If there's a reason I'm still alive Who: Darth Bel’lah, the Empire’s Wrath What: Exploring the ruins of Korriban Where: Sith Academy, Korriban (Moraband) Warnings: So much Sith angst.
Though she had been born and raised on Ziost, Bel’lah had always considered the sands of Korriban to be her true home. Even from inside her ship, she could feel its power and energy calling to her, the pulse of its history running through her veins. Still, caution had ruled her first days here: still recovering from three and a half millennia of being frozen in carbonite, she had spent her first waking hours in the infirmary, as 2V-R8 tended to her with injections and tests. Her vision returned first, although it took the better part of two days. Her strength took even more time, although she felt it growing as she sequestered herself in her quarters to meditate and channel the power of the Force back into her being.
R8 had sent out messages to see who (or what) might be inhabiting the area now. Initial scans of the planet during their descent had shown no major hubs of civilization, nor any concentrated signs of life except for what Bel’lah suspected to be nests of k’lor’slugs. Her first message on the old Imperial channels had failed to raise a response, which hardly surprised her. The next message had been a wider broadcast to the planet and anything else nearby in the system; this had actually yielded a response from a troop commander, representing the latest incarnation of the Empire in the so-called “First Order”. The name seemed a little dramatic to Bel’lah, but she was at least grateful to know that some semblance of her Empire had survived. Hopefully this version was less plagued by the petty feuds and narcissism of the moffs and other Sith lords that had threatened to undo all her work to preserve the Empire, even without Vitiate’s leadership.
Vitiate. Valkorion. Her fists curled in fury at the very thought of his names, the dark side flowing through her, feeding on her hatred for her former master. It had been so satisfying to drive her lightsaber through his chest, even with everything that had happened after. She should have suspected Arcann’s treachery, the opportunity he presented having been too good to pass on. Pure rage had blinded her, after watching Darth Marr murdered before her eyes, after being treated by Valkorion as his pet... It was a mistake she had savored, but one she swore to never repeat. Why Arcann hadn’t simply struck her down for her crime, she might never know, but his arrogance in freezing her seemed to have granted her a second chance.
Of course, she owed that chance to her crew. Much as she had wanted to kill Quinn for his betrayal, she had no doubt that his brilliant mind was responsible for much of the mission’s success. She’d reviewed what little recording existed; Vette had at least had enough forethought to leave a message in the ship’s computer for her to find, from which Bel’lah had learned most of the operation’s details. Dear Vette, Bel’lah thought as she pored over the plan. R8 had filled in the gaps, such as that it had been the feisty Twi’lek who had programmed the ship’s final course, returning it to Korriban and the Dark Council. It seemed to be the will of the Force that the scavengers had awoken her so close to her destination.
The Fury had ultimately set down in the space that had been the Academy’s landing pad. From what R8 had described to her from the viewscreen, the main structure of the temple appeared to be mostly intact. Now that she was able to move on her own, she had decided to investigate just how correct that assessment had been. The plan was simple enough: make her way to the academy, find any still operable parts that she might use to repair the Fury’s hyperdrive, and clear a spot for R8 to land the ship within the building. Failing that, she might at least learn about some of what had transpired over the last 3,700 years from whatever records still remained.
The path through the Valley of the Dark Lords had long been washed away by centuries of winds and sandstorms. Still, the peak of the Academy’s central pyramid still rose toward the reddened sky, the distant pulse of dark power calling to her like a homing beacon. Her right hand ready to reach for her lightsaber on a moment’s notice, she couldn’t help but be drawn back to the memory of her last visit to Korriban, when the Republic had invaded in an unwitting cover for the twisted Revanites. She had cut down so many commandos and Jedi in her attempt to reclaim the Academy, but for what? How long had it really managed to survive in the face of Vitiate’s madness and Arcann’s war?
Below her, she heard an all too familiar rustling and hissing, the shifting sands that had plagued her time here as an acolyte returning underfoot. Summoning the power of the Force, she launched herself straight up, returning to the ground with a shockwave powerful enough to kill all but the largest of the swarm of k’lor’slugs that had burrowed up through the sands around her. In the blink of an eye, she had cut through the remaining creatures, watching with grim satisfaction as they fell to pieces under her orange-yellow blade. If they have survived all this time, perhaps others have as well, she mused, returning her saber to her belt. After all, in her lifetime the tombs of the Sith Lords had echoed with the shrieks of shyracks, and she had yet to forget the dull pain of the pelkobug barbs used in combat training. Then of course there were the tuk’ata, which had always given her pause, and not simply because of their fearsome demeanor.
