Chapter Text
‘The last line of our code “The Force shall free me” emphasises two fundamental concepts…’
Edenye rubbed her forehead as she selected the marker tool on her datapad. Two concepts, marked. It was quiet in the class she was in, except the occasional rustling of clothes and a loud exhale from Zolaen, the Twi’lek sitting behind her. Frustration rising and falling with his breaths tickling the hair on the back of her neck whenever he did so. Not the easiest text… she knew. Her head was already swimming with all the foreign and — sophisticated, as their overseer had called it — words that were used.
‘…of our society: the self and the advancement of the self.’
The self… what Malgus talked about all the time. But never about the advancement, only about its preservation…
‘Since our power derives by enforcing our will on the Force, the statement that it shall also function as our ultimate liberator rings to the contrary.’
What did this mean? Enforcing the will on the Force was a fight to keep her mind and will intact to not lose herself into the Force! How was this a struggle for freedom?
‘However, it is the tool that allows our ‘self’ to grow into its full potential while the retention of this ‘self’ is the biggest obstacle to overcome.’
At least she could follow this one.
‘The ultimate goal of any Sith is gain personal freedom.’
Well, how was this connected to the previous sentences? Personal freedom, the self was somewhat contained in this. If she could assume this far.
‘All past strife and conflict point to this one coveted prize only a few can and ever had achieved. To live by the code is to be constantly advancing one’s position. It dictates the inability to progress and ascend in the ranks laid out by our Emperor as a sign of weakness. The weak cannot rule the Empire and be the arbiters of our great society.’
Past strife? Was this referring to the mindless ones? Or was this again on the personal level? No, she was stupid again. This entire text was on the indi… she forgot the word again. Stupid stupid. Her chest tightened at the last sentence as shame simmered up along her shoulders. The weak, slaves, one she had been and will always will be. She had to rely on another to be here now… weak. Every single one… no. Not everyone. Reah, the only Pureblood in this class, a bright burning light glowing in her peripheral, had killed her Master and earned her place here. The only true Sith here, her anger and hatred shrilling louder than anything she had ever heard when they had first met. Shades clung to her every step, hiding in the folds of their uniform, winding around her her fingers. Always in the corner of her eyes and gone when she looked closer.
Stay away…
Again, the whispers were louder ever since Malgus had showed her how to feel the Force a week ago. More insistent, but the warmth they always spread was comforting at times. Stars, she was spacing out again! Quickly, she looked up to the chrono display over the holo-display on the wall. Two minutes left to read and then the inevitable interrogation came of their understanding. One she could not fail. Irithrea had already felt the consequences of the wrong interpretation once. The smell of smoke and the screams… bile was back in her throat and she had to swallow heavily to push it down. Do not remember. Not now. Lowering her eyes, she scanned the lines to where she had left off.
‘Our passions give us the strength and as touched upon in the previous section; the hate, anger one hones fuel our power and will open a sure path of victory over the Force and through the Force we shall be free.’
Strength through passion and then… The connection was clear now! As Sith they fought for control and power the Force could give and when they did, everything was possible and in their grasp! Even a slave becoming Sith! Only her passions had to be stronger, unwavering when she did. Her shoulders sank when a heavy weight settled on them and her eyes started to burn when pressure built up from tears wanting to be spilled. But… hers never boiled and raged as strongly and harshly as the others’ around her. Weak… that was what she was and always will be. A pathetic slave! How could she even think she’d ever have a place other than the lowest ranks in the Sith Order? Why could she not bring herself to hate? Just what was wrong with her?
“Time for reading is over,” Tashridge cut in.
Sharp fear spiked up, drilling into her left ear. Oh no… she glanced to where Irithrea sat. Pale grey eyes ripped wide open in a panic that screeched louder for a split second before Tashridge’s eyes settled on the small Zabrak. Hard and flashing with, her heart clenched painfully, pure anticipating glee.
Loud cackling echoed suddenly in her skull, blurring her vision when cold shivers shot down her spine. Hatred coiled around her throat. Tashridge had heard — no sensed — it too then.
“Acolyte Irithrea,” Tashridge sang skin-crawlingly sweet, “Tell me, how do we win our freedom?”
