The galaxy is a place of seasons – light and dark, order and chaos, war and peace – that follow an endless cycle. Inevitably the fall of one signals the rise of the other, which when taken as a whole, gives the galaxy a more balanced and stable appearance than the day-to-day affairs of war and bloodshed might suggest.

The galaxy has known many players, each fighting for different sides and different causes, all promoting this cycle. Whether they knew or not, the generals, politicians, adventurers and Force-users who have shaped galactic history have all been as pawns, mere facilitators to the natural biorhythm of the galaxy.

There is one in the galaxy, however, ready to upset that balance.

Dacian Palestar, a young man with no past, came out of the depths of space with but one goal – power. After an eventful apprenticeship with the famed Sith Dioan Silk on the planet Mandalore, he and a cadre of loyal warriors disappeared into the Unknown Regions to pursue a hidden agenda.

Existing outside the system of light and dark, Dacian seems poised to change the galaxy. He will need help, however. So aboard his ship, the Crimson Wing, Dacian prepares to bring together others like him – those who, unknowingly, are free from the endless cycle. His journey begins in the middle of nowhere, unseen, and will end in the heart of galactic history.

The Crimson Wing docked with the station…



The prisons of the Empire were not built for comfort.

You might even say their intention was the exact opposite, but there was one example in particular that stood out as the least comfortable of all. Drifting in deep space near Corellia, this unnamed jail held thousands of maximum security prisoners. Many had committed crimes worthy of the death penalty, but it was thought that being left to rot in space was by far the crueler punishment.

For one inmate, Prisoner # 852610-C or ‘James Ridley’, this was no punishment at all. Three years he had spent in his ten-by-ten-by-ten cube, alone, unspoken to, pacing in endless circles. His food and water ration, delivered daily by a slot under the door, was his only contact with the outside world. Just the way he liked it.

The guards thought they were keeping him in. James liked to think – at least, back when he still could think – they were keeping everyone out.

His mind was in a state of disarray. The total isolation had left his sanity in tatters and unfocused his thoughts to such an extent that only animal instinct remained. One such instinct reared its’ head in the midst of his pacing, his only companion through incarceration. Hunger.

James eagerly watched the flap at the bottom of his cell door, waiting for his brick of food and dish of water. Something was wrong today, however. With mechanical precision his food had been delivered on time every day for three years, to the point that without any input on his mind’s behalf his stomach began to rumble a minute before he was fed. The time had passed, however, and yet no food came.

An awareness filtered back into his mind that something was wrong. James slinked up to the door, unnerved and uncertain as to the cause of the delay, and put his ear up against it.

On the far side he heard a rumble. Something heavy had just hit the ground.

Terrified at the new sound, he leapt back on to his bed and stared. A few moments more, and another thump sounded – this one audible from across the room. The door shook and shuddered as if struck.

Again and again, the door shook and shuddered as something pounded on the other side. Groaning in a sudden burst of intense mental agony, James doubled over as the noise continued. At long last, with a resounding crash the door fell inwards, and for the first time in three years James looked up to see the hallway beyond.

There, standing in the doorway, silhouetted in shadow, stood a gaunt man wrapped in ragged black robes. James himself was less than thirty, but the newcomer seemed almost new to adulthood. The age was hard to read, however, as the face was sallow-cheeked and over his eyes sat a black, carapace-like mask. Overgrown black hair went down his back like an oil slick.

James gawped at the newcomer, who turned terrible eyes upon him – eyes with the depth of galaxies, seemingly endless and vast. “I,” spoke the stranger, “am Dacian Palestar. Come with me.”

James was compelled to obey. He hobbled over the broken door that seemed battered and twisted and entered the dark hallway beyond. Glancing around fearfully, James saw guards and wardens and immediately threw up his hands, babbling incoherently in an effort to explain.

“They can’t hear us, or see us,” Dacian said, soothing James’ fear. “Their senses are dulled by their monotonous task. Even without my powers, they might not have noticed your escape.”

Dacian took James’ hand and led the cowering, frightened figure through the darkened corridors.

“Who?” James murmured, glancing up at Dacian.

“I am Dacian Palestar,” he repeated. “I offer you freedom, does anything else matter?”

“No…” James mumbled, rocking his head back and forth as he tried to remember. Years worth of chaos amongst his thoughts had to be sorted, and even simple words gave him trouble. “Why?”

“James Ridley, prisoner # 852610-C, correct?” James nodded. “Formerly a prodigy of the strategy world, master of chess, Dejarik, Pazaak, Sabbac, and any other intellectual game you could find. A promising career as a game theory lecturer or advisor lay ahead of you.”

With the newcomers’ words came a flood of memories. The games, the glory, the fame, being interviewed by INS as an up-and-comer in the galactic Dejarik tournament… years of suppression undone. Unfortunately, with them came other, darker memories he had sought to forget.

“Three years ago,” Dacian continued, “you killed your mother and father while they slept – and according to your defense council, while you slept as well.”

“Nooo…” James groaned, wrenching his hand free to grab on to his head. “Didn’t… do it!”

“Quite,” said Dacian, placidly. “You said that at your trial as well. Regardless…” He took James by the hand and lead him to the end of the corridor. James looked up to see the airlock open and a giant man in black armour waiting for them. The man looked down at James, which caused him to pale with fear.

“I want to hire you, Mr. Ridley,” said Dacian, who let James go and crossed his arms in front of the airlock. “I have a strategy venture prepared which I’d like you to advise for me.”

Despite an age of neglect, James’ senses were shocked back to life by the idea. “Hire me? But… but I’m a murderer!”

“I thought you just said you didn’t do it?” Dacian asked, but this seemed to set off a new round of mental agony for the weary young man, so Dacian brushed the question aside. “Don’t think about the specifics, James. Just come with us, and I promise if you change your mind I’ll put you back right where we found you.”

Seemingly pleased with the arrangement, James hobbled past the giant in black and into the ship beyond. As he passed, a shadow detached itself from the surrounding darkness and went to speak with Dacian.

“I don’t see the reason why this man of yours is so important,” the shadow hissed. “He is weak! His mind is useless to us.” It pulled back the hood, revealing an old man with milky-white eyes.

“Look past the surface thoughts, Silk,” Dacian murmured, as he watched the illusion they had placed over the guards fade. “All my research suggests he is a prime candidate for our strategist, and his personal history suggests a certain… flexibility of character.”

“It’s too weird to be seen but not seen by all these Empire soldiers,” the giant grumbled, hefting a vibroaxe in case they should turn. “Are you sure they’re just going to let us fly away? Should I hack a few down just in case?”

