Knights of the Old Republic: Knight of Alderaan/22-23

Chapter 22

Ranval parried a strike from the Sith Lady’s blade. That was the last one. Her strike had been so close to his hilt that she managed to cut off the top part of his handle, rendering his lightsaber completely useless. She had been fighting against the Miraluka ferociously since she had revealed her own lightsaber, and the poison her blade had inflicted on him only made the battle more difficult. Not only did the poison slow his response time and make him feel generally sluggish, but it clouded his mind with the dark side and kept him from seeing clearly in the Force. Coupled with the painful fear grappling at his heart, Ranval could hardly manage to defend himself against the Sith Lady.

Grabbing the vibroblade his opponent had discarded after exerting a great deal of effort to reach into the Force, Ranval armed himself quickly enough that the Sith Lady could not take advantage of her latest attack. The situation seemed humorously reversed. Ranval didn’t have a lightsaber, and he had no reach because he was fighting with a vibroblade. The Sith Lady had been in the same position earlier, and she had managed to disarm and beat down Ranval several times. The Miraluka was not so skilled. The stream of light side power that had filled him with vigor and courage had either left him entirely or had been rendered useless by the debilitating Sith poison.

Groaning in pain as he held back the Sith’s lightsaber against the poison blade in his own hand, Ranval realized he couldn’t continue fighting. She had hardly exhausted herself, and she was beating him easily. Soon, the poison was take full effect, he assumed, and incapacitate him completely. He wouldn’t be able to defend himself, and then he would die. He wanted to fight back, but he just couldn’t. His arms seemed limp as he moved them, hardly able to grip his weapon at all. His legs floundered around under him, scarcely providing him with enough strength to stand. His mind raced as the dark side battered against his mental defenses, trying to weaken him mentally so his Sith combatant could kill him.

A burst of Force energy sent the Sith Lady to the ground. Ranval looked around, shocked. He hadn’t done it. His legs finally gave way to the poison and he crumpled on the ground, beaten, as Jasparan walked into his Force sight, revealing himself to the weakened Miraluka. Giving him a confident look that bellied Ranval’s worry, Jasparan activated his lightsaber and engaged the Sith Lady. She had not expected to engage a new opponent, this one far more experienced than Ranval.

Their lightsabers danced back and forth, fluttering in between their bodies like an ethereal performance of lights. His blue blade slammed viciously against her red one, and the two exchanged close-blows that were barely dodged and wide swings that were easily blocked or dodged. From his position, Ranval could only watch as Jasparan traded blows with his opponent, seemingly having the advantage against her. His moves were calm, fluid, and precise, while hers – just the opposite – were filled with passion, rage, and appeared unpredictable.

After leaping over a low strike from Jasparan, the Sith Lady struck at his neck with a wide swing meant to cut his entire head off. The old man ducked under the blow, avoiding it with ease, and thrust his weapon into her hip. His opponent shrieked and backpedaled, narrowly avoiding another strike at her abdomen. Ranval tried to cheer, wishing Jasparan luck in finishing the duel, but he found himself unable to speak. The poison’s effects was becoming more and more apparent, flooding his body with toxins that rendered him immobile, mute, and practically deaf. He couldn’t hear the sounds of the lightsabers clashing, and his head was spinning as if he were in a crashing starfighter.

Jasparan’s weapon cleaved through the Sith Lady’s uniform, tearing off a chunk of her right shoulder. The look on her face reflected her pain, and she seemed to be screaming, even if Ranval couldn’t hear her. Losing her weapon and her weapon hand, Jasparan’s opponent could only shriek in terror when he brought his blue blade down on her skull, driving the beam of light through it in a single, clean thrust. Seconds later, she was dead, and Ranval wished he was.

Pain raced through his veins and stung at him like he had been pricked by thousands of needles. A fire burned in his forehead, wracking his entire skull with anguish. A blow to the chest came every so often. He was waiting for his heart to burst. He counted himself lucky to have lost all feeling in his legs, otherwise there would have been pain there too.

His mind, once racing with useless and incoherent thoughts, had crept to a halt. Stimuli reacting to pain seemed heightened as if his body’s only purpose was to register the hurt he was feeling. Knuckles pounded the back of his head relentlessly, unwilling to give him even a moment of relief. Even though he was neither hungry nor thirsty, his mind told him that he had not ate in days. Water became a foreign concept to him, but he wished it wasn’t. His throat became parched and hoarse, and he wanted to scream.

Suddenly, he recovered his senses and was brought back to reality. Snapping awake as if from a dream, Ranval spied Jasparan standing over him, hand outstretched, with his lightsaber nowhere to be seen. He said something Ranval couldn’t quite hear, but he realized that any feeling of pain or fatigue had been washed away, and his entire body rejoiced when he noticed the poison was absent from his system. He tried to stand, but he found it too difficult and Jasparan urged him to stay where he was.

Once Jasparan was sure Ranval would survive, – and wouldn’t move – he stood up and left him behind. He had done well for a Jedi Padawan; he wouldn’t have thought Ranval could fight against the Sith Lady known as Calay. However, he had managed to distract her long enough for Jasparan to arrive and kill her himself. Perhaps Ranval was more competent than he thought.

Even so, Ranval had to stay where he was. Jasparan had one more task to complete, and Ranval would oppose him killing a supposedly innocent, harmless civilian woman. He was foolish and naïve, and he wouldn’t be able to understand Jasparan’s motives. The Jedi Covenant had given him these orders, and he would follow them without question. One more death, and then he could return home.

If he was to kill Junara Benax, he had to do so alone.

***                                                                                                                  ***

“What’s the matter, Jedi? You’re tiring.”

Gaiel brushed away Pallidus’s words. He was just trying to distract him. Not that he needed to. The Nautolan was having trouble defending himself from the two red lightsabers crashing down on him already. By the power of the Force, Gaiel had managed to repel both blades, striking simultaneously at his chest. His defensive skill had protected him for this long, but the red blades battering down on him gave him no time to recover and he was rapidly tiring.

After Pallidus had revealed his two lightsabers, Gaiel experienced a burst of energy. The art of battle meditation was a rare skill, but it seemed that one of Jram’s Jedi knew the feat. With battle meditation behind him, Gaiel experienced a euphoric increase in power. He managed to defend himself against the two lightsabers trying to kill him without actually delving too deeply into the Force himself. But Pallidus was right; he was tiring. The whirling defensive wall between him and his opponent was becoming less effective, and it wouldn’t be long before he broke through and got a chance to cut down Gaiel.

Gaiel decided that his only hope for victory was to go on the offensive. However, Pallidus had earned his title because he was skilled. Gaiel couldn’t find any opening in his opponent’s defenses, and he realized that if he wanted to strike at his Sith foe, he’d have to repel the shining red blades that often found themselves far too close to his face. Not only would he have to repel them, he’d have to disable them somehow.

Remembering his lessons on Ambria, Gaiel backflipped to avoid Pallidus’s off-hand strike. Giving himself enough room, Gaiel vaulted forward, flying over his opponent’s head with his lightsaber outstretched to defend him. Pallidus tried to cut at Gaiel’s legs as he jumped overhead, but the Force had given Gaiel the extra bit of speed he needed to make it behind Pallidus without injury. Striking at the Sith’s unarmored back, Gaiel managed to sever his weapon hand, much to Pallidus’s surprise.

