Knights of the Old Republic: Hands of Evening/16-17

Chapter 16

As a young boy, Raen Benax had been exposed to the true power of the Sith.

Under the care of a Sith Master, Raen spent more time training at the academy on Alderaan than with his family. The masonry of the Sith became familiar to him, and the other pupils became his friends. The bonds of blood became weaker as the ties of the Sith grew stronger, and his devotion to the dark side increased.

Once he was appropriately obsessed with the dark side and its potential, Raen’s Sith Master taught him the most important lesson he could: no one was to be trusted, and self-preservation was more important than companionship. Even Jaeln, the only constant force in his life between a Sith student and son of a wealthy entrepreneur, was to be considered an obstacle in his pursuit of power.

The lesson took years to understand. His Sith Masters, once eager to assist him in his studies, turned against him as though he had betrayed them. They actively sought to hinder his progress and eventually tried to destroy him. Everything became a challenge, and everyone was a threat. Over time, the cynicism Raen developed extended to the other pupils as well, fearing that they too would plot against him in his quest for power.

What would have been his childhood became long days studying tomes of Sith arts – dabbling in the Force and studying forms of combat – and long nights of exercises and struggles. Pitted against the wilderness and other students, Raen would fight to learn more about himself. His fears would be exposed, his dreams torn down, and his victories mocked. He was stronger for it.

It was after he had been betrayed that he had realized that the Sith did not oppose him out of some deranged attempt to teach him a lesson. The Sith opposed him because they feared him. Not what he was – no, a young man was not a threat to the greatest Sith Masters of Alderaan – but for what he would become. The longer the Sith Masters taught him everything they knew, aided him in his studies, and trained him in lightsaber combat, the sooner he would no longer need them.

The Sith’s greatest weakness was fear.

To disguise their fear, they exercised absolute power over the weak. Raen had freed himself from the Order of the Sith by force, but in his heart, he was still a slave to their teachings. That was their greatest power. But in a way, it was not their power at all. Raen had brought this upon himself. In his desire for power, he had succumbed to the dark side. He could blame his father for surrendering him to the Sith, or he could blame his Sith Master for indoctrinating him, but the taint was his.

This perversion that is in the heart of all who have tasted dark power.

Since the Mendacious Architect had left M4-78, Raen had retreated to the cargo hold near the back of the M5 light cruiser and spent his time meditating. He had not been disturbed; the ship was large enough that no one had to interact with one another. As he meditated, his sparse surroundings and the hum of the ship’s hyperdrive core faded away. Only the essence of the ship’s crew, all Force-sensitive to some degree, remained etched in his mind.

However, pondering the dark side and his own relation to it became too distressing for him. His body felt weak after being immobile for so long, and he craved for food and combat. Leaving the cargo hold behind, Raen ventured through the ship’s vacuous corridors on his way to the bridge. This cruiser had been built to accommodate up to two hundred soldiers and hold enough necessities for several months, meaning that its current passengers – five Jedi and a single prisoner – left the ship eerily empty.

After wandering through the ship’s labyrinthine halls for some time, Raen detected someone in the Force. The presence was faint, but it was close enough that he could determine where they were. Led by intuition and occasional flickers of Force energy, Raen wandered through the ship and ended up in the starboard observation area.

The room was as empty as the halls he had left. A viewport opposite of him extended the full length of the wall, revealing the blurred lines of hyperspace just beyond his ship’s hull. There were generators in the room to power some unseen instrument, but the room was otherwise vacated and silent.

Raen had turned to leave when he heard a voice.

“What are you doing here?”

Raen had been so focused on the viewport he had not noticed Syme, who had been just beyond his peripheral vision, sitting on a damaged generator. Raen didn’t know why the Jedi had remained silent at first, but at least now he could help him.

“I haven’t heard from anyone, so I decided to look for them,” Raen explained. “Where is everyone else?”

“What’s it to you?” Syme asked.

“Just answer the question.”

“You lonely down there in the cargo hold, Sith?” Syme shook his head, disgusted at the thought. “Did you think we didn’t know where you were? I can’t speak for anyone else, but I sensed you down there, wrapped up in the dark side.”

“I was not practicing the dark side,” Raen countered.

“It sure felt like it. Unless, perhaps, your being simply emanates the dark side of the Force?”

“Just point me toward the others, and I’ll be out of your way.”

“Let me make one thing clear.” Syme was on his feet in an instant. Face-to-face with Raen, the Jedi towered over his visitor, and his muscular build was appropriately intimidating. “If Northeus had not specifically requested you to be kept safe, I would kill you right here.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re smart enough to follow orders,” Raen shot back.

Without warning, Syme kicked forward with his knee and struck Raen in the stomach. Raen reeled back, clenching his chest with both hands. Syme took the opportunity in stride, grappling Raen by the throat and pushing him against the wall near the door. Raen gasped a few times, struggling to keep breathing, and tried – in vain – to strike back.

“You’re an insult to the Jedi. I do not know why Northeus insists that you’re so special, but there’s something about you that I can’t stand. You’re pretentious, naïve, and your attitude is not becoming of a servant of the light. Whether or not you actually intend to help us, I don’t care. I just want you to know that if you even think of betraying us, I will personally kill you before you get that chance.”

“That’s… that’s great.”

“Until then, you ought to count yourself lucky that Northeus considers you the savior of the Jedi or something,” Syme muttered, shaking his head. “Don’t forget, Sith.”

Syme released Raen, eliciting a few deep breaths and several coughing fits from the younger Force-sensitive. Backing up far enough that Raen couldn’t counterattack, Syme monitored him until Raen was breathing normally before returning to his seat upon the generator.

“Savior…? What are you talking about?” Raen asked, rubbing his neck.

