Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ensign Corian Shye gazed across the bridge, to the pocket of resistance the slaves had managed to seize. He was hardly the picture of military discipline, slouched over the railing, but the situation hardly called for it. The slaves had no long range weaponry, and bridge guards were more then capable of keeping them contained. The fall of footsteps signaled that this might change, however.

A Sith was approaching him, but Shye had worked for Sith dozens of times in his years in the service—This one's disposition told him that his posture wouldn't be a problem. Even if she was a alien. Shye had worked with a Zabrak Sith for a few days once—plenty of experience at reading alien posture. The large pale brute beside her was a bit more difficult to read, but seemed little more than this Sith's guard dog.

"My lord—" Shye paused momentarily, weighing his options. The general rule for speaking to Sith was polite obedience. However, Shye had managed to impress one Sith in months past by acting calm and aloof. Well, they didn't reprimand him, and that was as good as praise as far as Sith manners went. Shye steeled himself and took another chance.

He began with a scoff. "Look at them out there. They're like animals." No comment from the Sith yet. Shye took that as encouragement.

"Hundreds of slaves, with no one to command them and without a thought on their minds as what to do with their 'freedom.'"

Shye turned and straitened to face the Sith. Her face was unreadable, especially given the alien Sith's natural strangeness to Human and Pureblood eyes. "Like I said, the slaves are animals, but we've noticed—"

Shye paused as a feeling of weightlessness overcame him. The Sith's hand had extended outward as Shye rose up into the air.

"M-my lord?" Shye stuttered out. He had seen things like this happen before those who caught wind of a Sith's ire, and the result was never good. What had he said? It didn't matter. Some slip of the tongue had gotten him into this mess, all that he could do was apologize.

"M-my lord, I meant no offense, please, I apologize—" The Sith's brow rose, and Shye stopped rising. Now to placate her. But what was it that angered her in the first place? All he'd done was mention the slave revolt, nothing any normal Sith would get angry at—

Oh, that was right. This was not a normal Sith. She must have thought he was drawing a connection between her alien blood and the large numbers of aliens in the slave workforce—something he did not mean to imply at all. Shve was quite liberal in this regard—just because this Sith was an alien didn't mean her abilities as Sith were in any way dismissible. Shye would just have to tell her that, with particular care in the wording.

"When I said that slaves were animals, I didn't mean to connect you to those lowly creatures—Just as you have risen above your birthright to become Sith, so to have all the humans that are slaves tripped over theirs to fall to such a lowly, muck-infested positio—"

Shye was thrown back over the railing into the slave-filled valley below. He screamed, but the sound was quickly lost amongst thousands of others on Dromund Kaas.

Khem Val turned his gazed at his Master, a spark of amusement present in the Dashade's ancient eye. She left without a word.

Chapter Text

Arlott didn’t know where she was born. She didn’t know if she had a family, or if they were still alive, or if they ever knew her. The only thing Arlott did know was that for the first twenty years of her life, she was a slave.

Her owner’s name was Asten Julius. He was a short greasy man, and a high-ranking naval commander in the fleet—not a Moff, but close enough to have them over at dinner parties. Close enough to the rank that he and his wife had always been doing whatever they could to earn the title. And close enough to the sun that they would always burn with resentment whenever another younger, hungrier officer was picked for promotion instead of him.

Every time, they would scheme and plot. Every time, another would be chosen in their place. And every time, they would take their frustrations out on their slaves. Arlott had learned to fear her owners at the best of times. To silently do what they commanded, and nothing more. Occasionally, it saved her from their wrath.

When she entered her teen years, Arlott’s fear had turned to anger. Why was this her lot in life? Why did she have to work so hard, only to suffer? Why did her owners get to profit off her labor, and only give her scraps back? Why did they have to brand her cheek when there already was no hope of escape?

As her anger grew, she began to hear things no one else could. What people were really thinking. How the Moffs at the parties truly felt about her owner’s pathetic displays, and how much her master truly hated his superiors for passing him by.

Her power was useful in other, more practical ways. When her masters were in a truly foul mood, Arlott could hear them silently screaming before they entered the estate, giving her plenty of time to make herself busy somewhere her owners were not. She had tried to save some of the other slaves at first, but if her owners did not have an immediate outlet they would grow even angrier, and punish everyone.

It was better that someone other than her got the lashes, surely. Someone older and more used to it. Maybe even one of the human slaves, so their masters might have some restraint.

That worked for a time. Other slaves would comment on her luck, and she would occasionally help one or two, when she could. Arlott picked her favorites, and they rewarded her with small kindnesses of their own: stolen sweets from the kitchens, an extra hour of sleep when they could manage it. Stories of strange, far away places called Coruscant, Balmorra, Alderaan, Genosha, and the Twi’lek homeworld Ryloth.

Planets where there were no slaves or people who hated you for being an alien. Planets where they had once been free. Planets where they had once had family, and could again if they could escape this wretched place.

Slowly, they formed bonds. Slowly, she came to know her fellow slaves as more than fellow pieces of property. Slowly, Arlott began to dream of visiting the wondrous planets she was told about. Where she could have a family. Where she could be free.

And then one day, when Arlott was scrubbing the hallway floors, her master walked by her. He was in a perfectly calm mood, and she was doing what she had been told to, at a pace faster than her master demanded. There was no reason to think that he would lash out. It would be counterproductive, after all.

But he did. He pulled out his remote, and shocked her, again and again. Until Arlott could smell smoke. She begged her master for the reason, an explanation of what she had done wrong. He scoffed, and shocked her again. “You weren’t scrubbing hard enough.”

Darkness consumed Arlott, but she knew why he really did it. She could sense all of his loathsome little thoughts. He hurt her because she was an alien. Because on some level, he had realized that he was never going to get that promotion, and wanted to take it out on someone. Because she was there.

But most of all, because after years of torturing his slaves, he had gotten a taste for their blood. And he liked it.

The punishments continued, growing harsher and harsher. Other slaves dropped dead, only to be replaced by new walking corpses. What little semblance of family Arlott had known was tugged away from her, piece by piece, something her masters seemed to delight in.

Their cruelest act was promoting one of her fellow slaves to overseer. He was an adult human named Myson. Arlott had known him as a gentle soul, another poor man who had been caught up in the galaxy's cruelty.

As overseer, Myson was charged with making sure all the other slaves were all obeying their master’s orders. At first that went smoothly, with Myson using his position to help everyone get by. He even shared some of his extra rations with the rest of them, from time to time.

And then one day their master put a shock collar remote in his hand and told him to push the button.

He did so, reluctantly. The masters laughed, and went about their business. The next day, they returned and commanded him to do it again. And again. And again.

Day in and day out, Myson pushed the button for them, laughing at their owner’s jokes as his fellow slaves writhed in agony. Slowly, his reluctance faded, and he pushed the button before the masters had to tell him to. Forced laughter changed to earnest guffaws. He began to preen whenever their master gave him a small, even backhanded complement. The small kindnesses he gave the other slaves were replaced with harsh barks and the promise of pain.

Arlott asked him why he was doing this, when their owner was gone. Why he was being so cruel, when once he had been kind. Myson flushed red, stammering out an excuse about how he didn’t have a choice, and that if he didn’t do it, the masters would punish them all. That he was really doing them all a kindness.

Arlott pressed again, and asked why he laughed with their masters. Surely he didn’t think they were actually funny. Surely he remembered the awful pain he had felt from the collar.

Myson stopped talking to her after that, despite her attempts. The next time he had the remote in his hand, he refused to look Arlott in the eye. Then he shocked her. Again and again.

