Private Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Korriban.

The name alone carried weight, an echo of history carved into stone, into bone, into the very fabric of the Dark Side itself. It was a world of ghosts, of whispers in the wind, of power lingering in every grain of red sand. A graveyard of gods and monsters, where the past never truly rested.

And it was the perfect place for Sable's next lesson.

Serina stood at the entrance of a tomb older than the Republic itself, a structure carved into the valley walls, its massive stone doors still scarred with the warnings of those foolish enough to think the dead could be kept undisturbed. The air was thick with the weight of ancient power, the very foundation humming with energy, calling to her like an old lover's whisper.

She closed her eyes, breathing it in. Letting it fill her.

The shadows coiled around her, slithering like oil, slipping beneath her skin, into the spaces where her heart had once been. They were always there—it was always there.

"You're impatient today," the voice purred, slipping into her mind like silk, thick with humor, sharp with something else. "Planning something delicious, I assume?"

Serina exhaled a slow breath, a smirk playing at her lips. "Always."

The presence curled around her spine, settling against her thoughts with the familiarity of an old companion. Her future, or at least the piece of it that slithered through her like a whisper of inevitability. It was not a separate being, not truly—it was her, just beyond the veil, a voice from the path she was already walking.

"I do hope this one lasts," the voice mused, amusement dripping from every syllable. "You've grown so terribly fond of breaking things, like your eye, or your bones..."

Serina tilted her head, eyes flicking to the dark mouth of the tomb before her. "She's already broken," she murmured, tracing a fingertip along the stone beside her, feeling the way the Dark Side thrummed beneath her touch. "I'm simply refining the pieces."

A rich chuckle echoed through her skull. "Refining? Darling, you're savoring."

Serina hummed, amused. "You disapprove?"

"Oh, never," the voice crooned. "Watching you mold her is utterly intoxicating. The way she bends beneath your hand, the way she looks at you—" A pause, heavy with meaning. "She adores you. You could ask her to shatter, and she'd thank you for it."

Serina smiled, sharp and knowing. "She will."

The shadows deepened, the presence curling tighter around her mind, around the hollow space where something softer might have once lived. "Tell me," it purred, "when you finally take everything from her—every thought, every doubt, every desperate little piece she's clinging to—what will you give her in return?"

Serina turned her gaze to the horizon, watching as the sky burned with Korriban's eternal dusk.

"Purpose."

The word lingered in the air between them, undeniable, absolute.

The presence sighed, indulgent, delighted. "You always were a romantic."

Serina's smirk widened. "I prefer the term thorough."

The laughter in her mind was rich with wicked delight. "Oh, Sable is going to learn so much in this place."

Serina turned then, sensing the approach before she even heard the speeder in the distance. The familiar hum of repulsors, the shift in the air, the slow pulse of the bond now tied between them. Sable was here.

Serina straightened, rolling her shoulders, letting the weight of the Dark Side settle over her like a cloak. She could already see her in her mind's eye—white hair tousled from the ride, crimson eyes sharp with focus, her body moving with the kind of grace that had once been wild defiance but now?

Now it was something else.

Now it was obedience.

Not the mindless kind, not the kind forced through fear.

No—Sable was something far better.

She had chosen this.

And that made her so much sweeter.

Serina's lips curled, watching the dust trail rise in the distance.

"Let's see how far she's willing to go."

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

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​

The weight of Korriban settled in the air like an ancient promise. The dust was thick and red, the horizon stretched far and wide, a barren wasteland where the echoes of lost souls whispered through the cracks in the earth. It was as if the planet itself breathed with a heavy, oppressive pulse, the Dark Side swirling around it like a living thing. The tombs in the distance were like scars on the landscape, their cold, silent stone doors staring out into the desert like the eyes of long-forgotten gods.

Sable walked alone, her boots sinking slightly into the soft sand with every step, the air thick with the scent of history and decay. There was no rush. There was no need for haste. The quiet of the landscape matched the quiet of her mind.

Her thoughts had been unnervingly still lately.

There had been no constant hum of dissonance, no tug of chaos that often clung to her like a shadow, like a scream just beneath her thoughts. For once, her mind was clear—disturbingly so. The endless storm of conflicting voices, the overwhelming static, the unease that had always tugged at the edges of her awareness—it had all been silent, as though the storm had calmed for the first time in as long as she could remember.

It was a strange feeling, almost unsettling in its quietude.

She had no answers to the question that gnawed at the back of her mind: why? Why was it so still? The absence of the chaos that normally churned within her left her with an odd emptiness, a blank space that was just as alien as the relentless noise. Had she become too accustomed to the chaos that once defined her existence?

She slowed her pace, her eyes tracing the jagged edges of the tombs ahead. The Dark Side pulsed around her, alive and rich with ancient power, yet she felt detached from it, as if she were merely an observer, not a participant.

The stillness was unnerving, but she couldn't help but acknowledge the relief that came with it. The lack of constant distraction, the absence of the voices that once tore at her mind—it was… almost peaceful.

Too peaceful, a part of her thought. But she didn't dwell on it.

Her hand brushed lightly over the cool stone of a nearby monolith, the surface weathered by time and neglect. The sensation was grounding, steadying her, as if the planet itself was reminding her of the task at hand. Korriban had always been a place of challenge, a place where the strongest of the Sith came to prove themselves. It was fitting that she'd been brought here.

Still, the question of why this silence lingered in her mind remained unanswered. She couldn't ignore it. Not now. The emptiness that had settled within her wasn't a sensation she was familiar with—it was foreign, and in a way, it made her feel vulnerable. She had spent so long living with the constant hum of the chaos within her that she almost didn't know how to function without it. The absence was like a void, a missing piece of herself she couldn't quite place.

Ahead, the entrance to the tomb loomed—dark and foreboding, a mouth to an ancient underworld that had seen millennia of death and power. Serina was waiting inside, no doubt watching her approach with that sharp, knowing gaze. Sable paused just before crossing the threshold, feeling the subtle weight of Serina's presence before she even laid eyes on her.

The quiet in her mind almost felt like it was waiting for something—a signal, a shift, a spark to break the stillness.


Sable took a breath, the dusty air filling her lungs. She could almost hear Serina's voice, low and teasing, slipping into her mind like silk.

How long can you remain in the silence before you break?

For a moment, Sable thought she felt a chill down her spine. Yes, the silence was strange, unsettling, but she couldn't help the faint, dark curiosity that twisted within her. Where had this strange thing arisen from, and what did it mean?

Then it faded, and with it, her curiosity.

Her gaze flicked to the entrance of the tomb once more, then back to the emptiness around her.

No more waiting. She stepped forward, leaving the quiet of the desert behind. There was only one way forward now.

And that path led straight into the heart of Korriban's ancient tombs—and into Serina's waiting presence.
Her thoughts were empty, as if something inside her had been hollowed out. There were no memories tugging at her, no voices whispering in the background, no sensations pulling her in any direction. Just an endless blankness. It felt strange, unnatural. She had become so accustomed to the noise, to the chaos and confusion, that now, in its absence, she felt like a ghost—drifting through life with no purpose beyond moving forward.

