One of Gash's lightsabers lanced down, slicing through the droid's metallic hide in a shower of sparks. The defensive unit was an archaic design, a four-legged assault droid whose front two appendages ended in threatening spikes. The left of these spikes leapt forward, and Gash dodged with all the speed and agility he was known for, falling backwards into a tight roll.

From the Jedi Master's left, a blast bolt sliced through the air with a shrill whistle, landing almost precisely on the spot that the lightsaber had penetrated the durasteel skin of the Sith droid. In a shower of electrical sparks, the droid attempted to take several more steps, sputtered, and finally died.

Gash stood, brushing himself off. "Good shot," he commented, nodding to the man off to his left. His partner in combat was, as always, Kasien Treseda, former New Republic Intelligence agent and current OSA head. Very few non-Jedi could hold their own in such unforgiving environments as an ancient Sith tomb -- even many apprentices in the Jedi Praxeum would find themselves quickly dispatched by the considerable defenses the place offered. But not Kasien.

Kasien's ability to survive was something that had always astounded Gash, who had come to rely on the Force almost unconsciously. He drew on it on a moment's notice; its power was always at his beck and call, an instinctive ally. But Kasien had no such abilities; he had only his wit, cunning, and keen abilities with a blaster to see him through.

The door just before them slid open as soon as Gash had pulled himself up from the cracked stone floor. Gash shrugged, and began to walk towards it; Kasien followed. In the smaller chamber beyond, there was very little to see, except for the large altar which dominated the space within.

As they approached, a long pillar slid from the center of the stone altar, accompanied by the grinding sound of rock on rock, rising into the air until it had reached the height of Gash, and even continuing to the stature of the taller Kasien. When it finally stopped, a blue hologram appeared above it, taking the shape of a man in a set of dark robes. "This unit greets you," the thing began. "How might I be of service?"

Kasien shifted uncomfortably, as he tended to when mysterious, Jedi-like elements came into play. "I seek the seventh prophecy of Xal Kra. I have been told that it is here."

The hologram seemed to consider this. "That is not my function. As a servant of the Sith Empire, I have been programmed for neurological evaluation."

"Neurological evaluation?"

"Correct."

Gash glanced back at Kasien, who averted his eyes. Obviously, he wanted nothing to do with this. "I am the subject of the Xal Kra Prophecies. I believe that it is my right to see the final one."

"None may view the prophecy without passing neurological evaluation."

"What does this neurological evaluation test for?"

The hologram shifted, as if unwilling but obliged to submit the answer to that query. "Propensity for servitude to the Sith Empire. Testing will commence."

To Gash's right, part of the rock wall seemed to slide up and away, leaving in its place a dark gap. From the blackness scrambled another of the assault droids, which, after promptly fixating its optical sensors on Gash, raised a red energy shield about it and set forward. Without thinking, Gash pointed one hand at the thing and called forth the spark of the Force within him, channeling it into pure kinetic energy. The electrical spark leapt forward like lightninng, blasting through the shield and entering at the droid's 'shoulder'. The robot was suddenly covered in electrical lightning, gyrating and twisting under its force. Finally, the thing's head simply exploded, leaving the droid to drop lifelessly to the ground.

Gash turned back to the hologram. "Neurological testing?"

The hologram seemed to ignore him. "This unit observes instinctive command of the Force in the subject. Neurological patterns during battle, combined with neural anaylsis, seem to indicate a similar composition to that of the Talon of Prophecy, verifying subject's claims." Finally, the hologram seemed to address Gash once again. "Programming now requires me to permit you to view the prophecy."

From the ashes of darkness arises the son
Long dead is the dark that spawned him
An darkness he has never known
Unknown to the Talon
Unknown to the Demon
Nameless, anonymous,
But he will find his gift
And he will find the darkness within it
And when the Talon finds him,
It will be far too late.

The Hermes hurtled away from the ancient and forgotten Sith world. The planet comprised a desert that spanned nearly the entire globe, punctuated by sand swept ruins of what had once been a grand culture. But when the Sith's infighting had brought about their own end -- at least for the time being -- the planet had been either warred to annihilation, abandoned, forgotten, or all three, and now possessed no name. It was one of hundreds like it, throughout the galaxy, the scattered remnants of a dead empire.

Xal Kra had been but one member of this Empire, a member of the original Sith, the species of Force-using, savage warriors descended from Dark Jedi and a red-skinned race of primitive magicians. Millenia before Gash had lived, the Dark Prophet had spent many years drawing on the Dark Side, sensing vibrations in it that existed outside of both space and time. The sum total of this work had come to rest in the Seven Prophecies of Xal Kra, seven verses which apparently rhymed in some ancient Sith dialect.

And all seven referred to Gash Jiren's life.

