[Lyra Vess’s POV]
The shuttle shakes as it pierces Dromund Kaas’s atmosphere, the perpetual storm clouds welcoming ho with flashes of lightning that illuminate the cockpit in harsh bursts. My hands grip the controls tighter than necessary.
Failure tastes like acid in my mouth.
Two weeks wasted tracking Vaelix Draal to that miserable jungle planet Arorua. Two weeks of ticulous planning reduced to a bloody, inconclusive ss. The wound in my chest throbs despite the bacta treatnt, a constant reminder of my incompetence.
‘I didn’t check her pulse.’
The thought has haunted since I woke in the bacta tank aboard my return transport. Such a basic, elentary mistake. I’d left her bleeding out on the forest floor, my lightsaber carved through her body, but I’d been so focused on my own injury, on escaping before I bled out myself, that I’d failed to confirm the kill.
“Shuttle LV-792 requesting landing clearance,” I say into the comm, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside . Professional. Controlled. As befits a true Sith.
The automated response grants permission to land at the private hangar reserved for those in Master Nohr’s service. At least that small courtesy remains intact. For now.
“She’s dead,” I whisper to myself as I guide the shuttle through the storm. “No one could survive that wound without imdiate dical attention.”
The lie sounds hollow even to my own ears.
I ease the shuttle down onto the landing pad, rain imdiately pelting the viewport. Dromund Kaas, eternal storms, eternal darkness. After the suffocating humidity of Arorua, the familiar gloom feels almost comforting.
My datapad chis with a notification, Master Nohr requests my imdiate presence. Of course she does. No ti to rest, to collect myself. The summons carries the subtle threat that has defined our relationship since I was first brought to the academy as a child.
I gather my things thodically, each movent precise despite my exhaustion. My reflection in the shuttle’s burnished interior panels shows a woman composed and dignified, exactly as I need to appear. Only the faint darkness beneath my eyes betrays my fatigue.
The rain soaks the mont I step off the shuttle ramp, plastering my white-blonde hair to my skull. I don’t hurry. Let the rain wash away the stink of failure, of doubt. By the ti I reach the speeder waiting at the edge of the landing pad, I’ve convinced myself of the story I’ll tell.
Vaelix Draal is dead. The abomination, the experint, the object of Master Nohr’s inexplicable fascination, eliminated as expected between fellow apprentices. My mission was a success despite my injury. Despite the lack of a body. Despite the voice in my head that whispers otherwise.
The speeder carries through rain-slicked streets, towering monoliths of Imperial architecture looming on either side. Lightning fractures the sky above, nature’s applause for the Sith Empire’s capital. I rehearse my report ntally.
I arrive at Master Nohr’s compound on the city’s eastern edge. Unlike the ostentatious displays of other Sith Lords, Tarren Nohr’s residence speaks of restrained power, practical, efficient, deadly.
Black-armored Sith troopers stand at attention as my speeder approaches the main gate. Their helts gleam in the rain, visors revealing nothing of the n beneath. I straighten my back, ignoring the stab of pain from my wounded chest. Weakness has no place here.
The gate slides open silently. One of the troopers steps forward, his salute crisp despite the downpour. “Apprentice Vess,” he acknowledges, voice modulated through his helt. “Master Nohr awaits you in her office.”
I stride through the compound, my boots echoing against the polished stone floors. Guards stand at attention as I pass, their eyes averted. They know better than to stare too long at Master Nohr’s apprentice.
The doors to her office slide open as I approach, as if the very building anticipates my arrival. Her sanctum lies before , elegant, and ticulously organized like the Falleen woman herself.
Master Tarren Nohr sits behind her desk, her erald-scaled skin catching the dim light. Those ancient yellow eyes lock onto mine, asuring, calculating. I feel the weight of her scrutiny like physical pressure.
“Apprentice Vess,” she says, her voice silky and controlled. A smile that doesn’t reach her eyes curves her lips. “Or should I say, Apprentice Slayer Vess?”
I bow low, maintaining the proper form despite the pain lancing through my chest. “Master Nohr,” I respond, keeping my voice steady. “I am pleased to report that Vaelix Draal is dead.”
