Chapter Text
“A man can have anything, if he is willing to sacrifice everything.”
Lord Valkorion seemed to live by those words day after day, passing them down to Thexan and Arcann, his twin sons. Zillian wasn’t so familiar with the saying, but it seemed to be something his emperor believed strongly in. Valkorion was rarely attentive to anything outside of his duty to lead Zakuul, but seeing him was enough to inspire someone to become a knight. It was why the House of Vehirk was a line of Knights of Zakuul serving the royal family, most younglings of the House trained by Senya Tirall.
“Again.” She would say whenever someone fell from a hit, sternly, but commanding respect.
“And again.” She would continue making the kids stand up, until they couldn’t.
In her eyes there was something deeper than duty, something that Zillian couldn’t exactly understand; it was sadness, the sadness of a mother working children to the bone as if they were tools, weapons for her husband to use. But Zillian was taught by his father that to be a weapon wielded by the Eternal Emperor was a blessing, so he persisted.
But in his eyes, full of wonder about the world, the true blessing was the Emperor’s twin sons. During mornings he’d catch Arcann and Thexan sparring, with some more experienced Zakuul Knights. Sometimes the boys would dominate the battlefield, some others they’d lose, but Thexan always seemed to have a smile on his face and cheer Arcann up. But Zillian, he was too shy to approach, and he wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for Senya.
“Zillian.” She was dusting off his practice saber, handing it to the boy with a smile. “Why don’t you go practice with my boys today? I think you can use the break.”
His golden eyes lit up, reminding Senya of a bright yellow flower, still blooming. “Really? Can I really, Lady Senya?”
“But of course, just remember, don’t go easy on them.” And with a last warning, Senya just gave him a small push on his back.
That morning Zillian spent more time practicing than usual, but it was the first time that he laughed, had fun, experienced something other than the feeling of humiliation or achievement he had with the other Knights. Arcann was a bit rough around the edges, shielded off, guarded against others. But Thexan was welcoming, warm, kind, and assured Zillian that his brother was just ‘that kind of a grumpy guy’.
The rare mornings became routine soon enough, because apparently his skills with the blade were a good practice for the twins. Most often he did win, his physical attunement with a sword was greater than the one of his sons, Valkorion could see it. So he started watching the young boy closely, silently observing and sometimes giving him nods of approval, which was more than he ever did with his own flesh and blood.
“With your birth comes a solemn vow; you will have nothing. Your privilege is the dirt. In the darkness, only ambition will guide you. The oath you swear, the promises you make, they are yours… Alone.”
When it was time to swear as a Knight of Zakuul, Valkorion gave him the honor of being in the Royal Guard right away, calling him the ‘New Light of the Knights’. But the Emperor made sure that he understood that he would have to earn everything, that much like his own sons he’d have no privileges, and that whatever burdens he carried would be on his shoulders alone for him to handle.
Zillian was presented his armor in the throne room, Valkorion praising the rise of a new era for the Knights of Zakuul. He was handed a new lightsaber hilt, parts, and a bright yellow crystal. When he looked up at his ruler, Valkorion nodded, turned around, and took his position upon the Eternal Throne. Senya looked with intensity in her eyes, afraid for him, nervous that this boy, still a child, would fail and Valkorion would be disappointed… But he didn’t. The lightsaber soon came together, pieces clicking like a puzzle, and soon a beam of bright yellow buzzed from the emitter.
Valkorion pridefully smiled from his throne, but there was something in that smile that made Zillian shiver. He brushed it aside, looking around to see Thexan and Arcann, waiting to see his friends’ reaction… But his eyes met with just Thexan’s, who gave him a soft smile, even if his gaze screamed a silent apology.
“Your freedom will be the wars you wage.”
Most members of the Royal Guard remained back, protecting Valkorion and his children… But not Zillian. Valkorion was always eager to send him off to fight battles in the name of Zakuul, and then his battles became stories. Accompanied by Thexan and Arcann, Zillian had started to feel as if that is what he was meant to do, and found a purpose… That was until they started raiding the core worlds, wars in the name of Zakuul happened all over the galaxy, and Zillian was very often positioned in the front lines.
“Zillian… Don’t you get tired? Most Royal Knights stay back home, on Zakuul. You are being assigned mission after mission by father all the time.” Thexan pointed out as they were on a shuttle back to Zakuul, at least for a day or two at most. “You must have seen more battlefields than veteran soldiers at this point.”
“I guess you could say that…” smiling a bit he looked at Thexan and Arcann, but the latter looked away. “But at least I do it with friends.”
“Don’t let father hear you say that.” Thexan chuckled, giving him a nudge with his elbow to the side. “He won’t favor you anymore if you do.”
