The tension in the dining hall remained thick even after the blonde apprentice had left. His arrogant chuckle still echoed faintly in some of the acolytes' minds. The whispers had not died down entirely, with clusters of onlookers speculating wildly about the duel, and casting occasional glances at Ali and Drogath.
At their table, Drogath had settled into his seat with calm composure, his hulking frame looming over his tray of food. His face betrayed no emotion, no fear, only determination. He was used to being thrown into dangerous situations, and Ali's confidence in him only fuelled his conviction.
"What do I do to win?" Drogath asked simply, his gravelly voice breaking through the hushed noise around them. The conviction in his tone was palpable, he had absolute confidence in Ali.
Ali turned to him, the faint gleam of his mask catching the dim lights of the dining hall. The red glow of its angular designs gave his expressionless façade an air of menace, one that was amplified by his calm, measured tone.
"Drogath," Ali began, his voice low but carrying a weight that demanded attention. "In one week, you will not only win. You'll crush him like the insignificant ant he is."
Drogath responded with a subtle but chilling grin, baring his teeth just enough to emphasise his predatory nature. Around them, the few acolytes brave enough to keep watching quickly looked away, suddenly finding their trays of food far more interesting.
Across the dining hall, Derma sat rigidly at her table. She had not touched her food in several minutes, her piercing gaze locked on Ali and Drogath. They sat with an unnerving calm, as if they hadn't just challenged one of the academy's strongest apprentices to a duel to the death. Her fists clenched beneath the table, shaking as a storm of thoughts churned in her mind.
'They challenge one of the strongest apprentices, and they act so casual,' she thought bitterly, her jaw tightening. 'It's frustrating. It's not fair. I should be the one fighting him. It should be me who's an apprentice… It should be me. If only he wasn't my master!'
Her thoughts spiralled into a whirlwind of jealousy and anger, and for a brief moment, her irises flared a bright, unnatural red.
The next morning, Ali and Drogath stood before the ornate doors of Sivara's chambers, their shadows stretching long in the low morning light. The silence between them was broken by the soft, melodious voice of the Sith master from within.
"Come in," Sivara called, her voice carrying an unspoken command.
They stepped into her chambers, their boots clicking softly against the polished floor. Sivara was seated in a high-backed chair, a glass of crimson liquid in her hand. Her golden eyes, as sharp as ever, focused on the duo with an intensity that was difficult to endure.
"You two really manage to surprise me," she began, her tone carrying both irritation and intrigue. "Why am I hearing that one of the acolytes under my responsibility has challenged an experienced apprentice to a duel to the death?"
Drogath's response was as blunt and straightforward as ever. "I want to kill him," he said, his deep voice devoid of hesitation. His massive frame seemed to emphasise the simplicity of his intent.
Sivara raised an elegant eyebrow at his boldness, then turned her attention to Ali. "What were you thinking, throwing him into something like this?"
Ali did not flinch under her sharp gaze. "I have a question," he replied.
"If it's about whether you can cancel the duel," Sivara said, leaning back slightly, "the answer is no."
Ali remained unfazed. "Can Drogath take his lightsaber after he kills him?"
Drogath's lips curled into a malicious smile, his teeth flashing like those of a predator who had just caught the scent of blood. The sheer intensity of his reaction was enough to give even Sivara pause.
"Really?" Sivara said with a smirk, shaking her head. "Ahhh, no. The lightsaber is taken by the academy after an official duel. It's tradition. That's why most fights are settled unofficially in the desert—no rules, no oversight."
"A shame," Ali muttered, his tone as flat as his masked expression.
Sivara studied him for a moment, then leaned forward, her voice dropping into a more serious tone. "Since you're so confident in taking on apprentices," she said slowly, "how about becoming ones yourselves?"
Ali tilted his head slightly. "How?" he asked. "I thought the only way was to fight in the yearly acolyte tournament. And that's still months away."
Sivara smiled faintly, her golden eyes gleaming. "The date is being pushed forward. The academy needs more apprentices to prepare for the battles ahead. Word from the council is that the Jedi are mobilising."
Ali's interest was piqued, though his tone remained steady. "How soon?"
"Ten days," she answered simply. "Do you wish to participate?"
Ali answered without hesitation. "Yes. We'll fight."
Sivara's smirk widened slightly. "Good. Train well for the tournament—and for your duel," she added, standing and gesturing for them to leave. "I'll ensure neither of you are assigned missions in that time. Now go."
Ali and Drogath nodded in unison, turning to leave. As they exited her chambers and made their way toward the academy's hangar, Ali's attention was drawn to the commander's office. His eyes lingered on it as he walked, noting every detail of the guarded entrance. Two soldiers stood watch at all times, and the commander rarely left without being flanked by captains.
'Sivara mentioned preparations for battles against the Jedi,' Ali thought. 'Could this be connected to Kaelthar?'
The thought lingered in his mind as they mounted their speeders and departed for the desert.
For the next five days, the routine was gruelling. Every morning, they trained in the scorching heat of Korriban's sands, their sessions lasting well into the afternoon. Drogath endured countless injuries—cuts, and bruises—but never once faltered. At night, while Drogath rested in their quarters, Ali spent hours in the library, poring over holocrons and ancient texts, searching the ancient library for the secrets of the Force.
On the sixth morning, as Ali walked through the hallways, his eyes caught a poster pinned to one of the walls. The bold lettering indicated a new mission issued by the commander. Ali ripped the poster off the wall and made his way toward the commander's office, Drogath silently trailing behind him.
The soldier guarding the entrance eyed them warily but stepped aside to allow them entry. Inside, the commander sat at his desk, scribbling on a data pad. He looked up as they entered, his expression shifting to one of mild surprise.
"Ali," the commander said, setting the data pad down. "I heard from Sivara that you weren't taking any missions."
Ali placed the poster on the desk. "We're taking this one."
The commander leaned forward, scanning the details of the mission. "This isn't an easy task," he warned. "One of my squads disappeared in the desert. I need you to find out what happened."
"Do you have any leads?" Ali asked, his tone calm.
The commander hesitated before answering. "The area where they vanished has had reports of Drexarid sightings."
At the mention of the deadly scorpions, Ali's memory flashed back to their encounter with the monstrous scorpion creatures while working for Malgrith. "We'll take care of it."
The next day, the two set out into the desert, following the coordinates provided by the commander. Hours passed under the relentless sun before Ali spotted something partially buried in the sand—a speeder, its frame twisted and abandoned.
Ali knelt beside it, examining the surrounding sand. A massive disturbance marked the area, as if something enormous had moved beneath the surface. Gesturing for Drogath to follow, Ali began to track the faint trail.
The tracks led them to a sand dune with a small cave nestled at its base. Moving cautiously, they entered the darkened tunnel, the air growing cooler as they descended. Minutes later, Ali stopped abruptly at the edge of a cliff within the cave.
Below them was a sprawling Drexarid den. Adults scuttled across the cavern floor, their carapaces gleaming like black obsidian in the dim light, while smaller, younger offspring darted between them. The sheer number of the creatures was staggering.
Ali crouched low, his sharp eyes scanning the den.
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