“No, that’s quite alright Kale,” sighed Dacian as he reentered the Crimson Wing. “No need to waste any more time here. We must rejoin the rest of your Mandalorian brothers in the Unknown Regions. I only hope the planet we left them on offered enough resistance to occupy them until we return or they’ll be killing each other when we get back.”

Inside the ship, James found an empty room with a soft bed and an actual quilt on it. He curled up under the covers, there to cower from the flood of memory.

Outside, the silvery form of the Crimson Wing detached from the deep-space prison facility and vanished into the folds of hyperspace.



Mandalore Kale, leader of Dacian’s Mandalorian warbands, cleansed the blood from his axe. It felt good to be back.

All around him his Mandalorian warriors gleefully collected the loot from their latest successful raid. The name of the world had already been forgotten, its’ people – primitive though they may have been – extinguished in an orgy of violence typical to the Mandalorians. Now it was only a matter of stripping food, weapons, and other useful supplies from their destroyed settlement.

The sun was setting, albeit a green alien sun setting to the north, but it nevertheless spoke to his ancient warrior instincts. The cagey old hunter grabbed his sack of pillage and slung it over his shoulder, heading for the ship.

“Most of the boys are on their way back, Mandalore,” a fellow warrior in crude, home-made armour reported. He grinned, revealing his remaining jagged teeth. “Good haul this time. Better’n the last few stops, anyways, but we’re startin’ to wonder when this Palestar guy’s gonna give us something worth fighting. These Unknown Regions people are savages.”

There was a short shriek as a hairy female of the native race tried to run from her hiding place towards the nearby river. A blaster bolt took her in the back as she reached the bank, toppling her over into the waters where her body bobbed. Turning back from the temporary distraction, Kale shrugged.

“I don’t know what the boss’s got planned, but I guess I could ask. No harm in asking, right?” Kale was thankful his fellow warrior couldn’t see the sweat on his brow.

Turning, Kale approached a distant hill near the clearing where the Mandalorians had parked their ramshackle ‘fleet’. Standing on the hill was Dacian, who looked out at the scene of carnage made by his men. The dark green of the setting sun gave him an unnatural appearance.

Dacian’s eyes narrowed on Kale’s war armour as he approached. “What is it you want, Mandalore?”

Uneasily, Kale said “Some of the men are starting to wonder, Dacian… well, we’ve got more than enough food and ammo to last us months, we’re not taking any of the land we burn, and we keep going deeper and deeper into the unknown regions…” Kale could feel Dacian’s vision bearing down on him. “Well, I mean... what exactly are we doin’ out here?”

Dacian lifted his gaze from Kale out towards the scene of devastation, watching the smoke billow for a while before responding. “These raids haven’t just been about food and guns, Kale. We move with a purpose – a purpose for which I will need strong warriors. Think of these as… exercises. To ensure your men are prepared for the trials to come.”

“But Palestar,” Kale exclaimed. “There isn’t any honour or glory in these battles. There isn’t any challenge!”

Dacian whipped his gaze back down on Kale, causing him to flinch. A mighty warrior he may be, but he had seen the power and ruthlessness of the young man before him.

“There will be,” Dacian whispered, his voice barely above the sounds of dying struggle below him. “Before this is all over, Kale, the challenges we shall face will make these tiny skirmishes seem as child’s play. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Dacian turned back towards the ships. Kale followed his gaze to where it locked with Silk’s, the old man in the thick black robes standing with his own men around the boarding ramp to the Crimson Wing The beautiful silver starship seemed so out of place when parked next to the hulking monstrosities of the Mandalorians.

“It’s time to go,” said Dacian, walking towards the ship. “You shall have new orders soon, Kale… glorious ones, at that. The crusade is almost ready.”



Lord Dioan Silk, former Sovereign Protector of the long-defunct Crimson Empire, stalked the halls of his warship towards the quarters of Dacian Palestar.

Silk was a Sith – and a truly wizened and devout one at that. He had served the dread Dark Lord Maim and had survived his blasted exile on the hellish world of Yinchor. Maim had abandoned him, his only master now was the Dark Side. The Force and its’ power flowed through him always.

Despite this, Silk found himself chafing under the direction of Palestar, frustrated that the youth which had shown such potential refused to reveal his plan – or, worse yet, was nothing but a pretender. As he marched down his own silvery corridors towards the room Dacian had claimed, Lord Silk intended to at last wrest the truth from his ‘partner’, now while he didn’t have his Mandalorian lackeys to hide behind.

Silk threw open the door to Dacian’s chambers.

The whole room was shrouded in darkness except for a narrow shaft of light that fell in the exact center. In that light sat Dacian, quietly working away at a notepad. He glanced up as Silk approached. “Come in,” he said, and with a wave of his hand the door closed behind Silk.

Feeling no anxiety but a great deal of curiosity, Silk approached Dacian whilst staying outside of the shaft of light. “You know why I have come, Palestar,” Silk hissed.

Dacian sighed. “Yes, I know.” Seemingly satisfied with his findings, he closed the notebook. “Out with it anyways.”

“My men and I are not bandits and pirates,” Silk scowled, circling Dacian with a dark look. “These petty raids on primitive people are beneath me. When I said you had potential, I had hoped it extended beyond being a mere thief and murderer.”

“Kale is a dullard barely able to see what’s right in front of his face, but I’m surprised to see you haven’t figured out what’s going on,” Dacian remarked, the barest hint of a grin on his face.

“No more games, Dacian,” stated Silk, his tone deathly serious. “Show me.”

“Gladly,” Dacian replied. He snapped his fingers.

The lights came on. All around the circular chamber the walls had been covered in maps, graphs, trinkets, data cards and computers… as well as a few bodies. Silk wasn’t disgusted, merely amazed that their presence had been so well masked from him.

“It’s a little melodramatic,” Dacian admitted. “Still, I needed the space and the bodies were no pleasure to look at once they started to go off.”

Silk leaned in to examine one of the corpses, apparently that of a near human dressed in military fatigues, although of what race or nationality he couldn’t guess. “What is all this?”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why there is an ‘Unknown Regions’?” said Dacian as he began to pace about the room. “In a galaxy with millennia of common history and a constant struggle for power, territory, and military advantage, why such a huge swath of the galaxy is unexplored?”

Picking up the skull of some strange beast, Silk began to examine the axe wound in its’ skull. “Not really. Exploration is costly. It takes time and effort, and a galaxy as consumed in war and struggle as our own cannot afford the constant expense of colonization.”

“Why colonize when you can conquer?” said Dacian, grinning a shark’s grin as he pulled a hand-made star map from the wall.

Puzzled, Silk turned away from the scrap of starship hull lying against the wall and joined Dacian at the map. “You would crown yourself king of the savages and primitives we’ve destroyed so far? They are worthless and weak.”

