Or, How Sha and Jaca became Trayous and Vyle
“Five years I have been waiting for this, Jaca,” came the soft growl as the crowd of students dispersed, only to congregate along the edges of the sparring chamber. The only two left in the ring were Sha Serrano, the speaker, and his opponent Jaca Zil.
“Five years I have steeped myself in what happened. You think our dear departed Maul taught me the nature of Juyo for nothing?” Normally dark to the point of near blackness, his eyes flashed that trademark yellow-orange as they met her stormy grey. “Tranquil as a forest, he taught me, but on fire within.”
She was as angry as he, though less talkative as they circled. This was a common topic of conversation between them, or had once been, until she grew tired of it. Simply fixing him with a cold stare, she allowed the young man his dramatics, crimson blade by her side and quietly humming–the only noise besides Sha’s commentary.
“Five years of hell,” he snarled, taking his own weapon in his hands and igniting both ends. Giving the staff a twirl, he lunged, red meeting red as his strikes were matched. Blow for blow the apprentices countered one another, their movements seamless–a dance almost, both aware how the other operated, which was why Sha was so sure of victory: Djem So, his adversary’s preferred form, was a tiring one. He wouldn’t kill her, just release a good bit of built-up tension…
She had other plans. Unlike the male, Jaca was willing to do whatever was necessary to clear the air, even if that meant permanently being rid of one she’d called a friend. However, Sha was right about one thing: in a battle of endurance he’d come out the victor.
So it went on. For a good several minutes they fought, both drawing upon the Force to gain the upper hand–that is, until the first mistake was made, and among Sith, mistakes of any caliber were costly. Seizing his opportunity, Sha’s blade became a red blur, leaving a charred stump where Jaca’s left hand had once been.
Roaring in pain and rage, she pressed back with every opportunity she had–she’d given him plenty of chances to back down, and this was the last straw. Any semblance of form or discipline was gone, and she just hammered with her remaining arm until she’d backed the male against the wall–though she didn’t remove any extremities herself, she did manage to knock his lightsaber out of his grip, driving the tip of her own blade towards his throat–it was only then he noticed her eyes had been stained temporarily yellow.
In a last-ditch attempt for his own life, Sha cheated–predictably. He knocked Jaca back with the Force, lips pressed into a tight line as he pinned her to the steel floor by her neck, overcome with adrenaline from fear and fury…
He froze. Not by choice, but by an outside force. His grip broken, Jaca hastily got to her feet to investigate the interruption–she didn’t have to look any further than her own Master, a female Devaronian called Darth Shril. “That is enough, the both of you. This behavior may have been tolerated in Malgus’s day, but it will certainly not go unchecked under Nova’s roof. That being said…”
Jaca immediately took a knee, bowing her head in the presence of her instructor. Feeling it was safe to release Sha, the severe red-skinned Darth fixed him with an imperious look until he followed suit, still trembling with suppressed emotion that ebbed as soon as he caught a glimpse of Jaca, his childhood friend and confidante, cradling the still-smoking limb. “Nevertheless…the two of you have proven yourselves true Sith. I have watched you both, as you grew inseparable before….this. As Master Nova is indisposed currently, I suppose it’s my privilege to bestow upon you your names: Jaca Zil and Sha Serrano have been destroyed during this duel, do you two understand?” A silent nod from both now-nameless apprentices. “And powerful Sith you shall make.” She ignited her blade, stepping towards her own pupil. “Henceforth, you shall be known as Darth Vyle…” the tip of her weapon was lowered over the girl’s shoulders as if knighting her, before she turned to the male: “and Darth Trayous.” Repeating the action, Shril stepped back, allowing the newly dubbed Darths to rise. “Lady Vyle, I suggest you go to the med bay immediately for a replacement hand.” With a muttered “Yes, Master,” Vyle hurried off, leaving the rest of the students to stare at Trayous and Shril, wondering if and when such a spectacle would happen again in their lifetimes…
