Zannah's eyes snapped open. Her heart pounded in her chest, the rhythm as frenzied as the duel she had just escaped. A duel, not of this world, but a grim echo of her past, resurrected in the theater of her nightmares. The room was shrouded in darkness, the corners so deep they seemed to swallow reality itself, much like the void in her dream.
In the fathomless depths of sleep, she relived the defining moment of her existence. A confrontation with her master, Darth Bane, a battle as much of wills as of blades. She had triumphed, she had vanquished him, but that victory had been tainted.
The dream faded, but the bitterness remained. She could still feel the cold tendrils of Bane's spirit writhing against her as he enacted the ritual of essence transfer in his final moments. She relived the shock of his betrayal—his attempt to deny her destiny and steal her body to cheat death.
"You are weak," Bane had hissed, his essence invading her mind. "You lack the power to fulfill the destiny of the Sith."
Zannah shivered, shaking off the vivid memory. Bane had failed, yet she still felt the oily residue of his presence lurking within, waiting for any moment of weakness.
Sleep, she knew, would not return tonight. Not after such a potent reminder of her past.
With a sigh, she sat up, the cool air of the room prickling her skin. She reached for her robes, the fabric slipping over her like a whisper. Her gaze was drawn to a shadow in the corner of the room. A figure, silent, imposing, watching her.
She ignored it, turning instead to the door. Her bare feet padded softly on the cold stone floor as she made her way out of her room. Her study awaited her, a sanctuary of solitude and knowledge. She pushed open the door, the moonlight streaming in through the window dappling the room in ethereal light.
Zannah sat in silent contemplation behind her imposing desk. The scrolls, which lay haphazardly across the polished surface, seemed to mock her with their intricately inked characters. They had been there since yesterday, relics of an exhaustive study session that had yielded only frustration. Her eyes scanned over the scrolls, their cryptic contents barely alluding to Andeddu or the ritual of essence transfer.
Leaning back in her chair, Zannah allowed herself a moment of respite. Her thoughts quickly strayed, ensnared by the memory of Set Harth. Her former apprentice. Her mistake. His image, his scent, even the echo of his voice, all were etched into the depths of her mind with an irrevocable permanence.
He had vanished like a wraith after their expedition to Doan. With the Andeddu holocron likely in his possession, all efforts to locate him had thus far proved fruitless. His disappearance was not just an inconvenience—it was a dangerous loose end.
Out of the corner of her eye, Zannah registered the figure shrouded in shadows—watching, always watching. Yet she paid it no heed. Its presence was familiar.
She turned her attention back to the screen embedded within her desk. It flickered to life at her touch, displaying a myriad of data. The complex network of corporations she had commandeered from Bane sprawled out before her in a web of numbers and names. She had not only taken it over, but had expanded it, refined it, until it had become a formidable tool in her hands. Now, she was ready to wield this tool with ruthless precision. The time had come to eradicate the Jedi, to reclaim the galaxy for the Sith.
The amber hues of late afternoon seeped into the room through the narrow window slits just as a discreet chime from one of the screens broke the silence. A private ship from Coruscant had arrived. Zannah, buried in her calculations, pushed away from her desk.
She navigated the labyrinthine corridors back to her privete chambers her dark cloak trailing behind her like a wisp of shadow. In the solitude of her quarters, she exchanged her Sith attire for a more formal dress. The garment was an exquisite blend of elegance and power. As she dressed, she observed herself in the mirror.
Her fingertips traced through her short hair that, despite its length, held a certain wildness that hinted at the spirit beneath. Once, she had been known for her beauty, but now, the ravages of time and the dark side had etched their marks upon her.
But Zannah didn't care. She never sought to preserve her beauty. For her, it was nothing more than a tool, a weapon to wield when needed. The dark side had exacted its toll, but in return, it had granted her power beyond imagining.
Zannah turned from the mirror, examining her reflection one last time. The elegant dress transformed her into Hestiva Mayes, obscuring any traces of the Sith Mistress. She smoothed the luxurious fabric, letting the role settle over her.
Hestiva Mayes was a woman of wealth and influence, a cunning player in the galactic game of power. She wielded money and connections like weapons. No one suspected the indomitable strength that lay beneath her polished exterior.
Zannah departed her private chambers, leaving the silent shadowy specter behind. She quickened her pace through the corridors, eager to escape the grim weight of its presence.
She arrived at the lounge, pausing for a moment and assumed an air of warm congeniality just as the doors slid open.
She entered the lounge, the murmur of soft music greeted her. Ryan stood out like a beacon, he was young, strikingly handsome with an air of fierce determination. He was an asset, a pawn in her grand game of galactic chess.
"Ah, my lady," Ryan greeted, dipping his head in a respectful nod. His eyes sparkled with an eagerness that was both charming and disarmingly naive. "Your arrival is as timely as ever."
She offered a smile in return, her voice smooth as velvet. "Ryan, I trust you've been making the most of your time."
They both made their way to ornate armchairs. Zannah, with a dignified grace, lowered herself into the plush seat. Ryan followed suit. Their conversation began lightly, filled with good-natured banter, but the conversation gradually took on a more serious tone.
"The price is reaching a critical point," Ryan said, His features were clouded with concern, "It's at a point where we could start the next steps."