Gaiel sensed rage build up inside his Sith opponent, and – until now – he hadn’t sensed the power within Pallidus. A loud cry from Pallidus seemed to unleash a barrage of dark side energy, its invisible tendrils snaking through the air and striking Gaiel directly in the chest and throat. The Jedi Knight stumbled for a moment until he half-recovered his balance against the wall. He had lost his lightsaber during Pallidus’s attack, and he realized that he couldn’t defend himself against a quickly incoming Sith, enraged and ready to kill Gaiel in a single swoop.

Another green lightsaber flew through the air and tore through Gaiel’s opponent, ripping his other arm off before it returned to its owner. Pallidus looked terrified; he hadn’t sensed anyone besides himself and Gaiel in the Force. Looking beyond his Sith opponent, Gaiel spied Jram, Telerus, and a whole host of Jedi coming to his aid. The Quarren – having recovered his thrown lightsaber – approached Pallidus in the blink of an eye and thrust his green blade into the young man’s back. The lightsaber sprouted out from his chest, and he nodded gracefully to Gaiel before perishing in an ignoble heap on the floor.

Telerus approached Gaiel without a lightsaber. “Are you all right, Gaiel?”

“Yes,” the Nautolan admitted. “I’m not hurt. I did lose my lightsaber, though.”

“Very well.” Telerus placed his hand on Gaiel’s forehead, and the Nautolan felt a wave of energy wash over him. It was not harmful, but he could feel his body fail him even as he lost his footing and crashed into the wall behind him. “We have dealt with all the other Sith. You will be safe here.”

“Telerus…” Gaiel murmured, now only half-awake. “You… you…”

Telerus ignored him, letting him fade into an unconscious state. A wide grin crept across his face when he saw the door on the wall opposite of the inhibited Nautolan. One of his Jedi compatriots used the Force to tear the stone door away from the wall, permitting access to Telerus and the other Jedi. This was what they had come for. Watchcircle Dominus was not here to aid the Republic, although that was a noble goal and a secondary objective in itself. Gaiel, Ranval, Khondine, and, of course, Raen were all valuable allies until the time came for them to complete their true business. This was a rescue mission.

“Master,” Jram said, humbling himself before Telerus. “Are you sure it’s wise to leave Gaiel here?”

Telerus scoffed. “And what will he do if he’s left alive? Tell the Council?” He laughed heartily at the thought. “Ineffective and blind fools, all of them. No, there’s no point to kill Gaiel Remus or any of his companions – except perhaps Raen.”

“Even so-”

“The Jedi Order is broken, Jram. Too far gone, too seeped in darkness. They say they redeem Dark Jedi and fallen Sith, when all they do is incorporate them into their ranks. Dark-siders now haunt the halls of the Order.”

“Then we must purge them,” Jram noted.

“No,” Telerus said, a bit sadly. “We’ve tried. A purge is simply too complex. Not far-reaching. We must begin anew. We must start again. And to do that, we need true Jedi. True Jedi… like Tor’chal.”

Telerus entered the former Sith Master’s private sanctum. It reeked of death and pain, despair and malice. It was an abominable pit of the dark side. Some of the weaker Jedi, particularly Padawans and Knights, hesitated to enter upon smelling the foul stench that arose from the darkened steps of the chamber, but Telerus had no such thoughts. His only goal here on Alderaan, this pitiful planet mired in shadow, was the Ithorian prison captured by the Sith.

Walking down the steps that led from the main halls to the prison below, Jram and Telerus – flanked by several other Jedi – entered the chilly aired room. They were not met by anyone, and they reached Tor’chal’s cell without incident. “Free the Master,” Telerus demanded, “and all the other Republic or Jedi prisoners here.”

His men shouted cries of agreement and obedience. The Jedi Knights began ripping apart the bars that held the cells together, shattering them and tearing them into bits of broken metal. Telerus stood alone at the center of the T-shaped hall, bathing the room in the glorious power of the light side of the Force. The darkness had no power over him, for he was purity incarnate. No carnal desire had power over him, and he had subjected all of his baser emotions to his whim. The light side flowed out from him like a star in the cold, lifeless realm of space, and he began to restore hope to the battered and broken prisoners that had been subjected to pain and torture in this place for so long.

“We have rescued Tor’chal, Master,” a Jedi Knight said.

“Good,” Telerus purred. “Very good.”

Three Jedi carried the Jedi Master, once thought dead, from his dark, fetid cell into the hall where Telerus stood. He was lying on his back in a repulsorlift stretcher, but he was clearly conscious and aware of his surroundings. He had blotches of white pus and dried, dead flesh scattered across his body, particularly where his four throats rested inside his massive neck. His breathing was labored and irregular, likely due to the shock of seeing other Force-sensitives – who weren’t trying to cause him pain. He smelled like something that had just come from a slaughterhouse, but Telerus ignored it, even as his subordinates gagged and turned from the Ithorian Jedi.

Tor’chal’s voice was feeble and terrified. “You… you are…?”

“We are Jedi Knights, Master Tor’chal,” Telerus beamed. “We’re here to rescue you.”

“Rescue… rescue me? Well… how… how nice,” Tor’chal couldn’t find any other words to say.

“Think nothing of it, Master.” Telerus placed his hand on Tor’chal’s shoulder. “Rest now. You’re free from the Sith and their evils.”

“Thank you…”

Telerus was ferried away on the stretcher, and several other Jedi and Republic prisoners followed him, either by their own power or on stretchers. Once he was sure that all of the Sith’s captives had been set free, the Jedi Knight turned to leave, following Jram back into the halls. He was stopped by a call from one of his Jedi Knights.

“What is it?” he spat.

“Master, there’s a girl down here! She seems to be Sith; she has the taint of the dark side on her, although it’s very faint.”

“Leave her,” Telerus said coldly. “No taint, no matter how faint, is worth our time.”

Telerus returned to the halls of the academy, and he brushed off his cloak, as if he could brush off the terrible smell and power of death that pervaded the prison below. He followed his other Jedi to the antechamber, passing Gaiel as he did so, where they would leave the academy and be picked up by a Jedi Covenant dropship. From there, they would retreat into space before the battle ended, and soon no one – except for the few that had interacted with them – would know that they were ever on Alderaan.

As he left, the last of his Jedi Knights emerged from the prisons that had once served as De’dlay’s private sanctum. On his back, he carried a young girl, far younger than anyone else in the academy, who had been subjected to a myriad of tortures and painful inflictions that only drove her deeper and deeper into despair.

The Jedi Knight rescued her against Telerus’s wishes, feeling compassion for the young girl even in her horrendous, tortured, and sickly state. He would take full responsibility for her presence, should Telerus discover that she was the dark-sider that was supposed to be left behind. He could save her. He knew he could. She deserved that much.