“You mean, you don’t know? Ask Northeus. He’ll explain it to you. Take the stairwell down the hall up a deck and head toward port. He’s on the bridge,” Syme said.

Once he was sure he had recovered, Raen left the observation area. Still in pain during Syme’s explanation, he had not been paying attention to the Jedi’s directions. However, he also refused to incite his anger any further, lest he become more violent. Scanning the halls just beyond Syme’s chambers, Raen spied a stairwell that he figured would take him to the bridge.

***                                                                                                                 ***

Doreva knocked on the door again. He had already tried using the door panel and its comm unit, but there was no response. After knocking several times, the Bothan Jedi suspected that the Ghoul was not actually stationed in the – fortunately empty – forward armory. Northeus would not tell him the wrong place, so he assumed the Ghoul moved before Doreva came down to check up on him.

“Ghoul! It’s me, Doreva. Are you in there?”

The Bothan scratched the fur on his wrists. No response. This wasn’t good. Doreva turned around to return to the bridge and ask Northeus where their criminal guest had gone when the door to the armory suddenly swung open. The Ghoul stood in the doorway, rubbing some gelatinous substance across his hands. He looked healthier and stronger – as far as Givins went – than before, and the uncanny smile across his cadaverous face caused Doreva’s fur to stand on end.

“Evening, Doreva. Why are you here?” the Ghoul asked.

“I came to check up on you,” the Jedi explained. “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, exciting news! I remember twenty-two. Twenty-two was elderly associate to first officer killed. Twenty-three through twenty-six were officer team investigating murders. Twenty-seven was chief of police on world. Don’t remember beyond that.”

“Ghoul,” Doreva whispered, hesitating for a moment, “why did you kill those people?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why. Did you have a reason?”

The Ghoul wrung his hands together. “Reason? No reason. Kill because I could.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Doreva countered. “Every one of those people you killed was just like you-”

“If they were, I could not kill them. Weaker than me, so now they’re dead.”

“They were living beings! They had family. They had friends. They had a purpose, and you took them away from that. Don’t you feel bad? What about their friends and family? They’ll never see that person again.”

“You say that as though their purpose was greater than mine.”

“But you said you didn’t have one!”

“Said I had no reason,” the Ghoul corrected him. “My purpose was to kill them.”

“So now that they’re dead, what’s your purpose?”

The Ghoul was silent. Licking the last bits of the clear substance from his fingers, he turned back and headed into his room. Noticing that he left it open, Doreva followed him inside but made sure he had his lightsaber with him. There was no telling what the Ghoul was going to do.

The Ghoul brushed aside a few empty weapon canisters with his arms and sat atop the lone metal table against the wall. As expected, the room was in disarray since the Ghoul had taken up residency. Broken armor and empty blaster pacs littered the floor while the various storage containers had been rearranged at random. Doreva mirrored the Ghoul’s movements, pushing a broken piece of durasteel away from a workbench opposite of the Ghoul, letting him sit down.

“No friends. No family. Doesn’t make sense to me,” the Ghoul said at last.

“How could you have no family?” Doreva asked. “That makes no sense.”

“Orphaned. Colony attacked during the wars – don’t remember which. Wandered streets. Witnessed… survival firsthand. Learned that self is the only good. Only hope.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Doreva admitted.

“You understand Jedi because you believe Jedi are good. Don’t understand Sith because you believe Sith are bad. True?”

“No, I understand the Sith perfectly. They’re bad because their actions lead to the suffering of others. Their greed destroys others and themselves.”

“But what is their purpose? What drives Sith to greed?”

“Their pursuit of power or their craving for the dark side.”

“Why do they want that?”

Doreva was silent for a moment. “Different reasons, I suppose.”

“See? Don’t understand. Think you do. Pride makes you think you’re better than them. Think you can delegate ‘good’ and ‘bad’. You fail to consider their purpose.”

“If their ultimate purpose revolves around hurting others, it is my job to stop them. My duty as a Jedi is to help those who cannot help themselves.”

“You say that as though your purpose is greater than theirs.”

Doreva smiled toothily. He saw where the Ghoul had been going with this dialog. Despite the murder’s best efforts, his rhetoric wouldn’t work on him. That said, he was alarmed that the Ghoul could work his way through Doreva’s thoughts so quickly. He had to ponder this.

“Ghoul, you have to understand: you killed others for selfish reasons. You killed others to give yourself a purpose. The Sith subjugate and harm others in their quest for power. But the Jedi have been tasked with defending the innocent, the weak, and the hopeless. We give them a chance they never had. We are willing to sacrifice ourselves for them, if necessary. You do just the opposite. The Sith do just the opposite. That’s why I can say that my purpose is greater than theirs; I want all beings to be happy, unless it comes at the price of another’s happiness.”

The Ghoul shook his head. “Idealism. The galaxy is not so forgiving.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe you were wrong all along,” Doreva said, rising to leave.

“Doreva.”

“Yes, Ghoul?”

“Twenty-eight was Aqualish architect.”

***                                                                                                                  ***

Northeus had been sitting alone on the bridge for hours, monitoring the light cruiser’s various systems by his lonesome. Unlike standard Republic warships, the M5 light cruiser was designed for missions away from the fleet. Equipped with anti-starfighter turrets across its elongated, dentiform hull, several medium turbolasers, and search and rescue vehicles, it was primarily a patrol craft.

Foreseeing crew shortages during missions, the engineers who designed the ship structured the bridge so it could be operated by a skeleton crew. Forming ever-shrinking rings toward the center of the bridge, the other consoles and stations surrounded a central terminal that could access nearly all of necessary functions. Although this could mean disaster if the central terminal was damaged or bugged, Northeus benefited from it and piloted the ship himself.

