Bright Shadow Chapter 2

Previous Chapter:  Chapter 1 - Foundations of Vengeance 

 Chapter 2 - Plume of Smoke 

Dusk had begun to set on the horizon of Korriban and the red sand had finally settled after the devastating battle. An eerie silence covered the barren land like a blanket of despair draped across the cradle of the Sith. Both the Republic and the Empire armies were nowhere to be seen. The silence was deafening.

Vycerant woke in the same spot where he had fallen, his body aching and drenched in sand and blood. The bodies of his parents had disappeared, and the area was completely barren. Even more of the buildings from Malcivum had seemingly been destroyed and the area was void of all life. Whatever happened while Vycerant was unconscious, he was somehow spared from it.

Struggling to his feet, the boy stood on his shaky two legs and picked up his toy Korr-wolf, which had become as torn and ragged as the clothes he wore. Vycerant looked up to the sky to see a plume of smoke in the distance originating from somewhere further west. Hoping to find someone, anyone, to help him locate his parents, he set out towards the origin of the smoke cloud.

Vycerant was a member of the native Massassi species, more commonly referred to as the Pureblood Sith. His father and mother had instilled with him the importance of keeping their bloodline pure. In traditional Sith culture, the redder a Sith’s complexion was, the purer they were. A Sith with a more orange or, kaos forbid, yellow complexion was a result of interspecies mixing, something that was frowned upon and greatly discouraged by the Sith culture. If the bloodline was pure, however, it showed the members of that family had exceptional commitment to the survival of the species, something that was not only rewarded with social status, but also powerful political constituency. The idea of preserving the species had been a long-standing tradition of the purebloods, which had only been inflated during the Republic’s genocide of the Sith over the last few hundred years. Official numbers were unknown, but of the Empire’s chief researchers claimed at almost half the Sith species had been wiped out within the recent centuries. Despite the likelihood of those records being Imperial propaganda, it was undeniable that great bloodlines were dropping like flies and people like Vycerant’s parents wished to uphold the principles of their race and ensure the survival of their culture.

Due to his tough upbringing, Vycerant was an energetic child. Getting back up after being knocked out cold would have been a struggle for someone his age, but he had the stamina of a Korr-wolf, and the ordeal was minimised. Still, he was exhausted from his unconscious use of the Force earlier and so it took him a while for him to reach the Red Dunes. Even then, he was still a while away from the plume of smoke he was travelling to.

The Red Dunes were a large patch of uniquely crimson dunes of sand that spanned from Malcivum to the Black Peaks of Utunmal. The expanse of iron-stained rock stretched for hundreds of miles, and the plume Vycerant was seeking was thankfully closer than he had first thought. The boy had barely begun walking towards the origin of the smoke before he was forced to hide behind one of the massive dunes.

A surviving Jedi Knight and several Republic troopers trod through the blood-soaked sands of the Red Dunes, their heads lowered and sunken from exhaustion and defeat. Even the Jedi had a hard time keeping his head up from the ground. His white robes were stained through with blood and dirt, just as Vycerant's rags were. The irony of a peacekeeper drenched in the blood of war, said the thought that ran through Vycerant’s mind as he observed the small group walk past the dune he was hiding behind. Vycerant was young but he knew the ideals of the Sith and seeing a Jedi covered in the spoils of war was somewhat amusing to him.

Suddenly, the Jedi quickly caught sight of a squad of Imperials who yelled as they ascended from beyond the dunes and opened fire on the group. Caught so completely off guard, the Jedi had mere seconds to realise a Sith Lord was approaching him from behind, only able to turn around and raise his lightsaber to block the Sith’s red blade at the last second. Whatever skill the Jedi had possessed mattered no longer. His troops were already dead from the Imperial ambush and he was no match for the towering Sith Lord. He felt his lightsaber wrangled out of his hands by the Sith’s saber and closed his eyes, embracing the fate of a true Jedi Knight. He refused to let the Sith Lord gain any pleasure from his death.

