December 4012 ABY
Above Dathomir, Observation Deck
The planet hangs below us, veiled in mist and crimson storms.
Dathomir.
A place I once called home.
My nightmare.
My truth.
The Pale Father stands at the center of the observation deck, surrounded by high command. Technicians monitor weather patterns and gravitational shifts. The Architect inputs final calculations.
I say nothing.
I just watched.
I see Kaelrah's face.
The Sisters' chants.
The smoke.
The trials.
The broken bones that shaped me.
This planet was never kind.
But it was real.
And in its cruelty, there was meaning.
The weapon is housed within a descending orbital shell, a black cylinder glowing from within, now christened:
"The Ember Lance."
Designed not to incinerate, but to fracture a world from within.
To shake its crust.
To unravel its ley-lines.
"The Force runs deepest here," the Architect explains.
"And so… it must be where we break it."
The Pale Father nods once.
"No more myth. No more ghosts. Let the galaxy know that even the Force can bleed."
He turns to me.
"You were born here. You understand its poison. You should be the one to authorize the strike."
I close my eyes and breathe deeply
Kaelrah's chants echo softly, steadying the storm inside me.
This pain, this sacrifice it is not the end. It is the cost of survival, the seed of a new beginning.
The datapad grew cold in my hand.
One button.
One breath.
"Look to the sky…"
My mother's breath in the fire.
"…I will be watching you."
"I know you will make the right choice."
My grip grew tighter around the datapad.
Just… mourning.
Then click.
The Ember Lance pulses, and I catch a glimpse of the ancient trees, their roots deep and enduring beneath the shattered surface. Even as the world groans, I remember the soft rustle of leaves in the midnight wind, a whisper that life persists.
Tension grew in the room. There was no explosion at first.
Just a pause, silence.
As the bloody red beam tears past the viewport, lighting up the room bright red, silent but deadly.
The beam crashes through Dathomir's crust as the planet weeps in pain. Sand erupts. Dust storms spiral violently, shredding the surface. The trees shatter. The mountains ripple. Rivers boil upward into red mist.
And its last breath, the surface collapses, fragments drift apart slowly to be forgotten in the endless void of space.
No cheers.
No celebration.
Only static.
The Pale Father simply turns and leaves with satisfaction.
I remain.
Alone at the viewport.
The Force was never about light or dark.
It was about connection.
About pain, love, survival, legacy.
And now… that echo is gone.
The galaxy believes the Force is eternal.
But now they've seen it die. Shattered and Forgotten.
By a weapon that was meant to bring peace but brought destruction.
Because in the reflection of the glass, I saw not a monster. Just a man too tired to fight.
The galaxy believes the Force is eternal.
But now they've seen it die, or so they think.
They've seen it silenced. Shattered. Forgotten.
And that is the true weapon.
Not the Ember Lance.
Forgetfulness.
And so, I make a choice.
A silent, broken, shameful choice.
"I will remember, even if memory is all that remains."