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Saga - ST In Another World

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction- Before, Saga, and Beyond' started by the-505th, Dec 31, 2019.

  1. the-505th

    the-505th Jedi Youngling

    Dec 28, 2019
    Hi everyone! This is pretty much my first journey into fanfiction. This is essentially just how my vision of the sequel trilogy would be, a sort of fun AU I’ve been toying with in my head for awhile. I haven’t written much of anything in awhile, so any feedback is appreciated! I hope you guys enjoy. The Journal of Whills quote is from the Force Awakens, as since that was the beginning of the ST, this is the beginning of whatever this will turn out to be.

    “First comes the day
    Then comes the night.
    After the darkness
    Shines through the light.
    The difference, they say,
    Is only made right
    By the resolving of gray
    Through refined Jedi sight.”


    Sometimes Rey dreams of a dark throne.

    The throne is hewn from a rough, dark grey stone, all jagged edges and spikes. She never sees the room it’s set in, but the throne seems to be lit constantly by white hot flashes of lightning, throwing the stone into stark relief. It’s on the bad nights that she sees herself upon it, just quick flashes, a dark hood shadowing her face- except the eyes. The irises glow an insidious orange. Her mouth is curved into a cold, unfeeling smile. She’ll awaken with a scream, dripping sweat, and her mind will be dwelling on the image for the rest of her day. Even through the work.

    Rey was a slave, no more, no less; a forgotten soul who was nothing more than expendable labor for unfeeling overlords. She spent countless hours a day striking stone walls for the spice mineral within the Kessel Mines. From her understanding, she’d been doing this for three years. And three years is about how long it takes for the raw spice to finally overwhelm the bodies’ systems. Rey would be dead soon. She often wondered if the dreams were the result of the spice mining, her body in its death throes, slowly fading.

    She was marched into her sector, the bonds around her wrist cutting into her flesh. The dusty corridors were filled with underfed slaves, striking at the stone walls, trying to uncover the precious veins of spice. She was pushed into her place by the guards, who shoved a vibroaxe into her hands and walked away to assume their posts at the entrance. Rey looked around at those who were already working; she caught the eyes of a Twi’lek named Atran. Rey nodded.

    They would be escaping today.


    The Wookie let out his loudest roar yet as the Falcon shook, the unstable maelstrom shaking the old ship. Chewbacca worries it would break the ship apart.

    “She’s done the run before, she’ll do it again!” Han Solo shouted over the din, desperately keeping one hand on the wheel as he flipped all manner of switches. Chewbacca roared once more, and Han shook his head. “Positive thoughts, Chewie! Positive thoughts!” The Wookie shook his head, but continued copiloting. A signal went off on the console, indicating an incoming comm signal. Han patched it through, and a flickering blue hologram appeared.

    “Captain Solo, have you reached the objective yet?” Said General Leia Organa, her arms behind her back, but her face betraying some amusement.

    “A little busy here, Princess!” He shouted, as the Falcon quaked yet again, raining sparks on the console.

    “I’ll take that as a no. Surely a captain could complete the job...?” Leia continued prodding at Han, who could only point at the hologram in frustration. Chewbacca roared in the negative- at least, Captain Han Solo couldn’t complete it.

    “Don’t encourage her!” Han chastised his copilot, who belted out the Wookie equivalent of a laugh.

    “Han, remember, you’re the Fleet’s light in this maelstrom. Get there, set the beacon, wait for assistance. No rushing in.” Leia said earnestly, giving him a meaningful glare.

    “Yeah, ‘course. What else would I do?”

    With a final shudder, the Falcon cleared through the misty gas of the Maelstrom. Han took a moment to look at the planet before him, dwelling on the memories that flooded forth. He was such a different person, last time he came to Kessel. Now all that was left of that crew was him and Chewie and Lando, and even then Han wasn’t sure what Lando was up to. With a sigh, he flipped a few switches.

    “Beacon’s up, Chewie. Guess we wait here, huh?”


    Rey counted each strike at the wall. She’d never done it before, but for some reason, today, she felt she should know how many strikes she made in her final day as a slave. There was precious little in her life that she could remember; she needed to remember this detail.

    Two hundred and forty five.

    The guards had gotten lazy; the last rebellion had been quelled easily, and the only reason Rey hadn’t been part of it was because she didn’t know. It would be easy. Strike with the axes, run. The other slaves would revolt as well. Find the cargo bay, commandeer a transport. It was deceivingly easy.

    Two hundred and forty six.

    She was sweating now; a miracle due to the lack of fluids she was provided to drink.

    Two hundred and forty seven.

