The Axis

Posted on Thu May 8th, 2025 @ 8:11pm by Thane

2,149 words; about a 11 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VII: Uprooted
Location: Thane's Cabin, Red Raptor, Irrikut
Timeline: Week Five into Six, before Bomoor awakens

OLD

“One to embody power. One to crave it. Anything more is heresy.”

Thane stood still beneath the looming projection, unmoved yet deeply stirred. His face was expressionless, save for a narrowing of the eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet—not submissive, but measured.

“I do not crave mastery of tools. I want him to walk his path, not be chained to mine.”

The gatekeeper replied without pause, his certainty absolute.

“Then you are not ready to lead. He will leave you—or he will be taken from you... by someone who is.”

NEW

Thane's cabin was quiet, save for the low hum of the Red Raptor’s systems thrumming beneath the deck. Thane stood alone in the dim light, the Telos Holocron floating at eye level before him. Its multicoloured facets pulsed gently, as if sensing the conflict within him. With a whisper of energy, the gatekeeper emerged—a tall, robed Muun figure cloaked in shadow and knowledge.

The echo of Darth Plagueis regarded him with analytical calm, the golden glow of his artificial eyes flickering in the half-dark. His expression held no cruelty, only scrutiny—like a physician examining a fracture, quite unlike the domineering, posturing nature of Bane's gatekeeper. 

“Ah… Serus,” Plagueis spoke, his voice smooth as glass over deep water. “Or should say Thane? Titles matter little in this moment. Only clarity of purpose.”

Thane lowered his eyes, fingers flexing unconsciously at his sides. There was a gentle clacking as his artificial digits collided.

“Yes, my young friend... I felt your presence stir through the lattice of the Holocron. A tremor, sharp and sudden. Not of fear—but disillusionment.”

The former Jedi hesitated just briefly, searching for words that felt worthy of the moment. “Lord Plagueis. We have spoken only briefly, and I’ve found your rational wisdom a welcome stability in the recent storms. I... I have found myself at conflict with the holocron of Darth Bane, founder of your order, and my initial instrument in committing myself to the Rule of Two anew in these latter days.”

Plagueis inclined his head slightly. “You turn from Darth Bane, as many eventually do. Do not be ashamed of this. Even Sidious scoffed at Bane’s myopia, though he played the dutiful heir long enough to outgrow the founder’s legacy.”

He stepped slowly across the flickering projection field, the hem of his cloak gliding soundlessly over the chamber floor. “Bane was necessary—a force of raw purpose in a time of extinction. But his Rule was a cage disguised as clarity. He feared dilution of the Sith, yes, but also competition. His doctrine of duology served his own insecurities as much as it did the Sith's survival.” Plagueis’s golden gaze settled on Thane. “You, however… you are not simply a survivor. You are an heir of a galaxy in mutation. And now, your companion—your friend—has embraced darkness in blood and agony. The Jedi will call it corruption. Bane would call it progress. But you?”

Thane’s brow furrowed as he remembered the scream through the Force when Bomoor had struck down the Devaronian. “I flew the ship overhead, apart from the duel. But I felt his rage and his pain. I was too late to be there with him... But I’ve felt him falling for months. And I’ve done nothing.” The admission weighed heavily on him. “I’ve taken counsel from Bane, whom I’ve dared to name my ‘Sith master’ for a time, now... And he sees Bomoor and our friendship—our ‘brotherhood’—a perversion, something the Rule of Two could never tolerate. I am unsure if I agree.”

“You are beginning to see clearly,” Plagueis replied. “Bane’s doctrine—so rigid, so brittle—cannot accommodate what you and Bomoor share. He sees all bonds as threats, all kinship as weakness. But I say to you this: there is no greater lie the Sith ever told themselves than the denial of attachment.” The Muun stepped closer, eyes narrowing, his tone cool and deliberate. “Bane confused dependence with connection. He saw the galaxy in stark binaries: master and apprentice, strength and weakness, power and death. But you are living in an era beyond Bane’s reckoning—a galaxy of networks, not chains. You did not err in feeling Bomoor’s pain. You erred in believing that Sith must stand alone. Even Sidious had his confidants. Even I…" He paused in front of Thane, as if to reinforce the gravity of what he almost said, and of what he would say next. “Your ‘brotherhood’ with Bomoor—call it what you will—is not a corruption. It is an opportunity. If he has truly fallen, then he is in motion, not static. A Force in flux. Such beings can be steered, elevated, even understood. And perhaps… shared purpose can become a crucible for a new Order—not just two blades in secret, but a symmetry of Sith, a convergence of design and will.” Plagueis’s gaze sharpened. “You feel guilt for not stopping his fall. I ask you—why? Do you mourn his pain? Or fear what he might become?” He leaned in, voice dark with purpose. “And more dangerously… do you fear what you might become, with him?”

Thane found himself swallowing, quite unexpectedly, as he considered the challenge, his hands now clasped in front of him. “I have failed as a friend. We must hold each other to account, be sure we understand the decisions we make and why. I saw what was happening, and by doing nothing, I let it take shape. I could have warned him, guided him, to make sure he knew what was becoming of him as I clearly did. That he was making an informed choice—the same luxury I expect of myself as a Sith, and of my own apprentice, Amare... and certainly of Bomoor.”

