Times are changing.
A simple truth. An undeniable fact. But also something far greater—a revelation that defines existence itself. Time does not ask permission to advance. It does not slow its stride for the weak, nor does it hesitate for the strong. It is the only true constant, the tide upon which all lives are carried forward, whether they wish it or not. Time erodes mountains, devours civilizations, and grinds all things into dust.
Even the Sith. Even me.
Some things, however, remain. The endless war between Jedi and Sith is one of them, though the banners they march beneath change as often as the stars shift in the sky. Titles, governments, Republics, Empires—they are fleeting, insignificant facades draped over the same ancient conflict, a battle of ideology that stretches across the millennia.
And just as eternal as that war is the rot that festers within our own ranks. The infighting. The backstabbing. The ever-churning cycle of betrayal.
When I first joined the Sith Order, I thought myself clever. I saw the Sith as my way out—my way up. A means to power, to control, to an existence beyond the filth I had been born into. I was an orphan, a forgotten soul scraping out survival in the gutters of Jutrand, doomed to servitude until the Sith came. Their war brought death, fire, ruin—but it also brought opportunity. And like so many others, I seized it.
I threw myself into the crucible. I endured. I suffered, as all Sith must, clawing my way through agony and torment, climbing ever higher in the hierarchy. Each victory, each lesson, each scar was another rung on the ladder that led me to freedom—or so I believed.
Now, from where I stand, looking down upon those who still struggle below, I see the truth.
There is no true escape.
The galaxy does not allow it. The Dark Side does not allow it.
No matter how far I rise, no matter how many I destroy, no matter how much knowledge I rip from the hands of those who hoard it, I remain bound. Chained, not by flesh, not by weakness, but by time itself.
Because no matter how much power I claim… there is never enough time.
It is the one thing I cannot break. It moves forward without mercy, stealing moments, devouring years, dragging all things toward the same inevitable abyss. The decay of the body. The crumbling of empires. The death of the self. I have always known that I was a tool of the Dark Side. A conduit. A weapon of thought and blood in service to something far older and more powerful than any Sith Lord. I use Bogan, but Bogan also uses me. It speaks to me, whispers in the silence, calls to me in dreams that are not dreams. It promises power, but power is never given freely. It demands.
And I have paid the price. But what if there was another way? What if I could destroy the simplest truth of the galaxy? What if I could shatter time itself? To halt its advance. To take back what was stolen from me, from all of us. To wrench my existence from the jaws of inevitability. To remain.
Perhaps this is madness. Perhaps I am already lost. But if I am to be a weapon, then let me be a weapon turned upon the very fabric of reality itself.
Because if time will not serve me, then I will see it undone.
