Star Wars: The Hidden Shadow

Chapter 1 - Lost In the Wind

Nothing else lived on Korriban's bleak volcanic terrain, so that left distracting question in Shadow's mind: why was a voice tangled up in the wind? The shrill that belonged to a woman filled to the brim of terror from an unknown threat.

This wasn't the first time he heard her, oh no. Each time, when the faint noise reached his ears, an enigmatic guilt pressed against his chest. He didn't understand why he felt guilty at all; he didn't know her. But then again, that is all the voice was: faint. So distant and brief, it left him wondering it was all in his head. Here on Korriban, it was just him and his master, Orron – no one else.

But today, the stranger's voice sounded different; it sounded close.

Because of her he broke the steady, aggressive rhythm of his hand-to-hand combat drills. Like a hook, her voice reeled in his attention. Involuntarily, his eyes jerked over his shoulders and he listened carefully to the wind as it continued snaking through the dry valley. The Valley of the Dark Lords sheltered nothing but ghosts, their ghoulish ambiance living freely on the planet. Shadow was certainly convinced he was just hearing a ghost.

There's no way I'm crazy. This shit's in my head.

His mind needed to focus on other things, better things. As quick as he was to pause and listen, he quietly resumed his drills. The rhythm and fierce movement returned to him all at once, muscle memory from the time he was eight. It'd been ten years since he was once seen as the reluctant apprentice, but now his master was proud to deem him as the eager one, along with everyone else. Shadow imagined a target and leaped, sweeping his leg smoothly into the air, and imagined his heel slamming into the target's temple. He threw out different combinations of strikes: right hooks, left hooks, elbow strikes and knee strikes; occasionally high and low kicks, feigning some foreleg blocks. He didn't stop even when the ache of his muscles begged him to.

If he was to practice for several hours, he was to practice for several hours. But that was the consequences of distraction. That confounding voice bringing him into loads of trouble with his master! Korriban's sun stood pressing against his bare back, giving the thin sweat layered over his pockmarked skin a soft sheen. Lucky for him, the wind managed to help him stay cool.

His dark lightsaber hilt tapped consistently against his hip, as if reminding him that it was there if he ever planned to use it. This didn't seem like the appropriate time to, but his master insisted that he kept it on him at all times. Anything could go wrong out there.

Shadow's mind wandered back to the woman's scream. He asked questions he repeatedly asked himself, but he never found answers; his mind just couldn't supply them. He thought back, to years before he started training in the Sith traditions, but his mind only turned up blank pages. Everything seemed...fuzzy. Like the blackout kind of fuzzy.

Suddenly, his legs flew out from under him and his back thudded unto the ground. His head thwacked into the dirt soon after. He flinched, rolled slowly to his knees, rubbing the back of his head and feeling the sweat that made his dark hair feel greasier than before. His green eyes lifted up and met the bright, gilded stare that belonged to Orron Pellis. And he did not look pleased.

"What have I told you about repetitive strikes?" Orron's deep voice boomed.

"Makes me predictable," Shadow replied in a voice just above a whisper. He hated sounding small, but in order to maintain a respectful tone he needed to speak beneath his master's louder voice.

"And what do I see here? I've seen you do the same right hook in the last five minutes!"

Has it really been that long? Shadow thought, wondering how far gone he was in his mind.