Chapter 1
"Father," complained Nelix, shouting against the driving wind and sands of Ossus. "Why are we doing this? Can't I just pick a crystal from the stockpile and be done?"
Tion rounded on his son and flung out his hand. Sand and wind alike froze in mid-air as the Sith Lord glared down upon his heir. The boy was weak, undisciplined, Tion hated the very sight of him, he should have done away with him long, like so many that had come before. He lashed and seized the boy. Using only his will he lifted his apprentice into the air, paralyzing him.
Terror spilled forth from his son in ever greater waves of despair, as the boy came to realize the error of his complaint. The sheer magnitude of Nelix's fear disgusted Tion. The Sith Lord's anger turned to rage. Slowly, he began to crush the life from his son, as the boy flailed out with his own power, in a desperate attempt to preserve his miserable existence. The effort was wasted. Gripped by such uncontrollable panic, the boy's power hardly brushed against the iron will encasing him. Pathetic. Indeed, a new heir was called for.
Tion drew his blade.
The scarlet gem embedded in the hilt pulsed with his power. He lifted his sword. The silver-blue steel glowed red as he imbued the blade with his anger and strength.
Nelix's azure eyes widened.
There was bound to be a woman on this miserable rock suitable for mating. In years' time, he would have a new heir—a suitable heir—one fit to carry the banner of House Kyze into the next age of the Sith.
His blade fell.
Only a year…
His sword froze a hair's breadth from the boy's nose.
At eight-seven, Tion was no longer a young Lord, fresh from the assassination of his father. With the other Houses preparing for war, could he really afford to do away with another apprentice so late in his life? Did he dare he risk meeting even the weakest of his fellow Lords on the battlefield without an apprentice by his side, to serve as a shield?
The red aura surrounding his blade faded.
Like it or not, for the time being Tion was stuck with his weakling progeny.
Regretfully, he released the boy.
Nelix fell to the ground, a crumpled trembling mass, before Tion's feet. Disgraceful. Thankfully his father, Lord Pallon, had been limited in his intuition, fore if he had even glimpsed the sorry state of heirs Tion had thus far produced, the late head of Kyze family would have killed Tion before he could uttered his first, newborn cry.
"Get up," he ordered.
Nelix kept trembling.
Tion kicked him in the ribs. "Get up, or I'll finish what I started."
It was no idle threat, and Nelix knew it. Although, Tion had just decided that he did in fact need such a sniveling excuse for a son, that would not stop him from starting anew, should his apprentice ever prove himself incapable of following the simplest of orders—regardless of the circumstances.
The boy rose, on unsteady feet. Tion took in the quavering sight of his son with revulsion. Only twelve years old and already the boy stood near to eye, with Tion himself. Such a pity that a coward's heart lay within such a physically promising specimen. Tion shook his head. Well, perhaps he would get lucky and his miserable excuse for son would discover his manhood sooner rather than later, and then Tion would be able to keep his shield, while raising a potential grandchild and hopefully worthy successor.
He gave Nelix one last, critical, look then turned back to the march.
The punishing wind and flaying sands hit the young lordling like a hammer. He sensed the boy stagger, as the sandstorm tried to lift Nelix into the unrelenting air. Tion shook his head. Shameful. Absolutely shameful. Why had the Force deigned to disgrace House Kyze so?
When he finally sensed Nelix gather himself and resume their journey, an unexpected optimism filled Tion's mind. Perhaps some good would come from today's efforts. The hidden caverns were not far ahead, maybe, just maybe he would send the boy in, only to never have him emerge. Should such a thing come to pass, then Tion would take it as a sign that his next child would indeed be the heir House Kyze had long since deserved.
The pleasant thought, brought a smile to old Lord's weathered face.
