The sith collapsed around him, though he did not care to record if they were splintered from within, or overrun. The Light expanded from the core, yet wars still spread guttering fires across the galaxy.
In the next millennium, the Light splintered. Rotted through with Dark. Turned against itself. Spread through the systems surrounding him, as blind to his presence as he was to the individual lives that swirled through the Force.
In the next five hundred years, the two forces grappled, questing tendrils flickering forward and dying out, over and over again. Then a surge of Light, and again it shattered in a burst of death and decay, echoing across the galaxy.
He was now so vast and uncaring, reaching 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. He pondered this for centuries.
Then a sudden ending--a briefest flicker of Ziost's fate, remade. 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 seared him to do so.
In the next thousand years, his mind slowly recovered. The Dark around him had collapsed, back into the boiling chaos of impure life. And yet he could now see it all more clearly, an intuition for them was growing.
The Light grew brittle spries once more, and he watched for its inevitable shattering. For the Dark around it to feed mindlessly as before. He watched carefully, preparing to see again.
And then something touched his mind, and all became still. Frozen. Time had slowed to a crawl. He recoiled, drawing into himself. Into his body as well.
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Date: 2021-08-23 01:28 am (UTC)In the next millennium, the Light splintered. Rotted through with Dark. Turned against itself. Spread through the systems surrounding him, as blind to his presence as he was to the individual lives that swirled through the Force.
In the next five hundred years, the two forces grappled, questing tendrils flickering forward and dying out, over and over again. Then a surge of Light, and again it shattered in a burst of death and decay, echoing across the galaxy.
He was now so vast and uncaring, reaching 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. He pondered this for centuries.
Then a sudden ending--a briefest flicker of Ziost's fate, remade. 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 seared him to do so.
In the next thousand years, his mind slowly recovered. The Dark around him had collapsed, back into the boiling chaos of impure life. And yet he could now see it all more clearly, an intuition for them was growing.
The Light grew brittle spries once more, and he watched for its inevitable shattering. For the Dark around it to feed mindlessly as before. He watched carefully, preparing to see again.
And then something touched his mind, and all became still. Frozen. Time had slowed to a crawl. He recoiled, drawing into himself. Into his body as well.
Deep within his vault, he was waking up.