can only imagine the frustration for anyone whose stuck around since I started this almost a year ago. We got, what, twenty four chapters to go, and I find myself drawn away from writing by schoolwork and other distractions. Every so often the drive to continue wanes but knowing that someone out there enjoys my work is enough to keep me going, so again, thanks.

 

And I also know that seeing this story bumped with my name as the last post only to find no content can be rather disappointing, so I guess I'll have to get the next chapter out sooner rather than later to make up for it. :)

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Chapter Two: Tombs

 

The students began to mumble and stir as they surreptitiously consorted with their companions, none willing to speak up. Their master meanwhile, let out one of his low chortles.

 

“It is understandable,” Syrosk stated. “Tash likely instructed his instructors to keep his students in the dark about anything beyond the boundaries of your halls. Even the normal students risk raising the ire of certain Sith if they go into a tomb unsanctioned. And with the war going on, getting students ready for battle takes priority over picking them entirely clean.”

 

“Are we planning to ‘raise the ire of certain Sith’ by going into these tombs?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Not quite,” Syrosk declared. “There are far too many groups interested in the tombs around the Academy. Not to mention the fact that they’ve already been sifted through. No, instead, we will be turning our attention toward more bountiful grounds. Grounds long since forgotten.”

 

“Sith rarely tend to ‘forget’ about anything that they could use to their benefit,” Arlia suggested.

 

“I suppose you are correct. ‘Abandoned’ would likely serve as a better descriptor,” Syrosk admitted. “Whenever a powerful Sith leaves something behind after their death, it is only a matter of time before someone seeks to claim it for themselves. However, here on Korriban, there rests an area relatively untouched for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. A Valley of Forgotten Lords.”

 

Isorr balked. “Forgotten lords? They mustn’t have accomplished much in their lifetimes then.”

 

“Few have the privilege of having their names survive centuries after their death,” Syrosk explained. “This galaxy is inhabited by forgetful peoples. And those who do remember, often see to it that no one else does.”

 

“There are those who actively seek the destruction of history,” Lorrik added. “But I never took the Sith to be amongst them.”

 

“So how do you know about them then?” Kar’ai questioned her master.

 

“Knowledge of these tombs isn’t that rare,” Syrosk admitted. “Anyone connected to or influenced by the artifact trade knows where to find them. Usually such places would have been picked clean by now, but that is not the case.”

 

“What’s keeping people out?” Ryloh asked.

 

“The only thing capable of stopping a Sith… fear,” Syrosk plainly stated. “When a Sith passes on, they’ll often do everything in their power to prevent their assets from passing on undeservingly. Ancient droids, alchemical creations, old but potent defenses line the halls of any truly powerful lord to keep out anyone unworthy of their possessions. Only one of the tombs in this particular area was opened, and the surveyors were immediately wiped out. The Sith Lord who ordered the excavation sent more and more of his underlings to their doom, until he himself delved into the tomb. Upon clearing each and every chamber of its defenses, he had discovered that his efforts had been for naught. What he gained in a small allotment of mediocre artifacts could not have made up for the utter decimation of his dominion. None were willing to risk what he did delving the other tombs. And so they remained untouched. Until today.”

 

“So, just so I understand correctly. We’ll be trying to succeed where the combined might of a Sith Lord and his entire power base failed?” Lorrik hesitantly asked.

 

“All for what might end up being a worthless endeavor?” Arlia added.

 

“This shall be anything but worthless, should you succeed,” Syrosk replied. “Any artifacts or treasures you come across in these tombs will simply be an added bonus. The true benefit lies in the journey.”

 

“Ah, you’re not going soft on us now are you, master?” Kar’ai joked.

 

“There is a good chance you will die in these tombs if you are not cautious,” Syrosk admitted. “This isn’t a time for mind games, or wordy speeches about what you are supposed to learn…”

 

“That time comes when we all come back safely, doesn’t it?” Lorrik added, his previous worriedness tempered with a jocularity.

 

Syrosk kept his cold stare affixed to the Human. “If you do all return, then I can take solace in the fact that you’ve heeded my lessons until this point. But if not… as I said before, I have plans in place should any of you perish.”

 

“And it’s gets more refreshing each time you repeat it,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“This is a trial, right?” Isorr asked. “That means we’ll be inevitably judged on something. So what is it going to be this time?”

 

“We’ll take a shuttle to the valley in a short while,” Syrosk explained. “Each pair will enter a separate tomb, and be judged on what they bring back. You’re free to stay in the tomb as long as you wish, but the shuttle will return to the Academy six hours after we begin. Unless you intend to make another trek across the wastes, this time with no rations, I suggest you make it back in time. Any questions?”

 

The students had none.

 

“Alright then. To the shuttle”

 

----------

 

The Sith Lord led his apprentices to a docked shuttle, the same one that once dropped them off in the wastes of Korriban. Although the silence of the previous trip had been replicated, the mood within the passenger bay had not. Each student kept to themselves, interrupting the quiet only for a brief aside with their partner now and again. Months ago, when they were eight acolytes preparing themselves for the dangerous trek that awaited them, there was a trepidation in their hearts.

 

But not this day. Within the shuttle’s seats, each student had a determined glint in their eyes. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had. They were not the eight students they were when they left for the wastes. And yet they once more found themselves being thrust into a life or death situation at the behest of their master. Each student knew of the dangers they might face that day. The lack of fear surging through their hearts was not made possible through ignorance, but the cultivation of strength, both physical and mental.

 

The shuttle flew for what felt like hours. For as much as they had advanced, spending time isolated in the drowning noise of the vessel’s passenger bay still proved uncomfortable for some of the students. The deprivation of their senses continued to burden the travelers. But even the most hotheaded of them managed to stay cool. Syrosk watched over his students from the rear of the vessel with his usual stern visage. Lorrik thought to speak at many moments, but held his tongue. He had chosen to mimic his partner, finding solace in meditation.

 

When the vessel finally arrived at its destination, the students exited the shuttle into a world between the light and darkness. The valley their master had described seemed more a fissure stretching deep below the surrounding terrain. As they stood looking up into the Korriban sky, they found their peripherals cut off by the jagged edges of suffocating ridges, much of the valley basked in shadows. The tombs Syrosk spoke of were carved into and out of the walls of these parted cliff faces. A series of structures lined the ridge walls to their left and right. One had shown signs of disturbance, the others remained remarkably clean, touched only by the abrasive winds that blew through the fissure.

 

“Students,” Syrosk spoke up. “The Valley of Forgotten Lords.”

 

Arlia passed her gaze around the enclosed area. “Now I can see why they were forgotten. Even the most ambitious of tomb robbers wouldn’t think to look all the way out here.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Isorr stated, scratching his chin. “When a Sith constructs a tomb, it isn’t meant to be something tucked away and hidden. It is to be a monument to their power. A grand display of their wealth and influence to their lessers, almost teasing them with what might lay behind their walls. Sith don’t waste resources just to fade into obscurity.”

 

“Maybe their status today was unintended,” Lorrik suggested. “A thousand years is a long time, maybe this area held more significance when these tombs were constructed.”

 

“Or maybe these aren’t our usual Sith,” Jresh offered, sternly panning his gaze between the tombs. The large entrances to each tomb offered little indication to the size and grandeur of what rest behind them. Formed entirely from stone, the structures were undoubtedly ancient.

 

“If these date back to the golden age, they might be more Sith than any of us could ever hope to be,” Lorrik admitted.

 

Syrosk reigned in his apprentices. “Students. As you can see, here lay six tombs, only one of which has been previously exhumed. That gives you free reign to choose whichever one you like. As stated before, each pair will have a tomb to themselves. Crack it open, search its halls, and bring back something valuable. Your six hours start now.”

 

The Sith Lord abruptly ceased speaking amidst his unremarkable stance near the shuttle. The students puzzled for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, but realized time was of the essence. No one had heard of a tomb being cleared in a single day, let alone six hours. The eight apprentices split up, each pair darting off in separate directions. Each made their way to one of the towering gateways of stone and terrain that guarded the burial halls of long dead Sith.

 

Isorr and Arlia made their way to the tomb nearest the shuttle. Kar’ai led Ryloh to the one built into the opposite stone wall. Nesk and Vurt meanwhile made their way further into the valley with utmost haste. That left Lorrik and Jresh to advance with a tempered pace. They had their eyes set on an unassuming structure a short walk away. Unassuming by comparison at least. The tomb entrances were something any archeologist would love to behold, but set up adjacent to one another, there were few distinguishable details available to the students.

 

They knew little of the structures’ true ages or purposes. Their knowledge of ancient Sith left them with little belief that someone of importance oversaw the construction of one or more of these tombs. They didn’t even know if they were six separate burial sites, or the strange execution of one strange Sith’s strange ambitions.

 

The Human and Pureblood came to a stop in front of a large stone slab surrounded by pillars and eroded stone supports. The sand colored gateway was grandiose in stature, if not design, stretching high and wide, its door a greater size than any humanoid. If it could even be called a door. All the stood before the pair was a single, uniform slab of stone inlayed beyond the structural archway, no evidence of a partition or recess.

 

“So… how do we go about cracking open this tomb?” Lorrik asked his companion. The Sith silently made his forward until he stood directly in front of the solid barrier. Placing his hand upon the stone slab, he lightly felt the surface with the palm of his gloved hand.

 

“We make a crack,” Jresh stoically offered. Removing his hand, he drew it in close to his chest, taking in a deep breath as he concentrated and closed his eyes. Lorrik tilted his head before taking a cautious step back. With a powerful exertion of the Force, Jresh struck the center of the barrier with his open palm. As his hand impacted against the stone, a shockwave radiated in the opposite direction, blowing away the nearby dust and sand and almost knocking Lorrik off his feet.

 

Steadying himself, the Human watched as a fracture began to form beneath his companion’s hand. The crack traveled upward until it bisected the slab from top to bottom.

 

“Did… did that do it?” Lorrik asked, somewhat marveling at his partner’s work. Jresh looked up and down the surface, scratching his chin as he studied the newly formed crack.

 

“No. The slab’s still firmly in place,” Jresh admitted. “However, I believe its integrity has been compromised. Lorrik, come over here.” The inquisitor complied, standing by his companion as the two of them looked upon the stone barrier. “Looks like we’re going to have to push our way in.”

 

“Works for me,” Lorrik nonchalantly added. The two of them began to move in sync, concentrating their minds and their bodies. Together they focused, pulling their hands in close to their chests. The Human and Pureblood shared a look and a mutual nod, before each taking a deep breath. A moment later, they exhaled and coupled it with the outthrust of their hands. The combined might of their synchronized Force pushes fully cracked the slab into two pieces which were sent flying into the tomb’s darkened interior.

 

Lorrik and Jresh turned and gripped one another’s hand in mutual respect and cordiality. The pair turned their gazes toward the shadowed hall and slowly made their way into the tomb. The structure’s interior possessed little in the way of visible flourishes. Only hard and uniform walls of stone on all sides. The warrior and inquisitor passed the threshold of the archway, and with each step the intruding light faded to darkness. Lorrik unhooked the saber from his belt and igniting its blue blade. The light emanated from the saber and illuminated the pair’s path. Side by side, they advanced into the darkness, no torches or fixtures aiding their venture deeper into the tomb.

 

“It’s weird… I expected giant statues, or murals, or something like that to greet us,” Lorrik admitted. “Isorr had a point, usually the only Sith to construct tombs are the ones trying to make a statement. This one doesn’t seem to be saying anything at all.”

 

“Sometimes silence is the most impactful of statements,” Jresh stated.

 

“Ever the warrior-poet, aren’t you?” Lorrik teased. “I just hope we manage to find something within these halls.” The path they traveled ended at a fork, splitting into two different halls. “Be sure to make a mental map of this place, I’d hate to be late getting back.”

 

The two made their way deeper into the tomb, traversing winding and branching halls, never coming across anything resembling a larger chamber. Looking back and forth, there was nothing but darkness to the front and rear of the pair. Just as caution was beginning to change to boredom, something caused the apprentices to freeze in their tracks. Originating from somewhere deeper within the tomb, a sound echoed through the halls. A harrowing sound. A dreadful howl.

 

“Uh… Jresh…” Lorrik muttered.

 

“Stay alert. We are not alone,” Jresh declared, retrieving and igniting his lightsaber.

 

The red and blue glow of their weapons revealed nothing in the immediate area. Slowly they continued their advance, cautious step after cautious step. As Jresh took the forward position, Lorrik took up the rear. While the warrior pressed forward, an unfamiliar fear began to fester within the inquisitor. Unfamiliar, and yet something within him recognized it.

 

After making their way through countless halls for half an hour, the pair finally came across an open area. The passageway widened until it opened into a full-fledged chamber. Large stone pillars supported the tall roof, upon which sat crystal fixtures that glowed brighter and brighter as the two Sith drew closer. The budding light illuminated more and more of the room, but it wasn’t needed to see what rested in its center. Etched onto the ground in the middle of the chamber was a circle accompanied by a series of markings and runes, a brilliant red glow emanating from them. But as intriguing as the designs were, what immediately captured the attention of the two intruders was what currently stood within the markings.

 

A large humanoid basked in the light of the runed designs, and yet was cloaked in shadows. Its arms were crossed in front of its chest, and its head hung low as if in some form of stasis. The Human and Pureblood halted their progress, gazing upon the figure from afar.

 

“Jresh…” Lorrik barely managed to utter, his voice overflowing with hesitance. As soon as the word echoed throughout the chamber, it was followed by a resounding crash. The red lights beneath the mysterious figure began to fade, and its shadowed form began to be revealed. As the darkness faded, so did its stillness. It uncrossed its arms and raised its head, arching and stretching itself in the process.

 

The figure was like nothing the pair had laid eyes on before, and yet Lorrik knew he had seen it. A monstrous figure, standing tall yet hunched, a mix of man and beast. Its form was jagged, spurred, and crimson. The bulky figure stood taller than either of the intruders, yet bore an uncanny resemblance to one of them, albeit in some debased form. The crimson humanoid was lightly garbed, only tattered cloths concealing its lower body. From its unconcealed flesh sprouted boney spurs and spikes upon its arms and back. Its eyes glowed with a golden ferocity as they settled upon the two intruders.

 

“That’s the thing from my dream. The thing that killed me.”

Edited by Osetto
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Chapter Three: Monsters

 

Lorrik’s eyes widened as his entire body began to shiver. Jresh meanwhile looked upon the awakening foe with his usual stoicism.

 

“Massassi…” Jresh muttered.

 

“Huh?” Lorrik replied, momentarily snapping out of his worried trance.

 

“An old sub-species of Sith. Warrior caste.”

 

“You mean you and this thing have the same blood?” Lorrik asked in a hushed tone, trying to convince himself he could delay attracting any more attention. The Pureblood remained silent as he continued to eye the creature.

 

It was ancient, of a breed lost to time. The spikes and fins that sprouted from its joints and back were exaggerated and deformed compared to any found on present day Sith. It’s hands had only four digits, in the form of elongated, sharpened claws. More disturbing was their condition. Deviating from the crimson of the rest of its crimson hide, its hands were pitch black, as if they were dipped to their forearms in ink.

 

“The Massassi were warriors. Stalwart. Strong. But nothing like this,” Jresh declared. “Sith Alchemy was responsible for our ability to breed with the Dark Jedi. I’d say it’s also responsible for the corrupted being that stands before us.”

 

“Why is it just standing there? If it’s the tomb’s defender, shouldn’t it be attacking us?” Lorrik asked. The glowing eyes of the awakened creature had connected with the Pureblood’s, and there they continued to fall.

 

“It’s likely as intrigued by me as we are of it,” Jresh stated. “Lorrik, there’s an opening at the opposite end of the chamber. You go ahead, I’ll handle this.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Lorrik replied. “I’m not leaving you alone with this thing. I know how dangerous it can be.”

 

“As do I, which is why I’m asking you to let me handle this,” Jresh stated. “You sense we’re at the end of the tomb, correct? That this is our only obstacle? Find whatever this thing is guarding. Get us something to bring back to Syrosk.”

 

“And let you fight this thing alone? No way. You remember what Syrosk said. This trial is supposed to be about cooperation. Working together.”

 

“This is cooperating. I handle the beast, you secure our item for Syrosk,” Jresh explained.

 

“You don’t understand! You don’t know what it’s like to see your own death!”

 

“Lorrik, it’s okay. You once told we that we are not defined by our pasts. I would say that we are not defined by our futures either. Whatever dream, whatever vision you may have had, it cannot be allowed to define us. Control us. This trial isn’t just about working together. It’s about believing in one another. Fear is what kept these tombs closed. Fear is what holds us back. It okay to be afraid, so long as it does not control you. I believe in you. Do you believe in me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then I am more than capable of handling this,” Jresh declared as he took a step toward the waiting creature.

 

“This thing is the tomb’s defense system, you really think it’ll just let me walk away?”

