Star Wars 1. Chapter 1: Forgotten

_Now_

" Wait, please." I begged him. He couldn't leave now, not after everything we'd been through. Not after all we had lost.

He grasped my hand tighter, and pulled my gaze to his. His eyes were serious.

"I love you. For all that the word means, I love you. And even if I die right now, I would have no regrets, because finally, _finally_, you know."

I couldn't breathe. Sure, I knew that we were best together. But hearing him say those words with such fervor and so, so much sincerity nearly shattered me right then and there. But somehow, I found the strength to pull back my tears and say goodbye.

" I know you have to go. But I'll never be the same without you."

A sad smile came to his face. He brushed a stray white curl from my face. " I know, _cyare_, I know. May The Force by with you, forever and always."

And just like that, he was gone.

_Then_

I always hated mornings.

It wasn't the waking up part that had irked me for so long–it was the never-ending, redundant and idiotic routine that followed. Threaten a thug, shake him up, then get the goods. Like the directions on a bottle of cleaner. Rinse and repeat.

Rinse and repeat. Over and over.

Today, the filthy Nar Shaddaa air was permeated with an even worse stink, one that could stick to your clothes for months despite your thorough washes. After twenty-five attempts to get my socks and boots clean, I gave up and adopted the grubby soldier look. My hair was always pinned up to the left of my head in a messy ponytail, and my clothes had switched from prim and clean to loose and dirty. These days, a smuggler didn't need much more than a blaster on her hip and a stern expression to earn respect around here. Lucky for me, I managed to learn both within a month of hitting this place.

" Oy, Alz! Get your kriffing sweet hiney' out here before th'boss sees you sleepin' on the job!"

I groaned, and checked my busted chrono. With a faint glow of life, it reported I had only five standard minutes to find my blaster and boots and my cheery expression.

I ignored the missing ponytail and charged out of my room, miffed. My boss, Kult Rillen, a stodgy old Twi'lek, was leaned against the wall rubbing the dirt out of his pristine blaster. The way things worked around here, if you actually managed to get a job without the dangers of spice, you just shut up and took your shoddy blaster with a smile. He looked and smiled, looking me over once. He whistled. " Y'always manage your look o'regal poodo. Eve' the Hutts keep away from your stench, love."

I managed a very unladylike comeback and patted the blaster on my hip. Kult only laughed and started to head out, waving me behind. I sighed internally, hoping this new job would be quick. Kult finished primping his blaster and hooked it to his belt, and began to crack each of his knuckles. He then brushed a speck of dirt off his jacket, checking over himself thoroughly as we exited onto the streets.

His speeder, the standard thug's boat, was waiting just a few meters from where we stood, and was surrounded by two Rodians and a Ithorian, all carrying heavy-duty blasters on their belts. They seemed to all share that stupid, vacant and pathetic criminal look.

Kult chuckled and approached the three.

" Wha' seems to be the problem, friends?" Kult's first hint. If we were expecting a fight, he'd always refer to the idiots as pals. My trigger finger itched as my hand rested on the butt of my blaster.

The apparent leader, the Ithorian, spoke in Huttese and began ranting. " _Friends? _Friends_! How dare you–you piece of poodoo-infested–"_

Kult scowled at that. He hated having his appearances insulted. " If you've got somethin' better than a younglin's guide to swearin' boy, by al' means."

The Ithorian finally stopped his hissing. "_ I want back what's been taken from me, and I want it now. You promised me payment for that shipment of rocket launchers _three_ months ago and what do I get? Friendship and a handshake! Screw you, and screw that little boss of yours, that no good son of a–"_

Kult seemed to have had enough, he only paused a moment before cleanly snapping his fist straight into one of the four throats of the Ithorian. I took the cue and whipped my blaster out, setting it to kill. The first Duros to my left flanked me and sent a crushing kick to my knee, but I ignored the pain and took him head on.

His first hit was beginner's luck–he seemed to have little training at all. He swung his fist at me. Effortlessly, I grasped his arm, pulled him forward and elbowed him with my free arm straight in the face. He cried out, but I wasn't finished. I twisted his arm against its alignment and popped the shoulder out cleanly. Now incapacitated, I sent a shot into his back. The second Duros looked at his partner, grimaced and began to run. I raised my blaster to his back and looked at Kult, who had already killed the Ithorian. He shook his head.

I shrugged and holstered my blaster. Orders.

Kult brushed off his outfit once more, and smiled. " Goo' job Alz. The boss'l be very happy. One less moron plaguing the business." He hopped into the speeder and patted the seat next to him.

" As you say," I hopped in to the seat and laid back.

