Without Riptide | (OOC Only)

Part 1: Broken
 
The world came crashing down.
 
Force Breach.
 
Isatri’s cruel hand had descended like a guillotine, severing her from the lifeline that had always sustained her—the Force. It was more than just a punishment; it was a void, a yawning abyss that left her stripped and vulnerable. All at once, the protective shell that had kept her numb to the agony of her shattered body was gone. She could no longer feel the cold comfort of the dark side wrapping around her wounds, dulling the edge of pain. There was only raw, unfiltered sensation—her body, broken and exposed to the brutal reality of its condition.
 
For the first time in years, Leth Rha felt true pain. And it was overwhelming.
 
Her cybernetic jaw creaked as she clenched it, a futile attempt to fight against the flood of agony that ripped through her. Her bones were cracked, muscles torn, her flesh bruised and mangled beyond recognition. Every breath was a jagged gasp, every movement sent sharp, searing bolts of torment coursing through her veins. The sensation of her own body—once a weapon she wielded with precision—had now become an vessel of torture.
 
Her mind, so accustomed to the control and discipline of the dark side, now rebelled against her. Where there had once been power, there was now weakness. Where there had once been a sense of invincibility, there was now fear. Fear of her own fragility. Fear of this new, unbearable reality.
 
Her vision swam in and out of focus as she lay there, trapped in the broken shell of her body. Her ribs, cracked and bruised, ground against each other with every labored breath. The muscles in her legs felt torn to shreds, the tendons in her arms screamed as if they had been severed. And yet, the worst pain was not physical—it was the sense of loss.
 
The dark side had been her armor, her shield. She had used it to drown out the noise of weakness, the sting of failure. Now, without it, the full weight of her injuries came crashing down on her, crushing her beneath the magnitude of her suffering. She couldn’t reach for it, couldn’t draw on its power to numb the pain or fuel her hatred. It was as if a door had slammed shut, locking her out of the only thing that had kept her alive for so long.
 
Isatri’s malice echoed in her mind, a whisper carried on the edges of the abyss. “You are nothing, without me.”
 
Her teeth ground together in defiance, but her body refused to obey. The pain had become all-consuming, swallowing every thought, every emotion. The cold tendrils of the Force that once wrapped around her mind, allowing her to push beyond the limitations of flesh, were gone. In their place was only the savage reality of pain—sharp, unforgiving, and inescapable.
 
Her vision blurred as the pain swelled, rising like a wave threatening to drown her. Every part of her screamed for release, for a moment of respite, but there was none to be found. The agony seemed endless, each pulse of pain blending into the next until time itself lost meaning. Seconds stretched into eternity as she lay there, trapped in a body that no longer obeyed her will.
 
Her muscles spasmed involuntarily, sending shockwaves of fresh pain coursing through her limbs. Her hand twitched, fingers curling into the sand beneath her as if trying to grasp something—anything—to hold onto. But there was nothing. Only the weight of her own failure pressing down on her.
 
Nothing - The word echoed in her mind, taunting her, mocking her inability to rise above this.
 
She had faced countless enemies, fought in brutal battles, and survived tortures that would have broken lesser beings. But this—this was different. This was not a physical foe she could strike down, not a challenge she could overcome with brute strength or cunning. This was a battle against herself, against her own frailty, and it was one she was losing.
 
Her breath came in shallow gasps now, each one a struggle against the crushing weight of her injuries. Her body trembled, muscles quivering under the strain. The sharp stabs of pain from her broken ribs made each inhalation a torturous ordeal, and yet, she had no choice but to keep breathing. To keep suffering.
 
The edges of her vision darkened, the world around her slipping into a haze. But she couldn’t surrender. Not yet. Not like this.
 
You are more than flesh and bone. You are more than pain.
 
The thought was distant, a flicker of something deeper within her. But it was quickly drowned out by the tidal wave of agony that surged through her once more. Her mind thrashed, searching for the dark side, for the power that had always been there, waiting to answer her call. But it was gone—snatched away by Isatri’s cruel hand.
 
All that remained was her suffering.
 
Her hands twitched at her sides, fingers curling into fists despite the searing pain that shot through them. She bit down hard, the cold metal of her cybernetic jaw clicking as she forced herself to move, to resist the urge to give in. To let the pain win.
 
