revivalproject | Peace Is a Lie

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Peace Is a Lie

WHO: Altair Kallig & Open
WHERE: Altair's Calibration Room
WHAT: Strangely enough, he's gotten to explore his own headspace before... This time it's worse.
WHEN: During the Calibration event!
WARNINGS: Abuse, torture, violence, death, betrayal, xenophobia, mass-death, cults, murder... Will add if anything else pops up.

It appears to be a tomb of some sort. It's dusty and dark and the air feels hard to breathe in, like the room's been sealed off for centuries.

While there are several sarcophagi, there it one that is open. Inside it, there is a holocron, a mask, an upright cup full of suspicious liquid, and a dualsaber. And while those are perhaps the items that stick out the most, there are several other things that might look just as interesting if one looks around.

A broken bottle lays shattered in a corner, glinting in the light of the torches on the wall, a bit of blood smeared on the shards of glass. On a shelf full of human bones lays a crude embroidery, some bloodied bandages, and a doll of some kind of monster.

On the floor beneath the shelf, a blaster pistol lays partially hidden beneath some rubble.

Glancing around, more bizarre or downright frightening items can be found- there's a broken holding cell, a glowing vial of some sort of chemical, a computer chip, golden robes, a pair of broken puppets, a goat-like doll, a empty chemical canister of some kind, an idol that looks like a bird another mask, a glowing purple crystal, and also a planetary status monitor of some kind.

On the far side of the room, there's a throne. Compared to everything else, it seems rather new. Scattered around the throne lays more items- a broken droid, a broken sniper rifle, a broken headband commonly worn by Twi'lek women, and a crown.

Behind the throne, should anyone care to look, there is a torn Ascendancy banner.

Altair himself was off in a corner, examining some trinkets.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Looks like I missed quite a party."

Sorry, he didn't mean to, you know, pry. These mind spaces, though, they were... Something. They were a change from trying to hide out in his own mind every single night. Prying had just become natural after a week of nights like this. And after doing his rounds, Tommy had finally ended up here. Pointedly not touching things.

"Could stand to get some garbage cans in here, right? Clean some stuff up. Throw out the old bad memories. Make good new ones."

"Objects inside a tomb aren't to be thrown away. They're to be cataloged," Altair responded, from where he was examining his trinkets.

He'd always known that some part of him missed this sort of thing- digging through ancient tombs and temples, unearthing history, learning more about the Force and about the Sith. He hadn't realized he missed it this much.

It had been so long, after all, since he'd done this. But he supposed it was something that had stuck with him. Something he'd always want to do, enjoy to do.

"Some memories here are bad. But some are good too."

"Lots of shit is broken, seems like bad memories to me," Tommy muses, But then he's moving toward Kallig frowning. "What's so good about broken shit?"

"I guess it doesn't apply to this place, but normally, a place like this would be filled with history. A gateway to learn about people who lived and died in an era not one's own. Society, culture, beliefs... It's fascinating. Piecing things together from what's left to find."

For Sith, there was also power to be found. Ancient knowledge, ancient rituals, ways to add to one's own power. To do things that no other Sith could.

While Altair couldn't lie and say that didn't matter to him at all, for the most part, he'd just enjoyed learning. Enjoyed the freedom of it.

"It was my job once. Digging through places like these. I miss it."

A pause then, "I guess this place technically is filled with history too. It's just that it's only mine."

"Instead you got to have to deal with stupid political shit, right?" Tommy asks, moving through the room. He points, after a while, at the banner. "For them? Right?"

He doesn't know anything about Altair's world, except what the guy has told him.

"Not for them. I was never welcome in the Chiss Ascendancy, and I never will be."

Aristocra Saganu had made that perfectly clear, that Altair might be Chiss, but he would never be welcome, would never have a home among his people. Altair had known that from the start. He'd known it as a slave, he'd known it as a Sith, and he'd known it as the Commander of the Eternal Alliance, and later as Emperor.

It wasn't a lesson he'd needed to learn twice.

