Private Judgement Day.

[Reicher Vax]

Serina Calis

Reicher Vax sat in his office, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like the duracrete walls that surrounded him. The once-chaotic governance of Polis Massa had begun to stabilize under his leadership, but the scars left by his predecessor's mismanagement still lingered. Infrastructure projects were underway, supply chains secured, and corruption slowly being purged from the ranks. Progress was being made, but there was always more to be done.

Still, today was different.

The crimson glow of his visor dimmed slightly as he exhaled, setting down the latest datapad report detailing tax compliance figures from one of the newly restructured mining sectors. The numbers were finally beginning to align with projections, but his mind wasn't on economic reports or logistical oversight today. His gaze drifted toward the empty chair across from him, where his guest would soon sit.

Serina Calis.

It had been far too long since they had last spoken. He had followed her exploits from a distance, keeping an ever-watchful eye on her movements. While many within the Sith Order saw her as a curiosity or an enigma, Reicher saw something far more dangerous—a force that had yet to find its true direction. She was ambitious, brilliant, and unpredictable, and if there was one thing Reicher Vax respected, it was the potential for greatness.

But that potential was a double-edged sword.

Serina was walking a fine line, and he knew it. Others in the Empire had begun to take notice of her as well—some intrigued, others wary. Her path, whatever it was, would not be ignored for much longer. That was why this meeting had to happen.

He wasn't her mentor. He wasn't her father. But he was her brother-in-law, and that meant something. More importantly, he knew that he and Dominic were the only two people in the galaxy she might actually listen to.

The door to his office hissed open with a soft pneumatic release, and Reicher didn't need to look up to know who had arrived. The air itself seemed to shift slightly, charged with the undercurrent of something unseen. He finally lifted his gaze as Serina Calis stepped inside, her presence as measured as ever, but her piercing blue eyes betraying the ceaseless calculations running through her mind.

He didn't rise to greet her—not out of disrespect, but because he knew she would appreciate the lack of ceremony. Instead, he leaned back slightly in his chair, one armored hand resting over the datapads on his desk.

"Serina," he said, his voice steady and calm. "It's been a long time."

His crimson visor remained fixed on her, assessing her, searching for any signs of change. He had no doubt she had grown more formidable, but the question remained—had she grown wiser?

Gesturing toward the empty chair, he motioned for her to sit.

"We have much to discuss."

The door hissed shut behind her, sealing them in the quiet solitude of his office. No politics. No pretense. Just family.

And whatever truths needed to be spoken.

 

[Serina Calis]

Judgement Day.
Location: ???
Objective: Survive judgement.
Allies: Reicher Vax
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: None

Reicher, Reicher never changes.​

Serina Calis stepped forward, the soft hum of the door's seal behind her marking the point of no return. She did not flinch at the sound—she had expected it, welcomed it even. Isolation suited her. It was the presence of another that unsettled her.

Her eyes swept the room with deliberate slowness, not because she needed to familiarize herself with its contents, but because it gave her time. Time to steady herself. Time to temper the emotions roiling beneath her carefully cultivated mask.

Reicher Vax was many things. A warrior, a leader, a tactician. But to her, above all, he was an observer. He saw too much, noticed the details others overlooked. And she was too tired to engage in the exhausting dance of deception. Not with him. Not today.

She inhaled through her nose, exhaled just as evenly, and stepped toward the chair he had offered. Her movements were fluid, precise, measured, but lacked their usual undercurrent of quiet arrogance. If Reicher was looking for change, he would find it in the way she carried herself. Not weaker, not hesitant—just… tired.

Easing into the seat, she crossed one leg over the other, resting her hands in her lap. Her fingers curled slightly, then relaxed. A small gesture, but one that betrayed a restless mind.

"You're right," she murmured at last, her voice quieter than usual, lacking its typical lilt of amusement or veiled mockery. "It has been a long time."

Her gaze flickered over him, taking in the familiar crimson glow of his visor, the way he sat—always controlled, always assessing. It had been too long since she had been in a room with someone who knew her well enough to see past the persona she wore for the rest of the galaxy.

And that was precisely why she had almost refused to come.

"You sent for me," she continued, her tone even, yet devoid of any false pleasantries. She would not pretend to be here for anything other than obligation. "So tell me, Reicher. What truth have you decided I need to hear today?"

A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, but it did not reach her eyes. She could play the part of someone unaffected, but not even she had the energy to maintain the act forever. He would know that.

And in some way, perhaps that was why she had come at all.

 

[Reicher Vax]

Serina Calis

Reicher Vax studied her in silence for a long moment. He had expected many things from this meeting—deflection, arrogance, maybe even hostility. But this? This quiet exhaustion, this brittle restraint? It was something else entirely.

It concerned him.

He leaned forward, his armored elbows resting lightly on the desk as he clasped his hands together. His crimson visor remained fixed on her, unreadable as ever, but his voice, when he spoke, carried a weight that had nothing to do with the mechanical distortion of his helmet.

"I sent for you," he said evenly, "because I know the look of someone walking toward a ledge."

He let that hang between them, the silence settling like dust over the polished surface of his desk. He could see the subtle tension in her posture, the way her fingers curled ever so slightly before relaxing again. The way her smirk was a shadow of what it had once been.

"You're many things, Serina," he continued, his voice measured but firm. "But you don't break. You adapt. You scheme. You bend the galaxy around you until it fits the shape you want it to be. And yet—" he tilted his head ever so slightly, as if examining a puzzle with a missing piece "—you're here, sitting in that chair, looking like you would rather be anywhere else."

He shifted slightly, lifting one hand from the desk and gesturing vaguely toward her. "So tell me—what is it? What weight have you taken upon yourself that even you can't carry it without showing the strain?"

There was no mockery in his voice, no condescension. Just quiet, unshakable certainty. He wasn't here to pry for amusement or power. He was here because, despite everything, he still considered her family.

And family, however flawed, was worth fighting for.

His fingers tapped once against the desk. A small, rhythmic gesture.

"You don't have to tell me," he said at last. "But if you don't, I will find out anyway, because unlike you, I am actually a part of the Tsis'Kaar, and not a poser." A pause. "And we both know how much you hate being predictable."

