Arkyrion found himself ensnared, an unintended voyeur thrust into a grotesque drama that seared his tanzanite eyes with harrowing imagery. The monstrous descent of
Darth Malum of House Marr
into madness unfolded before him, casting a shadow upon the masquerade, and arresting the young Sith Apprentice in its chilling embrace.
As he watched, benumbed by the sheer audacity of the spectacle, Arkyrion could now not tear his gaze away from the tormented figure of Malum. The man seemed to stand at the precipice of insanity, teetering on the brink of an abyss, white lightning of unimaginable malevolence radiating from his clenched fists. The ethereal force, eerie and incomprehensible, lashed and writhed like spectral serpents, their chorus weaving a maddening cackle of sissing fury.
Sophia's swirling affections of love and concern—of. . .
anxiety—hung in the air, a mournful echo of the sibling bond that was perilously close to being shattered. The scenes of the confrontation were horrific, reminiscent of a dark, forbidden ritual that was never meant to be witnessed by outsider eyes such as his own. Oh, she had
tried to hide it, tried to cleave to decorum—but those silky stuttering syllables stunted her stately attempts.
But in that heart-wrenching moment, Arkyrion grappled with the internal struggle of whether to attempt intervention or remain a silent observer.
Luckily for him, the Heir of House Marr, seemed to coalesce his resolve from the brink of destruction, and loft his head back above the waves of reason. As those ceaseless coils of white, coruscating electricity, slithered off through the suffocating gloom of the ballroom with serpentine grace. It moved with an ethereal fluidity, disturbingly resembling some profane deity from a dimension unknown. Its electrifying form danced reflectively upon the revellers' masks with a relentless, sinuous writhing, that held a maddening allure.
Arkyrion's sapphire eyes followed the serpentine entity with an unsettling reverence. Barely having a moment to respectably brace Sophia's back with the palm of his hand between her shoulders, as her brother thrust his weight upon her with a sudden and rushing grasp of his arms. With a blend of confusion and awkwardness etched across his features, Arkyrion looked around the chamber, his gaze flitting like a trapped creature seeking an escape route. The masked faces of other guests obscured their true emotions, masking the depth of their curiosity or discomfort. The young man, torn between the impulse to offer assistance and the social propriety of restraint, hesitated—in the end, he chose to hold fast.
Then, subtly, he extended a hand in a clandestine motion, discreetly indicating to a few close observers that the scene had been born of excessive drinking, a desperate act of obfuscation to veil the tempestuous family drama. His fingers moved like a sorcerer's incantation, urging those who watched to maintain some semblance of decorum and not probe too deeply into the veiled darkness that had unfolded.
"
Amend this, immediately. " He was close enough—from Sophia nearly backing in to him—that only they could hear his lighly spoken words. "
This is not the place, nor are these the people, you want to witness this. "
He didn't particularly care about upholding House Marr's reputation or shielding their image from the prying eyes of Sith society, yet he understood the critical role alliances played within the intricate web of Sith politics. Or at least, that was the wish of his Master. But, perhaps, after what he had witnessed here tonight, on the eve of this grand eclipse—they may one day be allies.
Arkyrion met the intense glare of Malum, it was a collision of silent understanding laced with an unspoken question. Arkyrion, having borne witness to the private, dreadful torrent that had surged within the elder Sith, could not fathom the audacity of Malum's reproachful gaze. The expression upon Arkyrion's visage was not one of contempt or rebellion but rather an unspoken query—a challenge to the effrontery of that spiteful glare.
With the weight of what he had just seen, Arkyrion's mien held a quiet assertion that subtly posed the question, '
After the unsavory display you just unleashed, you'd dare judge me?' His tanzanite eyes bore into Malum's, a silent protest against the perceived transgression of that moment.
Sophia of House Marr
, had oft spoke about how protective her brother was, once upon a time. But still. . .
The nerve of the man.
Tall and stately, he walked alongside Sophia, his arm extended, and her trembling hand delicately crooked within it, as though she were a fragile songbird perched on the branch of his existence. The universe above them was silent, and yet its stillness seemed to whisper in somber tones, reflecting the turmoil that had just unfolded. The grand shadow of the towering Sith apprentice stretched out beside her, providing a refuge in her time of vulnerability.
