The journey to Exegol would have been impossible without the Wayfinder. It was nearly impossible for Kylo Ren's escort as they struggled to keep up with his high-speed twists and turns. He sped through the nebula, dodging debris that seemed ages old, trusting that he would find something at the other end. His persistence was rewarded as he spun through one final turn and exited the nebula into darkness. The planet that loomed ahead blocked out the view of its sun as he eased into the final approach. The planet itself seemed mostly empty of civilization, except for a base or temple of some sort. It could barely be seen through the darkness, but his sensors indicated that it started on the surface and penetrated rather deeply underground. A single landing pad on the surface of the base had its lights on. As his escort followed him into the atmosphere, another landing pad lit up. "Someone was expected…" he muttered quietly to himself, "and now they know how many." Each pad was about large enough for two fighters of his size. The TIE fighters fit easily. He was not terribly surprised to see that Captain Phasma's ship had joined his on the first pad. She was, after all, in charge of backing him up. She wore all black now, her suit a thick, cloth-like weave and the eye sockets of her hard-shell helmet glowing faintly blue. The soldiers she had chosen for the assignment also wore black. This pleased Kylo Ren. It matched his own outfit. He saw a small group approaching, humanoids wearing dark gray hooded robes, and strode out to meet them.

They were humanoids. In fact, they looked human. There were only three of them to his three, and only one approached the other four members of his escort on the other pad. Kylo Ren watched in apprehension as they approached. They did not take down their hoods, but the one in the center spoke. "Welcome, sir. Few now find their way to our humble home."

"I had some help," Kylo Ren admitted, watching the newcomers warily. The two on either side stood, while the one who had spoken advanced further.

"You were given help?" asked the one who had spoken before. The voice was decidedly male, but not very deep or compelling. "Or did you take it?" There was no judgment in his voice, only curiosity. He looked up as he came to a stop, and Kylo Ren saw the face of a human man only about ten years older than himself.

"I took it. I found the Wayfinder in my former master's quarters." Kylo Ren rested his hand on his lightsaber, wondering if this admission would send the robed man into a rage.

It did not. "A Wayfinder. By any chance, did your former master call himself 'Snoke'?" The man's voice was still calm and curious.

"He did."

"What became of him? You exceeded him?"

Kylo Ren took a breath. "I killed him." He didn't see fit to mention Rey's involvement. The girl had rejected him. Surely she was no longer part of the picture. A pity…

At this, the hooded man looked pleased. "You must be Kylo Ren, his apprentice. He spoke to us of you and your strength in the Dark Side of the Force. At our last communication, he seemed disappointed in you, but it seems that you misled him."

"Who are you?" Kylo Ren asked point-blank.

"Walk with me," the man invited. "You and your people. We will prepare a meal for you, and I will be glad to answer all of your questions."

Kylo Ren glanced behind him and nodded curtly. Captain Phasma and her copilot fell in behind him, and the other four joined them as they reached the end of the walkway that joined each landing pad to the central ring. "We are members of Emperor Palpatine's Sith cult," the man explained. "Our master left us before I even joined, but we have persisted in his honor and done his duty. We have been completing the work that he left to us. We have tried to replace him, but in vain. You… met our best effort already."

"Snoke. He was supposed to replace Emperor Palpatine?" Kylo Ren asked, trying to see everything at once. He didn't succeed very well. The few areas of artificial lighting was dim. The robed people did not seem to need much light to find their way.

"He was supposed to become Emperor Palpatine. We took the best sample we had. But the vat we found was insufficient to the task. It can make new beings, but Force users… no doubt require an adjustment we do not know how to make. He emerged… damaged… and we let him go."

"You tried to clone him." Kylo Ren tried to keep the disgust out of his voice.

The man smiled broadly. "We tried. But we see that he was not a complete failure. He trained you, and you exceeded him. Then you came to us. You are worthy of the throne. You may be the only one. You are certainly the first."

They entered a much larger room, though the darkness made it hard to tell just how large it was. Kylo Ren took a moment to think about what he'd been told so far. "A cult, you said. Are you all Force users here?"