Encounters on the street were normal enough–not a single passerby bothered to look at the new corpses littering the street. I started rubbing the green blood out of my shirt.

This was what I'd been hired for. A piece of muscle to enforce the law of the Rogue Twelve, a bunch of arms dealers with a hand in every business transaction from the Black Suns to the Hutt clans. As long as I looked the other way when things got ugly and punched the snot out of anyone they asked, I got a bed and protection.

It also meant purpose, something I'd lost so easily a few months back.

_Nar Shaddaa–the place of broken dreams. Easy to get lost in, intentional or not. Hard to get out. _

I jumped. Kult had been speaking to me. " What, boss?"

He frowned. " I said we're going to see Maizel Fint toda', so keep your blaster to stun. The boss stricly' mentioned no kills. Apparently it makes the deal go soft."

I nodded and looked away. Despite its age, the speeder got us to Maizel Fint within the hour, and soon we were waiting in his doorway for further instructions.

The hideout the guy built was a makeshift citadel. It was crawling with bounty hunters and was one psycho short of being a Hutt palace. Even at the doors, we were being watched like a rancor with its meal.

" I don't like this." I muttered.

Kult didn't move, but he swiftly looked at me. He didn't either.

Finally, the doors opened. A swift little droid–an old communications droid, I think–waddled from behind and bowed.

" Welcome travelers," It said in a nasally wheeze. " I am Y2-X9, your chaperone for this evening. The master has been awaiting your arrival. Follow me please."

I snorted and walked in toe with Kult. " _Chaperone_? I didn't think there was a _High Coruscanti_ accent setting for rust buckets like those."

He didn't smile. " Mr. Fint can program his droids howeveh he likes, it makes no difference to us. The boss sent us for'a job, so we'll do tha' job. Now shut-it you."

I stiffened and nodded.

We followed the droid through a dark corridor and into a brightly lit room. The room was dressed up spice den for the scum of scum. Twi'lek slaves danced hypnotically in cages to a thumping beat being shot out of an aging Togruta band. I wondered how long they'd been enslaved, for their entire life or as a result of the Empire's invasion.

The smell of sweat and liquor permeated the air in a heady, seductive tangle. I felt my brow moisten as soon as we entered, and already I felt my inhibitions lowering.

The droid lead us past this room, through a hallway, and finally to a pass code-protected door. With a polite request to turn away, the droid punched in the code and ushered us through.

The room we entered was filled with clean, crisp air. I welcomed the change and gulped in a lungful of it. There was a slight chill to the air as I breathed in. I froze in horror when I realized what the chill was coming from.

In the corners of the room were crates stuffed to the brim with Dead Wives'.

Dead Wives' was slang for untested Republic thermal mines. They were deemed unnecessarily destructive and too dangerous for the war, despite their potential. The problem was with their hair-trigger reactive cores that detected the slightest warmth within a twenty-meter radius. The only sure way to transport them was to keep them ventilated and in Hoth-cold containment crates.

This guy didn't even bother. He stuck the crates on his cooling vents and popped the lids off.

Kult didn't let an ounce of his worry show. I followed his lead and adopted my cool, vacant look. A table with two chairs was shoved into the corner, and one hooded figure was already seated. Kult put on his 'charming' smile and sat down, while I took position as close to his right side as possible, terrified my added presence might set the mines off.

The droid waddled to the figure's side. " My master, Maizel Fint, has other business to attend to. He has sent his brother, Hal Fint in his stead to oversee negotiations."

Kult raised an invisible eyebrow. " Negotiations? The business deal betwee' Maizel Fint and m'boss was already finished. We're jus' here to transport."

The droid looked like it was going to speak, but it was cut off. " Silence Whytoo. I have no interest in speaking with this slave and this Hutt's toy any longer. It's clear our proposition wasn't being taken seriously."

Kult's smile started to falter. It was true he'd grown up an Imperial slave, but it was hard to tell after years and years of Huttese had marred it. Kult earned his freedom after killing his slaver and stowing aboard a cruiser–which was headed straight for Nar Shaddaa.

" Now, there's no nee' for that. Let's talk abou' this." He leaned back in his chair and grinned. " We all have our own agendas. Maizel Fin' came to us wit' his, and we said yes. Now, truth ave' it, we didn't want the shipment because it's too heavy. But Maizel'll pay us well and give us a good word. And the boss says, 'Never take a–"

A blaster was shoed into Kult's throat. I immediately yanked my blaster out and pointed it at the figure.

Kult was the one to break the tension. " Easy, easy now. There's-no need for such misbehavins'. Sweet Alz an' I will just leave you be and tell the boss wha' happen. Have we got ourselves a deal, jack?"

The blaster pressed deeper into his throat. I flipped the safety off.

