Star Wars Outside Time - an Epitaph Short

OOC: The following is a combo with the always amazing @Sinrebirth


IC: Joren Graal, The Darkness (Skelm), The Master of Masters, and Aryan Graul
Where isn't relevant, and nor is when, let alone why, so shall we go with how?

It was said that Death was eternal.

Arguably, it was.

It was, mainly, timeless.

Within the Netherworld, one could exist forever, in one's nonexistence.

If you took a living person and trapped them here, they would never age.

Because, of course, time was also dead here.

There was no sense of what was true, where they were, and the fragments of existences within spoke of many different where's.

How?

Well, they'd been pushed here.

A very long time ago.

But they wouldn't have any sense of that.

Merely this shadowy realm, a mirror image of their old, a cracked and jagged version of Nouane City.

They were Joren and Vale, and this is where they ended up.

Not together, nor apart, just... here.



Yes, it looked similar to Remnicore.

We'll get to that.

The air was heavy with the pungent aroma of sulfur and ammonia. It was an offensive combination that burned his nose and brought tears to his eyes in a futile attempt to cleanse the unpleasant odor from his senses. It was almost suffocating, and as Dr. Joren Graal staggered shakily to his feet and became aware of his surroundings, he finally realized why it was so pervasive.

The desolate wasteland, strewn with kindled wreckage and debris from a recent battle, stretched infinitely toward the distant horizon. He recognized that it had once been a great city; the collapsed infrastructure and skeletal remains of stately buildings were testaments to that. Under normal circumstances, he might have even considered it an ideal site to excavate and uncover its rich history…

But there was no need.

Joren was already familiar with this scenario.

The Clock-Tower.

The City Square.

This was Nouane City.

It was the aftermath of their efforts; the critical battle between the Protectors and the monstrous entity known as Abeloth. She had passed through the rift in the Force as the harbinger of death. In a sense, she had represented the first iteration of the prophesied Twilight War… and the End of Time.

Did this mean that they had… failed?

Inhaling sharply, Joren ran a hand through his tousled hair and surveyed the destruction with a crucial eye. He felt the familiar twinge of desperation and panic rising within his throat, but he swallowed hard to contain it.

There was no sign of the others; he was alone.

Wait… no…

His thoughts turned inward, a more intimate bond forming as he reached out to his spouse. Tera! he cried out across the void with an urgency that he could not conceal. Silence met his desperate plea, prompting him to try again.

TERA!

It was difficult to say how long he tried to commune with his wife, but he eventually abandoned his efforts and allowed his knees to buckle under his weight. A faint groan issued from his lips as he knelt down and buried his fingers beneath the dusty earth.

He felt defeated… lost.

It was all a lie.

The Master had led them on this harrowing journey, to this confluence of events…

…only to abandon them.

He had betrayed them.

Joren closed his right hand into a fist and allowed the sand to sift through his grip, seemingly mesmerized by the fine granules as they fell to the ground in a small cascade. When the light caught it at the right angle, it almost resembled a flame dancing in the perpetual twilight…

A red flame, flaring up from a lake of lava…

Burning…

Pain…

Suffering.

With an audible gasp, Joren scrambled to his feet—but he was unable to thrust the disturbing imagery from his mind. He unleashed an agonizing scream toward the heavens to appease his inner turmoil.

He was alone again in this hell space.

There was a shifting of something in the mass of bones and corpses, and a head poked free.



What have we here?

The melodious voice echoed across the dusty plain, or perhaps it was merely a resonance within his mind. Either way, it was enough to attract Joren’s attention. The professor hesitated, his open mouth pressing into a firm line as he angled his chin to gaze upon the source of the disturbance.

A strange creature peered back at him through the smoky haze. At first glance, it resembled an Arcona with its triangular head and scaly flesh. A relatively rare species, he had only witnessed them on occasion during his travels throughout Nouane’s frontier regions.

But as he drew closer and slid down a slight incline, rocks and dirt tumbling in his wake, Joren noted that there were significant differences to the creature’s anatomy. Instead of two bulging eyes, it possessed three on either side of its head; six in total. Black and beady, they scrutinized him with keen intelligence. It also had a sinewy neck and gray skin that evoked a sickly pallor in the eternal gloom. He had never seen anything like it before, and he was naturally curious.

