It had not taken him long after he woke up to find Brehan Silc and the documents he was looking for, both safely inside the Jedi's ship. He had dropped the trader off after compensating him with a few artifacts of value he had found inside the building, but he had kept the best pieces for himself. He was unable to resist the temptation of the knowledge and power the order had hoarded inside this Temple, after all. He had delivered the borrowed ship back to his rebel allies and was now at the cockpit of his new ship, a frigate much like his old one, freshly stolen from his dead enemy.

He had begun translating the documents, but had stopped when he reached the part concerning entrance to the Temple. Two Sith were needed to open the gates, a master and an apprentice. His master was dead, and that meant he had had to assume that role himself. But for him to claim that title, there was one final trial he had had to pass.

He looked at the Jedi's stolen lightsabers. They were exactly what he needed. He picked up his tools and started working, using the parts that had survived the fight, along with some of his own, to create something more suited to him. He held the kyber crystals in his hand and touched them with his mind. Their bond with the dead Jedi was broken, but it still felt like holding in his palm the last remnants of his enemy's soul. He felt resolve, compassion, controlled pain and sorrow, and a lot of strength. It almost made him feel sad for killing the man. But he certainly was happy to use that death for his own benefit. He finally placed the, still blue, crystals in the newly constructed weapon and started pondering his next step.

He knew of the ritual he needed to perform, and he knew that he needed a place strong in the Dark Side of the Force. His master had spoken of one he believed would suit his needs: his home planet, Dathomir. A dangerous place, one he had warned him not to visit alone, but that was back when he was just an apprentice. He had to brave the challenges that awaited him on the planet, and he would.

He entered the coordinates on the ship's navicomputer, set it on autopilot, and returned to his translation of the documents. He had taken an extended leave from his duties in the rebel cell, and he hoped that, when he returned, it would not be to fight alongside them but to assume their leadership. And for that, he needed his weapon as soon as possible.

Hours later, he landed. He lowered the ship's ramp, his warblade already drawn, prepared to identify the hidden dangers that awaited him and destroy them. But when he exited his ship, everything was quiet. He observed the planet's rough terrain, its reddish soil and black plants, and the wild looking beasts who somehow seemed to pay no mind to him for the moment, and he scoured the area with his mind. He did not sense any danger, so he dove deeper into the array of dark sensations that his mind had registered, trying to find what he was looking for.

His eyes were closed, so he smelled it first. A weird smell, like something was rotting. He opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by a green mist. Before he could register what was happening, his legs moved as if by their own will, and he surrendered himself to the strange sensation and let it guide him to where he needed to go.

He saw the ruins of the Nightsisters' civilization as he walked, and he observed everything. His master had told him many things about them, and Xeran had coveted the powers hidden on this place for a very long time. Perhaps he could spend some time in here before he resumed the search for his weapon. After all, there was a good chance he would find something equally useful inside the ruins of the witches' hives and Temples.

Very soon, he found their caves. The dark sensations were thicker here, stronger, as if the very land was infused with the Nightsisters' magick. Or was it the other way around? Brushing of thoughts about the strange power for now, he returned to the present and found himself kneeling before an altar, where he had been brought, for what reason, he did not know. He felt like he had just woken from a trance, and he did not trust whatever it was that had guided him into that cave. But that place would do for his ritual, he could feel it in the Force. So he decided to play along for now.

He placed the weapon on the altar and closed his eyes. He felt the kyber crystals resonate in the Force, and he poured inside them all his loss, his pain, and his anger. They resisted, and Xeran pushed harder. He felt the Light in the crystals lash out at him, and he raised his mental shields to block the assault.

He looked at the unfinished weapon again, and he touched the crystals with his mind once more. He pondered all the times when things he loved were taken from him, losing his home and his family not once but twice, and envisioned his vengeance upon those who had destroyed his world. Then he thought about his own ambitions, his desire to stand tall, build something great for his future and make his mark on the galaxy's history, but also to build a life for himself, one in which he was finally happy. He would have everything he desired, because he was powerful enough to claim anything as his own and no one would be able to deny him. His thirst for power surged, as he thought that this time, whatever it was that he built, he would need to be powerful enough to protect it from everyone. And as his passions ran deeper and deeper, touching both his past trauma and the twisted spark of hope that still existed in his soul, he poured all his feelings inside the crystals and finally felt them caving. He felt their agony, he almost heard them scream as they bled, and pretty soon he felt the newly forged connection as the crystals finally bent to his will.

And suddenly, a surge of pain, coming through the connection, washed over him, and he screamed, and he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, everything was dark. He searched the place with his senses, but he could find nothing. He saw a small light and he walked towards it, but it was not enough to allow him to see anything but his own body. He was small in stature, his arms and legs short. As he was trying to making sense of what was happening, he heard the voice of an old woman behind him.

"Are you lost, child? Do you want me to take you to your father?"

He turned around, but he saw nothing. He could still feel the strange presence in the Force, though, and so he spoke.

"My father is dead."

"Oh? Are you sure?" He heard her chuckle as she was moving away. He followed the sound, but he stumbled, and he fell down towards the darkness.

He hit the ground, groaning in pain. He stood up. It was still dark, but there was enough light to see that his body was now normal. He felt a familiar weight in his back. It was his warblade. He drew it, and he immediately felt safer.

There was a flash of red light. He turned around, and he barely managed to block the lightsaber that would have killed him. It illuminated the empty space enough for him to see the angry, tattooed red face of its wielder, his yellow teeth naked.

"Apprentice. You have abandoned me."

Maul attacked him and he barely managed to block the hits, stepping back.

He felt his hearts race. "It was not my fault. I had no choice, master."

"You always have a choice. You did back then, just as you do now." Without further explanation, he attacked once more, and Xeran struggled to block his strikes. He was pushed away, sent flying in the dark. He leapt towards his master and he attacked, and he managed to stab him through the chest. But it was not his warblade that was buried in his master, but a red lightsaber, gripped by two mechanical hands clad in black leather. His own hands. Maul gasped, and he fell in the dark, disappearing from his eyes.

Xeran struggled to breathe. He looked around in horror, unsettled by the sight of his master's death. But then he heard footsteps around him and, as he turned, he saw Maul glaring at him.

"Master! You survived!"

Maul's face tightened. "Of course I survived!" With a roar, he charged, only to disappear in a puff of red smoke and dust right before bisecting the shaking body of the young Zabrak.

He screamed again as he opened his eyes. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He thought deeply about his vision. Everything was about to change, he knew that much. But he needed to act now.

He looked at the altar and saw his doublesaber, already assembled, waiting for him. He activated it, and he observed the red blades, and he marveled at his new weapon, the weapon of a Sith. He would get the chance to test it soon enough.

Xeran smiled. His training was now complete. He no longer claimed to be, but truly was, a Sith lord, from this moment and forevermore. And his power, the power he had proven he possessed, was a testament to that statement.

The Force whispered to him, put him out of his thoughts, and reminded him of the urgency of the situation. He turned around and ran back to his ship. He knew what he needed to do, just like, instinctively, he knew where he needed to go.