I pass by his room and can not help but stop. It is empty. His bed is perfectly straight, unlived in for about a month. It is not messy as it usually is-was
when he was alive. I always reprimanded him as a child when his bed was messy. That last time he had made his bed up in the morning. Then he
took his lightsaber and went cheerfully off to his death.
Sith do not grieve.
I can not help but walk into the room. So many memories are here. Hanging from a wall is his first lightsaber, a training blade I hold it, but I don't understand why. I remember when I had decided he was finally ready for a lightsaber. We had spent three evenings together constructing it. It had served him
throughout his training. I had been so proud of my apprentice, pleased with his training. Finally he hung up his old lightsaber and settled for the new
double-bladed saber that would serve him till the day he died. Until the day I sent him off to his death.
A twinge of regret passes through me as I sit down by his bed.
Sith do not regret.
Why am I sitting here? It is a monument to failure! I should burn it! Yet I can't. That would mean acknowledging...
I am confused as to what I feel. Mourning? Regret? Sadness? These are emotions that Sith do not acknowledge. I did not care about the boy. He was
valuable, yes. He was a tool.
He was my legacy, what I would leave behind. I entrusted him to battle the Jedi. He did marvelously. When I heard my heart swelled with pride.
I never got to tell him that. He must have known though. I had told him before.
I leave the room. I have much to do. I will be back though. I will always be haunted by the memories of my fallen apprentice.
Sith do not grieve.