A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR, FAR AWAY…

STAR WARS

The Old Republic: Episode Two

LESSONS OF DARK AND LIGHT

The SITH EMPIRE tightens its grip on the

galaxy. The GALACTIC REPUBLIC and its

JEDI defenders lie weakened and vulnerable

after the Empire's successful military campaign.

With a fragile peace negotiated, the Empire

sends all potential Sith to undergo cruel

and deadly trials at its Academy on the

harsh planet of KORRIBAN.

One of the Empire's most promising young

warriors has been summoned by an

influential overseer to face the dark

trials much sooner than expected…

Chapter One: A Reward for Weakness

At its height, Korriban, the ancestral home of the pure blooded Sith, had been a focal point for the Dark Side. It had been home to the Academy, and more than that – to the tombs of the first Dark Lords.

Then came the war. The Sith were driven from Korriban, the Pure Bloods scattered. Any structure that had survived the conflict had not survived the centuries of neglect that followed. When the Empire finally took back the planet, they had found the Great Tombs reduced to ruins, the Sith Academy pulverized into little more than ash.

The Dark Council had made the Academy's rebuilding a priority. Though "rebuilding" was a misnomer. The site had been cleared by slaves, with a new structure built from scratch. The merest glance made that clear to all – Even with the erosion of wind and sand, it was obvious that the Academy was far newer than anything else on this hostile orb.

Overseer Tremel reflected on this as the transport carrying the new acolytes descended. The landing ramp was lowered, and the candidates emerged. Many were slaves, from the mines of various Imperial worlds, or untrained civilians, conscripted the instant their Force potential manifested. Almost all of them would perish quickly. Which was as it should be. The Trials existed to weed out the weak, leaving only those powerful and cunning enough to be worthy of being called "Sith."

In the midst of these cattle strode a handful of genuine acolytes, young men and women who had trained for years before coming to the Academy. They swaggered toward the large structure with confidence, quickly finding their assigned leaders even as the conscripts wandered about in a daze.

The last to emerge was Tremel's charge. A pure blood Sith, with Force potential such as had not been seen in more than a century. When Tremel's contacts alerted him, he had ordered the young man's transfer immediately. It was unorthodox – in the normal course of events, this subject would have studied Sith philosophies and theories for at least another year. But Tremel was not going to risk losing an opportunity such as this.

As the young Sith stepped into view, Tremel was taken aback. There was a visible gash around the acolyte's nose.

"Arkarix Krell?" Tremel asked.

"I am Krell." His voice held an undercurrent of entitlement. A common failing, among Pure Bloods, who were treated as special simply for the wonder of their existence.

"May I ask what happened?" Tremel pointed to his own nose as an indication.

The student bristled. "A slave." He spat the words as a curse. "She dared to assault me. Were it not for Academy rules, I would demand the creature's death on the spot."

The Academy forbade acolytes from killing each other on the grounds. For the sake of pragmatism, any transport carrying acolytes was automatically considered Academy grounds.

Krell indicated the gash on his nose. "I would have this seen to," he announced.

Tremel shook his head. "I'm afraid that is impossible. Any wound sustained in the course of training may only receive that amount of treatment needed to sustain life. Your injuries are lessons. You are expected to learn from them."

"I am Sith!"

"In the new Empire, bloodline alone does not determine that." Tremel spoke firmly. "If you survive the Trials, then you will be Sith. Not before."

Krell accepted the overseer's judgment.

"I will survive," he announced, "and I will flourish. It is my birthright. And before I leave this planet, I will have that slave's head!"

"Not on Academy grounds," Tremel said. Then he gave Krell a slight smile. "As for what might happen in the tombs…" He shrugged.

He would not help Arkarix Krell gain his revenge. But if the acolyte was able to claim it for himself, then that would only make him stronger.

The two waited as the other groups dispersed. Once they were alone, Tremel pressed a button on his wristband, did a quick scan. No listening devices. He nodded to Krell, and they began the walk to the Academy entrance.

"You already know that you are here ahead of schedule," he said. "That was my doing. The Academy has become infested with the unworthy. Most perish during the Trials, and we do what we can to encourage that. But like pernicious insects, some manage to evade all efforts at extermination and walk away calling themselves 'Sith.' "

"Disgusting," Krell declared.

"Quite. It's only a matter of time before we have an alien or a former slave as a member of the Dark Council. Something must be done."

"What is my role?"

"For the time being, it is enough that you are here. I will push you through your Trials as rapidly as possible. I will not aid you in them, understand, but I will do what I can to make sure your time as an acolyte is brief."

"That cannot be all," Krell scoffed.

"Of course not," Tremel said. "You will know more when the time is right."

He cast a critical eye at the practice blade holstered on Krell's back.