The dark silhouette of Serina's form stood at the entrance to the tomb, a stark contrast against the blood-red sky of Korriban. Sable's eyes flickered over her for a moment, but there was no reaction, no surge of emotion or impulse. She didn't even feel the thrill of seeing Serina, the one person who had shaped so much of her existence. Sable didn't react, didn't flinch. She stood there, like a statue, her mind blank, her soul emptied. She could feel the pressure of Serina's presence, the way it pushed against her, but even that felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. Her face was rather hard to read behind the helmet she sported; a gift to bury the misfortune of her past.

Now she awaited Serina, unsure what the woman may ask of her now. Not that it mattered.

Nothing really mattered anymore.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

The shadows of Korriban stretched long across the sand, twisting in the waning red light like spectral hands reaching from the past. The tombs loomed, ancient and unyielding, their cold stone faces watching, silent and knowing. It was a graveyard for gods, a resting place for ambition, a monument to power carved into the flesh of a dead world.

Serina stood at the threshold of one such tomb, the heat of the desert failing to touch her skin, the whispering wind curling around her like a lover's breath. She felt Sable before she saw her, the presence a familiar weight pressing against the edge of her awareness—dull, muted, a flicker where there should have been fire.

Oh, what a shame.

How delightfully broken she was.

Serina did not move, did not call out, did not beckon. She merely waited, the stillness of her form matching the unnatural silence that clung to Sable like a second skin. There was no need to rush. This was an inevitability.

And inevitabilities did not require haste.

A sigh, quiet, indulgent, purred in the depths of her mind.

"How anticlimactic."

The voice was hers—but not. A shadow of herself, the whisper of a future yet to come, the cold hand of fate curling around her ribs. The thing inside her, the voice that had long since ceased to be separate from her own.

"Look at her. She was such a pretty little storm once, all fire and teeth and fury." The voice was all amusement, all lazy satisfaction. "Now? Now she's a hollow shell. A blade dulled by its own despair. It's almost... sad."

Serina's lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though there was little warmth in it.

"Sad? Please. You know better than that."

The voice laughed, a sound like silk sliding over a blade.

"Of course I do."

Sable had always been meant for this. The struggle, the fight, the illusion of choice—those were merely the necessary steps toward a conclusion that had been written long before either of them had ever spoken it aloud. And now? Now the struggle was gone. The fight had bled from her bones, left to rot in the desert with the ghosts of a name that no longer belonged to her.

Serina tilted her head, watching as Sable took her final step into the tomb. The light from outside framed her like a painting, the blood-red sky casting her in shadow.

No fire. No rage.

Just a quiet, empty thing.

Serina took a slow step forward, the weight of the tomb pressing in around them both. The darkness here was thick, suffocating, rich with the whispers of the dead. It curled around her, tangled in her breath, pressed against her skin with a lover's insistence.

"I almost miss the fight." The voice mused, low and decadent. "She was so much more fun when she thought she had a chance. When she clawed and bled and tried so very hard to deny what she was becoming."

Serina hummed in agreement, stepping closer, her movements slow, deliberate.

"Yes, but doesn't this have its own appeal? Look at her. Look at how still she is. How quiet. How... obedient."

The voice purred.

"Yes. I do like that."

Serina reached out, gloved fingers tracing the edge of Sable's helmet with something that might have been tenderness—if tenderness had ever been something she was capable of.

"And now? Now we get to shape her into something even better."

Serina's hand fell away, but the weight of her presence did not. She spoke directly to Sable now.

"Do you know why we're here, my dear?" Her voice was smooth, steady, wrapping around the silence like a velvet noose. "Do you know what waits for you in the dark?"

She took a step back, gesturing toward the depths of the tomb, where the air grew colder, where the whispers of the long-dead pressed against the walls like an audience waiting for the show to begin.

"Korriban does not welcome the weak. It does not tolerate hesitation. It devours those who enter unworthy and leaves nothing but bones for the sand to claim."

A pause.

"And yet, here you stand."

Another step, circling her now, slow, methodical.

"I brought you here because I want you to understand something."

Her voice dipped lower, quieter, but no less commanding.

"You were made for this, Sable. You were always meant to be here. And now? Now you will prove it."

A final step, closer now, her breath warm against Sable's ear.

"Unless, of course..." A smirk, dark and knowing. "You'd rather run?"

Not a challenge.

A promise.

Because they both knew there was no running left to do.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable stood there, unmoving, her eyes trained on the woman before her. Her posture was perfect—straight, rigid, the very picture of obedience. She did not look up, did not meet Serina's gaze. Not because she was reluctant, but because she had learned long ago that to do so would be pointless. Serina never looked at her anyhow. How could she? She never valued anything aside from herself, or that which could benefit her.

She knew the game now. She understood the rules.

There was no fire left in her. No rebellion. No defiance. There was only the empty, aching understanding that she had been shaped by Serina, molded into something that no longer had the capacity to resist. What had once been rage, once been hope, had all been extinguished. Her body no longer trembled with fear or fury—it had gone still, hollowed out by the crushing weight of inevitability.

The tombs of Korriban loomed around them, a fitting backdrop for the end of all things—her end, her purpose.

Serina's voice came from behind her, a slow, steady rhythm that sank into the very marrow of her bones. Every word was a command. Every syllable carried the heavy weight of authority, but there was no expectation of an answer.

Sable was not to speak. Not yet.

Her hands remained by her sides, fingers curled into tight, controlled fists. Her thoughts drifted, cold and distant, like the farthest stars—untouchable, unreachable. There was nothing for her here but this moment. She had no use for past or future. The present was all that mattered.

Korriban's whispers seemed to carry the weight of the ages, curling through the air like a thousand voices, their long-dead secrets pressing in on her, but it did not matter.

She was nothing more than a tool. An experiment, a curiosity for Serina to observe, to shape.

A thought flickered in the back of her mind, something deep and buried. A wisp of her old self. The one that had clawed her way through battlefields, through storms, through blood. But it was so far gone now. She had let it die.

Now there was only the emptiness, and the waiting.

Serina's fingers brushed lightly across the edge of her helmet. The touch might have been tender, might have seemed soft to anyone else—but not to Sable. She knew it for what it was: a test. A moment of inspection. A reminder of what she had become.

A tool. That’s all she would ever be.

Serina's voice came again, low and deliberate, wrapping around Sable like a suffocating embrace.

"Do you know why we're here, my dear?"

The words burned into her mind, and yet Sable did not flinch. She had long since stopped questioning Serina's motives. She knew better than to ask.

She heard the sound of footsteps behind her, measured and deliberate as Serina circled, the words following her like a shadow.

"Korriban does not welcome the weak," Serina's voice was thick with the ancient power of the tombs, "It does not tolerate hesitation. It devours those who enter unworthy and leaves nothing but bones for the sand to claim."

A pause. A breath.

"And yet, here you stand."

The weight of Serina's presence pressed in on her from all sides, suffocating in its certainty. There was no escape, no resistance. Just the crushing realization that this moment, like all the others, was already set in stone.

Serina circled closer, the sound of her boots scraping against the cold stone floor sending a ripple of tension through the air. Sable's breath remained steady, even, but her heart beat faster now—not from fear—but from something else. Something much darker. A strange, hollow anticipation.