"For the Empire. A Sith is never just one thing, of course. And I loved the politics too- the ability to fight for the betterment of my people was a good thing. I could try to make a place for aliens. I could try to push for change, try to make it so no child would be born in chains as I was."

Not that he'd gotten very far in his plight.

"But I loved this too. Sometimes I wish I had more time to do this. If it wasn't for the war..."

"Not everyone is born into chains. Sometimes they put them on you even though you don't deserve it," Tommy muses, shaking his head. He knew it, pretty well. He moves forward, close enough to inspect the banner.

"Would... touching this be okay?"

"Not everyone, no. But many of my people were born into slavery. And I've always found slavery cruel and destructive."

Some Sith who had once been slaves chose to forget. To become the same entitled scum as those born into pure families. Not Altair though. Altair hated slavery in all its forms.

Of course, he got the feeling that Tommy was thinking about metaphorical chains rather than physical ones. And he supposed on some level, he was too- after all, the Empire preferred shock collars to ensure the obedience of their property.

"Go ahead. I'm not sure what you'll see though."

Oh, no. Tommy was actually talking about literal ones. Fun shit that. He moves forward to the banner and after a moment of hesitation, lets his fingers press to it.

The memory wasn't a happy one. Nor one that Altair really wanted to remember. Or even wanted anyone to see. But then, anything that related to Altair's species would be a bad memory rather than a good one.

Even as a child, Altair would be recognizable, small, and thin, and with that light blue hair.

He was sitting at a distance from a group of adult Chiss, none with the same light hair as his, but there was still a family resemblance. The group were talking among themselves, in some alien language, and though keeping his distance, Altair was obviously trying to follow what was being said, though from the expression on his face, it was easy to guess that he didn't understand this language that the adults were speaking.

He had probably been staring a bit too intently, because one of the men looked to where he sat curled up, and his expression turned angry immediately.

"What are you doing, you impure wretch-!" He hissed, as all of them turned to him, Altair almost immediately scrambling back, though the man who was obviously his father approached quickly, grabbing his wrist hard enough to make Altair cry out, yanking him to his feet, "What were you doing?! Do you think you're allowed to listen to us?! Do you think our language is for you?!"

"I wasn't- I-" Altair squeaked, obviously in pain from the way his wrist was being clutched, "I wasn't-"

His words fell on deaf ears however- the two women were almost grinning with glee, while the older male looked about ready to join in on what was being done.

Altair's father let go of his wrist, only to grab him by the neck, lifting him up from the floor, and slamming him into the wall with a thud, as the boy squirmed, and tried to scratch at his wrist, obviously struggling to breathe, "Listen in on us again, pretend to be like us again, and the next time, I'll beat you within an inch of your life-!"

He let go, letting the child drop into a heap on the ground, moving to put a foot against Altair's chest, and pushing down- the panic was clear enough on Altair's face, and in his panic, he used the Force to shove his father back.

There was a moment of stunned silence, before there was an outcry of anger- obvious curse words in that alien language- and before his family could hurt him again, Altair got to his feet and ran, slamming the door open, the cold wind of Ziost immediately rushing in as he dashed out into the dark, barely dodging as his family threw glass bottles after him, though luckily, did not pursue him.

The memory came to an end as the younger Altair slammed into another person, stumbling back-

And back to the tomb, where the very much adult Altair was looking rather uncomfortable, "I knew it'd be a bad one..."

Well. That was a thing. Tommy stumbles back from the banner, shaking a little.

"Fuck, is anyone on the god damn planet not from a household where the father deserves blown up?" Tommy curses. And he knows the answer is 'yes' because Billy and Teddy were here, but STILL. He kept running into this shit, and he hated how it brought tears to his eyes because in other people's minds he couldn't THINK fast enough to keep from doing it.

"Fuck. It's not your fault you were born. If anything, it's his."

"It's not my fault, no."