"That is a blade of lesser acolytes, unfit for a Pure Blood. There is an old armory in the Tomb of Ajunta Pall. A proper Sith warblade awaits you there."

"Will you direct me to the Tomb?"

"Consider that a part of your test," Tremel replied. "Remember: From this point forward, everything is a Trial. Signs of weakness will not be rewarded."

"Understood," Krell said.

Tremel wordlessly prompted his student for a final term of address. Krell added the designation, the word sounding as if it tasted like ash in his mouth:

"Master."

"I am Overseer Harkun. You may address me as 'Overseer.' Or 'my Lord.' Or 'Master.' You are gutter trash, plucked from slums or slave pits because someone sensed an ounce of Force potential in you. My unenviable task is to discover if any of you are worthy to become Sith. Looking at you lot, I doubt it."

Reyenna stood with her group of acolytes. 12 students in total. Her group was entirely made up of former slaves and civilians. Presumably Harkun had been specially selected to oversee this group – not to train them, but to complete the process of demoralizing those who had been prejudged as unworthy.

Reyenna knew his type well. His counterparts had passed through The Pit often during her months there. They took extra pleasure in applying the lash, but were always the first to panic at the slightest tremor from the walls of the mines.

"Don't go all sentimental on us," she quipped. "We've only just met."

The full force of Harkun's glare descended on her. He was clearly annoyed by her breezy tone. She made a note to replicate it in all future interactions with him.

"Reyenna Desme," he ground out. He glanced at his PADD, bringing up her details. "A slave, who killed two guards when her powers were uncovered." He moved toward her, keeping his eyes fixed to hers.

"I hope you aren't planning to kiss me," she said.

A few chuckles came from the other acolytes. Harkun's face went red.

"Pair off!" he shouted. "Practice blades out! Let's see what you scum can do."

Reyenna found herself facing a slim, heavily-pierced and tattooed Rattataki. Her opponent held his practice blade with the assurance of someone who had been fighting his entire life. Reyenna's blade felt awkward and unfamiliar in her hand.

He grinned, lunged. She backpedaled, barely avoiding the blade. But he had put too much force into his lunge. It took him two steps to halt his momentum, allowing her an opening to spin and swat his behind with her sword.

An electric crackle, and the Rattataki yelped in surprise. Elsewhere, other acolytes were crying out as they were stung by electricity.

Harkun chortled. "Even a practice blade will inflict pain," he said. "Enduring pain gives strength. Surrendering to it shows weakness. Continue fighting, until either you or your opponent falls. Six of you will be on the ground at the end. Make sure you are not one of them."

He looked straight at Reyenna as he said this. She read his eyes plainly enough. If she fell, he would not allow her the chance to get up again.

The Rattataki threw himself at her, caught her by surprise. She was knocked against the wall. He lifted his sword, aimed a hard swing at her.

For the second time, his uncontrolled power proved his undoing. She ducked the swing, and he was unable to recover. She pounded at his back with the practice blade. The electric shocks sent him reeling to the ground.

He tried to recover, tried to pull himself up. She could not allow that. He was stronger than her, and more skilled. Her only chance was to keep him on the ground, to give him no chance to recover.

She chopped at him as if he was a block of wood, bringing the practice sword down again and again. After a few more shocks, he let go of his blade. He curled into a protective ball, moaning.

"Finish him," Harkun gritted.

Reyenna stepped back from her opponent. "No," she said.

Harkun again closed on her, eyes blazing. "These are the Sith Trials! There is no reward for weakness or mercy."

"Nor for stupidity," she replied. "Acolytes are forbidden to kill each other on Academy grounds. Punishable by death, no exceptions. That was spelled out quite clearly on the transport." She glanced down at the moaning Rattataki. "If you want him dead, kill him yourself."

Harkun grunted. "You think you're a clever one, don't you, slave?"

He spat directly into her face.

If he hoped for a reaction, she didn't give him one. She did not even reach up to wipe the moisture from her face.

"I am clever," she agreed. She smiled warmly at him. "Thank you ever so much for noticing."

Harkun swore. He strode past her to the Rattataki. The acolyte was starting to pull himself up.

Harkun pulled out a blaster and shot him three times in the head.

The other acolytes stopped in their dueling, staring wide-eyed at both Harkun and the corpse.

"Consider this your first lesson," he announced. "The Sith reward for weakness. Now return to your fighting!" He wheeled back to Reyenna. "Clean up that mess. Then find me in my office, and I will assign your first Trial."

He turned his back on her, watching the other students. Waiting to see who would be the next to fall.

Reyenna shrugged, then pulled the Rattataki's body up by both armpits and dragged him out of the room. She was certain it wouldn't take long for someone to tell her where to deliver this grisly package.

It was obvious enough that one thing Korriban would never lack was corpses.