They walked into the tomb, Morgan relaxed but cautious and Vette complaining.

“Why, by the goddess, didn’t that damned quartermaster carry blasters.” She muttered. “What am I supposed to do with a sword?”

“Generally,” Morgan answered dryly, “I hit people with it.”

Vette glared at him, Morgan feeling a tiny flinch of fear immediately after. ‘She really is good at hiding her emotions. Like a cat.’

She marched ahead, swinging her saber as if to get a feel for it. Her lekku bounced after her, catching what little light there still was. ‘A really pretty cat.’

He shook the thought away, focusing on his surroundings. The tomb was dark, and the entrance narrow, so he couldn't see far. His other senses told him they were alone. For now.

They came to the first switch with no trouble, Vette flicking it before her head snapped to a shadowy corner.

Morgan followed her gaze, not seeing anything. His first scan didn’t reveal anything either.

His second, more thorough, scan revealed a short blip of life, before that too was gone. The blip felt ravenously hungry.

“You can come out now.” He called to the darkness. “I won’t attack if you won’t.”

Vette backed away from the shadow slowly.

A single-eyed green humanoid stalked out of the darkness, his frame thin. “Who is this? Who comes speaking to the Seh-run? Is it acolyte? Did it bring food?”

“I did not bring food, no.” Morgan answered. “At least none of the food that you want.”

“What are you doing here?” Vette asked, holding her saber tightly. “This isn’t exactly a home, but you look like you’ve been here awhile.”

Seh-run grunted. “Seh-run once lived in the academy. Was once like you. Seh-run feasted on the scraps of the beast pens. Until the Overseer sent it away to starve.”

“You were sith?” She asked, alarmed.

“No.” Morgan answered for him. “Or not a normal one. He is good at hiding, but he has no shield. No defences.”

He pierced deeper, looking at the chaos in Seh-run. How the Dark ran rampant. How it hungered.

“You're a mutation.” Morgan stated. “You can strip the Dark from someone. Feast on it.”

Seh-run grunted again. “Yes. Yes, that is what the Overseer said. His special meals gave me strength. Such strength. Enough to hunt for food on my own. Enough to devour any.”

Vette looked at Morgan, concern plain on her face. “Is he saying what I think he’s saying?”

“Yesss.” Seh-run hissed. “Seh-run will eat from you. Devour you. Then it will be strong again. Then it will have its revenge.”

Seh-run jumped, clearing the distance faster than any acolyte Morgan had seen.

He had not been fighting mere acolytes, however. He had sharpened himself against sith, champion and Overseer both.

So he stepped aside, Seh-run's claws missing by a hand's width. His saber whistled as it cut through the air, biting deep into his attacker's flesh.

Where any other head would have come clean off, Seh-run still had half of his attached when he jumped back to clear space. His neck bubbled, flesh pulsing.

“Seh-run is weak.” Seh-run told them, dismayed. “But Seh-run will heal. Will eat from softer prey. Then it will stalk. Hunt.”

Morgan watched as he turned, attempting to run deeper into the tomb. The grenade detonated right next to Seh-run’s ear, his weakened head coming off with a tear.

He looked at Vette, who was shifting nervously. Seh-run sagged to the ground, dead.

“I may have swiped one or two grenades from some of the soldiers we passed.” She admitted.

He wondered if that was foresight or kleptomania, but he was glad for it. Hunting Seh-run through a tomb he didn’t know would have been a pain.

‘A pretty thief cat.’

“Feel free to steal what you can in the tomb, as long as it’s not ancient relics or such. No need to have the Imperial Reclamation Service after our head.”

Vette grinned at him. “Have I told you you're the best sith boss ever?”

“No. Also, I’m your only sith boss, so that doesn’t count.”

Morgan felt a wave of anger and fear go through her, just before she stamped it down.

He tilted his head. “Unless I’m not. Am I?”

She shook her head, a complicated look on her face. “That Tremal guy. He was your mentor, right?”

“Tremel.” Morgan corrected. “And yes, he was my Overseer.”

“Well, he’s the only one that uses the ‘three prisoners to judge’ test. First time that happened, I didn’t think much of it. Just another sith being cruel.”

“Trial. It’s called a trial.”

