The Hymn Eternal

[Rugs]

[Content warning: Suicide] “Are you sure this is the way?” Zyria Gafomaar shuffled her feet to the tip of a ledge. Nar Shaddaa’s cityscape, eternal and unending, dropped suddenly away before her, to a dark pit lined with bits of scaffolding and twisted metal that ultimately gave way to darkness. She looked at her older brother. He stood next to her, staring into the abyss. They said a palace once sat in the sky here, until it fell, almost a year ago, crushing everything beneath it. Zyria figured that might be true. Something had put a giant hole in the urban landscape here. Why not a floating palace? “What other way is there?” Aralus looked at her. He was a hair more than a year her elder — 19 years to her 18. His once-lustrous brown fur was dull — almost grey — now. It fell out in patches if something touched it with too much force. There was no telling how much weight he’d lost — he looked a shell of his former self. Zyria was no better. She’d lost much of her coat. She’d grown wan, with bruised violet splotches darkening the skin of her face and hands. Every waking moment brought a new agony as their bodies failed. Zyria could remember when coughing blood was the worst of their worries. “We can stay in the Refugee Quarter and waste away like mom and dad,” Aralus was still talking, “or do... this.” He looked into the pit again. Zyria joined him. If she squinted, she thought she could see something faint, glowing violet deep below. “We can become a part of something greater.” That was what the voice always said. Zyria hated it at first — thought she was going crazy when it started whispering in her skull on the long journey from Bothawui. Yet it seemed to know the right thing to say, when they needed it. It had become a comfort after mom and dad died after arriving on this pit of a world. ”Don’t mourn them,” it had said. ”They’ve joined their voices to the hymn eternal. They live on, in the Chorus.” The voice had brought them here, to this ledge. Now it waited. “Brush your fears aside,” the voice said suddenly. “You will live on. You, like those who have taken this sacred step before you, will help build something great. Something new. The Chorus will gain a second heart and you will be its core.” A long silence. “Is that not the Bothan Way?” Zyria looked into the pit again, and to her brother. “I... I don’t know if I can,” she said. “They’d never approve of this.” “They are dead. What else are we to do?” Aralus asked loudly, sending himself into a coughing fit that saw fresh crimson specks splattered on his trembling hand. “No one can help us. No one wants to help us. It’d just be more days wasting away in the Refugee Quarter with the rest of the dirty Rotters.” His voice twisted at the last — a slur for the ignoble death the Plague bestowed upon its victims. “I’m tired, Z,” he said as she stared at him. “I’m tired of hurting. I’m tired of wondering when this will finally end.” He coughed again, clutching weakly at his ribs. “If this makes the pain stop, and we can contribute to something in the process... then I’ll take it.” “These are our lives, Aralus.” she said. “Maybe if we just wait a bit longer, someone will give us the help we need an-” “No one’s curing this Z,” He said. “You know it. I know it. We were doomed the moment they turned us away at Circumtore.” Maybe even before then. Zyria's vision blurred. Her eyes were wet. They'd sought desperate passage away from Bothawui as the Plague took root on the world. Checkpoints into the Republic were overwhelmed. Their pilot — a freelancer who meant well but was in over his head — took them to Circumtore. The ringworld had been turned into a safe haven for those looking to escape the Plague's grasp. But they'd been denied entry. Bothawui was already compromised. The risk of allowing the Plague to gain a foothold was too great. “Your lives are no longer your own,” the voice was forceful, but calming. Yet that couldn’t quell the rock of fear in Zyria’s stomach. “Fear not,” it said. “One step, at you will sing in victory, everlasting, with us. We will welcome you. As will they. They are waiting for you.” The silent sobs hurt. Her lungs struggled fitfully, painfully, for every breath. Her eyes burned as tears began to flow. “I’m scared,” she whimpered. Aralus was there, hugging her weakly. “Me too, Z. But we can do this together, okay?” After a long moment, she nodded against his shoulder. He stepped away and turned his back to the pit and reached an outstretched hand to her. Zyria turned her back to the pit and, breathing deeply against her body’s protests, took her brother’s hand. They looked at each other and stepped back. ”Welcome, brother and sister,” the voice said, triumphant as the ledge rushed up and up away from them. “Our songs will forever remember you.” Nal Hutta and its thin ring filled most of the sky above as Zyria looked up. As they tumbled ever down, she saw a deep violet glow splashed against the blurred walls. It was beautiful.