Dust
o.O.o
Grey dawn crawls over the face of a dead world. The Force bleeds itself dry into the dust left behind.
It's so quiet.
Evren breathes and there's nothing.
o.O.o
It's chaos in the hangar, scientists and soldiers and droids and analysts rushing back and forth, shouting at each other, trying to make sense of the unthinkable. Alarms and machinery and shuttle engines nearly drown out the words. Meaningless noise.
Vette can't—she can't think about it. But her best friend is frozen before the hangar force field, just standing there, hollow, and that—she can try to help, with him, even if that's all she can do.
"Ev," she says.
He doesn't seem to hear her. She calls his name a few times, and there's no response until she moves to touch his shoulder and he folds in on himself before she even makes contact, drops his head into his hands as he shakes and shakes.
"Evren," Vette says helplessly, retracting her hand.
"It's gone."
"I know."
"No. You—you don't know." He looks out between his fingers, out at the planet below, and he laughs, broken and shrill, grinning like his face is cracking open. His eyes gleam, scorched gold. "I—he—"
He breaks off and fuck, fuck, he's crying, the glassy bloodshot look isn't just the dark side, it's tears, and Vette wants to scream herself. She wants to find Vitiate and tear him apart with her bare hands. She wants to take Ev and just—just hold him, but that'll probably make it worse so all she can do is stand beside him and murmur, "I'm here. I got you. I'm not going anywhere."
o.O.o
He watched the grey swallow the planet, watched Ziost die. Felt it die.
He wonders what might have happened if he'd been planetside. Would he have died with Ziost? Or would Vitiate have spared him still?
He dreams, that night. Dreams of the wave rushing towards him. Of trying to shield Vette. Feeling her crumble to dust and float away on the cold dead wind.
What good are you?
o.O.o
end