The Last Port
Part 1 of the documents taken from Harkon Wyndaru's vault
This is what happened, these are my words and these are my memories.
All is already over. Nothing can be done to change it.
This is a story of love and loss, brotherhood and betrayal, courage and sacrifice and the death of dreams. It is a story of the blurred line between our best and our worst.
This is the story of the end of an age.
A strange thing about memories…
Even though this all happened in the past, it is also happening right now. Right here.
It may be happening again, as you read these words.
This is how corruption and treachery have crushed a thousand years of peace. This is not just the end of a dream, or a paradigm; this is the night of civilization itself.
This is the twilight of the Jedi.
The end starts now..
// The manuscript is damaged //
My master, // Damaged part //, has arrived at Onderon.
Amid only minor pomp and circumstance he debarked from his shuttle and I escorted him to his tower where he has now retired to recuperate from his journey.
It was he who broached the subject // Damaged part //._ I felt his presence slither among my thoughts and I held my consciousness stock still, repulsed by his cold probe but powerless to resist him. He knows my thoughts dwell_ // Damaged part //.
And yet he denied it me. My master’s thoughts are an impenetrable miasma to me now, but for a shallow gloss of ritual trivia he maintains like a wig over his true mind. It has not always been this way.
I am no fool. I know he has cast a cloud of obfuscation between us.
Does he prepare himself for death? He is ill, and I tell you this in the strictest confidence. He is gravely ill, he has confessed this to me. This is why // Damaged part // so vital: who better to // Damaged part //, when my master has been released from this plane?
I am indispensable to the galaxy, but my master is not. He knows this to be true and has accepted it into his heart, for the way // Damaged part // an unflinching communion with pain. “There can only be two,” he has reminded me. “When destiny reveals your apprentice, I shall be slain. I am but an instrument in this affair.”
And yet, I find myself wondering about my master sometimes. What kind of man did it take to covertly_ // Damaged part //, and then engineer a rise to total power? Beyond the guidance of the way of // Damaged part // begin such an undertaking? About // Damaged part // know nothing. The archives have been purged. // Damaged part // Jedi examiners is a mystery. But somehow his gifts remained his secret. // Damaged part // into the darkness and come away alive. By the stewardship of // Damaged part // he came to know the power of // Damaged part //
Wait a moment. // Damaged part // the difference between the light side and dark // Damaged part //?
It must be understood that the Force is, above all, singular. The so-called “sides” arise from differing matters of perspective.
(If you study // Damaged part // you will find that many of the truths we cling to depend entirely on one’s point of view.)
The opposite of the singular Force is the all-encompassing void of death. Time began with the Force, and will end in desolation. This is the way of things, and an inevitable consequence of the flow of events from the past into the future. Without the inertia of the fall toward the abyss, the Force would have nowhere to go.
For in the chaotic tumble toward doom the stuff of the worlds enact loops of complexity that change the grade from life to death, introducing valleys, peaks and cycles. Between creation and destruction comes a flutter of improbability, a brief sonnet of meaning against the noise of time. Life! It is the causal contagion that ties every ounce of us together through the network of the Force, our actions resonating against our almost-actions and our non-actions in a web of fleeting possibility that spans this galaxy and beyond. The beat of a child’s heart detonates supernovae, the beat of a bug’s wing tilts the orbit of worlds.
We are all connected.
Anyone who awakens to the Force knows this. The divisive issue is what to do with this knowledge. When you can run the mechanism of the universe forward or backward, scrubbing through possible histories with a thought, a theme develops.
You cannot escape it. Death, death, death. It is the final destiny of all things, great or small, matter or idea. But there is astounding beauty in the arts of the not-death, the filigree dances of life’s loops as it spins from light to void. If you are human, it moves you.
It should move you.
But this is what // Damaged part // denies. They preach that the heart of a beast // Damaged part // They preach // Damaged part //, a condescending compassion for the damned. They stand by the sidelines and watch history happen, intervening only in trivia that offends their effete sensibilities. Every Jedi knew the cycles of civilization, and every Jedi knew an age of barbarism was nigh. And yet they did nothing.
In contrast, // Damaged part //. We have inherited the godhead of the galaxy by colonizing its every world. Though lesser species might have flourished given infinite time, it was our kind who got there first. We have won this galaxy with thousands of generations of our blood and our dreams. We call the others “primitives” because we are their // Damaged part //
And we will not sit idly by as it all careens toward a morbid interregnum. Inspired by our passions we will act to bridge the gulf between civilizations, shortening the period of disorder by decisively maintaining connections between societies from one side of the galaxy to the other. We will weather the storm.
Hate! Love! Misery! Joy! These are // Damaged part //, for to invest in the emotional life of civilization is to care about its fate. To care is to suffer, and suffering is real.
// Damaged part //
They jabbered amongst themselves as a committee, no one of them wielding enough power to see through my master’s veil, their light resting on the shoulders of three. In contrast // Damaged part // and concentrated in a single individual, making him a catalyst for vision. // Damaged part // can see the next moment with // Damaged part // that I might by way of his preternatural alignment also brightly see the many forked face of destiny.
Because of this the // Damaged part // the bleak peace of one who has seen the endless doom at the end of time and returned with an oath to steer life well. Though I wonder lately about my master’s humility. How long has it been since he has gazed into the naked face of the Force, and how arrogant has he become in the while? Could he scheme to live forever, as // Damaged part // claimed? Could he truly have forgotten that the prophecy // Damaged part //
And in the time of greatest despair there shall come a saviour, and he shall be known // Damaged part //
…// Damaged part // schemes to use // Damaged part //
It is, I think you will agree, the only logical conclusion.
// Damaged part //
I feel my master’s shadow breathing over this world. It runs far and it touches many things, but there is no // Damaged part //. I alone can sense him, and as I am blocked from my master’s intimacy by his cloud of // Damaged part // is not included in the fatescapes my master cultivates…
There is a schism in the Force and it rolls this way like thunder.