He hadn't known it then. He'd hated himself, wondering why he couldn't be normal. Wondering why he was Force-sensitive. Hating that he was. Because being Force-sensitive meant being hated. And all he ever wanted from his family back then was some form of approval. Some sign that he was one of them, that he wasn't an abomination.

But it never came.

"But my entire family, not just my father, blamed me for being born impure. And my impurity became their excuse to blame me for everything. Life as a slave is a lot easier when you can take your frustrations out on someone who can't fight back."

He probably could have fought back- when he became a teenager, at least.

But he'd always been too afraid.

He reached up beneath his veil to touch the scar across his eye, before removing the veil entirely, "The only thing they couldn't do was kill me. We were property, after all. And it wasn't their call to make."

"Would they have?" Tommy asks, his attention on Altair and watching him carefully. "Attacked you? Hurt you? Killed you?"

And he hates the idea of it. That slavery SAVED HIS LIFE.

"Yes."

That wasn't speculation. It wasn't him thinking of how much they hated him, and thinking they would have wanted him dead. It was the knowledge that they would have, the certainty in his voice leaving nothing left to imagination.

His hand returned to trace the scar again. He still remembered the pain of it. He still remembered the fear, the fear of not being property any more, and there being nothing holding his family back from ending him. He still remembered the exact moment a bottle was brought down on his head, broken, and only him jerking back in shock saving the sight in his eye.

It hadn't been meant to harm. It had been intended to kill.

"I really am sorry you had to see that. You're a good person, Tommy, and a good friend. You deserve better than to suffer under my burdens."

Tommy has to laugh, shaking his head.

"Altair, it's fine. I've seen that shit get bad. My family was no walk in the park."

Metaphors, would Altair even get them? He moves to his friend and puts a hand on his arm.

"I get it. And if any of your family ever shows up, I'll punch them."

"... Thank you."

He still felt bad, but ultimately, the Agrii were responsible for this. Blaming himself wouldn't get them anywhere, even if his instinct told him that he needed to protect the people he'd come to care from. Protect them, even from himself.

He offered a slight smile then, "I imagine they won't. If they didn't die on Ziost, I imagine the war did the job for me."

He had no tears left to shed for them. They'd never shed any for him.

"Good. Because you deserved to survive. You're touch, Altair. And nothing else could matter than that," Tommy points out.

But then he's grinning and winking.

"You're a survivor. You've survived worse than them and you'll keep doing so!"

"I'm not sure if I'm tough or just stupid enough to not quit."

Maybe a bit of both.

"You're right though. I survived them, and I survived worse than they could ever be. And my life is not only my own any more, so I'll continue to survive whatever the world throws at me."

Part of him is still the young man who just wanted to open a shop and start a family. But obviously the world had a different plan in mind, and Altair couldn't go back to who he used to be.

Not that he's nearly as mature as he sometimes tries to appear.

"Would you like to see a good memory too? I'm sure there must be a few in here."

"If you've got them, I don't mind sharing," Tommy offers, his voice gentle, and he's smiling a little.

"The throne itself, if you don't mind some violence. And it is bitter-sweet rather than outright happy," Altair said, pointing toward the throne.

"Or the chemical canister. Though that one's a bit sappy."

Given that it was from the first time he'd truly fallen in love with someone, rather than one of his ill-fated crushes.

Sappy? Ew. He'll pass. Tommy moves and flops himself down in the throne.

Altair and a woman of some other alien race are in a hall lit up in red, outside a door. From the other side of the door there's a man ranting.

"My lords, his Master was corrupt! He is corrupt! Without Sith tradition, we are nothing!"

Altair opened the door, and headed into the room, just as a heavily armored man on one of the thrones in the room spoke, "And what are you suggesting we do about it?"

"You know what the situation requires. Order must be preserved. Punishment meted out. If we are to conquer our enemies, Zash's former apprentice must die."

"I'm flattered you talk about me to all your friends, Darth Thanaton," Altair said, as he moved toward the older Sith, while the woman with him remained by the door, standing with her arms crossed, merely watching the situation.