“Right, trial. So when that sith, a twi’lek, came to fetch me to get into a tomb, I was delighted. Thought maybe she wouldn’t be as shitty to me as she was to those prisoners, we both being twi’lek and all that.”

Vette scratched her collar, a distant look on her face. “I was wrong. We also didn’t even make it four hours, tripping over a droid patrol. I ran as she was torn apart, screaming as she died.”

She turned to look at a mural on the wall, away from him. “So back into my cage I went, until another three prisoners were brought and judged. That one, some zabrak, never came to get me. Thought maybe I wasn’t part of Tremels trials anymore.”

“Until a third came to judge, and a few days later she came to get me. She revelled in causing pain, that one. Really liked being nasty.”

Vette shrugged, folding a lekku over her shoulder. “Made her a lot of enemies, apparently, because we were ambushed a day into the tomb. Raped her. Killed her. I’ll admit to not having felt much sympathy.” She tilted her head, looking closer at a statue. “They hated her so much I was forgotten, so I tried to sneak off planet. Got caught, and back into my cage I went.”

“And then I came to judge three prisoners.” Morgan finished for her. “How long have you been here? On Korriban, I mean.”

Vette shook her hand. “Hard to say. Spent about six months in that cage, sometimes months and months before another sith came to get me. Before that I was tomb diving, no real idea how long. About another five or so months, if I had to guess.”

‘Those footprints in the tomb of Marka Ragnos.’ He thought back. ‘Must have been the zabrak. Unless some other acolyte was feeling particularly suicidal.‘

Morgan hummed, taking the shock control remote from his belt. Vette visibly flinched.

He pressed a button near the bottom, crushing the remote in his hand afterwards. The collar dropped to the ground with a clack, loud enough to echo.

Morgan dropped the scraps in his hand, feeling confusion mixed with slim hope radiate from Vette. “I woke up in a shuttle a little over a year ago, with no real idea how I got there.”

“I was fat,” He laughed when Vette’s eyes dropped to his stomach briefly, wondering when he had last let out honest cheer. “out of shape and generally possessing little to no useful skills.”

He sobered quickly, his humour fading as he thought back to those early days. “We were one hundred when we started. A year later, filled with more violence and death than I ever could have imagined, we were thirty six. I learned more about combat and the Force than I ever wanted, a friend ensuring that I survived long enough to be able to do so.”

“We were collared when we arrived, and although they were taken off a month into the project, I still remember the weight on my neck.”

Morgan took a deep breath, wondering why he was saying all this. “I despise slavery. Not an opinion you'll find me uttering frequently, seeing as it goes against the direct will of the Dark Council, but I do. I’m not saying I can change anything, not really, but I hate it.”

Vette had picked up the collar, turning it around in her hand. “So I’ll probably tell anyone that asks, tell anyone that I answer to, that I don't need a collar to control you. That I am not so weak as to need a collar to ensure compliance or obedience.”

She looked at him, wide eyed and still messing with the collar. “It will be a lie. I will not lead slaves. Not now and not ever. As long as this task lasts, as long as I have authority over your future, you will not be a slave.”

Morgan cleared his throat, feeling awfully close to embarrassed. “Let’s continue, we still have three switches to activate.”

“Yea,” Vette mumbled when he turned around, “we do.”

They walked in silence for over an hour, finding little but dust and another switch that Vette activated. It was shortly afterwards that they came upon the first signs of habitations.

Morgan heard it before he felt it, roaring beasts and groaning metal. They turned a corner to see two groups fighting in the distance, droids and beasts tearing into each other.

Vette looked between them and him, tilting her head when Morgan just stood there, drinking some water. “Aren’t we, you know, going in?”

He looked at her, confused. “Why would we do that? They seem perfectly willing to tear one another to shreds. No need for us to get involved, not until one side remains.”

“Yes,” Vette agreed, “that’s smart. Sensible.”

“You don’t have to sound so shocked.” He muttered dryly, making sure to keep his voice down.

“It’s just, you're not behaving very much like a normal sith.” She said cautiously.

He snorted quietly. “Good. Normal sith are self-destructive, probably insane and utterly incapable of working together for any length of time. It’s a miracle the jedi haven’t killed us all.”

