Knights of the Old Republic: Convict's Dawn/3-4

Chapter 3

Alderaan – One year prior

“Raen… Raen…”

Raen Benax’s eyes flickered open, staring into the pale-white sky that engulfed his vision. Turning his head, he glanced around him in all directions. To his dismay, there was nothing living in this grey wasteland; the hum of a soft wind and the bittersweet taste of the humidity were the only comfort Raen’s alarmed senses received. The rocks that littered the otherwise empty landscape were jagged and threatening, looming in the distance like silent guardians, warning the wanderers who found themselves unlucky enough to end up in such a place.

Raen struggled to his feet, letting his weak legs support him as he propped himself upward and grasped a nearby rock for balance. Now standing, Raen had a much clearer view of his surroundings. However, the landscape itself hadn’t changed and Raen still couldn’t identify any signs of life; even desert shrubbery was oddly absent from the environment he found himself in.

“Raen… Raen…”

Raen turned around, facing the direction of the faceless voice. However, Raen couldn’t see anyone. Each time the voice spoke, a chill ran down his spine, beginning at his thinly trimmed brown hair and progressing throughout his body.

“Here I am!” called Raen. Grasping onto the rock he was using as a crutch, Raen pulled himself toward the rock’s highest point. While his legs dangled in the air, his arms kept him suspended above the ground. Falling as quickly as he had attempted to climb up, Raen’s landing was cushioned by the soft, pearl-white sand beneath him.

“Raen Benax,” a character revealed himself, though the original voice was not his. A well-built man stood near him, barely a meter away from where Raen was positioned. “Arise.”

Quickly forcing himself to stand, Raen was alarmed as the man proceeded to reach for his weapon. Raen couldn’t identify the man; his large hood covered his face and he wore a long oak-colored cloak over his garments. The man’s movements were calm and fluid, in one swift motion he unclipped his lightsaber from his sash and ignited the weapon, revealing a violet-hued lightsaber.

Almost as if they were on-cue, three more individuals surrounded Raen as the first man revealed his lightsaber. Each of them had surprisingly similar attire: brown robes, an abnormally large hood and coal-black boots that reached halfway up their knees. The three other beings also drew their respective lightsabers, each possessing a different colored blade.

“Our emotions betray us,” began the first man, the one with the violet lightsaber. “Your feelings will prove your undoing in combat and decision-making. It is for this reason that the attachment is forbidden; your relationships shall lead to a path of betrayal and suffering,” he finished. He positioned his arm level perpendicular to his chest, facing Raen.

The second individual continued the message. “As we restrain our emotions, the Force begins to flow more freely in us. The Force is not our tool; rather, we are the tools of the Force. Our goal is to constantly heed the calling of the Force. Through the Force, a Jedi obtains his power,” brandishing his green weapon, he mimicked the motion of the first man.

The second individual allowed his hood to fall behind his back, revealing his dark, well-kept black hair, complemented by his hauntingly dark eyes. To some, these eyes would’ve comforted them in times of need, but these eyes startled Raen. The second man’s tanned skin was covered with small scars and bruises and his war torn aura emanated from the man’s weapon and appearance.

“The lightsaber, likewise, is a tool,” began the third figure. “However, this tool can be used for a dual-purpose. The tool of the Jedi should be used for protection of self and others, never for vengeance or dark desires. Such is the way of the Sith.”

Pulling the hood away from his head, the third figure allowed his entire cloak to fall from his body, revealing his dark-colored battle robes underneath. His face was covered by a scruffy, brown beard and similarly long, brown hair that reached the man’s neck. His face was solemn and revealed no emotion or thought, it was apparent he was a stern warrior who had felled many opponents; Raen suspected he had even taken a drink from the cup of darkness.

Finally, the last warrior spoke. “Peace, knowledge, and serenity. These are the three greatest tenants of our Order. Through the conquest of our emotions we gain peace. Through the Force we gain knowledge indescribable. A lightsaber should be used for the ultimate good. Remember this,” removing his hood, the last man revealed his facial features.

Though he was about as young as the second warrior, this warrior seemed less battle-hardened than the knight with the green lightsaber. His hair hung loosely down toward his shoulders, its silver-colored sheen standing out against the morose background. Though he was young in age, his spirit seemed worn and archaic beyond his years.

Lifting his silver-white lightsaber, the final man concluded his speech. “Raen Benax. In the name of the Jedi Order…”

“Raen. Come to me,” the same deep, monotonous voice from before rang out in the distance.

As the spirits of the four Jedi warriors were swept away in a cloud of ash, Raen spotted another figure in the distance. Raen felt oddly drawn toward the figure, though he didn’t realize why. As the two approached each other, Raen identified what he could about the new individual. His entire body was covered from head-to-toe in dark, ebony armor, blotting out the light and preventing it from entering. Resting on his belt was a titanic lightsaber, massive and unwieldy. The figure grasped the weapon effortlessly, Raen recognized the man’s massive size and girth as he lifted the weapon and held it out toward Raen.

The black knight ignited the weapon and Raen watched a red blade leap from its handle. “Come to me, Raen. I shall protect you and we will finally be united – Raen…”

“Raen! Raen!”

Raen was startled as his entire body jumped back into the conscious reality. He was no longer in a wilderness wasteland; instead, he was seated on a meditative pillow in a durasteel-grey room, containing almost no personal belongings. Raen turned his head slightly and identified the source of the voice, his master, De’dlay Yavalaaka. The Kajain’sa’Nikto was standing over Raen, his expression stern and clearly indignant. Suited in modified Sith trooper armor – though he lacked the helmet – the Nikto’s Sith robes were carefully covered by the armor, providing adequate protection.

“Raen Benax,” mused the Sith Master. “What am I going to do with you? Your father is paying me substantially to train you in our ancient arts, yet you insist on sleeping through your training!”

Raen stood up and bowed before his Sith teacher. “Master, I apologize. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I’ll pay more attention next time.”

The Sith listened to his pupil while he traversed Raen’s chambers, examining the sparse amount of Sith artifacts strewn about the room’s otherwise barren floor.

“If you are so committed, then I will allow you to repent for your embarrassment. Practice your Force powers. Once you have improved them a good deal, find me and we shall discuss your next task,” nodding at his student, the Nikto Sith left Raen’s room almost as quickly as he came, closing the door behind him.

Taking a seat in the corner of the room, Raen reached out to grasp the Force. The Force was a mystical energy field that bound the universe together; both Jedi and Sith could drink from its cup and achieve amazing power and perform superhuman feats. Everything that lived possessed the Force, so philosophers had long since deduced that the Force was the very essence of life. Allowing the Force to enter into his body and empower his mind and body, Raen relaxed his muscles and the Force slowly began to take over.

Closing his eyes, Raen concentrated on gathering the Force before him. Assembling the Force in unity was a difficult task and Raen had to focus more and more of his anger and rage to empower his will and overpower the Force’s resistance. As the Force’s energy began to form before Raen, the energy quickly took the appearance of a ball of scorching flame and expanded rapidly. As the fireball grew in front of Raen, the young Sith student eventually lost control of the energy and allowed it to fly freely. The fiery orb flew forward, tearing through the metal door on Raen’s corridors and making contact with a passing Sith student. As the blast hit her chest, she was thrown off her feet as the flames dispersed around her and her head collided with a nearby wall.

As Sith students ran from all directions to help her, Raen sprung to his feet and sprinted toward the injured student. While the Sith students that were already surrounding her attempted to heal her with their dark arts, Master De’dlay returned with two Sith officers. While the two officers parted the crowd and placed the young woman on a hover-stretch, De’dlay inspected the damage and scanned the crowd.

Scowling, De’dlay called out to the Sith students, “Who did this?”

“I did, master,” Raen spoke out, quickly approaching the displeased Nikto.

