Lightning shatters the sky and strikes the spire atop the cloning complex towering before you as you step off your ship and onto the rain-slick landing platform. Kamino, the Planet of Storms, is known for its roiling seas and constant torrential downpour.The fall of the Galactic Empire hit the planet’s primary export of military cloning projects extremely hard, but the Kaminoans remained afloat, both figuratively with contracts to galactic warlords, and literally with the brilliant engineering of their iconic seaborne cities.

The initial landing pad is a wide circle designed to accommodate a variety of ships, and is connected to a series of other platforms as well. Every surface is slick with rain, but avoids flooding due to the sloped edges that allow the water to run off into the sea below and away from the centerpoint.

The cloning facility’s exterior is characterized by similar slopes, and raindrops rapidly transform into steam as they touch against the series of lightning rods around the platform, much like they would if they dripped onto a lightsaber blade. You wonder which is deadlier as you observe the violent arcs of electricity course through the pylons.

History tells of the fateful encounter between Obi Wan Kenobi and renowned Bounty Hunter Jango Fett. The doors of the facility are sealed, which means that whatever challenge awaits you, will have to be faced in the heart of the omnipresent rainstorm. What history will you write?

One thing was a constant with Kamino: It was wet. And when one called Kamino wet, it was like calling Hell ‘a little warm.’ For Sashar, it reminded him of home. Just, less the jungle. Instead, Sashar found himself standing on an immaculate landing platform, already soaked to the bone. He looked up, squinting into the night sky from the glare caused by the artificial lights dotted about the platform. In the distance, there was a strobe of lightning, then, after a few moments, a rumble of thunder offering a resonant undertone to the staccato patter of the rain.

The last time he’d seen this vista, he’d been soundly beaten by his brother, Zandro, now long dead. Of course, it hadn’t actually been on Kamino, but a reconstruction by the Morph Hall. It had been a good fight. A very good fight. Sashar smiled at the memory, but the expression was bittersweet. Nadrin Erinos, Zandro’s son, was an apple that had fallen very, very far from the tree. Teroch , Sashar’s son, had lied to get Nadrin admitted to the Mandalorian clan, saying that he’d passed his trials. Instead, the masked psychopath had struggled to adapt to the no-nonsense, trigger-happy attitude most of the family seemed to share. He’d not been a good fit. Sashar had almost been glad when Nadrin had departed for parts unknown.

Rayze Erinos was an unknown quantity. Ostensibly, he was the bastard offshoot of Zandro who had either never been acknowledged or never known about by the deceased cycloptic Arconae. Sashar wasn’t sure. Zandro had been slight, and whilst combat was never far from him, he didn’t resemble the short, angry, long-haired man Sashar remembered dearly.

He was, however, late. Sashar sighed, and shrugged the strap from his LJ-50 Concussion Rifle off, placing the weapon on the ground. He then tugged off his jacket, placing it over the large weapon. Surprisingly, it wasn’t cold. Rain matted his short hair to his head, running down over his shoulders and arms, making his skin slick.

Sashar felt Rayze coming through the Force before he actually appeared. When he stepped through the doors and took stock of the landing platform, Sashar still struggled to notice the family resemblance.

“Su’cuy, vod’ika.” Sashar opened, eyeing the larger man carefully. He wasn’t festooned with weapons; in fact, the Adept could only spot two. He was big enough to be considered a weapon himself, however.

“So how do we do this? Do I call you uncle? Because that’d be ridiculous; calling someone uncle who looks the same age as me and lighter by nearly 30 kilos.”

Sashar smiled mirthlessly. “Just because Zandro may or may not have pumped you into some di’kutla hooker nineteen years ago doesn’t make us family, boy.”

The Warlord’s expression turned ugly. Quick as blinking, Rayze charged from the foyer towards Sashar, his lightsaber in hand and lit.

That hit a nerve. Sashar brought his own weapon up, activated it, and adopted a ready stance, bracing himself for the onslaught.

At the last second, Rayze leapt in the air, then slammed his blade down onto Sashar’s, forcing him almost to one knee. That one move took away any doubts in the Adept’s mind as to who Rayze’s father was. Sashar pushed back, allowing the Force to grant him the strength necessary to move the larger being, and backed up a pace, keeping his blade between him and his adversary.

