Zerxes Caminades stood with his arms crossed before him as two storm troopers removed the corpse of the candidate named Melliphus.

"Next."

"Y'roth."

Something clicked in the back of Zerxes' mind.

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"Mark this one, Zerxes."

"Yes, Master. Orphan Y'roth, marked for force sensitivity, no innate talent."

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A wry smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. If only that dried up, old woman had known then what had become of the two of them, Zerxes and Y'roth. How far they had come.

"Step forward, Y'roth, and be judged before the Hand of the Emperor..."