Thyferra belonged to the Sith. The High Republic had been driven from the bacta world, its positions broken and its hold over the alazhi fields severed. Refineries that had supplied one war machine now supplied another, Imperial vessels occupied the skies, and Sith forces had settled comfortably into the territory they had taken. There would be time enough for reconstruction, consolidation, and whatever came next. For one night, victory was reason enough to do something considerably less practical with the spoils.
The Feast of Shadows spread across one of Thyferra's captured agricultural estates like a carnival that had arrived several centuries too late and decided to stay anyway. Crimson lanterns hung between harvesting towers while striped tents and temporary stalls crowded the grounds below. Music carried over the fields alongside the smell of roasting meats, spiced drinks, smoke, and sweets imported from half a dozen worlds. Performers worked the midway beneath glowing signs, games promised prizes of increasingly questionable value, and a massive observation wheel turned slowly above it all with its passenger cars illuminated red against the night.
Costumes were encouraged, masks almost expected. Ancient Sith, infamous monsters, fallen Jedi, dead emperors, and exaggerated versions of living Sith wandered the grounds together while the identities beneath some disguises remained deliberately unclear. Nobody had forbidden anyone from arriving dressed as a member of the Dark Council. Common sense was expected to handle what regulations did not.
At the center of the carnival waited.
The Black Masquerade, though there was little formal about it. Music, drinking, dancing, costumes, and the usual collection of conversations that became much more interesting once people stopped pretending Sith gatherings were ever entirely social filled the open pavilion. Those interested in judging one another more openly could enter the costume competition, while everyone else was free to enjoy the spectacle or become part of it.
Those looking for something darker could leave the lights of the carnival behind and enter the Haunted Halls. A section of the estate had been converted into a winding passage of Sith relics, illusions, alchemical displays, spectral projections, and carefully arranged scares. The organizers insisted everything within had been planned. They were considerably less convincing when asked why several sealed doors had begun opening on their own before the attraction officially started.
The final diversion was Tribute or Torment, a tradition invented specifically for the evening and already being treated as though the Sith had observed it for centuries. Guests could move among participating stalls and chambers demanding tribute in the form of sweets, drinks, small prizes, favors, or curiosities. Those who refused were expected to accept a harmless torment in return, which left considerable room for interpretation among Sith.
Nothing about the Feast of Shadows was intended to become another battle for Thyferra. The weapons were supposed to stay mostly sheathed, the creatures were supposed to remain where they had been placed, and whatever wandered the Haunted Halls was supposed to be part of the attraction.
Supposed to be.
For tonight, however, the battered world belonged to the victorious, the carnival was open, and the shadows were invited too.
