Lucasfilm has revealed the cover fine art for (and an official excerpt from) the upcoming novel Star Wars: Shadow of the Sith, which chronicles Luke Skywalker and Lando Calrissian'southward quest to locate the Sith planet Exegol, which was prominently featured in the 2019 filmStar Wars: The Rising of Skywalker.

Written by Adam Christopher, Shadow of the Sith is currently slated for release on Tuesday, June 28. Set between the events of 1983's Return of the Jedi and 2015's The Force Awakens, the novel finds Luke Skywalker "haunted by visions of the dark side, foretelling an ominous secret growing somewhere in the depths of space, on a expressionless world called Exegol." The disturbance in the Forcefulness is undeniable and Luke'due south worst fears are confirmed when his one-time friend Lando Calrissian comes to him with reports of a new Sith menace."

In addition to Luke and Lando, Shadow of the Sith features Ochi of Bestoon, the Sith assassin who was introduced inThe Ascent of Skywalker. While Ochi was already dead by the events of the 2019 flick, the character has since been fleshed out within the pages of Curiosity's various Star Wars comic books.

It was also in The Rise of Skywalker that Lando (Billy Dee Williams) revealed that he and Luke (Marking Hamill) had tried to locate Exegol, to no avail. Notwithstanding, the excerpt from Shadow of the Sith reveals that Luke did indeed pay a visit to the Sith planet, albeit non in the traditional sense. It'due south unclear if the Jedi Main'due south trip to Exegol was merely a dream, a vision or perhaps something a bit more real. Apparently, it certainly felt real to Luke.

The official cover art and synopsis can be plant beneath:

There was a bang, more like a thunderclap, and everything went black. The breeze dropped, the air still and warm. Luke took a breath and could taste dry dust on his tongue, and then he realized he wasn't sitting on the seeing rock anymore. Tython was gone.

He looked downwardly. He was standing now on black dirt, hard-packed, cracked, coated with dust that swirled in eddies effectually his boots.

He looked upward. The world was black and dry, the sky dark and filled with roiling blackness clouds, lit by constant flashes of lightning that shorted directly down into the basis. If it was day or nighttime, Luke couldn't tell — the place was both light and nighttime at the same time, the vast, apartment plain of black stone lit evenly from a lord's day that wasn't there.

Luke took another breath, the gustatory modality getting stronger in his rima oris. Already his optics were drying out, the atmosphere, the ground, the whole place so old, so desiccated.

He knew immediately where he was. He had been here many times recently, this nightmare mural of his visions.

Only now he knew its proper noun.

This was Exegol, the subconscious world of Sith only whispered about in ancient texts. A place reachable only with a wayfinder.

And… by meditation? Luke took a footstep frontwards, finding the ground solid and most definitely real nether his feet. He walked a small and dull circle, eyes at the horizon. Lightning flashed, lighting the further reaches of the plain, revealing information technology to be featureless and dead.

The aforementioned place as his visions, yes, merely this felt… different.

This felt existent.

Could he have been transported? Luke frowned, his mind racing forth with his heart. Truthful enough, he didn't know the full extent of the powers of the seeing stone. He had researched the identify for years, but he had never really used the stone for its aboriginal purpose, to commune directly with the Force. He knew himself what a powerful Jedi he had go, what untapped potential he nonetheless had within himself despite — or perhaps because of — his years of self-directed, Masterless training.

Had he washed it? He had the holocron, or what was left of it, and the kyber crystals. Was there plenty of the holocron data cadre left for the seeing stone to accept been able to read it, somehow, taking him to where the original owner had failed to reach, all those centuries agone? And what near the kyber crystals? They resonated with the Forcefulness, their very structures in a natural, sympathetic vibration with it. Were they the catalyst, making the journey possible? Was that what the original airplane pilot had tried — combining ii very different forms of Sith ability to overcome their lack of a truthful wayfinder?

It was and then that a far more important question entered Luke's caput.

Could he become back to Tython?

And so he spun, ducking instinctively as something brushed past the hood of his robe, strong plenty to shift the heavy fabric over his shoulder. There was nobody behind him. He turned the circle again. He was lone on the plain, the air perfectly withal, the caustic sour taste growing always stronger in his rima oris.

Again. Something brushing by him, this time with a distinct whoosh of the dry air and the audio of someone's feet scraping along the difficult footing. Luke ducked out of the mode once again, moving a few meters from his original position. Looking down he saw his footprints in the dust — it was inappreciably an impression, just enough for him to see his own tracks.

And the tracks of someone, or something, else. 2 large arcs, non footsteps just the signs of something being dragged forth the footing, on opposite sides of where Luke had just been standing.

He looked up, turning slowly to see all around him. At that place was no place to hide—no rocks, no buildings, zippo. Luke could run across from horizon to empty horizon.

Lightning flashed and then he saw information technology, just for an instant every bit information technology was lit upwardly past the electric storm. A figure, a fair distance abroad, perhaps one hundred meters. And then information technology was gone, before Luke could annals any features or form at all.

"Hello?" he called out, feeling slightly foolish. He tried again. "Who's there?"

