The six-kilometer stretch that separated Plaz-myu and the Zabrak's ship took ten seconds to cross aboard the speeder bike. When they descended a huge sand dune, way beyond Section-97, Plaz-myu could see the woman's Fury-class Imperial Interceptor NF-800 Custom, majestically reposing over the wasteland.
The Fury-class was one of the most remarkable, reliable, and versatile vessels of the Imperial Fleet. Featuring an advanced, quick-charging hyperdrive and state-of-the-art sublight engine, it was used almost exclusively by the Sith, each one outfitting and customizing their ships according to their particular needs.
One hundred meters long, ninety meters wide and forty meters tall, equipped with two turbolaser cannons on its extremities, and one ion supercannon mounted on its belly. Its two wings were covered in solar panels, protruding from a central, spherical cockpit. The Fury's angular design, and precisely designed sets of strike foils made the Fury a fearsome vessel, combining the maneuverability of a standard fighter with an impressive collection of armaments.
The shaft opened and a metal ramp slid down. As they climbed it, Plaz looked up in awe. He felt insignificant underneath the huge vessel. A gold-plated protocol droid met them by the door, which closed with a hiss behind them.
"Welcome, my Lord," the droid said.
"Why does it call you 'lord', Miss Komm'ett?" Plaz frowned.
"It calls you lord because now you are Sith," she said proudly. "But you must address me as 'Master'. Understood?"
"Y-yes, Master." He looked down.
They waited a few seconds in the airlock entrance, then a thick metal door slid open in front of them, revealing the ship's lounge in the main deck. It was equipped with a conference table on the west side, a galley on the opposite side; there were acceleration chairs by the south side, and a large, long-range HoloNet terminal at the center. Monitors and computers covered every wall around them.
The ship's interior aesthetic was sleek, rigid, angular – but functional – arranged in the traditions of the Sith Academy on Korriban. As such, the predominant colors were black, grey, and red, with polished metal and illuminated panels. Military-grade computers and communications equipment were integrated into the ship's hardware. The Sith Empire coat of arms lay embroidered onto a large banner, hung from the northernmost wall.
"Come, Apprentice. I will show you your quarters," she said with a smile. "R9-B9, plot a direct course to Neferas-V immediately."
A robotic beep complied. Neferas-V was a giant jungle-planet, hidden in the Distant Outer Rim, somewhere near D'Qar in the Ileenium System, thirty thousand parsecs from the Seat of the Empire.
At the norhwest corner, before reaching a corridor, a metallic door slid open, revealing Plaz-myu's dormitory. A large bed lay near the opposite wall; at the western corner there was a small desk, covered with tablets, small datapads, and electronic notebooks; and, welded on the wall to the left, there was a large two-door wardrobe.
Plaz-myu walked into his new room wide-mouthed and buggy-eyed. He touched the mattress and sat on the bed, feeling the texture of the sheets and blankets.
Then he saw the piles of gadgets on the table and walked to them. He had never used any of those things. He recalled seeing some of those devices in the hands of the factory workers and criminals.
"Heed now the first rule, Apprentice," Komm'ett said, arms crossed behind her back. Plaz-myu turned and looked at her attentively. "This is your room – this is your castle, and you are its supreme authority. This means that if I were to walk in here, I would need your permission. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes, Master. It's—it's just…"
She raised a hand and interrupted him.
"However, it means that you are responsible for it. You must keep it clean, tidy, and organized.Understood?"
"Yes, Master." He smiled.
"Now, come." She turned and walked away. "I will show you the rest of the ship and then you will shower, eat, and rest."
Komm'ett walked him to the personal cargo hold, at the westernmost edge of the ship, filled with metallic and wooden boxes, craters and three large electronic safes; there were boxes of clothes, dresses, shoes, boots, robes, makeup, and every other type of personal belongings.
The room exactly across was the conference room, with a long metallic table, stylish chairs, and portable communicators. There were also drink machines, food enhancers and dispensers.
"The protocol droid is named C9-N2," Komm'ett explained as they crossed again the ship's main hold. "It is responsible for cooking our food, cleaning the ship, translating incoming messages, preparing and sending encrypted intel and data to our allies, and more."
Entering a corridor at the easternmost section of the ship, they found the ship's cargo hold, which kept hundreds of crates, chests, and cylinders with everything necessary for survival in deep space – which included spare material for repairs, fuel, emergency rations, respirators, huge cylinders of water, compressed hydrogen, and oxygen, as well as ballistic equipment, rifles and pistols, ammunitions, boxes of grenades, detonators, torpedoes, and more.
Descending a set of stairs, they arrived at the engine and reactor room, near the escape pods. A small droid worked on a circuit board.
"R9-B9 is my astromechanic droid and it is crucial to the functioning of this ship. It is equipped with a powerful processing computer that plots our courses through the galaxy; it is also responsible for the repairing and resupplying of the ship."
Plaz-myu was curious, and asked many, many questions for hours. Komm'ett explained to him that plotting a course meant to calculate the best route through hyperspace. Then, she explained that the galaxy was unfathomably huge, and the hyperspace was a special place they could access with the hyperdrive, which shortened the distances between planets. Before he could ask more questions, she raised a hand.
"Enough," she said. "You'll learn everything in due time."
The ship's command bridge and cockpit were comfortable. There was the central command chair, with additional seats for one co-pilot and two gunner stations. That Fury model still possessed the astromech droid socket, which nested R9 like an egg. The front window at the northern section and, underneath it, a metallic, rectangular structure projected a hologram of the galaxy map in the air. Like the rest of the ship, every surface was covered with machinery, computers, screens, lights, and buttons.
