The last dawn over Lothal bled pale gold across the plains as the ship lifted from its berth. Dust spiraled outward in slow, graceful rings, scattering the loth-cats and sending banners snapping against their moorings. Within moments, the ground fell away, familiar towers shrinking into geometry and memory as the vessel angled skyward.
At the controls sat Daxium Ryiah , or rather, the careful lie of him. His posture was perfect: shoulders squared, hands steady on the yoke, eyes fixed forward with the calm focus any Jedi might wear. Even the faint, scared runes along his wrist were there, replicated down to the smallest imperfection. But behind the borrowed face, something else watched the stars with patient, predatory intent. The imposter allowed himself a thin smile as Lothal slipped into the curve of the horizon
The ship cleared atmosphere and leapt into hyperspace.
Behind the sealed door of the small bedroom, Jedi Master Katarine Ryiah lay bound and unconscious, her presence in the Force muted to a distant ember. Coarse binders held her wrists and ankles, humming faintly with a suppression field tuned precisely, enough to keep her contained, not enough to draw attention. A loose strand of hair clung to her cheek, rising and falling with shallow breaths. She dreamed, perhaps, of sunlight and open skies, unaware of how far those things had already fallen behind.
The imposter did not look back.
He adjusted the nav coordinates with practiced ease, fingers moving as though they had done this a thousand times before. The course was set, threaded through shadowed lanes and forgotten routes, far from Republic eyes. His destination burned bright in his thoughts: Black Spire Outpost, a crossroads of secrets and sins, where loyalty was measured in silence and power answered only to the bold.
And there, waiting in the spires of obsidian and neon, was his master.
The ship surged forward, swallowed by the blue-white rush of hyperspace. Lothal vanished completely, leaving only the hum of engines, the weight of a stolen identity, and a Jedi Master carried helpless toward a meeting she was never meant to attend.
The heat of Black Spire Outpost pressed in on the ship as it settled onto the landing pad, engines whining down amid the distant cries of merchants and the low thunder of passing freighters. Jagged obsidian towers clawed at the sky, their edges lit by sickly neon and drifting ash. This place fed on secrets, and it never went hungry.
The man who wore Daxium Ryiah's face disembarked without haste.
He moved through the outpost's shadowed corridors, past wary eyes and creatures who knew better than to ask questions. No one stopped him. Some instincts were older than courage. At the end of a private docking spur, a narrow ramp extended toward a ship that looked more like a relic than a vessel, its hull dark, scarred, and etched with symbols worn smooth by time.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and old incense.
She waited in a high-backed chair, draped in layers of black and crimson fabric that had once been fine. Lady Sinistra was ancient, her body bent and withered, her skin pale and thin as parchment. Wisps of hair, once a vivid red, now clung to her scalp in brittle strands of white and rust. Her eyes, however, burned with undiminished fire.
He dropped to one knee.
"Well done," Sinistra rasped, her voice dry but rich with satisfaction. "You have brought her to me at last."
The imposter gestured back toward the corridor. "She lives. Unconscious. Bound and dampened, as you instructed."
A smile crept slowly across Sinistra's lips. Hunger. Triumph. Something far older than either. "Take me to her."
He carried Katarine Ryiah through the ship's narrow halls, her body limp in his arms, her presence in the Force flickering like a dying star. Sinistra's gaze never left her, not once, as they entered the private chamber at the heart of the vessel. The old woman reached out, skeletal fingers brushing Katarine's temple with something almost like reverence.
"Still breathing," Sinistra murmured. "Good."
The imposter hesitated. "There is more, my lady. Vanagor was not alone. Jedi came with him. They will follow. Perhaps not immediately, but they will."
Sinistra's expression did not change. "Of course they will."
She turned away, already anticipating the hunt. "Leave her here. Return to me."
He laid Katarine gently upon the prepared berth and withdrew. When he returned to the antechamber, Sinistra studied him in silence for a long moment. Then she inclined her head.
"You may take your true form."
The disguise melted.
Bones shifted with a wet, unnatural sound. Flesh flowed and reknit itself, the familiar face of Daxium dissolving into something leaner, gray-skinned, and sharp-featured. The Clawdite stood revealed at last, eyes dark and unblinking, his natural form bowed respectfully before her.
"It is an honor to serve you, Lady Sinistra," he said. "But I do not understand. I have worn Daxium Ryiah's face flawlessly. I am loyal. I am committed. Why seek the original, when I have been… sufficient?"
Sinistra rose slowly from her chair.
"Because," she said softly, "you are a mask."
The Force surged.
The Clawdite barely had time to widen his eyes before invisible pressure crushed his chest. He staggered, clawing at the air, choking as the power wrapped around him like a vice. Sinistra's face twisted, not with rage, but with cold certainty.
"You were useful," she continued, voice steady as his bones cracked. "But usefulness is not destiny."
With a sharp, cruel gesture, she closed her hand.
The Clawdite fell, lifeless, his body collapsing into its natural shape for the last time.
Sinistra did not look back.
She returned to her private chamber, to the unconscious form of Katarine Ryiah. Outside, the distant sounds of Black Spire Outpost carried on, unaware that something ancient had just slipped its leash. Sinistra's ship began its quiet preparations, engines humming low, coordinates already set for places unmarked and unnamed.
The Jedi would come.
Let them.
She would be gone, carrying one half of a prophecy with her, and hunting the other through the dark, until the twins were reunited… alive, and exactly where she wanted them.
To Be Continued...