***                                                                                                                  ***

Raen walked through the empty halls, his eyes constantly shifting back and forth. Something was here, and he could feel it. The dark side filled this entire place and it gnawed at Raen’s mind. He saw shadows where there was light. He saw phantoms in the corner of his eye, and when he turned, nothing was there. He heard whispers despite being alone. Something filled the estate with a sense of foreboding evil, and that evil slowly grew while Raen wandered the halls, searching for his target.

“Raen! Is that you? Come into my study, please.”

Raen’s eyes widened. The voice was unrecognizably the voice of his father, Raystin. He could hardly believe it. He had entertained the notion that his father had been quietly executed by the Sith, hoping to take over his house and use it for their own dark ventures. He had always been too trusting, too eager to aid the Sith even though they harmed his business and, perhaps unwittingly, corrupted his sons. De’dlay had been an old friend of his, and he felt indebted to the Nikto for some reason or another. Raen didn’t know the details, but something the Sith Master had done for Raystin before he and his brother, Jaeln, were born caused his father to trust him with his life.

And now he was here. If he was here, then Raen’s mother could have been alive. His brother could have been alive. Things didn’t have to be so different. A thought entered his mind, teasing him with returning everything to the way it was before his forced exile. Before he became a convict and a refugee, unable to return to his home. To be loved again. To feel the embrace and kind words of his family. He would have given up all of his powers to experience that again, desperate and dark as he once was.

The thought was banished from his mind as quickly as it had entered. Nothing would ever be the same, and he knew that. With a somber expression and a heavy heart, Raen turned the corner and approached his father’s office. Raystin’s name was still carved in the door, greeting Raen like an old friend. Smiling grimly, Raen checked the old-fashioned knob on the door and found it open. He twisted it and pushed the door open, admitting himself into his father’s presence.

The chaos that Raystin subjected himself to was no different than the last time Raen saw it. Holobooks and flimsy sheets scattered the floor, accompanied by various drawing instruments and measuring tools. A few bronzium statues had been added, likely gifts from the Sith for his continued support to their cause, that lined the walls around the room. The sliding door opposite of Raen was littered with raindrops, pitter-pattering against its now-opaque frame. And in front of the sliding door, in his desk, sat Raystin Benax.

His father looked far older than he remembered. His neatly combed hair had faded into a solid gray, kindly complimenting the creases that had crept across his face and the wrinkles hovering over his brow. Dark lines raced under his eyes, and Raen had never seen him so tired, even when he was hard at work managing the company. His hands were steepled on his desk, resting near the golden vase that always seemed to be near his person. He still wore a rather elaborate black mesh suit, but it was less prim than it usually was.

“Raen.” A smile formed on Raystin’s face when he saw his son. His face almost lit up, shining radiantly in spite of the candles across the room, and he suddenly looked several years younger. “My son, where have you been? What happened to you? I haven’t heard from you in years.”

Raen’s eyes narrowed as he focused on his father. A churning feeling in his stomach told him something wasn’t right. The dark side did not seem less threatening now that he was in his father’s presence; in fact, it was the opposite. The evil aura that surrounded the entire house – no, all of Alderaan – was stemming from this man. His body was manifesting its power and his will through the power of the dark side. He had never noticed it before, but his father was a shadow in the Force. Perhaps, as a dark-sider himself, Raen hadn’t noticed. But the light gave him new insight. Showed him what he did not – or could not – see before.

Preux.

Raen’s hand was on his lightsaber in an instant. The blue blade hissed to life, pointed at the man Raen called his father. Raystin looked alarmed at Raen’s sudden outburst, but his surprise quickly shifted into a tenacious glare that froze Raen in his place.

“What’s this about, Raen?” his father asked.

“You… you’re… Preux?” Raen’s voice was hardly audible, and it quivered with a feeling that might have been fear.

“Raen,” Raystin began, standing at his full height, “Are you quite all right? You look rather pale.”

“No… how had I not sensed it before?” Raen wondered aloud, ignoring his father’s question. “You… but how?”

“I can’t say I understand what you’re talking about, Raen.”

“Preux! You’re the Sith Lord of Alderaan!”

“Sith Lord?” Raystin scoffed at the thought. “What an entertaining accusation. Sit down, Raen. You’ll feel better in a few minutes. I think you’re just homesick.”

Raystin motioned toward a chair at the edge of the room. Raen moved to sit down, but he quickly realized his position and shook his head. “No,” he growled. “You can’t hide it from me, father. You’re a Sith! Why? How? Did you think you could hide it forever?”

“Raen, please,” Raystin said, motioning toward the chair, “you don’t look well. If you keep going on like this, you’re going to get hurt.”

“By what? You?” Raen shot back.

“You’ll hurt yourself, son.”

Raen cried aloud, not quite sure what was going on. Confused and delirious, Raen threw his lightsaber at his father, only realizing after the weapon left his hand what he had done. Raystin’s eyes widened with shock, and he didn’t even move as the blue blade cut through his clothes and shred his flesh. With a painful moan, Raystin’s body fell to the ground, his torso cleaved apart by Raen’s lightsaber. The weapon returned to Raen’s hand and his face blanched at the sight of his father’s corpse. He hadn’t even defended himself. He had just died. He could hardly see as tears began to sting, and he questioned whether or not he was right. What if his father wasn’t the Sith he was looking for? What if-

“Well done, Raen,” Raystin’s voice said. “But didn’t I tell you? Be careful who you speak the name of Preux to. Do not double-cross him. His powers are beyond your own.”

Raen jumped when he heard his father’s voice behind him. Spinning around – lightsaber in hand – to see the source of the voice, he realized that it was, in fact, Raystin Benax. His mind spun in confusion and he felt a cold sweat rush down his neck. It was impossible. He couldn’t have survived that. He saw his father get cleaved in two by his own lightsaber. He had heard the death cry.

“How…? That’s…” Raen uttered.

“You saw me die because I wished for you to see it,” Raystin said, assuming a cold and commanding tone. “You did not see my power because I wished to keep it from you.”

“That’s impossible,” Raen said. “No one can completely mask their presence in the Force! Not even a Sith Lord!”

Raystin smiled. It was not the warm, loving smile Raen knew, but a devious, heartless smile that bellied a ferocious spirit. “You’re right, and I can’t. The dark side has always followed me, but it can never be traced back to me. Tor’chal tried, and he failed. Don’t you remember? He felt darkness here, but he thought his true opponent – if he had one – was you.”

Raen bit his lip. “Everything… you’ve been behind everything.”

“Not everything,” Raystin admitted. “Preux’s will hardly reaches beyond Alderaan. But that is the way it should be. My power is here. My thralls are here. My kingdom is here.”

“This is the kingdom of House Latona!” Raen shot back. “The house you killed!”

“Indeed?” Raystin smiled again. “It seems my purge proved inadequate. These… rebels… still unite against me. And who do they unite under, I wonder?”

Raen said nothing, but his father shook his head and cackled with delight.

“Your thoughts betray you, son. I know Jaeln failed to kill Princess Eliorae. I just didn’t know where she hid. But now… now I do. Thanks to you.”

Raen’s eyes widened. “What? How did you…? You’re lying!”

“Your thoughts, feelings, senses… all of them. They are like an open holobook to me. Nothing you hide is truly concealed from me. If Malak was Revan’s fist, I was his mind.”