"What… err, who are you?" Joren asked cautiously, his brow furrowed as he reached out with the Force to probe the being for intent. "Do you know what happened?"

What went wrong?! he added inwardly.

He had an inkling, but he wasn’t quite ready to openly acknowledge it; he couldn’t accept it.

Of course, I do. You fell.

A spindly finger pointed behind Joren.

At his shadow.

It seemed to grow three-dimensional, and stand.

Ah. A Shape. Perfect. After sixty-five thousand years I have a shape.

A name, probably, too.

Yes.

The Shadow transformed into a jet-black version of Joren, no, not Joren... someone who looked similar to him.

Finally.

Joren pivoted on his heel and staggered, his hand instinctively reaching for the Force-saber clipped to his belt. The azure blade surged to life, even as he witnessed the black silhouette adopt a corporeal form. He felt a profound tremor within the Force when he noted the features taking shape, the likeness similar to his own.

That realization only bolstered his resolve, his eyes narrowing perceptively. "What is this…" he grumbled under his breath, angling his blade toward the shadow man… his doppelganger. He also heeded the being’s reference to time itself, the notion that sixty-five thousand years had passed. Had he truly been lost in purgatory for that long?

Or was this entity something that transcended even him?

Canting his head, Joren glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder at the gray alien—but kept a watchful eye on the ominous shadow. "I’d ask about your name, but I suspect that we’re already acquainted. I’ve seen you in my dreams… in the echoes of my memories as I sank into the abyss. You spoke to me. Are you… Aryan? Or perhaps… Skelm?"

He took a cautious step forward. "Or are we one and the same? The epitome of Sistros?"

Skelm is my name.

A chuckle.

But the name he has now, hedged Tor Valum. Not the name he had.

The Six Darknesses have had names before, of course. The Cosmic War destroyed almost all of our bodies. The Twilight Wars threatened to leave us behind…

Ah, crowed Tor Valum. So it's true.

It is.

Skelm raised a hand and gestured; a powerful Force exertion dissipated Tor Valum.

He wasn't really here. Not really. Tor Valum is old, but not that old. Seven millennia is nothing to me... nor to you.

"Then you waited for this exact moment to act," Joren surmised evenly, his gaze unwavering from the spectral form that had gained subsistence. "Why?"

He appeared unfazed when the Darkness exerted his power to cause the gray alien to vanish into the ether. The creature had been a distraction, anyway… a ploy. The true threat remained with Skelm. The name resonated with his very soul, and he knew that on some level, this was a physical manifestation of his own ailing spirit. It represented his obsession, his paranoia, his guilt… his pain. It was the culmination of all of his failures.

This was the Darkness that the Master had foretold… before Nouane’s destruction…

… before The End.

"The powers that be, whoever they are… they rejected me because of you," Joren sneered after a moment, his grip tightening on the Force-saber’s hilt. "I was to become Skelm. They foresaw nothing but darkness for my future… and my whole family suffered as a result." He scoffed, clearly wounded by all that had transpired. "And now here you stand… just you and me…"

Skelm stared at Joren.

Why now?

He gestured to the destroyed landscape.

In the Netherworld, we can traverse the length and breadth of time; and emerge along and up your family tree and descendants. He shrugged. Why wouldn't we? We need only find a perfect vessel from among the next thirty-five thousand years of you and yours. Tera was pregnant, was she not?

A chuckle.

By the End of Time, we will be a hundred millennia old; how can you stand against us?

A resonating cackle, in a voice so similar to Joren's.

And we will win. It was written in your Holocron's of Prophecy, after all.

Joren’s expression hardened, though it did not hinder the wry smirk from pulling at the corner of his mouth. The Darkness’ boasting reminded him of an anecdote the Master had shared with him prior to his disappearance. It was the belief that the Holocrons, or the future itself, could be altered. It had seemed improbable at the time, particularly when he had been so uncertain of the man’s motives, but now it held a certain relevance. The nebulous nature of the Force kept the flow of time in constant motion, and in that sense, destiny was a tired concept that was not etched in stone.

