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"It will not work." Darth Marr shakes his head. "The rest of the Council will never support it."
Darth Imperius turns away from the holodisplay with a frustrated sigh, her fingers drumming against the desk's edge.
"Of course they won't," she says with contempt. "The Council has perfected the art of stagnation. They are like dogs in the manger, Marr. Unwilling to implement changes that don't serve their immediate interests, yet determined to prevent anyone else from doing so just out of spite. You know that better than I do. We're strangling ourselves with tradition while our enemies adapt."
Marr inclines his head slightly. "I never said I didn't agree."
"We need change if we want to survive." She pauses, and a wicked smile curves her lips. "Besides, I've never been particularly concerned with seeking approval before acting. It's always easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission."
Sith are rarely known for their forgiveness. Not that he believes Darth Imperius would ask for it anyway.
"When are you leaving?" she breaks the silence.
"Lord Wrath and I depart tomorrow."
Darth Imperius looks away, her gaze fixed on a point in the middle distance, as if weighing some decision.
"I should go with you as well," she says suddenly. "My expertise would prove useful."
Marr closes his eyes for a brief moment. Of course she would offer. He slowly shakes his head, choosing his next words carefully.
"I want you to remain here in my absence. The Empire requires leadership."
"If the Emperor kills us all, there won't be an Empire left to lead." She rises from her chair. "Do you really expect me to just sit here and wait for your return? To sign requisition forms and mediate petty disputes while you are risking everything to protect what we have built? Two Councillors might have a chance where one would fail."
I will not return. This is precisely why they are having this conversation. This is why he must make her understand.
"Are you looking for an easy path, Darth Imperius?" Marr asks with deliberate calm.
"What do you mean?" She furrows her brow, genuine confusion crossing her features.
He takes a breath and begins to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. The words come slowly at first. They are the last lesson he will give her.
"You will learn, sooner than you might wish, that there are things more difficult than facing death in combat. Sacrificing everything—your life, your own ambitions and desires, your..." He pauses. "Your happiness. The very possibility of it. You will learn what it means to give yourself completely, until there is nothing left that is truly yours."
Marr turns away and moves toward the viewport. Perhaps he's just revealed something too personal. Something he's kept locked away for so long he'd almost forgotten it was there. Darth Imperius watches him silently, as if she understands this is more than debate.
"You will sacrifice those who trust you," he continues. "You will carry the weight of billions of lives, and you will do it completely alone. You will face enemies you cannot defeat with a lightsaber. No matter how much power you have, you will still have to ask and beg. You will negotiate with fools and tyrants. You will make the decisions no one else will make, knowing you might not even get to see whether it was worth it. You will swallow your rage and your pride, again and again, because the alternative is the Empire's destruction."
Kaas City lights glitter in the darkness beyond, a constellation of Imperial strength. He will never see this view again.
"There will be days when you'll wonder if your sacrifices matter. You'll want to walk away. But you won't." His voice softens, almost against his will. "Because by then, you'll understand that you can't. That the Empire isn't separate from you anymore—it's woven into everything you are."
Marr pauses, watching a raindrop slide down the transparisteel and disappear.
"And at the end of every day, you will ask yourself if you have given enough—and the answer will always be no. There will always be more to sacrifice." He turns back to face her. "That is the burden I am asking you to bear."
He falls silent, suddenly aware that he's been talking for longer than he intended. That somewhere in the middle of this speech, it became less about their argument and more about his first—and last—opportunity to say everything he's carried alone for decades.
"I am not a child, Marr," Darth Imperius says firmly, though her voice carries no anger. "I understand what leadership costs."
Marr looks at her, wondering if he is asking too much of her. If she's ready for what's coming, for the weight he's placing on her shoulders. But ready or not, it will have to be enough.
"No," he agrees quietly. "You are not, Darth Imperius."
Which is precisely why I'm entrusting the Empire's future to you. Not because the burden is light, but because I believe you can bear it.
Marr turns toward the door and pauses at the threshold, looking back at her one final time. For a moment he sees how young she still is, how small her silhouette appears against the vast viewport despite all the power she commands.
"The Empire will need you," he says. "More than it has ever needed anyone. Do not fail it."
There are a thousand other things he could say, but he has no time left. The rest, she will have to learn alone.
***
Time moves differently when you know it's running out.
Each day feels like simultaneously too much and too little. Too much time to think about everything left undone. Too little time to prepare the Empire for what's coming, to ensure its survival beyond his own.
The future becomes a door slowly closing, and he stands on the wrong side, watching opportunities vanish one by one.
He has done enough, by any reasonable measure. And yet. Is it enough for what is coming? Would any amount of preparation ever feel adequate? The Empire will continue without him because it must, because he has built it to, and perhaps that's the only immortality that matters.
He wonders when was the last time he felt truly alive. When was the last time he made a choice purely because it brought him joy rather than because it advanced the Empire's interests? When did he last allow himself something for no reason other than that he wanted it? The answer disturbs him: he can't remember.
