317 BBY
Bespin

   Nyxea felt very uncomfortable.
   She was unsure how anyone was meant to walk in these shoes, let alone fight in them if need be. Were it not for her extensive physical training, she could never summon the balance to coordinate on the high heels. The glittering violet gown she was forced to wear was constricting and clumsy, especially the flowing skirt that caught around her legs whenever she turned. She detested the makeup on her face, applied just so she wouldn’t draw unwanted attention.
  Nevertheless, she was drawing attention, and that was what she hated the most. The eyes of many an intergalactic socialite fell upon the pale girl of only 15, whose elegant appearance was certainly a farcry from that of her much taller, ghastly guardian. Master Morbis had not done much to alter his imposing and unsettling appearance, though Nyxea did note he opted for a much more expensive looking cloak.
  Dusk was settling over Bespin. Blazing oranges and smooth yellows blended seamlessly in the sky above the central building where Nyxea could hear the lilting tones of a band of Bith putting the crowd in a tranquil mood. Nyxea’s observant silver eyes scanned the scene around her with a look of disgust: A fat and particularly slimy Hutt was laughing too loudly, a greasy looking Pau’an walked arm in arm with two glamorous Twi’lek girls, a shady group of Rodians were gathered around glass cases filled with experimental weaponry.
   Nyxea could not stomach this place. In every corner were self important scum that the galaxy would be all the better without. In any direction she looked she would see a shameless warmonger or an avaricious tycoon enjoying their blissful indulgence. These people were leeches that profited from the misery they funded and the bloodshed they endorsed. It made her itch.
   “Why must we be here master? We aren’t like these… monsters.”
   “We are here simply to deliver a message. Once we have done that we may be away and rid ourselves of this filth. For now, patience, and do try to smile.”
   The young Sith was certain that would be impossible, but she did at least attempt to appear less agitated than she was. The pair approached the guarded entrance to the central building, where a service droid scanned both of them promptly.
   “Im sorry, but you are not on the guest list, please step back and have a wonderful evening.” It droned.
   Darth Morbis did not even break his stride as he lifted a hand and closed his fist casually, the droid’s head crumpled and sparked in deactivation, and it clanged uselessly to the ground as they continued in.
   The ballroom was much more crowded than the courtyard had been. Dozens were dancing in pairs on the floors of marble, while others gossiped amongst themselves. Golden tapestries hung from the ceilings, ensuring the entire event was well adorned with the air of privilege and wealth. What caught Nyxea’s eye, however, was not the ballroom itself but what sat roped off on a large stage to the right of the room.
   It was a sleek, very modern looking fighter craft glistening in a coat of chrome and gold. Nyxea stared in astonishment at the ship, as it was a model the likes of which she had never seen. She studied it feverishly and noted its design in her head; the hull was obviously top of the line, certainly not alusteel, she would wager the dual thrusters packed quite a bit of punch, the wing design was oddly subtle, it reminded her of the svelte Naboo ships her father used to show her, and there was even a port for an astromech droid. A name Nyxea did not recognize  glowed and rotated slowly above the ship in holo-light.
   ‘SOLAS.’
  “Nyxea.” The hiss of her master broke her from her thoughts and she quickly followed after him, taking one last look back at the ship as they weaved through the crowd.
   They came upon a large circle of people crowding only one man, and her master seemed very intent on reaching him. As they pushed past the party goers, Nyxea could just barely make out the conversation taking place.
   “I simply cant believe I’ve never heard of it! It sounds terribly fascinating!”
   “I would not expect you or most others to know of it, my dear. It is a planet sadly shrouded in secrecy, largely of our own design.”
   “I must say, to have come so far in the short time you have been away from your home world is admirable. To be competing so formidably with Blastech at this stage is astonishing.”
   “You are too kind, I am merely attempting to apply the spirit of my people to all I do in life. We have spent far too long in the shadows, and now it is time for one of us to make our mark in this galaxy. Well, I suppose I should say two of us, isn’t that correct my sweet?”
   Lord Morbis stepped through the crowd to face the man at its center, and Nyxea finally got her first look at him. He was quite dashing, a well sculpted man with dark scarlet hair slicked neatly back over his scalp. He was accompanied by an equally redheaded girl in a dazzling crimson dress, whom Nyxea could only assume was his daughter, and appeared to be only slightly younger than Nyxea herself. Upon first glance, they appeared to be human, but further inspection revealed they were of a race Nyxea had no knowledge of at all.
   Their eyes were the most obvious giveaway, as they were black as coals, with only the irises containing any color. The girl’s were a vivid emerald green, while her father’s were a much duller amber. Their flesh was a crisp tan and flawlessly smooth, save for the corners of those exotic eyes, which contained patches of… scales? Their slightly long ears were sharply pointed at their peaks, and at the corners of their lips Nyxea could ever so slightly make out a thin seam that spanned over their cheeks. Nyxea sensed something menacing in those eyes, but the crowd seemed infatuated with them nonetheless.
