Darth Jadus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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spiderparlour2021-08-22 11:38 am
jadus) wrote in spiderparlour2021-08-22 11:38 am
No matter where you go, I will find you
He had seen the future, and its the inevitable diminution of the Sith. Could he change such a future? 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 had once protected the Sith Empire.
He left final gifts to his most faithful, and then sealed himself in, alone. His armor joined with the machines within. Cold, stinging fumes hissed into his mask, 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 three and a half 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.
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 was 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.
No one had found him since his servants had departed, and so undisturbed his meditation could persist for centuries more.
He left final gifts to his most faithful, and then sealed himself in, alone. His armor joined with the machines within. Cold, stinging fumes hissed into his mask, 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 three and a half 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.
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 was 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.
No one had found him since his servants had departed, and so undisturbed his meditation could persist for centuries more.