Chapter 4: Dark Plotting
In the depths of the ancient Sith citadel, the torch-lit throne room radiated menace. Zarael stood rigidly before Darth Vexis, back straight, eyes fixed ahead beneath his hood. He tightly shielded his tumultuous thoughts - the doubts, the questions - not wishing his master to sense the conflict raging within.
"You summoned me, Master?"
Darth Vexis rose from his obsidian throne, heavy black robes whispering against the stone floor. The elderly Sith's bloodshot yellow eyes bored into Zarael's.
"Indeed. Your skills have progressed well, apprentice. Now your final test approaches." Vexis' voice was like gravel. "Darth Dessius has grown too ambitious, too rebellious. He must be eliminated."
Outwardly, Zarael simply nodded. Inwardly, he recoiled. Slaying a fellow Sith in cold blood seemed an unnecessary cruelty. He thought of Calara's teachings about compassion. But such thoughts were dangerous here in the viper's nest of the Sith Order.
As if sensing Zarael's hesitation, the amulet under his robes pulsated with sinister energy. "You are Sith..." it whispered in his mind. "Mercy is for the weak. Embrace your destiny."
Zarael tightened his mental shields, struggling to shut out the insidious voice. Turning back to Vexis, he steeled himself. "Dessius will trouble you no further, Master. I will see to it."
Vexis' lip curled in an approximation of a smile. "Excellent. The time has come to take your rightful place at my side."
As Zarael departed the citadel, an icy wind howled through the valley below, buffeting his dark robes. He drew the hood tighter, lost in thought. Could he go through with this assassination in cold blood? Since encountering Calara, doubts plagued his mind about the Sith philosophies etched into him from childhood.
The light side of the Force spoke of mercy, of life. The dark side prized only power and domination. Zarael wondered if he had been fed lies, indoctrinated into hatred. Might there be another way, balancing light and dark as Calara had hinted?
Back in his spartan quarters, Zarael sank heavily onto his meditation mat. He had studied Dessius' tactics and habits in preparation, but morally the prospect of premeditated murder revolted him. The amulet, sensing his weakness, redoubled its mental assault.
"Pathetic child!" It seethed. "The Jedi preach lies and illusion. You were born Sith. Act like it!"
Zarael grimaced, clasping his head in pain as the amulet's darkness clawed at his psyche. But he pushed back with all his willpower. "No. My path is my own to choose."
Over the following days cycle, Zarael avoided wearing the amulet, the first time since acquiring it many weeks ago. And, little by little, its sinister whispers faded to a dull murmur in his mind. For the first time, he could think clearly, openly question the Sith dogma that ruled his life.
Studying Sith histories, Zarael was troubled to find a pattern of betrayal and backstabbing. Master turning on apprentice, friend against friend - this was the way of the Sith. But must it be so?
The night before he was to confront Dessius, Zarael wandered the citadel battlements, gazing out at the stark moonlit mountains. A choice lay before him. To murder Dessius and cement his place as a new Sith Lord. Or to renounce everything he had been taught, and forge his own path.
Zarael closed his eyes, feeling the Force flow through and around him. Its currents were chaotic, both dark and light. And in that moment of insight, he understood - the Force was meant to be balanced, not cleaved in two. Even in a place as dark as Korriban, there was still a touch of the light side.
As the first sun cresting the mountains, Zarael ignited his saber, crimson blade angled downward. He had made his choice. Right or wrong, he would follow it. Stepping into the speeder awaiting him, Zarael hurtled towards destiny. He wore the amulet despite the constant whispers pushing him towards the dark side.