Janaray, 3980 ABYImperial Prison Barge, Orbiting Unknown System
The cold never left the cell. Nor did the weight of the cuffs digging into my wrists.
The hum of the prison barge thrummed beneath my feet, a steady, mechanical heartbeat pressing against my skull. Outside, rain hammered the ship's hull like a relentless drum, familiar, distant, like a ghost from the world I'd left behind.
The cell door slid open with a hiss. Two Dark Troopers stepped inside, their footsteps echoing like thunder in the tight space.
"Stand," one said, voice void of mercy.
I rose, every movement reminding me of the broken arm still throbbing beneath my sleeve.
The door before me opened again, revealing a tall figure silhouetted against the harsh white corridor light. Black uniform crisp and sharp, black armor plating, sidearm at his hip.
"Alexander."
The name carried weight. Authority. Judgment.
General Trax. Imperial High Command.
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, eyes scanning me like a predator marking its prey.
Behind him, a Dark Trooper carried a small, secure case. Trax's gloved hand lifted the lid. Inside lay the weapon I'd fought and bled for, Darth Maul's maul lightsaber, its double blades dormant but deadly, scarred by battles long past.
Trax's eyes flickered with disdain and dark fascination.
"Do you know what you carry, prisoner?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.
I said nothing.
"This weapon," Trax continued, "belongs to the Empire, a trophy, a warning. Not for the hands of a rebel."
He snapped the case shut, handed it to a waiting officer.
"Deliver this to the Father. I'm certain he'll appreciate the gift."
His gaze locked with mine, cold as durasteel."Your fate is sealed, Alexander. Darkness awaits the Father's interest. Until then, you'll rot in the deepest cells, always aware of what you've lost."
He stepped back, signaling the guards.
"Take him away."
The cuffs bit deeper as they dragged me back into darkness