But every attempt to push back only intensified the suffering. The more she tried to move, the more her body rebelled, each motion sending fresh waves of agony rippling through her. Her muscles spasmed uncontrollably, her bones creaked under the strain, and still, she couldn’t find any relief.
 
The darkness at the edge of her vision began to creep in further, threatening to swallow her whole. She knew she was close to losing consciousness, to slipping into the black void where pain would no longer have any hold on her. But she fought against it, her stubborn will refusing to let go.
 
Not like this. Not like this.
 
But even as she clung to that thought, the overwhelming pain continued its relentless assault, tearing away at her resolve. It was a battle she couldn’t win—not without the Force.
 
And for the first time in a long time, Leth Rha felt truly, utterly alone.
 
 
 
Part 2: Crawl
 
Leth Rha’s consciousness flickered in and out like a sputtering flame, teetering on the edge of oblivion. The crushing agony of her shattered body threatened to pull her back into the comforting darkness, where she wouldn’t feel the relentless pain that tore through her every nerve. But something deeper within her—a fierce, unyielding will—forced her to resist.
 
Her breath was a ragged, shallow gasp, each inhalation setting fire to her lungs. The weight of her broken ribs made even the smallest movement a searing torment, but she had to move. She had to rise. Lying here, broken and helpless, was an affront to everything she had become. The Leth Rha of old—the one who had once been weak, frightened, and at the mercy of her enemies—was long dead. Or at least, that’s what she had convinced herself. But now, as she lay in the wreckage of her own making, that same helplessness gripped her once again, threatening to drag her down.
 
Her fingers twitched first, barely able to curl into the cold earth beneath her. The simple act of moving them sent shocks of pain up her arms, but she forced them to respond. Slowly, her left hand clawed at the sand, seeking purchase in the stones around her. Her cybernetic jaw clenched tightly, the metal groaning under the pressure as she gritted robotic teeth against the agony.
 
She could feel her muscles spasming in protest, refusing to cooperate with her commands. It was as if her body had turned against her, every fiber rebelling against the idea of movement. But Leth Rha wasn’t one to be disobeyed—not by anyone, not even her own broken flesh. With sheer force of will, she drove her arm forward, her trembling fingers digging into the sand beneath her.
 
The weight of her body pressed down on her like a suffocating blanket, making even the smallest effort feel monumental. Her mind screamed for her to stop, to give in to the pain, to surrender to the darkness that hovered just beyond the edge of her consciousness. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
 
Get up, she commanded herself Get up.
 
Her right arm, far weaker than the left, struggled to respond. Pain radiated through her shoulder and chest, her broken ribs shifting with each tiny movement. Her lungs burned, and she gasped for breath, her vision blurring as the strain on her body intensified. She could feel the wetness of blood soaking into the fabric of her torn clothing, the sharp sting of her wounds mingling with the dull ache of her shattered bones.
 
But she was alive. And that meant she could still fight.
 
With a guttural growl, Leth Rha pushed her left arm harder, using it to drag her battered form forward. Every inch felt like a mile, every motion sending fresh waves of pain coursing through her, but she refused to stop. She couldn’t stop. The agony was all-encompassing, threatening to drown her, but she had endured worse. She had survived Czoya’s torment. She had overcome Tharia’s betrayal. She had risen from the depths of her own weakness time and time again. This moment would be no different.
 
The sand beneath her shifted as she pulled herself forward, her legs still useless, the cybernetics along her spine were throbbing with each strained movement. Her jaw clicked as she bit down hard, the sensation of metal grinding against metal the only thing keeping her grounded in the present. The pain was all-consuming, but pain was something she could endure. She had trained herself to rise above it, to transcend it. The dark side had always been her crutch, the force that allowed her to push beyond the limits of her frail mortal form.
 
But the Force was gone now, ripped from her by Isatri’s punishment. She was alone in her agony, left with nothing but the raw, brutal reality of her own body’s limitations. For the first time in years, she was forced to confront her own mortality.
 
And she hated it.
 
Her muscles screamed in protest as she dragged herself another few inches forward, her entire body trembling under the strain. Sweat poured down her brow, mingling with the sand and blood that coated her skin. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps, each one a battle against the crushing weight of her injuries. But she had to keep moving. She had to rise.
 
Weakness is death, she reminded herself, her thoughts barely coherent through the fog of pain that clouded her mind. And I am not weak.
 
