She heard the scream. A child’s scream. A girl’s scream. Only it vanished as quickly as the sea on a dying planet. A scream silenced in buried memories, but ever burning beneath a river of lava.
Echoes fade away like the cries in a cave, replaced by the quiet of the climb. Away from the base of the black mountain, up they go, up the volcano, up Mount Wildfire. It isn’t so quiet though. It wasn't so silent. Past. Present. A girl listened closely to the strokes of a piano. Liquid music. Poetic notes. No lyrics though.
She wasn’t so alone. Foot by foot, leg by leg, she ascended ahead, up the mountain. Ever rest did beckon her to bed but, as long as her mother nudged her, pushed her, never wavered, did not take a break, then neither did that mother’s daughter.
“Xyrin,” her mother spoke as she turned to face her daughter on the face of a black rock and golden vein. The mountain was magnificent in a magisterial kind of way, up close or from far away. It was breathtaking. 'Mighty' did not do its authority justice, the fiery fury in her fissures, the wild fire that determined whether a girl one day becomes a woman, and a Sith becomes a Sith, come Pureblood or Hybrid.
In that vein, Daramyth Davarok was one of the most beautiful Sith women in the eyes of their homeland, and her daughter wouldn’t disagree with the notion. Neither did her husband. Her eyes, bright as sunlight, penetrated her daughter's eyes that moment, who knew what a woman could become that very instant within this galaxy of opportunity as vibrant as violent.
However, her mother was no less powerful and full of power. Her daughter believed there to be a bit of a difference.
"Strength is power. Power is strength. Yet, ponder over this question: Which is greater? Which comes first? When you learn the answer, you will discover your own, my daughter of Davarok.” She bowed low, knelt to the child’s level, eyes into eyes. “You will claim your own, with the purest of blood, not as Pureblood, not as Hybrid, but as…Sith…”
As tough as Mother was, so was the girl’s brother. Saythel Davarok was a young man when a young woman was once a young girl. He didn’t need his mother for his quest. No, as far as mother and daughter would climb, his mission was to climb further, to reach the crater of the volcano—to reach the peak of power.
He did. However, as mother and daughter approached, as Xyrin spied her brother from a distance, she noticed how Saythel stood ever so close to the edge of the cone, where the throat of the volcano opened and naught but a pool of red lava loomed above black rock.
Xyrin remembered that moment then as now. How her brother stepped ever closer to the edge. She remembered his smile. Or was it a grin? It was genuine. He spoke low. He was so composed. He said: “These violent delights have violent ends.”
Then he jumped off the edge.
He plummeted into the depths.
The man had taken his last leap.
He’s silent. A girl can only scream.
In hate. In pain. In rage.
She wasn’t even a Sith Acolyte then. Just a helpless kid who couldn’t save him. Who couldn’t go in. Yet she was always a Sith. A Sith who suddenly had a weapon in her grip. The hilt of a lightsaber whose crimson blade was just then ignited.
“...Xyrin?”
Cheriss would have to act fast if she hadn’t already in her vision. Xyrin swung her blade, not at Cheriss, but at a mirror image, at a young Sith woman who had failed to save her brother, to keep him from falling through that ring.
Down that circle so round, falling upside down.
So Xyrin swung her lightsaber at another Xyrin who was determined to murder his brother’s sister. It just so happened to also be Cheriss.
@Sicadorito (@Cheriss Ktrame)
Echoes fade away like the cries in a cave, replaced by the quiet of the climb. Away from the base of the black mountain, up they go, up the volcano, up Mount Wildfire. It isn’t so quiet though. It wasn't so silent. Past. Present. A girl listened closely to the strokes of a piano. Liquid music. Poetic notes. No lyrics though.
She wasn’t so alone. Foot by foot, leg by leg, she ascended ahead, up the mountain. Ever rest did beckon her to bed but, as long as her mother nudged her, pushed her, never wavered, did not take a break, then neither did that mother’s daughter.
“Xyrin,” her mother spoke as she turned to face her daughter on the face of a black rock and golden vein. The mountain was magnificent in a magisterial kind of way, up close or from far away. It was breathtaking. 'Mighty' did not do its authority justice, the fiery fury in her fissures, the wild fire that determined whether a girl one day becomes a woman, and a Sith becomes a Sith, come Pureblood or Hybrid.
In that vein, Daramyth Davarok was one of the most beautiful Sith women in the eyes of their homeland, and her daughter wouldn’t disagree with the notion. Neither did her husband. Her eyes, bright as sunlight, penetrated her daughter's eyes that moment, who knew what a woman could become that very instant within this galaxy of opportunity as vibrant as violent.
However, her mother was no less powerful and full of power. Her daughter believed there to be a bit of a difference.
"Strength is power. Power is strength. Yet, ponder over this question: Which is greater? Which comes first? When you learn the answer, you will discover your own, my daughter of Davarok.” She bowed low, knelt to the child’s level, eyes into eyes. “You will claim your own, with the purest of blood, not as Pureblood, not as Hybrid, but as…Sith…”
As tough as Mother was, so was the girl’s brother. Saythel Davarok was a young man when a young woman was once a young girl. He didn’t need his mother for his quest. No, as far as mother and daughter would climb, his mission was to climb further, to reach the crater of the volcano—to reach the peak of power.
He did. However, as mother and daughter approached, as Xyrin spied her brother from a distance, she noticed how Saythel stood ever so close to the edge of the cone, where the throat of the volcano opened and naught but a pool of red lava loomed above black rock.
Xyrin remembered that moment then as now. How her brother stepped ever closer to the edge. She remembered his smile. Or was it a grin? It was genuine. He spoke low. He was so composed. He said: “These violent delights have violent ends.”
Then he jumped off the edge.
He plummeted into the depths.
The man had taken his last leap.
He’s silent. A girl can only scream.
In hate. In pain. In rage.
She wasn’t even a Sith Acolyte then. Just a helpless kid who couldn’t save him. Who couldn’t go in. Yet she was always a Sith. A Sith who suddenly had a weapon in her grip. The hilt of a lightsaber whose crimson blade was just then ignited.
“...Xyrin?”
Cheriss would have to act fast if she hadn’t already in her vision. Xyrin swung her blade, not at Cheriss, but at a mirror image, at a young Sith woman who had failed to save her brother, to keep him from falling through that ring.
Down that circle so round, falling upside down.
So Xyrin swung her lightsaber at another Xyrin who was determined to murder his brother’s sister. It just so happened to also be Cheriss.
@Sicadorito (@Cheriss Ktrame)
