Tenchi muyo | Black Dawn

Chapter 2

Clade trudged toward the school, the weight of frustration evident in every step. The old man at the shrine—who even was he? No matter how hard Clade tried, the Force seemed to slide off him like water over stone, unaffected and unimpressed. The promise mocked him: Defeat me with the wooden sword, and your lightsaber will be yours again. Months had passed, and despite relentless training and countless attempts, he hadn’t managed to land a single blow.

The humiliation stung. He was Darth Umbar, the youngest Sith ever to claim the title of Darth at only ten years old, feared and revered across the stars. Yet here, on this unremarkable planet, an old man wielding a simple wooden sword made him look like a child playing at combat.

“Hey, Clade,” a cheerful voice called, snapping him from his dark thoughts. Tone, her bright eyes filled with mischief, sidled up to him. “I know that look. What's weighing you down today?”

He scowled but kept walking. “The old man at the shrine. I can’t even touch him, no matter how hard I try.”

Tone’s laughter was light, teasing. “Sounds like a you problem,” she said, giving him a playful nudge.

Clade’s sigh was deep and weary, but he felt a small smirk tug at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “Thanks for the reminder,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as they passed through the school gates.

Together, they walked into the building, the morning sun casting long shadows behind them. The halls were buzzing with the chatter of students, oblivious to the battles Clade fought both outside and within. If only they knew what he truly was, if only they could see the might he once wielded. But here, for now, he was just Clade Tython, a brooding new kid trying to solve the mystery of an infuriating old man and earn back the symbol of his power.

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In the cold silence of space, Ryoko stirred from her deep sleep, her eyes flickering open as a soft, insistent light pulsed across the control panel of her ship, Ryo-Ohki. The light signaled a distress beacon—something so improbable that it made her heart skip a beat. Narrowing her eyes, she brought up the holographic display, and the data confirmed it: a Sith warship’s distress signal.

The grin that spread across Ryoko's face was one of pure, wicked delight. “A Sith warship, huh? Thought those relics were wiped out after the Battle of Jurai seven centuries ago,” she murmured, the thrill of discovery crackling through her like lightning. The mere thought of finding an intact Sith warship, or even better, a surviving Sith, sent her mind racing. The fortune that could be made auctioning off such a prize was unimaginable. Sith artifacts were rare, but an entire warship? That would bring every collector, crime lord, and dark arts enthusiast out of the woodwork, ready to pay a king's ransom.

Licking her lips, Ryoko keyed in the coordinates and set a course for the beacon’s location, the hum of Ryo-Ohki vibrating beneath her feet. “Looks like we’re in for a little treasure hunt, partner,” she whispered to the ship, her grin growing sharper. The ship responded with a chirp, as if sharing her excitement.

As the stars stretched into white lines and the ship shot forward into hyperspace, Ryoko’s mind played through the possibilities. If the ship was as intact as she hoped, she could sell it piece by piece or, perhaps, use it as leverage for even more ambitious schemes. And if a Sith still lived aboard after all these centuries... well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

“Time to see if legends and old ghosts are worth their weight in credits,” she said to herself, eyes glinting with anticipation. The thrill of the unknown surged through her veins.

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The rhythmic crack of wooden blades echoed through the dojo as Tone and Clade engaged in a swift, precise sparring match. The afternoon sun cast long beams of light across the polished floor, highlighting their focused expressions and the sweat beading on their brows. Over the past few months, Tone had grown close to Clade, drawn by the enigmatic aura that surrounded him. There was something unexplainable about him—a power, both fierce and mysterious, wrapped in a personality that was as aloof as it was compelling.