If life still perseveres here, it means that the Force is still present, she thought to herself as she trudged ever closer to the Academy. And if the Force is still strong, then perhaps the Sith can be rebuilt from whatever they have become in this time. She had yet to learn the true fate of her race and her Empire, but from the brief conversation she’d held with Captain Phasma, she was certain it would not be a triumphant revelation. That the First Order had been compelled to base their operations in the Unknown Regions was signal enough that the Republic – or whatever it had become – still held the core worlds. Although the fact that Korriban had not been completely decimated told her that the Republic’s hold on power continued to be tenuous at best, likely held back by the same political infighting and corruption that had plagued it in her time.
Shadow fell over her face as reached the main entrance of the Academy, the great pyramid soaring overhead. For a moment, she was once again overcome by the same sense of awe that had filled her when she first arrived from Ziost. It had been a lifetime since that day, when she was still so young and arrogant, sure that the Force had already provided her all the power and knowledge she would ever need. What a foolish child I was, she thought, shaking her head as she climbed the last pathway to the entrance.
Debris and boulders had blocked most of the way, forcing her to wind her way through the gaps she could fit through, and climb over the obstacles she could not otherwise pass. The great entry was dim, lit only by what sunlight managed to find its way inside. Bel’lah pulled a glowlamp from her belt, holding it high as she turned it on to survey what lay ahead. She remembered being saluted by Imperial troops as she passed by; even as a lowly acolyte they had fallen to one knee in recognition of her power, her superiority. Now dust and wreckage were all that was left to greet her.
The great obelisk had managed to stay mostly intact, looming over the main chamber of the Academy’s first level. Bel’lah paused as she approached, delicately removing a glove so that she could run her bare fingers over the inscription. Nwûl tash. Dzwol shâsotkun. Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk. Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan. Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha. Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak. Wonoksh Qyâsik nun. They had just been words to her when she was a child, an ancient recitation drilled into her just as fiercely as she had been conditioned for combat. It had seemed pointless to her then; proud as she was to be a true Sith, the language was only ever spoken by scholars obsessed with archaic texts and rituals. What use was it to a warrior?
“Master, if my memory banks are functioning properly, I believe there should be a hangar bay on the third level.” 2V-R8’s voice chimed in through the comlink mounted in her armor. Reluctantly, she pulled her glove back on, headed toward the stairs leading to the second level.
“R8, can you detect any power readings?” she asked, ascending the steep steps. “Is the turbolift still operable?”
“I will try to assess its usability now,” R8 responded. In the background she could hear the ship’s scanners and computers working to provide an answer. There was more structural damage, much of it similar to what she remembered seeing after the Revanite’s attack. The Dark Council had declared that they had recovered from the incident, and as she had been preoccupied with the hunt for Vitiate, she hadn’t much cared to verify if the claims were true. Then again, it hardly surprised her to learn that the Council had lied for appearance’s sake.
It’s better that they are all dead, she told herself, examining the debris for a path to the turbolift’s entrance.
“Master, according to the schematic in the ship’s databank, there should be an emergency power source located near the lift controls.” Bel’lah began to climb over the rubble until she reached the control panel, feeling around until she came across a switch. The turbolift hummed to life.
“Now let’s just hope I don’t get stuck in this thing,” she muttered, stepping inside. The ride was blessedly short, if fairly choppy for the distance, and before long she was stepping out into the corridor that led to the Dark Council’s chambers on one end, and the Council’s private landing bay on the other. Both paths appeared to be clear, which Bel’lah took to be an encouraging sign that the landing area might likewise have been spared from further destruction.
As she made her way down the darkened corridor, she could feel a presence behind her, pulling her toward the chambers. It was enough to make her pause, her gaze drawn back to the chamber doors. One thing at a time, she told herself, and pressed on to the platform. The doors had locked down, but the same emergency power system seemed to have been installed, and it wasn’t long before she was standing in the middle of the empty landing pad.
“R8, the space appears to be clear,” she informed the droid, looking around. “There are several crates of equipment here, although you’re likely to know better than I which might involve hypderdrive repair.”
“Your flattery is very generous, master,” R8 replied. “Shall I bring the ship to your position?”
“Yes,” Bel’lah ordered. “I’m going to investigate the Council’s chambers. There may yet be some clue as to what fate befell our Empire.”