    The axe was light in her hands; it felt like an extension of her. She could feel where, precisely to strike at the wall, where it’s weakest point was to easier cut into it.

    Two hundred and forty eight.

    It was almost time. Her breathing was heavy now.

    Two hundred and forty nine.

    She had only one hope.

    Two hundred and fifty.

    She hoped that Atran, at least, could survive and escape.

    Two hundred and fi-

    There was the shrill blast of laser fire; Rey spun around, axe at the ready, only to see one of the guards fall to the ground, dead. The other guard raised his smoking blaster up, and yelled triumphantly.


    The mine shook; Rey felt a sting as her electric collar unlocked with a buzz and fell. She looked around to see the same happening with the rest of the slaves; her eyes fell on Atran, and they shared a smile. Gripping her axe and bringing it above her head, she let out a scream, and her fellows followed in kind. They rushed for the doors.


    “Deja vu, huh Chewie?!” Han shouted, blaster firing rapidly as the guards tried to get at them. Armored Republic soldiers were making headway into the caves, trying to quell the swelling number of freed slaves while dealing with the guards trying to keep their investment safe. Han smiled when they went for the machine blasters; definite deja vu. Chewbacca roared a battlecry, his bow caster sending enemies flying several meters away.

    “Let’s get these caverns cleared! The slaves are number one priority!” Han shouted; he looked up as the medtransports began their descents. “Make sure they get to the medtransports!” Commander Pryde signaled to his troops to follow Han’s orders (as if they wouldn’t, Han thought drily). As the fighting retreated into the caverns, Han and Chewbacca followed.

    Han nearly choked instantly on the dusty atmosphere, wondering why the hell he hadn’t worn a mask. He took a sudden turn into a cavern that the troops had apparently neglected, hopping over a dead guard; one popped out from behind a cart, but Han had already shot a bolt; the guard fell quick. Chewbacca roared, indicating that it looked like the guards were focused on the troops.

    “Looks that way. No slaves though, which is very stra-“

    Han felt a rush of something like a strong wind, and his ears popped when the air pressure changed; he heard something like blaster fire, but it was oddly distorted. He looked in the direction of the sound, to find a guard pointing his gun at him. There were still red sparks sprouting from the barrel, as if time was slowed, and the blaster bolt, far too close to Han for comfort, hung in the air between them.

    Turning in the other direction, Han saw a girl not much older than twenty standard years. Her eyes were wide, and her hand was reaching out, trembling.

    “Han Solo,” she said, her voice shaking with exertion. “It’s an honor to meet you. My name is Rey.”
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  2. Cowgirl Jedi 1701

    Cowgirl Jedi 1701 Jedi Grand Master star 4

    Dec 21, 2016
    I'm liking this AU. This is legit multiverse right here.
    the-505th likes this.
  3. the-505th

    the-505th Jedi Youngling

    Dec 28, 2019
    Han got a handle on his shock, blasting the frozen guard and moving out the the way of the bolt. The girl visibly relaxed, and the blaster bolt struck the wall in a shower of sparks. She seemed exhausted my the effort, but she was still standing her ground. Han was about to ask what her business here was, but it was pointedly clear what her station here was; the ragged clothing, the unwashed skin. Behind her, a whole group of slaves cautiously walked out from behind cover, eyes widening at the sight of Han and Chewbacca. Rey looked round at a purplish Twi’lek woman, who smiled reassuringly at her.

    “We’re here to liberate you all.” Han said simply, eyes on the slaves but mind elsewhere. He’d found a force sensitive... but in this political climate, that wasn’t much of a victory. The image of a dark haired child crossed his mind, but he swept it away with practiced ease. “One of the guards sympathetic to the Republic had tipped us off as to the resurgence of this operation. As far as you all are concerned, you are free! You all have a new future in the Republic. Stick together, watch each other’s backs, and follow me!”


    Rey smiles through her exhaustion, hoping she wasn’t just delirious. Han Solo and Chewbacca, heroes of the Republic, arrived to liberate them. On the same day she planned to escape, no less. She leaned on Atran, eyes fluttering.

    “We’re free,” she said happily. “After all this time, friend. Free.”

    Her eyes shut.


    The Twi’lek was screaming for help; but Han had no choice but to keep moving. The Pyke forces had arrived in force, and he was leading the final group of slaves they had found. The Republic troops were undergoing heavy fire by that point, and there wasn’t much more time to get the slaves out before the final assault on the Pyke’s mine began.

    His blaster struck quick and true; the Pykes were much more well armored than the guards, but even then the plasteel triweave gave in to Han’s precise fire. Pryde was shouting orders over the comms; the Republic troops were attempting to box the enemy into the mines.