After a few months of this, the master asked Myson if he thought they were being too cruel to his fellow slaves. An expression flashed over the man’s face, and he glanced at the rest of them, before quickly looking away. Almost as if he was ashamed.

At first he said no. But a few rounds of torture, the man’s expression changed. He subtly redirected the conversation back to the master’s first question, and revised his opinion. “Maybe it would be wise to give them some rest, my lord.” He said. “They still need to work, and we—they are all obedient. What good will further torture bring?”

Their master thanked Myson for his insight. “I’ve been thinking of freeing you, you know.” He said. “You’ve been doing such a wonderful job, It’s hard to think of you as just another slave. You’re too intelligent to be among their kind.” Myson’s eyes seemed to glimmer with pride.

And then their master pushed the button again, killing Myson on the spot. “Familiarity breeds disloyalty.” Their owner said. “And as funny as it was to watch him turn on you animals, he was growing very familiar.” 

Arlott’s anger turned to hate.

It came to a boil a day after, at one of the stupid parties. Arlott had been serving drinks, as usual. The master’s son had approached her, finally intent on turning one of his horrible little thoughts into reality. She had tried to persuade him otherwise, a skill she usually had good success in. His mother got involved, and slapped Arlott in the face. Arlott didn’t react to the horrid woman’s liking, or perhaps she did, and so her owner shocked her, hard.

She writhed on the floor, and did her best not to scream in agony, as that always made it worse. The guests continued their idle chatter as if she wasn’t, as they always did when this happened. Her masters laughed, and shocked her again.

She hated their cruelty. Their callousness. She hated their sick, twisted cackling. She hated their uniforms, which she cleaned of her fellow slaves’ blood every day. She hated their empire, which had ripped her away from the parents that she had never known and the family she had found. She hated the galaxy, for forcing her to exist inside it.

She hated everything. But most of all, she hated her owners. Who could stop all of this at any time, but choose not to. Because it amused them.

She wanted them to suffer like she had. To feel lightning rip and tear at their every cell. To writhe in humiliation and agony in front of an uncaring crowd of onlookers. To watch as their hope withered and died. Arlott gathered what strength she had, and reached her hand out in a desperate attempt to reach her owners’ feet and force the current to run through them—

And then lightning burst out of her fingertips. Her master’s son screamed in agony, before falling to the floor, dead.

The room went quiet. Her owners looked at her in shock and confusion. They babbled at their son. Their eyes were wide, and so full of fear.

For the first time in her life, Arlott felt powerful.

Arlott screamed again, and more lightning shot out of her fingertips. Her masters shook and convulsed, before dropping to the ground, dead.

It was too fast for Arlott’s liking. She roared, and shot lightning through their corpses again and again and again, reducing them to nothing more than charred, blackened things.

The power that shot out of her fingertips felt like ooze and sludge pumping through her veins. It felt heavy and corrosive. Like it would turn and electrocute her at any moment.

But when she saw it kill her masters, saw how it made them suffer, it made her feel good.

Then, Arlott became aware of the rest of her surroundings. The other guests had started to draw their hidden blasters, and were getting ready to fire at her, from all directions. The collection of officers saw her for the threat she was, and planned to kill her here and now.

The feeling of strength Arlott had enjoyed suddenly vanished as the pale shadow of death passed over her. She had been accustomed to it hovering over her for years now, but to know that it was seconds away…

At least she got to kill her owners before she died. The thought didn’t help, but it did feel comforting in an odd way. Arlott prepared to face oblivion—

“CEASE.”

A new voice cut through the crowd like her owner’s voice did through the slave chambers. All of the guests not only paused, but began to put away their weapons. A towering figure stepped forward, and the crowd parted as Arlott and her fellow slaves did whenever they saw their owners approach.

It was a Sith. He was dressed in black and red armor, with a flat metal mask covering his face. Arlott knew of him. He was important, and outranked even the Moffs. Another slave had mentioned that he was being forced to attend the party due to some politicking, and that they should give him a wide berth.

But now the Sith was standing before her, looking down. Arlott could feel his presence smothering hers. Like a great predator with its prey underfoot. She dared not try to reach out and listen to his mind, lest he take offence and cut her down where she sat.

Arlott thought she would tear her eyes away. That she would try to run and hide, like she always did whenever her owner spoke with her. But somehow, she sensed that that was the wrong move. So she kept staring up into the Sith’s visor.

It felt like she was going blind. “Your hate is strong, as is your spirit.” The Sith said after a moment. “I am impressed.”

He could do anything to anyone in this room. And all the officers would let him. Arlott didn’t know how she knew that. But she did. And from the looks in all the officers’ eyes, they knew it too. If she could ever have a fraction of what he had…

“Do you want to be like me, child?” He asked. “Do you want to be strong? Do you want to be Sith?”

There were murmurs amongst the crowd. Hushed tones quiet enough for any normal person not to hear, but Arlott could.

“An alien Sith?”

“It’s nearly unheard of! And a slave!”

“The whole empire has gone mad, I tell you!”

“Who cares? She’ll serve us all the same—”

“Such dishonor. I thought Malgus was bad enough, but—”

The Sith twitched, and all the voices fell silent. The fear was palpable in the air. It clung to the Moffs, men whose words could burn worlds into cinders. Men who could have ordered her master to walk off a cliff. And here they all were, cowering like she had all her life.

It felt exhilarating. A new emotion spread through Arlott. Something she had not felt in years. Perhaps in all her life.

Hope.

Hope that she might escape her rotten life. Hope that she could be something more than an alien in an empire that hated them. Hope that she could grow strong like this Sith. So strong that she could do anything she pleased, like him. So strong that even Moffs would have to obey her, like him.

So strong that no one could ever be her master ever again.

“Yes, my lord.” She breathed. “I want to be free.”

And with those words, her fate was sealed.

Chapter Text

Arlott crept through the Dark Temple, doing what she could to slip past the crazed soldiers and ignore the pounding sensation in the back of her head. There was also the incessant whispering that she couldn’t find a source for—Zash had told her to ignore that as best as possible, but that was more difficult then her master made it seem.

They were so loud, demanding that she give up and let them use her body, telling her to kill and maim in their name, or for her to be a good little slave and run errands for them.

She shook her head. They were nearly at Lord Kallig’s tomb now. Just a little bit farther, and—

A flash of movement was all the warning Arlott got before she was thrown into the air and slammed back down. Quickly mastering herself,, she blasted lightning in front of her, where she felt the attack come from. As she pushed herself back up, she saw her attacker was a man in ancient Sith armor. He oddly glowed blue and translucent, and more importantly, the lightning passed farmless through him.

The man raised his hand in a grip. Arlott was once again lifted off the floor, desperately grasping at her own throat as this phantasm choked the life out of her.

“Yes…yes!” The ghost exclaimed, before he loosened his grip, and let Arlott drop to the floor. He continued on about something as Arlott did what she could to gather her strength. By the time she had refocused, the ghost was at the end of his speech. “...And here you are, blood of my blood. Here you are.”

That sounded important. “What are you talking about?” Arlott exclaimed ever so gracefully.

“Ah, you don’t know me.” The ghost didn’t seem to mind her lack of decorum, but was upset by her ignorance. “Has our family fallen so far that the daughter of my daughters does not know the name of Kallig?”

The ghost—Kallig—explained many things to her. He explained that she was his long lost heir. That he had once stood on the precipice of greatness, before he was betrayed. That he had awoken because of her, and would now do anything to help her achieve greatness.

“But that can’t be right!” Arlott cried. “I’m a former slave! I can’t be part of an ancient Sith family!”