The final step came, and Serina's words whispered against her ear, a soft caress that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Unless, of course…" There was that smile again—dark, knowing. "You'd rather run?"

Sable's body tensed, but only for a moment. The thought of running... it had once been a thought. But now? Now it was a joke. A hollow thing.

She just stood now, waiting.

She wasn't seeking freedom anymore. There was no place for her outside of Serina's grasp. No place where the chains that bound her didn't already exist.

She was going to remain here until she died.

And Serina?

She would never let her be found again.

She was spiteful like that. She wanted to own something just to keep it from being someone else’s.

Sable didn’t mean anything to her. It just meant having another tool to decorate her mantle with.

She remained silent, waiting to be told what to do. Serina didn’t care what she had to say after all.

She never did, and she never would.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

The silence was perfect.

Serina could almost taste it—thick, heady, the kind of silence that meant surrender had long since settled into the bones. There was no resistance left in Sable, no defiance waiting to rise, no spark of rebellion lingering beneath the surface.

And yet.

It wasn't enough.

She could see it, even now. That quiet acceptance, that empty obedience—it was brittle. Fragile. A thing that existed only because Sable had nothing left. She was here, silent, waiting, not because she had chosen Serina, but because she had nowhere else to go.

And that?

That was unacceptable.

Serina did not take what was discarded. She did not keep what was broken simply because no one else would. No, she claimed what was wanted. She took what was whole and made it hers—not because it had nowhere else to be, but because it had everywhere else to be, and still, it chose her.

Sable did not choose her.

Not yet.

But she would.

Serina's fingers traced the curve of Sable's helmet once more, slow and deliberate, before she pulled away entirely, leaving only the weight of her presence behind.

Not yet, she thought, the words curling deep in the back of her mind. Not yet, but soon.

She could feel her future self smirking in the recesses of her thoughts, lounging in the dark corner of her soul, amused by her deliberation.

"And here I thought you were satisfied with your little doll." The voice was lazy, indulgent, knowing. "Isn't this what you wanted? A silent, obedient thing, waiting for your word?"

Serina didn't answer.

Because they both knew the truth.

This wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Not while Sable waited instead of yearned. Not while she obeyed instead of devoted. She had been stripped down, her will crushed, but she had not been remade. And that was the problem.

She needed more than obedience.

She needed love.

Not the kind born from gratitude, or from manipulation, or from the absence of any other choice.

No, she needed love that burned. Love that consumed. Love that feared and worshipped in equal measure. Love that needed Serina—not because there was nothing else, but because there could be everything else, and still, there would be nothing that mattered more.

That was devotion.

That was loyalty.

That was what Serina required.

Sable's silence was pleasing, but it was hollow. Temporary. Unsustainable. If left as she was, she would crumble. All it would take was the wrong person, the wrong whisper, the wrong hope, and she would slip away into someone else's hands.

That could not be allowed.

No, Sable had to be rebuilt. Not as a shattered thing with no will of her own, but as something whole—wholly devoted, wholly hers.

And that would take time.

"So?" The voice inside her crooned, its amusement unmistakable. "How do you plan to do it? Shall we break her again? Rip her apart piece by piece and put her back together the way we want?"

Serina almost smiled. No.

Breaking Sable had been easy. Too easy. The foundation had already been cracked. Her past, her failures, her self-loathing—it had done half the work for her. But this? This had to be deliberate.

"Then what?" The voice was insistent now, eager. "What's your plan, dear one? How do we make her love us?"

Serina exhaled slowly, looking down at the silent form before her. She reached out, not to touch, not to command, but to tip Sable's chin up, just slightly.

Not forceful. Not demanding. Just… guiding.

Serina held her there for a long, heavy moment, her blue eyes searching, waiting. And then—

She smiled.

Soft. Warm.

"I am glad you decided to come," Serina murmured, her tone gentle, approving, rich with something Sable had never heard from her before.

Actual Affection.

It was a seed.

A single, tiny thing, buried deep.

A touch of warmth in a world that had offered her only cold. A drop of validation in a life that had been stripped of meaning. A whisper of love, so small, so subtle, that it would seem impossible—and yet, it would fester.

Grow.

Corrupt.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

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​

Sable remained still, her expression a perfect mask, betraying none of the emotions that flickered in the shadows of her mind. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, eyes unfocused, as if there was no room left for anything other than the stillness of the moment. Serina's voice, so carefully measured and cold, slid over her like a wave, but there was no reaction—only a quiet understanding that Serina was not yet satisfied. Not yet finished.

The weight of Serina's presence pressed in, heavy and suffocating, as she circled, her steps deliberate, her voice a whisper in the dark corners of Sable's mind. She could feel the scrutiny, the gaze that lingered, evaluating every inch of her, every crack in the surface. It didn't matter that she had given herself up already; Serina was still searching for something more.

Sable was an experiment, yes—but she was not yet complete.

A soft touch on her helmet. Serina's fingers trailing the edge of it, a slow, deliberate gesture. It was a reminder of who held the power here, of who controlled everything—yet, even in that small act, something subtle shifted. The lightness of Serina's touch was almost… tender.

It caught her off guard. Not enough to break her stoic expression, but just enough to make her wonder.

She knew that look in Serina's eyes—that warmth, that soft smile. It wasn't manipulation. It was… affection? Actual affection?

Then the thought lingered as Sable mused on it, before rejecting it.

No, not affection. Another test. Serina didn’t have affection to share.

Sable didn't react, didn't flinch. She merely stayed still, her mind carefully compartmentalizing the shift. There was no place for such things in her world, not anymore. And yet, a quiet, almost imperceptible thought flickered at the edges of her consciousness.

She had never been loved before. Not truly. She had been desired, used, discarded. Love had always been a lie, a weapon wielded by those with power. But here it was, from Serina—unasked for, unexpected.

Perhaps unneeded.

The thought lingered, just for a moment, before it was buried once more.

For a long moment, Sable didn't respond. She did not need to. There was nothing to say, and saying anything would be futile. She had an understanding for what Serina wanted, knew the weight of her words. She had already made her choice, long ago—had already accepted that she was nothing more than a bobble for Serina's use. There was no room for affection in this place. No room for kindness. She was supposed to be here, her other option to not coming was wasting away on a beach somewhere.

So Sable stood in silence, awaiting the next order, the next command, knowing that the illusion of choice had long since evaporated. She was here because Serina willed it, because Serina had commanded her, shaped her into this thing that stood before her now—silent, obedient, a shell of what she once was.

Her thoughts fell silent once again, as did her body, as she waited for the next step in this twisted dance.

While Sable was rather devoid of her sense of self, the toll of the last few months had not been of Serina’s work.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina watched her, unblinking, the amusement in her eyes flickering like embers in the dark. Sable was utterly still—perfect in her silence, perfect in her obedience. She did not fidget, did not hesitate, did not even breathe out of turn.

It was beautiful.

And yet, it wasn't enough.

Serina let her fingers trail down the smooth surface of Sable's helmet, almost absently, as if admiring a piece of art rather than acknowledging another living being. The weight of the air between them was thick, pregnant with expectation, and she relished it. This moment—this precise, razor-thin balance between certainty and fragility—was what made it all worth it.