"Our talk concerns the future of the Sith order! A future without you!" The older Sith- Thanaton said, as he turned to face Altair.

"Then why haven't you killed him yet?!" One of the men on the thrones called, sounding impatient.

"You know as well as I do, these things require the proper rites," Thanaton responded, looking toward the other Sith.

"The Kaggath is a playground game. Murder has no rules."

"The Kaggath is an honored tradition of the Sith! Tulak Hord competed! Marka Ragnos! Ludo Kressh!"

The heavily armored Sith spoke again, "The question stands: Why has this apprentice, this child, proved impossible for you to kill?"

"It's simple," Altair said, "I beat him at his own game."

"Don't mock me," Thanaton hissed, turning to Altair again, as the impatient Sith turned to one of his fellows to speak, "I swear, if you don't silence Thanaton, I will!"

"I will not be betrayed. I will not die. And when I've killed this slave, you will all answer for it."

Thanaton pulled his lightsaber then, and Altair pulled his pike from where it rested on his back. The battle between the two was fierce, both men fighting desperately, the blades clashing over and over, though it was obvious enough that Altair was gaining the upper hand. They were both fighting for their right to survive.

And it ended with Thanaton down on his knees, and Altair above him with his lightsaber.

"No," Thanaton said, "I won't be defeated. I can't be!"

A few of the watching Sith moved in their chairs. Some leaning back, others watching intently.

Thanaton got to his feet, sending a flash of Force lightning at Altair, who easily deflected it with a hand. Another zap, deflected just as easily, Altair approaching the old Sith again, and the man responded by conjuring up a Force storm, centered on Altair. The electricity surrounded him, and it was obviously painful if the way he cried out was anything to go by.

The electricity surrounded him, and for a moment, it almost seemed like Thanaton had gotten the upper hand- then the storm around him broke, as four ghostly figures appeared behind him, turning to smoke soon after, but as Thanaton conjured more electricity, this time Altair was prepared- he lashed out with the Force, flinging the old Sith clean across the room and into the wall hard enough to crack it, and the cracking noise that follows as Thanaton is pinned to his walls was the sound of him being choked as he clawed at his throat.

As he dropped to the floor, he pulled his lightsaber and ran at Altair with the blade raised- only to be stopped mid-strike.

Thanaton dropped his lightsaber, the blade flickering off, and the pressure Altair was putting on him through the Force forced him down on all fours- Altair letting up once he was down, thinking that he might have done enough, humiliated him enough in front of his Council buddies.

Not quite though, as Thanaton tried to draw up more power for another attack- only for the shock of lightning from Altair to beat him down again. Finally they were left with the old man trying to crawl away, whimpering, crying, and three other Sith have left their chairs- one spoke, "I'm sorry, Thanaton."

And with that, he snapped the old Darth's neck, and Thanaton laid dead on the Council chamber floor.

"Good riddance to him," The impatient Sith said, haughtily, and the heavily armored one snapped back; "He was a better Sith than you give him credit for, Ravage."

"Let's hope his successor is as worthy," The Sith who'd broken Thanaton's neck said, and moves to gesture at one of the thrones, looking at Altair, "My Lord. Your seat."

Altair looked genuinely surprised for a moment, and then put a hand to his chest and bowed and managed a "My Lords, I'm... I'm truly honored. I was not expecting this at all."

"You just killed a Dark Council member in fair combat. What did you expect?" The heavily armored one said, only for Ravage to speak again- or yell, rather.

"He's only a Lord! You can't put a Lord on the Dark Council!"

"Quiet, Ravage!" The armored one snapped, "He's earned his place."

The Sith the turned to Altair, and spoke, "By order of the Dark Council and in light of your reputation as a master of the Dark side, you are now Darth Nox!"

Altair bowed again, briefly, and moved to his throne, climbing up the few steps, and sitting down, as the others did the same.

The heavily armored Sith spoke once more, "You are head of the pyramid of Ancient Knowledge. You are charged with keeping the mystical knowledge of the Sith and guarding the secrets of our Order. With us, you are ruler of all the Sith, and answerable only to the Emperor himself."

