Chapter Text
“Fear. Rage. Death.
“3 of the many things to come on this day. When we march out to the Core, remember that there is no fear more potent than the fear the name ‘Sith’ instils in your enemies. There is no rage more fierce than the potent fury inside each of you. And there is no death more honourable than giving your life in service in our Empire. The Republic will rue this day-
Oh, for the love of Bogan, SHUT. UP.
Arcyrus desperately wanted to say those words during the briefing earlier this morning. It was one thing he was about to play lackey to Darth-fucking-Angral, but he also had to suffer the superior Sith’s long-winded speeches. Some called it patriotic, Arcyrus just called it irritating.
The Lord stood in his private quarters aboard his warship, the Void Eternal . Arcyrus didn’t choose the name of the Terminus destroyer. It was a tad too edgy for his liking. Still, it was better than the name for Angral’s ship.
We get it. Darkness. You’re Sith. You use the Dark Side. Everyone knows this. Why do you feel the need to name your ship Darkness? Are you worried people’ll think you don’t use the Dark Side?
Arcyrus wished he could say that to Angral. Though, the Darth was already looking for a reason to cut the Lord down to size, in all senses. So Arcyrus just kept his mouth shut, hard as it was. But he had neither the time, nor the patience for a rivalry. He had more important things to do than enter pissing contests with other Sith who felt the need to show off for no other reason than to prove to others and themselves that they can beat him.
Outside the viewport, the silver shapes of warships mass in the inky black sea of space, illuminated by the blazing amber sun of Dromund Kaas’ star.
Coruscant. We’re actually invading Coruscant.
The centre of galactic society. Home of the Senate, the Jedi, and last Arcyrus checked, near 1 trillion life forms, which Angral will waste no time in killing, Arcyrus was sure. Rhosash, his apprentice, was keen for the assignment. The Pureblood detested his posting at Lorr, and his Master, and wished to be somewhere where he felt he could cause the most carnage. Arcyrus wasn’t just guessing that. He heard Rhosash say those words, verbatim. Rhosash wasn’t Arcyrus’ first choice for an apprentice, but he made a promise to his sister, a dear friend of his, to train him, and he had tried to do so to the best of his ability, even if the apprentice was reluctant to listen. Of all Arcyrus' apprentices, Rhosash was the most difficult to temper. He lacked Aan's spirit of a warrior, and Navomar's tact and temperament. If there was one thing the Pureblood had over his peers, it was pure arrogance. Rhosash thought his resentment towards him was a secret, but Arcyrus had him figured out around 4 days in. He had let Rhosash join Darth Malgus’ task force at the Temple. Though knowing his student, the brute was liable to lose a limb fighting Jedi Central. But that wasn’t why Arcyrus had sent him there. He hoped Rhosash might actually learn something from the experience, something he had failed to internalise throughout the past 5 years of apprenticeship.
Arcyrus bit his lip, and looked into the mirror next to him. He had not yet put on his armour, and wore a navy-blue cloak and black lower robes. Red tattoos creeped around the folds of his cloak and curved around the crescent scars below his breast, making jagged patterns on his pale skin and stretching up to below his lower lip. His red-brown hair was loose, and wavy, reaching parallel to his neck. Stray locks covered his face. His eyes were a faint orange. Exasperation, bordering on annoyance. Not surprising, considering the people he’s had to deal with. Even so, he would carry out this battle to the best of his ability. Not because he had some grand ideal driving him… But because-
His commlink lit up with a ping. He was needed on the bridge. He gave a sigh, and made himself presentable. Black robes, with indigo sashes crossing over his chest in an X-formation and wrapped around his waist. He made his way out of his quarters, and explored the hallways of the Void Eternal , leading to its bridge. Every person he passed on the way, Imperial or Sith, bowed before him. Arcyrus had to stifle a groan. Did they even know who they were bowing to? Did they actually respect him? Or were they afraid he’d kill them if they didn’t? Arcyrus pushed these questions to the back of his mind. He had more important things to worry about right now.
The bridge door slid open, revealing the crew of the Void Eternal busy at work. Admiral Pires Dorne stood near the viewport, barking orders to his subordinates. The man was an effective commander. That was about all the nice things Arcyrus had to say about him. The man had the personality of cardboard.
Dorne bowed to the Lord as he approached. “My Lord. We received word from the Darkness . Darth Malgus’ strike team has entered the Coruscant system. Darth Angral says we are to begin the jump to hyperspace.”