When Gash had first discovered these writings, he had been a Sith, and had been quite pleased to find that his presence in the galaxy was important enough to have been prophecized about thousands of years before. Since becoming a Jedi, the thought had become more and more disturbing. The Sith were an old species, but by no means a wise species; they were short-sighted in the extreme, and Dark Prophets who made a habit of producing unfavourable prophecies were frequently executed. Xal Kra's writings, then, could only be assumed to bode well for the Dark Side, and whatever role Gash had to play in this frightened him.

Certainly, up until that point, the Seven Prophecies had served dark purposes; using Gash's memories, Xireon had located many of the first six, drawing inspiration from them to create his cloned army of Force-sensitive soldiers, the Achrions, who had ravaged much of the galaxy, including Ossus. But the seventh entry was disturbing indeed.

Kasien finally worked up the courage to ask a question that had clearly been formulating in his mind for quite awhile. "So, what does this mean?" He asked. "You have a son? Another one?"

"The first," Gash corrected him. Though Xireon purported to be Gash's 'son', in truth, he was a genetically engineered clone. "It certainly would seem that way. Xal Kra hasn't been wrong yet."

"A son. And you don't know about him." Kasien thought for a moment more. "Can you remember any -- any woman who might've been pregnant? Any lovers?"

Gash fixed him with a severe look. "Contrary to popular belief, there have been many women, over the years. Which one it would be, I have no idea. But I'd be forced to assume it was one of the women I met during my days -- my days as a Sith. I took less... interest, in my lovers, then. Less permanent interest."

"So he could be anywhere. Anywhere in the galaxy. You traveled a lot, as a Sith, didn't you?"

Gash, clearly uneasy with the subject, nodded uncomfortably. "Yes."

"And I assume you want to find him."

"That would be the idea."

"Why, if you don't mind my asking?" Kasien said, sitting forward in his command chair on the Hermes' bridge. "I mean, really, why is it so important to find this kid? He's nobody, as far as we know. If his skills as a Jedi emerge, maybe he'll join the Order, maybe not. If he's your son, I think we can trust him not to turn to the Dark Side. Hell, maybe he'll never find out what he is."

Gash shook his head. "You heard the prophecy. He'll find out. And he'll fall."

"Why? How do you know that? Xal Kra was a Sith, and he made prophecies for the Sith. If he'd said, 'The son will join the light and kill many Sith,' he would've been killed."

Gash's eyes became very sad. "No. You don't understand the Dark Side... you don't understand the lure of it, what it is to serve it."

Kasien contemplated this for a moment. "You never talk about it. About being a Sith, I mean. If you'd tell me, I might understand."

Gash looked despondantly at the ground, for a few moments. "The Dark Side is living without restraint, without care for the sonsequences of your actions. That is why Sith always describe the Dark Side as freedom; because it is. It is pure indulgence, and the Dark Side of the Force embodies that indulgence. It's a rush, giving in to your anger and releasing it without caring about who you harm. That's why the Dark Side is so appealing, and so captivating; once you begin to give in, it entices you again and again, until you stop living for your principles or goals, and start living for that rush. That freedom."

Kasien didn't respond.

"It is so easy to start down the dark path unknowingly, when there is no one to tell you otherwise, no reason for you not to. That's why I did it; I had never known the Jedi teachings, I didn't see anything wrong with what I was doing. And you might do it for all the right reasons; to save someone, to kill a murderer or criminal."

"What's wrong with that?"

Gash smiled thinly, mirthlessly. "That's the lure, isn't it? What's wrong with that? But the Dark Side is self serving. It doesn't work like that. Once it draws you in, once it has you in its grasp, you'll release yourself to it again and again -- not because you have to, but because you want to. It's wonderful, it's freeing, it's everything anyone has ever wanted. Power, rage, release, and no consequences. That's why I did everything I did as a Sith. That's why I killed all those people. I wanted to. It felt wonderful, Kasien." His friend was now frowning, looking warily at him. "And that is what scares me the most. It's why I hardly sleep. My memories of Theed aren't terrible; they're happy. I can remember... I can remember feeling happy, as I did those things, Kasien."

"But you were under the influence of the Dark Side. That's what the Jedi Council said. It's why you're not in prison." Kasien seemed to say these things as much to assure himself as anything.

Gash chuckled slightly. "No, Kasien. You still don't understand." He shook his head again. His eyes, colored green instead of red by his contacts, were locked on the floor. "The Dark Side doesn't control, it corrupts. It just unleashes what's already there, in everyone. It frees it, allows you to release it, offers the incentive to do so and that power to do it without consequence. That's the secret. The darkest thing, the thing that no one in any Jedi Council will ever understand, because they have never been there, beyond the veil of darkness. They've never given into it, become a servant of it. So they delude themselves, they make up excuses. Because this secret is unthinkable, it's too terrible to imagine or to admit to themselves."

"The secret?"

