[Originally written by Duende] The story of Zafira Azra'eil - first three chapters for now, more to come!
Chapter 1: Iridonia
Charis was after her again. He had shoulder-checked her three times that day while walking past her, glaring from under his heavy brow. Zafira had outrun him in sprints the day before and Charis couldn’t stand to be beaten by anyone - much less a girl. Her brother told her that Charis had more pride than skill and that if he caught him messing with her again he’d teach him not to cross the Alnari clan again. Zafi stood outside the school waiting for her brother to meet her so they could take a public speeder home. Basit was three years older and nearly three times bigger than his little sister. Her brother was the image of their father and he would be a great warrior some day. His horns were already starting to split through his dark brown hair. Even at twelve years old, he had a broad chest and was taller than most of his peers. She felt Charis walk up behind her and knew he thought that he was sneaking up on her. As he lunged to shove her from behind she suddenly bent over, threw her weight into him, rolled him over her back and slammed him to the ground in front of her. It was a simple move the Marshal had taught two days ago. He should have seen it coming. Charis scrambled up and took a swing at her catching her shoulder. She grunted and pulled her own fist back, swung and missed. Other children began to run over shouting encouragement. The combatants circled each other, taunting and cursing, drawing a crowd. The school Marshal felt a flicker on the edge of his consciousness, and moved to his office window to look at the shouting children outside. Something, or someone, had caused a ripple in the Force, and it alerted him. Charis taunted her, circling her, using every name and insult he could think of, landing blows on her every now and then. She was angry, her only thought was to pound his face into pulp. He was too fast and too quick. She couldn’t get close enough. She wanted him within range, and imagined that she could pull him closer to her if she were just mad enough to make him—Charis stumbled and pitched forward towards her. Zafira took the opportunity to swing for his gut, missed, and caught him in the nose as he fell forward. Blood spewed from his face and he howled, crying. Zafi laughed at him, and was joined by many of the spectators. A large hand clamped down on her shoulder. Basit shoved her out of the way and stepped between her and the bully. “Enough!” He yelled. The older boy grabbed the bully by the front of his tunic, pulling him up to his face. He snarled, “If you touch my sister one more time, they will find your body in the desert if they find you at all.” He dropped the younger boy to the pavement, took Zafi’s hand, and half-dragged her away. The Marshal turned back to his desk and made a secure call. -- The children stood in rows in the yard, sweating in the sun. Today the Marshal had given them simple wooden staves and they held them like swords, marching forward and retreating. Advance, parry, swinging high and low, turn, block, advance… drilling in unison like small soldiers while he called out the moves from the edge of the yard. When he was satisfied with their performance, he began to call out pairs for sparring. His lip twitched into a flicker of a smile when he paired Zafira with Charis. Charis glared at her, hefting his wooden sword as he faced her. They were supposed to practice the forms they just learned and demonstrating that they could apply their new skill to an opponent. Zafi raised her sword to block as he swung, advanced on him, and began the simple moves they had learned. Suddenly, Charis pulled back his sword and struck her hard, right in the center of her head. This was not an attack they had just learned, and she was completely unprepared. She stepped back, dazed, and he hit her again in the ribs, driving the breath from her body. She bent over, reeling from the pain, anger and fear stunning her mind as well as her body. “Where’s your brother now, stupid schutta?” He hissed at her. Charis struck her on the back, driving her down to the ground on all fours. He raised one leg back to kick her. Zafi came to her senses and grabbed the leg he was balanced on and pulled, crashing him down on his back. A hot ball of fear burned in her stomach. She was fast, but he was strong, and he could beat her easily without Basit to protect her. The other children around them stopped what they were doing and ringed them again, glad to see the two finishing what they’d started the day before. She leapt onto him while he was down, pounding his face ineffectually with her fists. She could hear the Marshal’s boots crunching as he ran towards them to break up the fight. Charis recovered and flipped her over on her back, sitting on top of her and putting his wooden sword across her throat, choking her. The fear grew stronger– he was trying to kill her this time, for sure, and he would win. She didn’t want to die. She grabbed at his arms, trying to pull them away, getting more desperate as her air ran low. The fear broke free and raced through her body like a wave of fire. It exploded from her hands and into the bully on top of her, cracking like lightning in a summer sandstorm. Charis fell away from her, dead. His body smoked and his eyes were black pits of ash. The Marshal picked her up from the ground by her tunic, flung