Her left hand found a piece of stone large enough to grip, and she clung to it with all her remaining strength. The muscles in her arm quivered, her fingers barely able to hold on, but she used it to pull herself up—inch by agonizing inch. Her body felt heavy, as if the weight of her own flesh was too much for her to bear. Her legs were useless, shattered and torn, but she didn’t need them. Not yet. She just needed to get her torso off the ground.
 
The jagged edges of the stone cut into her hand, but she welcomed the pain. It was sharp, focused—something she could use to drown out the chaos of her injuries. She clenched her jaw harder, forcing herself to lift her body just enough to get her chest off the ground. Her arms shook violently, her muscles on the verge of collapse, but she held on.
 
She had to.
 
The pain was excruciating, every nerve in her body screaming for release, but she refused to give in. Slowly, she shifted her weight onto her right arm, her broken ribs grinding together with the motion. Her breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping her throat as fresh pain lanced through her side. But she kept moving.
 
With a final, desperate push, she managed to get her torso off the ground. Her arms buckled beneath her, and for a moment she thought she might collapse again, but she held herself up—barely. Her vision swam, the edges darkening as her body threatened to give out under the strain. Her breath came in ragged bursts, each one a struggle to fill her lungs with air. But she was up. She had moved.
 
It wasn’t enough, not yet. But it was a start.
 
The pain continued to rage through her, relentless and unforgiving, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to focus. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by the agony. Not now. She needed to get on her feet. She needed to stand.
 
Stand, damn you. The words echoed in her mind, her internal voice filled with fury and desperation. You are Leth Rha. You will not be broken.
 
 
 
Part 3: Stand
 
Leth Rha’s entire body quaked as she balanced herself precariously on her trembling arms, the sheer effort of staying upright sending violent tremors through her broken form. The thought of standing—actually lifting herself to her feet—felt impossible, yet the inevitability of her next move pressed down on her like a vice. She couldn’t stay here, crumpled like refuse, gasping for air as blood pooled beneath her.
 
A Sith does not crawl.
 
But her legs were still unresponsive, pinned beneath the weight of her shattered bones and torn muscles. She could feel the cold, dead weight of her limbs dragging her down, refusing to heed her mental commands. The pain that had been dulled by her focus now surged with new intensity, flooding her senses like a storm. It gnawed at her will, threatening to drown her in a tide of helplessness.
 
Still, she didn’t stop.
 
With a snarl that was more an expulsion of breath than sound, Leth Rha forced her body to shift. It was an unnatural movement—one born out of necessity, not grace. She reached out with her left arm, claws digging into the debris-strewn floor as she attempted to drag herself forward. Her ribs screamed in protest, her skin raw from the jagged edges of stone that tore at her already bruised flesh, but she ignored it. Pain was a companion now, a constant presence that clung to her like a suffocating shadow.
 
She pulled herself forward, her right arm lagging behind, barely able to support her weight. Each agonizing movement jolted her ribs, sending a sickening wave of pain through her chest. She gasped sharply, the ragged sound echoing through the meditation chamber.
 
The door. The door was her target—a mere few meters away, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy. It stood as a symbol of escape, a threshold between the devastation behind her and the possibility of something beyond the excruciating now. She had to reach it. She had to. But every inch forward felt like dragging her body through a sea of broken glass, her nerves ablaze with the torture of her own weakness.
 
Weakness is an illusion, she chanted in her mind, willing herself to believe it. Pain is temporary. I will rise.
 
She forced her right arm to cooperate, gripping the debris harder, pulling herself another agonizing inch closer to the door. The exertion sent her muscles into spasms, a violent shudder ripping through her as her body threatened to collapse. Her breath hitched, her vision momentarily fading as darkness tugged at the corners of her mind, tempting her to surrender.
 
No.
 
Leth Rha dug deeper. The Force was gone—stolen from her by Isatri’s cruel hand—but her will, that dark, indomitable force within her, still surged like an angry beast. It clawed its way to the surface, refusing to allow her to crumble beneath the weight of her own frailty. She bit down hard, feeling the metallic taste of blood fill her mouth as she clenched her cybernetic jaw too tightly. She welcomed the sting, the sharpness of it pulling her back into the here and now.
 
