When Ben's wounds healed over, he went out early to catch the sunset. But standing on the roof of the academy, a brisk, crisp air shivering up his neck, and a final push of wind from the remnants of night, his hopes quickly faded.

Just over the tops of the stone walls that trapped the academy, the crimson sky slowly gave way to the clear blue. The sun itself began inching its up, poking out over the mausoleums in the Valley. Glimmers of harsh light poked through the cracks of rock. Waves of heat came moments later, and Ben's body shuddered while he tried to adapt to the change. He didn't. Closing his eyes, he sighed aloud.

"Another day in hell," Ben murmured, making his way down the steps and hoping to get a few more hours sleep.


As weeks slowly churned into months, Lexi's odd fascination with Ben's weapon grew. She found herself staring into the brilliant yellow blade more and more. And the more she did it, the more memories came flooding back. And eventually, she couldn't take it any more. Every day, in the hull of her ship, closed off from everything, life, people, agitated port mechanics, she began practicing basic jabs and blocks with the lightsaber. The flourishes soon gave way to the combos, even leaps and flips. And with each day, her hold on the blade became focused. Her concentration tightened. Now, it was time to test it.

Sticking out among the hold were metal poles, spread out and just under her height. Lexi stood at the edge of it all, one foot in the med room's doorway, lightsaber gripped in one hand.

She took in a breath and released the hot air through her nostrils. Then thumbed the blade to life with its distinctive snap-hiss, and went in.

Her mind slipped into the trance-like state almost instantly, sending the yellow blade out wide and decapitating the first row of poles. Then leapt over them. Her blood rushed with the adrenaline, but remained in check. Her strikes sometimes went out a little too far, but she always brought it back with the next. A strange quiet loomed in her ears as she hung upside-down over the poles, slashing the tip of the blade neatly into the top. Sound returned to her as she landed. Turning, Lexi lashed out before seeing her target and chopped through the largest cluster in a single arc. Their ends burned a bright orange after sparks erupted from the cut-off point for just a second.

She took a quick glance. All the pipes had a cut or burn of some kind; all except for one, stuck alone in the corner. But Lexi knew that to get over to it, she would have to break her momentum, and that she would not do.

So snapping her eyes shut, she whipped around and reached out with her limited senses. The woman caught a hint of the tool she had placed on a large shelf, an inanimate object that felt nothing, just as she did from its presence.

But she fought against it, like the running water pushing against the grounded rock in the middle of the river. The object budged once, then careened off the shelf and down the thin hallway with a sharp hiss as it cut through air, its shadow expanding on the wall until it was out of sight. A second later, it hit metal.

Lexi grinned. Under her feet, a low rumble began, followed by a high-pitched whine, muffled behind layers of metal. Her eyes shot open and Lexi broke into a dead run to the cockpit, closing down the lightsaber as she did. She threw herself into the chair, ignoring the tool pressed crookedly against the swell of her back.

The console was an array of flashing buttons and screens grudgingly coming to life. A deep dent was in the center of it. The rumbling grew stronger.

She inhaled the cool air. Moments later, when the lights and screens faded back into the darkness of offline, Lexi released that breath. Beside her, the console bleeped, with the face of the young, irritated human appearing on the screen for the third time in a week's time.

A lump formed in the back of her throat as Lexi began to make up her story. ************************************************************************

The pathetic workers complained about the heat. The thin air. The long hours. Viper baulked at them. He drew every breath with sweet satisfaction, fanning the swelling inferno in his gut. Drawing strength from the core of the Dark Side itself was an experience he relished in every trip to Korriban.

It should be his.

But that was denied to him long ago, at a time where he was weak, defeated, and undeserving of such a prize. The memory continued to linger in his mind since he landed.

Viper made his way from the landing sight to the meeting area, surrounded by the same colored rock as his landing pad was made of. The man was already there, of course. His arms were crossed, and he himself was standing in the middle of the path, his expression unreadable to Viper. It always was. A glimmer of bright light from above caught the lightsaber hanging from his belt.

"You're late," Uthar said as he approached.

"You're early." Viper shot back, not breaking his stride. Uthar turned almost casually, lengthening his steps to catch up to his companion.

"The bitterness is getting tiresome, Viperas,"

Viper's neck twitched. "It's Viper."

"You're still clinging to that name." Yes, in a way, he was clinging to that name. His old one—his true name—held nothing he wished to keep. Only bad memories. Only past pains.

They were on the final stretch of path. The side of the Sith Academy was in their view, if only a speck in the distance that almost blended in with the surrounding rock. The sun was bearing fully down on them now. Viper felt the drops of sweat splash against the material of his suite. The incomplete X on his face seared horribly as they approached, just as it had when he received it. This had not happened to him for a long time now. Was something unseen causing this? Aimlessly he stared at the building ahead, his eyes not blinking as it all came flooding back. . .

