It was all out of focus, the galaxy, the Sith, Avillion, Exegol even his own mind. Much of it looked hopeless to him if he looked too closely, he had a sharp mind. Artorigas Wessex prided himself on his mental attributes, intellect, wit, oratory skills the ability to take one situation where everything stood against him and with his mind and words turn it to his own. But now it felt hopeless, that his words meant nothing, did nothing, he had tried to sacrifice, to give his heart pain, to entice the darkness within him to give him a heading some direction to move forward. Though even with the abandonment of Serenno, the House he had worked so hard for, become a kinslayer for, that loss had given him nothing yet more emptiness inside.
Over a hundred people walked around him, sat upon the throne high upon the dais, but they could have easily been dust blowing around his feet for all the attention he gave them. Not out of choice but out of sheer will to not abandon that throne and leave them all blowing around an empty chair. Why did he feel like this, he had what he wanted, a Kingdom to call his own, dozens of worlds bent at the knee for him, the power to control mighty fleets and limitless armies. With one word he could raze a planet, destroy a system, is this not what any Sith would dream for. Pure unlimited power? Or was that the problem? Artorigas always claimed he was not a 'Sith'.
Had that desire to sit in the middle of the spectrum between light and dark cost him his desire. For now Artorigas had what he had set out to claim, he now had nothing more to live for, no desire for greater power, be it physical, spiritual or within The Force. No creature to nurture, no love to protect, an empty life for a near empty throne. If he stepped away from it all now, what would happen, would he be missed, the House of Wessex on Serenno now resided with his Sister. Malou was now a full champion, free to roam the galaxy for her own desires, only a basic need to pay him lip service. Avillion ran itself, the council he set up were so self sufficient he was more a figurehead than absolute monarch.
There was Exegol, perhaps that dead world would be the one place his presence would be missed. For only a handful of people knew its existence, even less its location and only he knew its full secrets. The giant ships buried deep beneath its surface, the final touches soon to be completed and delivered to their respected destinations. The horde of artefacts locked behind black rock, millennia of history of the Sith for his eyes only. But it had been lost before, more than once and the galaxy had kept on turning, the Sith had risen, the Jedi to face them, the Sith to face them, around and around it went without that hunk of black rock. So it would again.
So what was to stop him disappearing further away from the Sith, away from the Galaxy, from life itself? Would he return to The Force? Or just fade into nothingness his body decomposing into the soil around his tomb. Something in the corner of his vision pulled him from the lifeless stare across the throne room, a young boy, more a child than anything, perhaps an apprentice to be so young to work here. He walked towards him something in his hand, but then he turned away heading towards his master out of Artorigas sight.
Why had that boy pulled his vision, never mind. His eyes flowed back across the room to the vacant position dead ahead, past the dozens of military officers deciding the next moves for their fleets. The governors discussing the notes of the last meeting, past Sit Gahris who planned the notes for the next meeting. Royal Guard's who eyes scanned everyone with suspicion, the white marble floors, the inlaid gold upon the pillars. Past the moving stained glass window.
Wait, that window did not move. His whole body became rigid as he trained his vision upon the window. There it stood, a vision of a man clad in the darkness of The Force smiling down on him, wings erupted from his back. A single feather coming loose to float down, he watched it with the eyes of a trained killer, a trained Sith, a Sith Lord as it came to a rest upon his lap. "True power can come only to those who embrace the transformation." The voice sounded as if it was everywhere, coming from every inch of the room, echoing across every surface, he heard the words only once but it felt like it had been spoken a thousand times.
Looking back up the window was once again as it was, a window with three figures, one in black, one in white and one in grey.