A tall Human, with fair but wrinkled skin and grey hair, entered the bridge. He wore a black, red, and grey military uniform, with polished tall boots, leather gloves, and a black leather cap. He bowed respectfully.
"My Lord," he said. "I am glad that your mission was successful."
Komm'ett smiled and nodded.
"Apprentice, this is Imperial Major Bradin Zhatt. He is a master tactician, expert pilot, decorated marksman – and a personal friend of mine. Major, meet Plaz-myu, my newest Apprentice."
Following his example, Plaz-myu bowed – but the strong hand of her master held him over the chest.
The Major bowed with certain exaggeration. "It is great to make your acquaintance, my Lord," he said in a monotonous voice.
Plaz-myu stared at the emotionless face of the Major; a soldier, the type of person who would have abused him on the streets the day before; now, an officer of the Empire addressed him as "my Lord".He looked up curiously at his master.
"Sith do not bow," she said.
After a long bath, Plaz-myu left the improvised bathroom in the cargo hold; it had simple, metallic toilet and bathtub connected to the ship's water recycling systems. With a towel strapped around the waist, he embarrassedly scurried across the ship to his room.
"Where are my pants, mister—uh—I forgot your name."
"My designation is Seenine Entoo," the droid answered. "Or simply C9. To answer your query, your vestments have been incinerated by orders of Darth Komm'ett. You will find your Acolyte uniforms inside the wardrobe."
There were twelve Acolyte uniforms in the cabinet, and twelve pair of boots, and twelve belts, all neatly organized, washed, ironed, and polished. He moved the hangers one by one, realizing all of the clothes were his exact size.
The uniform consisted of comfortable, light clothes; a pair of common pants, a long-sleeved overtunic and a padded undertunic, with a pair of medium-high leather boots, all in black, grey and red.
As he brushed his fur, a metallic voice spoke through the communicator.
"This is Darth Komm'ett. I request permission to enter your chambers, Acolyte."
"Permission granted, Darth Komm'ett," he answered as formally as he could.
He fought back a smile. Strange feeling, this authority thing gave him.
Komm'ett entered the chambers, still wearing her traditional Sith Combat Armor. Her yellow eyes glistened with pride as she eyed her new apprentice. The Cathar's orange fur seemed brighter and softer, and he appeared at ease, the opposite of how she had felt him on the planetoid. The uniform looked great on his skinny body. She nodded in approval.
"How do you feel, Apprentice?" Komm'ett asked. Plaz-myu smacked his lips, pensive.
"I feel strange," he answered. "Sort of free, but…I feel lighter, but heavier at the same time. It's hard to find the right words; you must think I'm stupid, but I swear I'm not!"
Komm'ett frowned angrily at him.
"You will not speak of yourself in such manner ever again, do you understand?" she growled, staring deep into his eyes. "You are Sith; you are special because you have been chosen by the Force. Understood?"
"Y-yes, Master."
"I will teach you everything you need," she added. "You will become a Sith Lord of the Empire. However, I must warn you that it will be a long and arduous path. The weak do not survive. Are you weak?"
"I'm not weak, Master!" Plaz protested. "I'll show you; you'll be proud of me… like…" His voice failed, eyes watering softly. He stared at his feet.
"Like your parents never were," Komm'ett continued, giving him a quick hug. The boy's heart overflew with emotions, and they were colorful and sweet. The Zabrak could taste them in her tongue, so pure they were. Unlike the Jedi, who would fight to suppress them, the Sith encouraged and embraced them, for they were a powerful tool.
"Your parents do not matter, Apprentice. They were weak and they were unworthy of having a Sith as their son. You have to focus on what is important to you; channel these emotions into your hate, and your anger will make you powerful beyond measure!"
"My sisters," he said, frowning. "They need me; they can't stay with my mother anymore. We need to find them, Master! Maybe they can become Sith too!"
"We are not going to find them," she corrected him. "You will. That will be your first mission when you complete your training. You will travel across the galaxy until you have rescued them. If they are gifted in the Force, like you, they will become Sith and you shall train them. Understood?"
"Yes, Master!"
A wide smile stretched across his face, and, for the first time, he looked up at his master with confidence. He would train with purpose and passion.
"In six days, we will reach my fortress on Neferas-V. Your training will begin tomorrow. You shall study History, Philosophy, and Literature. After lunch, we shall study the Force; and, in the evening, combat training – which includes theoretical studies of military weapons, machines, unarmed combat, and lightsaber training."
"Lightsaber… is that what your weapon is called? I will have one too?!"
Komm'ett nodded. Plaz-myu's blue eyes glistened with hope, looking at the lightsaber hilt on his master's belt. He frowned, then asked. "What is this 'Force' you speak of? It seems very important."
"It is important, to all of us," she said. "The Force is like an energy field generated by all living beings. It is what binds the Galaxy together. Everything is connected through the Force, and the Force Sensitives, like you and me, can sense and control it."
"Force Sensitive? How can you tell? I've never felt anything."
"Oh, but are you sure?" Komm'ett smiled like a child. "Weren't there freezing nights? Nights when you believed you would surely die, but didn't? When you knew you would starve, but didn't? Have you ever been sick in your life, Apprentice…?"
Plaz-myu shook his head, suddenly seeing what should have been obvious to him.
"Even as you were unaware of it, the Force has nourished you. It has kept you alive. Everything we do affects the Force, and it is possible to manipulate it to affect ourselves and the world around us; maybe someone betrayed you or did not keep their promise, but somehow you convinced them otherwise."
