He knows this void. He knows this sensation of cold, and this choking darkness. He knows the aching of corruption crawling beneath his skin. But perhaps more than anything, he recognizes the feeling of falling. A sickness creeps through his veins to crystallize within his thoughts. For a time, he thinks he might vomit, for despite the blackness that surrounded him, Sol feels as if he is caught within the winds of a twisting vortex. The voices he hears are not of friends, but of fragments. The faces he sees are those he has killed. Ice seeps into his bones, and it's a cold that the Kel'dor had no hope of escaping from. It settles there, deep within, the piercing weight of a chain upon his soul.
Finally, eyes snap open, and Sol jolts from his bed. The nightmare was one he has had before, but not in some time. He had repressed it, chased it away to the darkest reaches of his mind, and yet there it was, hovering before his gaze as shards of unwanted memory.
Despite his wakefulness, Sol stills feels like he might throw up. He pushes himself out of his bed, and finds that his legs seem too weak to support him. Knees buckle, and the chill of the marble floor rushes to meet him. Sick. In more ways than one. But the cool floor seems to provide some comfort from his rolling stomach, at least for now, so that was where the Kel'dor would rest, harshly demanding that his mind does not wander. Of course, it seemed the Kel'dor's self control had been frayed. At the core of his thoughts, one could only find rot.
He thinks of his torture, his sensation of helplessness. He thinks of the dead eyes of his Jedi Master, and that final, fleeting feeling of hope. He thinks of Kyo, the broken exile, the one that had tried to save him. He thinks of those he has killed, and of those he has hurt. He thinks of his selfishness. His desire for power at any cost. He thinks of how willing he was to throw his mind and spirit away to the Dark Side, as if making a bargain with a devil.
He's tired, and he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to push himself off the floor, doesn't want to remind himself of who he was anymore. For far too long, he had shoved those feelings down. He had tried so desperately to forget them all. His time in the Jedi, the death of his closest friend, his torture at the hands of the Sith, and now, this addiction that seemed to be eating away at his very soul. Was there any end to his suffering? Was there any end to the galaxy's suffering? Sometimes, Sol find himself thinking back on what he had learned as a Jedi. The Force was said to have a will. What, then, was it's plan? Drown the universe in an endless cycle of light and dark?
No, Sol thinks to himself. No. I won't keep doing this. I can't. If the Force had a will, then it was laughing at him. It was cruel and tyrannical and ruthless. I'm done. Sol drags in a breath as he lays against the floor, closes his eyes against the chill of the marble.
Sol would not be a pawn.
If the will of the force was that he should suffer, then the will of Sol Kenuk was that the entire galaxy would suffer with him. After all, who would the force have left to torment, if there was none left alive to control? Finally, it seems he finds his feet again. Sol could not stay any longer. Would the Sith not kill him if they found out his intentions? He closes his eyes, draws in a sigh, and makes his way out of the lab.
Finally, eyes snap open, and Sol jolts from his bed. The nightmare was one he has had before, but not in some time. He had repressed it, chased it away to the darkest reaches of his mind, and yet there it was, hovering before his gaze as shards of unwanted memory.
Despite his wakefulness, Sol stills feels like he might throw up. He pushes himself out of his bed, and finds that his legs seem too weak to support him. Knees buckle, and the chill of the marble floor rushes to meet him. Sick. In more ways than one. But the cool floor seems to provide some comfort from his rolling stomach, at least for now, so that was where the Kel'dor would rest, harshly demanding that his mind does not wander. Of course, it seemed the Kel'dor's self control had been frayed. At the core of his thoughts, one could only find rot.
He thinks of his torture, his sensation of helplessness. He thinks of the dead eyes of his Jedi Master, and that final, fleeting feeling of hope. He thinks of Kyo, the broken exile, the one that had tried to save him. He thinks of those he has killed, and of those he has hurt. He thinks of his selfishness. His desire for power at any cost. He thinks of how willing he was to throw his mind and spirit away to the Dark Side, as if making a bargain with a devil.
He's tired, and he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to push himself off the floor, doesn't want to remind himself of who he was anymore. For far too long, he had shoved those feelings down. He had tried so desperately to forget them all. His time in the Jedi, the death of his closest friend, his torture at the hands of the Sith, and now, this addiction that seemed to be eating away at his very soul. Was there any end to his suffering? Was there any end to the galaxy's suffering? Sometimes, Sol find himself thinking back on what he had learned as a Jedi. The Force was said to have a will. What, then, was it's plan? Drown the universe in an endless cycle of light and dark?
No, Sol thinks to himself. No. I won't keep doing this. I can't. If the Force had a will, then it was laughing at him. It was cruel and tyrannical and ruthless. I'm done. Sol drags in a breath as he lays against the floor, closes his eyes against the chill of the marble.
Sol would not be a pawn.
If the will of the force was that he should suffer, then the will of Sol Kenuk was that the entire galaxy would suffer with him. After all, who would the force have left to torment, if there was none left alive to control? Finally, it seems he finds his feet again. Sol could not stay any longer. Would the Sith not kill him if they found out his intentions? He closes his eyes, draws in a sigh, and makes his way out of the lab.
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