    The Falcon was within sight; Han picked up his pace, while Republic troopers directed the slaves to the medical transports. Han took a look around for the force sensitive girl; the Twi’lek was yelling something at one of the troopers as she carried the- hopefully - unconscious body. Not allowing himself to dwell, Han fired a few more cover shots, before running up the ramp into the Millennium Falcon.

    “Chewie!” He yelled, drawing the ramp up. The ship began humming, the floors trembling slightly. Han noted that with a dull pain; yet another check up would be required. They were getting too frequent.

    Dropping into his pilot chair and flipping on comms, Han and Chewbacca began bringing the ship upwards.

    “Let’s get these medtransports out of here!” He yelled. The transports began rising as well; the Falcon shuddered as it prepared to launch through the atmosphere. Han flopped a lever, and the Falcon quaked; Han looked at Chewbacca. The Falcon didn’t do that.

    “They have anti air blasters! They’ve destroyed a medtransport!” Pryde roared over comms. Han felt hot anger creeping in his blood. Those bastards...

    “We gotta get out of here! Let’s get going!” The Falcon began shooting up into the atmosphere, sparks flying from the console.

    Han noted on a holodisplay that five medical transports followed; short of the original six.


    A sleek vessel, its hull a black that seemed impossibly deep, deeper than any paint, made its descent onto a flagged stone landing pad. The burning orange light of Korriban seemed to absorb into the paint. The ramp opened with a hiss and a shot of steam, and a tall and imposing figured clad in metallic red armor stepped out onto the stone. The soldiers blaster was bolstered, yet their hand rested on it. A black and red pauldron on the right shoulder denoted their status. The red symbol cut into it was the sigil of the First Legion; The Blessed Dark, The Black Hole, Revan’s Hate. The soldier indicated to two others to begin refueling procedure with a short yet dismissive wave of their hand.

    “It will be done, Commander Phasma.” They both said with heads bowed. Commander Phasma entered the foreboding castle.

    The walk through the ancient corridors was always the same. Every few meters, red armored troopers stood against the walls, blasters in hand. Between them, statues of glassy black korï memorialized luminaries of the Sith. Phasma stopped a moment, kneeling at one particular statue; a golden plaque set into the base displayed, proudly, the name DARTH REVAN.

    Phasma continued their walk, before coming to a massive door also made of korï. Standing beside it, two hulking troopers in armor of black and red stood guard. They nodded at Phasma.

    “He’s expectin’ you, Phasma. Hope you delivered.” One trooper said. Phasma resisted the urge to blast him in the heart.

    The door slid open slowly, revealing a cavernous room. At the end, a large window allowed the everpresent orange light to filter in. The room was bare, save for the center.

    A man sat upon a red crystal plinth, his head bowed and legs crossed. Upon the platform were six instruments, perfectly spaced, save for two gaps. Around the plinth, figures similarly clad in dark armor were kneeling around him. He lifted his head at Phasma’s entrance; yet those who surrounded him didn’t move an inch. Phasma kneeled before him.

    “Supremus Ren, my Master.” She said simply. The Supremus gave something like a laugh, deep and resonant, though his helmet betrayed no emotion.

    “Phasma, my best soldier. I can already sense your success. Please, present it.” He reaches his hand out; Phasma’s hand moved to the back of her belt, with a click, removed an ancient and jagged dagger, etched with Sith symbols. She gave it to the Supremus, who lifted it closer to his helmet to inspect it. He sighed, as if in relief. He placed the dagger down, filling the gap next to him. There was still one more gap in the circle of artifacts.

    “So much closer, Phasma. So much closer. Excellent job, Commander.”

    “Thank you, Supremus. It is an honor to serve you.” Phasma spoke evenly and unemotionally. She raised her head to look at him. “We also found three force sensitives. They are being wiped, and will be ready to serve in the ranks of the troopers by the end of the month.”

    “Excellent! Excellent indeed. My Knights shall lead our troops to victory, Phasma. Can you feel it?”

    And yes, Phasma did feel it.


    A solitary figured stomped over the deadened ground of Vek, hood drawn over his head. The silvery sun was setting on the horizon; further up, the massive golden rings that surrounded the planet were visible. The man hopped down a short drop, hand clinging tightly to some sort of pyramid shaped device. It was glowing red, and if one were close enough, it whispered.

    “Oh, how perfect would it be...” It said in an insidious voice that seemed to change with each word. It wasn’t any one voice; it was many.

    The man was diligently ignoring it; he had another two planets to go to by the end of the week. He had no time for the whispers of a Sith holocron.

    “The power, my friend... oh, the power...”

