Part 5
"Lost in the night, wandering alone. Try as I might to escape the fight it never lets me go."
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"I can't." As the words floated into the silence and Izayus' face darkened in anger, Calum realized to his horror that he'd said it out loud.
But then, he'd meant it. After hearing of such atrocities attributed to the name of the Sith, and knowing what crimes he was already guilty of, Calum didn't want in any way to return to being what he knew he was; Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith. Izayus was asking him to commit genocide, and he simply couldn't do it. He wouldn't become that sort of animal again. The resolve he had felt for an instant was gone, obliterated by a wave of self-loathing.
Stop thinking about yourself for just a moment! You have to consider the whole issue at hand, not just yourself.
I won't become a monster again! Calum screamed at the voice in his head.
You need this man. He has Bastila, he has knowledge you need. You cannot reject this chance!
"So your honor is nothing but a lie," Izayus spat contemptuously. "You are no better than the pathetic neo-Sith you cultivated, Revan."
He stood. "Your coming was foretold by prophecy, you would be one who saw reason within the Sith. And yet here you are, lacking even the resolve to uphold your own agreement."
"You're wrong," Calum retorted. "I'm no Sith'ari! Prophecy be cursed."
"Sith'ari?" Izayus spoke the word with incredulity. "There is no Sith'ari. The Sith'ari is a myth. What? Have you been listening to the babbling of your own neo-Sith? You are the one named in a static prophecy a thousand years old. You are a true prophet, able to see the branches where everyone else sees only the tree."
The prophecy! Branches; unexpected outcomes!
Calum couldn't think for a moment as he tried to disseminate in his mind the things the Sith had said. Revan recognized their relevance, even if he didn't.
"You claim to care for this Bastila," Izayus growled, cutting off Calum's concentration. "Her life now enters the price, Revan. I have spent two hundred years watching my daughter suffer at the hands of my old Lord Sith and now her own children. If you will not end her tormentors, your wife will be returned to you lifeless."
Calum and Juhani both shot to their feet and drew their lightsabres in a flash. Fear boiled over into anger; he would not let this happen! He'd promised Bastila he'd get her out of this. No Sith from the old empire would destroy them, he'd kill Izayus if he had to in order to keep her safe. Calum didn't know if there was any length to which he wouldn't go to save her life. He'd been off the deep end before, and felt as if he was headed there again--for her.
Izayus stood unmoved by their show of force. A single red blade ignited in his hands.
"This confrontation would be truly useless, Revan," he said calmly. "You know that. You may think you command greater powers than I, but I have something you do not: experience. I have been doing this for centuries. Do you really think either of you can best me? It will do you no good, regardless. Bastila will die whether or not you kill me."
Calum was in a rage now, Izayus was an enemy in his eyes. He was ready to strike if the opportunity presented itself. But from beneath the veil where he waited always, Darth Revan knew the truth of what the Sith had said; fighting him would indeed serve no purpose. Calum had no realistic idea of the power Izayus wielded, nor the resources at his command. Every bone in his body wanted to fight, but his inner voice told him this was not the way to do so.
Even so, Calum was committed. He would do whatever it took to get Bastila back. In this, he and Revan were in agreement.
But there was yet another reason. Revan continued prodding, trying to get him to notice some obscure detail he had missed, something important.
"The masked stranger you spoke of," Calum - or was it Revan? - said. "Where did she come from?"
"I told you; from beyond the galaxy. An inviolate domain where the Force has died," Izayus answered. "You came to me before asking this question, because you knew I had come into possession of a key you would need to unlock this deadly domain."
Calum suddenly felt a spark of understanding. It was the white horde.
"That was your original price, Revan. The destruction of Clan Izaya for the secret to breach the barrier. Accept this agreement and prove me wrong about your honor, or you forfeit Bastila's life."
The barrier! The key! The white horde have hid themselves behind a wall of death. Find the Key! The balance is everything!
The green blade extinguished itself. He opened his had toward Izayus.
"I accept."
Izayus deactivated his red blade and clasped the offered hand. "Truth, honor, respect," he intoned. His eyes took on a sudden intensity. "Never forget this, Revan, it is everything we stand for."
Revan nodded. "I have no excuses for myself. I know you are right, and I accept the truth. The agreement shall be as stated."