Morgan put a hand to his chin. “Well, besides the times they almost did. But why change after several near extinction events? Not like the jedi came so very close to killing us all over and over because of greed, backstabbing and a general inability to trust.”

Vette giggled softly, a sound he liked more than he wanted to admit. “Right, not their fault at all.”

The roaring died down, both of them looking over to see the droids had won the battle. Several damaged ones were dragged around to a wall, where more droids were doing basic repairs. The beasts were shoved to the side where they blocked the main path, but otherwise left alone.

“Those droids have blasters.” Vette muttered enviously. “I want them.”

Morgan took out his warblade, enforcing his body. “Well, let’s get you one.”

He looked back at her apologetically. “Not to be rude, but best if you stay out of this one. Unless I’ve severely misjudged your saber experience?”

She shook her head, so he dropped his pack and dashed down the hallway.

The droids reorganised smoothly as he came close, weapons snapping up and saber wielding droids coming to the front. Morgan looked to the ground briefly as he jumped high, seeing half a dozen blades next to scrapped droids on the ground.

He picked one up as he soared, pushing it to a droid at this left. The weapon shot through the air, but unlike when he had fought the Overseer, he didn’t release control over it. Instead, after the weapon had impaled the droid, he sent it flying to another one.

He finished his descent, cutting into the head of one, then two blaster wielding droids. His second saber continued flying through the air, hacking or stabbing where it could.

Droids were harder to feel in the Force than organic beings, from what he had found, but these were old.

‘Old enough to become sentient, if your programming allowed it.’ He thought grimly. Fighting well programmed self repairing droids was bad enough, but if they achieved awareness?

‘I really don’t want to find out if they could mine enough ore to build themselves into a proper army.’

He focused. ‘Being so old means the Force has gathered around them. That, I can use.’

His warblade sang as he twisted, dodging a bolt at the same time he nearly cleaved a torso in two. He kept his flying blade under stern control, cutting or distracting those that tried to surround him.

Soon, little was left but scrap. He looked back to see Vette stare at him with her mouth slightly open, walking closer. He resisted the urge to puff out his chest.

‘I really need to meditate on that.’ Morgan told himself. ‘Also need to find something smaller than a saber. That was far too taxing on my reserves.’

Vette almost skipped over to a fallen droid, picking up its rifle before dropping it again.

“Now these will do nicely.” She said, taking two blaster pistols instead. “Very nicely.”

Morgan looked down the hallway as she fluttered from one droid to another, ripping small pieces off them. The small satchels on her belt quickly filled, and she scampered up to him to put some of the larger parts in his backpack.

Vette hummed as she finished, explaining without being asked to. “That should do, the rest isn’t worth the weight. About ten grand with the proper haggling.”

He sighed. “Assume I haven't used credits in a year, and can’t quite recall from before that. What would it buy?”

She looked at him strangely. “Uhm, alright. I took mostly electronics and such, and it's well made. Should sell for ten thousand credits to the proper buyer, and with parts such as these that means almost everyone.”

Vette scratched her neck. “Ten grand is about, let’s say four months work for the average dock worker. Not a fortune, but enough to go mostly wherever you want.”

“Right.” Morgan nodded. “Thank you for explaining.”

“Uh, sure.” She said, “No problem.”

He looked to the blasters at her belt. “Want to practise with those? Next time you need them, our lives might depend on it.”

She took them out, pointing at the body of a beast. She fired twice, soft clicking heralding two scorch marks on the floor.

Vette frowned as she walked some distance away, shooting again. Morgan watched as her accuracy improved by the minute, eventually holstering her pistols again.

“That’ll do. Not exactly at my best.”

Morgan nodded, wondered how that was anything but extreme accuracy, and they moved on. What lone beasts they came across were easily dealt with, his warblade and Vette’s shooting more than a match for teeth and claws. What larger groups that found them he twisted, heightening aggression until they turned on one another. It was after the third switch that they came across more droids, clanking feet heralding a large patrol. They opened fire the moment they spotted them.

Vette shot four by the time Morgan had crossed the distance, warblade cutting and stabbing. He opted to not pick up a blade this time, his reserves not able to keep up with the expense.

