Gareth died slowly. Painfully. Not with thunder, but with quiet, aching surrender.
The world had given him no kindness. His body had been a cage from birth, a prison of brittle bones and burning nerves. Yet even as it broke him, he never gave in. He endured not because he was brave—but because he had Star Wars.
He didn't worship the Jedi. He admired them. But it was the Sith who fascinated him. Not the cartoon villains or comic-book tyrants. The ones who knew. The ones who understood that power—true power—was the only thing that could shape the galaxy.
Palpatine. Sidious. The Emperor.
The greatest mind in the galaxy, wasted by vanity and rage.
As Gareth's life flickered out, he thought only one thought:If I had that power... I would not fall.I would not be consumed. I would rise—and rule fate itself.
And then… the stars blinked out.