Once Awake
May. 20th, 2020 03:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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spiderparlourHe had read the signs, seen the inevitable diminution. The fall of Adas had opened the galaxy to the sith, and yet his advisors already tore them apart. Could he rule such a people? Perhaps. But it would break him to try, and he would not permit this. Remaining in the shadows too would be pointless. Instead, he would travel to a most secluded vault, hidden on a planet deep within the Stygian Caldera, the dense and treacherous nebula that protected their world.
He left final gifts to his most faithful, and then sealed himself in, alone. His body joined with the half-living alchemy within. Cold, stinging fumes hissed into his lungs, and every breath came slower. His heart beat twenty times in a minute.
Twelve.
Two.
None.
His mind persisted. It was almost free of his body, almost what it should be, but the cold still touched it as well, slowing his thoughts to the scale of decades. The galaxy seemed to roiled with life and pain and fear, shimmering with ceaseless change. At first, it was overwhelming.
But there were patterns. He could not yet describe their form nor predict their course. They were intriguing. And he had so much time to study them.
He was oblivious to the smaller, briefer things around him. He stared unblinking through twenty-four thousand years. His presence in the Force seemed to almost have melded with the land itself, his presence had so thoroughly tainted it over the centuries. But he remained at its center, deathly still yet somehow living.
No one had found him since his servants had departed, and so undisturbed his meditation could persist for eons more.
The vault was set deep into stable, solid bedrock. The water that had once dug these caverns ran dry millennia ago. Though creatures that could stand the Dark made their home here, they avoided the passage that led to him. He had been aware of them much as he had felt the rest of the galaxy: in aggregate, a rustling of many limbs and lives in the darkness.
In this myriad of years, the sith were of little interest to him. The invaders driven from Korriban still shaped the galaxy, and he watched the darkness they wove into steel. Then suddenly, they were gone. Wars guttered in their absence, arcing from the galaxy's core to the rim. A world that had split in two spread a poisonous Light that pained him to witness, but it cast more shadows in its wake. A wave of minds crawled from the core.
In the next myriad, something far distant caught his attention, beyond the galaxy's edge. The loss of something he had not consciously seen before its end. He dimly saw something in its echo, but the nothingness was swallowed up by the roiling of the worlds around him: the core fractured, a new palace of misery to the east, while to the west, twisting skeins of gravity kept the worlds beyond enmeshed in their own constructs of conflict and life. The piercing Light retreated, pushed outward, and broke itself again. The jagged edges left in its wake sprang up around him, bleeding the Sith until they mirrored the light. He felt no grief, only growing disinterest in their fate. The more he meditated, the more the patterns of the Force itself began to make sense.
In this millennium, a sudden crescendo. A war pushed outward from the worlds around him like a wave, then retreated. All around him, death. And then, so soon as to be almost instant, absence. A hole where a planet had once been, an echoing void. He watched the remains, but there were few stirrings in the darkness to explain it. An event in passing. But it slowed his thoughts with consideration. There was a Dark that left it, singular, splitting, settling, leeching. It was of interest, but there was something he had seen in the nothingness it left behind. He would need more time to think on it.
In these centuries, the growing Dark reached hidden tendrils across the galaxy. The formless Light rose in brittle spires, rotted through, and shattered. The Dark around it fed mindlessly on it, but there was no will to shape it further. He was now so vast and uncaring, but even he could reach out with slow sieving grasp and catch those echoes, draw them out into filaments of pure, glimmering fire. In its shimmer, he saw the forms of great and distant things.
Another world disappeared, and this time he stared directly into its un-light, heard the chord it sang for only the briefest moment. In this flash he saw again, and it was as he had desired.
In these years, the shock of seeing had been too much to sustain. He retreated back into cold, into something forgotten.
And in these lengthening days, he grew to dim awareness: something crawled along his surfaces.
He did not see the smooth black curves of his vault, or hear the voices it stole to whisper with. It had done this before, and each time it brought conflict and ruin to the bare rock above, the caves it nested in, the door it had refused to open.
He left final gifts to his most faithful, and then sealed himself in, alone. His body joined with the half-living alchemy within. Cold, stinging fumes hissed into his lungs, and every breath came slower. His heart beat twenty times in a minute.
Twelve.
Two.
None.
