The Failure of Fear

[Amun Seti]

TW: Self-harm

Jeset had found escape from the chains of the Empire, the chains of the Sith. But at a steep price. He had let fear drive him. Fear had driven him to be first to flee from the council hall where the Dark Lord of the Sith had called all those loyal to the Order. Fear had driven him to toss his saber to the side as the looming specter of death hung high above. Fear had driven him to slip in his panic, to divulge his name. Fear had driven him to the Omega station, to that blank room where he had divulged his secrets and gave another power over him.

Fear had driven him to trade one set of chains for another.

Fear was a weakness and weakness was to be purged.

In the solace of his ship, Jeset gathered the tools of his penance, the tools that his master had given him years ago upon his first failure. Aadya had been a harsh master, but in her harshness she had given Jeset the tools he needed to survive on his own. She had given him the tools he needed to grow stronger without her guidance. The tools he needed to overcome the weakness of his mind and mortal frame. Pain was a harsh master, but through pain, his weakness would be purged.

Jeset hesitated as he reached for his shirt. There was nothing holding him to this, no Aadya, no other acolytes who would witness if he were to just... not. The memory of searing pain, over and over flashed through his mind. Fear. Weakness. Thats all the thoughts were. Another temptation to stray from the path. It was now in this moment of isolation that it was most necessary. More fear, the fear of pain that tempted him to stray, if even just this once. And if once. Again. And again. Until he had strayed so far from the path that he could no longer call himself a Sith.

Jeset let his shirt drop to the floor.

 

[Amun Seti]

TW: Self-harm

The gentle sound of clothe hitting the floor was all that Jeset could hear in his solitude, all he could hear except the sound of his own breathing and the rhythm of his beating heart. The flesh knew what was coming, and it knew fear. It was for Jeset to rise above, to overcome and persevere in the face of any obstacle.

The Sith Acolyte uncoiled the short whip his master had given him, years ago. He dropped to his knees, trying to control his breathing, to gain control over his racing heart. Fear, deep in the pit of his stomach as he brought his mind back a few days prior. The gathering on Junction, the glory of the Dark Lord of the Sith as she declared her dominion over the Order to which he had belonged. He affixed the emotions he had felt that day in his mind, one by one.

He had questioned the Dark Lord of the Sith's words, his arrogance allowing him to assume his lowly self knew better than the Master of their Order. His pride.

Crack

The whip cracked and Jeset whimpered as it laced pain across his back, cutting a bloody line across fresh skin and scars alike. All signs of weakness that he had tried to purge. His pride had gotten the better of him, but he would force it to obey his will. He would not be a slave to his hubris.

The awe he had felt at the power of the Dark Lord of the Sith, the great weight of her strength bearing down on him and forcing him to his knees. His envy.

Crack

He shuddered at the second lashing as a drop of blood fell to the floor. His jealousy at the power of another, the taste of power that was not his. He would achieve his own power or taste none of it, to die a useless pawn. He would seek his own strength to break the chains that bound him. He would not be a victim dependent on the whims of others.

The fear he had felt deep in his stomach at the threat of death. The fear that drove him from the room to run, panicked for his ship. The fear that had set him on the path he now walked, alone. His fear.

Crack

He panted, breathing heavily as a steady drip now echoed in the cabin. He had felt a fear so great, a fear that had driven him to run from the Empire, from the Sith. From everything he had ever known. The fear that had driven him straight from one set of chains and into the cold embrace of another. He would conquer his fear and command it to follow his will, to wield it as a weapon rather than hobble on it as a crutch. He would not allow fear to rule him again as he had.

 

[Amun Seti]

TW: Self-harm

There was a pause as Jeset kneeled there, panting, his palms on the floor. His back stung with fire where the lash had cut and the barbs had torn. He could smell iron and pain. A small voice in the back of his mind pleaded for it to be over, but he knew it was not.

His cowardice. The thought that he could escape this punishment, this steeling of his will against the weakness of mind and flesh. The mere thought that he might turn from the path that he had chosen so long ago, that he had laid out ahead of him in his mind every day since he had taken that first life so precious to him. The thought that he could stray, just even once, to escape the pain he now felt. His lack of resolve.

Crack

The whip lashed and he felt it's barbs tear at his skin as he cried out. He nearly collapsed to the floor, clutching at himself as he forced himself to focus on the pain, willed himself to find strength in in the reason and to renew his resolve. He would not stray from the path. He was a Sith, and no matter how young and unlearned he might be, he would continue to walk his chosen path until the day he breathed his last breath. He knew his code, the meaning of the words, felt them in his heart, understood them in his soul.

"Peace is a lie. There is only Passion."

"Through passion, I gain strength."

"Through strength, I gain power."

"Through power, I gain victory."

"Through victory, my chains are broken."

"The Force shall free me."​

Jeset spoke the words of the code as he forced himself to sit up, kneeling there with blood dripping down his back. He breathed the words through ragged breaths as he spread his arms wide, blood smearing on the floor where the whip dragged. He chanted as he let the whip fall from his hand, closing his eyes. He would meditate like this, meditate on his weakness, on his pride, on his envy, on his fear. On his lack of resolve. He would do as his Master taught him, he would continue to walk the path no matter how unclear it seemed. For that was the way of the Sith.

Jeset closed his eyes, placing the palms of his hands on his thighs. He forced himself to breathe. His breaths came ragged at first, each one causing him to shudder in pain. He continued this until he was still, his breath flowing gently, easily. It was almost reminiscent of how he had been taught to meditate as a Jedi youngling. Perhaps that was the point as he seemed to find peace within himself. Except there was no peace. Peace was a lie.