(This is my first attempt to get back into writing SW stories after several years. I'm treating this story as practice, but the plan is for it to be the prologue of my version of Episode VII.) All But One. 1-15-13 Orbiting the green moon of Endor, the second Death Star, the Empire's newest and deadliest weapon, exploded, sending debris in all directions. Ships, fighters and cruisers, Rebel and Imperial, shot away from the explosion. The battle quickly forgotten, every ship turned, ignored its adversary, and bolted away from the explosion. All but one. A single vessel, a tiny transport, appeared and flew straight into the void where the massive space station had been. Burning debris tore through its shields and into its hull, and soon the transport lost its power and drifted until gravity took hold and pulled it toward the bright green moon. The vessel sailed through the atmosphere and plummeted through the sky. Surrendering momentum, it tumbled through the tall trees, tore through branches the size of ships themselves, and collided with the dirt, digging across a hill before it slid to a stop. The smoking, broken hull collapsed, piece-by-searing-piece. The tiny transport was reduced to hundreds of scraps, and so were its passengers. Body parts strewn across the ground. The smell of burning flesh filled the night air, sending animals dashing away. Those once on the ship were now reduced to crushed, burned, scattered remains. All but one. A single being emerged from the wreckage. Draped in a torn sheet, which it wore like a cloak, the being clawed at the dirt as it crawled, one blistered hand at a time. Reaching the top of a small hill, the figure roared at the night. Its voice breaking, it choked and spit blood and screamed a deep-throated, monstrous scream that made any curious life scatter in mortal terror. Shivering, groaning, it screamed against the night, its voice reaching a shattering, icy pitch. But the night ignored the pain. In the distance, other beings sang, danced, laughed, and mourned. But none responded to the scream. The voices ignored the figure. All but one. A faint voice sang back, and the being crawled to it. Trembling, it clawed through the dirt, tumbled down the hill, and smashed into fallen trees. It screamed again, and again the other voice sang back, a simple hum through the uncaring night. And the being, ignoring the cold air slicing through burnt and gashed skin, stood upright and raced through sharp bushes and branches in search of the humming. It stumbled through the darkness, tripped, and collapsed into waist-high grass. The humming resumed, within reach, and the being found the source. A small, pyramid-shaped object covered in marks of a lost tongue. Whimpering, The being touched the object and it hummed again. Then, a bright red glow erupted from within the object, covering the entire area in a crimson drape. The glowing blue image of a cloaked figure appeared from the object. Cloaked, a wrinkled, but visibly powerful being lifted yellow eyes to the being. "I am Sidious," the man said, "Dark Lord of the Sith." But Sidious was overthrown, the Sith defeated, the masters of the Dark Side of the force destroyed. The being sighed as it stared at the image. All but one.