The figure chuckled darkly. " Still you believe this is all business. I'm sorry, _slave_, but this wasn't about you or your little arms' business. I'm afraid this is quite personal."

Kult grimaced at that. " Are the Imps still mad I pumped my slaver full of shot?"

" Oh no," It purred. " That's not it." And then the blaster pulled from Kult's throat, and Kult relaxed. My blaster didn't move.

Unceremoniously, the figure pulled back the rim of the hood, revealing a stone-white bald man. His eyes were rimmed with black, and creased from years of hatred. Blood-red tattoos marked his mouth and forehead.

Sith.

Wordlessly, I withdrew my blaster. No shot would hit a Force-sensitive even if I tried. The Sith smiled, more carnal than delighted. " Now, then."

Kult backpedaled. " Listen friend, if you need arms', my boss'll ave' them in no time, no time at–" The Sith raised his hand, and suddenly Kult was clutching at his convulsing throat, making guttural noises that ate at me.

With a frigid expression, he swept his gaze over to me, and smiled. Fear skewered me in place.

With Kult's throat in one hand, he menacingly laughed. " No, the one I want is not you, slave."

With a twitch of his fingers, he dropped the Twi'lek. Kult collapsed on the floor and coughed violently. I didn't stir, mesmerized by his every movement.

With his bloodshot yellow eyes, he locked me into place, a single sentence on his pale lips.

" I want her."


	2. 2: Never Look A Sith In The Lightsaber

2. Never Look A Sith in the Lightsaber

_Now_

I'd forgotten what a war zone looked like.

It seemed that my happiness had addled me so deeply that I'd forgotten the smell of carbon and smoke in the air, or the bombardment of cannons that sent hundreds of bodies flying into the air as if it were dirt.

But I never forgot the sound of war, and I never would.

Screams ripped through the air, and their howls sliced through me like a vibroblade to my skin. Calls in every language imaginable rang out, some words for Mother, others for Husband and Wife.

For all their noise and pain, it was I who couldn't move. The sheer force of my own weight seemed to hold me down. I could feel my legs warm with my own blood. The fabric underneath my armor was slowly sinking under the weight of my blood. Blood, blood, blood.

I wanted to cry out, but my voice did not hear me.

_Then_

The first thing that occurs to any prey before they die is simple.

_Run._

I dropped all pretenses and began to run like hell out of the room. I managed three full strides before I ran straight into a wall. The force of it sent me flying backward and hard onto the ground. My head snapped forward and then whammed the floor.

I could taste the copper dripping from my teeth.

I looked up. There was no wall, only an empty doorway into the corridor. Confused, I groggily stood and limped towards the hall. This time, I gently pressed my hand to the space between the two frames, and felt a firm push _back_ against my hand. The wall gave slightly. A little more confidently, I pushed harder.

The wall snapped back and threw me. I landed in a heap against the parallel wall.

An empty and acidic laugh filled the room. Horrified, I tried not to look at him. But like a magnet, I felt my eyes slowly rising to meet his.

They were as awful as I imagined them.

The Sith's eyes were epiphany of every nightmare you'd dreamt. They were cold and merciless, daunting and filled with nothingness, as though there was no soul to fill them.

These were the eyes of my death.

Helpless to move yet powerless to look away, I felt a scream build in the back of my throat. My eyes burned with phantom tears.

Hopeless pleas filled my lips. " Please, _why?_ You don't need me, I'm nothing!–just a stupid kid from Balmorra, just some nobody–"

" _Silence!_" Charged with rage, his voice perforated my ears. I could hear his snarl echo off the walls and into the hallway.

I couldn't control myself anymore. Terror gripped me in every way possible, from my fingers to my feet. I backpedaled helplessly on the floor until I smacked a wall, there I scurried until I found a corner.

The Sith rose from his seat. It seemed for all his anger and hate, he moved with the grace of a dancer. His walk was sinuous, lithe, and not a hair was out of place as he came to kneel before me.

He inhaled deeply through his nose. I cringed as he powerfully released his breath through his mouth. The gust swept over my face, then trailed sneakily down my neck and into the crevices of my arms. I shivered. It was cold and slimy, like a serpent.

He gracefully raised one hand; his fingers gently curved, and as though to caress the surface of my cheek, whirled into a blur and brought it down–

" Wait."

The Sith's hand paused gingerly, as if he meant to swat away a pesky fly. Pivoting on his heels, he turned to the sound of the voice.

Kult was half-leaning against the wall and breathing harshly into his shoulder. His eyes were wild–half pain and half-anger. His blaster was squeezed in his good hand and wedged between his hunched shoulders. A spot of blood bloomed at his orange lips.