His voice was calm, steady. But underneath it was something else. Something close to concern.

He had no doubt she would choose her next words carefully. But this time, he wasn't interested in what she wanted him to hear.

He wanted the truth.

 

[Serina Calis]

Judgement Day.
Location: ???
Objective: Survive judgement.
Allies: Reicher Vax
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: None

Reicher, Reicher never changes.​

Serina exhaled softly through her nose, her gaze momentarily dropping to the polished surface of the desk between them. The reflection staring back at her was that of someone she hardly recognized—tired, worn, not in body, but in something far deeper.

She had not come here to be dissected. She had not come here to be seen. And yet, Reicher Vax had always had an irritating way of cutting through pretense.

She lifted her gaze back to him, expression unreadable.

"You think I'm walking toward a ledge?" she echoed, voice quiet, almost amused—but there was no real humor in it. "Perhaps I am. Perhaps I've been walking toward it for longer than I realized."

Her fingers curled together in her lap, nails pressing lightly against her palm. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to ground her.

"You ask what weight I carry, as if there is a singular answer to that question," she continued, her voice steady but laced with something quieter. "As if there is one burden, one problem, one thing I can set down and be free of."

She shook her head once, slowly.

"Do you think I don't know what I've become, Reicher? What path I walk?" Her blue eyes locked onto the crimson glow of his visor, daring him to look away. "You are not the only one who watches from the shadows. You are not the only one who calculates risks and measures threats. And yet, for all your scrutiny, for all your concern, what do you really think I am?"

She let the question linger, let it settle between them like the dust of forgotten stars.

"I am not a Jedi. I am not Sith. I am something else entirely, and that," she said, leaning forward ever so slightly, "is why the weight never leaves. Because there is no place for something that does not belong."

For a moment, just a moment, the mask cracked. Not in her expression, but in the way her voice softened, in the way her fingers twitched against the fabric of her robes before stilling once more.

"I don't need you to save me, Reicher," she murmured. "And I don't need you to understand."

She leaned back again, regaining that measured composure, though the tension in her shoulders remained.

"But tell me," she said, tilting her head ever so slightly. "Since you seem so determined to reach inside my mind and pull out the answers yourself—what do you see?"

Her voice was smooth, as always. But beneath it was something quieter. Something almost fragile.

 

[Reicher Vax]

Serina Calis

Reicher was silent for a long time. He did not move, did not react. He simply watched her, the dim glow of his visor casting faint red light over the desk between them.

He heard the words she had spoken, the sharp defiance in them, the quiet resignation beneath. He saw the way her fingers curled in her lap, the way she leaned forward and back again, caught somewhere between restraint and revelation.

What did he see?

He could have given her a dozen answers. He could have spoken of strength, of ambition, of the fine line she walked between brilliance and destruction. He could have pointed out the cracks in her armor, the weight in her voice, the way she masked herself in rhetoric even when she was exhausted by it.

But none of those were the truth she was asking for.

What did he see?

"I see a girl who thinks she has no place in this galaxy," he said finally, his voice quieter than before. "And I see a woman who refuses to let that stop her from shaping it in her image."

His hands uncurled from where they had been resting, palms flattening against the desk. Not a threat. Not a gesture of dominance. Just something solid. Something real.

"You call yourself something else entirely, as if that makes you untouchable, unshaped by what came before you. But that's a lie, Serina. You know it. I know it. You are not beyond the reach of what made you, of the darkness you cling to, of the force that saved you from beyond the grave—only unwilling to acknowledge its hold."

He exhaled, not in frustration, but in something close to understanding.

"You don't need me to save you. I know that. You never did, you have tentacles for that sort of thing." His voice was even, unwavering even throughout the little joke he made. "But you came here, despite every instinct telling you not to. You came because, for all your defiance, you knew I would look at you and see something beyond what you tell yourself in the dark."

"Or what the dark tells you."

He tilted his head, the glow of his visor dimming slightly.

"I see you, Serina. I see the cracks in the foundation you're trying so desperately to pretend aren't there. And you—" he leaned forward, just enough for his voice to drop lower, more deliberate "—you are afraid of what happens when they give way."

Another silence stretched between them. It was not hostile. It was not oppressive. It simply was.

"And if you tell me that isn't true, I won't argue with you." His tone softened, just slightly. "But I will remind you that you are not as alone as you think you are."

He leaned back then, letting his words settle, waiting to see if she would tear them down or let them linger.

 

[Serina Calis]

Judgement Day.
Location: ???
Objective: Survive judgement.
Allies: Reicher Vax
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: None

Reicher, Reicher never changes.​

Serina sat there, unmoving. Unblinking. The words hung between them, settling like dust in the still air of the office.

He saw her.

She should have expected it. Of course he would see it—Reicher Vax, the man who built entire war machines on calculations, who understood the power of observation better than most. And yet, for all her preparations, all her defenses, hearing it spoken aloud…

It stung.

A slow breath left her lips, controlled, measured. Not a sigh. She would not give him that.

But she did not deny it.

Not immediately.

Instead, she reached forward, taking one of the datapads from the stack on his desk. She turned it over in her hands, as if she were actually reading it, but her gaze was distant. Contemplative.

"You're wrong about one thing," she said at last, her voice quiet, yet sharp enough to cut. "I am not afraid of the cracks."

Her fingers traced the smooth edge of the datapad.

"I have always known they were there."

A pause. Then, her blue eyes lifted to meet his visor again, and for the first time in the conversation, something in them steeled.

"I am not afraid of breaking, Reicher." Her voice was softer now, almost eerily so. "I am afraid of what I will become when I do."

She let that truth settle, let it fill the space between them like a whispered warning. Then, with the same slow grace she always carried, she set the datapad back down on his desk, aligning it perfectly with the others.

"And as for being alone," she continued, shifting back in her chair, "I appreciate the sentiment. I truly do. But we both know there are some roads that must be walked alone."

A small, knowing smile touched her lips, but it did not reach her eyes.

