There are times, Anakin thinks, when he prefers to work alone. This time especially.

Obi-Wan and Luminara Unduli hold command over their combined attack fleet orbiting Fondor, and their plan for assaulting Thyferra is nothing short of half-measured. It's tempered, wise, Obi-Wan called it. It will save lives among our number and on the planet, Luminara agreed. Even Ahsoka agreed with the Masters, arguing with Anakin after they left the briefing aboard Luminara's flagship, the star destroyer Light of Contrition. I'm as eager as anyone to get into it, Master, but this time we should just listen. Master Kenobi and Master Unduli know what they're doing.

Sometimes Ahsoka's maturation grates on him. Right now he would've preferred the reckless, rash Snips of the war's early days. Anakin is eager to fight, eager to sink his lightsaber into a worthy foe—eager to get back to doing what he does best. Eager, he admits, to do just what Chancellor Palpatine told him on that last day back on Coruscant—to be the man he has always been meant to be.

He is not so eager to be patient.

"I'm sure it'll work out, General," Captain Rex urges as they board a turbolift aboard one of the other command ships of the flotilla, the Venator-class destroyer Adamant Edict. Admiral Wilhuff Tarkin's flagship, one of two naval flag officers—along with the old reliable, Admiral Yularen—coordinating the fleet. At least Anakin trusts their judgments. Yularen has always listening to his advice, even as they have routinely butted heads, and Tarkin…well, he had a way with words back on Lola Sayu. Tarkin has risen as fast as anyone in the Republic Navy and has the ear of the Chancellor. When Ahsoka rolled her eyes at his name, Anakin had felt a flash of irritation at his Padawan. Just a flash, but there nonetheless.

"We're not going to have a chance to change things up mid-battle if it doesn't," Anakin sighs as the lift rises. Electromagnetic hum; blinking lights of floors as they ascend—thirty thirty-one thirty-two. Even the lift feels slow, as if intentionally trying to aggravate him. "Something tells me Grievous isn't going to fall for Master Luminara's bait with the frigates."

Rex adjusts his grip on his helmet and shrugs. "Gonna hash out another plan with Admiral Tarkin?"

"Tarkin's not in overall command, Luminara and Obi-Wan are. Their plan is the plan. As it is, I don't know why he wanted to see me. Coulda just called our ship if he has last-minute ideas before we make the jump to hyperspace."

The turbolift slides to a seamless halt halfway up the Adamant Edict's command tower. "Best of luck with him regardless, sir," says Rex, stepping off. "You know where to find me if you need me before we set out."

Anakin crosses his arms and scowls at the metal walls as the turbolift climbs once more. Easy for Rex to say these things. All he has to do is attend a roundtable with the other clone officers before their departure. They have their orders. They know what they need to do. Clones don't question, don't debate and deliberate and hem and haw; they act. The Jedi could learn a thing or two from them.

From the moment he steps off of the turbolift, Anakin thinks that the bridge of the Adamant Edict simply feels different. For one thing, there are no clones here: Every computer station and command port situated along the bridge is manned by a volunteer Republic naval officer. Even the two sentries standing at the door with rifles ready are dressed in the naval blue and grey security uniforms of the pre-war Republic Sector Forces. Then there is the cold, the quiet—the detachment in the air. The sense that everything is under control, that no one on this bridge is in the least bit fazed about the massive battle looming over Thyferra. Silence except for a murmur here and there and the tapping of buttons on dozens of workstations. Clinical. Professional. It is simultaneously unnerving and admirable.

At the far end of the bridge with his back to Anakin stands Tarkin. A towering tree of a man, thin yet self-assured beyond any and all doubts. He does not turn as Anakin approaches. "Skywalker," says Tarkin, his voice clear and fully audible despite the moderation of his tone.

"Admiral Tarkin. You wanted to speak before we got underway?" says Anakin.

"You had reservations over Unduli and Kenobi's strategy during the briefing," Tarkin says. It is an assertion, not a question; he does not so much as offer Anakin the chance to deny it.