This group wasn’t damaged and whittled down by beasts, however, and soon Morgan was forced to give ground lest Vette be overrun. Having someone to protect during a fight rather limited his mobility, but it also gave him firepower. The droids had good aim, Vette’s form half hidden behind a statue attesting to that, but it was also her stolen grenade that turned the tide. The resulting explosion ripped nearly a quarter apart, the remainder struggling to contain him. The droid did put more distance between themselves to limit the effect of explosions, but that gave Morgan even more room to work with.

After minutes of intense fighting, an eternity when every stray bolt can be the end, their numbers dwindled enough that Morgan started focusing on offence rather than protecting Vette. The patrol didn’t last much longer after that.

Vette was humming again as she stripped the scrap she deemed valuable, replacing some items in her belt and near filling his backpack to the brim.

Morgan ate as she worked, fluttering from fallen droid to droid. ‘She seems in her element, if nothing else.’

Vette’s blaster shot up when the echo of footsteps sounded down the hall, but he waved her down. She hesitated, before walking over and accepting the ration he handed her.

For the next few minutes the sounds kept coming closer and closer, Vette’s hand tapping her holstered blaster intermittently as she gnawed on the dry bar.

“How are you breaking this stuff with your teeth?” Vette exclaimed, Morgan crunching on another corner. “I’ve seen durasteel more biteable.”

Morgan smiled widely. “The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Vette narrowed her eyes. “Now I haven’t been watching much holomovies this past year, but that sounds like a quote.”

His smile faltered, thinking of another life.

‘I can’t quite remember my mothers face.’ He thought, alarmed. ‘Memory isn’t supposed to go that quickly, is it?’

“Hey, you alright?” Vette asked, concern clear in her voice.

Morgan shook his head. ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter. Not like I can go back, and I wouldn't fit in even if I did.’

“I’m fine,” He answered, “just thinking about my life before.”

‘What am I supposed to do if I did get back, get a job? Work nine to five, get married?’ Morgan shook his head again. ‘Do I even want to?’

Vette nodded. “Oh. Yea, I get that. What was it like?”

Mirla’s entrance saved him from having to answer, four other acolytes of their old faction with her. Soldiers marched after them, dozens and dozens of them.

She bowed when she came close, while the other acolytes saluted. The soldiers stopped, not quite sure what was going on. “Good to see you again, my lord.”

“And you, Mirla.” He greeted in return. “What brings you to this old tomb?”

She relaxed, barking to the soldiers behind her to set up a perimeter. “It’s all I've seen since we got to the academy. I’ve been inside the main building exactly once.”

The other acolytes with her joined the soldiers, until it was just her, Vette and Morgan. “Mirla, this is Vette.” He introduced. ”She’s assisting me with my trial.”

Vette waved, fighting hard to keep a grin from her face when Mirla awkwardly waved back.

“Vette, this is Mirla. She’s a close ally of mine.” Mirla nodded.

A lieutenant walked up, Morgan’s scan revealing him as sergeant Cormun before he spoke. “My Lady, the room is secure and the men have been given leave to rest.”

“Very good, lieutenant.” She said, “Ensure proper watch is held, I won’t have a repeat of this morning.”

Cormun saluted, taking off his helmet. “Yes ma’am!”

Mirla turned back to him. “This is lieutenant Cormun. He’s been assigned to me this morning.”

“Good to see you again, sir.” He spoke.

Morgan nodded to the man, eyeing his insignia. “I see you have been promoted. Congratulations.”

She frowned, looking between them. “You already know one another, then.”

“Indeed. My lord saved us from certain death a few days ago.” The lieutenant explained. “Since then we’ve been combined with another platoon, and I’ve been promoted.”

“You're lucky to be assigned under Mirla, lieutenant. A more competent acolyte you will not find.” Morgan spoke honestly.

“Yes.” Mirla broke in, Morgan feeling embarrassment bleed out of her. She didn’t show an inch of it. “And what have you been sent for, my lord?”

Vette piped up, tired of being ignored. “Oh, you know, the usual. Steal an ancient lightsaber, become apprenticed to some bigshot and possibly get ambushed by a bitter sith.”

Mirla scowled at her. Vette grinned to hide the spike of fear it caused.

Morgan sighed. “She’s not wrong. My last task before becoming the true apprentice to Darth Baras is to acquire a lightsaber, and the other acolyte I beat to become Baras’s apprentice is likely going to try and kill us before we do.”

