The soft glow of amber sconces flickered against the polished obsidian walls, casting fractured light along the corridors of Serina Calis' underground fortress. The dark stone, quarried from the very bowels of Rakata Prime, reflected her image in jagged distortions as she walked through the still-growing structure, hands clasped behind her back. A light draft swept through the halls, carrying the scent of freshly cut rock and the distant echoes of workers chipping away at new expansions.Despite the fortress still being under construction, the parts she had deemed most essential were already completed—the war chamber, her private quarters, and, of course, the central atrium where she placed her throne. She had designed it to be a monument, not just to herself, but to the force of will she was cultivating. There was something poetic in the way obsidian—once a chaotic, molten substance—was now shaped into precise, unyielding architecture, much like the Force itself bent to her control.
She ran her fingers along one of the carved reliefs adorning the walls. A Rakatan depiction of conquest and power, now stylized under her own aesthetic direction. Even in something as mundane as architecture, she found herself lording over the past, molding it to fit her vision.
As she entered her study, the massive doors—etched with golden veins running through the stone like captured lightning—slid open at her mere presence. Inside, the air was warmer, more intimate. A long blackwood table sat at the center, its surface covered with datapads, half-rolled schematics, and a few scattered objects of interest, including an old, rusted Rakatan artifact she had yet to decipher.
Serina let out a soft sigh and seated herself at the head of the table, pressing a button on a nearby console. The central holoprojector flickered to life, displaying various logistical reports.
Labor Output: 76% Efficiency
Projected Completion: 7 Cycles (Pending Material Availability)
Fatalities This Rotation: 2
Material Deficit: 14% Below Projection
Structural Integrity of Secondary Passageways: At Risk
Her blue eyes narrowed slightly as she absorbed the data. The laborers—prisoners, mercenaries, and the occasional Force-sensitive acolyte desperate for favor—were falling short of their quotas. No surprise. Mortals had a habit of underperforming when fear alone was used as a motivator. She needed them to understand that failure was not only intolerable but utterly beneath her.
The fatalities were expected. Construction of this scale, under these conditions, was bound to take its toll. Still, she disliked inefficiency. She made a mental note to send a message to Overseer Jarrik, the foreman managing the workforce, and remind him of the difference between discipline and wastefulness. She could afford to replace a few laborers, but not in excess.
Serina swiped through the reports, absently running a single finger along the rim of a crystal glass filled with deep amber liquid. The sound of the gentle ringing hum filled the room. Her mind, however, was elsewhere—caught between the present and the vision of the future she was crafting.
She leaned back in her chair and allowed herself a moment of silence, eyes drifting toward the far end of the chamber where a large, unlit brazier stood. Soon, it would burn with violet flame, a reflection of her power.
But for now…
She needed a distraction.
The rec chamber was still under construction, but one corner had been completed enough for her to indulge in one of the few activities she found personally satisfying beyond the Force—pool.
The table, a sleek, custom-made piece of black marble with crimson felt, stood as an island of civilization amid the fortress' ongoing transformation. It was an indulgence, but one she justified easily. Strategy, precision, control—these were the qualities of a good game, and she enjoyed nothing more than testing them against herself.
Serina picked up a cue, rolling the cool weight of it between her fingers before positioning herself over the table. With a calculated flick of her wrist, she sent the cue ball scattering into the neatly arranged triangle of colored spheres, watching as they ricocheted and dispersed into unpredictable angles.
Much like the galaxy.
She smirked to herself, chalking the tip of the cue stick with smooth, deliberate motions.
Most people would find it strange, she supposed, a Dark Jedi playing something so mundane. But she had always found value in the simple things—when they were properly understood. Everything was an extension of control. The precise calculations of the strike, the way inertia and geometry dictated the path of every ball, how a seemingly chaotic action could be predicted with enough knowledge and skill.
She lined up her next shot, her gaze razor-sharp, and then took it without hesitation.
The Force did not guide her here. Only her own mastery.
A sharp clack rang through the chamber as another ball sank into the corner pocket.
Perfect.
She allowed herself a slow breath. It was moments like this, between the scheming and the pursuit of power, that she remembered she was still, in some ways, a person. It was easy to lose herself in the grand vision, to think only in terms of conquest and control. But it was in these quiet, human rituals—reading reports, making adjustments, playing a game alone in a dimly lit room—that she reminded herself of the truth.
She was not simply an idea, not merely an agent of the Dark Side. She was Serina Calis.
And the galaxy would one day learn the weight of that name.
But for now, she chalked the cue again and took her next shot.
