.devotus.
bowed, devoted, accursed, faithful, given, abandoned
He stands before you, facing the demon that is your master, unbowed and sure in his final decision. His sword is far away, its light extinguished, and you know that he would not take it back, even if he could.
You watch as your master raises his hands to strike, and you remember, through the haze of pain and certainty that blocks your mind, that you brought the boy here to save him. You wonder how everything could have gone so disastrously wrong.
He is beautiful, your son, as he stands there so unafraid, and so alone. You think of what he said, the words he spoke to you, though he looked at your master as he said them, and you wonder if they were ever true. You were a Jedi once, you think. But never like him.
You crawl to your master's side, because there is nowhere else you can go. You drag yourself to your feet, and turn to watch your son, even though you know what must come. It is the last time you will see him, and in spite of everything, you cannot bear to look away.
You watch him as his back arches against the onslaught of terrible energy and he collapses. You watch as his strength shatters, and he whimpers like a small child, so certain that his father can fix anything, if only he will come.
But you do not come. The weight of darkness and ancient promises constrains you, and you find that you cannot move. You realize, with a kind of fascinated horror, that you are not even sure if you want to.
Your master is cackling, the old demon laugh that has haunted you since your earliest memories. You wince behind the mask that separates you from the world, because you understand, now, that he has always been laughing at you.
You see the pain on the boy's face slowly replaced by acceptance, and then something else, something you barely remember, something from another life long ago.
You realize with a start that it is love.
He calls out to you a final time, his voice gentle, almost warm, even through the shuddering symphony of his pain. And you know that he forgives you, forgives you for everything—the years of loneliness and longing, the loss of his mentor, his hand, his innocence, the pain of this final, ultimate rejection—even as he is dying before your eyes.
Something breaks inside of you, and you stagger under the sudden weight of your own freedom.
You know that it is too late for you. It has always been too late for you—you chose to become a curse long ago. You cannot really remember how it feels to love, and loyalty is a long-forgotten luxury. And you have never really known how to die.
But you realize that it does not matter. You cannot allow this boy to die.
The darkness writhes around you, and instead of trying to fight it, you embrace it. You cradle it close, almost like a lover, and it calms instantly, soothing whispers of shadow brushing across your skin even beneath the mask. And you allow yourself to smile, because the darkness does not understand this new thing that you feel, this strangeness that the boy has ignited inside of you.
You grasp the shadow in your remaining hand, using the stump for balance, and you stagger forward. You feel the shift in the darkness as comprehension dawns, and then the demon voice is whispering at you, and the demon fire is searing through what remains of your body.
You are mine, the voice hisses, and you feel your lungs collapse and the metal of your joints begin to fuse under the scorching heat. You know that the voice is right. You know that you will not survive this—that you will be given over to destruction.
But you no longer care. Because the boy is more important.
You wonder vaguely if this is what love feels like, and you think that maybe it is.