It was a particularly unremarkable location to be such a gathering place for the Sith. A one-time luxury resort conveniently located near a cross way of major hyperspace lanes that had certainly seen better days, and passed through more hands than a Twi’lek slave girl. The upper levels of the Resort still managed to maintain the illusion of its glory days, with decadent suites and high-roller casinos. But over the years it had evolved its own seedy underbelly, and developed a reputation as a safe stopover for smugglers, slicers, assassins and all manner of mercenaries.
That was the reason Kyla Mim had first come here. What had been intended as a brief visit to refuel her vessel had led to the most unexpected experience of her life. Being recruited into the Sith had never been part of her life plan, but she had been drifting – weightless and without purpose – following the death of her husband. Agreeing to the terms of Master Jax and beginning the training had given her a purpose and filled otherwise barren days.
This early into the training, she had met few others of her new people. Oh, Master Jax had certainly briefed her on them. She knew the names of the mighty and powerful, had an understanding of their strengths and current political allegiances. Sydrian, Sargon, Valiya. But beyond a few public gatherings where she was unremarked and ignored, Mim had mainly interacted only with the other Acolyte’s and student’s of Master Jax.
She never expected to be sitting here, in a poorly-lit bar in the underbelly of the Resort, and feel the weight of presence that signalled a Sith Lord.
Sith Lords strutted about the upper levels, playing politics with one another and maneuvering to their own advantage. They didn’t wade through the social filth of dive bars full of shifty patrons and third-rate musicians.
Kyla’s cerulean gaze sharpened as she scanned the entrance, catching a flash of gold shimmering under the dim light. Shadow and gold, that shifted like liquid darkness as a tall, pale form moved into the space.
He broadcast danger like a siren, and the other occupants of the bar cleared a path for him as he walked with deliberation towards her table. As light flashed over his sharp features, she recognised the face – how could she not?
Lord Kueller.
The Dark Lord of the Sith.
Alarm triggered through her, and the urge to curl her fingers around the holstered blaster at her side was almost impossible to resist. She had seen him before; of course she had. From a distance, watching as their ultimate leader issued his decrees with all the pomp and circumstance of a pampered noble. Truth be told, she had not been impressed, and never in a million years would she have imagined speaking to him directly. Certainly never could she picture him in a place like this.
With strict control, Kyla held herself still and unmoving; one leg still kicked up on the opposite chair, her tall body lounging casually at the table. But danger vibrated along her nerves. The Sith did not cozen their acolytes, and success or death were the only outcomes for a student on this path.
“Kyla Mim.”
Two words, murmured in a voice that was somehow more resonant up close. Her name, uttered by the Dark Lord, drew her gaze up. Up, over the elegant black robes with their priceless gold embroidery. Up, past the lightsaber holstered at his side. Up, to a pale face and a set of emerald eyes that studied her with thoughtful consideration, further tightening the tension in her body.
“Slumming it, my Lord?” The words came out automatically, uttered low and lazy in her usual drawl. Only after they stood between them, did Mim regret her lack of thought.
His reaction was not as expected. Instead of disdain, his mouth twitched into a hinted smile. Those emerald eyes slid across her body, lingering appreciatively over her long legs kicked up on the opposite chair. The leer shifted like a caress over her black-clad body before lifting once more to her eyes.
A new and unexpected threat presented itself and Kyla moved immediately. Her boots hit the filthy floor of the bar and her spine was ramrod straight as she again fought the impulse to grip her blaster. This man could kill her where she sat; drawing a weapon on him was suicide and she knew it. But it was not simply the sense of personal threat that triggered such a visceral response.
Mim’s eyes flashed contempt as they stared straight back at him, her lip curling into a sneer of disgust.
She had heard the rumours and the innuendo. Of course she had. Dolph Kueller had quite the reputation and his treatment of female Sith had been the topic of many hushed conversations amongst Jax’s acolytes. Mim had dismissed it as irrelevant, but he stood here now, a clear and present danger of an entirely different sort, and her entire body resonated with fury and scorn.
This – this?! – was the greatest of their kind? This was their honoured Dark Lord, steeped in the power and secrets of the Force? This womanising noble who seemed led more by his carnal impulses than any greater calling? It was impossible to disguise her response. Her rejection of the offer inherent in his idle leer was as blatant as the sun.
In truth, there was possibly nothing she could have done to intrigue him more in that instant. Neither of them could know it, but the pattern of their history had just been set: attraction and denial. Approach and reject.
As if her every thought and reaction was known to him, the Dark Lord’s smile stretched into a smirk. Knowing. Familiar. Arrogant. But he made no move to strike her down, and instead gestured for her to rise.
“Walk with me, Kyla Mim.”