Anakin frowns. "I was only concerned that our battle plan is too conservative, Admiral."

"Indeed," says Tarkin. Still he does not look Anakin's way, as if something more interesting lies out in the field of stars beyond the viewscreen. "Recent territorial losses to the Separatists along the Outer Rim border have made it abundantly clear that the Jedi's naval strategy is failing. If Kenobi and Unduli's insistence on prioritizing individual lives over victory is your 'conservatism,' than we must pursue alternate means to defeat Grievous's armada."

"With all due respect, Admiral, Obi-Wan and Luminara have overall command. What are you suggesting?"

"They do have command, and it is our duty to obey orders. It is not our duty to abdicate all tactical thinking," says Tarkin, at last turning to face Anakin. "I have no intention of allowing an ill-suited battle plan to jeopardize the Republic's fortunes in the coming clash."

Anakin shakes his head. Tarkin speaks without reservation, without any hushing of his voice, even though every officer on this bridge can hear them. "While I agree that we have to be bold, Admiral, you're sounding a little treasonous."

"Nonsense. It is our duty to the Republic, where our loyalties lie. The fleet's and the Jedi Order's. It is in the Chancellor's name that we are fighting, not in Unduli's and Kenobi's," counters Tarkin. "But while I do not look kindly upon their strategy, I do trust in your skills, Skywalker. As such, I want you personally commanding my flotilla's fighter wing in the battle."

"What? I already have my own men to worry about—"

"Our current battle plan will make penetrating the orbital defenses difficult. Unduli and Kenobi intend to deploy a diversionary screen of frigates to serve as bait in order to lure the Separatists away from low orbit, but General Grievous is not a fool. He will not take such obvious bait," says Tarkin. "However, I will force him to act."

"How, exactly?"

Tarkin returns to peering out the viewscreen. "Not all of Thyferra accepts the planet's submission to Separatist control. Several resistance cells on the world's surface are poised to strike at major defensive installations, but their effort will go to waste unless the timing is perfect. That is why I did not mention it during the briefing: Our fleet must act naturally, and Grievous's fleet must be fully focused on Unduli's diversion. Belief in the façade must be total and two-sided. Anything less and the element of surprise will be lost, and victory that much more elusive."

"So, the diversion—"

"—must proceed as scheduled. Grievous will sniff out our fleet in hiding behind Thyferra's moon. He will not sally out. And he must not. Even if Unduli and Kenobi want him to. In low orbit, his fleet is a perfect target for the resistance cells on the ground," explains Tarkin. "The frigates will serve not as a diversion but as a fixing force. And once our first strike is completed, we will need to follow up immediately. That is up to you and the starfighters." He clenches his jaw and looks Anakin in the eye. "You and I will lead us to victory, Skywalker. Follow my plan. Attack when the moment strikes, and we will wipe away all traces of Separatist control from the planet. I have already spoken to the Chancellor regarding our attack, and he has granted me permission to act freely in the coming battle. We must be bold. We cannot hesitate."

Anakin pauses. It's not violating orders, technically, but withholding valuable information before a battle is its own sort of military crime. Yet if Tarkin has the Chancellor's permission…well, the Chancellor is ultimately in command, isn't he? And Anakin does not doubt Tarkin's expertise. Even if it means earning a lecture from Obi-Wan after the battle, Tarkin is right: They must be bold. Caution and patience has seen the Republic pushed to the brink in the war. The time for caution is over.

Besides, he's violated Obi-Wan's orders enough that his Master should understand by now. It's not really any different this time. "All right, Admiral," says Anakin, "I'll try it your way. But you'd better be right about this: If it all goes south, it's your head."

Tarkin turns away. "I am aware of the stakes. Well aware."

Feel it in the air, its chill, its arid corrosion. The tomb-hushed silence that settles like morning mist in these long-dead canyons. The musty smell of ages passed. Of legacies lost. Red stone and red sun and red clouds wandering like lost dogs across a sad sky. This is Korriban, the home of the Sith. Thousands of years since lords and usurpers vied for dominance amid these blasted rocks, now are there only echoes, memories, ghosts.

