Prolov closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift back through the decades of his turbulent past. A cold breeze brushing across his face caused him to open his eyes. The warm tears burned slightly as they rolled down his six-year-old cheeks. The wind kissed him again, bringing him back into the reality of the harsh world that surrounded him.

He looked around at the snow-covered land that almost glowed beneath a cloudless sky, darkening slowly by the setting sun. High above him, a majestic mountain peak reflected the pinkish hues of the sinking sun. Wisps of pinkish snow sailed into the air as the wind raced past the mountain, giving it the impression of steam rising off the rocky surface.

"Garren, my boy, you mustn't remain angry with your father forever." a firm but kind voice said.

Prolov turned his attention to his Uncle Torvell Karvoss. He looked into the man's rugged features, accentuated by his thick beard and long dark hair.

Torvell knelt and wiped the tears from Prolov's young face. "I know it is difficult to bear, son. But what happened to your mother and sister is not his fault. He did what he had to do, son. It was the only thing he could do." Prolov could only nod as he looked away for a moment. Torvell gazed up at someone behind him. "Adjudicator General, I will care for the boy if you wish."

"If that is what he chooses, it is permissible by me, Torvell." Antonias Prolov, Adjudicator General of S'Varia, replied from behind in a voice that quavered from a body shivering in the cold.

Torvell turned his gaze back to Prolov. "Is that what you want, boy? You know that this will be a hard life, don't you? I will train you in the ways of the Dark Side of the Force like your father, but I will not be easy on you. There will be difficult trials, and I will implement brutal discipline when necessary. Are you sure you, son?"

Prolov nodded again as he shivered in the cold. "Yes, Uncle. It is what I want…and need."

Torvell smiled and patted the boy on the head before rising to his feet. "The young man has chosen to become one of us. He will live amongst us and be trained in the ways of the Alpinian Sect. He will learn the ways of the Dark Side of the Force from us. Rest assured, Adjudicator General, I will train him well."

Antonias Prolov, adorned in a thick hooded overcoat covering his Dark Jedi cloak, looked down at his young son standing with his back. Emotion began to rise within him momentarily before he pushed it away. The loss of his wife, Syra, and their young daughter, Jael, was a burden that weighed on him heavily. Next to him, his oldest son, Charis, stepped closer to him. Antonias put his hand on the young boy's shoulder as he turned his gaze back to Torvell.

"So be it," Antonias said as he locked his gaze on Torvell. "Train him well, but I ask him to return to us periodically when he comes of age to fulfill his judicial duties."

Torvell, Master Dark Jedi, and Dark Force philosopher nodded in agreement. "It will be done according to your wishes, your Majesty. Come, Garren, let's begin your training."

When they turned from Antonias and Charis, a strong wind blew across the slope, blasting loose snow into the air. It raced towards Prolov and Master Torvell like an angry storm tearing through the countryside. Prolov raised his young hand to shield his face. Before the snow enveloped him, it suddenly ceased as everything grew dark. From behind, he felt the warmth of a fire in its hearth penetrate the thick, hooded, long overcoat. He lowered his hand to see he was much taller now. He was instantly transported from childhood to adulthood in the blink of an eye.

He recognized this place and the period as well. The night before he led his fleet to Endor, he was in his Uncle and Master Torvell's homestead. He slowly turned to face the fire, his eyes filled with his Uncle's image. He was kneeling by the fire with his hands outstretched before him. An aged Torvell smiled as he felt the warmth of the fire on his palms.

"Like this fire, hatred and anger burn within your soul, Garren," Torvell said as he looked up at his nephew.

Prolov frowned, knowing his Uncle was right. "I lost everything when I lost Annalisa, Uncle. It was as if part of me died that day. Emotions, humanity, and even my ability to love died with her."

Torvell chuckled as he turned his eyes back to the fire. "A dangerous mindset even for a soul trained in the dark arts. You and I are not Sith; we must never allow ourselves to give into that level of darkness."

Prolov stepped further into the room, turning his eyes away from his Uncle. "Why not use the darker elements as does the Emperor or Lord Vader? We can weaponize those powers for our benefit."

Torvell rose to his feet as he listened to his nephew. "You are wrong about that, my boy. "

Prolov turned around, glaring at Torvell. He was beginning to tire of the aging man's verbal game. "I'm wrong about what, Uncle?"

Torvell walked over to the large table in the room and began tapping his fingers on its surface. This would have seemed to be nothing more than a habit to most. Prolov, though, knew his Uncle well enough to recognize this as a nonverbal signal that he had something on his mind that he needed to discuss.

"About our people, the S'Varians," Torvell replied sternly, looking up at him. "We originated from a Sith Lord tens of thousands of years ago, but we rebelled and became our entity in the dark arts. But it came with a price. No S'Varian who ever became a Sith returned to the light. We are cursed, my boy. Once we give into total darkness, then we are lost forever."

"Is House Prolov not stronger than that, Uncle?" Prolov asked, stunned by his Torvell's revelation.

"You are all that remains of that house, Garren," Torvell replied. "And though you have suppressed your powers to rise to power in the Imperial ranks, you are still very much in danger. You have assumed control of the dreadful weapon created by the mother of our people, Darth S'Vari. Palpatine is using you to obtain it for his purposes."