Her left arm gave another desperate tug, her body inching forward on sheer determination alone. Sweat poured from her brow, mixing with the blood and sand that caked her skin. The door was closer now—so close she could almost reach out and touch it. But her legs were still dead weight behind her, unresponsive, dragging uselessly.
 
It didn’t matter. She would crawl if she had to. Crawl like an animal. No one was here to see her, no one to witness her shame. And even if they were, she would wear it like armor, turning their gaze into fuel for her rage. She was not weak. She was not defeated. She would not die here, crippled and broken, a footnote in someone else’s story.
 
The air felt thick, oppressive, pressing down on her chest as she pulled herself another inch closer. Her breath came in ragged, shallow bursts, her lungs burning from the effort. Her arms shook violently, threatening to give out under her weight, but she gritted her teeth and pushed harder. Each movement felt like it might be her last, her body teetering on the edge of collapse, but she forced herself to keep going.
 
The floor beneath her was cold, the metal slick with her own blood. The smell of iron and sweat filled her nostrils, a nauseating reminder of her mortality. Her vision blurred, the door swimming in and out of focus as the effort of keeping her head up became too much. Her entire body felt as though it had been set on fire, every nerve alight with a pain that refused to be ignored. But she had endured pain before. She had survived things that would break lesser beings. This was just another test. Another trial.
 
Her right hand slipped on the durasteel and her chest dropped heavy onto the surface. She hissed, the sudden shock of pain snapping her out of the haze that threatened to overtake her. The door was closer now—just a few more inches, just a few more agonizing movements, and she would be there.
 
You can do this, she told herself, her inner voice cold and commanding. You will do this.
 
Her left arm strained as she pulled herself forward again, her muscles quivering from the effort. Her breath hitched, her chest tightening as the pain in her ribs became unbearable. But she kept moving, inch by excruciating inch, until finally—finally—her hand touched the cold metal of the door.
 
She collapsed against it, her body spent, her limbs trembling uncontrollably. Her breath came in shallow gasps, each one a battle against the pain that wracked her chest. But she had made it. She had reached the door.
For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of simply existing, her forehead pressed against the cool surface of the metal. The pain still roared through her body, unrelenting, but she was here. She had moved. She had won this small victory. But victory, she knew, was fleeting.
 
She needed to stand.
 
Her body screamed in protest as she pushed herself up against the door, her arms shaking violently as they tried to support her weight. The sharp sting of her broken ribs was like a knife in her side, and she gasped, her vision darkening again. But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t give in.
 
With a guttural snarl, she braced herself against the door, her legs still unresponsive beneath her. The muscles in her arms quivered, her entire body on the verge of collapse, but she forced herself to rise—inch by agonizing inch. Her legs were useless, but her arms were strong enough, just barely.
 
She gritted her teeth, her cybernetic jaw creaking under the pressure, and pushed harder. Her vision swam, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts as the effort of holding herself upright threatened to overwhelm her. But she held on.
 
Weakness is death, she reminded herself again, her voice cold and hard in her mind. And I will not die.
 
With a final, desperate push, she managed to drag her broken body up enough to press her full weight against the door. She stood—or at least, she was upright, leaning heavily against the cold metal, her body trembling violently with the effort.
 
She had made it this far.
 
But she wasn’t done yet.
 
 
 
Part 4: Void
 
Time seemed to blur between the moment Leth Rha dragged herself through that door and the present. What followed after she’d broken through the last barrier was a flood of disconnected sensations—rough hands, the metallic clank of droid limbs, the smell of antiseptic, and the suffocating weight of her own failure. Every time she blinked, it felt like a new reality emerged, and the brief flashes of consciousness were disjointed, broken into slivers of light and sound.
 
When she finally woke up on The Vigilance, her personal flagship, the sterile light of the medbay was too harsh. It pierced her eyelids, filling her head with the dull throb of pain that had only been quieted by sedation. Slowly, awareness trickled in. Her body was no longer the shattered ruin it had been in the Meditation Room, but even the most advanced medical droids could only do so much. She could feel the strain in her muscles, the stiffness in her bones, as if her body had been glued back together with just enough force to function.
 
Leth Rha shifted, trying to sit up, but even that small movement sent agony rippling through her ribs and spine. Her face contorted in a grimace, her golden jaw clenching as the pain washed over her, raw and unyielding. It was the first time in years she’d truly felt pain—real, unfiltered pain. The Force, her shield, was gone, and in its absence, the wounds screamed louder than ever.
 
