Kyyrk had gone out for a walk. A practice he undertook more and more often these days. A chance to get away from it all. To clear his head. The recent attack by rogue members of the Medjai order had left him...disturbed. Left him wondering if Darth Metus was truly the man he was meant to follow. Kyyrk lifted a hand in silence to dismiss the owl that had been flying towards his shoulder. Horace didn't like it when he was sent away like that. He was meant to help Kyyrk, after all. But he understood that the man still struggled to confide in him as he once had. So Horace returned to Kyyrk's residence within Verun, landing silently on the upper balcony.
Kyyrk's path took him down by the river. The lifeblood of Verun. Some days he wondered if there could be another way. If there was a version of this story that didn't end with the mass slaughter of Confederate Citizens. If there was a version of this story where the Unmaker had been successfully contained. But deep down, Kyyrk knew there was nothing that could have been done differently. Many thought his attempt to kill the Unmaker had failed. Some thought it had hastened his approach. But deep down Kyyrk knew the sickening truth. A truth that but one other being could possibly know. Not even his most trusted confidant, Alessandra Creed knew. He'd never meant to kill it.
He could never hope to kill it.
His mission to the underworld had been a success.
And all it had bought them was four months. Four. Fracking. Months. Were it not for the intervention of Medjai, he would be dead. And the Confederacy would have no hope of regaining his lost knowledge. Kyyrk stopped at a bridge stretching across the river. At its south most point, he looked out across the water to the stars above. They'd been forced into Exile. An Exile that threatened them with each and every step. And every day, more of those threats came from within. Kyyrk looked down at his right arm, seeing the glittering mark through his armor as only he could. A mark of devotion. Granted by the eternal flame of Metus' power.
A test of wills. To ensure his loyalty. Within it, his soul had been laid bare before the Dominus. His true intentions. His true history. And revealed to the Dominus was a man more brutal than even the Confederacy had borne witness to. A man who had destroyed entire planets in pursuit of victory. And worse, in pursuit of a stalemate. But such were the ways back then. Such were the trials. Such were the wars. And as Kyyrk looked back to the sky, he decided upon something. All due respect to the Grandmasters and Sages. All the well wishes to the few friends he'd made within that venerable order. But he'd tried the Jedi way. And where had that gotten them? There was once a day that the galaxy feared his name. The name of a man who answered only to the Sith Emperor. A name that he was not yet ready to discard...
Kyyrk's path took him down by the river. The lifeblood of Verun. Some days he wondered if there could be another way. If there was a version of this story that didn't end with the mass slaughter of Confederate Citizens. If there was a version of this story where the Unmaker had been successfully contained. But deep down, Kyyrk knew there was nothing that could have been done differently. Many thought his attempt to kill the Unmaker had failed. Some thought it had hastened his approach. But deep down Kyyrk knew the sickening truth. A truth that but one other being could possibly know. Not even his most trusted confidant, Alessandra Creed knew. He'd never meant to kill it.
He could never hope to kill it.
His mission to the underworld had been a success.
And all it had bought them was four months. Four. Fracking. Months. Were it not for the intervention of Medjai, he would be dead. And the Confederacy would have no hope of regaining his lost knowledge. Kyyrk stopped at a bridge stretching across the river. At its south most point, he looked out across the water to the stars above. They'd been forced into Exile. An Exile that threatened them with each and every step. And every day, more of those threats came from within. Kyyrk looked down at his right arm, seeing the glittering mark through his armor as only he could. A mark of devotion. Granted by the eternal flame of Metus' power.
A test of wills. To ensure his loyalty. Within it, his soul had been laid bare before the Dominus. His true intentions. His true history. And revealed to the Dominus was a man more brutal than even the Confederacy had borne witness to. A man who had destroyed entire planets in pursuit of victory. And worse, in pursuit of a stalemate. But such were the ways back then. Such were the trials. Such were the wars. And as Kyyrk looked back to the sky, he decided upon something. All due respect to the Grandmasters and Sages. All the well wishes to the few friends he'd made within that venerable order. But he'd tried the Jedi way. And where had that gotten them? There was once a day that the galaxy feared his name. The name of a man who answered only to the Sith Emperor. A name that he was not yet ready to discard...
