Private The Final Question

[Kyyrk]

V E R R O S
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Meditation had always been an escape. An escape from the impending sense of doom Voph felt hanging over him at all times. Ever since he was a child, there was a feeling. A feeling at the back of his mind. A feeling that something terrible was coming. That something was watching him. The Medics all said it was just anxiety. A rather common mental disorder when the scope of all sentient life was taken into account. But meditation had also been a more...immediate escape as well. Escape from the oppression and xenophobia of the Sith Empire. An escape from the chains that bound him. There was a piece of him that was missing.

And Voph desperately wished to find it.

The sound of a hammer methodically striking metal filled the small forge. The task at hand gave him no peace. Nay, it filled him with a dread indescribable. But it was his order. And Voph was loathe to question his superiors. It was how he survived. Years upon years. Decades upon decades. Centuries upon centuries. Millennia on millennia. Voph survived. Endured. His search for answers led him to many dark corners. Revealed many sick truths. In truth, Voph could hardly stand to look at himself in the mirror. To look upon his own face, and know what he had done. Who he was. There was a reason he was all too quick to embrace the identity of Iskellion. Not because he feared for his safety.

But because the thought of being addressed as Darth Voph sickened him to his core.

With each strike of the hammer, Voph saw yet another atrocity. Another innocent that fell before his blade. He'd become a force of darkness, even among the Sith. Friends murdered in cold blood. Sith left dead for their children to discover. His name carried weight. Fear. Those who knew him knew that he was a harbinger of death. For where he walked, the bodies would soon follow. None could best his skill with a blade. None could out run him, for he was patient. None could hide from him, for he saw all. His name was a death sentence. The darkness was his weapon. A weapon he had once been a master at wielding.

And now he sought to forge it anew.

Voph knew the dark one was with him. It never left his side. Ever since that first venture through the portal into Oblivion. It haunted his every step. A reminder of every dark triumph he had ever attained. It called to him. Urged him to cast off the shackles of the Confederacy. To give in to the rage that boiled deep below. To take his toll of blood and bodies. The galaxy had taken everything from him. The strikes upon the metal sheet before him grew stronger as Voph's anger intensified. What had the galaxy ever done for him? He gave his blood, his sweat, his very being. And for what?

We chose this.

Voph brought the hammer down once more, landing the final blow upon what would soon become the hilt of this new and terrible weapon. His family was dead. His children were gone. His line had ended. Now, he was all that remained. Awaiting his time to join them in the halls of the forgotten. He was nothing more than a sword. A sword meant to maim. To kill. And this, among all others, wrought the most pain. Voph turned, and with all his might, threw the hammer at the beast lurking in the shadows. He couldn't do it. He looked down at his hands to realize his organic one was shaking. He was not that person any more. He was NOT. But how could he tell Srina Talon ? Would she even understand? "She knows."

Voph turned, suddenly aware that the forge had given way to a small glade. Where the anvil had once stood was now a rock. And laid upon it, the ingredients of destruction. Of doom. And across, the figure of the Acolyte. A blindfolded Miraluka with long black hair. A child of nobility. "I do not envy your struggle, child." "Do not call me that." The Miraluka smirked at Voph, taunting him. Daring him to make him stop. Something compelled Voph to reach out. This man could help him. This man knew of a way to contain the dark one. "Help me." The Acolyte seemed to rise to his full height. To...grow. As if in begging for help, Voph had empowered it. "You think anger is the only answer. You seek to understand why." The acolyte laid a hand upon the rock between them. "There is an answer. But you must chose it. Srina knew what she was doing. Even if she could never fathom the true depths of her request."

