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Lucian Eidolon

The Knife's Edge

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Brison Yi    38

"You cope with this by sticking to your guns and helping people. That will be simple enough, given your disposition. But what you have seen here...hopefully you will understand why war is terrible, especially if one must fight in one. You should never be anything but remorseful towards all that occurs in one," Brison answered, as out the corner of her eye she saw more medships coming in from orbit. And more evac shuttles from the city centers.


"We'll scale back, start from zero. And I think its time I showed you my other disciplines. There are a great deal of wounded to help. We could start there. I understand why you left, but you cannot feed that. Reality can come at you in very ugly ways in the Galaxy. Generally, the more resilient you are mentally, the better. Besides, I think we could both aid in rebalancing the Force by easing the suffering of these men and women among us. After we rest we should head to triage. I'll show you how to mend cuts. That'll be fairly useful here as it saves more medicines from being used. Keep in mind though, Triage won't be a pretty sight," Brison warned before rising. 


"Find somewhere quiet to rest and think on your decisions today, because I will be doing much the same," she admitted. "When you are ready, seek me out. If you need anything at all, comm me. And no matter what, don't be ashamed about not wanting to fight."


Brison left the tent, heading into the outer field to meditate, trying to come to terms with her actions to aid the Republic.

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Thuria nodded in understanding. She was calming down some more, a good sign that maybe all was not lost from her. Now she could rest easy and think on the day and all the events that transpired. And she did, finding herself a bed to sleep on to gather up her strength and renew herself to the next morning or the night to come.


She couldn't help but think about all that had happened. In such a short amount of time, she was put in situations she never thought possible. Sure, she would have battles to face, but today's events really made her scared. She could have ran, but no. She chose to face what she was feeling and confront her new master. Brison was her friend, but now she was her master, too. And should battles come again... she sighed. She would have to face them. She couldn't just escape and think that nothing else would come from it. She was a Jedi, but a Jedi in what field? Where did she belong? Was she about to pass the trials and complete her training? Now, she was back to the beginning again. She was pulled back for a reason and because of what she did, she was pulled back again.


Oh, would she become a knight yet? That was a good question. She needed to relax. There is no emotion, there is peace. Yes, she could do it. She could find peace within herself. She needed to calm down and think carefully. Healing. She could try healing. She could try and be someone who she never thought she would become, even if that meant becoming a healer, but was this the proper path? Was this the right decision for her? She didn't know. She just knew her destiny was about to find her or had already done so. She might as well try healing, see how she would do. It would be better, for now at least, to prove her worth there.


She woke up, wondering where Brison was. Oh, now she remembered. She needed to find her. Slowly, she rose from the bed and approached one of the soldiers, asking them, "Where can I find Brison?"


"She's over there, resting," the soldier replied, pointing her to the appropriate tent.


"Thank you," Thuria walked across the campsite and inside the tent. There was the Togrutan woman, meditating. She sighed. Could she do this? This was for the best. "Brison, I think I'm ready to start healing people, whenever you're ready." She was so calm, it surprised her, but in a good way. She never felt so good before, but in this moment, joy returned to her at last and it felt good again.

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Hapan didn't have night cycles.


Silas found the endless morning jarring. He had no idea what was the proper time for rest, so he often found himself easily harried and stressed. The Kaar of Diplomacy intimidated him, so the redhead made sure to follow what she said and stay clear away from her path as much as possible. He tried avoiding talking about or talking to the children with her, always finding an excuse to leave. It wasn't like he had conversation material - how does one talk about the holocaust of thousands of years of culture along with the deaths of millions, anyway?


Silas always explored the vicinity where Darth Sanguira chose as refuge, even if some of the sights were becoming overly familiar. There was not much to gather from the beautiful humanoids that inhabited the planet, but there was a rumor or two every now and then.


Like a Sith Academy in Dathomir.


The teen brooded and meditated on that information for days. Darth Sanguira wasn't exactly the best person to be around with at that time, and the promise of a refuge with more than one Sith for company had its appeal.


Except it was difficult looking for an opportunity to escape. The people were hostile to outsiders, and if it weren't for some quick thinking and a little show of his abilities in the Force, he would have been collared and bound like a lowly slave. That was unacceptable. As much as Silas hated to admit it, he was stuck with Darth Sanguira for the foreseeable future. He hated it, being dependent on someone else.


Silas was a creature of pride, to give his life and safety to someone else wounded his pride. So with the last scraps of his dignity, he simply kept his head up and looked straight ahead.