Arcyrus nodded. It was finally time. “Well, then. Best not keep the Dark Lord waiting.”
Arcyrus stood before the viewport, watching as the various ships of the Imperial assault fleet sped into the vast darkness in the blink of an eye. The stars began to stretch into starlines. The starlines filled the black void with white. The white turned into shades of blue, swirling and shifting into an endless tunnel. Arcyrus never tired of the sight. One of the many natural beauties of the galaxy. Dorne, in comparison, couldn’t seem to care less. He just looked at his datapad, sorting out whatever dull paperwork was thrown this way. Arcyrus looked at the man’s face. So many years of service hidden behind a hard expression. But was that all there was? Service?
“A question, Admiral.”
Dorne looked up from his datapad. “Yes, my Lord?”
Arcyrus narrowed his probably white eyes. “How long have you fought this war?”
Dorne looked slightly confused. “M… My Lord?”
“You graduated from the academy some… 40 years ago, yeah?”
“I… 36, my Lord.”
“So you’ve been fighting this war as long as it has existed.”
“Well, yes, I… suppose I have.”
Arcyrus turned back towards the viewport, watching the hyperspace tunnel that just stretched on and on. An eternity before them.
“What do you make of the war?” He asked.
“I’m… not sure I understand the question, my Lord?”
Arcyrus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Why do you think we’re fighting? What’s… What’s driving you in the battle that’s coming? Anything?”
As Arcyrus expected, Dorne didn’t seem to have an immediate answer. He just cleared his throat, looked away from Arcyrus’ gaze, then straightened his collar.
“The Republic’s mere existence is an affront to Imperial purity.” Dorne spoke like he was reading from a script. “Annihilation is the very least they deserve.”
Arcyrus furrowed his brow. Same old Imperial drone. Parroting back whatever mindless propaganda the Dark Council fed them. Why is it an affront, why do they deserve annihilation? He wanted to ask these, but he wouldn’t receive an original answer. It felt… maddening, sometimes, to be one of the few people in the Empire who dared to have any semblance of independent thought. It felt like a hivemind, just any beauty of individual identity swept away by a sea of being told what to do, how to feel, who to be. All so the Empire could maintain control amongst their underlings. When Darth Zhrin recruited him, she made it sound so... freeing. But Arcyrus traded one authoritarian regime for another. Both the Empire and the Commonwealth were exactly the same, down to the styrofoam people.
But that said… He felt a presence behind him. Fear, as was always expected… But for some reason, this one stood out above all the other Imperial dregs. Like they had something he wanted to say, but their fear kept it locked away. He turned his gaze in the direction of the presence, and found a young ensign looking to Arcyrus and the admiral. A Lorr’a man, with golden hair and sapphire eyes. His pointed ears perked in alarm as Arcyrus’ gaze met his, and he quickly returned to his terminal, pretending he was working. But he wasn’t quick enough, it seemed.
“Ensign!” The admiral barked. The ensign cowered as he spoke. “How dare you listen to conversations that aren’t your own! Especially that of a ranking officer and a Lord of the-”
Arcyrus raised his hand, silently commanding the Force to silence Dorne. He didn’t much care how. It manifested itself as a push, and his boots squeaked as they dragged along the floor. He resisted the urge to go further. The Admiral’s tone was… too familiar. Too unwelcome in his memories. Arcyrus looked towards the Lorr’a, feeling the corners of his lips curving into an interested smile.
“What’s your name, ensign?”
The ensign’s eyelids fluttered in surprise, and his eyes darted towards the Lord.
“Ensign Mhaenal, my Lord. Mhaenal Aith’lin.”
Arcyrus nodded. He beckoned Aith’lin forward. “Come here a second, please…”
Aith’lin hesitated. He gulped. His fear spiked within him. But, he left his terminal, and approached the command platform, keeping his hands neatly in front of him. Arcyrus studied him, now that he was closer. He had grown accustomed to the signs of Lorr’a ageing, since it took drastically longer than most humanoid norms. Not as long as his own, but long nonetheless. By his count, Aith’lin was around 20 years old, perhaps slightly older.
“You would’ve been just a child when I came to your world, right?” Arcyrus asked.
Aith’lin cleared his throat. “I… I-I was born the same year, my Lord.”
“So this war’s all you’ve ever known?”
Aith’lin gave a quick, yet hesitant nod.