Groaning, De’dlay motioned for the remaining Sith students to return to their studies. De’dlay silently walked toward his office and Raen knew he was expected to follow him. Keeping his head down and his steps quick, Raen followed the Sith Master to his large quarters stationed on the center floor of the Sith academic base. Like the rest of the base, the floor and walls of the Sith Master’s chambers were a durasteel-grey, empty and somber. Taking a seat in his large window-side chair, De’dlay turned to face Raen.

“Raen. Do you realize what you did?”

“Yes master,” Raen began. “I let my powers escape my and hurt a – weaker and inferior – Sith.”

De’dlay nodded, glancing at his datapad while he spoke. “Raen. Your skills are powerful, but they are still raw and untamed. If you would give us time, we would teach you to perfect your skills. However, you seem intent on ignoring orders and sleeping through lessons.”

“Master,” Raen interrupted, speaking harshly. “I don’t sleep through lessons.”

De’dlay grumbled and let out a low grunt. “Specifics aren’t important, Raen. The point is, you are a threat to you and those around you until we teach you to perfect these skills of yours,” sighing, De’dlay placed the datapad back on his desk. “Raen, you are free to go for today. We have no more to discuss or teach you for the time being.”

Raen bowed rudely, before his Sith Master and turned to head out the door. Though he thought he heard De’dlay call out to him as he was leaving, he ignored it. Raen was not interested in receiving any more lectures from his teacher. Marching swiftly through the hallways of the Sith base, Raen grabbed the small knapsack he brought with him from home and left the Sith base. Walking from the end of the Sith base to a nearby hillside, Raen spotted an incoming repulsor-cab. Paying the driver a measly fifty credits, Raen headed from the Sith base to his home, though he would probably stop at the Dying Bantha Cantina first.

Watching Raen leave from his office, De’dlay sighed. He knew that Raen had the greatest potential of all his current students, but he was an unwillingly oaf who proved difficult to teach. The Nikto turned from the window as Raen’s repuslor-cab sped off in the distance before the middle-aged Sith Master continued his work. Since Czerka Corporation moved to Alderaan several months ago, De’dlay was constantly busy. Czerka was a galactic-wide industry that created and sold weapons and droids to civilians and military forces alike. However, Czerka Corporation had recently aligned itself with Malak’s Sith Empire and they were commonplace on Sith worlds in the Outer Rim.

Activating his holoreceiver, De’dlay cycled through his long list of contacts before finally reaching the desired client. Allowing his receiver to connect with the communication lines around Alderaan, he waited about a minute before another voice chimed in on the other end of the transmission.

“Hello, you have reached Czerka Corporation’s representative offices. Would you like to schedule an appointment?” the young woman’s cheery voice irked De’dlay. He didn’t feel like talking to a receptionist; he felt like conversing with the Czerka representative that was responsible for this system.

“No,” he began, clearing his voice of any sign of hostility. “This is De’dlay, Sith Master of the Alderaan Sith base. I would like to speak with Daln Tertig, please.”

There was an awkward silence on the other end of the transmission for several minutes. “I’m sorry,” the receptionist finally responded. “But Mr. Tertig is unable to see you at this moment. Can I take a message?”

De’dlay did his best to keep his rage in check. The audacity of the Czerka officers was unnerving. “Fine. Tell Mr. Tertig that my client will resume negotiations with him and his corporation. That is all.”

A quick, “Farewell,” followed another brief silence before the transmission was abruptly cut off. Furious, De’dlay stormed out of his office and went to vent his rage on some training droids; the ignorance and sheer stupidity of Czerka Corporation was something that the Sith Master couldn’t stand.

East Alderaan Spaceport

Raen thanked the driver for the trip as he exited the repuslor-cab and slammed its door behind him. While the speeder sped away behind him, Raen took a deep breath of fresh Alderaan air, allowing his muscles to stretch out before heading toward the eastern dockyards in the distance. The port was a hub for honest spacers, voracious mercenaries, and seedy merchants alike; the second-largest hangar building was known to attract business from all around Republic space.

Trudging slowly through the crowd of aliens, Humans, and droids, Raen used his shoulders and arms to push through the compact and rowdy group of edgy travelers. Making it to the entrance to the docking bays in one piece, Raen made his way through the large swinging-doors and headed toward the Dying Bantha Cantina in the far corner of the main building. Though he knew most of the patrons well enough, Raen kept his vibroblade on his belt at all times. A dangerous drunk could cause trouble, even if they seemed harmless enough.

Pulling up a barstool by the counter, Raen glanced around the cantina. Not seeing anyone he knew, Raen turned his attention back to the barkeep. A young female Twi’lek – probably a year younger than him – was assisting the owner and working as the barmaid this afternoon. Raen waved his arms above his head, hoping to get her to notice him. Once he had caught her attention, Raen watched as she slowly made her way towards him.

“Yes sir?” she asked, nonchalantly.

“I’d like a drink, Alderaanian ale, if you wouldn’t mind.”

The Twi’lek barmaid looked at Raen dubiously. “Aren’t you a little young to be drinking alcohol?”

“You will get me a drink,” Raen said, waving his hand through the air in a distracting and almost mystical manner.

“I will get you a drink,” the Twi’lek murmured monotonously, her eyes fixated on Raen’s hand. Grabbing a glass near Raen, the young barmaid headed toward the backroom to fulfill Raen’s request.

After she had left, a sly grin snuck its way onto Raen’s face. He had always been skilled at coercion, especially when his skill was amplified by the Force. That was the extent of his Force abilities, however. Any offensive or defensive Force powers were well out of his reach, because Raen couldn’t release enough of his anger to control them correctly.

Nodding as the barmaid handed him his drink, Raen stared at the alcohol before him, peering into its golden-brown reflection. Almost instantly, he noticed a figure standing behind him through the reflection of the drink, but his reaction wasn’t fast enough. As the figure grappled his neck, Raen found himself in a strangling chokehold and gasping for air.

“Give up, Sith?” the figure growled.

“G’aal!” Raen gasped, struggling to maintain a steady flow of air to his lungs. “G’aal! Damn it, let me go!”

G’aal released Raen on command; the young Sith inhaled sharply and stroked his throat in an attempt to ease the pain in his neck. The Iridorian’s light orange-colored armor reflected the pale light of the bar as he passed Raen and swatted him on the back. As the stocky warrior moved to sit down in Raen’s old seat, the Sith apprentice scowled and motioned for G’aal to remove himself from the stool.

“No thanks,” said G’aal, his voice jovial but stern. “I like my seat here.”

Raen crossed his arms, expressing clear displeasure, but decided to end the bickering. Pulling up another barstool by the Iridorian, Raen snatched his glass of ale from G’aal’s hands and took a swift drink of the strong liquor. Though he could feel his anger bubbling up inside, he didn’t feel like starting any more trouble with his old friend.

Though the barkeep – an elderly Anzat who had owned this cantina for nearly forty years – approached the pair to see what caused the commotion, he realized that their quarrel had ended before he arrived. Shifting his gaze from the two troublemakers to a pair of Quarren playing pazaak and then to the bouncer outside, the barkeep eventually returned to his work. Though he was worried about getting thrown out, once the Anzat left, Raen sighed and returned his attention to G’aal.

“So,” Raen began, “What’s new, G’aal? Any word from the outside?”

“Well, Mandalore and Kashyyk were recently conquered by the Sith,” G’aal began, glancing around the cantina. “That means that they’re a hyperspace jump away from Sluis Van.”

“The shipyard world?”

“The very one,” G’aal responded quickly. “The Sith militia has a significant troop shortage in that region. They’re hiring mercenaries from the surrounding areas to assist the in inevitable combat.”

Raen turned his attention from his empty glass to G’aal. If he was right about G’aal’s implications, then there was a good possibility that his friend would be sent to Sluis Van to fight against the Republic forces. Even though the Sith military was the strongest in the galaxy, the chance of surviving a single battle was very slim.

