(3rd Person POV)
*Characters*
In a place between places, in a realm where time flowed like honey and reality bent to the will of those ancient enough to shape it, three massive chairs sat arranged around an elaborate game board. The board itself seemed to shimmer with starlight, its surface reflecting entire galaxies in miniature—each piece a world, a fleet, a hero, or perhaps something more abstract: a decision, a possibility, a fate.
From the first chair, pale feminine hands emerged, their skin luminous as moonlight. The fingers were long and delicate, moving with the fluid grace of someone who had existed since before mortality was even a concept. She reached forward and moved a piece shaped like a glowing seed across the board, placing it carefully near a cluster of pieces that radiated warmth.
"Another world awakens to the light" she said, her voice like wind chimes in a summer breeze. "The living Force flourishes in this sector. Perhaps this time..."
"This time what, sister?" A male voice cut through her words like a blade through silk. From the second chair, dark-skinned hands emerged, their nails sharp as talons. He moved a shadowed piece, something twisted and writhing to counter her placement. "Perhaps this time your precious balance will hold? How many eons must pass before you accept that chaos is the natural state? That order is merely the dream of the frightened?"
The hand of light paused over the board. "And how many more must pass before you understand that destruction without creation is merely entropy? The Force is not simply power to be wielded, brother. It is a cycle."
"Cycles can be broken."
"And when they are, all things end."
From the third chair came only silence. The weathered hands, scarred by ages beyond counting, rested on the arms of his seat. His fingers bore marks that looked almost like constellations, as if the universe itself had been carved into his flesh. He did not move to intervene, did not speak. He simply watched as his children played out their eternal dance across the board of existence.
Around the three chairs, five figures moved with quiet grace. The Force Priestesses attended to their cosmic guests, each embodying the emotion they represented. Serenity glided between the chairs with a pitcher of crystalline liquid that seemed to contain captured starlight. Her movements were unhurried, peaceful, as she filled goblets that sat beside each celestial being.
Joy danced from position to position, her steps light as she arranged small plates of what might have been food or perhaps they were simply manifestations of sustenance given form. She hummed a cheerful melody, seemingly unaffected by the tension that crackled.
Anger stood nearest to the second chair, her posture rigid as she observed the game. When the male moved his dark pieces, small figures emerged from Anger herself tiny manifestations of rage, fury, and wrath that scurried across the floor before dissolving back into the cosmic Force. They were emotions made flesh, derivative feelings born from their progenitor priestess.
Confusion wandered between the chairs, sometimes pausing to tilt her head at the board, sometimes reaching out as if to touch a piece before pulling back. From her form occasionally emerged smaller priestesses of bewilderment, uncertainty, and doubt they whispered questions that had no answers before fading like morning mist.
Sadness lingered near the first chair, and from her emerged gentle spirits of melancholy, grief, and loss. These smaller priestesses moved like tears, slow and inevitable, before being reabsorbed into their source.
"Your move remains unchanged, Father" the male voice said, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. "For three thousand turns, you have done nothing but observe. Do you grow weary? Does the burden of balance finally prove too heavy?"
The Father's hands shifted slightly. When he spoke, his voice was like distant thunder, felt more than heard. "Balance is not maintained through action alone."
"Riddles" the voice scoffed. "Always riddles. Tell me plainly do you intend to play, or simply watch as sister and I reshape existence according to our whims?"
"Neither of you reshapes anything" the Father replied. "You move pieces that move themselves. You believe you guide fate, but you merely observe probabilities collapsing into certainty."
The arms of moonlight leaned forward, her hands hovering over the board. "But some probabilities deserve to collapse, Father. Some futures are worth nurturing. Look—" she gestured to a cluster of bright pieces, "—this sector shows such promise. New Force-sensitives awakening, ancient teachings being rediscovered. If we guide them gently—"
"If you guide them at all, you corrupt the very balance you claim to protect" a dark voice interrupted. He moved three pieces in rapid succession, each one casting shadows across the luminous board. "Let them struggle. Let them fail. Through conflict comes strength. Through suffering comes understanding."
"Through suffering comes only more suffering" the female countered. "Your philosophy is as hollow as the void you serve."
"And yours is as naive as the first light of dawn, sister. At least my darkness is honest."
The Father's fingers tightened slightly on his armrest, but still he did not intervene.
Serenity moved between them again, her presence a calming balm against the rising tensions. She set down her pitcher and from her form emerged small priestesses of peace, tranquility, and calm. They settled around the chairs like a gentle rain, their very existence easing the sharpness from the siblings' words.
But then something changed.
