Umbara, 1079 BBY

The Sith Academy in the Shadow World was silent at the moment they crossed its main hall. The apprentices used to practice at night sometimes, while the whole rest of the planet slept, since the masters said that the complete absence of light was where the creatures of shadow achieved the maximum of their abilities. No wonder why that planet had been chosen for their training.

However, now they were sleeping, and that combined with the power that came in the edge of the night was the reason why he’d chosen that darkest hour to fulfill his plans.

The Assassins walked quick and silently down the hall, a group of not more than twenty, giving coordinated steps to make the sound of it less noticeable, so the stealth field their generators created would hide them completely. He walked in front of them all, setting up the rhythm, seeing through the walls of the Academy to look for the best way out. All of them wearing their metallic masks and black uniforms, they were indeed shadows in the dark night.

However, when they went down the stairs that ended the hall and crossed the last room to reach the Academy’s entrance, they realized they were not as unnoticed as they thought: right in front of the big iron door, as if waiting for them, was the Academy’s headmaster.

He stopped walking, and his followers did the same right away. The headmaster put the hood of his black tunic down, revealing an elder dark skin, with a scar that crossed from the gray beard in his chin till the top of his bare head, making one of his yellow eyes scratched on red completely white and unable to see.

In a single second, the headmaster raised his arm and immediately the stealth field was put down, revealing all the traitors.

For a Sith Assassin, physical vision was just a meager detail, many times unnecessary.

The headmaster took a step forward. “I can’t see you, like I saw your deceived followers,” he murmured. “But I know you’re there. As clear as you’re camouflaging with the Force not to be seen, like the coward you’ve always been, Vorr’zell.”

Indeed, the headmaster had put down the camouflage of all those in that group of deserters, but not him. However, he slowly removed his stealth field generator and stopped his efforts, which were far from big, for using the Force to hide himself.

As soon as he made himself visible, Vorr’zell removed his mask, and looked at the headmaster with the same Assassin eyes. “Well… Now you can see me. And you’ll be disappointed to know that it changes nothing.”

Vorr’zell starred at the headmaster, his dark brown beard and hair dripping sweat on his young face, much different from the master with whom he’d learned most of what he knew of the Dark Side. Or so the headmaster thought.

“If you’ll try to stop me, do it quick. My triumph cannot be delayed with defeating an old man,” Vorr’zell continued, serious.

“It’s an unnecessary conflict. I know I’m in disadvantage,” the headmaster, sounding just the same, replied.

This time, Vorr’zell laughed. “When have you become so peaceful? You seem like a Jedi, trying to avoid a fight.”

If they’d said that among themselves, in a different situation, they’d all have laughed at the comparison with their enemies. Now, however, all the deserter Assassins did was keep silent, while the headmaster starred back at Vorr’zell. “If you’d paid attention to your lessons while you were still an apprentice, you’d know that there’s more on the Dark Side than lighting a red saber and striking your enemies down. I will not waste my well trained Assassins with someone who will never be a true Sith,” for the first time, he sounded angry.

Vorr’zell didn’t let it reach him, though. “I don’t care about titles,” he contested. “You see, Sith traditions are obsolete. You’re a fool for sticking to them. Sith or not, I will break out of their chains, and rule on my own.”

The headmaster approached, making all of Vorr’zell’s followers wield their lightsabers, but he told them to stop before they lighted it. Vorr’zell didn’t move to meet his former master. He didn’t have to. The words he said came to him loud enough at that distance.

“You will not,” said the headmaster. “For you need victory to break your chains, and my old Sith ways tell me that victory is not in your fate, Vorr’zell. Don’t expect the Force to set you free.”

The two of them looked in each other’s eyes, yellow irises facing their fellows, who wouldn’t be companions in a short minute, and for many, many years that were still to come.

Finally, Vorr’zell took a breath to speak. “If your traditions allow you to see that far in the future, it will be easy for you to predict my next move.”

When these words came out of his mouth, he too wield his saber and lighted its red blade, and the headmaster responded by doing the same with his.

However, he couldn’t predict his old apprentice’s move at all. With his lightsaber on and holding it in an attack position, the headmaster was suddenly pushed with a terrific strength and velocity, and he couldn’t breathe before his saber fell from his hands and his head hit the wall, higher than the big door, and the last thing he saw was Vorr’zell’s saber flying in his direction, reaching his chest precisely.

The lightsaber flew back to the hand of its owner, and the dead body of the headmaster fell right in front of the door. “We shall wait no more,” said Vorr’zell, then. “We have a long way ahead of us until we reach Begeren and take it on my name.”

Immediately, they all set up their stealth fields again, and Vorr’zell continued to walk in front of his followers, walking upon their old master’s body without bothering to put it aside.

After all, killing your master was in fact an old Sith tradition too.

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