It was an invitation she had no reason to expect, yet impossible to refuse. The young acolyte hesitated only a moment before she rose as commanded, heeding his imperious glance towards the door and following him from the now-subdued bar.
Kyla walked in step with him without effort. She flicked cautious sidelong glances at him, waiting for him to speak, but out of some perversity, the Dark Lord held his silence for several minutes, until they were quite some distance from the bar.
“You are Jax’s latest student. His new acolyte.”
It was a statement, not a question. An observation, but one shaded with implication that Kyla could not quite interpret.
“Yes, my Lord. His brother Karnor led me to Master Jax once he discovered my ability.”
Kueller slanted an unreadable sideways look at her. “Warrior Jax. He has not completed his Master’s Test. By the laws of our kind, he has no right to take a student at all.”
She hesitated only briefly, but Lord Kueller continued down the corridor without pause. What in the Void was that supposed to mean?
“Are we going somewhere in particular?” she asked eventually, as the Dark Lord took a turn into a narrower, older looking corridor.
“Patience, Mim.” His voice huffed in a way that might have suggested laughter. The echo of humour. “You are pursuing the Warrior’s path yourself, I have been told.”
Kyla felt a sudden chill, followed instantly by a hot surge of adrenaline, at the realisation that the Dark Lord of the Sith had been seeking out information on her. Was curious about her. And, it appeared, had come down to the slums of this station, specifically to find her.
“I am,” the acolyte answered cautiously. Every nerve felt on high alert, and her peripheral vision felt crystal clear as she sought to maintain full awareness of this narrow, dim corridor he led her down. “It seemed the most suited for me.”
Lord Kueller took note of her sudden alarm and the way it flared her attunement to the Force.
“Which speaks to your ignorance of the many nuances of our ways,” he responded coolly. Her spike of indignation was apparent and he rode lightly in its wake, extending the most delicate thread of perception as they walked. “A Warrior’s path is an obvious one.”
“You take issue with the obvious?”
She was fencing with him. The Dark Lord smiled in appreciation. “It is a swift path to destruction, in my experience.”
Kyla ghosted at his side as he led them further into a clearly unused section of the station. In all respects she seemed the obedient acolyte trailing in the wake of the Dark Lord, but Kueller could sense her growing wariness. In his own way, he sought to put her at ease. Which meant distraction with words, keeping her off balance enough to prevent discomfort from becoming alarm, and delicately probing at the echoes of her responses as they spoke.
Until after a time he paused before a set of ornate double doors, locked and key coded to prevent entry from those who should not be here.
“This is not a place any other Sith would be welcome,” Dolph remarked, almost conversationally. “It is the Temple of the Jedi.”
And without hesitation or concern, he touched the control pad by the doors, pressing his palm there briefly before entering a code.
The doors of the Jedi Temple opened without delay.
He could feel the eyes of the young acolyte on him, her curiosity beating at him with all the subtlety of a charging rancor. With characteristic perversity, Lord Kueller did not explain, but led her inside the darkened cathedral. He gestured idly and light flickered into the room from flames igniting across a myriad of candles held in recessed niches along the walls.
Their soft, shifting light illuminated the high, vaulted ceilings of the space, casting dancing shadows across the visage of both Lord and Acolyte. Kyla stood in silence for a long moment, absorbing the elegance of the cathedral, the empty and silent sacredness that surrounded them.
“I would not expect the Jedi to grant access to… one of us,” Kyla said cautiously.
“The Cathedral is largely abandoned. My access predates my allegiance to the Sith.”
Dolph sensed more than saw her sudden attention on him and knew he had roused her curiosity. “You wonder why I have brought you here.”
“That too,” Kyla acknowledged, studying him with watchful eyes. His interest in her at all was worrisome, particularly on the back of his greeting leer.
Without speaking in response, Kueller moved deeper into the Temple, where the candlelight was brightest. It flickered golden across his elegant features, while she hovered like a shadow at his side. Her discomfort was a doorway and he used it as ruthlessly as any warrior would wield their chosen weapon, deepening the tendrils that sought access to her mind.
“I understand that you persist in your mercenary activities,” Kueller remarked thoughtfully. The acolyte had followed him to the centre of the nave, so that the ornate columns stretched around them. He watched her bright blue eyes flicker swiftly as she took in her new surroundings.
Kyla didn’t know if he was trying to be reassuring or provocative when he circled her slowly. More likely it was the latter. The Sith did not seek to soothe their acolytes.
“That is correct,” she answered after a long moment of silence. He paused behind her, all that intense power and attention almost tangible over her right shoulder. Then she felt it, the barest hint of a touch of his hand across her spine, echoed in her mind.
“What… are you doing?” Kyla asked, her back stiffening in rejection of that hinted duality of touch.