Zhen picked up the lightsaber from the Jedi he had just slain and placed it on his belt, next to several others he had undoubtedly looted from other fallen Jedi. Another fine addition to the collection, he thought to himself. His new squadron cheered their Sith leader who smiled slightly at the admiration his men had for him.

“Loot what you can from their bodies," he said to his troops, whom obeyed without question. “We move out immediately”.

Zhen was pleased with his new squadron of Imperials. Although seemingly defiant at first, Zhen was able to capture their enthusiasm, and obedience, once he successfully defended the Valley of the Dark Lords hours earlier.

Vycerant watched intently, like a stalking predator in the night, as Zhen and his troops moved on towards the smoke plume. Vycerant, curious as ever, followed in their footsteps. After an hour of exhaustive walking, Zhen and his weak-legged soldiers arrived at the source of the smoke: a signal fire set up by a garrison of Imperial soldiers. The small encampment surrounded a borehole in the ground that went delved directly into the dark heart of Korriban. Zhen and his squad entered the waiting line, a large mass of downtrodden people, mostly civilians. Vycerant, who had followed the group the entire way there, recognised some of them as people who used to live near him in Malcivum; people his father would have done business with. Despite this, they would have never recognised Vycerant without his parents. It was every Imperial for themselves at this point.

Vycerant overheard a conversation between Imperial soldier talking to a lone civilian; a tall, orange-skinned Sith male. Vycerant had not been fully instilled with his parent’s ideals on keeping bloodlines pure but seeing the sight of a mixed Sith made the young boy scoff as he eavesdropped.

“What the hell happened up there? Where did that fleet come from?” asked the orange-skinned man. The soldier turned to face the civilian; a younger and shorter man with the pale complexion of a human.

“Well, it turns out the Empire has been building a secret fleet in the unknown regions for the past century," claimed the soldier. "The Emperor was waiting for the right time to strike at the Republic to send a clear message that the Empire will return strong again. I think they downed four of their star destroyers and chased them out of the…”

Vycerant’s attention drifted away from their conversation as the words registered with his mind. All he could focus on was the growing rage within himself. The Emperor let his own people, warriors and civilians alike, to be massacred for endless decades while he had a massive fleet at his disposable for all that time. Half of Vycerant’s species had been wiped out because of the Emperor’s decision. And now his parents were dead too.

Zhen turned his head in the direction of Vycerant but saw only the crowd of people hiding the small boy. He could feel the heat from the boy’s building hate.

“Welcome back Lord Zhen," said the captain of the guard, redirecting Zhen’s attention back to the line “Where is Kysus?” the captain questioned.

Zhen had to face the consequences of his actions sooner than he expected.

“He… fell in the battle," the Sith Lord lied.

The four troopers in Zhen’s squadron kept their mouths shut. They knew they would lose their heads if they told the truth and crossed the wrath of Zhen. Similarly, they would face a firing squad for collaborating with a murderer of a Dark Council member. They collectively decided it was better to risk a court martial than the rage of a Sith Lord. The captain of the guard raised a suspicious eyebrow but was in a similar position as Zhen’s troops. He would rather face the judge in the Imperial Court than the end of a lightsaber.

“I see… so I assume that means you will be taking his place on the Dark Council… as well as his title?” Zhen had to hand it to the captain; the man was old and had extensive knowledge of the Sith as well as the guts to use it. A century beforehand he would have been executed for not blindly accepting the word of a Lord. Similarly, if Zhen had killed Kysus during the time of the old Dynasty, he would not have had to worry about being found out about over his master’s murder. Zhen knew that he would be offered the position of Dark Lord and the title of Darth. He would take the Darth title without hesitation, but still had to think about his potential position on the Council, and the risks that came with it.

“I will consider it. However, I believe my talents are better off with the Neophyte Council, training the next generation of warriors of our Empire. I don’t trust any other soul with such an important job," said Zhen, staring down the captain without a blink.