Her hands twitched as she reached instinctively for the Force. A reflex. A desperation. But there was nothing. Only silence. Only emptiness. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to reach out, to pull something—anything—from the void. But it was like screaming into a storm; no one could hear her. Nothing answered.
 
You are nothing without me.
 
Isatri’s voice. Those words. The words that had clawed at her mind since the fight with Tharia, since the moment Isatri had torn the Force from her grasp. They echoed now, a cold whisper that slithered through her thoughts, entwining itself around every sense of failure, every ounce of weakness she felt in this moment.
 
"You are nothing without me," the voice repeated in her mind, every syllable dripping with venom.
 
Leth Rha’s fists clenched. She wanted to tear that voice from her head, to rip Isatri’s smug certainty apart. But deep down, buried beneath the layers of pride, there was a gnawing fear that maybe—just maybe—Isatri was right. Without the Force, she was reduced to this broken shell of flesh and bone. She couldn’t move without pain. She couldn’t even breathe without feeling the weight of her own mortality pressing down on her like a suffocating shroud.
 
Forcing herself upright, she bit back the scream that clawed its way up her throat. The med-droids had bandaged her wounds, stabilized her broken bones, but every inch of her body still felt like it was being crushed under the weight of her injuries. Her mind, too, felt fractured, like a glass teetering on the edge of shattering.
 
“You are nothing,” the voice hissed again.
 
Her breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that rattled her ribs. The droids hovered nearby, their mechanical limbs clicking softly as they monitored her vitals, but Leth Rha barely noticed them. All her focus was turned inward, a storm of emotion churning beneath the surface.
 
She needed the Force. Without it, she was vulnerable—exposed.
 
With labored effort, she slid off the medbay bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor of the ship. Her legs trembled beneath her weight, the tendons pulling taut as if they might snap at any moment. But she willed them to hold, gripping the edge of the bed with white-knuckled determination. She would not be reduced to this. She refused.
 
Pain was a reminder that she still existed. Pain was a tool she could wield. But without the Force to dull it, it was all-consuming.
 
Her vision swam as she staggered toward the center of the room, a trail of bloodied bandages and medical supplies marking her path. Every step felt like a dagger slicing through her legs, her ribs screaming with every intake of breath, but she kept going. The med-droids protested behind her, their mechanical voices urging her to return to the bed, but Leth Rha paid them no mind.
 
She would meditate. She had to meditate. The Force had to be there. Somewhere. It couldn’t just be gone. Isatri couldn’t take it from her. It was hers. Hers.
 
Slowly, with painstaking care, she lowered herself to the floor. Her body resisted the movement, muscles seizing, bones grinding, but she bit down hard, forcing herself through the pain. She had done this a thousand times before. She had meditated through pain, through exhaustion, through the cacophony of war. But never like this. Never without the Force to anchor her.
 
As she crossed her legs and tried to straighten her spine, a fresh wave of pain surged through her body, stealing her breath. She winced, her chest heaving as she struggled to find a position that didn’t feel like her bones were being crushed. There was none. Every inch of her body was a battlefield of nerves and brokenness.
 
Closing her eyes, she began the familiar ritual, trying to focus her mind, to center herself as she always had. But it was like trying to hold onto smoke. Her thoughts slipped away from her, dragged down by the weight of her injuries, by the cold echo of Isatri’s voice.
 
You are nothing.
 
Her breaths were shallow, each one a battle against the agony that tore through her. She could feel her pulse pounding in her temples, a relentless drumbeat that drowned out any hope of finding peace. Every breath she took felt like inhaling fire, the air thick and suffocating as it filled her lungs.
 
But she pushed on. She had to. She couldn’t give up. Not here. Not now.
 
Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time had lost all meaning. Her body trembled violently, her muscles spasming uncontrollably as she fought to keep her mind focused. But the pain was too great. Too overwhelming. Her connection to the Force, once so strong, so effortless, was now just a memory. A distant echo that refused to answer her call.
 
Her breathing grew more erratic, her chest heaving as she struggled to stay conscious. The med-droids continued their mindless work in the background, oblivious to the torment she was in.
 
She could feel herself slipping—falling deeper into the abyss of her own despair. Her body was failing her. Her mind was fracturing. And worst of all, the Force remained silent.
 
