Private Scar of the Whills

[Imperius Indomitus]

LORD INDOMITUS
Through Fire and Blood.
Through Justice and Strength.
On the Anvil of War, We forge our Destiny.

Madalena deWinter

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Jedha | Crater (Jedha City) | Edge

Twilight bled across the scar of Jedha like a fading wound—violet, ashen, and cold. The wind knifed along the crater's rim, carrying with it the thin, bitter scent of ancient dust and something older still: the echo of lives abruptly ended. Imperius stood at the edge of the abyss, cloak snapping in the gale, boots planted in ground that had once been a holy city and was now only obliteration given form.

The crater stretched out beneath Him in impossible scale, a bowl of glassed stone and fused sand that caught the dying light in fractured gleams. Once the high plateau of buildings which had been melted into black, rippled canyons. It was as though the Death Star's first breath had tried to erase not only a place, but the memory of it.

Yet memory lingered.

The Force murmured here - not as a voice, but as pressure in the air, a low vibration beneath His ribs. Countless deaths, simultaneous, violent, righteous or otherwise . . . their imprint clung to the scorched terrain like frost. He could feel them, faint as dying embers.

And somewhere deep in the crater, buried in the molten strata, were the shards He had come for. Kyber that had liquefied under planetary fire, then re-solidified in that instant of annihilation. Rumours called them requiem crystals - kyber that had drunk the last breaths of thousands, their final terror and fervor etched into its structure like trapped lightning.

Imperius let the wind buffet Him, let the cold bite, let the weight of the dead seep into his awareness. His hand rested on Valoris' hilt, the blade humming softly in response, as though tasting the disturbance below.

He stepped forward, descending into the crater where the light failed and the whispering grew stronger. The storm-winds followed him down, scattering dust and ghost-voices in his wake.