 

“I don’t plan on giving it a choice,” Jresh bluntly said as he readied his saber, the glow of the crimson blade lighting up his determined visage.

 

The inquisitor fell silent, steeling himself as he powered down his own weapon. Within the half-darkness, Lorrik offered one final nod to his companion before stepping away, carefully maneuvering around the chamber’s outer limits. The creature’s neck began to swivel as it followed the Human’s path. Just as it thought to intercept, the guardian was interrupted by a sharp whistle emanating from the other intruder. Jresh remained adamant in his stance, eyes burning a hole through the Massassi.

 

“This is between you and me.”

 

The Pureblood couldn’t tell if the beast could comprehend his language, but as its glowing eyes began to sharpen, he believed there to be a firm understanding. Two warriors. Two Sith. Two impurities.

 

Beyond the monstrous defender, Jresh could see the outline of his companion on the far side of the chamber as he ventured deeper into the tomb. With a twirl of his wrist, the Pureblood reaffirmed his grip on his weapon, the black hilt resting firmly within the palm of his gauntleted hand. As the warrior readied himself, he was surprised to see the guardian continuing to stand in the center of the chamber, no apparent change in thought or demeanor. Only the enduring burden of his glowing gaze.

 

But still it did not act. Standing taller than even the mighty Pureblood whilst still in its hunched stance. Jresh knew that every second he bought his partner was worth it, but was hesitant to simply stand there staring down his opponent. For all its abnormalities, Jresh knew not what went through the head of his opponent. It could have been nothing. It could have been everything he hoped to prevent. Though he awaited the defender to make the first strike, the Pureblood was forced to act as the monstrosity began to turn away and lumber toward his departing companion.

 

“No you don’t,” Jresh muttered as he charged toward his opponent.

 

Raising his weapon high, the Pureblood sought to bring the saber down upon the abomination with a powerful overhead slash. But the monster moved with a ferocious speed unbefitting its large form. The Massassi spun upon its sharpened heel to face the crimson intruder just before his attack could land. Rather than dodge, the guardian used its immense speed instead to raise a single blackened hand.

 

Jresh’s eyes widened with alarm as he found his saber’s path inhibited. In the midst of its downward swing, it had been halted by the monster’s corrupted paw. As it clenched its grip, its sharpened talons encircled the crimson beam, seemingly ignoring the immense heat of the blade’s plasma. As it held the ignited blade within its black claws, the beast’s eyes met with the Pureblood’s once more. Their orange glow had intensified, any aspect of fear utterly absent from the guardian’s visage. Face to face, the Massassi stood a full head taller than the armored Pureblood. The monster’s countenance began to contort into a billowing snarl, baring the sharpened teeth that rest within its maw.

 

The beast’s grip began to tighten around the blade, until its claws managed to pierce the beam’s containment field. The loop of energy broke, and the crimson blade rescinded into its hilt. Jresh took an immediate leap back, putting some distance between himself and the abomination. As he held the hilt within his hand, he struggled to reactivate it, some portion of its inner workings disrupted. The Pureblood looked up to see his foe patiently staring at him. Waiting. Seeped in arrogance, yet totally stoic.

 

“If that’s how you want it,” Jresh calmly stated as he returned the hilt to his belt. With a deep breath, the Pureblood steadied himself and raised his fists. Finally did the Massassi begin to unfurl. Cracking its neck, beast widened its stance and placed its arms as its sides, hands spread open and bearing their clawed digits.

 

----------

 

Further into the tomb, Lorrik carefully crept forward through the singular hall that led him away from the previous chamber. Looking back, only the faintest hint of a glow emanated from the room in which his companion faced off against the lone guardian of the tomb. He had yet to pick up any sounds of battle or commotion, but that did little to put his mind at ease. The inquisitor knew he had to continue, find something to make the entire ordeal worth the effort.

 

Eyes returning to the path ahead, the troubling thoughts swirling through the Human’s head suddenly settled as he noticed a new light source in the distance. Faint, but pulsing, drawing the inquisitor closer with an alluring warmth. His eyes widened as the concern slowly drained from his mind. With each step, his feet felt lighter, as if he were floating toward the next chamber. Any sense of trepidation or hesitance was gone from the inquisitor’s mind. And it infuriated him.

 

Lorrik knew when someone, something, was playing with his mind. Jresh was correct in suggesting the Massassi was the only defender of the tomb, but that didn’t mean it was its sole inhabitant. The inquisitor pressed forward, complying with the call yet retaining control of his own direction. At least, that’s what he told himself.

 

----------

 

The Massassi lunged toward the Pureblood, lashing out with the long, broad swipes of its claws. Jresh began on the defensive, ducking and weaving as he stepped back from the advancing beast. Continuing his retreat, the warrior found his path obstructed as his back struck into one of the sizable pillars that graced the chamber. His eyes widened as he watched the abomination thrust its right claws toward his face. Jresh lowered himself just in time to miss the creature’s sharpened digits digging themselves into his skull, as they instead bore themselves into the stone pillar. Seeing the Massassi’s hand stuck inches into the column, the Pureblood went on the offensive.

 

Jresh delivered several quick jabs to the creature’s abdomen, before being swatted away by the monster. The Pureblood recoiled from the back of the Massassi’s free hand striking his face, spinning and recovering a few steps away. As the guardian struggled to remove his imbedded claw, Jresh brandished his saber and attempted to ignite it. The red plasma briefly flashed before promptly shutting off, refusing to properly activate. The warrior let out a disgruntled growl as he saw his opponent free itself from the stone column.

 

The Massassi closed fast, raising its right hand before hammering it down upon the Pureblood. Jresh intercepted the strike, halting the beast’s attack as he clutched its forearm with his gauntlets. The towering guardian continued to press down upon the intruder, his arms growing tired, his stance weakening. As the Pureblood focused his attention on the arm within his grasp, he couldn’t defend against the other being driven into his side. The blackened fist crashed into his ribs, the force of the blow passing through the armorweave covering. The warrior’s knees buckled and he slumped to the ground, his lightsaber slipping from his grasp and clattering as it skidded across the cold floor.

 

----------

 

Lorrik was at the threshold of the next chamber. The image before him became clearer and clearer. In the next room, there rest a single stone pedestal , upon which sat a single glowing artifact. A Sith holocron. The small pyramid pulsed with a glowing red light, enticing the inquisitor to investigate. Stepping into the compact chamber, Lorrik saw no further passages. He had reached the furthest depths of the tomb. Slowly, he approached the artifact, keeping his wits about him as he shuffled through the dimly lit chamber.

 

With a few steps, the Human now stood in front of the item, studying it. The artifact’s glow seemed to intensify in his presence. The holocron was ornately designed, smooth black material decorated with red flourishes, with an intricate latticework of interior workings. All of which small enough to comfortable hold within his hand. Lorrik reached out, licking his lips as his fingers hovered just in front of the artifact. With a deep breath, he made contact. Before he could even exhale he found himself being tossed backward as an invisible force radiated from the holocron. The inquisitor landed hard on his back at the threshold of the chamber.

 

Letting out a soft groan, Lorrik raised himself, only to find something new between himself and the holocron. Something of humanoid size and form, ethereal, through which he could still see the hazy image of the glowing artifact. As he studied the figure, he realized it was the opposite of what he had encountered in the room before. Thin. Regal. No sign of Sith heredity. A Human, clad in black robes, staring at the downed inquisitor.

 

“I am the gatekeeper for this holocron,” the image stated with a dull, monotonous tone. “What is it that you seek?”

 

Lorrik kept his eyes on the ethereal figure as he raised himself from the ground. Standing, dusting himself off, he eyed the image up and down with a perturbed look in his eyes.

 

“You’re no construct…” Lorrik muttered. “You think I wouldn’t recognize a Force ghost?”

 

The spirit’s stoicism washed away, his mouth curling into a sinister smile. “It would seem I have misjudged you. I felt you and your other’s presence the moment you breached my tomb. You didn’t make a great first impression. I simply assumed your knowledge to be comparable to your strength.”

 

“Like I haven’t been talked down to by older Sith,” Lorrik admitted. “You just happen to have a few hundred years on the usual ones.”

 

The spirit balked. “A few hundred years? Boy, you have no comprehension of who you stand before, do you?”

 

“No. So why don’t you tell me?”

 

----------

 

The Massassi hadn’t ceased its pursuit of the Pureblood. It was the first time in his life that he was so physically outmatched by a single opponent. He stayed on the defensive, trying his hardest to avoid the unrelenting swipes of the beast. Every so often, the blackened claws would rake across the warrior’s armor, leaving scratches even on the most reinforced plating. The pair darted back and forth across the room, the guardian lashing out and the Pureblood defending, trying to get in a strike of his own every now and again. But the monster just seemed to shrug each blow off. Even as Jresh drove his gauntleted hands into the flesh of the beast, the Force compounding each strike, his opponent showed no signs of fatigue or damage.

 

For all his strength, it proved useless against the abomination. The idea was infuriating to the warrior. All his time training turned into nothing against a single foe. In the brief glimpsing into the creature’s eyes, he saw only the intent to kill. Something he had not seen since his childhood. And like then, he was afraid. But it wasn’t the fear of losing his own life. He knew that if he died, Lorrik would be next. And so long as he possessed some semblance of power, he would use it to protect that which he cared about.

 

Jresh halted his retreat, spinning on his heels to let out a powerful Force push, releasing a primal roar as he did so. The shockwave surged toward the creature, halting its advance and pushing it back. It managed to remain upright, digging its feet into the stone as its slid backward. As the Massassi steadied itself, it looked up to see its opponent standing still, staring it directly in the eyes.

 

The warrior was done retreating. As he stared down his opponent, he could hear his mother’s words within his head.

 

“Strength is not raw power. It is control. Fueled by passions but never defined by them. You must control yourself. Then you might control your surroundings. Be at peace with your emotions, and you can draw from them at your own accord. Then you can find your strength.”

 

With a deep breath, Jresh readied himself. “Round two.”

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  • 2 weeks later...

Chapter Four: Beliefs

 

Jresh charged toward his enemy, not with some unruly rage, but with focus. With a stoic visage, he closed in on his monstrous foe before leaping and delivering a powerful fist to the creature’s face. The blow forced the Massassi to take a knee, where it released a primal roar, shaking the chamber.

 

The beast lunged forward, attempting to tackle the Pureblood. Jresh fell backward of his own accord, anticipating his opponent’s movements. As the abomination surged forward, the warrior slipped beneath it in one smooth motion. Jresh brought his legs in tight, before extending them into a powerful kick to the beast’s midsection. Channeling the Force, the Pureblood was able to send the Massassi flying backward.

 

----------

 

Lorrik looked back down the path he had traveled as the roaring echoes from the previous chamber reached him. The Human’s eyes began to subtly dart back and forth as he saw only the faintest light at the other end of the passageway.

 

“He can’t win, you know,” the spirit taunted. His voice chilled Lorrik to his core, each smooth syllable bypassing the senses completely to connect directly to his mind. The inquisitor returned his gaze to the ethereal Human, who took to standing politely with his hands tucked behind his back.

 

“I believe in him,” Lorrik softly stated.

 

“Is that so? And why would that be?”

 

“Because he needs me to believe in him. Because I need me to believe in him.”

 

The spirit let out a snide chuckle. “Of course, that’s what’s been holding back the Jedi and Sith, none of them ever believed in anything. One day you’ll find your beliefs will only hold you back, boy.”

 

Lorrik paused, staring as the figure’s ghostly visage. “You’re probably right. But until that day, I’ll do whatever I damned well please.”

 

“Oh ho, the boy does have the making of a Sith, doesn’t he?” the spirit teased, rubbing his ghostly chin. “Let me guess, you’ve come to pilfer this tomb, find some lost artifact belonging to some ancient entity so that you can finally kill your master, or your rival, or whoever it is you feel yourself deserving of dominance over?”

 

“We came at our master’s behest. To find something worth bringing back. And I’ve already found something,” Lorrik explained.

 

“Really? Do enlighten me.”

 

“Knowledge.”

 

“Rather presumptive of you to believe I’d simply let you have my holocron.”

 

“I’m not talking about any physical tome,” Lorrik declared. The spirit arched his brow as his attention focused upon the intruder. “Before I came to Korriban, I was afraid. Afraid of what might happen to myself and my family before I ever knew I was Force-sensitive. After beginning my training, I was still afraid. Afraid of where I was heading and what I was leaving behind. After I became an apprentice, I was afraid. Afraid of what might happen if I wasn't strong enough. But I’m not afraid anymore. Because of the man fighting back there. He lends me his strength, and I lend him mine. And together, we can accomplish anything.”

 

The spirit cast a harsh look into the inquisitor eyes, holding it for what felt like an eternity, before letting out a loud, drawn out yawn. “That’d surely be interesting… if it were true. You hide your thoughts well, boy, but your emotions are easy enough to read. If you are not afraid, why do you keep looking back? If you are not afraid why must you continuously remind yourself that you are not? There is belief… and there is delusion.”

 

“And what is it that you believe in?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Myself. Me and me alone. That is what sustained me for hundreds of years. That is what allows my spirit to persist beyond my body’s demise. The willingness and belief to do whatever is necessary to achieve ascension.”

 

“And yet here you are. Dead. Trapped in a tomb. A selfish Sith buried by his fellows. How’s that for ascension?”

 

“I have not yet faded from this realm. The death of the body is a mere setback for the truly powerful.”

 

“Powerful? You’ve a single tomb holding a single holocron protected by a single guardian. I don’t know what the Order was like in your day but-”

 

Lorrik found himself unable to complete his sentence as an invisible force overtook him. His limbs stiffened and he began to lose control of most of his body. Frozen, the inquisitor watched as the ethereal specter darkened and adopted a harsh, blood-red hue, tenebrous shadows pooling beneath his feet. Slowly, Lorrik was lifted off his feet as it became harder to draw each new breath.

 

----------

 

The warrior and beast combatted, Jresh taking calculated moves using the creature’s momentum against it. With each furious slash of its claws, the Pureblood would maneuver around the Massassi, attacking its flank before backing off and preparing for the next exchange.

 

Jresh’s attention faltered as he felt a creeping darkness emerge from the final chamber. A knot began to form in his gut as he felt his companion in pain. The distraction left the Pureblood open to attack as the abomination brought down a diagonal swipe of its claws upon the warrior. The sharpened and hardened talons raked across Jresh’s face, cutting deep into his flesh and leaving three bleeding wounds across the right side of his head. Three bleeding lines marred his visage from eye to jaw.

 

----------

 

“You two share a connection, don’t you?” the sprit taunted as it effortlessly gazed upon the struggling Human. “You know he is in pain. You know he is losing. You know your belief in him amounts to nothing.”

 

----------

 

Letting out a pained grumble, the Pureblood found himself next thrown onto his back against the cold stone flooring by the attacking beast. As he lay upon the ground, the Massassi secured a single-handed grip upon the warrior’s neck and chest. The abomination began lifting and slamming the back of the Pureblood’s head against the stone, again and again. With each subsequent slam, Jresh felt himself getting weaker and weaker. As he was struck against the stone once more, he began to feel a dampness pooling within the hairs upon the back of his head.

 

----------

 

“That man… is the strongest person I know,” Lorrik declared through struggled breaths. “If my belief amounts to nothing... that just means I'll have more to give.”

 

----------

 

In the brief moment between slams, Jresh was able to turn his head. A short distance away, he saw a dark object resting amongst shadows. His lightsaber. With his last bit of energy, he threw out his open hand and focused his mind. The black hilt began to stir upon the stone floor before heeding its master’s call. The Pureblood tugged upon the weapon with the Force until it had made its way into his hands.

 

Jresh extended the crimson blade and swept the lightsaber between himself and the monster, severing the arm holding him by the neck just above its elbow. The Massassi stumbled backward, clutching at its right stump with its left claw. Jresh meanwhile removed the hand that had chosen to remain firmly around his neck.

 

----------

 

Lorrik dropped to the floor as he was released from the spirit’s lifting hold. The ghost’s previously unwavering stance faltered as he stumbled back, the pooling shadows receding. He appeared weakened, stunned. The inquisitor let out a few wheezing coughs as he attempted to recover. The two figures seemed exhausted, neither able to stand tall.

 

“It would seem… that you’re not as disconnected you might like to believe,” Lorrik declared.

 

----------

 

Jresh rose from the ground, lightsaber in hand, whatever effect the beast had on it having run its course. The Massassi howled as it gripped the charred stump, releasing sounds of frustration rather than outright pain. The Pureblood felt dizzy, but soon regained control of his body. The aches faded as he cast his sharpened gaze upon the creature. Charging forward, Jresh readied his weapon to deliver another sweeping strike.