Rayze kept the initiative. His blade swept low and fast, as if it were a scythe hewing wheat. Sashar hopped above it and took another pair of steps back, his eyes dancing, the ghost of a smile gripping his features. Again, the Warlord pushed forward, but this time, his attack broke on Sashar’s saber like waves on a beach. The Adept dragged his own blade up, forcing Rayze to do the same, both sabers hissing and snarling at the contact. It took everything Sashar had and help from his considerable Force reserves to manage to push him back.

Rayze leant in, baring his teeth in exertion, and as Sashar bore back, pushing furiously, surpassing the superior reach the larger man so often relied on, surprise flickered across his features.

“I’ll give you this much, ‘uncle’, you’re strong.” Rayze panted, still attempting to overbear the Adept.

“I’m fast, too.” Sashar retorted, grinning. He backstepped insanely fast, the Force still suffusing him, and allowed Rayze to stumble forwards. Thunder cracked in the background and the rain picked up, soaking them both further. Sashar took hold of his saber once again with both hands, and settled in for another onslaught, that familiar grin growing slightly wider. He was starting to enjoy this.

Rayze could never have been called humble - far from it in fact. He had given up counting the number of times someone had resented him for his pride and ability. In his own eyes, he had overcome obstacles that would have crushed lesser men - an unknown father, being mocked due to his size, his inability to control his temper. He had seen other people succumb to such problems and allow those things to define them, and he had refused to be bowed by circumstance. If that made him proud then so be it.

To say his pride took a slight blow as he stumbled forwards to the water-laden ground after being outmaneuvered by the smaller man, may have been an understatement.

He is making me look like a fool, and I cannot allow that.

Memories of every fight, every beating he had endured while he was growing up flashed through the Warlord’s mind, fueling the fire that burst into life within his chest. He landed with one hand splayed before him on the slick ground, his head turning upwards to glare through the rain at the Erinos Patriarch. The grin that had been growing on the Adept’s face faltered slightly as the pair’s eyes met and he realised that he had seen a look like that before, in his brother’s eyes.

“Well, I can tell you’re Zandro’s kid, but that’s irrelevant. Aliit ori'shya tal'din kid, family is more than bloodline. If you’re going to call yourself an Erinos, you had damn well better be prepared to prove yourself.”

Rising up to his feet, Rayze flicked the hair out of his face and sent water flying away as he gripped his lightsaber tightly. His eyes narrowed at the increasing downpour of rain that suffused the landscape, wishing he had chosen a more arid location for this confrontation.

“Gladly, uncle.”

The Warlord’s blade shot forwards, the larger man happily taking the offensive as he watched the more experienced Jedi steel himself for the onslaught. Crimson met cerulean as the two weapons slammed together, sparks spewing into the rain-filled air and turning the water droplets to mist. Rayze gritted his teeth and pushed forwards, willing the Force to flow through him. However, the Warlord found his strike rebuffed, the already-considerable might of his opponent augmented by the Force to take his strength to herculean levels. With a flick of the wrist and a grunt of effort, Sashar broke the saber lock, the young pilot skipping backwards on the landing platform and bringing his lightsaber back down. Setting his feet, Rayze darted forwards once more, eschewing simple strength in favour of a flurry of quick strikes. However, at every venture he found that the other man’s lightsaber was in his way, the Elder’s blue blade seemingly a quarter of a second ahead of the Equite’s red. Frustrated at his seeming lack of progress, a low growl escaped the Sith’s lips as he continued his assault. Rayze chopped at his opponent’s throat with the blade, but Sashar was too quick, easily batting it aside before lifting himself effortlessly into the air to avoid the younger man’s sweep. The Adept backpedaled quickly, his lightsaber weaving in a torrent of light before him, raindrops hissing off the blade as it moved.

“Is that seriously all that you have? Zandro was at least twice the warrior you were when I first met him, let alone when he was at his peak.”

If Rayze had thought he had been angry before, the latest slight tipped over the edge into incandescent rage. His chest felt tight as he shouted, the words spitting from his lips as the rain continued to fall.