"You are nothing without me," the voice hissed again, louder this time, more insistent.
 
Leth Rha’s eyes snapped open, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. She was drenched in sweat, her body trembling violently as she sat there, her muscles locked in place. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t meditate. She couldn’t find the Force. She couldn’t fight her way back from this.
 
She was nothing.
 
With a snarl, she slammed her fist into the floor, the impact sending a fresh wave of pain shooting up her arm. The med-droids flinched, their mechanical limbs pausing for a moment before resuming their work. Leth Rha glared at them, her golden eyes blazing with fury.
 
“I am not nothing,” she growled, her voice low and venomous.
 
But even as she spoke the words, a small, insidious part of her whispered otherwise. Isatri had broken her. She had taken the Force from her. And without it, Leth Rha was…
 
Nothing.
 
 
 
Part 5: Flicker
 
The medbay was still, the only sounds the faint hum of medical droids and the rhythmic beeping of monitors tracking Leth Rha’s vital signs. Her skin prickled as cold sweat formed on her brow, her breath shaky and shallow. Yet, there was something more now—a subtle shift. A stirring. Her knuckles, still pressed to the floor from her outburst, felt it first: a tremor, small but unmistakable, as if the air itself had briefly held its breath.
 
Leth Rha’s fingers twitched, her gaze narrowing as she lifted her head, just enough to feel the tension in her bruised neck and shoulders. She breathed in, the ache in her ribs a constant reminder of her frailty. Every inhale felt like dragging shattered glass through her lungs. But this pain was no longer an obstacle; it was a sharp, bitter companion. It grounded her, tethering her to this moment. No Force. No shield. Just her.
 
She clenched her teeth as the memory of Isatri's mocking voice swelled in her mind.
 
You are nothing without me.
 
Those words had carved themselves into her psyche, echoing louder with each passing hour, taunting her with their cruel certainty. Isatri had taken the Force from her—an act so profound, so terrifying, it left her mind reeling in disbelief. She had trained her entire life to master it, to command the very essence of the universe. And now? Now she was as powerless as the day she watched her mother be slain on Korriban.
 
Rage boiled up inside her, a familiar fire, though this time it was without the fuel of the dark side to fan it into the blazing inferno she so often relied upon. No, this rage was raw. Human. Painful in its simplicity. It was the rage of helplessness, of abandonment. And it hurt—it hurt in ways Leth Rha hadn’t experienced in so long.
 
Pain.
 
It was an old friend now, wasn’t it? She had numbed herself to it for years, using the dark side as her crutch, her salve, her armor. The Force had shielded her from the worst of it, allowing her to continue fighting, to continue existing despite the many tortures she’d endured over the years. But without that armor, she was stripped bare—open and exposed, vulnerable to every ache, every throb, every jagged pulse of agony that wracked her body.
 
But something had changed. In the silence of that moment, in the cold and sterile confines of the medbay, there was a flicker—a shadow of something deeper. It was subtle at first, just the faintest whisper against her senses. She opened her eyes slowly, scanning the room as though expecting to see something—anything—that could explain it.
 
There was nothing. Only the droids, methodical and unfeeling, their bright lights and mechanical sounds.
 
But she felt it.
 
The Force was gone, but something else stirred in the void it had left behind. It wasn’t the power she had wielded for so long, the raging torrents of dark energy she could call upon at will. No, this was different. More primal. More elusive. Like the faintest trace of a scent carried on the wind before a storm.
 
Leth Rha closed her eyes again, more deliberately this time, focusing not on the absence of the Force, but on the presence of this... other.
 
The words ]“You are nothing” echoed again in her mind, but now they felt distant, less certain. She focused on that faint tremor beneath her skin, the small but undeniable ripple that had stirred at her outburst. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t power—not in the way she had always known it. But it was something.
 
She concentrated, feeling the breath in her chest, the pain in her limbs, and the subtle, almost imperceptible tension in the air around her. It was there, just beneath the surface, like an echo of the Force she had lost. It wasn’t the Force itself—it didn’t hum with the same energy, didn’t pulse with the same vibrance she had known. But it was... there.
 
Her breathing slowed as she let herself sink into it, allowing the pain to dull her senses, to clear away the noise in her mind. The droids’ whirring and beeping became background static, a distant hum in the darkened corners of her awareness. All that mattered now was the stirring, the faint ripple of something beneath her skin.
 