 

The beast released its grip on its severed bicep to bat the blade away with his remaining left hand. The saber sparked and crackled with the momentary contact with the back of the monster’s blackened hand, but remained ignited. The Pureblood continued his assault, lashing out with focused swings and calculated thrusts. The Massassi was for once on the defensive, gliding along the stone flooring and deflected whatever blow it could not dodge.

 

Jresh altered his stance, moving away from powerful two handed strikes to quick jabs and slashes hoping to make it past the abomination’s defenses. Slowly, the warrior was able to chip away at the Massassi’s guard. As the guardian would parry his blows with its blackened claws, Jresh would follow through rather than resist the retaliatory motions. The creature batted the saber away, only for Jresh to spin and return with a wide sweep, raking the crimson blade across the beast’s chest.

 

The rest of the creature’s hide did not possess the same resistance its hands did. The saber’s blade left a shallow, scorching cut across its recipient’s front. Unable to land a proper finishing blow, Jresh opted to instead land as many minor attacks as he could.

 

----------

 

“You believe myself to be connected to that… thing?” the spirit asked, straightening his ghostly stance, his voice still full of pride.

 

“Yes. Even if you don’t,” Lorrik declared. “It’s a product of Sith Alchemy, correct? The process of altering life itself?”

 

“As astute observation, boy. Limited, but astute.”

 

“Why limited?”

 

“Because I was practicing the art before I had ever stepped foot on Korriban. Before the Jedi even knew of the Sith,” the spirit explained. “Sith Alchemy was the mere practice of primitives until we arrived. No, what we wielded was something much more. The ability to create new forms of life. A dark power, one we went to war with the Jedi over the right to study.”

 

“Dark Jedi,” Lorrik muttered. “Exiles from the Hundred-Year Darkness. The first Sith Lords.”

 

----------

 

Jresh and the Massassi continued to do battle. Numerous cuts marked the creature’s body, but it showed little signs of fatigue or exhaustion. The Pureblood kept up his fight to the fullest, but he knew he could not fight eternally. As the warrior readied another downward swipe of his weapon, the beast extended its arm, ready to grasp the crimson blade. Instead of halting his attack, Jresh deactivated the blade mid swing, reactivating it after the hilt was past the creature’s reach. The extending blade clipped the Massassi’s side as Jresh finished his swing.

 

Jresh continued his assault, making quick strikes, rescinding and extending the blade of his lightsaber to make it past his enemy’s claws. Each attack could only graze the monster’s body, but the wounds were beginning to add up. Liquid began to seep from the beast’s wounds, the cauterized cuts reopening near places of articulation. A dark red liquid slowly poured from the injuries, an unnatural ichor.

 

Bringing down his saber one last time, the warrior’s strike was halted by the beast clasping its claw around his wrist. As his right arm was stilled, Jresh delivered a series of blows to the Massassi’s oozing midsection with his free hand. As his fist battered the creature’s abdomen, the guardian slowly twisted the warrior’s wrist, directing the lightsaber’s blade toward its wielder. Jresh shut off the weapon in time to prevent it from cutting into his own flesh. The beast continued to push and twist the Pureblood’s arm, until the emitter of the lightsaber pressed against his chest.

 

Turning on his heels, Jresh moved inward rather than attempt to escape. Maneuvering the Massassi behind him, his wrist still gripped, the warrior grabbed ahold of the creature’s arm with his free hand. With a hearty grunt, Jresh lifted the beast off the ground, and threw him over his shoulder, slamming the guardian onto the ground in front of him. Just as the Massassi’s back struck the stone floor it released its grip on the Pureblood’s wrist. Igniting his saber one last time, Jresh lowered himself and plunged the crimson blade into the heart of the fallen beast.

 

As the Massassi lay motionless upon the ground, Jresh withdrew his lightsaber and rose to his feet. For the next few seconds he simply stared at the fallen being, letting out a series of exhausted breaths. Returning the black hilt to his belt, the Pureblood took a single step away from his fallen foe, before his legs began to weaken and falter. Jresh caught a single glimpse of a light at the end of the hall Lorrik had traveled. Before he could take another step, his entire body grew heavy and he slumped to the ground.

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Chapter Five: Paths

 

The spirit let out a harsh grunt as he clutched at his chest, sinking to his knees. Lorrik turned toward the previous chamber, an unfamiliar coldness brewing within him. Not the usual sinister chill, but one of creeping somberness. Just as the inquisitor began to take a step back toward the hallway, he found his other foot sufficiently glued to the ground. Looking back, Lorrik saw that even as he knelt upon the stone floor, the spirit held out a single clawing hand. A burdening force pressed down on the inquisitor’s body, attempting to hold him in place.

 

“Do not… turn your back on me…” the spirit harshly commanded through gritted teeth.

 

“Let me go!” Lorrik directed. “You may not care about that thing in there, but I care about my partner! Your guardian may be dead, but I can save Jresh!”

 

“Dead?” the spirit replied, maintaining his grip. “You don’t understand, boy, it cannot die. While others used their talents to raise armies, I used mine constructing and molding the perfect killing machine.”

 

“Anything can be killed… even the dead,” Lorrik declared. “You know this don’t you? Those who draw upon the dark side cannot willingly persist after their bodies perish. Their spirits require a tether. To some idea, some place, some item. But that didn’t suit you did it? You had no idea to cling to. You rejected being limited to any single place. You refused to bind yourself to something of simple material worth. So you chose the one thing you were certain could outlast you. But now you find your tether in danger of being cut. And you are afraid. Afraid of what might happen should my friend and I succeed here today.”

 

“I have not yet faded, boy… I am still here!”

 

Lorrik stopped struggling, stopped resisting the spirit’s clutch. His once passionate eyes had relaxed as he stared toward the faint light emanating from the previous chamber. His panicked breathing steadied, and he was overtaken with calm. Even as the spirit attempted to hold him in place, the inquisitor put his strength into facing the ethereal figure.

 

“Why?” Lorrik asked, soft, almost whispering.

 

“What?” the spirit replied as his head perked up.

 

“Why are you still here? Why stick around? Why not move on?”

 

“Move on? Can you honestly call yourself a Sith?”

 

“Can you?” Lorrik replied. “Weren’t the Sith just a breed of primitive Force-users to you?”

 

“I have insight beyond these halls, boy,” the spirit declared. “I have sensed the progression of the Order since its earliest days within this tomb. I have witnessed its changes.”

 

“And yet for thousands of years you’ve watched and waited. For what? Your time to return? If there hasn’t been a suitable time yet, there never will be. Peace has changed to war and back again, cycle after cycle. The Sith have fallen, only to return. The Jedi have been defeated, only to regain their strength. Are you waiting? Or are you incapable? Is this a tomb, or a prison?”

 

“I could walk amongst the living at any time should I desire to!” the spirit exclaimed.

 

“Do you desire to? Do you desire anything? There’s no power to be gained here. You guard no secrets. You think your techniques haven’t been replicated in your absence? Your selfishness helps no one. Not even yourself. Not anymore.”

 

“You dare to lecture me, boy?” the spirit harshly offered, tightening his grip. Even as the invisible force grew heavier, Lorrik offered only the same stoic visage.

 

“Then tell me. What is it you hope to accomplish?” Lorrik asked. "Do you want to rule the galaxy? Do you want to be left alone? Do you want to prove something? What?”

 

“And you think yourself any better than I, little Sith?”

 

“Yes. I do. I desire freedom, and the knowledge to necessitate it. I desire knowledge, and the freedom to necessitate it. I want to keep moving forward, until I am able to protect the things I care about.”

 

“And what next? You’ll find out soon enough that Force-users can’t possess normal desires,” the spirit stated, his voice lowered. “We either realize that they are beyond our grasp, or worse yet, we actually achieve them. And then you find yourself asking… what next? What next?”

 

“Should I find my desires met, I’ll use the rest of my time and energy trying to fix the galaxy.”

 

The spirit let out a low chortle. “And just who do you think you are to be capable of such a thing?”

 

“I am the shadow amongst the light. The candle amidst the darkness. I am Lorrik Velash!”

 

Just as he finished his declaration, the inquisitor released forceful blast of telekinetic energy, breaking free of the spirit’s hold and knocking the ethereal figure back. The spirit was tossed to the floor at the other end of the chamber, landing with his back against the pedestal on which his holocron sat.

 

“I know who I am. Can you say the same?”

 

From his seated position, the spirit remained motionless, only a soft noise emanating from him. A low chuckle, growing progressively louder and emotive. Lorrik tilted his head at the fallen ghost until another sound overpowered the laughter. A series of loud thuds resonated in the connecting hall, growing louder by the second. The inquisitor turned to see a large shadow approaching, lumbering.

 

“Jresh?” Lorrik concernedly whispered. As the figure approached, more and more of its form was revealed. The outline was broad and hunched. As it stepped closer and closer to the light of the chamber, the fearsome facade of the Massassi became clear. The creature’s crimson flesh was marred with countless slashes and cuts from a lightsaber, culminating in the loss of an arm and a single piercing wound carved into its chest. Still it walked upright, determined and unrelenting. Lorrik's legs began to weaken and shake. He took a woozy step back, deeper into the chamber, but there was nowhere to go.

 

“Well, Mr. Velash… what next?” the spirit’s voice rang out behind him.

 

Lorrik watched as the beast slowly advanced, driven toward the inquisitor, its clawed feet leaving clacking thuds in its wake. Just as the Human though to react, the monster’s front was illuminated by the presence of a crimson beam of light. The blade of a lightsaber had been thrust through its abdomen, and slowly raised until it had cut up to where the original stabbing wound had been inflicted. The beast’s advance stopped as it bent its swollen neck to gaze into the energy beam piercing its body. As the blade retracted, the Massassi stood with a scorched gash from its stomach to its chest, before falling forward, revealing the Pureblood that stood behind him. A loud thud resonated through the chamber as the Massassi struck the ground.

 

Jresh continued forward, stepping over the fallen Massassi and deactivating his lightsaber. As he groggily stepped into the final chamber, Lorrik saw a clear picture of the wounds his partner had sustained. The right half of his face was covered in dried blood from the three gashes wrought by the Massassi’s claws. His hair was distraught, much of it caked with blood from the wound in the back of his head. But still he moved, still he pressed forward, driven by some unseen force until he locked eyes with his companion. Seeing his companion standing across from him, safe and sound, the Pureblood cracked a subtle smile before falling forward.

 

Lorrik rushed forward to catch him, almost being crushed by the weight of his armored partner. Slowly, he lowered himself and the wounded Pureblood to the floor, the inquisitor kneeling and resting his companion’s head within his lap. As Jresh’s eyes grew heavier and heavier, Lorrik struggled to subdue the concern within his own. Cupping the back of his partner’s head, the inquisitor closed his eyes and focused his energies, a dim light emanating from his hands.

 

Lorrik put forth all his energy attempting to heal the wound in the back of his companion’s head. Slowly, pieces of bone began to settle and fall back into place, flesh regenerating and mending over it. Running his hands through the Pureblood’s matted hair, Lorrik felt no trace of the wound. Withdrawing them however, the Human saw his palms covered in his companion’s blood.

 

“Jresh. Jresh, are you alright,” Lorrik asked in a hushed manner, concern creeping back into his eyes. The Pureblood adopted a harsh scowl as he let a low grumble slip past his lips, wincing at the three slashes that still covered half his face. Despite the fact that his companion was in pain, Lorrik’s eyes widened with wonder and excitement at the response.

 

“I may have exaggerated… when I said I was more than capable of handling it,” Jresh muttered with his usual stoicism. The inquisitor let out a soft chuckle.

 

“Nonsense. I never doubted you for a second,” Lorrik declared.

 

“I know you didn’t,” Jresh stated as he struggled to lift his head from his partner’s lap. Slowly, the warrior turned over and began to push himself up off the floor. Working to keep his stance straight, the Pureblood saw the ethereal figure at the end of the chamber writhing on the ground, clutching at its abdomen. “Who’s that?”

 

“The owner of this tomb,” Lorrik plainly stated. Jresh took a few groggy steps toward the spirit who continued to stir.

 

“How… how did you…” the spirit muttered into the floor. Digging his elbows to the stone floor, the ethereal figure slowly lifted himself from the ground with a hearty grunt. Just as he was half way toward standing, he looked up to see the Pureblood hovering over him. And before he could offer any words, the warrior clenched his fist and delivering a powerful right hook to the spirit’s jaw, sending him crashing back down to the floor. As the ghost lied motionless on the ground, his figure began to slowly fade until he vanished from sight.

 

“I didn’t know you could punch a ghost,” Lorrik offered as he looked on, baffled.

 

“Neither did I,” Jresh nonchalantly confessed. Eyeing the holocron on the nearby pedestal, the Pureblood took the pyramid-shaped artifact and held in in his hand, the base of which fit perfectly within the spread of his fingers. “Do you want this?”

 

“Sure, it'll give us something to bring to Syrosk,” Lorrik stated as he raised himself from the floor, holding out a hand to receive the artifact. The warrior tossed the holocron to his companion and the two decided to exit the chamber.

 

As they made their way through the preceding hallway, Lorrik had to slow his pace so as to not outrun his wounded companion. The warrior’s armor concealed any wounds to his body. For all Lorrik knew, Jresh possessed only minor bruises and sores, or was pushing through with numerous broken bones. The two passed through the chamber where the battle between warrior and beast took place. The dim lights of the hanging crystals and sigil in the room’s center still shined, numerous droplets of blood and black ichor staining the floor around them.

 

Before exiting the chamber, Jresh took pause. Lorrik turned to see his companion kneeling, not from pain but from inquiry. He held, within his hand, another hand. The severed right limb of the Massassi guardian.

 

“I know you warriors like your trophies, but…” Lorrik began, a bit bewildered.

 

“The beast possessed the most interesting of traits,” Jresh explained, as he studied the arm. “I couldn’t cut through blackened flesh below the elbow. He blocked my blade with his bare claws, even managed to pierce the containment field and short out the lightsaber for a time.”

 

Lorrik scratched his chin. “Hmm. Sounds like cortosis, but I don’t know if its usage dates back to when this tomb was probably built. If fact, this place probably predates the modern lightsaber as we know it.”

 

“More Sith Alchemy,” Jresh suggested. “His hands were forged into weapons, flesh fused with some material on a molecular level, transformed into… this. Interesting.”

 

“We might find some answers in this holocron, but I don’t-”

 

“Don’t worry, my interest lies in understanding, and finding a way to combat it. I’d never resort to using such measures on myself.”

 

“Well that’s a relief. I’d hate to see you becoming anything like that monster,” Lorrik stated. Jresh raised himself from the ground, still grasping the Massassi’s severed arm. Just as he was about to continue his trek, he found his steps thrown off by a dizziness swirling within his head. The Human rushed to his companion’s side and steadied him. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine. Just tired,” Jresh declared. Lorrik stared at the three slashes that stretched across the right side of the warrior’s face.

 

“Jresh, those claws may have been toxic. Let me treat your wounds,” Lorrik advised, reaching out with his hand. As his fingertips brushed his partner’s cheek, his head immediately recoiled. “Sorry, I know how much you don’t like physical contact.”

 

“No it’s not that. It’s just that it legitimately stings,” Jresh begrudgingly admitted, almost ashamed of being in pain. Lorrik let out another soft chuckle as he gently laid a hand on the Pureblood’s cheek, hovering his palm over the series of cuts.

 

“Remember, I’m good with flesh wounds… venom is a bit more complicated,” Lorrik explained.

 

“I think the worst is behind us.”

 

As Lorrik finished mending his companion’s wounds, he looked over the Pureblood’s shoulder to see movement amongst the shadows. Jresh saw his partner’s eyes widen, and turned around to see the Massassi marching into the chamber, missing an arm, and the last wound he inflicted scabbed over with charred flesh mixed with black ichor.

 

“I’m almost starting to respect his tenacity,” Jresh stated as he retrieved the lightsaber from his belt.

 

“Wait a minute,” Lorrik whispered, keeping a hand on his companion’s shoulder.

 

Together they watched at the guardian continued its slow trudge into the chamber. The beast paused only for a moment to stare at the pair, only to resume on its path toward the room’s center. Ignoring the two intruders, the Massassi returned to its point of origin within the runed markings upon the ground. It remained perfectly still as the sigil began to light up and once more, the guardian was in stasis.

 

“I think we’ve earned a safe passage out of here,” Lorrik declared.

 

“I suppose you and that ghost had an engaging conversation?”

 

“We did. But I think your demonstration left quite an impact.”

 

The chamber was still. Nothing was left to oppose the intruders. Battered, but not beaten, the two walked side by side toward the tomb’s entrance, prizes in hand, ready to present to their master.

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Glad this is carrying on, I was missing them ;)

 

I just finished Act II in like 5 days of straight reading. I love this story, I love the characters, I can't wait to continue. Now if you excuse me I need to keep reading. :):)

 

Happy to hear it (or read it). I've been solidifying the details and events of the coming chapters, so all I need it time and the willingness to write. There's not much that can be done with time, but you all have played a big part in motivating me. As you can tell by looking at my other stories, I sometimes have a hard time finishing what I start. The fact that we're some 80 chapters in, can be attributed the the comments and feedback I have the pleasure of reading.

