Predators and Plots
The Sith citadel thrummed with ancient power, its obsidian spires clawing at the storm-wracked sky. Inside the great council chamber, firelight and shadow danced across cruel faces. Cloaked figures gathered in a wide circle around the throne of blackened iron, where Darth Vrakus sat motionless, fingers tapping in measured rhythm.
Nox's name hung in the chamber like blood in the water.
Lady Valdra's voice slithered first, her crimson tattoos writhing in the flickering light.
Valdra: "On Dravannis, he wavered. He took the colony, yes, but he spared too many. Villages still stand. Families breathe. Weakness grows in him like rot."
Lord Serik bared jagged teeth, a growl rolling from deep in his chest.
Serik: "Weakness? No, it is treachery in waiting. He speaks loyalty, but mark me, one day his blade will seek your back, Vrakus. Best to gut him now."
But another voice cut across them, smooth, oily, ambitious. Darth Kael leaned forward, eyes like knives.
Kael: "Or perhaps… we do not rush. His conquests have swelled your empire, my lord. Fear spreads when his name is spoken. Even among us, there are whispers that Nox may one day rival… even you."
The chamber hissed with unease, but Kael only smiled.
Kael: "Why waste such a weapon? Better to let him burn brighter, and then decide whether to snuff the flame, or bend it."
Vrakus rose, his presence filling the chamber like a tightening noose.
Vrakus: "Bend him? You think Nox can be harnessed by any but me? Do not mistake his victories for independence. He is mine. His rage, his strength, all mine. And when that fire flickers toward the Light, I will be the one to smother it."
Silence fell. The Council was not unified. Some wanted Nox destroyed. Others wanted to use him.
Vrakus spread his arms slowly, voice like thunder.
Vrakus: "So let it be tested. Not in whispers, but before all. I will send him where even mercy dies. If he fails, he will lose my favor. And then… yes. We will end him."
A ripple of cruel satisfaction passed through the chamber. Kael's smile lingered, sharp and knowing.
The Second Mission
Nox stood on the bridge of his warship, the darkness of space yawning beyond the viewport. Below spun a defenseless moon, a refugee colony hiding Separatist defectors. Vrakus' orders echoed: "Leave no survivors. Fear must be absolute."
His jaw tightened.
Soon, his crimson blade lit the colony's streets, cutting through guards with ruthless precision. The Force thrummed around him, feeding his power. But when he reached the heart of the settlement, where unarmed civilians huddled in terror, his steps faltered.
Children clung to mothers. Men shielded families, shaking but unyielding.
His hand trembled on the lightsaber.
He could kill soldiers. He could burn tanks. But this…
For the first time in years, he extinguished his blade.
Nox (quietly): "Go. Hide yourselves."
But his troops, merciless Sith marauders, did not hesitate. Blasters roared. Screams filled the night. The soil drank deep of innocent blood.
Nox turned away, fists clenched, shame and fury twisting inside him.
Later, his report to Vrakus claimed "victory." But the Council could read between the lines.
The boy had wavered again.
The Republic Front
Stars stretched cold and endless outside the viewport of the Vanguard Dawn, the lead cruiser of the convoy. A chain of transports followed in its wake, holds heavy with medicine and supplies for colonies clinging to survival.
Zen stood on the command deck, hands clasped behind his back, posture calm but eyes sharp. Beside him, Tif adjusted her gloves, restless energy radiating like a storm barely contained.
Tif: "Convoy's spread too thin. Feels like we're painting a target on ourselves."
Zen's tone was steady, meant to soothe.
Zen: "They'll strike. Raiders always do. That is why we are here."
The Force trembled in warning even before the alarms blared.
From the void, Separatist raiders burst from hyperspace, sleek frigates and swarms of vulture droids. Red lances of turbo laser fire slashed across the black, slamming into the escort line.
Captain Voro (comms): "Shields holding, but they're flanking fast! Jedi, we need you at the forward bay!"
Zen and Tif exchanged only a glance. Then they were gone, racing through the corridors.
The forward bay doors opened to chaos. Blaster fire screamed in streaks of color. Republic soldiers ducked for cover as Separatist boarding parties poured in, droids in formation, backed by mercenary commandos.
Tif ignited her blades with a snap-hiss, twin emerald sabers blazing. She sprang into the fray like a force of nature, movements sharp yet fluid, cutting down battle droids in graceful arcs.
Zen followed, his blue saber a precise counterpoint to her fury. Where she leapt high to deflect bolts, he moved low, sweeping through ranks with efficient strikes. Together, they fought as though bound by one rhythm, her fire and his calm blending seamlessly.
A commando shouldered a rocket launcher at the far end of the bay, aiming at Zen's back.
Time slowed.
Zen pivoted too late, and in that heartbeat, Tif moved. She lunged, slamming into him just as the missile launched.
The explosion ripped through the deck. Fire roared. Metal shrapnel rang like bells. The shockwave hurled them into a bulkhead.
Silence.
Then Zen blinked, vision clearing. Tif was sprawled across him, breathing ragged but alive. Her arm shielded his chest, scorched from the blast.
Zen (low): "Tif… you saved my life."
She winced, pushing herself upright with a smirk that didn't hide her exhaustion.
Tif: "That's what apprentices are for, right?"
Zen's chest tightened. He had felt her fear in the Force, sharp and raw, but not for the Republic. For him.
Their eyes held in the chaos, the battle still raging around them, and in that fleeting instant, Zen realized the bond between them had already grown into something neither of them could pretend was only duty.