“Can’t you?” Kallig stepped closer. Faintly, Arlott sensed a warmth growing next to her, even as the coldness of the temple and Dromund Kaas surrounded them. “Your presence woke me from my madness and rage. Only a bond of blood could.”

Arlott searched her feelings. She wanted it to be true. “I…”

“Do not be ashamed. It was my folly that brought our family to ruin.” Kallig’s mask made it difficult to read him. But if she had to guess, he was staring at her brand-scars. “My hatred has kept me tethered to the living world for centuries. Now after experiencing my first moment of clarity, I know I must rectify my mistake.”

He pushed his shoulders back. “You must rise to glory, and become the Sith I never was. I sense your untapped power, and know you are mightier than any of the fools who have wandered these halls.” Even behind his mask Arlott could feel Kallig’s eyes gleaming. “You will be a lord. You will be a Darth. You will be Sith.”

Arlott let out a breath. She wanted to believe, so very badly. But the temple was swarming with ghosts. Madmen from centuries past, all intent on possessing her and any others who wandered close. No matter what she wanted, this could still be a trick. “The Sith Empire hates aliens. They spit on me every chance I get. I was lucky enough to become an apprentice, how can I ever—”

“Do not let such poison fall out of your lips!” Kallig snapped with such force that Arlott flinched back. “My shame is magnified a thousandfold hearing those words spill out of you, flesh of my flesh.”

Arlott felt her anger bubble up. “It’s the truth! I—”

“Are still thinking like a slave.” Kallig hissed back. “You still see the world as something you have no control over, even after coming so far. You still think your one option is not to act, but react.”

He pointed at Khem Val. “Tell me, could a mere slave subdue a Dashade Assassin?” Khem glowered at the reminder. “Could she complete the trials of Korriban, where so many Purebloods failed?” Kallig loomed over Arlott, his black eyes promising power. “Could she travel into the depths of this temple unscathed, where so many lesser beings were driven mad?”

Kallig didn’t wait for her to respond. “So the empire looks down on you for being Twi’lek? Use their arrogance against them. Strike when they expect submission! Bend the empire to your will, do not bow simply because it demands you to! That is the way of the Sith, and the path you must follow!”

Arlott’s fingers gripped her lightsaber. He made it sound so wonderfully simple. And too good to be true. “You really think I can do that? It seems so…” She shook her head. “...Distant.”

“Then grow great enough to reach it.” Kallig’s voice was uncompromising. “You do not understand the enormity of what you have already accomplished. This is your destiny.”

Images of a life Arlott had never had flashed through her mind. She was a Sith Lord, feared and respected. Other Sith—Skotia, Harkun, the other acolytes, even Zash—all bowed to her. They all bowed to an alien.

His voice grew softer now. “And even as you are attacked from all sides, even as betrayal lurks around every corner, know that I will always fight besides you.” His ghostly hand reached out, waiting for her to take it. “We are family, now and forever. Not even death can sever our bond.”

Family. Family that no one could take away from her.

Arlott exhaled, and reached out to grasp Kallig’s hand.

She was disappointed when her fingers slipped through his, living flesh unable to touch his ghostly apparition. Kallig made a noise of annoyance, pulling his hand back to inspect it—

Both of Arlott’s hands clamped together where Kallig’s hand floated. The ghost was surprised, but did not retreat. He stared down at her, his emotions brushing against hers.

“I’ll hold you to that, ancestor.” Arlott’s voice trembled. “And I will make you proud.”

A coldness was mixing with the warmth she felt from Kallig. Arlott ignored it, and focused on the pride in his voice. “Yes.” He brought his other hand up to hers. A chill raced through her skin where they would have touched. “You will.”

“I see you’re finally free of the collar.” Arlott said as she sipped her drink. The alcohol was cheap, but now that she could have it whenever she wanted, she wouldn’t complain too much. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Turns out it only took a dozen more near death experiences for his Sithiness to trust me not to run away at the first opportunity.” Vette scoffed as she downed her own beverage. “I’m growing on him, I guess.”

“Good for you.” Arlott took another swig and sighed. “At least the bastard has to make an effort to shock you now.”

“Hey, he isn’t all bad. Now. I think.” Vette frowned. “Something happened to him on Tatooine. Some mystic Force mumbo-jumbo. He’s been…” She tilted her head from side to side. “...Quieter? More restrained? He hasn’t instantly lashed out in a while.”

“Ah, so you had to visit that blasted heat-trap too!” Arlott laughed. “At least I came away with a pirate for my troubles. Speaking of, I now have someone teaching me how to properly fly my ship.”

“So you’ll only be piloting yourself into an asteroid on purpose now?” Vette giggled.

Arlott frowned, before scoffing.”I was following your instructions!” That just made Vette laugh harder.

The two Twi’leks had been having impromptu meetings for a while now, ever since they had met on a shuttle to Dromund Kaas that they had to hijack along with a few other soldiers on the order of a psychotic Moff. The meetings were infrequent, but Arlott always looked forward to them.

“You! Aliens!” A loud man interrupted their revelry. It was a snooty-looking man in an imperial captain uniform. “What are you doing here, being waited upon? Imperials do not serve your kind, scum! Get back to work!”

Arlott rolled her eyes. There was alway someone…“They serve Sith just fine.” Lightning shot out of her fingertips, reducing the man to a gibbering mess on the floor.

Vette clapped her hands together. “See, that’s what I like about you, sister. You only shock the people who deserve it.” Her hand was rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s so nice to not have to worry about that every second of the day.”

“Speak for yourself. I’ve found myself on the receiving end of more than a few power-mad Sith and ancient robots.” Arlott went back to nursing her drink. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

“Yeah…” Vette gave a sympathetic frown. “At least we can swap stories, and trade notes on how to come out on top once we’re finally out from under crazy Sith!”

Arlott frowned, and took a more measured sip of her drink. Vette’s eyes narrowed. “Arlott? What’s up?”

“...Do you ever wonder what would have happened if your master and I had swapped masters?” Arlott asked after another sip. “If you came along with me and your master was saddled with my pet monster?”

Vette was silent for a moment, before smiling. “I’d have better conversation then his Sithiness and Captain Frownypants, for one! And for two, I could have stopped you from almost crashing into—” 

Arlott buried her face in her hands. “Vette, please!”

“Ha! Sorry…” Vette bit her lip, and her smile tightened. “...I could have introduced you to my family, for one.” She nodded. “They’re all still alive, on Nar Shadda. I almost got to meet them, but…” She sighed. “Next time I visit, it is happening, no matter what.”

“Don’t let anything stop you.” Arlott said. “Not for that.”

“I won’t.” Vette nodded, before pursing her lips. “I guess we also would have hightailed it out of the empire by now. Between your Force powers and my plucky attitude, nothing could keep us chained down!”

“Yes.” Arlott’s hand found its way under her robe to the mask she now kept with her at all times. “Nothing at all.”

They were starting to get more dirty looks. Even Arlott’s position as a Sith could only do so much to stem the tide.

Vette took one last sip of her now uncomfortably warm drink. “I’ve been meaning to say, I like your new contacts. They make you look very Sithy.”

They both knew it was a lie. But both of them went along with it anyway. “Thank you.” Arlott forced a smile. “I thought so too.”

Chapter Text

After a year and two masters, Arlott was no more free then when she started.

She had trained in the academy at Korriban, and nearly died a dozen times, more often due to her fellow acolytes trying to kill her than from the hostile wildlife and madness-inducing artifacts. It had been misery, but Arlott had endured it.

