December, 4010 ABY
The world returned in fragments, heat, pain, the scent of ash.
I was being dragged.
Sand ground into my wounds, each breath tasted of blood and fire. Somewhere behind me, the fortress still burned. The cliffs had crumbled. The sisters were ash.
Kaelrah was gone.
I blinked against the blinding red light as the tunnels opened around me, walls of stone, etched with forgotten carvings, breathing like a living beast. The deeper we went, the colder it grew, though the suns still blazed above.
My body ached, cracked and broken. Still, I staggered to my feet when the guards released me, shoving me toward the light ahead.
That's when I saw it.
Half-buried in the dust of Dathomir, a rusted sword glinted in the blood-stained sand. I reached for it, slow, trembling. My fingers curled around the hilt.
The past whispered through its weight.
The arena opened before me, vast, ancient, ringed in black obsidian and shadow. Above, the sky bled crimson. Imperial Star Destroyers hovered in perfect silence, blotting out the light, watching.
The crowd's eyes burned with hunger.
I was alone. A gladiator. A ghost of a boy who once had a home.
Clutching the rusted sword, I stepped into the searing sand, feeling every grain whisper the names of those who had died here before me—voices trapped in eternal torment.
The wind howled through the ruins like a mournful ghost. Every step I took was heavy with the weight of countless lost souls.
From the shadows emerged the Pale Father.
Clad in blackened robes that swallowed the light, his obsidian mask hid any trace of humanity. He was death made flesh—a living nightmare from the Unknown Regions, a force none dared defy.
Blood trickled down his mask like a dark river, yet his presence chilled me deeper than any wound.
At the far side, the arena gates creaked open.
Alexander appeared.
The same Inquisitor who had burned my past into memory. His black robes billowed like smoke, his blade stained with the blood of the innocent. He smirked, eyes burning with cruel amusement.
"You," he hissed, voice dripping with venom. "You really think you can kill me with that broken thing? You're nothing but a worthless peasant."
My head swam, pain flaring through my shattered body. But I tightened my grip on the sword's hilt. I swallowed the nausea and forced my voice steady, sharp with defiance.
"I don't know how much hope I have left," I said. "It feels fragile—like it could shatter at any moment. But it still burns stubbornly inside me. I fight not just for myself anymore. I fight for every innocent life you've destroyed. For every voice you've silenced. No matter how dark it gets, I refuse to let that light die."
A heavy silence fell over the arena. The crowd's gaze pierced me, filled with hate and expectation.
Alexander laughed, a cold, bitter sound.
"How dare you mock the Empire?" he spat. "Who are you to judge the Galactic Senate? When I'm finished with you, Lorenzo, I'll enjoy watching you bleed out in this dust-ridden wasteland."
He lunged with a savage slash. Sparks flew as our blades met, metal screaming in protest.
Pain seared through my arms. My sword cracked, splintering in two. Blood poured from a fresh wound across my chest.
But I stood firm.
"Is that all you've got?" I spat blood into his eyes, blinding him for a moment.
Dizzy and wounded, I gritted my teeth and stepped forward.
The searing sun burned my skin like a brand, but I did not falter.
Summoning every ounce of strength, I slashed across Alexander's face. Blood erupted as his eyes rolled back in shock and pain.
He fell to the sand, screaming.
From the shadows, the Pale Father advanced—cold, silent, unstoppable.
With a gesture sharp as a blade, Alexander was lifted into the air. His robes billowed, dust falling in waves.
"Master, please…" he begged.
The Pale Father's voice was a whisper colder than death.
"You have disappointed me, young apprentice."
With brutal force, Alexander was thrown through the arena wall. Stone shattered. Bones broke. Then silence—he was gone.
The Pale Father's gaze fixed on me. Fear clawed at my bones.
He moved like a shadow made flesh, voice a twisted whisper.
"You've impressed me," he said. "Alexander was weak. He held too much of himself back. But you… you are strong in the Dark Side."
He paused, his breath cold on my skin.
"Join me, and I will show you the path to true power."
The desert around us roared with fury, dust swirling into furious storms.
My mind reeled—caught between survival and surrender. The weight of his offer crushed my soul.
I told myself this was strength, not weakness.
But deep inside, my spirit screamed to run.
Yet, my lips betrayed me.
"Yes."
The ground shook beneath us, as if the planet itself rose in protest.
The Pale Father smiled beneath his mask.
"Good."
He turned, leading me away into the darkness.