It is done.

The blade I once envisioned in fragments—crystal by crystal, part by part—has now come together. Not through ceremony. Not through Jedi meditation. But through focus, will, and the weight of history.

I returned to the war-scarred vaults of Clan Krann to complete the construction. In silence, beneath banners that now answer to me, I laid out the components as though they were sacred relics. The crimson-hued crystal from Darth Arctis, taken from his tomb beneath Korriban’s sands, rested at the center—dark, patient, pulsing with the intellect of a Sith long gone but never forgotten. It seemed to recognize my presence, as if it had been waiting for this moment.

The hilt, forged from Virok Krann’s armor, had cooled in the forge for days—quenched in oils, acid-etched with the glyphs of victory, and engraved with the sigil of Clan Krann, now my own. I held it not as a mere weapon, but as a testament to the path I have walked.

The Ilum focusing crystals—three in perfect alignment, one inverted—sat beside it, amplifying the strength of the primary kyber. Jedi hands once sought these, but I claimed them first.

The power assembly components, pried from the Jedi Temple on Tython in complete silence, fit together with careful precision. The diatium power cell from a forgotten vault. The field conductor was once used in a training saber. The vortex ring and insulator were salvaged from research chambers. Each part, not simply taken from the Jedi, but from their history. Their hopes.

The assembly was not without its struggles. The blade resisted at first. The Force—both Light and Dark—shifted unpredictably as I aligned the core. I did not meditate. I guided it, commanded it, shaping it with intent and determination. With each adjustment, with each recalibration of the crystal matrix, I molded the energy to my will.

And then—it ignited.

A deep crimson blade emerged, steady and resolute, as the hum filled the chamber. At first, the sound was almost imperceptible, but then it grew strong and unwavering. The kyber crystal, once silent under the Jedi’s influence, now sang through the conduit of my command.

This is not a Jedi’s weapon, nor is it a mere relic. This is a Sith’s blade—born of conquest, shaped by legacy, and wielded by one who recognizes only strength and determination.

It is a reflection of my purpose.

It is the embodiment of my resolve.

It is the response to doubt—and the dawn of my path.

Let the galaxy take note. I am armed.