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Her head was hurting, the ache spreading in a numbing arch along the front of her skull, until it seemed almost a pulsing rhythm as keen as the sound her sword made when she was jumping along the sands of the practice arena back at home. Not that she could blame her current discomfort on her old teacher, either. His calls for her to improve her stance, to move faster, or to swing harder weren't the impetus for the pain reverberating in her head, not this time around.
No, old Tremel couldn't be blamed today. She blamed the little twit of a nuisance, rather, who'd perched herself against the same bench on the shuttle heading down towards the planet's surface that Jessa was resting on during the journey. The girl had spent the entire time taunting Jessa's paternal bloodline, in fact. As if "common" was ever a word to be applied to Jessa's father, she thought to herself, and never mind whatever the little witch called him.
"He's not even force-sensitive, is he? Just an ordinary nobody. I'd be ashamed to admit such a man helped make me, if I were you."
"Perhaps, then, I should be gratified you're not, hmm? I mean, I happen to appreciate my mother chose someone so vital to be my father. There's no need on my part to hide or even paint my face."
She heard one of the soldiers resting his helmeted head against the back of the seat in front of them muffle a bark of laughter. The girl's narrow face flushed bright red, nearly as bright as the huge splotch of a tattoo that marred her cheek and extended over her eye. Jessa very nearly laughed herself as she watched the girl change colors. But she only smiled tightly, instead. Vette had assured her, as she was preparing to leave, there was no need to stop playing their game, insisted, "Look, just because you're going to be stuck on that bright, red ball of misery is no reason to forget how much fun we've always had! Hey, it's better to keep them guessing what amuses you. It makes you look all deadly when you're soooo serious. And that's funny, too, when they get all nervous and stumble over themselves, huh?"
The bump of the shuttle as it reached the landing pad jarred all of them, and for a single sweet moment, she could easily ignore the girl's minor, annoying presence, as they all busied themselves rising up and shuffling towards shuttle's doors. It was when they paused the brat tried again. "I heard he was nothing but an ordinary soldier, right? Some minor nobody, who's only claim to aptitude is the ability to convince a Sith Lord to call him husband."
Jessa eyed the shuttle's doors, where she could just make out the swirling red sands and jagged twisted rocks. The warm, moist climate of Dromund Kaas seemed even further away all of a sudden. Another stab of pain in her forehead throbbed, and she sighed softly. The little cretin of a girl was still barking at her, anyway. "What's his name, even? Your father's, I mean."
Jessa glanced back at her, as she stopped there just at the door's opening. She nodded slightly at the shuttle's pilot, who was gesturing for her to move through the door, prepared to hand her off to the guards waiting at the bottom of the ramp for the new acolytes to disembark. "My father is called Quinn, of course. I'm surprised you'd have to ask. Or were you interested in knowing his given name? Why would you concern yourself with such a thing?"
The pilot startled, Jessa noted. He elbowed the soldier standing next to him, the one who'd laughed earlier, and lifted his chin in Jessa's direction. The man's chin tightened under the face plate of his helmet just before he turned and exited the shuttle, but Jessa saw him pause to mumble something to the guards at the bottom of the ramp.
Not that Jessa's needling tormenter noticed any of that. Foolish chit. Awareness of the nuances around you was the best way to preserve your heartbeat, she thought. But the fool merely sniffed disdainfully, her focus entirely on Jessa herself, rather than their surroundings. "My father is called Gratham. He's Sith."
"I know." Jessa rubbed one small hand along the round hilt of her vibrosword, clutched at it. "My mother killed your father's firstborn. He's spent the entirety of my eleven years trying to kill me for sake of revenge against her. And failed every single time, I might add. All of it, mind you, thanks to my so-called 'common' father's skill at seeing through his pitiful assassination attempts." She leaned closer to the fool girl, smiling. "I knew who you were before we even climbed onto this shuttle."
Jessa watched the girl's green eyes widen, as fear sparked there for the first time. She smiled, thinking to herself it wouldn't be the last time she scared the ninny. If little miss "my father's better than yours" didn't watch out, the last time Jessa scared her would be her very last time, in fact. For now, however, Jessa ignored her utterly in favor of experiencing Korriban for herself, rather than vicariously through her mother's stories, admonishments, and guidance.
Her mother's eyes had gleamed darkly when she spoke of Korriban. "A place of power, lurking, resting sometimes, and sometimes flaring. Those unprepared, or those too weak to withstand it, are easily overwhelmed. You will not be, Jessa. It will lift you up, fill you. As it did me. Like coming home, maybe." Jessa felt a twinge as she thought of her mother, thought there was no way she'd ever regard Korriban as home. Not when they were so far away. Sparring with her mother was one of her favorite pastimes. Dancing across the training arena with her, their swords swinging, clanging against each other, while Tremel yelled at them from the sidelines – she'd miss it utterly, those moments watching her mother move smoothly, like water flowing almost, and knowing she was quickly becoming proficient enough to leave her mother's forehead marked with beads of sweat.
Lusiel had insisted Jessa's challenge lay as much in being her child, as it was an advantage. She'd be required to live up to a higher standard, even more than the average acolyte. Survival, for her, would never be enough. She'd have to transcend her mother's example, in fact. That, and outmatch every single schlub who tried to prove himself by taking on the Wrath's daughter.
Which is where her father and his guidance came into play, of course. The soldier standing at the bottom of the ramp reached to touch her elbow softly, ostensibly helping her step off onto the wide open surface of the shuttle landing pad. He leaned closer, only briefly, whispering quickly, "You're Admiral Quinn's daughter?" Jessa lowered her chin, a subtle inclination. The soldier pressed his lips hard together, nodding slightly as he stepped back into a formal and unobtrusive position again.
She was satisfied. The soldiers who acted as guards in and around the temples and training grounds of the Academy would prove to be assets if treated properly. Best, anyway, to coddle them, fight for them and support their efforts as much and as often as possible. They'd repay her for it. But it was good to start off with the sheer bribery that lay in pleasing her high-ranking Imperial father. Friends among the guards meant it would be harder for her fellow acolytes to sneak up on her.
She turned to face the rising crags of twisted rock that surrounded the training grounds and entrance way to the Sith Academy, ignoring the spluttered complaints of Gratham's annoyance of a daughter behind her. Her father's voice was swimming in her mind right then, rather. "Korriban will offer you challenge in every moment, every interaction. You possess the skill, the strength that's necessary to overcome every one of them. You've learned well, Jessa." She closed her eyes, bringing that memory to the front of her mind, pulling it free from the depths of that inner space where she'd stored it, used it now as a balm, a comfort. A technique her father had taught her when she was still in swaddling clothes, in fact.
So she remembered. The way he'd stood there, gazing out the viewscreen as they both took in the red ball of a planet that was Korriban from high above the world. The pale red light reflecting from the planet had glanced across his dark hair, highlighted the look of pride that he slid towards her through eyes so much like her own. There had been whispers about his looks, that he remained far younger-looking than his actual age should've permitted, rumors his Sith wife performed rituals that kept him fit and healthy. But precious few outside of family and their most trusted followers knew of the real bond he shared with his wife.
He'd looked at her, there, and his eyes shone brightly with the pride he felt for her. She clenched her fists tightly against her sides, now, as she looked out over the expanse of Korriban's red landscape, breathing steadily, rhythmically, as she prepared herself. Gratham's daughter raised a shrill shriek at one of the guards, something about their "filthy fingers" touching her tunic. She smiled, imagining the ease with which she'd destroy the girl.
Then she stepped forward, placing her small leather-soled boot onto the sand for the first time. She was ready.