Meditating on the Five Tenets

Entry 1: The first Tenet - Break the Cycle, Shatter the Chain
 
In a cold, dimly lit chamber aboard the Sovereignty flagship, Cogadh kneels within a ring of flickering red and violet holofire. The hum of the ship echoes like a distant growl. His scarred fingers rest against the blacksteel of his helmet, now laid before him. His breath is slow, deliberate. Words are not spoken aloud, but they resound within the force - a storm just beneath still waters.
 
Cogadh internally “break the cycle, shatter the chain.”
 
I was born into chains. Not of weakness, but of certainty.
The Empire carved its truth into my bones. The Sith Code was fire in my lungs.
Passion. Strength. Power. Victory. Freedom.
I was taught to conquer. To ascend. To kneel to no one but the force itself.
And I believed it. I believed it until I stood among the ash of victories that changed nothing.
 
I saw Sith Lords rise with fire in their eyes and rot in their arrogance.
I watched apprentices hunger for their masters’ thrones, only to die bloated on borrowed power.
And each time….
Each time the force Watched.
Each time the same path, the same ruin, again and again—
…..like it was scripted
 
Cogadh clenches a scarred fist. The air trembles subtly with his will.
 
The Jedi call it balance.
The Sith call it conquest.
But both speak in riddles taught to them by a force that fears being questioned.
 
The Force does not grant power. It feeds on obedience.
It sings of destiny—of chosen ones and ancient prophecies—
….but i was not chosen
I chose myself.
 
And now I see it.
 
The Force is not a god.
It is not a master.
It is not even a path.
It is a system. A prison.
Woven into instinct, into tradition, into every ritual of our order.
 
A cycle.
One that craves order through collapse.
Victory through sacrifice.
And freedom through chains
 
A Surge of darkness pulses from him, distorting the flickering light. His voice sharpens in tone
 
I did not climb the tower of corpses just to stand upon the same ruin.
I did not survive Rites of Aure’kesh to inherit someone else’s fate.
The Force is no longer my guide.
It is my enemy.
 
When I bend it, I do not ask permission.
When it defies me, I break it.
When I summon fire, I do not thank the flames—I command it.
And if the Force resists me again… I will tear it apart. Strand by strand.
 
I do not worship the storm.
I am the storm.
And I am done being shaped.
 
His voice quiets. A final breath. The fire dims to embers. And Then—
 
Cogadh in a whisper as his eyes snap open, glowing red.

“Let the Force tremble. For I no longer follow. I lead.”
 
 
Entry 2: Second Tenet - Transcend Mortality; Achieve Eternity
 
A chamber within the Ice Temple aboard the Sovereignty’s flagship Invicta Perpetua. Cogadh kneels again, but now the holofire that once ringed him is gone. Instead, small crystalline shards hover weightlessly around him—each one a broken trophy, a scar of conquest, a soul defeated and added to the forge of his will. His breath no longer fogs the air. The room is freezing, yet he feels no cold.
 
Cogadh Internally “Transcend Mortality. Achieve Eternity.”
 
I have buried more Sith than I can remember.
Some I envied. Some I obeyed. Some I hated with a purity I almost mistook for love.
Each of them believed they were eternal.
Each of them believed power would save them from the grave.
And each of them was wrong.
 
He opens his eyes slowly. The pupils burn faintly, like coals.
Their legacies did not die in war.
They died in decay. In silence. They vanished because their will was not strong enough to break the lie.
The lie that we are bound by time. That the grave is inevitable. That the cycle must be obeyed.
But I have walked the edges of death and returned unclaimed. I’ve seen my own blood paint the stone, heard the Force whisper “this is your end”—
And I denied it.
Not through healing. Not through surrender.
Through wrath.
The hovering shards begin to rotate slowly, reacting to the strength of his will as it sharpens.
 