"Besides," she murmured, tilting her head ever so slightly, "if I ever truly fall, I suspect you and Dominic will be the first to try and stop me."

Not save her.

Stop her.

She let the weight of that distinction settle between them. She had no illusions about what would happen if she truly crossed a line that could not be undone. No matter how much Reicher understood her, no matter how much Dominic might care for her in his own rigid way, they would not stand by if she became something that needed to be erased.

And perhaps that was why she was here.

Perhaps, deep down, she wanted them to see the cracks.

Because if they were watching, then at least someone would be there to make the choice she wasn't sure she could.

Her fingers tapped once against the armrest of her chair—an unconscious echo of his own earlier gesture.

"Now," she said, her voice returning to something almost normal, almost light, "was that all, or did you call me here for a reason beyond reminding me that I am so very predictable?"

Her smirk returned, sharp and practiced. But the weight in her eyes remained.

 

[Reicher Vax]

Serina Calis

Reicher watched her carefully, his silence stretching long after she finished speaking. He let her words settle, let them breathe, let them linger. She had always been skilled at turning conversations back on others, shifting control with careful phrasing, with half-truths wrapped in elegant deflection. But this time, she had slipped.

And he wasn't about to let that go unnoticed.

His fingers drummed lightly against the desk once before stopping. "That's an interesting thing for you to say," he mused, his tone carrying a quiet edge of curiosity. "You, of all people, thinking about how you'll impact others when you break. Wondering what will happen to you, rather than what you will do to the galaxy."

He tilted his head slightly, the red glow of his visor dimming as if in thought. "That's new."

A pause.

"Or rather," he continued, leaning back slightly, "it's recent."

The weight of his observation settled between them. He wasn't accusing her. He wasn't mocking her. He was simply noting it. And that, perhaps, was worse.

Because it meant he had seen something she had not intended for him to see.

"You've never cared before," he said plainly. "Not like this. Not about how the pieces fall when you move them. Not about who might be watching when the cracks finally give way."

He let the words sit for a moment, then added, almost idly, "Which begs the question—what changed?"

His voice remained steady, unreadable. But beneath the mechanical distortion, there was something real. Not suspicion. Not manipulation.

Something close to concern.

Because if Serina Calis was beginning to care, even in the smallest of ways… then something had shaken her.

And that was something Reicher Vax needed to understand.

 

[Serina Calis]

Judgement Day.
Location: ???
Objective: Survive judgement.
Allies: Reicher Vax
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: None

Reicher, Reicher never changes.​

Serina didn't answer immediately. Instead, she sat perfectly still, her fingers resting lightly against the arm of the chair, her expression unreadable. The only sign that his words had struck anything at all was the faintest flicker in her gaze—quick, fleeting, but there.

Then, slowly, she exhaled, the sound barely audible.

"You're observant," she murmured, not quite a compliment, not quite an accusation. "But you're looking for something more complex than what's there."

Her fingers curled slightly before she leaned forward, resting her forearms against her knees. Not in defeat, not in vulnerability, but in something that felt almost tired.

"I haven't changed," she said at last, her voice quieter now, more measured. "I still move the pieces. I still shape the board. I still choose the path that best serves me."

She lifted her gaze to his visor again, holding it.

"But even the most careful player glances up from the game, once in a while, and realizes the pieces aren't just pieces. That sometimes, they look back."

Her lips pressed together briefly, as if considering whether or not to say more. Then, finally:

"Nothing changed, Reicher. I just started noticing."

She leaned back again, folding her arms loosely across her chest. "And if that concerns you, if you think it makes me weaker, then you don't know me as well as you think you do."

There was no challenge in her voice, no sharpness—just the quiet weight of a truth she hadn't quite decided how to feel about herself.

Because he was right. She had never cared before. Not like this. Not in a way that made her pause, even for a second, to think about the fallout.

And maybe—just maybe—that was why she was here now. Because Reicher Vax was the only person who could see the cracks forming in real-time.

 

[Reicher Vax]

Serina Calis

Reicher Vax had never been one for sentimentality.

It was a luxury few could afford, least of all a man who had spent his life in the trenches of war, politics, and survival. But as he sat there, staring at the woman across from him, the woman who had always seemed untouchable, unshakable—he felt something tighten in his chest.

Serina Calis was slipping.

And the worst part? He wasn't sure if she even realized it.

He inhaled slowly, the mechanical filter of his helmet making the sound colder than it should have been. He could feel the weight of the words he wanted to say pressing down on him, heavier than any battlefield, any warzone.

"Noticing, huh?" His voice was quieter now, not softer—he didn't do soft—but lower, like the ground beneath them was about to crack open, and he wasn't sure which one of them was going to fall first.

"You say nothing's changed, but that's a lie, Serina." He shook his head, fingers curling slightly on the desk. "You don't get to just 'notice' something like this. Not you. You don't glance up from the game—you are the game. You always have been. Calculating, untouchable, five steps ahead of everyone else. And now, suddenly, you're seeing the board differently? That doesn't just happen."

He leaned forward, and this time there was no mechanical precision in the movement, no calculated control. Just something real, something raw.

"You think I don't know what this is?" His voice didn't rise, but there was an edge to it, something close to frustration—not at her, not really, but at the fact that he could see the storm brewing inside her, and she wasn't doing anything to stop it.

"You think I haven't seen this before? This… slipping?" His hand clenched against the desk, fingers tightening for a moment before he forced them to relax. "You think you're the first one who thought they could walk that razor's edge, alone, and not get cut to pieces?"

His visor dimmed slightly as he exhaled. "You're not."

His voice was quieter now, the weight of it pressing between them like the silence of a battlefield before the first shot is fired.

"I've been here, Serina."

A pause. A long one.

"You think you're untouchable? So did I. You think you can stare into the abyss and shape it into what you want? So did I." He shook his head, voice thick with something unspoken. "You think you can keep walking forward, keep carrying all of it, and that eventually, it will all make sense, that the pieces will fit, that you'll find the place you belong?"

His voice dropped lower.

"So did I."

The words hung between them, heavy and immovable.

"And do you know what I learned?" He let the silence stretch just long enough before answering his own question.

