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Once again, you see Urr’tal’s face that often reappears like a haunting phantom. His death was pointless, an utter waste. You’ve learnt nothing from it; you were not magically granted strength by the anger Yvalok inflamed. There was always both passion and drive; you managed to defeat Thang in a hard-fought duel, and your innate gift with the Force is unequalled. You need teachers and allies; you do not need artificial enemies. Growing up a freakish street rat was more than enough to embed a desire to succeed and push yourself to greater heights. Urr’tal’s death was an utter waste of life and has only caused you to fantasise about slaying Yvalok.
There are countless billions, possibly trillions of sentients in Sith space that are lesser to you right now. They are not useless; they together can affect change more than their individual components. For example, you will never work construction on one of the grand shipyards. That is their role, minor on a personal level, but together they can achieve incredible feats. More than simple fodder. And Urr’tal was so more than a regular pleb doing their bit. He could have easily grown into a potent Sith, and who knows if he would have had a metaphorical growth spurt and surpassed you.
Yira stiffens under your grip, feeling a tightening squeeze as the rage inside increases with fervour. Noticing it, you slacken your grip, allowing her to resettle into your arms as she leans into you. Bringing lips close to her ear, you gently apologise, telling Yira that you won’t allow any harm to befall her. Her arms grip around your chest like a vice, holding onto you for protection and comfort. Fingers clutch into your robe as the more muted tears wet your dark robes.
Time passes, and you notice her stillness begin to change as Yira takes deep, rhythmic breaths, her arms rest limp. Slowly, with the greatest care, you try to move away to see if she is sleeping like you suspect. Mascara has run down her cheeks, colouring the tearstains a faded black. Gently, you extricate yourself from her, leaving her completely asleep in your bed. You watch her with a smile on your face as she peacefully dreams about a simpler, happier world. Pulling the covers over her, you allow her to rest comfortably, now conscious that your actions of watching your friend sleep could be viewed as creepy and strange.
Distracting you from Yira, your droid, C2-9O, a golden centipede embedded with bright red gems, squeezes your arm. For the most part, it sits upon your wrist acting as a piece of inert jewellery, but with this indication, it tells you that a message has been sent your way. Withdrawing an arm from your cloak, C2 projects an image out of his central eye. Lord Tyus is summoning you. Your mission for the Sith Empire was drawn up by Sith Lord Tyus; you, along with a number of other students, are to retrieve a valuable Sith artefact from an age long passed.