He felt commitment burning through him once again. For Bastila, for himself, and for the safety of the galaxy, he had to do this. To destroy a race was a terrible thing, he knew, but justice was a cruel taskmaster, and Clan Izaya had avoided its just fate for long enough. He would do this, not for himself, but to bring a measure of peace to an honorable Sith and his daughter, save Bastila, and find the Key.
Darth Revan lived.
Bastila yawned in weariness. The night was dragging on. The woman whose room she shared, Izaya, had offered no conversation and Bastila didn't press her. All she'd said was a warning to Bastila not to try to use her powers on her. She didn't need the warning; she'd intuitively deduced that it would be a mistake to ply the Force on one such as Izaya and had said so. All Izaya replied was that she was glad, a statement which puzzled Bastila.
She knew she was a captive, but nothing about her prison made sense. It was a simple house, set among the rolling foothills of some of Dantooine's most stunning mountains. The room was homely, with a large - albeit shielded - window that provided a healthy view of the starry sky and the dark countryside beyond. Her 'captor' was an attractive and very pregnant young woman who kept silent it seemed more out of shame than spite. The only thing that did make sense to Bastila was her lack of a lightsabre, proving that precautions against her escaping had indeed been made.
Izaya had displayed no objections to her wandering about the house, she simply sat in her rocking chair, intermittently dozing and humming quietly while she sewed. Bastila tried all the outer doors, and not to her surprise found them all locked. But escape wasn't foremost on her mind; she still felt a compulsion to help this strange woman, the same as she had before, but she didn't know how. She wanted to understand, because at the moment, she was very confused.
Bastila was growing increasingly drowsy when she heard a door slide open. She whirled at the sound, instinctively reaching for her lightsabre that wasn't there. She started to call upon the Force, but checked herself again, not wanting to make a mistake of unknown consequences should she unleash it at the wrong person. She didn't what to make of Izaya, but knew she definitely did not want to use the Force against her.
She was suddenly greeted by the astonishing sight of a distinguished older man in full dress attire from what military she knew not, followed by a slender man clad in all black and covered in a long mantle and hood. Fingerless hands hung at his sides.
As Bastila gaped in surprise, the older man gallantly bowed. "Perseus Izayus at your service, my lady."
"I am Bastila," she replied, nonplussed.
Izayus slightly bowed his graying head again, nodding. "Yes, I have spoken with your husband. Thanks to you, he and I have reached an agreement."
"Aliid? Aliid, are you here?" Bastila heard Izaya's voice from down the hall in her room. She emerged seconds later.
"I'm here, Jastine," replied the man in black, drawing back his hood to ruffle short brown hair as he caught sight of Izaya. They embraced each other passionately, sharing a long kiss that reminded Bastila of how much she ached to have Calum hold her in his arms again.
During the short time she'd had to tell him she was alright, she'd seen the same desperation on his face, the same monumental fear of losing her as she remembered only too well from painful times past. She didn't know what agreement he'd made with this man Izayus, but she could readily imagine just how far he'd be willing to go if her safety was concerned.
Izaya pulled back from the kiss breathlessly and gazed at Aliid for a moment before entwining her arm with his and retreating back into her room, closing the door after them.
When the two had disappeared behind the bedroom door, Bastila looked back to Izayus, who stood with a distant, sad smile on his face. "It lifts my heart to see her in such spirits. She so rarely is," he said.
"Forgive me for the forwardness, but who are you?" Bastila asked, confusion inevitably bleeding into her voice.
Izayus gestured to a pair of chairs that sat next to a large picture window, the sill decorated by a collection of fragrant green herbs. He waited for Bastila to seat herself before sitting down opposite her. "First and foremost, milady Bastila, I am a father who is very concerned for his daughter." She made no reaction, already having guessed as such. "Please keep that in your mind when I tell you I am Sith."
Bastila resisted the overpowering urge to take to her feet and assume a fighting stance. Every instinct screamed at her to defend herself, but just like all the rest of her baffling circumstances, things weren't as simple as they might seem. The solemn-faced man sitting across from her had straightforwardly admitted that he was a Sith, and yet here he was, in this house, with a daughter he obviously cared for.
He smiled condescendingly. "I understand your confusion. You Jedi know only the neo-Sith, the lust-driven automatons Exar-Kun and Malak threw at you. I am of the old Sith, from a house who understood the founding principles of the Sith empire. Truth, honor, respect."