Raen scoffed. “I’ve heard enough. First you claim you can read my mind, and now you say you’re behind Revan’s victories. Deceit is a trait of the dark side, is it not? Face me!”

His blue lightsaber activated in a flash and plunged toward Raystin’s chest. The older Benax dodged the attack with relative ease, shifting to the side and letting the blade fly through the air. Raen didn’t stop, slashing at his father’s torso and arms with consistent ferocity. Every attack was carefully dodged by Raystin, pivoting on his feet and twisting his body to avoid the strikes his son tried to land. Smiling, he taunted Raen by appearing as though he was enjoying his agile defense, and Raen became frustrated. He couldn’t even land a blow! Raystin didn’t even have a lightsaber, and he couldn’t make contact. It was impossible!

Jumping over Raystin, he tried to cut at his father’s head, but the Sith ducked underneath the strike, avoiding it entirely. Now behind his father, Raen swung at his back, but Raystin merely jumped forward. Raen pressed on, slashing at his father’s midsection and legs, but the older Benax jumped on his desk to dodge the attacks.

Raen felt a sudden increase in dark side energy beyond him, but he ignored it. His father was more important right now. Raystin, however, seemed to have sensed it as well. Peering off into the distance, he realized where the malevolent energy was coming from. Knocking his son to the ground with a kick to the chest, Raystin barely managed to catch the forking tongues of Sith lightning in his hand before it reached him, absorbing it and forcing it to dissipate into harmless energy.

On the ground, Raen rolled on his side and glanced into the hallway behind him. De’dlay stood in the doorway, sending lightning from the fingertips of his left hand. Raen’s stomach sank when he saw Al-Reyn’s severed head suspended in his right hand, and he suddenly realized that De’dlay had been the one in the cellar who had killed his Jedi allies. De’dlay had never looked so hideous. His red-orange skin was bruised and battered, with bits of his scaly flesh torn away by lightsaber-inflicted wounds. His eyes were nearly lifeless; they looked like the eyes of a tortured hound, ready to strike back at its master. He wore nothing but simple trousers, the rest of his body exposed to the cold air and dark side that surrounded the estate.

Raen rolled out from underneath the lightning overhead, which completely missed him thanks to Raystin’s interference. Standing again, Raen flourished his lightsaber and found himself standing between the two Sith, neither of them paying full attention to him. It was not until De’dlay stopped his attack that he noticed Raen’s presence again.

“Raen,” he growled, his voice unusually dark and frightening, “I have been waiting for you. Jaeln has left, so I had to bide my time, waiting for a second Benax to arrive so I could fulfill my revenge.”

“My son has no part in your petty vengeance,” Raystin snapped. “Leave him out of it, De’dlay. This is between you and I.”

“Quite the contrary, Preux,” De’dlay hissed. “When I kill him, you shall be weakened. And when you are weakened, you will die.”

“You couldn’t kill me in Aldera,” Raystin said, “and you won’t kill me now.”

De’dlay discarded the Cerean Jedi’s head and grabbed the vibrosword from across his back. Swinging it a few times, he charged at Raystin, growling and snarling like a rabid beast the entire time. Raystin easily avoided the attacks, sending De’dlay into a frenzy. Each strike caused him to swing harder, faster, and less accurately, and Raystin dodged the attacks even easier then. Not content with sitting back as the two Sith engaged each other, Raen charged forward, blasting De’dlay with a telekinetic strike while throwing his lightsaber at his father. Raystin easily dodged the attack, but De’dlay – who had ignored Raen – was hit with the full force of the telekinetic wave, sending him flying into a statue against the wall.

Raystin lifted De’dlay with invisible waves of energy, forcing the Nikto against the wall without a weapon. Once he was sure that De’dlay could not move, Raystin unleashed his own Sith lightning from his fingers, shocking the incapacitated Sith Master with the furious power of the dark side. De’dlay cackled with glee as the lightning snaked around him, unleashing its full force on his weakened and battered body. Before Raystin could amplify the power of his attack, Raen swung at him with his lightsaber, forcing him to drop the weakened De’dlay and end his attack early.

Raen swung at his father’s face, narrowly missing his own strikes, before Raystin knocked him off his feet, lashing at his legs with dark side energy. Raen fell over just in time to avoid a strike from De’dlay’s blade, which was intercepted by a bronzium statue’s arm thrown by Raystin. De’dlay hissed and turned his attention away from Raystin, content with cutting down his son, who was dazed on the ground. Raystin noticed De’dlay’s intention, and he threw him into the wall with a telekinetic push. Ripping a chunk of the stone wall with his dark side power, Raystin threw the heap of stone on De’dlay, who was smashed under its immense weight. Not content with leaving him there, Raystin tore a hole in the floor, sending De’dlay and the chunks of stone to the floor below.

Raen, who was still unable to stand, watched helplessly as his father took the urn that rested on his desk and left the room through the transparisteel sliding door that led into the balcony beyond.

***                                                                                                                  ***

Khondine was on her feet again sooner than she expected. She didn’t have her lightsaber, but that didn’t matter. She couldn’t waste time searching for it. Danc was waiting for her. For whatever reason, – she didn’t understand – he had freed her from the debris. He had healed her wounds. He hadn’t killed her. She didn’t understand, but she knew what she had to do. The Force seemed to have left her while she lay there, helpless, and she had to call upon it again to enlist its aid against Danc.

Rushing into the room, Khondine saw her old teacher exactly where he had been before the battle had begun. Meditating. She didn’t bother calling out to him this time; he knew she was there, and she knew it. Her second lightsaber hilt leapt into her hand from the back of her belt, and this second, longer hilt activated to reveal not one, but two blades. A double-sided violet lightsaber for her to use. This was her true weapon. This was how she would kill Danc.

The Zabrak eyed her suspiciously. “So, my student learns a new trick? I must admit, I never pinned you as a double-blade user. They’re… generally for those that depend on anger or the dark side to fight,” he chuckled. “Which one are you, Khondine?”

“Die!”

She was upon him in milliseconds. A burst of Force speed closed the distance, and her blades’ naturally longer reach did the rest. He deflected both lightsaber blows, left and right, with his own single silver blade. She spun around, attacking him with both blades in a spinning blow that could have separated his head from his shoulders. He ducked under the attack and struck at her lower body without hesitation, forcing her to end her attack prematurely and block low. However, instead of reverting to a defensive maneuver from there, she brought down her other blade on his back, hoping to land a painful blow to his spine. He sidestepped and avoided that attack as well.

Not deterred by his former student’s new weapon, Danc struck with newfound ferocity, battering at both of his student’s blades with power she had never seen. Each attack flowed smoothly, connecting to the next strike as if he knew where every move would land – and how she would defend – before it happened. His silver lightsaber smashed against her whirling defenses, peppering her wall of violet light with enough power to break it should she stop for even a moment.

“Do you know why I spare you?” Danc cooed.

“Enlighten me,” Khondine growled. “So while you’re distracted, I may kill you.”

“For the same reason I taught all my students – but you in particular – to sense my presence wherever you go.”

