There were times, shut off and isolated, when Orex felt that fleeting stab at his core. The feeling that he's barely hanging on. He was exhausted. But it was more than an incessant insomnia. There were times when he was fatigued down to his roots. Alive only twenty-six years, and yet he felt aged beyond the grave. Pain ate away at him more than his own Mask, exhaustion threatened to force his legs into submission under him. But all of these things he kept buried, locked so as to avoid the detriment they brought. His surface was power and destruction. Logic and Scrutiny. But all things had a darkness.
"And there lies the cycle. The alpha male and the garden warrior. Their conflict spanning generations. The Sith constructing for the sake of their war-machine. The Jedi innovating to bring themselves closer to a peace they will never know."
Orex closed his eye. That pulsating pain washed over him in that moment, and he was reminded just how close he was. How close he always will be. The blood-shot grey revealed itself again as his eye opened.
"And it is not enough. It is not enough that we have to choose between war time technology bred to satisfy arrogance, or sit idly as monks twiddle their thumbs and bend to the greater governments. This Galaxy deserves what is available to it. We use the resources of our home planet to spread among the stars, and yet now that we drift between the dots, we refuse to use the Galaxy in the same way. We have lost our sense of expansion, buried beneath the blood of the needlessly dead."
Orex's vocoded speech drifted aimlessly into the dark tree trunks around the pair. His tone was solemn, bordering on calm exasperation.
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