“Perhaps,” Dacian murmured, while tracing his fingers across the map. “But they aren’t all that live in this sector of space. I’ve been looking for a people worth conquering, collecting information as we travel from world to world.”

Silk glanced back at the corpse pinned to the wall before turning back to Dacian. “Have you found them, then?”

Laying his notebook next to the map, Dacian seemed pleased with the point upon which his finger rested. “Yes. A start to our crusade, at last. There is just one thing I need from you before we can begin.”

His interest alight, Silk poured over the map. “What?”

“I have some raw power over the Force,” said Dacian, as he snapped his notebook shut. “It’s not enough to fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle, though. I need you to grant me more access – enough to confirm our destination, to make sure the crusade is going the right way.”

Silk scoffed, turning away from Dacian. “The Force isn’t a power you can just grant. It must be taken! Earned, Dacian, not given away.”

“Then think of it as bestowing a blessing,” Dacian replied, turning back to face the Sith master. “The crusade waits only for you…Lord Silk.”

With a wry smile, Silk turned back to Dacian. “Appealing to my ego, young warlord?”

“Only if it works, master,” said Dacian, bowing. Glancing up at him meaningfully, he added “And only so long as it works.”

Grasping the meaning, Silk raised his hands. “This will hurt…”

Purple streaks of lightning burst from Silk’s withered hands and slammed into Dacian, causing him to teeter and grunt in pain. Dacian managed to hold his ground before the flow of dark side energy while a roar brewed from somewhere deep inside of him.

As his eyes and mouth flew open, dark light burst outward and cast eerie shadows along the walls. Black fire danced about the odds and ends he had collected, forming connections and shapes. Silk would have been mesmerized if every ounce of his concentration hadn’t been focused on maintaining their link.

“Enough!” Dacian rasped, and Silk immediately relented. The ceiling light had burst, and small shocks of lightning continued to earth themselves from Dacian, but the room slowly returned to normalcy. The darkness was alleviated now by a dim glow from Dacian as he looked around the room.

“I see…” he whispered, his hands moving about the map. “Arrogance. A vain world built on delusion. It closes its’ eyes to reason even as it opens its’ eyes to the galaxy.” The shadows slowed, forming arcane and inscrutable arrangements on the walls that only Dacian could understand. “Amidst it all, a man waiting only for the opportunity to set things right.”

He blinked and the black fire vanished. The two were soon plunged into darkness. “I know where we must go. The Palestar Crusade begins!”



The Unknown regions were an unusual stretch of space, which had at times covered the better part of the galaxy. As galactic civilizations grew and made contact, however, this region shrunk – new planets were colonized, new races were added to the galactic community, and gradually the final frontier was filled in. Like all grand projects, however, the exploration of space eventually stalled.

Simply put, eventually there was no more need for space. With populations stretched and nations struggling to contain the vast territories they had claimed, exploration and the desire to colonize had waned. The Unknown Regions shrunk a little more all the time, as amateur explorers poked around the borders or races within the region joined the galactic community on their own, but still there was vast tracts that remained totally untouched by the galaxy at large.

Dacian had known this and sought to take advantage of it, as had countless warlords and adventurers before him. By leading the Mandalorians and Silk into the unknown, he had sought to find worlds to conquer, power to unearth, and minions to employ far from prying eyes. Hopping from one savage and low-tech world to the next, going deeper and deeper into the region, he had collected local knowledge about star systems and life until finally finding a suitable candidate.

The planet Nyx.

The planet Nyx was inhabited by the near-human Nyxans, who differ from baseline humans only in coloration – their skin tended towards greens and olives. The Nyxans had many proud developments including a world government and a fledgling space program that had already produced the marvel of their civilization, a grand shipyard.

This spiraling success was fresh, however. As recently as a generation back, the Nyxans had been warlike, wiping out entire continents with nuclear bombardment. The next generation, fearing the devastation that the last had caused, had bound together in a tightly controlled state. They poured all their ambition and focus into glorious achievements of art and technology. Their motto, ‘Nyx Prevails’, was meant to remind everyone that the future of the people of Nyx came first.

A people cannot deny their nature, however, and so Dacian and his followers set a course for Nyx….





James pulled on the clothes that had been left for him. Plain, drab, and grey, they nonetheless were a nice change from the orange jumpsuits of prison. He tried to think about clothing, and avoid thinking about his strange circumstances and his even stranger captors.

The door to his room opened and a man in scarlet armour and wrapped in a ragged cloak gestured for him to come forwards. Nervously, he complied.

The walls were chrome and guarded at intervals by other men in red. The halls were dim and silent, which put James in mind of his prison – it was almost as if he’d never left, just been let out to wander the halls. This illusion was quickly shattered as the guards began to nod their heads in respect to him.

At the end of the corridor, there was a doorway. Beyond was a totally dark room with a chair in the middle, the chair illuminated by a shaft of light. The guard motioned for him to take a seat before taking up a position outside the room. James looked anxiously into the chamber, wondering if he was being invited into a new cell. In a way, he was.

At length he entered the room and took his seat. The door closed, leaving nothing but the narrow shaft of light around him. James looked into the infinite blackness stretching off in every direction, the opposite of the safe confines to which he was accustomed, and whimpered.

“I’ve given you enough time to consider my proposal,” a voice said from the shadows. Emerging from the darkness to the very edge of the light was Dacian, his outline barely visible. “I will need a good thinker like you in my travels, and it’s unlikely you’ll find a better offer anywhere else in the galaxy. You will be treated well, given rank and status, and will have the opportunity to take on the greatest mental challenges the galaxy can provide.”

James looked at his feet. He wasn’t confused or dazed, as he had been when Dacian had first rescued him, and it would be an insult to his sharp mind to suggest that he didn’t understand what was offered. Already old trains of thought were opening up, albeit tentatively, and examining the situation from multiple angles.

“What do you want me to do?”

Dacian seemed to pause, looking about the shadows around him. After a minute or so he came to a conclusion and stepped into the light. “I want you to command armies as you would chess pieces. You will be presented with the problems my followers face and be asked to solve them with the same cold, calculating intellect you used to win the Outer Rim Dejarik championship on Bespin. You will not have to leave the comfort of the ship, or fight the battles we bring to you, I only want your strategic talents at my disposal – what you do with the rest of your time I don’t care.”

“Does that make me your prisoner?” said James, anxiety creeping into his features.

“Perhaps,” replied Dacian, which oddly seemed to relieve James. “At least here, though, your mind will be free to do what it was meant to. Whether you are imprisoned here or in the Empire, at least here you can live again. What do you say?”