As promised, Khondine used the conversation to her advantage. Lashing out at Danc, she elbowed his jaw, sending him flying away from her. While he struggled to recover his stance, Khondine jumped to his side and performed an upward slash at his left arm. He hadn’t prepared for her attack, and although he dodged it, she managed to cut at several of his skull horns, causing him to swear profusely.

Returning her strike with a vengeful counterattack, Danc moved in close with his blade, slashing at Khondine’s chest. She managed to block, but she realized her error immediately. To block his blow at her chest, she had to alter her grip so one hand held onto more of her long handle than the other, and Danc exploited her awkward grip. Shifting his weight from his other foot, Danc pivoted toward her side and cut at the hilt itself, severing the handle in two useless pieces. The violet blade deactivated immediately, cut off from its primary power supply, and Khondine found herself defenseless against Danc’s attacks. She punched at Danc’s throat, but he managed to grab her fist and use his free hand to backhand across the face.

Stars and bursting globes of light fluttered in her eyes. Only seconds later did she realize that she had fallen backwards and hit the ground headfirst. Without a weapon, she couldn’t stop Danc from slinking toward her. Crouching on his knees, he got as close to her as he dared, unsure how easily he could block her fists from where he was.

“I killed your brother,” Danc whispered, his voice harsh and cold, “because you and he were always together.”

Khondine’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Of course we were. We were siblings, you monster!”

“Please, Khondine,” Danc said, his voice still hushed. “All I wanted… was you.”

“What?” She thought she felt her jaw drop.

“The Sith promised me one thing in exchange for the king’s head. Do you know what that was?’

Khondine was silent. She knew what was coming, but she was too disgusted and delirious to believe it.

“They promised me the power… the power to take you for my own.”

“You’re insane!” Khondine cried. “What the hell happened to you, Danc? What did they do to you!?”

“Shh… we’ll be together soon, Khondine.” His head crept uncomfortably close to hers. “And when we are finally one… nothing will separate us. Not your brother, not the Jedi, not the Sith, not even death.”

A swift kick to the side or a punch to the face would have sent Danc away from her, but Khondine couldn’t move. She had been placed in a temporary stasis field by the insane Zabrak who had once been her teacher, and she felt her eyes burn. Something told her she wasn’t going to survive this, and if she did, she would wish she hadn’t.

Danc’s eyes drifted off. “It seems someone is coming. Soon, Khondine, soon. I have to leave – I can’t risk dying here, no. We’ll be together soon, though. Don’t worry, my love.”

Danc jumped to his feet. The stasis field began to wear away even as Danc left his room through the back door, separating himself from the mortified Arkanian. Khondine was still lying in the center of the room, unable to find the will to stand, when Ranval rushed inside several minutes later. He saw Khondine immediately and – after putting away his weapon – went to her side. She flinched when he approached, and cried out in utter terror.

“What’s wrong?” Ranval asked, his voice betrayed his concern.

“Danc… Danc…” Khondine whispered. “He did this to me! He did this! That monster! That sick…!”

“Khondine…” Ranval muttered. There was little he could do but stay by her side as she burst into tears, weeping over something he was clueless about. It was at times like these he wished Gaiel was around. He would know what to do.

Chapter 23

Raen’s heart seemed faster than his feet as he chased Preux. Recovering his lightsaber, Raen left the study behind and pursued Preux outside. He wasn’t on the balcony overlooking the grassy knolls on the side of the Benax Manor, but he could still sense him. In the Force, Raen could feel his presence atop the manor itself, on the roof of the building that served as a landing zone for cargo vessels, when necessary. Using the Force to guide him, Raen leapt to the rooftop and saw his father fumbling with the urn, apparently trying to get something out from inside.

“Preux!” Raen growled. “Surrender yourself to me.”

“I can’t do that, Raen,” Raystin said, a bit sadly. “You know I can’t.”

“You can! Drop the urn and come with me – peacefully.”

“Drop the urn?” Raystin muttered. “It was a priceless antique, and I really didn’t want to, but…”

The urn shattered on the rooftop. Inside, Raen noticed his father’s golden lightsaber hilt, resting as it had for years. He had never seen it, and he hadn’t even suspected that the weapon was hiding within. The handle, unlike the hilt of other Jedi Raen knew, was slightly curved. It looked peculiar to the younger Benax, but Preux paid his son’s curiosity no mind, picking up the weapon and activating its vibrant, blood red blade as if he had done so thousands of times before.

“How do I surrender if I have a weapon in my hand?” Raystin said. “You told me to drop the urn, after all.”

Raen scoffed. “Father, don’t do this. We don’t have to fight.”

“You’re right. We don’t. You’ve lost anyway.”

“What?”

“The Republic forces that are attacking the capital?” Raystin asked, his tone making it seem as though he had just learned of them. “They will be killed by the fifteen kiloton ordinance located within the castle. In fact, the entire capital will be razed. The Sith garrison has a similar bomb within, and your soldiers will experience a similar fate there.”

Raen’s eyes widened. “How did you…?”

“Raen, do you think I’m a fool? There are only three or four potential military targets on Alderaan; I made sure of that. Where else would the Republic attack? No, it doesn’t take foresight to plan for an obvious attack.”

“But that will kill your own men!” Raen shouted. “Not to mention the civilians and-”

Raystin laughed. “Raen, what concern do you think I have for those Sith soldiers? Or those Sith-aligned politicians in the capital? Politicians are still politicians, whether they serve the Republic or the Sith.”

“That’s disgusting. How could you have such a disregard for their lives?”

“They are useless to me. Just as all the Sith and Dark Jedi in the academy are useless to me. Every single one was a pawn in my game from the beginning. The Republic forces will be destroyed, and the Jedi and the Sith will kill each other in the academy. No one will be left to oppose me, and my dominance over Alderaan will be complete.”

“You…” Raen paused as realization dawned upon him. “You wanted them to attack. You wanted the Jedi to kill the Sith. When all your pupils are gone, no one can stab you in the back later.”

“Precisely. And the Republic and Jedi are weakened as a result.”

“So you killed Jaeln, then?” Raen hissed. “He’s just a pawn in your game, isn’t he?”

“Not quite, Raen,” Raystin admitted, his face becoming somber. “Jaeln is my key player. I cannot discard him so quickly. Just as you are the Republic’s knight, so to is Jaeln mine. I sent him away, so he would not be on Alderaan during all of this. He couldn’t possibly understand my motives.”

“Come with me, father,” Raen urged. “There’s still a chance to atone for this. Surrender to the Republic, and you can face trial.”

“Trial and die!” Raystin snapped. “Just as you will, if you return to the Republic. Join me, and we shall rule Alderaan. The Benax family together! Don’t you understand? This was my design. I wanted to create a world for us, and I have!”

“No, you haven’t,” Raen said. “You are a Sith, and I am a Jedi. I am not the Republic’s sword. I am the princess’s knight. I am the knight of Alderaan.”

Raystin sighed. “So be it. Then we must fight.”

“I’m sorry, father.”

“My son is no Jedi,” Raystin hissed.

