The history of the Sith is a winding and turbulent road of violence, betrayal, and death that abruptly dissolves into mystery a thousand years ago with the end of the New Sith Wars and Darth Bane's seizure of the mantle of the Dark Side. Declaring a "Rule of Two" by which the Sith would reign with a master and an apprentice alone, Bane disappeared into the mists of history, and the Sith along with him. The fate of this Dark Side order remains clouded to this day, even to the Jedi. Whether Bane's legacy survives—and whether the Sith still lurk in the galaxy's shadows, yet to reveal themselves to the Jedi and Republic at large—is a matter of conjecture. As for what they plan if they do still exist—that is also a matter of conjecture.


You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.

-Fyodor Dostoevsky


The moments between the minutes. Those quiet, soft little seconds ticking by when one's mind and soul are at peace, when the galaxy is in order, when the universe in all its magnitude seems a whole and stable architecture wrought by iron and stone strong enough to defy time itself. It is then that the Force reaches in and speaks with its fog-wreathed tongue—no, no. This universe is alive. And life is chaos.

Darth Plagueis heard the whispers once, when he was much younger. Then, abruptly, the whispers stopped. The Force no longer tickled his mind with visions of the future. As the Muun Sith Lord grasped the bones of matter animate and cosmic and bent the firmament to his ambition's will, the Force slipped from magic to mundane. The logical and scientific drove the mystic back into its prehistoric caves to hide with all of those other primeval superstitions, and Plagueis wrote a new chronicle of the Force. He took hold of nothing less than life, stilled the weaving of death's threads, reached for the silver throne of immortality, just an inch past the tips of his outstretched fingers. The heavens themselves were his for the taking as he learned more and more, sheathed himself in the Dark Side, and knew a power that his Sith predecessors might only have dreamed of.

He took an apprentice. He taught his apprentice all he knew. And he and his apprentice carried out the Grand Plan of the Sith as their power stormed the castle keep of galactic authority.

Now they stand on the precipice of achieving a millennia-old dream, of seeing the Sith's Grand Plan to fruition. Tomorrow there will be a vote in the Senate of the Galactic Republic here on Coruscant, the climax of a process that began a short while ago when Queen Amidala of Naboo called for a vote of no confidence in Supreme Chancellor Finis Valorum. Tomorrow the thousand senators of the thousand-thousand systems of the Republic will vote for a new chancellor—but the vote is a mere formality. The winner is evident already. The media polls are clear; the public sentiment is beyond obvious. And that which has not come about organically has instead been shaped and crafted by this Dark Lord of the Sith, so that his own apprentice, the man he has poured so much effort and time into, will ascend to that most lofty of positions and lead the Sith in ruling the Republic.

Darth Sidious. The man who in less than a day will become Chancellor Palpatine.

"Twelve hours," Plagueis murmurs within the garnished confines of his gleaming penthouse apartment looming over Monument Plaza. The Kaldani Spires apartment complex, one of the most sought-after living spaces on a planet home to a hundred billion souls. And Plagueis presides over the best view in the house. He can see the whole of the Senate and Federal Districts of here, the mushroom of the Senate Building cowering out there as if kneeling before the impending reign of the Sith. Wealth has not brought Plagueis everything in his long life, but it has afforded some real fineries in between all the manipulations and struggles and power games. He has killed so many men. Commanded mercenaries and assassins and senators. Declared whole planets anathema to his plan. All that work over the many years—he deserves some luxuries. "Did Darth Bane know it would come to this at the end? A waiting game for a known outcome?" He raises a glass of Sullustan claret to his eye. A violent shade of red-violet. He sees a millennium of wrath and hunger in that color, swirling, coalescing, blood shed by the gallon over all these years by so many Sith who never saw even a glimpse of this most satisfying of ends. It was all worth it. All of them who died in service to the Dark Side. None of them strong enough to seize it all, as Plagueis and Sidious have done. "Twelve hours and the vote begins."