James looked down at his feet again – a common habit he’d resort to while thinking. His mind was alive and awake again, pouring over what Dacian had said – it was true, he wanted to be free, wanted to challenge himself again, but there was still the fear. It was a fear that even now, at full wakefulness, he dared not think of.

In the end, his yearning to be free again won out temporarily, and he gave a slight nod. “I am ready to… serve, Mr. Palestar.”

Grinning, he replied “Please, call me Dacian. Go back to your ‘cell’, James. We’ll call you when we need you.”

Immensely relieved, James got up and scurried out of the darkened room, the door closing behind him.

Dacian snapped his fingers and the central spotlight when out. In reality his room wasn’t as dark as it appeared, but by sitting in the light you were blinded to it. Only by standing in the shadows and becoming accustomed to the dark could you see what was within. Submerged in near-total darkness, Dacian’s vision found equilibrium, and he turned to face Kale and Silk.

“His mind is… strange,” Silk muttered. “Slippery. Something I hadn’t noticed before.”

“So he will serve you now?” said Kale, eagerly.

“No,” said Dacian, shaking his head. “At least, not totally. He wasn’t ready.”

Silk seemed irritated by this answer. “Slippery or not, his mind could be broken to you. You have the power to make him serve – none can deny a Sith Lord.”

“Probably not, no,” Dacian replied with a wry smile. “Then again, it’s his mind I want, and it does me no good to break it. In time he will join us willingly – for now, we will make use of his services.”

The door opened and one of Silk’s guards stepped inside. “My lord, we approach the planet Nyx.”

Dacian’s smile turned into a wolfish grin. “Now might be a good time. Let’s get ready.”



“Logos home, this is Logos one,” the bored pilot droned. “I’ve finished my patrol, checking in before charting a return course.”

“Roger Logos one,” his comm hissed back. “Return course approved. See you in half an hour.”

“Roger home, over and out.” Logos one switched off his comm and turned his scout ship around towards Nyx. The distant green-blue planet had a silver pinprick in orbit – their newly constructed shipyards, a vast space station expected to herald a new age of discovery.

A faint beeping went off somewhere in the cockpit, causing the pilot to glance over at his console. Blips began to appear on his sensors, coming in from deep space. Puzzled, he looked out his front viewscreen, trying to spot the anomaly.

As the silver shapes came closer, Logos one’s jaw dropped. “What the hell…”

His last words, as his ship exploded in a ball of incandescent fire.

In the shipyard’s command module, the sensor officer frowned as Logos one disappeared from his screen. “Sir?” he said, looking up at the watch officer on deck. “Sir, I’m not picking up Logos one. All the vitals are dead, too.”

The watch officer, a grumbling old man with too much military experience to enjoy babysitting a space station all day, turned baleful eyes on the sensor operator. “Well you’re the sensors officer, Blithe, what do you think it means when a man’s vitals go dead?”

Blithe paled. “That he’s dead, sir?”

“Right,” said the watch officer. “Or would be, if something new didn’t go wrong in this station every week. Just keep calling him and I’ll take a look out the front viewscreen.”

He went over to the viewscreen, squinting in the direction of Logos one’s last position. Much to his surprise, he saw something. Many somethings, all heading towards him at high speed.

“Oh hell,” he cursed, grabbing an old-fashioned spyglass from his desk and turning it towards the approaching dots. They were hard to make out, but the fast-approaching shape of ships was difficult to mistake.

“Incoming vessels! Unknown origin!” shouted the panicked sensor operator.

“Yes, thank you for that, Blithe,” the watch officer spat as he threw down his spyglass. “Send a message to the planet immediately! The Chancellor has to be told we’ve got a situation up here.”

“Message sent,” said Blithe. “What now?”

“What now?” said the watch officer, pulling an inhalant narcotic from his pocket and lighting it up. “There’s no guns on this thing, so pray they just bumped into Logos one on accident and’re coming to apologize.”

They weren’t there to apologize, the watch officer reflected. At least, he added as his command module exploded, not unless high-energy blaster fire is their race’s version of “Sorry.”



Ever since the end of the Last Wars, the Nyxans were ruled by the Grand Council, situated in the House of Unity, itself the heart of the Nyx Governing district. Such a suitably grand-sounding location was naturally home to Nyx’s finest architecture, commemorating decades of peace and togetherness.

There was a harshness to it, though. The blue-clad Unity Guard, the private force of the Nyx Chancellor, protected the multi-leveled plaza that surrounded the House of Unity. Today they stood vigilantly on every corner as the Chancellor and his council met to discuss the growing crisis – alien contact.

The Chancellor was a tall and intellectual man, who addressed his council much as a chiding teacher would his students. Around him ministers and generals gathered in the resplendent hall. It had been a matter of minutes since the last communication from the command module was received.

“It could be some sort of terrorist faction,” one minister offered, looking hopefully around the room. “I mean, suppose all they did was disrupt our communications with the station? Maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

The Chancellor turned to his Minister of Aerospace, who shook his head. “Our planetside observatories have just confirmed the station’s message. It looks like thirteen objects flying in formation for the surface.”

“So let’s shoot them down!”

The speaker was a man near the back of the room. As one, the gathered council turned, there to see a grizzled old man in a major-general’s uniform. “We’ve still got monitors at the war-silos in their sector, just feed them some firing instructions over the radio and we can drop two megatons on them in the next ten minutes, before they get close enough for collateral.”

The Chancellor’s demeanor turned icy. “Major-general Maxson, are you honestly suggesting to turn our first contact with alien life into a shooting gallery?”

“I’m suggesting Chancellor, that the enemy’s already made their intentions clear when they destroyed our station. We’ve got to retaliate now while we know where they are.”

The council chamber became uneasy, an awkward silence prevailing as the sitting Ministers and generals turned back towards the Chancellor. He was not amused.

“Major-general, you are not in charge of what we’ve “Got” to do. As the elected representative of the people it is my decision whether or not we go to war.”

“We already are at war!” Maxson exclaimed. “If we don’t mobilize immediately we might-”

“One more outburst like that, Maxson, and I’ll have you thrown out,” the Chancellor snapped. “No, I won’t allow the history books to say I was the Chancellor that plunged Nyx into its’ first war in decades. It’s possible the aliens were unaware of our station or were provoked. They haven’t responded to our hails yet, we might still be able to negotiate.”

Maxson leapt to his feet, knocking his chair back in doing so, and stomped out of the council chambers. There was a heavy thunk as the door slammed behind him.

“Now that that’s over with,” said the Chancellor, turning back to his council. “We should be prepared for this historic moment. Let’s get ready to greet the alien visitors at the House of Unity as soon as they respond to our hail.” With but a hint of anxiety, he added “Oh, and just in case… have someone mobilize the Unity Guard.”