But not yet. Not fully.

Sable had surrendered, yes. She had given in, allowed herself to be shaped, to be owned. But Serina knew better than to trust such easy victories. No, the mind was a tricky, fickle thing. And surrender given out of necessity? Out of hopelessness? That was not true loyalty.

That was not love.

And so, she would be patient. She would be careful. She would mold Sable into something worthy of her attention—something that chose to stay, not because there was nowhere else to go, but because nothing else could possibly compare.

She tilted her head slightly, offering a smile that was all warmth, all understanding. A lie, of course, but a beautiful one.

"You don't have to be so tense, dear one," she murmured, voice smooth as silk, letting her fingers finally leave the helmet to cup Sable's cheek instead, tilting her head ever so slightly. The metal was cold beneath her fingertips, but Serina knew what lay beneath. She knew the face, the skin, the breath that Sable kept hidden from the world. And in time, she would strip this final layer of armor away as well.

"You look at me like I might strike you down at any moment," she teased, her voice lilting with quiet amusement. "Have I truly been so cruel to you?"

Her thumb brushed, barely there, against the side of the helmet, as if she was offering something—reassurance, comfort. A kindness wrapped in steel.

Of course, she had been cruel. Terrible, in fact. But cruelty was not what kept someone. Fear was a powerful tool, yes, but it was not whole. She had learned that lesson long ago.

Sable was already afraid. What she needed now was certainty.

Something to cling to.

"Come," Serina whispered, finally stepping back, her presence no longer a smothering force, but a beckoning one. She turned without waiting, knowing Sable would follow.

She always did.

The entrance to the tomb yawned before them like a gaping maw, the ancient stone walls covered in inscriptions long worn by time. The air was thick with the Dark Side, rich with something far older than either of them. Power, death, memory—it all lingered here, waiting for those foolish enough to seek it.

Serina stepped forward, her boots echoing softly against the stone floor.

She did not look back.

She did not need to.

She felt Sable's presence behind her, that careful, measured silence. She could already imagine the way she followed—wordless, watchful, waiting. Always waiting.

Serina smiled to herself.

"Oh, little one," the voice in the back of her mind purred, rich with indulgent amusement. "She will be magnificent, won't she?"

Serina said nothing, but she could feel it—an echo of the future, a whisper of inevitability curling through her veins.

Yes.

Sable would be magnificent.

In time.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable remained silent, her every movement a careful echo of Serina's, the air between them thick with the unspoken. She felt Serina's fingers against her helmet, the pressure of touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. The contact was cold and calculating, but it was a sensation that felt all too familiar. She didn't flinch, didn't break the stillness.

When Serina spoke, her voice soft and silky, it slid over Sable like a whisper of silk—almost intimate. Sable found it unnecessary. "You don't have to be so tense, dear one," She murmured, her fingers drifting to Sable's cheek. The warmth of Serina's hand didn't reach her person; there was nothing there to ignite it. Sable was numb. She was empty, and that was just the way of things.

Serina had gotten what she desired, and it still wasn’t enough it seemed.

"Have I truly been so cruel to you?" The teasing lilt of Serina's voice made the question feel like she was teasing, something to savor. But Sable didn't answer. She had no answer. She simply waited.

Sable knew Serina's cruelty—knew it not as a momentary lapse but as the essence of what Serina was.

And so, Sable remained still, the metal of her helmet cold beneath Serina's touch, just as she remained cold underneath it all. The warmth, the gentleness, the care—none of it moved her, not truly.

When Serina stepped back, her presence shifting from oppressive to beckoning, Sable followed immediately, without hesitation, without a word. There was no question, no thought of doing otherwise. It was a pattern as ingrained in her as breathing. Serina turned, and Sable mirrored the motion, stepping into the shadow of her path without the faintest glimmer of resistance.

The tomb loomed ahead, its darkness heavy with the weight of ancient power, the stench of death and lost memory. The air seemed to hum with something older than them both. Serina's steps were light, measured, while Sable's were soundless, deliberate. The silence between them was like a bond, unspoken and unwavering.

Serina did not look back, did not need to. She knew Sable was there, a shadow following in her wake. Sable had no need for reassurance; she had learned long ago that her place was to follow, to remain in the quiet, the watchful distance.

Behind her helmet, Sable's eyes were unwavering. She wasn't thinking of the tomb, of the dark power within. She wasn't thinking of Serina's cruelty or her affection. She simply existed, following, waiting for the next command, the next moment to submit to.

She wasn’t sure why Serina was acting as she was. Had Sable done something to be commended?

But the question was gone as quickly as it appeared. She would not waste time on thoughts that didn't serve her.

Instead, she focused on the silence, the certainty, and the space between them that would remain, regardless of how many words were spoken or actions taken.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile as she felt Sable's presence behind her, perfectly obedient, perfectly silent. It was remarkable, really—how far she had come, how deeply she had settled into the role carved out for her. And yet, Serina knew better than to believe she had truly won.

Not yet.

The mind was a delicate thing. A caged beast did not forget the sky simply because it no longer had wings. She had Sable's body, her movements, her silence. But the soul? The soul could be trickier.

And Serina was nothing if not a patient sculptor.

"She follows so well, doesn't she?" the voice inside her murmured, warm and indulgent. "Like a well-trained beast, slinking at your heels, waiting for a command."

Serina let out a breath that was almost a laugh, the sound barely audible as they descended deeper into the tomb. The air thickened, growing heavier with the weight of something ancient, something predatory. She could feel the Dark Side licking at the edges of her presence, pressing in, hungry for something to feed upon.

It would not find sustenance in her.

But Sable?

Sable was an open wound.

"She does not fear you enough." The voice purred, teasing, playful. "She does not love you enough, either. Not truly. Not yet."

Serina knew it was true. Fear was easy. Fear was cheap. Sable feared the unknown, feared the emptiness inside her own mind, feared the inevitability of her fate. But she did not fear Serina enough. Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way that made her impossible to leave.

And love?

No, Sable had not yet learned that either.

Not the kind Serina wanted.

Not the kind Serina needed.

No, she would have to do this properly. Fear and love—woven together so seamlessly that Sable could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

She paused suddenly, just as they reached the grand, yawning maw of the burial chamber. The stone doorway loomed before them, jagged and carved with runes worn by time, the flickering light from their path casting dancing shadows across its surface.

Serina turned—not quickly, not with any aggression, but with a smooth, deliberate grace. She moved like the inevitability she was.

And Sable?

Sable stopped the instant she did.

Serina exhaled, tilting her head, letting the silence stretch just long enough to sink claws into the quiet.

Then, she reached up, fingers ghosting over the edge of Sable's helmet once more. Not forcing. Not demanding. Just… lingering.

"You don't ask why we are here," she mused, her voice lilting with something between amusement and fondness. "You don't ask anything at all, anymore."

Her fingers danced lightly across the cold metal, and then lower—tracing the line where helmet met fabric, where skin lay hidden beneath.

"You trust me that much?" she asked, voice softer now, thoughtful.

Her fingers slid lower still, just beneath the chin of the helmet, tilting it up ever so slightly—not forcing, not demanding, just… inviting.

"Or is it simply that you are too afraid of the answer?"