"I will do my best to live up to my new position," Altair replied, shifting in his seat, which looked to be a few sizes too big for him- there was probably space enough for three of him to sit comfortably together, and the arm rests near reached midway up his upper arms. If he leaned back, the people sitting next to him probably wouldn't see him.

"Never trust the humble ones," Ravage commented.

"Our business here is concluded," The Sith who had first recognized Altair's right to be on the Council said, "You would do well to meet with your followers on Dromund Kaas and ensure their loyalty."

---

And then the memory faded away, leaving Tommy and Altair back in the space that was very much suited to Altair's personality.

"No matter how much time passes, I think I'll always remember that day well."

Edited 2020-06-17 02:56 (UTC)

"So... was that a good thing?" Tommy asks, looking a bit.. uncomfortable. He's not so good with casual murder these days as he might have been when he was captured and being tortured. "Or did you just... get a guy killed for nothing?"

"At that point in time, Thanaton had been trying to kill me for... I want to say about a year, maybe a year and a half?"

Not that he took any delight in killing Thanaton. He'd respected him. But he hadn't exactly been given a choice, either. It was kill him or die himself.

"He succeeded once. I only survived due to the ghosts I had with me, because he didn't understand my bond with the dead. And once he figured out I survived, he made it his mission in life to try and finish me off. He killed my apprentices. Hounded me and my crew across the galaxy. And he sabotaged the war effort, sacrificed our people, to try and squash a single person."

Things had been chaotic to say the least.

"Not because of something I'd done- but because of my first master, Zash. He hated her. And he wanted to purge all that had belonged to her- that included me- because he saw her, and me, as a rot eating away at the Sith Order."

Zash, admittedly, had been just that. But Altair had been willing to be loyal to Thanaton, up until he tried to kill him, up until he killed his people.

"It's a good memory because when Thanaton lost to me, and Mortis recognized my right to take Thanaton's seat on the Council, I was given a way to protect my people. Protect the Empire. And try to change it for the better."

"How do you rot away the Sith Order? Buy giving to charities or something?"

Because all he can tell from what he saw was that Sith weren't nice. Which didn't follow for him because CLEARLY Altair was a great guy. The man had, despite leaving the hospital, healed him. Helped him deal with his arm.

"The Sith have a very careful order they've spent thousands of years cultivating. It's resulted in a society where anyone who isn't Force-sensitive is expendable, aliens like yours truly are barely seen as sentient, and you're expected to kill to survive. Above all though, Sith are contradictory creatures."

They truly were. There were as many different Sith philosophies as there were Sith, and everyone did things just a little different.

"My master- while I hope she's rotting in the Void- was a true example of what a Sith is. Cunning, intelligent."

He had to admit that much about Zash, however much she had broken him in a way none had done before or since.

"Thanaton just didn't like her, because she wasn't as into tradition as he was. And because he hated her..."

He didn't think he needed to explain that one. Because he hated Zash, he wanted Altair dead too, for being Zash's apprentice.

Because he hated her, he hated Altair, perhaps without even knowing him. Talk about bullshit.

"Yeah, sometimes guilt by association happens. It blows. A lot. I'm sorry that you were put through that shit, though.

"It was scary while it was happening. But after I beat Thanaton, and became a Dark Councilor, I got the chance to help choose the Empire's future. That meant a lot to me. Meant that I could protect my crew, that I could fight for my people. It meant that I didn't have to be so afraid that the world would come crashing down any more."

That was why it was a good memory. He regretted having to fight Thanaton. He would have wanted him to live, had it been up to him.

But he couldn't grieve when it had been a good thing. He could only move on.

"Ravage continued to be an pain in the ass even after I joined though. Ranting and raving like a madman, getting more shrill the angrier he got..."

There is always a need to be afraid that the world is going to come crashing down around you. Or perhaps that's just Tommy's paranoia speaking. Probably.

"Ravage? That's a horrible name."