“This is madness,” spat Silk, as his paced around the holographic projection of Nyx. “Nothing the Force tells me says we can succeed here today. We have but a few hundred soldiers with which to seize a planet? Madness!”

“You said you wanted something a little more worthy of your time,” said Dacian, glancing up. “Consider this a challenge befitting your rank.”

Silk scowled and took a seat near the table. Kale was still uneasy, however, his anxiety rolling off in thick waves to Dacian’s keen senses. “Silk has a point,” said Kale. “I mean, they don’t look very well armed or prepared, but these aren’t some backwater settlements we’re dealing with. My axe-arm would get tired before killing them all.”

“You needn’t worry about your arms,” Dacian murmured, as he carefully zoomed the projection. “I want this place to swear alliegance to me, and for that there have to still be some living inhabitants. We just need to cut off their head and replace it with our own – Nyx is the perfect choice. Its’ world government is highly centralized, meaning we can take control with very little infrastructure damage to Nyx itself.”

“And what of their defenses?” said Silk. “The must be tracking us already! We’ll be shot out of the sky by Nyx warheads at any moment!”

Dacian said nothing, betraying that he had no reply. Seizing upon the weakness in his argument, Silk continued. “When we passed the shipyards in orbit the ship’s computer reported we had been scanned. They know where we are which means we can be targeted! One nuclear missile could destroy us!”

“No,” said someone entering the room. Much to the surprise of the other three, it was James. He still seemed disheveled and awkward, but his eagerness to join into the discussion had clearly overcome such concerns.

“This civilization is below galactic standard for technology, right? They probably still use old combustion propulsion, too. You’ll be able to outrun any projectile weapon they could fire at us.”

Dacian smiled. “Glad you could join us, James. You’re sure about the missiles?”

James nodded. “At this level, only intercontinental ballistic missiles could pose a threat to us, and those are way too slow to catch you if you’re going full speed. I doubt they could even get a missile lock on a ship they’ve never seen before.”

Pleased, Dacian gestured for James to sit. “You see, Silk? We still have the advantage.”

“Yes, clearly,” replied Silk, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “If by advantage you mean we won’t be shot down immediately, then we have the advantage. We still have to deal with an entire planet’s armed forces.”

“Not necessarily,” said Dacian, bringing up a projection of Unity Plaza. “The Unity Guard are the only military forces allowed in the governing district except in times of war or crisis. By the time we get to Unity House, they won’t have had time to mobilize anything else. By the time the Nyxans are ready to respond, we’ll have already taken control of their government.”

“When we conquer this place, we’ve got to find them some new words besides Unity,” grumbled Kale quietly.

“Assuming the entire governing body of Nyx is in that one plaza at the time of our attack?” said Silk. “If that were the case then I’d agree we have a chance, but by now they’ll have certainly moved their leaders to a safe place.”

At that moment, one of Silk’s guards entered the chamber. Bowing, he said “My lord, a communication from the surface. The Nyxan Chancellor welcomes us and wishes to meet us at Unity Plaza. What is your response?”

Silk turned to scowl once more at Dacian, who wisely kept a neutral expression. “Tell them we’ll be glad to meet them. James, we have roughly half an hour. Let’s get to work.”



Maxson stormed down the steps of Unity house, his dress uniform’s cape billowing in the breeze. The blue-armoured Unity Guard ignored him, but his own command staff hurried to their superior’s side as he approached.

“Major-General,” one officer exclaimed, guiding Maxson towards the waiting car. “What’s going on, sir? What did the chancellor say?”

“Nothing useful, as usual,” Maxson spat. He stopped at the door to his car and looked around at the statues and arches that littered Unity Plaza and the governing district. Maxson sneered at them. “You’re all too young to remember the wars... let met tell you, there was a time when Nyxans didn’t cower from a fight.”

“What are our orders, sir?”

Maxson turned away from the sickening vanity of his people’s monuments to their own fear. “Officially? Nothing.” He climbed into the car. “Unofficially? Take me to my command center. Tell the boys to be ready. I’m not about to leave Nyx undefended.”



The future was here. The galaxy was coming to Nyx. At last, after countless ages of endless speculation as to what lay among the stars above, aliens were coming down to reveal the secrets of the universe.

At least, that was the general consensus running through the crowd gathered at Unity Plaza. Anyone who was anyone had turned out to see first contact, and the Chancellor was already being hailed as the voice of reason once the aliens had explained about the ‘accident’ in orbit.

The blue armour of the Unity Guard gleamed as they lined the edges of the crowd, dignitaries and politicians standing in clumps on the steps of the House. A clearing had been made for the aliens to land one of their ships right in the heart of the plaza, a spot especially chosen by the Chancellor so pictures could be taken of the very moment they met.

At last, after much excitement, the silver hawk shape of the lead alien ship appeared over the clearing. The clunkier ships that had followed it stayed above, which pleased the Chancellor as he watched – the silver ship would make for a much nicer picture.

Maxson wasn’t present, but one of the generals who was became uneasy. “Sir,” he whispered to the Chancellor. “Just say the word, and I’ll advance our reserves into firing range just to be on the safe side.”

Turning a superior sneer to his general, the Chancellor said “The people of Nyx are far advanced from such barbaric practices, general. Any race that could travel the stars must be more advanced still – these aliens are bound to be horrified by the sight of violence. No, the glory of Nyx must come from our unity and our reason, we shall negotiate.”

The vessel touched down, the boarding ramp lowered, spilling smoke and steam out from within. Heads craned to get a good look inside the ship and see what was going to come out.

What eventually did come out did so at a flat out run. Screaming.

Kale and his Mandalorian warriors bellowed unearthly warcries as they smashed into the crowd, which immediately panicked. The Unity Guards were for a moment paralyzed by their inability to fire at the Mandalorians without hitting civilians, but after a few more guards were cleft in two by Kale’s vibroaxe they soon dropped their inhibitions.

The Chancellor was terrified, finding himself and his fellow politicians hemmed in on the steps while just meters below warriors in crude armour fired high-powered blasters and swung wicked blades through the crowd.

People flowed down the steps of the plaza, trying to reach the lower levels as reserve army units tried to get up. The ships that had hovered just above the plaza, however, were quick to open up and demolish the steps, cutting off the top half of Unity Plaza from the bottom half and preventing any reinforcements from reaching the massacre.

The battle was over horrifically quickly, with the panting Mandalorians standing in a disorganized mob at the bottom of the steps. Above, the Chancellor and a handful of guards remained, quivering fearfully in the face of death.