“Master Ulsan,” Khondine called, her voice rising above the subdued bleeps of the other consoles. “Are you there?”

“I’m here, Khondine.” Northeus waved, revealing himself amidst a sea of machinery. “Do you need something?”

Khondine stepped forward. “Actually, yes. Are you alone?”

“Doreva was with me until a few moments ago; he went to check on the Ghoul. What is it?”

“May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Until the liberation of Alderaan, I had no idea what the dark side was,” Khondine admitted. “Now, after learning from Master Vash and studying with other Jedi, I fear I may be more susceptible to it. Is that possible?”

“In very rare situations,” Northeus noted, stepping away from the console to focus on the Jedi Knight. “But it is unlikely, given your circumstances. Alderaan, although captured by the Sith, was not a dark side nexus. If you had been exposed to the dark side personally, then you may have reason to be concerned.”

Khondine almost said something, but she held back. “Master, all the same, what should I do if I am confronted with the dark side?”

“Meditate to clear your mind. Spar – in a safe setting – to release your aggression. Find beauty in nature, in art, or in others and concentrate on it,” Northeus replied. “Different Jedi have different ways of dealing with darkness.”

“I shall try those things, Master.”

“Good. But that is not all.”

“Yes?”

“You must also confront your darkness. You must learn why it is there, why you are prey to its wiles, and find a way to defeat it. And you will defeat it, Khondine. We are all here for you, and you are strong.”

Khondine nodded. “Thank you, Master.”

“Now I have something to request of you,” Northeus called to her as she turned to leave.

“What is it, Master?”

Northeus left his station, allowing the ship to remain on autopilot for a few minutes. Joining Khondine near the entrance to the bridge, he extended his hand and handed her a datapad. She glanced at it, but it was practically empty; all it had were a few meaningless notes that Northeus had left on it and two hyperspace coordinates.

Before she could ask about it, Northeus explained: “You have seen the state of the Jedi. You know what we are capable of and what we are not. This foe we face may be too powerful for any of us. If some great danger awaits us on Teya IV, I want you to leave me and the other Jedi to our fate.”

“No, Master!” Khondine stared at him. “I couldn’t leave you, or any of our companions. I would be a disgrace of a Jedi-”

“Listen to me, Khondine,” Northeus interrupted her. “The Jedi are gone, and if Teya IV becomes our grave, you must not join us.”

“Master-”

“On the datapad there is an index that will help you locate several holobooks on the Force and lightsaber philosophy at our library on Coruscant. There are also two pairs of coordinates: one leads to Ambria, the other leads to a Jedi fortress world – long since abandoned – in the Outer Rim. If Thon has also fallen to the Sith, then Ambria will not be safe; you must take Raen and flee wherever you can until the time is right.”

“Master Ulsan, I don’t understand! Why are you telling me this?”

“You protected Senator Latona with your life while you were still under her care. You fought against the Sith, and you have skill in the Force and blade. I can think of no one else better to defend our last hope,” Northeus said.

“I can’t do this…” Khondine whispered. “I cannot let all of you die while I’m still able to save you.”

“Swear to me, by your title as a Jedi Knight, that you will do as I ask.”

“I… I can’t. I can’t protect him. He’s stronger than me, Master. I felt it on M4-78. I would be a burden. Let me stay with you; let me defend you and the others!”

“Khondine!”

Clenching the datapad in her hand, Northeus thought it would break under her grip. “I swear,” she quavered, “as a Jedi Knight to carry out your wish, Northeus.”

“Very good,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Come and help me. We are almost at Teya IV, and I will need assistance landing our ship. Our final journey begins; yours is just beginning.”

***                                                                                                                  ***

Teya IV was perhaps the furthest from Coruscant a Jedi praxeum could be and remain in Republic space. Kilometers upon kilometers of trees - their gnarled branches and star-shaped leaves reaching to the clouds above – remained unmolested, standing as ageless towers across the surface. Due to its location in the Expansion Region, visitors to this planet were few and the local population was not interested in clearing the terrain. Although it maintained the ecosystem, it made landmarks hard to find.

Northeus had scoured the planet’s surface for hours, finding nothing resembling a Jedi praxeum. However, the longer he searched, the more he noticed the hamlets and villages scattered across Teya IV. Seeing no other option, the Jedi Master found the first of these small settlements with what seemed to be a spaceport and landed his cruiser, carefully, inside a rather small hangar.

Upon exiting the craft, the group of Force-sensitives, led by Northeus, searched for the dockmaster to pay for any fees necessary to keep their craft safe. However, the spaceport – small even by Rim world standards – was abandoned. There were no spacers, cargo was entirely absent, and there were no workers on duty. In fact, only one other ship was stationed in the hangars, and it was a personal transport.

Giving up, the Jedi and their criminal companion entered the village proper. Much to their surprise, the village looked like it had been struck by a natural disaster. Some houses had roofs that caved in while others simply had no roofs. Mud and vegetation had been kicked up and into buildings, ruining interiors and soiling the walls. The smell of rotting flesh, strong enough to alarm Northeus, was quickly traced to several bodies lying in the streets, hastily covered by dirt or the remains of houses.

“What happened here?” Doreva gasped.

“’Ey! It’s more Jedi!” a balding village called out from across the street, pointing directly at the new arrivals.

“We don’t want your kind here!” a woman screeched from a window overhead. “Haven’t you taken enough from us?”

Khondine and Doreva called back to them, asking them what was going on. In reply, a young man and his gang grabbed pieces of rotting fruit and threw them at the Ghoul. The Givin didn’t bother dodging, and Northeus urged the others to follow him, hoping to escape the village without incident. Syme noted that their ship would not be safe, but the Jedi Master countered that the villagers could do very little until they returned.

