Jin-Woo cracked his neck, stretching his arms as a swirl of dark violet energy gathered beside him. The portal opened—silent, smooth, its edges rippling like molten glass. Beyond it shimmered the faint outline of the Jedi Temple, still heavy with the remnants of battle and grief.
Talon approached, her tone respectful. "Should I accompany you, my master?"
Jin-Woo shook his head. " This is mourning, not war. I'll go alone."
He turned to Rey, his gaze steady. "Rey—if Morgan gets caught off guard, and someone manages to analyze her mana…"
Rey grinned, hand already on her sword hilt. "Then I help Morgan kill them, right?"
Jin-Woo exhaled lightly. "No. Not that." His tone shifted—colder, deliberate. "You corrupt the data they take. Twist the readings. Give them false knowledge. Make it look like they've uncovered a new energy pattern—when all they've done is feed into a trap."
Rey tilted her head, curiosity flickering. "Like the Dyad link?"
"Exactly," Jin-Woo said. "But parasitic. They think they're learning. In truth, they're just bleeding power back to us."
Rey smirked. "Got it. That's way better than killing them."
Jin-Woo stepped through the portal, shadows bending around his form as he disappeared into the dark. The portal closed behind him with a quiet hum—leaving only the wind, the grass, and the faint pulse of mana lingering where he'd stood.
Meanwhile, across the galaxy, on Korriban. A circular tear of pink light ruptured the air—silent, smooth, spinning like a blade through space. The sand around it peeled back as if pushed by an unseen wind. When the gate stabilized, a cloaked figure stepped out, heels sinking into the crimson dust.
Morgan in full monarch form. Her mask gleamed under the harsh red sky, faint sigils pulsing along her cloak. She rolled her neck once, a sharp CRACK echoing across the valley.
"Jin-Woo, my husband… this place is worse than Tatooine." Her tone was dry, annoyed, almost offended by the planet. "Nothing but red sand and Sith ghosts who barely remember how to interact with the physical world."
She took another step forward, cloak dragging through the grit, and looked around with clear distaste.
So this is his graveyard…? Pathetic. A wasteland with delusions of royalty.
Morgan sighed, adjusting her cloak as if trying to shake the dirt off. "Ugh. I swear—if one more wailing spirit tries to brush past me, I'll scatter them myself."
Her pink aura flared once in irritation, making the nearest dunes hiss and flatten.
She paused, lifting her head toward the deeper canyons—the old burial paths of the ancient Sith Lords.
"Oh well." Her voice softened into a cold, calm readiness. "First stop, XoXaan. If Naga Sadow crawls here, I can set the ambush ."
"I hate Korriban," Morgan muttered, kicking a small rock aside. "Red sand everywhere. Even Tatooine was kinder. At least on Tatooine, I slept comfortably."
She stretched her fingers, violet sparks fluttering between them. If Sadow crawled out of Coruscant, then this place is the next tether. XoXaan better not waste my time.
Another step carried her forward—and space folded, dropping her at the entrance of XoXaan's tomb.
Inside, the air was colder. Shadows clung to the stone like wet ink. Ghosts—half-formed Sith spirits—floated in meditative stillness around a kneeling figure. XoXaan herself, mask of bone, robes drifting in an unseen wind, her form sharper than the surrounding spirits. She was concentrating, sustaining the echo of a ritual.
A ripple cut through the chamber. A presence stronger than any Sith ghost shook the dust loose from the ceiling.
XoXaan's head rose instantly. Her eyes widened—not in fear, but in expectation.
"Sith'ari…"
The word left her mouth like reverence. She stood, straight-backed, ready to welcome the one she believed had come.
But as she stepped outside, her face flattened.
It was not Jin-Woo. It was Morgan.
XoXaan's tone turned dry and irritated in a single second. "Oh. It's you. The Sith'ari's servant."
A vein visibly pulsed on Morgan's temple, almost comical against her terrifying form. "Watch your tongue," she snapped. "I am the Queen of Lostbelt Britain. And now, Queen of the Demonic Spectre. In simple terms?" She leaned in slightly. "Spectres like you are supposed to bow before their queen."