“Are you going to fight on Sluis Van?” Raen asked to confirm his fears, his voice expressing a hint of authentic concern.

“Possibly,” the Iridorian mused. “I haven’t made a decision. I need the credits, but I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

The young man contemplated what G’aal had told him. Raen was a Sith apprentice, and he had taken basic training under the Sith trooper training regimen. Even so, he knew that if he ended up in combat with a Republic soldier, or even a Jedi, the chances of his survival were almost nil. He was still a neophyte in lightsaber skills – limited to basic Shii-Cho, the first and most simple lightsaber form – and hadn’t been able to fully grasp the extent of his capabilities in the Force. If survival was difficult for him, it would be nearly impossible for someone who wasn’t Force-sensitive.

“The Sith army is worth it,” Raen coldly replied. “But you have to decide if the mission itself is worth the credits.”

“You’re right,” G’aal said, nodding, almost absent-mindedly. Though he seemed to be paying attention to Raen, his mind was clearly elsewhere. “I believe I owe you a drink and a pazaak game. Want to play?”

“I have better things to do than play pazaak,” Raen grumbled.

“That’s too bad,” G’aal responded. “I assumed that you Sith were different than the Jedi, but you really aren’t. Still all noble and pompous.”

Raen slammed his empty glass against the counter. “Watch you mouth,” he sneered. “Or you’ll regret it.”

G’aal scoffed. “Your threats don’t frighten me. I taught you how to fight, remember? Goodbye, Raen. Maybe we’ll talk later.”

Raen watched as G’aal made his way from the stool, through the crowd of patrons and onlookers, and out of the bar. Though G’aal tried to be as polite as possible to the civilians and passer-bys, Raen knew that he was clearly annoyed at Raen’s demeanor. The Iridorian marched out of the bar silently, not acknowledging anyone or turning around to see Raen’s response.

As another group of patrons began to wander into the bar and hide G’aal from Raen’s view, the Anzat barkeep tapped Raen on the shoulder. Startled, Raen spun around in his barstool and stared at the Anzat, whose white irises and graying hair reflected decades of wisdom that Raen could hardly comprehend. Moving his wrinkled and crumpled hand away from Raen and toward the empty glass, the Anzat extended a single finger and pointed at it. “You going to want another glass?” he finally asked, his voice cracked and hollow.

“No,” Raen replied, “Now get lost.”

The Anzat leered at Raen, staring directly into the young Sith’s auburn eyes. “Now then, mind your manners, young man, lest you lose all your friends because of your tongue.”

“Don’t insult me!” barked Raen. Instead of allowing his anger to flow freely, however, Raen quelled his wrath and waited for the barkeep to leave.

Once the Anzat had returned to his other duties, Raen headed out of the bar, leaving without paying the money he owed the barmaid. Shoving his way through the crowd, Raen left the Dying Bantha and entered the courtyard outside the eastern dockyards.

Chapter 4

East Alderaan Spaceport

Raen hopped on the Civic Transportation Unit, or CTU, as it came in to ferry travelers and citizens alike from the Eastern spaceport to the capital of Aldera. Making his way through the crowd, Raen made his way to the back of the long hoverbus and took a seat in between a Zeltron and a Mon Calamari. Though the other passengers of the CTU shot an occasional glance at their new passengers to investigate them and satisfy their curious minds, Raen made sure to conceal his Sith uniform beneath a long, tattered brown robe.

His uniform was his only real connection to the Sith Order. Raen, being a neophyte learner and a novice in the ways of the Force, had yet to achieve the right to bear a lightsaber outside of training exercises. This was both a blessing and a curse for the young Sith. The order he served was not particularly popular on Alderaan; it had been forcibly instituted by Revan during his brief dominion over the region. Though he and his forces abandoned the planet early during the war, his Sith intelligence agents never left. On the other hand, if a Force-sensitive, especially a Jedi, found his way to Alderaan from Coruscant, then Raen would be at a clear disadvantage in battle without a lightsaber of his own.

Though he pretended to be as polite as possible, Raen felt that De’dlay was holding him back, preventing him from reaching his full potential. His brother, Jaeln Benax, had long since completed the training courses and missions necessary to become a full-fledged member of Malak’s Sith Order. In fact, many of the current trainees, including Raen, albeit begrudgingly, looked up to Jaeln for inspiration; he was both a prodigious swordsman and a venerable sage, even though he was still very young. Raen knew that he could achieve that potential, if De’dlay would only let him advance in his training.

As the Mon Calamari sitting on his left rose from his seat, Raen hardly noticed a Human female, probably several years younger than him, slide into the vacated seat beside him. Still in deep thought, Raen paid no attention to his new neighbor, though her green eyes battered back and forth, examining him carefully. Finally, Raen noticed her wandering eyes, and returned her most recent glance with a glare of his own, startling her and causing her to turn her head in fear and embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I… I thought I recognized you from somewhere,” she stuttered, her face still a fluttered red.

Raen rolled his eyes at the girl’s response. He assumed she was another one of those poor vagabonds from the countryside, looking for a handout or a free meal. Though he did have a few credits left over from his visit to the Dying Bantha, Raen was feeling neither generous nor amicable enough to give her free money or food.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any money on me,” he finally said bluntly.

“No! It’s not like that at all,” she insisted. Turning toward him, she brushed her light blond hair away from her eyes and stared at Raen. “I – You’re Raen Benax, aren’t you?”

Raen’s own oaken-colored eyes lit up with shock. He almost jumped out of his seat due to the fright of that moment. The minute his name rolled off her tongue, Raen suspected the worse. She could have been a government spy, intent on capturing Sith, or perhaps she was a Republic commando, sent to imprison and torture Sith-sympathizing civilians and brainwash them with pro-Jedi propaganda. Though he subconsciously knew that each of his presumptions were ridiculous, the alcohol had clouded his judgment enough to force him to draw his blaster and point it toward the young woman’s head.

“Don’t move,” said Raen, as quietly as he could. “I’ll shoot if you try anything.”

The girl was now clearly frightened and she almost burst into tears. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you! I’m Dynatha, from the Sith academy.”

Raen immediately realized his mistake. “My bad,” he muttered, lowering the blaster and returning it to its holster while the surrounding passengers averted their eyes, as to suggest they hadn’t watched the entire situation intently and with interest.

“It’s fine. Really.”

“No, no,” said Raen, hoping that his anger and stress wouldn’t cause him to carry out more idiocy. “I shouldn’t have done that. Now then, did you say you were from the Sith academy?”

Dynatha nodded. “Yes. I am being trained under Master Calay. I joined the order about three months ago, when my parents couldn’t afford my schooling on Commenor.”

“I see. And what exactly does this have to do with me?”

“Oh, well,” Dynatha blushed, brushing more hair away from her eyes. “You see… I’ve heard good things about you from the Sith Masters. They all think you’re on par with your brother.”

“I’m sure I’m not of my brother’s caliber,” Raen responded coldly.

“Oh, but that’s what they say,” she said cheerfully. “And I was wondering... could you, maybe, help me in my training?”

Raen stared at Dynatha incredulously. “Train you?”

“Yes!” she said. “I don’t quite understand all the concepts behind the Sith Code and the properties of a lightsaber; I’m a slow learner, you see,” she added quickly, expressing a hint of regret.

“Interesting,” Raen said, slightly amused. “And, why would I help train you?”

Dynatha shook her head quickly. “Well, if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I was just hoping, maybe, that you help me.”

Raen scowled. “The Sith don’t help others. The Sith control their power through dominance of the weak. Maybe you aren’t cut out to be a Sith.”

“But… where would I go?”

“I don’t know; it’s not my problem,” Raen turned away from Dynatha and it became clear he had no interest in continuing the conversation.