“I see.” Mirla said evenly. “Still, she should not speak for you, my lord.”

Morgan waved her complaint away. “I care little for decorum, you know that. She's a good shot and knows these tombs. That’s more important than servility.”

“Don’t forget my winning personality!” Vette broke in.

Cormun stifled a grin. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

Mirla forcefully coughed, interrupting whatever Vette was about to say in reply. “In any case, is there something we can do to help? Lord Zethix was quite clear that we assist you in any manner possible.”

He shook his head, looking around the room. He saw half the soldiers moving with practised, smooth motions while the others kept glancing down the tunnels. One half joked softly while the other ate and checked gear with trembling hands. The acolytes were further down each end of the hallway, but he couldn't quite see what they were doing.

‘Half veterans, half rookies.’ He decided.

“No need, Mirla. This task is ours alone. And besides, I wouldn’t want a vengeful acolyte killing half your men to get to me.”

She frowned again, but nodded. “Very well. We will be in the tomb for a while yet. Do not hesitate to contact us should you need assistance.”

She handed him a communicator, nodding to it. “It’s linked to mine directly.”

“Actually,” Morgan reconsidered, “Any chance you have a knife on you? Something relatively lightweight, if possible.”

Mirla looked at the lieutenant, who nodded.

“Osla! Get over here.” He called. A trooper, scout patch visible on his shoulder, ran up. “Hand the sith you vibroknife, private.”

Morgan took it, thanking the soldier, and looked to Cormun. The private jogged back to his squad. “I hope that was standard-issue, and I didn’t just take his family heirloom or something.”

The lieutenant barked a laugh. “Nothing of the sort, sir. All scouts carry one as part of their kit, and he won’t need it here. Not much scouting to do with five sith escorting us.”

‘He seems more at ease. He could go far with Mirla to shield him from politics.’

“Good. Now, I think it’s time for me and Vette to take our leave. Things to do, tombs to raid.”

Mirla and Cormun left after saying goodbye, the latter after saluting again, leaving just him and Vette. “You all done with the droids?”

She nodded, and they left the soldiers behind as they moved deeper into the tomb.

It was after they were out of earshot that Vette spoke up. “So why didn’t we enlist the help of five sith and near fifty soldiers? Could have made this a whole lot easier.”

“For the reasons I said.” He answered. Morgan looked at her, curious. “Did you think I was lying?”

“No!” Vette protested. “Just, would have made our job easier.”

He hummed. “True. But it would have made theirs harder, and we don’t really need the help.”

----------------------------------------

Vette clicked the last switch into place, looking over her shoulder to see Morgan finish up the patrol. His new vibroknife hummed softly as it flew from one droid to the next, parting steel as easy as flesh. She suppressed a shudder.

‘And to think I thought he was scary before.’

She suppressed the urge to rub her neck. To make sure the collar was really gone, and all this wasn’t just some really vivid daydream.

‘Nope,’ she thought, ‘still gone. What kind of game are you playing, sith?’

She again tried to stamp down on the spark of hope in her chest, on the thought that maybe, just maybe, this time it would be different. That she wouldn't be going back to that cursed cage after they were done here.

A lifetime of rubbing shoulders with the vile and untrustworthy had taught her to be wary of unexplained kindness. Her youth as a slave had shown her no one did anything without wanting something in return. Piracy had trained her to bury her feelings, her pain, so that it couldn't be used against her.

But the damned spark just wouldn't go out. The idea that this sith would not just honour his word, but maybe take her off Korriban. Even, if she was very lucky, set her free.

She scoffed internally. ‘There’s hope and then there’s lying to yourself.’

She hopped over to the the pile of scrap that were once droids, her fingers fluttering over them to check for components or materials.

“Not much that is worth more than what we already have.” She mused out loud. “Still, credits are credits.”

Vette looked over at Morgan to see he wasn’t paying attention, a look in his eye telling her he was focusing on something else.

She went back to pawing at the droid, just before it all went to shit.

When it did, it happened fast. One moment she was checking if a circuit was still good, the next whining of plasma and steel was filling the chamber.

She whirled around to see someone she didn’t know, a sith, furiously attacking her new boss, almost faster than she could keep up with.