It was then that Dacian descended from the Crimson Wing, his steps echoing far in the sudden silence after the slaughter.

He strode through the Mandalorians, who nodded their heads as he passed. The Chancellor looked down at the approaching figure in black and whimpered. “Maybe we could talk about this?”

Quite suddenly, an invisible force seemed to hurl his guards screaming through the air. They smashed into a collapsed statue, there to lie motionless. “No, I don’t think so,” said Dacian, ascending the steps.

Though fear and terror gripped him, curiosity momentarily took control. “How can you speak Nyxan?”

This question actually caused Dacian to pause. “The last moments of your life, and your big question is about language?” Raising his hand and making a fist, the Chancellor was lifted bodily into the air. He clawed at a grip that wasn’t there, trying to breath before finally being cast aside.

Dacian finished ascending the steps and blasted open the doors to the House of Unity with a wave of his hands.

Pleased, he turned to the hollering bands of warriors below. The blood-slickened grounds of Unity Plaza were now in the hands of the Crusade, and without leadership, the armed forces that surrounded them were unwilling to advance.

In the heat of his triumph, however, Silk arrived to spoil it. Advancing grimly with a contingent of his guards, Silk reached the steps and turned up to face Dacian. “There’s a problem.”



The four of them looked out at the scene of devastation. Skyscrapers were leveled, roads were cracked, and fires still burned everywhere. James almost wretched and had to turn away from the carnage.

“Impressive,” remarked Dacian.

“There, you see?” said Silk, pointing at a blackened hulk crashed into the remains of a building. “The missile brought down our ship and destroyed most of this part of the city. It’s foolish of us to loiter here – they could acquire a new missile lock and do the same to us!”

Dacian wasn’t entirely listening. It appeared one general had escaped the massacre of Unity Plaza, his command being the only one mobilized by the time Dacian had arrived. A ship sent to destroy him hadn’t met napping defenders but a well-coordinated defense. What was most impressive about the entire thing, however, was when conventional weapons had proven ineffective, the commander had willingly destroyed an entire section of the city with a warhead just to bring down one enemy ship.

“What a waste,” James murmured, trying to regain his balance.

“No,” said Dacian, shaking his head. “He’s brilliant. He knows we only have a few ships and warriors, but there are an entire planet of Nyxans to repopulate with. He could lose a city for every vessel I command and still have most of Nyx left by the end of it. He’s willing to pay the price.”

“Then we should eliminate him immediately,” Silk grimly stated. “If he’s as dangerous as you say, nowhere is safe for us until he’s dead. This is a job for a Sith.”

“We don’t have to kill him,” urged James, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Maybe we could negotiate?”

Smiling, Dacian said “Your squeamishness aside, James, you’re right. There’s nothing to be gained by killing him. Let’s negotiate.”



Fools. They were such fools!

That thought played itself over and over in major-general Maxson’s head as he moved about his command bunker. All around, Nyxan soldiers hurried to prepare the next missile for launch in case they detected another enemy ship. With the entire command structure slaughtered, it fell to Maxson to organize the defense by any means necessary.

“Take the codes from my dossier,” Maxson shouted as he pulled the blast helmet down over his head. “You’ll need those to disengage the safeties on the next missile!”

Adjusting the last pieces of armour on the way, he rushed over to the tactical map to see if anything had been picked up yet.

“No, nothing yet,” said a voice from the other side of the table. Puzzled, Maxson looked up.

There was Dacian.

Maxson swore and drew his sidearm, but the instant he leveled it at Dacian its’ barrel crumpled. All around him, his soldiers continued at their assigned tasks without even noticing the newcomer’s arrival.

Perplexed, Maxson looked around. “They can’t see us right now,” Dacian explained, gesturing towards Maxson’s soldiers. “I must commend you on their training. They’re so focused on their tasks it was easy to erase us from their notice.”

“Who are you?” said Maxson, looking at Dacian from behind his thick blast helmet. “What do you want?”

“Walk with me, and I’ll tell you,” said Dacian, heading for the stairs. After a minute or two, Maxson uneasily followed.

The two were aboveground, the city streets now totally abandoned, a tight military perimeter around the bunker the only sign of life. “My name is Dacian Palestar, and I’m here to make you an offer.”

Maxson barked a laugh. “Oh really?” he replied. “You’ve got a damn funny way of asking, Dacian, considering you slaughtered my government and superiors.”

“They were in the way,” remarked Dacian, who suppressed a slight smirk. “I’m not your enemy, Maxson.”

“You tried to kill me!” the flabbergasted general replied. “I’ve destroyed your ships and killed your men!”

“All in the past,” said Dacian, waving his hand dismissively. “Your government failed because it couldn’t let go of the past, because it didn’t look to the future. They were your enemies, Maxson. They were holding Nyx back. Maxson, if you were in charge and a clearly hostile invasion was incoming? Would you have invited them to your doorstep? Lowered your guard?”

Maxson gritted his teeth and shook his head. “No. I’d have shot you bastards out of the sky in a heartbeat.”

“Exactly,” said Dacian. “They betrayed your people, Maxson, they betrayed Nyx – made it weak. They were your enemy more than we ever were.”

Without realizing it, Maxson had followed Dacian down the winding streets until they now stood near his ship. The Crimson Wing’s boarding ramp was open.

“Now you can make Nyx strong again. I have an offer for you – take the place of the old Chancellor. Join Nyx to the Palestar Crusade, and you can take your nation and people to glory once more.”

Maxson seemed disbelieving, scrutinizing Dacian carefully. “This is a trick, right?” he said. “You invaded Nyx, and now you want to help it?”

“No, you want to help it, I’m giving you the opportunity in return for helping me,” replied Dacian. He narrowed a hard gaze at Maxson. “The truth is that I don’t care about Nyx. I don’t care about your culture or your pride. You’ll be free to reshape your society and history in whatever way you see fit, supported by the full power of the Palestar Crusade, and all I want in return is your loyalty.”

The major-general was clearly thinking it over. The tension was palpable as he glanced back up at Dacian. “Not everyone will accept it. Some will turn on me for power, or won’t accept an alien ruler.”

“Let them,” Dacian urged. The tide had turned in Maxson’s mind, Dacian needed only to press home his offer. “I can sense the pride in your voice. You believe in the glory of your people, and you can realize that glory once more with my help. If some people won’t follow you, destroy them, and Nyx will be stronger for it. This is your chance to purge the imperfections from your world.”

Maxson lingered, looking up at Dacian’s ship then back towards his little bunker. “Do I have a choice?”