"The outcome is assured," Sidious says, refilling Plagueis's goblet. "Bail Antilles has a wealth of support from the Core Worlds, but repeated attacks from the media and Rim governors have eroded their influence. The Federation's attack on Naboo has only nailed their coffin shut; made them seem arrogant, out of touch. As for Ainlee Teem…we swept all of his support once the corporations came out in support of his bid for the chancellorship. The vote is merely a matter of ceremony now."

"It is the ceremony that must be honored, Sidious," Plagueis tells his apprentice. His apprentice? It seems wrong to call him that now. He has honed Sidious into a powerful Sith Lord for decades now, and they have worked together so closely and on so much that they are more partners than master and learner. When Sidious ascends to the chancellorship, Plagueis will rise beside him in the shadows. They will rule together. Put an end to the Jedi together. Forge a Sith Empire to last for a thousand years, together. Defeat death itself—together. "Darth Bane declared that the Sith should only be two, a master and an apprentice. But we put an end to that and created our own path. Bane's Sith ended with our rise. You are much more than an apprentice to me. And Darth Maul has served our purposes well. No matter what happens on Naboo—should the Federation succeed, or should Queen Amidala defy the odds and triumph—Maul will have his place with us in the years ahead."

Sidious grins. "Should he survive the events in play on Naboo."

"You lack faith in him?"

"It is not my faith in Maul that matters. It is merely a matter of necessity," Sidious says. He reclines in a gold-laced seat opposite Plagueis, in the shadow of a ten-foot-tall bronzium statue of Yanjon, one of the Four Sages of Dwartii. The priceless artifacts squirreled away in this apartment, knowledge and history that only the Sith know. It is as it should be: They are the architects of this galaxy. They and they alone. Only they shall lay bare all of its secrets, from Rim to Core, from the most mundane of studies to the dissection of the very strands of the Force itself. Nothing shall evade their gaze. "I have spoken at length with the former Jedi Master Dooku. His departure from the Order was amicable, but he harbors resentment against both the Jedi and the Republic itself. Already the Dark Side billows in him. He will be easily persuaded to commit fully to our cause should Maul fail."

Plagueis smiles and downs his wine. "He spoke to the cloners on Kamino, yes?"

"He did. A clone template has yet to be procured, but Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas has been taken care of. Kamino remains a secret. All is proceeding as we have foreseen."

Not quite. Plagueis's power of foresight fled from him decades ago, all the way back when he killed his own master, the Bith Darth Tenebrous, in the cortosis-rich caves of the rocky world Bal'demnic. In that moment of triumph, of authority, the young Plagueis felt a sudden lacking: As if some great hand had removed itself from its grip about his heart and thrown him free into the ether, set him loose to find his way in the universe alone, with neither a master nor an apprentice to offer mooring. He had succeeded, of course, but never had Plagueis found an answer to a question that had hounded him for decades since that moment: What power had killing Tenebrous robbed him of?

He supposes it does not matter now. That was a long, long time ago, back when the Sith were still two men and a world of ambition. Now that ambition is realized. Darth Tenebrous, and every other Darth throughout history, can only watch from eons past as Plagueis and Sidious realize the call of the Dark Side. "Good," he says, nodding slowly. The wine has made his head feel soft and malleable. "Good."

Sidious rises and offers more wine. Plagueis drinks to Sidious's health, to the Republic that will soon become their very own Sith Empire. The Grand Plan is less than a day away from completion. The galaxy will know its place. The Jedi will know their end.

Wine is poured; wine is drunk. Then something strange happens. In his studies and decades of research, Darth Plagueis has come to an understanding of life so deep, so intimate, that he has conquered sleep. It has been decades since he slept, but now, as the warmth of impending victory washes over him and the wine reaches out and touches his mind, Plagueis drifts off. Little by little does sleep return from its long slumber, rising at just the moment that Plagueis thinks of anything else. His thoughts blur; his mind recedes into silk-soft shadow. Slowly, surely, Plagueis falls asleep.