    The man’s eyes focused on something, just over a hill. It was a T-Sixty Five X-Wing; age had chipped away at the paint, but the man found it as reliable as ever. As he drew closer, a white and blue astomech droid chirped, happy to see him. The holocron laughed.

    “Give in to the dark side, Luke Skywalker.”
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  4. Kit'

    Kit' Manager Emeritus star 5 VIP - Former Mod/RSA

    Oct 30, 1999
    Cool start and awesome twist with that last sentence!

    Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk
    the-505th likes this.
  5. the-505th

    the-505th Jedi Youngling

    Dec 28, 2019
    Kylo was dreaming again.

    He could see his mother, older than the last time he’d seen her, as she looked out of a window and allowed her pain to crush her. He could his father looking at a holopuck of a happy boy striking a pseudo heroic pose with a training saber. For one moment, one fleeting instant, he wished to reach out to them.

    He was back in the mental castle now; the Supremus had taught him the trick. A mental structure to lock away memories and thoughts, and Kylo watched as slowly, the wall reassembled over the the images of his family. He had no interest in Han and Leia Solo any longer. He pressed his hand against the wall, filling it with dark energy, clouding his mother’s connection to the Force. If she sensed him, their plans would fail; if she sensed him, their strike could never work. Removing his hand from the wall, Kylo took a moment to compose himself. Any moment now, they would arrive at Ilum. He had precious little time, yet his walk through the dark and misty corridors of his mind was deliberate and paced carefully. He required perfect control to do this; it was damn near a miracle that it was happening now out of sleep.

    He arrived at a mural painted into the stone. It was the propaganda image of the New Republic; a stylized painting of Luke Skywalker, clad in his black Jedi Knight jumpsuit, the flag of the Rebellion hanging from his belt as he struck a defensive pose with his emerald bladed lightsaber. Kylo places his hand over the heart of the painted hero, and closed his eyes. The wall crumbled away to a vortex of multicolored energy, and the haze formed into a shimmering image.

    Luke was older now than he had been in the mural; his hair was long and he had grown a scruffy beard, and the blond had given way to steel grey. His black Jedi jumpsuit was now in tones of beige, potentially the same one he had worn when training Kylo; it certainly looked like it had been through hell. The hood of cloak was drawn up. Kylo pushed his hand further outward, and more of the image resolved. Luke was in a forest of dark and singed trees, and the ground was covered in a layer of grey ash. The sky was scarlet and stormy.

    Luke was on Mustafar.

    Kylo allowed himself a smile; they’d already been there. They had recovered an enclosed chalice filled with an oil-like liquid from deep within the vaults of Vader’s Castle. Luke was five steps behind them, at least. Kylo relaxed his hand, but the image didn’t fade. He tilted his head, eyebrows knitting together.

    “Close.” He said with command. He thought he’d moved past verbal commands with this mind structure.

    “You can’t close it, Ben.” Said the all too familiar voice; and Luke turned, his eyes meeting his nephew’s. Kylo took a step back. “A powerful trick, Ben, but not one reserved only for the Sith. I felt you watch before, but now is the time for me to deconstruct your illusion.” Kylo felt rage seeping into his blood; his body was a mere mental representation of his physical presence, yet he still felt like reaching for his lightsaber and striking at his uncle.

    “It’s too late now, Skywalker. We’re already ahead of you!” Kylo said with as much conviction as he could muster; but Luke only smirked.

    “Quick to believe what your visions show you, Ben.” Luke raised his hand, palm upwards. The backdrop of Mustafar faded into the hangar of a ship; and within Luke’s palm, a pyramid shape shimmered into being. “A potent, and Dark, artifact. My father no doubt kept it so he could feed off of its darkness; in fact, I’ve never felt a holocron giving off this much power.”

    Kylo’s hands shook with anger. He felt like a coiled snake, preparing to strike with deadly intentions-

    “I will see you again Ben; but when it will be in person, not through your easily manipulated vision.”

    Luke faded away, and with a roar of anger, Kylo awoke. The Night Buzzard was flying through hyperspace, which meant the other Knights were likely locked in a meditation. Kylo stormed through the hallways, his heavy breathing loud enough even for his helmet to modulate it. He opened the door the meditation room to find the Knights sitting in a circle, silent. He didn’t care to let them sense his presence.

    “Skywalker has the holocron. He knows!”


    Finn Codona could only scream, voice raw and scratchy. Three hands were reaching out to him, pressing in on his mind, bringing forth every bad memory, every negative interaction, ever angry thought; he felt as though his head was splitting open, and in a way, he wished it was, the pain was too much, he couldn’t handle anymore-

    And just like that, the hands drew away and the pain was gone. Breathing deeply, Finn watched as a bead of sweat dripped off of his nose and down onto the red stained stone floor. Behind the hooded figures that tortured him, a Sith Trooper in shining red armor paced back and forth.