“There’s always a choice,” said Dacian. “You can return to your bunker and fight us. You will die and your sacrifice will be forgotten, but you might ‘save’ your people and return them to the life they knew before I came. Or, you can profit from this encounter, remake Nyx to your own liking, go down a hero and a savior, and tell yourself whatever you must to justify it.”

A few more moments passed before, wordlessly, Maxson joined Dacian by the boarding ramp and the two of them entered the Crimson Wing. It lifted off, undetected, and headed towards the former Unity Plaza.



While they were gone, the Mandalorians had cleared the debris and corpses from the steps of Unity House. They’d even done their best to scavenge some cameras and broadcast equipment from the journalists they’d slaughtered in their initial attack.

The army had made camp around the circle of ruins that cut off the upper part of the plaza from the rest of it. None dared approach closer, for the Mandalorian warships still hovered overhead, ready to fire.

The Crimson Wing approached to a cheer from the Mandalorians, touching down in its’ previous place. Maxson descended the boarding ramp. He was temporarily nauseous at the sight and smell of the dead all around, but soon regained his step – the army he would be commanding was watching, after all, albeit from a distance.

Dacian was quick to follow. He guided Maxson up the steps of Unity House and towards an ad-hoc press briefing. Speakers and screens originally erected for use by the late Chancellor now waited for him.

Gone was the previous uncertainty. When the major-general – now Commander of the Nyxans – approached the microphone, there was no doubt in his words.

“People of Nyx!” he bellowed, taking in the soldiers before him. They peered up, perplexed at what one of their generals was doing standing with the enemy.

“Times have changed,” Maxson declared. “We must change with them, and the time has come to make Nyx glorious again!”

Dacian stopped listening at this point. He didn’t have to, the speech wasn’t for him. Even for those listening, the words weren’t what was important, it was what they meant. For those who had choked under the control and restraint of the old order, it meant release. For those who had been protected by it, it was a death sentence.

He wandered away from the steps towards the ship, noting as he did so that James had stumbled out of the Crimson Wing and was throwing up by the landing gear.

Intrigued, Dacian approached his sick strategist, leaning down to get a better look at him. “What?” said Dacian. “Did you think the situations we described were theoretical?”

James looked up towards Dacian, but only managed to wretch out another round of vomit. Dacian smiled. “You’ll get used to it in time,” he said, before leaning in close enough to whisper “Unless that’s what you’re afraid of, of course.”

Standing upright and walking away, James was left to contemplate the impact of those words. In the distance, Nyxan soldiers cheered and rushed over the gap to welcome their new commander-in-chief.



The first month on Nyx passed quickly for Silk.

Once Dacian had Maxson under his control, and through him the planet, Nyx rapidly industrialized. Schematics for galactic-standard technology bridged the gap quickly, and the new ‘Council for Progress’ had ensured the breakneck advance wasn’t slowed by antiquated concepts like rights and freedoms.

The announcement of the new order had resulted in worldwide uprisings, but Dacian – true to his word – had crushed the rebellions quickly with superior firepower. Now the insurgents lurked in the shadows, initiating a civil war where both pro-Dacian and anti-Dacian forces claimed the motto ‘Nyx Prevails’.

Someone was, although he wasn’t Nyxan.

Silk and his men had mostly stayed detached and distant beyond crushing the occasional riot. In truth, it annoyed him that he had been left out of the conquest. Now that Dacian had claimed some real power, Silk couldn’t help but wonder what his position in the Crusade would become.

Then, one month after their arrival, Silk received a summons to the new Fort Maxson, built on the ruins of the old House of Unity. Dacian had news…

Chapter two, Lust

The first thing Silk saw upon entering the half-rebuilt ruins of the new ‘Might plaza’ was a regiment of the 101st marching around the perimeter. The rechristened army of Nyx was armed with new, flashy laser weapons and armour made from plates of durasteel. The Pale Crest, Dacian’s personal emblem, was also notable on each sleeve.

He and his men mostly ignored Dacian’s new toy soldiers. Silk had trained men before, and knew the Nyxans were nothing more than fodder – Dacian would still have need of real warriors. Silk began to feel better already.

Silk and his entourage approached the fortress gates where James was directing work crews in its’ construction. Apart from strategy, the young prodigy had turned out to be adept at architecture and engineering as well. He paled fearfully as Silk drew near, quickly pulling out of the way.

“Dacian’s on his way down already,” said James, averting his eyes nervously.

Silk replied with a curt nod. His guards fanned out, creating a general sense of unease until Dacian himself arrived.

“Silk,” he stated by way of greeting. “I think we’re ready to make the next move. We need to speak in private.”

Silk nodded again, dismissing his guards with a gesture. He moved to step into the fortress, but Dacian raised a hand. “No, not here. The Crimson Wing isn’t far.”

With that, he lead Silk away from the fortress and its’ soldiers and towards a new landing pad jutting out over the rest of the plaza. There the Crimson Wing and several of Silk’s guards waited, but more importantly, there Dacian had kept the rest of his research and planning. In the month since their arrival, Dacian had been hard at work.

The two reentered Dacian’s quarters, Dacian taking his spot in the center of the room. Silk noticed that the strange collection of odds and ends Dacian kept about the walls had changed – the corpses had been taken down and weapons of all sorts had been scattered about.

“I need greater access to the Force,” said Dacian, bending into a sitting position. “I can almost see the next step, Kale’s important to it… but I won’t know for sure what to do next until you grant me more power.”

“Reliant on the Force then, are we?” said Silk, smirking. “It’s good to see you are still humble before its’ might.”

“Hardly,” said Dacian, who closed his eyes. “It keeps pulling my vision, trying to force me to follow its’ clues and agenda. There are pieces in its’ visions, though, that I can use. It’s a useful tool, that’s all.”

Irritated, Silk braced himself to form the Force bond. “No one who has denied the Force has won the galaxy. You must embrace it!”

“Like you did?” said Dacian, opening one eye. “How’d that work out for you, then? Conquered many galaxies lately? Do it.”

Lightning leapt from each of Silk’s hands. He made sure it hurt this time. For his own part, Dacian gritted his teeth admirably against the pain as the chamber filled with streaks of purple light.

“I see… blood!” Dacian screamed, gripping his knees tightly as the lightning poured on. “Endless rivers of blood flowing across the barren crags of… A man! A mouth! It drowns in the river!” The shadows dancing around the walls came in closer, circling the two of them. Before they completely subsumed the two figures Dacian’s eyes flew open. “Stop!”

Silk did so, panting heavily at the exertion. “Well?”

“Get Kale,” said Dacian, struggling to his feet. “Where are he and his Mandalorians now?”

“Picking fights across town for the last month,” said Silk, opening the door out of the room. “They grow restless without anyone to kill.”

