Prologue

Taungsday, Nelona 23rd

Korriban

31 Years After the Battle of Yavin

Night was settling, and as the sun slowly set behind the horizon, the darkness of the valley began to emerge like haunting specters from the ruins below. Their ancient spires and stonework had crumbled and decayed for thousands of years, and yet they still boasted their history with a sense of dreadful pride. Through these signatures of a once great empire stood a single, monolithic pyramid. It's stature was nothing short of foreboding, casting a deep oppressive shadow in the dying light that provided an atmosphere of oppression and terror.

Yet, this was not the feeling in the column of a dozen black robed men striding through the remains of their birthright. Fearlessly, they entered the great courtyard; their heavy strides echoing off the aged stone. Their leader stopped for a moment to take in… everything. There was a feeling deep within him that he did not quite understand. He searched within his mind, and yet could not describe this feeling.

Was it fear? Was it amazement?

"No," he mused softly. No, it was stronger than fear; deeper than just simple amazement. It was… destiny. His destiny. Through the unlikely and treacherous paths that he had taken over the many long years… he was here.

And he would fulfill it, one way… or another.

"My Lord?" one of his followers beckoned with a raised hand. He simply nodded, staring up at the capstone of the temple.

"Let us continue."

A dozen paces ahead lay the great door, cast of stone and steel. From the looks of it, it weighed several tonnes. Any archaeological team observing the site would've required great machines to move it even inches. A great, if not impossible task for ordinary men. He smiled.

"But we are not ordinary men, are we?" he whispered to himself. He then spread his arms wide in either direction, and like an orchestra following to the command of a seasoned director, the others quickly flanked him. They gestured their hands to the great mass ahead, bowing their heads and closing their eyes. Then they started to chant.

"Peace is a lie. There is only passion."

Their hands shook with the effort, their bodies beginning to quake like posts in a gale.

"Through passion, I gain strength."

The sound of rumbling echoed through the valley as the ground itself thundered with intense power.

"Through strength, I gain power."

The stone began to wobble from its perch. But it's stubbornness was telling. It was as if the Ancients themselves were testing them. Trying their strength and commitment to see if they were worthy of their secrets. The secrets of absolute power.

"Through power, I gain victory."

The robed figures, however, were up to the challenge. With their combined might, the door began to scrape across the stone foundations with incredible, yet futile protest.

"Through victory, my chains are broken."

Their leader suddenly strode out ahead of them, taking the stone gate in both hands. With a roar, he pulled at the mass and wrenched it clear of its supports! With an explosion of stone and metal that produced a great fog of dust and sand… the mass hovered high above them, steadied by his trembling hands.

"The Force…" he rasped as he held the mass above him with all the effort he could muster, sweat pouring down his temple in droves, "shall… free… me!"

With this, he let the stone fall. With a thunderous crack, it splintered into pieces upon the ancient floor in a terrible heap. He at last let out a sigh. He had never felt this fatigued, this wearied than in this very moment.

"A sign of what is to come," he mused softly.

Indeed, my child.

He stiffened. Though he knew the truth of the matter, he could not help but whirl his eyes around, looking for the speaker.

You have come far. Farther than many.

"Thank you, my Lord," he panted in a respectful tone.

The Courtyard that you now stand upon has been visited by the bones of many a fool who thought they could wield the power that you, and your fellows, now seek.

"I will not fail you, my Lord. It is my destiny."

Indeed it is.

The voice betrayed a sense of acknowledgement that brought a sense of pride to him. But he quickly fought back his growing anticipation. This had been a moment he'd worked towards for years. He could afford to be patient if but for a few more minutes.

Come then, my child. Come, and claim the power you seek.

"Yes, my Lord."

With this, he signalled the rest of his followers, and they began their descent into the underworld. Deeper and deeper they went. Through many a hall and shrine. Through where once stood the great Lords of the Sith, now resting within their tombs. The writing of their forebearers marked the walls with illuminating crimson, telling the many tales of their great conquests and discovery.

He felt his anticipation rise again within his chest. His heart felt as though it was going to burst from his ribcage. He steadied himself.

'Soon,' he thought to himself, 'soon.'

Then they came upon another stone gate, blocking their passage.

Power is only a means to an end, the ancient writing declared upon its stone, it is not an end in itself.

'Then what is the end?' He thought to himself as he studied the writing more. Then, he understood.

"Power is the key to which I unlock my destiny."

He then gestured his hand at the door, and at his beckoning began its ascension. With a groan and exhaust of dust, the door rose to the ceiling and locked into place.

Very good, my young… apprentice.

He stiffened at the word. He would reply, but thought better of it. Instead, he gestured once more to his followers, and marched through the hallway. Moments later, a bright illumination cast its blinding gaze upon him. When he cleared them away, he was greeted by a grand hall cast in deep golds, blacks and reds.