Wiping her eyes of any salty tears, Dynatha got up and left Raen alone in his seat, meekly making her way through the crowd and toward the front of the bus. Once she had escaped Raen’s view, he shook his head and sighed with a subtle hint of exasperation and frustration. He had grown tired of explaining to new trainees what it took to be a Sith. It was both annoying and tiring. If they couldn’t figure it out when they were taken under the care of a master, then they didn’t belong. Only the strong would survive amongst the Sith.

“Stop: Benax Grounds,” the hoverbus drive called out over the intercom.

Pulling himself out of his lonely seat, Raen grabbed his belongings from underneath his chair and progressed toward the nearest exit, fighting against the crowd of pedestrians as he made his way out of the hoverbus. Once he had finally stepped off and the doors of the CTU closed behind him, Raen turned around and caught one last glimpse at Dynatha, still crying and sitting in an abandoned corner of the bus, before it headed out of sight and passed the hills on the eastern end of his father’s estate.

As his mud-clad boots trampled leaves underfoot while making his way toward his home, Raen took a long, glorifying look at the mansion he called home. Four stories high, the building itself was built on solid bedrock and near Mynock Hill, the largest lone hill in this area. Unlike other fanciful manors of Alderaan, his grandfather, Leonis Benax, had refused to paint or elaborately decorate his property, and it remained a dull, rust color with very little trimming to give it any sort of excess decoration. Though the entire estate had been a nature preserve up until five years ago, it had recently been converted into a strip-mining complex and vacant open-field starfighter hangar.

Approaching the front door, Raen acknowledged their security droid, 1-XG, before heading inside and sealing the door closed behind him. Placing his bags and training equipment by the door, Raen tossed off his boots and relaxed his feet on the soft carpeting before heading from the lobby toward his own room in the far corner of the house.

Though the quickest way through the estate and to his room would be to take a right-turn at the lobby and continue in that direction until Raen reached his room, he decided to take a longer, roundabout way; the shorter route would force him to converse with his parents. Though he occasionally valued their advice and was grateful for what they had provided him with, he really could care less about what they said about his schooling and how much they cared about his daily activities.

Calmly proceeding through the winding hallways on the eastside of the Benax manor, Raen silently made his way passed alien servants and droid maids attempting to clean out the various room and hallways that littered the building. Though he did his best not to, Raen couldn’t help but accidentally kick over some of the water containers or disposal canisters placed in the middle of the walkway. Though a servant would occasionally complain – be it sentient or droid – Raen would casually ignore their bickering and continue toward his room.

Reaching his room, Raen set down his bags near the wall by his door and fiddled with the lock for several seconds before forcing the keycard inside and unlocking the door. As the door slid open with a soft hum, Raen threw his bags inside as he heard his parents’ voices from several rooms down. Ignoring them at first, Raen attempted to make his way into his room without having to deal with his parents until supper.

“Raen! To the entertainment room! Now, please!” called his father.

“Blast,” Raen muttered under his breath. Turning around, Raen snaked his way toward the entertainment room where his parents were waiting.

Upon entering the entertainment room from the easternmost doorway, Raen spotted his parents before they noticed he had arrived. His father, Raystin Benax, was facing the holonet and listening to the local reports around Alderaan and the Core Worlds. His father had long since run Benax Intergalactic, a supply and transport company that had been in their family for generations. Even though he had been managing the business for almost twenty years, the work only seemed to take a toil on Raystin’s body; his mind and spirit were as youthful as a schoolboy.

Junara, Raen’s mother, was sitting next to Raystin quietly, reading a holobook to divert her attention from the monotony of the Core Worlds’ news reports. In a stark contrast to her husband, Junara was youthful and radiant; she was in the prime of her years and her appearance and wardrobe reflected her wealth and stature. Her long amber hair had been pulled back into a long ponytail that draped down the back of her long, violet and gold dress – decorated with gold and other shining jewels – that hung loosely from her shoulders. Her pale skin and dark brown eyes were oddly reminiscent of Raen’s own skin and eye color, despite the fact that Raen’s skin was slightly darker from his time outside the estate.

Raystin finally turned to Raen and muted the holonet channel he had been so intently focused on. “Hello, son. How did your studies go?” “Fine,” grumbled Raen.

“Now Raen,” mused Junara, her eyes still focused on her holobook. “Don’t have that attitude in front of your father. Why don’t you tell us what happened at the academy today?”

“Nothing important. I just accidentally injured a student; she’ll be fine.”

“You what?” responded Raystin, slightly alarmed. “Raen. You know you have to be more careful than that. You’re a Benax. Try to act like your brother, for us. Please.”

As if the Force had destined it to be, Raen’s brother, Jaeln, stepped in seconds after Raystin began to implore Raen to improve his behavior. Donning a Sith acolyte robe and a dark sash emblazoned with various Sith insignias. Most prominent, however, was the long lightsaber blade that hung from his sash, richly decorated with bronzium, giving the blade a brown-gold sheen.

“What’s all this about being me?” Jaeln asked, with a slight tone of mocking in his voice.

“Ah, hello son,” said Raystin. “We were simply telling Raen to keep us with his studies, like you did.”

Unlike he and his mother, Raen’s older brother looked almost nothing like him. He had the face of his father, the grace of his mother, and the spirit of them both. Only blood kept Raen and Jaeln brothers, and sometimes, they didn’t even act like kinsmen. Jaeln was the antithesis of Raen’s very being and it annoyed his parents to no end; they wanted the best for both of their sons, but Raen was difficult to work with and had no desire to achieve anything.

Jaeln turned toward his little brother and stared at him helplessly. Raen knew it wasn’t either of their faults that Jaeln overachieved and Raen could barely pay attention during lectures, it was just the way things were.

“Still doing poorly with De’dlay, I see,” murmured Jaeln. “Oh, well. You want to practice your swordplay, Raen? It might help.”

Though their father began to raise his voice in protest, Raen disregarded any concern he had and followed his brother out of the entertainment area and toward the dueling area constructed for Jaeln after he had received his lightsaber. The trip was short and eerily silent because neither brother said anything or bothered to acknowledge the other. Their footsteps increased as they neared the room and Jaeln entered the security access code necessary to open the dueling area.

Placing his hand on his lightsaber, Jaeln turned to Raen again. “Raen, let’s not use lightsabers. I haven’t attached a training emitter on my blade, so if I hit you it will sever a limb. Let’s use vibroweapons instead.” Nodding, Raen opened a large fiber satchel in the nearest corner of the room and brandished two vibroswords of equal length and weight. Raen threw the first to Jaeln, who quickly switched on the weapon while Raen withdrew one for himself and activated it with ease. Both brothers headed toward the center of the room, standing on two blue circles painted on the floor in the room’s center to identify the starting positions of the two duelists. Bowing quickly, Raen and Jaeln prepared their initial stance, preparing their first attack and contemplating who should be allowed to make the first move.

Raen eventually moved first – being much more impatient than his older brother – and performed a spiral leap toward his brother, allowing the Force to fill his legs and allow him to hover through invisible waves of air. Landing half a meter away from his brother, Raen began his offensive; his sword met Jaeln’s at chest level, the two blades humming as they vibrated and sent sparks flying in random directions around them. Stuck in a blade lock, Raen released the pressure on his blade and allowed Jaeln to attack.

Unlike his brother, Jaeln’s attacks were organized and fluid, leaving little room for error or a chance for Raen to recover. Rushing toward Raen, Jaeln’s blade spun in large, spiral loops and then diverted into vertical slices at Raen’s shoulders. Parrying the attacks with his own blade, Raen’s arm grew weaker each time he deflected one of his brother’s strikes. As the Jaeln’s blade hammered away at his exhausted defense, Raen attempted to strength his position by alternating his blocking pattern. Rolling around his brother, Raen dodged Jaeln’s last few furious swipes and managed to scathe the back of his right leg.

