Hello everyone!

Yes, I'm back. For real this time. Graduation is just a few weeks away, which means I can finally focus on what I love doing the most: writing!

I've been working on this story in private piece by piece for quite a while now, and I am close to completing it. I've reposted all of the chapters. Much has been edited. I've matured my characters and have improved on the narrative as my writing style shifted. I currently have about 22 chapters written.

Not sure if anyone will even read it, but I felt I owed it to my faithful readers to bring this story to a close. Please stand by as I update weekly to end this epic tale :)

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The year is 10 ATC (After the Treat of Coruscant).

The Sith Empire tightens its grip on the galaxy. The Galactic Republic and its Jedi defenders lie weakened and vulnerable after the Empire's successful military campaign. With a fragile peace negotiated, the Empire sends all potential Sith to undergo cruel and deadly trials at its Academy on the harsh planet Korriban. Few survive these trials, but those who do are made stronger by them.

Nearly two months ago, a promising young warrior was summoned from Ziost by an influential Overseer to face the Dark Side trials much sooner than expected. Though this should be an honor, the Overseer's actions have caused a ripple in the politics of the Academy. The presence of this new arrival is cloaked in mystery and rumor. Though she quickly earns a reputation as a strong fighter with an unmatched affinity to the Dark Side of the Force, the perceived favor that the Overseer shows her creates a sea of enemies that she must overcome if she is to survive the rigorous life of a Korriban Acolyte to become a true Sith.

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A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

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The year is 10 ATC (After the Treat of Coruscant).

The Sith Empire tightens its grip on the galaxy. The Galactic Republic and its Jedi defenders lie weakened and vulnerable after the Empire's successful military campaign. With a fragile peace negotiated, the Empire sends all potential Sith to undergo cruel and deadly trials at its Academy on the harsh planet Korriban. Few survive these trials, but those who do are made stronger by them.

Nearly two months ago, a promising young warrior was summoned from Ziost by an influential Overseer to face the Dark Side trials much sooner than expected. Though this should be an honor, the Overseer's actions have caused a ripple in the politics of the Academy. The presence of this new arrival is cloaked in mystery and rumor. Though she quickly earns a reputation as a strong fighter with an unmatched affinity to the Dark Side of the Force, the perceived favor that the Overseer shows her creates a sea of enemies that she must overcome if she is to survive the rigorous life of a Korriban Acolyte to become a true Sith.

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A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

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The man sitting in the cage farthest from the door scares me.

The emotion is foreign enough to stop me in my tracks.

I've fought a plethora of beasts in my months here on Korriban-from the lowest slimy K'lor slugs to bloodthirsty Shyraks-without any trace of hesitation. In contrast, this is just a man-an Imperial, by the looks of his uniform-yet still, he unsettles me.

No doubt the Inquisitors in the Academy had their fun before they brought him here. His shoulders are hunched, his body bloodied from torture. Behind the rigid bars of his cage, he sits limp and pale, an image of surrender and defeat. Save for his eyes. From beneath his matted dark hair, they burn with blue fire, an intensity of emotion so powerful it stirs the Force around me and makes me feel as though I've swallowed acid.

"Where would you like to start, My Lord?" the jailer, Gnash, asks me.

Fortunately, I've mastered the art of molding my features into a mask of indifference. He hasn't noticed my brief moment of weakness. Yet. Forcing myself to tear my gaze away from the Imperial, I glance at the other two prisoners and choose to begin my trial on the opposite side of the room. I am Sith. There is no room in my heart for hesitation. The slightest chink in my armor and conviction means my death. I feel the jailer's eyes on my back. Though he acts subservient and respectful, I know better than to let down my guard around him. What he doesn't know could save my life. In the Academy, much hinges on secrecy. In my case, it is my only shield.

Why was I brought over from Ziost months ahead of schedule? Why is Tremel arranging for all of my trials to take place on Korriban? Why is my Overseer hauling in prisoners from off-world so that I may judge them within Academy walls?

The majority of the people around me would kill to know. But, the answer isn't as simple as many believe. I am not anybody's darling, nor an Academy favorite. I am simply different, as is my unique connection to the Force.

Focus…

I make my way to the first cage and listen to the prisoner's story – to his lies. He is accused of a serious crime against the Empire, yet he continues to proclaim his innocence despite extensive torture. As he babbles, rants, and begs for mercy, I find myself glancing towards the third cage again. Towards the blue eyes that I recognize from my prophetic dreams. The prisoner's words fade into a blur of dialogue as that intense color traps and ensnares my attention.

Focus. This is your trial. You cannot afford any mistakes.

Gnash tells me more about the alien prisoner's transgressions. His eyes don't miss a thing, gaze jumping between me and the third cage. Not good. Did he notice my distraction? To regain control, I latch onto my favorite emotion.

