Part One: Usurpers
Chapter 1
Two Months After the Battle of Twinspire Keep (3637 BBY) - Siphon's Citadel, New Adasta
The face that stared back at Lethe in the mirror was no longer her own.
She wasn't sure she would ever get used to the sight of her former master's golden mask gazing back at her with all of its imperious nonchalance. Every time she saw her own reflection, she heard her master's voice echo through her very core, delivering accusations that she could not deny: Liar. Pretender.
Usurper.
It helped that she had so few opportunities to actually remove the guise. She couldn't afford risking anyone discovering her true identity. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
As Darth Siphon, she had power. As Siphon, she inherited the glory and pride due to a victor emerged from a Kaggath. As Siphon, she commanded a power structure that would rival Darth Nox's in the days before her ascent to the Dark Council.
As Lethe, she had nothing.
Still, wearing the visage was at times unbearable. The metal face had been welded to a leather sleeve meant for the head, the only circulation granted from the two holes carved into the metal nose to allow for breath. More than unbearable, it was a jail cell for her face. She wanted to feel it again, wanted her cheeks to know the touch of fresh air free of sweat and grime. More than that, she longed to see her old face again, to know that somewhere inside of the persona she projected, some semblance of her true self still remained.
Before the ornate mirror placed upon her dressing table in her new quarters, she gingerly pulled at the golden mask. Its impassive expression stared back at her, reflected in the mirror, its dead eyes somehow filled with judgment. It fought her every effort, clung to her face like a babe to its mother, unrelenting, unbowed.
Its defiance was by her own design; what use was a mask in battle if it could be jostled or knocked loose? It was how her master had lost the mask she now possessed in the first place. Better now that it be obstinate than risk the revelation of secrets that Lethe could not afford to reveal.
But something felt wrong - the mask would not come off, no matter how her fingers peeled at the golden caricature or worked at the leather bindings.
Her heartbeat quickened. It was one thing to choose to don the mask - it was another to be trapped within it, unable to extricate herself from the permanent prison of another's identity. To be denied herself, to be denied Lethe … it was not a sensation she had ever thought she would fear.
Not until now.
Why would it not come free?
She clawed at the mask now, angling her fingernails into the leather, digging into the grooves of the metal to peel it away - by force if necessary - desperate to unveil her face. It was ridiculous; she would have laughed had urgency not overwhelmed all other emotion.
She knew only one thing now. She had to liberate herself from this cage.
Through the Force, she found her answer. Reaching into her well of power, she pulled at the mask from two ends, two hands compelling the mask to rip, to tear, to shatter. She no longer cared if the mask was destroyed - so long as the metal remained, she could always restore the rest later. She threw all of her power behind her effort - she could feel the mask tearing, loosening around her head, buckling under her will.
She closed her eyes and screamed as her efforts bore fruition; two halves of the mask flew to separate sides of her room, the half with the metal face slamming into the wall with a violent screech. She felt it immediately: freedom. The caress of a gentle breeze flowing in from the open doors of her balcony, whispering upon her skin sweet release.
Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she opened her eyes, eager to reclaim her identity … if only for a few minutes.
The sight of her own reflection snuffed out her hopes as her heart skipped a beat.
What looked back at her now was a face … but a face without features. Dark skin wrapped around a skull, without a nose, without a mouth. In place of eyes, two gaping holes revealing only darkness as black as oblivion, widening in terror. She didn't understand; she wanted to scream, but no sound could come from a mouth that did not exist. She watched in horror as her jaw and chin reflected her efforts to shriek, only for silence to follow.
No trace of her former self remained.
Without the mask, she was nothing. She was no one.
She woke, covered in sweat, heart pounding against her chest with insistent declaration. She raced to her mirror, tearing off the mask as quickly as she could. Desperate, she didn't care that the metal caught against her cheek and scraped against it painfully even as she finally extricated herself from it. It was not until her old face finally came into view that she breathed a sigh of relief.
It was just a dream.
She glanced down at the mask now lying on the floor of her quarters. It looked smaller … and yet somehow more terrifying than it had ever seemed before. She glanced at a nearby digital clock; 0400 hours. She would have to put the mask back on, assume the role of Siphon once more. She had no choice … only Siphon could command the power base she had amassed. If she ever wanted to achieve her goals, to expand her power, to ascend to the Dark Council … she could not waver. Not now. Not when she was so close.
Lethe reached down to pick up the fallen mask. For just a second, her fingers paused before grabbing the visage and gingerly donning it once more.
She told herself her hesitation was nothing, a side-effect of being groggy and half-asleep.
But in her heart of hearts, she knew the truth.