Irithrea froze, body jerking into a ram-rod straight position, “Enforce our will and the Force will obey. Then we are free of all constraints posed…”
“Seems like you learned from your mistake,” Tashridge sneered snidely, disappointment digging into her skin leaving a hollow stench of burnt flesh lingering in her nose.
She looked down where her hands had twisted into each other, skin stark white where her fingers had dug into. Failure had been expected. Wanted even. From Irithrea, from her… from everyone.
“Acolyte Edenye,” Tashridge suddenly said, tone more even, more careful at times as if she was prodding for something.
“Yes, Overseer,” she said, the words feeling more like a shield more than anything.
“Explain to us all why this freedom is so important to our Empire?” she asked.
“If the Force forces its will onto us, its vessels, we become mindless like the Jedi and become a danger to the Empire,” she blurted forth.
Remember the texts and all the times the Jedi had suppressed their freedom and killed entire worlds for it! All of this… the code, the way the Empire worked and was structured. Their Emperor had ordained it all so that they could never be killed by the Jedi who despised everything they stood for. This was their only defense. Only the strong could defend them. Someone as weak as her could never….
“Good,” Tashridge grinned, “Good to know you are paying attention.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. On the first day the whispers had been so loud, the shades so stark in their contrast she had missed a word… and the lightning Tashridge had punished her with had been more painful than any shock from the slave collar.
“Now, Acolyte Reah, how can we be sure that this text is not written by a heretic?”
A heretic… the ones who worked to destroy the Empire from within. Ones who wanted them all to become like the Jedi! Glee radiated from Reah whose face brightened up when Tashridge’s attention turned to her. Desperation clawed at her when it happened. Hard and bitter, almost feverishly hot.
“This was written by Darth Calun, past Dark Council Member of the Sphere of Sith Philosophy and was sanctioned when Darth Aruk took his seat,” Reah recited without stuttering.
“Very good,” Tashridge grinned smugly now, “For the next two days you will be in no lessons, but your Force and combat training will take place the entire day. However, when we reconvene I want you all to have written an essay on the role of freedom in our society. Two thousand words minimum.”
“Yes, overseer,” they all intoned back just as the chrono changed to the end of their lesson.
The doors slid open then, revealing Overseer Phremon who would accompany them to the next overseer. Her chest grew tight when Phremon stepped into the room hands clasped behind his back. A shadow on the wall moved when he walked in. Miniscule, but it robbed her of breath. But then it stopped as if it had never moved to begin with.
“I trust they were tolerable?” he asked gruffly, not sparing them a glance.
“They were acceptable,” Tashridge sniffed straightening out a fold in her robes, “I shall return in two days.”
Boots clicked on the floor as she glided out, leaving a strange smell in the air that diffused soon after.
“Get moving,” Phremon barked, “Overseer Pineham does not tolerate lateness.”
Of course, she pushed the chair back her knees creaking from sitting so long, lateness was punished. As almost everything here. The others stood up as well, faces down, silent as they followed him out into the corridor where other Overseers led their own groups to their various classes. Some had been here for months apparently already, as far as she had managed to gather. First Philosophy, then politics and history. All the while Force and combat training. So they were 'adequate' to get to the proper academy and it had to be proven. Progress in the classes and in all two training units.
One she wasn’t doing too well in. Malgus had been wrong… she would not succeed. Whatever her power was, it was wild, once she willed the Force to do her bidding it went… everywhere. Control, the overseer always muttered, what she lacked was control. It was easier for Reah, everything was easier for her. Must be in her blood, while hers was too dirty. Should be grateful she could even get this far.
“An essay?” Irithrea who was walking beside her hissed, “We’ve been only here for a week and now we have to write an essay?”
“Sh,” she muttered back ducking her head closer to the Zabrack who was also her sparring partner, “They already warned you about talking in the corridors.”
“What they don’t know, won’t make them hot,” she shot back, but quieter finally, “You have the better notes, I need your help.”
Why was she even asking her? After all she was already doing for her too?
“Of course,” she replied, “When?”
“Tonight?” Irithrea suggested looking in front of them where Hadrian and Orion walked blocking their view to Phremon’s back.
