The Black Swordsman
Before those cliffs, however, stretching far out into the horizon as far as the eye could see, was the unending sea. Sunlight glinted off liquid sapphire as waves ebbed and flowed, danced and crashed. Boundless ocean defied the rock and the tree. It couldn’t reach or break either one of them but had no need. Throw the stone and the branch into the sea? One would float, the other would sink, but both would be debris.
Musing fancies, maybe, inside the mind of a man standing on a ledge with nothing but time as his friend and enemy. Upon the rocky cliff, that which formed a promontory, he stood, watched and listened. The wind rippled the flaps of his black jacket, tickled strands of black hair streaked in grey, but it did not take his breath away.
The deep sea far beneath his feet waited for anyone who dared to leap. It wasn’t that Drane T’keen was scared but he saw no need. Land. Sea. They weren’t his concern. The Thyrsian’s eyes were really on the skies. Stars were even farther beyond, blocked by white clouds drifting across a blue canvas, save for one, and it was mammoth.
This world’s star was bright and on the eye, hot on rock, shining with enough rays to make one sweat. Yet, this close to the ocean, high in the sky, the breeze was refreshing, the wind a welcome treat. Not that the Sith Knight minded the heat. It reminded him of home. This wasn’t Thyrsus, though, and that was not his star.
Soon it will be cold. Metaphorically, perhaps, or when night fell and his watch began. Before morning would end? “Soon it will be dark.” The son of the red suns said. Darker than black.
Jace Rhane
