Darkness.

It was something that Skygge was finally learning to embrace. Yet it did not consume her. A strange feeling. Within and without, it surrounded her, penetrated her, filled her, yet she controlled it. A simple, spoken word, a movement of the hand, and the lights in this room in the Sith temple would come to life, chasing away even the shadows in the corner. A word of the will, a movement of her willpower, and the darkness that filled her would flee, allowing her to do as she willed.

It was strange. She did not sense such ability in Ithron or Lupercus, who were consumed by the darkness, in Perrin Descartes or the Emperor, who manipulated the darkness, or in Vance or Recon Klain, who tried to control it. Was it that she was not fully a part of it, fully giving herself to it? Or was it that her motives were such that she retained the ability to turn from it?

Her mind raced through the possibilities. Constantly this question plagued her as she meditated. At one time, she would have forced it into submission, secluding it at the back of her mind, but she had long moved past that point. Instead, she allowed the Force to flow through her, begging it to provide some sort of answer. But it did not.

Her levitated form was suspended in total darkenss. Her eyes closed or open, it didn't matter, for only the Force could tell her direction or position. It was a level of mastery over the Force that only those Apprentices who were ready to become Knights had achieved. Skygge knew she was ready to be a Knight. Yet Vance - Darth Vicirus - had not yet declared her a Knight. Perhaps she should do something to bring her to his attention. A dangerous mission in which only a Knight could survive.

As she thought, a vision came to her. These visions had been coming ever since the mission to Korriban. It was as though part of the Force embedded in the planet had transferred to her and gifted her with the ability to see things past, present, and future. Whether these things were accurate in their entirety, or whether they were completely false, was not guaranteed. What she knew was that she saw things.

Red lightsabers flashed, intersecting with a blue blade. The face behind the blade was well-known, even in this age; it was Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi who had turned to the Dark Side and become Darth Vader. He fought with a being whose face was on no public records, but instictively Skygge knew who it was. A woman whose escapades had been foiled time after time by Anakin and his Master, Obi-wan Kenobi. A woman whose name was feared throughout the galaxy. An assassin, a shadow in the night. Asajj Ventress.

The vision seemed to be in fast forward. Skygge saw Anakin defeat Ventress. In what seemed to be her last moments, she spoke to Kenobi, and in the vision Skygge saw a light envelop her and drive away the shadows inside her. Redemption at death, or so it seemed. Kenobi and Skywalker loaded her onto what seemed to be a medical shuttle and then left.

The vision skipped ahead. How Skygge knew it skipped, she didn't know. But now she found herself seeing the inside of the shuttle some time later. Asajj's eyes popped open, and she sat up, looking around. She smiled. Skygge saw her walk forward to the cockpit and open the door. She braced herself for the violence that she knew would follow.

But nothing happened. Skygge saw Ventress speak to the pilots, and heard her words as clearly as if they were being spoken in the room. "Pilots, alter your course. Take me away from here, I don't care where. Far away. Away from the war, away from Count Dooku, away from the Jedi. I want no more part of it. I want to die in peace. Take me where I don't have to fight anymore."

The vision ended. The last part was a surprise to Skygge. From what she knew, Asajj had died on Boz Pity at the hands of Anakin Skywalker. That was what was recorded in the archives. But had Ventress survived...

Why had the Force shown that vision to her? Was Ventress still alive? The numbers ran through Skygge's head. Impossible. Ventress would have to be dead by now. But her lightsabers - they would still be around. Imagine if she could take the lightsabers of Asajj Ventress for her own? If she could find the corpse of the Dark Jedi and claim her weapons for herself? That might make Vance look at her.

And something seemed to tell her that she was supposed to undertake this mission, that it was critical to her future success. She no longer believed, as the Jedi did, that the Force was an ally, but that it was a tool to be used for one's own purposes. Still, if the Force was willing to tell her that this venture could further her advance, she was willing to take that chance.

Opening her eyes, she uncrossed her legs and placed her feet on the floor, only a short distance beneath her. A wave of her hand flipped on the lights, though she didn't need them; she could just as easily have used the Force to guide her steps through the room. She exited and went in search of Lord Vicirus. With his permission, she would begin her search at once.