He nodded.
"This means you unconsciously commanded the Force. I will teach you how to feel it, how to properly channel it, how to control it, how to manipulate life itself. Now!" she said abruptly, standing up. "I'll have C9 prepare you a hearty meal and bring you a pair of datapads with your books and written material. Can you read?"
"Not much," he said embarrassedly. "But I learn fast!"
"I am sure you do. C9 will teach you how to read the Basic Imperial Language."
"Thank you, Master! I look forward to it!"
"Now, come," Komm'ett crossed her arms behind her back. "We shall be leaving soon, and I want you to see something."
"The ship's been refueled, My Lord, and all systems are ready. We can depart at your command."
The Major bowed to him once again as Plaz-myu entered the cockpit. Komm'ett sat at the co-pilot's chair, adjusting a wireless headset on her head, testing the microphone, typing something into the navicomputer.
"The course has been calculated to the twelfth digit, my Lord; we shall leave hyperspace near Neferas-V's orbit."
"Wonderful," the Zabrak said. "As I'll be busy with Plaz-myu's training, you shall pilot the Condor by yourself."
"Naturally, my Lord," he bowed.
Komm'ett then waved Plaz-myu to approach her. She pointed at the pilot's seat.
"Have you ever piloted a spaceship, Apprentice?"
The boy shook his head as if the answer was obvious.
"Sit down."
He obeyed and put his trembling paws on the ship's controls.
"A-are you sure, Master? What if I crash the ship…?"
"Silence. A Sith must learn how to properly fly a vessel. Major?"
Bradin Zhatt approached, leaning over Plaz-myu.
"The ship's quite gentle, my Lord. It is only a little sensitive during takeoff, so what you want to do is press this button to ignite the engine," he pointed at it. "These levers control the ship's power distribution; the ones on your left determine where to divert power - either the ship's weapon systems, its defensive systems, or the engine's potency. For now, you'll want to put them at zero point seven now."
Plaz-myu pressed the buttons Bradin indicated and the Fury-class Interceptor rumbled like an uneasy beast, then it whirred for a while and fell nearly silent. Sensors in the control panel monitored every system in the ship, from the fuel levels, to ray shields and hull integrity, artillery potency, ammunition supplies, nearby objects and ships, and so on.
"Very nice, my Lord," the Major said. "The turbines are functioning. To make her lift off, simply press this button with your thumb and pull the yoke towards yourself, very slowly."
Plaz-myu obliged. He held his breath, his heart pounding against his chest, and his skinny arms shaking over the controls. There were so many computers, indicators, readings, and buttons in front of him. Screens displayed texts, diagrams, and graphics he did not understand.
He kept his steady and tried to repeat what the Major taught him. However, he pulled the controls a bit too harshly and the ship jolted. He tightened his jaw.
Through the window he noticed the planetoid's surface grew smaller by the second as they rose gradually. For the first time, Plaz-myu saw the one hundred labor districts of the moon, one hundred slums, decrepit buildings, abandoned factories; little people he left behind, condemned to a life of misery and mediocrity.
He smiled proudly.
"You are a natural, my Lord," the Major said. "Now, pay attention to this reader," he pointed at a long indicator to the left. "It indicates our altitude and when it is safe to engage the main turbines. The acceleration will be powerful, so do not be ashamed if you feel dizzy or sick. We will overcome the planetoid's gravity – this we call escape velocity - and plummet into space. Are you prepared?"
Plaz-myu nodded excitedly, a wide smile painted on his orange face. The ship felt just like the Force, and he held the controls of his own fate for the first time in his life.
His blue eyes glanced at the brown sky before him. He positioned the ship, following Bradin's directions, and moved the potency levers forward. He pressed another button near his right hand and effortfully kept his eyes open as the blood rushed away from his brain.
The turbines breathed fire and power, launching the ship forward with ineffable velocity; it crushed the boy against his seat. His eyes went dark, his body softened. Then came a whisper from his Master.
"Feel the Force, Apprentice; it is that tickle in the back of your mind. Feel its warmth and its safety. Wish for it and your body will endure."
With the conscience slipping away, the Cathar focused. He did feel the comfortable tickle in his brain, and he did feel the warmth spread across his skin and through his muscles. His heart slowed down and he felt peace. He smiled shyly.
But he failed, falling unconscious in the darkness.
Plaz-myu woke up suddenly. In the cockpit, Komm'ett had laid him on the acceleration benches near the south wall. Words fled his tongue as he looked outside and saw the endlessness of space. Hypnotized by the Cosmos, he stood behind the pilots, in a deep trance.
"Hyperdrive is ready, my Lord," Bradin announced. "Jumping to lightspeed in three, two, one…"
The ship whirred loudly for a moment and the stars stretched into infinite lines before his eyes; with a subtle screech, the ship lurched across space-time, penetrating reality itself into the hyperspace.
"Activating autopilot. ETA to Neferas: six days."
The hyperspace was a surreal tunnel of flickering, mesmerizing lights, like an infinite river that spiraled around them. No stars existed there; nothing at all. He felt nauseous with the unexpected absence of the Force. The hyper tunnel felt as dry as the desert wastelands of the planetoid.
"It's so empty here, Master."
"Yes," she whispered. "It can be hard to feel the Force in this place, but it is here."