Dark tendrils hit Raen in the chest and across his arms, eliciting a cry of pain and sending him flying across the rooftop. The roof was still wet, even though the rain had stopped some time ago. Raen struggled to his feet, but he was knocked to the ground again by Raystin’s telekinetic power. Raen lashed out at his father’s power, using his own control of the Force to protect himself with an invisible shield of light, blocking Preux’s Force power for a moment to allow him to return to his feet. Activating his blue lightsaber, Raen charged forward, meeting his father’s Sith weapon for the first time. Raystin countered with ease, sending his son backwards with a flick of his wrist. The curve on the Sith’s handle made it difficult for Raen – who fought opponents with traditional lightsabers – to estimate the angle that his opponent would attack from. Raystin held his lightsaber in a single hand, performing quick double slashes at Raen to deflect his son’s lightsaber blows.

Raen moved in closer, adding power to his strikes, pummeling his father’s defenses with his savage blows. Raystin smiled, narrowly avoiding these strikes by hovering away just in time to avoid them entirely. Raen made up for his complete misses by meeting Raystin’s defense with several quick, light blows that were parried with ease by the Lord of Alderaan.

Raen struck at his father’s jaw, scoring a clean hit with his fist. Raystin grumbled something to himself as he recovered his footing, blocking Raen’s next few blows with one hand on his chin. Raystin forced Raen to block wide, keeping his lightsaber away from his body. Repaying the favor to his son, Raystin kicked Raen in the abdomen, causing him to recoil in pain.

Raen caught his breath just in time to block an overhead lunge from his father. Raystin was now on the offensive, but it was hardly as ferocious as Raen had predicted. He used careful, precise cuts that – if they hit – would cause burns and a few cuts. They were hardly strong enough to sever Raen’s limbs, or even grievously wound him. Dancing around Raen in an elegant display of fencing prowess, Raystin used a combination of hovering strikes and blows coupled with fancy footwork to keep his son’s guard hard at work.

“You’re toying with me,” Raen hissed. “Stop.”

“Fine.”

Raystin’s red blade met Raen’s. The blue and red blades were locked together, neither of them moving, sparks fluttering around them to the duracrete below. Twisting his weapon outwards, Raystin waited until Raen’s grip failed him, losing his lightsaber entirely. Now exposed to Raystin’s offensive, Raen received a blast of Sith lightning to the chest for his trouble.

He had been hit by Force lightning many times from De’dlay, but none of the Nikto’s strikes had been quite as painful as Raystin’s sudden attack. Raen fell to his knees in agony, screaming as the lighting caused him muscles to spasm violently. He felt the lighting course across his skin and shock his entire fatigued body. Seconds before the pain became unbearable, Raystin ceased his attack and let Raen hit the floor, practically unconscious in the wake of his ferocity.

That was the power of the Sith. The power that Raen could not fight against. Energy continued to streak his body, each one causing a fit of suffering to overwhelm his body. Raystin was too powerful for him. If he tried to fight, he would be killed easily. Something was holding Raystin back, and that alone kept Raen alive. If his father and De’dlay traded places, there was no way Raen would still be alive. He would have found himself at the Nikto’s mercy and been killed without hesitation.

Raen struggled on the ground, but he couldn’t stand. He simply lacked the stamina to recover his footing. Raystin turned around, facing his son yet again. His lightsaber was on his belt, but he was tense, ready for battle at a moment’s notice.

“Now do you understand, Jedi?” Raystin said with mock sympathy. “I am incomprehensible to you. You are a starfighter trying to destroy a star. Nothing you can do will even harm me. Your lightsaber skills are sloppy, your Force powers weak.”

“No… not… everything.”

“What?”

Raen lifted his hands toward his father. Fire erupted from his fingers, blazing streams that raced through the air toward Raystin. In seconds, the Sith was overcome by a raging inferno. Smoke filled the air around Raen even as he continued to unleash his fiery wrath upon the man who had eluded him, subjected him to the Sith, for so long. Somehow, reaching into the Force, he found the strength he needed to stand. Rising to his feet, he continued his burning attack, unwilling to relent until he had physically exhausted himself.

“Bravo,” Raystin said from within the infernal blaze. “You have mastered the Sith magic of pyrokinesis. I am impressed, son.”

“Why are you still alive!?” Raen shouted, his surprise and rage giving him the strength to unleash another burst of fire.

Raystin closed his eyes and countered, just like he had before. A small shield surrounded his body, encompassing him a globe of shimmering light. Raen’s fire hit it directly, but it didn’t penetrate it. Without any stamina, Raen could only launch his attack for a few moments before the flames were doused yet again, leaving Raystin completely unharmed.

“I told you. You are weak. Even your thoughts are evident to me.”

Raen shook his head. “You’re lying.”

“What would Gaiel do?” Raystin wondered aloud. “You’re trying to discern whether or not…” Raystin had paused, a look of horror spreading across his face. “The Nautolan is alive?”

“Gaiel?” Raen asked. He was jarred because Raystin could actually read his mind, but he gathered the strength to say: “Yes.”

“Impossible,” Raystin muttered. “He should have died. I had foreseen it. On Polus, against Darth Bandon. He and your other Jedi friend died. What’s going on?”

“It seems you’re wrong.”

“No, no, no! I’m never wrong,” Raystin shot back. Gripping his forehead, he cursed quietly to himself. “That means – that means everything is different. The future is in motion.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Raen said. “We’re here now, and-”

“It does matter!” Raystin interrupted. “If the Nautolan is alive, that means he will kill Pallidus instead of the Miraluka. And if that happens…”

“Pallidus? The Sith Maruader? And the Miraluka? What are you talking about”

“No! No! Junara!” Raystin shouted. “She’s… gone!”

“Mother? What about her? What are you talking about, Preux?”

“I sent her to the academy because she’d be safe. But if the Nautolan is alive…”

Raystin’s strength failed him, and he crumpled to the floor in anguish. He cried Junara’s name several times, until he was in tears, weeping helplessly on the floor of the rooftop. Raen wasn’t sure what to do, but he realized that, if Raystin was right, his mother was dead. Gripping his chest, Raen felt dizzy. How? Why had she died? Was she a Sith too? Raen felt weakened, and his eyes burned as tears swam in his vision. Dead… dead…

Raystin said nothing when Raen moved to sit near him. A broken man, unable to find the strength to stand, who had once been the Sith-King of Alderaan. But no longer. His hope had been destroyed. Something happened when Junara died, in the academy miles from here, that shattered his spirit and the dark side seemed to fail him. Gnashing his teeth together in sorrow, Raystin said nothing to Raen. He didn’t even notice him. Junara had died.

“Father…”

“Raen! She’s dead! It’s over!” he gasped aloud.

“No, it’s not over. Not yet. It won’t be over until you surrender yourself to the Republic.”

Raystin shook his head and kept crying, his face against the floor as tears continued to stream down his face. His bitter sobs were jarring to Raen, who had never so much as seen Raystin feel sadness for anything, and he could hardly hold back his own tears.

Raen stood up, wiping his eyes of any tears that might have escaped. He had to grab his lightsaber, just in case. His father wasn’t going anywhere, and he had to defend himself. He also remembered that he needed to contact the Republic forces. They were stumbling into a trap, and this was the first chance he got. After recovering his lightsaber, Raen activated his comlink.