Zannah considered his words, her gaze steady. "We will wait until the Jedi get more involved."
"But, my lady," Ryan interjected, his face etched with concern, "for our plans to succeed, the level of Jedi involvement isn't necessary—"
She cut him off with a swift, firm gesture. "According to myplans, Ryan," she emphasized, her voice crisp with authority, "the Jedi need to be more involved. The later they react, the better. We just need to be patient."
Ryan fell silent, his face a study in thoughtful contemplation. "The price of tibanna gas may fall."
Zannah shook her head, her confidence unshaken. "It won't," She was sure of it.
Ryan took a deep breath. "Just before I left Coruscant, I received an intriguing piece of information...," he began, his tone piquing Zannah's curiosity. She raised a brow in inquiry.
"An ancient temple is going up for auction."
Zannah sighed, a hint of annoyance tingeing her voice. "You know I have people looking into old artifacts, Ryan. You should focus on the politics."
"Of course, my lady. I apologize."
Zannah dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand. "Leave the data card here. I'll look at it later,"
She could see his desperation to live up to her expectations. But she needed him for one thing only: to be her eyes and ears in Coruscant, a conduit to leech information from the Jedi. She needed to keep him in check, to ensure that his eagerness did not lead him astray. The game, after all, was going exactly as she had planned.
Their conversation stretched into the night. As the final notes of their discussion faded into the shadows, She dissmised Ryan and prepared to retitere to her study. There was work to be done before she could rest.
The long, winding corridors of her residence stretched before her, the silence punctuated only by her footsteps. As she walked, a familiar figure manifested, a phantom from her past. "Always so cautious. Always waiting. Always taking your time before you do anything," the figure mocked, its voice a chilling whisper in the darkness.
Zannah whirled towards it. There, bathed in the pallid glow of the corridor lights, stood Darth Bane, grinning at her. His form was as imposing as she remembered, a grim reminder of a past she had long since left behind.
She unleashed a blast of dark side energy. It seared through the air, crashing into a bust on a pedestal behind the figure. The bust shattered, fragments scattering across the floor. Yet Bane stood there, unfazed, his ethereal laughter echoing in the empty corridor. Zannah retreated to her study, Bane's laughter haunting her every step.
Zannah slammed the door of her study behind her, the resounding echo serving as a momentary shield against Bane's laughter. Ever since their fateful duel, nightmares often visited her in the deep of the night. But of late, they were becoming alarmingly constant, his presence so real she had to remind herself that it was merely a figment of her tortured subconscious.
Without the knowledge contained in the Andeddu holocron, it was impossible for her to discern how to rid herself of the lingering essence of Bane that seemed trapped within her. She wondered if it was even possible.
Pushing those thoughts aside, she made her way to her desk and took a seat. Sleep would have to wait. Reports from various groups looking into Set Harth demanded her attention. She sifted through the data and Nothing, there was absolutely no new information.
Her eyes then fell on the data card Ryan had brought. Deciding to shift her focus, she inserted it into the console. The details of an ancient dark side temple on the planet Aridax filled the screen. Sealed in caves, it remained unlooted.
Zannah was already aware of the auction, but the fact that the temple was sealed within caves was new information. This made it infinitely more interesting. Unlooted temples were a rarity, perhaps she would dispatch her apprentice to investigate further
Darth Cognus sat in her customary spot, her gaze fixed on the blood-soaked arena below. A group of Wookiees, their fur matted and slick with sweat and grime, grappled with a vicious Rancor. The spectacle was nothing short of captivating, yet her thoughts strayed elsewhere.
A man slid into the seat next to her, disturbing her reverie. "I have a job that will pay well," he said.
Without sparing him a glance, she replied, "Not interested."
"Come on, just hear me out."
Finally, she turned to face him, her eyes flashing with a dangerous intent. Her voice, low and threatening, sliced through the arena's cacophony. ""You've got three seconds to disappear."
The man ramained seated and tried to speak, Cognus reached out and grabbed the man's throat in an iron grip. Without a word, she hurled him from his seat. His whimpering pleas cut short as he slammed into the nearest wall and crumbled to the floor. She was preoccupied with her upcoming mission. Finally, something worthy of her attention. It had been months since she had been tasked with a mission that wasn't just dealing with smugglers and pirates.
She was to decipher the mysteries that lay within a temple on the planet Aridax. Although the temple was due for auction in a month, Cognus had ample time to unearth its secrets. She reclined in her seat, her gaze once again riveted on the spectacle below.
The Wookiees, now reduced to half their original number, continued their battle against the monstrous Rancor. The air was thick with the scent of blood and the thrill of battle. The resounding roar of the crowd echoed the ferocity of the bloody spectacle. With each brutal onslaught of the Rancor, the sands of the arena were stained with blood and fur. But the remaining Wookiees stood their ground, their determination unyielding. One landed a hefty blow to the Rancor's face, a roar of pain reverberating through the arena.
She watched the dance of death with a keen interest, the savagery unfolding below reflecting the violence that was a constant undercurrent of her own existence. The intoxicating mix of blood and battle was a heady delight, a stark reminder of the raw power that she herself wielded. Few things enthralled her more than watching strength, skill, and cunning tested to the very limits of endurance and then past those limits into death. Another perfect afternoon at the arena.