 

I should have the next chapter up soon, and as always, thanks for reading.

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Chapter Six: Prizes

 

Emerging from the shattered entryway of the tomb, Lorrik and Jresh winced as the light of the Korriban sun stung their eyes. Despite the bright rays and the consuming soreness that plagued the warrior’s body, the pair seemed to be in high spirits.

 

“Really? ‘I am the shadow amongst the light’?” Jresh teased before letting out a brief chuckle that was cut short by a coughing fit.

 

Lorrik scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, laughing alongside his partner. “I was in the moment…”

 

“So was I. Now if only the Massassi had let me get out my catchphrase before he decided to rearrange the back of my head,” Jresh sarcastically offered.

 

“Did you give it a silent, stern look beforehand? If so, then yes, you did manage to get out your catchphrase,” Lorrik joked. The Pureblood turned to offer a quick stare toward his companion. “Yes, that’s the one.”

 

The two continued their journey toward where their master waited. Even in the distance, the pair could see that more than a single figure stood beside the landed shuttle. In fact, it appeared that they would be the last to arrive. Syrosk and the other six apprentices turned to watch the pair's sluggish, wounded approach.

 

“Wow, looks like we’re last,” Lorrik muttered. “I lost track of time, how long do you think we were in there?”

 

“Again. Back of head. Rearranged,” Jresh offered in typical deadpan fashion. Lorrik leaned back to sneak a quick look at the aforementioned area.

 

“At least I seem to have been able to put everything back in its place. Although it’s hard to tell under the layer of… blood…” Lorrik trailed off.

 

“Surely this isn’t the first time you’ve seen someone shed blood on Korriban?”

 

“I know, it’s just… unsettling when it’s coming out of someone you care about,” Lorrik admitted. The Pureblood offered a knowing nod as the pair pressed forward.

 

The others stood outside the shuttle, each pair of apprentices possessing some item retrieved from their tomb, and a look of impatience upon their faces. Their various robes and armors were rustled and bared an assortment of scuffs and scratches, each pair suffering their own sets of injuries, though all less severe than the Pureblood’s. But despite any pains wrought, they each stood tall and proud, their prizes held firmly in hand.

 

Nesk and Vurt had delved into the tomb of the Nameless Ravager, and returned with a pair of ancient Sith war blades. The dueling swords were matte black, simple and unadorned, yet still in perfect condition and a sharp as the day they were forged.

 

Kar’ai and Ryloh had entered the tomb of the Blind Lord, and came back with the eponymous Sith’s facemask. The trinket was featureless and black as night, a shadow materialized in the form of a plate that covered the entirety of the wearer’s face.

 

Isorr and Arlia had explored the tomb of the Prime Collector, and took a handful of lightsaber crystals from its halls. The rare assortment came in a variety of colors, some the other apprentices had never seen in person or even referenced in archives.

 

Jresh and Lorrik took their place near the others, brandishing their holocron and severed hand. The other six’s eyes seemed immediately drawn to the Pureblood who was struggling to maintain an upright stance, a blackened claw resting firmly within his gloved hand.

 

“Yeesh, what happen to you Jresh?” Kar’ai asked, only a single, barely apparent cut visible across her left cheek.

 

“Tomb was guarded,” Jresh explained, momentarily raising and lowering the Massassi’s hand. “I take it ours wasn’t the only one?”

 

“No, ours had ancient battle droids,” Kar’ai replied.

 

“K’lor’slugs managed to dig their way into ours,” Arlia added.

 

“How about you, Nesk?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Only dead things,” the Trandoshan bluntly answered.

 

“Eloquent as always,” Lorrik said before turning to his master, who looked upon with apprentices with usual stoicism.

 

“And so the last pair returns,” Syrosk declared. The Sith Lord panned his gaze to look upon the holocron the Human held within his hand. “I dare say this is a step up from the one you presented to me before,” Syrosk stated, recalling the small trinket Lorrik had brought to his second day of training. He turned to see the severed hand held by the weakened Pureblood. “And ironically, Jresh has maintained the same theme of bodily harm.”

 

“And in neither moment have I regretted my actions,” Jresh declared.

 

“Of course you haven’t,” Syrosk rasped. “Now, I’m sure you all are wondering the purpose of this trial. I did not desire the contents the these tombs, whether they be in my possession or yours. I had asked you to return with something, and stated that you would be judged on whatever that was. Now tell me, do you believe you should be judged on the trinkets you hold in your hands, or something else?”

 

The students were hesitant to speak. As proud as they were of the relics in their hands, they knew there was more to this trial than their material worth. Only one possessed the belief that he knew the answer.

 

“Something else,” Lorrik assuredly declared.

 

“Is that so?” Syrosk stated, feigning surprise. “Would you care to elaborate?”

 

“Inside that tomb, I came to a realization. One I might never have attained had I not faced what I faced in there. And the knowledge that’s come with that realization, is more valuable than anything material prize I could have walked out with.”

 

“And what, pray tell, was this knowledge?” Syrosk continued.

 

“Insight into the nature of our relationship,” Lorrik answered, motioning his hand between himself and his companion. “I realized and Jresh and I are connected.”

 

“Connected?” Syrosk repeated, intrigued.

 

“We share a bond. He lends me his strength, and I lend him mine. As he grows stronger, so do I. Together we can accomplish things we never could alone.”

 

“I see,” Syrosk stated, almost expecting the answer.

 

“But that’s not all,” Lorrik added, to the genuine surprise of his master. “Just as we share strengths, we also share weaknesses. Whenever he is in pain, I am in pain. When I am afraid, he is afraid. Our connection runs deeper than simple cooperation. Even when we are separated and locked in our individual tasks, our bond persists. I know whatever faults hold me back, will hold him back as well. If I cannot advance, no longer is it only to my detriment. But whereas other Sith would be afraid of such an arrangement, I am not. Together, we are more than just the sum of our individual talents. We bolster one another. Drive each other forward. Push each other's limits far beyond what either of us could achieve alone.”

 

Syrosk locked eyes with the Human, offering an enduring, cold stare. “Then it would seem that my teachings have had the desired effect.”

 

Some of the other apprentices began to stir at their master’s apparent support of Lorrik’s declaration.

 

“Wait, you mean that was the point of these pairings, to create some sort of Force bond?” Arlia inquired.

 

Isorr balked. “To be dependent upon one another? To sacrifice the self for another’s sole benefit. Such endorsement of reliance does not fit a Sith!”

 

“I have been Sith longer than the Republic has even known of our existence,” Syrosk harshly declared, shooting a cold stare at the Zabrak. “And if there is one thing that has become apparent in all my years, it is that no one, not even Sith, are free from the burden of reliance. From the lowliest acolytes to members of the Dark Council, they rely on something. Even if that something is as simple as a lightsaber, the Force, or even themselves, it is reliance.”

 

“But those cannot be taken away from you as easily as another living being,” Isorr countered.

 

“Can’t they?” Syrosk asked. “Can your lightsaber not be lost or destroyed? Can your connection to the Force not be outmatched or even severed? Can the sum total of your knowledge and skills not be rendered utterly insignificant in the face of a greater individual? All Sith rely on something, whether they realize it or not. And anything relied upon can be taken away, whether they realize it or not. I have provided you something worth relying on.”

 

“And what about you?” Arlia asked. “What do you rely on, or are you somehow conveniently different from the rest of us?”

 

“I am not foolish enough to think myself exempt from my own teachings,” Syrosk rasped. “In my earlier years, the focus of my reliance rested with my master, as it would with many Sith. He taught me, trained me, led me toward something I would have never sought out on my own. But he was more than a mere teacher. He was the father who raised me. The protector who shielded an alien within the Empire. But eventually the day would come when he was killed, and I lost more than his guidance. That experience is partly why I have not fostered the same bond between myself and you all. Sith are far too invested in the status of their superiors and inferiors. They utterly discount the presence of their equals.”

 

“That's because you’d be hard pressed to find a Sith who believes in the idea of equals,” Kar’ai lightheartedly added.

 

“Whether you admit to it or not, all eight of you belong to a distinct class of Sith, more similar to one another than any other in the Empire,” Syrosk declared. “And if you still hesitate to believe me, you should know, amongst those who knew of these tombs was Darth Tash, the man responsible for your tenure at the Academy. For years, he’s known of these tombs, and he is not the kind of man who would let such places slip from his mind. He feared what lied within this valley as much as any other Sith. And yet, here you all stand, each of you having entered and returned with evidence of your endeavor. You have survived the places where even Lords fear to tread. Do any of you believe you could have done so alone? Do any of you believe you could have accomplished the same had you stayed within Tash’s classrooms, or if you had been entered into the Academy proper?”

 

The apprentices fell silent, lowering their heads before turning to one another, focusing on their partners. Lorrik and Jresh shared a confident look of mutual appreciation. Kar’ai and Ryloh gazed into each other’s eyes, fully embracing their newfound realization. Isorr and Arlia shared a look, each aware of the other’s selfishness, but slowly admitting to themselves the worth of their companion. Nesk and Vurt offered each other only cold, vacant stares, but even they had come to respect and appreciate one another’s skills.

 

“But if this was the purpose all along, why not just tell us earlier?” Lorrik asked.

 

“The nature of the bonds you each possess cannot be forced. It is a symbiotic link in the Force between two individuals. Because a Sith’s connection to the Force relies on and rewards conflict, each pairing has thrived due to the nature of its construction. Different skillsets. Different backgrounds. I knew that if you could resist destroying one another, you could become something great. Plus, Jedi are simply told things. A Sith ought to be expected to figure something out for themselves every now again. And are we not Sith?”

 

Each apprentice offered a confident, affirming nod to their master.

 

“Good. Then our training is done for the day,” Syrosk declared before turning to board the parked shuttle.

 

“Wait…now that we know all this, what impact does it have on our future trials?” Lorrik asked.

 

“For one, it means I can stop taking it easy on you all,” Syrosk bluntly said as he entered the vessel. The eight apprentices shared a quick round of looks before following their master’s lead, boarding the shuttle and preparing for the trip back to the Academy.

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man i love seeing that there is a new part to the story dont want to see it end!!!

maybe dive into each pair's trial like u did the backstories on everyone that'd be cool

 

Well, the good new is that just because it's the end of this story, doesn't mean its the end of the characters' stories. Lorrik and Jresh have a part to play in certain events after the Treaty of Coruscant. As for the other apprentices, well, that all depends on who survives the next 20 chapters.

 

I'd like to give the other pairs some of the limelight, and they'll have their roles in the chapters to come. And while I'd prefer moving forward to focusing on past events, I think it'd be fun to go back and fill in some of the gaps and expand certain areas I skimmed over after the story is finished.

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Finally got to the end. The story is brilliant but I noticed in the last chapter you used the word belief where believe should be used.

 

Maybe I should have titled that one 'Beliefs' then. Heh, thanks, I went back and edited them. I manage to miss something no matter how many times I look it over before posting.

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Chapter Seven: Connections

 

As the shuttle made its way back to the Academy, the nine Sith sat in silence. Syrosk stood at the back of the passenger bay, arms crossed, head dipped, and eyes closed, no doubt locked within his own thoughts. The apprentices meanwhile, sat on the benches to either side of the shuttle, quiet, but not utterly without conversation.

 

“I think the others are staring at us,” Lorrik mentally suggested to his companion. His gaze was fixed upon the floor, rising only to make a passing glance at his fellow students. None of the apprentices were willing to make eye contact but for the briefest of moments. Each pair kept to themselves, likely conversing through telepathy to hide their thoughts from anyone but their partners.

 

“It’s understandable,” Jresh mentally replied, himself situated much like his master, calm and composed even in his battle-worn state. “I’d say you managed to stir things up quite a bit.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“You were the first to uncover the true meaning of the master's plan, of course the other apprentices are going to have some feelings on the subject. You’ve earned his favor, and you’ve earned their interest. No telling if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

 

“Were we ordinary Sith, I’d assume it was a matter of jealousy and disdain. But we are far from ordinary,” Lorrik admitted. “There’s a part of them that wants to reject Syrosk’s idea, something deep seeded from our earlier years in the Academy. But it doesn’t seem to be controlling them. You feel it don’t you? The utter lack of anger or animosity here. Everyone is calm, even Nesk. Sure there’s some underlying confusion and internal conflict, but pride prevails. And not just singular pride. It’s like everyone suddenly realized the nature of their accomplishments. We convinced them of the benefits of cooperation back in the wastes. I’d say we managed to take that a step further today.”

 

“We? Lorrik, despite the current nature of our partnership, you must give yourself credit for your accomplishments,” Jresh advised. “Had it not been for you, none of us might have made it back from the wastes. I know Kar’ai definitely wouldn’t have. You’ve had as much an impact on this group as Syrosk has.”

 

“I don’t know if I’d say that,” Lorrik offered.

 

“Syrosk is a fine teacher,” Jresh admitted. “Our physical performance has improved beyond measure. Our knowledge and wisdom have been vastly expanded. He’s given a place and purpose that we would not otherwise possess if not for his intervening. But over the many months we’ve spent under him, have you ever believed yourself to be receiving all he could offer?”

 

“I know what you mean,” Lorrik stated. “It is in a Sith Lord’s nature to be mysterious, but Syrosk… after all this time, there’s still so many unanswered questions. The day we returned from the wastes, I thought that’d be it, we’d finally understand everything about our place in the Academy. It was an enlightening day for sure, but I’ve no doubt he's kept many things close to his chest. It’s been months since then, and we are just now figuring out the entire point behind putting us into pairs. We still don’t know why there are eight of us. Why he apparently leaves so many things to chance. We still don’t know what’s going on with the classrooms we were ‘liberated’ from. I hate that so many questions go unanswered, but I hate even more the prospect that some of these questions may not even have answers.”

 

“Answers are deserved only by those brave enough to ask questions,” Jresh declared. “And I believe that you are more than deserving. I'm sure you'll have them in time.”

 

“Thanks Jresh, that means a lot.”

 

“We’ve come a long way, Lorrik. We no longer need to fear the unknown. In our earlier days, we could not question Syrosk, lest we risk being cast from his sphere, losing our only perceived chance at apprenticeship. That time has passed. We stand capable of challenging our master, no longer blindly obeying and taking him at his word. And we are not alone.”

 

“The others are strong. Just as strong as us. And I’m sure our desires overlap,” Lorrik offered. “But I cannot say for certain whether they’d be willing to risk their relationship with the master.”

 

“We are not rejecting Syrosk, nor disposing of him. We are simply challenging him. Letting him know that we have advanced far beyond the level of mere acolytes. Letting him know that we are deserving of something more than the occasional cryptic bit of information. And you should believe the others would follow you. I know I would.”

 

“Well, of course you would.”

 

“Really? You recall the man I was when we first met in the lecture hall. I was isolated. I placed only as much faith in the partnership as was necessary to please my new master. I believed there was something of worth within you, but back then, there was little I would have expected of you. Now, you have proven yourself far beyond anything I could have hoped to expect. You have proven yourself able to rise to the challenge, to overcome physical and mental strain that would demolish lesser Sith. You are still here, despite the fact that you could have left. But you didn’t. You stayed on Korriban because there was something you still needed to accomplish.”

 

“That doesn’t mean the others would automatically follow my lead.”

 

“You respect them, don’t you? Well, I can assure you, they respect you as well. You proved yourself out in the wastes. They realized you were more than just a gleeful acolyte hiding behind his collected knowledge. You were someone capable of converting plan into action. Someone capable of thinking beyond the self. You proved that there was no ulterior motive behind your kindness, your compassion, and that there was no weakness born from them, only strength. Syrosk is a sufficient guide, but you… you can be a leader.”

 

Lorrik remained silent as his gaze remained glued to the floor. His companion's words swirled in his head. He held the acquired holocron in his hand, thumbing the edges as his foot incessantly tapped against the shuttle’s floor. The hum of the ship’s engines overtook his senses, drowning out everything else. Time began to fly by. There were no more conversations to be had, no more thoughts to exchange, just the passing of the minutes until they would arrive at the Academy.

 

----------

 

The vessel carrying the Sith Lord and his apprentices set down as the Korriban sun was doing the same. The eight students exited into the dulling light followed by their master. As the Academy stood in the distance, a strange feeling overcame the apprentices. Never before had they looked upon their home with such a feeling of accomplishment. They each had some item to their name, some relic that even the true students of the establishment would love to possess.

 

Though they had fought against forces old and received their fair share of wounds, the students felt warm amidst the cooling dusk. A warmness that had not been matched since the moment they returned safely from the wastes of Korriban. The pairs remained silent as they trekked back to their homes. Lord Syrosk faded from sight along the way, disappearing from the students’ notices as he often did.

