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Trembling, Kyp went to the water’s edge. He looked down and observed the tall columns of stone that stopped just beneath the surface of the water, providing submerged stepping stones.

Tentatively, he set one foot on the first stone. The water rippled around his foot. He drew a deep breath, raised his head high, and fought back the echoing voices in his head. He had to face this, whatever it was. He did not look back at Master Skywalker.

He crossed the water and climbed onto the lichen-encrusted lava rocks of the island, walking the narrow path that led to the triangular entrance of the temple.

Beneath the towering statue of Exar Kun, the black opening glittered with implanted Corusca gems. Incised runes and hieroglyphics broke the polished brightness of the obsidian. Kyp stared at the writings, finding that he could summon some of their meaning back to him; but he shook his head to clear the words from his thoughts.

The temple seemed to breathe a cool air current that seeped in and out of the enclosed space. Kyp did not know what he would find inside. His body stiffened with anticipation. He looked around, refusing to call out. Kyp took one step into the doorway and looked up at the dour chiseled face of the long-dead Sith Lord. Then he entered the temple chamber.

The walls glittered with an inner light that had been trapped within the volcanic glass. Tracings of frost spiraled in a frozen dance up and down the walls. In the far corner a cistern dripped, filled with chilled water.

He waited.

Suddenly Kyp’s stomach wrenched. His skin crawled. He blinked as his vision blurred. The air around him grew grainy as if the light itself had splintered inside the temple.

He tried to turn, but found himself moving sluggishly as if the air resisted him, solidifying around him. Everything flickered.

Kyp staggered deeper into the temple, trying to move quickly, but his body would not respond with its customary speed.

A shadow rose from the black wall, an ominous form, human-shaped. It gained power, growing as Kyp fed it with his fear. The figure rose higher, oozing out of the cracks, out of a blackness from beyond time, a featureless silhouette that nevertheless seemed familiar to Kyp.

“You’re dead,” Kyp said, attempting to sound angry and defiant, but his voice was uncertain.

“Yes,” the oddly familiar voice spoke from within the shadows. “But still I live within you. Only you, Kyp, can make my memory strong.”

“No, I’ll destroy you,” Kyp said. In his hand he felt the black power crackling, the ebony lightning he had used to strike Master Skywalker: the power of fanged serpents, the dark teachings of the Sith. How ironic it would be to use Exar Kun’s own power against him! The energy grew stronger, begging to be unleashed, demanding that he give himself over to it so he could eradicate the black shadow for all time.

But Kyp forced himself to stop. He felt his heart pounding, his blood singing in his ears, his anger taking control—and he knew that was wrong. He took deep breaths. He calmed himself. This was not the way.

The black Sith power faded from his fingertips. The shadow waited; but still Kyp forced his power back, smothered his anger. Anger was exactly what Exar Kun would want. Kyp could not give in to it now.

Instead he reached for the lightsaber at his hip, pulled it free, and flicked on the power button. The violet-white blade shone in an arc of cleansing electricity, purest light.

The shadow hovered, as if waiting to do battle with him, waiting for Kyp to make the first move. It lifted its nebulous arms, blacker than anything Kyp had seen before. Kyp raised Gantoris’s lightsaber to strike, proud of what he was about to do. He would use a Jedi weapon instead—a weapon of light to strike the darkness.

He made ready to swing. The shadow hung poised, as if stunned—and Kyp halted again.

He could not strike out, not even with a lightsaber. If he attacked Exar Kun, he would still succumb to the temptation and ease of violence, regardless