She let the words settle, watching for the slightest reaction. A shift in breath. A tightening of fingers. A tell.

Then, Serina leaned in, her lips brushing just barely against the side of the helmet as she whispered, slow and deliberate, "Do you wish to know?"

She let the silence stretch, let the weight of the words settle like a hook slipping beneath the skin.

Then, without waiting for permission, without waiting for anything at all—she answered.

"We are here," Serina whispered, her voice rich with satisfaction, "to bury what remains of you."

The air seemed to thicken around them, the Dark Side curling at the edges of her words like a beast scenting blood. The tomb was watching. The Force was listening.

And Sable?

Sable was trapped between them, caught in a web spun with precision, with purpose.

Serina pulled back just slightly, watching. Waiting.

Would she shudder? Would she tremble?

Would she say thank you?

The thought sent a thrill through Serina's veins.

"Oh, this will be delicious," her future self purred, and Serina could feel her grinning in the dark corners of her mind. "She will not break today. Not yet. But soon."

Serina did not answer. She did not need to.

She only smiled, slow and knowing, as she turned toward the entrance of the burial chamber, stepping forward without hesitation.

"Now answer me dear," she said smoothly, voice rich with promise. "What are the names of the Jedi you have interacted with?"

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable stood in perfect silence, the weight of Serina's words sinking into the air between them like a poison. The tomb's oppressive darkness wrapped around them both, but Sable was no stranger to shadows. It was the quiet that held her, the unbearable stillness of it. She didn't flinch, didn't tremble. Even with the weight of Serina's gaze upon her, even with the whispered words that danced around her thoughts, she remained as still as the stone they stood before.

Serina asked questions and then gave answers to them before she could reply. She didn’t need Sable to say anything. She knew it already, didn’t she.

Serina's touch lingered once more, tracing over the cold surface of Sable's helmet, as though searching for a reaction that she knew would never come. The question that followed—soft, almost delicate—was a challenge.

What are the names of the Jedi you have interacted with?

The words hung in the air, but Sable did not stir. No answer came. She didn't need to speak. She didn't need to respond. She had never interacted with any Jedi. Her path had always been one of shadows and silence, where Jedi were mere echoes from another life, a distant memory of what could have been.

The truth was simple, unremarkable: there were no Jedi in her past. No teachers, no mentors, no moments of conflict or clashing philosophies. She had been shaped not by the force of light but by the void.

But still, Serina had asked.

“I’ve not interacted with any Jedi.”

She said plainly, and that was the truth of the matter.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina paused mid-step.

The tomb around them seemed to exhale, the weight of the Dark Side pressing into the air like a silent witness to the exchange. The flickering torchlight barely reached the edges of the chamber, leaving the shadows deep, endless, watchful.

Sable's words hung between them, ringing in the silence.

"I've not interacted with any Jedi."

It was said plainly. Directly.

A perfect lie.

Serina turned back toward her slowly, deliberately, her expression unreadable. Not anger, not even disappointment—just understanding.

Knowing, Sable technically didn't know of Serina's knowledge that she had met with Reina Daival in the past. She now knew that she would lie, she would cheat.

She couldn't be trusted in her current, meagre state.

Her eyes, cold and striking in the dim torchlight, settled on Sable's helmet with a patience that should have been reassuring. But it wasn't.

It was suffocating.

Serina exhaled softly, the breath barely audible over the hush of the tombs. "You don't believe me, do you?" she mused, voice velvety smooth, slipping into the spaces between them like a whisper of silk.

She took a step forward, measured and slow, closing the already small distance between them.

Another step.

And then another.

Until there was nowhere left for Sable to go.

"Do you know how many times I have been lied to?" Serina asked conversationally, tilting her head as if genuinely considering it. "By enemies. By allies. By those who thought, just this once, they might slip something past me."

Her fingers reached up, gliding over the edge of Sable's helmet in that same familiar way—light, tracing, lingering. As if savoring the moment.

As if savoring her.

She leaned in ever so slightly, her breath warm against the cold durasteel of the mask.

"And do you know what happens to those who think they can deceive me?"

The words were gentle. Almost affectionate.

A stark contrast to what followed.

Serina's grip on the helmet changed in an instant—her fingers curling with deliberate force, tilting Sable's head upward, not violently, but firmly.

Commanding.

She wanted to see the lie in her posture, in her breath, in the way her body responded to the unspoken threat.

"You see," Serina murmured, her voice dripping with something darker now, something heavy with certainty, "you can lie to yourself, if that makes you feel safer. You can lie to the world, if it amuses you."

Her thumb brushed over the surface of the mask, slow, deliberate.

"But you will not lie to me."

Silence.

Serina let it stretch, let the stillness weigh down between them, waiting to see if Sable would do something—anything—to break it.

Serina smiled. A slow, indulgent thing.

"Tell me, dear one," she continued, voice barely above a whisper, "what do you think is worse? That you thought you could lie to me?"

A pause.

"Or that I already know the truth?"

She loosened her grip, only slightly.

A kindness.

A warning.

"You will tell me the truth now, my dear," Serina said simply, "or I will have to remind you why I am not to be lied to."

She exhaled slowly, her gaze heavy, unwavering.

"And I would hate for that to be necessary."

Another pause.

"This question and another, who is Alana Calloway?"

Serina waited. Not impatiently. Not forcefully.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable did not move.

Even as Serina closed the distance, as her fingers trailed along the cold surface of her helmet, as the weight of her words settled like a shroud around them both—Sable remained still. Silent. A statue carved in the darkness, unmoved by the threat in Serina's voice, by the command in her grip.

The tomb exhaled around them, thick with the Dark Side, pressing into the space between them like a living thing. But Sable did not flinch.

She had learned long ago that stillness was its own kind of power.

Her breath was slow, controlled. Not defiant. Not fearful. Simply measured. A deliberate thing.

Then, finally, when the silence had stretched just long enough for tension to coil, for expectation to settle, she spoke.

Low. Even. Unshaken.

"I did not lie."

The words carried no edge, no fire. Just the cool certainty of something immovable. Something unyielding.

And it was the truth.

She had never interacted with a Jedi.

She had never met one in battle, never spoken to one, never known their ways beyond the whispered tales that drifted through the Empire like echoes of something long buried.

Serina was right about many things—she was patient, she was deliberate, she was cruel in the way that sculptors were with unfinished marble, carving away what displeased her until only her design remained.

But she was wrong about this.

Sable did not know how to answer the second question.

Alana Calloway.

The name rang in her ears, distant and hollow, like a thing that should have meant something, like an echo in the dark.

Or if she did—if it was buried somewhere in the fractured edges of her past, lost in the pieces that had been stripped from her—she did not reach for it now.

Instead, she remained still.

Waiting.

Then she handed over her vibro-sword.

“If you think I’m lying then take it, and end me. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of Alana Calloway, or Jedi.”
If Serina doubted her as being loyal then might as well just get it over with now.


They hadn’t even started, and Serina already didn’t trust her. Which meant sooner or later, Serina would need to be rid of her.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina's fingers curled slowly around the offered vibro-sword, but she did not take it—not fully. Her grip was light, barely there, as if she were merely acknowledging the gesture rather than accepting it.