 

Back at the suite, Lorrik input the door code and entered alongside his partner. The pair was home, free of the burdens of the outside world within their cozy domicile. Lorrik approached his desk and set the holocron next to his datapad. The Human jumped as the severed hand of the Massassi landed next to it with a soft thud, Jresh having tossed it from across the room. Lorrik turned to see the warrior limp toward his bedroom.

 

“You going to be okay, Jresh?” Lorrik asked with concern.

 

“Just need to clean up and meditate, I’ll be fine,” Jresh stated, trying to put his partner at ease.

 

“Need any help getting out of your armor? I mean… I don’t know how you put it on, let alone how you take it off, I just…” Lorrik struggled to articulate, thinking of anything he could do to help his partner.

 

“It’s okay Lorrik. Worry about yourself for a few hours. You’ve done enough for the rest of us today,” Jresh warmly stated before retreating to his bedroom. Lorrik smiled as he tried to reign in the concern in his mind.

 

Taking a seat at his desk, the inquisitor looked upon the items retrieved from the tomb. The pyramid-shaped holocron sat in its structural magnificence, but offered nothing of interest beyond its design. It neither glowed nor hummed, to any other it would appear an ornate model. Beside it rest the motionless hand taken from the undying guardian of the tomb. The four fingered hand still bore a pitch blackness that stretched up its forearm, showing only a sliver of crimson flesh before the cutting point.

 

The Human’s focus was on the hand, looking upon it with a perturbed visage. Slowly, he extended a finger to give it a gentle prod. It rocked back and forth upon his desk, stiff and hardened. Lorrik was relieved to find that the item had yet to leak onto his other belongings, but began to worry about the decision to bring it into their home. As well preserved as the ancient Massassi was, the inquisitor had no reason to believe the claw could last disconnected from its source. And he was hesitant in placing in the fridge next to his food.

 

He turned his attention to the holocron. He knew not what secrets rested within, only that they did. There was a chance it held nothing, but the inquisitor refused to belief such a notion. He knew the severity of the injuries his partner sustained, and he knew that it couldn’t have been for nothing.

 

Lorrik picked up the relic, turning it over in his hand, examining each face of the holocron. No switches, no buttons, nothing to interact with. The inquisitor closed his eyes and studied the item with his mind, pouring over each surface, penetrating the outer layer to examine its interior workings. After minutes of close scrutiny, Lorrik decided the Force was needed to activate it. But even after allowing the Force to flow through it, it offered no response.

 

“He didn’t want just anyone opening it. It’s not enough to be Force-sensitive. He would only share his knowledge with those unafraid of the darkness.”

 

Gripping the pyramid in the palm of his right hand, Lorrik sharpened his eyes and furrowed his brow. His breathing intensified as he attempted to channel dark energies, to bring about a spark of Force lightning and surge it through the device. But nothing came from his hand. He tried again, focusing, trying his hardest to conjure the smallest spark, but it was to no avail. The Human couldn’t even muster the charge he was able to as an acolyte.

 

Lorrik pondered at his inability. His first thought was to blame the holocron, but his mind was too clear to jump to such a biased conclusion. He looked inward, searching his own mind for an answer. Upon delving into his own memories, the inquisitor realized that it had been months since he last had to use the technique. He had passed on the ability to others, trained them in its usage, but he himself had no need for it. And no matter how hard he tried, something prevented him from channeling the dark energy. Whereas before, he was inhibited by doubt, he knew that could not be the reason this time. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt left within his body. Gone was the doubt, the uncertainty, the pain.

 

That’s when he realized it. He had nothing to draw upon to summon the lightning. Even with all the techniques, all the shortcuts, all the knowledge he possessed, he could not overcome the source required to channel such dark forces. Lorrik set the artifact down upon the desk with a loud thud. Scratching his brow, the inquisitor pondered what he could do. He was frustrated. Angry. Picking up the holocron, he tried once more, focusing on such emotions, but still nothing.

 

Slowly, he released his grip and raised himself from his desk. The Human began to pace about the living room, circling the meditation mat that rest beneath his feet. He was confident he knew how to activate the holocron, he just lacked the method. He thought to ask Jresh, but knew the warrior’s mastery of the force to be inward, not outward. He thought to ask one of other students, but without knowing what lied within, he couldn’t risk the proliferation of the relic’s secrets. But most of all, he couldn’t admit failure.

 

He knew what he had to do. Lorrik relocated to the kitchen, opened one of the drawers, and snatched a cutting knife before returning to his desk. He sat motionless for a moment, holocron in front of him, knife resting firmly in his left hand. The inquisitor opened his right hand and began eyeing its palm. The lightning needed a power source, and that power source was anger and pain.

 

He opened and closed his right hand, stretching his fingers and calming himself. He raised his left hand, knife held firmly within his clenched fist, tip pointing downward. The Human steeled himself, taking a couple deep breaths. His nostrils flared. His face tightened. He closed his eyes, and without another moment of hesitation, drove his left hand downward.

 

The tip of the knife dug into the desk’s surface, landing just shy of the inquisitor’s other hand. The tool stuck straight up as he removed his grip, leaned back in his chair, and ran his hands through his hair. Lorrik looked upon the knife, and holocron, the severed hand, letting out an exasperated breath.

 

The Human remembered the bond between himself and his companion. Jresh had endured enough pain for the day, and couldn’t risk adding to that, either physically or mentally. But as he realized the pain he might cause his partner, a revelation dawned upon the inquisitor. He did indeed share a bond with the warrior. And Jresh indeed had seen his share of pain that day. They were connected, both ways.

 

Lorrik took hold of the holocron, cupping its base with both hands. He closed his eyes and focused on the bond that existed between himself and Jresh. The warrior had not yet fully healed. His body was still wracked with pain. Opening himself to the connection, Jresh’s pain became his. He experienced what his partner had, he felt what he endured. It was an overwhelming sensation, one that encompassed his entire body, as well as his entire spirit. Sparks of electricity began to arc from the inquisitor's fingertips to the holocron. More and more Force lightning passed from the Human to the relic, and a glow began to appear under its dull red facade.

 

The holocron had been activated.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Chapter Eight: Relics

 

Lorrik opened his eyes to find himself no longer within his apartment. He now stood on familiar, yet unfamiliar ground. The skies above and dirt blow suggested a Korriban landscape, but the exact spot he had never laid eyes upon before. The sky was still. No wind blew. Everything was silent. The inquisitor had been transported to the top of a rocky plateau, overlooking the surrounding bareness of the orange planet.

 

But what immediately caught the Human’s attention, was that he found himself standing in the shadow of three towering statues. Lining the opposite half of the plateau, three figures carved from stone looked upon him with their frozen gazes. The left statue was of a lithe figure, garbed in heavy robes that concealed much of its body. But its face was that of a Sith, tendrils and spurs sprouting from its cheeks and brow. The right statue was that of a larger, stockier figure. A warrior, clad only in a loincloth and battle-harness crossing its torso. Its unadorned face exhibited Sith traits much like its opposite, and in fact appeared to be the natural basis for the guardian Jresh had battled in the tomb.

 

The center statue stood taller than its neighbors, a magnificent representation of a Human aware of his own stature. Though he still did not know his name, Lorrik recognized the form. Before he could study his surroundings or his place within them further, the inquisitor’s attention was drawn straight ahead as a figure began to materialize at the foot of the center statue. The figure condensed until it was completely corporeal, an image without errors or flaw. An image of the holocron’s creator, more realistic than the real thing.

 

And yet Lorrik knew the figure and all his surroundings were a fabrication. A construct. But one of such detail that it astounded the inquisitor, whose last mental venture offered nothing but a white void. Alone within unfamiliar territory, the inquisitor found himself stricken with wonder, rather than worry or fear. The materialized figure that stood before him cast his stoic gaze upon the intruder.

 

“This one is the keeper of the holocron. What is your purpose?” he asked in monotonous fashion. The keeper offered a clearer image of the relic’s owner, a man in simplistic black robes that hid his body. His head was shaved and his face was cold, but there was little in the way of presence Lorrik expected of one of the first Dark Jedi to step foot on Korriban.

 

“I seek the knowledge held within this holocron,” Lorrik emphatically stated, not entirely certain how to converse with the keeper. From what the inquisitor knew of holocrons, the figure that stood before him acted as the interface between himself and whatever secrets the relic’s creator hid within. A program, but more than a simple artificial intelligence. Any Force-user that goes through the effort to create a holocron leaves a bit of themselves with it, a fraction of their psyche to act as a gatekeeper. An advisor. A judge.

 

“This one requires clarification. What knowledge do you seek?” the keeper asked in the same monotonous tone. There was no life within the figure, he was driven only by the set of instructions left to him by his creator.

 

“Oh, you know. Secret teachings. Techniques. Powers. Histories. Tales. Lessons. Errata and the like,” the inquisitor jokingly listed.

 

“This one requires clarification. Please make a specific inquiry,” the keeper clarified, steadfast in his presentation.

 

“Hey, you asked, I answered. Not my fault if you take everything seriously,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“This one requires clarification. Please repeat.”

 

“That wasn’t a… I wasn’t being…” Lorrik stammered.

 

“This one requires-“

 

“Yes, I know!” Lorrik shouted at the figure, still steadfast in his neutral stance and monotonous verbiage.

 

Whatever part of himself the holocron’s creator infused into the relic, it wasn’t one concerned with convenience. The inquisitor groaned and ran his hands through his hair. Lorrik found himself no closer to uncovering whatever knowledge rest within the artifact whilst the keeper continued to batter his senses, bringing about an increasing discomfort.

 

“Stop. Reset.” Lorrik directed, holding out his hands for emphasis, not entirely sure it would even have an effect. The keeper fell silent, staring off into the distance before reaffirming his gaze toward the inquisitor.

 

“This one is the keeper of the holocron. What is your purpose?”

 

Lorrik let out a bellowing sigh as he dipped his head, carefully searching for the right words.

 

----------

 

Back within the confines of the apartment, Jresh had emerged from his shower. Stepping into the living area, the only covering he possessed was a black towel wrapped around his waist, Imperial insignia sewn into the cloth with trademark red fibers. His torso exposed, few blemishes graced his crimson flesh, most of his surface wounds appearing to have healed.

 

“Lorrik, I sensed something peculiar in-“ Jresh began as he saw his companion sitting at his desk. His speech drifted to silence as when saw the Human holding the acquired holocron within his hands, continuous streams of electricity arcing from his fingertips to the relic.

 

“Lorrik,” Jresh repeated, trying to get his attention. But the inquisitor offered no response.

 

The warrior took a cautious step toward his partner, slowly placing a hand upon his shoulder. Still no reaction. The Pureblood began to worry as he sensed something missing within his partner, as if he wasn’t whole. As hard as he tried, Jresh could not get a firm grasp on his companion's mind. He sensed no emotion, no thoughts, only emptiness. But more than emptiness. Nothingness. A void, created through displacement. Jresh realized that though Lorrik sat right in front of him, he wasn’t there.

 

Jresh slowly removed his hand from his partner’s shoulder before stepping away. He turned his attention to the meditation mat in the center of the living area. Kneeling, the Pureblood closed his eyes and focused his thoughts. Though Lorrik’s mind seemed elsewhere, the bond between him and Jresh still remained. Calling upon that bond, the warrior meditated. Though for the first time, he searched outward, rather than inward.

 

The Pureblood’s senses grew dark as he pushed out everything of insignificance. He reached out with his mind, searching for where his companion’s had gone. The warrior traversed unfamiliar territory, unsure of how to accomplish the task he had set for himself. He wasn’t entirely sure what that task was in the first place.

 

As he meditated, Jresh sensed something peculiar. There was a void amidst the darkness. And yet, that void distinguished itself from the surrounding emptiness. There was a barrier, beyond which rest something of substance. The warrior concentrated his efforts in pushing past that barrier, searching, wading through something darker than darkness. And eventually, he managed pierce that veil.

 

Jresh slowly peeled back the layers of darkness, cracks of light beginning to shine through. The cracks widened and stretched, until the shadows were no more. Regaining control of his senses, the warrior found himself standing atop a mountainous plateau, basking under the Korriban sun. Three statues graced the opposite side of the mesa, a robed figure standing in front of them, and in front of him an annoyed inquisitor sat upon the ground, face buried in his hands.

 

“This one is the keeper of this holocron. What is your purpose?” the robed figure asked once more.

 

“Oh don’t tell me we’re back to this,” Lorrik muttered. Lifting his gaze, the inquisitor noticed that the keeper had turned his attention elsewhere. Turning his head, he saw his companion standing somewhat dumbfounded behind him. “Jresh? What are you doing here? And where are your clothes?”

 

The Pureblood looked down to see that his mental representation reflected his physical form, naked aside from the towel wrapped around his waist.

 

“I just stepped out of the shower. I saw you with the holocron, and… well, you seemed a little out of it,” Jresh stated, a slight bashfulness slipping past his usual stoicism.

 

“Well, if we're being technical, I’d say I was quite literally in it,” Lorrik declared as he lifted himself from the ground.

 

“You mean… we’re inside the holocron right now?”

 

“Our minds are,” Lorrik nonchalantly explained, turning his back on the robed figure. “How did you get here? I had to practically push my way in.”

 

“I did as well. At least, I think I did,” Jresh admitted. “I was worried when I couldn’t sense your mind. Considering our newfound bond, I considered that troublesome. But it was because of that bond that I was able to eventually find my way here.”

 

“So you were able to use your connection to me to replicate my connection to the holocron and bring your mind in alongside mine… that’s awesome!” Lorrik exclaimed. The inquisitor’s momentarily high spirits were cut short as he noticed the keeper continuing its robotic chattering a short distance away. Letting out a low groan, Lorrik began to rub his forehead in frustration.

 

“Is everything… okay?” Jresh asked. “Are you trapped here? Are we trapped here?”

 

“No. At least… I don’t think so, I haven’t exactly tried to ‘leave’ yet,” Lorrik explained, no sense of alarm in his voice, only quaint exhaustion. “Been trying to deal with this guy.”

 

Jresh watched his partner jut his thumb toward the stern figure that was now patiently staring them down. “And who is that, exactly?”

 

“Well, typically, holocrons have a ‘gatekeeper’, a sort of Force-infused artificial intelligence that serves as the layer between a user and the item’s contents. Thing is, they’re supposed to come out of the holocron, we’re not supposed to go in,” Lorrik declared. “It’s all very interesting. And peculiar. But mostly interesting. Also, a little frustrating. I honestly think I got better results dealing with the spirit.”

 

“You want me to punch this one too?” Jresh asked, almost cracking a smile.

 

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think brute force will get us anywhere here,” Lorrik stated, his spirits once again raised by his partner’s presence. “I need to use finesse.”

 

“Finesse does not preclude direct action,” Jresh advised.

 

“I tried being direct. This whole thing feels less like an ancient relic and more like a datapad that refuses to read my datacard,” Lorrik mused. The pair fell silent as they stood atop the plateau, unsure how to proceed. The Pureblood scratched his chin as he pondered the situation, thinking of some way to aid his companion.

 

“You said this man is the holocron’s gatekeeper?” Jresh asked.

 

“Well, he just calls himself the ‘keeper’, but he should serve the same role,” Lorrik explained.

 

“A gatekeeper guards access to something. But if you’re in the holocron, wouldn’t that mean you’ve already been granted access,” Jresh stated. The inquisitor perked up, eyes wide as if a great revelation had been laid upon him.

 

“That’s it! Jresh, you’re a genius,” Lorrik exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around the Pureblood, squeezing him tightly. The warrior tensed within his partner’s embrace. Even if it wasn’t a true contact between their physical forms, their mental representations touching one another felt real enough. Lorrik released his grip and took a step back, hanging his head in embarrassment but still giddy with his newfound knowledge. “I’ve been going about this all wrong. I guess my head was in the wrong place, figuratively speaking. Then again, it doesn’t help that I seem to be physically and mentally exhausted…”

 

“You’re forced to maintain a physical connection to ensure a mental one,” Jresh stated. “If you overstay your welcome, it’ll completely drain you.”

 

“Things just keep getting more interesting,” Lorrik declared, completely ignoring the prospect of danger. “This is more than just some repository of knowledge. It has a hidden purposes, hidden agendas known only to its creator. I have so many questions… and I intend to find some answers.”

 

“Just be careful,” Jresh advised. “It’s one thing to overexert your body. There’s no telling what could happen to you in here.”

 

“I’ll be fine. I always ere on the side of caution.”

 

Jresh playfully balked. “Always?”

 

“Okay, not always. But I got this, you’ll just have to trust me.”

 

“Alright, I'll trust you,” Jresh admitted. “If you want, I could stay here, make sure everything goes okay.”

