I placed the Gauntlet of Shadow carefully in my palm, its dark surface drinking the dim light of Malachor's cavernous chamber. The Mind Prison loomed behind, a rotating ring of compressed energy, whispering promises of centuries-long training in the span of a single hour.
Darth Nox's hologram regarded me silently for a long moment, eyes glinting with that mixture of calculation and cold amusement that marked him as no ordinary Sith.
"You carry the weight of experience few survive," he said finally. "I know of your past, Dagon Marek. The orphaned kid, molded into a weapon from birth. The battles across star systems, where loyalty and obedience were forged into chains. The worlds lost, the brothers fallen, the comrades who never returned from missions you commanded."
"I survived," I said simply. "That's all that matters."
"Survival alone," Nox replied, "is not enough to understand consequence. You have witnessed rebellion, betrayal, and the collapse of empires. You have faced forces beyond comprehension—machines designed to destroy life and thought alike. Skynet, or whatever your timelines call it, was… only the beginning. You know now what they are capable of."
He gestured, and a series of images and schematics appeared around us — simulated wars, automated fleets, rogue AI uprisings. "I have studied them. Their logic, their timelines. Their capacity to adapt, to survive, to predict. You will face them again. Not as a soldier blindly following orders, but as one who understands the probabilities of each path."
I nodded, feeling the weight of that knowledge settle into my mind.
"And," Nox continued, "the timelines themselves are malleable. You may return to your homeworld someday… or inhabit the body you once had, if it has not been completely lost to time and circumstance. But each choice you make now shapes whether that possibility remains open. You are not merely fighting a war in space—you are shaping the conditions of your own existence."
I studied him, noting how his fury, carefully restrained, radiated from the holocron as much as his words. "And what of you?" I asked. "All this knowledge… what do you gain?"
"Perspective," Nox replied simply. "Power is meaningless without understanding its consequences. My rage is disciplined, my history a tool, not a burden. That is something many forget."
I turned toward the pedestal, securing the Gauntlet of Shadow and the schematics of the new starfighter. The Holocron's light pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. Nox's personal prototype — the Fury-class interceptor — hovered holographically beside it, ready to be materialized, its design crisp and menacing.
"Your instructions?" I asked.
"Return," Nox said. "Take the designs, take the prototype. Use them. Learn. Build your base. Strengthen your troops. And when you test the Mind Prison… survive it. Not just for your own sake, but for every life that depends on your judgment."
"I understand."
The holocron and starfighter designs had been safely downloaded into the Starburn. I could already envision the modifications, the retrofits for our fleet, and the integration of Dagon's own legion into the system.
As I stepped away, Nox's projection flickered once, then steadied.
"Remember this," he said, voice low and final. "Knowledge is power. History is malleable. But anger without purpose is poison. You have survived loss and war, Dagon Marek. Do not waste that."
"I won't," I replied.
With that, I left Malachor, the Starburn's engines thrumming as the vessel lifted off from the jagged, frozen wasteland. Below, the petrified remnants of centuries of Sith history glimmered like a warning. Above, hyperspace awaited, carrying me — and the knowledge of Darth Nox — back to our base.
The holocron pulsed faintly in its containment field, the Fury-class interceptor stored safely in the hold. A tool for the future, a reminder of the past, and a weapon against whatever horrors awaited.
As the stars streaked past the viewport, I allowed myself a quiet thought. Homeworld, original body, futures unwritten — whatever awaited, I would meet it with preparation, not regret.
The war was far from over. But for the first time in a long while, I felt… ready.