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Bane turned his attention back to Sirak, who hesitated. At that moment there was a scream from Llokay: he had misjudged the erratic path of Githany’s energy whip and lost an eye. A second scream would have followed, but she gashed open his throat, the burning tip of her weapon searing his vocal cords so he died in agonized silence.

Outnumbered, Sirak extinguished his lightsaber, dropped it to the ground, and fell to his knees.

“Please, Bane,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I yield. You are a true Sith Lord. I know that now.”

Githany whispered, “End it now, Bane.”

Bane advanced until he towered over his groveling foe. Suddenly it wasn’t just Sirak he saw before him. It was everyone he’d ever struck down. Every life he’d ever taken. Fohargh, the Makurth. The nameless Republic soldier he’d killed on Apatros. His father.

He was responsible for their deaths. Even now, they weighed on him. Guilt over Fohargh’s death had left him numb to the dark side for months. It had shackled him like iron. He didn’t want to suffer through that again.

“Listen to me,” Sirak pleaded. “I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you command. You can use me. I can help you. Please, Bane—have mercy!”

Bane steeled himself. “Those who ask for mercy,” he answered coldly, “are too weak to deserve it.”

His blade decapitated his helpless foe. The torso remained upright for a full second, the charred edges of the cauterized stump where the head had once been attached still smoking. Then it toppled forward.

Staring down at it, Bane felt only one thing: freedom. The guilt, the shame, the weight of responsibility had all vanished in that single, decisive act. He had opened himself to the dark side completely. It surged through him, filling him with confidence and power.

Through power, I gain victory. Through victory my chains are broken.

He turned to see Githany smiling, her eyes filled with hunger.

“I of all people should have known better than to underestimate you,” she said. “You saw me take your lightsaber! That’s why you followed me.”

“No,” Bane replied, still heady from the rush of killing his enemy. “I didn’t see anything. I was just guessing.”

For a brief moment her expression darkened; then she burst out with a laugh. “You never cease to amaze me, Lord Bane.”

“Don’t call me that,” he said.

“Why not?” she asked. “Qordis has given all the students the rank of Dark Lord of the Sith.”

Seeing him wince, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, looking up into his face. “Bane,” she breathed, “we’re going to fight the Jedi! We’re going to join Lord Kaan’s Brotherhood of Darkness!”

He reached up and grasped her delicate hands in his own massive ones, then gently unwound her arms from around his neck. Puzzled, she offered no resistance as he brought his hands together at his chest, her own clasped between them.

How could he make her understand? He was of the dark side now; Sirak’s execution had been the final step. He had crossed the threshold; there was no going back. He would never hesitate again. Never doubt again. The transformation he had begun when he’d first come to the Academy was complete: he was Sith.

Now, more than ever, he understood the failings of the Brotherhood.

“Kaan is a fool, Githany,” he said, staring intently into her eyes to read her expression.

She recoiled slightly and tried to pull her hands away. He held them tight.

“You’ve never even met Lord Kaan,” she said defensively. “I have. He’s a great man, Bane. A man of vision.”

“He’s blind as an Orkellian cave slug,” Bane insisted. “The Brotherhood of Darkness, this Academy, everything the Sith have become is a monument to his ignorance!” He clasped her hands even more tightly. “Come with me. There is nothing left for us on Korriban, and only death on Ruusan. But I know somewhere else we can go. A place where the dark side is still strong.”

She squirmed her hands free and pulled away from him. “Lord Kaan has united the Sith in a single glorious cause. We can