Booked
The barren winds of Orinackra howled across the jagged stone, carrying with them a dry, metallic tang that clung to Kaivaan's throat. Dust and ash churned in the air, blanketing the crumbling remains of Ozzuk Thren in an oppressive gloom. Kaivaan squinted against the dim light of the arena, his hand tightening around the basic dagger he had been issued. He wasn't sure if he should feel insulted or relieved by its simplicity.
The holomap flickered to life in his other hand, casting faint green light across his face and the jagged rubble around him. A crimson coin rested in a hidden pouch inside his tunic. He had been dropped onto the western outskirts of the arena—a vast expanse of ruined skyscrapers that had collapsed into one another like the ribs of a fallen beast. The labyrinthine paths between the skeletal remains offered both concealment and danger, each shadow a potential ambush.
Kaivaan drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The Trials were infamous, and the weight of expectation hung heavy on his shoulders. This wasn't just about survival; it was about proving his worth to the Sith Order, the Tsis'Kaar, and even his own family. He wasn't oblivious to the holocams trained on the arena, broadcasting his every move to the galaxy. Somewhere out there, his grandmother was watching, and he was determined to show her that he wasn't just a fledgling Force user fumbling through his lessons.
Atlas, his faithful canine companion, was nowhere to be found; pets weren't permitted in the Trials. Neither was Dee, his droid. Kaivaan was utterly alone, and the silence pressed down on him, amplifying the distant screams and growls that echoed through the ruins. Somewhere to the north, he knew, lay the Obelisk of Ozzuk, the Trials' final destination. Reaching it wouldn't just mark him as a survivor—it would define him as a force to be reckoned with.
The first step, however, was securing resources. The holomap flickered, highlighting potential supply caches scattered throughout the arena. One wasn't far, tucked into what appeared to be a collapsed metro station. A good place to start—and likely already crawling with other participants.
Kaivaan slipped through the wreckage with a care born of instinct and training. He kept his profile low, moving from shadow to shadow, his dagger poised in a defensive grip. The air was thick with tension, every breath laced with the anticipation of an attack. As he approached the station, the faint sound of movement reached his ears—a shuffle of feet, the scrape of metal against stone.
He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. The Trials had begun, and Kaivaan knew better than to let his guard down. Adopting a controlled stance, he pressed himself against the jagged remains of a wall, craning his neck to peer around the edge.
The station entrance was half-buried under rubble, its yawning maw framed by twisted metal beams and weathered stone. A faint, flickering red light shone from within, casting eerie shadows that danced across the crumbled stairwell. A figure moved in the gloom, barely more than a silhouette. They hadn't seen him yet. Kaivaan's grip tightened on his dagger, the weight of the crimson coin at his hip suddenly feeling much heavier.
He hesitated, scanning the scene. The figure disappeared deeper into the shadows, leaving the path momentarily clear. Kaivaan exhaled slowly and advanced, his footfalls muffled by years of training. The air grew colder as he descended the stairs, the faint hum of energy drawing him toward a sealed door at the far end of the platform.
A glowing control panel was embedded in the wall beside it, its screen displaying a cryptic sequence of symbols. Kaivaan frowned, studying the display. The symbols shifted and shimmered like quicksilver, rearranging themselves into fragments of an ancient Sith script. He groaned inwardly. Of course, it's Sith. What else would it be?
The symbols felt familiar, fragments of lessons he had struggled through under his grandmother's guidance. Taeli Raaf's voice echoed in his memory, calm and assured. "Sith puzzles are rarely brute force affairs, Kaivaan. They demand logic, creativity, and knowledge of the Dark Side's deeper truths. To unlock their secrets, you must think, not merely act."
He muttered under his breath, "Thanks, Grandmother. No pressure."
The symbols formed a sequence of six pairs, one slot remaining blank. At the bottom of the screen, several more symbols awaited selection. The challenge was clear: complete the sequence by identifying the missing pair. The wrong choice could mean failure—or worse, a trap.
"The Dark thrives in chaos, but even chaos has its rules," he murmured, repeating Taeli's words. His eyes landed on a symbol representing entropy and matched it with its counterpart—renewal. He tapped the symbols on the screen.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a hiss of escaping air, the door slid open. Relief swept through him, but it was short-lived.
A low growl reverberated from the shadows beyond the door. Kaivaan's hand snapped to his dagger as a hulking Sithspawn stepped into the flickering light. Its grotesque form—half-beast, half-machine—glinted with serrated edges and glowing eyes that locked onto him with predatory intent.
Kaivaan's pulse quickened, but he steadied his breath. He had solved the first challenge. Now, he faced the second. Taeli's voice echoed once more: "Power isn't brute strength alone, Kaivaan. It's knowing when to strike, and when to wait."
He shifted into a defensive stance, his mind racing. The Trials weren't only testing his body—they were testing his mind.
And he wasn't about to let them break him.
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