That thought lingered, even as he leered at the shadow man, but he refrained from revealing those sentiments. He planned to utilize it as a wild card should the opportunity arise.

"Then this place serves as a highway of sorts, and we are all part of the same intricate network, yes?" the professor surmised with renewed confidence. He then stepped aside to explore more of the barren landscape, the azure blade held steady within his grip. "By our very existence, we should both be able to traverse the different pathways of time to discover these new realities—and emerge along my… family tree, as you suggest."

Joren paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as another thought occurred to him. "You’ve been doing this for a long, long time… and now, you’ve found your vessel…" He canted his head slightly. "Who?"

Surely, it couldn’t be him; he was dead.

We can't decide who should host Skelm. You have many descendants... first Graal, and then Graul.

He mused.

Tomas, Norin, Aryan, Arek... a cycle and circle of names that occur time and time again.

Joren’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he otherwise kept his expression neutral. It hadn’t fully registered before, but he finally understood the extent of Skelm’s words. The Darkness had just confirmed his suspicions about his unborn child, and it filled him with relief. He, or she, had survived the chaos to carry on his legacy.

But what about Tera?

The professor clamped down on that thought for the moment, not allowing Skelm to gain a foothold into his mind. He could not allow him to perceive his concerns or fears. Instead, he allowed the shadow man to prattle on.

He turned.

Perhaps we should ask your Master, Sistros

He gloated and the netherworld seemed to warp.

"Hello, my old friend."

It was the Master of Masters, standing with his back to them, aboard a ship of durasteel, peering out a viewport as hyperspace streaked by.

But he was answered before Joren could.

Hello, my old friend.

The Darkness sidled up beside him, becoming nothing more than a hazy blur.

I brought someone.

"Who?"

He turned and saw Joren. "Sistros," he breathed.

And then the door to the room opened.

The Master turned his head, as did Darkness.

There was one of those self-same descendants.

His name was Aryan Graul, and he was from the Twilight Timeline, while the Eternal Flagship was en route to Coruscant…

Joren did not initially acknowledge him. He was far too distracted by the Black-Coat’s presence to notice the surreal situation unfolding around him. After all the strife and turmoil that they had endured, it was difficult to accept that the Master of Masters had simply returned from the ether as if nothing had been amiss. It was like stepping back in time to relive an insufferable dream, and he instinctively clenched his hand into a fist at his side to restrain his anger.

He couldn’t begin to explain the mechanics of what had occurred to evoke such a vivid scene; the Force often worked in mysterious ways. In that sense, the Darkness had not lied about the netherworld serving as a highway to different realms. He had undoubtedly arrived into a new reality if the Master was alive and well. However, the strange encounter had also induced the terrible memories from long ago to come rising back to the surface. They surged forth in a tumultuous wave, along with an overwhelming sense of betrayal and regret. His former teacher had wronged him, and he would not allow him to forget such a hardship.

"Is this where you escaped to? After all this time?" Joren challenged the man with a sneer, holding his Forcesaber away from his body in an aggressive stance. "I want you to know that the others cared. In some cases, they loved you like a father." It was obvious that he was referring to Vale, but he purposely refrained from identifying his fellow Protector by name. "And then you betrayed that trust. You deceived them into thinking that the Force had called you away… that you had died. But here you are, associating with the Darkness; the very thing we had sworn to protect against."

His blue eyes narrowed dangerously, and he dared to step closer. "What am I supposed to think about that? I was right all along about you… wasn’t I? You lying son of a—"

"Whoa… hey, take it easy," Aryan finally stepped out from the shadows, holding his hands up in an effort to appease the other man. Other than a firm disposition, he appeared relatively unfazed by the strange occurrence. It was almost predictable, especially after everything that he had uncovered about the Epitaph, the Force, the Change, and the idea of diverging timelines—not to mention, his own encounter with his alternate self from another reality.

In fact, he had been content to simply watch the scene from afar, but the younger Graal’s persistence had come as a surprise… even for him. By all accounts, the young man was him; they were the same soul resonating across time. His experiences were his experiences, so he certainly could relate to his frustrations.