"You don't find a place in this galaxy, Serina. You take one." His fingers tapped once against the desk, sharp and deliberate. "And if you don't, someone else will. And they'll decide for you whether you even deserve one."

He sat back, shoulders squared, but the tension didn't leave him. If anything, it deepened.

"I don't care if you think you're falling, or breaking, or slipping, or whatever word you want to dress this up with," he said, his voice steady but heated now, the cracks in his own control showing. "What I care about is that for the first time in your life, you're hesitating. And that—" he pointed at her, not accusatory, but certain "—is the one thing that will get you killed."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head again, like he hated the words even as he said them.

"You're Serina Calis, damn it. You don't hesitate. You don't second-guess. You don't sit in a room like this, across from me, acting like some fragile thing that might break if it carries too much." His fingers curled into a fist before he forced them open again. "You fight. You climb. You win. That's what you do."

He stared at her, voice dropping into something dangerously close to quiet desperation.

"So if you've started noticing—if you've started caring—then you damn well better figure out why before it's too late."

His hands tightened against the edge of the desk again, then released, a long breath escaping through his modulator.

Because for all his words, for all his anger, he knew—

He wasn't just talking to her.

He was talking to the version of himself he had buried long ago. The version that had hesitated. The version that had lost.

The version that had allowed for the deaths of Varis Vax and Cora Vax.

And he would not watch her make the same mistake.

 

[Serina Calis]

Judgement Day.
Location: ???
Objective: Survive judgement.
Allies: Reicher Vax
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: None

Reicher, Reicher never changes.​

Serina listened in silence.

She didn't shift in her seat, didn't react outwardly, but inwardly, the weight of his words pressed against something she had tried—so hard—to keep buried.

Hesitation.

The very thing she had spent her entire life trying to avoid.

She had always prided herself on clarity, on conviction, on the ability to see the path ahead and walk it without looking back. She had never been the kind of person to waver, to falter, to ask what if.

And yet.

Here she was.

Sitting in this chair.

Hesitating just as much as when she had died. Twice.

Listening to Reicher Vax tell her things she already knew but had refused to face.

Her fingers curled slowly against the fabric of her robes, tightening just enough to keep them still.

"You think I don't know that?" Her voice was quiet, but there was no anger in it. No sharpness. Just exhaustion, deep and heavy. "You think I don't hear that same voice in my head every time I close my eyes?"

She shook her head, exhaling slowly.

"I know what hesitation is, Reicher. I know it's a weakness. I know it's a death sentence. And I know that if I keep walking this road with even the smallest doubt in my mind, I will fall."

Her hands unclenched, slowly, deliberately.

"But you seem to think I don't understand what that means. That I don't see the edge for what it is." Her gaze lifted to his visor, steady, unreadable. "I do."

A pause.

"And I am not afraid of dying."

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

"I am not afraid of what will happen to me. If I fall, then I fall. If I burn, then so be it. I have made peace with that, in a way I doubt you ever could." Her lips curled into the smallest, faintest smile, but it held no warmth. "But that's not what you're really asking, is it?"

She tilted her head slightly.

"You're asking why I care all of a sudden. Why I'm noticing. Why I'm looking up from the game and seeing the board in a way I never have before."

She leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on the desk, mirroring the way he had done earlier. Her blue eyes burned—not with defiance, not with anger, but with something quieter.

Something raw.

"It's because, for the first time in my life, I am no longer certain that I want to win."

The words came slowly, deliberately, like speaking them aloud made them real in a way they hadn't been before.

And for a long moment, she simply let them exist.

"I spent my entire life believing that power was the only thing that mattered," she said, her voice almost distant, like she was speaking more to herself than to him. "That control was the only thing worth striving for. That the galaxy is a game, and the only ones who survive are the ones ruthless enough to take what they want."

Her fingers traced slow, idle circles against the desk.

"And I still believe that, in some ways. I have to. The moment I stop, someone else will take my place, and I will be nothing more than another forgotten piece swept off the board."

Her fingers stilled.

"But somewhere along the way, I started wondering if there was more than just the game. If there was something beyond the board, beyond the endless cycle of power and betrayal and conquest."

She exhaled softly, shaking her head.

"And I don't like that thought, Reicher. I don't want it. It makes me weak. It makes me question things I never should have questioned. And you're right—it makes me hesitate."

Her gaze lifted to meet his once more.

"And that, more than anything, is what terrifies me."

She leaned back then, folding her arms loosely across her chest.

"Because if I keep hesitating, I will lose. I will fall. And I do not trust this galaxy to be kind to me when I do."

A bitter chuckle left her lips, quiet and fleeting.

"You say I have to take my place before someone else decides whether I deserve one. But what if I no longer want a place in the galaxy you and I both know is broken beyond repair?"

Her voice was quieter now, more somber than it had ever been.

"Tell me, Reicher. If I walk away from all of it—the power, the ambition, the path I've spent my entire life carving—what am I?"

A long pause.

"Nothing."

The word was barely a whisper, but it carried more weight than anything she had said before.

Because for all her intelligence, for all her strength, for all her carefully built armor—she had no answer to that question.

And that, more than anything else, was what truly scared her.

 

[Reicher Vax]

Serina Calis

For a long time, Reicher didn't speak.

He just sat there, his crimson visor locked onto her, watching, listening. Letting her words settle in the space between them like dust in a forgotten ruin.

She had finally said it.

The thing that had been gnawing at the edges of her mind, the thing she hadn't wanted to say aloud because speaking it would make it real.

She didn't know who she was without the fight. Without the ambition. Without the endless struggle for more.

And damn it all, he understood.

He had spent years telling himself the same things she was telling herself now—that power was survival, that control was the only path that didn't end in oblivion. That if you weren't winning, you were already dead.

And yet, there had been moments—fleeting moments—where he had wondered. Where he had looked at the world beyond the battlefield, beyond the power plays and the endless war, and asked himself the same impossible question she had just spoken.

What if I just… stopped?

But neither of them ever had.

Neither of them ever could.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through the modulator of his helmet. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady—not cold, not clinical, just… real.