She nodded quickly fingering the hem of her red tunic. One she had been given to change into when the medical exam had been done. Warmth sank into her right shoulder where Irithrea walked and looked up to see a kind smile shining down. Seeing her was like looking into a cloud the sun was shining through. Sparkling and blinding, far stronger than her in every way.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered, comforting reassurance vibrating against Edenye’s cheek, “You only have been trying for a week.”
“It never stays in control,” she argued back.
“Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t,” Irithrea reminded her patiently, “You see things that I, and for sure not the others, do not see. Imagine what you see once you master control.”
She had nothing to say to that. Never had when Irithrea pushed back so insistently, all warm and gentle. Pushing away the cold fingers and pitch black shadows in the night. Reminded her of Uom, of her mother… of Eleena when she showed her how to make tea or when Malgus kept sitting her down to meditate. There was nothing to master. Hate and anger… it was there, but it did not fill her with the burst of power that it had given her on the ship. Relion… the overseers here, the punishments. All of them, not enough. What was wrong with her?
As they rounded a corner, the fluttering of fabric behind her sent the hair on her neck on edge. Something was looking straight at the back of her skull. Waiting… A red ribbon moved in the corner of her eye before…
A light giggle echoed in her ears.
Come see!
Do not look. Do not turn around. The Force was playing tricks on her again. It was just that, nothing else.
Overseer Pineham already knelt on his cushioned dais when they were herded into his tiny and airy room, with a tall window at his back letting in the dull winter sun.
“On the dot,” Pineham commented drily opening his yellow eyes to stare them down, “Sit down. We have no time to waste.”
They all scrambled to kneel on each designated space on the floor facing him.
“You already know what to do,” he got up when she settled on her knees more comfortably, “I shall merely observe.”
“Yes, overseer.”
Her stomach twisted when the shadow behind him flickered. Ice coated her heart, clenching it down to a stuttering rhythm just as ice shards sewed her throat shut. More flickering…, the shadow elongated….
No, no…. Go away! She had nothing! Not the one they wanted!
It stopped. Just a normal shadow again, one that did not move.
Right… concentrate.
Breathe in…
Breathe out…
Weight pressed down on her shoulders, clutching at her heart. No… she was in control… she would not lose herself! Never again would she at the mercy of it!
Just then her ears popped. It was easier now… the Force obeyed her… unwillingly, but it did. Every moment she could lose her frail control over it… and then it all would be all over. Familiar, cool and soothing power bubbled in her veins rushing to her fingers and to a tight ball in her stomach, prickling at the edge of her skin. All hers to wield and command.
A light giggle to her side.
Go away!
Then silence.
How easy it was to will the dust in the air to stop floating to only hover stock still in the air. Looking down to her fingers which gripped the hem of her tunic. Purple tendrils flowed between them, small and faint. Not as bright and shining like Reah’s or the deep red of Irithrea’s. But it was there and it was her own.
Listen…
Her shadow twitched. Her heart stuttered painfully as it grew longer. No… no! Not again! More flickering. Go away…!
Just then a finger stroked down her neck, shooting ice down her spine. Freezing the air in her lungs. No… not them! Limbs grew out at the top just as it rose up to her. A round shape shimmered in front of her. Half-transparent, not the solid black that always darkened her peripherals when she was alone. Always around her, a step in the corridors. The giggle when silence filled the air or a presence behind her where there was none.
Brown eyes blinked at her, wide… blood shot.
Revenge, a gap opened in the shape where the brown eyes glared down, Kill….him… See, you will see!
She did not want to see! This was death staring at her! Get away... please!
There had been enough death already, it was brimming in the air here. Always stretching its fingers out in the night. Sadness brushed over her eyelids, sorrow enveloping everyone around her… except her.
You will see… the shape grew paler, fainter until it diffused into the dust that did not seem to have moved. Sun light chased the shadow away. Freeing her lungs and she sucked in a deep gulp. Only the ice remained, raising the hair on her arms and neck. Please, let there be no more shades here!
“Excellent,” Overseer Pineham suddenly muttered gravely into her ear, “Your grasp on the Force is progressing very well.”
Was it? She looked up to him and the many wrinkles that marred his face. Smug pride radiated from him, until it snuffed out completely the next instance.