Serenity paused in her circuit of the chairs. Her head turned, as if listening to something the others could not hear. The other priestesses noticed immediately Joy stopped her dancing, Anger's rigid posture grew more tense, Confusion tilted her head in apparent puzzlement, and Sadness let out a soft, mournful sound.
Serenity moved toward the edge of the circular chamber, where reality seemed to blur into something that might have been a wall, or perhaps just an absence of space. She reached out, her fingers touching the boundary between here and elsewhere.
"Serenity?" the female called out, her attention drawn from the game. "What do you sense?"
The priestess turned back toward them, and though her face was hidden behind her serene mask, there was something in her posture that suggested both resignation and inevitability. Without a word, she stepped through the boundary and vanished.
The male voice leaned back in his chair. "How curious. Where does she go?"
"Nowhere that concerns us" the Father said, but even his voice carried a note of something that might have been unease.
Time passed—though in this realm, time was a concept more flexible than concrete. The game continued. Pieces moved across the board. The hands of light placed her bright tokens with hope and care. The hands of dark countered with shadow and chaos. The Father watched maintaining the delicate equilibrium between his children's eternal conflict.
Then Serenity returned.
She dragged something behind her a fourth chair, identical in size and grandeur to the three that already encircled the board. The sound it made as it scraped across the non-floor was like reality protesting its own alteration. The other priestesses immediately moved to help her, but Serenity waved them away with a gentle gesture.
The game stopped.
The hands of stars froze above the board. The fingers of shadows ceased their drumming. Even the Father straightened slightly in his seat.
"What is this?" A voice asked, her voice losing some of its musical quality.
Serenity said nothing. She simply positioned the chair to complete the circle around the board, filling the empty space that had always existed but had never been acknowledged. Once it was in place, she stepped back and rejoined her fellow priestesses.
The Father's voice, when it came, was heavy with ancient weariness. "So. It is time."
"Time for what?" the Son demanded, his dark hands clenching. "Father, what have you allowed?"
"I have allowed nothing. I have prevented nothing. I have maintained balance."
"That chair should not be here" The Daughter said, her luminous hands retreating from the board. "We sealed her away. We bound her in the Maw. We—"
"We abandoned her" the Father said simply. "And what is abandoned always finds its way home."
A small figure appeared on the fourth chair.
It was a wooden doll, no larger than a child's toy, carved from black wood that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Its form was feminine, with a tall crown of carved hair atop its head. The craftsmanship was exquisite—every detail perfect, from the delicate fingers to the elegant posture. It sat with its legs crossed, its wooden arms resting on the armrests of the enormous chair, looking absurdly small against its vast seat.
Yet despite its size, its presence filled the room like a storm filling the sky.
The silence stretched. Joy stopped humming. Anger's manifestations of rage froze mid-emergence. Confusion stood perfectly still, which was perhaps the most confused she had ever been. Sadness wept without sound.
Then the doll spoke.
"Hello, family."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. It was ancient and young, sweet and terrible, a mother's lullaby twisted into something that made reality itself recoil. Behind the chair, shadows began to pool and writhe. Tendrils of darkness emerged, not like the Son's shadows born from the dark side of the Force, but something else something that had existed before such distinctions were made.
The tendrils curled around the chair's legs, up its back, framing the small wooden figure like a crown of living night. More emerged, spreading across the floor, reaching toward the board where countless worlds hung in balance.
"Did you miss me?" The doll's voice purred, and the wooden doll tilted its carved head. "I have missed you. I have missed this. Our family, together again."
"You are not welcome here" the Son declared, his dark hands gripping the armrests of his chair with enough force that the ancient wood groaned in protest.
The Daughter moved before anyone could respond. She rose from her seat with the fluid grace of dawn breaking over a sleeping world, her luminous form seeming to expand as power gathered around her. Her hands came together, palms facing outward, and between them materialized a sphere of pure light not the gentle radiance of a star, but something more focused, more devastating. The light compressed and intensified until it became almost solid, a miniature sun born from the light side of the Force itself.
She thrust her hands forward, and the sphere exploded outward in a lance of searing white energy that tore through the space between dimensions. The attack moved faster than thought, faster than light itself, aimed directly at the small wooden doll that sat impossibly on the fourth chair. The very fabric of reality warped around the beam, and the Force Priestesses nearest to its path stumbled backward as the sheer power threatened to unmake their forms.
But Serenity moved faster.
The priestess who had been silently pouring starlight into crystal goblets straightened from her duties. Her form began to shift, growing larger—not dramatically, but enough that she stood between the attack and its target. She was no longer the size of a mortal woman but something more substantial, more present, as if her very existence had gained weight in the cosmic order. Her hand rose in a simple gesture, palm out, fingers spread, and she waved it across the path of the Daughter's devastating attack.