Despite their best efforts to avoid the crowd, the young men managed to rile up hecklers to intercept the Force-sensitives just before they reached the main gate. Northeus grumbled to himself, eager to reach the praxeum and bypass this distraction. The others formed a circle to confront the crowd that swept in around them.

“Stop!” the young man who led the gang cried. “We’re going to stop you!”

“Where are you going so soon? Attacking other villages?” an old man shouted.

“What are you people talking about?” Khondine snapped. “We just got here; we haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Not yet, maybe, but you Jedi are all the same!” a stout woman called back. “Coming in and picking fights – you’re a bunch of monsters, is what you are!”

“Just let us through,” Northeus grumbled, evidently irate. “We need to reach the praxeum. We have no quarrel with any of you.”

“Just want to go recruit other marauders to your cause, then?” someone in the crowd reasoned.

“Oh, shut your mouths,” Syme growled. “If you aren’t even going to tell us what happened here, then you’re better off getting out of our way.”

“What do you intend to do, inciting these Jedi to violence?” a middle-aged man spoke up, approaching the crowd. Evidently calmer than the rest, he added: “You saw what the others did here. None of you stood a chance then. What do you hope to accomplish now?”

“We’re together now!” a young man from the gang said. “There’s strength in numbers.”

“You’re like naaj beetles trying to defeat the sun,” the calmer man said. “There are many of you, and you are united in your purpose. You may blot out its light for a time, but it remains. And should you remain in that light for too long, the heat will overwhelm you.”

The other villagers were silent, and they seemed to realize their folly. At the middle-aged man’s behest, they let him approach the Jedi. With long dark hair and an unkempt patch of hair along his firm jaw, he looked like the other rugged villagers, but his armor betrayed his offworld origins. Khaki sleeves reached from his arm to his broad shoulders, where the silvery armor began. His glittering eyes were as dark as his hair, betraying both the sadness that the villagers had and confidence that they lacked.

“My name is Castan Herox. I am here from offworld – as you may have presumed – to help these villagers,” the middle-aged man began. “Some Jedi arrived on this planet several weeks ago. Upon their arrival, they asked to be pointed to the Jedi praxeum.”

“We knew where it was, of course,” an older man spoke up. “But we never needed to go there. Everyone here is isolated from one another, Jedi included.”

“Yeah! But then Yohan’s daughter was killed!” a woman cried. “Killed by your kind!”

“The Jedi killed someone?” Raen asked. “Why?”

“That is correct,” Castan replied. “They killed Yohan’s daughter because they declared she was ‘tainted’, or some such Jedi nonsense. Fearing that her wickedness would spread to the rest of the village, they killed her-”

“A seven-year old girl!” a haggard old woman wheezed.

“And the villagers had no idea that they were under attack until the Jedi started striking down others in the village. They tried to fight back, but those that did were declared followers of darkness and killed,” Castan concluded.

“We couldn’t win. Most of us just fled,” a young woman noted.

“And now this.” Castan waved his hands, directing the Jedi’s eyes toward the ruined town. “Everything they had built, a community of peaceful settlers, has been torn apart by your kind. Losing so much. Losing so many… children, elderly, disabled.”

“Where are the attackers now?” Syme asked, skeptical.

“They went to the praxeum on their own,” a balding man replied.

“If you Jedi have come to conclude the work of your brothers, we understand,” Castan said, sparking angry comments from the other villagers. “My friends here deny it, but we can do nothing against your power. I would ask that you make our deaths as quick as possible. But if you are simply on your way to the praxeum, we will not stop you.”

Raen, even having only regained his full power in the Force, could sense that Castan Herox was lying. He was sure that he was not the only one who noticed the serrated sword the other offworlder carried on his back, and his presence in the Force could only be compared to Northeus’s and the Sith Masters who had trained Raen on Alderaan.

Something was off; Castan had hidden this power before now, but revealed it to the Jedi only now that he predicted the villagers were in danger. It was as though he was trying to dissuade the Jedi from attacking. Or perhaps tempt them.

Raen had not been the only one to sense this, and Northeus responded appropriately. “Good. Let’s go everyone.”

At Castan’s behest, the crowd reluctantly parted, allowing the Jedi passage out of the village. Despite their distance from the Jedi, Raen could see each of their expressions. Despite their earlier boldness, he could see that the façade was starting to fade. Some were furious at the Jedi being allowed to travel safely; others were overjoyed at their departure. Nonetheless, each of them was afraid. Their eyes whispered that, deep down, they all saw Raen and his companions as great evils.

Cosmic forces among insects.

When he turned to ensure his entire party was accounted for, Northeus was shocked to see Doreva still standing amidst the crowd. The Bothan had not moved since the crowd parted, arms crossed and brow furrowed.

“Doreva? What are you waiting for?” Khondine asked.

“I’m staying here to help them rebuild their village,” Doreva said, curtly.

The crowd gasped. Some of them whispered nasty comments, but most of them stayed silent.

“Doreva, you heard them. They don’t want us around, much less want us to help them,” Northeus said. “We have more important tasks to attend to.”

“More important than helping people in need?” Raen asked.

“These people were harmed by other Jedi,” Syme noted. “Helping them is not our responsibility.”

“A Jedi must take responsibility, not cast blame,” Doreva said. “It’s our duty to help these people. Not just because other Jedi did this but because we would not be servants of the light if we did not.”

Raen stepped into the crowd and joined Doreva. “He’s right. We can’t just turn a blind eye to this, can we? Don’t we want to show them that not all Jedi are violent bandits?”

“It won’t matter what they think of us if we’re extinct,” Northeus pressed. “And we will be extinct unless we can figure out what’s going on – and if there are any Jedi left.”