His next order of business, other than survival, was ensuring his parents' continued lives. He had heard rumours of his mother being present in the attack on Bastion. She was a Lieutenant in the Imperial Navy, and Silas couldn't help but worry what happened to her. His father should be safe in their family estate in Telos IV, but there was no telling with his mother.


It took the redhead weeks just to find a device with HoloNet access, and weeks just to make a passably secure network just to access the Edel-Kitsuchi private channel. It's supposed to be secure, but Silas didn't want to compromise it any more than he already had.


Then his father's elegant visage greeted him, standing in front of a holocamera. Behind him was a medical bed and in it was Silas' mother. The teen breathed a sigh of relief.


"Silas." The taller redhead looked like hell, as if he had not slept in weeks. Magus Edel-Kitsuchi was never shaken, but he looked like he was ready to fall asleep at any moment. Behind him, Aina Kitsuchi rested, her vital signs showing that everything was fine, for now.


Neither father or son exchanged any words, but that was enough for both of them. Without anything else, Silas cut off the connection and closed his eyes.


He'll be fine.

Edited by Homra Azner
i swear i edited this before

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Lucian Eidolon    1,582

Darth Valyrian laid silently, in the ruins of his chambers, his eyes cast upwards to the supporting metal architraves which formed the ceiling of the high-walled yet once obscure private sanctuary of his own making. Laying in the darkness, with only smouldering flashes of light pouring out of open and dangerous wires above, Valyrian could see for perhaps the first time, that he had never created a personal oasis in the midst of Bastion; he had created his tomb. 


Other than a signal that was sent out from Atrox' message, nobody would think to come down here, to look for the broken and discarded body of the former Sith Emperor. Even the smell of decaying bodies, boiling alive in the humidity of the room, wouldn't be enough to drive anyone down. Here, on a pile of his own discarded broken and deceased remains, Darth Valyrian would live for days - weeks perhaps, all depending, as the surrounds decayed. Maggots would begin to cover him, crawling up his nose and mouth - and he would be unable to wipe them away. He would be forced to swallow them, batch by batch, rolling from side to side in agony until exhaustion took him, and finally his body relented to the marching armada of the dead.


That was, unless the Republic came. C'erian would chain him up in the finest Republic prison, and he would be tried for his crimes. He would spend the rest of his life humiliated, treated like a sub-par member of society, unable to fend for himself, or even toilet himself, should the need arise. They wouldn't bother with equipping him with prosthetics - it would be a safety risk, for the former Emperor. He might do anything, just to escape, and finish what he had started. He would wish for death, in the end, he would pray for it as they forced food down his throat, and lashed him to his bed at night. Day by day, unable to even kill himself.


'SIS,' he said weakly. His energy was already depleted - without the Force, drained from him in an act of brutal sabotage - he had to endure the pain like anyone else. And it was not pretty. He whispered in the darkness, hoping that at least this part of the system, a simple yet hard-wired artificial intelligence, would arrive at his beck and call, to do his bidding for the last time. Sadly, he was not mistaken. Although the holographic image was hazy and distant, the words echoed, the silhouette of SIS appeared. 


SIS had always appeared, exactly like Lucian had once done. A long red coat hung over his shoulders, his mid-length hair and youthful complexion. It was an image of a long time ago, when things were so entirely different. His copies, his creations... he had always been an egotist, creating in his image. In his world, there would have been an army of his clones, across the galaxy... maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe it was always going to end here, like this, at the end of his most abstract of failures.


Eleven Years Ago

The Academy, Nogatan

Darth Cideon's Chamber: Rebirth


Denael Turrin pushed back against Trask, but this position was both uncomfortable and unwieldy for him to shake off the pressure. Looking back, from this position he wouldn't have been able to do anything other than point the blade dramatically at the Chiss' chest, which other than looking cool, was another fatal flaw in his otherwise completely flawed plan. He had spent so little time in this Academy, he didn't think that he would be slaughtered so soon into his learning. He looked up at Trask, the blade brushing against his throat.


"Do it," Denael said carefully, not moving his throat for fear of cutting himself, "I'm ready."


Trask looked at Denael, then up at Cideon. "Are we done yet?" He asked wearily.


Darth Cideon had watched the scene play out with unbridled disgust painted across his features. Not only had the Chiss survived the battle, but he had won. A non-Force sensitive alien had managed to disarm and defeat a Human with control of the Force, and what's more was he had refused to execute the loser and instead questioned the Sith Lord with the same smug attitude he had earlier. Standing from his seat on the dais, Cideon descended the steps to where the two recruits waited. Then, without a word, Cideon lifted his hand toward Trask and released a torrent of violet energy directly into the Chiss' chest. Trask was thrown into the air with the force of the electrical blast and landed hard on his back ten feet away, unconcious and convulsing.