Flashes of bright red light appeared from the darkness beyond and filled the blue hued surroundings. They had started off as a sparse occurrence, but had gradually increased in frequency over a very short period of time. If one looked carefully, they could tell that these were not simply lights coming on and off. These flashes were, in fact, laser bolts, being fired one after the other. Every though they appeared from two to three different directions, their destination was quite clear and defined, aimed at one point in within the given space.

What was interesting, though, was that almost all of the laser bolts were beaten back and none had impacted their intended target. They were thrown back by the source of the same blue light that filled the darkness. A source that now moved so fast that it was simply a flickering blur, intercepting with the paths of countless red bolts.

In the middle of this sphere of blue light, welding the tool that protected him, stood a late teenage, no... a man. A man in dark torn robes that seemed to float around him, even in the heavy gravity. With closed eyes on a face filled with determination, the man slowly advanced, further and further into the darkness. Through the torrent of fire and darkness he proceeded as small rocks showered from the walls around him with each laser impact. No fear or doubt filled him, not like before. He was a changed person. It had taken time to face most of his demons, but finally he had reached the place he wanted.

His wrist twisted quickly, causing the glowing saber he held to move fluidly behind his body. It moved directly into the path of one of the laser shots and sent it flying back into the direction from which it had come. The man thought he heard a scream of pain, but did not fully register the sound. To him it could have been anything. Anything, but the mission on his mind.

The final destination was clear in his mind. He could see it and imagine it. It was this place that had called out to him and in turn drawn him. There was evil here. Unlike Korriban, however, this evil had not yet had time to imprint within it. For now it was simply in the hearts and minds of simple people. People who would do anything in their power to survive, except what was right and good.

A bright light appeared on the high ridge above him and without a second thought the man's knees gently bent before he jumped into the air towards the ridge. No mere human could have made the leap, but then again this man was not mere.

The laser fire followed him through the jump, but only two made it through the constantly moving saber of light. One passed harmlessly through the floating robe, leaving another hole. The other gazed the man's muscular shoulder, filling the air with a smell of burning flesh.

No sound escaped the moving figure it descended upon the edge of the ridge. The figured, instead, turned to look over the edge, but only for a moment. His sword struck again and more screams filled the darkness below as laser bolts were turned back. When no more fired returned it was time to carry on with the mission. He had already wasted too much time.

He turned on his heels and proceeded once more, only this time into brightness. There was no impediment from this point on, however, and the man advanced rather quickly into the depth of the cave. From the main corridor extended many different entrances and exits, leading to different rooms contained within the cave compound. Within them living beings could be sensed, but none came out to change the robe clothed figured that moved through their once secret hide out.

The man rounded the corner and came upon a dead end. A dead end that contained some tables, chairs, and a desk at the very end. Four metallic doors, two on each side, lined the walls. The doors distinguished these from the other rooms within the complex and the man looked from one to the other before moving the furthest one of the right.

Beside the door, against the wall, hung a keypad. Without the code, there was only one thing the man could do. He drew the lightsaber up and plunged it hard into the electronic pad. Sparks showered all around him and smoked plumed up from the newly created hole.

For a moment nothing happened and the cloaked figure stepped back. Just then a hiss was produced and the heavy door clanked open. Light flooded into the dark room beyond, illuminated a room in deplorable condition. As the light shown into the room, a stink was released in the opposite direction, surrounding the man that stood outside.

Amidst the garbage and human waste that lay on the rocky floor of the prison cell, lay a small shivering figure in torn clothes. The figure was in fact a small girl with her arms and legs bound to prevent movement. She had been fitted with a blindfold as well as a piece of tape over her mouth. Even in his concentrated stated, the man could not push away the sounds of pain and sobbing that emanated from this little girl as she lay there.

His eyes moved from her body to the man standing behind her. A man with a large pistol pointed at her head.

"You made a big mistake coming here! If you make it out of here alive, tell her family that you killed their little girl." Stated the man in a harsh voice.

He make a small grin and let out a long laugh as his finger moved to pull the trigger. Pull the trigger he did, but instead of firing a bolt of deadly energy, the whole blaster shattered around his hand. In sharp surprise he lifted the pistol grip in his hand and looked at it, before moving his eyes slowly to the figure that stood opposite him in dark robes.