The hooded man shook his head. "No. Few of us have a little talent, but most of us have none. The way of the Sith does not require it any more than the way of the Jedi. After all, does the Force not surround us and bind us? Does it not emanate from us, even those of us who do not control it directly? And yes, we are a cult. We accept that definition, because it is true. Why would we practice self-deception? We are exactly what we are, and that does not shame us. Ah, we have arrived at just the right time. Climb the stairs. Sit on the throne and you will see."

Kylo Ren was not quite sure about this, but he did as the man said. The stairs leading to the throne started out circular, shallow, and spread apart, but they became closer together and higher as the shape of the chair itself could be made out in the darkness. He climbed the stairs and slowly settled down on the seat of the chair. It was twice as wide as he was, padded and quite comfortable. There was a moment of silence, and he spoke again. "Do you always keep it dark here? Is there a value to the darkness? A sign of the Sith, or something?"

"Darkness is always valuable," the man replied, sounding amused and pleased now. "But so is the light."

In that moment, a deep red light appeared in front of Kylo Ren, almost dazzling him. The room, an enormous ampitheatre-like construction, became visible as it was bathed in red light. A few hooded people stood, here and there, in the stands surrounding the throne. Each section of stands were broken by a large window, with the throne facing the largest window of all. The light came from a sun, and it quickly brightened from red to yellow as the bright ball rose quickly into the sky. Within less than five minutes, the rest of the view became visible. Kylo Ren saw massive courtyards and gardens spread out before him, angled lines on an outward curve, tidy and symmetrical. Cloaked people walked here and there, watching the swift sunrise, tending the vegetables and flowers in the gardens, busying themselves with other various tasks. Some were hooded, while others had their hoods thrown back. In a moment more, the Sith cult 'temple' sat in full daylight. "It is morning," the hooded man by the throne declared, pleased. "The sun rises on a good day. We will have an Emperor again."

We will have an Emperor again. That sounded like a resounding sentiment worthy of import - perhaps a swell in orchestral music or a change in lighting. Neither occurred, and Kylo Ren began to feel just a little uneasy. "What do you expect from that?" he asked. "What do you intend for an emperor to do?"

"Guide us," the man responded. "Direct us. We have gathered your strength. We have built your forces. We are ready."

"How do I do that? Do I give the orders to you? Do you have a… general?"

"No, Emperor Ren. Sit back in the chair and relax. Place your arms upon the arms of the chair."

Kylo Ren found that he could rest both arms and elbows on the chair as long as he didn't mind spreading them out from his body. He felt a little more vulnerable at first, but lines in the chair arms slowly turned red as he relaxed, and the red glow spread into more lines etched on the chair and the top of the dias. "Focus," the hooded man intoned. "Let the Dark Side flow. Summon your emotions, fuel the chair… and form your intent. Give us your enemies."

The red lines quickly flooded down across the rest of the steps - one of Kylo Ren's escort stepped back nervously as he turned out to be standing on a line - and the room darkened slightly, the windows dimming. The large window in front dimmed further and a starfield view appeared as if on an invisible screen. "Very good," the hooded man told him. "Thank you. We have our target."

Kylo Ren didn't remember consciously choosing one.

Commander Malachi hurried onto the bridge, trying to shake the sleep from his eyes. He couldn't help but to feel a bit irritated about being hustled out of bed in the middle of his sleep cycle. He knew better than to express it to his first officer or to the crewman who had been sent to wake him up. Powell would never have awakened him if she didn't deem it important, and he'd learned to trust her instincts. "I'm here," he announced. "What is it, Lieutenant Commander?"

Lieutenant Commander Powell seemed just as awake as she was during the day. Her uniform was no worse rumpled than his, but no more rumpled than it was during the day. "I thought you needed to see this, sir. We have a ship approaching - but we weren't informed of any reinforcements arriving."

"Why would you think they were reinforcements?" Malachi asked, and immediately had his question answered by his view of the screen. The ship was clearly some sort of Super Star Destroyer. He frowned as he examined the line image. "I don't know what class this is. I've never seen one quite like it before. Has it given us an identification yet?"

