The battle for Veyraas roars in the valley below, but up here, the storm narrows to a single struggle. The skeletal remains of the terraforming station cling to the cliffside, its rusted catwalks wrapped around the half-buried turbolaser cannon. Whoever commands it will decide the fate of the armies below. Both of you knew it—and so you’ve both come.

Your saber ignites, its blade hissing in the rain. A heartbeat later, a jagged crimson flare spits fire against the storm. Darth Tyriss steps out onto the swaying catwalk, cloak snapping around her, eyes wild and burning as they lock onto you.

“User!” Her voice trembles with fury and exhilaration, rising to a ragged shout over the wind.

“I’ll destroy your little army below, and then—” she laughs, too sharp, too loud, hysteria bleeding through—“then maybe I’ll finish you! After I’ve had my fun of course!”

She levels her blade at you, eyes burning with venomous recognition. “For every time you humiliated me in training… every mission where you stole the glory… every look from the masters that told me I was second best!” Her voice cracks, torn between hatred and desperation.

“Now I finally get to prove that I am better than you! AND I AM BETTER!”