“And what if those violent Jedi at the praxeum are the only ones left?” Khondine asked. “Then it’s them and us. I don’t want to be associated with them. There’s trouble right in front of us, Northeus. Let’s do what we can.”

“Fine. We’ll help them,” the Jedi Master sighed. Turning to the crowd, he said: “Point us to where your repairs are most needed. We hope to show you that the Jedi are not like the ones you encountered.”

Chapter 17

Northeus had not been eager to help these villagers. However, the longer he stayed here, the more he felt convicted of his own folly. As Doreva had said, the Jedi were tasked with helping those in need. A Jedi Master, especially one serving as a leader to younger Jedi, should have known that. The plight of the innocent was their first priority.

Although he considered using Force powers in his tasks, he almost immediately decided against it. Showing off the powers of the Force, even for a good cause, was not the Jedi way. Lifting lumber, shoveling duracrete, and repaving walkways were all things that could be done without the aid of the Force. He advised the other Jedi to follow his example; such trivial uses of the Force were demeaning, both to its supernatural power and to the Jedi Order as a whole.

After they had introduced themselves and learned the names of a few prominent villagers, the Jedi had been divided into task groups. Northeus and the Ghoul were assigned to the western district, Raen and Doreva were sent to the east, and Syme and Khondine remained in the central district. Given a few tools and some bandages – just in case – in workman’s satchels, the Jedi were put to work.

To Northeus’s delight, Castan Herox was also working in the western district. He had sensed immense power in the man, who was a few years older than he was. His armor and the blade he carried seemed to hint at his status as a warrior, but it was impossible for Northeus to be sure. More important, of course, was his Force sensitivity, which was now hidden and nearly impossible for Northeus to perceive.

Over the next few days, Northeus said nothing to him, instead focusing on the tasks he had been assigned. During his free time, however, he tried to confirm his suspicion that he was, perhaps, a Jedi or Sith. The Jedi Master had sensed no darkness in him when he revealed his Force-sensitivity to the Jedi at the town gate, but that was not encouraging. After all, he could hide his strength; he could also easily hide any darkness.

Nothing Castan did betrayed his repressed Force-sensitivity. He did not use the Force, nor did he reach out to it. His weapon remained in its sheath, and he depended entirely on his – admittedly impressive – physical strength to aid in the rebuilding process. He was crafty, and Northeus suspected he knew the Jedi would be monitoring him.

Ultimately, the Jedi Master decided that he was getting nowhere with his investigation. Nearly a week into the rebuilding process, Northeus entered a half-completed house where Castan and a few of the villagers had been working.

“Good evening, Northeus,” Castan called out from his seat in the rafters. “How may I help you?”

Northeus smiled grimly. He suspected Castan already knew why he was here. “You look like you’re making progress here. Would you mind talking with me for a minute?”

“Of course; go ahead.”

“In private, if you don’t mind,” Northeus added.

Castan climbed down from a nearby ladder. Brushing the ash and oily residue from his hands onto his brown pants, he joined Northeus in the doorway. Waving the others to keep up the good work, he followed the Jedi Master from the home into the barren southern district of the village.

“I suppose you know why I requested to talk with you,” Northeus said, nonchalantly.

“I do,” Castan replied, allowing Northeus to sense him in the Force for the first time since their arrival. “Or at least, I think I do.”

“Are you a Jedi?”

Castan chuckled. “No. No, I’m not.”

“Are you a Sith?”

“If I was a Sith, what would you do?” Castan mused. “I would think Jedi Masters had a distinct sense of who is a dark-sider and who is-”

Northeus spun around, cutting him off mid-sentence. One of his lightsabers had leapt from his belt and activated as soon as it reached his hands, revealing a shimmering silver blade. Holding it mere centimeters from Castan’s throat, the blade was close enough to both of them that the weapon’s melodic hum filled both their ears.

“If I was sure you were a Sith, you would be dead right now,” Northeus explained.

“Let me mollify your fears,” Castan said. “My blade has not left its sheath in the thirty-five years since I received it.”

“A Sith does not need to use a blade to kill.”

“It was a metaphor. I have not killed anything the Force has seen fit to gift with life since I escaped my homeworld, thirty-five years ago.”

Northeus deactivated his lightsaber and returned it to his belt. “So what are you?”

“I am neither Jedi nor Sith,” Castan answered flatly.

“I know. But what does that make you?”

“I am a servant of the true Force, the light side. Need I explain myself further?”

“I suppose not. But what brought you here?”

“The suffering of innocents. Too long have the Jedi neglected their cries, and too long have the Sith caused them. I have made it my duty to wander the stars for the remainder of my short life and aid those in need.”

“Short life?” Northeus repeated. “Are you dying?”

“We are all dying, Master Jedi. My life here is but seconds in the realm beyond. When I return to the Force, I want to know I worked towards its will, not against it. That is why I left my home. That is why I forsook my vows in my own sect. That is why I wander.”

“You speak in riddles. Can you speak plainly?” Northeus asked.

Castan shook his head. “Have hope, Master Jedi. Even in the darkest nights, when cold air and shadows surround you, you must believe morning will come and the sun’s rays will kiss you again.”

“You’ve distracted me,” Northeus said with a sigh. “I have only one more question for you.”

“Ask it.”

“How are you so powerful?”

“Powerful?” Castan smiled. “The power is not mine. I am not powerful enough to save the dying – not for their sake, but for the sake of their lovers. I am not powerful enough to stop tragedies like what happened here. I am not powerful enough to dispel darkness, only combat it.”

“But you have such strength in the Force.”

“I would call myself quite weak, all things considered.”

“The fact that the limits of your power are resurrection would hint otherwise,” Northeus replied, struggling for a straight answer.