The ghosts around XoXaan flickered. XoXaan clicked her tongue—sharp, dismissive. "Tch. What do you want? This is our first meeting, and already your arrogance leaks through the walls. If someone of your caliber is seeking me out, you must be very desperate."
Morgan ignored the jab and folded her arms, cloak drifting behind her like torn shadow. "I've been wondering about something. Jin-Woo never bothered to care—he's the ruler of death, impossible to kill, too busy to question old corpses." Her eyes narrowed with curiosity. "But I'm curious. How strong was Naga Sadow in his golden age?"
XoXaan's expression shifted—not fear, but a sudden, sharp wariness. "Curious… or preparing to fight him , if ever he return ?"
Morgan crossed her arms, cloak drifting like tattered smoke. "Naga Sadow is already on his way here."
XoXaan blinked once, then snapped, "Bullshit. You're lying. That horrifying Sith is the LAST person who should ever wake. What happened out there? What kind of disaster brings him back?!"
Morgan didn't even blink. "I'll explain it very briefly. Dooku walked into the Shrine. Sadow used essence transfer. He took the body. He escaped. And he's likely returning to the tomb he considers his anchor—right here."
XoXaan stared. "That's not an explanation. That's… that's a summary from hell. Give me more. How in the void did a gold-era monster resurrect? Who opened what? Who triggered it? How did the Jedi not die instantly? HOW—"
"This will take a while," Morgan cut in.
And it did. Minutes passed as Morgan explained everything with the clean, merciless efficiency of a strategist: the fog, the possession, the duel, the failed kill attempt, the explosion, the escape. XoXaan didn't interrupt once—her expression went from focused, to appalled, to horrified, to spiritually nauseated.
Finally, XoXaan just sank straight down onto the sand—despite being a spirit. Her jaw hung open, eyes blank.
"Oh no…" she whispered.
Morgan tilted her head. "You okay? You look halfway to hell."
XoXaan didn't look up. "Of course I'm not okay. Do you understand who you just described? Naga Sadow is a Sith with enough power, enough reckless brilliance, to detonate a planet using its own sun. He doesn't wage war—he rewrites star systems. He doesn't conquer—he restructures empires. If he's alive, this galaxy is about to turn into—"
Morgan raised a hand. "Relax. That's why I came."
XoXaan stared at her, eyes narrowing. "You came… alone?"
Morgan shrugged. "Jin-Woo needs to calm the Jedi before they assume he caused this. Besides, this is my hunt."
XoXaan let out a noise halfway between a groan and a scream. "You came ALONE to hunt Naga Sadow? That's like—like trying to slap a supernova!"
Morgan rubbed her forehead. "If it helps, I'm annoyed too."
A ripple stirred through the tomb. Hundreds of Sith spirits materialized at once—floaters, old warlords, failed alchemists, forgotten kings, all crowding the ancient hall with restless energy. They surged forward eagerly.
"Is the Sith'ari here?" one ghost boomed. "We sensed him—our master, our sovereign—"
They cut off the moment they saw Morgan.
Silence.
Then collective disappointment.
"…oh. It's the Sith'ari's servant."
"…most unfortunate."
"…why isn't he here himself?"
"…did we wake up for nothing?"
Morgan's eye twitched. Servant. I will erase this tomb myself.
XoXaan spun toward them. "Shut up. We have a MUCH bigger problem than your bruised expectations."
Her tone dropped into cold truth as she explained everything—Sadow escaping, Dooku's possession, the combat on Coruscant, the incoming threat .
The chamber filled with a low, rising wail as the spirits processed it—all of them floating like despairing ghosts at a funeral pyre.
"No… no no no…" one whispered.
"That monster woke up?" another hissed.
"This is the WORST place to get baked ," a third muttered.
Morgan raised a hand slightly. " can he actually detonate a planet with a sun? Because that sounds like an exaggeration."
The reaction was immediate. Several spirits spasmed. Others grabbed their heads like grieving mourners. One literally screamed.
Veins—yes, somehow veins—popped on the translucent skulls of half the crowd.
"Sith'ari SERVANT!" one bellowed. "Naga Sadow is mad enough to kill his OWN allies just to amuse himself!"
"He once tried to collapse a star just to fuse it with a Force construct!"
"He is a warmonger, a tyrant, a cosmic lunatic—"
"He should NEVER have been brought back!"