Static crackled in his ear while the device searched for the Republic frequency. Someone was out there. Somebody had to answer him. He tried willing the comlink to find anyone – Republic soldiers, Jedi, civilians – to talk to. Nothing happened. Raen cursed aloud when he realized his father was either blocking communications, or everyone was dead. Turning around, he faced his father and realized that a look of utter terror had overcome him, his face blanching and his eyes wide. Pointing at Raen, he nearly cried out in agony.

Raen didn’t know what had overcome his father, but he found himself thrown to the ground by Raystin’s invisible power. De’dlay’s sword narrowly missed Raen’s throat as he fell, the Nikto horizontal strike failing due to Raystin’s intervention. Before De’dlay could strike at Raen again, Raystin had recovered his footing and leapt toward De’dlay – without a weapon – and grabbed the Sith Master’s vibrating blade in his hands. The weapon grinded his flesh and bone, tearing away at muscles and sinews and showering his son in blood. He gripped it as hard as he could, and he drove the weapon into his chest, stabbing himself with De’dlay’s weapon until he and the Nitko were face-to-face.

“You’ve lost, Preux,” De’dlay announced triumphantly.

“And so have you,” Raystin replied, his hands being torn to pieces against the blade. “You will not hurt my son.”

“Bold words from a dead man,” De’dlay hissed. “Good bye, Preux. Your powers could not save you, and you could not save your family. I shall start with the youngest.”

“For all your power, you still have not learned the most important lesson,” Raystin whispered. “Authority belongs to the strongest.”

“And I am the strongest.”

“I’ll see you in hell.” Raystin smiled once more and let go of De’dlay’s sword. He let go as De’dlay placed his leg on Raystin’s chest, pushing his old master off the weapon. Raystin’s body stumbled backwards and hit the ground in a bloody, horrendous mess.

De’dlay turned to Raen, hoping to strike him while he was still on the ground. He twitched worriedly when he couldn’t find the boy’s body or his lightsaber. Calling out De’dlay’s name, Raen revealed his hiding spot to the startled Nikto. His elbow met the side of De’dlay’s face, and a crack resounded throughout the rooftop. De’dlay cursed at Raen even as he thrust his weapon at his old pupil. The younger Benax dodged the attack with ease and backhanded the Sith Master in an audacious display of rage. De’dlay, seething with anger himself, struck back with his fist. He missed Raen’s head, but he did manage to hit Raen’s shoulder, and a pop told Raen that something had been dislocated.

Raen’s style was indistinguishable from De’dlay’s. The two combatants struck at each other with furious swings that were wide enough to expose them to their opponent’s attack. However, neither of them managed to score hits on the other, content with angrily locking blades and battering at each other’s defenses with their weapons. De’dlay clawed at Raen’s chest, sending a ripple of pain through Raen’s body as blood poured from the fresh wound. Raen hissed and countered in kind, kicking De’dlay in the groin with his knee. The Nitko flinched for only a moment, surprisingly impervious to pain. He countered with a sword strike to the face that Raen blocked.

However, when he blocked, he had gotten far too close to the blade itself. The vibrating weapon severed the first two fingers on his weapon hand and a segment of his lightsaber. The cobalt blade was extinguished completely, and he was left with a useless metal stub. Dodging De’dlay’s next attack, Raen avoided the overhead swing and grabbed Raystin’s peculiar handle with a telekinetic pull. The red blade sprung to life in his hand, and he used his off-hand to block De’dlay’s first attack. However, its strange angle coupled with the fact he was not as strong with his other hand allowed De’dlay to gain the upper hand easily.

“That red lightsaber suits you, Raen,” De’dlay mocked him. “Like father like son, in more ways than one.”

Raen kicked De’dlay in the left knee, and a crack from the Nikto’s bone told him that it had been a good hit. The Nikto shrugged off the pain and limp knee, half-kneeling as he batted away Raen’s awkward off-hand slices.

Jumping back, Raen dropped his father’s lightsaber and unleashed a burst of pyrokinetic energy. Fire erupted from his palms and hit De’dlay head on. The Nikto seemed to ignore the heat and fire as he ignored Raen’s other attacks, and he actually tried standing on both feet and fighting his way through the fiery pillar that engulfed him. Snarling and hissing violently, De’dlay slowly gave way to Raen’s fiery offensive, and he lost his weapon as the metal hilt became too hot for even his seemingly unfeeling body to handle. Soon, his body became charred and burnt, and Raen forced himself to stop when De’dlay hit the rooftop.

He could have killed De’dlay, but he decided against it. Instead, he rushed to his father’s side. Raystin Benax had lost a lot of blood, and his hands were a bloody mess that smelled fetid. A hole far larger than any cut that could be made by a lightsaber was in his chest, and Raen could tell that he would be dead in mere minutes. The fact that he was still alive and breathing – however labored – was a testament to his skill in the Force.

Raystin’s eyes drifted until they met Raen’s. “My son… you killed De’dlay…”

“No. I didn’t kill him. He will pay for what he’s done.”

“I see,” Raystin wheezed. “Perhaps it is… better that way. Raen…”

“Father?”

“I’m sorry…”

Raen placed his hand on his father’s forehead, and it was cold. Tears raced down his face as he struggled to speak over the lump in his throat. “Shh. You’ll be okay.”

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t a better father… I should never… the Jedi.”

“Don’t try and talk,” Raen whispered, hoarsely. “You’ll just…”

“Jaeln.” Raystin’s eyes stared into the sky beyond Raen’s face. “Beware of Jaeln, Raen. He will become… he is… far greater…”

And Raystin Benax said no more.

Raen heard himself cry loudly, and he found himself unable to hold back the tears. His father and mother were gone. He shouldn’t have been this sad. His father was a horrible man who killed hundreds in his quest for power. He was a Sith who was enslaved to the dark side. His mother was no better, willing loving such a man. Yet… Raen hadn’t known that man. He knew a kindly man, the same man that everyone else on Alderaan knew. A man who was concerned with his family, distressed because his sons were uncontrollable, and a bit too fond of wine.

This may have been a charade. His parents’ entire life could have been a lie. If it was, Raen didn’t care. His parents were kind to him, they had loved him, evil as he was. Evil as they were. He found his hands clenched around his father’s head as his sobs got louder.

He didn’t know when the Jedi Covenant had come, but they had. He was still rocking his father’s dead body in his arms when they arrived. Time seemed irrelevant to him, and he hardly noticed their coming and going. He only vaguely recognized Telerus’s and Jasparan’s faces in his anguish. Sometime later, when he had recovered his emotions from the despair his heart had succumbed to, he found De’dlay skewered by several lightsaber blades. Nothing else hinted they had even been there. The sun had returned, but it brought Raen no comfort. It might as well have been raining.

Chapter 24

“Are you all right, Gaiel?”

“Yes, Master Ulsan. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. How is Ranval?”

“He’s doing just fine, Master. He’s a bit shaken up, but he’ll survive.”

Gaiel walked alongside Master Northeus Ulsan, flanked by several other Jedi Knights, as the Jedi Master disembarked the Jedi Arca -class frigate Legacy. He had told Gaiel earlier that it was his first time on Alderaan, although he also expressed his regret not doing so sooner. He was convinced that it was quite a beautiful planet, and Gaiel discovered – based on his reaction – that he was right.