Anger.

"Please," the alien whimpers, "surely you can see that I have been set up. I am not guilty of – " The prisoner's words disappear in a symphony of gurgling and gasping as I raise my hand. I channel my anger into my fist – my frustration with the blue-eyed Imperial who dares to distract me, my fury with those who have made my life a living nightmare here, and my hatred for wretches like this criminal who are only fit to lick my boots. I feel the Force tremble at my fingertips, feel the life slipping away from the alien that is now floating in the air. His nails try to pry invisible hands loose from his throat one last time before I release the pressure there. He collapses in a heap, heaving and gulping in air. I keep my expression strategically vacant even as he vomits all over the floor of his cage.

"Your verdict, My Lord?" Gnash coughs, his tone subdued. No doubt the maggot will report everything that transpires here today to Vemrin and those who pull his strings. I have no illusions about my position here and how tenuous it is. Nobody is on my side. Not even my supposed mentor, Overseer Tremel.

"Send him back to the Inquisitors. Torture him enough and he will confess," I decree, moving on to the next cell without a second glance at the first.

At the next cage, I meet a failed soldier. He confesses to his mistakes and begs for trial by combat rather than execution. I consider this for a moment.

"Your failure has cost thousands of lives," I tell him. "Nothing you do now can possibly redeem such complete incompetence."

"This man served a long time," Gnash says. "Maybe he does deserve some consideration for that..."

My anger simmers at the doubt in his voice. First, I deal with the prisoner. A quick death. My saber in his gut. Then, I turn to Gnash and raise my hand. He flinches, understanding my silent message. Nobody questions a Sith. Though I am not officially one yet, I have enough power and authority to silence anyone that tries to cross me this way.

"Forgive me, My Lord," he sputters, his skin taking on a greenish hue. I pause just long enough to let my silent threat sink in. When I'm confident he won't dare to interrupt me again, I brush past him and move on to the last prisoner. Face still set into a mask of stone, I steady myself and turn towards the third cell. The blue-eyed Imperial within still glares at me. When the jailer begins to read off a summary of his crimes, I stop him with a gesture.

"I want to hear it from this man personally," I explain. I move until I am only a hair's breadth away from the humming bars of the cage and inspect the man again. His uniform is torn, but I can still make out several insignia upon it that mark him as someone of fairly high rank. Imperial intelligence, perhaps? No. Not the right pattern. Something else. His black hair is short, the style tasteless. His face is unshaven, a pitch black stubble shadowing his jaw. He is thin, but when he gets to his feet I can sense he's more agile that he seems. His hand briefly wavers over his hip, no doubt reaching for a blaster that's no longer there. Interesting habit. When he doesn't speak, I frown.

"Well, then? What are your crimes, ex-officer?" I demand. He doesn't seem surprised that I've discovered a part of his identity. His expression remains neutral. No fear in his eyes. No humility, either. He doesn't bow or grovel like the others. This man is used to holding the scepter of authority.

"My Lord, I have committed no crime." His voice is smooth and free of doubt, respectful to a point yet confident. Not something I would expect from a man fresh out of the torture chambers. When I don't respond, he looks up and those blue eyes take my breath away. Up close, the color looks even richer. It reminds me of the blue I often see on the afterburners of shuttles and starships, the hottest part of the flame.

"Then why are you here, Imperial?" His face folds inward into an unpleasant sneer, eyes moving away from mine. He doesn't resemble a rebel or a spy. So why the hatred in his gaze? Why the hesitation? His kind have always been more than eager to prostrate themselves before a Sith. We are superior, and the entire Empire knows it. This man's behavior confounds me, especially considering that I'm holding the thread of his life in the palm of my hand.

Gnash speaks up again. "My Lord, if I may…that one hasn't talked to anyone about his crimes since he arrived. Heard that he's been court martialed by a Moff."

Either Tremel was desperate when searching for prisoners for you or he found an easy out that you should consider taking.

True. Nobody would bat an eyelash if I chose to kill this fool in cold blood. Being court-martialed these days usually leads to execution anyway. The growing tension between Empire and Republic will allow for no alternative. This seems too simple, though. It would be far too easy to just execute him. I listen to the jailer explain that this man nearly caused a major disaster at some important battle or another. Drecken-something, I think he says. I try to recall if I read about it in my studies, but nothing comes to mind.

"You heard this from a reliable source, I take it?" I ask him.

"Some of it's in his personnel file. Some of it…well…" Gnash doesn't have to finish his sentence. I can already smell a trap here. A personnel file isn't infallible. He isn't lying, but who is to say that those records weren't sabotaged by my rivals? Lots of people want me dead here. What better way to ensure that my reputation goes to tatters than by forcing me to make a mistake in this trial?

