Above the world of Tion, the Sith had unleashed a storm of death and destruction. In the aftermath, Fiolette felt an opportunity unlike any other. From the deck of the Warspite, she surveyed the carnage below, feeling a strange mixture of sorrow and anticipation. This was the moment she had been waiting for, a chance to gather the strength she needed to gain a permanent corporeal form.
The Warspite, with its grand interior, floated silently above the planet. Its polished mahogany, velvet drapes, and crystal chandeliers provided a stark contrast to the chaos below. To anyone scanning the skies, the Warspite would appear as nothing more than a malfunction on radar systems, a mere blip. But for Fiolette, this was her sanctum, the place where she would finally harness the Netherworldly powers granted to her when she agreed to be a Ferryman of death.
As she reached out with her newfound Force sensitivity, Fiolette could feel the souls of the fallen. They were like whispers on the edge of her consciousness, calling out to her. Each soul she reaped added to her strength, filling her with a dark, intoxicating power. It was a sensation she had never experienced before, one that both thrilled and terrified her.
Fiolette stood on the bridge of the Warspite, her eyes closed as she concentrated. She could feel the power coursing through her veins, the Netherworldly energies wrapping around her like a shroud. Her transformation was nearly complete. She could sense Taeli nearby, her presence a comforting anchor in the midst of this overwhelming power. Taeli, more than anyone, would understand the strength that Fiolette was gathering, and the potential dangers it posed.
With each soul absorbed, Fiolette's form became more solid, more real. She could feel her corporeal body taking shape, a strange but exhilarating sensation. She was no longer just a presence, an ethereal entity; she was becoming something more, something powerful and tangible. The Netherworldly powers she had been granted were now fully within her grasp, ready to be wielded.
As she opened her eyes, Fiolette could see the subtle changes in her surroundings. The Warspite, always a reflection of her state, seemed to glow with a faint, eerie light. The air felt charged with energy, and she knew that she was no longer the same person she had been. She had crossed a threshold, become something new and formidable.
The souls she had gathered whispered to her, their voices a constant murmur in her mind. She could feel their pain, their confusion, but also their relief at being guided by her. This was her duty, her penance, and now her power. She had become the Ferryman of the dead, a role she had accepted but was only now fully understanding.
Fiolette looked out at the devastation below, her heart heavy with the weight of her new responsibilities. She knew that this power came with a cost, and that she would have to be careful not to lose herself in it.