“How dare you? Twice the warrior? Then how come he is dead? Explain that one to me ‘uncle’. Explain to me how he is dead in some unmarked grave, yet here you stand with all of the arrogance of a man who cheated the reaper. What made you so much more worthy of life than he was? Why is Teroch given the option of throwing away his relationship with the man who sired him, yet I am destined to live forever with nothing more than rumour and stories? If you’re such a wise and mighty man, Sashar Erinos Arconae, tell. Me. Why.”

Rayze panted with exertion, his chest heaving with every breath as he glared through the rain at the other man, noting the complete absence of a smile on Sashar’s face. Neither of the two men moved, both of them standing transfixed as the gravity of the young Warlord’s words slowly sank in. With his tirade, it seemed that his reason for this fight had finally been revealed.

Lightning flashed through the silence, a herald for the thunder that rumbled indomitably, almost as if urging the two fighters to continue. Abruptly, Sashar dropped his guard and stance, smiling mirthlessly, more a rictus expression of barely suppressed pain; a grimace long-hidden.

“I’ll tell you this, ad’ika, it wasn’t easy,” if ever the Mandalorian had been accused of understatement before, his tone made it clear that they paled compared to those eight words.

Unsettled by the display, Rayze brought his blade up higher, his eyes still burning, visible even through the downpour. “Answer the question.”

Sashar’s self-loathing seemed to shatter like glass, and for the first time in the fight, genuine anger surged through him, twisting his youthful features into an animalistic snarl. With a surge of motion, he shot at Rayze, his saber smacking into the other’s with an explosive snap of sparks and straining energy. The larger man stumbled back, not expecting the sudden display of aggression. He rallied and countered, slashing high in an overhead designed to split Sashar’s crown. The shoto caught it and railed sideways, allowing the Erinos Patriarch to punch Rayze in the face, staggering him.

“You really want to know what it cost me? You really want to know what I had to do to return?” the Adept shouted, his voice mingling with the bass cacophony of almost ever-present thunder rolling and roiling across the seascape.

Sashar didn’t wait for an answer. He continued his assault, bringing his shoto down and stabbing forward in a spike meant to eviscerate Rayze. The Warlord managed to twist out of the way and bring his blade back into a foreguard, able to fend off the next lateral slash. “I managed it by not dying. I had to sacrifice my everlasting peace. I became a Force Wraith. Only, I wasn’t strong enough. Not even me, the great Sashar Erinos could completely cheat death. And so I was stuck in limbo, only the barest parts of me anchored to Teroch as his Wraith. It took nearly three years for me to gain the strength to return. Three years bereft of senses, stripped to my most base components, only called upon to fight. It’s a fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone, and certainly not Zandro. You selfish little di’kut. You have no idea what you’re asking.” Sashar snarled, his face drawn into a snarl.

Rayze managed to regroup as the words sank in and push his uncle back with a few wild hacks. Usually, they wouldn’t have phased the Adept, but he was distracted. Rayze had managed to get under his skin: a feat few could manage.

“And what? You possessed Teroch? Is that where he went?” Rayze offered a kick of his own which slid past Sashar’s defence, knocking the bunched muscles just below the thigh. When the Adept took another step, his leg didn’t move as he’d hoped, and he went down to one knee, bowing before Rayze, his shoulders heaving as he sucked in breaths, trying to master his rage.

Disgusted, the Warlord brought his pommel down, intent on knocking Sashar out with a strike to the temple. Before he hit his mark, a rain-soaked hand came up and caught his own, stopping the motion in its tracks. Rayze tried to yank his hand back, but found the Adept’s grip to be like beskar. Slowly, he turned his head to look up at the younger man, rain pouring down from his matted hair across his face.

“Teroch was a lightning rod. I always knew I’d have an easier time finding him if I passed and became a Wraith because his genetic structure is identical to mine. It was like looking for my own body. He unknowingly called my essence together, then, the second part of my resurrection came to be,” Sashar stood, and shoved Rayze back with a Force augmented push.

The Warlord skidded backwards, barely able to keep his footing. “You had planned this?” he shouted, disbelief thick in in his voice.