   The strange man locked his dark eyes on Darth Morbis the moment he broke through the crowd, and took a long, leisurely sip of his glass before he addressed his peers, “If you will excuse me a moment everyone, I must speak to an old friend.”
   They dispersed gradually as the man and his daughter strode forward, the amiable façade dropped the next moment as the stranger’s menacing eyes narrowed in disgust.
   “If I am not mistaken, I don’t believe you were invited, Morband. To what do I owe this distinct displeasure?”
   “You are well aware, Solas. Just as you aware that is no longer my name.”
   “Ah, do forgive me, I understand you have been working very hard to build a reputation. I suppose we share that in common, don’t we?
   “Do not assume to draw comparison to me, Ghastien. You sit idle in indulgence, enjoying the splendor of the Republic’s patronage rather than working to defy them. You make a mockery of all we stand for.”
   Solas chuckled as he finished his drink and answered in kind with a serpentine smile, “How very narrow minded you are. Were you not so neatly buried in tradition, you would see that I am simply playing the long game, “Morbis.” It is my work that will bring the Republic to a shattering end, whilst you throw stones at a machine much larger than yourself.”
   “To challenge the Republic is one matter, Solas. But your insistence on spitting in the face of Sith law is another. By disobeying the Rule of Two, you challenge me as well.”
   “Ah…I suppose that is true. But try not to take it personally, my friend. After all, I am a business man. Competition comes with the territory, and I have only just begun.”
   Nyxea tried to listen closely as the two traded threats, but was ultimately distracted by the young girl across from her who was staring at her with a smile that was nothing short of sinister. Nyxea’s gaze hardened as she glared into her poisonous green eyes, and realized this girl was much more than she appeared to be.
   “I heard that Mandalorians are the greatest warriors in the galaxy, is that true?”
   Nyxea’s fist clenched slowly at her hip. She knew that the question was not a question at all. It was a challenge.
   Her master’s hand upon her shoulder interrupted her thoughts as she looked up into his ghostly face.
   “I have not come here to waste my time discussing tradition with you, Solas. I have come to deliver a message, not just to you, but to the Republic as well. You may stay if you wish, but I am sure you have much more pressing matters to attend to, don’t you?”
   Ghastien Solas’s face contorted in seething rage for a brief moment, but soon his dark gaze receded as he lifted his chin and huffed. Setting his empty glass down, he took one last look around the luxurious gala and remarked plainly “It’s just as well. I’ve become quite bored. Come my dear, we are leaving.”
   Ghastien’s daughter stared up at him with an expression of disbelief, her brows furrowed angrily. Nevertheless, she followed her father reluctantly, but not before casting a hateful smirk back at Nyxea. Of all the people the young Sith had seen this night, this girl she did not know somehow was the most revolting.
   Lord Morbis exhaled bitterly as he stared out upon the sea of materialistic leeches that inhabited the ballroom. After a moment, he nodded down to Nxyea, and she in return. She allowed her mind to fall numb as she set her gaze on the crowd, her eyes settling into hazey, emotionless indifference. She tore open the skirt of her dress, and took her sabers from her legs. The crimson blades of light sparked into existence as she lifted her hands, using the Force to hurl a large table of food across the dance floor to a chorus of terrified screams. Those that were not pinned beneath the table began to run for their lives, swarming for the exits in a frenzied panic. Nyxea turned her sights to the ceilings and lifted a hand to fire off bolts of brilliant violet lightning that shattered the chandeliers and brought them smashing down to the ground, impossible to dodge for many in the crowd.
   Armed guards were beginning to fight their way into the ballroom, blasters raised and barking orders. Nyxea was upon them before they could even register the young girl as the threat. With only a few acrobatic flurries of her sabers, they began to fall one by one in hopeless succession. Still more guards poured in from the opposite side of the ballroom, and Darth Morbis nonchalantly raised his hand and turned it at them, at which point the guards lowered their weapons from the Sith Lord and turned them upon the partygoers, firing indiscriminately.
   His apprentice stood over the body of a lifeless guard, pulling her saber from his chest as she looked to her master. He did not look back at her, merely gestured to the expensive looking ship upon the stage.
   Nyxea stared at the ship somberly for a moment, but soon her eyes returned to their glassy, trance-like state and she approached the ship, her arms raising as she brought her hands slowly together. The ship began to creak and crumble, the densely armored hull resisting her power, but nevertheless succumbing to it slowly as the metal folded and the cockpit glass shattered. Soon Nyxea’s hands met, and then clasped tightly, causing the ship to crush at its center and then collapse into crumpled segments.
   She turned to make her way out, taking her heels off her feet and casting them aside. The ballroom lay in ruin behind her.
   Message delivered.