"Oh, I'm sure he was terribly proud of it. Most Sith are proud when they get their Sith names, I was too, when Marr gave me mine. But I agree."

Altair had always thought that Darth Whine would have been more fitting, given that it was the only thing the man was capable of. Whined during his fight with Thanaton, whined during Malgus' betrayal and sat quaking in a bunker rather than put on his big boy pants and fight like Altair had done, and whined some more later on, too.

"He headed the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy, but the only way he could think to do it was by enslaving people. It was, quite honestly, a pain to clean up after Ravage's many messes."

"That was the guy in charge of diplomacy?" Tommy asks, groaning. Listen, he isn't big on diplomatic solutions, but even he can tell that's a bad idea.

"Ultimately he was the one calling the shots there, yes."

Not that Altair and Marr had let him do as he pleased. Altair had been very clear to Marr that he was the only one he needed to trust- and that the two of them together could press the rest of the Council into line. And they'd achieved much success that way.

"I'd do a better job than him, really. I'd do it better than him after being the center of attention at ten parties, and with both hands tied behind my back."

That was an attempt at humor.

"Still all the rage, you know, even if I have gotten old."

okay, that earns a brief snort of laughter.

"Yeah, we both know you're the party guy. Should I call you Darth Partier?"

"...."

Cal wasn't sure how he'd gotten here, but all at once felt like he was intruding as he realized who's place this was. He'd likely feel that way anywhere he found himself, but there was a lot going on here for the state of disarray.

The open sarcophagus set him at unease, but then given the surroundings, perhaps out of everything here, the sarcophagi were to be expected.

It took some time to find him for everything else here, but he finally located Altair, stepping towards him cautiously.

"Nothing in here will hurt you, Cal. Least of all me."

But then, he hadn't done much to prove that, lately. Lately he'd been every bit the Sith that some people once had hoped he'd be. And that was something worth fearing. Because Sith weren't known for their mercy- least of all when someone decided to intrude upon a place they thought of as their own.

Still, Cal had sought him out even during his destructive rage. Strange that he was approaching so carefully now.

The padawan's relief was visible, and once he was addressed, he continued at a more normal pace. He felt like he was intruding, even though he didn't fully understand where he was to begin with. Was he even supposed to be here?

"What is this place..?" he asked.

"It reminds me a little of the few tombs I've been through in my time."

Some details were off- it was a bit too clean, not enough dust and cobwebs, and no ghosts either. And there were things that didn't belong in a crypt, things that looked too new. Things that were about him, his memories, his past.

"Not exactly, though. It's a bit too clean."

"It does remind me of some. Heh, I feel like tombs make up most of the places I've found myself seeking out," Cal said as he had a closer look at some of the things scattered around. "...you're right though. It doesn't have quite the same feel."

He stepped towards the mangled holding cell, frowning as his fingers reached out to trace the broken thing.

As most memories about Sith, this one too, start with murder.

Altair moving through some sort of base- Republic by the looks of it. He brings his lightsaber down on the last guard, the man dying mid-scream and collapsing into a heap. For all the bodies though, Altair's clothes are as pristine as ever.

"Don't eat that, Khem," The white-clad Sith warns- Khem being a giant alien, looking quite sinister, and not necessarily the sort of company one would expect Altair to keep.

He approaches one of the holding cells, and the Sith inside it immediately looks up.

"You-- You--" He starts, as though in disbelief, "The old man sent you, didn't he? He must have gotten my distress signal!"

The human shook his head, putting his hands on his hips, "I guess he's good for something. He kept talking about some Sith he was working with. He didn't mention you were a filthy alien."

Altair's lips twitched, as though he had a comment, and there was a slight growl from Khem, though when he spoke up, he didn't call the other Sith an idiot for insulting his only means of escape, "Bessiker's not a fool. He's a smart man."

Somehow, there was a feeling of Khem disapproving of Altair's words too.

The human gave a bark of laughter at that, "Ha! Some Sith you are! Non-Sith are just pawns in our game, nothing more! Now get me out of here!"