Seeing Morgan jump and dash around the place with inhuman speed was one thing, but two sith fighting was enough to send waves of fear through her body.

She clamped down on it, hard. ‘I’ve killed raiders and soldiers and survived this cursed planet for a goddess damned year, get a grip!’

Vette pulled her blasters, aiming at them. She knew Morgan could dodge bolts, she’d seen him do it enough, but she didn’t want to distract him.

Morgan looked pressed, giving ground slowly as the other sith attacked ruthlessly. The knife he had wielded to devastating effect sat discarded on the ground, telling her he either didn’t think he needed it or couldn't afford to focus on it.

The pair were silent, only the noise of biting impact and flashing lights filling the room. Vette tracked them, hoping for a clean shot.

‘Not very likely, at these speeds.’

The other sith jumped back, and in the second or so he was clear Vette fired a stream of bolts at him. All were either dodged or slapped out of the air, and she gulped when the sith’s eyes burned into hers.

Morgan took that moment of distraction to nearly take the stranger's head, smelling weakness.

She slowed her breathing, holstering one blaster. She took careful aim with the other. ‘Come on, come on. Help him here and the chances of avoiding that blasted cage skyrocket.’

She breathed and waited, waited for that one perfect moment she knew would come. That one instance where one well placed shot could change everything. Could shift wars and topple regimes.

When it finally came, the stranger pulling his head back just a little too far, she didn’t hesitate. Plasma raced through the room, both sith reacting near instantly.

Morgan angled to the right. It forced his opponent left, straight into his death. The sith jumped instead, but Vette knew he would. Knew it from watching sith fight for months and months, from spying on them in the tomb, before her first capture, to watching her sith owners fight and die.

The bolt impacted his lower stomach, plasma shearing half of it away. No scream was uttered, and to Vette’s horror what should have been a killing shot was ignored as a flesh wound.

Except it made the sith slow, just for a moment, and the discarded, forgotten vibroknife slipped into the stranger's skull with perfect silence.

He dropped like a puppet with his strings cut, Morgan taking his head before the body had even fallen to the ground.

‘What the fuck.’ Vette thought. ‘Was that his plan all along? Did he plan for me to distract him?’

“My thanks.” Her boss said, “He was a rather skilled opponent, and I would have hated to sacrifice another limb for victory so soon.”

His tone was light, but Vette could hear the strain in it. ‘Would he have won that, had I not been here?’

“Sure,” She replied airily, like she didn’t just help kill an actual sith. “what are friends for?”

Vette looked at the body briefly. “Who was that, anyway?”

Morgan seemed surprised. “Vemrin, the acolyte I beat to become Darth Baras’s apprentice. I suppose you’ve never met him.”

“Oh.” She replied. “I guess no more competition?”

He fell silent, and Vette panicked for a moment. ‘Did I say something? No, get a grip girl. Just, wait for whatever he has to say.’

“For each trial, the victor gets to choose a reward. The harder the task, the better the reward.” He started seriously. “When we finish this trial, I will choose you.”

Her heart sank, her mind jumping to her worst fears. ‘That’s it. I'm going to spend the rest of my life as a slave. A sith’s toy, now and forever.’

She plastered a smile on her face, as if her life wasn’t over. As if her last hope, that one spark she should have known better about, hadn’t been a lie after all.

“And when we get off Korriban, we will sell what you have scavenged here.”

She nodded, trying her hardest to bury her crushing disappointment. To make sure she gave him no reason to kill her. To survive, no matter the cost.

“Then we will each take half, and you will be free.”

Vette froze, her train of thought broken. ‘What?’

He continued, not really looking at her. “Free to go anywhere you wish. I recommend reuniting with family, then getting as far into wild space as you can. So far the words sith or Empire hold no meaning.”

Both were silent for a second, Morgan looking at the body of the stranger and Vette’s brain running in loops.

“You will set me free?” She finally asked hesitantly.

Morgan looked at her properly, face like steel.

“I will not lead slaves, Vette. Not now and not ever. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned it. When we get off Korriban, you will be free.” He swore.

He turned around, and Vette focused on him long enough to see embarrassment and regret in his posture.

Then it was gone, and Morgan looked no different than usual. The indomitable warrior, breaking any that dared to stand in his path. The sith, undaunting and unafraid.

