Of Light and Shadow

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The rain fell quietly over the grassy hills. Much of the vegetation had died in the cold of the approaching Ruusan winter, but it seemed the grass was intent on surviving the harsh conditions of the season. Cedric stood alone on a hilltop a mile or so away from the Graywall. He was stripped to the waist, though he was seemingly entirely dry despite the constant rainfall all around him.

The Blade of Ruusan flickered and hummed as he drove it through the air. The movements were automatic and well practiced; they were designed to imitate the sets one might go through whilst in lightsaber combat. All the while, the Jedi Master was reaching out into the empyrean and willing the rain not to touch his skin. It crashed into an invisible barrier he'd erected a quarter of an inch over his entire body, leaving Cedric utterly dry despite the downpour.

The exercise was a taxing one, but then all proper training needed to be. This exercise helped him to remain in tune with the force whilst also swinging a lightsaber, a skill any Jedi worth his salt would need in combat.

He was so dynamited in the training that he felt little else beyond his own presence. For once, Cedric Grayson was quite vulnerable.

@Darth Vesper

 

[Ras'kala'han]

He was past the point of caring - about safety, about sense. He was past the point of his loathing of the Jedi weakness of compassion. He could care less about any of it right now, it meant less than nothing to him. First and foremost - before anything, before everything, he wanted answers. The strange figure of [member="Cedric Grayson"], the Jedi who knew war and embraced a life of military struggle, knew ambition and embraced a life of statesmanship, yet in defiance of all that Antherion thought was the way of the Galaxy did not fall to the Dark, had reached out to him with an open hand. Had made the decision not to kill him when he knew it was well in his power to do so - a quick saber through his weeping eye socket during their last exchange of blows would have been enough. He did not have it in him to cling to life, and he had never had the power to transfer his essence on his own; his spirit was split to the bone and he was vulnerable. But he needed to know why his heart was tearing itself apart, he needed to know now.

To know why he hadn't killed him. No, more than that.

He knew the place to go, to wait, to find him. The place where he had mocked him. The place where diplomacy and peace had failed him. Lightning blossomed in the sky, and a rapport of thunder rippled through the air, and over the hill, his figure came into view - simple robes of black, his body soaked to the bone, his eyes still burning a furious and insistent gold. The cloth clung heavily on his frame, lending him a weight that he did not have on his own, highlighted by how it hanged off him - he had always been fairly thin. His hair was slicked to his forehead, to the back of his neck, seeming darker. His expression was drawn, poorly disguising the anguish he brimmed with.

He kept his distance, mindful of the Blade of Ruusan, for a moment content to blend into the shadow and watch the figure move. So flushed with power, so full of life. He felt close to death and the oblivion of death, now more than ever, and less afraid than he by all rights should. Compared to Cedric, now, he seemed sickly. Frail. He bit his lip.

"Jedi."

[member="Cedric Grayson"]​

 

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A sickly voice pulled Cedric from his exercises. The Jedi Master snapped back and let his eyes fall upon the shrouded figure. He was a pitiful thing, all skin and bones wrapped within a thick dark cloth. The presence within that cloth was one Cedric had grown quite familiar with. In times past, it had been a source of hatred and betrayal. Now, Cedric only felt a quiet relief upon seeing the Sith Lord's fading visage.

"Antherion," he spoke quietly, his voice barely carrying over the rainfall. His lightsaber was doused immediately, and its oppressively positive aura faded with the blade. "I'd that you'd been killed, or something worse." There was honest pleasure in the Jedi's voice, despite the Sith's rather decrepit condition.

Antherion would bear witness to the scars of their confrontation. Cedric's pale skin was warped and scarred in many small places, the flesh itself waxy and artificial in its nature. Shallow gouges had been carved into his flesh where the armor had melted into his body, a condition that had only been accentuated during the battle of Gree afterword. There was no doubt that Cedric was still recovering from these wounds.

"I was wondering if you'd ever seek me out," he added as he slowly approached the man, "I'm pleased that you did."