"Leave us, jailer."

"Pardon, My Lord?"

I force a tone of cruelty and anticipation. "I want some time alone with this one. He seems reluctant. I can fix that."

"I'm to stay with you throughout the trial, My Lord," the jailer protests. I turn to him and wave my hand as though beckoning for him to come closer. Tugging on his will through the Force is too easy. He is weak-willed and frail of mind. I watch his eyes go blank as I suggest that he needs to fetch something from the storage room on the second floor. It won't buy me much time-perhaps fifteen, twenty minutes at best-but at this point I'll take what I can get. Failure is not an option. When Gnash steps out and leaves me alone with the ex-officer, I turn my attention to him.

"You insist that you have committed no crime, yet officers aren't court martialed without cause." I cross my arms over my chest. "Explain yourself. Now. I don't have time for your worthless deceptions or petty emotions. You have one opportunity to be completely honest with me before I take matters into my own hands." I drop my voice, channeling all the hate and rage that I can muster into the next few words. "There isn't anyone here to police my actions, and I have full authority to do whatever is necessary to complete my task. Believe me, soldier, you'll be begging me to release you into the Inquisitors' custody by the time I'm through with you." My intimidation must have worked, for his face loses a few shades of color. I watch his throat convulse as he swallows thickly.

"Where should I begin, My Lord?" he mumbles.

"Details – who you are, why you were court-martialed, how you got to Korriban. But quickly, soldier. I'm not the patient sort." Though I'm restless now, I keep my voice even and strong. It's difficult to do while standing so close to him. Flashes of my dreams pull and tug at my attention. Flashes of those azure eyes and the warning that came with them.

The Force never alters my dreams without a reason. If I see specific people or events, then I pay strict attention. At Ziost, my dreams were full of predictions that came true – predictions and signs that changed my life forever. Among my most recent visions, I saw this man's gaze. For weeks, it plagued my sleep. I have no doubt that this Imperial will somehow change the course of my destiny. The question is how...what connection can some disobedient grunt have to a Sith? Who is he?

"Captain Malavai Quinn – Imperial Officer. My story cannot be related in a few words…"

"Try. Your life depends on it."

He nods and takes a deep breath.

"The truth isn't as simple as my record would have you believe. I am here because I was betrayed by a Moff. Long ago, I made a decision to disobey him in an important battle. His mistake nearly cost us a victory and hundreds of Imperial lives, but I was able to salvage it. He has never forgiven me for dishonoring him, despite the fact that he took credit for the victory himself. This isn't the first time he's had me disciplined for one reason or another, but it is the first time he's gone as far as court martialing me. As to how I came to be in the Sith Academy," he shrugs. "Honestly, I don't know. One day, some men entered my personal quarters on my ship and blindfolded me. The next thing I knew, I was being strapped to an interrogation table." His explanation doesn't do anything to ease my tension. In fact, it just confirms my earlier suspicions. My left hand clenched into a fist. This trial is indeed a trap, one that's about as difficult to step out of as Bantha droppings. I begin to pace the room.

Disobedience of a higher authority alone-no court martialing involved-often earns anyone in the Empire an instant death sentence. If I ignore this fact and let him go based on his testimony alone, I will look the fool. And wouldn't that earworm Vemrin just love to see me being scolded? But, if I kill him and it turns out that he's innocent of his charges, the outcome will be similar. The Overseers and other acolytes will whisper that I don't have the power to know whether he is lying or not.

He isn't lying, but that doesn't make things any easier.

As I move around, I catch my reflection in one of the shiny plasteel surfaces in the room. A young human girl stares back. Her waist-length red hair is tied back in a tight braid. Her eerie silver eyes are huge in her small face. She looks frail and delicate. Not like a Sith. A true Sith would not allow this situation to disorient them.I bite my lip and frown, trying to remember the last time I looked in a mirror. Must have been before my last trial several weeks back.

The door to the jail hisses open, startling me.

"I brought the supplies, My Lord," Gnash announces in a monotone, rattling a few boxes in his arms. The moment he places his cargo on the ground, his eyes clear. My suggestion wears off. He looks around, confused. "Sorry, My Lord. I think I lost my train of thought for a sec. What was I sayin' again?"

"You were reading off this man's crimes to me," I reply, doing my best to appear unperturbed. A sound from my right catches my attention. I steal a glance at the ex-officer and see him cough. A corner of his mouth is twitching.

"What is your verdict, then?"

I raise my chin and reply without hesitation. "In this case, the evidence provided is not clear enough to allow a proper verdict to be dispensed. I reserve judgment, for now, and request that further evidence be provided."