She endured her overseer constantly abusing her. She endured the jeers and slurs hurled at her by Humans and Purebloods. She endured the strange, hateful Dashade named Khem Val that was bound to her, apparently, and his promise to kill her one day. She endured the whispers scratching at the edge of her brain whenever she entered a tomb. She even endured the foul, oppressive sense of something wrong constantly hanging in the air.

And she was rewarded for her persistence. She was made the apprentice of Lord Zash, who contrary to every other Sith Arlott met, didn’t look down on her. Her new master encouraged her. Helped her. Together, they grew strong. And when she had gifted Arlott a ship of her own…

Her first thought was to escape. To fly far, far away, where no one would ever find her. To finally be free.

But it wouldn’t be right. Zash had been so kind to her. So supportive. And even if she had to deal with living in an empire that hated her for not being Human, she could still still go on being the woman’s apprentice, for a little while longer.

Not only that, Arlott learned that she was the descendant of an ancient Sith Lord, Aloysius Kallig, who still lived as a shade through the Force. He promised her power and glory. The throne that he had lost. The security of knowing no matter what anyone else in the empire said, her blood was Sith. That she was here by birthright, and that she need only will herself to power. To freedom.

For what felt like the first time in her life, Arlott knew she had people who cared for her. She knew she had a family.

And like the fool she was, Arlott obliged them. Even when she took off into hyperspace and suddenly felt free of the crushing weight of the dark side constantly present on Korriban and Dromund Kaas, Arlott still hoped to return and see her ancestor again. Even as Zash threw her into more and more danger, Arlott still happily served her and the empire. Even as Kallig warned her of Zash’s impending treachery, she still clung onto hope that the old ghost was just experiencing some of the madness that plagued all the other voices in her head.

Throughout it all, Arlott ignored the imperials taking slaves from the planets they visited. She didn’t have the power to change it, after all.

Throughout it all, Arlott ignored the screams and desperate cries as she helped her fellow Sith crush revolt after revolt. Someone else would have done it, and she could make it mercifully quick, after all.

Throughout it all, Arlott called Zash master.

Just as Kallig said, Zash betrayed her. The woman attempted to steal Arlott’s body to escape her own withered husk, rotten by years of extensive dark side use. Because the only reason Zash had ever shown her kindness was to manipulate her. Because in the end, Arlott was still a thing to be used.

The betrayal stung more than it should have.

Zash failed, and was trapped in Khem Val’s body for her trouble. Because Arlott could never escape ghosts.

By tradition, Arlott was now a Lord of the Sith. This was supposed to be everything she had ever wanted. And when she received her lordship, with all of Zash’s other apprentices bowing to her, Arlott did feel proud and accomplished. She was in command now. She had control. Surely, she was free.

And then reality set in. Darth Thanaton, Zash’s master, was now her master. He was far more patronizing then Zash, but he was also much more efficient, and tried to have her killed almost immediately. Arlott could appreciate the expedience, at least.

Kallig concluded the only way for Arlott to save herself was to gain more power. And the only quick way to do that was to bind other Sith ghosts to her spirit using strange powers Arlott did not understand. He did not offer a simpler option like sneaking into Thanaton’s bedchamber and strangling the bastard or running away into parts unknown. Nor did he offer his own spirit to be bound to hers.

But Arlott nodded along. She didn’t suggest anything else, nor question her ancestor’s decisions. Because he hadn’t betrayed her. Because he was family. And he had been right about everything else so far. Sure he was right about this too. His judgement had been sound up to this point, so why should she suspect that his vision of her future was clouded?

And so here she was. On a ruined planet in republic space, full of horrible, feral creatures, standing in a pile of dead Jedi and Sith. Alone with a young Togruta Padawan named Ashara Zavros, who was the descendent of an ancient Sith haunting these halls. She was staring up at Arlott with wide, fearful eyes.

And beneath that fear, Arlott could sense her anger.

“I—you—” Ashara stammered. “You killed them! You killed them all!”

Arlott felt the dark side coursing through her. Whispering to her as it always did. Take the Padawan. Make her into your apprentice. Replace the servants Thanaton killed with this one.

“I would have been happy to solve your ghost problem and leave.” Arlott replied. “It was you who brought your masters into this, and they who escalated the situation.”

Ashara shrank back. “No—no, that’s not right! I was doing the right thing! I didn’t mean—Master Ryen shouldn’t have, he wasn’t—!”

The dark side, or perhaps the ghosts, continued to whisper. You are strong. She is weak. Bend her to your will. Grow stronger.

It would be so easy. A few pretty words were all it took to manipulate the girl into letting her into the bunker in the first place. The Padawan was already deeply impatient and frustrated with the Jedi. All it would take was a little push, and the dark side would swallow her whole.

Or perhaps it would take longer to turn her. The girl’s stubbornness could go both ways, after all. Arlott could wield a few honeyed words against the child, and gently nudge the girl onto the path of the Sith. She could hear Zash whispering her encouragement through the Force. “Do it, apprentice. This girl has so much more promise then any of the other fools who served us. Turn her, and gain a valuable weapon against Thanaton.”

She did need allies in her fight against the Darth. If for no other reason than to keep his minions busy along with Khem in their inevitable encounter. From what Arlott had seen, the girl was quite skilled with her lightsabers. She would be a useful tool in her quest.

Yes, Arlott decided. The girl would be her weapon. She would mould the padawan into a woman to be feared, like she had herself.

“You have nowhere to turn.” Arlott began. Ashara paused in her cowering, a dawning realization spreading over her face. She sensed what was coming.

“After losing your teacher, it is only right that you seek a new one.” It was poetic, in its own way. Arlott had begun her career at the feet of her dead owners, being promised power by a powerful Sith. It was only right she offered the same opportunity. “Come with me. I will teach you the ways of the Force.”

Ashara’s nose wrinkled. “But…” She managed. “You're a Sith! You’re with the empire! They hate my species! And yours!”

“They hate everyone who isn’t Human or Pureblood.” Arlott responded in her natural Imperial accent. “Yet they obey me. Because they respect strength above all. It is like I told you: my strength can bend the empire into whatever I wish it to be, once I slay my enemies.”

“You…really think so?” Ashara was still afraid. Still angry. “You think you can change the Sith? After everything they’ve done? They’ve killed billions, just because they couldn’t be happy with the empire they already had!”

Arlott’s eyes narrowed. She’s resisting. The voices whispered. It sounded like Kallig now. Show her your power. Show her the strength of the dark side.

That would speed things up. Ashara didn’t seem strong enough to resist prolonged torture. A quick demonstration of the facts might work…

Shock her like all the other fools who get in your way. The voices whispered again. Arlott felt the lightning ooze back through her fingers. When she had begun, the sensation of controlling the dark side had been overwhelming. Painful, even.

After she learned to share that pain with her victims, things became much simpler.

Ashara seemed to realize what was going to happen, and shrank back. But still the Togruta remained defiant. “You’re…the empire can’t be saved! They’re monsters! Slavers! Look what they did to this planet!” They could both smell the spark building up in the air. Ashara’s panic rose with it. “You’re better than this! I believed you when you said you wanted to turn away from them! And now you want me to help the Sith enslave the rest of the galaxy?”

Arlott’s brand-scars ached. It did that from time to time. She needs to be taught the freedom being a Sith will give her. Yes. Arlott was free. She was no longer a slave. She had a family now. And with Ashara’s ancestor bound to her, the girl could have a real family instead of a fake one forced on her by the Jedi.

This alien needs to be taught, like any misbehaving child. She needed to be made to understand. Arlott had earned her freedom. She could help so many more aliens earn theirs, if she only had more power. If she could use this Padawan, and overthrow Thanaton, then she would surely have enough power to make changes. All that time she had spent helping put down slave revolts wouldn’t have been for nothing! If only this girl could see!

