at the steps of a shattered altar lays the fallen idol of a fallen god. at the demesne of a decomposing dream, darkness is all that is left for direction, any which way one turns. what had once been sacred and revered has been left behind, the ancient docket he had abided now abandoned, all these bygones of a dying era. the idol turns to sand in his hands, snoke turns to dust in his mind, and everything crumbles into heaps of nothing; the silence of this void is pleasant and baleful in equal measure. it has moulded paranoia in the shape of a phantom out of his instability. ultimately, taking down a totem teaches the attitude of liberation â doing away with the doctrine and saying 'i ate my god and i became him.'
it should be the extent of freedom, then, when he is alone, and his mind is silent, and the commands are his own. it should be that very liberation, but it feels nothing like it with an array of responsibilities tacked like badges unto him, and it is not mere coincidence that he had sought out karitza's presence aboard the ship, en route to their target, out of a mangled need to have someone challenge him. his physical being had dragged him here without the acquiescence of the mind. he almost regrets it when the sharp end of her inquiry prods him.
@croyant ft. karitza ren asked: â the question is simple, what do you want for yourself? â
it is anything but simple. nothing had ever been easy with him, with them. the steady humming of the ventilators thrums in lieu of his answer. he knows that the longer he evades her, the more his uncertainty comes to fruition and so he does not look to her, as if making a statement. â everything. â he says after a while with an impassive sort of conceit, betraying nothing of his thoughts, though he wagers she knows. she always seems to. â why take less than we can, karitza? why settle? if i want the scavenger in my grasp, her rebel friends dead, why shouldn't i have it? â ren's voice is smooth and casual as he leans forward in the seat, dark eyes flickering upward to karitza, to where she leans against the wall opposite him. his head tilts, â when i march my troops through the opposition to stifle their defiance, who will deny me? â
the leather of his glove creaks when he lifts it, a finger drumming against the window port once, twice. the endless fields of dantooine look like rust from this distance, corrosion to match the blockade that had occurred a near two decades before. he never cared much for the history of the institution, but he supposes he would have to learn now if he was to rule it. this ought to be freedom, but it tastes nothing like it. ren huffs and leans back, â today, i'll be satisfied with the annihilation of their outpost. â
