The ruins of Malachor V were still, the silence broken only by the low hum of distant power conduits and the whisper of ash swirling through the ancient halls. The Sith Academy stood like a wound in the Force, pulsing with memories of agony and death. Darth Sion, Lady of Pain, stood on cracked stone, the crimson light of her saber reflecting in the broken mirror of her skin.

She had felt the tremor, someone strong, but lost. The kind the dark side loved to seduce. One with a promising future.

*The heavy doors groaned open. A young figure stepped into the chamber, cloaked, uncertain. Sion turned slowly, her fractured face unreadable as she looked at her apprentice.

“You are late.” Her voice was sharp, but not loud. “Explain.”