Teach her. Yes, she would. Force her to understand. She needed to. Even for a Jedi, the girl’s understanding of the galaxy was sorely lacking. It was for her own good.

Make her call you master. Make her your slave. The voices echoed. It is the way of the Sith.

And suddenly, as Arlott stood over the helpless alien child, preparing to shock the girl into obedience, the world seemed to fall away.

“...Sith?” Ashara managed after a few moments.

Sith. Sith. Sith.

Hate roared back to life. Arlott screamed as lightning burst forth from her fingertips. Ashara screamed in agony as the lightning coursed through her body. It was something Arlott had done to countless enemies in the past year. Animals. Gangsters. Bandits. Soldiers. Jedi. Other Sith.

Other slaves.

Countless faces flashed before her eyes, and—

—Day in and day out, Myson pushed the button—

The lightning stopped. Ashara collapsed, before forcing herself back up onto her feet. “You…you…” She tried to say as she fumbled for her lightsabers. “Sith...why are you…?”

Distantly, Arlott realized her breath was heavier than Ashara’s. She tried to master her rage like Zash had taught her, lest it consume her utterly.

It didn’t work. “Leave.” Arlott spat. “Run away, little Jedi. Never face me again.”

Ashara was more confused than ever. “But…I don’t—”

“GO!” Arlott roared. Lightning sputtered from her fingertips, almost completely out of control.

Ashara gave her one last look, full of terror and anger and pity before the girl managed to pull herself up and limp away.

A dozen corpses surrounded Arlott, Jedi and Sith alike. All slain by her blade. She had absorbed another ghost, deepening her connection to the Force. She had discovered a new wellspring of anger and hate, the source of all Sith power, inside of herself. So much that it threatened to explode out of her at any moment, and so deep that she could use it to drown the whole galaxy.

Arlott had never felt more pathetic.

Chapter Text

“Andronikos?” Arlott asked.

The pirate turned in his seat at the ship controls. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Arlott bit her lip before sitting down in the opposite chair. She stared out into space, watching the vessel float by the fields of asteroids and debris.

“Hello? You there?” Andronikos asked after a moment. “New ghosts to worry about?”

That stirred her. “Ye—No!” Arlott coughed. “I’m well.”

Andronikos kept waiting. Arlott sighed, and bit her cheek. “Why are you still here, Andronikos?”

That made the pirate pause. “What?”

“My life is a series of mishaps and blunders through every warzone in the galaxy. I am frequently thrown into close contact with ancient, dangerous Sith artifacts that have the power to drive men mad.” She leaned closer. “Like the one that drove your crew to mutiny.”

Andronikos shifted in his seat. Arlott continued. “I have only barely managed to keep myself from going insane after making pacts with several Sith ghosts that now inhabit my body, The same ghosts who may still find ways to overcome the countermeasures I placed on them.”

He was staring at her intently now. Like a bug that figured out if it preferred glass between it and a curious, potentially leg-severing child.

“You know all of this. You knew all of this for the past few months. At any point, you could have packed up and left me to drown in my own stupidity. But you didn’t.” Arlott brushed her Lekku behind the seat as she leaned back. “Why?”

Andronikos took a moment before he responded. “I won’t lie and say jumping ship didn’t cross my mind a few times.” His eyes turned back to the darkness in front of them. “But my survivor’s instinct told me that Thanaton will probably kill me just for being associated with you.”

“So you’re only here out of convenience? Hiding behind me from the big bad Sith?”

“Not true. I also like flying your ship.” Andronikos gave a half-hearted grin as he tugged on the controls to veer them out of a rogue asteroid a minute out. “And the company’s not bad, when we can get away from the psychopaths, monsters, and talking archeology doctorates.”

“Is that what you call last night…” Arlott rolled her eyes. “Some Sith would shock you for being so informal, you know.”

“Yeah, but you're not their kind of crazy. Never have been.” Andronikos shrugged his shoulders. “You pick your favorites and stick with them.”

Arlott’s thoughts drifted to Talos. To the Gormak she helped escape. To Vette. “I suppose so.”

“It’s part of why I like it here. You always know how to get into just enough danger to keep things interesting.” He snorted, and moved this ship away from more debris. “Plus, you’re the most fun—” A chunk of metal scraped under the ship’s belly, but didn’t sound like it did any permanent damage. “Damn it, couldn’t those Moffs have their superweapons clean up after themselves?”

“You’re paying for the repairs.”

Andronikos swore as he pulled them through the last bits of the Republic frigate blocking their way. The Silencer had been thorough, but messy. Debris was still scattered all around them. “Just my luck. I take us through a dozen space battles without a scratch, but get nicked by kriffing salvage.”

Arlott glanced up at the retreating dreadnought the superweapon was mounted on. The same weapon she had fired, and destroyed an entire Republic battle group with.

Surely nothing could stand in the empire’s way now. This would be the weapon they used to destroy the Republic once and for all. And Arlott would be the one who would claim all the credit. She had backed the project when Thanaton cancelled it. Her alien name would be celebrated in the coming victories.

The same name all the slaves it made would curse.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened, Andronikos?” Arlott mused idly as they passed under a broken Republic banner. “If you didn’t end up here, helping me fight for my life?”

“Nope.” He didn’t look up from the controls. “No real point. We’re here, not running around in whatever make-believe land in our heads.”

“Really?” Arlott raised her eyebrow. “Not even the slightest curiosity? No wondering what would have happened if you hadn’t done—” Her tongue slipped. “—If all the bad things in your life had never happened?”

Andronikos was quiet. His hands had subtly tightened around the controls. He stayed quiet as he finally navigated through the last of the debris, and prepared to jump to hyperspace.

Briefly, Arlott thought about reading his mind and plucking the answers out of his skull.

“We can’t change the past, Sith. Not even with all the Force power in the galaxy.” Andronikos finally said. “All I can do is fight for the future I deserve, and find a place where nothing bad ever happens to me again.” He finally glanced at her, his expression doing its best to be unreadable. “That’s what this has all been about, right? You getting enough power to kill Thanaton and be left alone?”

“Yes.” Arlott blinked once, before glancing back out into the void. "And to think, we've had to go through all of this nonsense to get that little ask. You'd think the galaxy was big enough to disappear."

Andronikos snorted. “The price of freedom is steep.”

Chapter Text

Arlott had been busy. The ghosts she had absorbed had proven to be too much, and threatened to overwhelm her after a duel with Thanaton. She had gone to impossible lengths to save her own life, using ancient Rakata technology to rebuild her body, and ancient Voss healing to quell the ghosts she had invited inside her mind. She had expanded her power by allying with a number of Moffs, and recruited a powerful new apprentice (At Zash’s insistence. She hadn’t wanted an apprentice) who was steeped in the dark side. She would kill her enemy soon, and finally be free.

And all it had cost her was service to an empire bent on enslaving everything.

She had continued fighting for the empire, aiding the people who had enslaved her in new conquests and subjugations. She had helped release the Dread Masters, Sith of terrible power and cruelty who were posed to rip through the republic’s defenses.. She had stopped a mad Jedi preparing to destroy the empire in one savage blow and ridding the galaxy of their evil forever.

There were brief moments of rebellion. Arlott had allowed a number of Jedi and republic troopers to live and return home on a number of occasions. She had sabotaged the empire’s attempt to ally with the Voss, with just a few words. And in that Jedi enclave on Taris, with that Padawan—

It didn’t matter, in the end. The empire’s march could not be stopped. It was built to destroy and kill and enslave. The Republic couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard they tried. The Emperor had already crushed their most powerful Jedi, corrupted them to his will, and even seeded countless agents within the highest echelons of the Jedi Order itself. They couldn’t protect themselves, much less anyone else.

