Trial of Spirit/Part 2

Karalin bolted upright as the midnight moon shone down onto his face. A sudden feeling of heat overcame him as sweat covered his entire body, the sheets beneath him soaked. Further inspection showed that his obvious thrashing threw off his blankets as they now sat at the foot of his bed. The Zabrak panted as he placed a hand on his chest, his two hearts beating wildly and intermittently. His face stung, turning red as he buried it in his hands. Karalin groaned painfully as he thought back to Coruscant—the event that he practically just relived in his dreams. If he could even call them that.

He stood up from his bed, holding a hand to his face as he began making his way across the room. He approached a basin on the far side and reached for a button along its rim. He pressed it, and cold water flowed out of the faucet with a rather satisfying hiss. Leaning over the sink, he cupped his hands beneath the tap and splashed the freezing water onto his face. The feeling was refreshing, a great relief from the warmth he had felt from his narcoleptic sweating.

Karalin looked up and into the mirror before him. A Zabrak now in his late twenties, his horned head was shaved bald. Tiny Silka beads hung from one of his horns, indicating his Padawan status. Tattoos covered his light-skinned face in intricate, lined designs that were natural of Iridonians. His deep yellow eyes added to the sternness and pained expression he wore, his brows knit and his stare relentless. Currently shirtless, Karalin had a strong build, standing at roughly six feet.

He ran a finger over an ugly scar that ran across his face, from one cheek to the other. Ten years and it seemingly refused to significantly fade. Karalin lowered his arm as he stared grimly at the scar through the mirror.

The memories came rushing back. He remembered it as if it were yesterday—the fires, his master’s crippled body, and the rage he had felt. The rage he carried with him to this day.

A single name echoed in his mind, as it had been for ten years now. Nerox… He envisioned the Sith so perfectly, it was as if he was standing right in front of him. His dark, heavy armor; each individual face tentacle; those eyes that glowed like fire. The eyes he especially remembered, only they did not inflict terror as they once had. Now they only fueled Karalin’s hatred for the Sith Lord that killed his master.

Karalin stared into the mirror at his own yellow eyes, which almost seemed to glow dimly. He found himself disgusted at the parallels to Nerox. “I’m coming for you…” he muttered grimly.

Suddenly, a cold breeze flowed through the room, causing Karalin to shiver. When he turned around, he was surprised to find that no window had been cracked nor door opened. Nothing could’ve let in whatever air flowed outside; he was completely isolated. As he glanced around his quarters, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, something tingled at the back of his mind. He rubbed the back of his head, but the feeling did not dissipate. An alarming sensation overcame Karalin as his eyes darted across the room as if he were expecting an attack.

Of course. The Zabrak sighed and approached the bed once more. He laid down on his back, staring up at the dark, empty ceiling. An attack… This was obviously one of those situations the Jedi Council had warned him about so many times now. At this point it felt like every other day they were warning him about the dangers of the dark side. But he had nothing to heed—why would he meddle in powers he vowed to destroy?

His eyelids began to grow heavy as darkness enveloped him. The tingling in his mind disappeared finally, and was replaced by the warmth of his pillow. Sweat no longer covered his body as the cold, still air of the room touched his skin. His hearts beat at a regular pace as calmness and sleep overcame him.