There was a scream. In the empty space of the academy were three men, lightsabers active in the hands of two, one on the belt of the third. All were elongated. All were bald or balding. One was on the ground, defeated on his back. It was two decades ago.

It hurt with each stale breath Viperas took. He could feel the two broken ribs in his chest and wished the lingering pain in his left thigh would just disappear. The lightsaber in his hand was going to fall out of his grasp. He knew it would. Then, he would truly be finished. Craning his neck up and ignoring the sharp pop, Viperas saw Uthar standing strong, how own double-bladed weapon in hand and ready to spring to action. A single group of markings was imprinted on his forehead, just above his nose. Their master, Jorak Uln, who observed the battle from the corner, told Viperas he would get the same kind of mark when he proved himself worthy. He knew he would never get any. Uthar's blue, calculated eyes studied him carefully.

Viperas shoved the pain down, focusing the hot anger into the palm of his free hand. The Sith apprentice would not go down like this without as much as a scratch on his opponent. He unleashed the power in a single burst from his hand.

But Uthar saw it and reacted appropriately, as he always did. He stepped back and threw his arm up, burying his face behind it and in Viperas's minds eye, he watched the burst bounce up to the stone ceiling, hitting with a soft thud and causing some of the dirt to fall from the cracks.

"No, no, no!" Jorak barked, coming toward the two. His tone was like that of a cackle of a mad man, something he had been called more then once in his life. The grey uniform he wore was not extravagant. It looked like all the others, with a black leather strap starting from under one of the shoulder pads and resting on the side of his belt parallel with where his lightsaber hung. His skin was a ghostly white. The once black hair atop his head gave way to grey long ago, reseeding to the sides and back and leaving the top of his scalp shiny. The pupils of his eyes was almost as white as his skin; only a rim of violet around the pupil itself remaining. He looked like a man who never slept. "You cannot grasp the lesson!"

"You're weak. Afraid. I have no use for such things!"

Viperas tried to speak, but his lungs could not gather the oxygen needed. Suddenly, the little air he had was ripped away as below him—inside of him—he felt something crack. His spine.

The soft tissue of muscle screamed while the bone twisted, wrenched and jerked, and Viperas helpless to stop it. He lied still in cold, quiet agony.

"With or without your consent the lesson will be taught." Jorak was on top of him in a heartbeat, knee's pressed against Viperas's useless arms, the handle of his saber pointed down at him, a twisted grin on his lips. His eyes grew wide when he spoke. "And that lesson begins," The twin blades of his lightsaber appeared before he finished: "with pain."

The blade was stabbing down before he could protest. The high-energy tip burned into his flesh, above the right temple. For a moment, his mind went dead. He thought of nothing as the half-insane man dragged the tip down at an angle, blind with red as it passed over his eye and singed the lashes. A cold sweat began to form. His nerves crawled under his skin as his stomach knotted. The odor of spoiled meat was strong.

And with final flick, the Sith Master finished the mark. Then swung the other blade around and began all over again, this time starting at the left temple. And again, he could do nothing. Lazily his eyes drifted, finding Uthar, his fellow apprentice, the closest thing he had to a friend, just standing off to the side, watching.

No more.

Jorak was at the bridge of the nose when it happened. Viperas surrendered himself to the pain, digging deep and pulling power from anything and everything he could. A gestureless blast erupted from him, and Jorak hit the ceiling with a sickening crack, slumping to the floor, still as the stone he lied on.

Viperas breathed slowly. The Master's hold on his spine had disappeared. He was free to both feel the terrible sting and see the trails of thick smoke rising from his face.

Next to him, Jorak stirred. Viperas watched in horror as the Sith Master stood, hearing ever krick and pop from his body echo down the halls. When he reached his feet, he looked down at the young man, half his face twisted in a scowl while the other a grin that looked like a blood-relative.

"Good." He said. Jorak turned on his heels and strode off down the closest hall.

Viperas could only watched him go, Uthar running to join their demented master. When they passed out of sight, his eyes rolled back, and blackness consumed him.

They were the only Sith, or so Jorak had thought. Years later when Darth Revan and Darth Malak came back from the unknown regions, an armada of warships and star fighters behind them, more and more groups of Sith came out of the woodwork, but by then Viper and Uthar were no longer apprentices. Despite this, they were drafted in, Uthar taking the academy from Jorak and Viper being shipped out from one station to another, every one not even close to the fighting. Even after Malak betrayed his master, nothing different happened to Viper. Eventually, he ended up on Taren with the Bounty Hunters.

But of course, that was about to change.

Word of his battle with a Jedi Master and her resulting death had reached the ears, or the mechanical jaw around them, of Malak himself, and Viper was taken off the dirt-pile that was Taren and assigned to another project. Though detail were few.

Viper only now blinked and saw they'd reached the academy. In front of them the large, ancient door swung open with a worn rumble and the two strode in, leaving both the blazing sun and hated memories in their wake.