The Sith Order, for all its self-destructive arrogance, was powerful and seductive beyond reproach, conquering worlds despite their total lack of cohesion and habit of killing their own soldiers on a whim. Even Xalek, her new apprentice and a fellow alien, willingly served their cause despite all the abuse and humiliation they had hurled at him. Their shadow was all encompassing, and no one in the galaxy could escape it.

The people she could trust were few and far between. Talos Drellik, the archeologist she had recruited was refreshingly without prejudice for an Imperial, even in the privacy of his own thoughts, but he was still an imperial. Still a loyal citizen of the empire that had enslaved her in the first place. Andronikos was honest, a man willing to speak his mind in front of her no matter the subject. Arlott appreciated him greatly, enough to let herself feel safe in his company. But no matter how much time passed, she could always sense a twinge of fear on him whenever they spoke.

She hadn’t seen Vette in months. Her fellow Twi’lek slave had already been difficult to find before a bounty was placed on Arlott’s head. The last she’d heard, Vette’s Sith owner had almost been assassinated by Darth Baras, his own master. Now the two were stuck in a power struggle much like she and Thanaton were, and just as deadly. Arlott could only hope Vette was lucky enough to come out of the middle of that bloodbath alive.

And her ancestor, Lord Kallig had fallen silent. The one who had set her off on this mad quest to collect the ghosts that had nearly destroyed her. The one who had reached out from across the star to warn her of Zash’s deception twice before. The one who had sworn that he would never betray her. Arlott had reached out to him. Pressed him for any information on her plight. Asking for even a single word of acknowledgement.

She had not heard a whisper from him. He had abandoned her.

The only way Arlott could ever be free was to rise up the Sith ranks. She had to become so powerful that no one would ever think of challenging her. Because the only way to escape slavery was to become a master.

It was in this mindset that Arlott touched down on Corellia, a swirling battlefield of durasteel and carnage. There was a battle on every street corner, each bloodier and more desperate than the last.

Thanaton had challenged her to a ‘Kaggath’, a formal duel of sorts. It also called for open warfare, allowing the combatants to throw scores upon scores of imperial soldiers at each other for the sake of honor. And for some mad reason, Thanaton had chosen Corellia as the battleground, A planet with some of the harshest, bloodiest fighting Arlott had ever seen. Even Belsavis, a planetary riot full of the worst criminals the republic could capture did not compare to the sheer brutality on display outside the spaceport.

Arlott thought to inform the rest of the Dark Council of Thanaton’s plan. Surely they would punish him for daring to pull precious resources away from the front lines in such a critical battleground, and causing chaos in the ranks. The officers who had heard Thanaton’s proclamation all seemed to agree.

“Can’t believe I’m siding with the alien…”

“To think, a fellow human thinks so little of our operations here! Of all the insane—”

“Maybe the Twi’lek isn’t a republic spy...”

“Hopefully they’ll both kill each other. One’s insane, and the other gives a bad image to all the other slaves.”

It should have been simple political points to score. If the head of military operations knew that Thanaton was not only commandeering materials for the war effort, but also sabotaging their chances at victory, Arlott doubted she would have to lift a finger to kill Thanaton. She arrived at the imperial headquarters with the intention to exploit this weakness, and hopefully peel a few Sith away from Thanaton’s cause when two Purebloods appeared in the center of the room. Everyone, from soldiers to Sith, seemed to give them a wide berth.

As one, both the Purebloods locked eyes with Arlott. They felt dark, in a way few other Sith did. “Lord Kallig. You have arrived.”

She blinked. Keeping eye contact felt like standing on the darkest parts of Dromund Kaas. “Who are—”

“Darth Thanaton has challenged you to a Kaggath.” The Pureblood continued, louder than before. “He declared this planet the battleground.”

“Yes, but who are you?”

“The Dark Council has petitioned the Emperor to put a stop to this.” Neither of the Purebloods had blinked. It was uncanny. “They feel it is a waste of resources in a crucial battleground.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Arlott said. “But—”

“Our master has denied the council their request. Your battle is to proceed.” The Pureblood finished with a short nod.

The second pureblood spoke for the first time. “Slaves battle, death spreads!” He shouted.

“Slay your enemy, if you are stronger. This the Emperor has commanded.” With that, both Purebloods turned and departed.

Arlott stared after them in confusion. “...Who was that?” She asked aloud.

“They are the Hand. The Emperor’s direct servants.” Another Sith answered her. “Their word is his.”

Ah. Right. This was public. Arlott turned to see all the imperials staring at her, their faces awash with shock or carefully neutral. Though none of them even tried to hide the whirling tide of emotions boiling inside their minds. The Force churned with the dark side.

“Your battle is honored, lord.” Xalek said behind her.

Talos fidgeted under the scrutiny. Khem Val—or Zash, it wasn’t clear at the moment—didn’t say anything, but his eyes gleamed. And Andronikos found her eyes to reassure himself that her instincts were screaming like his.

Arlott exhaled, and stepped forward. She had a war to win.

The battles were grueling. Fighting against other Sith in an active warzone was a chaotic affair, not made any more helpful by constant attacks from Jedi and other republic forces. But after several intense duels with Thanaton’s followers, coordinating her newfound fleet in orbit, and a ridiculous interlude involving a corralled herd of deadly zoo animals, Arlott finally confronted and defeated Thanaton in single combat, in front of an auditorium of his own followers. Victory was close. The only thing that needed to be done was to pursue the coward back to Korriban.

So naturally, complications arose instantly. Not a moment after Arlott declared her intentions to slay Thanaton once and for all, the two Hand agents stepped forward out of the shadows.

“Assembled Sith.” The Pureblood’s voice boomed through the auditorium. “The Emperor commands you to take to the battlefield.”

‘Who are you to make demands of us!” A Sith in the crowd shouted. “We don’t even—”

The Pureblood raised his hand and twisted. The offending Sith’s neck did the same, and he fell to the ground dead.

“We have no time for dissension.” The Pureblood continued emotionlessly as everyone stared at the corpse. “Jedi are swarming one of our capital ships that has entered the atmosphere for emergency repairs. The vessel is critical to the war effort, and must be stopped immediately.” He glanced at the entrance. “They are attacking our shipyards in an attempt to gain access. Go now.”

There was a moment where everyone just stared mutely at the Purebloods, unsure of how to proceed. Then the Pureblood’s hands began to rise, and the assembled crowd quickly turned to follow the orders. They made no attempt to hide their thoughts.

I should have been fighting the republic, not listening to these two prattle—

—Worthless alien—

—waste of time and blood. A curse on both—

If the alien had given up and died a month ago—

—Stupid, useless alien—

Arlott bit her lip, and dared a small defiance. “You were the two who told me the Emperor wanted Thanaton and I to kill each other—in the Kaggath.” The Purebloods did not react hostilely, so she continued. “Now Thanaton is fleeing to Korriban. Surely honor demands—”

“You have won the Kaggath. Darth Thanaton will die in shame.” The Pureblood interrupted. “You will have time later to put down your former rival. For now, you are commanded to assist our mission. Succeed, and have the Emperor’s favor.” With that, both Purebloods stalked away, not sparing Arlott a second glance. “Serving our master is the greatest honor a Sith can have.”