I don't what overcame me when Kult spoke–whether it was weak relief or strong disbelief. Did Kult really think a blaster would face the might of a single Sith?

Apparently so. Kult sorely reach over and flipped the safety off, panting.

The Sith looked like he was about to double over in laughter. Instead, he raised a silver eyebrow in lightly veiled disgust.

" Don't waste your breath with some tragic love-story. This girl is far better than you, _slave_." A cold chuckle slivered from his mouth. I cringed further in my pose.

Kult's brain-tails flapped as he shook his head. " Th'boss tol' me that any wha's his is his, and you ain't takin' it."

The Sith's amusement soured, and his dark look returned. " Why stick your neck out of the sand for such a child, _slave_? As an inferior, you surely must have seen your masters at work. You know that only the strongest may live and rule. For a worm, you have done yourself wonderfully. You have your little blaster, your little _boss_," He hissed. " Why risk it all? Is she worth that much to you?" He turned to me, and I swore at that exact moment, his eyes were _burning_. " Because if she is, then I shall make you suffer. Endlessly. Ceaselessly. Eternally. And every day of your suffering, you shall whimper and cower and weep that for all your pain, it was only for a pathetic little girl like _her_."

My throat was starting to swell. Dry tears burned in my eyes, the intensity rivaling the eyes of the Sith's.

I finally tore away from his gaze to Kult.

The animal within him was still staving, still hungry. I could see it.

_Survive._

I watched as the hunger within him started to dim. Starved breaths turned to deep draws of air. His shoulders relaxed, and he stood a little straighter. His blaster slowly fell from the line of sight, and then hitched to his belt.

" I'm not killin' myself for some _Hutt's toy_," He snarled. I'd never heard Kult speak that way. Sure, the occasional jab or two, but never like… like I was garbage.

I suppose I should've been betrayed. Anyone else would have felt it. Even in the few months we'd worked together, a form of routine–of companionship had formed. But truly, what had I expected? Loyalty? Some wistful look? This was Nar Shaddaa. Loyalty was coveted more than clean air.

I never felt so stupid in my life.

The Sith smiled. " Now you see the err of your ways. Go, _slave_, and remember my mercy."

With one last look at the Sith and then to me, he was gone.

The air was chilled with anticipation. The Sith had not looked away from Kult's exit, his frame was still taut with energy. It hadn't occurred to me until the last minute that he was waiting for me to bolt.

Naturally, I had to live up to my expectations.

My first concern was getting out of the corner. So, I used the wall as a boost and half-jumped over the Sith. I used the temporary distance between us to assess our quarters. The room seemed smaller than before, especially with the abundance of Dead Wives. I felt a wave of hope when I realized that a lightsaber would be dismal in here.

_Run._

So I did. He was ready for me, using his large frame to try and topple me. I dealt a swift left kick to his shin, but he barely seemed to feel it. Using his weight to his advantage, he swatted the back of his hand right across my cheek. The force of it sent me tottering backwards, dangerously close to a box of Dead Wives'. I could taste the rush of warm copper flooding the roof of my mouth. I knew that if I spoke, a trail of red would sliver from my lips.

" Now, now, was there ever a need to fight? Where you're going, you can prove yourself all you wish." His voice was high, sweet, like a melody.

" How did you find me?" I breathed.

He only looked at me. " Tempted to run to another stink hole? Allow me the pleasure of crushing your idle hope. Wherever you run, wherever you hide, and whomever you stand behind, I shall find you. And when I do, you shall suffer."

_Run._

I tried. I managed a vicious right jab and then two high kicks to his temple, all in rapid succession. It only seemed to anger him further. He snatched my shoulder gripping it so tightly I crumpled. But he wouldn't stop there. With the force of a Wookiee, he rammed his forehead into mine.

The pain was so extreme I felt nothing. My nerves fried. Black stars spotted my vision. I recalled the first thing that came to mind when I entered the room and saw the robed figure. It seemed only now did I recognize it, what I'd been screaming at myself all along.

_Run_.

I hadn't realized you could dream after being knocked unconscious.

I was dreaming of home. My father was seated on his perch, overlooking the sunrise. Once in a while, if he were lenient, he'd allow me to sit on his lap and watch the morning come.

Then he'd tell me whom he was going to kill today.

My eyes flew open. The smell of burning durasteel was strong–and very, very close. I wanted to move, but I felt so exhausted that for a moment strength eluded me.

I was looking a dark ceiling. In fact, it seemed as though the lights were dimmed. I could hear the faint hum of power rolling throughout the room.

I slowly rolled into a seated position–my shoulder still ached–and took in my surroundings.

I was definitely on a ship.