 

“That’s kind of you to offer, but I kind of find it hard to stay focused with a half-naked Sith Pureblood by my side,” Lorrik joked.

 

“I’m sure if I concentrated I could alter my appearance.”

 

“No, it's quite okay. You’ve already given me all that I need. Get some rest, I just want to try a few things before I'm done here. If I’m not back to normal in a few hours, I give you full permission to come in and drag me out of here.”

 

The warrior offered a firm nod of his head as the inquisitor turned his attention to the silent keeper. Jresh took one final look around at the remarkable landscape the holocron had constructed for itself before closing his eyes. After a few moments of concentration, he opened them, finding himself once more kneeling within the apartment’s living area.

 

Lifting himself from the meditation mat, Jresh saw Lorrik still connected to the relic within his hands. Conflicting emotions brewed within the warrior’s head, but he knew that he had to give his companion the same trust that had been imparted upon him. The Pureblood placed a gentle, comforting hand upon the Human’s shoulder before retiring to his own bedroom.

 

Back within the fabricated reality of the holocron, Lorrik approached the relic’s keeper, offering only a stern, determined gaze deep into the eyes of the robed figure. He, in turn, offered the usual cold look back to the inquisitor.

 

“This one is the keeper of the holocron. What is your purpose?”

 

Lorrik now knew that he had nothing to prove. He had already passed the test and gained access to the holocron’s contents. His mind was within the relic. All that surrounded him was a fabrication, a mere luxury, an attempt to deter the cognitive dissonance that would prevail in lesser minds. Lorrik knew that he could directly access whatever knowledge the artifact held if he chose to exert the willpower. But he also knew the nature of its creator. More appropriately, he knew next to nothing about him, only that he was conflicted, contradictory, and enigmatic. For all he knew, attempting to dig deeper would yield a threat to his mind on par with that of the Massassi. And even as he continued to ponder, he felt the exhausting influence brought about by his continued connection to the relic.

 

“Inquiry. What is the name of this holocron’s creator?” Lorrik asked, firm in his tone.

 

“This one does not possess adequate information on this topic,” the keeper replied. Despite the lack of information, it was an answer. Lorrik was making progress.

 

“Inquiry. What is the current age of this holocron?”

 

“This one does not possess adequate information on this topic.”

 

The inquisitor rubbed his chin, keeping his frustration in check. “Inquiry. List all topics available to keeper.”

 

The robed figure didn’t offer an immediate answer, staring off into the distance as it processed the inquiry. “This one has knowledge on one hundred and thirty eight topics. Would you like a full listing?”

 

Lorrik’s eyes sharpened as he stared down the robed figure. “Yes.”

Edited by Osetto
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Chapter Nine: Pushes

 

There was only silence as the eight apprentices stood opposite their master atop the all too familiar peak. Once more the students had gathered near the ancient dueling circle at Syrosk’s behest, standing beside their partners in a neatly ordered line, each ready for the inevitable task of the day. Though one stood less ready than his fellows.

 

Taking his usual place at the terminal edge of the lineup, Lorrik stood in a manner deviating from his usual pep and vigor. The Human’s garb was disheveled, wrinkles showing through the black fabric of his jacket and pants. His hair had abandoned the recent sleek styling for a more unkempt one. His face looked heavy, a drowsiness readily apparent within his vacant gaze.

 

“I warned you not to spend too much time with that holocron,” Jresh mentally conversed with his partner, his tone not suggesting a great deal of disapproval.

 

“I’m fine,” Lorrik playfully shot back, a sluggishness apparent even in his mental communications. “Even a Sith can be tired now and again, can’t he?”

 

“It is that thing’s ability to so easily tire a Sith that has me worried,” Jresh replied.

 

“This is just the result of a bad night’s sleep. It happens sometimes when I’m, you know, mentally stimulated.”

 

“Are you sure? You didn’t even seem this out of it after spending a night on the ground in the Korriban wastes.”

 

“Hey, if I can put just a few of the things I’ve learned into practice, it’ll more than make for any slight inconvenience experienced on my part,” Lorrik explained.

 

“Don’t become so focused on the future that you forget about the present,” Jresh advised. “Syrosk has not yet run out of tasks for us, and I doubt it would behoove us to be at anything below peak condition.”

 

“You never know. I mean, what’s left to test us on? Can you say with certain clarity that there will never be a trial that requires us to be exhausted beforehand?” Lorrik joked.

 

The Pureblood let out a soft, brief chuckle. “There isn’t an artifact in the galaxy capable of sapping your peculiar wit, is there?”

 

“What can I say, my mind couldn’t care less of my body’s conditions sometimes,” Lorrik warmly stated. As the pair attempted to retain their stoic facades, they found their internal conversations cut short by the external interruption of their master.

 

“Students…” Syrosk rasped. “You have each delved into the Valley of Forgotten Lords, and retrieved an item of power. Some of you have already begun to utilize them, some of you have tucked them away for safe keeping. But regardless of your material gains, you each walked away with something of much greater importance. You each are now aware of the special bond that connects you. The bond that permits you a greater understanding of yourselves and your partners. The bond that permits you to surpass what any single apprentice should be capable of. Over the course of these past few months, you each have shown remarkable progress, surpassing even my own expectations. Each and every one of you has faced certain death, and yet here you all are. You have been broken, battered, bruised, and yet you all stand before me seemingly unscathed. You have learned to draw upon your passions to sustain yourselves, to drive yourselves forward. And as a single apprentice, as a single pair has advanced, the others have followed. You have all refused defeat, refused to stall. Even now, none of you have achieved your apex. The nature of your progress can only be contained by the nature of your training. I have done almost all I can, training your bodies, minds, and spirits in ways they would never have been tested otherwise. I have provided you the skillset to become proper Sith, in a world that would deny you such a privilege. But there is a limit to what any single teacher can offer his students, which is why the tenet of succession is so deeply ingrained into the Sith Order. I’ve no more knowledge to share. I cannot train your minds further nor offer you a deeper connection to the Force. As far as your trials go, there is but one thing I can offer. One last test to administer.”

 

With his gauntleted hand, Syrosk began to remove the same heavy cloak that he always wore over his suit of black, battle-scarred armor. Slipping his arms out from the coat, the alien dropped the heavy black garb, which crumpled into a heap beside his boots. Slowly, Syrosk made his way into the center of the dueling circle and unclipped the lightsaber from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, the crimson blade extended from the black casing of his master’s hilt.

 

“Are you strong enough to challenge a Sith Lord?

 

The students could only look upon their master with wide eyes as they remained utterly speechless. They had sparred with the Sith Lord on occasion, but only in the controlled environments necessary to propagate proper lightsaber technique. There was always some trick, some restriction, some ploy. Never unbridled combat.

 

“Curious, usually one of you is so eager to volunteer whenever I have issued a trial,” Syrosk rasped. “I suppose I should offer more details. We’ll engage in a series of duels, as much as two against one could be referred to as such. Full combat, utilizing the entire repertoire of skills I have imparted unto you all, ending only when one side yields. I reserve the right to end the duel at my discretion, and the duel will immediately end if either member of the pair yields. If you do not succeed, you will have another chance, for this will be tomorrows trial. And the day after’s. And the one after that. Until each and every one of you has attained victory over me. How you spend your time between these bouts is up to you. Now, who will be the first to try and best their master?”

 

Each apprentice was hesitant. As much as they had progressed, none were truly confident in their superiority over their master. At least, not in this time of indetermination. Whoever stepped forward would be the first to experience the unshackled might of the Sith Lord. Despite his age, despite his reserved presence, there was an undeniable power lurking within the armor-clad alien.

 

But for some, straddling the line between knowledge and uncertainty fell far short of their inherent pride. Nesk and Vurt were the first to step forward, without a word, merely offering a dutiful nod to their master as they approached the dueling circle. Neither the Trandoshan nor the Nikto wielded one of the ancient dueling swords they had procured from the tomb the day before. Instead, it appeared to be business as usual, Nesk garbed in his armorweave bodysuit, Nesk in his perfectly black, formfitting robes.

 

Within the confines of the dueling circle, they drew their lightsabers as Syrosk situated himself at the opposite side of the confined arena. The warrior gripped the grey hilt within his clawed digits, the lightsaber’s pommel capped with the claw of some fallen foe. The inquisitor’s saber was something of an abnormality for his designation, the silver hilt possessing a slight curvature indicative of a duelist’s weapon. From both sprung red blades of superheated plasma.

 

The three figures readied themselves, each adopting their preferred stances. Nesk kept his guard high and open, while his partner went low and closed. Syrosk kept his movements to a minimum, allowing himself to change and shift and he saw fit. The subtle whistle of the passing winds quieted and stalled, as if actively trying to avoid interfering with the powerful figures that prepared to do battle.

 

“Begin,” Syrosk declared.

 

The apprentices where the first to move, starting the duel on their own terms. Nesk stormed toward the Sith Lord, Vurt following closely behind. As large and physically dominating as the Trandoshan was, Syrosk would not be overcome easily. The advantage of height he possessed against the other students was absent, the armored Lord almost matching him in stature.

 

The gap was closed almost instantaneously, the warrior lashing out with a heavy overhead strike. With a speed and grace unbefitting the aged and armored master, Syrosk deflected the strike. Rather than follow up, Nesk traveled with the deflection, Vurt soon taking his old place. The Nikto offered an efficient thrust of his saber’s tip toward the Lord’s midsection, only for Syrosk to sidestep it completely. With the swing of his free hand, the Lord swatted the air itself, releasing a swift but powerful Force wave that shoved the inquisitor away.

 

Whilst Vurt recovered, his master did battle with the Trandoshan, matching the lizard's strength blow for blow. The students on the sidelines could only watch with utter fascination. What unfolded before them put any of the previous bouts they may have observed in their previous months to shame. Their master displayed an uncanny martial ability they had not thought him capable of, not ceding an inch of ground to even the most powerful of strikes, and possessing the speed and dexterity to intercept blows from any direction.

 

But besides their wonder toward their master’s lightsaber skills, was the intrigue in watching their fellow apprentices do combat. They had expected a fair display of technique and prowess, but never truly expected anything approaching the level of martial discipline they were currently displaying. There was focus behind the Trandoshan’s wild, ferocious strikes. There was a dedication behind the Nikto’s carefully calculated maneuvers. While the two appeared to utilize opposite styles, there was a synchronicity between them. They played off of one another. To the layman, it may have appeared to be the muddling of two vastly different combat styles. To the other students, however, it was a remarkable show of cooperation. What should have been a dissonant pairing had achieved a mutual cadence.

 

But as much as they had advanced, as in synch as they were, the skills possessed by their master proved indomitable. There was no separation between the Sith Lord’s body, mind, or spirit. There was never a moment in which he was unaware of his opponents’ positioning, their movements. He simultaneously wielded his lightsaber and the Force in a manner that still managed to astound the watching apprentices. He would hold the attention of a single duelist before effortlessly turning his attention to the other, switching back and forth without error.

 

They students on the sidelines could have watched the magnificent display all day, but as the seconds passed, it became readily apparent that the Sith Lord was gaining the advantage. In the midst of their battle, one of the apprentices would slip up and be violently tossed to the ground. Whilst Syrosk perpetually endured, Nesk and Vurt grew more and more tired. While it wasn’t readily apparent in the warrior’s action, it was in his technique. The Trandoshan still lashed out with the ferocity typical of his combative form, but he became more and more untamed, driven by pure emotion rather than skill. Slowly, the pair began to slip out of synch, and Syrosk was able to bring the duel to a close.

 

Nesk released one last swing of his saber before the Sith Lord intercepted him, gripping the bare wrist of his saber hand. With a clench of his gauntleted fist, Syrosk forced a harsh snarl from the lizard as he was forced to let go of his weapon, it’s crimson blade deactivating as the hilt struck the ground. Vurt meanwhile approached his master’s unguarded back, only to find himself interrupted by Syrosk directing the tip of his lightsaber toward the Nikto’s neck.

 

The Sith Lord had both students at his mercy. Though nothing stopped the Nikto from acting, Vurt offered a cold nod to his master, deactivating his saber and returning it to his belt. Syrosk offered a nod of his own, releasing his grip on the Trandoshan’s wrist and disengaging. Nesk stretched his clawed digits as he regained control of his hand, before retrieving his weapon from the ground. Together, the two apprentices made their way back to the sidelines in silence.

 

The others accepted them back into their fold without a word or errant glance. Their attention was too focused on their master, who stood none the worse for wear. The first challengers hadn’t managed to land a single complete blow against the Sith Lord, and he had yet to display a single sign of exhaustion.

 

“Who’s next?” Syrosk rasped. The same hesitance as before managed to persist, but eventually Isorr and Arlia stepped forward to challenge their master. As the next pair made their way toward the dueling circle, the previously dulled expression that dominated Lorrik’s face had been all but expunged. In its place, however, was one of creeping worry.

 

“Lorrik,” Jresh mentally called out to his companion. He received no reply. He tried again, to no avail, choosing eventually to whisper to his partner. “Lorrik, are you okay?”

 

The Human shook his head as he tried to regain his senses, rubbing his eyes and furrowing his brow. “I daresay we may be in trouble,” Lorrik mentally conversed.

 

“This will merely be our first of many inevitable attempts,” Jresh explained. “We needn’t prove anything today. We’ll play things carefully for now. Let me take the lead, don’t take any big risks, we’ll get through the day and prepare for the next.”

 

“Alright,” Lorrik hesitantly agreed, letting out a depressed sigh. He hated himself for what he had done. He had focused too much of his attention on the holocron, blinding himself to everything else. He wanted to believe it was all for the good of the partnership, but realized it was selfishness that pushed him deeper. Where there was knowledge, he felt the need to consume it.

 

And now, his mind and body taxed, he had denied himself and Jresh something pivotal. The chance to once and for all prove themselves to their master. To prove their superiority. But in his exhausted state, Lorrik knew he could only work to his companion’s detriment in combat. As he watched Isorr and Arlia ready themselves, he focused every fiber of his being into recovering from the stupor wrought by his overextended studies.

 

Isorr and Arlia took their places opposite Syrosk. The warrior removed his out cloak and tossed to the sidelines, revealing the heavy-duty armorweave that protected his entire body below the neck. The inquisitor meanwhile was content with her mix of form-fitting and gracefully flowing robes. Whilst her partner possessed a typical Sith’s lightsaber, she had made recent modifications to hers. Replacing its crystal with one procured the previous day’s venture, the hilt produce a radiant beam of purple energy. Meanwhile, there was an audible expression of envy from one of the students watching from the sidelines.

 

“Begin,” Syrosk declared.

 

Isorr and Arlia charged into battle with a strategic caution, attempting to calculate and measure each and every movement they made. The two students utilized almost identical styles, despite the vast differences in their physique, demeanor, and craft. The two challengers exhibited almost perfect balance in their combat methodology, keeping up with their master in matters of both offense and defense. Alongside powerful and elegant saberwork, each combatant would lash out with the Force, waves of telekinetic energy kicking up dust and shaking the ground itself.

 

But the battle would progress in a similar manner to the first, the two apprentices putting on an astounding display of skill that would ultimately prove insufficient in overcoming their master’s overall prowess. The battle went on longer than the previous one, but only by nature of the apprentices’ caution. They realized the threat their master posed, and for the first time, fought with the intention of prolonging their bout. But such intentions couldn’t hold up against the Sith Lord’s willingness to bring about a swift end should he so choose. All it took was for him to dominate a single combatant, and force the other into submission.

 

Eventually, the pair stayed down after being knocked to the ground, having reached their limits. Syrosk showed no signs of approval or disapproval, only a willingness to continue. Isorr and Arlia took their place on the sidelines, Kar’ai volunteering herself and her partner for the next bout.

 

As Lorrik watched the pair proceed into the dueling circle, he knew that there would be no more delays. He and Jresh would face their master next. Still he had not yet overcome the peculiar exhaustion that plagued his body and mind. While he was capable of fighting in such a condition, the Human was wary of the potential outcomes. One slip up, one mistake, even in training, could lead to serious injury. Syrosk expected a certain level of skill from him, and would fight according to that expectation.

 

Kar’ai and Ryloh took their spot within the dueling circle, the warrior standing tall and at the ready, the inquisitor lurking at her flank. The pair had left their artifact behind, showing up in their usual garb, wielding their usual lightsabers. The blades of crimson extended, and the match was ready to proceed.

 

“Begin,” Syrosk rasped.

 

Kar’ai immediately charged into battle while her companion stayed behind. Her torso only lightly covered, the Rattataki relied solely on her dexterity and skills with a saber to aid in her defense. The warrior was capable of outmatching the Sith Lord in speed, but Syrosk proved an indomitable opponent. Her masterful application of acrobatics and movement prove insufficient in breaching her master’s defenses.