And it is then that the Force reaches out and shatters the Sith Lord's cloak of understanding. For the first time in decades, Plagueis sees the future.

The Galaxies Opera House on Coruscant. A full crowd. Two men sitting side-by-side in a private box as colors swirl in a sea-foam séance before them. The old man turns his head to the young man, looking at him as a father might knowingly gaze upon his son. The young man looks away, his face full of conflict. The old man gazes into the shifting, twirling opera performance, his eyes lowered, a hint of a smile playing upon his lips as he speaks.

Ironic. He could save others from death…but not himself.

Plagueis's eyes snap open.

He glances to his left just as Sidious unleashes a torrent of Force Lightning at him. No time to think: Plagueis whirls to life, spinning up from his seat and hurling the chair at the blast of energy. The chair comes apart under Sidious's attack. Sidious hisses, pivots, and fires another electric burst at his former master. Plagueis is quicker this time: He counters with a blast of his own lightning, the two volleys of energy meeting at the midpoint and exploding. The eruption blows a hole in the ceiling and chunks of plaster and metal rain down in the lavish apartment.

Plagueis picks himself up as Sidious rises on the far side of the wreckage-strewn room. "What are you doing?" he thunders.

"This is the way of the Sith, my master," Sidious sneers, hands held out to ready another burst of electricity. "Be proud: All you have taught me will now aid in your own end, and lead me to rule this galaxy in the name of the Dark Side."

"We would have ruled together!" Plagueis shouts as the fire sprinklers activate, spraying the room with water. "We had done away with the Rule of Two, with the trappings of the Sith of old!"

"There is no together," Sidious says. "I alone will rule. I alone will command the Dark Side. You are the past, Plagueis. I am the future."

Betrayal. He has spent decades crafting Sidious into the perfect ruler, and all his former apprentice responds with is betrayal. Plagueis's anger rises. The old hatred that has simmered in recent years rears up from his soul and bellows a war cry. Plagueis screams and unleashes a telekinetic wave so strong it knocks the far wall down. Sidious tumbles, rolls over, dodges debris, and launches another blast of lightning at Plagueis.

His former master is faster. Coursing in anger, guided by pure malice and the rage of the moment, Plagueis skips and twirls in the air, snatching up a piece of the fallen ceiling and launching it in the path of Sidious's attack. The plaster explodes into dust. Plagueis glides through the room, dodging another shot of lightning before reaching out and focusing with the Force. The tip of Sidious's tailcoat ignites and an unnatural scarlet flame shoots up his leg. Sidious snarls and whips a blast of telekinesis, snuffing out the flame—but now he is on the defensive.

Plagueis pushes his attack. He is a man who has commanded the very building blocks of the Force itself, a Sith who knows the fundamentals of life better than any lord before him. Now he uses that knowledge offensively: He clenches his fist, and black lines race across Sidious's face. His eyes run bloodshot. Sidious howls in pain and fury, conjuring a massive ball of lightning that he throws at Plagueis. Forced to divert his attention, Plagueis drops to the ground, breaks a chunk of flooring free, and throws it up to intercept the lightning.

One move into the next: Plagueis leaps to his feet as Sidious readies another wave. Before his apprentice can act, Plagueis unleashes a telekinetic hammer upon Sidious. He slams him right in the chest, throwing Sidious through the broken wall on the far side of the room and out into the Coruscant dark, onto the recessed garden foyer overlooking Monument Plaza.

Plagueis does not hesitate. Now is the time. Finish this.

He summons the Force and launches into a leap, clearing the half-destroyed room and vaulting into the night. Below him, Sidious throws up another lance of lightning. Plagueis catches it in his left hand, holding it at bay as he falls, lower and lower, down to the foyer. Then, as he drops down to Sidious, he reaches out and summons his final weapon.