Cideon then turned his attention on Denael, who looked ready to regain his footing with Trask no longer standing over him. The Commander let the electricity run from his fingertips and into the Human as he had the alien, letting Danael suffer several seconds longer than Trask had. When Denael fell unconcious as well, Cideon ended the assault and watched as smoke rose from the man's skin where the lightning had burned him. Then, lifting his hand, he signalled for one of his rebirthed minions to rise from the waters.


Slowly, Revenant crawled to the surface from where he rested deep below, and made his way toward his dark master.


"See these two to the medical lab, immediately. I want them out of my sight."


And thus, his first failure. A career that would span decades, and inevitably, end the same way it had begun.



The holographic image of SIS lingered, its generally sarcastic A.I. not speaking, just staring. The bodies nearby did not effect it - such things were not built into the personal matrix. The only thing that mattered to it truly, was the man that had summoned it. It was duty bound to serve Darth Valyrian, in all his wishes, and could not interfere with that programming at any cost. Nor would it think to. Yet the persona it gave towards its Master was ambivilent and one of sarcasm and regret - one that lamented having to serve him. 


'SIS,' Valyrian said with a weak gasp, 'scan the area. Is there a homing beckon set near the entrance to my sanctuary.'


The holographic entity remained silent for a moment, its eyes distant as if it was scanning. The first model that Valyrian had owned had been a magnficient creation, as smart and witty as it was perfect in its duties. It had been destroyed in an accident, and this copy, a secondary service copy of the original, didn't have the same processing capacilities, 'Yes, Master Eidolon,' it replied suddenly, its tongue rolling the Master with great unease. It would never use his assumed name. It wouldn't accept his title, his position. Another flaw in its making, 'sensors show a number of vessels marked with Republic identification headed towards this point. I believe they would be coming to rescue you. That Atrox at least cared enough to make sure you wouldn't die down here.'


'The Valerian who was worth serving died long ago,' Valyrian repeated softly to himself. What was left now, other than the fate he had already seen for himself in the shadows of the Force. His faithful had already deserted him - and in this condition, the last of his followers, hiding in the depths of the galaxy, would likely abandon him too. His grand plans for a rebirth of his own legacy, a rekindling of his own Empire, were gone, taken away by the foolish reactions of a man more confident than he had any right to be. 


He killed his Hands. They didn't deserve to die, and yet they died for him anyway. For love. When he had long since forgotten what the meaning of the word truly was. In the depths of his lust for power, he was betrayed by his own careless abandon - and his lack of emphathy. He had no friends loyal to him. None who would serve him now. A small tear rolled down his face, a sampling of a failed constitution. 


In the distance, he could hear a distant muttering. Footsteps. The muffled activation of a lightsaber. There was no time left for him now, no time left for indecision. The hologram waved in and out of focus, waiting for an order, 'What would you like me to do. I can't pick you up, but I could let your new visitors know where to find you...'


'Activate the self-destruction protocol,' Valyrian said finally, his voice hollow, his strength failing, 'Silent alarms. Set the timer for twenty seconds - no override,' the hologram disappeared, and the voices of the Jedi grew closer - one shouted distantly, but Valyrian wasn't listening anymore, didn't care. He spoke to himself like a mad man - but in his final moments, he no longer cared about the appearance of sanity. None would ever see it anyway, 'If I must live a lift of failure, with failure as my frakking legacy, at least let my last act of life give some respite to his new Order. Frakk you Atrox. I'll see you in Chaos.'


Darth Valyrian didn't feel the explosion. He didn't feel death, but he knew it was happening all the same. A sudden burst of light, followed by a terrible darkness. A black deeper than any black he had ever witnessed, had ever seen, could ever truly witness in life. True black, the ultimate. The black of nightmares, the black of Chaos itself. Here, within the seven gates of Chaos, he would find retribution for his sins, punished on him a thousand times.



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One Month Later



The Supreme Chancellor stood on the central platform and looked sternly across the room of bickering voices, eyes already filled with such regret, and yet a deeper fierceness lingered. With a sweep of the Chancellor's hand, the chaos of echoing voices silenced, the last of those yelling quickly subdued into submission. Silence held in the Convocation Chambers within the Senate, and for a moment, peace reigned. The Supreme Chancellor surveyed them all, waiting, until she could speak, 'We must let the Jedi have their time to speak. The time for calls of inquiry, the moment for justice, for appeals and counter-appeals, calls for the former Supreme Chancellor to be brought before the Supreme Court for his decisions will wait, until the honourable Grand Master has spoken. What is our democracy, if it will not allow our most trusted advisors speak to the congregation?'