The Lord’s chuckle filled her ears, even as he circled back around to stand before her. “You have potential, Kyla Mim. I wonder, does Jax know what he has found in you?”
Appeals to pride and vanity were frequently successful in unlocking raw acolytes, but they bounced off the mercenary like she were made of stone. Indeed, they almost seemed to deepen her wariness and the Dark Lord was further intrigued. She was so new to their ways that she had no hope of keeping him from her thoughts. Yet there was a depth to her that was unexpected, for the secrets of her nature did not reveal themselves to him as easily as they might with one so untrained. There was control to this girl, layered on instinct and the possibility of power yet to be tapped.
Kyla met his gaze evenly. “Why have you brought me here?”
“I am curious why you came to us, Kyla Mim. And more importantly, why you throw your future with us away by accepting training from an unqualified Warrior with delusions of grandeur.”
Her instincts told Kyla to flee, for this was a type of battle she had never fought before. A conflict of words rather than blasters and blades, with greater stakes than she could realise. But the Sith had become her salvation and Kyla stared into the emerald eyes of their Lord and god and refused to let it be taken from her.
“I must learn somehow. And….” She hesitated over the respectful title that she typically gave to her teacher, sensing it would only aggravate the Dark Lord further. “Quersin Jax is skilled in combat. It seems an appropriate beginning for the Warrior’s path.”
The Lord’s eyes seemed almost to glow in the candlelight as they watched her. The stillness of the Temple was somehow suddenly oppressive, pressing down on her.
“A waste of your potential,” Lord Kueller remarked dismissively. “You have avoided my first question.”
It seemed difficult to draw a full breath as Kyla felt the press of something along the edges of her awareness. “Does the Dark Lord concern himself personally with every new acolyte?”
Or only the female ones?
The thought lay unspoken but clear in her mind, and sure enough the subtle pressure seemed to pause and ease briefly.
“I concern myself with all of the Sith,” Kueller replied smoothly.
His observations of new acolytes typically provided an easy understanding of what drove them and how to use them. Mim displayed none of the excesses common to a new Sith, and evidenced a greater level of self-containment than many masters. It was unexpected enough to draw his attention.
His careful probing within the Force was not idle, and it had turned passing curiosity towards deepening fascination. She was untrained and young but it appeared that every iota of her power was directed towards self-preservation. There were few who could resist him even at his weakest but this woman not only resisted – she perceived him.
He watched as nascent awareness flared to life in her eyes, anger almost visibly licking along her spine as she began to suspect Kueller as the source of the violation. He had a decision to make; back off and acknowledge the boundary, or make it clear that he was her Lord.
Was that ever really a choice?
“You need not concern yourself with me,” Kyla said sharply, untrained barriers snapping futilely into place to defend herself from his incursion.
“Do you deny your Lord?” Kueller purred back and felt the anger of her response draw to a razor’s edge of fear-fuelled fury. The extremes of her response fascinated him and he drew instinctively closer to her thoughts.
The Sith Lord abandoned subtlety in the face of her obstinance. Kueller could have no idea that he courted destiny as the decision set in play an inevitable outcome that would take years to reach fulfillment.
He anticipated an attempt at resistance, but unlike any other acolyte of his experience, she did not persist with her defense. Instead, Kyla Mim flipped her response and the force that had been striving to keep him at bay abruptly reversed and seemed to suck him in deeper. The walls dropped, and Kyla reached for him, drawing him deeper within herself.
There was an instant like stars colliding.
As the barriers beating against his perceptions to protect her dropped, a Force-fuelled vortex of emotion swirled out to pull him into her memories.
“Who am I to deny the Dark Lord?” she snarled back at him. Her horror at the violation swamped over him, tasting of fury and loathing and the violence of it caught at them both and dragged them towards something… unforeseen. “If you want to know who I am, then look! See for yourself!”
Kyla’s restraint splintered utterly beneath his invasion. Distantly she knew that she was likely signing her own death warrant in doing so, but she was caught in the grip of her own anger. In the face of his persistent, relentless violations, she flung at him the answers he had been seeking. It was less than Illusion, more than mere telepathy. Kyla pressed into his mind the memory that drove her every action now, and dictated every choice she made.
Kueller saw as she saw, the memory of a thick, steaming jungle on a dark, moonless world. Heard with her ears the last carefree words uttered to her beloved husband as they separated for the final stage of their carefully prepared hunt. Their quarry was better prepared than the Mim’s had expected. For in that jungle on the darkest night that ever was, Kueller watched as Kyla had watched, as their prey turned and slaughtered her husband.
Was it true memory or the distortion of her guilt that saw Aren Mim turn his face to her in his last moments.
