Solomon Vista - Lessons

[eddymakaveli]

His bronze skin seems warm in the torchlight, kneeling figure the only point of life in his empty chamber. The statue that he seemed to be the point of fixation for the meditator, while well constructed, was nothing too noteworthy. It lacked the detail of any sort of specific form, mostly resembling a generic ‘man’ or masculine figure.

After several moments of contemplative silence, the kneeling figure would tilt his head upwards and speak to the statue- a small cracking of dried lips as they parted for words to escape.

"Again. I was able to do nothing to save someone I cared about, Teacher. Why?" There was cracking in the figure’s voice, barely contained emotion attempting to boil over.

A long, eerie silence followed. Several minutes, or it could’ve been hours, passed. Yet the figure remained gazing. Looking for any answer. Just before he collected himself and stood up- the statue responded.

"Saving someone means not saving someone else, child. To intervene against destiny, is a fruitless endeavor. I tried to warn you against this path. I tried to tell you, that you can never save anyone if you wish to remain sane-"

There was a hiss of plasma and the statue became headless, as silence fell across the room. The wanderer gathered himself up and left the remains scattered on the ground, along with any hope of hearing the statue again.

The crumbled stone was not the only broken thing, in this chamber now.

[DMOtterpop]

There was dust-gathering by this point. The statue in his entry hall was headless, marred with deep cuts in it. A miasma of emptiness. Abandonment. This place no longer carried the feeling of a home.

Whether through delusion or trick of the shadows, the statue seemed to leer at the entering Wanderer - its headless judgment offering over a challenge.

"So. You’ve come to finally face judgment, my wandering son?"

The statue spoke from nowhere in particular, yet the voice boomed throughout the room. There was little doubting its intentions now, the proverbial gauntlet now being thrown.

“I’ve come to say goodbye, teacher.”

There was a pause in the leer, the statue seemingly not expecting the Wanderer’s answer.

"You love them that much then? You’d throw away hope and dreams for them?"

“Without question, teacher. They have me fully. Until the end.”

A loud sigh fills the room, originating from the statue.

"You never cried for me. You refused because you didn’t want to feel as we had an attachment, my stolen son of Fate. I claimed a destiny for you, and now you’ve gone and ripped it apart… It was all for nothing, now. You are being taken. You are being hurt. She told you, she wanted vengeance against you once. The Dosh wanted to kill you not so long ago. They will remember how much you hurt them, one day. And you’ll be alone again."

Poison in the statue’s words, wrought with an ancient pain and anger. Resentment towards the Wanderer. A longing for life, that the Wanderer held and the other was now long-absent of.

“Then I will, with love in my heart at their hands. I wish you’d… gotten to live, to see the world I am going to fight for. I promised Rissa, I’d make her words into reality. I promised them all, even if it kills me.”

In a blink, the miasma would drawback. The statue would be crumbled and on the ground, the Wanderer’s home returning to normal. Solomon’s saberstaff was ignited, a pleased hum escaping Hero. “… It’s just us now, my dear friend. I am sorry.”

A deep sob can be heard echoing through the halls of his temple home, the collapsing of a man onto his knees.

[DMOtterpop]

“You’ve endured worse.”

Words spoke to himself, or some invisible observer, watching him train. He remembered Shriik’s visions of torture, that she would taunt him with every night. An auburn-haired woman on the ground or somewhere else, broken. Being shocked to tears. He would not forget the pain of witnessing. He’d not expel the pain from his mind. He once read someone say that pain could purify the heart, so his heart would be glistening and gleaming purity. The wanderer felt the lightning crack from his hands, and the immediate agony that followed. How unnatural it felt, coursing from his hands. He’d re-live the nightmarish visions with each spark from his hand. The splitting of his skin, charring from uncontrollable blowback from the lightning. He’d feel blood vessels pop, his hands growing cold - but he endured. There was no room for weakness, against Malak. Against any that he’d call enemy. Kindness was already one luxury too many.

Somehow, energy was mustered for more physical training. Practice dummies set up. Targets planted. He’d never thrown a grenade before, and getting used to measuring the distance with his eye before hucking it became almost second nature. Another vision, Sandra becoming enveloped by smoke, before pouncing on him. He could feel the burns that her saber left him. The surprise. She was the only person left that’d bested him. The metric for his success. She’d fought the Hand of Revan before… Multiple Sith Lords… Sandra Mana was the only one he strove to. The only proving left for him.

Slipping through smoke cover with a flurry of strikes, his staff like a ripcord of blows - thundering down on the dummies and invisible targets. His hands burned. Muscles he’d never worked before, now on fire as he continued on. But there was no more obstacles, nothing more-

"Solomon?"

A childlike voice from the staff in his hands, shy and nervous. It pierced him, hearing how weak and vulnerable it had gotten.

“Yes, Hero?”

"I’m scared. You’re starting to frighten me."

He’d choke on a sob between blows, the staff’s voice causing a torrent of tears to cascade down his face. Another swing connecting. Another spark of lightning from his fingertips. Another cry into the empty mountain valley, begging for someone to save them both.

“Bear patiently, my Hero - for you have suffered heavier things.”

Silence.

[DMOtterpop]

Why are you hurting me, teacher?

My thoughts shrieked with pain. Agony. There was a writhing. Cold mud. It was so terribly cold.

I… why am I in pain?

Red hair, the messenger of ruin. She kissed my cheek. It lingered and burned on my cheek, the stench of death. It was so terribly cold. She said I was a failure up until now. My death was a success. The act of heroism I always sought. But who would… watch over them? I made so many promises to them. To live.

I’m sorry.

"I’m so terribly sleepy, Solomon. Why can’t I hear you anymore?"

Hero. Hero. Hero. Hero. Hero. Hero. Hero. This is where that word got me. I couldn’t protect anyone, in the end.
…
…
…
"Save your strength, child,"

Her voice was divine providence. It was justice. It was retribution. It was edge upon which my sword would become infallible.

"You needn’t say anything more. I can promise you the help you need… you need only take my hand."

---

The days blended together, the swamp air didn’t pierce an inch of the base. It was nice to grow comfortable with the cold. She saved me. She saved me because she knew how much I needed to be there for them. I was still too weak, and she’d correct that. I had to appreciate it. I was used to harsh lessons. I did not care if I drowned in the dark side. If it filled my lungs. I would become perfect for her. For all of them.

"Can’t you see Hero is exhausted, my child? You can give him rest, if you do as I ask."

But Hero has always been there. Hero was how I could protect them. He -.

"You wouldn’t want to let him down, right? Like you did Rissa. Kathea. Nrrax. Aiven. Siricco. Skyva. Sarkell. Sohma. You let them down, when you allowed yourself to be shackled by hubris."

No, no. She was right. I could not change the world, with kindness. Hope poisoned me. It allowed me to grow lazy. To misuse Hero. I failed him. But not anymore. I learned the secrets, of taking life. I learned to conquer the Force, for Her. For all of them. If I wanted to protect them, I had to burn the whole galaxy so that they’d never be hurt again.

No more lost children.

No more collars in the Cauldron.

No more abandoned scrap, on stations.

No more tortured students.

No more orphaned apprentices.

Not while I wielded power. Not while I could invoke my will upon any who’d wish them harm.

"Goodnight, dear Hero. Rest now. The world was too cruel for you."

An inaudible screeching, only between himself and the kyber. A fading of hopeful blue. The death of hope. The death of weakness. The birth of the benevolent Tyrant.