It was the last thing he would ever see in this reality. Within a second his body was propelled into the air and slammed hard against the rock wall behind him. The jagged wall that had always been part of many of his amusing interrogations, now lead to his death. The impact jammed the sharp edges into his back, shattering four vertebrae, while other parts of the wall cracked his skull. Like a rag doll, the man fell to the ground motionless.

Even before the man's body had landed back on the hard ground, the other was over the girl and slowly pulling her up into a sitting position. He puller he blind fold off slowly, watching her scared eyes blinking slowly, trying to adjust to the light once more. The man reached back and pulled the hood from his head slowly, exposing his short beard and rough features. Features he had earned from spending over five months on this rough planet.

He let out a small smile and ran his dirty fingers through her dirty hair. "It's ok Tenea. You are safe now. My name name is Ben Firestar and I'm here to get you free."

Darth Vicirus sat silently in the library chamber, his eyes scanning a worn book from some of the first Sith known to the galaxy. The tales that were told within the faded pages were intriguing, but the Sith Master had long since taken such readings with a sense of amusement; for while the meaning could be found, generally it had to be extracted from the Sith’s glorified self-righteousness that blew their experiences out of context with grand exaggerations. None the less, the few truthful messages that could be gained were pearls of wisdom, and it remained that Vicirus deemed it required to learn as many lessons as he could.

After all, it wasn’t like he had a master, nor did he intend to allow his own reach for power and strength ebb into the background.

Even from the room in which he sat, the Sith Master felt the seeking presence of one of the Apprentice’s from a distance. Casually Vicirus marked his current page with a tether of leather, closing the book gently. Reaching into himself, Vicirus focused the Force, calling upon the more mystical power given to him through hours of intense study with his Aing-Tii mentor, of sorts; with his concentration on the text before him, the Sith thought of his personal chambers. After a moment there was a pop of displaced air, the book disappearing, sent to the shelf in Vicirus’ sealed quarters, away from the prying eyes of those who would find such information so interesting.

The Sith Master had decided that the Apprentices were not ready for such lessons, and would do well to keep such powers and tales from them for the present.

Turning to his right, Vicirus called another book to his hand with the Force from the shelf nearby. Opening to around the middle, where he had left the chapter the last time he had studied the text almost two months prior, he began reading. The Apprentice was close, and the Sith Master wasn’t keeping his presence hidden. It wouldn’t take long for Mira to arrive…

Vicirus was not in his quarters, that much was clear. Skygge reached out with the Force, feeling his presence nearby. He wasn't trying to hide. So he wasn't busy. That was good.

It didn't take her long to track him down in one of the library chambers of the Xa Fel temple. Skygge herself spent a great deal of time in these chambers, studying. Usually she would focus on the exploits of past Sith, as history fascinated her, but of late she had been studying more and more about the nature of the Force and the Dark Side. Ever since Ben Firestar had been conversing with her, she had desired to be as knowledgeable about those subjects as possible so that, someday, she might instruct him.

Vicirus, it seemed, was doing the same. He was reading through a book that Skygge had not yet read. That wasn't a surprise, really; so far Skygge had been working her way through the basics. Vicirus was far more advanced than she, hence he read those things that were more advanced. Skygge had learned soon after her arrival at Xa Fel that one did not attempt to control more power than one could handle. The lightning from Vicirus's fingers was still etched into her mind, the blue-white bolts that shook her as she lay in pain. She had determined that would not happen again.

Nearing Vicirus, she knelt before him in homage, not necessarily to his position or rank, but to his superior power. It was required that she do so. As protocol demanded, Skygge waited for the Master to speak. As she waited, she meditated, drawing on the knowledge that was present in the room. It had always been her philosophy that an author, any author, embedded part of himself into his work. She had found that this was especially true of the Sith. So as she waited, she contemplated those pieces of minds that remained, trying to unlock the secrets they might hold.

Vicirus looked down to Mira, taking in the young woman’s posture and appearance with a simply glance. He could tell that something was pressing on her mind, that her thoughts were clouded and somewhat chaotic in pattern. But, that was neither here nor there, as the situation of concern would soon become apparent.

“Apprentice Mira,” Vicirus said, looking back to the text he had been reading. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

It was no secret that the Sith Master enjoyed his time secluded in the temple library, and very few would actually seek to interrupt his study. Yet, for those few that did opt to do so, Vicirus was willing to at least hear them out; but whether or not he would give them the answer they sought remained unsure.