His mind persisted. It was almost free of his body, almost what it should be, but the cold still touched it as well, slowing his thoughts to the scale of decades. The galaxy seemed to roiled with life and pain and fear, shimmering with ceaseless change. At first, it was overwhelming.
But there were patterns. He could not yet describe their form nor predict their course. They were intriguing. And he had so much time to study them.
He was oblivious to the smaller, briefer things around him. He stared unblinking through twenty-four thousand years. His presence in the Force seemed to almost have melded with the land itself, his presence had so thoroughly tainted it over the centuries. But he remained at its center, deathly still yet somehow living.
No one had found him since his servants had departed, and so undisturbed his meditation could persist for eons more.
The vault was set deep into stable, solid bedrock. The water that had once dug these caverns ran dry millennia ago. Though creatures that could stand the Dark made their home here, they avoided the passage that led to him. He had been aware of them much as he had felt the rest of the galaxy: in aggregate, a rustling of many limbs and lives in the darkness.
In this myriad of years, the sith were of little interest to him. The invaders driven from Korriban still shaped the galaxy, and he watched the darkness they wove into steel. Then suddenly, they were gone. Wars guttered in their absence, arcing from the galaxy's core to the rim. A world that had split in two spread a poisonous Light that pained him to witness, but it cast more shadows in its wake. A wave of minds crawled from the core.
In the next myriad, something far distant caught his attention, beyond the galaxy's edge. The loss of something he had not consciously seen before its end. He dimly saw something in its echo, but the nothingness was swallowed up by the roiling of the worlds around him: the core fractured, a new palace of misery to the east, while to the west, twisting skeins of gravity kept the worlds beyond enmeshed in their own constructs of conflict and life. The piercing Light retreated, pushed outward, and broke itself again. The jagged edges left in its wake sprang up around him, bleeding the Sith until they mirrored the light. He felt no grief, only growing disinterest in their fate. The more he meditated, the more the patterns of the Force itself began to make sense.
In this millennium, a sudden crescendo. A war pushed outward from the worlds around him like a wave, then retreated. All around him, death. And then, so soon as to be almost instant, absence. A hole where a planet had once been, an echoing void. He watched the remains, but there were few stirrings in the darkness to explain it. An event in passing. But it slowed his thoughts with consideration. There was a Dark that left it, singular, splitting, settling, leeching. It was of interest, but there was something he had seen in the nothingness it left behind. He would need more time to think on it.
In these centuries, the growing Dark reached hidden tendrils across the galaxy. The formless Light rose in brittle spires, rotted through, and shattered. The Dark around it fed mindlessly on it, but there was no will to shape it further. He was now so vast and uncaring, but even he could reach out with slow sieving grasp and catch those echoes, draw them out into filaments of pure, glimmering fire. In its shimmer, he saw the forms of great and distant things.
Another world disappeared, and this time he stared directly into its un-light, heard the chord it sang for only the briefest moment. In this flash he saw again, and it was as he had desired.
In these years, the shock of seeing had been too much to sustain. He retreated back into cold, into something forgotten.
And in these lengthening days, he grew to dim awareness: something crawled along his surfaces.
He did not see the smooth black curves of his vault, or hear the voices it stole to whisper with. It had done this before, and each time it brought conflict and ruin to the bare rock above, the caves it nested in, the door it had refused to open.
no subject
Date: 2020-06-14 08:05 pm (UTC)He was already slick, and more lubricant slowly ran from the tip and beneath each ridge, responding not only to Cipher Nine's touch, but also how it felt the kiss, and when the tendril he forced down its pants found something warm and sensitive to stroke.
no subject
Date: 2020-06-15 01:40 pm (UTC)He repeated the action that made him groan - he could feel the sound waves of that noise, too, and that might be even better - only to falter a bit a bit a second later. Those tendrils were tricky. Sneaky. Right now he liked it. He lifted his hips up and managed to get his pants open with one hand, awkwardly shoving them down his hips.
no subject
Date: 2021-03-31 06:47 pm (UTC)He reached down between them, tendrils pulling away so that his fingertips could taste its skin, tracing its curves and contrasts of sensation with another low hum of approval that hitched for a moment as he felt the right way to stroke it, through the other's mind.
He had meditated, cold and still and singular for so very long. It was only right that he awaken to this. To share this with another.