Though I could feel my chances of escaping trickling away into the silence, I decided not to worry. Whoever wanted me dead would have acted by now.

I hope.

My prison was more a gently used sleeping quarters, complete with a dresser, two full-length mirrors, and a weapons rack stocked to the brim with every weapon imaginable. I ached to browse and touch, but I wasn't onboard just to peruse some guy's collection. There was only one exit to the room, and I was willing to bet my blaster–wait, where _was_ my blaster?

My hand flew to my hip, but it was bare. Only silky fabric. I gathered it in my hands, looking down. I was wearing a tight-fitted jacket and some shorts. Some boots waited at the end of my bed.

I sighed.

I suppose I should have been grateful–no more boring routine. Immediately, I felt a pang of uncertainty. Kult wasn't waiting outside my door with a smug grin and a silly comment. When I closed my eyes, all I could picture was the dark fire in the Sith's eyes, and the way they set my soul to flames.

I tried to maintain a rhythm. I visited the mirror, pulled back my messy hair into a firm ponytail, and slipped on my new boots. After I kicked around in them for a bit, I assessed myself. The shorts were a little ridiculous with the boots and jacket, but they were easier to maneuver in. Shortly thereafter I told the galaxy to screw it and flew out the door.

Only to be greeted by an empty hallway.

I admit it was fancier than most ships would furnish it, considering most of the wealthy had their bases on planets. The fixtures that lit the hallway were embedded into the walls and ceiling, and gave off a distinct purple glow. To my left were a pair of doors, to the right, and much further down was a pair of doors as well.

When in doubt, go left!

I turned and strode through the doors. They opened up swiftly, revealing a large, spacious room. Judging by the mats and array of melee weapons hung on another rack, this was the training room.

" What are you doing here?" A voice asked.

I spun to the noise.

A boy no older than me was standing there, a muddled expression on his face. He was carrying a long, thin steel rod in both hands, like some remnant of a combat stance.

I threw up my arms. " Well gee, _I don't know_. I only work here."

A thin line of worry creased his brow. " Kriff. You weren't supposed to get to the weapons yet. He's going to kill me…" He started to advance.

" Wait!" He kept moving. " Who's going to kill you?"

" You'll learn soon enough." He was a few steps away.

Fighting him would difficult. Earlier, he'd corrected his positioning of the rod. He had training. One only had to watch the smooth and coordinated footwork as he neared me to see.

He swung the end furthest from me first, executing a perfect first jab. I sidestepped it and adjusted. I rolled my arms. God, my shoulder hurt.

He seemed to read my thoughts and advanced, pressing on my left side where the pain was strongest. I backed up.

Bad idea.

He adjusted his grip, dropped to his knees, and swept my feet from underneath me. I jumped at the last minute and whilst mid-air, roundhouse kicked. He waited until the rotation of my kick finished before trying again. This time, I dodged every swipe, waiting. He didn't tire easily. Neither did I.

Finally, my opening appeared. He'd overextended his hit trying to reach my shoulder and tottered forward. He looked up. I smiled.

First, I kicked his wrist. It gave instantly and the rod slipped from his fingers. His chest was now wide open. Ignoring the throb of my shoulder, I sent the heel of my boot straight into his ribs. The blow threw him back a step. I hit again, and again, all in swift succession. With every ounce of strength I had left, I whipped my fist in a down-under motion right into his gut. He tried to recover, but his footing collapsed and he tumbled down. I wasted no time and leaped onto him, my fist whirring down–

" Stop."

I paused. We looked up, my hand an inch from his face.

The Sith had changed from long, ostentatious robes to a mess of steel armor and red garment. His face was freshly tattooed with red insignia, one looking vaguely like that of the Empire.

His eyes were glowing a dark yellow. It seemed strange to see him calmer, more composed and less invincible.

Even his smile seemed unnerving. He gestured, and I swiftly got off the boy. The Sith strode forward and nonchalantly helped him to stand. It appeared to hurt the boy; he ground his teeth and heavily leaned to one side. The Sith brushed him off, rested a hand on his shoulder, and stared hard into his eyes. The boy seemed to be looking at nothing.

Then the Sith socked him straight in the face.

The lights upstairs went out immediately. He spun from the force of the hit and collapsed in a heap on the ground. I tried to stop shaking, but my body wouldn't listen.

Wordlessly, he pivoted on his heel and briskly walked away. Some innate voice told me to follow him, or else.

We traversed the halls of the ship, passing many, many doors and droids. Nonetheless, none bothered to neither look at me, nor address the Sith. We were ghosts.

We approached a large ornate door. It was embellished with Empire-red banners and an elaborate pattern of spikes and orbs. To the left of the door handle, there was the strangest lock. It was smooth and flat, with a screen that flashed red.

