Weaver of Fates
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Alina Tremiru
The moon hung silent and desolate above the lifeless world below, its surface a barren expanse of cragged rock and dust. The cold bite of the void seeped into its thin atmosphere, the only sound the distant hum of shield generators and the rhythmic patrol of Jedi sentinels. Hidden away beneath the lunar crust, buried under layers of durasteel and secrecy, lay the repository—a bastion of stolen history and power. It contained ancient relics of the Jedi Order as well as artifacts of Sith, and other force aligned organizations, origin. The wealth of knowledge held within was immeasurable.
The Jedi thought that wealth belonged to them.
Darth Callidus stood at the precipice of this forgotten place, her dark cloak billowing slightly in the artificial gravity of the installation's perimeter. Beyond the sheer drop, the facility sprawled before her, a testament to the Jedi's hypocrisy. They claimed to be the keepers of balance, the arbiters of wisdom, and yet they hoarded knowledge like misers, sealing away relics they feared, artifacts they could not destroy, truths too dangerous for their fragile philosophy.
They should have known better.
Her journey here had not been without purpose. The attack on the Chapterhouse had been more than an act of destruction—it had been a message. A test. Along with the rest of the stations devastation at the hands of the Seed of Rage, the Jedi too had fallen under its dark influence. Their reserve broken, they had been unable to protect the secrets they had sought to seclude from the galaxy. Callidus had found the records in their archives, and once the efforts of the Sith Ascendant Order had been completed on the space station, she had taken her leave.
And now, she was here.
The repository was formidable. A subterranean fortress built into the lunar crust, its outer structure reinforced against orbital assault, its entrances shielded by layered defenses designed to deter even the most determined invaders. Watchtowers lined the approach, their sensor arrays sweeping the barren landscape. Automated turrets, programmed to respond to the slightest unauthorized movement, stood as silent sentinels along the perimeter. And beneath it all, she could feel them—the Jedi, meditating, preparing, waiting.
They had felt the disturbance in the Force. They knew something was coming. But they were not prepared for her.
Callidus exhaled slowly, feeling the darkness coil around her like a living thing. She had not come with an army. She did not need one. The Jedi believed strength was measured in numbers, in the rigidity of discipline, in the fortifications they built around their fragile ideals. But true strength was the ability to break such illusions with nothing more than a whisper.
Her gloved fingers traced the hilt of one of her lightsabers as she surveyed the facility below. There were many ways to break into such a place—some relied on brute force, others on subtlety. But she had always preferred something more... elegant. The Jedi were already afraid. Fear was the key, the blade that would cut through their defenses long before she ever stepped inside.
A subtle tilt of her head, and the Force whispered back to her. The echoes of the repository called to her, murmuring with secrets long buried. Dark artifacts pulsed in the depths below, their power muted but not forgotten. They were waiting.
She would not keep them waiting any longer.