Sae stops at the bottom of the Evening's ramp and lifts her head. Four colossal statues of old lords stare down at her, their stony eyes frozen in a gaze that lasts millennia. Stone cloaks about their shoulders, stone hoods cowling their heads, stone swords at their sides. Today only Jedi walk in the Valley of the Dark Lords, the storied enemy of the great kings buried here freely trampling upon this once-hallowed ground, turning their backs to the vaulted mausoleums that line the canyon's sides. Sae should hate this place. She can feel the Dark Side swirling all about, its grave-grey hands encroaching from all around her. But there is an invitation in that feeling, as well: A sense that everything here transpires as if by some uncertain control, just out of Sae's reach now but not forever. As if she may grasp the true meaning of this world and lay its secrets bare if only she peers into what she should not.

"How are you smiling?" says Tamri, trudging down the ramp after her. "This place feels horrible."

Sae turns. "Didn't notice."

Tamri grumbles, clinging to the frayed edges of the cloak wrapped about her shoulder. "How can you not notice?"

"That I'm smiling?"

"Not that. Even the air feels horrible here," says Tamri, looking very small as she gazes up at the monolithic Sith statues. "Like we shouldn't be here."

"It's a Sith world. We definitely shouldn't be here. But we are," says Sae. "Come on. We have a job to do and a tomb to find. Keep your eyes and ears open in case there's anything bad lurking about."

"Bad like how?"

Sae shrugs. "I don't know. Guess we'll find out."

Shadows stretch razor-like across the canyon field, all angles and darkness in the mournful light of the setting sun. Loose stones and a layer of fine dust coat the ground. Sae's eyes wander as she walks down the valley, this way and that between tombs. The greatest dark lords of their age, men and women who aspired for power, control, rulership. Is this what they foresaw? Their legacies reduced to dust and silence after thousands of years, fit only to look upon a stillness disturbed by two Jedi trespassers? She almost pities them. How quickly greatness is forgotten. There are but these moments in time, the passing minutes of the present, and no more, for the past is clothed in fog and the future is a mad-spirited river whose path no one can predict. Only here is there any real control. Only now can anyone say they are truly alive.

Tamri stops when they're almost across the canyon. "There's something," she says, biting her lip, "up ahead. Up that path leading through the rocks."

Sae narrows her eyes. An escarpment rises up one of the canyon walls along a humble ravine ahead, the result of thousands of years of solitude wearing down what must once have been the main road leading out of the Valley of the Dark Lords. No feet tread the ground here anymore, but she can feel what her Padawan does: Something is lurking ahead beyond all that old stone. The Dark Side is both tugging and pushing, tendrils of the Force slipping along past Sae's feet and pointing her in the right direction. Follow your instincts. Heed your feelings. Tap into all that strength. Even if you shouldn't.

"Then let's go," Sae says.

Tamri looks hesitant. "Are you sure?"

"Cordova said Kressh's tomb is stuck in the way back of some cave off of the Valley of the Dark Lords, didn't he? That's what you told me back on Kuat."

"Yes, but…Master, it doesn't feel right."

Sae lets her breath out slowly. Patience. She doesn't want to be patient. "We're on a mission, Tam. It's going to be all right, but we have to keep going."

Tamri looks over her shoulder back down the valley, towards its wide plain where the Evening lies grounded. "We could still go back and check things," she says, her voice rising in pitch. "We could still contact the Council. Maybe we're missing something."

It isn't logic or reason that's holding her back now, Sae thinks. It's fear. The Dark Side that Sae lets slide off of her like a wave is tugging at the girl, poking at her weaknesses, infecting her vulnerabilities like a toxin. For a moment hesitation slips into her own mind—maybe she should've left Tamri with Neelotas at the ship; maybe she should be doing this alone—but just as quickly she shrugs it off. She is stronger than the Dark Side's machinations. "Tam," she says, placing her hands on her apprentice's shoulders, "don't let it mess with your head. The Force is strong here. The Dark Side will toy with your feelings if you let it. Trust your instincts. Focus on the here and now. We have a job to do, and all we have to do is keep moving. Let the Living Force guide you."