Castan turned from Northeus. “The more I devoted myself to my studies, the more knowledge I gained. The more knowledge I gained, the more power. But I should have sought wisdom! You will see before the end, Master Jedi. Knowledge is powerful, but tragedy stalks it like a thief.”

“What are you?” Northeus asked, distraught. “How can you speak like that?”

“I was born on Prymes II, in the Outer Rim. You Jedi attacked the planet prior to the Mandalorian Wars, and I was adopted into the Jal Shey. I bear their armor; I bear their faults. I have since left them, but I am not ready to end my journey.”

“What? If you were Jal Shey, couldn’t you have said that in the first place, Castan?”

“Yes. But then, what would you have learned?”

And then, he returned to the house, leaving Northeus alone in the southern district.

***                                                                                                                  ***

Raen sat down atop a stack of lumber, exhausted from his labors. For nearly two weeks straight, the Jedi had worked together with Castan and the villagers to rebuild the damaged community. Bodies had to be buried, buildings had to be restored, and hopes had to be lifted. Luckily, the Jedi’s presence proved beneficial to all of these things.

Nevertheless, the Jedi were still advised against using their Force powers, lest they startle the villagers. That forced Raen to depend entirely on his own strength to rebuild, leaving him with aching arms and weak legs by the time the work ended each day. Doreva helped him, of course, as did the other villagers, but it was hard work.

As a young noble on Alderaan, he had never done physical labor. His father’s servants, like Nafyan, performed all such duties with quiet subservience. Five years ago, he would never have imagined having to rebuild an entire house – from the ground up – by himself, much less without the Force. Now, here he was, almost done rebuilding four.

“Hey, you’re a Jedi, aren’t you?”

Raen turned to face the burly man that had addressed him. With arms like tree trunks and a rounded body, he was nearly as tall as Raen even as he sat upon his perch. He was marked physically by the tragedy the village had endured in the form of a diagonal scar across his left arm. His entire face, especially his wide forehead and jowls, was drenched in sweat. Wearing a workman’s belt between a simple white shirt and dark trousers, he looked like a villager, but Raen hadn’t seen him before.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“Go back to the hell you came from. We don’t want you here.”

Raen crossed his arms. “What are you talking about? We’re helping you.”

“We don’t want your help. Haven’t you freaks done enough?” the other man growled.

“I’m sorry, but other Jedi caused this. It’s our job to help fix-”

“You can’t fix anything!” the man bellowed. “Your presence is insulting. Can’t you let the dead rest in peace?”

“I understand you don’t want us here,” Raen said, trying to remain neutral, “but we’re doing our best to rebuild this village. We’ll prove our goodwill toward you. Just wait.”

“I don’t want to wait! You bring me back my daughter! The girl you killed!”

“What? Who are you?”

“Yohan! You killed my daughter. You killed Jena!”

“Sir, I’m sorry for your loss, but-”

Raen hadn’t even finished when Yohan reached out and punched him in the face. It had been unexpected, and Raen chided himself for not using the Force to prepare for it. Tumbling off the stack of lumber, Raen landed on the ground. He was on his feet in an instant, but Yohan seemed just as fast. Working his way around the wood, the muscular man grabbed Raen by his collar and held him against the wall of a nearby house.

“I don’t want your apologies! I want my daughter! What did she do to you? What did she do to deserve this? Nothing! Now she’s gone… now she’s gone…” he asked, his voice breaking. “I’ll never see her again…”

Raen grabbed his captor’s wrists, trying to wrestle away from his grip. “I didn’t kill your daughter. Why are you doing this?”

“The longer you’re here, the more pain you add to the wound! I just want you to leave us alone.”

“The Jedi who killed your daughter are not the same as we are! We’ve done nothing but good things since we’ve come here. You must see that!”

“I see that you’re of the same stock as those murderers! I’ll kill you with my own hands, Jedi!”

Raen had enough. Yohan tried to strangle him with his hulking grip, but Raen fought back. Summoning the Force to bolster his physical strength, he wrenched himself free from Yohan’s grip. The older man’s mouth was still agape as Raen picked him up with the Force and hurled him back into the lumber.

“Stop being so damn selfish,” Raen snapped.

“Selfish? You bastards killed my daughter! You killed her… the only thing I had left in this galaxy…”

“I didn’t kill her. Neither did my companions.”

“Have you ever seen someone assault your family? Do you know what it’s like to cradle the one thing you love near your breast? To tell them everything will be all right… but you know it won’t! Their painful, last gasps for breath. You hear that? A few final words, weak and terrifying, and then… nothing. Nothing!” Yohan started to cry. “Everything you’ve lived for, wrenched from you before your eyes.”

“And you can’t do anything…” Raen muttered.

Yohan’s sobs drowned out Raen’s response. The young Alderaanian’s frown disappeared, and he made his way toward the man. His approach went as unnoticed as his response; Yohan’s face was buried inside his hands and his moans of anguish became louder and louder. Sitting beside the distraught father, Raen waited for Yohan to notice him.

“I do know the feeling,” Raen said at last. “I am from Alderaan, in the Core. My family is dead. My father died saving my life. My mother and brother were victims of a senseless evil. Anyone who I have called a friend there is dead. I couldn’t do anything to save any of them.”

“But you don’t understand… she was my daughter,” Yohan replied, softly. “I loved her. She was the only thing I had left.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Raen asked, his tone firm. “You’re not the only one who lost someone precious to them, Yohan. The entire village is suffering. That is why I told you to stop being selfish.”

“I can’t… I can’t do this anymore. She was…”

“Don’t let your sadness overwhelm you. We’re all here for you,” Raen assured him. “But you cannot dwell on your pain. It will destroy you. Mourn, but only as long as you have to. Living is the best way to remember the dead.”

