𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐎

sky above, voice within

STORMY MISTS CURLED LIKE phantoms on the north wind. Whispering through the marram grass, a death knell echoed and a heart of stone began to crumble.

How long had it been, the mournful hollow grieved, since he last set foot on these snow-white sands of paradise? Laid eyes upon the collision of ocean and sky and tasted its calm? How many lifetimes had passed by since he'd been home? He could not guess; long enough that the vision once so familiar had become one so foreign.

The world he knew was golden glory, crown jewel splendor and the envy of every star in the heavens. A world of life and wonder and light, born betwixt radiant gardens and ocean symphonies. A beauty masters of the arts sought to emulate with inks and pigments but never could; such beauty was so rare, so inimitable for even the most preeminent talents, molded only by the hand and will of the Highest Divine.

But no more.

An antithesis by definition: there was no sun, no color nor life—there was only grey at the heart of Baié dei Cemitaro. The skies were hollow and void, shrouded dark by clouds and storms, with torrents of rain falling one with oceanic oblivion. The winds in all their rage whipped up the waves into high and mighty towers, frothing ivory as they crashed against cliff rock. Not a ray of sun in sight, not a flower with petals bright. The sun had grown cold and with it, paradisiacal beauty was forever lost.

In the fleeting ages, much had changed in these star-bright lands, but one thing remained. A stone-forged obelisk risen high at the edge of the cove, immortally ingrained with the names of sun-born generations of the past. Even if the skies were to rain down in ice and fire, he was certain that cursed tomb would endure, if only to taunt him.

Sorrow like a cold winter wind howled within as he crossed the shore. The closer he drew, the higher it towered. Never had he felt so small, so pathetic and feeble as he did then, there in the city of the dead. In the memory of his most unforgivable sin. A thousand names carved into solid stone, but he sought just one—the living sun in a galaxy dark, the swan song of a once unshakable dynasty—much too easy to find.

Zsarina Ozanne I, the tomb mocked, the first and the last.

He could see her now—the prism soul slain by his darkness, the daughter of dawn laid to rest in the fathoms deep.

A loathing thundered—you killed her, the infernal taunted, she's dead.

You killed her, the phoenix bright lamented, what have you done?

What have I done?

The earth rumbled. Ocean and sky billowed. And as the stone heart splintered to dust, the buried soul within began to break through—if only for a moment.

I'm sorry, the lost boy whispered in despair, longing to be heard. I'm so sorry.

There was no answer. No solace to be had. There was only the wind, the storm and the forever echo. Her death's requiem—a cycle of cold, mechanized breath—like a ghost; a haunting from which there was no escape.

THIS IS THE STORY OF TWO ROADS
DIVERGED BETWEEN LIGHT AND
DARK, AND THE BOY WHO CHOSE
THE WRONG PATH.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: My absolute favorite trope ever is when a character does everything they can to avoid destiny, but their decisions lead them right to it (BBC's Merlin, I'm looking at you), so here's a long ass story about Anakin Skywalker doing just that. He's literally gonna lose his damn mind and it'll be so fun.

This is a complete rewrite of the original prologue, which I liked but I like this better. I'd say it takes place a few months post-ROTS and before Vader gets his big surprise. This is the first and only time he ever goes there, and since this is going to be a mighty depressing story, why not open it up with sadness.

They are here and ready
for infuriating levels of 100%
avoidable dumbassery.

KYEMI TRANSLATIONS § TERMS:

Baié dei Cemitaro — a graveyard for the Kyemi royal family, in which they are laid to rest in the water.