After all, the corrected Sith Order mentality demanded that one forge his own path through the shadows of the Dark Side. And if that meant working out one’s own path to take, in order to reach the power they sought, then so be it; but, on the other hand, Vicirus wasn’t about to cut his own throat and keep his Apprentices completely in the dark, per se…

Mira would receive her answer.

Skygge had planned out already what she should say. She had the annoying habit of sticking her foot in her mouth, and she would be addressing the (arguably) most powerful Sith Lord in the galaxy. It would not do to be blabbering about irrelevant material, especially since he was in the library. And interrupting Vicirus in the library was a dangerous thing to do.

"Lord Vicirus," she began, still kneeling. "I have seen a vision in the Force." She paused, waiting for him to respond. When he did not, she continued. "I saw the last recorded moments of the life of a Dark Jedi from the Clone Wars era. I saw her struck down, presumed dead. I saw her turn back to the light, a sight that angered me greatly. I saw her put on a shuttle. And I saw her wake from a healing trance and force the pilots to divert course, taking her elsewhere.

"Lord Vicirus, I have reason to believe that Asajj Ventress survived her final conflict with Anakin Skywalker and Obi-wan Kenobi. I wish to follow her tracks, to see what became of her. I also believe that this mission is critical to my future as a Sith. There is something, or someone, along this road that I must face. Lord Vicirus, is this a task worth pursuing?"

In truth, Skygge was asking two questions there at the end. She knew that to ask permission from Vicirus was to invite...disagreeable retribution. But cloaked in the question of worth, asking for permission was acceptable, or at least it should be. She knew that a Sith should and must find her own way through the Dark Side to power, but she still needed some guidance from those above her. By asking whether Vicirus thought the mission to be worth her time, she would discover if it was something he wished her to pursue, and therefore whether she had his permission - so to speak - to begin.

The haziness of the forest quickly gave way to the shimmering orangish light of Ryadian day as Ben and Tenea emerged into the grassland. It had been almost two days since the rescue, but Tenea was finally starting to trust humanity once more. In the beginning he had carried her away from the caves, until she was strong enough and trusting enough to walk on her down. Now, after their time together, she clung to Ben's arm. It would be a long while before she would be comfortable by herself once more.

As they walked hand in hand through the field of Skella, Ben looked down at Tenea, lost in his own thought. She never had to fear those animals again, nor would the inhabitants of this planet. He had made sure of that.

Ben was proud of what he had done. He had delivered justice to men that had lived their lives in sin and above the law. His pride, however, was tainted with sadness and fear. Sadness about what he had had to do and fear of what he was becoming.

The events had turned blurry in his mind, but Ben could still remember the men he had killed. None of them had tried to surrender to him or so Ben believed. He could now allow his mind to say otherwise for he did not think he could handle that. They had all been criminals and murderers. Tenea was a witness to their animalistic atrocities.

What pulled at Ben from the inside, however, was the fact that he had used anger and hate for those people to protect himself and defeat the evil. By Jedi teachings he should have turned sith and been consumed by the darkness. However, he was still the Ben he was before all of this. He had done a good deed, hadn't he?

They had been taught at the academy how bad the dark side was. How it would consume you whole and never let you leave its grasp. What if it wasn't that simple, Ben thought as they walked. Maybe it depended on the person and how that power was used? He would really have to think all this over. This experience was really starting to change him.

Ben had thought he knew what the dark side was, but perhaps he wasn't even close. What he needed was to talk to someone who was an authority on the subject. What he needed....was a sith. For some reason that word no longer frightened him.

Where would he find such a person on Ryadi? Ben needed to find a way off the planet he had called home for the past couple months. His ship was flyable, but the hyperdrive had been destroyed in the solar storm that had dropped him out of hyperspace in this system. From the inhabitants, people stranded on the planet before him, Ben had learned the storms come at random times and efforts of predict them had failed.

As if that was not enough, Ryadi's ionized atmosphere prevented any sort of communication with the rest of the galaxy. Unless someone stumbled upon them, Ben had little hope of leaving. Even so, something in the back of his mind would not let him give up. It was as if his mind thought help would come when he needed it.