It’s just that… he took it a little too far, particularly under the circumstances.

Am I really that impertinent?

"I know this may seem… odd to you, perhaps even improbable," Aryan relayed slowly, a hint of a smirk evident on his features, "but let me remind you that the Master saved you—saved me, from the brink. I admit that his methods are a bit eccentric and unconventional, but that’s to be expected. You should know that. In time, it will make sense… I promise."

Pursing his lips, the older man then canted his head to speak quietly to the Black-Coat. "Is this who you sensed back at Mandalore? The presence? Or—?" Aryan’s expression turned grim when he noted the dark specter that had accompanied Joren to this realm.

An audible scoff marked Joren’s shock and incredulity when he finally acknowledged the old man standing beside the Master.



He was so much like himself, a mirror image that accurately reflected his own appearance forty years from now. And yet, there was something else about him that was quite striking. Something more… genuine and relatable.

Almost as if…

Joren exhaled softly and angled his chin, studying the other man closely. Did this prove the theory of reincarnation? It was a theological concept that had always fascinated him. He had researched it extensively on his various travels throughout Nouane, but he had never found a definitive answer.

Was that about to change?

As if on cue, a single word materialized from the void, echoing within his mind like an intimate lover whispering into his ear. He soon realized that it was the same word—a name—that had flashed across his consciousness prior to his physical death. It had suddenly gained context.

"Aryan," Joren uttered aloud, his brow lifting marginally as he relaxed his grip and returned the Forcesaber to his side. "So, you’re Aryan… the one who’s been inhabiting my dreams. Or perhaps they were visions… of the future?" He swallowed and nodded in acceptance. "My future."

Aryan Graul merely pivoted to regard his younger incarnation with a knowing smile.



The Master inclined a nod of appreciation. "Thank you, Aryan. I appreciate you stepping in but I do owe Joren an explanation." He ignored the Darkness named Skelm, standing in this place. "And more importantly an apology."

"I put too much of a burden on you, on Vale, on Dunkeel, on Vydra, even on Zas'tel." He took a step forward. "But with what was coming, with the End of Time, I had to do something. Anything. Everything. I wish I didn't have to use a single person to help me, to try and Change that. I'm sorry that I couldn't stop you from losing faith in me."

He choked a little; he was on the verge of tears. "I vanished because I erased myself from that Timeline. I had to die there, so I could be present here. But I had no idea if it would happen, or work. I broke the senseless cycle of violence that the Force demanded." He looked at his hands, squeezed them into fists. "The Maker and the First Darkness, eternally locked into a war of dejarik that would have seen everything end. Where the Celestials and Six Darknesses were forced to maintain this sham - the lie. I was asked to be a Protector by the Father, but he wanted me to continue the lie."

Voice ragged; angry, he released it with a sigh. "I'm sorry that I had to stoop to their level. But all I could do was create ways for you to survive, and return." He eyed Skelm as he turned. "To bring you back."

He held out Joren's Forcesaber between the two of them.

"If you take this, if you believe in me - nay, if you can believe in yourself, we can put everything right, and create a future that escapes this awful war once and for all."

Skelm seemed to writhe, unhappily.

"I can save Vale whenever she wants to be saved," he said softly, thinking of Syren, of Qi'ra, of the amalgamation of the two fates that had served Lumiya a timeline away as an apprentice between Carnor Jax and Darth Caedus. "But it's up to her. She doesn't want to, not yet, not now. Tera - I can make things right there. But you - you need to want to put things right, like I want to too."

Again he looked at Skelm as he turned back to Aryan. "We all do."

His voice cracked again. "We can't put this right by fighting their war anymore."

He dropped to his knees, held the hilt up.

"I beg you - I am truly sorry, my old friend."

Slowly, Joren began to backpedal away from the man kneeling at his feet, his brow furrowed with both consternation and surprise. The Master had truly left him with a complicated problem to solve, one that could have lasting ramifications on his legacy. On one hand, he remained skeptical of the man’s motivations. How could he not after he had manipulated him like a pawn on a holochess board for so long? There had been no reprieve, not even in death. That notion was humiliating, to say the least.