    “The Supremus knows the way the universe flows; he recognizes the potential power within it; he knows the Republic squanders it. He knows the Jedi squandered it. This is his burden. He must go to war on a galaxy he loves, so he can restore its peace.”

    “Love?” Finn screamed, but his defiance couldn’t last long. He wasn’t sure he could make it through another round. “Love is kidnap and torture and murder?” If his hands were bound, he would attempt to escape. Yet again, the thought of death crossed his mind. It would be far more welcome than whatever these people wanted him for.

    “Again.” Phasma said, and the hands reached out, and he felt the prodding in his mind. He screamed out, but this time it was exertion, his instincts kicking in; suddenly he felt the invisible force that tore at his mind falling back, and the hands before him shook, and the room itself shook as his scream grew louder. He could feel the darkness of their power, but it didn’t interest him; he only needed to defend himself.

    There was the sound of a blaster set to stun, and it all went dark.
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  6. Hopefulwriter

    Hopefulwriter Jedi Knight star 2

    Jan 6, 2016
    Very nice start to fanfiction. Well written. Interested to read more. Lynda V.
    the-505th likes this.
  7. WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Game Host star 7 VIP - Game Host

    Aug 31, 2004
    Fascinating start and twists through time and space!
    the-505th likes this.
  8. the-505th

    the-505th Jedi Youngling

    Dec 28, 2019
    Rey heard beeping at first; a slow and steady metronome, one that slowly increased its tempo as she became more and more aware. Her body lay upon perhaps the softest surface it ever had; it was rather like what she imagined the clouds to feel like. She felt a subtle ache in the crook of her arm; a coldness trailed along her arm, an odd sensation yet not unpleasant. She could sense that she was alone. Slowly she opened her eyes, taking in a slick white ceiling. Looking at the arm, she saw a needle connected to a tube running from a machine next her, phials of bluish liquid labeled “bacta” set into it. Slowly, cognizant of her weakened state, she sat up.

    This was no room on Kessel; a wide window displayed a massive metropolis of a city, buildings growing as far as the eye could see, airspeeders swooping through the air in organized traffic. She got to her feet, still slowly; the bacta machine floated serenely with her. Mouth agape and eyes wide, she stared at the magnificence of Coruscant. She was certain it was the most amazing sight she’d ever seen.

    “Breathtaking, isn’t it?”

    Rey startled, spinning around. Senator Leia Organa stood in the doorway, regal in light blue dress robes, hair immaculately styled; and a kind smile on her face.

    “It wasn’t always. Even before the Empire; I think we’ve cleaned it up nicely.” Leia approached the window, looking out into the cityscape. “Rey, it is an honor.” She said. Rey still looked shocked.

    “An honor... to meet me?”

    “You stopped a blaster bolt in midair to save my husband. An action like that deserves respect. Now please, sit.” It wasn’t a command, but Rey sat.

    “You and many of your friends were in rough shape; late stage spice poisoning. We’ve kept you on round the clock monitoring and have our best doctors on it. All who made it from Kessel will survive.” Rey let out a sigh of relief. “You, however, have made the most miraculous recovery of all. That kind of power, Rey... you’re a special young woman.”

    “Atran?” Rey spoke suddenly, as she felt the feel of the room shift. “Did... did Atran make it?” Leia looked downwards, thinking of the right words. Rey felt as though the world was growing, and she were shrinking.

    “Those Kessel thugs... they shot down a medtransport. Atran was on it. I’m sorry, Rey.”

    The city was too big now; the bacta was too cold. The room was too slick, was too bright, the bed too soft, and Rey was falling-

    Leia was there, as Rey’s world shook. The room quaked with fury, a table of medical equipment toppling over, the glass in the window vibrating, cracks appearing on the edges.

    “Rey, please, listen! Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Allow yourself to feel the pain, but do not dwell on it; allow it to pass. Breathe. Just breathe.”

    Yes, she should breathe. The first breath was like fire, and she exhaled it. Second breath, the burn lessened, and she exhaled. The third breath was normal, and with the breath she allowed it all- the pain and the hurt- she allowed it to pass out of her.

    “It’s okay, Rey. It’s okay.” Leia’s hands were gentle, one on her shoulder and one gripping her hand, and the warm touch was a lifeline that kept Rey pinned to this world. The pain was gone, but the grief remained, and tears spilled down Rey’s cheeks. Leia remained silent, remained Rey’s anchor.