"There's nothing alive here, Master."

"There's us. And you can still be brave, all the same. The Force is always with us."

Tamri wraps her arms around her, but Sae's words work their way through her defenses. "Okay," she says, nodding. "Okay."

"Just stick with me."

"Okay."

The path twists and turns, rises up the ravine and falls as the terrain levels out. As the canyon walls slope away and the sun crests over the rocks, Sae jerks her head at the sound of hissing. In the dusk of a hole in the rock wall roosts an abhorrent creature, a scaly, eyeless, bat-like reptile with feet ending in wicked claws. It stretches its telescoping neck out just into the sunlight and croaks like a wounded beast before taking flight and darting into the cavern behind it. "Cave," Sae murmurs, removing her hand from where it involuntarily rested on her lightsaber hilt.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Tamri murmurs, staring into the void.

Here does the Dark Side swirl in a miasma so noxious and thick that Sae can almost see it, taste it, breathe it in. It pours like a poison mist from the cave's entrance, billowing out like rain-heavy clouds cascading down a mountainside. Tamri is right: Nothing about that cave feels right. But they have to keep moving on. They must. "Let's go," Sae says.

"We're going in there?"

"Tam—"

"Okay, right. Just—right."

They cannot hesitate. They cannot give in to fear. Sae steps ahead boldly, pushing through her misgivings into the deep.

Mere meters into the cave the air changes. The chilly breeze sweeps away and replacing it comes an odd warmth, and otherworldly heat emanating from deep within the cavern. Sae she cannot shake the feeling that they are not alone: Something, and not just the ugly flying reptile from outside, is in here with them. Something steeped in the Dark Side. Something, she hopes, and not someone. Tamri stays within a step of her as she trails in her wake. Slowly, carefully, they pick their way through the winding tunnels, through several empty rock chambers that in the light of their lightsabers play host to every manner of malevolent shadows writhing phantasmagorically upon the walls.

Then there is a rumble, soft, low, but present from somewhere deep within the bowels of the cave system.

"That didn't sound great," says Tamri.

Sae frets. She holds out her lightsaber, yellow glow bathing the rock in a sunbeam shine. Her weapon cannot hold back the darkness. It can barely even shine through it. Yet still she must keep going. "We'll find out if we get that far."

"If?"

"Come on."

After what feels like nearly an hour of walking the tunnels spill out into a yawning void. A subterranean gullet whose bottom is so far down that it is shrouded by mist knifes through the cavern. Only a thin but steady-looking stone bridge spans the gap. A stupid way to go, Sae thinks, but her feelings get the better of her. On the other side is only more stone and darkness, but she feels something more, something sinister, something hidden away behind the veil through which her eyes alone cannot see. They have found nothing in this cave through careful searching, and continuing will reveal nothing more. If there is a tomb in here, if a Sith Lord of ancient, magnificent power is buried deep within the earth, it will not be in a place that is so easily found. Not by eyes, anyway. Not by mundane senses. Only the Force will reveal more, and the Force is telling her to push on—onward, onward. "Across the bridge. Something feels off over there," says Sae.

"Yeah, it's the crossing the bridge part that's off," protests Tamri. "That's a long way down."

"You can cross a bridge, Tam. It's not even that far across."

"Still…"

Sae shrugs. "Stick on this side, then, and keep an eye out for anything that comes up. I'll go across."

"Wait, what? We should stay together, Master."

"Then…"

Tamri huffs, but as Sae starts across the bridge the Padawan hurries after her. A pair of the flying creatures from earlier eye them from stalactite roosts, but nothing jumps out. Nothing attacks. The draw of the Dark Side grows stronger with every step, and Sae feels as if she can touch it. Something is there. Something hidden. Something waiting for her.