Bastila never took her eyes off him. "There is no honor amongst the Sith. Respect is but a facade, and truth is discarded the moment it becomes inconvenient. The Sith follow the path of the Dark Side."
"'The Dark Side' is what the Jedi call anything that does not fit into their stringent view of the universe, milady. Bitterness, rage, and resentment towards the Order creates the monsters you call Sith, who are in reality as far from the Sith as are the Jedi. When the old Sith found the Force in themselves, they kept it solely for themselves. To the Jedi this was evil. Why? Because they preached that anyone with the ability must sacrifice to the common good; give up all their possessions, their very life, and forever serve the never-ending pursuit of absolute justice. The Sith of old were branded the despicable servants of evil incarnate for demanding the right to live as they wished. Tell me, then, which is the greater evil?"
The words rolled so easily off Izayus' tongue, Bastila could tell this was a speech that had been sitting inside him for years and years. It sounded familiar to her; not the words but their deeper meaning. It was almost the same reasoning that had led her and Calum to separate themselves from the Jedi.
"No, my lady," Izayus continued, "there once was integrity within the Sith. What you see now of them is madness, created by centuries of war and bloodshed within the old empires. Sith Lords rose and fell, and gradually only those who ruled with the most cruelty, fought with the most brutality, prevailed. The honorable fell, or were deluded with the same madness." Izayus shook his head. "So here I am with my daughter, my precious Jastine Izaya, whose mother was killed by a stranger in a mask."
A mask! Bastila suddenly thought. She remembered the many sleepless nights she'd listened to Calum mumbling in the midst of his nightmares. Masks--the white horde!
A noise caught her attention, and Bastila straightened herself in the surprisingly comfortable chair; she'd been nodding off. She looked up to see the man Aliid departing from Izaya's bedroom.
"She's asleep," he announced in a respectfully low voice, talking to Izayus. The much older man nodded his bearded head. "I'm going to check on the night," Aliid said.
Izayus stood and handed something to Aliid, a prosthetic device. Aliid held out his fingerless stump and wormed his hand into the device, bending the mechanical fingers reflexively. He repeated the process with a second Izayus held out for him. In another moment, he was gone.
Bastila frowned. "Who is he?"
"Aliid was once one of the neo-Sith," Izayus answered casually. "He was a fresh convert eager for greatness when a lone Jedi woman ripped out the heart of the Sith Assassins and he lost faith in what he had thought was his true calling." A wistful look came to his face. "He came upon us by accident, and he has done something I, in two hundred years had never been able to truly do; bring happiness to my daughter."
Bastila smiled at the sentiment, even if she didn't understand all of it. The two were in love with each other, and she knew how desperately right it felt to hold your dearly beloved in your arms. As she fell back asleep, she thought about how much she longed to hold Calum again. It had only been a few hours, but it already felt like an eternity.
For the seventeen thousand, four hundred forty-eighth time, HK-47's search of the ship turned up nothing threatening. There were absolutely no looters, thieves, bandits, or space pirates within a parsec of the Ebon Hawk's landing pad just outside the Jedi compound on Dantooine, and HK's processor was numbed by the monotony of pulling guard duty over the deserted, unused ship. The only thing that was keeping his directives intact was the fact that even this cruel and insensitive assignment was an assignment from his Master.
During the first few weeks, HK-47 had been kept rather busy repelling a a hungry wave of thieves all eager to get their hands on the ship. Either by poisoning the ship's ventilation systems when they got aboard, gunning them down before they reached it, incinerating them with flamethrowers, blowing them up with grenades, or blasting them to smithereens with the Hawk's laser cannons, HK-47 quickly built a reputation for the ship as 'untouchable' and had been left alone ever since.
Even the vermin were gone by now. Here and there across the floor of the inside cabin were scorch marks where he'd blasted an unfortunate gizka or two into amphibian heaven. The engine room bore a few messy stains from disemboweled mynock corpses.
Conversation with the T3 droid was unstimulating at best. Such minor, unsophisticated droids had no appreciation for the finer points of removing a man's still-living entrails. HK found, more often than not, that the T3 droid would rather run his meaningless diagnostics and pay no attention to his impassioned soliloquies describing the joy of seeing the target's brains splash to the ground.