"You're not nothing, Serina," he said quietly. "Not to me. Not to Dominic. Not to the people who have followed you, fought for you, feared you." A pause. "And that's the problem, isn't it?"

His fingers tapped lightly against the desk, once, twice, before stilling.

"You could walk away. You could. You could disappear into the stars, find some quiet corner of the galaxy where no one knows your name, and spend the rest of your life as someone else." He tilted his head slightly. "But you won't."

Another pause.

"Because you don't know how to stop."

There was no accusation in his voice, no judgment. Just understanding.

"You've spent your whole life fighting for something—power, control, survival, a place in a galaxy that never wanted to make room for you." He exhaled slowly. "And now you're asking yourself what happens if you stop fighting. If you let go."

His hands curled loosely together on the desk, his voice dropping slightly.

"But you already know the answer, don't you?"

He let the question linger, his tone softer now.

"So tell me, Serina. If you really wanted to walk away… why haven't you?"

Because that, more than anything, was what mattered.

The answer to that question was the one thing neither of them could afford to ignore.

 

[Serina Calis]

Judgement Day.
Location: ???
Objective: Survive judgement.
Allies: Reicher Vax
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: None

Reicher, Reicher never changes.​

Serina inhaled slowly, steadying herself.

This was it.

The truth she had buried deep beneath layers of ambition, denial, and quiet, creeping dread.

She had told herself she could hold onto it alone. That she could carry the weight of it without letting it crack her foundation. But Reicher—damn him—had forced her to say it aloud. Forced her to confront it in the open, where it could no longer be ignored.

Her fingers curled against the armrests of the chair.

"You're right," she said finally, her voice quiet but unwavering. "I don't know how to stop."

She let the words settle for a moment, gathering herself, gathering the resolve to speak what came next.

"Because if I do, I cease to exist."

She lifted her gaze to his visor, her piercing blue eyes meeting the dim crimson glow. No barriers. No masks. Just raw, unfiltered truth.

"I always thought… believed… that the power sustaining me, the force that filled the void left when Grandmaster Valery Noble 's blade struck me down—that it was the Dark Side itself. That it was the consequence of delving too deep into something I should have never touched." A humorless chuckle left her lips. "Poetic, really. The Jedi tried to kill me, but their failure only ensured I became exactly what they feared."

She shook her head slightly.

"But I was wrong."

Her fingers pressed against the wood of his desk, her nails digging in slightly.

"The thing that saved me, the thing that revived me on Rakata Prime when Darth Imperius put me in my place, that held me together when Alina Tremiru stripped the Force from me in an attempt to teach me a lesson—it wasn't the Dark Side."

Her throat felt tight, but she forced herself to continue.

"When I was torn apart on Woostri, left to die on the ocean floor, my body should have been beyond saving. The pain—" she paused, the memory flickering through her mind, sharp and vivid, "—was beyond anything I had ever known. I should have died there. But I didn't. I survived."

Aadihr Lidos , somehow his actions had influenced her life more than anyone. If he was not there, Serina would not have had time to make her way to the Ziggurat and learn the truth, had he not backed her into a corner, she may of never fell and this all could of been avoided.

How can one man have such power over the life of another?

Her hands clenched into fists now, shaking slightly despite her best efforts to remain composed.

"Because she saved me."

A slow exhale.

"Myself. My future self."

The words should have felt absurd. They should have felt impossible. But they didn't. They felt like the only thing that made sense.

"The power that has kept me alive through everything, that has rebuilt me time and time again—it was created by me. A version of me that already walked this path. A version that had already gathered the Dark Side in such immense, terrible force that she could reach backward through time to ensure I survived."

She shook her head slightly, the enormity of it settling like a weight on her shoulders.

"And now I know the truth, Reicher." Her voice was hollow, distant. "I have to become her. I have to reach that moment of power, or everything that I am will cease to be. I won't just die—I will be erased."

She leaned back in her chair, her body taut with restrained tension.

"That's why I can't stop. That's why I won't stop." Her voice didn't waver, but there was something else in it now—something almost close to grief. "Because it was never a choice. It never was."

She let her head tilt back slightly, staring up at the ceiling, exhaling a slow, measured breath.

"I thought I had time," she murmured. "I thought I could figure out what I wanted, who I wanted to be. But that was a lie. There was never a choice. The path was already written, and I have to follow it."

A bitter smirk ghosted across her lips, her gaze flicking back to Reicher.

"Do you see now?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Why I hesitate? Why I notice? Because the moment I let go of who I thought I was… I realized I was never in control at all."

She inhaled sharply through her nose, steadying herself, forcing the emotion back into its cage.

"So tell me, Reicher," she said, her voice smooth again, controlled but heavy, "now that you know the truth—what would you do, if you were in my place?"

And for the first time in a long, long time…

She genuinely didn't know what answer she wanted to hear.

 

[Reicher Vax]

Serina Calis

Reicher sat still, unmoving, as Serina's words settled between them. There were few moments in his life where he had felt truly shaken—where the weight of what was spoken pressed down on him like a vice.

This was one of them.

He had known something was wrong. He had felt it in the way she carried herself, in the way she had spoken, in the way she had hesitated. But he hadn't expected this.

Not this.

His fingers curled against the desk, not out of anger, but something far deeper. Something heavier.

She wasn't just fighting for power. She wasn't just fighting to carve her place in the galaxy.

She was fighting against oblivion.

He exhaled, slow and steady, before finally leaning forward, his voice calm, but certain.

"There's an old saying," he murmured. "Rage against the dying of the light." He let the words hang there, before continuing, his tone lowering. "Or in your case… rage against the dying of the dark."

His visor dimmed slightly as he tilted his head, his voice growing sharper.

"You don't have a choice, Serina. You never did. The moment your future self reached back and pulled you from death, she set this path in motion. The moment you survived, you made a contract with time itself. And now, you either become her—or you disappear."

His fingers tapped against the desk, deliberate. "So you want to know what I would do? What you should do?"

He leaned closer, voice steady, unshakable.

"You fight."

His words were iron.

