The Tyranny of Family.

To Serina—

By the time you read this, I will already be gone from the great engines of war, my armor hung up for the last time, my sword returned to its scabbard for good. I write this not from the front lines or some imperial war room, but from a quiet valley on the Outer Rim, where the wind smells of stone and rain and something like peace.

I never thought I would write those words. Peace. Not for me.

But it seems... I have found it.

I know how strange that must sound to you. You, who burn so brightly with purpose, with the darkness that feeds stars and shatters dynasties. You were always meant for more than peace, Serina. You were meant for power. You were meant to rule.

And now—finally—you shall.

I hereby place the full governorship of Polis Massa in your hands. The appointment is already confirmed by the appropriate channels; the transition will be smooth, discreet, and absolute.
It is yours. Every oxygen processor. Every research bay. Every secret beneath its dusty stone.

I remember the first time I told you about Polis Massa—how the Empire had scraped it clean, how the Sith once whispered in its caverns. You were so young then, so full of questions. You are still young, my sister, but no longer in need of answers. You are the answer now.

With this title comes your true sublimation into the Sith Order—not merely as a student of shadows or a quiet orchestrator behind palace curtains, but as a sovereign instrument of the Dark Side's will. You will not serve. You will command.

Polis Massa is a crucible. And I have no doubt you will transform it into a throne.

Serina…
I never had a true family until yours took me in.

Your father gave me a name. Your mother gave me a purpose. But it was you who gave me hope. You looked at me not as a weapon to be wielded, but as a brother. A man. A soul. You never asked me to kneel—not because you could not—but because you believed I would stand beside you of my own will. And I always did. I always will.

This is my final act in the long debt I owe to your house. A soldier cannot repay what was freely given—but perhaps a brother can.

I am retiring, Serina.

I've met someone. She's kind in ways that frighten me. We'll be living quietly in the Northern Reach of Veritas Prime, far from war. I plan to build something with my hands for once—a home. Perhaps, if fate is kind, a child or two will bear the name Vax.

But you need not fear losing me.

If ever you find yourself faltering, if the weight of your title becomes unbearable, if the stars themselves seem to conspire against you—

—You need only call my name, and I will come. Sword in hand, heart in fire. For you.

Rule well, Serina. Not with mercy. Not with cruelty. But with truth—the one that only we were ever brave enough to speak aloud.

The galaxy belongs to those who dare shape it.

I believe in you.

Always,

—Reicher

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