The stone, the metalwork… it looked new. Preserved. It was of the finest craftsmanship, with great pillars of gold and silver lining the walkways of the room; bright flames cast high above in hanging chandeliers. Within the center of the chamber lay an area of sand; dull, dried red marking them ever so slightly. And above that were steps ascending to a great throne, and upon it…

He grimaced. It was merely a hologram, once again.

"You are disappointed, my apprentice?" the hologram asked, his voice like a strained whisper that somehow casted an indomitable power.

"Yes," the young man answered, the tone of his voice sharp but withheld as he gazed upon the towering figure, "I am. I expected you to be here, in the flesh."

"I, however, promised no such thing."

The young man narrowed his eyes.

"I have done all that you have asked. And yet, you do not trust me to greet me in person."

"Yes," the figure nodded knowingly, "but, there is a reason that I do this."

He rose from his chair, the shimmering blue dancing in firelight as he descended the steps. His true height quickly became apparent, towering a heads length above all those below him. And in a blink… he was before him. The young man stared up at the figure; masked in robes of velvet darker than pitch. And yet the face itself was an even darker mass, like peering into starless night.

The figure stared back, the air suddenly become frigid like an arctic world. The lights seemed to dim, and an oppressive feeling lurched out and struck out at the young man's heart, squeezing it. He clutched his chest, falling to his knees, but his eyes did not move. He did not, he would not back down. The figure laughed.

"You prove my point."

The young man's heart was released. He allowed himself to strain for breath as the imposing figure walked past him, his hands clasped behind his back.

"There was another like you. Strong, impulsive… fearless. He became my rival. A challenger to my beliefs, and an upholder to the Ancient Ways," he then whirled on the spot, facing him deathly, "and it was he who nearly saw the end of our Order."

"Palpatine," the young man spat out as he struggled to catch his breath; his heart proving an utter hinderance.

"Yes," even through the hologram, he could feel the man smile, "you know well of him, don't you, boy? Tell me, what was it that caused his downfall? Do you know?"

The younger of the two straightened himself, attempting to regain some of his composure. He thought for a moment.

"He underestimated the loyalty of his… apprentice. The love he had for his son."

The man in the dark, velvet robes merely shook his head.

"No, my child, that was merely a result. Sidious' fall began long before that moment. It began with a fatal flaw. Shall I tell you? It is the least I can do."

He took his silence as an answer.

"It was his lack of vision. His lack of purpose."

The younger man stared at him in astonishment.

"He created an Empire," he retorted. The Man in Black merely tutted and shook his head, disappointed.

"Yes, he did," he admitted before asking simply, like a kindly uncle about to tell his nephew a secret, "and what did he do with it?"

"He… forced peace upon the galaxy. He established order where there was chaos."

He laughed.

"Peace, you say? Order? Yes, perhaps for a short while. But within the first years of his Empire, impressive as it may be with its force of arms and infrastructure, one could see it inherited its rulers own hubris. His abstract, unrestrained cruelty."

"But… the way of the Sith is strength."

"Strength without purpose or reason? That, my child, is not strength. It is stupidity."

The younger man gave him a look of… interest. Confusion, yes. But interest.

"Tell me, my child, did Master Skywalker open his doors to all in the galaxy, regardless of status, of birth?"

The younger man nodded.

"Can you tell me why he did that?"

His answer was immediate, and without hesitation. There was… pride in his voice.

"Unc-ahem, Master Skywalker, he… believed, in people. He believed in what they could do."

"Yes," he answered with a smile, "he saw their potential. He saw their spirit! Yes, your uncle was a truly wise man. One who learned to understand his past," he then turned to the arena, contemplating softly, "this was my student's greatest failure."

"He slaughtered countless people… without purpose."

He nodded slowly.

"There is a benefit for being an observer. The Rebellion that rose and vanquished him? He was their unwitting originator. His need to sate his bloodlust, to control trillions of lives and craft worlds in his image earned him the enmity of his subjects. He created his enemy. This is not the way of the Sith. And because of his arrogance… we were nearly extinguished."

"If that is the case, then why didn't we ally with Master Skywalker and his Order?" the younger man drew closer to him, standing beside him in the arena of sand and blood, "Why… why did you ask me to-"

"Because of whom he would have protected," he answered rathersomberly, "you've seen it, my child. This 'New' Republic… it isn't truly New, is it?"

The younger man stared at the sand in silence. And that silence was telling.

"There was once a saying: 'The sins of the Father shall be carried by the sins of the Son'. For as much as the Rebellion attempted to avert the damage done by their predecessors, it was… inevitable, for them to fall into the same trap. Such a waste," he sighed, his somber attitude once more surprising him. He shifted the sands before them, almost drawing with them.