Sashar turned to face Rayze, his saber held loosely to one side, not bothering with a ready stance. “Yeah, I planned all of it. Teroch was the ultimate insurance policy. I gave him a necklace with some of my blood in so I’d be able to track him if he was captured. Some Dathomiri Force trick. It was also to keep some of my DNA on him. You can’t clone a clone. Korras knew what I was trying to do, so he kept an eye on Ter. When the time was right, he took him.”

Sashar moved to the beat of the thunder, closing the distance between them, his saber lashing out like the waves crashing below. Rayze reacted instinctively, hopping above the first slash, pulling his midsection in to avoid the second, then leaning back to save his head from the third. His retaliation smashed the shoto aside, and kicked the Adept in the stomach, winding him.

Sashar doubled over, sucking in breath after breath, then glanced towards Rayze, his expression suddenly unreadable. “He took the necklace, and from the blood, he was able to make a clone body. Korras then forcibly removed Teroch’s Force Wraith. Me. It wasn’t a pleasant experience for anyone. Then, he joined the Wraith and the body, and I was reborn.”

Realisation suddenly doused Rayze like a bucket of ice water poured being poured over him. Teroch had left because he felt like he’d been used by the one person he’d ever completely trusted; his Father. And he wasn’t wrong.

Guilt flickered across Sashar’s face, quickly replaced by a defiant glare which speared the Warlord, pinning him in place. “So you want to know why Zandro stayed dead and I didn’t? Because he wasn’t as strong as me. I’m not one of the strongest Erinos. I’m the strongest Erinos. I dodged death and betrayed my blood just for a few more years in this haran of a galaxy, and all it cost me was my son’s love.”

Rage cascaded through the Adept, boiling over. In the Force, he was a conflagration of emotion, burning as bright as a forge fire. “So tell me, ad’ika, would you want Zandro to pay the price? Was it worth it?”

The revelations coming from his uncle had left the young Warlord’s head spinning as he tried to piece together the truth of what he was being told. Sashar had nothing to gain by lying to him, but at the same time Rayze had a hard time believing that the Adept could have been so callous about his brother’s death. That he would have some sort of contingency plan put into place to protect him should he meet his end was less surprising to the Sith, but at the expense of his own son?

This man is a walking contradiction.

The questions that the Elder raised still swirled within Rayze’s mind, however before he could continue to work his way towards his answer, his opponent was already moving forward. Sashar’s blue shoto stabbed forwards, and it was only thanks to the mystical whisperings of the Force that the Warlord was able to step to the side, his own saber swatting out to bat the incoming strike aside. However, Sashar had already pulled his weapon back, and was lunging forwards once more, his lightsaber swinging as he did so. Rayze barely brought his red blade around to block the strike that would have cleaved him in two, his muscles bulging as he worked to keep his opponent at bay.

“So, we’re just tools to you?”

The words burst from Rayze before he could stop them, and he watched his opponent’s resolve waver for the merest of seconds and, sensing he was on the right track, the Warlord carried on talking.

“Zandro, he was just there to help you further your ends. Teroch, your son, he was just a backup plan. Quite the family man you are.”

This, it seemed, was a step too far. While Sashar had seemed angry before, Rayze’s questioning of the man’s family values had evolved that anger into full-blown rage. Fury unlike anything that the Warlord had seen before flashed across Sashar’s face and he snarled as his strength increased, the locked blades growing closer and closer to Rayze’s midriff. Panic gripped the young man as he realised with a start that he may have gone too far, his words having tipped his uncle over the edge. All at once, the Adept pulled his blade back before dancing forwards almost immediately, weapon swinging with greater speed than before and, as Rayze frantically blocked the incoming slash, he realised that his opponent’s strength had grown too. Sashar’s lightsaber swung forwards again and again, his weapon probing for a weakness as the Warlord struggled to keep up with the barrage.

I can’t last much longer.

