CHAPTER I: START OF THE FALL

TYTHON

The peaceful ambience of the jungles of Tython betrayed the malevolence lurking deep within the layers of foliage. The rippling currents of the river masked the strides of the three assailants, their garb as black as the midnight sky above. The brothers were silent in their endeavor, their thoughts one and the same. There was only one thing on their minds; only one thing of importance: the mission.

They sprinted out of the forest, determined not to rustle the thick plants as they burst out of the tree line, making a move towards the temple walls. None of them were intimidated by the height nor the grandeur of the looming walls. They knew them well. They stood, backs pressed against chiseled stone and marble; an archaic form of construction. A relic that predated the days of the Old Republic.

The leader of the three held up a gloved fist, demanding further silence as they listened for the sounds of footsteps atop the wall. Only the whispers of a night breeze punctured the silence. With nothing more than a brief nod from the leader as a cue, the brothers retrieved grappling hooks from their packs and hurled them over the wall, the whistling of the lines blending in nicely with the wind.

The leader went first, lunging up his line like a beast of prey. He landed atop the paved walkway atop the wall with nothing less than grace and poise, the movements expected of a charter school ballerina or a Terrelian Jango Jumper, not your typical assassin. He crouched behind a column of stone as his brothers joined him.

Only one figure paced the grounds of the temple gardens on the other side of the wall; a lone sentinel keeping a vigilant watch with only busts of the heroes of old to keep him company. One of the brothers instinctively reached for his saber, eager for yet another kill, but the leader eased him down with only a gesture of his hand. The brother nodded, allowing the elder to take point.

The sentinel was a lowly target, nowhere near the level of a challenge the leader was used to. He took no pride as a shaft of crackling orange jutted through the guard's tunic and chest after a brief snap-hiss of his saber. Not even the Force had alerted the guard of the leader's stealthy intrusion.

The youngest of the brothers kicked at the body, if only to see if the Force had seen fit to spare such a steadfast sentinel. The leader cast a narrow gaze through his mask towards the younger; one he managed to understand completely. With their focus restored, the leader looked towards the center of the temple's structures. It looked little more than a bell shaped chamber hovering over fledgling trees. But the leader didn't let it's simplicity nor it's beauty distract from how truly important such a chamber was. Or, to be more precise, how important the man who resided in such a chamber was.

With no other guards in the vicinity nor the sense of any alarms triggered, the brothers continued their hunt, creeping around the various structures of the ancient temple as an ominous silence hung over them, befitting of their intent. Despite the emptiness of the temple, the leader could sense the presences of all the sleeping knights and apprentices, all so blissfully ignorant of what was about to transpire.

Not the revenge of the Sith, no. That order was long dead. But a new order, one destined for greatness beyond the comprehension of any Jedi or Sith, was about to begin.

As they reached the base of the hovering chamber, the leader held out one of his hands, curling his fingers into the shape of a semi-circle. Reaching out through the infinite power of the Force, he strained for the quarters of the grand master to cease. The warbling white noise faded into nothing while the structure halted its rotation. Then, the lead brother spoke his first word of the night; curt and through gritted teeth.

"Go."

Nodding wordlessly, the other brothers leapt through the open space to the ledges surrounding the bell shaped chamber. The leader wasted no time before following suit, rushing to complete his jump before the quarters started to move. He stumbled as he landed between his brothers, but still landed without as much as a sound.

In tandem, the brothers ignited their sabers, giving the walls of the structure a flickering orange hue against the gleaming light of the moon in orbit. One by one, they plunged their sabers through the heart of the metal wall, melting it's very fibers in a matter of seconds. As if rehearsed, they traced the shape of a large square until the tips of their sabers met at the same corner. After removing their blades of light, the metal gave way, clattering to the ground, breaking the silence the night had given them.

The leader no longer cared about stealth. By the time any of the other Jedi woke, the deed would be done.

He wasn't surprised to see that the grand master wasn't asleep, and not because he had been awoken by the clanging intrusion. No. He sat in the center of his quarters, fully robed and sitting cross legged on what many would mistake as a prayer mat, whispering softly to himself. Even from the other edge of the room, the leader could hear his invocation.

"I'm one with the Force, the Force is with me. I'm one with the Force, the Force is with me. I'm one with the Force-"

The brother began to circle the Jedi grand master, their sabers humming violently. "Get up, old man," one of the brothers revealed his voice.

Grand Master Skywalker broke his chant to chuckle. "You say old like it's a curse word. Like an insult. But with age comes wisdom. And with wisdom, comes understanding." He opened his eyes and stood up, but made no movement towards the hilt of his saber clinging at his waist. "You clearly lack understanding, otherwise you'd know the Sith have long since been beaten."

This made the leader irate. "We are not Sith." He spat that out like Sith was vulgar, and that he intended. The Sith philosophy was a disease, one best left eradicated. But the Jedi were scarcely better.

"No?" The grand master arched a graying eyebrow, as if confused. "You say that as you idolize them through their appearances. Your black robes, your threatening masks. You'd certainly pass off as Sith cultists in my book."

The leader struggled to calm himself. "We did not come to exchange words with you, Skywalker." He brought his saber into a dueling stance, challenging the one who saw fit to call himself grand.