She let the moment hang between them, let the silence stretch until it became something unbearable.

Then, finally, she exhaled, a soft, quiet sound that was almost… amused.

"Oh, my dear one…" Serina murmured, her voice dipping into something warm. Something indulgent.

She released the weapon, letting it remain in Sable's hands as she took a slow step forward, closing what little space remained between them. The air between them was thick, heavy—not with fear, not with anger, but with something far more insidious.

With kindness.

Serina reached up, her touch featherlight as she traced the edges of Sable's helmet, her fingers slow and thoughtful. "Is that what you think I want?" she asked, her voice laced with something so utterly, heartbreakingly gentle. "That I would cast you aside so easily?"

She leaned in, her breath a whisper against the cold surface of Sable's mask. "You wound me, little shadow."

A slow sigh, as if she were truly disappointed—but not in anger. No, this was something softer, something aching.

Her fingers found the clasps of Sable's helmet, not forcing, not demanding, just there. A question. A promise. A request so carefully disguised as a command.

"Let me see you," she whispered.

Not take off your helmet—not a demand. Not an order.

But something more intimate.

"Let me see you."

The words settled between them, a velvet snare wrapped in silk.

She could see it in Sable's posture—the weight pressing down on her, the exhaustion she carried like a second skin. She had walked this path before, had stood in this exact moment, waiting for judgment, waiting to be discarded.

Serina had no intention of doing either.

"Oh, my dear," Serina breathed, her fingers still ghosting over the edges of the mask. "You do belong to me, don't you?"

It was not a question.

"You have nothing to prove to me," she continued, her voice dipping lower, richer, pressing into the silence like a lover's caress. "You think I doubt you?" She let out a soft, knowing laugh. "No, my dear. I fear for you."

The shift in her tone was almost imperceptible, but it was there. A slight tremor of something deeply felt, something genuine in its execution. She had perfected this game long ago.

"I see you," she whispered, her hand drifting from the mask to the side of Sable's face—where skin should have been, where warmth should have met warmth. "And I will never cast you aside."

A pause.

A hesitation so perfectly placed it was as if the universe itself held its breath.

"Unless…"

The word hung between them, a single thread of doubt spun into something beautifully tragic.

"Unless you truly believe you are nothing without a sword in your hand."

Serina tilted her head, her blue eyes piercing even through the dim light of the tomb. "Is that all you are to me, little shadow? A blade to wield? A tool to be discarded when it no longer serves its purpose?"

She sighed, soft, almost mournful. "Is that what you believe I see when I look at you?"

Serina reached out—not in command, not in dominance, but in understanding.

Or at least, the illusion of it.

Her fingers traced downward, brushing against Sable's hands, the ones still gripping the weapon. "You are mine," she said, a reverent whisper, as if she were speaking something sacred. "Not because of what you can do, but because of who you are."

Then, with a slow, practiced grace, she lowered herself slightly, beneath Sable's gaze, looking up into where her eyes should be.

"You do not need to give me your sword to prove your worth."

A pause.

"Just give me you."

Serina let her words settle between them, let the tension in the air shift from suffocating to something else—something pliant, something soft. She had always been a sculptor, an artist working with broken things, and Sable was no different. A shattered thing, waiting to be reshaped.

She exhaled softly, letting her fingers trail away from Sable's helmet, her touch lingering just enough to remind her of its absence.

"There now," Serina murmured, as if she had soothed a wild animal. "No more talk of endings. You are far too precious for that."

She allowed the silence to stretch before tilting her head, her expression unreadable. "But that still leaves us with an unfortunate problem, doesn't it?"

She stepped back, finally, but only enough to pace, slow and deliberate, hands clasped behind her back. "You see, my dear, my question about the Jedi wasn't an accusation. It was a necessity."

Her blue eyes flickered, sharp and knowing. "I need a shadow. A duplicate. Something to eliminate."

She turned, her presence looming once again. "And I wanted to give you that choice, because you deserved it for how well you have behaved so far."

A pause. A moment of consideration. Then, with a soft, disappointed sigh, she continued. "But since you cannot recall, we will have to make do with a different kind of test."

There was no anger in her voice, no disappointment laced with cruelty. Only understanding. Only the quiet acceptance of a minor inconvenience.

"As it happens," Serina continued, brushing invisible dust from her gloves, "I had prepared a different chamber in this tomb for us. One far more… instructive."

She stepped forward once more, placing a single hand over the vibro-sword that Sable still held. "You may keep this, of course," she said, voice rich with something unreadable. "I would never take something so integral from you."

A faint smirk played at her lips. "You will need it."

Then, with a slow, graceful motion, Serina turned, walking deeper into the tomb without looking back.

"Come along now, my dear," she called over her shoulder, voice lilting, teasing. "We have something far more fascinating to explore."

The deeper they went, the colder the air became. The shadows grew heavier, pressing in from all sides, and the whispers of the dead grew louder.

This was no simple training chamber.

This was something more.

Something Serina had planned specifically for Sable.

And soon, she would understand exactly why.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

The weight of Serina's words settled into her bones, threading through her like something inevitable. A binding. A truth she had known long before it had ever been spoken aloud.

"You do belong to me, don't you?"

It was not a question.

And Sable did not deny it.

Her hands tightened around the hilt of the vibro-sword, not in resistance, not in defiance—but in acknowledgment. She had been given a choice, or the illusion of one, and she understood now that she had never needed to prove herself. Not to Serina. Not to the Sith.

Not even to herself.

She was already claimed.

Already owned.

Sable exhaled, slow and steady, letting the tension in her shoulders ease, letting herself be molded as she was always meant to be. The cold of the tomb wrapped around her, but Serina's voice was warmer still, threading through the darkness like a tether, like something she could hold onto.

"Just give me you."

And she had. Hadn’t she?

She followed without question, without hesitation, without the weight of doubt pressing into her steps.

Because this was where she was meant to be.

At Serina's side.

“I…don’t know how to do that.”

She would reply frankly, stowing her weapon back into its rightful place in her side.

This was something else.

Something she was meant to survive.

Something she was meant to learn from.

The cold deepened as they descended, but Sable did not shiver. She did not falter. The whispers of the dead pressed against the edges of her awareness, hollow voices stirring in the air like embers caught in a dying flame.

Sable had always been a weapon. She had always been shaped by the hands of others, refined for a purpose beyond herself. That was the nature of her existence. The Sith had taken what she was and reforged her into something sharper, something stronger. Serina had merely… honed her further.

And now, it seemed, she would be tested once more.

“As you say.”

Was all she could say to Serina’s assurance that she wouldn’t be cast aside. Sable has no way to know otherwise.

The whispers grew louder. The darkness thickened.

Sable tightened her grip on the vibro-sword and stepped forward, her voice steady, resolute.

"I understand."

She did not ask what awaited her.

She did not need to.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina's steps were slow, deliberate, her presence weaving through the darkness like silk through the fingers of fate. The tomb exhaled its cold breath upon them, and yet, her voice remained warm—like a whisper against the skin, like the promise of something inevitable.

"I know you don't know how," Serina murmured, not turning as she led Sable deeper into the abyss. "That is why you have me."