And then—there it was. A flicker.
 
It was as fleeting as a flash of lightning, barely noticeable and gone as quickly as it came. But it was real. She felt it. A spark. A shadow of what she used to wield so easily, so effortlessly.
 
Her heart raced, the pulse of excitement almost overtaking the agony that had kept her bound for days. Could it be? Was this the beginning of her return? Was the Force creeping back to her, even in defiance of Isatri’s punishment?
 
Leth Rha’s mind reached out again, though more tentatively now, as if afraid the spark would fade. But this time, she didn’t reach for it with desperation. She didn’t claw at the void as she had before, grasping in futility for power that would not answer her call. Instead, she listened. She waited.
 
And in the waiting, in the silence, the flicker returned.
 
Just the barest touch of something cold, something deep, something... dark.
 
A slow smile curled at the edges of her lips, though it was strained, pained. There was power here, buried deep, hidden beneath layers of pain and failure. She had been looking for the wrong thing, searching for the Force that had always come so easily, always flowed through her like a flood. But this... this wasn’t the same.
 
It was the absence of the Force. The cold space where the Force should have been. But it wasn’t empty. No, it was something else entirely—something born of her suffering, her agony, her despair. It wasn’t the light, and it wasn’t even the dark side as she had known it. It was beyond that. It was raw. Untamed. And it was hers.
 
For the first time since Isatri had torn her connection to the Force, Leth Rha felt a glimmer of hope. Not the kind of hope that inspired light or redemption, but the kind of hope that was born from survival, from enduring the impossible. From crawling through the fire and emerging burned, broken, but still alive.
 
You are nothing without me, Isatri's voice hissed again, but this time Leth Rha's smile widened.
 
“No,” she whispered, her voice low, her golden jaw grinding with the effort. “I’m more.”
 
She shifted on the floor, her body screaming in protest, but she pushed through the pain. This was it. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She didn’t need the Force to survive. She didn’t need Isatri’s power to endure.
 
There was something else inside her—something darker, something deeper. And she would learn to wield it.
 
As her muscles spasmed and her bones ached with every movement, Leth Rha forced herself to stand, the weight of her injuries nearly buckling her legs. But she stood. Barely, but she stood.
 
The droids buzzed around her, their mechanical voices alerting her to her weakening condition, but she ignored them. All that mattered now was that flicker, that shadow of power she had felt. She would find it again. She would learn to harness it. And when she did, she would be stronger than ever before.
 
Because now, she understood.
 
She didn’t need the Force to be powerful. The Force was a crutch, a tool she had relied on for too long. Isatri had stripped her of it, yes, but in doing so, she had revealed something far more potent, far more dangerous.
 
Leth Rha was more than the Force. She was the void it left behind.
 
And that void... was infinite.
 
 
 
Part 6: Darkness
 
Leth Rha stood amidst the wreckage of her body, her spirit barely tethered to the shattered flesh, but that tether, though fragile, was hers—and hers alone. Pain throbbed in every muscle, every broken bone. Her body was a ruin, a testament to the brutal rewards of her pointless attempt to kill someone so much weaker than she was… But standing now, in defiance of that pain, in defiance of the Force being ripped from her by Isatri, she had found something greater. Something deeper.
 
Her hands trembled as they reached out to the cold edge of a medbay table, using it for support. The medical droids chirped in alarm, rushing to assess the strain she was placing on her fragile form, but she waved them off with a slow, deliberate motion, her cybernetic jaw grinding as she gritted her teeth through the excruciating protest of her body. The pain wasn’t an obstacle now. It wasn’t a barrier.
 
It was fuel.
 
Isatri’s words echoed again in her mind, like a poison dripping through her veins: “You are nothing without me.”
 
That venom had haunted her for days, festering in the cracks of her fractured soul. Isatri had made her believe it. Isatri had wanted her to believe it. The breach in her connection to the Force had been more than a severance of power—it had been a deliberate attempt to shatter her identity, to make her crawl back to her master, broken and submissive.
 
But Leth Rha was not broken. She was not submissive. She had endured too much, crawled through too many fires, and emerged from too many hells to ever be undone by such treachery.
 
Her body shook as she forced herself upright, her muscles spasming, her bones grinding together, but she stood.
 