But he also couldn’t ignore his desperate plea; the way that he had prostrated himself and begged for his help. It would’ve been easy to dismiss his actions as another melodramatic speech to lure him back into the snare, but… the Force resonated with the truth of his words.

And then there was Aryan…

"You agreed to this?" Joren asked softly, tilting his head to gauge the old man’s reaction. "You trust him…"

Aryan nodded once, his expression sobering. "As I said, he rescued me from my own self-destruction. It won’t wipe away the atrocities that I had committed; that’s my burden to bear." He hesitated for a moment, casting a sideways glance at Skelm. There was a hint of resentment reflecting in his eyes, though it quickly passed. "But by intervening when he did, the Master managed to set me back on a straight path. I’m forever indebted to him for his efforts."

Joren fell silent, clearly contemplating Aryan’s personal account. He had no way of knowing what had transpired to cause the older man so much… guilt and pain, but there was no denying that he had since passed through to the other side to find peace with the galaxy—and himself.

Was this the culmination of the prophecy? Had he just witnessed the end result of his inevitable fall to Darkness?

And if so, had Aryan’s successes helped to set him free?

Lowering his gaze, Joren noted the chrome Forcesaber in the Master’s proffered hand. He merely stared at it in silence, feeling the weight of his own hilt beginning to lose its density as it faded from his grip. Of course, it would vanish; he was dead. It had only been an astral projection of what he had once possessed in the physical world. In that sense, there had never been any real danger of him causing them bodily harm if he had decided to attack. The Master held the real one.

The irony was not lost to him, and he chuckled lightly.

"You know that I always wanted to set things right," he murmured quietly, a hint of a smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I felt that way ever since you first presented me with the Holocron and showed me the prophecy. You said that it was a preordained future… but there was hope for Change. You strongly encouraged that, and it stuck with me. I couldn’t leave the galaxy to such a terrible fate. I couldn’t accept that… not for myself, and not for Tera and our child."

His gaze grew distant, and he sighed to shake away the unpleasant memories of how he had unwillingly left his wife and newborn infant behind to live in a ravaged galaxy. It was a decision that would forever haunt him—but there was time to make amends. The Master had offered to assist him on that journey. All he had to do was accept and believe…

…but for someone like Joren Graal, that wasn’t always an easy task. He still had so many questions, so many doubts.

"But this lie…" Joren continued after a brief pause, his forehead knitting in thought. "Why weren’t you honest with us about that? We could’ve collaborated from the start and avoided so much adversity… unless they were watching you…"

His lips parted slightly at the revelation, and he began to ramble excitedly. "So… you planted the seed amongst us and escaped. It was a ploy, as you said. But… why would the Celestials want to cause the End of Time? Why the war?" His eyes suddenly darted toward Skelm in an accusatory manner. "And what’s his purpose in all of this…?"

Indeed, Joren had his suspicions… which was evident by the wry grin that slowly spread over his features.

The Master changed his legs so he could sit cross-legged. "They saw me record the Holocron of Prophecy, yes. They were always watching - them or their Croke spies, preparing for the Twilight Wars."

He stared at Skelm, who writhed.

"I could not reveal that I was tempting them to possess you. I could not risk them overhearing. I tried to tell Zas’tel, but he turned against me, lost his way. I could not lose you four. I drew the dark from Vale, asked Vydra to prepare the next generation - the kernel of the Je’daii and later Jedi Order, and I gave Dunkeel your secret names, so he might save you in the statues when the time was right."

He sighed. "The Celestials did not want the End of Time - but they were happy for the war between the Light and the Dark to continue. Be it as Protector against Destructor, Je’daii facing Rakata, Ashla versus Bogan, Recusant against Pius, Jedi warring with Sith - thirty-five millennia of death and loss." A growl. "As long as we did not damage the Force, they were content for us to be purged. They could not manage the conflict save to reduce it to the realm of mortals."

"I wanted to free the galaxy. To allow the future of the Force to be carried forward by those who lived here, not recused away in Mortis, or hiding Beyond the Shadows."