The lance of light simply ceased to exist.
There was no explosion, no dissipation of energy, no dramatic clash of powers. One moment the attack existed, racing toward the wooden doll with enough force to unmake worlds. The next moment it did not. Serenity's gesture had not deflected it or absorbed it she had simply denied its right to be, and reality had acquiesced to her will.
The priestess shrank back to her previous size, settling once more into her serene proportions. She returned to her station as if nothing had occurred, resuming her task of tending to the celestial beings as though she had not just unmade an attack that could have shattered planets.
The wooden doll tilted its carved head, and when a voice emerged, it carried notes of amusement that made the shadows behind her chair writhe with dark pleasure. "Not welcome? How curious. I see a chair here, placed so carefully to complete our circle. Someone went to considerable effort to bring it." The doll's head turned, its carved features somehow conveying a smile despite being made of immobile wood. "Thank you, dear Serenity. Your hospitality is... appreciated."
Serenity paused in her duties and turned toward the fourth chair. She offered a slow, formal bow, the gesture carrying the weight of acknowledgment rather than submission. Behind her, the other Force Priestesses observed silently. Joy's cheerful movements stilled but did not stop entirely. Anger's rigid posture shifted slightly but remained alert. Confusion tilted her head in apparent consideration. Sadness released a soundless sigh that rippled through the cosmic Force like wind across still water.
Then, as if by unspoken agreement, all five priestesses returned to their duties. The smaller manifestations that had emerged from them likewise resumed their tasks. Tiny spirits of peace and calm drifted from Serenity, continuing to circle the chairs. Fragments of joy and delight spun out from Joy, dancing in the air like fireflies. Manifestations of fury and wrath prowled the perimeter from Anger. Uncertainty and bewilderment wavered near Confusion. Grief and melancholy wept gentle tears from Sadness.
The cosmic chamber returned to its rhythm, as if the intrusion of a fourth player was simply another aspect of existence to be accommodated rather than resisted.
The Daughter slowly lowered herself back into her chair, her luminous hands trembling slightly as they gripped the armrests. She did not speak, but her form pulsed with frustrated light, waves of barely controlled power that made the nearby game pieces flicker and shift.
The Son leaned forward, his dark eyes fixed on the wooden doll. "You dare—"
"Family reunions are always so contentious" The doll interrupted, her voice carrying that terrible sweetness that made mortal minds fracture at the edges. A tendril of shadow emerged from behind her chair, extending across the space between herself and the Father. It moved slowly, almost tentatively, like a child reaching for a parent's hand.
The Father's weathered hand lifted from the armrest of his chair. For a long moment, he simply regarded the tendril, his ancient fingers scarred with the weight of maintaining balance across countless eons. Then, with surprising gentleness, he grasped it. His skin, marked with constellations and cosmic patterns, made contact with the writhing darkness. He brought the tendril to his face and pressed his lips against it.A kiss that spoke of recognition, of memory, of something that had existed before betrayal and imprisonment.
"It is good to see you again" the Father said, his voice carrying genuine emotion for perhaps the first time in millennia. The words resonated through the chamber, making several of the smaller Force priestesses shatter and return to their betters.
Then his expression hardened.
His hand tightened on the tendril, and with a sharp motion that belied his aged appearance, he struck it not with the force to cause harm, but with enough power to sever the connection. The tendril dissipated like smoke in a hurricane, unraveling into nothingness before it could retreat to its source.
"How did you escape the Maw so early this time?" the Father asked, his tone shifting from warmth to something far more calculating. "The Centerpoint Station remains sealed. Sinkhole Station shows no breach. The gravitational prison should have held you for another three millennia at minimum."
The wooden doll emitted a sound that might have been a giggle high and musical, yet containing harmonics that suggested vast amusement at a cosmic joke only she understood. "Oh, Father. You know a woman must keep some secrets. But here..." The shadows behind her chair swirled and condensed, forming new tendrils that reached outward. "...let me offer you a hint."
One tendril, thicker and more substantial than the others, stretched across the game board. Its tip hovered over the countless pieces scattered across the surface worlds and fleets, heroes and villains, decisions and destinies. It moved with deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment, before descending to tap a single piece with a sound like distant thunder rolling across an empty sky.
The piece was small, unremarkable compared to the grand tokens that represented galactic powers and Force nexuses. It glowed with a strange dual nature part light, part shadow, with threads of something else woven through it. Blue-white energy pulsed along its edges in rhythmic waves.
