He knew he was asleep. How couldn’t he be? It had to be a dream. Even unconscious, somehow still so conscious, like there was an energy ever trying to wake him and keep him that way. Like a beast trying to break him free from his prison.
A beast…
His own words were an echo, thoughts in a prism, trapped within him, trying to break free from the cage like a bird without feathers.
How can a featherless bird fly without wings..?
It was an endless question, begging on repeat, tormenting him even in his sleep. Day. Night. He had asked himself that question all the time.
In spite of his courage, his bravery, his fearlessness, his every adjective in the fucking alphabet, it was an endless question for Tameon Sylverian.
How can a dragon fly…if a dragon has no wings to fly with?
Conscious. Unconscious. Subconscious. Whatever this is, he knows where he is, where he was, past or present. It was his future that was so uncertain. Undetermined. It burned in him, for him, but ever out of reach, like some taunting harlot in a tavern.
He felt so purposeless, imprisoned in a sleepless dream, if waking with the agony of a quaking cavity, leading to his gnashing teeth. Or was that simply the sweet serene beat of a dragon’s wings in the distance?
He thinks. He breathes. He sleeps. He dreams. Forever wondering what it is he sees. A figurine. A silhouette on the horizon. A shadow upon the sea.
A tall and twisted thing with one eye and three wings, sailing on a sea of agony…
Right. He was a Knight before he was a Champion and before he was a Knight. The Black Knight, they called him, for his roguishness, his ruggedness, his rebelliousness even amid his own kin.
Then Tameon becomes a Sith.
He thought as he watched the ocean in the distance, blood red, and ashen is the welkin, spitting black fire above his head.
Sith Champion. But the Sith split. And Tameon becomes the Emperor’s servant.
As his family did. The House of Sylverian. Brothers. Sisters. Father. Mother. Cousins. Distant. Blood brother… An unbidden memory just then, not of Sen, but of her twin. Him. Roth Sylverian. Though, the Sephi is what they called him, for they were a family of hybrids and he was a Sephi most prominent.
Agony… It is no mere adjective. It had crippled his knee. Anguish… What he felt when he dreamed. Bleed me…break me…but I will not be…defeated…
That was Tameon’s promise as he waited, as he slumbered, patient, under the canopy of black red draconic. As he recovered, somewhere in between awake and asleep, naked, yet he stands, there in that bacta tank.
I will find you.
He told that shadow of tomorrow.
I will claim you.
As every Sylverian hoped.
I will tame you.
As only a dragon knows.
I will take you.
And his wings will beat.
To the fire of sunshine.
I will take back what is mine.
A beast…
His own words were an echo, thoughts in a prism, trapped within him, trying to break free from the cage like a bird without feathers.
How can a featherless bird fly without wings..?
It was an endless question, begging on repeat, tormenting him even in his sleep. Day. Night. He had asked himself that question all the time.
In spite of his courage, his bravery, his fearlessness, his every adjective in the fucking alphabet, it was an endless question for Tameon Sylverian.
How can a dragon fly…if a dragon has no wings to fly with?
Conscious. Unconscious. Subconscious. Whatever this is, he knows where he is, where he was, past or present. It was his future that was so uncertain. Undetermined. It burned in him, for him, but ever out of reach, like some taunting harlot in a tavern.
He felt so purposeless, imprisoned in a sleepless dream, if waking with the agony of a quaking cavity, leading to his gnashing teeth. Or was that simply the sweet serene beat of a dragon’s wings in the distance?
He thinks. He breathes. He sleeps. He dreams. Forever wondering what it is he sees. A figurine. A silhouette on the horizon. A shadow upon the sea.
A tall and twisted thing with one eye and three wings, sailing on a sea of agony…
Right. He was a Knight before he was a Champion and before he was a Knight. The Black Knight, they called him, for his roguishness, his ruggedness, his rebelliousness even amid his own kin.
Then Tameon becomes a Sith.
He thought as he watched the ocean in the distance, blood red, and ashen is the welkin, spitting black fire above his head.
Sith Champion. But the Sith split. And Tameon becomes the Emperor’s servant.
As his family did. The House of Sylverian. Brothers. Sisters. Father. Mother. Cousins. Distant. Blood brother… An unbidden memory just then, not of Sen, but of her twin. Him. Roth Sylverian. Though, the Sephi is what they called him, for they were a family of hybrids and he was a Sephi most prominent.
Agony… It is no mere adjective. It had crippled his knee. Anguish… What he felt when he dreamed. Bleed me…break me…but I will not be…defeated…
That was Tameon’s promise as he waited, as he slumbered, patient, under the canopy of black red draconic. As he recovered, somewhere in between awake and asleep, naked, yet he stands, there in that bacta tank.
I will find you.
He told that shadow of tomorrow.
I will claim you.
As every Sylverian hoped.
I will tame you.
As only a dragon knows.
I will take you.
And his wings will beat.
To the fire of sunshine.
I will take back what is mine.