DAY ONE
Peace is a lie, there is only Passion
Through passion, I gain Strength
Through strength, I gain Power
Through power, I gain Victory
Through victory, my chains are broken
The Force shall free me
From that moment, and until he died, Komm'ett had instructed him to recite, memorize and meditate upon the Sith code. The code, she explained to him, were more than just words. True understanding of the Sith Code would lead to the true power of the Force, and the only path that led to true freedom. Whereas the Jedi were slaves to the Republic, the Sith were the only ones who could break their chains and become free.
DAY TWO
Plaz-myu observed two particular clocks in the ship. Komm'ett explained that the clocks tracked the standard calendar, marking the standard-day, standard-week, standard-month, and standard-year throughout the Galaxy.
One of them measured the Imperial Day, and the other marked the Republic Day. The Imperial Day was the standard rotation period of Dromund Kaas, the Empire's capital world – twenty-four hours – and the standard-year was its translation period, or three-hundred and twelve standard days.
The Republic Day was based on Coruscant, their capital world, whose standard day also had twenty-four hours, but its standard year had three hundred and sixty-five days. Regardless of the region, a standard year had twelve standard months, with seven standard weeks, composed of five standard days.
It all felt tremendously odd to Plaz-myu, even after the whole explanation, to mark the passage of day in hyperspace. He would constantly, even obsessively, consult the clocks in the main lobby to remind himself what day it was, and how long until they arrived on Neferas-V.
"What year are we?" Plaz-myu asked curiously.
Komm'ett pointed at the Imperial Clock, with a rectangular display that showed 1 ATC.
"It is the first year after the Treaty of Coruscant," she answered.
Plaz-myu and Komm'ett sat at the center of the ship's main deck. Legs crossed and eyes closed, mirroring each other. Plaz-myu had been trying to meditate for the last three hours, but the boy still struggled to connect with the Force.
"You must empty your mind, Apprentice," Komm'ett whispered. "Do not think of anything, or anyone. Focus on yourself."
He took a deep breath and tried once again. The absolute silence of hyperspace helped, but the constant, monotonous humming of the ship bothered him. He had spent his entire life filtering the chaos of the planetoid, attempting soothe his own mind every night, but now he struggled to cope with the quietness.
The boy moaned softly. He failed to empty his mind, and instead contemplated the future with his sisters. He pondered where they could be, where his mother could have taken them, if they ever thought about their brother…
"Apprentice!" Komm'ett roared. "I can sense your thoughts through the Force. You must focus on the now, not in the future! Focus on your respiration, try to sense my presence through the Force."
Plaz-myu tried again; in his mind appeared an image of a fishpond. It did not feel like a memory. He saw himself kneeling by the margin, the crystalline water glinting against the sun, and rippling over his reflection. Fearfully, the boy touched the water. It was warm. Sitting down, he put his feet in the water, and his tired, blistered feet twitched with restfulness.
Confidently he tossed himself in the water, letting himself sink slowly.
With the water covering his head, Plaz-myu embraced the tranquility around him and the relaxation within his body. Smiling like a cub, he could feel the water nourishing his being, and the calmness was welcoming. He could hear his breathing, his drumming heartbeat, even the blood rushing through his veins.
The deeper he descended, the better it felt. His body slid across the water as if part of the lake.
Opening his eyes, he saw darkness. Not an overwhelming darkness; he could see the sun beyond the surface, the light dancing on the surface of the water. Still, he could see clearly. He saw the silhouette of his Master, swimming in the distance; he sensed the Major, far away, his presence buzzing inside his mind.
It felt like the warm water surrounded them everywhere, inside the ship and beyond the space. Concentrating hard, he could even feel the electricity inside the droids. Plaz-myu moved his arms around and he realized the weight of the water followed his command. He could create ripples, and waves, and bubbles…
Looking again, he saw Komm'ett floating before him, like a mermaid. She opened her arms and looked about them.
"This is the Force," she spoke in his mind. "It flows from me and you and connects us both. Bring me closer."
He rapidly pulled his hands towards his chest, feeling Komm'ett approaching him slowly. He did it again, and again, until Komm'ett's hot respiration touched his furry face. Then, he pushed her away, gently, splashing water at his master. She splashed him back, and they played together, like children, for a long time.
Suddenly, with both hands, he pushed the water forward; his muscles swelled, his bones hardened, his fur spiked. He heard a quiet thud underwater, his conscience returning as he woke up to a loud, very real crash in the ship.
C9-N2 lay upside down in the corner against the wall.
"Oh my!" he said. "That was quite unexpected!"
Plaz-myu panted heavily; he looked around, frightened, until he met his master's visage and upon it a proud smile.
Komm'ett pressed a couple of buttons on her bracelet and a holographic recording projected in front of them. It showed Plaz-myu and Komm'ett, sitting on the floor, meditating in front of each other. The boy watched himself stand up and stretch his arms forward; the unaware droid, walking beside him, flew five meters across the air.
"A Force Push in your second day, Apprentice." Komm'ett said. "I am impressed…"
DAY FOUR
A fierce roar woke him up. It was his stomach. Either the clock by his bed was faulty, or he had slept for two whole days. He had had restful, dreamless nights, and felt refreshed. The door slid open and there stood C9-N2 holding a breakfast platter – a bottle of synthetic, high-energy drink and a concoction of a tasteless yet nutritional porridge.
"I have stood here for the past twenty-nine hours, Master," the droid said sarcastically. "Your food must be cold."
"Um—sorry, I guess?"
"Enjoy your breakfast; Darth Komm'ett will come by shortly."
The boy ate in silence, fiddling with a datapad in front of him. He quickly learned how to operate them. It was remarkable how much data those small things could hold. That one particularly held an entire library of knowledge on Sith History.