    “The steering is shot!” Captain Poe Dameron roared from the cockpit, eliciting a groan from Han. He didn’t even reply, pouring himself a cold beverage and lounging in a chair in the main hold. Apparently his silence was just as good as a retort, because Dameron stomped in, ever haughty.

    “Solo! You’re slacking!” Han raised an eyebrow, a simple move that would’ve caused a teenaged Dameron to wilt. But adult, self proven Dameron fell to no such trick. “She’s barely holding up. You gotta start repairing this ship!” With an long suffering sigh, Han stood up and began walking to the exit.

    “Modern parts would compromise ‘er, Dameron. She’s good as she’s always been!” He stepped out into the hangar, Republic soldiers milling about, half armored and talking with each other excitedly.

    “As good as she’s- a ship that made the Kessel Run in twelve parsecs barely made it fifteen today!” Dameron yelled. Han stopped, draining his drink in one pull. He walked close to Poe, and handed him the empty glass.

    “Still better than your score, Captain.”

    Poe sighed mightily, looking down to the ground.

    “Captain Solo, you don’t realize how important you are to our fleets. If that ship fails...”

    “She won’t.” Han said simply, walking away to find Leia.

    Poe shook his head, looking down at the empty glass. At his feet, a round robot beeped out a familiar statement.

    “I do too, Be-Be-Eight. I do too.”


    An agony that burned like binary suns ripped its way along Finn’s arm; he roared in pain, dropping to a knee. How he wished he could rip this vision obscuring helmet off and bring the lightsaber in his hand down, bit by bit, ripping his opponent to shreds-

    “Stand, Trooper! Use your hate as fuel!” Phasma yelled. Finn began breathing heavily. There was fire in his veins, he felt visions of pain and agony at his own hand, he saw it... yet still, the brightest light shone in his soul, a force that seemed able to cleanse the evil... but the evil was overwhelming him. Rage crashed like a wave over him, yet he kept his eyes inward, on the light.

    His dueling partner fell to his blade.

    “Excellent!” The Supremus’s voice boomed through the chamber. “Phasma was right about you, boy... such latent power! Your hate... you will be an excellent addition to the First Legion. What say you?”

    Finn slipped the mask over the light. He had no choice.

    “It is an honor, Supremus Ren.”


    Luke was deep in concentration, sweat beading along his forehead, his eyes screwed shut. The grass underneath him swayed in an outward pattern, and pebbles lifted from the ground, drifting around him in a perfect circle. He was no longer sitting cross legged on the ground; rather, he was sitting cross legged on the air. He took a deep breath, and repeated a mantra three times.

    “Be with me. Be with me. Be with me.”

    He reached out, into that great, beautiful expanse of possibility that was the Force; a gentle offering of his hand. His eyes opened suddenly as he received his reply.

    “Father.” He said simply; the blue, semitransparent ghost of Anakin Skywalker stood before him, face unreadable. “Have you felt it?”

    “A shift like that doesn’t happen often, if ever. The only times it could’ve... the High Republic order faced one, according to Yoda. The... the Purge. But this? Such a sudden shift without a superweapon or mass murder? It is... unprecedented.”

    “I think I know what it is.” Luke said grimly, placing his hand up, palm facing upwards. A crumbling book floated softly into it, and opened. Anakin shook his head.

    “That... is not possible.”

    “They thought it wouldn’t be. They also believed the prophecies to be impossible. This shift in the Force...”

    “It has four corners,” Anakin said, more to himself.

    “A tetrad, destinies wound so tightly together that it would be near impossible to keep them apart.” Luke said. “The Force balancing itself. Repairing.”

    “You suggest there is a wound in the Force?”

    “Undetectable. A blade so sharp and precise that even we couldn’t feel it split the skin.”

    “And Ben...”

    “I don’t believe it’s him. I believe he is a mere pawn. A final vengeance.” Luke said, eyes communicating more meaning than his words. Anakin seemed to understand.

    “There isn’t much we can do, my son. But we will do what we can.” Anakin said simply, his mind clearly working hard.

    “One request, father.” Luke said as he felt the bond breaking. Anakin turned his full attention to his boy. “Please, speak to Ben.”


    A fork of red lightning struck the ground a mere few kilometers from Kylo, the loud blast muffled by his helmet. It kicked up a geyser of red earth from the surface of Korriban that dispersed in the powerful wind. Another figure, dressed similarly in stark black armor (though the details were different; where Kylo had designed a cleaner look, his opponent’s was far kitbashed from years of traversing abandoned galactic warfronts.