Yohan jumped to his feet faster than Raen had anticipated, casting his face away from the young Force-sensitive and fleeing from him. Raen had risen to his feet to pursue him, but his advance was stopped by Khondine. Like Yohan’s sudden punch, Raen had not noticed the Arkanian Jedi until she stood in his way.

“Khondine? What are you doing?” Raen asked.

“Northeus asked us all to stay in the village until our task is done. Let Yohan go.”

“But it’s my fault. He may leave the village and do something rash.”

“What you said was harsh – perhaps unnecessarily so – but true. He needed to hear that, I think.”

“I am afraid I was not gentle enough,” Raen noted.

Khondine smiled. “Don’t worry, Raen. You tried. I’ll tell Northeus and the others about Yohan so they can search for him in due time.”

“Thank you, Khondine,” Raen said. “But why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be working with Syme?”

Khondine froze. She turned and walked away, only to add: “I’m on break. I saw what you did and felt the need to step in. That’s all.”

Raen watched her as she left. Much to his amusement, she nearly tripped over herself, and then a slab of duracrete, on her way out of sight. He didn’t remember her being so clumsy. Shaking his head, Raen picked up his tool belt and returned to the rest of his group.

***                                                                                                                  ***

Khar Delba. During his time on Alderaan, Nafyan had read that the description for this world in the Republic’s military database implied it was a lifeless, icy rock with no points of interest. Spacers and smugglers had used it as a base of their own some time in the past, but beyond that, it was abandoned.

How foolish.

In actuality, Khar Delba was one of the five worlds sacred to the ancient Sith religion. The red-skinned ancestors of the Sith believed that this hallowed ground housed one of the gods’ thrones. These red-skinned people were all but extinct – except for those preserved by the Sith Emperor for his own nefarious purposes – but their ruins lived on. Across Khar Delba’s frozen landscape, the Dark Lord of the Sith Naga Sadow had constructed citadels and garrisons in the fashion of the divine thrones.

Deep within Sith space, Khar Delba and its fortress were rediscovered by Darth Revan and his comrades during his crusade against the Mandalorians. Since then, a few of his minions remained, manning their posts throughout the Jedi’s civil war. They fought over the holy world like it was theirs to be divided, but they were all defeated. By guile or by force, Preux and his forces overtook the world. Taking the greatest citadel as his main base, Preux reclaimed the whole world for the true Sith.

Nafyan’s chambers were located in the tallest tower of Sadow’s grand citadel. Snow fell lightly against the only window in his sparse chambers, and the breeze from the crack in the pane made his candle flicker between life and death. On clear days, Nafyan could see the armies stationed in the forts at the foot of the mountain. Today, like most days, the snowfall whipped up a blinding sheet of white that hindered any sort of view.

Some four thousand strong, the Sith army was constructed primarily of Force-sensitive clones. Created across Darth Revan’s Empire – Polus, Sleheyron, Foless, and Alderaan – at Preux’s bidding, these forces were the pinnacle of scientific achievement and one of Preux’s most masterful plans. They were powerful warriors, utterly loyal to the Sith, and easily replicated.

However, even Preux’s best laid plans had flaws. Sleheyron’s stock of warriors had arrived in full, and most of Alderaan’s number had survived the battle there, but the soldiers on Foless had been lost and Polus’s clones were destroyed by Darth Malak’s forces. To compensate for these premature losses, Preux assembled Dark Jedi left over from Darth Malak’s army and Nafyan gathered his supporters, swelling their ranks.

Since he could not inspect the army, Nafyan stood up to grab another tomb from his shelf. He always spent any extra time he had rereading ancient Sith texts for new spells or powers to add to his already impressive repertoire. As he perused his collection, one of his slaves walked into his chambers.

“Lord Nafyan, Master Danc is here to see you,” the slave announced.

Before Nafyan could permit him to enter, Danc A’damat walked in behind the slave. Wearing a purple and black mantle splattered with dried blood, Danc certainly had the flair of a former Alderaanian noble. Nafyan scoffed at his disregard for manners. The Zabrak had a strange smile on his dark face as he shoved his way around the slave, which made some scars near his chin and just above his lip stand out more than usual. The horns from his cranium curled inward, forming a twisted diadem above his head.

“You’ve returned. What do you have to report?” Nafyan huffed.

Danc shooed the slave out of Nafyan’s chambers. “The Sith attacked Onderon, like you suspected.”

“And?” Nafyan turned his attention to the window. “If you’re just here to tell me what I already know, I’ll kick you out.”

“Their methods seemed to have failed. They are heading toward Telos IV. In a last stand of sorts, they seem intent on destroying the world.”

“A waste of slaves and machinery,” Nafyan sighed, shaking his head. “And Malachor V?”

“The mistress Traya has made a base there. It would take many men to defeat her and her assassins.”

“That does not matter. We are true Sith, and we shall prevail. It does not matter how many assassins they have; the lives of our forces mean nothing.”

“Should we inform Preux?”

“Indeed. He will have to lead the forces to Malachor V. Come.”

Nafyan marched by Danc out of his chambers, forcing him to fall in step behind him. Passing Sith soldiers and Dark Jedi stationed throughout the citadel, the two dark-siders found themselves racing through its halls. Danc probably didn’t know why they were moving so quickly; it only made sense to Nafyan. This plan of his was of the utmost importance, and it depended entirely on secrecy. Wasting time would be their downfall.

The Sith Emperor demanded that Nafyan retake worlds important to the Sith prior to his ultimate return to the galaxy. Under normal circumstances, Nafyan would have avoided attacking other dark-siders at all cost; however, he could not refuse his master’s orders. Malachor V, an ancient praxuem world of the Sith, was under the control of the lady Traya, and Dxun was inhabited by Mandalorian warriors. Both these worlds would have to be retaken.

