Private Reyoke Your Earth

[Damsy Callat]

|| Outside of Regnum, Verun ||

She hadn't sent word ahead. All that announced her presence was the vaguely familiar ping of a starship reminiscent of a seashell and its rearing, tentacled occupant. The Chambered Nautilus' shadow rarely graced the dandruffy skin of Verun face, but She was well enough known. Not even Ascendant the newest naval cadets were green enough to deny the reunion of Dominus and Daughter. Her planetary approach and decent through atmosphere was observed rather than approved. One did not have to be sensitive to the Force to feel the hatred and rage radiating from that speck in the sky. Rather, air traffic control watched Her, confused but content, line up for a landing out of the capital's bounds. Her thrusters angled downwards to blow clear a pad of desert pavement.

Touchdown was seamless, the click of two magnets that an inhospitable Galaxy meant to fit.

What wasn't seamless was Damsy's stumble down the boarding ramp even as it extended. She jumped down to the ground. Where her feet made first contact, the sand stirred and liquefied and steamed, leaving two pools of partially molten silica as she staggered away. She made it out from under the shadow of her ship before collapsing to her knees and casting her eyes to whence she had come from Tython.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!"

A spark of red-purple lightning off her tongue cracked otherwise calm air in two. The winds, which had quelled themselves, stirred again, this time drawing dust from deep cracks in the coarse soil. More electricity sparked across Damsy's skin and jumped into the cloud, then began dancing between the particles. Though the storm grew and began to whistle, it stayed anchored around its Eye. Damsy rocked back and forth on her haunches behind a sheer curtain of sandy silt until she buckled beneath the force of her own angry will.

All she could do then was hydrate the surface with her freshwater tears.

Darth Metus

 

[Darth Metus]

Heat. Blistering Heat.

Within the bowels of Regnum's Palace, the Darkness roared. The midnight power flowed freely through the Sith Lord's hands, thundering into a shape of his design. For this great work, the Dominus of the Ascendancy demanded to be left alone. And once such an order was given, only something dire could tug him away. Such as assault from the budding nation's adversaries, an unseen calamity, or the arrival of the Chambered Nautilus. As the ship entered orbit, a young soldier steeled himself and descended the spiral of stairs. His skin crawled as he advanced. Fear wormed in his stomach. He clutched the spear in his hands tightly, for his knees threatened to buckle.

"M-My King." he squeaked.

Darth Metus' hammer ceased its mighty rhythm. The Forge before him yet burned hungrily. Turning, the Sith's sulfuric gaze fell upon the guard. "Speak." The growl of his voice was alive with focus - and the rapid erosion of patience. "The Chambered Nautilus is on approach sire. Your daugh-"

"The Princess has returned."

The Sith cut off the soldier and corrected him in but a single utterance. As for the young man, he simply bowed and made his retreat. Good. Darth Metus laid his hammer down upon the anvil, paused to wipe his hands clean, and set forth towards Verun's desert.

***​

In but a few moment's time, a cloud of sand would become visible from the city's gate. The storm was an omen - for the region was typically starved of clouds, thunder, and lightning. Yet this day, the heavens were black. The winds howled. And Darth Metus was greeted with the power of his child. But something was different. Off. The Sith carefully steered his speeder as close as possible before hopping off. His hood was immediately blasted down by the tempest and he squinted against the gale.

"DAMSY!"​

The father cried out, hoping to reach her over the howling winds.

Damsy Callat​

 

[Damsy Callat]

He did, but wouldn't have had she not been what she was. In the mundane senses of perception, squaloid easily trumped Sith.

Thump-thump-thump-thu—duh-dum-duh-dum-duh-dum...

The Siren's heartbeat slowed as she heard, then processed, the sound of one of her names. Calmness rippled through her, shooing away the water skippers of despair. They would alight on her lake again, no doubt when the waves calmed again, but for now, the waters were quiet, for he was here and if he was here, maybe it would be alright.

Her storm slowly tamed alongside her. Crocheted grey blankets cast over the horizon unraveled thread by thread, allowing Jafan Prime to unroll his sunny rays like carpet on the surface once again. The first of them landed like a tragic spotlight upon the Syreni curled as she had once been in her formative bacta tank on Kamino.