As Jaeln let out an almost-silent yelp of pain, Raen rose to his feet and returned to the offensive. His blade, now, was raining upon Jaeln’s defensive wall. Unlike Raen, however, Jaeln had much more stamina and skill in the Force than his younger brother, and his defense reflected this. His counters and defensive strikes were much cleaner and precise than Raen’s and he could utilize his protective blade-barricade for much longer.

In a futile attempt to break Jaeln’s guard, Raen thrust his weapon toward his older brother’s chest, hoping to score a clean hit and bypass his defenses. Jaeln knew that the attack was coming by utilizing his basic precognitive skill in the Force, and rejected Raen’s attack with such a strong swing that Raen lost his weapon. As the blade flew from Raen’s hand and landed about two meters away, Jaeln took a low swing at Raen’s legs. Jumping and rolling to avoid the attack, Raen managed to recover his blade before Jaeln attempted to strike again.

Spinning his blade over his head, Raen charged at his brother headlong. With a quick stabbing motion, Raen’s blade met his brother’s and the two found themselves in another blade lock. This time, however, Raen utilized his foot and kicked his brother square in the chest, causing his elder brother to fall backwards and lose his blade. In the time that it took Jaeln to recover, Raen leap toward his brother to deal a mock finishing blow to get him to surrender. Reacting almost immediately, Jaeln kicked his brother’s kneecap as he landed, causing Raen to lose his footing and collapse. On his way down, Raen’s leg collided with Jaeln’s blade and the loose flesh at the back of his leg began to shred and tear as the vibrating weapon tore through his muscles. Crying in pain, Raen fell over and ended up on his back, desperation trying to remove the blade from his leg. Jaeln recovered from his fall and quickly reached his brother’s position. Acting quickly, he switched off the blade to minimize any further wounds and lifted Raen’s leg slightly to assess the damage done to the muscles and ligaments.

“Ah, damn it Raen,” he muttered. “This looks pretty bad. Now listen: I’m not going to remove the blade; you might end up losing more blood that way. I’m going to leave it in and bring you to the upper balcony, where I’ll fetch some ice and medpacs. Sound good?”

Raen nodded weakly. “You don’t have any painkillers, do you?”

“Nope,” Jaeln said, shaking his head. “You’ll just have to live. It looks painful, but try not to think about the wound. Think about something – anything – to keep your mind off your leg.”

Grabbing his brother by the arm, Jaeln slowly and carefully lifted Raen until he was leaning on Jaeln’s right arm. Using his own body as a counterweight, Jaeln carried his brother from the dueling ring out toward the balcony located on that floor. Finding an empty tanning-chair situated near the middle of the balcony, Jaeln slowly lowered Raen into the chair. Jaeln quickly situated Raen so his leg dangled from the edge of the chair, allowing the blade to remain in his leg without forcing it deeper.

As Jaeln ran toward their medical supply room to get materials and medicine to heal his brother’s wound, Raen winced as he noticed just how bad the wound looked. The back of his leg had the blade about a-third of the way inside his flesh and there was fresh blood staining the section of the blade that hadn’t made it inside his cut. Most of the skin and the outer-area of muscles was torn to shreds or ripped off his leg, and Raen could almost see his leg bone. Though he tried not to vomit, the sight and smell of the torn and bloody flesh was almost too much to bear.

“Raen! Raen Benax, are you there?”

Raen glanced over the edge of the balcony to identify the origin of the voice. Sure enough, it was Master De’dlay, here to either lecture him or finish up the lessons he had managed to avoid when he was sent home early. Groaning at his bad luck, Raen hesitated to respond at first, hoping he would just go away.

De’dlay called out to Raen again and the young Sith realized his master wasn’t going to leave. “I’m up here, sir! On the upper balcony!”

“Ah, wonderful,” his master shouted back. “I’ll be there momentarily.”

As De’dlay entered the house, Jaeln returned with the medpacs and ice he had promised. Sealing the area around the wound with an antibacterial serum, Jaeln got to work using the kolto patches to clean the wound. To Raen’s dismay, the kolto powder stung as it came into contact with his cut, causing him to grimace and swear every few moments. Using a clean towel and several antibacterial cloths, Jaeln carefully removed the blade that rested inside Raen’s wound before applying the last few kolto patches to slow the bleeding and wrapping it with a linen bandage to apply pressure and seal the wound.

Raen sighed with relief as the bandage was finally placed over the wound and it seeped up the last remnants of excess blood. “Thanks Jaeln,” he said quickly.

“Not a problem,” Jaeln said, cleaning up the mess he had made. “Just be more careful next time.”

“Me?” Raen scowled at the thought. “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who placed your blade there!”

“Bah! If you’d also recall, you’re the one who tripped backwards and fell onto the blade that ended up there because you kicked me over!” he retorted.

“Fine, you win,” grumbled Raen, clearly displeased.

A victorious grin spread across Jaeln’s face as Raen begrudgingly admitted defeat. Taking the last of the used medical supplies, Jaeln left Raen alone on the balcony as he went to throw away the rest of the waste in a disposal chute in the lobby.

As Jaeln made his way downstairs, Raen grasped the leg of his trousers and cautiously pulled it back over his wounded leg. Though he flinched as the leg’s fabric caused a fleeting pain in his wounded leg, he was relieved that his wound was finally covered and hidden from view. No sooner had he covered the wound did Master De’dlay and Raen’s father enter the balcony, chatting away cheerfully and barely noticing Raen.

Finally, De’dlay turned to Raen and acknowledged his presence. “Ah, Raen. Wonderful. Listen, I apologize if I appeared snappy earlier; you’re progress has really fallen behind and it was quite discouraging the other masters and me.”

“Whatever,” retorted Raen.

“Watch your mouth, Raen,” Raystin shot back.

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” said De’dlay. Kneeling over, De’dlay made eye contact with his wounded student. “Listen, Raen. I’m not sure if you heard, but the masters and I are pleased with your progress. We think you are quite well on your way to becoming a Sith. Maybe a few more lessons, some last training exercises, and then the final mission.”

“Really?” asked Raen. He felt a hint of regret because he had attacked Dynatha for supposedly lying to him about the masters’ opinion of him. Now that he knew that the masters did indeed think he was a skilled and worthy student, Raen almost regretted ridiculing the young student and insulting her. Almost. “Yes, Raen. In fact, we have a mission for you.”

“A mission?” Raen beamed. The sound of the word ‘mission’ made him jump. He knew that receiving and completing a mission was the first step toward becoming a Sith acolyte. “I’ll take it. What is it?”

De’dlay smiled. “Raen. A Jedi is coming here.”

Raen’s eyes lit up with shock. “A… a Jedi?” he stammered. “But, if they’re coming here…”

“He. He will be coming here,” De’dlay corrected his student. “A single Jedi shall arrive here in half a week’s time, to investigate the rumors of Sith involvement on this planet. He must have heard of our academy here from a tourist or Jedi spy. To ensure that he never finds out about our training facilities and dominion of this world, we have decided that you will kill him.”

“Me?” Raen asked. “But how? I’m not even completely trained in the arts of a lightsaber! Not to mention that my Force skills are still only mediocre at best.”

“Do not worry, Raen. Jaeln and I will instruct you on everything you need to know to successfully kill this Jedi,” De’dlay assured him, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

Chapter 5

Dawn’s Chariot – cabin 441

Though he was deep in a meditative trance, Jedi Master Tor’Chal could feel the gnawing power of the dark side as the civilian transport he had boarded, Dawn’s Chariot, approached his target world of Alderaan. Tor’Chal had been to Alderaan many times before; his latest visit was during the coronation of Prince Sigmund III and his wife, Undine. Sigmund and his wife had always been staunch supporters of Republican ideals, why would they suddenly support the dark goals of the Sith? The entire ordeal made no sense to the aging Ithorian Master.

