A Tremor in the Force
Darth Maul was standing on the edge of a cliff. His form was hunched as his leg bled profusely. In his right hand, he clutched his double-bladed lightsaber tightly, awaiting his opponent’s next attack. His breaths were ragged as he saw her approaching; a woman cloaked in darkness with a strange sword in her hand coated with his own blood.
This woman emanated anger. It floated around her in a red mist, enveloping her in its embrace.
“You will die, Lord Maul.”
Darth Maul bared his sharp teeth. “I have survived worse than death. You cannot defeat me.”
“You are wrong.”
She raised her sword.
…
Darth Maul woke with a start, sitting up from his bed located within his fortress deep in the brambled forests of Dathomir. The sky, blood-red in the daytime, was a deep maroon at nighttime’s arrival. The moon, a pale red orb in the sky, poured its light into the room, coloring everything in an eerie red glow.
He stood, walking over to the window, his bare chest heaving as he took a deep breath.
There was a great disturbance in the Force. Something was coming. He could feel it.
He Force-pulled his lightsaber to him, igniting it as it flew into his outstretched hand. He could see his reflection in the window bathed by the light of his red lightsaber.
“And I’ll be ready,” he promised.
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