 

And while the duel would not prove to last as long as the previous one, it would hold the honor of testing the Sith Lord. To the surprise of those watching from the sidelines, during the middle of the bout, Ryloh relinquished control of his saber, tossing it across the arena. But its release was not intended to strike the Sith Lord. Instead, Kar’ai intercepted the flying hilt, taking hold of it in her offhand. Saber in both hands, the warrior lashed out with a flurry of blows that surprised even Syrosk. Ryloh, meanwhile, kept to the outer fringes of the dueling circle, releasing a series of Force attacks, telekinetic waves intended to upset the Sith Lord’s balance, and even the occasional quick bolt of lightning arcing from the inquisitor’s fingertips.

 

Ryloh had proven himself capable of a multitude of techniques, while his companion utilized her weapons mastery. It was an astounding display, one that sufficiently entertained those who watched close by. But despite how intriguing a show it was, eventually Syrosk would prove his superiority. Kar’ai would tire and slow. Ryloh would find himself dragged into the fold. The warrior’s blades would be deflected. The inquisitor’s lightning would be absorbed. And eventually, the pair would concede.

 

The opposing parties parted without a word, Kar’ai and Ryloh taking their place on the sidelines. Time was up. All eyes fell upon the remaining pair. Lorrik and Jresh shared a look. As they looked into each other's eyes, the Human had a curious feeling. He had expected some measure of disapproval from his companion, some part of him that would be disappointed in his actions. But he found none. Only the same enduring stoicism was present in the Pureblood’s visage.

 

Jresh was willing to fight alongside his partner no matter the circumstances. And it was this revelation that wiped away the doubt within Lorrik. He was still exhausted, but he knew that he was capable of moving forward, so long as Jresh was by his side. They believed in one another, and trusted in those beliefs.

 

With mutual nods, the two apprentices stepped forward, ready to challenge their master.

Edited by Osetto
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  • 2 weeks later...

Chapter Ten: Choices

 

Lorrik and Jresh made their way toward the dueling circle. There were no words. No thoughts. Only the simple pattering of feet against solid stone. The time for doubts or regret had passed. All that mattered now was action. The last two apprentices walked side by side, their master’s enduringly cold stare following them at every moment. The pair came to a stop a few meters away from the patient Sith Lord.

 

Even after three bouts, their master looked as ready as ever to continue. His stance was adamant, and his face was resolute. The students could only look upon their Lord with a newfound respect. He possessed a certain level of skill, and deemed them worthy of its witnessing. And now, it was Jresh and Lorrik’s turn to witness it firsthand. Their master readied his lightsaber, and the apprentices did the same.

 

Jresh retrieved the black hilt from his belt. It was utterly smooth aside from the clip near its base. Without an external activator, it was the ultimate expression of a personalized weapon. Its usage was dependent on the user’s ability to locate and telekinetically activate an internal mechanism. Jresh’s lightsaber was simultaneously the embodiment of simplicity and complexity, something he himself set out to accomplish.

 

As his partner’s crimson blade shined, the inquisitor readied his own weapon, producing the nonstandard blue beam. The pair was ready. At least, as ready as they could be. The Human and Pureblood adopted their battle stances, raising their guards and preparing their bodies and minds. Jresh kept a firm two-handed grip on his weapon, whilst Lorrik kept a free hand ready to channel the Force.

 

Both apprentices’ saber styles focused on defense, but after seeing what their master was capable of, they knew that attempting to outlast the Sith Lord would prove challenging. But Sith aren’t ones to shy away from a challenge. Lorrik could feel the subtle anticipation brewing within his partner. His wounds had only just healed, and his armor still bore the scratches and scars from his previous battle, but still he relished the challenge. He was confident, stalwart, and enduring. Things that in that moment, Lorrik wished he was.

 

“Begin,” Syrosk rasped.

 

The warrior had not broken eye contact with his master since he first entered the dueling circle, and didn’t break it as he charged forward. Syrosk didn’t move as the warrior fast approached, except to slightly shift his right leg back, digging himself into the ground. The Pureblood tightened his grip, raising his blade high as the gap between him and his opponent closed. Jresh brought down a powerful diagonal slash, and Syrosk replied with its exact counter.

 

The two connected, and for a brief moment, everything stalled. The wind ceased to blow. Every particulate of dust previously kicked up froze in place. The scene was suspended, frozen in time. And for the briefest of moments, the mountaintop was locked in an expression of serenity. One swiftly broken by the ensuing chaos.

 

Radiating from where the two figures clashed, a powerful Force wave pushed outward, shaking the very ground that rest beneath them. The wave washed over the other students rattling their clothes and kicking dust into their eyes. Lorrik himself was momentarily stunned as he stood near the dueling circle’s edge. He was astounded by his partner’s power, his ability to channel the Force through martial combat. It wasn’t a manifestation of wisdom, but the purest expression of a natural affinity. The body and spirit were not only connected, they were beginning to merge.

 

As evenly matched as the initial connection was, Syrosk would not let it remain that way for long. The Sith Lord pulled his blade back before delivering a series of powerful swings toward the Pureblood. The warrior defended, but the utter strength behind each swing began to drive him backward, step by step. Lorrik could sense his partner becoming overcome. He knew he had to act, regardless of his own well-being.

 

The inquisitor sought to intervene, reinforcing his companion’s flank. With three blades of superheated plasma swinging in such close proximity, total situational awareness was required. Lorrik moved in alongside his partner, the two moving without a single misstep between them. The two ducked and weaved, lashing out at their master. He in turn, effortlessly defended against his two apprentices.

 

The Pureblood was adamant and precise. The Human, however, was hesitant, light on his feet. While he focused his blade toward Jresh, Syrosk turned his free hand toward the inquisitor. Lorrik swung his weapon, and his master snatched it with the Force. Rather than find his blow redirected, it was hyperextended, swinging fast and wide and out of his control. His partner was out of harm’s way, but in his unwillingness to relinquish control of his saber, he followed the motion of his swing, stumbling away from the conflict. His back turned, Lorrik should have immediately remedied his stance, regained control, but he didn’t. His altered state was becoming more apparent with each passing moment.

 

Jresh saw his partner stumble and moved to hold his opponent’s attention, pressing the attack. The Pureblood was now on the offense, but he seemed to be making little progress in breaching the Sith Lord’s defenses. Regardless of his capability, he knew he had to give Lorrik time to recover. He willingly thrust himself into harm’s way, placing himself between his master and his partner.

 

The two melee combatants traded blows, the power behind each strike never lessening. Lorrik steadied himself as the exchange continued a few steps away. He thought to intercede, but was hesitant. The combined efforts of himself and his partner had been unable to surpass the skills of their master. The inquisitor had begun to believe his presence a hindrance rather than a boon. They had not achieved the same synchronization as Nesk and Vurt. They were not as evenly balanced as Isorr and Arlia. He could not summon lightning without utter concentration. He was beginning to question his reason for being there.

 

Syrosk swung his blade in a wide arc, coupling it with a powerful telekinetic wave. Jresh braced himself, blocking the blade with his own, but the following wave that washed over him shoved him back. Lorrik could only watch as his partner kept his composure even in the heat of battle against an insurmountable foe. He saw that the Pureblood was powerful, determined. Something he wasn’t. Something he could never be. He had nothing to offer. He had no place amongst his betters. He was worthless.

 

Then, in the midst of battle, did the inquisitor truly take pause. This wasn’t him. These weren’t his thoughts. He had faced what ought to have been certain death, only to walk away unscathed. He had conquered doubt, conquered fear. He realized his mind wasn’t only exhausted, it had been poisoned. He would have none of it.

 

Lorrik moved in to intercept his advancing master. Taking over for Jresh, the Human pressed the assault. His opponent was unshakable, but he didn’t care. His mind was betraying him, so he had to abandon it. He let his spirit guide him, relying on nothing more than the purest instincts to drive his motions. The inquisitor faced off against his master, blade against blade, delivering a few strikes before backing away, allowing Jresh to take his place.

 

The two apprentices combatted with their master, trading blows, making full use of the dueling circle’s area. The three figures darted across the mountaintop, the apprentices sharing their master’s attention equally. Seconds passed. Then minutes. The two apprentices were fast approaching the amount of time Arlia and Isorr had lasted. And just like them, their bodies were reaching their limits. Jresh found himself driven back more and more by his master’s strikes. Lorrik found himself barely able to escape the reach of his blade. But still they persisted, neither willing to concede.

 

Just as their bodies were reaching their limits, an odd opportunity had presented itself. Syrosk had set his eyes on the inquisitor, determining that it was time to bring the duel to a close. The Lord battered the inquisitor’s guard, delivering a series of powerful strikes one right after another. As the Human was slowly driven back, he found his arms growing weaker, his legs following soon after. Soon, his stance crumbled and he found himself on his knees, struggling to defend against the assault beating down upon him.

 

But Syrosk’s endeavor to end the duel was miscalculated. The Human should have been upon the ground by now, defeated. While he would not last much longer, he lasted just long enough to make his master regret turning his back on the warrior. The Pureblood would not idly sit back while his partner was in danger. Toward the Sith Lord’s flank he charged, raising his saber high, ready to bring his cascading blade down upon his master.

 

Syrosk sensed the warrior’s approach. Tearing his attention away to face the Pureblood, the Lord was shocked to see that he was already upon him. He couldn’t raise his blade fast enough to intercept the saber heading straight for his face. He stumbled, falling backward toward the kneeling inquisitor. In a moment of desperation, Syrosk flung his hands outward without style or form, releasing a powerful telekinetic surge. The Force wave crashed into the warrior, sending him flying as the Sith Lord almost fell upon his other apprentice.

 

Lorrik rolled out of the way of his falling master, only to bear witness to his companion’s treacherous flight. Time almost stood still as he saw his partner heading over the cliff’s edge. The Pureblood could do nothing to prevent his inevitable departure from the mountain peak. But Lorrik could.

 

Still driven purely by instinct, Lorrik acted without thought, without hesitation. He only sought to pull his companion back to safety. Lorrik released his grip on his lightsaber, instead thrusting his right hand toward his partner, clutching and clawing at the air in front of him. He expected to get a telekinetic grip on Jresh’s body, just enough of one to prevent him from going over the cliff. But it never manifested. Something else, however, did. A mysterious feeling was welling up within the inquisitor’s body. Some cold, dark energy flowed through him, looking for some way to escape. The Human was trapped in the instant, no longer in control of his body.

 

His right hand extended, what emerged from his palm wasn’t an invisible manifestation of the Force, but something much, much darker. Shadows given form began to spread out from his palm and encapsulate his hand. The flowing ichor pulsated and writhed, black tendrils rising from his flesh. Tenebrous ropes of dark side energy sprung from the inquisitor’s hand, stretching across the stilled scene. The black whips surged forward, wrapping themselves around Jresh’s left leg.

 

His companion now firmly within his grasp, Lorrik pulled his shadowed hand back, tugging upon the airborne Pureblood. The warrior’s flight was halted, and his path redirected back toward the dueling circle. Jresh’s body crashed onto the hard surface of the mountain peak, but it was a tolerable impact compared to what would have greeted him at the foot of the mountain.

 

The dark tendrils that connected the two apprentices released their grip and dissolved into a fine mist before disappearing completely. Only just now was Lorrik beginning to comprehend what exactly had taken place. He stared at his right hand, the shadows having receded. What they left in their place was pale flesh and a palm blackened, cracked, and charred. All of which was numb.

 

“It’s over! The duel is off!” Syrosk declared with an unfamiliar volume and expressiveness. The Sith Lord’s speech seemed almost worried. Regaining his senses, Lorrik looked up to see the other students rushing toward his fallen companion, Syrosk already kneeling by his side. Lorrik shook his head, trying to snap himself out of the stupor he found himself in.

 

The inquisitor raised himself from the ground and rushed toward Jresh, not even bothering to retrieve his weapon. As he approached, he heard soft whispers emanate from the students that circled around his partner. More predominantly, though, was the harsh sound of Jresh howling in pain. Lorrik closed in, pushing his way past the other apprentices, only to see his companion clutching at his leg. The eye was immediately drawn to the warrior’s left foot.

 

There were several deep gashes where the dark tendrils had wrapped themselves. They had managed to encircle the Pureblood’s foot, burn their way through the armored boot, and char the flesh beneath. The garish wounds he had inflicted upon his companion horrified the Human. His eyes began to dart up and down the warrior, from who he had never heard such cries before. His breaths began to quicken, and beads of sweat began to form upon his brow.

 

Lorrik lifted his gaze to see the other apprentices staring at him, each unsure of how to process what had transpired. A knot began to form within the inquisitor’s stomach. A coldness began to brew within, a void taking hold of his insides. His senses began to fade. His body felt numb. The whispers grew quiet. His vision darkened. The Human thought to speak, but the only thing to flow from his mouth was blood.

 

And an instant later, he collapsed.

 

----------

 

Nothing. Nothing as far as the eye could see. A blindingly white void. Lorrik lied upon his back, staring up into the nothingness. Unable to move. Unable to speak. He was numb. He was empty. He was nothing.

 

However, he was not alone. A dark figure stood over him, clad in black robes, a hood raised over his head. As the figure leaned over to reveal his face, it was the last person Lorrik expected. Himself. The dark caricature of himself. The two locked eyes, reveling in the silence. Lorrik was unable to object, to say or do anything. All he could do was wait for the figure to break his silence.

 

“I see you’ve finally made your choice,” the dark figure said.

 

Lorrik wanted to get up, to look around for any signs of his light counterpart. But it was useless. All he could do was lie there whilst the figure walked away. Before he could further dwell on his situation, the surface beneath him began to stir. The subtle vibrations soon turned to a violent quake. The white surface he rested upon began to crack and warp. Suddenly, the floor collapsed, and the Human fell through, into the darkness that dwelled beneath it.

 

The infinite pool of blackness. Dark waters that clutched at the inquisitor, dragging him deeper and deeper. Encircling him and crushing him under its oppressive weight. As he sank ever deeper, the light that existed beyond the pool’s surface began to fade, until there was nothing but blackness. He was blinded by the opaque waters, unable to move, unable to breath. But it mattered not. He was already dead.

 

But before the darkness could consume him, a light began to shine. Not one of hope. Not one of safety. The light began to expand, wiping away the smoky waters. It brought with it a vision. Lorrik no longer floated, but instead looked upon an expanding scene of destruction.

 

He stood amongst twisted metal, surrounded by towering buildings and a sky embroiled in flames. A proud figure walked amongst the countless fallen. A Sith. A single, solitary Sith. Human. Aged. Wrapped in black. Eyes of gold. Hands embracing an amulet that rest around his neck, glowing red and pulsing in sync with his own heart. A picture of destruction. Of victory. And just as soon as the image had formed, it had faded, the darkness clouding Lorrik’s vision once again.

 

He was once more alone with the darkness. The unforgiving, crushing darkness. But just as he was about to succumb to the black waters, he felt something. Something strong enough to overcome the overwhelming numbness that prevailed in his body. The tight grip around his wrist. The soft whisper in his ear.

 

“Lorrik… Lorrik…”

 

It was the voice he was most familiar with. The one most pleasant to his ears. The one of his partner, his companion. He could hear him softly calling to him. Feel his presence. It was an uplifting feeling, one strong enough to conquer the oppressive darkness. No longer did he sink. No longer did he despair. No longer was he numb. No longer did he not feel safe.

 

----------

 

Opening his eyes, Lorrik found himself resting in bed. An unfamiliar bed. One surrounded by various medical equipment and an immersive kolto tank. Various sensors monitored his life signs and relayed them back to him. He was alive, resting within an Academy medical bay. But more importantly, sitting to the left of his bed was Jresh. The Pureblood was asleep at his bedside, resting his head against the Human’s leg, hands enveloping the Human's wrist.

 

Lorrik smiled and moved his free hand to stroke his companion’s head, only to find it entirely wrapped in bandages. He stared at the white wrappings, subtly bending and articulating his fingers. Even as its parts moved, the hand felt cold and foreign. But he none the less was alive, with his partner by his side.

 

And in that moment, there was no place he’d rather be.

Edited by Osetto
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  • 3 weeks later...

Chapter Eleven: Visitors

 

The room was quiet. Serene. There had never been much to the Academy’s medical facilities. Treatments were reserved for faculty, staff, and security. Students could only expect the most basic triage. Acolytes were expected to prove themselves against the dangers of Korriban, and it’s hard for the overseers to send them to their deaths when they have a steady supply of kolto.

 

But the room Lorrik found himself in was not meant for a student, especially one who hadn’t even been admitted to the Academy proper. The structural design and the equipment it housed suggested he was in an area near the apprentices’ suites. And like the suites, Lorrik knew he was there at his master’s behest.

 

As his senses returned to him, the inquisitor’s overall stupor began to fade. And as it left him, a pain began to surface. What began as a feeling of hunger quickly turned into a sharp churning of his insides. As the pain persisted, Lorrik cringed, involuntarily shifting his legs. The resting Pureblood immediately stirred from his resting place, raising himself from his seat and talking hold of his partner’s shoulders.