“Then maybe he should.” Arcann gritted his teeth, breathing out a breath he was holding for far too long. “Maybe it is about time to not have father’s favor for once.”
Thexan furrowed his brows and frowned. “Arcann…”
But his brother just went quiet and looked away. It wasn’t always like that, Zillian remembered Arcann being excited to fight, to explore the wilderness of Zakuul together, after a handful of mornings sparring when they were kids his guard had dropped and they had become best friends… Until the Emperor’s favoritism and interest had started showing.
“Your birthright, the losses you suffer.”
Zillian remembered the day he returned, scarred, alone, with nothing but his lightsaber clenched tightly in his hand.
He had failed.
He was sent alone, ordered by Arcann and Thexan to go to the other side of the planet they were raiding to cover more ground; and he failed to pull through. Every single man, all the Knights that followed him fell one after the other. He didn’t seek sympathy, or anything as a matter of fact, because he remembered Valkorion telling him that it was what he was born for. Losses was a right only a select few had the right to suffer, and to be worthy of being a Knight of Zakuul you should overlook them.
Thexan apologized, tried to comfort him, but Zillian brushed him off. Arcann on the other hand just scowled at the holo call they got from their father, with Valkorion claiming that the Knights they lost were valuable progress, and that if the raid failed it wasn’t because of Zillian, but because of poor leadership choices.
Once Valkorion disconnected the call, and before Zillian could leave, Arcann crushed the holo-transmitter using the Force, kicking sand over its remains and walking away, leaving Thexan and Zillian wondering what was going on with Arcann the past few months… But maybe it was more than just months, maybe it was years… And Zillian just came to realize that losing soldiers in a fight wasn’t what he had to face, but losing friends as the war progressed was, and it was far more painful than what he had imagined.
“Your entitlement, the pain you endure.”
Pain.
Torture.
He had felt his soul being ripped out of his body while they raided Korriban. He was leading a squad inside the Sith Temples, fighting valiantly and winning… Until a huge quake shook them down to their knees, and beyond that there was a scream.
Leaving his men behind with orders, Zillian jumped over rumble and stones, leaping over fallen obelisks, only to reach the open fields of Korriban and face an ongoing battle. He drew his lightsaber and rushed through, slicing through bodies, piling up kills as he went. But his mind was focused on the screams ahead, and when he reached the source of them, his eyes went wide.
There was Arcann, lying down on the burning sand, his face burnt, his left arm completely missing. Thexan was holding his right hand in his, tightly squeezing as a method to mitigate the pain his brother was feeling. But the emergency medical unit they had on the battlefield wasn’t enough, Zillian knew, but he also knew that they couldn’t win without Thexan’s guidance. So when the droids left Arcann’s side, with the prince cladded in white barely conscious, the Royal Knight picked him up on his shoulders and locked eyes with the other royal commander.
“Thexan… Keep moving forward, bring victory for Zakuul. I will take Arcann back to one of our medical frigates, he will be fine… I promise you.” He made that promise alone, and he knew the heaviness that laid within those words.
At his promise, Thexan nodded and then dashed off, opposite from where Zillian was headed. But when they returned to Zakuul, they were victorious indeed… And yet, Zillian was dubbed as a hero. It was Thexan’s leadership that led them to victory, and Arcann’s persistence… But instead, Valkorion portrayed a different battle, where his sons rushed in without confirmation from the Eternal Throne, and Arcann was still alive because Zillian was there to save and protect him.
“And when darkness finds you, you will face it, alone.”
After Korriban, Valkorion had started seeing what he wanted.
His son, Arcann, was fueling with rage and unstable envy. Jealous over the young knight, over the lavish attention he was getting. The Emperor had dubbed Zillian ‘The Hero of the Eternal Empire’, he was an icon for Zakuul, and that made Arcann’s anger ferment even faster. So he had started using his best asset as a conquering tool.
Of course Zillian didn’t complain. He missed being with ‘friends’ or at least acquaintances on missions, but he knew that it was a sacrifice he was willing to make, for Zakuul. And yet, when he returned from one of the Core Worlds, he heard news from Valkorion that blurred everything, making all the praises become nothing but buzzing echoes.
“I have to inform you, Thexan passed away during a training accident. Now…” the Emperor kept talking, but the rest fell to deaf ears.
Thexan was gone… Arcann’s bright eyes were dulled and clouded by a darkness Zillian couldn’t bear to look at directly… And he? He was the Light of Zakuul, the Hero of the Eternal Empire, the Burning Hope of the Royal Guards… And with all those titles, all the praise from Valkorion, from his fellow knights, from the people of Zakuul… Zillian felt empty.