Adventure of Reiles Cole 1

A dead-white moon hangs above Thry, turning the salt flats silver. Reiles Cole stands before the ruined Jedi sanctuary, its towers split by ancient lightning.

Beyond the broken gate, robed figures move through blue firelight. Their warding sigils crawl across the stone, sealing the sanctuary against the darkness gathering outside.

The wind carries bells from within, slow and solemn. Beneath them, a second presence stirs in the Force, familiar and twisted by years of corruption.

A young adult elf woman steps onto the battlement, slender beneath layered gray robes, with copper skin, white braided hair, and a silver blindfold.

The gate remains shut. Behind it, the bells cease, and every blue flame bends toward Reiles as the sanctuary prepares to receive him.

Reiles' command crosses the salt flats without force or thunder, yet the blue flames bow away from him. The sanctuary's sigils shudder and crack.

The blindfolded elf lowers her silver-blindfolded face and steps from the gate's center. The living Jedi behind her follow, leaving a clear path into the sanctuary.

A jagged sigil collapses as Reiles passes its threshold. Its released ward lashes across his left palm, scorching flesh and filling the air with the bitter scent of ash.

The gate stands open behind him. Blue fire gutters along the walls, and the bells resume their slow toll beneath the sanctuary.

Reiles raises his uninjured hand. The Force folds inward around the blindfolded elf, drawing the warmth from her body in a silent, merciless current.

Her silver blindfold darkens with reflected blue fire as her life energy streams into him. The sanctuary's flames gutter, and the living Jedi recoil behind the open gate.

The drain completes. The blindfolded elf collapses against the stone, utterly still, while the stolen vitality burns through Reiles like winter lightning.

The cost answers at once: the old scorch across Reiles' left palm splits open, blackening the surrounding sigils and sending a sharp pulse of pain up his arm.

Her final thought fades with her life. Beneath the sanctuary, the bells erupt into a single deafening toll, and every surviving Jedi turns toward the stair descending into darkness.

Reiles launches through the sanctuary like a hurled star, the Force compressing distance beneath his feet. Bells fracture into a rolling thunder behind him.

Stone corridors blur into black arches and blue flame. The cost arrives immediately: his reopened left palm burns deeper, blood marking each passing sigil.

He bursts into the Hall of Names and reaches its center, where three Sith masters wait around a sunken altar. Their crimson robes, iron masks, and hooked staffs form a grim circle.

At the altar stands Reiles's brother, an adult man in layered black vestments, broad-shouldered and ash-pale, with silver threaded through his long dark hair. A jagged scar crosses his uncovered cheek.

The Sith masters turn as one. Their masks drink the blue fire, while the altar answers Reiles's arrival with a deep pulse that shakes dust from the vaulted names.

Dark rage surges through Reiles, blackening the blue fire and driving a Force scream through the Hall of Names. Stone arches tremble beneath its merciless cry.

The three Sith masters stagger as their iron masks crack with ringing strain. Reiles reaches through the altar's shadow and tears free a dormant crystal hilt buried beneath the names.

The hilt answers his grasp. A blade of white-gold light erupts from it, flooding the sanctum as Reiles launches forward in a blinding flash.

Reiles crosses the distance before the Sith can raise their hooked staffs. His luminous blade strikes his brother cleanly, and the ash-pale man falls silent beside the altar, dead.

A dark red aura engulfs Reiles as he moves. Juyo twists through the eldest master's guard, Niman redirects the second's staff wielded by a young adult woman with warm brown skin, close-cropped black hair, and a lean build beneath crimson robes, and Djem So hammers the third, an elderly man with a gaunt build, bronze skin, and braided gray hair beneath crimson robes from his feet.

White-gold light flashes again and again through the blue fire. The three Sith masters fall in swift succession, their hooked staffs clattering across the stone as their masks split and go still.

Silence rushes into the Hall of Names. Reiles's brother remains dead beside the altar, while the crimson aura stains every carved name around him.