HK-47 droned a protracted fading note on his vocabulator, just to assure himself it was still functioning properly, and stalked back to the garage to shut down for a cycle.
The ship's sensors woke him early; someone was approaching the cargo ramp.
HK snapped into action, raising his Mandalorian-made heavy ion blaster as he stood ready to blast at anything that might come through. Abruptly, the thought ran through his logic circuits that his booby-traps should have been enough to stop any intruder. He had, after all, had months to formulate his defenses--which, to his immense disappointment, were never tested again.
That meant it was either someone incredibly skilled, incredibly lucky, or someone who knew all his detonation codes. He easily discounted the last possibility. The only one who would know his codes was his Master, the esteemed meatbag Lord Revan.
The cargo ramp swung open, and instead of blasting at the figure it revealed, HK-47 inadvertently overloaded his vocabulator, producing a high-pitched squawk before his fail-safes temporarily disabled the function.
His Master had finally returned.
A harsh noise suddenly woke Bastila and she jerked upright in her chair. She didn't know how long she'd been dozing but there was still no sign of the sun in the sky outside. For a moment she couldn't find the source of the disturbance, until her eyes found the dark, silhouetted form of Aliid staggering into the house.
Blood was dripping from his mechanical fingers.
Izayus had already leaped to the man's side, but Aliid pushed him away, shaking his head. "I'm fine," he insisted, gripping Izayus' arm in urgency.
"Get Izaya out of here, now!" he ordered the older Sith. "They're coming."
Bastila saw for a moment fear overtaking Izayus' face, replaced in an instant by blind rage. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he took a step towards her, his demeanor seething with lethal intent. A red lightsabre ignited in his hands.
"It seems Revan has forfeited your life," Izayus growled, raising his blade.
Bastila finally knew how to react to the man; he was just another Sith. In a moment, he had turned himself from a puzzling enigma into a simple threat, and she knew how to respond to threats. As soon as she'd leapt to her feet, she began concentrating her power into the strongest Force shield she could muster around her right hand. Even weaponless, she was not defenseless. She would defend herself with whatever force was necessary.
She didn't understand what had suddenly driven Izayus to his rage, but she would not die for ignorance.
Just as Izayus was about to swing his sabre, and as Bastila was in the process of parrying with her summoned Force shield, a piercing voice stopped them both in their tracks.
"Father, no!" Izaya, having heard Aliid's warning, stood in the threshold of her bedroom door, fixing her father with a pleading gaze. "She has no part in this. Please don't kill her, Father."
"I warned Revan of the consequences!" Izayus roared, thick veins on his neck bulging in his anger. "He has failed once, he knew the price of a second failure!"
"Please don't, Father," Izaya begged, tears on her face. "No one else should die because of me."
Izayus' furious countenance softened, the blind rage melted from his face. "Of course," he whispered, closing his eyes in despair. "It was too late. It's too late for everything."
Bastila breathed a sigh of relief as he deactivated his lightsabre. His demeanor instantly changed to one of heartfelt regret. "Forgive me," he implored. "I have been guilty of false presumption."
Bastila's resolve faltered, she let her Force shield dissipate.
"This is all very touching," Aliid gruffly interrupted, catching their attention once more. "But they are here for her. We have very little time, Master, we must get Izaya out now."
"Yes, of course," Izayus agreed. He turned to Izaya, who was wearing an expression of grim acceptance. "The Force be cursed, it is too soon!" Izayus swore. "Aliid, you take her into the hills, hide her. I'm going to kill as many of them as I can."
Aliid nodded. "What about her?" He pointed at Bastila.
Izayus pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration. He let out a sigh. "My own name be cursed, I cannot do this," he whispered to himself. He met Bastila's eyes, concern on his face. "Take her, as well. I believe she will help us."
"Who are these people?" Bastila asked, already feeling she was willing to help. Izayus and his daughter were like no other Sith she'd known.
Izayus shook his head urgently. "There is no time for lengthy explanations. You must leave at once. Hide in the hills and keep Izaya safe!"
Aliid grasped her by the arm and gently but insistently pulled her away, towards the back of the house. Izaya had covered herself with a cloak and a black shawl and followed him closely out the rear door into the chilly night outside.