“Then you have not failed him, Serus,” Plagueis said calmly. “You have only arrived late. Even I—so often self-styled an architect of control—understood that the Force cannot be seized by command alone. It is invited through understanding, harnessed by will, and tempered by knowledge. What you describe is not failure—it is the consequence of freedom. You did not bind Bomoor to your will, as Bane might demand. You let him walk his path. And now? He has walked into the shadow… but he is not lost. You seek to build a Sith identity that does not devour the self, but refines it. You grant your apprentice, your allies, even yourself, the right to informed transformation. That is rare. That is wise. That is Sith.”  Another meaningful pause from the fallen Dark Lord, who regarded the Human before him with curious, engaged eyes. "You need not excuse your connection to Bomoor. You need only decide what to do now—with him, not in spite of him. If he has chosen the dark, know why. If he is changed by grief, help him understand it. And if he becomes something dangerous... then so be it. You will face him with truth in your hand—not sentiment. And that truth is this: true Sith do not fall. They decide.”

Thane's eyes cast down with the final comment, and he did not reply to the Muun gatekeeper, his mind flooded with imagery and memories of his time and life with Bomoor. Before the memories and sentiment could take form as true thought, Plagueis spoke again. 

“So decide, Serus. Will you be his equal? His guide? His correction? Or will you let him become your rival by default?” His manner then shifted slightly, as Plagueis' expression altered to reflect this thought that seemingly appeared within him. "I wonder… what would you expect of him, if your places were reversed?”

Thane’s answer was quick, quiet, firm. “I would expect honesty.”

“Good,” the gatekeeper replied. “Then demand it. Not with violence. Not with dominance. But, with clarity. Bring him to speak—not to justify, but to comprehend himself. Make him see that the darkness he embraced is not some wild fury to be indulged blindly, but a force to be claimed, wielded, and accounted for.” The Muun facsimile clasped his long fingers together within the folds of his sleeves. "That is the duty of one who calls himself Sith, is it not?” He then tilted his head slightly. “You see now why Bane’s view is… insufficient. He would have had you discard Bomoor the moment doubt stirred in your mind. But you do not discard a blade merely because it cuts both ways. You learn its edge. You decide when to sheathe it—and when not to. If Bomoor is truly to stand at your side—or opposite you—then let it be with open eyes. That is the respect you give. And the demand you must make.”

Thane inclined his head, and could do not deny a sense of gratitude simmering within him at the guidance from this Sith master, so unlike the grim, final instruction - for it could not be called insight nor tutelage - Darth Bane had deigned to impart. 

“And what of you, Serus?" Plagueis' tone shifted once more, his hands revealed once more as they gestured precisely towards Thane, his professorial manner tempered curiously against his dark philosopher's guise. "Have you yet spoken to Amare with such honesty? Or is your silence toward her the same silence you gave Bomoor, waiting for tragedy to force your hand again?”

Thane was mildly surprised at the query. Although he had mentioned the Nautolan, events on and since Öetrago had felt dominated by Bomoor's conflict and loss, but he knew he must be wise, and not leave his apprentice to draw her own deductions, unguided. Her relationship and view of Bomoor could be tumultuous, he has noted, in spite of her earlier affection for him. “Amare..." he began, thinking carefully as the words took form, "requires temperance. And I will need to explain to her what has become of Bomoor, lest she learn the wrong lessons, or fuel the wrong desires. Too often already, her impulsive nature and craving for us both to declare our Sith nature boldly to ourselves and the galaxy cripples her wisdom.”

“Ah… the apprentice who would crown herself before mastering restraint," Plagueis murmured with faint dismay. Familiarity, it seemed to Thane, playing across his smooth features. "You are correct—your student requires temperance, not punishment. Passion she has in abundance, as many great Sith do in youth. But without discipline, passion consumes itself. It burns bridges before they can become strongholds. She idolises boldness, but fails to see that the truest Sith do not proclaim their nature—they impose it. Quietly, irreversibly. Until the galaxy does not realise it is kneeling. If she sees Bomoor’s fall only as validation of power through pain, she will miss the deeper truth; that even Sith must be self-aware, that transformation must be chosen—not performed for show. You must make this clear to her. Not with lectures. With demonstration. With example.” Plagueis' hand gestured openly towards Thane again, encouraging. “My young friend, you now stand at the convergence of your legacy: Bomoor, the peer; Amare, the student. One consumed by grief, the other by ambition. And you, Serus, in the centre—the axis of a new Sith order not yet born. You must now speak truth to both. Demand it in return. Not to control—but to cultivate. That is how you surpass Bane. That is how you claim the title not merely of Darth, but of Sith Master... or more. But, you are not yet there… although I see the shape of it forming.”

Before there could be any further comment from Thane, Plagueis’s final question was delivered suddenly, quiet but cutting. 

“Will you speak to Bomoor first? Or to her? Or are you still unsure who needs your clarity most?”

Thane said nothing. He opened his mouth to speak, but, to his surprise and embarrassment, no words yet came. Instead, silence filled the space, his gold-stained eyes locked upon the towering Muun in silence... and understanding.

“I have found this... illuminating, my lord,” he said at last, slowly. “I will think on your question, and bring an answer when... when I am certain of my views." He lowered himself to one knee, head bowed in deep respect. "Thank you... master.”

Plagueis inclined his head, his form beginning to fade. “Then you are already farther along the path than most who kneel. Go now, Lord Serus. Speak, listen, and above all—shape. For a Sith does not merely survive the storm. He decides what follows after it.”

And as the light of the holocron dimmed, Plagueis’s voice echoed one final time, quiet as breath. "Forge the Order you never inherited. Become the master you were never given...”

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