Disclaimer:Surprise surprise, but I don't own the whole Force concept, or the Jedi, or the Sith, or any other Lucas items, such as the planet Coruscant. However, all the people are mine, Rytiine is mine. There are about five more parts so they might go up and they might not.

This is fixed from the original two versions. If no one reviews it, I don't really care. I'll just keep putting up the next installments for my own personal pleasure.

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"The Devil, the proud spirit, cannot endure to be mocked." - St. Thomas More, 16th Century


Some would say I had failed my cause. I dropped away from civilization almost overnight, disappearing from view without a word. Those who feared me boldly stepped forward in my absence and proclaimed my dissociation, squabbling over one another to ooze into my vacant seat. Others knew better. They understood what they dared not say--it was too much for one being to control. It was a fight I could not win, and so I dropped my weapon in the heat of the battle. It was constant, the pain and sorrow one felt, the rage that came with giving oneself to the dark side. Many died in the process, going crazy and ripping their own limbs from their bodies before the dark side could accomplish the same from the inside. Yet the power hungry ignored these things: the fear that was so synonymous with those lashings that urged one onward, promising no more than the ability to grasp the impossible, the implausible. For that, in essence, was the draw of the dark side. The promise of holding life in the balance, literally in the palm of your hand, and all the inexplicable, intoxicating power that came with it. One could never imagine it until they had it. I did not want these things. So, I left it all, quite simply, and slipped away.

I was not angry anymore. I was just tired

I stayed up many nights deliberating over my decision. In the end it came to this--I had lost my will. I decided that I could leave my life, whatever it was, and start again, fresh, untouched. Chartering a ship, I went home, to say my last good-byes to my family, to the ruins of what used to be my father's sprawling estate. Never once looking up, I walked down the broken streets of what used to be a thriving port city, past derelicts groveling in the scrap heaps where sprawling residential towers used to fill the horizon, and finally through wild, open country to the very spot I held my father's body for the last time. Here I knelt, crying out to my father's spirit that I would yet honor him, but now, in pacifism. I scratched a hole in the sun-hardened earth, my fingernails torn from their beds before it was even half finished. My crimson stained fingers pulled my only weapon from my belt, tossing it into the pit, pushing the fill into place, the loose dirt becoming wet with tears. I had never felt so naked and exposed in all my violent existence. As I patted the dirt smooth, I noticed the smallest of saplings by my knee. This had been our orchard. Such a delicate flower, its premature trunk already tinged pink, the multifaceted leaves shaking slightly with my labored breaths. In all this destruction and decay, this, the most rare of plants, had struggled to survive. "Be well, little one," I whispered to it in my native tongue, it sounding as alien to me as my own voice, "and guard my father's memory." It was only as I was boarding the ship, sequestered safely in my own quarters, that I remembered saying those words, so long ago, whispering them to my infant sister as I left her lying beneath the twisted Peco Tree, our prize hybrid, the last time I saw her. Be well, little one. I cried for the second time that night. It was the first time I had felt such a sentiment since I left my father's body lying in a Coruscant alley, and it would be the last.


I should have never decided to try to escape my life.


I remember clearly the day Rune came to us. It hadn't been many years since I had last seen her, but she looked so different, so much older than before. I could have been happy the rest of my life if I had never lain eyes her, if I had never known her name after that day. Yet, my life wouldn't be as it is now.

It was the day after Twin Solstice. My father and I were helping my mother gather the last of the crops. It always went faster when my brother helped. We would usually finish before the first sun set. He would tell one of his stories from the Academy, and we would all laugh, my father the loudest. We had gotten used to his painful absence. My father never laughed anymore, and there were no stories told, but we still gathered the crops on our small farm. No one discussed the Academy.


They never allowed me to go to the Academy. I was a good 8 standard years younger than my brother, Jal, was, although he started attending when he was old enough to walk. My father taught as a proud Jedi Master and steward of the Jedi library newly located on Rytiine. He had intended for my brother to take his place one day, but my brother had other plans. By the time I was born, Jal had already decided that he would go off planet, to Coruscant, to study swordsmanship with the great Master Dartus. My parents had no say in his decision. In the Academy, one's only true parent is the Force. When the off-world Jedi came to claim me, as well, my father wouldn't allow it, resigning his beloved post, retiring to the tiny vegetable farm we called home as a peasant. They were afraid to lose their last son. I suppose I should be grateful for that decision.

Then one day, Jal came home. It was nearing my tenth year, and while I had showed propensity in the Force, any use of it on my part received punishment from my father. So I would sneak off for a few hours every day, teaching myself the mystical meditations and battle stances I had stolen from the forbidden books of the Jedi Library. I was in the orchard, practicing sword with a stick, and I knew. I just felt him there, as if he had always been there, and I had somehow been overlooking it. I ran home. My father caught me, surprised, just as Jal walked through the door. He was a man now, not the boy I had seen in the holos. A broad, tanned, smiling man, joking with my father. They seemed so similar: Jal's messy, tow-colored hair mirroring the way my father looked in his Academy days, while I was small and wiry thin with a shock of rusty hair that seemed out of place.