    “YOUR failure, Kylo!” The figure shouted, the scarlet blade of his lightsaber coming to life. Kylo tilted his head, his eyes trailing to the edge of their battlefield, where the Supremus rested upon a floating chair, Phasma standing beside him in her infernal armor. Kylo pressed a button on his helmet, unlocking it, and removing it. It dropped on the ground with a thud, followed by his shoulder pauldrons and cloak.

    “Perhaps you’d like to try tracking Skywalker, Ushar?” Kylo yelled, drawing his own saber. A golden blade flared to life, the crossguards also activating. The crystal, as of now unbleeded, was cracked, and the blade was fiery and unstable. “If you even had the power to do so.” Kylo knew that would press Ushar’s buttons, and assumed his fighting stance just as the Knight of Ren leapt forward with a raging scream.

    Kylo rolled out of the way of the wild strike, bringing his blade up- but Ushar was clever, though too clouded by his aggressive nature. He blocked the golden blade with his own red one. The Supremus watched his two Knights battle, his body language betraying no emotion.

    “They are powerful.” Phasma said, breaking the silence.

    “Indeed. But they are not without their failings.”

    The battle ended almost as quick as it began; as their blades clashed, Kylo twisted the hilt around, the sidevent just close enough to send the plasma into Ushar’s arm. He fell black with a roar, dropping his saber. Kylo approached, barely breaking a sweat, and brought his blade backwards, preparing for a mighty strike. Phasma could see, out of the corner of her eye, The Supremus lean forward ever so slightly, anticipation palpable. Kylo brought his blade down-

    But it stopped just short of Ushar’s throat. It was a mere second of hesitation, but from the corner of his eye, Kylo saw the prongs of bright blue light approaching him.


    Artoo beeped happily as he was lifted up into the X-wing, while Luke’s face was a mask of determination. Once in the cockpit, he set the coordinates, and Artoo beeped out an exclamation of surprise.

    “That’s right, buddy. We’re going to Coruscant.”
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  9. the-505th

    the-505th Jedi Youngling

    Dec 28, 2019
    The blue glow of hyperspace shone brightly on Luke’s face, though he paid the sight no mind. His eyes were closed; he was deep in focus. He was remembering them, each and every one of those young students who was kidnapped by the Supremus and his Knights.

    A young Chiss boy, precocious, named Khari. He had been found in an escape pod. No indication of his origin. He was a bright kid, with keen interest in the doctrines of the light side of the Force. He was precise and measured with his lightsaber as well, fighting an elegant and conservative style. Luke foresaw great things for the boy. He wondered if Khari was still alive- was he one of the Knights? Was he one of the force sensitive Sith troopers? Was he dead?

    A Zabrak girl by the name of Wai-ûn. She found success in her quiet and calm meditation. She had an uncanny ability to reach out into the Force and understand the meanings in its gentle roar. She had warned Luke of the oncoming assault, but he was too late to take action. He wondered what had become of her.

    Those two and countless more, taken away in an instant, slipped out from under Luke’s care as his temple burned. Now, it was as if he were there, that day; he held the ash in his mechanical hand, tears spilling down his face as the words I failed I failed I failed I failed I FAILED I FAILED repeated in his mind. Those students were his legacies. And it is now a legacy of failure.


    The whisper startled him, for he hadn’t heard it in many moons; the voice was gentle, an invitation to speak, not a demand.


    He feels the connection strengthen as she focuses on him. It was difficult for her to speak to him through the disruption of hyperspace, this he knew.

    “There’s a girl, here on Coruscant. She’s powerful, Luke. I’ve tried to teach her all I know, but you know as well as I that I was never made to train these students. She needs you.”

    Luke’s breath hitched, and his mind is back on those countless students. A shadow is over them, impenetrable and dark. This girl, he knew, was one of the tetrad; could she be the healer? Or was she the knight? The guardian? The fool?

    “Leia, I-“

    The connection severed with such a snap that Luke jumped in his seat; it felt like a fist was seizing his mind.

    “You old fool. She doesn’t know, does she?” Ben said. Luke screamed in agony- the boy was powerful, and the power was dark, and the power was his nephew, the power was his blood- R2 was beeping frantically- with a shaking hand, Luke dropped the ship out of hyperspace. The darkness receded- but all was not well.

    The white giant that was Ilum was before him, and above its atmosphere was the Archon, the massive flagship of the Sith Army. Luke took a deep breath, as the Sith fleet scrambled. He pushed the yoke forward, into certain battle.


    On the bridge of the Archon Supreme, Kylo felt triumph blaze in his heart as his mind returned from his mental castle. He almost allowed himself a smile. He relished Skywalker’s shock with a vindictive fury.