Khondine joined the two Jedi on their way through the halls of the military compound. The bunker was hardly spacious and the lighting was inexcusably poor, but none of them paid these trivial things any mind. Gaiel acknowledged Khondine’s presence with a quick nod, and she did likewise.

“How did the battle go?” Northeus asked.

“We lost many Republic soldiers,” Khondine said, still eyeing a datapad that had found its way into her hand. “Four-fifths of our troops were killed during the traps placed by the Sith leadership at two of our objectives. Colonel Golgi Mitos and Lord Petran Farseil were among the casualties.”

“I see-”

“And,” Khondine said, cutting him off before he could continue, “We lost half of our Jedi force.”

“Jedi?” Northeus asked, surprised.

“Yes, sir.”

“How many Jedi were present?”

“About forty,” Gaiel spoke up. “Give or take a few dozen.”

“What were they doing on Alderaan?” Northeus asked suspiciously.

“Didn’t you send them, Master?” Gaiel countered. “They told us the High Council-”

“The High Council issued no such order,” Northeus quickly interrupted. “Whoever was here was not under our authorization.”

Gaiel shook his head. That meant Telerus, Jram, and even Jasparan could have been rogue Jedi. They could have killed Gaiel and his companions, but for whatever reason, refrained from such senseless bloodshed. They had some ulterior motive to being on Alderaan, even though Gaiel couldn’t identify it. He only wished he had known of their deceit earlier.

“How very troubling,” Khondine mused. “And we let them right into our ranks…”

“Who’s the highest ranking Republic leader left?” Northeus asked. “I’d like to speak with him after the festivities.”

“Major Altesius,” Khondine said with a sigh. “Survived the battle because he was defending the princess at the Hallowed Hills.”

Northeus nodded. Turning to Gaiel, he asked: “Is Raen here?”

“Yes, Master.”

“May I speak with him?”

“He’s not here now, Master,” Gaiel specified. “He’s at his father’s estate.”

“Oh?” Northeus seemed surprised. “Considering the circumstances, I would suspect he would have been invited-”

“He was,” Gaiel clarified further. “He refused to come because he claimed to have personal business to attend to.”

“I see. Well, let’s not keep the princess waiting.”

***                                                                                                                  ***

Raen stood at the entrance of the Benax Manor. His hands were placed behind his back, and he solemnly regarded the scene in front of him. Sweat poured down his ash-covered skin as fire engulfed the entire building. A single spark had been enough to alight the manor, and in less than an hour, nothing would remain. The fire’s glow reflected off his face, its red and yellows burning brightly in his eyes as he watched to make sure the flame did not spread.

Inside, the bodies of Raystin and Junara Benax had been placed, side-by-side, to be cremated together. The burning fire had already done its job, and now the its sole purpose was to destroy the home that Raen had lived in for most of his life. A symbolic reminder that he could not return to Alderaan. At least, not now. Someday, perhaps, he would come to understand all that his father did, or at least, reason it away. He would be able to return and enjoy the prosperity that Alderaan would have in the years to come. Free from Sith influence, the Republic would reign alongside House Latona in freedom and wealth.

He had denied the chance to attend her coronation. He would be unwelcome there, anyway. Although Princess Eliorae insisted that he come, he couldn’t bring himself to attend. The Jedi were uncomfortable around him, and most Republic soldiers didn’t trust him. Even civilians knew his face and recognize his family name. He asked Eliorae not to inform the masses of his father’s treachery, and she had agreed. Even so, the name of Benax was recognized as a name belonging to Sith sympathizers, and there was no love for them on Alderaan.

For now, all that awaited him was a trial before the Jedi Council for his actions. He would go to Coruscant. Finally, at his journey’s end. He had no doubt that the Jedi would try him justly. He had done his share of evil, and it was time to receive punishment for all he had done. From Tor’chal to Raystin, he had done his share of fighting. The Jedi would decide his fate now. It was time to stop fighting and experience peace.

***                                                                                                                  ***

Beneath the Hallowed Hills of Alderaan, festive banners and expensive tassels waved in the air. Light streamed from Alderaan’s sun, bathing the entire plain in radiance. A symphony orchestra announced the commencement of the event, and hundreds of Republic soldiers, once stationed under these hills in their tents, stood at attention. Their ranks made a line on both sides of the procession, creating a walkway for the incoming nobility and other political figures. Behind both lines of soldiers, thousands of sentient beings from Alderaan and nearby systems were standing, trying to catch a glimpse at some of the famous figures walking by.

Gaiel and Northeus were already standing on the elevated platform that stood at the end of a long stairwell. All attention was focused on this platform, because everyone who walked through the procession found their way here. Senators, politicians, police, and nobles joined the two Jedi on the durasteel platform. Everyone was dressed far too lavishly for Gaiel’s taste, and he was glad that – while others got away with ornate cuirasses, shining cassocks, and elaborate dresses – he could wear his Jedi robes and the matching cloak. His lightsaber was in plain view for the first time since they arrived on Alderaan, and that in itself gave him hope for the planet’s future.

Finally, the music swelled in a glorious crescendo, and all eyes drifted from the platform to the farthest end of the processional walkway. There, dressed in a flowing blue dress complimented by shining pearls, a glittering mantle, and other regal vestiments, stood Eliorae Latona, soon to be queen of Alderaan. Khondine stood by her side, wearing a new suit of red and black Royal Guardsman armor and dressed like a peasant in comparison.

Khondine walked first, leading Eliorae from her place at the back the causeway all the way through the procession. Guards saluted first to Khondine, and as soon as Eliorae Latona passed, they bowed in reverence. Some civilians followed suit behind them, although others – brazen as they were – did not. Despite their insolence, Khondine said nothing, having been specifically instructed to say nothing. Gaiel watched the beautiful scene unfold before him in awed silence, and it was not long before the entire assembly was bowing before Eliorae, and she hadn’t even reached the lofty position where Gaiel and the others stood.

When she did reach the platform, she received encouraging glances and nods from many already present, including Gaiel. One of the clerics, specifically trained for this duty, stepped forward. After asking everyone to stand, – he wasn’t pleased that they had bowed before the event had concluded – he stood before Eliorae and asked her to knee. Once she was genuflect, he asked her to swear her oath to defend Alderaan, its people, and the Republic. She did so. He asked her if she was willing to lay down her life for Alderaan’s sake should the situation arise. She swore.

Taking the royal crown from Khondine, the cleric said a quick prayer to himself and – in an elaborate motion – placed the glistening diadem atop her golden hair. In spite of the cleric’s stubborn instance otherwise, the crowd erupted, cheering and congratulating their new ruler. The soldiers bowed yet again, and many civilians followed suit. As the music suddenly filled the air again, Gaiel felt inclined to kneel. He did so, and Khondine followed suit. The others on the platform mimicked the two warriors, and soon, the entire assembly around Eliorae was kneeling, honoring their new queen.

The cleric sighed, and he bid her rise, Queen Eliorae I Latona of Alderaan.