The greatest structure still standing on the volcanic moon of Oricon, the ruined fortress that once served as the headquarters of the Dread Masters, remains as a beacon of darkness. Impenetrable at its heart, the fortress is surrounded by a lava moat with a single bridge for access with walls two stories high and crafted of the hardest permacrete. Its walkways and open courtyards are decorated with eternally-burning braziers, hanging and broken chains, and even plaques and murals depicting acts of tyranny and strength. Statues, obelisks and pillars show signs of aging, crumbling, cracked and ruined, though their fearsome, ancient Sith visages still stand as a testament to the Dark Side and the imposing power that the masters of the fortress willed upon their visitors.

Down into the central palace and through one of the two sets of staircases lays the ruins of the atrium. It has long been looted for all of its artifacts and knowledge, left bare by the raiding and marauding of treasure hunters and researchers. Four side-chambers lead down, two to the left and right, deeper - these rooms, all abandoned, hold obelisks fused into the very stonework of the floor. Ancient Sith wisdom is etched into each one - messages of fear, of control, of domination and madness alike.

At the very rear of the palace is a large, tall stairway, leading up into what can only be considered the throne room of the wicked Council. A seven-sided platform sits atop a bottomless pit, with the walkway from the doorway taking up one side flanked by six green crystals. The remaining six edges are dedicated to walkways ending in a dais, resting upon which are the tall thrones topped with crystal where the ancient Masters of Dread once sat. Here, you can feel the twisted knots in the flow of the Force, plucked and pulled at with a more powerful grasp than you could ever hope to possess. As you approach the center of the massive platform, you hear footfalls behind you. The deathly silence is finally broken.

The throne room of the Dread Masters made even Destin’s heart quiver with a bit of fear. The utter silence of the cavernous room was off-putting, as though there should have been something else in here. Having heard stories of both Light and Dark Force ghosts, Destin couldn’t help but feel like he was being watched.

He’d started his journey looking for old Force ruins to try to better understand the history of the orders of Jedi and Sith, and eventually he’d wound up here on Oricon. The engraved obelisks and ever-burning lights were peculiar, sure, but it was the strange, slightly glowing crystals on the dais that had caught his eye. Ever since his stop with Vorsa to the Ilum crystal caves, he’d taken up an interest in Force crystals with the intent of constructing his own personal lightsaber.

Destin reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a glinting green prism. With great care not to drop it, he held it next to one of the ensconced crystals. Prospecting blue eyes compared the details of each gem to one another. They seemed to match - both were the same cloudy green with flecks of gold speckled within, and both were attuned to the Force. However, in that that regard they differed. If the prism he’d brought was connected to the Force through a cool spring of clear water, the ones in this throne room were connected through a midden. The taint of the dark side was so thick in them it turned his stomach sour. As he fought the rising tide of bile in his throat, a footstep behind him echoed through the room.

“That’s why nobody’s taken them yet. Adegan crystals the size of your fist, but frakk around with them and you’ll spew your lunch.”

Destin whipped around, his nausea replacing itself with fear. The Nautolan stranger looked haggard and prematurely old, but something about his gaze spoke of experience Destin couldn’t fathom.

“Still,” continued with a smirk Raiju, “We can’t let that stop us, can we?”

The human stared incredulously at the stranger as his eyebrows furled in confusion. “Just who are you?” he asked.

“You mean the elders of Odan-Urr haven’t even mentioned me?” The Nautolan sighed. “It seems like only yesterday I was on trial for allegedly betraying them all…” He sauntered towards one of the fist-sized crystals and drew his lightsaber.

Destin scowled. “You betrayed them?”

“Allegedly,” said Raiju. The Nautolan began taking slow, deep breaths as he flicked on his lightsaber. Destin sensed Raiju reach out to the Force and fill himself with it, as though preparing himself for some terrible burden. “You might want to be ready, buddy. This isn’t going to be fun for either of us.” With that, he began slowly cutting the stone around the large crystal.

A wave of nausea passed over the both of them. Worse than the first one, it brought Destin to his knees. He vainly tried to resist the sickness from overpowering him, but couldn’t. He reached out to the Force to steel himself in the way Raiju had done, but found he couldn’t concentrate enough to establish the necessary control. “Stop,” he choked out through gritted teeth and a mouthful of bile.

Beads of sweat dripped down the Nautolan’s skin but he maintained his composure as droplets of molten stone dribbled down the thrown. “Make me,” he replied.

“Fine,” mumbled Destin as he channeled the Force into a telekinetic blast. With all his might and all the resolve he could muster, he pressed one hand forward and blasted. Raiju easily side-stepped the attack and the structurally compromised throne took the brunt of it. It broke apart, the pieces and stolen crystal flung out into the empty void beyond.

Raiju grumbled as he turned about and levelled his saber at the human. “You’ll pay for that, you bugger.”

Destin slowly rose to his feet, the sickness subsiding. Trying to keep his hands from wavering, he reached to his belt and drew his lightsaber. With an iconic hum, the pale blue blade extended out. The sharp, slightly pungent smell of ozone wafted up to his nose as the human thought back to his training with Vorsa. He slowly lifted the weapon over his head into the high guard stance of Djem-So that he’d been practicing and stared at Raiju. “If you’re challenging me… then I accept.”

The green-skinned Nautolan shrugged with his right shoulder as a rakish smile split his face. “If you insist,” he goaded, as he reached behind his back with his left arm and another weapon’s buzz cut through the air. A yellow blade matching his first one whipped forward as the Nautolan brought both weapons in a stance Destin didn’t recognize. Without further warning, he charged ahead, striking from both sides in a scissor attack.

Destin stepped back, avoiding the blows but bringing himself perilously close to the ledge and the long drop that followed it. He teetered, briefly, before leaning enough to move forward. Using the bit of momentum, the human stepped forward, trying to press one of his opponents blades outwards and cut into the opening, only the receive light, almost half-hearted burning cut across his right bicep.

“Well,” scoffed the Nautolan, “I was hoping you wouldn’t be a complete waste of my time... but it seems like I’ll be disappointed.”