her over his shoulder, and raced back to his office, the stunned children watching them go as alarms began to ring loudly through the school grounds. -- The hooded man arrived that very night, menacing in his dark robes, his face unmarked with any clan markings of adulthood. When he looked at Zafira with piercing eyes she felt something strange twist inside her, frightening her to the core. She and Basit were shuffled off to his room while the man spoke to her father. Their home was small with thin walls, and she listened hard to hear what he said over the pounding of her hearts. Words like, “Dromund Kaas” and “Sith” meant nothing to her. She pulled herself away from the wall and ran to hug her brother. “Basit,” she whispered, “They are taking me to prison.” She buried her face in her brother’s chest and sniffled. “They are going to kill me.” The siblings clung together and cried. Her father opened the door and beckoned his daughter. He didn’t look sad at all, but smiled at her and peeled her out of her brother’s hug. His eyes shone with pride. “Zafi,” he said, “We need to pack a bag for you. You are going somewhere very far away, and you must leave tonight.” She wailed, terrified, sobbing about prison and dying and executions. “No, little one. You are going to be trained to be a warrior. Just like I was when I was young, only better. “ He wiped tears from her cheek. “You are special, little Zafi.” He took her to the strange man and told her to do everything he said, be obedient, and be strong. Her mother came in with a small pack with a change of clothes and her school datapad, and tucked a few sweets inside. She knelt, putting the pack on Zafira’s back. Her mother smoothed her hair, and hugged her. She could feel the fear inside her mother’s mind, and it made her cry again. She looked up to see her brother at the door, his face stricken with grief. Her mother whispered, “No matter what you do – survive. You must stay alive.” She felt the emotions crystallize inside her soul, becoming a hard knot. She nodded at her mother. “I will make you proud of me.” The strange man took her hand and led her out of her family’s dwelling, down strange streets, into the Malidris starport, and on to her new life.
Chapter II: Dromund Kaas
“I thought you were supposed to bring in hopefuls for the Academy, Lord Kirak?” The Sith paced back and forth in front of the four children lined up obediently in his office. “Instead you brought me three pieces of alien trash and a human who wouldn’t know the Force from the blunt end of a spoon.” His voice dripped with scorn. He paid no attention to Zafira or the two Twi’leks who stood beside her. This man was red with skin as dark as she’d ever seen. Instead of clan markings, he had strange appendages hanging from his face, like the beard of a lizard. Some of them were beaded and adorned with metal. His eyes were hard and red, and he radiated hatred. He stopped pacing in front of the human. “Send this one to the Academy. Maybe they can find something useful for him to do.” He waved his hand at the other three, “I have no use for this refuse.” “But my Lord,” Began Kirak, “They are far more sensitive than that boy, the Zab—“ “Silence!” The Sith barked. “I will not pollute the Academy with the random leavings you scrape off the street. Send that one to the western construction camp and those two wormheads can learn to serve as they were meant to. Don’t ever bring another alien into my office, no matter if they are the by-blows of the Emperor himself -- Is that understood?” Lord Kirak bowed his head in silence. He grouped the four children together and ushered them out of the office and into the bustling hall outside. Zafira stood in the hall, stunned. What camp? She was supposed to be a warrior, like her father. Was she being sent to prison after all, for killing Charis? Her mind whirled. He led them from one speeder station to another, until finally they landed well West of the city. The dark sky rolled overhead, and her skin felt the dense moisture of rain about to fall. There was more green here than she had ever seen in her life, and she looked around trying to soak it all in. The menacing Sith walked with her to a small outbuilding ringed by fortifications and turreted guns. Armed guards stood at attention, their blasters in hand, watching every man and woman who walked nearby. Kirak announced himself and a moment later, they were inside where the air was cooler. He nodded at the man behind the desk. “I have a new one for you.” “What’s this?” the Overseer looked at her. “She’s too young; I don’t have any work for children here.” Kirak moved his hand, and something inside Zafira jumped. “You have work for this one. She’s a special case.” “Oh yes, I can find work for this one, she’s a special case,” repeated the Overseer, blankly. He blinked “She can work in the laundries. Little young, but she looks like she’s going to be built like a bantha when she fills in.” “Good.” Kirak nodded. “I knew we could come to an understanding. I’ll be keeping an eye on her from time to time, so I’ll leave her with you. ” He turned on his heel to walk out, then stopped and added, “If anything happens to her, I will hold you personally responsible.” The door shut behind him. She stood in the Overseer’s office, terrified and alone. When the collar was fastened around her neck, it sunk in. She would never be a warrior. She had just been made a slave. Her days became nothi