The captain realised he had gotten too deep into Sith politics and simply nodded his head at Zhen’s reply. Without another word, Zhen and his troops were processed by the gate and headed inside the borehole down an unsettlingly steep set of stairs that led into the dimly lit hole. The guards checked the documents of other civilians. Some were accepted, others were turned away. The Empire needed people to work in the underground and the skill-less were of no use to the them. It was strange for Vycerant to see the Empire embracing some form of meritocracy, but they were still cruel and unforgiving, as always.

Vycerant, seizing the moment and using his small size, snuck into the line of civilians and soldiers and hid himself into a crate of Lithan seeds being imported into wherever the borehole led. Young as he was, Vycerant was taught well by his late parents and learned how to bend a situation to his need. A true opportunist.

The crate Vycerant had hidden himself in was carried into the borehole. Like a pebble in a river, he was carried down and down into the seemingly endless abyss. A sudden feeling of helplessness came over him as he was brought to a stop in the middle of the Korriban underground. Very quickly, he found himself surrounded by voices and movement as a great crowd had surrounded the crates. Vycerant believed he had been found out by the owner of the crates, or the Imperials, or even worse, the Sith.

Acting on impulse, Vycerant jumped out of the crates and began to run from the crowd of people, surprising and confusing the owner of the Lithan seeds, but quickly found that he was surrounded by hundreds of people; refugees, warriors, soldiers, even a few Sith minions. None of them were after him, they had their own things to do and were indifferent to the presence of the child. Vycerant looked up to the sky and all he saw was the red rock of Korriban, many metres underground. He was in the town of Vortem, an ancient underground tomb turned into a safehouse for survivors.

The space that had been dug underneath the surface of Korriban was enormous, yet still was barely enough to contain the thousands of people who has been displaced by the Republic attacks. Laced along the walls of the cavern were catacombs and graves of long dead Sith Lords. In the centre of the cavern was another borehole that went even deeper than the first. It was the final resting place of Evvret Darth and his twelve-thousand-year-old bloodline of Dark Lords who ruled the old Sith Dynasty many years before Vycerant was even born. Vycerant was unlikely to appreciate the significance of Darth’s tomb, much different to the several Sith Lords worshipping at the shrine by Evvret Darth’s own tomb, seemingly calling upon his help in this desperate time. Such foolhardy methods would have disgusted the very first Master of the Sith. Such weakness would have made him sick.

Vycerant desperately called out for his parents in the sea of people. His memory had clearly been affected by his involuntary use of the Force earlier that day and most likely did not remember the death of his parents. Either that, or her had chosen to ignore the shattered memory of that instant and was clinging onto false hope that his parents were still alive. Even if they were still alive, he would never find them in the vast array of Imperials that littered the sacred tombs.

Vycerant felt desperate, yet energised and hell-bent on finding his parents. He was closer to the heart of Korriban and so the planet’s source of dark side energy was fuelling him almost endlessly. However, the boy did not know how to properly harness his new-found power and soon exhausted himself after an hour of searching. Demotivated and out of luck, Vycerant lowered his head and accepted the hard truth: his parents were dead.

Strong as he was, Vycerant began to weep. Even with so many people around him, he felt more alone than ever. Dragging his feet on the floor, Vycerant walked over to the catacombs on the wall, which had been transformed into sleeping areas by the Empire. His head still looking down at the ground in pure sadness, he climbed into the one free space he could find, in the resting place of someone named Hyst. Whoever this ancient Sith was mattered not to Vycerant. All he could think about was his parents and just wanted to get to sleep.

He hopefully wished to himself that he would wake up in his old bed in his old home and realise that this was all just a bad dream. Vycerant would dream that night. But the fantasy of his old life is all he dreamed about.

He would wake the next day upon the realisation that everything that had happened was real. The poor boy had these dreams almost every night… for the next three years.

Next Chapter:  Chapter 3 - Nihility of Purpose 

Copyright Jacob Burbidge 2019