"You fight the galaxy itself. You fight the Force, you fight the Jedi, the Sith, nature itself, because if you don't—if you hesitate, if you stop—then you lose everything. And I do not mean power, or influence, or a throne that doesn't exist yet." His fingers tightened. "I mean you."

His voice hardened. "You will have to become the most dangerous thing this galaxy has ever seen. You will have to tear through the chains that bind you, not just the ones the Sith or Jedi place on you—but the ones the Force itself has written into your fate. You will have to shatter everything they say is unbreakable. Defy what should not be defied."

He let the weight of those words settle before continuing.

"You are going to be hunted. By the Jedi, because they will fear what you could become. By the Sith, because they will never allow someone to wield the Dark Side in a way they cannot control. And by the Force itself, because what you are about to do is unnatural, impossible—because you are impossible."

A slow breath left him, his shoulders shifting slightly.

"And you are going to have to fight through all of it."

His fingers tapped against the desk, once, twice, before stilling.

"But you already know that."

Another pause. Then, his voice softened—just slightly.

"What you don't seem to understand… is that when you can't fight, you need others to fight for you."

His crimson visor locked onto her, unwavering.

"You have spent your life playing the game alone, shaping the board with your own hands. But this isn't a game anymore, Serina. This is war. And no one—no one—wins a war alone."

He shook his head slightly, exhaling through the modulator.

"I don't care how strong you are. I don't care how brilliant, how ruthless, how determined you think you can be. You will have moments where you are not enough. Where the weight will be too much. And in those moments, you cannot afford to be alone."

He tilted his head, his voice lowering again.

"You have people who will fight for you. Whether you want them to or not. And if you refuse to accept that—if you refuse to use that—then you've already lost."

He sat back, watching her, waiting to see if she would tear his words apart, if she would push back, if she would deny it all just to keep control.

But he had given her the truth.

 

[Serina Calis]

Judgement Day.
Location: ???
Objective: Survive judgement.
Allies: Reicher Vax
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: None

Reicher, Reicher never changes.​

Serina sat in silence.

Not the kind of silence that came from calculation, from waiting for the perfect moment to strike, to turn words into weapons. No—this was something else entirely.

This was the silence of someone staring down the weight of their existence and realizing, for the first time, that they couldn't carry it alone.

Her fingers curled, then relaxed. Her breathing was steady. But her mind—her mind—was a storm.

Rage against the dying of the dark.

The words echoed through her, searing into her thoughts like molten iron. Because he was right. Of course, he was right. He had always been good at seeing the truth behind the illusions she spun, at cutting through the layers of control she wrapped around herself.

She had to fight.

Against the Jedi. Against the Sith. Against the Force itself.

Against destiny.

Because if she didn't, she would vanish. Not die—not leave a broken body for the galaxy to step over—but disappear, as if she had never existed in the first place.

And she wasn't ready for that.

She wasn't ready to be nothing.

She closed her eyes, just for a moment. Just long enough to gather herself.

Then, slowly, she inhaled and lifted her gaze back to his.

"You make it sound so simple," she murmured, her voice softer than before, but steady. "Fight. Defy. Rage against fate itself."

A humorless chuckle escaped her lips. "Do you have any idea how exhausting that sounds?"

She ran a hand through her golden hair, fingers threading through it as she exhaled, shaking her head slightly.

"I have spent my entire life clawing my way forward. Bending the world around me, shaping it into something I could control. And now you tell me I have to do it again—but this time, against everything." She leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk between them, fingers pressing into the polished surface.

"And the worst part?" She let out a slow, bitter breath. "You're right."

Her fingers tapped against the desk, once, twice, mirroring his own earlier movement.

"I have no choice. I never did. And I hate that." Her blue eyes burned as they met his visor. "I hate that the path was already written. That I was always going to end up here, staring into the abyss, knowing I have to become something greater—or be erased entirely."

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "I hate all of it."

But then, something in her posture shifted. Not lighter—no, never that—but resolved.

"And yet… I refuse to lose."

The words weren't a whisper. They weren't a declaration, either. They were a simple, unshakable truth.

She sat back again, folding her arms, her gaze never leaving him.

"You say I need others to fight for me." Her voice was quiet now, but weighted, carrying something dangerous. "And that, Reicher… is where I have a problem."

Her fingers drummed against her arm.

"I know you and Dominic would fight for me. I know there are those who would bleed for me, die for me, without hesitation. But tell me this—why should they?"

Her voice didn't waver, but there was something raw beneath it, something she rarely let slip.

"I have spent my entire life using people as pieces on the board. And now you tell me I have to trust that some of them will fight for me when I can't? That when I fall, someone will pick me up instead of leaving me to be trampled?"

A sharp, bitter chuckle left her lips.

"That's not how the galaxy works, Reicher. That's not how I work."

She tilted her head slightly, watching him carefully. "So tell me—why should I believe that anyone would truly stand by my side when I need them most?"

And beneath it all, beneath the challenge in her voice, beneath the sharp edge of her words—

There was something deeper.

Something close to fear.

 

[Reicher Vax]

Serina Calis

Reicher exhaled, slow and deliberate, the sound of the breath escaping his modulator filling the silence between them.

Serina had laid herself bare in ways she rarely did. And he knew—he knew—that for all her sharp words and defiant challenges, there was something deeper beneath them.

Fear.

Not fear of death. Not fear of losing power.

Fear of being forgotten.

Fear that, when the time came, she would reach out and find no one there.

His fingers tapped against the desk again, once, twice, before he finally spoke.

"You want to know why people would fight for you?" His voice was steady, calm, but there was something beneath it—something real.

"Because, despite what you tell yourself, despite the way you've played this game your entire life, you are not just a manipulator moving pieces on a board."

He tilted his head slightly, his visor dimming.

"You are not just a sum of your power, Serina. And for all your ruthlessness, for all your cold, calculated ambition—there are people who see you, not just what you can do."

His hands clenched slightly against the desk.

"You think you don't inspire loyalty? That people wouldn't choose to stand with you when the time comes?" He shook his head. "You already have people who would, whether you see it or not. And not because they are being used, or because you've manipulated them into it. But because, in the ways that matter, you have earned it."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly.