“Is that why you felt the need to answer the question I gave to Admiral Dorne?”
Aith’lin ears perk again, and his eyes widen in fear. “I… My Lord, I would never-”
Arcyrus raised a hand, and Aith’lin stopped talking.
“Are you just telling me what you think I want to hear just because you’re afraid of me?”
Aith’lin remained silent, seemingly unsure how to answer. Arcyrus gave a light sigh. He so often forgot the presence he had on people ranking under him. It made it so hard to have a decent conversation.
“Please. You can speak honestly with me.”
Aith’lin blinked. “Y… Yes. Yes, my Lord, I am.”
Arcyrus nodded. He placed a hand on Aith’lin’s shoulder. He tensed at his touch. “Aith’lin, what I want to hear… Is what you’re truly thinking. Not what you were taught to say in my presence, not the generic, automatic phrases people like the Admiral have on standby…” He felt Dorne’s glare on his back. “Just… honest-to-Force opinions. So please.” He stepped away, opening his arms in invitation. “Tell me what you wanted to say. I’m interested to hear it, really.”
Aith’lin remained silent for a short while. He looked at Arcyrus with a confused expression, like he was trying to tell if he was sincere or not. After a few seconds, he finally cleared his throat.
“My… My grandmother would often tell me about the reign of the Failure Queen. How… How our people suffered. Left with virtually nothing… How it took my parents from me. The Republic, they… they did nothing. They kept her in power, allowing her corruption to spread across all of Lorr. But then the Empire… You came, my Lord. You removed the Failure Queen from her throne, gave millions of people food and paid work in the shipyards… The Empire saved Lorr, while the Republic let it rot. I… often think how many other planets like Lorr are out there, waiting for help that the Republic won’t give…” He looked out of the viewport with a determined look on his face, before turning back to Arcyrus. “That’s what I fight this war for, my Lord. To do better than the Republic.”
Arcryus couldn’t help but smile. He stepped towards Aith’lin, placing a hand back on his shoulder. “That’s very noble, Aith’lin. And you’re right. The Republic won’t help anyone other than their Core Worlds. The Senate, they don’t care about people like you, people like your grandmother. Even on Coruscant, do you… Do you know how many people live beneath that pristine, sparkling city, living in… filthy, crumbling apartment buildings, failing to even make ends meet?”
Aith’lin shook his head. Arcyrus looks towards the viewport, watching the swirling, shifting portal lead them onwards through the Galaxy.
“So when the fleet arrives above Coruscant…” He continues. “Think about how many people we’ll be freeing from the Republic’s negligence.”
It was a lie. A blatant one, very much so. But it seemed to work on Aith’lin. And that meant it had done its job. Where there was once a quivering, nervous wreck of an ensign who couldn’t even raise his voice to speak to a superior stood a determined young man ready to fight for his ideals.
“I will, my Lord.” He spoke, a slight smile on his face, yet Arcyrus could feel him bursting at the seams with resolve.
Arcyrus smiled, and patted his shoulder. “The Empire needs more people like you, Mhaenal Aith’lin. Now go on. Go do the Empire proud.”
Aith’lin nodded eagerly, and hurried back to his terminal. This time, Arcyrus was sincere in his statement. They needed more free thinkers in the Empire. A subservient drone could follow orders, do the job well enough… But give someone something to fight for, values to rally behind, and they will gladly give their life if it means defending those values. It was one of the greatest tools the Republic had: The idea of a great and just cause, for the good of the Galaxy. It didn’t matter if it was true or not, people believed it. It gave them one of the most potent weapons of all: Purpose. A sense of belonging.
But it was all a fantasy. Smoke and mirrors, so people felt their deaths meant something. The truth was, there was no purpose to this war. Not anymore. There hadn’t been for a long, long time. The Empire was just persisting in this war because the Sith were persisting. And the Sith were persisting just because they could. Because they fed off conflict.
But… There was no point contemplating it. It wasn’t like Arcyrus could change anything if he tried. Just like with Lorr. He had tried so very hard to maintain its people’s culture, sense of identity… But to no avail. Now, it was just another forgettable Imperial world. And there wasn’t a damn thing Arcyrus could do. Maybe one day, that would change. But for now, Arcyrus just had to go with the flow.
And so, Lord Arcyrus stood on the bridge of the Void Eternal , the mesmerising cascade of hyperspace stretching on and on towards Coruscant. And he waited.
He waited for a purpose.