Reaching out into the Force, Tor’Chal felt the presence of the rest of the life forces on this vessel. Crafty smugglers, pompous nobility, mangy paupers, even some criminals were all at the mercy of Tor’Chal’s telepathic abilities; he could read their minds at his whim and quickly learn their past deeds, their present plans, and their future goals. Indeed, Tor’Chal was heralded among his Order for his skills in telepathy, which he figured was probably a reason he was chosen for this mission. To find a – supposedly hidden – group of Sith on a planet with a population of billions, telepathy was an invaluable tool.

Opening his eyes for the first time in hours, Tor’Chal glanced around his chambers to find the source of the disturbance that had separated him from his trance. To his relief, he heard the ping of the his door alarm, despite the fact it was set to the privacy option that dissuaded visitors so his meditation wouldn’t be disturbed, and watched the door fold open. A young Rodian, probably a young adult, was on the other side, panting for breath and resting his arms on a nearby wall.

“Yes? What is it lad?” Tor’Chal asked as calmly as he could.

“I… we… we’re twenty minutes away from Alderaan,” the Rodian wheezed. “You asked to be informed when we came close to our destination.”

Though he was slightly, albeit indignantly, annoyed because he was interrupted during his meditation, Tor’Chal did indeed recall asking to be informed when their journey was almost over.

“Indeed. Thank you lad. If you wouldn’t mind, tell the Captain I am not to be disturbed for the rest of my flight.”

“Yes sir,” the Rodian said quietly, still catching his breath. Reaching for the door controls, the door chimed again as it slid closed and a soft ‘click’ was heard as the emergency lock was put back into place.

Returning to his meditation, Tor’Chal again began to meditate on his mission. He respected the will of the Council and had no qualms with the mission, though he was curious as to why he was sent to Alderaan alone. If there was, in fact, a large concentration of Sith forces on the planet’s surface, why would the Jedi Council see it fit to send a lone Jedi Master to deal with them? His mission, as it stood, had a threefold purpose. Find and identify the Sith forces stationed on Alderaan, find and pinpoint the location of all their bases and outposts, and engage them if necessary. Obviously, Tor’Chal would only be able to take out a dozen or so Dark Jedi before being felled in combat, especially if they had Sith trooper reinforcements. Alas, his mission wasn’t going to change, so he had to make due with what he was given.

Breathing in deeply through his four, large throats, Tor’Chal attempted to relax his anxious nerves. Even though he had been on many missions before, this mission had proven to be the most anticipated of all the missions he had undertaken in a while. Was it, perhaps, that he still longed to feel the rush of battle? Or perhaps he desired to once again experience the sound of his lightsaber searing flesh, or engaging Dark Jedi and listening to their battle cries as he rallied soldiers to fight them?

Tor’Chal cleared these thoughts from his mind almost immediately. These thoughts were not becoming of a Jedi. Wars do not make one great, as a master, he should have remembered that. His days as a Jedi General were long over. Though a trace of his inner warrior – probably a remnant of his rebellious, young spirit from so long ago – desired to relive the battles of the Great Sith War, even with all the death and destruction they brought with them, he quickly suppressed these desires within.

Nevertheless, Tor’Chal broke out of his silent meditation and allowed the various objects of his room – the potted plant, the holobooks, the chair – to return to their original positions before he had telekinetically picked them up during his meditative trance. Walking over to his blandly decorated, brown-colored satchel, Tor’Chal reached inside and recovered his lightsaber, his only weapon as a Jedi Master. Slowly embracing it with his long, slender digits, Tor’Chal slowly flipped the activation switch and watched his forest-green lightsaber blade flicker to life.

Though the blade appeared elegant and flashy, its deadly properties were not to be trifled with. Tor’Chal had slain many Sith with this weapon, from the Sith serving Exar Kun to the Dark Jedi under Malak, none were safe from his blade. Though not as powerful a duelist as some of the Order’s true weaponmasters like Councilor Kavar and Councilor Vrook, Tor’Chal was one of the more skilled lightsaber duelists of his generation.

Swinging his lightsaber around several times to allow his arm to feel a lightsaber again and quell his growing and impatient warrior spirit, Tor’Chal performed a few basic jabs and parries with his fanciful weapon. After taking several more cuts and stabs into the air, Tor’Chal deactivated the blade and returned it to his satchel. Sealing the bag and throwing it over his shoulders, Tor’Chal grabbed his long, oaken-brown Jedi cloak and threw it over his back. The Ithorian master pulled the cloak’s hood over his face, partially concealing it from view. Opening the door, Tor’Chal walked pass the dozens of civilians already preparing for their landing on Alderaan; in a matter of seconds, Tor’Chal had lost himself in the crowd and he had again taken on the role of an estranged pauper traveling to Alderaan for its tourist attractions.

East Alderaan Spaceport

Jaeln stood by a single, gnarled tree that stood on an otherwise empty hill that overlooked the Alderaan spaceport. Though his eyes were sharp, they were not sharp enough to spot out a single face among the sea of perplexed travelers. Jaeln’s target, the Jedi Master Tor’Chal, was crafty and had taken a civilian freighter to avoid attracting unwanted attention to himself. Though his actions had avoided the curious eyes of the local government, no Jedi movement went overlooked by the Sith intelligence agency. As soon as the wizened Ithorian master had left Coruscant, Sith contacts had already identified his means of transport and cabin number.

Climbing into the swoopbike he had parked nearby, Jaeln revved the engine until the aging machine was forced back to life. Accelerating the vehicle toward the spaceport, Jaeln allowed his vehicle to reach the closest exit to the docks and reach the first travelers and tourists who were disembarking from Dawn’s Chariot, the same cruiser Tor’Chal had taken. Though Jaeln knew he could have easily dispatched such an archaic Jedi here, he decided to listen to Master De’dlay’s advice and bring him back to his father’s manor, where Raen would deal with him.

Scouring the crowd with hawk’s eyes, Jaeln calmed his riled nerves as he spotted an Ithorian who matched Tor’Chal’s description emerge from the spaceport and attempt to sneak his way through the crowd.

“Sir Tor’Chal!” Jaeln called out, his voice ringing with a false sense of innocence.

The aging Ithorian’s heart almost stopped. Jaeln could tell from where he was seated that the Jedi was clearly startled. As the Ithorian glanced around the crowd to identify the source of the voice, Jaeln waved his hand in the air, keeping his other hand on the speeder’s guidance system.

Tor’Chal cleared his throats and quickly called back to Jaeln, finally seeing him amidst the crowd. “Good day, young man. Who might you be?”

“My name is Jaeln Benax, eldest son of Raystin Benax, lord of Alderaan and head of Benax Starcraft. An order came from your temple that you are to remain in our care for the next few days. If you don’t mind,” Jaeln added, motioning toward the empty passenger’s seat.

Nodding slowly, the Ithorian cautiously made his way through the crowd and toward Jaeln’s speeder. Reaching the vehicle, Tor’Chal climbed aboard and placed his luggage in his lap as Jaeln prepped the ignition and drove the vehicle toward the Benax estate. As they drove, Tor’Chal lost himself in the lush scenery of Alderaan. If Alderaan was famous for anything, it was its vast array of unique and beautiful flora and fauna. The graceful birds flying in the auburn sky, the streamlined fish soaring through the bubbling brooks and rivers, and the yellow-brown blades of grass, stretching out into the horizon; it reminded Tor’Chal very much of his own home of Ithor. Alderaan and Ithor’s environment was very similar and Tor’Chal felt attuned with the natural world that had surrounded him. He was enjoying the scenery so much that he didn’t notice they had arrived at the Benax estate and Jaeln had already left the vehicle.

Hurrying after the young pilot, the aging Jedi arrived behind Jaeln just before he reached the entryway to the building. With a raise of his hand, Jaeln signaled for the guard droids to let them by and carry on with their looping patrol routes. Sliding a keycard into the designated slot, Jaeln listened as the door lock chimed, preparing them for the inevitable unlocking sequence, and the door finally swing open to invite the two inside.