Her voice was gentle, but beneath it, there was something sharper, something hungering.

The path before them narrowed, the stone walls closing in, their ancient carvings stretching like reaching hands in the flickering light of distant torches. The air was thick with power, heavy with the weight of history. The Dark Side swirled here, coiling through the cracks, whispering through the dust. The dead did not rest on Korriban.

And neither would Sable.

Serina slowed her pace, her hands brushing over the runes etched into the stone as she moved. "You have spent so long being shaped by others, haven't you?" Her voice was almost tender, almost sympathetic. "Turned into something sharp and strong, but never for yourself. Always for someone else."

She glanced back, just enough for her blue eyes to catch the dim glow of the torchlight. "You say you understand, but I wonder—" she hummed, "do you truly?"

Serina stopped then, turning fully, her form draped in shadow, her expression unreadable. She reached out, fingertips grazing Sable's chin, tilting her face just enough to force her to meet her gaze. The warmth of her touch was there, but it was fleeting, barely more than a ghost against her skin.

"You think you have nothing," Serina continued, her voice softer now, drawing her in. "That you are only what I make of you. That you follow because there is no other path."

She leaned in, just enough that the words brushed against Sable's lips as they left her own.

"But that is where you are wrong, my dear."

Serina's fingers trailed down, following the curve of Sable's throat before pulling away entirely, leaving only the phantom sensation behind.

"I do not want you to follow because you must. I do not need a tool, nor a blade wielded by my hand. I have plenty of those." A smirk flickered at the edge of her lips, but there was something deeper beneath it, something dangerously intent. "I want you to follow because you choose to. Because you want to."

She gestured ahead, to where the corridor stretched into the unknown.

"This tomb is not a place of death, not for you. It is a place of revelation. And when we leave it, you will no longer be bound by the chains of what you were before."

Serina turned then, her pace unhurried as she strode deeper into the darkness. "Come, little shadow." Her voice carried back, lilting, teasing, but laced with the weight of something far greater. "Let us see what remains of you when I am finished."

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable followed. Because she was told to. Because that was what she understood—orders, purpose, direction. She moved without hesitation, her steps soundless against the ancient stone. The tomb pressed in around them, cold and watching, but Sable did not fear the dead.

Serina's words wove through the darkness like silk, her voice both a whisper and a promise.

"I know you don't know how. That is why you have me."

Sable did not argue. There was nothing to argue. It was the truth. She had been made for war, sculpted into something precise, something lethal—but not by her own hands. Others had shaped her, sharpened her, pointed her toward a purpose that was never truly hers. And now, she was here. Empty. Unquestioning. Waiting.

The walls closed in as they moved deeper. Ancient words marked the stone, remnants of power lingering in the air like distant echoes of screams long since spent. The Dark Side lived here, but Sable felt nothing. She had nothing left to feel.

Serina's pace slowed, her fingers grazing the carved runes as she spoke again.

"You have spent so long being shaped by others, haven't you? Turned into something sharp and strong, but never for yourself. Always for someone else."

Yes. But Sable did not say it. There was no need. Serina already knew.

The woman glanced back, just enough for the dim torchlight to catch in her blue eyes.

"You say you understand, but I wonder—do you truly?"

Sable held her gaze, unreadable, unwavering. Understanding did not matter. Following did.

Serina turned fully then, closing the space between them. Sable did not flinch. Did not resist as fingers brushed her chin, tilting her face up just enough to meet Serina's eyes. The touch was warm, fleeting. It meant nothing.

"You think you have nothing. That you are only what I make of you. That you follow because there is no other path."

Serina leaned in, the words brushing against Sable's lips like a whisper of something dangerous.

"But that is where you are wrong, my dear."

The fingers trailed lower, along her throat, before retreating entirely. Sable remained still, unshaken, untouched by the weight of meaning behind Serina's words. What she wanted did not matter. What Serina wanted did.

"I do not want you to follow because you must. I do not need a tool, nor a blade wielded by my hand. I have plenty of those."

A flicker of a smirk, something beneath it that Sable could not name.

"I want you to follow because you choose to. Because you want to."

Sable understood the mechanics of choice. The reality of it was another matter. Choice had never been hers to make.

Serina gestured ahead.

"This tomb is not a place of death, not for you. It is a place of revelation. And when we leave it, you will no longer be bound by the chains of what you were before."

Sable did not look back. There was nothing behind her worth seeing.

Serina turned, her pace unhurried, her voice carrying through the dark like a beckoning hand.

"Come, little shadow. Let us see what remains of you when I am finished."

Sable followed. Because she was told to.

For now.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina stepped forward, the weight of the tomb thickening around them, the oppressive air pressing against their skin like a second cloak. The path before them widened, revealing the first chamber—an expanse of cold stone, cracked by time, illuminated only by the flickering torches mounted along the towering walls. The scent of dust, of ancient decay, of lingering death clung to every surface.

It was fitting.

Serina exhaled slowly, savoring the moment, letting the atmosphere wrap around her like an old lover's embrace. She could feel it—this place had been a battleground once, a crucible for those who dared seek power beyond their means. Many had stood here before, trembling, uncertain, desperate to prove themselves.

Most had failed.

She did not look back at Sable, but she could feel her presence—silent, obedient, waiting.

For now.

Serina turned, her blue eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight as they settled upon the woman before her. "Tell me, dear one," she murmured, her voice carrying easily through the stillness, "do you feel it?"

She extended a hand, gesturing to the space around them. "The echoes of those who came before? The weight of their ambition? Their failure?"

She stepped forward, circling Sable with slow, deliberate grace, her fingers brushing the air just beside her—close enough to feel, but not to touch.

"This is where those who were unworthy met their end." A pause. A tilt of her head, studying Sable as if she were considering something. "But you are not unworthy, are you?"

The words lingered, hanging between them, daring Sable to deny them.

Serina moved with the confidence of someone who already knew the answer. Her footsteps were soft against the stone, a predator pacing before her chosen prey—not to strike, not yet, but to savor.

"You were made into a weapon, yes," she continued, voice dipping lower, smoother, "but tell me, little shadow—do you even know how to wield yourself?"

She stopped then, standing before Sable, tilting her chin once more—though this time, there was no force behind it. A test. An invitation.

"Or have you only ever been swung by another's hand?"

Serina held her there, waiting, the air between them thick with the weight of expectation.

Then, as if satisfied with the silence, she pulled away, turning toward the center of the chamber where something lay waiting.

It was a slab of stone, etched with old Sith markings, its surface carved deep with the scars of past trials. And atop it, resting in perfect stillness, was a blade—no mere vibro-sword, but a Sith warblade, ancient and worn, its dark metal still humming with the remnants of power long since spent.

Serina reached for it, running her fingers along the length of the blade as if it were something sacred.

"This belonged to one who came before you. He was strong—skilled, determined. But strength alone was not enough to save him." She lifted the weapon, turning it over in her hand, before flicking her gaze back to Sable.

"And so, I wonder—what will you be?"

She stepped closer, extending the hilt toward her, offering it as if it were a gift.

"This is your first lesson," she whispered, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "Not in combat. Not in strength."

Her fingers curled around the blade before she released it into Sable's hands.