The words hang in the air for a heartbeat before chaos erupts. Master Nohr’s fist slams against her desk with such force that datapads scatter to the floor. The elegant composure shatters like glass.
“LIES!” she screams, her voice cracking with raw anger. The temperature in the room plumts as her fury manifests through the Force. “Do not insult with such transparent deception!”
I stagger back, genuinely shocked by the ferocity of her reaction. My ntal shields falter montarily.
“I can sense your anxiety from here, Apprentice,” she hisses, rising from her chair. “Your uncertainty bleeds into the Force like an open wound.”
Fear floods my system, primal, instinctive terror that I cannot suppress.
“I... I struck her down myself.” I insist, though my voice lacks conviction now. “No one could survive…”
“And yet,” Master Nohr says, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “you’re unsure if you actually killed my favorite pupil.”
Her words slice through like a vibroblade. Favorite pupil. The designation burns in my chest worse than my physical wound.
“She was an abomination!” I snap, frustration boiling over. My composure shatters as years of resentnt surge to the surface. “Not only was she created in a laboratory like so experint, but she never stopped rambling about that man in her visions, her precious Ty-Lar!”
I spit the na like poison, rembering how Vaelix would go into trances, muttering that na with disgusting reverence. How Master Nohr would watch her with fascination instead of disgust.
Master Nohr’s yellow eyes narrow. “Those visions gave her passion, Apprentice. They fueled her connection to the dark side in ways you could never understand.”
“Attachnt is a weakness!” I shout, abandoning all pretense of control. My voice echoes off the walls of her office. “You taught this yourself! How could you encourage such pathetic sentintality in her while demanding I purge all connections?”
“PEACE IS A LIE, CHILD! THERE IS ONLY PASSION!” Master Nohr roars, the Force swelling around her like a storm. The objects on her desk rattle violently. “Or have you already forgotten the Code?”
“Through passion, she gained strength,” she continues, stalking toward . “Her passion, however it manifested, gave her power that you clearly lack. If you had half her potential, you wouldn’t be standing before with excuses instead of her corpse!”
The truth of her words stings more than any physical blow. For years I’ve trained, sacrificed, purged every weakness from myself to beco the perfect Sith. And still, I stand in the shadow of Vaelix Draal. A manufactured Sith.
“I failed you,” I admit, the words bitter on my tongue. “But I will rectify this mistake.”
Master Nohr’s expression shifts suddenly, her rage giving way to cold, calculating amusent. A laugh bubbles up from her throat, starting as a chuckle before expanding into full-throated mirth that echoes off the walls of her office.
“By all ans, Apprentice,” she says between fits of laughter, wiping at her yellow eyes. “Go find her. Kill her or get killed. The outco matters little to .”
I stand frozen, confusion washing over . “Master?”
Her laughter subsides, but the cruel smile remains. “Don’t you understand yet, Lyra? This is how we progress. The strong survive, the weak perish. As long as I have whoever proves stronger at my side, nothing else matters.”
The casual dismissal of my years of service stings worse than any physical blow. I’ve given everything to her, and she regards with the sa detached interest one might show a fighting animal in a pit.
“I understand, Master,” I say, bowing my head to hide the hatred burning in my eyes.
I turn to leave, my mind already racing with plans to track Vaelix again, to finish what I started. But sothing compels to stop at the threshold. A question that’s gnawed at since I first heard Vaelix mutter that na in her sleep.
“Master,” I say without turning back, “do you believe he exists? Ty-Lar?”
The silence stretches between us. I can feel her eyes boring into , evaluating my question from every angle.
“No,” she finally answers, her voice thoughtful. “He is rely a fantasy, a manifestation of her desires shaped by the Force.”
I nod, relief washing through .
“However,” she continues, her tone dropping to sothing almost like reverence, “if he does exist... Force help you, Lyra. You wouldn’t stand a chance against the depths of her emotion.”
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache, but I offer no response. There’s nothing left to say. I walk out of her office, the doors hissing shut behind , sealing away her smug satisfaction.
“Frak.”
Lyra Vess:
Tarren Nohr:
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