“Your control has grown, but it is still lacking,” he huffed before moving on to Zolaen who breathed evenly beside her.
She let out a long breath, watching as the dust whirled in the steady stream she let out. Lack of control… what was wrong with her?
“Thank you,” Irithrea muttered unfurling a leg clicking the save button on her data-pad, “Not sure what I would have done….”
Relief washed over her when she looked up to smile openly at her, horns reflecting the low hanging sun behind the hill the academy was at the foot of. Their bunks were placed next to the only window in their quarters, several bars across it throwing dark long lines across the floor until they touched the blast door at the opposite side.
“Just like I wouldn’t be able to…,” she replied wincing slightly at the dull pain in her shoulder where she had been whacked in the sparring session, “do…”
Without her, she would not even be able to pull enough hate together for the mediation sessions. Anyone who had ever wronged her was dead… Just not by her hand. If only it would not leave burning bile in her throat and nose after…. Gentle nudges along her shoulders made her look up.
“I know what you mean,” Irithrea smiled brushing a stray strand out of her forehead, “Your braiding is getting better too.”
Her braiding… Relion had forbidden anyone ever cutting her hair and here she had the longest by several inches. Irithrea helped her occasionally, but she needed to learn it by herself. One day no one would be around to help her and a Sith always could do everything alone. Though, she had only been practicing a week and strands still fell out occasionally.
“You know you can just cut it off,” Irithrea chuckled sliding off her bunk landing silently at the bottom.
No! She pouted down setting her own datapad next to her after locking it. No scissors or razors near her!
“Alright,” Irithrea laughed loudly now, “Come here, I will redo it before we need to turn up for dinner.”
“And have Reah glare holes into our backs?” she quipped sliding down to Irithrea’s bunk where she already sat cross-legged.
“And skip dinner?” Irithrea raised an eyebrow in her direction, disbelief floated briefly against her nose.
True… her stomach growled loudly in response. It was so strange not being hungry for days before being thrown a scrap from the table. In the morning, mid-day and then in the evening. So much… she could barely eat everything they slapped on her plate!
“See your stomach agrees with me,” Irithrea smirked motioning for her to turn around, “Reah is just jealous,” she then whispered conspiratorially into her ear when she settled on the red blanket, back turned to her, “her feather actually shook today!”
Oh! The mighty Pureblood was not perfect? The shock! Irithrea’s fingers brushed through her hair now, loosening a braid now. Sighing, she closed her eyes at the gentle tugging against her scalp. Almost like her mother… no visions, nothing behind her eyelids. Her shoulders sacked down, tension fleeing her neck when a strand got pulled up
“That was why she was in such a mood in sparring today?” she snorted folding her hands now, cold fingertips brushing against her bruised knuckles.
“If you can even call it a mood,” Irithrea giggled back, twisting more strands, “Temper tantrum summarizes it better.”
Laughter bubbled up from her chest, and she had to press both of her hands against her mouth to prevent it bursting out. So that was why there are been the waves of raging anger and steely hot determination hitting her spine whenever Reah was near her. Poor Zolaen, his bruises will be massive by tonight, if the twinges of sharp pain along her arms were any indication when they had left the training area.
Warmth flooded through her fingers when Irithrea tucked the last braid into the pile on her head and patted her right shoulder. Just as she slid off the bunk to walk with her to the mess hall downstairs, the long shadows of the bunk beds flickered. Almost blended together to a single mass of black slithering along the wall. But then she was in the corridor, door closing behind her. After the thud them closing, her chest deflated. Relief pushing out all the air in her lungs.
Irithrea looked at her, confusion shining brightly in her eyes. No one but her saw this… and Irithrea already feared it deep down, the shimmer of blue ice cold fear whenever she noticed that she had seen something. No. This was hers alone to suffer through. Shaking her head, she walked past Irithrea who after a moment of hesitation before following her down.
They’d be gone when they would return for their alloted sleeping hours. Eight hours of mandatory sleep where overseers would patrol the corridors, their presences weighing heavily on her chest whenever they walked past their door. Disrupting her meager push against them in the waning moments before sleep took her.
