On Orbispira, the Dark Lord Tyrómairon sat with his talons steepled and his eyes closed, contemplating the words of the Primercer during their final battle on Cognalorilos. Flanked by his guards, the Dark Lord sat in utter silence, only opening his eyes when the Phaedric Lord Meketanor entered his sanctuary. The malformed Marinox laid one knee to the floor in reverence to the Dark Lord, though he could also notice something unusual; he was unnaturally content, a massive grin on his face.
"Master, I bring fantastic news! The Republic dogs and their allies have done our job for us!" As he spoke, he then rose to his feet properly before continuing. "The Neraida have been destroyed! The greatest obstacle of your Empire in the Unknown Regions is gone!"
The Emperor placed his hands on the desk.
"Good. Good." Rising to his feet, he dismissed the guards, leaving him alone with the Marinox. "Though I sense you wish that you had been party to their defeat."
"I would have loved to have destroyed them myself, alas I could not. I am still eternally grateful for you for rescuing me from them, Master." As Meketanor spoke, he bowed his head to the Dark Lord before continuing. "You should take the opportunity. The Unknown Regions are ripe for the taking! It should all be yours! And the Republic must die!"
Tyrómairon showed a cunning smile. "Patience, my loyal Meketanor, patience."
The Emperor beckoned Meketanor to join him at the window, where the endless city of Orbispira stretched out before them. "The time will soon come, for as darkness has always been eternal, so shall our power. My kin—the Oikoumene, my Mornûnendur—we did not pronounce judgement on that which we ruled. Neither must you. We moved stars and shaped them to our will. We warped space and time, twisting the cosmos to our design. If a species died in the process, so be it. The lives of most are of small consequence. This is what our foes fail to understand, that life requires a guiding hand, an outside force to effectuate evolution." He motioned to himself. "We are that guiding hand, Meketanor. Do not mistake your blades, your energies, as the source of your power. No, true power need not bare teeth, claws or weaponry. We can subdue with the manacles of astuteness or by our very force of our being. Do you understand?"
The Marinox looked down upon the city in silence, before turning back to the Dark Lord. "I understand, Master. I apologize for my... reckless suggestions."
Tyrómairon gazed down at Meketanor for a moment, before continuing. "Apologise for nothing. We are a storm, Lord Meketanor, a storm that the galaxy requires. We are the enlightened beings, willing to make the decisions necessary to extinguish our foes, be it the contagious body politic of the Republic or the resurgent Light. We will wash away the useless, the complacent and remake the galaxy as we see fit. The future may be transient, but if we grasp at the proper moment, it will all proceed as planned—the ruination of the Republic, the final expunging of the Light and the continuation of our rule into perpetuity."
- Written by OluapPlayer and Cyrannian.