Daxium Ryiah was born in 200 BBY on the windswept plains of Ansion, the elder of a pair of twins ushered into the galaxy during a rare and foreboding celestial alignment. From their first breath, the Force bound Daxium and his sister, Katarine, together in a volatile dyad—an echoing current of power, emotion, and shared destiny that neither of them would ever fully escape.
Their parents, Anastasia Darkrose and Troine Ryiah, loved them without reservation. Anastasia, an archaeologist devoted to the study of Ansion's ancient cultures, believed that understanding the past was the key to shaping the future. Troine, a seasoned land guide, taught by example—strength, adaptability, and respect for the land. Though brief, the twins' earliest months were filled with warmth, safety, and belonging.
That life ended when they were only six months old.
The twins were taken by a fallen Jedi known as Lady Sinistra, who believed their dyadic bond was the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy preserved by forgotten Force cults. She drew them into the shadows and raised them within a dark Jedi sect devoted to bending the Force into an instrument of destiny and will.
Where Katarine resisted, Daxium listened.
He proved receptive to Sinistra's teachings, attuned to the dark side's promise of clarity, strength, and purpose. The fear, anger, and longing that marked his early years became tools rather than wounds, and under Sinistra's guidance he learned to embrace them. He was disciplined, perceptive, and eager to understand the deeper truths she offered—truths the Jedi had buried beneath restraint and denial.
Katarine's resistance infuriated Sinistra. Daxium's acceptance pleased her.
As Katarine became a point of contention and punishment, Daxium became a student, shaped carefully and deliberately. He learned the philosophies of the dark side not as chaos, but as structure—power earned through will, loyalty forged through shared suffering. His bond with his sister remained, but it was strained by divergence: light pulling one way, darkness the other.
Years later, the Jedi Order discovered the cult and launched a recovery mission. The twins were found alive among the dark Jedi—scarred by indoctrination, bound by trauma, and shaped by years of opposing influence.
They were far older than typical Jedi younglings, a fact that deeply unsettled the Jedi Council. Yet the Force surrounding them was undeniable. Despite grave misgivings, the Council chose to accept both twins into the Order, believing that even those touched by darkness might still be reclaimed by the light.
For Daxium Ryiah, however, the rescue was not salvation.
It was an interruption.
In the years that followed their rescue, Daxium Ryiah made a genuine effort to become what the Jedi expected of him.
He studied their texts, memorized their codes, and learned the rituals of meditation and restraint. He trained beside initiates far younger than himself, swallowing frustration and doubt in silence. To the Jedi, he appeared disciplined and attentive—quiet, intense, and reserved, but compliant. If there were moments when his emotions ran too close to the surface, they were attributed to his late arrival into the Order and the trauma of his past.
What the Jedi did not understand was that Daxium was not unlearning darkness.
He was unlearning another truth.
The Jedi philosophy clashed sharply with everything Lady Sinistra had taught him. Where the Jedi spoke of detachment, Sinistra had spoken of connection. Where the Jedi warned against passion, she had taught him that emotion was the Force's most honest language. To Daxium, the Jedi Code felt hollow—not because it was false, but because it denied half of what he knew to be real.
More than that, he missed her.
Lady Sinistra was the only mother he had ever truly known. She had raised him, shaped him, and given meaning to his power when he had been too young to understand it himself. The Jedi offered structure, but Sinistra had offered purpose. Her absence left a hollow ache that meditation could not quiet and discipline could not erase.
When she finally returned, she did not announce herself.
She came to him in whispers and shadows, slipping past the Temple's defenses with practiced ease. By day, Daxium studied the light—reciting doctrine, practicing forms, and bowing his head in solemn reflection. By night, he became Sinistra's student once more, meeting her in hidden corridors and forgotten chambers, relearning the lessons the Jedi sought to strip away.
She refined him.
She taught him subtlety, patience, and deception—how to hide his presence in the Force, how to wear serenity like a mask, how to let the Jedi see only what they expected to see. Under her guidance, Daxium learned to walk two paths at once, balanced on the blade-edge between light and dark.
It could not last.
Katarine felt the change before she saw it. The bond they shared—strained but unbroken—began to twist, thick with secrecy and dissonance. When she confronted him, the truth spilled out in fragments: Sinistra's return, the clandestine lessons, the lie of his obedience.
Their argument became a confrontation.
Words turned to accusation, accusation to fury. The Force surged between them, raw and uncontrolled, their dyad igniting in a violent feedback of light and shadow. They fought—not as Jedi, not as Sith, but as twins bound by love, betrayal, and a destiny neither of them could escape.
When it was over, nothing had been resolved.
Only broken.
Katarine saw the darkness he refused to release.
Daxium saw the chains she refused to acknowledge.
And somewhere beyond the Temple walls, Lady Sinistra waited, certain that, in time, her student would choose her again.
Daxium Ryiah did not fall from the Jedi Order.
He walked away.
The teachings of the Jedi had become a language he could no longer speak without lying. Their insistence on denial, on severance, on silence ran counter to everything he had been shaped to believe. When the choice finally came, it felt less like rebellion and more like returning to a truth he had never fully abandoned.
He left the Temple and followed Lady Sinistra into exile, reclaiming the path he had begun as a child. Under her guidance, he trained without restraint or apology. His discipline sharpened, his control deepened, and his understanding of the Force grew layered and precise. Sinistra was demanding, unsparing, and exacting—but to Daxium, this was not cruelty. It was faith.
In time, she declared his training complete.
She named him master, not as a title bestowed by tradition, but as an acknowledgment of what he had become. Daxium accepted the designation with solemn pride, yet even in triumph, a quiet ache remained. He missed his sister. The bond between them still pulsed faintly through the Force, distorted by distance and silence but never extinguished.
What he did not know was how little of the truth Sinistra had ever shared.
The prophecy that had shaped his life remained deliberately incomplete—a framework of destiny with its final purpose withheld. Daxium sensed there was more, but he trusted her. She had been his teacher, his protector, his mother in all but blood. If she withheld something, it was because he was not yet meant to carry it.
Then Katarine vanished.
Sinistra could no longer feel her through the Force. The dyadic bond—once a constant presence—fell eerily still. After exhaustive searching,
Sinistra revealed the truth: Katarine had entered carbonite stasis, severing her presence from the living current of the Force.
The bond, she warned, could not be allowed to fade.
She told Daxium that for the dyad to endure—for destiny to remain intact—he too would need to enter stasis. It would be temporary, she assured him. A necessary pause until Katarine could be found and restored. She did not explain how long it would take, nor did she speak of what would happen if time itself became the enemy.
Daxium did not ask.
As her son, in every way that mattered, he trusted her completely.
He surrendered himself to stasis, believing he would awaken to a future measured in years, not centuries.
He awoke in 900 ABY.
The dyadic bond had ignited without warning, tearing him from carbonite sleep and hurling him back into a galaxy that no longer remembered his name. His body suffered violently from hibernation sickness, his strength slow to return, his senses overwhelmed by the shock of living again.
The galaxy had changed.
Empires had risen and fallen. The Jedi were myths layered atop myths. The worlds he knew were altered or erased entirely. And Lady Sinistra was gone—dead, perhaps, or something far worse. He could no longer feel her in the Force, only a hollow absence where her presence had once been absolute.
He had not expected to be frozen for so long.
Now untethered and adrift, Daxium Ryiah walks a galaxy that has outlived his past, driven by two unyielding purposes: to uncover a way to bring Sinistra back, and to find Katarine—the other half of a bond that time itself had failed to break.
Whatever the prophecy truly demands, Daxium is determined to see it fulfilled.
Even if it destroys what remains of him.