Again Skelm writhed, and the Master held out the hilt. "If we stay, Aryan Graul will be tempted again and his fate will continue to be that of Chaos - Godhood will be his new goal." He looked at Aryan, saddened. "This is his very last chance - your very last chance, Joren Graal."

His head tilted, giving Joren the side-eye. "We shall shortly arrive, and this place will end. Your Darkness will continue to dominate the future of your bloodline, forever."

"I would ask that you choose now," he looked to Aryan. "And that you tell me what you want me to say to Feyna."

Joren exhaled heavily and reached up to rake his fingers through his hair. He realized that he could no longer refute the veracity of the Master’s claims. It would be biased to do so at this stage. After all these years, everything finally made sense; he had found clarity… and it came as a huge relief.

The Force had revealed to him the truth, serving as his guiding light as the Master spoke to him with conviction. He felt it pulsing within his chest, warming his heart and spreading out to encompass the very essence of his being. It brought a sense of certainty to the Master’s plan, rendering it feasible and efficient. He felt capable of accomplishing the demands of this arduous task…

But it also gave him pause, particularly when he considered his past mistakes. He had been a fool for not comprehending the magnitude of the Master’s grand design back when there had still been time to prevent a disaster. He had been selfish and stubborn in his actions and desires. So many people had suffered due to his lack of foresight.

Vydra.

Dunkeel.

Vale.

Tera.

The names echoed within his mind, prompting Joren to close his eyes and turn away.

"Hey, I understand," Aryan murmured in a soft baritone, stepping closer to stand at Graal’s side. "More than you may realize; we’re the same… you and I. I know what it feels like to live with the guilt and affliction of so many miscalculations… lapses in judgment… sins. It never truly goes away, but it’s what we do to counteract it that counts."

A rueful smile crossed the old man’s features, and he nodded solemnly to signify his acceptance of what was about to happen—of what had to happen. If the Black-Coat was correct about his future, that he would easily succumb to temptation and continue to sow chaos across the galaxy, then he had no other choice. He had to stop the endless cycle and break the bonds that had held Joren and himself captive for centuries.

It was embarrassing to think that he would not be able to demonstrate the self-control to resist such enticements, but perhaps it was for the best. He would embrace his fate and spare the galaxy from enduring more hardship.

To emphasize this point, Aryan inclined his chin and peered into Black-Coat’s darkened cowl. "Tell Feyna that they’ll have a better advantage without me," he began slowly, his tone deliberate and firm. But despite his efforts to carefully articulate his words, the tremor in his voice was still quite apparent. "My presence incites dissension, and the allies cannot afford a distraction in this critical moment. They need to focus fully on their task to ensure success. I supplied them with all of the necessary tools; it should be enough."

He started to turn away but then hesitated, a weary sigh issuing from his lips. "And extend to her my gratitude. I know we never formally addressed what happened nearly thirty-five years ago with Alderaan, and… uh, I doubt she’ll ever forgive me, but that—that’s not important at this juncture. She saved Arek… and that’s something I’ll never forget. She showed kindness in the face of adversity, and I want to thank her. Tell her to hold onto that… to project that same compassion when they reach the Beacon. The galaxy will listen and rally to her cause."

As Aryan lowered his chin and closed his eyes, obviously crestfallen, Joren reached out and offered his support by placing a hand on his shoulder. Surprise emanated in the old man’s eyes when he ultimately turned to meet his gaze. It was a quiet moment that passed between them, their souls resonating as one. It offered the hope of reconciliation, renewal, and rebirth. They were one essence… one being.

"I’m ready," Joren whispered softly, determination reflecting in his blue eyes.

Aryan merely nodded and managed a small, but reassuring smile.

With a sharp intake of breath, Dr. Graal tentatively reached forward and retrieved the Forcesaber from the Master’s grip.

As he took the Forcesaber, there was a flash of light, and the other two became indistinct, swirling and writhing as they flowed into Joren - the stream of dust with Aryan’s coloration flowed into his heart, and the stream of glittering Skelm into his mind.

They were each a part of him, birthed from him, defined by him. They could only become him. Become them.