To the Jedi’s surprise, the entire Benax family was waiting for him. The lord of the house, who Jaeln identified as Raystin Benax, was sitting on a coach by the entrance with his wife, Junara, and Jaeln’s younger brother, Raen, was sitting on the stairwell, clutching one of his legs; it was clear that it was recently wounded. Jaeln bowed as he took his leave from the Jedi Master and Raystin stood up to take his son’s place by the aged Jedi’s side.

“Hello, Master Jedi. It is an honor to have you in our home. I, as you probably already know, am Raystin Benax, master of this house,” he extended one of his long, sturdy arms toward the Jedi Master and greeted him with another warm smile.

“Of course,” replied Tor’Chal, shaking the middle-aged Human’s hand. “I must say, I was surprised when I heard that arrangements had been made for me. I had expected this mission to be top secret.”

“Oh, it is,” said Raystin. Motioning toward a seat that Raen had brought forward, Raystin waited for the Jedi to sit down before he continued. “I am an old friend of the Jedi Order, you see. My father was a Jedi Knight, you see. So we have been on good terms since his passing.”

“Ah, I apologize,” said Tor’Chal.

“Not at all,” Raystin replied, somewhat tense.

“Are you hungry, Master Jedi?” Junara spoke up. “We have nerf cooking. It’s the very finest in all of Alderaan!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sure it must be, but I cannot,” said the Jedi. “I have taken a solemn oath not to eat any meat. It is an old Ithorian custom; I hope you understand.”

Though Tor’Chal could tell that Junara was somewhat disappointed, Raystin simply shook his head and whispered something in his wife’s ear. She chuckled as he finished and he let out a hearty laugh as well. Standing, Junara brushed the hair from her eyes and walked toward the kitchen.

“Well, I’ll be in the kitchen if any of you need me. You know how horrible droids are with food. Programmed stupidity if you ask me,” she giggled. “I’ll be sure to make a delicious Alderaanian salad for our Jedi guest.”

“That would be wonderful,” Tor’Chal added before Junara returned to the kitchen.

Now that everyone else was gone, it was only Raystin and Tor’Chal alone in the living room. Despite the fact that Tor’Chal was sheltered here, there was still a dark taint, somewhere off in the distance, that was clouding his vision and thoughts. It would be dangerous if he had to involve the Benax family in any of this Sith business, so he hoped it wouldn’t be brought up.

“You have a very nice family, Lord Benax,” Tor’Chal finally said.

“Why thank you, Master Jedi,” Raystin responded. Grabbing two empty glasses and an ivory urn from a passing servant droid, Raystin poured the contents of the urn into the two glasses, revealing a dark violet-colored liquid. “Alderaanian wine, straight from King Sigmund’s court. Would you like a glass, Master Jedi?”

Though Tor’Chal was thirsty, he had never taken a liking to alcohol. “I’m sorry, Lord Benax. I must politely decline.”

“I see,” Raystin muttered, handing the extra glass and wine urn back to the servant droid. “I don’t know how you Jedi do it. No meat, no alcohol, no women…” Raystin glanced at his own wife in the kitchen before returning his gaze to his guest.

“I manage,” Tor’Chal shot back. Though he didn’t mean to sound quite so rude, his anxiety and fatigue was getting the better of him, and the dark taint around the planet wasn’t helping. “I apologize, Lord Benax, but I must retire. I am feeling slightly ill. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course, Master Jedi. Raen! Show our guest to his quarters.”

Raen, who had snuck off after presenting the Jedi with his seat, returned at his father’s call. Standing behind the Ithorian Jedi, Raen motioned for the aged warrior to follow him. Picking up the Jedi’s belongings, Raen led the Ithorian upstairs and across two long, gaping hallways to a small guest-room prepared for the occasion. Opening it with a keycard of his own, Raen watched as the door swung open, revealing a barren, empty room with only a bed and a small closet in the corner. On the other side of the room was a door that connected to a washroom with a refresher.

“Should be adequate for someone like you,” Raen said, placing the Jedi’s cargo on the wall near the door. Heading off, Raen left before the Ithorian could scold him or inquire what he had meant.

Once he entered the room, the Ithorian Master sprawled out his things across the room, littering its otherwise empty floor with his Jedi equipment. Grabbing a towel and an extra set of Jedi robes, Tor’Chal traveled to the washroom. Stripping out of his blue Jedi robes and brown cloak, the Ithorian stepped into the shower and allowed himself time to collect his thoughts and calm his rattled nerves. This mission wasn’t proceeding as planned. He needed to contact his superiors. After the ultrasonic waves had cleansed his body, Tor’Chal stepped out of the sonic shower, donned his extra, red Jedi robes and headed back to his room. Throwing his towel and old set of clothes in a durasteel bin designated for laundry, Tor’Chal searched his room for his comlink.

Benax estate – west wing

Raen had been sitting in complete silence for the past few minutes. His current position was approximately twenty meters from where Tor’Chal was staying, so he could reach him rather quickly. His back was against a cold wall, and he gripped a small knife in his left hand. He had been keeping such a tight grip on the weapon that his palm had begun to bleed, his skin tearing into the Sith ornaments engraved around the handle.

Raen felt scared. He was worried and the distress was getting to him; it was his first mission as a Sith. What if something went wrong? What if he didn’t kill his target? What if he died? These questions were racing around in his head, keeping him edgy and distant. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice his mother walk up to him and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Raen, are you all right?” she asked, her voice hushed.

Raen shook his head. “No, no I’m not.”

“It’s that mission for your father, isn’t it?” his mother asked. Kneeling next to her son, Junara ran her fingers across his short brown hair and stared into his eyes. “Listen Raen. I may not know what you’re supposed to do – it might be safer that I don’t – but you listen to me. Don’t do anything you’ll regret and don’t do something that you don’t think is right. Even if it’s to impress your father. You have your own life, you know?”

Picking herself up, Junara brushed the dust from the knees of her green-colored nightgown and Raen watched her lithe body walk back to her room; closing the door behind her as quietly as possible. Raen knew she was probably right. This entire ordeal wasn’t right. He could feel it down in his heart. What had this Jedi ever done to him? This was just a vicious cycle he had been caught up in. A vicious cycle of hate between the Sith and Jedi.

“No, why am I thinking about this?” Raen asked himself, chuckling with a hint of insanity. “I am a Sith! I know I am! There’s no hesitation, no mercy, only sacrifice and pain.”

Grasping the knife that had fallen out of his hand, Raen cleared his head of his doubting and hesitant thoughts. There was no time for weakness, not anymore. Smiling, Raen made his way to the Ithorian Jedi’s room. It was time to end the old Jedi’s life and fulfill his final fantasy, no, his only destiny as a Sith Lord. There was no longer a reason to turn back.

Benax estate – guest room

Picking it up with his bony digits, the Jedi punched in Coruscant’s coordinates, triple zero, and waited for his communication device to contact the Jedi Temple. It took several minutes, but he finally got hold of the Jedi’s communication system.

“This is Jedi Master Tor’Chal on Alderaan, requesting permission to speak with the Jedi High Council.”

A voice came from the other side of the comlink. “Permission granted. Hold on while he upload you to the High Council’s feed.”

“This is Master Vandar of the Coruscant High Council. What is your report, Tor’Chal?” the petite Jedi Master’s voice was a relief to Tor’Chal’s ears.

“This is Tor’Chal, Jedi Master. I am on Alderaan as of now, in the care of the Benax residence. Master Vandar, did you – or any of the other Councilors – send a message to the Benax family to provide me with food and shelter for my mission?”

Vandar mused. “No, not to my knowledge. Why do you ask, Tor’Chal?”

“I think I might be in trouble, Master Vandar,” Tor’Chal whispered, his voice hoarse and filled with a primeval fear.