The Sith waved a hand over the door, the lock flashed green, and the doors flung inward, revealing a massive, grand room. It was floored with bright navy floors and lit with red. The room seemed to be a hybrid between opulence and functionality.

The giant windows offered a view of the beautiful black abyss that was space. It was dazzled with trillions of fervent coronas. As we entered, I realized we had entered the bridge. The room had a set of stairs that led to a higher level. We followed them upward, to where a single chair was flanked by dozens of operating systems and a navicomputer.

The Sith paused and gracefully kneeled.

" Master," He breathed. His voice was soft as a whisper.

The chair turned.

I was staring at easily the most beautiful woman.

Her eyes were a startling dark red that matched her waste-length hair. Her skin was a deep tan, and her lips were painted a rich purple. On anyone else it would seem Hutt-dancer-skanky, but on her it seemed surreal and striking.

For a moment fear eluded me. She was just too beautiful.

Her lips curved into a smile. " So she's real. And so dazzling too. What a wondrous mind too. Empiric–but not shortsighted. You have done well Imperius."

I looked at the Sith. He seemed to be in a pained joy, and hung on her every word.

" Imperius–that's your name?" I asked.

He whipped his head and gave me a murderous stare. " _Do not speak!_"

I cowered and looked away.

The woman smiled. I was blinded by it. " I see that your lax in manners on Nar Shaddaa has heightened your sense of entitlement. Come Imperius, let us begin."

" As you command." He answered immediately. He rushed to her side as she began to stand. He offered his arm, which she took with a dazzling smile.

She let him go and gestured for Imperius to go on ahead. He bowed his head and stepped back. He kneeled and began to hum ominously.

She stepped forward and held her hand in front of me. My knees gave out. I felt a crushing weight press against my back. I soon gave and went on all fours.

The weight shifted. It crept from the base of my back, sliding across my spine, then–nesting briefly in my hair, splashed into my skull and to my mind.

I immediately squirmed. I knew what the rumors of the Sith on Nar Shaddaa. They spoke of mysterious beings that could break a man's mind. Not convince. _Break_.

I collapsed, sputtering a plea of mercy. Images of a thousand moments flashed through my mind.

_You are burning._

I screamed. My skin writhed and squirmed on my bones. I imagined ribbons of my flesh being burnt to a crisp black, then slipping off to reveal pale white bone. I saw the flames of Imperius' eyes, burying me alive. I tried to pat them silent, but they only burned hotter. The liquids of my body evaporated in a high, deafening screech. My ears were bleeding.

My face. Someone was burning my face.

My nails went to my cheeks as I clawed them with fraught, desperate to stop the pain.

Hours passed. I was a charred husk.

Finally, a voice, sweet and soothing, spoke.

_You are drowning._

My hope turned to acid in my mouth. I couldn't breathe. My lungs were burning and painfully swollen. I tried to struggle, but my muscles wouldn't respond. I was dead weight as I sunk to the bottom of the abyss. My nose was swelling. My eyelids screamed in pain as I shut them so tightly my eyeballs began to hurt.

The voice returned once more, its pitch was low and strong.

_Open your mind. Draw your walls close. Breathe._

But I can't! How could I breathe when I was thousands of meters from the surface?

The voice died. I was truly alone.

Finally, I touched the bottom. My pain eased to a low murmur. Suffocating darkness cornered me, and with a final cry, I caved and let the waves swallow me whole.


	3. Chapter 3: Omen

3. Omen

_Now_

The night was quiet. Hushed with anticipation. Roaring with anxiety. My face was flushed with exhaustion. It seemed in these past weeks all I could do was sleep. And now, before the most important moment of my life, sleep eluded me.

I stood before the group's starmap, where two-dozen systems pulsed fervently. My focus was only placed on one.

I felt a chuckle bubble in my throat. For as far and non-distinct as a planet could personify as, it was the center of all my plans. My future. My one chance to set all back into balance–my redemption.

With that in mind, I exited, a war brewing in my thoughts.

_Then_

It seemed like waking up with a massive headache would be my new routine.

I slowly exited the warmth of my bed and paced to the refresher adjacent to my room. Inside were the standard shower and a half-mirror. I sat on a chair underneath the water and let it run over my shoulder, which throbbed angrily and was puffy to the touch. When I finally dressed, I knew where to go. I exited the bathroom, approached the door and–

Stared into a new pair of yellow eyes.

" Oh for kriff's sake, _another_ one." I threw up my hands.