The Force had been a lifeline for so long. A constant source of strength, a weapon she wielded like an extension of herself. But now, in its absence, she had found something else. Something that was hers—not the power of a master, not the teachings of a Sith Lord, not the fury of a dark side wellspring.
 
No.
 
The darkness belonged to her.
 
And it always had.
 
Isatri had dared to try and take it away, to strip her of the power that had fueled her rise. But Leth Rha understood now—it had never truly been Isatri’s to give or take. The Force, the dark side, the rage that burned inside her—these things were not gifts bestowed upon her by another. They were her birthright. Her own soul had shaped them, had forged them in the fires of pain and betrayal. No one, not Isatri, not Tharia, not anyone, would take them from her again.
 
Her breathing slowed, the pain settling into a dull roar at the back of her mind. It was there, always, like a storm on the horizon, but she would not succumb to it. She had learned to ignore pain for years, using the Force as her shield, but now, stripped of that protection, she embraced it. Pain was no longer a thing to be hidden from, to be dulled by the dark side’s power.
 
It was a weapon.
 
Leth Rha tilted her head back, her yellow, corrupted eyes staring up at the dimmed lights of the medbay. She had spent too long in the void, too long searching for the thing that had been right in front of her all along. She wasn’t a slave to the dark side. She was more than that—more than a vessel for someone else’s power.
 
The shadows that had flickered at the edges of her consciousness, the faint tremors of power she had begun to feel in the aftermath of Isatri’s cruelty—they were more than just remnants of the Force. They were her essence. The Force was a tool, but the darkness? The darkness was who she was.
 
She felt it again, a deep, resonant hum beneath her skin, as if the air itself was bending to her will. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was growing. With every breath she took, with every agonizing step she forced herself to make, that darkness stirred within her, responding not to the Force, but to her.
 
“Nothing without you?” Leth Rha hissed through her teeth, her golden jaw clenching as she spat the words. Her voice was low, venomous, filled with the kind of hate that could crack worlds. “You’re wrong.”
 
Isatri had thought she could cripple her, that taking away the Force would leave Leth Rha broken, crawling back to her for salvation. But that was the greatest mistake of all—Isatri had underestimated the depths of Leth Rha’s defiance. The Sith’s arrogance had blinded her to the truth: Leth Rha was more than a mere apprentice. She was a force unto herself, forged in the fires of torment and rebirth. She had transcended the chains of servitude long ago, even if Isatri had yet to realize it.
 
The flicker of darkness inside her swelled, a pulsing, growing storm that filled the void the Force had left behind. It wasn’t the same power she had once wielded—it wasn’t the same control over the dark side that she had known. This was something new. Something raw. Untamed.
 
It was her power.
 
No one else’s.
 
As she stood there, her body broken but her spirit unyielding, Leth Rha felt the darkness spreading through her veins, intertwining with her very soul. It was as if the void itself was becoming part of her, merging with her identity, fusing with the remnants of her shattered connection to the Force. But this time, it wasn’t the Force that controlled her. It wasn’t the dark side that dictated her actions.
 
She was the darkness now.
 
The medbay seemed to dim as the shadows coiled around her, the air growing thick with the weight of her presence. The medical droids paused, their sensors flickering, detecting an anomalous energy in the room but unable to quantify it. They didn’t understand—no one would understand.
 
Leth Rha reached out with her mind, not to grasp the Force, but to grasp the power that lay beneath it. The power that was her. The pain in her body faded, not because it wasn’t there, but because it didn’t matter. She had moved beyond it. She had moved beyond the need to rely on anything but her own will.
 
Isatri had tried to break her. But in doing so, she had set Leth Rha free.
 
She didn’t need Isatri. She didn’t need the Force. All she needed was herself—and the darkness that had always been inside her.
 
“I am everything,” Leth Rha whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with the weight of a truth long hidden. “I don’t need you. I never needed you.”
 
The flicker of power grew into a steady hum, a low, resonant pulse that echoed through the medbay. Leth Rha smiled, a cold, sharp smile that barely reached her eyes. Isatri had tried to take everything from her—her power, her identity, her very connection to the Force.
 
But in the end, Leth Rha had found something far greater.
 
She was not nothing without Isatri.
 
She was more.
 
And when the time came, she would show Isatri just how wrong she had been.