"You want proof?" His head tilted slightly. "I am sitting across from you right now, aren't I?"

He let that settle before continuing.

"You think I waste my time on people I don't care about? You think I sit here and tell you to fight because I have to? No. I do it because I choose to." His fingers curled into a fist, resting against the desk. "Because, like it or not, you matter, Serina. And whether you believe it or not, there are people who will not let you fall without a fight."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You want to know why they fight? Because you make them believe in something. Even if that something is just you."

His visor dimmed slightly, his tone softening, just a fraction.

"You don't have to believe it now. Hell, I don't expect you to. But when the time comes, when you're standing at the edge and you think you're alone, remember this: You won't have to ask for help."

He leaned back slightly, his fingers relaxing.

"Because if you mean something to someone, they will fight for you without ever being asked."

His voice dropped lower.

"And if you can't believe in that yet… then believe in me when I tell you that I will be there when the time comes."

He let the words settle, let the weight of them sink in.

 

[Serina Calis]

Judgement Day.
Location: ???
Objective: Survive judgement.
Allies: Reicher Vax
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: None

Reicher, Reicher never changes.​

Serina sat there, still as stone, as Reicher's words settled around her.

She had expected arguments. Calculations. Logic. She had expected him to tell her why she was wrong, to give her reasons, to make her see the value in alliances, in loyalty, in trusting others to hold the line when she could not.

She had not expected this.

She had not expected him to tell her, with such quiet certainty, that she already had people who would fight for her. That she had already earned that loyalty, whether she recognized it or not.

And she had not expected him to say that he would be one of them.

Her fingers twitched slightly, her grip tightening just enough to feel the pressure.

"You always were a stubborn bastard," she murmured, her voice quieter than before. "Dominic would be proud."

But there was no sharp edge to it. No veiled mockery. If anything, there was the ghost of something else—something softer, something dangerously close to… relief.

Not that she would ever admit it, but this is how she came to care for people.

That when the fire and fury was over, that they would just see Serina Calis for who she was and accept it.

That they would allow her to speak, to answer for her horrid deeds and realize that, at the end of it all.

She still cared about them.

Her gaze lifted to his visor, her expression unreadable, but her voice—her voice—held something different now. Not hesitation. Not doubt.

Something closer to acceptance.

"I don't know if I believe you," she admitted, her words slow, measured, but real. "Not completely. Not yet."

She let out a breath, fingers uncurling against the desk. "But I want to."

That was as much as she could give him.

She wanted to believe.

That she wasn't alone. That when the time came, when she reached for something beyond herself, she wouldn't find nothing.

That someone—anyone—would be there.

Her fingers drummed softly against the desk, mirroring the same motion he had done before.

"Fine," she said, exhaling sharply. "Then I suppose I have no choice but to make sure I live long enough to see if you're right."

A slow, sharp smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, but this time, it was different. This time, it wasn't armor. It wasn't a shield.

This time, it was real.

She tilted her head slightly, her blue eyes still locked on his visor.

"Looks like you're stuck with me a little while longer, Reicher."

And, for the first time in what felt like forever—

She wasn't entirely sure if she minded.

 

[Reicher Vax]

Serina Calis

Reicher Vax did not move.

He did not react with surprise, nor did he let the weight of her words shake him. He simply took them in, as he always did—methodically, completely, without hesitation.

Because for all of Serina's sharpness, for all of her deflections, this was the moment he had been waiting for.

Not when she had spoken of her impending erasure. Not when she had admitted to the crushing inevitability of her path. Not even when she had confessed her uncertainty.

But now.

Now, when she had finally allowed herself—even if only for a second—to consider the possibility that she didn't have to stand alone.

It was a sliver of something fragile, something unformed, but it was there.

And Reicher Vax was not the kind of man to let something like that slip away.

"You want to believe," he repeated, his voice as steady as durasteel, as unyielding as the bulkheads of a warship standing firm against the storm. "That's enough for now."

He leaned forward slightly, the glow of his visor dimming just a fraction. "You are not alone in this, Serina. You never were. The only difference now is that you're beginning to see it."

His fingers curled against the surface of the desk, not in frustration, not in calculation—just grounding himself, reinforcing the absolute certainty in his next words.

"And I swear to you, as long as I draw breath, you will never be alone."

It was not a promise made in desperation. It was not a vow spoken out of obligation.

It was fact.

Reicher Vax was many things—a tactician, a warrior, a leader of men—but above all, he was certain. When he chose a course, he did not waver. When he spoke, he did not lie.

And now, as he sat across from Serina Calis, he was absolute in his conviction.

"You may not trust the galaxy, and you sure as hell don't trust the Jedi or the Sith. But you can trust me. Because no matter what happens, no matter how deep you have to go, no matter how much the galaxy tries to erase you—" he tapped his finger against the desk once, sharp and deliberate, "I will remember."

His voice dropped lower, slower, carrying the weight of every battle he had fought, every choice he had made, every lesson he had learned in the unforgiving void of war.

"And so will others."

He exhaled slowly. "I know this path won't be easy for you. It will be harder than anything you have ever faced. And I know you, Serina—you would rather carve through the entire galaxy by yourself than rely on anyone else to keep you standing."

His fingers drummed against the desk, echoing her own earlier movement.

"But you have to," he said, his voice ironclad. "You must."

He leaned forward slightly, his tone unwavering. "You are going to war against fate itself. Against the natural order. Against time." His voice sharpened. "You cannot win that war alone."

A long pause. Then, his next words came with all the force of a command.

"You need to make proper friends and allies."

Not acquaintances. Not pawns. Not people who would serve her only as long as it benefited them.

Real allies.

Real people who would stand with her because they chose to. Not because they were forced. Not because they were manipulated.

Because they believed in her.

He exhaled, sitting back slightly. "I know it won't be easy for you. I know you don't want to." A pause. "But if you don't, you will lose."

His voice, for all its strength, softened just slightly.

"And you don't get to lose, Serina. Not this time. Not when the cost is everything."

 

[Serina Calis]

Judgement Day.
Location: ???
Objective: Survive judgement.
Allies: Reicher Vax
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: None

Reicher, Reicher never changes.​

Serina sat in silence.