She suppressed a shiver. Standing next to them felt like being crushed by the pressure hanging over Dromund Kaas. Surely, she could escape this battle when the other Sith left? These two didn’t seem like they were going to lift a finger. They wouldn’t be able to say a word against her. It would be so easy…

As easy as it had been to defy Zash. And Thanaton. But instead of a single sphere, she would have the entire empire turn against her.

Arlott could feel the Emperor’s eyes on this planet. He would know. Her betrayal, however slight, would not go unnoticed. He was immortal and all powerful. None of his other enemies had ever escaped him, not even for the slightest transgression. She had no choice. She had to obey.

It seemed like she was never going to escape her chains.

Arlott felt her blood boil.

“These Sith dishonor our battle, and their Emperor is a fickle coward.” Khem Val spat. “I should have devoured them for their insolence. Stopping us from hunting our prey to save some useless Moff’s ship?” He made a choking sound.

“Erm…yes…that’s…” Talos cleared his throat. “But…These are direct commands from the Emperor himself. We must obey.”

“You already have won a mandate from the Emperor, lord. Currying more favor with him shall only increase your power.” Xalek commented.

Andronikos gave her another look. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” He muttered, before speaking up. “It’s not like you can say no when his royalness is the one telling us what to do. I’ve heard stories about people who tried that…”

So had Arlott. Sith didn’t usually gossip about their own nightmares, but something had to keep them all in line.

Still, she could come out on top. After Thanaton was finally dead, Arlott wouldn’t have any enemies screaming for her death. She should be able to use that to find a quiet spot somewhere in the empire to lord over, where no one would bother her. Where she could be finally left alone. Combining that with her allies in the imperial navy, she could—

Arlott was distracted from her musings by her Holocom. “My lord? My lord! I’ve been trying to reach you for some time now!” Moff Pyron’s voice crackled through. “I thought you should know, the Silencer will be unable to assist you in the Kaggath. It has been commandeered by direct agents of the Emperor himself, and now has been pulled down into the atmosphere.”

So that was now happening. And if one plus one still equalled two…“Not to worry, Moff Pyron. The Kaggath has finished. I won.” Arlott bit back a sigh. “And have been similarly conscripted. If I understand everything correctly, I will be defending our ship while it undergoes emergency repairs.”

“Repairs? But…” Pyron’s brows furrowed. “That’s…hmm. I suppose I will be having words with the man I left in charge after you save it.” The Moff gave a dry laugh. “Still, this means more glory to you, my lord. From what I hear, you have the Emperor’s eye now!”

“Yes.” Once again, she had bested her old master. Once again, she had gained a new one. “How wonderful.”

A fourth Jedi fell under Arlott’s lightsaber. Just as before, another Jedi rushed to take his place. She took a deep breath, and struck again.

One final effort, and then she could finally be free of the sword over her head.

The Jedi fought with a focus and desperation Arlott had never seen in the order. These warriors battled like Sith possessed, but with none of the frenzy that implied. They were disciplined and unified, hammering into Sith lines with incredible precision and power. Arlott’s first instinct was to cut off their head so the body would follow, but their leader was well protected, and strong with the Force. He was leading the Jedi’s main spearhead, leaving little opportunity for a quick ambush, and striking down any Sith who challenged him.

Still, the empire was staggering the republic’s advance, through sheer attrition if nothing else. The fighting had devolved into an all-out brawl, much like everywhere else on Corellia. Khem Val was enjoying himself despite his earlier temper—a near endless supply of force-users to devour always had that effect on the monster. Xalek continued to impress Arlott, as her apprentice was holding his own against full-fledged Jedi barely a week after leaving Korriban, and had already felled several of their number all by himself. Andronikos and Talos continued to make themselves as useful as they could, mostly by piloting a skycar to ferry Sith and other troops to and from the fighting.

But Arlott could sense the battle turning in the Jedi’s favor, ever so slowly. The Sith lines were starting to thin, and she had ordered her servants to fill in the gaps further down the line. Arlott herself had taken to defending a derelict hallway that led to the main hub of the complex they were defending.

The latest challenger, a Nautolan with a yellow lightsaber, was more stubborn than the others, but he would fall all the same. He deflected her lightsaber’s overhead strike, and stepped back to give himself room to counter, but instead gave Arlott the opportunity she had been waiting for. Hate expelled from her free hand as lightning and took the Jedi off-guard, instantly causing him to cry out in pain and seize up. Arlott pressed her opportunity, and brought her blade down again to kill another Jedi.

But instead, his body flew backwards, out of her reach.

The Nautolan recovered quickly enough, but stumbled. His savior grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet. A very familiar savior.

Ashara Zavros stared at Arlott with a determined gleam in her eye. “Master Bengel, retreat. I’ll handle this.”

“But—” The Nautolan tried to argue.

“You need medical attention, I can take care of things here.” Ashara’s two blue lightsabers ignited. “I’m not the youngling I was.”

The Nautolan gave her one last look before hobbling away. Ashara’s attention returned squarely back onto Arlott.

It was a familiar scene. The Sith facing down the Padawan, surrounded by Jedi corpses all staring up in mute horror. “I distinctly remember telling you to never face me again.” Arlott growled. “Turn back before I destroy you, Padawan.”

“When we met, I was a child.” Ashara exhaled to try and bury her fear. “Now, I will become a Jedi.”

“I’m in the habit of killing Jedi, as you well know.” Arlott said. “Should I offer you a chance to run away now, for old time’s sake?”

“I can’t do that, Sith.” Ashara’s eyes narrowed. “The fate of the galaxy rests on the battlemaster getting on that ship.”

“And the Emperor has personally commanded me to defend it.” Arlott made a show of clicking her tongue. “That puts us at odds, no?”

“Damn it, Sith!” Ashara gritted her teeth as frustration rolled off her in waves. Even if she had been knighted, the girl still had the same problems she had as a Padawan. “I’ve been on the front lines now! I’ve seen what the empire does to aliens! Why are you willingly helping them?”

“Because this is how the galaxy works.” Arlott rolled her eyes. “I spent the last week here on Corellia fighting a minor civil war inside imperial ranks, and we are still on the cusp of victory. The empire is stronger than the republic. There is no point in—”

“Only because cowards like you help them win!” Ashara spat. “I thought I sensed good in you on Taris. But after seeing what you’ve been fighting for…” She shook her head. “I’ve freed slaves. Hundreds of them. I only wish I could have reached them sooner, and spared them all the shame and humiliation.” She pointed one of her lightsabers at Arlott’s face. At her still visible slave brand-scars. “Can you say the same?”

Her scars were aching again. The only remedy she had found was to make someone else hurt even more. Twin red blades roared to life as Arlott ignited her saberstaff.

The air was still for a moment. Then, Arlott blasted her pain and rage out through the air, intending to electrocute the Jedi into submission once again. Ashara deflected the lighting with both of her lightsabers, but Arlott could feel the Togruta struggling, and rushed in to close the distance.

The girl’s lightsaber skills had improved since the last time they met. She managed to block Arlott’s initial assault, and then forced her back with a few well-timed jabs. She followed up by throwing a bit of debris as Arlott, and then used that to mask her jump through the air. She landed close, and began to pummel Arlott with blows, quick and strong enough to put the Sith on the defensive. It was an impressive showing.

But it wasn’t enough. Arlott reached out with the dark side, and used the Force to choke Ashara. The Padawan was not strong enough to resist, and was hoisted up into the air. Ashara still struggled, her own Force powers doing just enough to keep Arlott from completely shutting off her windpipe or snapping her neck.