Then comes a low, gurgling growl that stops her halfway across the bridge. She turns, peers through the green light of Tamri's lightsaber, and spots a sight that sends her heartbeat into overdrove.

Lurching forth from the gloom comes a beast far more horrifying than some flying reptilian pest. It is a behemoth of muscle and tooth and power, a colossus in the vague form of a rancor and nearly as large as one but built far more powerfully, long limbs and sinewy curves ending in scalpel-sharp claws. Saliva drips from the hundred daggers that line its mouth, and tiny, slitted eyes appraise her without blinking as the beast advances on the bridge. Worst of all is the feeling: It does not feel of the Force, of nature, of life. Like everything on this blighted world, the beast teems with the Dark Side.

By reputation alone does Sae know this creature. She has read about it in the Jedi archives in passing, heard about it in tales of the ancient Jedi. A hunter of Force-sensitives. A killer of Jedi Knights. A terentatek.

Sae doesn't have time to shout out a warning before the terentatek howls and charges, rushing into not the shambling, thunderous movement of a rancor but the rapid gait of a champion sprinter. "Master!" shouts Tamri.

It is all Sae can do to turn and shove Tamri the rest of the way across the bridge with a Force push before the monster is upon her. She jumps, then jumps again in the air, missing a swipe of its claws by inches. Sae lands on the other side, the terentatek between her and Tamri, the beast entirely unafraid of her lightsaber as it whips around. Like a hurricane it charges and swipes, its claws flashing in the light of her blade, its arms crashing down like hammers.

Sae skips backwards and counters. Her first attack takes off one of the beast's thumbs. The terentatek does not slow down: Ignoring Tamri entirely, it bears down on Sae and slams its palms onto the bridge, shaking the stone and knocking Sae from her feet.

"No!" shouts Tamri.

Sae gets to her feet as her apprentice leaps into the fray. The terentatek only notices Tamri when the girl is upon the beast, charging with lightsaber lowered like a lance, impaling the brute in its thick hide. Snarling, the creature shrugs off the impact and grabs Tamri with one massive hand. Sae roars and hurls her lightsaber. The blade spins, twisting about its axis as it arcs through the air, sunflower light slicing through the gloom as it buries in the terentatek's thick hide. It is just enough for the creature to throw Tamri away and round on Sae again.

Tamri tumbles to the end of the bridge, tries to find her footing, fails, and stumbles off of the edge. "Tam!" Sae shouts.

Her Padawan catches the edge with one hand. Groaning, she pulls herself up chest-high as the terentatek glances between the two Jedi and rumbles, saliva dripping from its arm-length tusks, stepping away from Sae as if knowing which of its prey is most vulnerable.

And then Sae feels it: The rush. The anger. The very spirit of Korriban floods into her as she boils over in rage at this beast, this monster, that would loom over her apprentice as Tamri struggles to survive. How dare it. How dare it.

She is stronger. She will kill it.

Sae grabs Tamri's lightsaber with the Force. Wielding one blade in each hand, she launches herself at the terentatek and slides between its tree-trunk legs, cutting at the creature's groin. The beast snarls and punches down. She twists and pirouettes in the air. In one move she half-spins and grabs two chunks of rubble before psychokinetically launching them like missiles at the brute.

The rocks strike the beast squarely in the head, knocking one of its tusks loose. It thunders in response, staggering, and Sae does not waste time: Again she ignites her lightsabers and charges. As the terentatek regains its footing, Sae hurls Tamri's blade like a javelin and spears the beast in its eye. The terentatek shrieks. Howls. Cries out in agony, in rage, but Sae's anger is hotter. Stronger.

She flips over the creature, evading its retaliatory strike and handspringing off of its spike-laden skull, retrieving Tamri's saber on the way. As the terentatek whips about to attack, Sae jumps back, launches a final stone with the Force to occupy the beast, and then reaches up to the ceiling. She concentrates. Hones her focus. Feels—feeds—all of that red emotion flowing through her veins and buzzing in her nerves. There is no thought. There is no consideration. There is only the passion.