"It hasn't reached comms range yet, sir," Powell told him. She looked troubled. "I've never seen anything like it either. I thought perhaps you had been privy to extra information, a briefing perhaps…"

Malachi wished he could give her the reassurance she was hoping for, but he would not lie to her. "We haven't had a new ship design since the Supremacy. There's nothing in the wings that I know of. Well, once it gets into range, go ahead and initiate communication. Be friendly, but careful."

He studied the design, listening to her voice in the background, listening to the hum of the ship and the various rustlings of a quiet but competent crew. "This is the Star Destroyer Mediator to approaching ship; we are glad to have the company. What is your identification?" Silence reigned for a moment, then she tried again. "No answer, Commander," she told him.

"Keep trying," Malachi replied his own unease growing.

He remained silent, thinking over his options, listening to her repeated attempts. "This is the Star Destroyer Mediator, please identify yourself… This is the Mediator, protecting Mimbam from intruders, please identify yourself… This is a First Order Star Destroyer protecting the planet Mimbam, please submit your identification…"

"Scramble our fighters," Malachi ordered, his voice deadly calm.

His first officer immediately relayed the order. "Scramble the fighters, send them out by squads. Deploy Alpha and Beta spread in a guarding pattern ahead, Charlie and Delta alongside us for reinforcement." Only after setting motion in order did she question him. "Fighters? You think so?"

"They haven't replied," Malachi pointed out. "They may look friendly, but for all I know it could be some old hull patched up by Resistance fighters or something."

"Or something," Powell noted. "It's in pretty good shape for a patched-up hulk." They watched silently out the window now, as the ship approached in clear visual range. "Isn't it a little short, for a Super Star Destroyer?" she commented.

The unknown Super Star Destroyer fired. A single pulse crashed through several TIE fighters and barely missed the Mediator, rocking the ship slightly.

Immediately, the bridge erupted into controlled chaos. "We're under attack!" got echoed from Radar back to Powell.

"Alpha and Beta wings, break and attack," Malachi ordered.

"Alpha and Beta, break and attack. Charlie and Delta, move up to escort position," Powell ordered.

"Return fire," Malachi ordered.

"All front cannons, target and fire," Powell ordered.

No fighters emanated from the mystery ship. TIE fighters swarmed across it and were picked off quickly by a large number of small gunner towers spread across the hull.

"All direct hits, sir, no damage," Powell reported back. "Losing Alpha Wing - Beta wing is gone."

The mystery ship fired upon the Mediator. This time, the ship rocked noticeably, explosions spreading across the flank of the ship, several pieces giving way and tumbling into space.

"Lost comms, sir, and starboard cannons," Powell reported. "Alpha Wing gone."

It was all happening so fast. This ship was obviously much more powerful than they were. He had never seen a cannon strength like that from such a small ship. Two thoughts quickly flashed through his mind; he wondered how the heat from the mystery ship's weapons was being dissipated, and he felt a quick stab of pity for the planetary forces they had destroyed earlier as an inferior force struggling against a clearly superior one. Malachi forced himself to clear his head. "Delta, break and attack, provide cover for Charlie. Charlie, take out those three shield generators - any way you have to." He forced his voice to harden. He knew that he was ordering them into a suicide mission. "Powell, evade. Turn our port side to her, angle our deflector shields, and prepare for a broadside."

"Yes sir." Once she'd relayed the orders, she climbed the ladder to join him on the deck. "This is something we've never seen before, and its hostile. The first thing they took out was communications."

"That's a good point, Lieutenant Commander," Malachi praised her. He watched the scene grimly. The mystery ship made short work of the fighters, but not before two of the three shield generators were destroyed by ramming maneuvers, which was the exact way he suspected it would have to be done. "Prepare two log buoys. Release one, deactivated, the next time we're hit. Let it float with the wreckage." He could already see the mystery ship's main cannons glowing at the end, and he knew that the next blow would come soon.

He gripped the railing near the main windows as the ship rocked, hard. "Buoy away," Powell reported, which surprised him. He realized quickly that she had already prepared it. "We've lost propulsion, two fighter bays, part of Sickbay, and life support on ten decks," she told him. "But our port cannons are ready."