Prolov's face stretched into a wicked smile. "And we will use it at Endor to crush our enemies."

Torvell's eyes took on a saddened countenance. "You will not make it to Endor, Garren."

Prolov's face contorted into a mask of anger. "What do you mean by that, Uncle?"

"You will be taken to another place, another time where you will have the opportunity to live this life again," Torvell said as a look of concern crossed his aged features. "I have foreseen it through the Force, Garren. Decades from now, you will be the same as you are now, and she will be there waiting for you."

Torvell's words struck Prolov deeply, but inside, he resisted the temptation to give in to them. "Who will be waiting for me then, Uncle? There will be no love for me."

"It will not be love, Garren. She will be from a dark entity sent to lure you into serving a master of evil." Torvell replied, turning back to the fire. "You will live the same age in two time periods. And you will find an enemy disguised as a friend with a countenance shining like polished silver."

"Uncle, you have grown senile in your old age." Prolov snapped back fiercely. "You have forgotten the one who often comes to me in my dreams and leads me into overcoming adversaries who challenge me. She has guided me to great things in my visions, Uncle."

Torvell shook his head. "She only wants to use you for her evil desires. She is cold and ruthless. There is no love in her for you, Garren."

Prolov's expression twisted into a mask of disdain. "Good. Something died within me when I lost Annalisa." He paused, fastened his thick Imperial coat, and pulled a cap onto his head while glaring at Torvell. "Besides, I no longer believe in love."

With that said, Prolov turned to the door and pulled the coat's heavy hood over his head. A strong breeze of frigid air rushed into the room as he opened it. Outside, the snow fell heavily in the darkened night, covering the landscape in its frozen purity.

"Embrace the Force's leading, Garren!" Torvell called out from behind as he stepped out. "Prepare for the challenge that awaits you…"

Prolov jarred awake from his vision of the past. He was kneeling at the foot of his bed in his quarters aboard the Apollyon. He adjusted the robes adorning his body and stood up. A flash of gold caught his eye. Just to the right of where he was kneeling sat a metallic box engraved with a moon completely eclipsing a star on the inside of its lid.

Another glint of gold light pulsated in his eyes. The light in the bulkhead shone down upon a golden lightsaber hilt. Prolov exhaled and grimaced.

Prepare for the challenge…

Prolov shivered while listening to his Uncle's chilling words. Immediately following the fleet's arrival at Endor, he committed himself to training in the onboard simulators. Being prepared was a penchant for his command, even if the skills would never be needed. He disciplined his subordinates when necessary if they failed to meet this standard. It was also why the vessels under his command conducted continuous academy courses and physical conditioning for all crew members.

Prolov turned his eyes to the dark hooded cloak in the open closet. It beckoned to him like a spirit calling him on a quest. He wanted to reach for it, but his hands remained at his side, shackled by a pair of binders.

Take it, a female voice hissed. Embrace who you are, Admiral Prolov. Lash out at your enemies with all of your hatred.

The closet shimmered in a reddish light. Crimson rays raced out towards him and pulled him into a dark abyss. A shadow moved toward him. The image of a throne crafted from glistening obsidian appeared before him. An extremely tall figure in a hooded cloak locked its pale blue eyes on him. A jagged scar ran down the feminine face, disappearing beneath a mask covering its mouth and nose.

There will be no requiem for those who oppose us, she growled. Bow before me, and I will empower you to take your rightful place upon the throne of S'Varia.

Prolov turned from the image and moved to the other side of the room. He straightened his Imperial uniform and pressed a control on his desk. The holographic image of Captain Aveen appeared.

"Admiral, our fleet is prepared for the assault on Maruun III," Aveen said. "The enemy commanders have ignored all messages demanding surrender."

Prolov nodded. "They have chosen their fate, Captain."

"Further reports from our scouts have confirmed the Facilitator is no longer in the system," Aveen added. "Mixed ground units of First Order Stormtroopers and conscripts are placed strategically within the capital city."

"Exactly as I had hoped," Prolov said. "Have our advanced scouts detected air support for their ground forces?"

Aveen shook his head. "Negative, sir. But I suggest caution as they may have concealed them until we strike."

Prolov chuckled. "I'm already ahead of you, Captain. Colonel Veriss instructed our fighter wings to remain on standby as an insurance policy."

"Very well, sir," Aveen said. "Shall we launch fighter escort upon our arrival?"

"Yes, to cover our ground forces," Prolov replied. "Three squadrons shall suffice."

"Consider it done, Admiral," Aveen said with a bow before his hologram faded.

Prolov moved towards the exit. He paused and stared at the dark hooded robe hanging on a rack above the open box containing the lightsaber hilt. Shimmering gold patterns filled his eyes as if the weapon beckoned to him like a soul reaching out to a long-lost friend across hyperspace channels.

Prolov shuddered as the weight of the decision's consequences pulled on his shoulders like invisible chains, tugging him into the unknown. A lot had been lost in obtaining the privilege to bear that weapon, and even more, had been lost when he abandoned his old ways for the newer frontiers of opportunity offered by the Galactic Empire.

He huffed and stepped out into the corridor, and made his way to the bridge.

You must fulfill your destiny, his father's called out as he walked. The darkness will consume you if you fail, Garren.