If there was a single blot of distrust within Joren, of panic, of fear, of anger, Skelm would be reborn in a body of flesh and blood and Joren and Aryan would be snuffed out.

They would each know this.

They would know that Joren was not gone.

They would know that Aryan was not gone.

They would know they could speak for all as a new entity with the name of its choice. With all their memories, beliefs, intents, and truths.

The original name of them all.

Joren Graal.

That they could seal the Darkness within themselves once and for all.

If they believed in themselves.

The Master watched, and waited, to see if Joren would become what he was always supposed to have done.

He pinched his forefinger and thumb together in anticipation.

A white expanse, accompanied by a flash of brilliant light, engulfed Graal’s vision before slowly dissipating, allowing the muted tones of the flagship’s interior to swim back into focus. It was the climax of a personal transformation, one that had been both illuminating and excruciatingly painful as it cleansed, reformed, and strengthened his mind and spirit. He could feel the separate components—Aryan, Joren, and even Skelm, who was instantly subdued and sealed away to prevent any further interaction with the physical world—coming together to forge a new existence.

The process invigorated his body until he became whole once more.

Joren Graal was reborn, both mentally and physically.

A stifled groan escaped from his lips as he staggered forward to maintain his balance. The ordeal had left him disoriented and dizzy, though he knew that it would eventually pass. He only needed some time to acclimate himself to this new reality; it was a new way of life for him, after all. This was evident by the way he flexed his hands and gingerly stretched his limbs and muscles to test his faculties.

It took several attempts, but once everything met his satisfaction, Joren slowly lifted his chin to gaze upon the Master. Despite all that he had just endured, he couldn’t suppress the weary grin that crossed his features.



"You didn’t warn me about that," he murmured hoarsely, his hand rising up to knead his forehead. "That was... fantastic, quite literally an out-of-body experience. I’ve evaluated plenty of reports on the subject, but I’ve never experienced anything like that before. I wish I had the means to study—" He canted his head and scoffed, realizing that he was probably getting ahead of himself. It was the nature of being an intellectual; some things would never change.

Instead, Joren lowered his head and stared at the Forcesaber in his right hand. He then slowly began to rotate it in his grip. "I, uh… I want to thank you… for everything." He sighed deeply and pursed his lips. "After all this time, it opened my eyes, and I finally understand... I understand all of it."

The Master drew the man into a hug. Patting at his back. "It’s completely understandable - I couldn’t tell you everything, I couldn’t risk the Darkness finding out, and all I could do was trust that you’d find your way. Even if you needed some help, I knew you would." He wasn’t clear if he was talking to Aryan or Joren - both, neither, it didn’t matter now.

He stepped back.

"And now, you know what I have to do…"

His voice was solemn, but not malicious.

"Sistros."

The crystallisation process began anew, but this time it would accept Joren, and convey him to where the others ended up. The statues were Between, existing in all places and none - and the four statues were next together in but one place; Mortis, a timeline away. As it crept up the man’s legs, the Master smiled softly.

"Tell the others that I will have to leave the rest to them. To stop the First Darkness. I won’t make it. I’ll save the Twilight Timeline and then the new One Timeline will be your responsibility. No leaders, no secrets, no more training. Just Protector Masters, ready to stop the ultimate Destructor."

He waved Joren Graal away.

For his part, the professor merely nodded and offered a sloppy salute in parting. He had come to accept his role, and he did not flinch as the crystal traveled up his legs, passed over his torso, and proceeded to consume his arms and shoulders. By uttering his true name, the Master had initiated this change; it was inevitable and necessary.

But unlike last time—when Joren had spiraled into darkness and struggled against the process—he was at peace. He understood his mission and could relate to the Master’s urgency. This was the way forward.

However, he couldn’t ignore the pang of sorrow that clenched at his chest when the Black-Coat revealed that he would not make it through. Joren appreciated the reason, and he could certainly empathize—but it hurt nonetheless. Despite their troubled past, he still considered the Master a mentor and a friend. The man had saved his soul and brought him back to the Light, and he would be forever grateful for that.

And so, as the crystal continued its course and rose up over his chin, Joren managed one last smile. "May the Force be with you, Master."