"I respected your uncle for what he accomplished," he said at length, "rebuilding the Order from nothing. Breaking their stagnation. Seeking knowledge in the pursuit of the Force. It is my greatest regret for what had to be done. But," he turned, placing his holographic hand upon the man's shoulder, "you know as well as I that he would have stood in our way. That he would never have accepted our vision, nor understand what the galaxy needs. That for as much as he disagreed with the New Republic, he would have answered their call. For this, he had to be… swept aside… for now."

The younger man's head drooped, his eyes sealing shut. His heart weighed heavily in sorrow as he replayed the events that shaped him, and what he knew he must do. Yet, the screams, the accusing eyes glaring back at him, haunted him. He felt a hand at his chin; gesturing fatherly and bringing his eyes back to the faceless, voidless being before him.

"I did, however, what none before you could, my child. I can feel your sorrow. Your… hatred. And I understand them all too well. But you also know what we must do. Tell me, my apprentice. Tell me, what is your destiny?"

He answered in stoicism, his face hard and proud, his eyes full of meaning and power.

"To save the Galaxy."

"Indeed," he nodded with approval. Then his head drooped in a sense of utter foreboding that chilled the air to the bone, "but… first, there is one final test for you."

"I am ready."

"We shall see."

Upon uttering these words, the eleven other individuals suddenly encircled the pair of them. Shoulder to shoulder, they blocked all escape save for the throne. But, it would be pointless to retreat there.

"Bring him in."

The shudder of a door opened. Two hulking individuals dressed in ornate scarlet and gold cloaks marched in, each dragging the battered and broken man. He whimpered through the bag over his head as the servants dropped him in scattered heap at the feet of the Dark Warriors.

"What is this?"

"Loyalty," the Man in Black answered. The bag was plucked from his head, revealing a bruised and swollen face, purple and black in its severity. The face was unrecognizable. But the brown and gray robes he wore were unmistakable. The uniform of a Jedi.

"This… this is unnecessary," he protested, facing the unfazed look of his master, "you do not need to kill him."

"He is our enemy. He is your enemy. And my child, you have long since made your choice," suddenly the cloaked figures rose to fighting stances. Their over-cloaks fell to the floor, revealing men and women-human and alien-adorned in individualized black armor and robes. Yet, what was most distinct were their masks. Each trimmed in dark armor plating, and silver metal face shields each designed to their own specific fashion. Yet, they each gave off the impression of wolves at a hunt; hungry and utterly vicious to the thrill of the hunt.

Their hollow eyes glared at him, their hands swiftly going to their dominant sides. There laid the trophies of their many, many kills. And quite a few were the hilts of lightsabers. Then, in a flash, eleven crimson sabers blared in their hateful fire, feeling the room with a thick scarlet overture. He could only stare at his would be executioners, knowing what would come if he refused.

"And your choice cannot be easily undone," his master broke his thoughts with the slightest of whispers. He stared down at the fallen Jedi; his eyes meeting the desperate, silent pleading with measured guilt… and knowledge in what he must do.

"Fulfill your destiny, my child. Fulfill your Grandfather's Legacy."

He stared once more at the Jedi before him. Then his hand drew his weapon. A ravenous, flame like blade sprouted from its emitter with an animalistic growl. Then, two more blades sprung from the sides of emitter, bearing much in the way of appearance to that of ancient swords. The Crossguard was an ancient design, found among the first to harness the power of the Lightsaber.

Its fiery color drew a red shadow over the Jedi's face, sealing in that moment his fate. Then, like an executioner's axe, the blade descended in the blink of an eye and the body fell to the floor; cold as the stone on which it lay. The student let out a restrained breath. He felt as though he were in a nightmare. And then he felt the cold, sizzling hand take him by the shoulder; speaking softly… and almost fatherly:

"Well done, my child. Well done."

Then the Knights standing before them raised their sabers in a salute. The Master gestured with a hand, and the student fell to his knees. He felt the simmering hands upon the sides of his face… then he heard the roar of a lightsaber; glimmering softly in the hologram beside his head. Then he noticed the others lowering their sabers together downward… in his honor.

"By the Will of the Ancients, by the Strength of Darkness, by the Right of the Sith… dub thee, I do… Kylo Ren."

Suddenly, a mask like no-other appeared before him, hovering above his head. Black in form, steel in trim, it's faceplate like a shadowed mandible.

"Rise, Lord of the Knights of Ren. Rise… and take your birthright."

And so, he clutched the helm in both hands, rising to his feet. He stared into its obsidian visor, and found… a different man, staring back at him. The man he knew he must become. And in that moment, he donned the helm with a loud hiss, and became that which he must be.

"What is thy bidding, my master?"