Final Entry
I have given him a name.
Vayun.
He came into this world beneath an eclipsed sky,
his cry louder than the chants that sought to silence him.
Hair white as bone, skin warm as his father's,
eyes that opened wide as if they already knew.
The elders called him wrong.
Male.
Ruin.
I heard the word on their lips even before they spoke it.
So I ran.
I will never stop running if it means he lives.
Now he sleeps against me as I write,
small and weightless,
yet heavier than all the prophecy they tried to bind to me.
I look at him and see no Final Weave,
no vessel, no cage.
Only my son.
I know what must be done.
If he is to survive, he must grow where their shadows cannot reach.
Hidden. Free. Unbound.
That is the gift I can give him.
I go to Vinorl only for aid,
for the ship that will carry us away from Dathomir's grasp.
The choice is mine.
The path is his.
Isley, if ever you read this,
know that you left me with more than memory.
You left me with hope.
Even with your shadow,
you gave me a light I would burn all of Dathomir to protect.
Vayun.
Live.
Be the story they never saw coming.
— Orryn, Age 22
