I stood in the dimly lit quaters of my room. My gaze fixed on the massive Sith Sword propped against the duranium all and bookshelf, the last object my father had held before he met his end. And end caused by Operation Kyber Dark. The swords darkside presence was almost overwhelming for me and yet felt so familiar. It felt like him. Each step I took was heavy with the weight of memories and emotions. My fingers traced the intricate carvings on the hilt, feeling the cold, unforgiving metal beneath my touch. This sword had been a part of him, a symbol of his strength and raw power. Now, it was all I had left.
"Father," I began, my voice barely a whisper, as if speaking louder would shatter the fragile connection I was trying to forge. It felt futile to even attempt this. I knew he was gone and yet I longed for more. "It's been so long. I don't even know where to start."
The air thick with the scent of forgotten battles and blood that had long since evaporated away. The silence, like the darkness, was oppressive, but I welcomed it and I needed the stillness to gather my thoughts.
"I've been trying to carry on your legacy, to be the man you always wanted me to be. But it's hard, Father. So hard." My voice trembled, and I fought to keep my emotions in check. "There are days when I feel like I'm failing, like I'll never be able to live up to the expectations you had for me." Bounty hunters, wars, empires, republics and the constant struggle of not having a place to lay me head. It was adding up. What would he of done? What would he of done?!
Then for a brief instance I thought I could hear his voice in my mind! That stern and commanding tone, urging me to be strong, to embrace what I had felt inside all along. But as soon as the voice or sense of it arrived, it vanished and I was once again alone with a memento of my great father. Kezeroth the Hateful. Standing up I shook my head and glared at the Sith Sword leaning against the wall again. Faintly it glew, as it always did, Pulsating as it does like it was breathing of its own accord.
Mocking me...
" Stupid." I said lowly and retired to the main cabin.
And yet, unbeknownst to Dezorath, The son of Kezeroth, Something within the sith sword stirred.
Something within listened.
Something within had heard...
..Someone within was just as desperate to respond back.
"Father," I began, my voice barely a whisper, as if speaking louder would shatter the fragile connection I was trying to forge. It felt futile to even attempt this. I knew he was gone and yet I longed for more. "It's been so long. I don't even know where to start."
The air thick with the scent of forgotten battles and blood that had long since evaporated away. The silence, like the darkness, was oppressive, but I welcomed it and I needed the stillness to gather my thoughts.
"I've been trying to carry on your legacy, to be the man you always wanted me to be. But it's hard, Father. So hard." My voice trembled, and I fought to keep my emotions in check. "There are days when I feel like I'm failing, like I'll never be able to live up to the expectations you had for me." Bounty hunters, wars, empires, republics and the constant struggle of not having a place to lay me head. It was adding up. What would he of done? What would he of done?!
Then for a brief instance I thought I could hear his voice in my mind! That stern and commanding tone, urging me to be strong, to embrace what I had felt inside all along. But as soon as the voice or sense of it arrived, it vanished and I was once again alone with a memento of my great father. Kezeroth the Hateful. Standing up I shook my head and glared at the Sith Sword leaning against the wall again. Faintly it glew, as it always did, Pulsating as it does like it was breathing of its own accord.
Mocking me...
" Stupid." I said lowly and retired to the main cabin.
Something within listened.
Something within had heard...
..Someone within was just as desperate to respond back.
