From the Ashes

*OOC*

In the year 27 ATC / 3626 BBY, the last Lord Emperor of the Sith Imperium faced a foe he could not best: himself. The following account precedes several months of intensive reforms and meditations that birthed the Fireborn Sovereignty from the ashes of the Imperium...

## From the Ashes

*What does it mean to be alive? To be a part of the Force and yet separate from it? To be one man and to be more?*

These thoughts flashed behind the eyes of Lord Emperor Arestenax Roderick, who once broke chains but now seemed bound to a fate of his own making. He stood alone atop the citadel that capped the capital city of Vaya’vilial and contemplated what it meant to become undone.

Around him, the winds tore and howled. The sky, filled with clouds swirling above him, shrieked with lightning that seemed to split the air itself asunder. A Force storm was brewing that was beyond control, that may spread and consume everything in the universe he once sought to claim… and it stemmed from his own soul.

He had died before, and so this possibility did not concern him. He became a Dark Divine, was resurrected, merged with the Force and guided the Imperium from afar. But in recent months, he sought to do more—he tried to take his throne, despite having left behind no body to rest in it. It wasn’t until this moment that he understood the consequences of both trying to be all things and remain himself: the undoing of both.

He looked down at the field before the citadel, a growing crowd of Imperium citizens staring up at him in horror, and found himself unable to comfort or protect them. He was unable to do anything—it took all of his strength, all of his self-determination to contain even this much of the energy coursing through him. It was a battle he was losing.

As his citizens looked on, his silhouette seemed to fracture, like multiple shadows of the man he had been, all attempting to occupy the same place in space and time. They began to diverge, spreading outward, and as they did the lightning around the ghostly images ceased to fade, becoming rips and cracks in the fabric of the universe itself. Arestenax saw, in this moment, that he was the last Emperor of the Sith Imperium. He saw the end of the Imperium itself. Without even the strength to offer his regrets, his mind began to fade.

And stopped. A hand, nearly as fractured as his own figure, fell on his shoulder and began to push the Emperor’s fragmented selves back together. When his disparate pieces at last merged again, Arestenax found he had the strength to turn.

And he found a friend.

Behind him loomed a burly, scarred Zabrak visage that he believed lost years ago. The fractured image of Makhzor looked down at him, maskless, and for perhaps the first time since he came to the Imperium, offered a genuine smile.

“You’ve over-reached, old friend.” Before Arestenax could even try to answer, Makhzor continued. “When I came to your empire, I saw your potential—and more importantly, your ambition. I was alone in that place, and believed I had found in you the start to a greater purpose. I thought your reach would unite the Dark beneath the Sith Imperium’s banner; that you would help me bring Balance to a universe beyond hope.”

The smile faded and Makhzor gestured with his free hand to the storm still raging around them, the cracks in reality that still glowed like lightning frozen. “But look at what your reach has wrought. Instead of Balance, you now threaten a new universe. You acted in your nature, and I was foolish to think that could be controlled.” Examining the withered human face before him, Makhzor’s smile returned. “But there’s another way, my Lord. You have tried to mend a tear in this universe, and that has been undone. But you can still fix this—you can leave.”

Makhzor pointed at the crowd below, still terrified and now confused. “I can help you to leave this universe entirely. Your energy will remain to patch the hole you rent, but your mind will be freed. If you stay, all you have loved here, all you have built will perish. You can remain with your people until they are erased from existence, or you can save them. One last time.”

Still too tired to speak, Arestenax looked down at his citizens. Alongside their terror and astonishment, he saw something deeper—something that helped him adopt Makhzor’s smile. Looking up at his old friend, he simply nodded his head wearily. Makhzor wrapped one arm around the man’s shoulders, and they both began to glow with a light brighter than the cracks in reality around them. In a flash, they were gone.

As the sun shone through the clouds and the lightning finally began to die, a voice echoed from all directions to address the crowd below.

*Your thoughts betray you, my devout. So many of you believe this to mark the end; the crescendo before the stillness. But you have faced ends before. At every turn, you rose from the ashes to become something greater. You, who were my Sith Imperium.*

A light began to grow on the steps of the citadel, slowly moving downwards towards the masses. As it descended, it began to take form—first as a pair of shapeless bipeds, then as a Zabrak and a Pureblooded Sith, and finally as two figures from the Imperium’s history books. The first resolved into another visage of Makhzor, as disjointed and fractured as the first, like a dozen images of the man working in concert. The other became Keine Raam, long-dead founder and first Emperor of the Sith Imperium. At the foot of the stair, Makhzor placed a hand on Raam’s back, and immediately the Sith’s body became less translucent; and as the one solidified, the other began to dim. It was Raam who had spoken before and who spoke again as Makhzor vanished:

*You have been touched by gods and demons, emperors and kings, shadows and creatures and horrors that would shatter lesser minds, and you have outlived them all.*

*But survival demands change. Growth demands loss. Evolution demands sacrifice.*

*The Sith Imperium was built as a belief, transformed into a galactic power, beaten into hiding and across the multiverse, then beaten again. It has served you well, but it has lost its power. It can serve you no longer, and in truth, you do not need it.*

*The One Sith way must die. The last Lord Emperor of the Sith Imperium must disappear. The Sith Imperium itself must follow suit.*

*Cling to the old ways and they will drag you down, burying you in dust until you suffocate. You are meant for more, but to attain it you must change. Lose. Sacrifice. It was not myself or Arestenax or any other who kept you alive through trials and treacheries; your connection to one another, your unity lifted you above destiny.*

*Together, you can renounce this end. You can will yourselves to become greater. Announce to the galaxy, to the Force, and to all that live in them—you are more than any fate that has been willed upon you. You, the people who made the Sith Imperium a power beyond what anyone throughout two universes have ever conceived; You, who gave me my faith; You, who gave Arestenax his power; You, who gave Makhzor his purpose; You, who give yourselves life, strength, and meaning.*

*The promise that lay in you has always been one of self-creation. Fulfill that promise.*

*You are beyond the reach of our fate, and greater than any of us who have fallen.*

*Nurl’erze sas Vuts. Thenoti kia Mirtis.*