The violent sharing should have been beyond the skills of the acolyte. Kyla’s legs buckled with both the shock of relived trauma and the exhaustion of surpassing her abilities with the extremity of her anger. Expressionless, Kueller caught her before she fell.
In the wake of Kyla’s explosive revelation, there was an unexpected shift between them. Dolph gathered himself as he held the shuddering acolyte against his arm. She, young as she was, could have no idea of the truth of what had just occurred. Only he was aware of what she was not yet sensitive enough to detect. In that moment of defiant sharing, Mim had provoked an exchange that was somehow, impossibly mutual. While the acolyte had not consciously absorbed anything from Kueller, the Dark Lord was entirely aware that a new point of connection lingered between them even now. Like a seed resting within each of them, a sensitivity to one another that could be easily ignored if required. One that, if he chose to nurture it, had the potential to become something Dolph had never expected to find here.
It surprised him, and few things did that. He looked thoughtfully upon the pale features of the woman struggling to find her balance. This day deserved to be marked, and honoured in some way.
He lifted one hand, black and gold sleeve shifting as Kueller curled the Force around a nearby candle. With barely a thought, he extinguished the flame and drew it closer to them.
Almost unheeded in his arm, Kyla drew in a shaking breath and began to rebuild her own composure. As she focussed her awareness back in the here and now, her first glimpse of his face showed her a stern visage fixed in concentration, those emerald eyes locked onto a softened ball of wax hovering before them. The acolyte was drawn from the echoes of her painful past, to look upon the focus of his attention. What she saw amazed her – the soft, malleable wax was shifting as if beneath the hand of some expert sculptor. Carved within the substance of it, she saw at first two figures which slowly became more detailed and precise. The candlelight ahead flicked across the image and Kyla stifled a gasp of recognition.
Herself. Aren.
She stared upon the image of herself and her dead husband, carved in perfect precision within the wax.
Kueller drew her closer, finding the woman strangely unresistant this time. “Satal,” he said softly into the bare space between them. “My name, my true name.”
Her hands curled briefly around his forearms, crushing the exquisite gold and black sleeve of his robe as she drew back to stare at him in shock. “Why would you-?” Kyla asked in confusion.
Dolph regarded her silently for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “No other knows that name. As no other knows your past.”
For a time, the silence was unbroken. Kyla stared into the patient face of the Dark Lord, struggling to reorient herself into this new reality. A reality where Dolph Kueller was neither the remote and autocratic leader she had viewed him as, nor apparently the lustful predator his reputation suggested. A reality where this man had absorbed her pain without flinching and returned it with a gift she could never have anticipated.
As if sensing she was finding her equilibrium, Kueller rose smoothly to his feet. His hand remained firmly on hers, drawing her up beside him. “The Force has shown me more today than I expected, and marked you as…” He paused, hesitating over the right word. “Family.”
“Family,” she echoed, as though tasting the word. Considering all of its implications and recalling with persistent uncertainly the leer that he had greeted her with. “As in… a sister?”
“A sister.” Kueller sighed. Acknowledgement or agreement? “Be cautious, Kyla Mim. I suspect that I would make a particularly over-protective older brother.”
Somehow, the hint of humour did what nothing else could and restored Kyla to balance. Her own laughter echoed in the vaulted space of the Temple, warm and rusty as if unfamiliar to her. “Then we are the same in one respect. Perhaps I should source a chastity belt for you. Your reputation does precede you, Satal.”
Kueller almost missed it, shocked almost to blushing at the unexpected boldness of her tease. But there it was, the way she spoke his name carefully, as if tasting the way it felt in her mouth. And simultaneously, a shiver of something in that place of sensitivity that now lay between them.
“Keep this,” he said instead, standing and supporting her to rise as well. The wax sculpture sat curled within his other hand, offered to her like a gift.
To Kyla’s startled gaze, it was an unexpected feat of Force manipulation. To Kueller, it was a receptacle of an even greater skill: a beacon carved within the Force, matched to the nascent link that lay between them.
A beacon and a guide, to ensure that when needed, he could always find this particular acolyte.
**
In later times, Mim would maintain that it took years for their Bond to emerge. Years of navigating a complex and complicated relationship of Master and Student, years of slowly building trust and understanding, in order for that connection to grow.
But the truth was, acknowledged or not, the spark of that Bond was lit the first time they spoke. The foundation was laid within an hour of their first meeting. On the same day their eyes met for the first time, a piece of Kueller was hidden within her, and a piece of Mim was resonant within the Dark Lord.
From that first day, their destiny was set. There were only two paths.
They would either find the fulfilment of true unity together or they would destroy one another.
Perhaps both.
There could be no other way.
Memoirs of a Sith Lord 