It was a girl, maybe a few years older than me, dressed in more stupid robes. She was another holofilm star. Her raven hair was caught in a high ponytail like mine, except hers flowed to her elbows and was thick and glossy. She crossed her arms and seemed to look down on me. I fixed her with a cool stare.

" So you're the one Lord Imperius scrounged from the Smuggler's Moon? My, my, we've stopped scraping the barrels and are now searching the gutters."

My temper spiked. I fought to keep my expression from breaking. " Not too far from where you were." I grinned.

The girl didn't lose a beat. " Where _I_ come from I do not lose my bearings as soon as Darth Talsus simply pokes me."

I frowned at that. " I'm not a Force-sensitive. How do you expect me to just wall up and block the Force?"

She rolled her eyes and smiled. " You're right." She pretended to sigh. " We should have expected nothing at all."

My knuckles were starting to twitch. Damnit.

I clenched my jaw. _I will not break to her. _

Apparently satisfied, she turned away and began to walk. " Follow me, bantha. It's time to speak with the Master." I groaned and began to follow.

" Imperius?" I wondered.

She began to laugh. Kriff. Even her chortle was pretty. " Oh Emperor no! Didn't you hear me, silly? _Darth_ Talsus is the master here. The Darth before Jadus, really. I don't count that chit Regimus."

" Talsus? Jadus? Regimus?" I asked in succession.

She sighed. " They really don't pay attention to who they nab, do they? The folly I put up with…" With a flick of her hair, she turned to the door on her right with another strange keypad. She fussed with her robes for a moment before waving her hand over the pad. It flashed green and the door slid open. She glanced at me before entering, and I followed her inside.

The room was a scholar's dream.

A window filled with stars shed dead light on a large black desk complete with a massive leather chair and a footrest. The rest of the space was walled with 7-meter high bookshelves, all of which were crammed with tomes and novels and papers. In the random plots of space were displays of Obsidian relics and miscellanea, all meticulously labeled. The hum of electricity was loudest near the illustrious light fixtures, which hung from a beautifully painted ceiling.

Judging by the long ribbon of red hair flowing down her neck, I was looking at the Master. She was standing against one of the windows, facing away from us. Her hands were held behind back and rested on the top of her bottom.

Like all Sith seemed to be, the girl kneeled gracefully and held a hand over her heart.

" Master," She breathed, in that same pained and joyous voice.

The woman turned. I could never really steel myself for something so perfect–something so lovely and wonderful and divine as her. Her skin was the surface of glass, her red eyes more mesmerizing than Imperius'. Her lush lips parted slightly, as if to speak.

" Yes, Jasmar?" Her voice was so perfect–a blend of gentle lullaby and passionate sonnet.

The girl raised her head, eyes filled with adoration. " I have brought her."

The woman smirked. " So I can see Jasmar."

The girl–Jasmar now–lowered her and flushed. It seemed for all her grace and grandeur, she did not hold a candle to the woman.

As she approached Jasmar, I suddenly felt a spike of fear rise in me. Would she do the same to her and she had to me?

Instead, the woman simply drew her long fingers to the girl's chin, and slightly raised her face. Jasmar's blush was dead and her expression was now frozen.

" You know what you must do." She spoke, her voice as soft as it was deadly.

She did not respond, but I didn't have a doubt that she wasn't listening. Her eyes trailed to mine. They were dead; empty pits of yellow.

The woman withdrew her hand. She seemed to glide as she walked to the leather chair and sat. Her fingers laced, and her ankles crossed on top of the footrest.

" Won't you sit?" She asked politely.

" What?" I asked, thrown off.

" I said, _sit._" She gestured to a chair in front of her desk. Feeling like a jackass, I trotted to the chair and sat hastily.

" Better," She sniffed. " Now, during regular circumstances we would introduce ourselves, however, there seems to be no need. I know exactly who you are, and even your untrained mind can piece what has been said."

I nodded. " So then you're Darth Talsus?"

She paused, and then sat back. " Yes. I am the commander of this ship and the Master of Lord Imperius and Apprentice Madina, along with many, many others. For all purposes intended, I shall be your master as well."

That took me aback. " _What?_"

She grinned, but she was more annoyed than amused. " Yes. I shall be instructing in the ways of the Order and the Empire. You shall learn to obey and conquer, and, if you pay your cards right, someday rule as I do."

" Who's Apprentice Madina?" I asked.

" Is that really what you wanted to ask?" She sighed. She threw a hand in Jasmar's direction. " There is your answer."

I turned back. Her blank expression was still present. She was looking in my direction, but not truly seeing me.

I turned around. " I cannot express this enough Darth Talsus, but–"

" A simple 'Master' will be sufficient." She corrected.