A sadness hung like a shadow over the joy in the house. Father was laughing, thumping Jal on the back. Mother was in tears. They all had empty smiles on their faces. The ever-present braid tucked behind Jal's ear in the photos was shorn off. I looked up to Jal, beaming. "Are you a Jedi now, big brother?" No answer. They walked around me to dinner, Jal hooking his arm around my neck, leading me to the adjacent room.

The years went by quickly with Jal in the house. He seemed to light up the room whenever he walked in. He would discuss galactic politics with Father. Mother would always bake cakes for dinner. Even I felt like I had a brother again. He would sneak off with me and teach me swordsmanship in the orchard with my father's saber, honing my Force powers with the patience of a master backed with a touch of urgency. I never understood at that age.

Once, he convinced my father to allow me to accompany him on a trip to the city to pick up some supplies for the spring thaw. We had stopped for the night, making camp in a small clearing. It was a beautiful, clear night. One of our three moons was full, lighting the meadow with an eerie pink light. Jal cooked food while I set down our sleeping mats. We ate, talking about random gossip, swapping the wine skin between us. I knew this was how it should be, having a brother. It just seemed comfortable.

After a few hours, Jal pulled me to my feet, struggling with the inertia that threatened to topple him. He winked at me, feigning a lunge with his mimed weapon. I swayed to the side, stumbling backwards from his arms. Simultaneously, we both drew our sabers, tuning them to the lowest setting with a year of practiced instinct. Charging, he swerved away from me, our blades splayed to the side, not even coming close to connecting. Before long, we were engaged in a full battle, attacking and retreating up and down the meadow, matching blows. He cornered me many times, laughing as I fell to the seat of my pants and scurried away from him like a field rodent before flipping to my feet and smoothly parrying, running through the kata I had learned from the books without thought.

The third moon was low in the sky, and yet we were still sparring, both of us laboring under the intensive workout. Even as I let my attacks become more puerile, Jal was becoming more serious, his attacks coming at twice the speed and power as before, until he finally had me in a defensive position, kneeling beneath his onslaught of overhand attacks. It was then I realized he had tuned his blade to full intensity. As he bore his weight against the clashing sabers, I could sense his blade painfully close to my forehead. I relented, falling to my back as he knocked my saber away from my body, quickly bringing his to my neck. He was breathing hard, red rimming his eyes, as if he was crying.

"Ash," he choked out, the saber quivering in his grip. "Promise me! Promise me you will take care of Mother and Father as bravely as you fought today. Promise it!" He screamed at me, tears streaming down his cheeks. I was trembling, frantically trying to find a way out. Why did he leave the Academy?

"I...I promise, Jal." My voice broke. He visibly relaxed, releasing the safety on his saber. The green blade slid away from my neck easily. My jaw ached. I was clenching my teeth.

"Ok, little brother. Let's...let's get some rest." His shoulders sagged as he walked back towards our camp. A man no more than 20 and he looked as if he had already lived four lifetimes. I followed, but did not sleep much that night.

We did not speak on our trip home.


Within our collective, I was known as a shadow operative. While I had no formal master, I answered directly to the Dark Lord of the Sith. It was through his tutelage that I learned to refine my techniques, to survive in a world without Force. To kill on command. I served him unerringly, and without question. I was Rune Novedian, but until I earned the right to my father's name, I became Rune Ariala, in honor of the sister I could not protect.

After I had become a young woman, I came to find there were two of us. We often worked together, but neither of us much liked sharing praise or assignments. However, some things required interactions.

Perhaps there was a reason we both had directions to remove the Jedi Master Dartus. I had learned long before not to question the orders. Even before the Sith.

We carried out our orders, with the exception of one, minor setback. We confronted the Jedi on Carida only to discover that Dartus had an Apprentice. The Jedi Master deserved his reputation, but in the end, he was no match for the two of us. The other wanted to keep the Jedi alive. He wanted to know why this one Jedi was so important. Traitorous questions. I dissented, killing Dartus in front of my accomplice as the cowardly Apprentice huddled in the corner, not so much as having drawn his own saber. There was no sorrow in his heart for his fallen Master, who managed to put up an admirable fight. I could feel nothing but fear. It was shameful. Grabbing the young man by the hair, I dragged him to his feet. They were both traitors, in my eyes. They both needed to be eliminated. If I had my way, my colleague would have been soon to follow.

My accomplice had other ideas, and the Apprentice escaped in the ensuing fight. We refused to work together again, but our Master ordered us to finish our job. Our last assignment together.

We returned to find the Dark Lord of the Sith dead.