Chapter 19: The Dark Veil of the Galaxy

I know better than to mess with that guy, Ventus roared inwardly, a bead of cold sweat trickling down his temple. The galaxy’s a big place—why, of all people, did I have to run into the most powerful, most sinister figure in it right now?

“You weren’t headed to Mos Eisley for some business?” Murt asked Ventus once the Farlin had left.

“Forget it. This job’s got a time limit, so we’d better get moving,” Ventus said, shaking his head. “Besides, when that guy’s the one giving the orders, I don’t exactly have a choice but to take the trip.”

Truth be told, he was dying to go meet the Chosen One, Anakin Skywalker, right then and there. But with Darth Plagueis—Hego Damask II—standing in his way, he didn’t dare risk it. The last thing he needed was for the young Skywalker to catch Plagueis’s attention and throw the entire storyline into chaos.

Back aboard the Lancer, Quinto and Spade were running final checks in the engine bay. Truda had done a solid job patching up their ship—fuel, water, and food were all fully stocked. But Ventus’s mind was elsewhere, his gaze drifting out the viewport, lost in thought.

Murt clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You know that guy from earlier?”

“You mean the Muun?” Quinto chimed in from where he was tinkering nearby. “Looked like one of those InterGalactic Banking Clan types. Probably tied to Damask Holdings or some subsidiary. Point is, we can’t afford to cross someone like that. The Banking Clan’s got their claws in every corner of the galaxy. Cross them, and their collection fleets show up to strip your planet bare.”

It’s worse than that, Ventus thought, letting out a heavy sigh. “That name, that look—I don’t know him, but I’ve heard the stories. He’s one of the darkest powers in the galaxy, even if he doesn’t show it on the surface. Just our luck, running into someone like him in a place this big.”

If his memory of Star Wars lore was right, that Muun was a Sith Lord.

The Sith were the remnants of an ancient empire that waged a galaxy-shaking war against the Republic thousands of years ago. Like the Jedi, they were Force-sensitive, capable of wielding the mysterious power of the Force.

But while Jedi drew on the light side, tempering their desires and upholding their principles to do what they believed was right, the Sith embraced the dark side. They indulged their every whim, acting solely for themselves, heedless of the pain or destruction they caused.

The Republic may have won that ancient war, shattering the Sith Empire, but the Sith Lords endured, their shadow lingering in the Republic’s underbelly. They bided their time, waiting for the chance to topple the galaxy’s government.

And Ventus knew they’d succeed—just over a decade from now.

That’s why he’d set a singular goal for his Fourth Civilization: prepare for war. He aimed to carve out a place for his people in the galaxy-shaking conflict that would erupt in the coming years.

Given the Fourth Civilization’s current state and the potential of their mothership, their future was bright—given a century, they might even challenge the Republic head-on. But a century wasn’t what they had. They had barely a decade.

Building a civilization capable of waging interstellar war in just over ten years? Impossible. Which is why, the moment Ventus recognized Hego Damask for who he truly was, he changed his plans.

He accepted Damask’s job. Meeting Anakin Skywalker was too risky now, but… a new path seemed to be opening up.

The Fourth Civilization couldn’t prepare for war in a decade, but the InterGalactic Banking Clan could. And Hego Damask II was one of its most pivotal figures. If Ventus could secure the support of this sprawling economic juggernaut, his civilization’s war preparations could accelerate dramatically.

In a decade, they’d be ready to face the galaxy’s coming storm.

The cost, though…

It meant tangling with the bottomless darkness behind Hego Damask—a Sith Lord.

Ventus’s mind churned as he stared out the viewport, weighing how to use this job to build a connection with Damask. More importantly, could he afford to get involved with someone so dangerous? Or should he finish this job and vanish?

As the Lancer, a YT-1000 light freighter, roared to life and broke free of Tatooine’s atmosphere, Murt engaged the hyperdrive. The ship leapt into hyperspace, vanishing from realspace in a blink.

---

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the Endor system in the Modell sector, a Z-10 Seeker-class scout ship cruised through a hyperspace lane.

“Master Qui-Gon, we’re about to exit hyperspace,” the pilot called back to the two figures standing behind him, both clad in loose, coarse cloaks with hoods shadowing their faces.

“Do you feel it, Obi-Wan? The disturbance in the Force,” one of them said, turning to the other.

“I can, Master,” the second figure replied, pushing back his hood to reveal a youthful face. His brown hair was cropped short, save for a thin, long braid dangling from his right temple—a style common among Jedi apprentices. He brimmed with energy.

“There’s a lingering ripple here. I think we’re in the right place,” Qui-Gon Jinn said. “But whatever it is, whether it’s still here or not, we need to stay sharp. If this thing’s disturbance is strong enough for Master Yoda to sense it, it’s no small matter.”

“I understand, Master. What’s our next move?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Follow the Force’s guidance, don’t fight it. The galaxy moves according to its own rhythms—trying to force it only creates more chaos.”

“So, you’re not exactly thrilled about this mission, are you?”

“I didn’t say that,” Qui-Gon said with a faint smile.

The viewport dimmed as the ship dropped out of hyperspace, returning to the inky void of realspace. Before them loomed a pale blue gas giant, its rings and moons orbiting in serene silence.

A sharp beep-beep-beep sounded from the console. The co-pilot tapped a few controls, and a holographic map of the system flickered to life, red markers highlighting several objects.

“Sirs, we’ve got artificial structures here,” the co-pilot said, zooming in on the display. Three fan-shaped mining stations orbited the gas giant, with a dozen transport ships shuttling back and forth, harvesting resources.

Qui-Gon frowned. “Why would anyone mine in a backwater like the Endor system? There’s no stable hyperspace route here. The cost outweighs the profit.”

“Probably some scheme cooked up by those credits-grubbing Neimoidians from the Trade Federation,” Obi-Wan said with a smirk. “Those stench-ridden merchants never hesitate to chase a profit.”

“Don’t let your emotions cloud your judgment, Obi-Wan. That’s your greatest flaw.”

“Understood, Master.”