"Th-three thousand years ago." He ran his fingers along the words, reading out loud. "This is the Korriban Master spoke of," he spoke to himself, flicking through the pages.
"May I come in?" came the voice of Komm'ett in the communicator.
"You may, Master." The door slid open.
"Ah, I see you are studying our History; it is quite fascinating, isn't it?"
"I didn't know that the Sith originated from the Jedi," he said with honest surprise.
"Many millennia ago," Komm'ett responded dismissively. "Now, if you have finished your breakfast, come with me."
Plaz-myu followed her outside. They met again in the ship's main deck.
"Combat training," she announced, tossing at him a long training sword, made with aluminum, and wrapped in soft rubber.
Plaz-myu held it, squeezing it, and feeling its weight. The blade was hollow and almost weightless, all of its mass was concentrated in the hilt, which was dense and balanced.
"It is through combat that the Sith develop their power, their discipline, and test their mettle against each other. Combat is what makes us Sith, so you must train hard to achieve your victory. Skill with a lightsaber is one of the most important characteristics of a Sith. Let us begin!"
She raised her own training sword in front of her face.
"There are seven forms of lightsaber combat. I will teach you the fundamentals, then you will master the seventh form, like me." Komm'ett brought the weapon down, holding it at an ingle in front of her body. "The first form is called Shii-Cho, or the Way of the Sarlacc. Hold your weapon with both hands in front of you, like me."
Plaz-myu mirrored his master to the last detail. Arm height, foot position, legs angles.
"This form is the basis of all other forms. This style focuses on non-lethal combat and disarms. One!"
She struck the air with an attack from above; then a circular attack aimed at an invisible arm, followed by a low strike at a knee, and a thrust; she recoiled the weapon onto a parry in front of her face. Plaz-myu had to perform one hundred repetitions of each movement.
And so, he did.
Hours later, he collapsed on his knees, dropping the sword. Gasping for breath, droplets of sweat dangled from his short whiskers. His muscles trembled with such ferocity that he became unable to hold himself up, and he fell on his chest.
"Again!" Komm'ett yelled, walking around their improvised training area.
"I—I am exhausted, Master; let me rest just for one—"
"I said again!" She struck his back with force. "Stand up."
Plaz-myu moaned in pain, attempting to summon what strength he could muster – but to no avail. He coughed and hacked and managed only to sit upon his ankles.
"I have ordered you to stand up!" Another strike and Plaz-myu cowered.
"I—I can't move, Master!" he sobbed. "Please, just five minutes!"
"The physical body mean nothing, Apprentice!" she roared."You told me you weren't weak; now prove it to me: stand up!"
"Y-yes, Master!"
He got on his knees, still gasping for air. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the fishpond once again; but he was so tired he could not concentrate. He scowled in pain, forcing his mind into emptiness, but the harder he tried the harder it became. He coughed two more times and opened his eyes.
"I—I can't, Master…" he sobbed louder.
"Then you are weak and are worthless to me," she said with contempt. "I will not waste my time."
With a quick burst of red light, she ignited her actual lightsaber. The blade flickered in her hand, humming menacingly, as she towered over the boy.
"I—I'm not weak," he growled, rubbing his eyes. "And I'm not worthless!"
"You are weak just like your father," she whispered cruelly.
"I am nothing like my father!"
He let out a Cathar roar and stood up with renewed strength; as he rose, he pushed Komm'ett two steps back with the help of the Force. Glaring at his Master, puffing in rage, he stared deep into her eyes, rumbling like his ancestors. He stretched his hand in the air and the practice sword by his feet slowly fluttered to it.
"Words mean nothing, Apprentice," Komm'ett said. "You must prove to me, every day, with actions. Understood?"
"Understood, Master."
He held the sword with both hands in front of his body and took a deep breath.
"One!"
Darth Komm'ett yelled; Plaz-myu resumed practice, counting, as his master circled around him, observing him with watchful eyes.
DAY FIVE
"Oh, how I missed so very much being a training dummy!" cried C9-N2.
Plaz-myu had woken up with renewed hope. The rage he released the day before made him feel lighter and more focused. Before him stood C9-N2 wearing a comical rubber armor.
The apprentice had trained for eighteen straight hours with the sword the day before. Now, he would practice real strikes against real targets.
"One!" Komm'ett yelled. Plaz-myu attacked C9's head with a perfect movement.
"Four!" Plaz-myu got on one knee and, with a wide curve, attacked the droid's right leg.
"Five!" He thrust the sword at C9's torso.
"Two!" He stood up and attacked its wrist with a quick strike.
He once again had to perform one hundred repetitions of all of the basic movements. By the time he finished, it was lunchtime.
He sat down on the ground receiving the bottle and bowl of the same tasteless food. He devoured it in less than one minute. After one hour of meditation, he was ready for the second part of training.
"One!"
He moved to attack, but the droid attacked first and struck him in the head.
"I am terribly sorry, my Lord," N9 cried. "Major Bradin Zhatt installed new combat protocols for this exercise!"
"One!" Komm'ett repeated, louder. Plaz-myu struggled with the Pavlovian response of having repeated that order for almost twenty hours straight. This time he managed to raise his weapon on the third position and block the blow.
The duel paused after each move set, with Komm'ett correcting the boy's posture, stance, or movement. She would adjust his positioning to the minimum details, explaining why it was so important. Consistency meant precision; a duel could end with a single strike, and Plaz-myu needed to make sure he would connect the one strike. It could mean the difference between living or dying, like the Jedi that died on the planetoid.