"What's your plan?" Altair asked, and though it was barely perceptible, there was a slight look of surprise when the other Sith spoke.

"My master sent me here for some holocron the Republic dug up some place or other. I got the holocron, now all I've got to do is get out of this place."

"Best get out of here while they way is clear," Altair said, moving to get him out of the cell, rather than take advantage of the information he'd been given.

"Looks like you and my old man are one of a kind. Both weak. I'll be sure to tell him what you did for me-- maybe he'll reward you."

"You should have more respect for your father."

"Respect him?" The other Sith asked, in disbelief, "I don't respect what I can just as easily kill!"

The other Sith moved past Altair, leaving the base, Altair following after a short while.

It was a trek through a war zone, more or less uninterrupted- though there were flowers starting to grow where before there were none.

Eventually the trek took Altair and Khem to an Imperial base.

A cheerful-looking officer was there to greet him.

"Hey! If it isn't the hero of the hour! I just heard from my son-- I knew you wouldn't fail me. I was hoping he'd come back to base so we could catch up, but he said he was busy. Do you think he's okay?"

There was a clear look of thoughtfulness on Altair's face, before he said; "I think he hates your guts."

The way he said it, it sounded more like it was meant as a warning to be careful around his son.

Bessiker though, only tried to laugh it off.

"Heh- That's your, uh, winning sense of humor again, isn't it? Why should my boy hate me? I sacrificed a great deal to see he got trained on Korriban! Oh well, we'll chat later."

There was a slight look of concern on Altair's face as Bessiker spoke, concern that things wouldn't end well for him, should he try to reconnect with his son. But he said nothing, instead letting the Major continue.

"But you're not interested in any of this family stuff, I bet. You're here for your serum."

"You've been a great help," Altair said, "The least I could do is listen."

"No, you've been enough help already, my Lord. Doctor Tyrek will fix you up with the serum, and explain what we know about it.

One the memory ended, there was clear surprise on Altair's face, "I'd... Almost forgotten that."

He didn't know how he'd almost forgotten. But he had.

Strange, really. Meeting Major Bessiker, being treated with some semblance of decency, it had been the first time he'd thought that maybe there was something in the Sith Empire worth fighting for. Worth saving.

How long ago it seemed now, since he was that naive.

Blinking, Cal slowly lifted his hand away from the cell. The memory was a vivid one, although comparatively tame to other things he'd ever witnessed. He looked towards Altair then, brows lifting.

"You...saw it too?" Maybe it wasn't such a strange thing, if this place was linked to the Sith. "I hope he heeded your warning." He wasn't sure how different that Empire was from the one he was familiar with, but he'd like to think somewhere in the mess were still good people. He just hadn't had the chance to meet any who weren't so bent on killing him.

"I think he was there when I met with my followers, after joining the Dark Council."

But then, a lot of people had been, so he could be mistaken. That day had been a strange one.

"... I probably could have found a better way to warn him than that, really. But it was the only thing I could think to say."

Hiran's hatred for his father had been a real one. And Altair had been jealous that someone like Hiran got to have such a loving father, when he was so awful, when he obviously didn't appreciate what he had.

"Bessiker was a good man. I think if I hadn't met him, I would have found a way to leave the Empire behind. But... There are kind people in the Empire too. And I wanted to protect them. To make the Empire something better for them."

"At least you'd tried to say something at all." Cal couldn't disagree that there were better ways to warn a person, but Altair had still elected to say something.

"Sounds like the makings of a good ruler to me," he said, smiling slightly. Being compassionate for the people was important. "Unfortunately the same can't be said for the Empire I know. It only takes, and treats worlds and its people as nothing but resources."

It was still hard to believe that the Republic they'd worked so hard to protect had become something so warped.

"I can only hope that my rule will turn out to be just. Thankfully I have many friends to help keep me on the right path."

A ruler should always be open to input from others. After all, even he might lose his way, and he was glad to have people who would let him know if he did. Altair didn't want to become cruel, though being a Sith, he probably was already, at least a little.