The thought was a sobering one as the panic that had began seeping into Rayze’s mind grew, his muscles aching with the jarring impacts that came from blocking the stronger man’s attacks. The idea that Sashar could actually end up killing him had never really occurred to the Warlord but it seemed that, somewhat understandably he had to admit, questioning the Adept’s loyalty to his family had been somewhat unwise. The Sith kept backpedalling, his own weapon a blur of crimson light as he found himself becoming overwhelmed by his opponent’s superior skill when, all of a sudden, the Elder seemed to come back to himself and pulled back from his onslaught. Rayze looked his uncle in the eye and saw an absence of the anger that had been there before, instead they now seemed to be tinged with regret and the Warlord took the opportunity to dart backwards and create some space between the two men. He sucked breaths in, his chest heaving as he worked to regain his composure, taking advantage of the brief respite while it lasted.

“No.”

Sashar looked confused as Rayze spoke the word, his head cocking to one side as he peered at the newer Arconan.

“What do you mean, no?”

The Warlord’s breath was slowing as he felt himself calming down slightly, his eyes meeting the Adept’s as he responded to the other man’s query.

“No, I wouldn’t want him to do this. No, it wasn’t worth the price, not for a man such as you. I can see it now, the pain. That anger just then wasn’t because of what it was that I said, but the truth of it, and that you hate the fact that some part of you knows that I’m right. Maybe that’s why you’re so fiercely loyal to those you deem worthy; it’s a way of proving to yourself that you are still the family man you believe you should be despite how you treated Teroch. Maybe you always were that man, I don’t know. What I do know is that you are pretty much the only relative I have left in this Universe. It might not fit your definition of family, but it’s the whole reason I’m here. Nadrin? That man is so far off into the twilight zone that he’s not worth the energy, but I thought you would be worth the effort of proving myself to.”

Sashar was looking over at Rayze with a blank expression on his face, his head still cocked to the side as he regarded the other man.

“You know, for someone built like a brick Sith-house, you sure do talk a lot. One of these days that might get you killed you know, especially if you keep on wildly speculating on things you don’t seem to understand.”

That comment seemed to bring a smile to the Warlord’s lips as he cricked his neck to either side and brought his lightsaber up, dipping the blade towards his opponent in a mini salute.

“Almost certainly, but today isn’t going to be that day.”

The confidence in his voice may have been slightly feigned, but it served to amuse his uncle as the other man mirrored Rayze’s earlier salute and readied himself. Taking the initiative, the Sith began to run forward, wind rushing through his water-laden hair as he charged and leapt. The Force-enhanced jump carried him forwards and he brought his lightsaber down in a double-handed overhead smash as he descended, a copy of his earlier technique. Sashar’s own weapon was brought up to meet the Warlord’s attack and sparks cascaded around the pair as the two blades crashed into each other. Rayze bounced back and skidded slightly on the rain-slick floor, his saber weaving in front of him to ward off a follow-up attack but instead he found his opponent simply looking at him again, a pensive look etched on his features.

“That’s the second time you’ve done that move, why?”

Rayze shrugged, still readying himself for another attack from his uncle as he replied.

“It just felt right. My size and the momentum from a jump like that will combine to make the attack more powerful. If it weren’t for your admittedly impressive strength, I reckon I’d have had a decent shot at getting through your defences with it.”

Abruptly Sashar extinguished his lightsaber and clipped it to his belt, moving over to collect his concussion rifle even as Rayze stayed still, wary of some sort of convoluted plan to get him to lower his guard. The Adept hefted the giant weapon he had retrieved and walked over to the Warlord, his customary cocksure grin once more planted on his face like a mask.

“You can put the lightsaber away, there won’t be any more fighting today.”

Rayze deactivated his saber and placed it on his belt as he felt himself relaxing somewhat, his eyes searching for any sign of what was going on in his uncle’s mind and failing miserably.

“So I passed your test then?”

Sashar winked at the Sith and clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past him towards the exit from their makeshift battlefield.

“Let’s just say you’re on probation. Come on, it’s warm inside and I want to tell you about a couple of techniques that me and your father used to use in combat. Now, the first one was similar to what you just pulled, but we put a bit of a two-man spin on it.”

Rayze waited a second, looking out towards the storm-laden horizon, a sense of peace washing over him.

Wasn’t the perfect ending, but maybe it’ll be a good enough start.

Turning around, the Warlord went to follow his uncle inside, finally realising how cold he had been while stood out on the landing platform.

“Two-man spin? Tell me more…”