"What do you make of it, Major?"
Komm'ett and Bradin met in the cockpit hours later to watch a holorecording of the training session while the Apprentice slept.
"He is indeed remarkable, my Lord," the man said monotonously. "He could be your most talented acolyte yet."
"You are correct," she said. "His raw talent is incredible; he would be ready for Juyo in no time."
Komm'ett held her face with one hand, attentively reviewing the holorecording. A fierce blow to the head unbalanced the droid and she grinned.
"According to the navicomputer we'll arrive in Neferas-V tomorrow; is this correct?"
"Yes, my Lord," the Major said. "I managed to quickly jump between hyperspace routes; the ship's sensors accused that a Republic destroyer would obstruct our path."
"You're my pilot, Major; you don't need to explain everything to me."
"I must, my Lord, it is standard protocol."
Komm'ett shook her head and smiled.
"Delay our arrival in twelve hours," Komm'ett ordered. "I have a special plan for the boy."
"As you wish, my Lord."
DAY SIX
Plaz-myu had already begun training that morning. Sitting alone in the ship's deck, eyes closed, and legs crossed, he meditated. He had realized during last night's training that the more exhausted he became the harder it was to call upon the Force to strengthen his muscles. If he were to learn as fast as he desired, he would need to learn how to nourish his body with the Force with more precision.
Calling upon his short life's experiences, he came up with a special method to help him meditate – fasting.
"Three hours?" Komm'ett whispered to N9. "And he hasn't eaten anything since yesterday's lunch?"
"Yes, Lord Komm'ett," the droid said.
"Fascinating…"
"Not quite so, my Lord, as standard humanoid organics can go without food for more than thirty standard days in extreme conditions and—"
"Quiet, C9."
As if leaving a sweet dream, Plaz-myu opened his eyes and swallowed in dry, taking a deep breath. He had felt the presence of his master approaching, and she sat before him on the ground.
"How do you feel, Apprentice?" she asked.
"I feel truly great, Master," the boy said. "Why do you ask?"
"Do you know how long you have been meditating?"
He looked around, searching for a clock.
"I don't know, maybe two or three hours?" He shrugged. "I'm hungry. Could I have lunch now, Master?"
"No," she shook her head.
"I can't?" he sounded surprise. "Is that another training?"
"It wasn't for three hours; it was for nearly twelve hours," Komm'ett said proudly. "Five days of training and you commune twelve hours with the Force in an empty stomach. I have seen graduates at Korriban who could not do such a thing."
"I've had an empty stomach my entire life, Master," he muttered. Plaz-myu's stomach roared fiercely. His knees trembled and failed. Komm'ett held him up. "I lost track of time. Being lost with the Force was so calming, and nourishing. It's like a dream we can control!"
"You will tell me everything," Komm'ett said. "But first, let us leave the ship."
"Leave? Have we arrived?"
"Two hours ago," she said. "Your new quarters have already been prepared."
He followed Komm'ett across the ship, he climbed four steps down and took a right turn into the small hall of the airlock entrance; he squinted and covered his eyes. A blinding, golden light invaded the ship, and a sweet breeze blew on his nose.
For the first time in his life, Plaz-myu saw a real, glorious forest. Komm'ett's fortress stood stern and imposing beneath the blue sky, girdled by a blanket of trees that extended beyond the horizon, where it met jutting mountains ranges and rumbling waterfalls.
His hunger disappeared. Overloaded with the Force, he licked his lips, breathing heavily. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. On Neferas-V, the Force was sweet as fresh fruit, pure as a child's laughter, and peaceful as an ancient beast. It could sate his hunger if he so desired.
As he walked down the stone patch between the landing area and the fortress – greeted by bowing servants, organic and robotic – he could not stop looking around. He felt like a cub again. Excitement and anticipation filled his tiny heart until he began hopping along the way.
DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIVE
Combat training and Force studies. Apart from the occasional history and Basic grammar lessons, those were the only things that Plaz-myu wanted to do. And his Master was rather content to oblige him. When she was not overseeing his sword training, Plaz-myu practiced with remotes or dummies. One standard-week flew by unnoticed and, before they realized, a month had vanished.
Komm'ett remained appalled not only by Plaz-myu's raw talent, but by his unfaltering determination. None of her previous Apprentices had displayed that level of commitment.
"Absolutely not," Komm'ett told him one day after practice. Plaz-myu sat over his heels, a wet towel over his shoulders. His chest went up and down with his heavy respiration.
"Why not? I'm ready!"
"You are not," she dismissed him. "It is too soon for you to fight another acolyte, Apprentice. Now, stand up; we'll spar once more."
He bowed, stood up, and drew his training sword. They had been going over the Makashi form, focused on lightsaber dueling, for the past two and a half months.
It was a rather conservative style. Practitioners of the Makashi form, also known as the Contention Form, relied on precision and efficiency. Komm'ett heavily trained Plaz-myu to defend himself with minimal effort whilst avoiding being disarmed.
When Plaz-myu was not communing with the Force, he was in the training room, practicing the Makashi fundamentals – either against his Master or against training droids. However, he had not been in a real fight yet.
"I cannot summon another Acolyte here," she sighed. Komm'ett and Major had been talking for the past two hours. "I cannot reveal my Apprentice just yet."
"Maybe you could fight him, instead of sparring,"Bradin suggested in a monotonous voice. "Would you say Lord Plaz-myu is ready?"