Mortality is not sacred. It is architecture.
A design left behind by those too weak to tear it down.
The Jedi dress it in robes and call it peace.
The Sith mock it—then crawl into their tombs like cowards with crowns.
But I—
 
He stands now, Slowly. As if the thought itself grants weight to his body beyond what the flesh can offer.
—I will not be a ghost.
I will not be a myth scribbled in a disciple’s book.
When I speak of eternity, I do not mean memory.
I mean presence. I mean command. I mean the will to continue, even when the flesh is cinder.
Flesh is a costume. A temporary armor.
But will—will is the truest self. And I have forged mine in the jaws of Rancors and the minds of traitors.
I have walked through rites that broke men twice my strength. I have been shaped by nothing—
—except myself.
The Sovereign does not die.
She discards. She ascends.
And I—I am her executioner. Her architect. Her blade.
I do not serve death.
I command eternity.
Let the Force witness me. Let the galaxy curse my name.
It will not matter. Because when stars fade, and empires fall—
My will remains.
His voice, barely above a whisper, vibrates with gravity—the dark side seems to bend closer, listening.
 
"Stone does not bleed. And neither shall I."
 
Entry 3: Third Tenet - Forge Strength Through Strife.
 
A training room aboard the Invicta Perpetua. Sealed, dim, weapons line the walls like trophies. Blood stains are not cleaned. The floor is cracked where bodies fall hard. In the center, Cogadh kneels once more—but this time not in stillness. His breathing is heavier. His fists are wrapped, bloodied. His blade lays near him. It too bears scars.
 
Cogadh internally “Forge Strength Through Strife”
I was not born strong.
I was made—with broken ribs, with scorched lungs, with blood that did not stay in my body when I willed it to.
And still, I rose.
They say pain teaches humility.
No. Pain teaches clarity.
It tells you who you are when your blade is gone, your allies are ash, and your gods have gone silent.
He stands, slowly. The wound on his shoulder pulses from a recent battle. He touches it, then clenches his fist.
The Force offers serenity. Peace. Balance.
A soft cage, lined with golden chains.
But peace does not raise titans. It raises statues.
And statues fall when struck hard enough.
The galaxy fears conflict. It labels it chaos, tragedy, failure.
But I—I drink it.
I take every betrayal, every wound, every lie spoken to me with a smile—
And I hammer them into weapons.
He paces now, eyes glowing dimly in the dark.
I do not speak of survival.
Survival is passive. Cowards survive.
I speak of weaponizing your war.
Of turning your agony into ammunition.
You were hunted? Become the predator.
You were shattered? Forge yourself into a sharper form.
You bled? Let the next wound be theirs.
He picks up his blade. Not reverently. But as one might lift a limb. It is part of him.
 
Strife is not a toll to be paid.
It is a gift. A truth the weak fear to hold.
And I—
—I am strong not because I endured hell.
But because I set fire to it, and walked out with the ashes in my hands.
 
He lifts the blade, and for a moment, the lights flicker—responding not to technology, but to the will that floods the room like pressure before a storm.
Cogadh speaks barely above a whisper, like steel scraping stone.
"Scars speak louder than songs. And I will never sing."
Let others fear the storm.
Let others seek peace in temples and treaties.
I will carve my name into the bones of the galaxy—
Not because I was allowed to.
But because I was forged to.
 
Entry 4: Fourth Tenet - Dominion Through Veiled Truths
Location: The personal quarters of Lord Cogadh aboard the Invicta Perpetua. The room is dim, lit only by the soft silver hue of the stars outside his observation window. A sealed helm rests on a pedestal. Holograms flicker across a projection table: figures in council chambers, planetary governors, puppet warlords. Unaware. Controlled. Used.
 
Cogadh internally “Dominion through Veiled truths.”
 
There is no empire more enduring than the one they do not know exists.
 
I do not rule by proclamation.
I do not conquer through fanfare.
I do not bleed my name into banners.
 
I teach them to fear shadows they cannot name.
He moves towards the window, looking out into the void—worlds below, fleets moving like chess pieces, entire systems unaware of the true shape of the power behind them.
 
Let them scream about heroes.
Let them paint villains with faces.
They will fight the wrong enemy.
 
Because I have shown them only what I wish them to see.
 