Again the sound, louder now, and he felt something physically push button his back. He went with the motion to keep his own ground, moved forward farther, and so spun around, his hand whipping his lightsaber from his belt and presenting it in one shine, fluid movement. He paused, feet spread, weight low, the defensive position that was as instinctive, every bit automatic, for him equally breathing.

Luke was surrounded. They were alpine, thin. Nine of them. Nothing more than wraiths. Nothing more than shadows. Tall, thin ghosts, their bodies curved and arced in a new wind that had picked up, a wind that gusted across the blackness plain, changing direction constantly.

Luke adjusted his grip on his lightsaber and thumbed the activator. With a searing swoosh, the green blade ignited, illuminating a large circle around Luke and the wraiths, lighting the ashy dust that swirled in the air like a halo.

Luke braced himself. Because these weren't ghosts or shadows or wraiths. They were very real. With each wink of lightning in the dark sky above, the wraiths were lit as solid, three-dimensional figures, black-robed, bandage-faced.

Information technology was disorienting. Luke narrowed his eyes as he focused, the foes surrounding him flashing between translucent billowing shadows and solid humanoid figures.

Then they began to circumvolve him. They kept the same distance from Luke, and from ane another, as they moved, all of them keeping their forepart facing this intruder into their world. Luke, balanced on the assurance of his feet, fingers adjusting, readjusting on the grip of his lightsaber, was ready for the attack he knew was coming, all the while his listen racing.

How did I go here… and how do I go dorsum?

And and then the wraiths, moving in unison as though some unseen, unheard communication had passed among them, reached into robes that were in one instant eddies of ash and in the next flash of lightning a heavy, woven black textile, and pulled out lightsabers of their own.

Luke, with his years of experience, years of learning to master his emotions and control his actions, did non allow the sight of these nine weapons to surprise him. Considering… of course they had lightsabers. He was on Exegol, the Sith world, the heart of darkness. He had dared to see into the planet with the Force, and was now here, in concrete reality, facing nine embodiments of the dark side who clearly wanted their existence to remain hidden.

The wraiths lifted their lightsabers and activated them. Luke didn't so much hear their ignition as feel it inside, the familiar sound somehow high-pitched and distant, a half-forgotten memory rather than an actual physical sensation. The wraiths lifted their blades, set to meet Luke'southward, simply they were nothing, mere black outlines against the black figures continuing on the blackness basis under a black heaven. But when the lightning flashed, the nine blades were inverted, a negative flash of white that made spots trip the light fantastic in Luke'south optics. Dazzled, Luke's control slipped for just a moment, and he took an involuntary half stride backward.

It was what the wraiths had been waiting for. They rushed at him in silence, their robes of shadow-ash disintegrating in the wind as they moved, their whole bodies becoming insubstantial, particulate matter that blew away in the breeze. And then the lightning flashed and Luke was surrounded by nine very existent, very solid, black-clad figures swinging lightsabers of blinding, incommunicable light.

Driven by instinct, guided past his connection to the Force, Luke parried the starting time blows, his lightsaber connecting with his enemies' with a familiar high-free energy splash. But with the lightning flashing along with the nine black-white blades of his enemies, Luke shortly constitute he that he was, effectively, fighting blind, his vision nothing but majestic spots and cherry smears.

Only Luke Skywalker did non panic, did not fear. Deflecting some other attack, Luke airtight his eyes and let out a breath. He didn't need optics to run into his enemies. All he had to exercise was look inwards, to feel the Force flow through him, to experience its connection with himself, and the galaxy, and all the beings that lived inside.

I am 1 with the Force, and the Force is with me.

The next attack was parried with perfection; Luke's riposte was likewise a textbook example of the Jedi form.

Merely then his blade passed through… cipher.

Luke didn't open his eyes, he just bowed his head, spinning on the spot to counter the attacks coming from the other side while he concentrated, trying to enter an virtually meditative state so he could press an assail rather than allow the Forcefulness guide him merely through a passive, automatic defense.

And and then he faltered. A frown flickered across his confront every bit he reached out with the Force and…

In that location was goose egg. No connection. No feeling. Information technology was equally though he was still on Tython, on the seeing stone, at the middle of a grace where the Force coalesced around him but not within him.

The beings around him, nine shadow wraiths with blades of low-cal and night, did not be in the Forcefulness — they had no presence, no form.

This was impossible.

The Force connected all life in the milky way, but information technology too surrounded and penetrated the inanimate. Objects — rocks, planets, starships, droids, everything — had a presence in the Force, or rather, an absence that could be felt equally strongly every bit if they were living things themselves.

But the wraiths were nil. Luke couldn't sense them with the Force at all.

He turned left then right, lightsaber swinging upwards, and then down, and then out, parrying iii more blows. Only blinded and unable to even sense his opponents, he was unable to attack. He might as well simply be swinging randomly at the air around him.

Which he did. He opened his eyes, squinting against the flashes of lightning and the searing sweeps of the wraith-blades, his ain green lightsaber the 1 thing that was familiar, the merely color in his nightmare.

