Darth Nox: The Master of the Force

A thousand years had passed. In the stillness of Lehon, time itself had been frozen, yet Darth Nox's mind had been in constant motion. The knowledge of the Sith, the Jedi, the ancients, and the countless ghosts he had absorbed throughout his life had been fully processed. His mind was no longer a chaotic battlefield of voices and memories; it was a meticulously ordered archive, a vast repository of wisdom and power. Every lesson, every memory, every secret of the Force he learned was now his, woven into the very fabric of his being.

And yet, Nox did not wake.

His body remained suspended in stasis, frozen in time like the world around him. The currents of the Force swirled around his mind, but his physical form was locked in place, unresponsive to his will. For the first time in over a millennium, Nox felt something he had not felt in centuries—frustration.

He had done everything the Force had asked of him. He had endured the torment of absorbing countless ghosts, integrating their knowledge into his own. He had mastered both the light and dark sides of the Force, becoming something greater than either Sith or Jedi. And yet, the Force had not released him. His body remained trapped, as if the universe itself refused to acknowledge his newfound power.

At first, Nox raged.

In the silence of his mind, his anger burned like a supernova, consuming everything in its path. The Force had always been his ally, his weapon, his tool to bend the galaxy to his will. But now, it had become his captor, binding him in a prison of time and stasis. He cursed the Force, cursed the ghosts he had absorbed, cursed the very fabric of reality for keeping him trapped in this endless limbo.

But no amount of anger could change his circumstances. His mind was free, but his body was bound by forces beyond his control. And the longer he raged, the more he began to realize the futility of it. The Force did not respond to his anger. It did not care for his frustration. The currents of the universe flowed on, indifferent to his plight.

Gradually, his anger subsided, replaced by a cold, calculating acceptance. Nox had never been one to allow emotions to cloud his judgment for long. He was a Sith, but he was also a strategist, a master of manipulation. If the Force had placed him in this situation, then there had to be a reason. There had to be something he had not yet understood.

He turned his mind inward, focusing on the task that lay before him. The voices of the ghosts he had absorbed were silent now, their knowledge fully integrated into his own. The ancient Sith Lords, the Jedi he had slain, even the vast presence of Vitiate and Revan—none of them could offer any further guidance. Their purpose had been fulfilled.

But what was Nox's purpose now?

He had always believed that power was the ultimate goal, the driving force behind everything. Power to shape the galaxy, to bend others to his will, to conquer and dominate. But now, with the knowledge of millennia at his fingertips, he saw the hollowness in that pursuit. Power was a means, not an end. And for the first time in his life, Nox was forced to confront a question he had never truly considered: What did he want?

The galaxy had moved on without him. Odessen, Zakuul, the Eternal Alliance—those were relics of a past long gone. The Empire and the Republic had likely changed beyond recognition. Nox had no ties to that world anymore, no allies, no enemies. Everything he had once fought for had faded into history. Even the Force itself felt distant, its currents shifting in ways he could no longer predict.

A lesser Sith might have been consumed by despair at this revelation. But Nox was not weak. He had always been a survivor, adapting to any challenge that came his way. If the galaxy had moved on, then so would he. The Force had placed him in this stasis for a reason, and if it would not reveal that reason to him now, he would wait.

But waiting was not the same as idleness. Nox's mind remained sharp, constantly analyzing, constantly planning. He began to think of the possible tasks that might await him when he finally awoke. The Force had guided him here to Lehon, to the cradle of the Rakata, the ancient species that had once enslaved the galaxy. There was power in this place, power that even Nox did not fully understand.

The thought crossed his mind that perhaps his task was not yet complete. Perhaps the Force was preparing him for something greater, something beyond even his current understanding. Nox had always sought to master the Force, but what if the Force sought to master him? What if this stasis, this endless imprisonment, was not a punishment but a preparation?

The thought angered him once more, but this time the anger was colder, more controlled. He hated the idea of being a pawn in some greater scheme, even if that scheme was the will of the Force itself. He had spent his entire life bending others to his will—now, it seemed, the Force was doing the same to him.

But there was also a strange sense of opportunity in the thought. If the Force had a plan for him, then that plan must involve something greater than anything he had experienced before. The galaxy had changed, but Nox had changed as well. He was no longer bound by the limitations of a Sith or a Jedi. He was something more, something new.

In the stillness of his mind, Nox began to contemplate what that might mean. The power he had gained, the knowledge he had absorbed—it had all been leading to this moment. The galaxy had always been a place of conflict, a place where the light and dark sides of the Force battled for dominance. But Nox had transcended that battle. He had become a master of both, a being who could walk the line between light and dark without being consumed by either.

Perhaps that was his purpose. Perhaps the Force had been preparing him to be something more than just a Sith Lord, more than just a conqueror or a ruler. Perhaps he was meant to become the embodiment of balance, the one who could bring order to the chaos of the galaxy.

The thought intrigued him. Nox had always craved power, but this was a different kind of power—one that went beyond mere domination. To be the master of both light and dark, to be the one who could unite the disparate forces of the galaxy—that was a goal worthy of his ambition.

But even as he considered this, Nox knew there was no guarantee. The Force was a fickle thing, and its will was not always clear. He might awaken from this stasis with a new purpose, or he might remain trapped in this prison forever. The future was uncertain, and that uncertainty gnawed at him.

Still, Nox had always thrived in the face of uncertainty. It was in the unknown that he found his greatest challenges, his greatest opportunities. And so, as he let go of his anger, his frustration, and his hatred, he embraced the possibility that lay before him.

There was nothing more he could do. He had learned all there was to learn, absorbed all the knowledge the Force had to offer him. Now, all that remained was to wait. But this time, he would not wait in anger or frustration. He would wait with purpose, with patience.

The galaxy might have forgotten Darth Nox, but he had not forgotten the galaxy. And when he awoke—whether it was in a year, a century, or another millennium—he would be ready.

As his thoughts settled, a strange calm washed over him, deeper than any he had ever known. The currents of the Force flowed around him, cradling him in their embrace. He could sense the vastness of the universe, the endless possibilities that awaited him.

And then, without warning, Nox's mind began to drift. The clarity of his thoughts faded, replaced by a soothing, dreamlike haze. For the first time in over a thousand years, he felt the pull of sleep.

It was a deep, peaceful slumber, one that carried with it the promise of renewal. Whatever awaited him on the other side—whatever tasks the Force had in store—Nox would face them with the full weight of his power and knowledge.

But for now, he would rest.

And as his consciousness faded into the depths of sleep, one final thought lingered in his mind:

This was not the end. It was only the beginning.