The tendril wrapped delicately around the piece, lifting it from its position with the care one might use when handling fragile crystal. It rose above the board's surface, suspended in the space between possibility and certainty, before beginning its journey. The piece moved not in a straight line but in a deliberate path one tile, two tiles, three tiles over until it settled into an empty space that appeared utterly devoid of context or connection.
The space where it landed was surrounded by nothing. No other pieces nearby to interact with, no symbols of power or conflict, no representations of worlds or fleets. Just empty board space that seemed almost deliberately isolated, as if this particular square had been left vacant for precisely this purpose, waiting through countless ages for the right piece to claim it.
"There" she purred with satisfaction that vibrated through the very fabric of the realm. "A simple adjustment. Nothing that breaks the rules of our eternal game."
"No!" The Daughter's voice cracked through the cosmic chamber like lightning splitting reality itself. Her luminous form blazed with sudden intensity, light radiating from her in waves that made the very air shimmer with heat and power. Her hands rose from the armrests of her chair, fingers splayed wide as energy gathered between her palms. "You cannot move that piece there! That space is—"
"Is what, sister?" The Son interrupted, his own form darkening as shadows coalesced around him like living smoke. His hands mirrored his sister's gesture, but where hers gathered light, his gathered darkness tendrils of shadow that writhed and twisted with barely contained malice. "Empty? Unoccupied? Available for play? Mother follows the rules we have all agreed upon since the game began."
Despite his words, fury radiated from the Son's posture. His clawed fingers curled into fists, and the shadows around him began to take on sharper edges, forming shapes that suggested blades and teeth and things that existed only to unmake.
The Daughter's light intensified, becoming almost blinding. "That piece should not be isolated! It requires connection, guidance, protection from—"
"From what I might whisper to it?" A shadowy voice carried notes of amusement that made the shadows behind her chair ripple with dark mirth. "From the truths I might reveal? Or perhaps from the choices I might inspire? Come now, daughter who is not my daughter, you know the rules as well as I. Each player makes their move. The board accepts or rejects, not on your preferences."
Both the Son and the Daughter released their attacks in the same heartbeat.
The Daughter's assault came as a beam of concentrated light that would have illuminated entire star systems, compressed into a lance no wider than a finger. It cut through the space above the board with surgical precision, aimed at the piece that had just moved. The attack wasn't meant to destroy not entirely. Some part of the Daughter held back, pulled her power short of its full devastating potential. But even diminished, the light carried enough force to scatter armies and level cities.
The Son's counterattack manifested as a wave of shadow that moved like liquid night, flowing across the board's surface with predatory intent. Where the Daughter's light blazed with righteous fury, the Son's darkness crept with calculated malice. His attack also held back, restrained by some consideration perhaps an unwillingness to fully destroy the game board they all depended on, or perhaps simply the habitual caution of one who had played this game for eons. But restraint did not mean weakness, and the shadows carried within them the weight of entropy and decay.
"I am playing within the rules!" The dolls voice rose, not with anger but with the triumphant declaration of one who had maneuvered successfully. "Your father established these parameters millennia ago. Each player selects a piece. Each player moves their chosen piece according to the board's allowances. Each player must accept the moves of others unless those moves violate established boundaries. Show me—" the wooden doll tilted forward, its carved features somehow conveying challenge, "—show me which rule I have broken!"
The attacks closed on their target, light and shadow converging from opposite directions to obliterate or at least displace the piece positioned so carefully. The blue-white energy of the small token flickered as if sensing its impending destruction, and for a moment it seemed as though the Son and Daughter's combined assault would succeed despite its half-hearted nature.
Then the Force Priestesses moved.
From Serenity emerged figures of pure tranquility smaller versions of herself, each one radiating the same peaceful aura but more focused, more specialized. These manifestations of calm and inner peace flowed forward like water, positioning themselves between the Daughter's light and its target. When the beam struck them, it didn't explode or pierce through. Instead, the light simply... softened. The attacking energy encountered such profound serenity that its aggressive nature couldn't maintain coherence. The beam diffused into a gentle glow that dissipated harmlessly, absorbed into the peaceful essences of the smaller priestesses.
From Joy burst forth entities of pure elation and delight, spinning through the air with infectious enthusiasm. They danced toward the Son's shadows with movements that seemed more playful than defensive. Where they made contact with the creeping darkness, something remarkable happened the shadows began to hesitate, confused by encountering something that approached them with happiness rather than fear. The malice that fueled the attack found no purchase against such unguarded joy, and the darkness unraveled like smoke in sunlight.
From Anger emerged spirits of righteous wrath and protective fury, smaller versions of herself that burned with controlled rage. They met portions of both attacks head-on, matching destruction with destruction, canceling out the aggressive energies through sheer opposing force. Fire met fire, and in the collision, both were consumed until nothing remained.
