Chapter 21: Laying the Foundations

Zorin stood at the viewport of his quarters aboard The Obsidian Spear, staring into the endless blackness of space. The holocron's power still coursed through his veins, its dark whispers echoing in his mind. Dromund Kaas had been a revelation—his battle with the Sith Lord's specter, the ancient knowledge now embedded in his soul—it had all shifted something within him.

But it was not enough.

Power, real power, could not be drawn from relics alone. To survive in the cutthroat world of the Sith, Zorin needed more than knowledge and strength. He needed allies. He needed influence. He needed a power base.

The holocron had given him new insight into the ways of the ancient Sith, and one lesson stood out above all others: power is only secure when it is shared strategically, like a web, with him at the center pulling the strings. The more strands he wove, the more unbreakable his position would become.

Zorin's sharp gaze narrowed as he planned his next move. Darth Malios was a powerful master, but like all Sith Lords, he was a threat as much as an ally. Zorin would bide his time, continue his training, and outwardly serve with loyalty. But in the shadows, he would begin constructing his own empire, one step at a time.

He would need followers—loyal soldiers, assassins, informants. And he knew just where to begin.

A week later, Zorin stood at the head of a shuttle as it descended toward Nar Shaddaa, the "Smuggler's Moon." The neon lights of the sprawling city-planet flickered beneath him like a sea of stars. Nar Shaddaa was a hive of scum and villainy, a place where the strong preyed on the weak, and no one cared unless there was something to be gained. It was perfect.

His mission, officially, was to meet with representatives of the Hutt Cartel on behalf of the Sith Empire. But Zorin had other intentions. The Hutt Cartel could be useful, yes, but it was the mercenaries, bounty hunters, and underworld syndicates that truly interested him. If he could gain their loyalty—or at least their fear—he would be a step closer to building his power base.

As the shuttle touched down, Zorin adjusted his dark robes and stepped into the bustling streets. The air was thick with smoke, the sounds of gambling and shouting filling the night. His senses flared as he passed through the crowds, feeling the greed, the desperation, the violence simmering beneath the surface. The dark side fed on such chaos.

He made his way to a grimy cantina near the heart of the undercity. Inside, the place was alive with the noise of clinking glasses, holo-displays, and various scoundrels deep in conversation. Zorin's presence drew a few cautious glances—his Sith robes marked him as someone not to be trifled with—but most of the patrons carried on with their business, wary of getting involved with the Empire's affairs.

Zorin scanned the room until he spotted his first target: Kell Dravok, a mercenary captain with a reputation for brutality and ruthlessness. Dravok's crew had been known to take contracts from both the Empire and the Republic, so long as the credits were right. Zorin had done his research—Dravok was a man who respected strength above all else.

Zorin approached the table where Dravok sat, flanked by two of his lieutenants. The mercenary captain looked up, his scarred face twisting into a sneer as he saw the Sith. "I don't remember askin' for company, Sith."

Zorin didn't respond. Instead, he gestured to the seat opposite Dravok, the force of his presence alone enough to silence any protest. The tension at the table thickened as Zorin sat down, his crimson eyes locked on Dravok's.

"You and your crew are skilled," Zorin began, his voice cold and measured. "But you serve only credits. That is a weakness."

Dravok's sneer deepened. "Is that so? Because credits are what keep me and my men alive. Seems like a strength to me."

Zorin leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. "Credits buy temporary loyalty. True power, real strength, is earned through fear, through domination. You're wasting your potential, Captain. You could be more than a simple mercenary. You could be part of something far greater."

Dravok chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "And what exactly do you think you can offer that's greater than credits, Sith?"

Zorin didn't blink. Instead, he let the dark side flow through him, his presence growing more oppressive, more terrifying. The air around them seemed to thicken, and the light in the cantina dimmed as shadows seemed to stretch toward Zorin. He kept his voice low, but every word dripped with malice.

"Power. Influence. The chance to carve out your own empire in the underworld. I'm building something, Dravok—something that will span the galaxy. I offer you the chance to be at my side when it happens. Or, you can refuse… and find out what happens when you cross me."

The threat hung in the air like a blade. Dravok's face twisted in anger, but Zorin could sense the fear beneath it. His men were tense, their hands twitching toward their blasters. But none of them moved.

Dravok's sneer faded, replaced by a more calculating look. "You think you can just walk in here and—"

Before he could finish, Zorin's hand snapped up, and with a flick of the Force, one of Dravok's lieutenants was yanked from his seat and thrown into the far wall with a sickening thud. The cantina went silent as everyone turned to stare. Zorin hadn't even looked in the direction of the man he had just crushed.

Dravok froze, his eyes widening as the reality of the situation set in.

"You will join me, Dravok," Zorin said, his voice soft but filled with deadly intent. "Or you will be nothing more than a forgotten corpse on Nar Shaddaa. Your choice."

Dravok hesitated for a long moment, his pride and survival instincts warring within him. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Fine. You've made your point, Sith. I'll listen."

Zorin smiled thinly, the darkness receding as quickly as it had come. "Good. You and your crew will be useful. But know this, Dravok—I expect loyalty. Fail me, and you'll wish you had died today."

Dravok's face was pale, but he nodded. "Understood."

Back aboard The Obsidian Spear, Zorin reviewed the reports flooding in from Nar Shaddaa. Dravok's mercenaries had already started to spread his influence among the criminal syndicates, sowing fear and respect in equal measure. It was a small step, but it was the first of many.

Zorin leaned back in his chair, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He had begun to lay the foundations of his power base, and soon, it would grow beyond mere mercenaries. He would recruit assassins, spies, bounty hunters—anyone who could help him secure his position.

But he would not stop there.

The Sith Empire was vast, and many of its Lords were preoccupied with the war against the Republic. Zorin, however, would build his power in the shadows, amassing influence until he was no longer just an apprentice to Darth Malios. When the time was right, he would strike, and when he did, even the Dark Council would have to take notice.

Zorin had survived the trials of Korriban. He had claimed the knowledge of the ancient Sith. Now, he would build his own empire—one that would rival even the Sith Lords themselves.

And the galaxy would tremble.