The tool of every Jedi and Sith. The reliable right hand of any Force-user worth their weight. The blade to cut down the most formidable of foes. The lightsaber.

Plagueis's lightsaber snaps to his right hand. He unleashes the red blade as he crashes down on Sidious, plunging his sword into his former apprentice's chest. Sidious gasps. He reaches up, his eyes wide. Plagueis grabs hold of his shoulder. "No more, Sidious," he says. "No more."

Sidious reaches up with one last burst of strength. Plagueis is faster: He shifts his hand, focuses, and with one quick twitch of his fingers, snaps Sidious's spine.

His apprentice collapses to the foyer deck, dead. Chancellor Palpatine snuffed out in birth.

Plagueis falls alongside him out of exhaustion. He breathes in the cool Coruscant night air, lets it out, chest heaving in pain and wear. The most rewarding of evenings twisted into the most painful of midnights. It is all so wrong. He was there, right there, at the cusp of achieving everything for the Sith. Right there. Yet Sidious's ambition could wait no longer.

Breathe out. Exhale; see the vapor. Watch as your dreams die.

Plagueis sits up, cupping one hand around his knee and resting the other on Sidious's still chest. He stares at the Coruscant skyline with eyes that feel like someone else's. Suddenly this world he thought he ruled is a world alien in its entirety. "We could have ruled," he murmurs to the night, glancing at Sidious, glancing into the dark. "We would have ruled an empire that lasted a thousand years, Sidious. You and me. We were so close. We would have been emperors." He clenches his fingers and presses his hand to his forehead, clamping his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. "I was not strong enough. I abandoned foresight. I thought we were in control, yet in the end, I knew nothing."

He looks down at Sidious, and all his rage dies. There is only a great void, a yawning, a yearning. What could have been. What they might have been. "I failed us," he murmurs to his dead apprentice. "I failed us, Sidious. I failed the Sith. I am not proud, as you said. I am only sorry. And now I have to begin again, and carry out our Grand Plan without you. I will learn from this, I promise you." He raises his chin and sets his jaw. "And I promise you that I will not fail again."

It is almost funny. Plagueis always warned Sidious of bonds. Interpersonal relations will weaken you. Others will only drag you down to their level. If you let them, they will destroy you. The Sith are not so weak. Be stronger. Be better. Yet in all those lessons Plagueis committed the gravest of oversights: He did not see the effect they had on himself. Not until now, not until it is far, far too late to correct his mistake. He violated his own teaching. He forged a bond with his own Dark Side apprentice. And in the end, that bond's shattering has driven a spike so deeply into him that he knows not what to do next.

He sits there a while in the capital dark, watching as the lights of the ecumenopolis stare back from their million sparkling sockets. Like the whole universe is looking on and laughing at his failure. As if the Force itself peers through the hundred-billion eyes of Coruscant and bears witness to Plagueis's defeat.

None come to bother him. No emergency services show. Plagueis has always ensured that he has total privacy in his penthouse, and now that lonesomeness gives him the chance to empty his mind and lose himself in the night. As the first navy band of dawn touches the horizon, a mechanical voice calls out from within the ruined home: "Master? Is there some way I may be of service?"

Plagueis glances over his shoulder at the multi-limbed medical droid that hobbles out onto the foyer. 11-4D. His longest-serving companion, and all that he has left now. The one soul with which he will rebuild the Grand Plan from this bleakest of pits. "No, FourDee," he murmurs. "I'm finished."

"Is that Master Sidious?" 11-4D says as it eyes Sidious's body. "I am detecting no life signs."

"Summon my ship and take his body aboard it," Plagueis says. "Arrange this penthouse to be cleared. It is time we leave."

"Destination, Master?"

"Naboo," says Plagueis. No, 11-4D is not the only one left. There is still another. One Sidious did not have faith in. "We must make haste to Naboo."