XoXaan threw her hands up. "Exactly! That is what I've BEEN telling her!"
Morgan crossed her arms, unimpressed. "You all sound like you're halfway to fainting."
The hundreds of Sith spirits recoiled—some drifting backward, some flickering like candles hit by wind—but before any of them could fire back, a sharp chime cut through the tomb.
Offensive Bias. A cold blue hologram projected from Morgan's hip-interface, the Forerunner AI bowing its head slightly.
"Queen Morgan," Offensive Bias said, voice clinical and unshaken, "the entity known as Naga Sadow has altered trajectory. He is no longer approaching Korriban. He has redirected toward Yavin 4 at high velocity."
Morgan blinked once. "Yavin 4?"
XoXaan stiffened. "Why would he—"
Morgan rounded on the spirits. "Hey. Ghosts. This is missing information that suddenly matters. Is this tomb actually where Sadow died, or not?"
A long, horribly awkward beat.
Then XoXaan grimaced. "Uhhh… his tomb was built by his servants. Should Sadow have died, his body was supposed to be brought here."
Morgan stared. "And you take that as a yes? From a servant?"
That hit the spirits like a thunderclap.
Suddenly the entire tomb erupted with panicked motion—hundreds of Sith ghosts shooting across the chamber like screaming meteors, all of them diving straight into the corridors leading toward Sadow's sarcophagus.
The sound was like a swarm of angry banshees tearing through stone.
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "That's a lot of concern for a corpse that might not even be here."
A moment later, one ghost shot back out of the tunnel—ashen, trembling, voice cracking.
"His body—" the spirit rasped. "His body is NOT here!"
XoXaan slapped both ghostly hands against her skull. "! That means he died on Yavin 4! Not here!"
Morgan dragged her palm down her face. ". There goes the surprise attack. Completely ruined. So he didn't die on Korriban. He blew himself up on Yavin 4 like a lunatic."
She exhaled sharply through her nose, irritation thick in her voice.
"Meaning Sadow is returning to the place he actually died. Not the tomb you all built."
She didn't wait for their reactions. Her mind linked instantly to Offensive Bias. Offensive Bias, inform Jin-Woo that Sadow is on Yavin 4. I'm going there myself.
A pink-rimmed portal began to open behind her, swirling with distorted light. She stepped toward it—until XoXaan shot forward, voice cracking.
"Sith'ari servant—don't go to Yavin 4! I mean it. In fact, the two of you… the sith'ari and you… need to go together."
Morgan stopped mid-step. "That's a very scaredy-cat tone coming from all of you. What makes you this terrified?"
A spirit near XoXaan floated up, trembling with a kind of panic that didn't match its ghostly form. "Yavin 4 houses a powerful spirit called Exar Kun."
Morgan raised a brow. "So?"
XoXaan cut in fast. "There are three outcomes. Listen carefully, because all of them matter."
Morgan stayed silent, jaw tightening.
"One," XoXaan said, "Sadow dies because he clashes with Exar Kun. They kill each other. That's the best-case scenario."
Another spirit shook its translucent head. "But unlikely."
"Two," XoXaan continued, "there will be a three-way battle. You versus Sadow versus Exar Kun. All sides attacking each other. Chaos. A war of ghosts and ancients ."
Morgan's cloak shifted with a faint snap of irritation.
XoXaan hesitated before the third. "Now the third outcome is… impossible. Or it should be."
Morgan narrowed her eyes. "Say it."
XoXaan's voice dropped, the weight of the old Sith era pressing into every word. "If circumstances force it—if both of them sense a threat greater than their own rivalry—Exar Kun and Naga Sadow may work together."
Every spirit in the tomb froze. The idea itself seemed sacrilegious.
Another spirit whispered harshly, "Two apex Sith. One with overwhelming raw power… the other with overwhelming mind and technique. If they join forces, even you will be outmatched."
Morgan didn't answer immediately. She closed her eyes, tapping her glove lightly against her arm, calculating. The silence stretched long enough that the red dust itself seemed to hold still.
Inside her mind, the pieces aligned.
Naga Sadow—brutal, explosive, unstable.
Exar Kun—methodical, surgical, cunning.
Combined, they weren't addition. They were multiplication.