"In control."

She stepped back, watching, waiting.

"Prove to me that you are not merely a tool, little shadow." A pause, her head tilting in amusement. "Prove to me that you are worthy of being held."

And then, in the darkness of the chamber, the doors behind them slammed shut.

The lesson had begun.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable's fingers tightened instinctively around the weapon's hilt, the cold weight of it settling into her grip like an extension of herself. The warblade was old, its surface worn and scarred, but it still hummed with something-memory, a challenge, a demand.

She could feel the weight of Serina's words, the unspoken truth beneath them. This was no simple test of skill. This was a question of self.

Sable had been many things—a soldier, a killer, a tool sharpened by the hands of others. She had been wielded, directed, unleashed. But never truly hers.

The silence between them stretched as Sable turned the blade in her hands, her thumb running over the edge. It was sharp. Good. She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders, feeling the tension of expectation coil in the air.

"Prove to me that you are not merely a tool."

Sable lifted her gaze to meet Serina's, her crimson eyes steady, unblinking.

“I have always been held at other people problems." She admitted, her voice quiet, but steady—a truth laid bare.

Her grip on the blade shifted, familiar, firm. It would be easy to wield it like she always had—to let muscle memory and drilled instinct take over. But that was not the lesson.

Sable took a step forward, slow, deliberate. The weapon did not dictate her movement. She dictated it.

She turned the warblade in her hands once more before raising it into a ready stance, but there was something different in the way she held it now. It was not just a weapon—it was hers.

The chamber's stillness seemed to breathe around them, the flickering torches casting long shadows as the doors sealed shut behind them. The lesson had begun.

And for the first time, Sable was the one deciding what that meant.

 

[Serina Calis]

Howling Whispers and Decadent Winds.
Location: ???
Objective: Test her mettle.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"There was never a choice. Not really. She was always meant to be mine—whether she realized it or not. All I did was strip away the illusion of her resistance, carve her down to what she was always meant to be. And now? Now she understands. Now she belongs."​

Serina watched, her sharp blue eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight, her smile curling at the edges of something deeper—something satisfied, something hungry.

There it was. The first spark of something real.

Sable's grip on the warblade was firm, but not desperate. The way she held it now was different—less like an object given to her, less like something she was waiting to be told how to use. More like something she was claiming for herself.

Serina let the silence stretch, savoring it. Then, finally, she moved.

A slow step, measured and unhurried, her presence filling the space between them like the Dark Side itself. Her voice, when it came, was soft, teasing.

"Held at other people's problems?" She echoed, tilting her head. "Oh, my dear, you have been so much more than that. You have been a burden. A necessity. A weapon. A solution. And yet—never the wielder. Never the one who decides."

Another step, her boots barely making a sound against the cold stone.

"Until now."

Her fingers twitched, and the room responded.

The torches flared—bright, blinding—before the flames guttered low, casting the chamber into flickering half-light. The air turned thick, heavy, as the Force pressed down upon them, weaving unseen through the cracks of the tomb.

And then, the walls moved.

No, not the walls.

Shadows.

From the far edges of the chamber, figures began to rise—emerging from the stone itself, peeling away from the darkness as if they had been waiting for this moment. Humanoid, but wrong. Twisted echoes of Sith warriors long since dead, their forms shifting between flesh and smoke, their ancient warblades glinting with unnatural light.

They did not breathe. They did not hesitate.

They simply existed.

And they advanced.

Serina took a slow step back, allowing space, her expression calm, expectant. "This is your first test, little shadow."

A figure lunged. The blade in its hand cut through the air—too fast, too precise for something that should not even be real. But this was Korriban. The dead did not rest here.

Serina did not interfere. She did not direct.

She only watched.

"Do you wield yourself, or will you be wielded by them?"

The words curled through the chamber, rich with meaning.

"Show me."

The first blow came.

The test had begun.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Howling Whispers And Decadent Winds
Tag: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): SD-L1 Long Blaster
• Secondary Weapon(s): HG-88 Big Iron, VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblade,
• Specialized Gear: Wrist Mounted Weapons (Hekler'Kok WMMW-01), DS-102 "Aegis" Personal Energy Shield,
• Armor & Attire: Personal Armor

---

---

​

Sable did not flinch.

The weight of the warblade was solid in her grasp, grounding her even as the dead stirred. The flickering torchlight cast the advancing figures in jagged shadows, their forms twisting between reality and nightmare. She exhaled, slow and steady, adjusting her stance.

A test.

Of course, it was.

The blade in her hands was not a gift—it was a challenge. A demand.

The first strike came swift, a spectral blade slashing for her ribs. She twisted, parrying with a sharp, controlled movement, the clash of metal against metal ringing through the chamber. The force behind the blow rattled her bones, but she did not buckle. She pushed forward, stepping into the strike instead of away from it, using the weight of her opponent against them.

Another came from behind. She pivoted, narrowly avoiding the arc of a second warblade. The ghosts fought without hesitation, without fear. They had no sense of self-preservation. But Sable did.

She adjusted, adapting. She had fought worse things than specters. She had fought living men who wanted her dead, who had the will and the hunger to see it through. These phantoms? They were echoes of something that had already failed.

And she had no intention of joining them.

Her grip on the warblade tightened—not from fear, not from desperation, but from understanding. It was not just a tool, not just a weapon passed from the hands of the dead to the hands of the next. It was hers now.

And she would wield it.

The next attack came, and this time, she did not simply defend. She struck back.

Sable unleashed—not with hesitation, not with restraint, but with the raw, honed precision of something that had always been meant to kill.

The first phantom lunged. She didn't parry, didn't step back. She moved.

Her body twisted into a handspring, the momentum carrying her effortlessly over the specter's blade. Mid-air, her warblade slashed downward, cleaving the wraith apart before her feet even touched the ground. She landed light, fluid—already pivoting, already striking.

The others came. She met them with nothing less than everything.

A sidestep became a twisting flip, her legs snapping out to kick an oncoming foe aside before she rebounded off the wall, flipping over another attacker. Her blade sang as she drove it into a phantom's back, wrenching it free as she descended in a graceful, deadly arc.

A blade slashed toward her from behind. She bent backward into a handspring, narrowly avoiding the strike before she launched herself into a whirling aerial kick, her boot shattering the phantom's form. Before her feet met the ground again, she was already twisting mid-air, her warblade flashing as it cut through the next enemy's throat.

She moved like a shadow unbound—fast, untouchable, lethal.

They pressed in from all sides. It did not matter.

She vaulted off the back of one, flipped over another, her body spinning like a blade in motion. She landed in a crouch, her warblade sweeping in a vicious arc that carved through two phantoms at once. Another came from above—she rolled backward, using the momentum to spring onto her hands, kicking up into a mid-air twist before plunging her blade straight through its core.

The dead did not rest here.

But neither did she.

This was not training. This was not effort.

This was Sable. The inhibitions that she held no longer held her back.

The last phantom lunged—Sable met it with a breathtaking aerial twist, her body rotating mid-air as she drove her warblade straight through its chest.

It shattered into nothingness.

Silence.

She landed, steady, untouched. Her breath came slow, controlled. Not exhaustion. Not strain. Just stillness after the storm.