    “He’s doomed.” Kylo said to the other Knights. Ushar scowled.

    “Skywalker has dealt with bigger threats than an incomplete fleet of fighters that haven’t been battle tested.” Ushar grunted, voice dripping with condescension. Vicrul inclined his head, the old snake.

    “He’s right, Kylo.” Vicrul spoke slowly, fingers steepled. He chose his words carefully. “Skywalker has destroyed an entire battle station, in fact. Our fighters will disappoint the Supremus.”

    “Then I will crush him myself.” Kylo said simply; Trudgen perked up at this, his need for battle overwhelming.

    “WE crush him.” Trudgen says. The beast of a man watched the holographic display of the battle intensely. Cardo remained silent, pensive.

    Kylo watched as a fighter tailed Luke’s x-wing. The old Jedi was using every trick in the book to try and shake it off, but the pilot wasn’t having it. Kylo took note of the designation of the Sith pilot- FN-2187- and watched as the red blaster fire scorched the wing of a Luke’s ship, sending it careening wildly into the atmosphere.

    Kylo allowed himself a cold smile this time , as he turned on his heel and began walking to the hangar.


    “What do you see, Rey?” Leia asked simply. Rey regulated her breathing, but all she saw is darkness. Just the back of her eyelids. Leia could sense her frustration. “Focus on your breathing.” Rey did, and the frustration was cast aside, floating downstream in a hazy river. “Look inward, Rey. Cast your eye to your thoughts, allow them to drift, and follow it.” Leia took Rey’s hands in her own, squeezing lightly. Rey’s posture straightened. Her thoughts became focused. She could feel a Force come over her like a wave of cool water. “The Force will guide you, Rey. Don’t fight it.” Rey can sense Leia focus as well, their hands still linked. The feeling deepened; now she was floating in a lake the size of the universe, serenely. There are others, outside of the rooms they were in; Republic troopers. Diplomats. Generals and captains, flying aces. Citizens. Amongst them, there was hope, but there was also fear, both feelings balanced precariously on a scale, and the scale was the Force.

    It goes further.

    There are other planets, yes, but their roars are muffled by distance; yet Rey can feel the same sublime balance of hope and happiness, fear and sadness. Rey could feel herself smiling. If only Atran could’ve experienced this...

    “Luke...” Leia whispered, and suddenly Rey felt something different. They were elsewhere, a planet that sung to her in the Force, but it was clouded. Rey felt something- it was like a prickling on the back of her neck, the same feeling she’d get in her dreams. It was something dark. No- it was several somethings, the atoms that formed the cloud of darkness. And among that dark, a beacon of light- it was hope, and though it was only a feeling, Rey swore she could feel the warmth and see the brightness of it. Luke Skywalker was surrounded, Luke Skywalker was in danger.

    “Luke!” Leia shouted, and both she and Rey startled, almost pushed away from each other by the severing of the connection. Leia seemed pale, as she stood and hurried to the door. Rey felt shock washing over her.

    The bright light had begun crashing from the sky.


    “Captain Solo, sir. You lead us with this ship and it’ll fall apart! That fleet is composed of state-of-the-art starfighters.” Poe said angrily, strapping in his flight suit. Han looked away from the man, frustration bubbling up. This wasn’t the time for Poe to start criticizing his ship, not now, not with Luke in danger.

    “If I hear anything more out of you about the Falcon, you’ll be demoted, you hear me? Fall in line, kid.” Han walked up the ramp into his ship, seating himself in the cockpit. Chewbacca roared.

    “You’re right, Chewie. That was harsh, Han.” Leia said from her seat. Han shook his head.

    “Kid’s a know-nothing. This ship’s still got it, and this ship’ll save Luke from those damned Sith-whatevers.” Han said, sparing a look at Leia. Despite the grim situation, she had a hint of that look of amusement she’d get whenever Han got riled up. Shaking his head, he began maneuvering the Falcon out of the hangar.

    In the seat behind Han, Rey watched in amazement as the Falcon made the hyperspace jump. Han and Chewbacca controlled the ship with expert precision, and though it quaked and sparked, she felt safe in the capable hands. Beside her, Leia’s eyes were closer, and under her breath, she chanted a mantra.

    “Be with me. Be with me. Be with me.”

    PART ONE: The Anteinferno
  10. WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Game Host star 7 VIP - Game Host

    Aug 31, 2004
    Superbly poignant and riveting
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  11. the-505th

    the-505th Jedi Youngling

    Dec 28, 2019
    thank you very much! I’m on a bit of a tear with writing so the next chapter should be up by the end of the week. Thank you for reading :)
    WarmNyota_SweetAyesha likes this.