[member="Antherion"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

"I was going to say you had broken me. No, it seems we both left scars. I knew we would collide, but I never expected it to be this depressing." Once, seeing the scars he had marked on Cedric's body would have filled him with glee. Now, it seemed... bitter. Pointless. "My state, to the extent I can claim it, won. The rebel worlds are brought to heel. Yet you're the happy one between the two of us. Another thing I don't understand, I suppose."

"And you'd thought I died? Knowing how stubbornly I cling to life? Tsk, tsk, I'm almost disappointed." The Sith chuckled darkly, then let out a heavy sigh. "Once, I thought death was the worst thing that could happen to someone. Looking down the barrel of however long this body of mine has left in this state..."

Again, a sigh. As the aura of stinging light receded, the Sith crept closer - stepping slowly, gingerly. "Of course I would seek you out. You seem to want something from me ever since you decided to let me live, and if I can give it to you, maybe you'll tell me what you've done to me. I didn't die - but I can't fight like this. Not toe-to-toe with any one of my rivals. If they scented blood, they would kill me. No, more than that, I just can't bear living like this. Not with this pain."

A hoarse whisper, barely audible above the rushing of the rain. "I have survived torture and agony and bodily ruin, another's aid even once spared me death. Yet you broke my purpose. I am shattered. What have you done to me, Cedric? Stars above, what have you done?"

[member="Cedric Grayson"]​

 

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Cedric watched in silence as Antherion spoke his grievances. The man was clearly suffering, though Cedric was not surprised of the fact. The knight of Ession had seen a kernel of humanity within the creature that had been Lord Vesper. That kernel of commonality was not a positive trait, but rather the longing Cedric had seen in his eyes. There had always been a hole within Antherion; one the Sith had sought to fill with forbidden knowledge and a ceaseless desire to live.

The nature of the man's selfishness had helped Cedric to see what might linger beneath the veneer of hatred. One could only despise the world so deeply when they truly despised themselves, a trait that Cedric was confident ruled Antherion's every action, whether he was truly aware of it or not.

When at last the wounded creature asked his question, Cedric offered him a thin smile. When he spoke, it was with warmth, like that of a teacher to a student that might have lost his way.

"I only helped you to see your actions for what they truly were," Cedric was spoke assuredly, "You inflicted pain on others because you knew nothing else. I showed you an alternative that you could never see on your own, and your mind is grappling with it."

Cedric gave him a simple nod, the rain still refusing to touch his scarred flesh. "Yours is a pain of the spirit, but it's a pain that can be healed. You have to let go of the things you have taught yourself and allowed others to teach you. The key to healing is atonement, and that means putting good back into the galaxy for the damage you might have done. Let me teach you the ways of the light. It will save your soul."

[member="Antherion"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

"If this were any other moment," Antherion said, sighing and shaking his head, "I would call you a fool for trying to give me the Jedi party line. Especially when you speak to me like this - like a student. Like a child." He smiled, softly, pained. "I might anyways. We both tried to climb the great, Galactic ladder. We both fell - hard. It's a pain we've bought with our weakness. In terms of making some great difference, both of our philosophies are utterly bankrupt."

Glancing around, the Sith raised his hand - a single, flat platform of oblong stone was thrust up from the ground with a grinding and a shifting of earth. With a sense of weight beyond his slight frame, the Sith slumped down onto it. He patted the space next to him, beckoning for [member="Cedric Grayson"] to come and sit.

"I don't want to hear about how you can 'save my soul,' either. If I wanted something like that, I would have gone to that grey-bearded fellow with the walking stick and the tea. He could tell me all about how there's a seed of some sparkling perfect flower lying under the mud I've heaped on my spirit, or some other such tripe; he's probably better than you at that sort of thing. I came to you for what you're good at."

He raised a finger, pointing it at the bare-chested man.

"Take a seat and tell me, if you feel the way I feel about the things I've done, why you haven't hacked me to pieces with that pretty toy of yours. I'm damn sure you personally don't harbor some great personal investment in the spiritual growth of a participant in genocide. Maybe make that bubble trick of yours a bit bigger while you're at it - I'm soaked."

He kept his demeanor haughty, but it rang somewhat hollow given the utter imbalance of power. Still, it was the thing that let him stand being here.