He has faced death countless times, but always in battle, with the immediacy of present danger. Now, he doesn't know when death will find him, and it gnaws at him much more than the certainty of death itself. It could be today. Tomorrow. A month from now. Sometimes, when he wakes in the morning, he feels almost disappointed to open his eyes again.
It seems that death, when it finally comes, will be a comfort. An end to the anticipation.
The Empire's Wrath sits on the couch in his office with one leg tucked under her. A tome from his personal library—one of several she brought aboard his flagship—lies open across her lap. Her boots rest on the floor beside her, and her hair falls loose around her shoulders. It seems she's been sitting here for a while.
Marr knows she won't find anything new there. Everything remotely relevant has already been thoroughly studied by his apprentices, by Darth Imperius, and by himself. He suspects Wrath knows this too, but continues searching anyway, because she needs to feel like she's doing something.
Wrath looks up when he enters, catching his gaze.
"I wish I could be more helpful," she says, setting the book aside. "I don't know the full extent of the Emperor's powers." She pauses, her fingers tracing the book's edge. "On Voss, he told me he could only change hosts when the previous one died. That he wouldn't make that mistake again. What if he's learned to do it at will now? What if—" Wrath stops herself, looking away sharply as though cutting off the spiral of worst-case scenarios.
Marr can see that the prospect of facing someone potentially immortal weighs on her as well. The burden of knowing your enemy might be unkillable, that everything you do might be futile, that death itself might not be your escape but simply another phase of the Emperor's plans.
The Force has shown him nothing of her fate. He doesn't know what will happen to her: if she'll die beside him or if she'll face something worse than death. At least she has the blessing of ignorance.
"I hope you haven't changed your mind," Marr says. The slightest wavering could doom them all.
"No." Her answer is immediate. "I promised I would follow you, Marr, and I will. I always keep my promises."
Marr suspects that protecting the Empire isn't her only reason for being here, though she will not speak that truth aloud. If that's the case, it can be used. He needs her resolve intact. And if she needs something from him to maintain that resolve, he can provide it.
"Your loyalty has never been in question, Wrath," he tells her, deliberately softening his tone. "Neither has your strength. The Empire is fortunate to have you on its side." He pauses, then adds more quietly, "As am I."
For a moment, her expression betrays all her emotions. Surprise flickers across her features, her eyes light up, and she looks at him with a strangely vulnerable smile. She catches herself quickly.
"You flatter me, Lord Marr," she responds with her usual confidence. "I like it. Please continue."
He wasn't mistaken, then. The confirmation creates a sensation in his chest that he doesn't want to examine too closely. Not now. Perhaps never.
"Flattery implies deception, Wrath. I was merely stating facts," he says, deliberately steering back toward safer territory while not entirely abandoning the warmth in his tone. "Trust is not something I extend lightly. You've earned it many times over. When the moment comes, I have no doubt you'll do what needs to be done."
His voice no longer seems to obey him; the words come out flat, devoid of the passion that once fueled him, that had burned in his heart like fire. Hatred had given him strength when there was nothing else left. But now, Marr feels as though that same hatred has burned him out from the inside, consumed everything, leaving behind only a cold wasteland where once there was fire. Empty and dead. Like the surface of Ziost.
"Are you alright, Marr?" Wrath is watching him with concern now. "Perhaps you should rest. I'm certain the Emperor will still be there when you wake up. Unfortunately."
Can everyone else see it too? Or is it just her noticing the exhaustion in his voice, because she knows him too well? Marr hopes it's the latter. There is a strange solace in being seen and understood before the end.
For a moment, he considers inviting her to his bedroom. Forgetting all of this—the Emperor, the visions, the certainty of death—for just an hour. Remembering what it felt like to want something for no reason other than wanting it. Touching that fire and passion he no longer feels burning within himself. Wrath would not refuse. He is almost certain of that.
Before, he avoided that possibility precisely because of this certainty, kept that boundary intact to avoid complicating an already complex situation. Such entanglements create weaknesses that can be exploited, cloud judgment when clarity is essential. But now, when he might be dead tomorrow, what would it matter? If this is his last chance to feel something other than emptiness and hatred, why not take it?
Because it would still matter. Because, if he is right about her feelings, it could make her hesitate when she needs to act. Could make her prioritize his survival over the mission when the mission is all that actually matters.
Because, if he's being brutally honest with himself—which seems appropriate when time is running out—it would definitely affect him.
He probably wouldn't be a good lover right now anyway, he tells himself with grim amusement. She deserves better than what he could offer. Someone who would think about her in bed, not about the Emperor.
The thought brings an unexpected smile to his lips—small, bitter, but real. The sensation feels strange, foreign. He can't remember the last time he smiled. Not since Ziost.
"Marr?"
He realizes he's been silent too long, and Wrath is still watching him with the same expression.
Part of him wants to tell her what's on his mind, to have someone know the full truth. But it's not the truth she needs. She needs him to be the person she's chosen to follow into darkness.
So he will be. He won't have to do it for much longer.
Marr turns away.
"I appreciate your concern, Wrath. I'm merely tired."