The Sith Master listened patiently, offering an ear to Mira’s request and her explanation of what she truly wanted. It appeared that she had reservations about some of the historic events and how they actually unfolded, though it remained that it was more a personal quest that the Apprentice wished to be able to explore…

"Lord Vicirus, I have reason to believe that Asajj Ventress survived her final conflict with Anakin Skywalker and Obi-wan Kenobi. I wish to follow her tracks, to see what became of her. I also believe that this mission is critical to my future as a Sith. There is something, or someone, along this road that I must face. Lord Vicirus, is this a task worth pursuing?"

For a few moments Vicirus remained silent. He pondered the notion, though putting no real thought into the matter beyond toying with the idea that Asajj Ventress was alive, and decided that self-exploration would be good for the girl; she needed to have her wings spread, so to speak, and if this quest proved able to enlighten her in some manner, then it would be acceptable to allow her leave…

“Very well,” Vicirus said, turning his attention once more to his tome. He began to read. “If you wish to follow your inclination, then you may. You will be expected to return with evidence of your findings, and I expect you to remain from public eye as you are able, and that there shall be no links left should you perish to Xa Fel or this Order…”

It was rare for an Apprentice to venture outward alone, but Mira was proving able and if she had half the ability she believed, she would be fine. None the less, there remained the warnings of failure, and if she found herself in trouble then she was to ensure nothing was pried from her lips.

“I sense something nearing this Order, a threatening menace that remains clouded,” Vicirus continued, his voice seeming distant as he narrowed his eyes, staring at the wall on the other side of his desk. “You must be swift in your journey, for I feel the Sith will need every available brother in the near future… and it is best to remain on the cautious side, after all.”

“You are dismissed, Apprentice,” With a sigh Vicirus looked back to the text scribbled on the worn paper. “May your anger fuel your power on this quest.”

(OOC: Granted invitation and permission to join into this by Skygge.)

Calen’s finger wrapped around the handle of, what he assumed was now a moss covered refrigerator. He hesitated for a moment, considering the smell or other possibilities that ran through his mind at that precise moment. For all he knew, given time and the strange lore surrounding this place, there could be something living within its contents; something not particularly safe to deal with.

Speaking of safety…

Calen touched against the wound on his left arm. He had tied only a small part of his already worn clothing around it after crawling through a previously-shattered window to get into one of the more intact looking buildings of whatever unnamed and abandoned settlement he had currently come upon. Clearly, he had not been watching what he was doing, nor had he been paying any true heed that glass was indeed sharp. Granted, it wasn’t exactly easy for a being of Calen’s nature to see objects as translucent as glass. After all, to him, buildings were nothing more than wireframe designs to a certain extent before meshing into a haze. This was perhaps the largest handicap with his species.

While the ability to utilize the Force the replace one’s eye sight was, for lack of any other description, an amazing triumph in evolutionary adaption by his people, it had its limits. Colors for example; they didn’t exist. If asked, Calen couldn’t tell a person what the color red was or whether or not it had anymore difference from say, its counterpart blue. No, the Miraluka had a different way of describing things without the vibrant assistance of things like color and contrast.

They used, if one had to call it anything, a being’s natural intent upon the world to describe a person of being. By this idea, one would mean to say that any living being in the world had this sort of aura, with the exception, of course, of machines and other inanimate objects, but even those had some connection to the Force, if only to be surrounding by its existence well enough to provide an outline of its shape and form. For beings, the aforementioned “aura” was either of greater influence by the “Dark Side”, or greater influence by that of the aptly termed and totally opposed “Light Side”. After all, these sorts of affinities governed how a force was able to interact and enmesh itself within life, right?

Calen winced slightly as his fingers ran gently over the wound. The last thing he needed was an infection at this point, especially without any medical aid within viable reach of him. He was just a young kid after all, what did he know of bandaging wounds and healing infections? In truth, the best he had in this situation was to clean the wound and re-bandage it with the cleanest compress he could find at the time. It wasn’t a very bright outlook on things, but at least it was better than letting whatever unknown bacteria and viral life this planet harnessed go commando on his open flesh.

The middle-aged teen let go of the handle on the moss covered refrigerator and stared at it, placing his arm akimbo to his waist.

“Why bother? It’s not like there’s anything to eat inside, or at least anything edible,” he scoffed.

From what his vision could tell him, there was indeed nothing inside of the contents of the climate controlled box. The distinct lack of a mechanical hum also added to speculation as to anything’s remote preservation within. Then again, child-hood idiocies were always abound with those of Calen’s age group.