Luke sighed as if in sadness. "Unfortunate. But I expected as such." With a simple wave of his hand, his lightsaber flew off his belt and into his mechanical flesh. He ignited it, a column of calming emerald now contrasting the magma-orange of the brother's blades. "I do not seek quarrel with you, nor do I seek to kill you."

"You'll find our intentions gravely different," the leader growled. He then nodded towards the middle, still silent, brother. A signal. "Kuruk!"

Kuruk nodded and unclenched his free hand, revealing a concealed flash-charge. The disruptor made contact with the titled floor, cracking open and spilling fierce light into the confines of the chamber. The brother's masks immediately filtered out the excess light as Luke winced in sudden pain.

The leader made the first move, charging towards the grand master with all the subtlety of a rampaging krayt dragon. The time for stealth and grace had passed. There were times when rage and emotion were not a detriment but a tool to be sharpened and used, and this was one such moment. With a warrior cry befitting of the likes of a Mandalorian rally-master, he brought his saber bearing down upon Luke.

But the grand master was not so easily disposed of. He leveled his blade with the leader's, practically unhindered by the light of the flash-charge, perfectly parrying the attack. He broke off as Kuruk and Ushar came charging at him as well. He twirled around to avoid their strikes, but without any of the flamboyance associated with his title.

As the twin brother's blades crossed, Skywalker extended out his pure hand and, using it as a conduit to the Force, used it to hurl them against the wall. All dignity of their earlier intrusion had been lost as both their bodies slammed into the metal walls and fell to the floor, their strength ebbing.

"It's been a while since I've had the privilege of being in a duel," Luke quipped as he once again traded blows with the leader. "But I do have to admit, I'm unimpressed. You make for terrible Sith."

"We are not Sith!" the leader bellowed. He was aware Skywalker was goading him, a tactic unbefitting of his title. But he would not be insulted.

"I know," Skywalker said almost sympathetically as their blades crossed, the crackling sounds of their sabers intensifying. "I've heard your true name whispered. You're the ghosts of the Outer Rim. The Bane of Mimban."

"The Knights of Ren."

The leader smiled beneath his helm, satisfied to hear his order's name spoken by the Jedi grand master. "You'll find we are more than mere rumors, Jedi."

"Well," said Luke. "You'll have to do better than this if you seek to impress me." In a flurry of movements, Skywalker deactivated his saber and pressed his flesh hand against the tip of the leader's blades. Rather than jutting and melting through the partly wrinkled skin, the leader watch in helplessness as his saber slowly began to decrease in size.

Then, without warning, Skywalker tore his hand away from the saber's shaft and used it to send the leader flying against the wall, just as he had done to his now barely recovering brothers. As his back collided with the cold metal, he let out a low, malicious growl, a sound warped by the vocoder of his mask.

"Far be it from me to disappoint you!" He shot out his free hand and summoned up his hatred towards Skywalker from the bowels of his soul. Arcs of azure lightning lanced out from his fingertips with the staccato speed of a blaster.

Despite being caught off guard for a brief moment, Skywalker reacted in time, reigniting his saber and deflecting the scattered shots of lightning, the electricity easily absorbed by the vibrating energy of his blade. "Impressive. It's been quite some time since I've seen Force lightning mastered."

"That's only the beginning," he sneered as he got back up to his feet. "Kuruk! Ushar! Ja'konka!"

Once again, the brothers had regained their sync, lashing out at Skywalker at the same time. But not even a combined concentrated attack could best the likes of Luke Skywalker, the Jedi grand master. With his brow furrowed, he took a deep breath and slammed his fist against the mat at his feet.

Just as before, Kuruk and Ushar proved to be no match for the invisible shock wave Luke had conjured through the Force, but the leader would not be beaten that way. Not after coming this far. He leapt over the ground, feeling the wave of the Force graze the bottom of his boots but nothing more. He charged again at Skywalker, falling into a dance with him, feeling the rhythm of each lunge and parry.

"You are not worth the fear associated with your name," Skywalker said. "Your fighting is sloppy. You have no focus."

"Lies!" the leader shouted. But in his anger, he fell out of the rhythm. A mistake he couldn't correct. As he moved his blade, he left his upper section undefended; a mistake Skywalker exploited. With such a level of precision that could only be associated with a Jedi master, Luke sliced the leader's helm in half, the bisected halves of the helmet clattering to the ground, just as the wall had earlier.

As Luke thrusted the tip of his saber towards the leader's throat, shock flooded his eyes. "No," he whispered, an immeasurable amount of agony compacted in one small word. "Jacen?"

The leader's voice was filled with unmistakable fury as his kicked the Jedi master in the gut; a move that would've sucked all the air out of him if the recent revelation hadn't. "Don't say that name! Jacen is dead! It's Kylo Ren now!"

Before Kylo could regain his composure, Luke had him back at saber-point, refusing to let his guard down any longer.

"Stop these games, Jacen! You can't beat me. Deep down you know this!"

For the first time in a while, how long he was truly unsure, he found himself laughing. "I know."

"Then why!" Luke said, his words continuing to be drowning in anguish. "What could you possibly hope to achieve from this?"

"A distraction."

With his words perfectly timed, the unmistakable percussion of a explosion could be heard just outside the quarter's walls.