But that faithful lightsaber could do zippo against the wraiths. He blocked a accident — his eyes and encephalon starting time to adjust, very slightly, to the disorienting world around him — and so came in with an attack, high and then low, completely avoiding his opponent's bract. But his lightsaber passed through the wraith, dragging a wake of ash backside it, lit in the glowing greenish of Luke's laser sword.

The wraith didn't even seem to observe. It brought its blade up and Luke parried, parried over again, ducked sideways and parried a blow from his left side, swung the lightsaber to the right to counter another, and so carved a serial of angled attacks that should take cut the 3 opponents in front of him to ribbons.

His blade met no resistance — on the opposite, the wraith direct in front end of him stepped into his attack, apparently unaware or unconcerned as to the position of Luke's blade.

Luke didn't end moving. He dodged the shadow-blade of the wraith even as he passed through the beingness himself, the cloud of ash and grit thick effectually his face, coating his skin, his tongue, filling his oral cavity with the sense of taste of hot metal. Now behind the group, he turned, and pressed a fresh attack to their rear, swinging his lightsaber left and right and left once more, blocking the thrust of a shadow-blade as one wraith turned in a whirlwind of spinning black fume and brought its weapon to comport. Once again, lightsaber met lightsaber, green light met shadow-blade, and Luke could feel the jolt through the hilt of his own weapon, could meet the buzz of energy as his blade slid along the length of his enemy's, earlier the wraith pulled away in one management and Luke in the other, both and so turning to cutting in at a sharp bending. Blade met blade again, this time with a blindside of spitting plasma, as though the wraiths were toying with him, 1 moment their weapons real, the side by side, a adumbral simulated of reality.

Sensing this change, Luke'southward next accident was powerful enough to knock the other blade away, and he apace fabricated his riposte, straight through the neck and trunk of the apparition.

Once once more, his blade met nil. The shadow-class parted similar smoke, fifty-fifty as lightning flashed over again and the beingness was equally solid equally Luke's own trunk.

Luke swung over again, and once again, and again, sweeping at present with his blade with no particular intent or design except to proceed the nine wraiths at a distance, his focus at present non on the fight but on figuring a manner out.

The wraiths pressed their set on, Luke'southward blade passing harmlessly through them. Every bit they got closer and closer, they raised their own lightsabers once again, acting together in telepathic union, ready to make their last strike.

Nine blades against one. Luke didn't similar the odds, only he braced himself notwithstanding.

The wraiths attacked, 9 shadow-blades held by shadow-arms cutting down at speed —

And that was when a new light appeared. Not the white flash of lightning, or the wraith blades as they were lit by the unholy light. Not the green glow of Luke's lightsaber, illuminating the ashy footing similar a dark-green flashlight.

No, this light was pale blue. It shimmered in the air, streaking a petty it swept down, throwing the attackers off in 1 smooth move.

It was a lightsaber, the blade blue and strong, the hilt —

The hilt was transparent, nada but a blueish glow, held in a transparent blue manus.

Luke fell backward, onto his elbows, and gasped at the pain in his joints and likewise in sheer surprise at the sight before him.

Continuing between himself and the wraiths was another figure—a man in flowing pale robes, his back to Luke, his head hidden under a voluminous hood. The entire effigy glowed like soft electricity, bright in this world of countless night. When the lightning flashed, Luke could see the nine solid wraiths through the form of the man who stood betwixt them and their quarry.

Luke's mind raced every bit he tried to place the spirit of the Force who had arrived to protect him.

"Ben?"

No, it wasn't Ben… the robe, the man's form, was —

The spectral being lifted his lightsaber, holding it high in a higher place his head, the bract parallel to the footing.

For the commencement time, the wraiths seemed to take note of their enemy. They backed abroad, 9 forms huddling together, blades lowered. They were screaming from their blank bandaged faces, although Luke wasn't sure whether information technology was a existent sound or just an echo inside his head. It was difficult to concentrate on what he was seeing, the fashion the Force reverberated around the figure in blueish. His entire vision seemed to buckle around him.

The wraiths continued to back away, then they vanished, their shadow-shapes evaporating into dust that spun abroad on the concluding eddy of the dying wind.

For a moment, all was however.

So the blue figure turned around, his lightsaber extinguished.

Luke pushed himself up onto his elbows. He blinked.

It couldn't be.

Information technology couldn't be.

The blueish figure lifted his hood dorsum to reveal the stiff, sharp face of a boyfriend, his gaze intense beneath a furrowed brow that was bisected by straight, vertical scar. His thick hair was shoulder-length and had a slight wave to it.

Anakin Skywalker reached out his mitt.

Luke took it, and everything went white.

Star Wars: Shadow of the Sith by Adam Christopher goes on sale June 28 from Penguin Random Firm.

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Source: StarWars.com

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Noah Dominguez (3672 Manufactures Published)

Noah E. Dominguez is a news editor at Comic Book Resource who joined the site equally a news writer in the summer of 2018. He even writes features on occasion. He has as well written for sites like WhatCulture and Gaming Access Weekly (formerly Gamer Set on Weekly), and holds a degree in mass communication. What will he do next? Stay tuned. Yous can follow him on Twitter at @NoahDominguez_

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