Glancing around, the youth steadied his pseudo-eyesight upon an object resting, unmoved upon the surface of the counter of the small apartment-style kitchen. A mug for drinking some native beverage, no doubt. Granted that things here had been left undisturbed for thousands of years, one could only guess as to what people of that time drank.

A mere glance down at his hand gave Calen the incentive to try what he had been trying to perfect since before his banishments from everyone and everything he had ever known; manipulation of the force, just like the Jedi and Sith of old he had only read so briefly about. Lore had granted that they could move objects just through sheer focus, no matter how big or small. What was more is that these manipulators of the force were of varying shapes, sizes, colors, and race. Throw that together with his species’ own ability to use the force for, out of all things, the ability to visualize the world around them, Calen could assume that he too, could do the same thing.

In the past, he had only been able to give a simple nudge to objects before, even with his greatest of concentrations. At least, he thought he had. When he asked people to confirm his excitement, they reiterated to him that he was stupid for even thinking he could do such things.

Then there had been cases when Calen hadn’t been trying, when he had been angry, or frustrated, or just downright pissed off at anything and everyone around him. It was times like those when people tended to get hurt or things tended to break. One specific incident of note had been where the council had told him they could no longer tolerate him on their planet. Anger had enveloped him, hatred even, a feeling of betrayal, of fear, a distinct desire to let those around him feel his pain and one that had inevitably sealed his departure from Alpheridies all the quicker with an escort from the room to boot by a full regimen of the Council’s Guard.

In that incident, the very representative to have delivered the news had nearly been impaled upon a flag displaying the banner of his own regional rule. The politician had been hospitalized moments later in serious condition. Calen had never heard anything further than that, but he distinctly remember their curses and swears at him. Of all those terms, select words had stood out far more than any others in there terrified shouts as the room was torn asunder.

“Sith!”

“Jerec”

“The Dark Side”

That was the worst of Calen’s displays in manipulation of the force. A desire to wound those around him had come into reality that day. Before that, he had only been under investigation for conspiracy to utilize such forbidden methods.

If only he could control those manipulations, those emotions, those…powers.

He focused upon the long-empty mug, his muscles tense all around his body and his joints locked, his hand shaking as he tried his best to force whatever influence it was from his body to surround the cup and simply lift it from the countertop.

Nothing.

No movement, not even a stutter. The cup did nothing.

“Gah, why can’t I ever do this?! I want to do it so why won’t it just fucking work?!” he screamed at the cup and threw his hand out at it, stomping closer to it and shouting further, saliva flying from his mouth as the veins around his face pulsed with stress.

“Move, mutherfucker!” he screamed at apex of his voice, throwing his arm over the top of the object.

Before he knew it, the ceramic was shattering against the wall of the long abandoned kitchen and his arms were thrown in front of him in terror and defense, afraid to see maybe someone who had suddenly gotten upset with his shouting enough to pick the cup up and hurl it at the wall in an effort to get him to shut up.

Slowly, he removed his arms from his face, glancing at the wall where the sound had been given birth, then slowly to the place where the mug had been rooted to the counter. A small circle of what could be mistaken as the cleanest area of the entire kitchen design left where the cup had once sat. it wasn’t long after that he looked around to see if that someone had been there, that someone to throw the cup against the wall.

But nobody was there. There was nobody ever on Katarr. Nobody but Calen.

Boz Pity. The name fit the world, for it was with pity that many looked upon it. The Graveyard world it was called by some, due to the massive tombs, and now due to the many that had died on its surface during the Clone Wars. Home of a medical facility and a large battle. But such was the way of life.

It was to this planet that Skygge traveled first, for it was here that Asajj Ventress was last seen. Or at least it was certain that she was seen. Some records held that she had been at Xagobah afterwards, but Skygge put little faith in those. Especially considering the nature of her vision. She'd had the vision again, several times, since leaving Xa Fel. It had not changed in the least. In fact, the repetition served to strengthen the truth of the vision in her own mind. It also served to remind her that there was something, or someone, along this path that she needed to find.