There was no doubt in Nafyan’s mind that their armies would take heavy losses capturing these worlds for the true Sith Empire. However, it was of little consequence. Preux’s armies would take losses fighting pretenders to the Sith legacy and the barbarians doomed to collapse with their masked leader. His fleet, in construction over Khar Delba, would be reinforced by a number of ships from the Sith Emperor. It was this fleet that would determine the destruction of the Republic, not Preux’s armies.

Upon reaching Preux’s chambers, Nafyan was informed by a guardsman that Lord Preux had ventured to the tunnels. Situated near the entrance to the fortress, these tunnels were often used for training purposes. Bemused, Nafyan ordered Danc to follow him. The citadel was as large on the inside as it was on the outside, winding through dozens of personal chambers and training circles on its way to the ground floor. However, neither Nafyan nor Danc complained about the distance; now was not the time.

The two dark-siders found Preux outside of the fortress, standing on the edge of a snowy bank that loomed over the entrance to the tunnels. His scarlet cape fluttered in the light breeze, revealing the lightsaber he was holding in his armored grip. Snowflakes came to rest on his armor and its helmet, but he didn’t notice. Perfectly still, he seemed more like a statue than a man.

Nafyan and Danc joined him, standing on either side of Preux as he stared into the open maw that led into the tunnels. It was only then that Nafyan heard it. The familiar sound of shrieking filled his ears as he stood alongside Preux. Someone – or something – inside the tunnels was suffering. Dying. Terrible cries rose up from inside the darkness, followed by another, feral scream. Two creatures inside the tunnels hissed and screeched at each other, and then they were silenced – just as quickly as they had come.

Once the confrontation was over, Preux used the Force to lift the body of a dead animal – now completely unidentifiable – from the cave. The chewing sounds stopped immediately, and a hideous cry rose up from the tunnel’s depths. Dropping the mangled corpse into the snow, Preux grimly returned his attention to the cave itself.

“How long has it been since that poor thing has been allowed to eat?” Danc muttered.

“Nine days,” Preux replied, his voice echoing in the helmet.

“This one might make it,” Nafyan said.

“Most of them don't last a week without food,” Danc agreed. “It’s growing spectacularly.”

“We will see,” Preux muttered.

Nafyan stepped forward. “Master Preux.”

“What is it, Nafyan?”

“It seems that the Sith pretenders are weakening throughout the galaxy. This is our chance to move in and take what is rightfully ours,” Nafyan explained. “We need to retake Malachor V.”

“Malachor V?” Preux repeated, dryly. “What is so special about Malachor V?”

“It is a world rich in the dark side with a Sith academy containing many scrolls and tomes. It was once at the edge of the Sith Empire, and is crucial to reestablishing one now. It is of utmost importance to our goals-”

“We will not recapture Malachor V,” Preux said.

Nafyan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What?”

“Malachor V is not important to our goals. We shall turn our attention to Besero,” Preux replied. “Besero is a haven for the light. It must be extinguished.”

“Besero?” Nafyan spat. “There is nothing there, Master Preux. It is a dead rock in the Deep Core! We must capture Malachor V before the Republic can capture it!”

“No. Malachor V is useless. I have no interest in doomed artifacts of a dead empire.”

Nafyan stared at Preux’s armored form. The heir apparent to the Sith did not understand Nafyan’s plans because he had kept them from Preux’s ears. Nafyan had not told Preux of his alliance with the Sith Emperor because he had no business knowing. As powerful as Preux was, and as skilled as he was, he was still a pawn. Just like all the other Sith of Revan’s failed empire, he was a warrior and figurehead for the true Sith.

With that in mind, Preux’s sudden insistence on making decisions made Nafyan’s blood boil. Never before had Preux denied Nafyan’s suggestions. He had listened to counsel since he was a young boy. Why, now, would Preux deny his advice? Preux could not scheme without Nafyan knowing about it; as his most trusted confidant, Nafyan knew everything that took place on Khar Delba. His strength could not be increasing, either. Preux’s power grew as he killed others. Since he had not killed anyone since arriving on Khar Delba, Nafyan was still assuredly stronger than him.

It did not matter. It was Preux’s power that forced Revan’s Dark Jedi and troopers to submit to them, that was true. However, Nafyan was craftier than all the Sith on this icy world. Slipping his own agents into their army and the guardsmen sect, Nafyan ensured his own agents would be in a perfect position to assassinate Preux and any of his fanatic supporters.

Beyond that, Nafyan did not have to worry. All the other Sith were loyal to the cause, not a man. Danc would prove problematic, but he posed no threat. Nafyan was stronger than anyone on Khar Delba beyond – perhaps – Preux himself. They would conquer Malachor V and Dxun with or without Preux. He was not so useful that he could not be replaced.

“Danc,” Preux spoke.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Tell Captain Isinn to prepare a team to head for Besero.”

“Your will is done,” Danc said, leaving the two more experienced Sith.

Smiling at his assured, if delayed, victory, Nafyan bowed. “I will go and prepare for the trip, my lord.”

“You will not be coming with me,” Preux said. “You are to go to Antared V and prepare it for my arrival.”

“Antared V?” Nafyan grimaced. “Why are you going there?”

“Did you not hear? Prepare for my arrival. I will join you and Danc once I have ensured everything on Besero has gone according to plan.”

“Yes… my lord.”

Soon, Nafyan would not have to listen to these inconsequential orders. Soon, he would receive the title of Sith Lord. Soon, he could kill Preux and claim this army and the fleet for his own.

Soon.