A scowl darkened her features as she returned inside, marching straight for the doors to the chamber, which she parted with a wave of her hands. She could feel the presence pulling at the edges of her cloak, trying to pierce through her armor. Its voice rushed around the room like a sudden wind, carrying with it a dark fury she knew all too well.
“I killed you in this room once before, Baras,” she growled in reply. “Don’t think I can’t do it again.”
All around her, the air whipped about, creating a cyclone within the chamber that seemed to disappear into the ceiling, leaving behind the ominous echo of laughter. It only proved to infuriate Bel’lah more. That her first master had lingered in this space, waiting for her return, was an insult. She thought that his destruction had been complete.
Letting the anger burn, she approached the computer terminal at the back of the chamber, blowing a cloud of dust from it. It still appeared operable, although she had her doubts about how long; she skimmed through some of the newer records while downloading as much information as she could to a data crystal that had been left behind. From what she could discern, her theories seemed to have proven correct: an Empire destroyed by outside forces as well as from within, resurrected and fallen again. A seemingly unbreakable pattern.
Bel’lah hung her head as the screen flashed log after log as it processed them to the crystal, resting her weight against the console. All she knew in life was to be Sith, in blood and in name. She had only ever had one purpose: to serve her master, whether it was Baras, or Vitiate, or the great Empire itself. But my great Empire has crumbled into nothing. What does that leave me?
Around her, the walls began to shake, dust showering down as her growing grief and anger flowed through into the Force. Her fists clenched against the console, as it chimed the completion of the download. She snatched the crystal from its port, stowing it safely on her belt, and turned back to the rest of the chamber. It was still lined with the ornate seats of the Dark Council, an ostentation that had survived when so precious little else had. She could feel the whisper coming back, blowing softly at her ear, teasing her, prodding her.
“Enough,” she bellowed, the Force carrying her wrath through her voice, reducing one of the seats to rubble. Still, she seethed, the weight of centuries finally beginning to bear down on her. It may have seemed a blessing, to have been so well preserved and freed from Zakuul’s hold. But what did it matter when everything she had known, everyone she had cared for, all that she had lived for now lay in ruin?
“Master, I have the most excellent news!” R8’s tinny voice shook her from her rage. She took a breath, feeling the dark side ebb away from its concentrated state as her muscles relaxed one by one, her mind returning to the moment at hand.
“What is it?” she sighed into the comlink, turning to leave the chamber behind.
“I believe I’ve located the appropriate components to bring the hyperdrive back on line! It appears that even with the significant passage of time, they have been well-protected from the elements, and should still be functional. Glory to the Empire!”
“Well done, R8.”
Bel’lah strode back down the corridor, now able to see the Fury sitting on the landing pad as 2V-R8 milled around the various crates that had been left behind. With her hyperdrive repaired, she could meet with Captain Phasma and others of the First Order, and begin to put the pieces of the past three and a half millennia together. She might begin to reclaim her place in this galaxy, if such a position even remained. Without an Empire to serve, was she now simply the Wrath, left to wander and render herself upon whomever she saw fit?
Oh, Lana, she thought sadly. What counsel might you give me now?
“Master, if it’s not too much trouble, I require some assistance in moving the necessary parts into the ship.” R8 stood next to a stack of crates stamped with the old Imperial crest, waiting expectantly. “I’m afraid I have no capacity for heavy loading.”
“Of course,” Bel’lah obliged, picking up one of the crates to carry it up the ramp into the ship. She could help but smile as she lowered the crate onto the deck in the engine room, amused by her lack of resistance to performing simple, manual labor. The most powerful Sith Lord of her time, a warrior and a symbol respected and feared across the galaxy, and here she was loading engine parts like a pallet-droid.
I suppose I could find always a future there, she thought, giving a short, darkly amused huff of laughter. Darth Bel’lah’s Wrathful Hauling.
“I apologize that I cannot be of more assistance in this matter,” R8 said, joining her in the engine room after she’d finished moving the necessary parts inside. “Although I do possess fully detailed schematics for the Fury in my memory banks.”
“Tell me what to fix, R8,” Bel’lah ordered, having swapped her environmental suit and armor for more casual clothing that was easier to work in. The sleeves of her tunic rolled up to her elbows, she let her hands rest on her hips, ready to start. “I think I should be able to follow instructions well enough.”
“Very good, master!” R8 declared, calling up the necessary information from his memory banks. “First, you will need a hydrospanner...”