With a tenderness that matched the silent rustle of autumn leaves in a gentle breeze, Arkyrion's free hand reached for Sophia's trembling one. His strong, yet careful grasp enveloped her hand like a protective chalice, cradling her fingers with a reassuring touch. His fingers, akin to the branches of a steadfast tree, guided her hand gently down his arm to meet his other, where she could rest her tremors. It was a gesture of silent solidarity, an unspoken pact to navigate the unsettling tempest of emotions that had unfolded in the shadow of House Marr's noble façade.
"
Oooh, yes. Yes, I must admit, " he began with a wry grin, moving one hand away from hers. He raised his eyebrows and gestured with his thumb and forefinger, indicating a small gap, as if measuring the closeness with a playful twinkle in his gemstone eyes. "
It was this close. But, the very day I was meant to appear before the expulsion board, my Master found me—took me in." A barb it may have been, but he took it in jest, with deep and gentle laughter.
He'd have to admit, he had been as lost in the moment as she, barely having noticed the nightmarish procession that had followed
Elmindra Xitaar
. The condemned, prisoners worn to skeletal wretches, were dragged forth from their forsaken cells and thrust upon a cruel stage, their emaciated forms marred by captivity and torment. Cloaked in tattered rags, their flesh clinging to their bones like grotesque fleshy folds of despair, these wretched souls shuffled forward, chained and shackled. Their hollow eyes glistened with the pale glint of lingering madness, their fragile forms trembling as they were forced into the accursed spotlight. The onlookers, masked in ghastly visages of mirth and malice, seemed to revel in the vile spectacle, their enjoyment siphoned from the abject misery of the damned.
It was a detestable sight to behold, what honor was there in this?
The music had died before they'd even managed to share that promised dance, yet, he became very aware of the tension in Sophia's trembling frame as she wordlessly leaned into his. Carefully, almost imperceptibly, he pressed right back onto her—nothing untoward, nothing inappropriate to the gesture.
"
I remember how you used to speak about your brother, littlest Marr. " He said quietly, tipping his gaze down and away from the spectacle upon the stage to meet her crimson eyes. "
Whatever it was that I didn't witness, I'm sure it will pass. For now though, take this. "
Arkyrion reached into his robes and produced a small, electronic smoking device. The sleek, metallic design of the device seemed incongruous in the opulent surroundings. He took a drag from it, and a shimmering, iridescent smoke emerged from his lips, dancing in ethereal swirls and spirals.
With a faint, understanding smile, Arkyrion extended the device toward Sophia's lips, its tip glowing softly in a spectrum of shifting colors. "
This will help, I mean, unless you're not about this sort of thing now. " He urged her to take it, offering her a momentary escape from the emotions that gripped her so roughly. If she chose to, he'd playfully let it retreat away not once,
but twice—before relenting.
Regardless of her choice, upon hearing the injunction hoisted above the raucous masquerade but his Master,
Srina Talon
. Where he went next, he desperately hoped she followed.
Arkyrion felt a profound closeness with Sophia, her trembling form, nestled gently against him—tugged at his heartstrings. It was as if they had become isolated from the rest of the world, cocooned in their own private sphere of understanding. With a graceful, deliberate movement, he brought his pale lips closer to her ear, his breath a soft, intimate caress against her skin. It was a whisper, too tender to be heard by anyone else but her.
His words were a soothing murmur, laden with empathy and a quiet strength he would attempt to press back into her bones, "
My Master sees everything, she will have noticed what happened tonight. She will want to know why. " He breathed, "
it's up to you to carry the weight of your House tonight, Sophia Marr. You must not let anything crush your spirit, no matter the cost. This is your time now, trust me, and heed the call of our Empress. Show everyone the strength of House Marr. They will remember who spoke up, and who did not. "
"
I too, will bleed for you. For the Emperor. For the Sith. " Declared Arkyrion, lofting his own arm into the air, just as his Master had. His body pulling away from Sophia, allowing only his free hand to once more clasp around hers.