The sunken altar drinks the masters' fading darkness, then cracks open beneath the fallen crystal hilt. A stair of black stone rises from its depths.

Far below, something answers with a single heartbeat. The white-gold blade gutters once, and a voice older than the sanctuary speaks from beneath the newly opened stair.

Reiles moves within the dark red aura, Juyo flowing into Niman and Djem So. The white-gold blade becomes a black-edged weapon as every remaining Sith defense collapses beneath him.

The three masters fall dead around the altar, their crimson robes still and their hooked staffs scattered across the cracked stone. No surviving ward rises against Reiles.

The transformed blade drinks the altar's darkness without dimming. In its black surface, a hidden stairway appears reflected, descending far beyond the one newly opened.

A ring of carved names ignites around Reiles, revealing one untouched inscription beneath his brother's fallen body. It bears the same ancient mark as the weapon in Reiles's grasp.

Reiles steps into the altar's cracked center. Black stone folds beneath his boots, carrying him through a descending shaft where the transformed blade sheds the only light.

The passage ends at the altar's heart, a hollow chamber wrapped around a suspended knot of darkness. Reiles stands directly before it, while the stair seals above.

The cost arrives in his left hand: the old scorch opens fully, and the blade draws blood through his palm into its black edge. The wound refuses to close.

At last. The heart is not a throne, but the first wound carved into the world.

The voice reverberates from the darkness without revealing a body. Within the suspended knot, faint impressions gather: his brother kneeling, the altar breaking, and an older shadow reaching through.

The black-edged blade answers with a low, hungry note. The darkness turns toward Reiles, recognizing his blood and the ancient mark carried in his grasp.

Touch it, bearer of ruin, and learn what your brother awakened beneath the names.

Reiles plants the black-edged blade into the altar's heart. Rage and grief pour through the wound, and the suspended darkness opens around him like a silent eclipse.

Across Thry, every living pulse answers. Forests fall still, beasts quiet, and distant cities lose their last warmth as life streams through unseen currents toward the chamber.

The knot of darkness swells beyond the chamber, consuming the planet's gathered vitality. Salt flats, sanctuary, and buried roots become hushed beneath a single boundless shadow.

The wound seals around Reiles without healing his palm. His black-edged blade drinks the final current, while dark robes form over him and a hood falls across his face.

A sleek black mask closes over his features, leaving only the cold brilliance of his ocean-blue eyes visible. The ancient mark burns upon its brow.

The chamber expands into a vast black horizon around the newly named figure. Beneath the mask, the Force bends toward him, and something beyond Thry awakens to answer.

Darth Omega draws the black-edged blade free and folds his will inward. The vast Force recoils, dragged through him toward a single sealed point beneath his heart.

The severing takes hold. His bond to the Force vanishes for a hundred years, leaving the chamber's darkness mute and distant while his overflowing immortality settles into flesh.

The cost strikes immediately: the ancient mark on his mask cracks, and black fire spills through the fracture, burning a narrow scar across his brow beneath it.

The black horizon contracts into the chamber. Stone returns around him, but the sealed wound below begins beating again, now carrying a faint second rhythm from somewhere beyond Thry.

A century passes beneath changing moons. The sealed wound beneath Thry falls silent, and every force-bound hunter loses the trail of Darth Omega completely.

Reiles Cole emerges among ordinary citizens under his own name, dressed in a weathered brown coat, carrying a carpenter's tools and no visible weapon.

In a crowded harbor archive, he studies trade maps and old pilgrim routes, choosing the quiet life of a settled craftsman while searching for worlds marked by ancient darkness.

The elderly mapkeeper—an elderly human woman with a lined face and a long charcoal apron—, a narrow woman with silver hair beneath a green hood, places a sealed vellum chart before him. Its ink stains the table like dried blood.

Reiles secures the chart and leaves as an unremarkable citizen. Far beyond the harbor sky, Veyr waits, a dark-side planet now found without Force or pursuit.

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