But it wouldn’t be enough to save her. “I gave you a chance to run. Now you die, like all the other fools.” Ashara threw her lightsabers at Arlott. It was an admirable attempt, but easily deflected. “If that’s all…”

“Y-you…you don’t…” Ashara gasped out. “You don’t…h-have to do…”

“No, I suppose not.” Arlott could sense Ashara’s ancestor putting up some resistance. Perhaps that was why this was taking so long. “But your attempt on my life is forcing my hand.”

“I th…thought…I…sensed…good in…you…the…conflict…I thought…after…last time…” Ashara rasped as her hands clawed at her throat. “But…It looks…like…you’re ju-just,,,” She hacked up a breath. “Another…slaver—”

Alrott’s brand-scars ached, and her grip tightened. “And after spending my entire life enslaved, I am finally free!” She snapped. “In a cruel, uncaring galaxy, I have escaped all my masters! I have grown strong enough to escape everyone’s yoke!”

Even as life was fading from her body, Ashara’s eyes still found time to look at her with sorrow. “But…you still…obey…your…mas—”

“Shut up!” Arlott snarled. “All I need is to do one last thing, and then I am free forever!”

“D-do…you…really…” Ashara gasped. “Believe…that?” She was at death’s door, but Arlott could sense no fear. Only remorse, and that damnable pity. “Before…let me…know…why…why did…you let…m…e…esc…sc…”

She supposed she could answer that idle curiosity. “I told you to run, because…” Arlott paused. She had avoided thinking about that episode ever since she had left Taris. “...Because…” But she knew why. She always had.

”...Because the galaxy doesn’t need another me.”

“Don’t…you see?” Ashara had found her gasp of air, and pushed ahead. “As long…as you fight for…the Sith…you won’t stop…making another…you…with every being…you help enslave.”

“No, I…” Arlott’s grip faltered for a second. “I don’t have a choice—”

It was enough to give the Padawan a lifeline. “That’s just what S-sith…want you to think!” Ashara stammered. “There…there is good in you! I saw it! You don’t have to enslave—”

“Shut up!” Arlott screamed as she tightened her grip. “I don’t want to do any of this! They made me do it! I am—”

—Day in and day out, Myson pushed the button—

“They’re…they’re using you…”

Ashara’s words turned into a scream as Arlott shot lightning at her. “No one is using me! I am not a slave! I am Sith! I am free—”

Arlott bowed before Zash. “Yes, my master.”

Thanaton stood before her. “We will discuss your place in my power structure.”

“Serving our master is the greatest honor a Sith can have."

“—I’ve rebelled against the empire plenty, I am not—”

—Arlott ignored the screams and desperate cries as she helped her fellow Sith crush revolt after revolt—

—She blindly followed Zash’s directive to find a new apprentice. She didn’t even want an apprentice—

Throughout it all, Arlott called Zash master.

“—I’ve made the empire…the Sith, they respect me, fear me—”

"Look at them out there. They're like animals."

“Imperials do not serve your kind, scum!”

If the alien had given up and died a month ago like her kind should—

—Worthless alien—

Arlott had never felt more pathetic.

“I—I—”

She was never going to escape her chains.

Suddenly, Arlott became aware that she had fallen to her knees. Ashara was standing in front of her, staring down.

“We don’t need you to fight for us.” Her voice was quiet, coming out between deep breaths. “You only need to stand aside, and we can do the rest.”

Arlott wanted to argue. To demand that this…infantile Jedi speak her name with fear. To cow Ashara as she had her ancestor. To take her pain and inflict it on someone else. It was how she had gotten this far, after all.

But she felt tired. So very tired of everything.

“I was frightened too, when I first faced the dark side. When I faced you.” Ashara smiled. “But all it took was a little bit of courage, and I escaped, free.”

Arlott scoffed. The girl was pushing her patience, nor did she know the true peril of what her surrender entailed. She now risked herself against the eyes of the Emperor. If the slightest word of her failure got out…

…But what if it didn’t come to that? What if all of the emperor’s servants died before they could report her failure back to their master? Surely, they would make up the last line of defense and fight to their dying breath if the Emperor needed this battle to be won so desperately…

Arlott pulled out her holocom and took a deep breath. Then she pressed ahead, just like she always had. “Moff Pyron. Jedi have found their way onto the Silencer, and I must flush them out…”

After the shuttle crew was dealt with, Ashara brought her battlemaster. He was a human named Johanan Firmamis. Like most Jedi, he wore modest robes covered in thick armor. Unlike most Jedi, it was clear just by looking at him that he was strong with the Force, in a way few others could ever be.

“Thank you again, Si—” Ashara coughed. Their battle was taking it’s toll. “I just realized, I never asked for your name. What should I call you?”

“I am Lord Kall—” She began, before cutting herself off. “I am—” Suddenly, the name she had been so proud of tasted like ash on her tongue. “I…”

Her scars were aching again. “My name is Arlott.” She whispered.

“Thank you, Arlott.” Ashara smiled. “It’s a nice name.”

The Jedi’s medical officer flashed her a smile as he pushed himself into the cockpit. “It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful woman!”

“Ugh.” Another Jedi rolled her eyes. “Sorry about him. He’s a real pain in—”

“Just promise me that this will screw over the empire.” Arlott cut in.

Johanan gave her a brief nod. “It will save countless lives, and thwart the Emperor’s plans. Hopefully, it will give us a chance to strike at the man himself.”

Arlott’s eyebrow rose. “What are you talking about? The Emperor is on Dromund Kaas, a thousand systems away. How could this battle—”

“This is the Jedi who will destroy the Emperor, once and for all.” A large Pureblood man said. The former Emperor’s Wrath, if the wanted posters were true. “I have seen it.”

“Kill…the Emperor?” Arlott repeated.

“I would prefer to bring him to justice for his crimes.” Johanan added mildly, which made the Pureblood scoff and march into the ship.

“Is it true, though?” Arlott’s mind was racing. The Emperor hadn’t had a direct hand in anything for decades now. To suddenly grow interested in the battle for Corellia or her Kaggath implied that his hand was being forced. And for the former Wrath to betray his master, and have such faith in a Jedi of all things…“Is such a thing possible? They say the Emperor has lived for a thousand years…”

“Master Firmamis is—a-amazing!” Ashara answered with much enthusiasm in between coughs. “He’s been foiling the Emperor’s plots for months now! If anyone can defeat the tyrant—!” A loud noise spat out of her throat.

“Thank you, Ashara, but you do need to be seen by a doctor after your fight.” Johanan gave a tight smile as he ushered her towards the medics. “And thank you, Arlott. If we do defeat him, I would be more than happy to…”

The Emperor. The man all Sith bowed to, despite all their cruelty and bravado. The one man, above all others, who could snap his fingers and reshape the galaxy into whatever he wished. The man who had allowed slavery to endure and fester. The man who let her suffer for her entire life, only to offer a pat on the back and more servitude when she had finally crawled her way out of the hole he had put her and so many billions into. The man who would make her help shepard yet unborn billions into bondage for a place at his feet.

All the pain and suffering swirling through the force. All the darkness and fear hanging over Korriban and Dromund Kaas and everywhere. All of it, flowing through her all the time. All because of him.

“If you Jedi have any sense of justice,” Arlott suddenly said. “Be sure to make him suffer.”

 Johanan was caught off guard. “That isn’t the Jedi—”

“I don’t care!” Arlott snapped as her yellow eyes burned. “He deserves to suffer, for everything he’s done!” The Jedi’s eyes caught on her brand-scars.

Her voice was a hiss. “Anything you do will only be a fraction of what he’s inflicted on the galaxy.”

Johanan was silent. Then he bowed his head. “May the Force be with you.” The hatch closed, and the Jedi departed.