Chapter III
The orange eye burned like a distant star on the verge of collapse, its searing light casting elongated shadows across the cavernous hall beyond the doorway. It was not the cold, sterile glow of modern technology, nor was it the calculated illumination of a tactical display. It was something older, something that pulsed like the last embers of a dying fire, flickering between life and oblivion. And yet, even in its faded, fractured state, the machine's gaze was piercing, its singular lens fixed unblinkingly on her.
The factory stirred.
The air was thick with a low, mechanical hum, resonating through the stone and metal alike. It was not the idle drone of dormant machinery but something deeper, more deliberate. It was a sound that carried weight, a sound that acknowledged the passage of time and the presence of something new. It was waking up.
Serina did not step back.
The House Calis Guards held their positions, their discipline preventing them from outright retreat, but she could feel their unease. The subtle shifts in their stance, the way their hands hovered near their weapons—they were soldiers, trained to face the unknown, but this?
This was something they did not understand.
The workers were gone. They had vanished the moment the factory had stirred, scrambling back up the excavation tunnels like frightened vermin fleeing a collapsing burrow. They had felt something—perhaps not the power itself, but the weight of it—and they had run.
Serina barely noticed their absence.
Her focus was singular, her thoughts a controlled whirlwind of calculation. She cared only for what stood before her.
For what lay beyond the threshold.
The automaton in the doorway shifted, dust cascading from its massive frame in a slow, silent avalanche. Its form, once obscured by time, was now revealed—sleek, elongated limbs of obsidian-black metal, polished yet etched with intricate Rakatan engravings that pulsed dimly, responding to the factory's newfound energy. Its frame was not purely mechanical, nor was it organic. It was something in between—a fusion of science and will, a relic from an empire that had long since turned to dust.
This was no mere droid.
No mindless construct, no assembly-line worker.
This was a guardian.
And it had just awoken.
Serina did not hesitate. She extended a hand, her fingers outstretched, reaching through the Force toward the machine.
The reaction was instantaneous.
A deep, electronic thrum rippled outward, shaking the very foundations of the chamber. The air vibrated with unseen currents of energy, the ancient conduits shuddering as the machine's engravings flared with cascading patterns of amber light, shifting, rearranging—recognizing.
Then—
A voice.
It did not emerge from a speaker. It did not reverberate through the air.
It was projected directly into her mind.
"WHO COMMANDS?"
Serina's fingers twitched.
It had spoken in Rakatan, yet her mind processed it effortlessly. Not because she had studied the language—but because the machine had forced her to understand.
It was testing her.
She straightened, lifting her chin slightly.
"I do," she said, her voice a blade honed to precision. "Serina Calis."
Silence.
The walls of the factory pulsed in time with the deep hum of unseen mechanisms. The ancient conduits flickered, patterns of amber luminescence flowing through them like dying embers reigniting into flame. It was as if the entire structure was listening.
Then—
"NOT RAKATA."
A low, reverberating churn echoed from deeper within the factory, the sound of gears and machinery awakening for the first time in thousands of years.
Then—a second eye flickered to life, distant and buried deeper within the darkness beyond.
More were waking up.
Serina did not waver.
"No," she admitted, her voice even. "But I am your superior now."
The automaton shifted—not aggressively, but curiously.
For something that had been buried beneath the surface for countless centuries, it was not hostile. It did not attack, did not lash out.
It was assessing.
Calculating.
"YOU… CLAIM… AUTHORITY."
The factory rumbled in response.
The power that had once been fractured and scattered now surged through the structure in disjointed pulses. The walls shuddered as dormant systems flickered back to life, their displays still corrupted but reorganizing, struggling to remember what they had once been.
And yet—
It did not reject her.
Serina exhaled slowly through her nose.
That was telling.
The Rakata had ruled through will, through dominance. Their technology obeyed only those who proved worthy.
And Serina—
Serina was nothing if not worthy.
She stepped forward.
Not cautiously. Not hesitantly. With purpose.
Past the House Calis Guards. Past the threshold. Past the stale, dust-laden air that had not been disturbed in millennia.
The guardian did not stop her.
Instead—
It stepped aside.
The guards tensed, their weapons half-raised, but Serina barely noticed.
Her attention was elsewhere.
The interior of the factory stretched before her, its scope far grander than she had imagined. The main hall was vast, cavernous—larger than any known Rakatan ruins she had ever encountered. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, vanishing into darkness where massive metal beams twisted into intricate latticework, forming the skeleton of an empire long buried.
Rows of inactive war machines lined the hall, their sleek frames suspended in cradles, their surfaces layered with dust and time.
Some she recognized—Rakatan battle-drones, their unsettlingly organic frames still intact despite their age. Others…
Others were something else.
Serina's gaze swept across the walls, taking in the inscriptions. Ancient symbols, etched deep into the blackened metal, their meanings unclear—but she could feel them.
The power that thrummed through them.
This was not just a factory.
It was a forge.
And it was not dead.
She stepped forward, slowly raising a hand, pressing her palm against the nearest control panel.
The metal was cold.
But beneath it, she could feel something pulsing.
Through the Force, she could sense its purpose.
This place had been designed to build.
To create weapons.
To manufacture war.
She inhaled, a slow, measured breath.
And for the first time in years, a new thought crept into her mind.
What if I didn't just control this place?
What if I made it work again?
The possibilities unfolded before her, vast and endless.
This was not a dead ruin.
The machines were dormant, not destroyed.
The power was fractured, not extinguished.
She could restore it.
She could bend it to her will.
This factory—this remnant of a forgotten empire—could become hers.
Serina's fingers curled against the panel.
A slow, deliberate smile flickered across her lips.
And in the darkness—
The machines waited.