The back door led them straight into a waiting forest, providing them with cover while also shutting off the cold light of the moon. Izaya had grasped Aliid's hand and whispered to Bastila to hold her own and Aliid led them on by feel through the dark woods. Bastila could see nothing ahead or behind her, and relied completely on Izaya's hand gripping hers and Aliid's sporadic warnings and directions to them both.
They traveled in pitch blackness for how long Bastila knew not. By the time they broke out into the open plains, she recognized the pale moonlit hills before them. She knew where they could hide.
"Aliid," she whispered. The slender, nimble man heard her instantly, turned to the sound of her whisper. She gestured with her hands at a line of hills. "There is a grove to the northwest where we can hide."
Aliid nodded knowingly. "The old ruins. Yes, I remember. That is where I am taking you and Izaya. Quiet now," he admonished her. "Like me, they are excellent seekers of their prey. I have not outsmarted them yet, but we can hope to catch them overconfident."
The three of them crept across the exposed plains, Bastila and Izaya following Aliid's example and staying as low to the ground as they could, using whatever concealment presented itself. Bastila was in familiar territory; she'd spent years among these hills living at the nearby Jedi Academy. For an instant she considered whether they might get Masters Vandar and Vrook to help them, but quickly rejected the idea.
They would immediately recognize Aliid as a former Sith; a situation that would demand an explanation she could not provide.
She was acting purely on her Jedi instincts, and they told her to help Izaya, despite knowing what she did about her father--despite what he'd threatened.
They were entering the outskirts of the ancient grove, as safe ground as could be found. Bastila decided it was time for answers. Again tethered to Izaya's hand as Aliid led them both through the trees completely by feel, Bastila tugged gently to get her attention.
"What is it?" Izaya asked in a voice nearly inaudible.
Bastila kept her own voice cautiously low. "Can you tell me about these people you must hide from?"
There was a pause. The darkness of the grove seemed to thicken with the silence. Bastila, stumbling as she tried to follow a path she couldn't see, wondered if it might not have been better not to ask the question.
She heard Aliid growl softly to himself.
Then Izaya's voice broke the silence, quivering. "They are my children..."
The Ebon Hawk made a strange noise as Revan pulled back on the pitch controls, eliciting a loud curse from him that made Juhani blush. The ship gave a hard jolt in reply and Revan continued growling as he insistently prodded the cargo freighter from the surface of the landing pad where it had been docked for half a year.
"Suggestion: Master, instead of attempting to shake apart the entire ship, perhaps you should make use of a more competent pilot."
Revan rolled his eyes at HK-47's unhelpful comment. The rusted assassin droid had done just what he asked for the last six months: Keep anyone and everyone away from the Ebon Hawk. He had done his job admirably, and perhaps more astonishing, had stayed sane. The droid's intimidating presence was enough to ward off any foolish salvagers who came near.
On the other hand, Revan did wish he had a more competent pilot around, as HK-47 had so snidely suggested. He hadn't bothered to fill the droid in on the changes in personnel on the Hawk, most notably in this case the departure of Carth Onasi.
Thinking back, Revan wished the two of them had parted ways on better terms. To be sure, Admiral Onasi was an honorable man, and had agreed to keep his and Bastila's secret, even acknowledging their sacrifices by marrying them on the bridge of his new ship. But after they'd all learned the truth, Onasi had never really been able to accept Calum ever again. He'd fought alongside him in the mission to find the Star Forge and destroy Darth Malak, but whatever trust might have ever existed between the two men was irretrievably lost.
Carth specifically asked him not to make contact with him again after they saw each other last. Revan respected that, but still wished he were around if only so he wouldn't have to be the one to pilot the ship. Carth was up and away a far better pilot than he was.
After the bumpy takeoff, during which a number of lights had come on the console, which he pointedly ignored, Revan was able to smooth out his flight pattern and take to the sky with relative ease, finally comfortable in his amateur flight skills.
He still had no idea where he was going, Izayus had only been able to provide a general area from where he knew the Zayans were coming. Clan Izaya, he'd told him, cloistered on a planet in the Yeven Cluster; a cluster of some eighteen systems. Mentally, Revan went over the list of inhabitable planets within those systems.
Saara was more-or-less inhabitable but dotted with swamps that were toxic to most sentient races. Jyyjen had many fine breweries, but it was favored more by the nobles and politicians, thus casting real doubt on the possibility a Force group could be found there. Parsces and Athet, sister planets, were both thickly inhabited by a variety of races; searching either would be a task that would take years.