And through passion, she gains strength.

She clenches her fist, crushing the base of a speeder-sized stalactite above. The terentatek bears down. As Tamri cries out, Sae yanks down with the Force, snaps the stalactite free from the ceiling, and drops it like an asteroid on the terentatek's face.

The bridge shatters under the impact. Rock quakes and breaks; the terentatek bellows as the stone gives way beneath its feet. Already Sae is in motion; she bolts forwards, bounding off of the tumbling monster as the bridge falls into the crevice. The thunder; the roaring, dying creature; Tamri's screaming. Then her foot misses a step, she trips, and below her is not solid ground but the free-fall vacuum of hundreds of feet of empty air below.

Sae falls. She reaches out, grabs a chunk of rock sticking from the wall. The stone gives way under her weight and she tumbles. But again comes the sickly-sweet whisper of the Force: Focus. Focus. Not in your patience and your humility and your light but in the darkness that is all around, in your power, in your passion. In your victory.

She focuses. She does not have time to do anything else.

There. Sae reaches out, slows herself with the Force, and lands at the very edge of a small outcropping on her feet as the ruins of the bridge collapse all around her.

Above her, Tamri cries out: "Sae! Sae?"

"Tam!" Sae shouts. "Are you okay?"

"Am I okay? Are you okay?"

"I'm, uh…I guess I'm fine," shouts Sae, dusting her shoulders off. Her legs ache and her right hand screams from where she tried to grab the handhold on the way down. Now she is stuck on a thin slice of stable land looking out over the veiled chasm below. "Is everything fine up there?"

"It's fine, it's—I'll come down to you."

"No, stay up there. I'll find a way up," Sae shouts. She has no idea how, but the thought of Tamri trying to descend the rock wall to get to her sounds like a disaster in the making. "Just stay put Tamri." When her apprentice fails to respond, a lightning bolt of anxiety spears Sae's chest. "Tamri? Tam!"

Still no response. Sae groans and ignites the lightsabers—hers and Tamri's. Her apprentice is alone up there with only the Force knows what, and unarmed at that. She has to find a way up. And she has to hurry.

The feeling slams Count Dooku when he least expects it.

He snaps his head around. In the sullen wind of Korriban there is a new sensation. Above the roiling tide of the Dark Side comes a thunderclap from the deep, a tremor through the Force. The old Sith homeworld is not so lonely as he has thought. It is not just the latent darkness of this aged world; someone is tapping into the Dark Side here, someone versed in the Force. Some skilled.

It is not his fledgling apprentice Malicos; of that he is sure. Nor does he sense the telltale sinister tide of his master. His master? No. Of Darth Sidious. Bit by bit, Dooku is becoming his own master. Soon there will be no question about it. Soon—but only at the right time. But if Sidious has not come for him, not sensed his growing, lurking rebellion, then who?

His mind is electric with possibilities. Ventress? She could certainly be alive, and no doubt she seeks to destroy him. But Ventress is the stuff of history; she is a failure, beneath his notice. No, it is not Ventress. Savage Opress? Much stronger, certainly. Dooku entertains the possibility: Does Opress look for revenge, repentance? Does he even know the way to Korriban through all the tangles of hyperspace that surround this shrouded world?

An unlikely notion. Whatever Opress is doing—if he is even alive—Dooku imagines it involves an agenda beyond his knowledge and likely beneath his care. Brutality was the way of the Zabrak warrior, not cunning, not careful planning. Then what is it?

He focuses, locks in his mind and sinks awash into the Dark Side. Lets all of Korriban flow over him like a cleansing wash. Show me the way. Show me who has come.

And then he has an image. A feeling in the midst of it all, just a flash, just a passing moment, but it is enough. He sensed it before. He knew they would meet again. He knew that potential would not go to waste.

And Dooku smiles.