Power? No. Perception is power.
Control is not taken—it is believed.
Believed so deeply they cannot see it.
 
He touches the projection table.It shifts to show a rebellion—one that he seeded, funded, then crushed in public view. A rebellion that existed to make his secret hold seem merciful by comparison.
 
They think themselves free.
They speak of resistance.
But every choice they made….
Was mine.
 
Not by command.
By suggestion.
By Illusion.
By truth—bent just enough to serve.
 
He picks up the sealed helm—his ceremonial mask when he appears in public. Faceless. Unknowable.
 
The Force veils itself.
So do I.
 
Jedi wave banners of Virtue.
Sith revel in thunder and flame.
But both are seen.
Both are known.
 
And known power is power you can prepare for.
 
I will not be known.
I will be suspected.
I will be feared.
And by the time they understand—it will be because I allowed them to.
 
He dons the helm. The room darkens as his presence subtly shifts—still, but heavy. A will wrapped in silence.
 
Cogadh aloud, voice modulated by the helm “To rule through fear is not enough. I must rule through the absence of clarity—through truths that fracture rather than illuminate.”
 
This is the Fourth Tenet.
Not to destroy your enemies.
But to dismantle their understanding.
To rearrange their reality.
When they seek justice, they chase a phantom.
And when they beg for truth—
They beg from me.
Without knowing they do.
 
He steps away from the window, back towards the command table—disappearing into the shadows of the room, as if his body itself were another illusion.
 
I do not need to be worshipped.
I do not need to be remembered.
Only Obeyed.
Even if they never know why.
 
A final whisper in the dark:
“I wear no crown. I wear their doubt. And I shape the galaxy with what they never saw.”
 
Entry 5: Fifth Tenet - Master the Eternal Cycle with Patience
Location: The command bridge of the Invicta Perpetua. Wide, vast, and cold as the void itself. Not a place of chaos, but of control. From this vantage point, countless stars drift—witnesses to a will that neither hastens nor hesitates. Cogadh stands alone at the central command dais, arms folded behind him, cloak still. A warfleet sleeps at his command. Worlds wait below. He acts... not yet.
 
Cogadh softly, to himself “Master the Eternal Cycle with Patience.”
 
They fear endings.
They cling to beginnings.
But I….
I walk between both.
 
He gestures towards the star map. Holograms bloom—empires lost, rebellions crushed, alliances formed and broken. Lines of light thread between them, looping into a spiral. A pattern.
 
They believe history moves forward.
It does not.
It moves in circles—
Tides of ambition and ruin.
Of light and dark.
Of kings and ash.
 
But I...
I am the constant beneath their waves.
 
He closes his eyes briefly, feeling the pulse of the Force—not as a storm, but as a clock. A rhythm. A loop. Birth, rise, fall, death… and then—rebirth. Always rebirth.
 
I have watched them.
Let them rise.
Let them believe.
And when they fell—
I was already there to inherit the silence.
 
To rule the cycle, one must not chase its tempo
One must set it.
 
The Force flows in rhythm.
Even its prophets are bound to it.
But I am not.
 
I break its symmetry.
I fracture its script.
And in that fracture—I write my own name.
 
Cogadh aloud now, as if addressing unseen apprentices across the ship, across the galaxy
“The moment is not your enemy. The moment is your servant—if you have the patience to command it.”
 
Do not lunge.
Do not cry out.
Do not falter because the blade has not yet drawn blood.
 
Wait.
 
Because when you strike—
They will not see a warrior.
They will see a force.
Inevitability made flesh.
 
He steps forward, staring into the stars. His reflection barely visible in the reinforced glass—timeless, sharp, unbowed.
 
Softly:
“I do not burn. I endure. I do not race. I remain. And when the wheel turns again… it will turn around me.”
 
This is the Fifth Tenet.
Not survival.
Supremacy by stillness.
Victory not through speed—
But through sovereignty over time itself.
 
Final words, echoing across the silent bridge:
“Impatience is the weapon of the desperate. But I…I am the weapon of gods.”