“More trouble than you know,” a malicious voice hissed from behind Tor’Chal.

Leaping from his position above the door, Raen lunged at the wizened Jedi Master with his knife. Tor’Chal expected the attack and prepared to dodge, though he quickly recognized his precognitive skills and reaction time were sluggish due to the increasing power of the dark side. Raen’s initial strike missed but – by the will of the Force – his second strike was true and impaled the Jedi just under the heart. As he let out an alarming howl with the strength of his four throats, Tor’Chal felt his life escape him as he collapsed, his limp body crashing into the floor and dropping the comlink.

With a sudden surge of bravery, Raen picked up the comlink that Tor’Chal had been using and hollered into its receiver. “I am Raen Benax, a Sith Knight, and I have killed your precious Jedi Master! Soon, all the galaxy will know and fear me!” throwing the comlink on the ground, Raen smashed it with his boot and stood in silence over the dead Jedi’s body.

Just as he was about to turn around and take his leave, Raen felt the Ithorian’s hand snake around his leg. Startled, he turned around and saw that the Ithorian was still barely alive, his cloudy eyes staring into Raen’s with a glare of malice and loathing like Raen had never seen. Crying out in terror, Raen used the Force to grasp Tor’Chal’s lightsaber from its sheathe on the Jedi’s belt and stab the old master again. The Jedi let out another elongated cry of bitter agony as his breath started to slow and his eyes fixated in their eternal position.

Suddenly, it hit him. Raen had killed a man; he had taken a life. He didn’t know why, but he found the very thought of it repulsive. Not only that, but he found himself even more despicable. He saw the malice, the hate, the rage, and all the pain through the eyes of a Jedi, through the eyes of a dying Jedi. Raen struggled to reach the doorway, but found out quickly that his footing was lost to him. Stumbling about, Raen finally found his way to the hallway and began to utter random, unintelligible nonsense. The murder had hit him much harder than he had initially assumed and he was on the verge of insanity. Pushing by his mother, Raen sprinted away from Tor’Chal’s room and away from the servant droids and away from his family.

After a good deal of running, Raen found himself at Shyrack Hill, just outside his father’s estate. His sanity finally completely restored, Raen grasped his comlink as calmly as he could while wiping the tears that had begun to dry around his face. He had to contact someone, anyone. He had to get out of here and leave this place; Alderaan wasn’t safe for him anymore. Calling G’aal might not be the best idea, since they had issues between them, but he was the only person Raen could contact that would reach him in time.

“G’aal, G’aal! Are you there?” he called into the comlink.

“Yeah, who is… Raen? Why are you calling me so late?”

“No time to explain. Just come pick me up. I’m on Shyrack Hill. You know where that is, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” replied G’aal. “Be there soon.”

As soon as Raen switched off his comlink, he moved closer to the estate to watch for anyone who tried to approach the hill. Though he managed to identify several servants leave the manor and begin their search for him, they wouldn’t find him up here, not before G’aal arrived. Or so Raen hoped.

“Raen? What in the Nine Corellian Hells is going on?” a voice beckoned from behind Raen.

Whipping around, Raen ignited Tor’Chal’s green lightsaber in self-defense. To his surprise, it was Jaeln. Behind him was a Sith Master in full-body uniform, the same woman that Raen had accidentally hurt the other day. Raen assumed it was Master Calay, though he wasn’t sure. She had very short blond hair and dark, almost coal-black eyes and a lightwhip on her belt. Both Jaeln and Calay were carrying glowrods.

“The Jedi know that I’m a Sith!” Raen called out, unable to control his emotions.

“What?” Jaeln asked. “How? Why?”

“I… I couldn’t kill him. He’s still alive; I know it. You have to save me brother. They’re going to kill me!”

Jaeln hesitated. He watched as Raen collapsed and crawled toward his brother, crying as he slithered across the ground. The sight of his brother’s pain was agonizing. Especially because he knew what he had to do. He had to kill him; those were De’dlay’s orders. He expected Raen to mess up, but he hadn’t expected Raen to contact the Jedi. If Raen told them that the Sith were here in the Benax estate, their entire operation would be for naught.

“Sorry little brother,” Jaeln whispered. Grabbing his lightsaber from his belt, Jaeln nodded at Calay, who prepped her assassin’s pistol. Jaeln grabbed Raen’s collar and pulled him upward, so their eyes met. Now Raen was screaming. Kicking his brother in the chest, Raen caused his older brother to drop him before Calay shot at his head. Ducking to the ground, Raen dodged the rest of her shots and deflected another with Tor’Chal’s lightsaber.

“You are all trying to kill me! You’re a traitor, Jaeln, no, you’re worse than a traitor!” Raen called out, lukewarm tears streaming down his cold cheeks. “We were brothers! Brothers!”

G’aal’s hovercraft flew overhead as Raen finished screaming at his brother. Grasping the ladder that the Iridorian dropped, Raen climbed up toward the cockpit as Calay opened fire with her pistol and Jaeln pondered his brother’s words and deactivated his lightsaber. Jumping into the passenger’s seat, Raen sprawled across the empty chair as G’aal took off and flew away from Shyrack Hill.

As the hovercraft soared through the frigid night sky, Raen curled up into a ball to keep himself warm. The air around him bit at his cheeks and the back of his palms, tearing into it like a monster’s fangs. Emotionally, Raen was scarred. He kept seeing images of Tor’Chal’s dying body, his last, gasping breaths, and his furious eyes. The images were gnawing at his mind and soul and he hated himself for it. He regretted every moment, every action he had done so far. A feeling of uselessness washed over him while G’aal’s hoverspeeder pulled in low near the Alderaanian docks, and G’aal parked the vehicle as close as he could to the nearest entrance.

“Raen,” G’aal finally said. “We’ve arrived. Let’s go.”

Nodding, Raen struggled to separate himself from the vehicle. Forcing himself to stand, Raen made his way toward the entrance, following the Iridorian.

“Do you want to tell me what happened back there?” inquired G’aal.

“I… I tried to kill someone. I failed and put my entire family in danger. They’ll have to kill me now to avenge their honor and purge my sin.”

“I see,” muttered G’aal. “Do you have any relatives offworld? That would probably be your safest bet, for now.”

“I have a cousin on Taris. She’ll be able to take care of me,” replied Raen.

“Excellent,” added G’aal. “Now, do you actually have a way off this planet?”

“Yes,” Raen responded. “My father owns a hangar here. Hangar seventy-six. I know the password for it – it’s a private hangar – and I should be able to use a ship stored in there.”

“Excellent,” G’aal replied again, reaching the seventy-sixth hangar. Staring at the titanic doors in awe, G’aal glanced at Raen, expecting him to tell him the password to open the hangar doors.

“The combination is “crimson_wings_1138,” Raen said quickly and quietly.

Inputting the password as it was read to him, G’aal smiled under his abnormally large helmet as the colossal doors opened, creaking as they struggled to pull themselves apart. The pair walked inside in silence and stood next to each other as they examined the starfighter and small cargo frigates stationed in the hangar. Glancing around, Raen spotted a Conductor-class landing craft, perfect for a lone pilot like himself. Motioning toward it to get G’aal’s attention, Raen walked up to the craft and jumped into the open cockpit with a Force-empowered leap.

“Good luck, Raen,” said G’aal, approaching the craft from the dark corners of the hangar.

“And to you. Let’s meet again someday,” muttered Raen.

“You’re buying drinks,” G’aal added quickly, just as Raen’s engines roared to life and his vehicle prepared for take-off.

Backing away from the small craft, G’aal looked on as his old friend’s craft slowly left the protective walls of the hangar and headed out in the ink-black of Alderaan’s chilled night. Staring into the sky, G’aal eyed Raen’s ascent until Raen’s fighter became one of the many tiny balls of light in Alderaan’s glistening sky.