‘He wants to keep me.’ Her mind supplied. ‘But he promised anyway.’

She looked back to the body on the floor, the smell of blood barely registering.

‘Everybody lies.’ She reminded herself.

‘So why do I believe him?’

----------------------------------------

Morgan walked into the hidden tomb proper, hearing Vette follow him silently.

He hadn't felt this awkward in a long time. ‘I don’t feel a twinkle of nerves when a Darth is testing my shield or I’m fighting for my life, but promising Vette her freedom is too much for my composure?’

He scoffed softly, not noticing Vette nearly snapping her neck to look at him. ‘Get a grip. She deserves her freedom and it’s a crime you can never offer it to her in the game. She deserves it, and I have the power to make it so. End of story.’

The tomb of Naga Sadow was empty, and near the sarcophagus only statues filled the room. A high domed ceiling and murals painting the walls made the room seem grand, but in reality it was maybe a hundred feet across.

‘This is the final resting place of a Dark Lord of the Sith? An emperor?’

“Ahh, I was wondering if that was you I felt. How good to have a visitor.”

A man, old and in simple black robes, walked out of the wall. His body glowed white enough to not be transparent, but otherwise he looked like any ghost Morgan had ever seen.

‘Well, seen as in movies and games.’

“My Lord.” He bowed. “Apologies for disturbing you.”

Vette had palmed her blasters, backing away to the door. Morgan thought that was probably smart. He stayed still anyway.

The man waved. “Nonsense. It’s so rare I get visitors these days.”

“My name is Elic Ragna. But before we continue this conversation, a test is in order.”

Morgan pulled his warblade, eyeing the statues around him. The Lord laughed merrily. “Very good, acolyte. Very good. Survive, and we will speak. Die, and you join them.”

The Lord clapped his hands, yet no sound was produced by the gesture. The statues around the room shook, half the stone crumbling away.

Vette shot the first statue that moved, plasma only leaving a groove. Morgan heard her curse, before several half stone creatures jumped him. He shot his knife at one, but it snagged on stone.

He vaulted away, attempting to reach the door and protect Vette so she could shoot freely. The statues seemed to dislike that idea.

They also had no regard to personal health or survival, and he knew first hand how dangerous that could be.

‘Lucky they can’t use the Force, or this would be suicide.’ He mused as he cut through another creature, his warblade carving flesh.

Stone it could not part, and he cursed as his blade snagged on flesh covered rock. He somersaulted away, tearing his warblade with him.

He tried to jump to Vette again, only to be blocked by a pair of creatures throwing themselves on his blade. It shattered his momentum, and he pierced another on the ground as he came down.

An explosion rocketed through the hall, and Morgan frowned. ‘That’s her last grenade. She won’t last long, not alone.’

He threw caution to the wind, gripping limbs with the Force to slow attacks and boosting his blows beyond normal enforcement. Power bled from him, and he felt his reserves plummet.

It bought him space, however, and he raced down the hall to where Vette had retreated to. Dozens of creatures sprinted after him, fast for those without the Force.

He came upon Vette surrounded by dead stone men, and he cut through the two left with little problem. Superficial wounds covered her body, but she looked fine.

“Oh.” He said. “And here I was thinking you needed help.”

She grinned at him, their earlier awkwardness forgotten in the heat of battle. “It does pay to be underestimated. Besides, they’re tough but stupid. They also don’t carry blasters, the idiots.”

She looked down the hall, dozens closing fast. “Could use some help with those.” She admitted.

Morgan laughed, turning to meet them. ‘Strange, I’m actually having fun.’

Plasma streaked past him as he charged, destroyed knees causing many to fall like dominoes. ‘Stupid indeed.’

His warblade whined as he cut half the head off a stone man, even rock parting to his excessively enforced blows.

With every creature he killed the pressure eased, but it was Vette that stopped him from being overwhelmed. Her knee shots were downing them faster than he could kill them, and a crawling stone creature wasn’t near as dangerous as a walking one.

After that all it took was work. He was covered in wounds, but they killed them all. Vette was stretching her hands, after, and he was cycling as the holocron had told him to. He’d been able to practise while walking through the tomb, enough so that he could almost enrich the blood in both of his arms. Not that he noticed any enhanced healing.

