Kresal Malis
Member
Kresal was out at the crack of dawn once more. A simple jog across the powerbase to exude the thoughts that haunted him deeply into the night. Thoughts he had no chance of escaping. Thoughts that almost kept him from advancing where he knew he needed to go. He crunched his way through the snow, continuing to push for the peaks of the hills of the Zula base he called 'home', quickly and without much effort. The snow and stone crunching under the weight of his boots.
As he tried to block his own thoughts out, he could hear his breathing settle into a steady pace, each step made to try and match his exhaling. Usually it was enough to keep them at bay. Enough to push down the worst of it. But not today. As the cold bit at his skin, he could only compare it to one place.
... Ziost.
Perhaps that's why he had always preferred the cold, cruel halls of the Tyrant, the recycled, almost stale air of his small quarters. But here and now? As the cold air seemed to find plenty of ways to bite and nip through his armour. He could only feel his mind continue to push him towards home.
A place that was now... dead. Drained by some mad being.
A shallow grunt escaped the Incipient as he felt his boot crack into a raised stone. A quiet stumble forward before he fell to a knee. An almost haunting voice ringing out in front of him.
"Again."
The memories that flooded his brain in that moment were incessant. As if he heard that word every time he faltered. Every time he fell down. And there it was again. Never angry. Patient. Or... as patient as one could expect a father to be. He felt his dried lips crack painfully into a small smirk. His father had always believes that Patience could shape him into greatness. That the idea of snapping first was almost never the right answer.
Before he could allow his thoughts to align further... another voice. Sharp, brittle... angry.
"Again?"
Anger flooded him, cold and visceral, enough to push the young Sith back to his feet with a grunt, moving further into the peaks of these small mountains. His smile had faded now. The bitterness of these memories coming back like a knife in the gut.
"How many times does he fail before you finally realise he will not be ready for the academy?"
Another grunt of effort...
"You coddle him..."
He pulled his fists in close...
"He is a child."
He slowly released his hands.
"He is supposed to be a Sith!"
Frustration began to ball in his stomach, festering into anger as he placed his head against a nearby tree, frozen and dead. His breathing becoming more and more intense as he played the memories over and over again. He could remember each bite and insult she doled out. Each cold, calculated word that managed to cut him to his core. The smell of her expensive, nauseating perfume that left a trail in whatever room she had left. But not what she looked like. Not really... As his gauntlet pushed slowly into the bark. Unknowingly at first. Frustration filled him. He was supposed to be better than this. But even now. All he could think about was how...
"I can't even remember what you look like. And you are still festering in my head... how droll."
Another grunt as he pushed away from the tree, golden eyes flicking back to the Horizon. Eyes coming over the dotted training arena he had spent the past week practically locked inside of. Where glorious fighting had occurred only a day before. A rather boring encounter with a man who had given up before their muscles broke, his victory had been granted. But... was it one to be proud of?
A few months ago, he easily would have taken the defaulted victory as his own and campaigned it across the powerbase. But Ekirus had changed things... most of all his mindset. Victory without the path to get there seemed... hollow. What he had thought was strength had changed. And as he thought back to his parents... his father would have accepted it with grace. Moved on all too swiftly. His mother would have called him a coward and spit on the floor...
The young Incipient found it difficult to agree with either point. There was no honour in breaking a man who wished to surrender. But there was no honour in abandoning said fight simply because it no longer suited them. His own spirit had been forged under pressure. Much like a blade. And to walk away before the work was done... the hard work. Brutal work. It felt hollow and empty...
The whispers around him continued to push into his head, unwelcome memories that continued to push into his mind... strength flooding through his body as he turned to grip into the rotting wood of the tree before him. Pushing through the bark and into the deep, dead wood before ripping part of it off. A bestial scream escaping him as he threw it deep into the valley.
And finally... in his head. It was quiet. Not serenity... just quiet as he stared off into the distance... breath heavy, eyes filling with tears before slumping down into the snow and ice.
As he tried to block his own thoughts out, he could hear his breathing settle into a steady pace, each step made to try and match his exhaling. Usually it was enough to keep them at bay. Enough to push down the worst of it. But not today. As the cold bit at his skin, he could only compare it to one place.
... Ziost.
Perhaps that's why he had always preferred the cold, cruel halls of the Tyrant, the recycled, almost stale air of his small quarters. But here and now? As the cold air seemed to find plenty of ways to bite and nip through his armour. He could only feel his mind continue to push him towards home.
A place that was now... dead. Drained by some mad being.
A shallow grunt escaped the Incipient as he felt his boot crack into a raised stone. A quiet stumble forward before he fell to a knee. An almost haunting voice ringing out in front of him.
"Again."
The memories that flooded his brain in that moment were incessant. As if he heard that word every time he faltered. Every time he fell down. And there it was again. Never angry. Patient. Or... as patient as one could expect a father to be. He felt his dried lips crack painfully into a small smirk. His father had always believes that Patience could shape him into greatness. That the idea of snapping first was almost never the right answer.
Before he could allow his thoughts to align further... another voice. Sharp, brittle... angry.
"Again?"
Anger flooded him, cold and visceral, enough to push the young Sith back to his feet with a grunt, moving further into the peaks of these small mountains. His smile had faded now. The bitterness of these memories coming back like a knife in the gut.
"How many times does he fail before you finally realise he will not be ready for the academy?"
Another grunt of effort...
"You coddle him..."
He pulled his fists in close...
"He is a child."
He slowly released his hands.
"He is supposed to be a Sith!"
Frustration began to ball in his stomach, festering into anger as he placed his head against a nearby tree, frozen and dead. His breathing becoming more and more intense as he played the memories over and over again. He could remember each bite and insult she doled out. Each cold, calculated word that managed to cut him to his core. The smell of her expensive, nauseating perfume that left a trail in whatever room she had left. But not what she looked like. Not really... As his gauntlet pushed slowly into the bark. Unknowingly at first. Frustration filled him. He was supposed to be better than this. But even now. All he could think about was how...
"I can't even remember what you look like. And you are still festering in my head... how droll."
Another grunt as he pushed away from the tree, golden eyes flicking back to the Horizon. Eyes coming over the dotted training arena he had spent the past week practically locked inside of. Where glorious fighting had occurred only a day before. A rather boring encounter with a man who had given up before their muscles broke, his victory had been granted. But... was it one to be proud of?
A few months ago, he easily would have taken the defaulted victory as his own and campaigned it across the powerbase. But Ekirus had changed things... most of all his mindset. Victory without the path to get there seemed... hollow. What he had thought was strength had changed. And as he thought back to his parents... his father would have accepted it with grace. Moved on all too swiftly. His mother would have called him a coward and spit on the floor...
The young Incipient found it difficult to agree with either point. There was no honour in breaking a man who wished to surrender. But there was no honour in abandoning said fight simply because it no longer suited them. His own spirit had been forged under pressure. Much like a blade. And to walk away before the work was done... the hard work. Brutal work. It felt hollow and empty...
The whispers around him continued to push into his head, unwelcome memories that continued to push into his mind... strength flooding through his body as he turned to grip into the rotting wood of the tree before him. Pushing through the bark and into the deep, dead wood before ripping part of it off. A bestial scream escaping him as he threw it deep into the valley.
And finally... in his head. It was quiet. Not serenity... just quiet as he stared off into the distance... breath heavy, eyes filling with tears before slumping down into the snow and ice.