Darth Komm'ett remained pensive, scratching her black and red chin. "It has been a year, my Lord Komm'ett. If I may speak my mind?"
"You can always speak your mind, Bradin."
"One year of sparring, training with robots, dummies, and wooden swords. The boy might end up believing he is more skilled than he actually is. He needs a true lesson."
Komm'ett slowly nodded, drawing a subtle smile on her beautiful black lips. It would be an astounding opportunity, to have Plaz-myu spar with a real Sith Lord. A real combat opportunity could do wonders for his progress.
The next day, she summoned him to the gardens outside. Tall, red-leafed trees surrounded the patio, landscaped with authentic Alderaanian blue grass. It was their first-time training outdoors. The sky was clear, and the day was hot, with a gentle breeze blowing against them.
Plaz-myu bowed when entering the training grounds, where Komm'ett already stood. She carried two swords with her; those, however, were not training swords. Those were real electric blades, potentially lethal, commonly used militiamen, and police droids. The boy grabbed his mid-air, slightly confused.
"I am your enemy today," Komm'ett announced.
Plaz-myu looked puzzled.
"Today, we fight," she continued. "Use everything you've learned."
Plaz-myu followed Komm'ett's etiquette. She walked three steps into the arena, then pulled up her sword, presenting it in front of her face. She then walked three steps backwards and lowered her weapon. The fight would begin.
With a boom of air, Plaz-myu was terribly surprised to see that Komm'ett already stood in front of him. The blade seemed to move in slow motion as it ascended with precision. The boy barely had time to dodge, stumbling backwards and lifting his own blade, its metallic blade cackled with electricity, jolting occasionally.
Darth Komm'ett did not stop. She kept pacing forward, moving her arms and blade with ferociousness; Plaz-myu could either parry or dodge them. She was fast, she was strong, and she was merciless. Her technique was impeccable. If any one of those blows had hit him, he would have woken up at the infirmary.
"M-Master, you're going to hurt me—"
"Your enemies will hurt you!" she roared, wide-eyed. In the seconds it took him to speak, the Zabrak sliced a shallow cut on the boy's arm. He grimaced in pain and leapt backwards. She leapt after him, holding the weapon above her head, body arching backwards. She brought it down as she landed, in a brutal strike.
Plaaz-myu sidestepped and finally managed to attack once, striking his Master with anger and hate. She reacted quickly, parrying the blow. Turning over her heels, she thrusted Plaz-myu from underneath her arms, her back facing the boy. The boy dodged the blow, then tried to hit her ribs from behind. Komm'ett blocked the attack, without looking. Surprised, Plaz-myu failed to avoid one strike to the face, blinding him with pain and burning his fur.
Komm'ett turned around and faced him again, but the Apprentice took advantage of her movement, and his blade met her arm in a strong arch. Desperate, Plaz-myu conjured a mighty Force Push, which dragged her three meters away.
Plaz-myu followed suit, dashing along the arena, sword pointing backwards. He dodged a fierce thrust by leaping into the air over Komm'ett, landing behind her. For the first time in many years, Komm'ett felt the pain of the flesh as the blade drew a long cut on her left leg. With rage building up in her mind, she stretched a hand forward.
Thin threads of purple electricity jolted off her fingertips, enveloping the boy in the most excruciating pain he had ever felt; it was not a mundane physical pain. It was an agony drawn from a boiling pool of rage and hatred, channeled by the Darth through the Force, and projected onto her apprentice, as if Plaz-myu was the most hated person in the galaxy for her.
Twisting and bellowing in agony on the ground, it felt his spirit was being torn apart. His pain was sweet; Komm'ett stared him down, illuminated by the flashing lightning.
Before Komm'ett could calm herself down, before she realized every one of her servants had gathered around them, before she realized that Major Bradin Zhatt had been screaming her name, something happened; something she knew was impossible, but it happened anyway.
Plaz-myu broke free.
She could not tell – or understand - how it happened. At that moment, stretched into eternity, only one thing mattered. Plaz-myu mustered enough power to counter her Force Lightning. The Cathar boy stood on his feet, proud and dangerous like a manka tiger, and stretched his arms forward.
Darth Komm'ett instinctively dropped her sword and took both hands to her own throat. Her feet dangled in the air as she desperately gasped for breath, feeling the pain of humiliation as an invisible hand crushed her larynx. She rose slowly, and Plaz-myu stared her from below with two scarlet eyes of pure hatred.
Fighting for her life, Komm'ett realized that she had gone too far, triggering something terrible inside her Apprentice. Memories of when he and his sisters were abused by their father, neglected by their mother; when he and his sisters had to live with constant agony and empty stomachs; with the constant fear of when their father would come home; with the disgust of having to eat raw womp rats; of sleeping in the bathroom, as it was the only room with a lockable door.
Through his rage, Komm'ett felt a glimpse of hope: his sisters. The cub faces of Myat and Puath formed in his mind and Plaz-myu relaxed.
When his senses returned to him, Plaz-myu saw Darth Komm'ett on her knees, gasping for breath, and Major Bradin Zhatt furiously shaking him, yelling at him to stop.
"I—I'm sorry… I don't know…" he muttered. "Master! Master, are you okay?"
She dismissed him with a slap on the wrist and rose to her feet.
"I must meditate," she whispered and disappeared inside the fortress.
###
"You will do no such thing," said a cavernous voice through a holographic communicator. Darth Komm'ett knelt before a shadowy, mantled figure.
"I was defeated by my own Acolyte, Master," Komm'ett's whispered ashamedly. "He might be too powerful."