"I once made a vow. A vow I knew would destroy me." Voph paused, knowing all to well of what the being spoke. "You sought revenge." The acolyte chuckled, shaking his head as though Voph were an overenthusiastic child who had come to the wrong conclusion in a most bemusing fashion. "No. I took this vow not of anger, but of love. An emotion that persists, even if you fail to understand it." The way the acolyte looked at Voph made him feel as though his very soul was bared for all to see. "Only a fool would think you to be reforging a blade. For all your talent, your years in the afterlife have made you quite blind indeed. Look beyond. Look not at what you are, but of what you wish to be. Your answer is here. But only if you accept the consequence of asking the question." Voph looked down at the hand between them, and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

The mechanical hand that protruded from the Acolyte's sleeve was his.

Voph blinked, looking up to the man in confusion. But he was gone. The glade had melted away to the great cavern of the Forge. Voph could feel a singing at his chest. Absently, he reached up to grip the crystal hanging about his neck, his organic hand now stilled. The words of the acolyte rang through his head. And in that moment, Voph knew what he must do. He stepped forward, ascending the stair. Above him, high up in the intricate stonework, a small owl landed. Voph had wanted to come alone, but Horace had insisted on bearing witness to this moment. If only so he could inform Srina that Voph had completed his task.

Voph arrived at the grand table to see all the components laid out before him. He'd claimed them all in a search for answers. Who was he? Voph's hand removed the gemstone from its berth around his neck, and placed it gently upon the table. The Nexus on Curlain had shown him a great struggle. A war of unending consequence. One that would forever shape the destiny of the Galaxy. One that would forever shape him. A moment that he believed to be his final destiny. But now, as he stood before the table, he was not sure that had been true. Around him, Voph could hear the soft chittering of the Fallen. The very same beasts that had lain waste to his beloved world. Here in the heart of Vylmira, they thrived. In this most ancient and sacred of places to his people, Voph was now an outsider. But from afar, he heard a call.

Like a single note that swelled into a crescendo, Voph felt it guide his hand. He raised it, and closed his eyes. And as if lighting a fire, the song filled him like warmth. No longer was it a disjointed dissonance. No longer did the wails of the damned infest its song. Now, for the first time in his memory, Voph could feel the song in all its glory. For the first time since the war. It called to him. Urging him, begging him, to come closer. And as the song grew louder, so too did the creatures closing in from all sides.

And yet Voph did not stir. His hand remained aloft, resting above the surface of the table. And as he channeled this song within him, the pieces atop the mighty rock began to stir. Slowly they began to move. He did not bid them to do so. The song did. And yet the song did not bid them, it was he. They were one and the same. Neither could act without guidance from the other. The Dark One. The force of War. To bend the song, and control it. The being stood beside Voph, hand out stretched as it too bid the lightsaber rise. The Acolyte. The force of Peace. To succumb to the song, and embody it. He too stood at Voph's other side, allowing the song to flow from his fingers.

Voph realized he no longer cared for his purpose. Who he had been. He'd seen this moment before. He'd made a vow. The Dark One had served him well in the days of despair. They had done what they needed to do. With an audible click, the lightsaber fell back to the rock. Voph opened his eyes. Before him lay the tool of his salvation. The weapon of his destruction. The Dark One stood in admiration of the blade for a moment, then nodded once, fading away. His duty had been fulfilled. Voph reached out, and gripped the blade tightly, expecting another vision of destruction. But none came. "It is time to become who we were meant to be." Voph looked at the empty space where the blade would soon be, and pressed the trigger.

And in that moment, he was consumed. A vision of what he had once been. Acolyte Verros was no mystery to him. He was no guiding savior of the Force. He WAS Verros. And in that moment, he remembered the vow the acolyte had taken those many years ago. To fight injustice at every turn. To protect those who could not protect themselves. To fight the war that no one else could. To be a light to guide the lost from the darkness. He had seen this moment. He knew what lead to it. He knew this vow would destroy him. But no longer was he afraid. Steeling his mind against the darkness, the Song swelled within him. The creatures fled from it, so great was their terror. Voph looked down at the brilliant white blade gripped within his hands, and the lightning that arced along the length of the blade. In that moment, a name was spoken.

"Kyyrk."

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