Of course, at the forefront of her mind was the young Jedi Ben Firestar. He was so close to turning, so close to seeing things as Skygge saw them. When he had left her on Korriban, it had been he who had lashed out at Ithron in anger, joining forces with her instead of taking the moral high road and trying to kill them both. It would not be long, she thought, before he joined the Sith on Xa Fel.

But then there was something else nagging at her mind. Perhaps it was nothing; perhaps it was something. Perhaps it was that Asajj Ventress was really still alive, though the thought itself was ludicrous. Asajj, Sith though she was, was still human, and humans just didn't live this long. But perhaps her spirit was still around...that could be it. That would make sense. With the interconnectedness of the Force, it could be Asajj herself calling Skygge to follow in her footsteps. Or perhaps not.

Even that thought didn't drive away that persistent nagging in Skygge's mind. There was something else, something elusive, something that she couldn't quite grasp. So instead of concerning herself with it, she pushed it to the back of her mind and concentrated on bringing her ship in to dock. The planet was independent now, free of the CIS, free of the rule of the Empire, free of the democracy of the Galactic Coalition. And it was actually prospering, though how it was doing so was beyond Skygge's comprehension. It was not on a trade route, and it was not part of a trade bloc; in fact, it had no tradable goods. The old CIS medical facility was in use, and it sometimes serviced the Galactic Coalition, but even that wouldn't be enough...

Then it came to her. Boz Pity was on the border of Hutt Space, and with the recent increase in Imperial activity there, many of the smugglers must have moved operations. There was no business in the galaxy as lucrative as smuggling, especially when the smuggled items are in high demand. Items such as bacta, or spice. Well, stolen bacta. Cheap bacta was always in high demand. Of course, there was no evidence to show that the planet was smuggling bacta, but Skygge wouldn't have been surprised.

As her ship, the same shuttle she had used to travel to Korriban, came in for a landing, Skygge withdrew into herself again, shrinking her Force presence to nothing. While she doubted any Jedi were on this planet, it wouldn't do to be recognized immediately. In fact, that would be the worst possible scenario at this time. The only one worse would be to find that there were two.

Such was not the case, though, and Skygge landed safely. Exiting her ship, she paid the small docking fee and strode out of the hangar. Her lightsabers were concealed under a black cloak, as was her leather jumpsuit. If she didn't know better, she'd think she looked a bit like a disciple of Luke Skywalker. All she needed was the black hood, and she'd be a perfect replica - aside from the fact that she was female, and much shorter, and with dark hair...well, maybe not such a perfect replica after all.

Closing her eyes, she began to test the currents in the Force, looking for the same one she had felt during her vision. That current, she knew, carried the presence of Asajj Ventress with it. After a full five minutes of contemplation and meditation, she hit upon it. There, she thought. It was faint, but discernable. Asajj had truly been here.

Skygge started walking, following the current with a sense unknown to most of the population. She moved with purpose, as though she was headed somewhere important, and people let her pass in silence. When she reached the medical facility, she stopped once more and closed her eyes. Here, she thought. This is where it happened. I can feel the pain, feel the wound. Here the battle raged.

It seemed at that moment as though she were transported back to the past, the vision coming now with more clarity than ever. It was almost as though she were there, as if she could hear the words and feel the disturbances in the Force...though there was more rage coming from Skywalker than from Asajj. That was interesting...though of course, it should not have been surprising, considering his eventual identity. Then the vision ended, and her eyes snapped open. The current was moving again.

Slowly she walked away from the facility, following the path taken by Kenobi as he carried Asajj to the shuttle. She re-entered the hangar, going to the very docking station in which her ship was berthed. She entered, started the shuttle, and followed the current into space. Eyes closed, she manipulated the controls without thinking, everything focused on the current. This was a critical moment...where had the Dark Jedi gone next?

Here, she knew, here was where she awoke and made the pilots change course. Then she had a destination. The vision came again, sharper, clearer, and she focused on the numbers on the navcomputer. But that...that's in the Mid-Rim, she thought to herself. Running the numbers through her own navcomputer, her brow scrunched. There's nothing there...just empty space. Was the vision wrong?

It came again, the vision, slamming into her mind so hard that she was forced back into her seat. Her muscles tightened as the numbers grew to large, glaring, turbolaser-green neon digits, burning themselves into her mind. Then it cleared, and she shook her head.

"Stang," she said as she entered the numbers in the navcomputer, "I really need to learn how to control these things."