Ascendance

XXIV

The air left my lungs. I stared at the ground, shellshocked, as my brain fought to register this information. I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood.

"This is your fault, Rylie." I looked up with tear-clouded vision, expecting to see my own face, but instead meeting the cold glare of my mother. "You did this."

"I—" I shook my head desperately. "I didn't mean to— I thought I was helping him—"

"What's done is done." Her pale eyes swept over me, feeling like tiny daggers in my skin. "You can't take it back."

The fire roared around us, the flames growing higher and higher. I pulled at the roots of my hair, my chest feeling tight. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out, the words trapped in my throat.

"You can't take it back." I looked up into the eyes of my father, and suddenly all sound melted away—I could hear nothing but his voice, see nothing but his face. "But you can fix it."

"How?" My voice was weak.

"Let me help you." His words were soft, comforting.

This isn't Dad, I reminded myself again. This isn't him.

"And what would you want, in return for your... help?" I stared at my feet, refusing to meet his gaze as I fought to steady my breathing.

"I'm in need of your services."

I let out a bitter laugh. "I'm going to need you to be more specific."

"There are some people I'd like you to bring back."

Cautiously, I reached into his mind, and my senses were overloaded by vivid memories of figures in black cloaks, people who I had never seen before, who bore scarlet lightsabers and radiated the purest and most sinister energy I had ever experienced.

The Sith.

My head snapped up. "I don't even know how I did it the first time. How can you expect me to do it again? And more than once?"

"I'll help you. I'll train you in the ways of the Sith, just as Rey has trained you in the ways of the Jedi." My father's eyebrows rose, his expression pleading. "You'll be able to do it again."

I dug the tip of my boot into the dirt, contemplating. "And... and if I help you... you'll tell me how to fix my father?"

The figure nodded, shifting back into its original form. I caught a fleeting glimpse of its gnarled appearance before it pulled up its hood to hide its face once more.

"How do I know that you can actually help me?" I challenged at last, finding my voice. "How do I know you aren't lying when you say I can fix him."

The figure was silent for a moment, then raised a hand.

In an instant I was overcome by a sharp wave of knowledge, of understanding, the sensation of it surging through my body like a hurricane. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and I was left feeling empty. But it left a residual understanding, the firm knowledge that it was possible.

I could fix him.

"And this is something only the Sith can teach me?" My brain felt robbed of that knowledge, a noticeable gap in my memory where the cure had once presented itself. I wanted it back, desperately.

"Yes." The figure's answer was simple. And, as I searched its mind, truthful.

I took a moment to gather myself, wrapping my cloak around me. Then I nodded.

"I'll do it."

The figure nodded, satisfied. It raised a hand, and the flames around us fell and vanished without a trace.

I was encased in total darkness.