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Kael Varnok climbed the fire escape with silent precision, boots scraping metal as he reached the roof of a half-abandoned district building. The city sprawled beneath him: neon lights fractured across wet streets, speeder trails glowing like bloodlines through the darkness, the hum of distant engines vibrating against his chest. He sank to the edge, legs dangling over the drop, dual sabers resting idle at his belt.
"Finally… some air," he murmured to himself, letting the wind whip his hair, the cold bite of night grounding him.
"Air? Don't bullshit yourself. You're still reeking of blood and fire," the other voice snarled in his head, sharp and unrelenting. "She's gone, Kael. You failed her. And you sit here like it doesn't matter?"
"I… I did everything I could," he muttered, staring at the glittering streets below.
"Everything you could? Yeah. That's why she died in your arms, isn't it? You always think you're enough, then watch everyone else burn."
Kael's fists clenched on his knees, knuckles white beneath the wrapped cloth. "Shut the hell up…"
"Shut up? You think ignoring it will make it stop? You're a mess, Varnok. A storm you can't control."
The wind tugged at his cloak, and he let himself lean slightly forward, eyes tracing the city lights, listening to the hum and flicker, feeling the quiet pulse beneath all the chaos. "Maybe… maybe some of it can stay inside," he whispered, almost to himself, letting the words ride the breeze.
"Stay inside? Ha. That's rich. You've never contained anything. You'll always explode. You'll always lose someone else."
Kael exhaled slowly, letting the city and the night swallow the argument for a moment. He didn't move closer to the edge, didn't reach for his sabers. He just sat there, perched between darkness and light, the voices battling inside, trying to carve some clarity from the chaos.
Somewhere in the distance, a speeder shot past, lights reflecting off his scars and tattoos, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to simply exist—storming, fractured, but alive. He started to wonder why he even carries on, why he keeps fighting
"Finally… some air," he murmured to himself, letting the wind whip his hair, the cold bite of night grounding him.
"Air? Don't bullshit yourself. You're still reeking of blood and fire," the other voice snarled in his head, sharp and unrelenting. "She's gone, Kael. You failed her. And you sit here like it doesn't matter?"
"I… I did everything I could," he muttered, staring at the glittering streets below.
"Everything you could? Yeah. That's why she died in your arms, isn't it? You always think you're enough, then watch everyone else burn."
Kael's fists clenched on his knees, knuckles white beneath the wrapped cloth. "Shut the hell up…"
"Shut up? You think ignoring it will make it stop? You're a mess, Varnok. A storm you can't control."
The wind tugged at his cloak, and he let himself lean slightly forward, eyes tracing the city lights, listening to the hum and flicker, feeling the quiet pulse beneath all the chaos. "Maybe… maybe some of it can stay inside," he whispered, almost to himself, letting the words ride the breeze.
"Stay inside? Ha. That's rich. You've never contained anything. You'll always explode. You'll always lose someone else."
Kael exhaled slowly, letting the city and the night swallow the argument for a moment. He didn't move closer to the edge, didn't reach for his sabers. He just sat there, perched between darkness and light, the voices battling inside, trying to carve some clarity from the chaos.
Somewhere in the distance, a speeder shot past, lights reflecting off his scars and tattoos, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to simply exist—storming, fractured, but alive. He started to wonder why he even carries on, why he keeps fighting