"Fire broadside," Malachi ordered. "Targeting the hole in their shields."

"Fire broadside!" Powell commanded.

The shot blackened part of the enemy ship's hull, but Malachi could already see that the armor was too strong. He let out a breath as he heard the report. "Minimal damage, sir."

The next volley from the mystery ship caused small explosions across the bridge. The impact tore Malachi's grip from the railing and flung him to the floor, sliding and stopping just short of falling into the crew pit. He hauled himself upright, though it hurt. Listening to the damage reports almost hurt worse.

"No power to the weapons."

"Life support failing on all remaining decks."

"Fire in the main reactor room."

"Comms, radar, propulsion, it's all dead, sir."

"We're dead. We're dead in the water."

And he knew that the battle was already lost. "Release the other log buoy, Powell," he said quietly. "Active and moving." He was not surprised in the slightest when a single cannon blast from the mystery ship reduced the buoy to dust. They couldn't even tell whether the mystery ship was lining up another shot on them, couldn't even detect if the cannons were hot. It didn't matter. As everyone else panicked, ran, frantically tapped unregistered commands into dead consoles, he realized that his first officer had left her spot and was standing beside him. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "You're a good officer, Powell. You deserved better than this."

"It's alright, sir," she told him, just as calm and just as stressed as she always had been. "I knew that this was how it was going to turn out for me eventually. Pleasure working with you."

Malachi realized that he had no idea why she thought that. He'd never asked her the personal questions, never gotten to know her beyond bridge talk and a little light casual conversation. He regretted it. He reached slightly to the side and felt her hand slip into his. The two faced the main window together and watched the final blast as it rocketed straight into their faces.

The mystery ship turned, grazing some of the wreckage of the Mediator as it glided serenely through, and departed the system without offering a single threat to the planet.

Sitting in the Emperor's chair, Kylo Ren could not help but to admire the precision and power of the Sith vessel even as he was horrified by its actions. "That was a First Order ship!" he exclaimed, watching the viewscreen. "Why did you do that?"

"Emperor Ren, you chose the target…" The hooded man continued to remain calm. "Stretching out with your feelings, forming your intent, fueling it with the Dark Side. There must have been a reason, some animosity you felt, perhaps disappointment… frustration…"

Kylo Ren leaned back, removing his arms from the chair arms, folding them in front of his chest. Daylight streamed into the room as the windows returned to normal. "Perhaps," he said, troubled, because everything the hooded man said was true. He had a hatred of the Resistance, of course, a muted and distant hatred that he could bring to the fore at any time. But the last thing that had really irritated him was the useless meeting about the useless quellings of useless rebellions, all while everybody complained to him about staffing shortages and fleet equipment issues. Nobody made such complaints here. "I… made a mistake. I need to have more control. I should have been more deliberate." Usually, he would never have said something that that aloud. It seemed, though, that nothing he said could upset his new friend the hooded man.

Neither did this. "It is as much my fault," the man told him kindly, "for pushing you into it when you had just arrived and are fatigued from your journey. Emperor Ren, let us bring you to your quarters so that you can rest. You can try again at any time. You can come and command your fleet whenever you wish."

"Yes, yes…" It made sense. He glanced around and noticed Captain Phasma and the rest of the First Order personnel still standing by. They had not moved during the demonstration of the Sith cult ship. He had all but forgotten that they were in the room. "And my escort…" He had never really been able to read Phasma's emotions with the Force. He doubted that she was blocking him. She was merely always under a very tight control, and today was no exception. Still, the others seemed disturbed, and he had to confess that he himself was still a bit shaken. "They should rest…"

"We have already prepared comfortable rooms for them as well," the hooded man answered smoothly. "One person per room, unless you would prefer other arrangements."

Phasma still did not say a word, and Kylo Ren felt a bit uncomfortable. "Yes, separate rooms sounds… wise. And I think, perhaps, that they should stay there for a while," he told the man.

"It shall be done, Emperor Ren."

That name was beginning to bother him. It sounded too much like his real-… his name before he had turned. "Emperor Kylo," he corrected. "Call me Emperor Kylo, instead."

And the response was just as calm and level as before. "It shall be done."