There was silence - but Supreme Chancellor Maia Aranea had a particular hold over the assembly. C'erian watched her with admiration - the control she had over the members of the Senate - indeed, the respect that she carried, was admirable. It was one of the many great things he believed he had accomplished, was allowing democracy to take its course. In the days after the Battle of Bastion, the Grand Master had returned to a very different Coruscant from which he had originally left. It was no longer a Coruscant at war - but one dealing with the harsher reality, a life in which the war was over. Now they had to pick up the pieces, and figure out how to move on. Upon his return, he immediately relinquished all of his emergency powers that the Senate gave him.


Then, he resigned his office. A Jedi should never rule. Not over the lives of the people, not when the galaxy was filled with such darkness, such horrible atrocities still waiting to be defended against. He relinquished the title of Supreme Chancellor, and expected the Jedi High Council to demote him from the title of Grand Master. It had never occured, however, leaving him standing as the figurehead of the Order still. The Senate worked quickly, electing Aranea from some minor governance to sit as the next Supreme Chancellor - a role that she embodied far better than C'erian ever could have. She was the voice of democracy at work, and for it, they respected her. To them, he had always been a tool necessary to wield the sword against the Sith; and in a time of peace, only a violent conqueror remained. 


Yet, once again, the focus of the Senate fell on the Grand Master, and once again, he was forced to ask the impossible. To demand the impossible. Not that it was their right to choose, the Jedi had already made it, 'Ladies and gentleman of the Senate, I come before you as a man humbled by the face of peace. So long have the Jedi fought against the scourge of the Sith Empire, so long have the Jedi become the embodiment of the war effort, of the discord in the galaxy. We have created a generation of soldiers, an ethos of battle, and a culture of destruction. To the Founding Fathers of the Jedi Order, we are butchers of their ideals, to the citizens of the galaxy we are the heroes who brought justice to a galaxy on the verge.


'The Jedi Order has always stood behind the Galactic Republic, since its inception. The core values of democracy and freedom ring clear with the ideals set out by the Founding Fathers of the Jedi, yet somewhere we lost our way. I become a leader, I ruled the Republic through strength and military force. I lead the galaxy into the most brutal campaign it has likely ever surmounted, and the High Council didn't stop me. The Jedi supported the want-less murder of thousands, perhaps millions of innocents. We destroyed the Sith Empire, but at what cost? 


'And the Senate knows it. If I was in office, you would impeach me. You are calling for me to admit to war crimes, to stand before tribunal and admit to a great many other crimes done in the name of the destruction of the Sith; and you are right to ask it. Those decisions keep me up at night. They do not align with the ideals of the Jedi, or even the Republic. I sit awake at night, pondering the question, 'How far the mighty have fallen.' Are we no better than the Sith? In destroying them, did we become them? Did we create something worse? I resigned my office, because I knew I had stepped over the threshold into uncharted and dangerous territory, and I had made those decision in error. We won. If we hadn't, if the Sith had defeated us, if the risk had been different, the outcome changed... well, its not worth thinking.


'But as I have laid awake in those sleepless nights, I have come to realize, that it isn't just me,' C'erian stated with a finality, 'We have bred a discord within the Jedi, and it must be rectified. Which is why I now stand before the Senate, with the official declaration that the Jedi Order will be resigning from the Galactic Republic, effective immediately,' the entire Senate opened in uproar. C'erian raised his voice, but his microphone carried his voice, 'The Jedi Order must find itself again, if we are to serve the Republic as keepers of peace, rather than warmongers. We will be returning to our spiritual home, to Jedha and Dantooine, in order to rediscover within our tenants the truth. To re-establish peace within ourselves, and bring to an end a generation of soldiers. We are leaving to discover ourselves. A core contingent of Jedi will remain to continue repairs on the Jedi Temple, and establish an emissary to the Republic - but we demand our independence, in order to align the beliefs of the Jedi in a practical fashion. This is not something we ask the Senate, we are demanding it. Our sins are absolute, and we seek penance for those sins. 


'The galaxy has no need for soldiers, in a time of peace,' C'erian finished. He sat back down on his chair, as the Supreme Chancellor stared at him with wide open eyes. It would deny the Senator's their chance to fight over the rights and wrongs, to blame, to pick apart the pieces of the broken government. Instead, they would be forced to move on, and to heal.


'I demand an immediate vote on the acceptance of the Jedi Order's resignation from the Galactic Republic,' Chancellor Arenea said deliberately, 'All for?'


The vote passed.


It was time for the Jedi to leave. The time of war, was over.

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