"Indeed, he might," the figure said. "But the Force has guided you to him for a reason; he might be just powerful enough to destroy your true enemy, might he not?"
Komm'ett fell silent, staring at the hologram. Her master continued.
"You must hasten his training, Darth Komm'ett; your apprentice must be taught the real power of the Dark Side! Make him see he can do anything he desires when he becomes a Sith Lord! this your mission."
"As you command, my Master," she bowed, and the hologram disappeared.
###
Komm'ett became recluse for seven days. Plaz-myu trained by himself, practicing the forms and movements against combat droids.
Unaware as he might be, Plaz-myu had already mastered the second form of lightsaber combat in one year. There were four other forms: the Soresu, the Ataru, the Shien and the Niiman. There existed one more lightsaber form taught by the Sith and considered by them the only form truly worthy of a Sith Lord: the Juyo, which Plaz-myu had already implored his Master to teach him.
Jedi manuals and guides would describe Juyo as "the most controversial" form of lightsaber combat because one must wield it with controlled passion. The form was also known by another name, "the Ferocity Form".
One year later, Komm'ett announced that his training in the Juyo Form would begin.
DAY FIVE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-TWO
Juyo was the hardest form of lightsaber combat – not because it possessed complex movements, difficult techniques and refined martial features. It was the hardest because it required its users be completely attuned to the passions within. To a Jedi, this was forbidden; to a twelve-year-old, it proved nearly impossible.
Komm'ett dedicated the following six months entirely to meditation and Force training; she forced the boy to fully understand the roots of his anger. His father and mother had abandoned him, but she had concluded that perhaps Plaz-myu, being so young, was unable to truly grasp the meaning and depth of his anger.
The Zabrak would lead Plaz-myu on a series of guided meditation session, where she would explore his trauma and build upon it, constantly reminding the boy that everything horrible that had happened to him had been due to his parents. Even when Plaz-myu would diverge from the path of anger, Darth Komm'ett would make sure to pull him back. Her goal was to weaponize his passions.
Plaz-myu's passions were pure and sweet, and his rage was palpable; yet, Komm'ett had felt the boy was afraid of letting them out to their full power. For Plaz-myu to become a true Sith Lord, he would need to embrace and control his passions. Why do you hate them, was the question she would ask him at the beginning of every session, searing into his brain the truth that she wanted him to accept. It did not take much time.
"I hate my parents because they abandoned me," he responded, eyes closed, hands on his thighs. "I hate my father because he abused me. I hate my father because he was a drunk.
I hate my father because he failed us; because he could not provide to us, because he failed to raise us. I hate my father because he's the one who let mom go.
And I hate my mother because she took my sisters away. I'm the one who raised them, I loved them – they were everything to me and SHE STOLE THEM!"
Whenever Plaz-myu let his passions run rampant, Komm'ett would witness his true potential. The Force quaked around him, even in the emptiness of space, and loose objects, including the droids, would orbit about him. Komm'ett would make the boy learn how to channel and control his anger properly, to propel his power. His hatred was so strong and solid that Komm'ett found it easy to sculpt it into whatever she desired.
For the first time, Darth Komm'ett allowed herself to have hope; she knew she had found the perfect apprentice to exact her revenge on the man responsible the most terrible betrayal of all…
"You would be a god now," Komm'ett whispered during a session. She would constantly tell him how his life would have been had he been born on Korriban to a pure-blooded Sith family. "Every Imperial, from common soldier to the Grand Moff, would kneel before you.
You would have undergone a fifteen-year training in the prestigious Sith Academy on Korriban, and you would have emerged as a true Sith. Darths from across the Empire would fight for the chance to mentor you, and I would be one of them.
Can you see your future as a Sith Lord, Apprentice?" She enticed him. "Wealth, slaves, and power. No one would dare question you; nothing would be denied to you."
"I can, Master." he responded calmly. "That is the life I will have. When I become a Sith Lord, the galaxy that wronged me will feel my wrath! I will punish my parents and I will be the savior of my sisters."
"Yes, your sisters," she hissed, provocatively. "They are everything to you, are they not?"
"Everything." He nodded. "I would die for them!"
"Would you kill for them, young Plaz-myu?"
"I would kill millions to save them!" Plaz-myu roared. "I would ravage entire planets to rescue them!"
DAY ONE THOUSAND ONE HUNDRED AND SIX
Plaz-myu was ready to learn the true lightsaber form of the Sith: Juyo.
As time passed, everything proved worthless before his skill; no combat protocol droid could match his talent; no servant could keep up with him – and most ended up in the infirmary. The remotes were pathetic and Plaz-myu was tired of using those ridiculous training blades.
"Where is my lightsaber?!" he roared one day, smashing the sword on the ground.
"You must earn your lightsaber, boy," Komm'ett dismissed him. "It is not just a weapon; it is a symbol, and you are not ready."
"I am ready! I've been training with this toy for three years. I have already proved I am ready; I've already defeated you!"
Komm'ett's heavy hand slapped him in the face; Plaz-myu lowered his head, meekly. She approached him calmly.
"Emotions are a tool," she whispered. "But only if we control them. Unrestrained passion can be easily used against you. Understood?"
"Y-Yes, Master…"
"Good; now, kneel and apologize."
"I am Sith; I do not kneel; I do not apologize." he growled
Komm'ett raised a fist and an eyebrow. Plaz-myu felt a crushing grip around his neck, and then a crushing weight on his shoulders; the Force made him kneel and bow, in extreme pain.
"F-Forgive me, Master…"
"You are forgiven."