The statue then encased him, and the process was complete.

TAG: @Sinrebirth; (@Lady Belligerent; @Jerjerrod-Lennox; @Mitth_Fisto; @darthbernael — for mentions and relevance)

 

The First Darkness

So they escaped.

He did not care.

He was not confined to this place.

Most of them had a connection to his tools.

The Six Darknesses.

The Cosmic War was the very first conflict between Light and Dark, though then, the Light was so sacrosanct as to want to turn the other cheek rather than fight back, and the Dark was so base as to corrupt all with the base desire for violence.

Pathetic.

Pain was a God unto itself.

The component elements that the Maker had put into this reality, he did not care for it.

He never had.

He was the First Darkness not because he was the first to fall; such evils and vagaries existed in all sentient's, whether human or First Born or created from the intermingling of All.

No.

He was First because he was the very first creation of the Maker.

He was created in the Maker's image.

And he saw the Maker's desires for pacifistic progress, for Victory Without War, and the First Darkness scoffed.

More than two hundred millennia, he became the First Darkness and led a great rebellion against the Maker, and, yes, lost.

His original name is lost to history, and even to himself, save for the innumerable titles he has worn - the Father of Shadows, the Original Sin, Qalydon, Kooroo, and more besides.

But he remains, waiting for his Six Darknesses to enact his ultimate revenge.

The Star Wars, all thirty-five millennia of conflict since the Twilight Wars, they are his Legacy.

The entire timeline.

But he merely seeks to destroy it to destabilise the whole.

The all.

The Omniverse is balanced upon all the Maker's creations, and all the creations of Maker's.

If enough of it is broken...

... the structure that all is built upon will crumble.

Most of his Six Darknesses lost their bodily form during the Cosmic War in battle with the Celestials, and sought to take it back to avoid being undone by the First Change.

Several of them, for now, were trapped.

But not forever.

He would not act until the last were secured.

Because if they were, the Master of Masters would simply keep shuffling those who held them through time, keeping them beyond his reach, and the wars that they engendered would end.

The Legacy of the Force would no longer be rotten.

The Hidden Temple would bear fruit.

The Duel of the Fates would see him undone.

The Rise of Skywalker would not be stopped.

The Last Jedi would never be.

The Force Awakened would strengthen the Protectors.

The Return of the Jedi would resurrect the Galactic Alliance.

The Empire would never Strike Back... and if it did, it would be against him.

The New Hope would never end.

The Revenge of the Sith would be thwarted...

the Attack of the Clones undone at its roots...

And finally, he, as the true Phantom Menace would have to intervene.

No.

It would not happen.

The First Darkness had the Dark Man.

The entity which the Master of Masters had created to unbalance the Force and kill the Ones...

... so that he could escape the End of Time with one last Change.

He played a delicate game, did that one. Ruthlessly so, but nearly as masterfully as the First Darkness, nor as coldly as the Patriarch, nor as naively as the Balance. Indeed, the Father had seeded his own future, with the ultimate intention of continuing the Eternal War between the Jedi and Sith forever.

Not because the Father believed it necessary; but because the Force had to be protected from the wars of Gods and Destructors and the Multiverses and Omniverse above it even moreso.

If the Wheel broke, reality fell.

If the Wheel continued, billions would die in the endless wars of the Force users.

Better billions...

... than all.

That is what the Father had believed. What the Maker had hypocritically accepted.

Not the First Darkness, no.

He would not be scorned by a status quo.

The Six Darknesses, their successors, the Sith - he would weave them together into the ultimate play for the galaxy.

All the Sith are within me!

Foolish Palpatine.

He spoke out of simple ego.

The lineage of the very Dark worked through that one, as the Master had wished, balancing the risk of Darth Sidious becoming a threat across many timelines for the chance to Change the End of Time.

But even the Emperor's plans to use the Change to empower himself in the Twilight Timeline, or to turn the events after the Battle of Endor, they were nothing to what the First Darkness could do through the shell of Palpatine.

Yes.

He would have a name.

He knew it.

Perhaps it was his name all along.

Ah yes.

There it was.

The name of the First Darkness.

Snoke.

 

Fin