Private I Forgive You

[Rann Thress]

The weather of Rannon was always a little temperamental. Not too often did you ever see clear skies, especially above Point Besboi, and today was no different. However the rain that fell was soft, few and far between. Rays of sunlight piercing through gray clouds shining light, almost thematically, on the spot that the Tower had once stood all those years before.

There was where Rann was, wearing a grey coat with a high collar and black pants with shoes. Staring ahead at the monument. A reminder of his infinite failures and definitely chief among them. The screams of the people who came to arrest him echoed inside his head; the sight of the tower burning and collapsing, crushing hundreds of bystanders below flashing across his eyes as he closed them to sleep. The jeers, insults, and curses thrown at him...

Monster.
Murderer.
Metuspawn

He need not try hard to imagine what they sounded like. He heard them and more often enough in so many different voices, languages, and intonations. They never forgot what they saw him as, and would never let him forget that either.

Even now.

Rann continued looking at the pillar before him. Pristinely white with some gold colored element he couldn't confirm accenting it. A plaque on a stand in front of him had commemorated it in the names of the people who had died here. Died to kill the tyrant, the monster. Only to fail. But they never forgot.

"In Honor and Remembrance

This monument stands in solemn tribute to the hundreds of lives lost on that tragic day, victims of the devastating explosion and collapse caused by the malevolent actions of Darth Qanah. May the memory of these cherished souls forever endure, their lives a testament to resilience and unity in the face of senseless cruelty.

May their spirits find peace, and may their stories inspire a world where justice, compassion, and unity prevail over tyranny and darkness. Let this memorial stand as a testament to their enduring memory and a beacon of hope for a future free from such sorrow and devastation.

In loving memory of those who perished,
Their light shines on in our hearts."

He stared down at the plaque, unsure of what to think, and shifted his eyes to the stand behind it at the base of the tower. His mask. The red and gold mask he had worn as a Sith Lord, his alter-ego Darth Qanah. Cracked and shattered, it was unceremoniously seemingly shoved into the monument with the words "Death Always to Tyrants" on a sign bolted above it. They believed him dead. And, in a way, he was. Qanah was no more. Not as long as it could be helped. Where once before Rann would feel compelled to retrieve his mask, now he only stared at it as if it were someone elses, someone long gone. He felt only remorse for what had happened here and his part in it. Regret pulsed throughout his being, imagining everything he had done and what had to be done to atone.

It was the perfect symbolic setting for what was coming next.

Rann waited patiently for him to arrive. The message was sent before Rann even jumped into the system, surely it was delivered and seen by now. And while Rann didn't know for sure that he would come, he waited patiently, content to stand where he was in front of the memorial, passed by the citizens of the city who would not recognize the older, maskless Rann Thress so many years after the Slaughter, and so sure they were that he was dead. He was just as sure no one would remember the person he was here to meet either, if they ever knew what he looked like to begin with. He was grateful for that. To be able to be here, in front of this monument on this day was special, the person he was here to meet was special. It would definitely be a day to remember, if only by the two of them who would soon meet under the memorial of the dead.

As he waited, staring at the plaque with the intensity in his eyes he had inherited from his Father, he wondered quietly if he would even show. It'd been....years. Rann wasn't sure how long. Since almost just after the Slaughter, Rann thought. Dagobah? The hidden base they had cleared together? He smiled at the memory. It was a good bonding moment between the two of them that he only now could truly appreciate. He remembered the rage he had felt at the time, undercutting whatever happiness or joy at the adventure. How desperate he was to kill everyone he cared for to break free from the man he was. To be free, completely, from the hurt that now Rann realized is what kept him human. And the blame... Decades of blame. Decades of hatred, agony, killing and pain. No more. He had to show up, he had to.

They both needed to talk. They both needed to move on.


Darth Metus

 

[Darth Metus]

What a surprise.

It was often said that the test of love was letting them go. If it is real, they would return. Many years prior, the Sith would have scoffed at such words as drivel. He had lived through so much loss - how could he fathom letting go? How could he do anything less than build and build so that he never had to lose what was dear again?