“We can fix that,” Dacian replied grimly. The two of them walked down the boarding ramp of the Crimson Wing. “I’ll get Maxson and some of his soldiers into orbit within the hour and meet you there with the Mandalorians.”

“Wait, Dacian!” Silk called out after him. “What did you see? Where are we going?”

“I don’t know!” he called back, crossing the plaza towards Fort Maxson. “We’ll find out!”



The Mandalorians were bored. This was potentially their most dangerous state, as getting a Mandalorian angry just meant he’d kill you – a bored Mandalorian would drag it out to kill time instead. As such, Kale and his hundreds of warriors had most of an old garrison house to themselves, where they were supplied with enough food and drink to keep them from being openly mutinous.

As Kale sat at the head of the table, looking out at his carousing warriors, goblet in hand, he started to wonder if the whole crusade idea was as good as he’d thought in the first place.

When he’d first met Dacian on Mandalore, Kale had just been a low-ranking hunter and Dacian was a mere Sith apprentice. A partnership of convenience had put them both in power, but now Dacian seemed without focus or objective. The enemies they were facing were worthless, offering little honour for a warrior.

Now he was stuck on a strange world far from home, filled with weak people – prey he wasn’t allowed to hunt. Every day, his thoughts filled a little more with thoughts of home.

He was suddenly aware of a wave of silence spreading through the assembled warriors. Looking up along their long wooden tables, he spotted some of Silk’s red armoured soldiers standing in the doorway. He grinned – they were actually worth fighting.

“What brings you boys to the lair of real men?” said Kale, slamming the fearsome war-mask of the Mandalore over his head. “Maybe you want to test yourselves and see if you’ve still got what you were born with?”

The disciplined men at the door didn’t rise to his challenge. One stepped forwards. “Lord Silk and Palestar have called for you to return to your ships and join them in orbit. He says to inform you to be prepared for battle.”

Eagerly hefting his vibroaxes in each hand, Kale rose to his feet and his warriors stood in unison with him. “The Mandalorians are always prepared for battle!” His men beat their chests and slammed the tables in response. Silk’s soldiers seemed unimpressed by their bravado, which would have normally annoyed Kale, but the thought of a real fight kept his temper in check.

Now, perhaps, he would finally earn the glory promised to him. To the crusade!



James had been keeping busy. Though his greatest gifts were related to strategy and tactics, he had some proficiency in almost all mental pursuits. Helping to design Fort Maxson had been an entertaining diversion, even if Maxson’s vision for it had been somewhat crude. There was only so many places one could plaster a flag.

He had to keep busy now that he was active and thinking again. Had to ignore the more distasteful activities committed by Dacian and his crusaders. Had to ignore the thoughts that came unbidden to his mind at night now that he was sane enough to hear them out.

Today, however, promised to be different – Dacian had asked to meet him, apparently with a new strategic problem he needed to overcome. He was equal parts excited and relieved to have something to occupy his attention for a while.

Dacian entered the conference room in the fort where James was waiting, taking a seat opposite. They were alone, and far from the noise of the work crews far below.

“Good afternoon, James,” said Dacian in a businesslike manner. “Tell me, what do you think about Kale - as a strategic resource, I mean.”

“Kale?” said James. “Well, he seems pretty loyal and capable. Through him you control the Mandalorians, so I’d say he’s just as valuable to you as Silk.”

Dacian nodded, listening. “True, true. Of course, that implies I control him. How do you think I do that?”

James shrugged. “The Force? Maybe you beat him in combat? Does he owe you some sort of debt?”

“Sort of,” said Dacian slyly. “He follows my orders fairly loyally for now, but if you had to guess what really controls him, though, what would you say?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, James replied “Honour. At least, that’s what Mandalorians are supposed to be ruled by.”

“Exactly,” said Dacian, with a triumphant smile. He leaned back into his chair and prepared for a long session. “Which brings me to my problem. How do I destroy it?”



The Pride of Nyx was a marvel of Nyx’s rapid industrialization under Dacian. It’d helped that in their spare time, Dacian and Silk had come down to shape pieces personally, manipulating steel and plastics through the Force as though they were water. Ostensibly a Victory-class Star Destroyer, its’ make and design differed enough in Maxson’s mind to warrant the designation of Nyxan-class.

Coming free of its’ moorings in the shipyard, now streaked with the black and off-white colours of the Palestar Crusade, the warship was the biggest and most glorious thing they had yet sent into space. It filled Maxson’s heart with pride to think it was thanks to his leadership that they had made such advances possible.

His leadership and the slave labour made up of rebel prisoners, but the traitorous scum didn’t count anyways.

Dacian stepped on to the bridge, taking up a place behind Maxson. The commander had taken to wearing his full combat uniform, complete with brand-new durasteel armour and the finest combat rifle. The three-pointed star of Nyx was plastered over every free inch of space.

“Have you given your navigator my coordinates?” Dacian asked, leaning in towards Maxson. The commander nodded, elicting a smile from his benefactor. “Good. Transmit them to the Mandalorians as soon as they meet us.”

It didn’t take long. The Crimson Wing and the Mandalorians roared up from the planet, arranging themselves before the Pride. Before long, Dacian gave them the signal to make the jump.

“I don’t understand it,” said Maxson, as the preparations were made. “We can’t see anything where you’re sending us. What’s out there?”

“I don’t know,” said Dacian, smiling. He glanced sideways to Maxson. “Don’t worry, I’m not especially interested in dying. It’s probably a safe jump.”

It was, but Maxon always worked better when he was anxious and irritated. The ship jumped to hyperspace before he could say anything else.



Silk laughed. He had to – it was the sort of joke perfectly crafted for him by the Force.

He looked out at the unnamed world Dacian had brought them to, a blackened volcanic one that bled endlessly with blood-red lava. The surface was streaked with rivers and seas made of the stuff. Dacian clearly hadn’t mastered the Force as much as he’d wanted Silk to believe.

“My lord,” one of his guards said, kneeling next to Silk. “Palestar sends word. He wants you to send the Mandalorians to the planet’s surface. He’s sent landing coordinates.”

“Did he?” said Silk, with a wicked smile. “Looks like Kale and his Mandalorians have served their purpose. Nothing could possibly survive down there for long.”

“Er…” the guard seemed uneasy. “Palestar sent a second message – he will be over soon to take us down to the planet.”

Silk’s lip curled with frustration. “Very well,” he snapped. “I can only hope the fool’s thought of something to keep us from burning alive.”



They touched down on one of the larger plates of black rock on the planet, surrounded as it was by rivers of magma on all sides. In the distance, proto-mountains of jagged rock made up the skyline, and black clouds of soot filled the sky.

The Mandalorians left their ships behind