‘Not yet.’ He promised himself. His hand was feeling better, if not quite back to how it was. ‘Give it time.’

“Good work.” He told Vette. She nodded, flashing a small smile, but it seemed they were back to the awkwardness.

He resisted the urge to sigh. ‘This isn’t what I wanted. I just thought she would want to know, not make things weird.’

‘So tell her that.’ A part of his mind insisted. He stayed quiet.

They walked back into the main room in silence, the ghost standing before the sarcophagus. He clapped slowly, no sound reaching their ears.

“Very good. Excellent teamwork, proper enforcement and no hesitation to withdraw or play dirty.” The ghost praised. “You’ll go far. I can see why Marka Ragnos showed you his favour.”

Morgan narrowed his eyes. “That actually was Lord Marka Ragnos?”

The Lord wiggled his hand. “Of a sort.”

He was about to ask another question when the ghost stopped him.

“Don’t.” The Lord said. “Curiosity is good, but leave this. There are old things in this galaxy, acolyte. Very old things. Not all as friendly as me, either.”

The ghost continued before Morgan could say anything to that. “Now, as I was saying, my name is Elic Ragna. I am not, as you might have surmised, Lord Naga Sadow.”

Something dropped behind Morgan, and he looked back to see a vase shattered on the ground. Vette was standing some feet from it, inspecting one of her blasters. Morgan chose to ignore that.

“I was a Lord in his service, once.” The ghost continued, as if he hadn't even noticed. “Bound to this tomb as its guardian. A common practice, back then.”

“Once, acolytes came here for my advice. I was part of every graduate's trial, surviving my challenge a great honour.”

The Lord looked sadly to the door. “But then my tomb was sealed, and I was still bound to it. To that stupid decoy corpse nobody has cared about for millenia.”

“I was sent here for it.” Morgan jumped in. “Or more accurately, to the lightsaber that it is rumoured to hold. My last trial.”

The ghost perked up. “Ah. That brings me back. Well, you survived my test. Or rather crushed it, seeing as they refused to return when I summoned them.” The Lord shrugged. “Oh well, you survived. It was old alchemy anyway, bound to break sometime.”

“Now, take the lightsaber and use it to cut that fake body in a hundred little pieces. Then burn it, just to be sure.”

Morgan nodded. “That is my task. But what does cutting the body bring me, exactly? My master might be angry if I destroy ancient artefacts for no reason.”

“For no reason.” The ghost sagged. “I asked, yet you see no reason. Once, my word moved armies. Worlds.” The Lord shook his head. “Very well. You destroy the body, and I give you some advice. Are we in agreement?”

Morgan answered by pushing open the sarcophagus, summoning the lightsaber within to his hand. He activated it, dark red filling the room.

Morgan looked to the corpse within, not seeing how this was a fake.

‘Let’s hope this isn’t some really convoluted trap.’ He thought sarcastically.

He hacked until there weren't pieces large enough to cut, then held the plasma to the pile. It caught flame easily, the ghost watching intently as it burned. Finally, he nodded.

“Very good. I can feel the hold over me weakening.”

He turned to Morgan, both of them ignoring a curious Vette that was snooping around the chamber. “Listen well, sith. I can feel how you draw on the Force. How you achieved balance, as the Je'daii once did.”

Morgan took a step back, hand falling to his new lightsaber. The Lord chuckled darkly. “If I attack you, little acolyte, that toy will not help you. I have studied the Force for millenia, and know more of its secrets than you likely ever will. But I have no desire to kill you, nor even reveal your secret.”

“It is not an easy path to walk, make no mistake. Let no Lord catch you. Let no jedi smell you. They will hunt you for its secrets. They will carve it from your bones, if you let them.”

The Lord faded, looking at the ceiling. “Grow strong, little sith, and quickly. This galaxy has no tolerance for those that are different.”

Morgan turned around when the ghost had faded entirely.

‘Hunted, huh?’ He clipped his lightsaber to his belt, nodding to Vette when she joined him.

They walked out of the tomb, his new lightsaber cutting through anything they came across with ease.

‘Your passion clearly stems from slave roots.’ Darth Baras had told him.

‘So let’s find my passion.’ He thought, using the Force to fetch his knife from the torso of a beast. ‘And that starts with getting the fuck off this planet.’