Private Little Star

[Nyva Shei]

Here I am on Dathomir today, preparing for a most peculiar ritual. The Mistress gave me clear instructions: buy nine torches that can burn for a long time and arrange them in a circle in the middle of a small clearing. This circle will serve as the framework for a ritual she described as profoundly symbolic. She assured me that this ritual could accomplish the unthinkable: to kill death itself and heal even the deepest wounds. Defeat death? Just like that? Really? Frankly, I have no idea how she plans to achieve such a thing, but here I am, ready to do my part.

My ship lands gently on this wild, untamed world, heavy with mystical energy. The moment my feet touch Dathomir's ground, an odd sensation washes over me. The air is dense, almost tangible, charged with a raw, ancient power that you could almost hear hum if you listened closely. The landscape is rugged, scattered with crimson cliffs and eerie forests where gnarled, twisted trees seem almost alive, as if silently watching my every step. The sun hangs low on the horizon, its light a deep, blood-red hue that slowly fades as it descends, casting an eerie, otherworldly glow over the land. A thin mist creeps along the ground in places, lending the scene an even more spectral atmosphere.

I follow the coordinates given by the Mistress, and after a few minutes of walking, I find the clearing. The place seems to have been carefully chosen. The surrounding trees form a natural barrier, their branches intertwining like a protective dome. The open space is surprisingly circular, as if nature itself had yielded to the will of the Force to shape this spot. The air here is still, almost stagnant, yet a chill runs down my spine.

My datapad shows a precise diagram for arranging the torches: a perfect circle, with exact spacing measured down to the millimeter. As I place each torch one by one, I can't shake the strange feeling of being watched, but I brush it off with a sigh. Once the circle is complete, I move on to the central altar. It's a small table I brought with me, carved with simple but effective patterns in the minimalist style the Mistress prefers. On this table, I place the ritual items she entrusted to me: a black stone chalice etched with runic symbols and a ceremonial knife with a thin, slightly curved blade.

When everything is ready, I step back to survey my work. The circle is flawless, symmetrical, almost hypnotic. The energy in the clearing seems to grow stronger, as though the ground itself is becoming aware of what I've just done. I can feel the presence of Dathomir all around me, like a faint whisper carried on the breeze.

I lean against a tree at the edge of the clearing to wait for the Mistress's arrival. Thankfully, I had the foresight to bring my thermos of tea. The warmth of the drink and its comforting sweetness contrast sharply with the heavy, ominous atmosphere of this place.

The minutes pass slowly. My eyes wander to the fading light of the sun, which is gradually giving way to the ghostly glow of Dathomir's moons. A fleeting, almost amused thought crosses my mind: I really hope she's not planning to do anything absurd. But deep down, I know that whatever happens here is far beyond my understanding.

For now, I remain here, in this strange silence, contemplating this living, unsettling land and bracing myself for what could very well be one of the most intense experiences of my life.

Lyssara Thrynn

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

The mist wraps around the forests of Dathomir, creeping between the gnarled trees like a living thing. I walk through the darkness, my steps precise and deliberate, my black cloak trailing behind me like an extension of the shadows themselves. Each breath of air carries the scent of damp earth and the pervasive mystery of this planet. Dathomir. A place where the Force intertwines with life and death, where the sacred and the forbidden blur together. I feel it all deeply as my sharp blue eyes scan the horizon. And you I sense you as well. Still. Attentive. Ready.

When I arrive at the clearing, the darkness feels even thicker here. The circle of torches is perfect, arranged exactly as I instructed. The central altar is prepared, every object placed with care. You're there, leaning against a tree, calm and composed in the shadows, a thermos of tea in your hand. Everything has been done as I expected. The torches, however, remain unlit, and I understand why before I even need to ask.

I stop at the edge of the circle, my silhouette framed by the pale light of Dathomir's moons. A faint smile tugs at the corner of my lips. "Good. Everything is exactly as it should be. Good work Nyva, you can be proud of you this night."

I approach you, my boots barely making a sound against the ground. "The torches are unlit for a reason. They don't need your flame—they need mine. You've done your part. The circle is flawless, the altar is ready. Now it's my turn to begin."

I step slowly into the center of the circle. The air around us seems to shift, growing heavier, more charged. Shadows dance among the trees, animated by an energy that only the initiated can perceive. I stop before the altar, my fingers brushing against the black chalice and ceremonial knife. Simple objects, yet brimming with power in this context. I made a crazy smile when i see the autel she prepare for me.

I turn toward you, my piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. "The Force lives in everything here. This planet, this soil, this clearing… all of it is steeped in a power that few can comprehend. Tonight, we will channel that energy. Not to create something, but to break it. To destroy what binds us. Even death itself. I don't want a short destiny on this galaxy, it's time to destroy the last chain we have."

I extend a hand toward the first torch. This time, it's not an ordinary spark that ignites. It's the Force, answering my call. A cold, unnatural flame curls around the wood, lighting it instantly, casting a deep crimson glow. One by one, the torches ignite in the same manner not with ordinary fire, but with flames that seem alive, pulsing with the raw energy of Dathomir.

When the entire circle is ablaze, the atmosphere becomes almost suffocating. The circle of light does not push away the shadows—it draws them in, making them dance on the ground in strange, hypnotic patterns.

"Look," I say softly, without taking my eyes off the center of the circle. "This is more than a ritual. It's a statement. Here, we declare that death is not an end. Not for us. The Force transcends all things, if we have the will to wield it."