"Yes," Gash said, smirking again. But there was no levity in his voice or his face. "That every Sith -- every last one, from myself to Palpatine to Exar Kun, through every terrible attrocity commited, was in complete control. They weren't being controlled by the Dark Side. Their minds weren't warped by the darkness. They were in complete control of their actions, they knew exactly what they were doing, as they killed, tortured, slaughtered and destroyed. They had merely released themselves from consequence and morality: become what we all fear, what we all know we can be only in our heart of darkness." Gash looked up, meeting Kasien's horrified gaze. "Can you think of anything more terrible than that?"

Kasien looked away. "I think I understand."

A dream.

A dream of many things -- of friends and lovers long left behind. These things always meant something. Gash had heard that once, he was sure of it. A dream of women left alone after a night of passion, attracted to this hooded stranger's odd charm and the strange, almost palpable aura of power that he exuded.

Had there been one? A hundred? It didn't matter. It hadn't at the time, anyway. Yet now it seemed as if the life of Gash Jiren hung on a string held by an anonymous, unknown woman he had no recollection of. Something that had meant less than nothing was now returning to haunt a man who had left that life behind him long ago.

The dream knew this, and it seemed to mock him. Wasn't this always the way of things? Look sideways at a beautiful woman, step out onto the street and be killed by a speeder. Stop to speak to a friend and so miss a public transport -- which then crashes, sparing your life by pure chance. Though we may often try to do so, the events which truly determine the course of fate are most often products of actions taken on a whim.

We spend out whole lives fighting fate, only to have it tap us on the shoulder and the apparition of it we'd been combatting dissolve before our eyes. The dream knew this, too. It knew a great many things. It dangled the Prophecy, an intangible thing, shrouded in the mysterious innerworkings of time and fate and born of a desire to gain power over them.

The dream knew that Gash would seek this power. He knew that he would fail.

The dream knew it. Everyone knew it.

It wasn't a prophecy if there was a chance it wouldn't come true.



The Hermes, guided by the precise hands of her droid crew, set itself down gently on the bare earth of the Asthentian Capitol Spaceport. Whereas the first time the vessel had visited this world, there had been not a single vessel in the sky, there were now quite a few, trade vessels whizzing by. Asthentia, once isolated and unknown, now thrived on her tride in the rare and extremely explosive Asthent, which could be used to create extremely powerful reactor fuel.

The landing ramp lowered with a hiss, and a robed figure emerged from it, cloaked in the traditional navy-blue robes of all Asthentians. A croaking, somewhat-watery voice that greatly resembled that of another small, green, wrinkled Jedi Master often featured on Holodramas greeted him. "So seldom do you visit this old Jedi now!" The creature grunted. "Think I do that Master Jiren thinks himself too great, to famous to visit little Asthentia!"

Gash smiled slightly. The diminutive Jedi Master was already reading his thoughts; though others may have seen the little being's words as insensitive, given the great lengths Gash had obviously gone to to alter his appearance from how it had been during his reign as Supreme Military Chancellor of the New Republic, Gash knew they were simply a jest at the effort, and a good-hearted one. "I am sorry, Rakili," he replied, stepping down the ramp to find the little green Jedi approaching the ship. "You know I'm busy on Ossus. A planet doesn't run itself, as I am sure you know."

"Yes, yes, know I do the great struggles you face, young Jiren." The Jedi motioned for Gash to follow him from the spaceport, and he promptly obliged. The two exited the domed port into the tropical capital city of Asthentia, which very much resembled any number of calm, rural settlements throughout the galaxy.

"I hear that you chased a group of Sith out of the system, a week ago," Gash said, making conversation. Rakili had been installed as Asthentia's governor, the first official holder of the position not a member of the Jiren family in several thousand years. "Good work."

"The only one who knows how to command a fleet, you are not. For six-hundred years, have I --"

"I know, I know," Gash said.

Rakili looked slowly up at his pupil. "Wish to find this child, do you." It wasn't a question. "Yet the prophecy says to you that you will not, until it is too late. A contradiction, this is, hmm?"

Gash nodded glumly. "I suppose. But I can't take the chance --"

Rakili brushed aside the comment with a wave of his hand. "You can, and you must. To search for the child, to seek him out -- servitude to the prophecy, this is. A dark path, young Jiren."

"But --"

"No! Second guess you must not, my student, or all is lost." Rakili stopped walking, grabbing one of the legs of Gash's pants. The suprisingly strong grasp stopped him in his tracks, and he was forced to lock gazes with the tiny Jedi. "Forbid you, I do, from seeking out this boy. Understand do you not what mean these words? No arbitrary warning is this! On this, all depends!"

Gash looked at his feet. "I know," he mumbled.

"Old and wise you are, Jiren, among the humans that now surround you. But here, on the world of your people, know you must that you are not one of these short-lived beings. Human, you are not, and have never been! Much to learn, you still have, and not that old are you among your own people. Heed my warning. Seek not the boy."

Gash didn't respond.

"There are," the Jedi Master said, beginning once again to walk, "other reasons that this command I give you. There is another task... one you must accomplish, if truly you wish to avert the darkness suggested in this passage... and, in the rise of the Empire."

"What is it?"

And Rakili told him.