(Continuing from https://www.starwarsrp.net/ams/mundane-realities.5742/ )The silence that followed after the meeting was not comforting, nor was it oppressive—it simply existed, filling the space like a presence all its own, stretching across the smooth, polished obsidian walls, pressing against the towering ceiling, settling like dust in the air. It was the kind of silence that lingered, that sat heavy and unmoving, waiting for something.
Serina remained at the head of the long black table, her fingers idly tapping against its cold surface. A rhythm. Slow, methodical, but absentminded. The reports lay before her in neatly arranged stacks, the data projected in shimmering blue light across the table's surface. The numbers were still fresh in her mind—supply deficits, labor quotas, structural integrity reports, security assessments—but they no longer held her attention.
Her thoughts had drifted, spiraling outward in that strange, quiet way they often did when she was alone.
She should get up. Should return to overseeing the construction. Should be doing something.
And yet, she lingered.
It wasn't exhaustion—not physical, at least. She was meticulous in caring for herself, ensuring that her body was never a weakness. No, this was something else, something deeper, more intangible.
The weight of it.
She was not merely building a fortress. She was constructing something vast, something that would stand against time itself, something that would outlive her, stretching beyond her reach like the ripples of a stone cast into a still lake. Control. That was what it was. That was what she had spent her life chasing, shaping herself into something unstoppable, something that would never be controlled.
But control was a hungry thing.
It demanded everything.
She reached for her glass, finding only the faintest remnants of amber liquid at the bottom. She stared at it for a moment, watching how the light caught in the curved crystal, bending and refracting. The color reminded her of something—distant firelight, the glow of a forge, the dying embers of a star.
Then, before she could lose herself any further, the doors burst open.
The thunk of heavy boots against the obsidian floor shattered the quiet. Sharp, disciplined, military precision. The sound cut across the chamber like a blade, bringing her mind back into focus.
Serina did not startle. She merely turned her head, her piercing blue eyes flickering toward the source of the interruption.
House Calis Guards.
A trio of them, clad in their striking armor of yellow, red, and black, standing rigid in formation just beyond the threshold. Their helmets—reminiscent of warriors from the Old Republic—caught the dim lighting, the golden plates reflecting faintly. The black stripe running down the center of each helm gave them an air of severe finality, an unspoken authority.
Serina did not rise. Not yet.
She simply studied them, noting the faint tension in their posture, the way one of them shifted slightly, as if eager to speak but holding himself back.
That was unusual.
The House Calis Guard were trained. Disciplined. They did not rush.
"Speak," she commanded, her voice even, controlled.
The lead guard stepped forward, removing his helmet with a smooth, practiced motion. He was a man of middle age, his face weathered, marked by years of service. His expression was tight, his mouth set in a grim line.
Serina's gaze sharpened.
"We've found something, Lady Calis."
Her fingers curled slightly against the table.
"What?"
A hesitation.
That, more than anything, caught her attention.
He was struggling to explain.
"We… don't know," he admitted, his voice carefully measured. He glanced at the others, as if searching for the right words. "It was uncovered in the lower excavation site. The dig team was breaking through one of the Rakatan substructures when they found it."
A pause.
"They won't go near it."
Serina's expression did not change, but inside—inside, something shifted.
Not fear.
Not concern.
Curiosity.
Because what she had just heard was not rational hesitation. It was fear.
Not from the guards—not yet. But from the workers.
That was telling.
She stood, smooth and deliberate.
"Explain."
The guard exhaled through his nose, as if steadying himself.
"It's… ancient, Lady Calis. Older than anything else we've found so far. The markings—we don't recognize them."
Serina narrowed her eyes. "Rakatan?"
He hesitated. "Yes. But different. We sent for translators, but they—" He stopped, swallowing. "They won't stay near it."
Serina's head tilted slightly.
"Because?"
The silence that followed was thicker than before.
Finally—
"Because they say it's alive."
A flicker of something passed through her.
Not alarm. Not disbelief.
Something colder.
Something that thrilled her.
Serina did not believe in superstition. She did not cower before the unknown.
The Force was hers to command.
And history—all of history—was meant to be understood. Not feared.
And yet…
She had spent years studying ancient ruins, combing through the forgotten remnants of civilizations that had risen and fallen long before the modern galaxy had even begun to take shape.
She knew that some things were not meant to be forgotten.
And some things were.
Her fingers flexed slightly at her sides.
Then, without hesitation, she spoke.
"Show me."
The guards saluted sharply, spinning on their heels, leading her toward the excavation site.
Serina followed.
Her steps were unhurried—but purposeful.
Her mind was already moving, already anticipating, already peeling away possibilities like layers of an ancient tome.
Something had been unearthed.
Something old.
Something that had been buried for a reason.