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"You hesitated!" Tremel shouts, slamming his fist on the desk in front of him. His voice echoes off the walls, reverberating with fury. A part of me is amused. Seeing this man lose his composure isn't something I have a chance to witness very often. Ever since my arrival, the Overseer has struggled to maintain an image of a calm, collected, servant of the Empire. I know otherwise, of course. Detecting falsehoods is something of a specialty of mine, as is telling them.

"I made the only logical choice," I say in response to his yelling. "It's not as if I set a precedent. Others have reserved judgment in the past in other trials."

He shakes his head and rubs his temple. "Don't you see? It makes you look weak. You should have killed him. Insubordination and failure are stains that he will never be able to erase from his record. He deserves to be eliminated."

"Then eliminate him," I challenge.

"It's too late now. We have other problems and other concerns. For now, you've managed to pass the trial and must immediately move on to the next."

"What will happen to the prisoners?" I ask, trying not to sound too interested. Tremel pauses and searches my intentions. He rummages around inside my emotions. A strong attempt, but still too weak to make it past my defenses. I keep my expression bored and look out the window, feigning ignorance.

"The alien is being taken to interrogation as we speak. The other is being transferred," he reveals at length. Where? – I want to ask. My heart skips a beat at the thought of losing the only clue to the meaning of my recent dreams. Technically, the prisoner is mine until a verdict is decided. If he is being moved off-world, then rules are being broken. Not unusual for the Academy. Just frustrating.

"What is my next trial?" I demand, attempting to change the subject. He describes my next task in extensive detail, making sure to emphasize every step. I take in what he says and make an effort to appear attentive. However, my mind drifts elsewhere, still trapped in the ex-officer's blue gaze. I struggle with several emotions. The sway he has over my thoughts confuses and angers me. The role he has yet to play in my destiny piques at my curiosity. The fact that I can't seem to get a random Force-blind soldier out of my head disgusts me.

"…after you slay the beast. Do you understand, acolyte?" I nod and reassure the Overseer that I won't fail. "Will you leave immediately?"

"In the morning. At first light," I reply. I want to get started as soon as possible. Perhaps some bloodshed will set my thoughts in order at last. "What other problems were you speaking of?" I inquire, alluding to his earlier words. His grimace tells me that the issue is serious.

"I was hoping to keep your presence on Korriban hidden from certain individuals in the Academy, but doing so has proven exceedingly difficult over the past weeks. Someone has noticed you, though for now this person seems only mildly curious."

"Who?"

"A man named Darth Baras."

"I haven't heard of him."

"You will, and when you get to know him, you will wish you had not."

"A Darth," I whisper, surprised. Most acolytes dream of being noticed by someone of such stature. "Does he know about my powers?"

"No," Tremel answers, his voice firm. "And I intend to keep that hidden from him. Should anyone find out, you will be vulnerable to attack." He sighs. "Right now, Vemrin is being groomed to be Baras's newest apprentice. This cannot be allowed to pass."

"What are you suggesting? That I take his place?" A beat. "Is that why you brought me here?" When he hesitates to answer, I frown. "If I become Baras's apprentice, he will know about my powers. You can't expect him not to notice."

"No," Tremel repeats and motions for me to sit down across from him. "No one must know. Ever. You must use your gift to your advantage and rise within the ranks. But, no one must know the details. Not if you want to survive." He reaches out and covers my hand with his own. He is a big man; his hand engulfs mine completely. Immediately, I pull away. He raises his palms and moves back. "Apologies, acolyte. I forget that you are averse to…"

"That's not it," I cut in. Aside from the unwelcome physical contact, something about his earlier words made me uncomfortable. As we look into each other's eyes, I recognize the cause. "Don't tell me you're getting sentimental towards me, Tremel," I sneer. "You have a daughter. Reserve this foolishness for her."

"If only my daughter was like you," he confides. "You have a strength in you that I have not seen anywhere else. You are everything a young Sith should be. That is why you must make it through this gauntlet at the Academy. You must find a powerful Master to guide you – one that will help you reach new heights of power and authority. You must use your strength for the Empire." I remember my earlier thoughts, remember believing that nobody was on my side here on Korriban. For a moment, I process Tremel's words and consider them. I search the syllables for lies and deception.

"You mean what you say," I murmur. For a moment, I allow my mask to shift and reveal a vulnerability. Ever since I was pulled away from the orphanage on my home world and thrust into the world of the Sith, I've considered everyone to be my enemy. Now, perhaps, I could allow myself to consider someone to be an ally. "I will not fail you."

"I know." He doesn't smile. There is no room for softness here. I gather the words and the confidence he's gifted me and hide them far away in the dark recesses of my mind. I will need them one day. For now, I need to stay focused.

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