Memories Lost

The training was brutal. It was designed to be. The Inquisitors that were charged with instructing the students of the Shadow Academy gave no quarter. If the students were tough enough to make it through the Force Sensitivity Conditioning Program, then they were deemed fit to take part in the Trials. Each trial took place on a world meaningful to the history of the Sith. The Ziost Trial was one of the toughest: 12 students were dropped deep into the forest during blizzard like conditions with 3 weeks to survive on their wits alone. Minimal supplies and weapons were left at various outposts and it was up to the strongest among them to decide who would get the lion’s share. The harsh environment would test them as much as the backstabbing, isolation and fear. With only two days to go until the Scythe returned to rescue the survivors, a final challenge would be placed on the board: A hunter.

First Brother moved through the brush like a Corellian sand panther. His targets so far had slipped up. Stayed in one placed too long, lit a fire instead of building a shelter, moved too close to the final rendezvous point. They weren’t mistakes. They were conscious choices to pursue comfort in lieu of survival. Defeatism wouldn’t be tolerated. The Crim Empress had made that clear.

As he emerged from the tree line and caught sight of the frantic foot prints in the snow ahead of him, a rogue memory arose in his mind’s eye. He was a boy again, chasing after someone. Sandy foot prints in front of him. Dense jungle behind. Just as quickly as the memory had formed, it slipped away again. Lost in the brutality of all that had followed.

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