PROLOGUE I - Starkiller

Deep in the space, on the secret shipyard of Scarl system lies the massive hull of a Star Destroyer. She is yet far from ready, but the space around her is filled with smaller vessels, performing their tasks without any rest in order to finish her. She will become the largest ship in the Imperial Navy, the first Executor-class Star Dreadnought. She will become something dubbed as a Super Star Destroyer, for she was nearly twelve times as long as a regular Star Destroyer that would shrink beside the 19 kilometre beauty. The whole work so far had been done strictly by droids only, due the extreme secrecy of the project. But today even the most simplest ones among the droids are as nervous as their programming allows them to be, for a rumour has spread: her owner was present.

And deep in the hull of her already finished parts, the tall, black figure of the owner stood. Darth Vader, the Sith Lord had taken some time off of his busy schedule, not only to see the growth of his future flagship, but also to see his secret apprentice, living on the finished lower decks.

The angry crimson blade of a lightsaber in the hands of a young boy attacked, but Vader parried easily, although to his delight, he had to admit the boy had made a lot of progress within the past two months they'd not seen each other. His attacks were better aimed, his connection to the Force grown steadier and he managed to stand his ground when Vader made an easy attack. The boy was strong in the Force, stronger than many Jedi he'd encountered. With time and proper training, he would easily be worthy of the status of his official apprentice.

At the time being he was still merely a 12-year old boy, wielding a weapon he could not fully control yet. But the boy would grow and learn. This boy was Vader's ticket out of the hell he lived in. Maybe five, ten years more or so, and all the secret training would hopefully pay off. Then the boy would be ready to start facing real Jedi Knights. And from that it wouldn't be too long for him to be ready for the faith Vader had prepared for him: assassinating the Emperor.

Vader had found the boy roughly eight years ago on Kashyyyk. He was the son of a Jedi Knight called Kento Marek, but the boy didn't need to know that just yet. It would be better to reveal this part of his past after the boy had learnt to hate the Jedi enough for this knowledge to fuel his anger and strengthen his connection to the dark side of the Force. The boy had a real name, but Vader simply referred him as Starkiller. Apart from power over the boy, the codename also gave him the much needed distance.

In many ways, Starkiller was an unwanted distraction. Young, agile and strong in the Force, the boy seemed to be everything he had once been. A living, breathing link to his past he wanted nothing, but to forget for good. Worse, the boy was everything he could have had, had he not strangled the woman carrying his own child...

Angered with the trail his thoughts had taken, Vader's 'sabre scratched the boys arm and he sent the child flying to the far end of the room before even realising he had done a thing.

The boy let out a surprised yelp, but was quickly back on his feet. Yelling out his frustration the boy ignited his 'sabre again and ran at him. But Vader had suddenly lost interest in training.

"Enough for today. I have more important things to attend to."

With all the yelling, the boy did not seem to hear or care for his order. Starkiller was merely a metre from his master, when he felt the floor disappear under his feet and the lightsaber was pulled from him by an invisible hand.

"Master?!"

"I said enough!" Vader roared, lifting the boy to his eye level with nothing but the Force. The boy's anger still out-ruled the fear, but not for long. He gripped the air and the boy tried to gasp for a breath. Unlike most people, his young apprentice did not grasp his throat in futile attempt to loosen his collar, but instead, his eyes were searching for the lightsaber.

"Do you dare to disobey me?" the Sith Lord bellowed and hurled Starkiller to the floor, never loosening his choke-hold.

That did it. Despite the lack of oxygen, Starkiller felt his head clear of the blind rage. He looked up to his master, relaxed and closed his eyes. If he were to die now it meant he wasn't worth his master's time. But he'd tried so hard...

Darth Vader regarded the boy for a second. He needed Starkiller to constantly be on his toes and to believe his master was ready to kill him for even a slightest mistake. In reality, Vader had no such luxury. This boy was his best and quite possibly the only chance of freedom.

Starkiller drew a deep, laboured breath immediately after he let go.

"Forgive me, my Master," the boy rasped, getting on his knee.

"Next time I may not be so forgiving. I have no need for a weak fool who cannot obey."

"I apologise, my Master," the young apprentice responded obediently, bowing his head in submission.

Darth Vader said nothing. He turned and stormed out of the doorway, leaving Starkiller alone in the empty, unfurnished room. The boy did not rise his head until his master's presence in the Force was far enough for him to not know his exact location. Then, and only then, did he get up. For a while he just stood, gritting his teeth.

Metallic steps approached him from behind, but Starkiller sensed no danger. PROXY wasn't up for a fight this time.

"Oh, master," the tall holodroid sighed as soon as he came to Starkiller's line of vision. "You got hurt again."

"It's nothing," he muttered, rubbing the burnt skin with his fingertips. Darth Vader's lightsaber had burnt a hole through his sleeve and scorched his arm. It would most likely leave a scar if he didn't put bacta on it, but he didn't mind the scars. He already had plenty of them. The burn stung a little, but didn't really hurt. He'd experienced worse.

"Shall I retrieve your medpac?"

Starkiller shook his head, closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. His blood still rushed from the adrenaline of the intense training session with his master. Six times this morning he'd experienced near death. The sixth had been entirely unnecessary and a stupid blunder from his part. What was his master thinking of him now?

...a weak fool who cannot obey.

"I am not weak!" the boy suddenly screamed and gave a Force powered kick to the durasteel boxes that had been left in the room. "I'm not. And I will prove it to him. I will."

"I'm sure you will, master. After all, he wouldn't have kept you for this long if he didn't believe you to have some potential," the droid tried to reassure him.

Starkiller turned to look at his droid companion. PROXY was the closest thing he had to something he could call a friend, and had been in his life for nearly as long as he could remember. PROXY was a holodroid, capable of projecting an image of a person around himself, mimicking the person's voice and movements, or even working as a holotransmitter, projecting the image of the caller so that it almost seemed as if the caller would have been standing right in front of him.

PROXY was also his personal teacher and trainer. The droid had an impressive knowledge of both the Sith and the Jedi fighting techniques. They could spar for hours in the empty rooms and hallways of the unfinished Destroyer. Sometimes, quite often to be truthful, the droid would attack him out of nowhere as per to his programming. Master Vader had made it so that each time they fought, it was for real. PROXY's only goal in life was to assist and eventually kill him.

The apprentice called his lightsaber back from the floor where Vader had thrown it. He sighed. "Spar with me, PROXY."