" Right, but that's what I mean. Imperius–I mean, _Lord_ Imperius picked the wrong one. I'm not a Imperial, and I'm certainly not Force-sensitive."

She scowled at that. Kriff.

With not another word, she rose from her chair and began to leave. Jasmar briskly stood and began to follow her. I scurried behind.

We had doubled back in the direction of my room when we stopped short. Darth Talsus waved her hand over the keypad and shuffled through. I suddenly recalled this door–it was the one leading to the bridge.

I entered with the two Sith. " What are we–"

What the kriff?

Circuits sprayed showers of sparks everywhere. The ceiling had been twisted and contorted, behind were bare durasteel frames and insulation. The walls had been ripped and shredded, and tufts of fabric from the comfy chair lay in a halo around the now cracked seat. Water had pooled in certain areas.

" Did you do this?" I asked Talsus.

She swept a hand over a cracked starmap. It was still trying to beam a map of the galaxy. " Such a fury…" She spoke to no one in particular.

" What?" I asked, dumbfounded.

She spun on her heel, her lovely face contorted with rage. " Have the endless hours of torture addled your mind? Why, in the lord Emperor's name, _would I damage my own ship_?"

I swallowed. " Sith… are known to have great tempers."

She threw her head back and laughed. " Ah yes, that we do. But no, this was not my temper. This was _yours_."

" What? But I couldn't move when you–when I was being burned… or when I was drowning!"

Her eyes bore anger. " My purpose wasn't to burn you, child, but to _learn_ you. Discover your nuances, your tricks and your cognizance."

" But… why? I'm just a kid. A hired gun."

She laughed again. " Enough lying, girl! You are in a den of the dishonest. Your truths are safest here, believe it or not." She swooped down on me and grasped my chin.

" Countless hours I spent, _countless_. Prodding and testing your mind to see how much you could endure before you would break. And I was winning. You believed every moment, every flames or breath of air missed. I was seconds from passing the walls. And what did I get?" She squeezed harder.

" But… I didn't…" I could feel the fat drops of blood squirming from my throat.

" _Lies!_" Her voice was as sharp as razors. " Your mind fought back. Imagine, a powerful Darth such as I, cowering before an infant's power. The Light clung to you and wrapped your fortress like a disease–mix that with your intense desire to breathe and to live again, and well, this." She gestured to the bridge.

The pain intensified as she whipped her hand away.

She pointed a sharp nail in my face. " It matters not who you were or where you were born, but you are now my property. I _will_ know who made you as you are, and if I do not find the answer, I _will_ destroy you. Is that clear?"

I couldn't find my voice. My mind was reeling.

" I said," She cleared her throat. " IS THAT CLEAR?" She shrieked.

I jumped a meter in the air and began to nod frantically. Her dark red eyes hummed with rage. I couldn't look away.

" Y-Yes. Yes Master."

" Excellent. You begin tomorrow. Jasmar," She snapped her fingers, and she approached us immediately.

" Originally, I brought Jasmar along to… _convince_ you to serve me, but since you've been so cooperative, she will send you to the training quarters. Think of Jasmar as your peer. Well, no. Maybe not peer. Perhaps upper-classmen is better suited."

" Yes Master." I answered quietly.

Without another word, she turned from us. Jasmar grasped my arm tightly and practically dragged me from the room.

As soon as the slid shut, she flung me away from her. Her icy stare thawed, and now acid churned in her gaze.

" Listen, fool, and listen well. _I_ am the apprentice around here. I am not gutter trash. I am not a hired gun from the Smuggler's Moon. Darth Talsus may have an interest in you now, but I shall change that. Prepare your casket, _slime_, for you shall be filling it soon."

Without another word, she stormed off.

I just couldn't wrap my head around it.

Images of the bridge filled my mind for the next hour as I shuffled to my room. I managed to sit before I collapsed.

Me. A Sith.

Little old me–hurting people, breaking minds, destroying homes and ripping the fabric of the galaxy to pieces. Ruling the Empire.

I recalled Talsus' words. Apparently, I wasn't so little. When she'd tortured me, I somehow called on the Force and pushed her back. Not only that, I'd destroyed her bridge to pieces.

Maybe the idea wasn't so far-fetched after all. On Nar Shaddaa, any smuggler could tell you of a story with a Sith. Their destruction was wide and often crippling to business. Anyone who on the outs with a Sith would automatically be on the outs of society. I remember Kult's words the first day on the job:

_What Sith wants, a Sith shall have. _

But this was different. I wasn't the prey anymore. If–as Talsus said–I played my cards right, I'd be the one to fear and cower before. I could swim in riches, power, anything I wanted.

This couldn't have been a curse. This was an omen.

My omen.


End file.

Star Wars, Adventure, Drama