Private How High You Climb

[Calyx Sundrift]

T H R O N E -S P I R E
T H E -D R E A D -F O R T R E S S

The spiral staircase of the central tower was wide enough for twelve men to climb beside each other. It coiled endlessly upward, its heights bathing in the crimson glow of bloodpane windows. Far above, the upper tiers burned in scarlet light. Down here at the base, there were only shadows.

The tower itself was an allegory for the Sith power structure. The stronger you became, the more esteem you earned, and the higher you were permitted to ascend.

And Calyx stood at the very bottom. Just another acolyte clawing for survival within the Covenant.

It had been a year since the vampiric Sith had abducted him. A year since his forced recruitment into their ranks. The assignments, punishments, and endless drills had been brutal, but Kessel had hardened him long before the Covenant ever laid hands on him. His Jedi training had helped as well, though he kept those instincts buried best he could.

But survival had little to do with the work itself. The true danger came from the people around him.

The overseers demanded constant gratitude for the privilege of learning under them. Those like him, who were quite poor with authority, often dealt with their ire. Meanwhile, the acolytes formed vicious little packs, circling anyone who stood out too quickly. They flocked to strength, playing cutthroat games that reminded Calyx uncomfortably of the gang wars back on Troithe.

On Thrantin, anyone new who showed too much promise rarely survived the month. The academy’s reputation as the deadliest in the Covenant had been earned many times over.
Yet somehow, Calyx had endured.

With streaks of cunning, he had eliminated every rival who came after him. Some had fallen publicly, broken in sanctioned duels. Others had simply disappeared. A year of defiance on Thrantin had earned him this - a transfer to the dark stronghold of Byss. Doomed to serve. A slave again, no different from what he had been on Kessel.

Never again.

He had made that vow long ago.

I’d rather die.

So he set his mind upon one final act of defiance. A last insult hurled at the path fate had forced upon him.

He placed a foot upon the first blackstone step.

Then the next.

And the next.

Confident. Chin raised. Eyes challenging the crimson above him.

He would climb as far as they allowed him. And when they tried to drag him back down, they would have to do it by force.

Lysander von Ascania