But therein laid the problem. Perhaps it was a symptom of belief in Darkness. A goal that every human would agree with, that of combating loss, was quickly tainted by ambition. The quest to build a means of protecting what few kin he had left, what few children, quickly became the engine of alienating them further.

Perhaps it was good fortune, then, that his ambition came crumbling down. That the gods themselves chose the work of his hands to unleash their wrath. In the wake of the devastation, Darth Metus was forced to stand before a crossroads. He could rebuild, like so many time before, championing that same cause in his soul. Or, he could let go.

The apprentice he saw as his own daughter, Srina Talon , had inspired his choice. Oh how she had a mantra for moments like these. Let the past die, and if you cannot, kill it she'd say. And as Darth Metus' nation turned to ash, he let the past go. He let his obsession with having armies at his disposal to protect his own go. He let it all go. And in the years that came, he found something that he couldn't put a price on.

Peace.

It was the anathema of the old mantras that had been fed down his throat as a child. It was a the antithesis to the very title he yet proudly carried. Nonetheless, it defined his daily life. His children, those he worried so much for, lived. They thrived - despite their father lacking an armada to unleash should they dash their foot. Yes, they would know sadness, pain, anger, and loss all on their own. But it was not his place to suffocate them under his mighty wings any longer.

It they called? He would answer. But if they did not? He would let go.

This day, one called. And at the appointed time, Darth Metus scaled the hill on foot. There was no majestic escort of armed droids. No divine displays of the Force which could ferry him between worlds. Simply a man, dressed appropriately for the rain, striding up a hill. When his wet boots came to a halt before the monument, Darth Metus initially said nothing. His eyes, a burning sulfur in color, read the inscription before a sigh escaped him.

"If you could do it all over again, what would you change?"

Rann Thress​

 

[Rann Thress]

Rann didn’t turn to meet his Father as he approached and stood next to him. Words weren’t needed, and what greeting would do justice for either of them? The silence was enough to start as they stared together at the monument before them.

When finally the silence was broken by a question Rann pondered quietly for several minutes, eyeing the mask that lay just out of reach.

“How does someone honestly answer that question.” He asked rhetorically, before thinking again, casting a glance at his father’s stoic face, the area around him, and the people passing by uncaring.

“What was me, what was not me? What was you?” He asked, sifting through his memories. “What makes me what I am? What made me worse?” He continued, looking down at his robot hand, squeezing it.

“What can I change in the journey that doesn’t change the destination?” He looked back up at the monument.

“I…I don’t know.” He answered, finally, turning his head to look at his father. “At one time…I’d die. That’d’ve been my answer. I’d have died on Ryloth all those years ago. At the very least this…” he gestured to the monument, “this wouldn’t be here. But now? I don’t know. If what happened here didn’t happen…if I didn’t….” He took a deep breath. “If Qanah didn’t kill those people, something else would have happened. Maybe something worse.” He wiped his face, thanking the rain silently, “But I am who I am. This…this is a part of me. I can’t change it. I don’t think I’d want to.”

He turned again to look at the people. As of now, independent. Living free, happy. The Enclave was close, but distant enough the people didn’t actively worry about them.

“That’s…it’s such an impossible question to answer. But… Nothing. I am who I am.” He said again, “I am what I made me, I am what you made me. I’m what Voph made me. Gerwald Lechner . Srina Talon . Damsy Callat . I’m what the AOC made me, what the Maw made me, what the Slaughter made me. You change…any of it. What is there? What’s left?”

He stopped again, letting silence take hold between them as the rain continued to fall. After a few minutes, a small family approached, staring at the monument, making small talk as the parents answered questions their small child had asked before taking a solemn moment together and leaving.

“All I can think about is the future.” Rann said quietly, “I’m not…I’m not him anymore.” He gestured weakly at the mask. “I don’t know if I ever was. Qanah is done. He’s played his part, and he’s buried here. Rann? Rann still has a part to play. I have things to do. I have…mistakes to correct-atone, for.” He corrected himself, then continued, “I am who I am. My past made me that. All these steps brought me here. Brought you here. What would you change?” He asked, before turning fully to face his father.

“Thank you for coming, dad.”

Darth Metus