But they were not gone when they all returned, tired and droopy eyes from the heavy meal they had been given. Though, the yellow light of the overhead lights beat them into the far corners of the room. Their presence still pricked, at the back of her neck, raising the hair on it sending shivers all over her body. Was her control waning so much? Was her hate towards Relion no longer enough too keep the Force at bay?
Once the lights were switched off on the dot on the specified time, she was huddled deeply into her blankets. Its heavy fabric tucked underneath her chin and around her neck like a cocoon. No one could touch her like this… the cold touch of the fingers on her neck vanished. Comfortable heat settling in her back and through to her stomach, as she turned to look at the door that was dimly illuminated by the moon. Everything was gray and black.
Listen….
The whispers, they were back. No no no, please she was doing what they asked! What more?
Her stomach cramped up, the smell of the beans they had back in her nose. Sour and she had to gag at foulness. Shrinking further into her blanket, there was a sudden movement in the corner of her eye. On the ceiling. Pressing her face fully into the pillow, she felt ice dropping into her ears. Trickling down and through her skull, digging into her head.
Look closer…
No! Leave her alone!
Air ghosted across her neck, through the mass of hair piled on top of her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she curled her fists underneath the pillow. Another wave of air and then… silence. Until a rattling breath was sucked in above her.
Listen… you are the only one who can.
Go away! Let her sleep!
Ice frosted over her nose, like a hand stroking over her face. Sucking out any heat, leaving her a shivering mess underneath a blanket that felt like a stone pressing her down. Not even her fingers could twitch. Heart pounding in her ears, her chest constricted painfully until she could no longer breathe.
Beware! Same…will… happen…
A hand clutched her shoulder, fingers digging into the thin night tunic she had been given. Nails driving into her skin, when another ice-cold breath wafted over her cheek. The rushing in her ears grew so loud that bile flooded into her nose leaving a searing trail down her throat and lungs. Desperation stabbed down her skull, the finger shaking her shoulders now.
Stabbed… betrayal…
A different voice, more female, hissing in her ears just as a breeze blew over pulling the blanket down her back.
Get out! Seek warmth!
The whisper, one who was her very own. Get out… yes, her fingers twitched violently. Freezing still, she swung her legs out, face still pressed into the pillow. They were hovering around yet, the fingers still on her shoulders. Shades, all they were. There was nothing they could do with and against her. Warmth, seek warmth. She slid down, feeling the weight of legs pulling her down. For a moment she was in free fall, the fingers losing their grip. Vicious and desperate howling screeched through her head until she landed. Knees impacting harshly onto the floor, her palms slapping onto the floor.
Out! She had to get out! Scrambling to her feet, she stumbled towards the door. Insistent nudges along her spine and shoulders, near shoving when her legs locked up suddenly.
Wait! Despair seized her heart, squeezing it until she fell against the wall. Close to the door. If she stretched out her hand, her palm would lie flat against the door. Locked, the doors were locked.
She was not going to stay here! Not with the shades!
Seek warmth. Her head hurt when the scream echoed in her skull. Wincing she grasped her head when the fingers clutched around her neck.
Listen!
Let go! She would get out of this. Suddenly her hands were in front of her, pushing herself off from the wall with her shoulder. Skin tingling with the rushing power, a warm ball simmering in her stomach. Metal creaked when the doors budged under her will. Out! Let her out! The doors slid open, smoothly as ever and she was out, in the glaring light in the corridor.
But the fingers were gone, retreating back into the room. Relief made her sack against the opposite wall, the soothing coolness of it sinking into her feverish forehead. A nudge on her neck, then another on her forearm. Insistent, but gently steady. Warmth… whatever it meant. Eyes falling close she trudged along, the nudges almost growing excited.
Soon.
A faint warm exhale like wind blew over her face, heating her cheeks. Right direction… good.
“Acolyte!” a female voice called out quietly, firm and gentle hands grasping her shoulders, “Come I will get you…”
No! Not back! She shook her head fervently, eyes flying open a kind face that radiated concern that enveloped her then and there. A servant, the light gray marking her as one of the staff that always flitted around in the background.
Mother?
“I see,” the woman — not her mother — smiled pulling her closer, “Come. I know just what you need.”