She stirred, stretched her hands over the desert floor, took hold of a rocky anchor, and pushed herself up off it. She glanced at the sky, freeing one hand to shield her eyes against the bright light. Quickly, it dropped from her brow to her mouth as she began coughing up sand inhaled during her onslaught. A few heaves on, she doubled over the rock, her grip on it turning harsh enough to crack the crystals.

Darth Metus

 

[Darth Metus]

The darkness broke.

After a few precious moments of howling wind, the cry of the father got through. Darth Metus yet advanced despite the tempest, but found each step easier to take. The winds were less furious. The sand stung less against his skin as he moved. Then, finally, the storm above gave way to the typical light of Verun. The blistering heat of the desert began to bear down on them as the storm broke. Darth Metus' amber gaze remained transfixed upon his daughter as she rose from the sandy floor.

She steadied herself upon a stone and heaved - a reality which hastened the man's steps. He was also keenly aware of how quickly the back of his neck began to bead with sweat as he drew nearer. He knew that the heat was never a friend of his child, and thus he reached for his utility belt. A remedy for the heaving and a reprieve from the desert was found: a canteen. Once within arm's reach of her, his offhand raised to offer the fresh water within.

"Here, drink this." he began. His tone was gentle for a chance. Gone was the authority of rule in his voice. Absent was the confidence cultivated over a lifetime. All that remained was genuine concern. "What's happening?"

Now that was the loaded question of the century.

Damsy Callat​

 

[Damsy Callat]

The water was accepted in an instant.

An instant too short to realize that it was indeed fresh. She learned as much immediately after though as the liquid slightly burnt at her throat. Somehow, she managed to swallow her coughing fit a few gulps. Gratefulness painted her face in the form of a tight-lipped smile; no one but her ever carried around saltwater in their canteens.

Then it faltered. In one imbued motion, she sat up and launched herself into the arms of her father. Her eyes remained dry as the aquifer deep below their feet, but her limbs tightened around his back like a garrote. "He did it," she almost whispered.

Entire regions of the great moon of Ashla crumbled, the surface peeling up like an onion as fragments began spiraling down.

In her mind's eye, the scene played out as if it was Verun's sky that was falling now.

Another memory flashed before her, less recent.

"I did it," she added then, too overwhelmed to think of the implication of what she had said in such quick succession: that she had been involved in the Sith'ari's Dark ritual. Right now, she was just trying to answer Metus' question, explain why what was happening was happening—all of it, albeit out of order.

Darth Metus

 

[Darth Metus]

In one moment, the canteen was gratefully accepted.

In the next, the young woman threw herself into the Sith's arms. Darth Metus' eyes widened for but a moment, as he certainly wasn't expecting this. But his arms found her just the same. His embrace was gentle, whereas her grip was tight. Were the circumstances any less sudden, he might've chuckled. Instead, sparks flew in the pit of his stomach. He did it. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And without context, his own thoughts raced. Who was he? What could he have done to send his child home in such condition? None of his first thoughts were good - but before he could ask for valuable context, she spoke again. I did it.

"Easy now." he said. "Who is 'he'? What happened to you?"

Damsy Callat​

 

[Damsy Callat]

Damsy drew a choking breath through the emotions thick in her throat. She let up—then go—of her father and sat back on her haunches again. A hand raked back through her hair, jostling loose sand back to the ground. She shut her eyes, oceans skimming with gilded litter like a garbage patch. It was the only way to slow herself down in the moment, to pluck the answers to his questions one by one out of the water.

Who is ‘he’?

“The Sith’ari.”

What happened to you?

”I…I joined with Syreni. But even then we couldn’t stop it.”

A voice deep inside of her, one of neither Damsy nor Syreni, told her that that wasn’t fair. That they had stopped it, it being the destruction of Tython. The destruction of Ashla had simply been the unfortunate cost.

Maybe the voice of Judah Lesan . Maybe the Jedi had rubbed off on her more than she was ready to accept.

”The moon of Ashla is no more,” she added solemnly. “Bogan is all that remains.”

And that wasn’t right.

Darth Metus