Odeth triggered images in his mind. Foggy, indistinct, they were little more than vague notions, but the half-recalled memories made that one planet stick out from the others. He knew the planet Odeth, had been there before as Revan.
He tried to think of everything he remembered about the planet. It was a backwater; a rundown, forgotten heap where once had been thriving colonies, even cities being built. Unfortunately for the last colonization effort, the planet's cyclical climate had changed, as it did every few decades. Lakes dried up, deserts grew, and fresh new wastelands formed all over the planet as much of its moisture was sucked up by its enlarged polar icecaps.
There was something more about the planet, some detail, some noteworthy aspect, that Revan knew he was overlooking. He tried to recall everything he'd heard second-hand about Odeth, either from passing travelers, bar mates, in heated conversation; anything. And then it struck him. Odeth was a mercenary haven; the ghost towns and abandoned cities prime real estate for paralegal and outlaw businessmen. And with its vast wilderness, there was plenty of space for any amount of illegal operations. Perhaps even a Force cult such as Clan Izaya.
It was a place to start.
Breaking free of orbit, Revan made to start setting the hyperspace computer. For a heart-stopping instant, his mind drew a blank, and he panicked.
He had to get to Odeth! For Bastila, for Izayus, for himself; he had to get there! But he couldn't remember!
Stop! Don't think about her, it hurts too much. Focus on the task at hand! Clear your mind and think from the void.
Squeezing the ship's controls reassuringly, Revan took a deep breath and calmly waited a few minutes, letting his suddenly racing heart slow itself down, steadily purging his mind of all thought. He sought the calm center within, the heart of the Force inside him, the void in his mind that allowed him to think and to do without feeling, only need. There was no anger, no rage, no sympathy, no love or compassion, simply bare necessity. Like the eye of a hurricane, that essential null zone without which the fury of the storm could not exist, the calm center within him focused and amplified his will and his power into a single drive.
Serenity through chaos, as was the way of the universe.
A light smile touched Revan's lips as recollection came to him. Within minutes he'd set the hyperdrive, made the jump, and started the journey into that shadowy corner of the galaxy. Odeth was some distance away, a withering fruit on the vine of forgotten trade routes no one used for any legitimate purposes.
An unexpected yawn overtook Revan as his eyelids drooped. His exhaustion was catching up to him rapidly.
"Watch the cockpit, will you HK?" he asked the rust-colored droid. "I'm going to get some sleep."
"Statement: Of course, Master. Observation: Meatbags such as yourself require a certain amount of inactivity; an amount I have noted you often have trouble achieving."
Revan turned to Juhani. "You should go ahead and get some sleep too, Juhani."
She shook her head. "I will stand guard."
"We're completely safe, Juhani. And you need your rest. You're no good to me if you're dead on your feet because you haven't slept in three days."
Crossing her arms, she flashed him a look that seemed to say 'If you say so'.
"Cathar are stronger than humans," she insisted.
Revan smiled. "Get some sleep, Juhani. I could make that an order if it would make you feel better."
Juhani held her scowl, but he could tell she wasn't angry. "Very well, I suppose you are right."
Suppressing another cavernous yawn, Revan pried himself from the pilot's seat, which was already growing dangerously comfortable to his tired limbs. Without even thinking, he shuffled his way to what had once been the men's dormitory. It didn't really matter which anymore, since the Ebon Hawk's old crew had scattered long ago, leaving only him and Juhani. Besides, Juhani would likely just snag a blanket or two and curl up on the floor outside his dorm anyway, huffing at the idea of sleeping on a mattress and more than ten from him.
Revan lay down on his old cot, the one set in the corner farthest from the door, and tossed a few blankets over himself without even bothering to take off his boots. As tired as he was, he didn't fall asleep immediately, laying awake for a few minutes. As he willed the soft mattress to swallow him, he realized how terrible it felt to be alone in bed again. It reminded him of how hopeless he'd felt after Bastila had been captured the first time, by Darth Malak. It had been Mission, of all people, who'd finally convinced him to get some sleep after he spent a solid fifteen hours brooding.
He wanted Bastila very badly, but the time for hopelessness was past. He would get rest, and then would come the time for fighting.
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End Part 5
The song quote is taken from the Symphony X song "Revelation" and is the property of Sir Russel Allen and Michael Romeo.