He was no Jedi, at least. His image of goodness, of kindness, even of justice, had to be a little warped. He knew that much.

"Not that the Empire I know was- is- all that much better. But I wanted to change that. I still do. I don't think someone's species should be a reason to exalt or doom someone from birth. And I don't think that Force-sensitive voices should speak above those who can't use the Force. Equality, unity, that's what truly makes a nation strong."

Not a lot of people agreed with him, on that one. Not in the past, not now. Many thought that Acina should try to put him on a shorter leash, as though she had any power to do that to an equal. After all, Altair was as much Emperor of the Alliance as Acina was Empress of the Sith. But the fact that they were equals, the he didn't answer to her, he knew that was a source of mistrust for many a Sith and Imperial.

"Sith are short-sighted though. They only want to see a world where they keep their power as it is. Like as though they're born with it. And I imagine that's what's going to doom the Empire I know sometime in the future. I imagine what's going to doom the one you know too. Maybe not now. Maybe not for a long time."

He shook his head, and sighed, "To treat people as though they're expendable, to see a world and only see what you can strip from it... It can't last. It's not sustainable."

"I think that's just as important a thing to realize. You can't rule on your own." For all of Altair's concerns, Cal at least believed that he seemed decently qualified.

He couldn't say how things would go for the empire Altair would establish. He wasn't even sure if their timeline was the same or parallel, like it seemed there were people in Agra-10 of the same worlds but yet somehow different versions. But at least there would still be an Empire that had someone who wanted to look out for the people.

"It may not happen for a long time, but there would still be suffering if that's all that such Sith will focus on."

The padawan looked around at the other things around, things that he assumed told something of Altair's story, if the cage had been anything to show for it. He kept his hands at his sides as he nodded solemnly at Altair. "I can't say what the whole point of it could be. Just to prove that you could? Just to gather more power? But then what?"

"You can," Altair was quick to correct, obviously thinking of a specific person as he spoke.

Valkorion, Arcann, Vaylin. All of them had stood above the people around them, forcing their will on their own nation, and on the galaxy. None of them had had a merciful rule, none of them had built an Empire that could last. Valkorion had failed twice.

"It can't last though."

He'd seen it so many times by now, what happened when a ruler tried to force their will on others without considering the needs or emotions of their people. It never ended well.

"Does there need to be a point? Amass power, wealth. Steal it from others, make the galaxy tremble at your approach, and then crush it beneath your boot. Over and over, until there's nothing left. Kill the Jedi, crush the Republic, cover worlds in darkness, and make people know it's you who've done it."

Altair was far from a typical Sith. But he knew Sith. He knew them well.

"Over and over, Sith after Sith, because you're never the biggest fish in the pond."

He offered a slight smile, looking quite tired, "I don't want that. Not for my people, not for the Sith Empire, not for the Jedi, not for the Republic. Tomorrow should be looked forward to with hope, not dread. It's just the matter of working toward it."

He could force the Republic and Empire to get along at home, of course. He had the Eternal Fleet under his command, after all. But he'd had that when the war broke back out. And to use it now would be to mark himself as every bit the tyrant that the Supreme Commander of the Republic had said he was.

Peace couldn't be forced. It had to come from within.

"... If there's anything else you just have to touch you can go ahead."

Cal chuckled dryly at the correction, conceding the point with a nod. "Can't rule well, I should have clarified." The points given were the ones he expected, and yet it just seemed to underline the pointlessness. At least one Sith could see the futility of it.

"Agreed," he said. He imagined it wouldn't be an easy road for Altair, but if the Sith was willing to work at it, Cal believed he'd be able to pull it off.

A wry smile tugged at his face then. "I don't know that I should touch anything. It feels like I'm intruding." He looked around at the rest of the space, at the various items around. His eyes fell upon the broken droid over by the throne, but his attention kept being drawn back towards the open sarcophagus.

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Peace Is a Lie

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tw: child abuse

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