 

“Lorrik! You’re awake! Are you okay?” Jresh hastily asked, shifting from surprise to excitement to concern in the span of a few seconds. Lorrik’s hands clutched at his gut as the pain slowly lessened, but never totally disappeared.

 

“Yeah, I’m… okay,” Lorrik replied, not entirely sure of his answer.

 

“You had us worried,” Jresh stated, calming himself and slowly lowering himself back to his bedside seat. Though he had resumed his usual stoicism, not was all right in the Pureblood’s eyes. His usual rigid and upright stance was lax as his head hung low.

 

The Human chuckled. “I’m sorry if I gave you a scare. To be fair, you had me worried too. But look, we’re both fine now.”

 

“Lorrik… that was five days ago,” Jresh hesitantly explained.

 

“Heh… good one,” Lorrik dismissed with another chuckle. As he continued to stare into his companion’s eyes, he slowly realized the Pureblood’s seriousness. Panning his gaze up and down, Lorrik only now noticed that Jresh had exchanged his battle attire for a set of casual robes. The inquisitor sank in his bed, staring blankly into the distance as his head fell to his pillow. “Five days? What happened after I blacked out?

 

“Syrosk carried you back to the Academy, managed to secure you this room,” Jresh answered.

 

“I guess he isn’t as detached as he says he is. So much for not caring if any of us die.”

 

“Here’s the thing, the Academy staff declared you dead on arrival,” Jresh explained, almost whispering. “You weren’t breathing. You had no pulse. Even Syrosk couldn’t sense any part of your mind. Everyone thought you were gone. Everyone except me.”

 

“Were you awake? Last I saw you were… screaming in pain,” Lorrik stated, a subtle whimper in his voice.

 

“It was nothing,” Jresh firmly said. “Pain fades. But as I was treated, I saw the medical staff giving up on you. They thought you dead, but I knew better. I could still sense your presence, however faint it was. I sensed your pain. Your numbness. I knew whatever transpired had taken its toll on your body, but you were not beyond saving.”

 

Lorrik rested in silence, expressionless eyes still transfixed upon some distant spot on the far wall. Eventually he muttered, “If it weren’t for you… I’d be dead.”

 

“My part was insignificant, it was your strength that allowed you to pull through,” Jresh assuaged.

 

“No. No it wasn’t. The only reason I’m alive right now is because of our bond. Through the Force, our lives are interconnected.”

 

“That’s truly remarkable,” Jresh admitted, unaware such a thing was possible.

 

“Yeah… remarkable,” Lorrik replied, lacking any modicum of enthusiasm.

 

“Did I forget to mention you’ve just come back from the dead? You seem rather displeased.”

 

“None of this this should have ever happened in the first place. I tapped into something beyond my control, and I was punished for it. And now you share that punishment. That… power… consumed parts of me, parts of you.”

 

“I already told you that you needn’t worry about me,” Jresh reminded. “Wounds heal.”

 

“Physical wounds, yes. I don’t know about these,” Lorrik admitted. “That was pure dark side energy, from a technique I hadn’t even realized I learned, from a holocron that almost broke my mind. I should have been able to predict this. But I let my lust for knowledge take control. I wanted to win, no matter the cost. I wanted to prove myself to Syrosk, the other students… and most of all, you. I didn’t want to be a disgrace during our first genuine bout with the master. I thought I was above that petty Sith nonsense… I guess not.”

 

The two apprentices heads dipped as the room was consumed by silence. For the first time, Lorrik had been utterly defeated. Jresh saw no vestige of his companion’s usual light. It had been darkened. Smothered. No more optimism. No more persistence. No more vigor. And the only person Jresh knew could lift someone from this state, was the afflicted himself.

 

“Lorrik. This is not the first challenged we’ve faced. And it will not be the last. We’ll get through this and move forward, just as we always do,” Jresh declared.

 

“This is different. This isn’t something we can just casually overcome,” Lorrik muttered, turning his gaze toward his bandaged right hand. “What’s happened… what I’ve done… I don't know if we-”

 

“It’s in the past. Our pasts are merely a sequence of events that shape our path. They don’t define it. And they certainly don’t define us,” Jresh recited as he lifted himself from his bedside seat. “Get some rest, I’m sure everyone will want to know that you’re awake.”

 

The Pureblood laid a comforting hand on his partner’s wrist one final time before heading toward the exit. As Lorrik lifted his gaze he was greeted with the disconcerting sight of his companion’s gait. The physicality of his left foot was covered with garb, but the pain wrought with each step was readily apparent. Lorrik realized that he was responsible for the most lasting wound Jresh had ever suffered.

 

The inquisitor’s heart sunk. He had caused irreparable damage to both himself and his partner. With a deep sigh, Lorrik was alone, accompanied only by silence and his own thoughts. Thoughts that were almost universally directed toward his injured hand. The Human stared at the wrapping, contorting his covered fingers. He moved his free hand toward his forearm, scratching at the skin that bordered the bandages. Scratching turned to searching, and the inquisitor looked for a way to undo his wrappings. Starting at the base, he began to unfasten and unroll the fabric, working his way upward toward his hand. As more and more flesh was revealed, he saw a paleness begin to emerge. Paleness which eventually turned to calloused and cracked skin.

 

His hand fully revealed, Lorrik saw that he had suffered no ordinary wound. Dark lines were visible under his skin, branching and converging toward his fingers. But the most disconcerting thing of all rested in the palm of his hand. A large blot covered the interior of his hand. Not a scab, but a tainted blackness that appeared to have emerged from within.

 

As Lorrik rested in his bed, he couldn’t take his eyes off of the injured hand. Calming himself, he attempted to focus his mind. It was a wound. Wounds could be healed. The inquisitor attempted to channel healing energies through his right hand to no effect. It refused to shine with the usual radiant light, and no matter how hard he tried, it remained as pale and blackened as ever. Taking his mind off the injury, Lorrik tried the same with his other hand. He delighted as he saw his left hand glow with a soft light. With a deep breath, he guided it toward his injured hand, but the instant they touched, he experienced a sharp pain unlike any other. What was once numb reacted violently to the healing energies, forcing the Human to withdraw his other hand. As the pain subsided, Lorrik saw that his effort were for naught.

 

The inquisitor’s head sunk into its pillow as he rubbed his eyes with his normal hand, the other falling to his side. As the minutes passed, Lorrik sat in silence, trying his hardest to cull the thoughts brewing in his mind.

 

The silence persisted until there was a knock on the wall near the room’s entrance. Lorrik perked up to see Ryloh standing in the doorway. He waved the Twi’lek in, who took a seat in the bedside chair. The other inquisitor’s blue face attempted to convey a sense of comfort, but there was an underlying concern in his eyes.

 

“How are you doing, Lorrik?” Ryloh asked.

 

“I’m… fine,” Lorrik answered.

 

“No… you’re not,” Ryloh corrected. The Twi’lek tried to force a smile. “Remember, I’ve been in your position before. Out in the wastes, sacrificing my body and mind for the sake of my partner. You know, I never got around to thanking you.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For not telling Kar’ai the… details of what I did out there,” Ryloh clarified. “I wanted to tell her myself after we returned to the Academy. Didn’t want her to worry before we were safe.”

 

“How did she take it?” Lorrik asked.

 

“She was… surprised. She wasn’t used to other people going through so much for her benefit. We’re not really conditioned to appreciate sacrifice, are we? She chastised me, said I never should have done that, but eventually we both came to terms with what happened. She thought she owed me something, took a while to convince her she didn’t. But in the end, we were closer because of it.”

 

“So what are you saying, everything’s going to be just fine?” Lorrik muttered.

 

“No, it won’t. We both know we abandoned any hope of normalcy long ago. To this day, my mind has not fully recovered. I still suffer from bouts of pain, confusion, disorientation. But not for a moment do I regret my actions. I took on that pain because I knew it would spare Kar’ai.”

 

“And what if you discovered you didn’t spare her that pain? That despite all your sacrifice, you ended up making things worse?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Then I would endure until I set things right,” Ryloh answered.

 

“And what if things couldn’t be set right?”

 

“All things can be mended with time,” Ryloh declared as he raised himself from his seat. “It’s simply the nature of the mending that must adapt.”

 

As he exited the room, he shot the Human a quick smile before nodding toward the hall beyond the entrance. As Ryloh exited, his partner Kar’ai took his place, entering and approaching the inquisitor’s bed. She took a seat beside the inquisitor, locking her eyes with his.

 

“Lorrik,” she spoke up,

 

“Kar’ai,” Lorrik shot back.

 

“So you’re finally up… relatively speaking,” Kar’ai joked, an awkward chuckle punctuating the Rattataki’s words. “You know, we were genuinely worried that you had died. All of us, even the less than pleasant apprentices. Are you doing okay?”

 

“Well, aside from my insides being rearranged, and my hand…”

 

“I meant emotionally,” Kar’ai corrected.

 

“I don’t know. And I didn’t think you’d be the one to care,” Lorrik admitted.

 

“That’s understandable. You know how us warriors are,” Kar’ai stated. “I guess this is coming from a place of empathy. I think I understand some of the things you’re going through.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“The feeling of guilt, the feeling of hopelessness, the feeling that you should have been able to do more, do it better, do anything to change what had happened. Am I that far off?”

 

“I suppose not,” Lorrik quietly admitted. “So you’ve come to terms with what Ryloh did?”

 

“Crippling himself with pain so that I wouldn’t have to suffer through your healing methods? I guess I have. To be honest, I was furious with him when he told me. 'How could he put himself through that for me'? 'Why is he suffering when I’m perfectly fine'? Things you think are going through your partner’s head right now. You think you’ve burdened him with something.”

 

“Who’s to say I haven’t?” Lorrik stated. “This entire situation is my fault. It all could have been prevented if I had bothered to think for even a moment. Now I owe him my life and all he has to show for it is the loss of a functional leg.”

 

“We’ve been here, what, a decade? You’ve been partners with Jresh for almost two years now? Tell me, after all this time, how could you have forgotten something so simple? The fact that Jresh is a warrior.”

 

“I have not forgotten,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“You haven’t? Then you know that he doesn’t care about pain. He doesn’t care about injuries. Warriors care about one thing, and one thing only, and use their passion toward that thing to drive them forward regardless of whatever obstacles try to impede them. To give those obstacles a second thought, would be unbefitting a warrior. You could take so much away from him, and he would still only care about that one thing. No matter what happens, no matter what you do, you cannot stop him. If you knock him down, it’s up to you whether or not to pick him back up, but he will eventually rise, with or without you. But knowing Jresh, I think he’d vastly prefer it to be with you.”

 

Lorrik offered a solemn nod as Kar’ai raised herself from her seat. “I want to thank you and Ryloh for stopping by.”

 

“No problem, Lorrik,” Kar’ai declared as she headed out of the room. “But we’re not the only ones who came to see you.”

 

Without another word, the Rattataki exited, leaving a puzzled Human sitting in his bed. A few seconds later, however, and two new figures entered the room. Isorr and Arlia. The Zabrak and Twi’lek approached the Human, opting to stand, leaning casually against the wall nearest the patient.

 

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Lorrik admitted.

 

“We could say the same,” Arlia joked. “We all thought you were dead. Well, all except Jresh. But then Ryloh starts trusting what your partner says, then Kar’ai starts believing him as well. Then Syrosk thinks you can be saved, so he dunks you in the kolto tank. Of course, your injuries were mostly internal so it required full immersion, but then again you weren’t using your lungs anyway.”

 

“Well, that’s always nice to hear,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“You know, you’re going to have to teach me that technique sometime. Never seen anything like it,” Arlia admitted, genuinely intrigued.

 

“To be honest, neither have I. But I’d avoid it if I were you. Rather unpleasant,” Lorrik admitted, raising his right hand. The two visitors look at the injured hand with wide eyes.

 

“I must say, Lorrik, I am impressed,” Isorr spoke up. “I’d wager even Syrosk isn’t capable of conjuring such power.”

 

“Given my current state, I’d say neither am I,” Lorrik stated. “It was more than my body could handle, and parts of it were consumed in the process.”

 

“Altered, not consumed,” Isorr offered. “The Sith are dynamic. That is what your partner once told me. Change in is the nature of the dark side, and it is in our nature as Sith to control it. You displayed great power, and have earned our respect for it.”

 

“Power? I crippled Jresh and left some of my insides out there on the dueling circle. You call that power?”

 

“I call it potential,” Isorr declared. “Potential I did not think you possessed prior.”

 

“You stop by to say all this?” Lorrik asked.

 

“To tell you the truth, Jresh asked us, well, told us to visit you,” Arlia informed. “We thought to object, but then again, we had nothing else to do. Our studies sort of hit a roadblock after your little ordeal.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“Well, Syrosk hasn’t emerged from his quarters since he dropped you off here,” Arlia explained. “We’ve taken the initiative to meet up ourselves, us and the other students, have some light duels…”

 

“Jresh spent most of his time in here with you,” Isorr added. “Although he did manage show up for the second day.”

 

“You mean he was in fighting condition?” Lorrik asked, the most interested he had been all day.

 

“Turns out kolto can’t fully heal whatever it is that happened to you and him,” Arlia explained. “They took you out of the tank after you showed little improvement. Jresh though, he up and walked out of here after his first day of treatment. He favored the other leg but managed to do just as well in our practice bouts. Even Isorr couldn’t beat him.”

 

“They were practice bouts, it wasn’t about winning,” Isorr hastily defended. “Without training sabers, we seem to be a bit more cautious with one another…”

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Arlia said, digging her elbow into her partner’s side.

 

“Wait, so what has Syrosk been doing these past few days?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Honestly, we’re not sure,” Arlia admitted. “Maybe he’ll emerge now that you’re awake.”

 

“Hopefully. I’ll not see my training stalled because this one refuses to get up,” Isorr declared.

 

“Ah, there’s the Isorr we know and love,” Lorrik joked, regaining some of his usual vigor. “Well, as awkward as this must have been for you, I appreciate the visit.”

 

“Oh, if you think this was awkward,” Arlia chuckled as the two made their way out. Lorrik responded with the quick arch of his brow, followed by a widening of his eyes.

 

“Wait, you mean…” Lorrik started, before watching the last two apprentices walk in. Nesk and Vurt. The Trandoshan took his place against the wall whilst the Nikto took a seat at the bed’s side. Lorrik slowly panned his gaze between the two figures, both of whom offered their own cold stares in return.

 

The three apprentices remained silent for what seemed like a minute, before Lorrik finally spoke up. “Well, this has been great guys, but…”

 

“Lorrik,” Vurt finally spoke, to Lorrik's surprise. His voice was utterly deep, with a gravel that rivaled Syrosk’s raspy voice.

 

“I… honestly couldn’t remember if you spoke Basic…” Lorrik admitted.

 

“I have spoken to Syrosk when appropriate,” Vurt stated, each word drawn out and precise. “I speak only to those who have earned my respect. You are the fourth person to do so.”

 

“I… see.”

 

“Before coming to the Academy, I was born into a cult known as the Morgukai,” Vurt explained. “Nesk was brought up in a traditional Trandoshan hunting culture. Both belief systems call for a deeper understanding and appreciation for death than you might find in a typical Sith. You are the first being we have met capable of overcoming it. And for that you have our respect.”

 

“Well, uh, I’m honored, but really, I have Jresh to thank,” Lorrik admitted. “I think it was him calling to me that actually kept me alive.”

 

“Death is for the unwilling,” Vurt coldly stated. “Jresh alone could not have saved you. You are alive, because you willed it to be so. You could have given up. You could have ignored the call. But you didn’t. Jresh may have extended a hand, but it was you who took hold. You have unfinished business here, whether you realize it or not. Some part of you refused death.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Confidence is measured by merit,” Vurt declared. “We follow Syrosk, because he is strong. When he abandoned us to the wastes, we followed you, because you managed to prove yourself. Should we find ourselves abandoned again, we know who we will follow.”

 

Without another word, the two figure removed themselves from the room, offering one final nod of confidence to the Human as the departed.

 

“Well, I suppose that takes care of the visitors.”

 

----------

 

Outside the Academy halls, the lands that stretched before the facility found themselves burdened by the usual rays of sunlight and heat. Business proceeded as usual within the training grounds, acolytes vying for the attention of overseers, apprentices fulfilling the wishes of their masters. The activities continued uninterrupted even as a shuttle passed closely overhead. The gray passenger vessel touched down at the nearest landing pad, releasing a squeal as its landing gears pressed against the metallic platform. The ship’s doors opened and ramp extended, a new batch of acolytes slowly making their way off the ship. After them, however, a lone figure emerged, unique from those who preceded him.

 

The figure made his way toward the Academy with a casual pace, the tail of his vibrant red coat bouncing with each step.

Edited by Osetto
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