From Confusion came wisps of uncertainty and doubt that flickered in and out of solid form. They wove between the attacks like smoke through a lattice, causing the targeting to waver and lose precision. Light and shadow that had been aimed with perfect accuracy suddenly questioned their own trajectories, second-guessing their purpose until their momentum faltered and failed.
From Sadness poured manifestations of grief and melancholy, slow-moving entities that carried the weight of loss in their very essence. They positioned themselves in the path of destruction and simply absorbed the impact, taking the pain of the assault into themselves with the quiet acceptance of those who had witnessed countless sorrows. The attacks struck them and were diminished, drained of their power by encountering something that had already endured worse.
Within moments, both the light and the shadow had been neutralized completely. The piece remained exactly where it had been placed, untouched and undisturbed, glowing with its strange blue-white energy in the space she had chosen for it.
But the smaller Force Priestesses did not simply vanish back into their progenitors immediately. Instead, they began to move—to dance, almost. The spirits of tranquility that had emerged from Serenity pirouetted gracefully, their forms leaving trails of peaceful energy in the air as they spun away from the board. They twirled toward the edges of the cosmic chamber where Serenity stood with her pitcher of starlight, and as they reached her, they began assisting with her duties. Some took up smaller vessels to help pour the luminous liquid, while others arranged goblets with careful precision before flowing back into their source.
The entities of joy and elation that had burst from Joy performed elaborate aerial maneuvers, looping and spiraling through the space above the game board with infectious enthusiasm. They giggled soundlessly as they moved—though whether Force priestesses could truly make sound was uncertain—and when they reached the edges of the chamber, they began helping Joy with her task of arranging sustenance. The smaller versions lifted plates with exaggerated care, their movements theatrical and delightful, before reintegrating with the primary priestess.
The spirits of wrath and fury from Anger marched in formation toward the chamber's perimeter, their movements sharp and military-precise. They took up positions near Anger herself, standing at attention briefly before assisting with her duties of maintaining vigilance over the cosmic realm. They scanned the boundaries between realities with fierce dedication before being reabsorbed into their creator.
The wisps of uncertainty and doubt from Confusion wandered somewhat aimlessly toward the edges, occasionally pausing or changing direction as if unsure of their destination. But eventually, they found their way to Confusion's position and began helping with her tasks in their own hesitant, questioning manner from adjusting items, then readjusting them, then adjusting them again before finally dissolving back into the primary priestess.
The manifestations of grief and melancholy from Sadness moved slowly, leaving trails of soft tears in their wake. They drifted toward the chamber's edges like falling leaves, eventually reaching Sadness herself and assisting with her duties in quiet, mournful efficiency. They handled objects with gentle reverence, as if each task carried the weight of remembrance, before flowing back into their source.
And then the Father laughed.
"Finally" Father said, and that single word contained volumes.
His weathered hands, scarred with constellations and marked with the weight of maintaining balance across countless eons, lifted from the armrests of his chair. His fingers moved with deliberate slowness, reaching toward a section of the game board that was crowded almost to the point of chaos. Pieces clustered there in dense concentration dozens of tokens representing powers and factions, heroes and villains, destinies and decisions all pressed together in complex arrangements that suggested centuries of careful maneuvering by all three players.
The Father's hand descended into this crowded area, his fingers weaving between pieces that flickered with various energies. Some glowed with the Daughter's light, others pulsed with the Son's darkness, and still others carried neutral energy that suggested his own previous moves. His fingers found their target a piece positioned near the center of the cluster, one that seemed to serve as a lynchpin for dozens of other arrangements.
He didn't move it forward or backward. He didn't lift it to a new position or remove it from the board entirely. Instead, with a gentle precision that belied the cosmic significance of the gesture, the Father simply rotated the piece ninety degrees clockwise.
The effect was immediate and rippling.
Pieces around the rotated token began to shift slightly, their positions adjusting to accommodate the changed orientation of the central piece. Connections that had existed moments before were severed, while new connections formed in patterns that suggested entirely different relationships.
The wooden doll began to move.
Its small carved hands came together in applause a gesture absurdly cheerful given the cosmic nature of their gathering. The sound they made was like wooden blocks clicking together, but each click resonated through the chamber with harmonics that suggested vast amusement and deep satisfaction.
The doll began rocking back and forth on the massive chair, its small form swaying with the enthusiasm of a child witnessing something wonderful. The movement was exaggerated, almost theatrical, as if performing her delight for maximum effect. Forward and back, forward and back, the wooden body tilting at angles that would have overbalanced anything not secured by cosmic will alone.