I place my hands on the altar, preparing to begin, but I take a moment to look at you one last time. "You've done well, Nyva. It's because of you that we are here tonight, ready to challenge what even the most powerful fear. Watch carefully. What you will witness here could break someone who isn't prepared. But you… I know you are ready. Today i give you a gift. For your service, by the victory i broke my chain, the force make me free. Remember this and nothing can stop you. I shared the ritual with you nyva, you deserve it. "

My hands rise, and I begin to speak the ancient incantations, words that echo through the clearing like forgotten whispers. The flames flicker but do not falter. The ritual begins, and with it, the night takes on an entirely different shape. I take my carrotosopher stone. I prepare the ritual now, i take a bowl and i press the stone, a liquid fall, i look it with a smile. That's liquid is the key.

Nyva Shei

 

[Nyva Shei]

I remain still, my back pressed against the tree, the weight of the night wrapping around me like a second skin. I carry the same patience as a predator lurking in the shadows, my amber gaze fixed on Lyssara. The warmth of my tea seeps into my gloved fingers, but I do not drink. Not yet. Not now.

A breeze sweeps through the circle, making the cold flames flicker fires burning with an energy older than the stars themselves. I do not flinch when the first word of the incantation cuts through the air. I can already feel this energy vibrating through the ground, climbing up my bones like a forbidden melody. Tonight, Lyssara touches something greater, something absolute, and I am its witness. Not just a disciple, not a silent shadow, but a part of the ritual itself.

My gaze lingers on the dark liquid seeping from the Carrotosopher Stone, and I slowly nod. The key. The answer. The final step.

"I am ready," I murmur at last, my voice a whisper dancing between the torches and shifting shadows.

I place my thermos on the ground with care, every movement imbued with sacred reverence. Then I step forward, slowly entering the circle's eerie light, feeling the weight of Lyssara gaze upon me. My master has led me here, to the threshold between the ephemeral and the eternal. And I do not fear.

I kneel before the altar, my fingers grazing the cold ground.

"I watch you, Mistress," I say, my eyes gleaming with admiration. "I watch and I learn. I take what you give, and I inscribe it within me."

I observe as the stone is pressed, as the liquid flows.. I feel my own connection to the Force tremble, resonating in echo with Lyssara.

Power belongs only to those who dare to claim it.

I watch the liquid slowly pool in the bowl, its surface shimmering strangely beneath the unnatural flames. The air thickens, charged with raw, untamed force that swirls around the circle like a chained beast on the verge of breaking free. I reach out without hesitation, my fingers brushing the rim of the vessel.

My gaze meets Lyssara piercing, commanding, yet filled with a rare intensity. This is an offering. A test. A truth to be seized or denied.

I do not falter. I lift the bowl and bring the liquid to my lips. The scent is metallic, ancient, almost alive. A final moment of silence. Then, I drink.

The first sip burns with an icy fire that slides down my throat like a razor's edge. A force surges through me, racing up my spine, consuming every fiber of my being. My breath catches, but I do not waver. This is a pain that is not physical an energy that shakes the very foundation of who I was, redrawing the lines of what I am becoming.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting this force course through me, imprinting itself upon me like a sealed promise. When I open them again, I feel it something new within me, a deeper understanding, a spark of awakening.

I extend the bowl to Lyssara, the barest hint of a smile touching my lips.

"It is yours now, Mistress thanks you for your gift." I say, my voice low, vibrating with newfound certainty.

I ask no questions. I need no answers. What I have seen, what I have felt, is beyond words. I am still myself… and yet, something has changed.

Tonight, I am no longer just a student. Tonight, I become the echo of an ancient power, a witness to the rite that shatters the chains of destiny.

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

She looks fine. Without the slightest hesitation, she took the bowl I handed her and drank half of it without asking a single question. A brave little one. What I am giving her today is both a gift and a burden. But she does not waver, and that quiet confidence only deepens my smile a slow, machiavellian grin as I watch her swallow the precious liquid.

When she is done, she hands me the bowl, bowing her head politely. Just as expected. She follows protocol with an almost instinctive discipline, and that is exactly what I admire about her. There is no need to remind her of the rules; her record of punishments remains nearly empty. She would never dare defy me. I made the right choice in taking her under my wing. She is the perfect subject, the ideal companion for the path I have chosen one that reaches beyond mortal limitations.

Seeing that she remains unharmed, I lift the bowl to my lips and drink the remaining half. A cold fire spreads through my veins, a sensation both familiar and intoxicating. Once the cup is empty, I set it down slowly on the ritual altar. The truth is undeniable: we have crossed the threshold. We have obtained temporal immortality. No longer will the weight of years crush us. No longer will our bodies wither under the relentless passage of time.
But immortality is not invincibility.

I take the knife I had asked her to place on the altar earlier and grasp her hand firmly. Without a word, I draw a thin cut across her pale skin, watching as a single drop of dark blood wells up under the flickering torchlight. A reminder.

"Remember this: just because we have conquered time does not mean we are untouchable. Bullets, blades, lightsabers… all of them can still destroy us. Caution must become our new discipline."

To seal this oath in flesh as well as mind, I carve the same shallow cut into my own palm, letting my blood bead in the cold night air. A mark. A tangible proof that eternity will not come without its dangers.

We will need to structure this immortality, to organize our memories so we do not lose ourselves across the endless stretch of time. The mind can falter, can drift, as the centuries pass. We must find a way to keep our essence intact, to never become lost in the infinite maze of eternity.
As she kneels before me, speaking her vow, I place a hand upon her head a gesture of acknowledgment and approval.

"Good, Nyva. Your pledge will never be forgotten. This ritual is now complete. We can pack everything up and return to the quiet rhythm of our lives… however peaceful they may be."

With precise movements, I extinguish the torches one by one, placing them on the altar in meticulous order. Nyva assists me, efficient and silent, as we transport the ritual table back to our ship. No trace of our presence must remain. Dathomir will stay as we found it shrouded in mist, untamed, free.
After all, even immortals have a responsibility to the environment.