Not the cold, calculating silence of someone plotting their next move. Not the stubborn, defiant silence of someone rejecting everything laid before them.

No, this was different.

This was the silence of someone staring into the vast, unknowable future and realizing that—for the first time in a long, long time—there were variables she could not predict.

For so long, her life had been built on control. Absolute control.

She did not ask for things—she took them. She did not rely on others—she shaped them. She did not trust—she ensured compliance.

And now, Reicher was telling her she needed to change. That she needed to let people in. That she needed to believe in something beyond herself.

She exhaled softly, staring down at the polished desk beneath her fingers.

"You really are relentless, aren't you?" she murmured, shaking her head slightly. "I suppose I should have expected that."

She lifted her gaze back to him, her blue eyes unreadable, but there was something else there now—something quiet, something thoughtful.

She didn't like this.

She didn't like the idea of needing others. She didn't like the idea of placing any part of herself into someone else's hands, no matter how carefully chosen they might be.

But the truth was, she already had.

Reicher Vax
Dominic Calis
Kaila Irons
Quinn Varanin
Lord Calis
Lady Calis
Aadihr Lidos
Reina Daival
Jack Wright
The House Calis Guard
Valery Noble
Alana Calloway
Cerrik

The faces flashed in her mind, each one of them and the moment she had broken their trust. The anger on their faces, both real and imagined, the sheer hatred to even look upon her, even if it was for a split second.

For all her talk, for all her insistence that she walked this road alone, they had all been there at one point, to try and save her from herself. And she had let them be, she had stabbed them all in the back one way or another.

She had destroyed their trust in her, whether they knew of it currently or not.

That was the irony of it all, wasn't it?

She smirked slightly, shaking her head. "Fate is laughing at me right now, I'm sure of it. The great Serina Calis, master manipulator, untouchable and self-sufficient—now being lectured about friendship."

The amusement was real, but it was laced with something else—something heavier.

She inhaled, slow and measured, before speaking again.

"I will try."

The words came quietly, but they were not hesitant. They were deliberate.

"I make no promises beyond that. I will try to allow others in. To see if there are those who would stand with me, not because I have forced them to, but because they choose to."

She exhaled sharply, fingers tapping once against the desk.

"But understand this, Reicher—I will not compromise on control."

Her voice was firmer now, her expression sharpening.

"I will not place blind faith in anyone. I will not simply trust that they will stand when the time comes. If I am to build something beyond myself—if I am to allow people to get close—then I must still have some form of control over them, even if it is not in the way I once thought necessary."

Her fingers curled slightly. "Even from those I would call allies… I demand control."

She tilted her head, watching him carefully. "That is the one thing I will not change. That is the one thing I cannot change."

A pause.

"But if I can find a way to balance that with something real—if I can make them fight for me, not because they are tools, but because they believe—then maybe… maybe I can win this war."

"That I won't be forgotten."

She leaned back slightly, exhaling through her nose.

"And if I fail, well… I suppose you'll be there to remind me what an idiot I am, won't you?"

There was a wry smirk on her lips, but beneath it—beneath the sharp edges and careful words—there was something else.

Something dangerously close to hope.

Or, at the very least—

The willingness to try.

 

[Reicher Vax]

Serina Calis

Reicher didn't speak right away. He let the words settle between them, let the moment breathe.

She would try.

That was more than he had expected. More than he had hoped for.

She wasn't promising anything. She wasn't abandoning her nature. But she was allowing the idea to exist. And for someone like Serina Calis—someone who had built her entire life on control, on careful calculation—that was monumental.

And he wasn't going to let it go unrecognized.

He exhaled through his modulator, the sound low and steady. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.

"Good," he said simply. "That's all I wanted to hear."

There was no gloating in his tone. No I told you so. Just certainty.

"You don't have to change overnight. Hell, I wouldn't believe it if you did. But the fact that you're willing to try means that you're already doing something you never thought you would."

He let his fingers tap once against the desk, then added, "And for what it's worth… I think you'll surprise yourself."

His visor tilted slightly, watching her, and for the first time, there was something softer in his voice.

"You've been fighting for so long, Serina. Always clawing forward, always taking, always making sure you never needed anyone." He exhaled. "That's an exhausting way to live."

A pause.

"You don't have to carry all of it alone."

He said it so simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Because to him, it was.

To her? He knew it was something impossible to grasp.

But that was why he had to say it.

He leaned forward slightly, his tone lower now. Steady. Certain.

"And if nothing else—if you can't believe in anything else right now—then believe this."

A pause.

"You are not alone."

He let the words settle. Let them sink in.

Then, after a moment, his voice took on a lighter edge. "And if I ever have to remind you of that again, I'll just have Dominic give you one of his patented stern lectures about duty and responsibility. You'd break before he even finished."

His visor tilted slightly, almost in amusement.

"See? I do know how to make people suffer."

It wasn't much.

But it was enough.

 

[Serina Calis]

Judgement Day.
Location: ???
Objective: Survive judgement.
Allies: Reicher Vax
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: None

Reicher, Reicher never changes.​

Serina exhaled slowly, rolling his words over in her mind.

You are not alone.

Simple. Direct. Unwavering.

And yet, it felt like the most impossible thing in the galaxy.

She had spent years ensuring she was untouchable, ensuring that no one could ever get close enough to hurt her, ensuring that she was the one in control of every relationship, every alliance, every power structure she built.

And now, here Reicher was, telling her she didn't have to. That she didn't have to carry all of it alone. That people—he—would stand with her.

She wanted to believe him.

And, perhaps more than she was willing to admit… a part of her did.

She let out a quiet, almost bitter chuckle, shaking her head. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

But there was no venom in the words. No real bite. If anything, there was something else beneath them. Something lighter.

She leaned back in her chair, letting herself settle into the moment, letting herself breathe for what felt like the first time in… longer than she could remember.

"And you overestimate my tolerance for Dominic's lectures," she added dryly. "If you really wanted to torture me, you'd make me sit through a Jedi sermon about compassion and inner peace."

Her fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, her blue eyes meeting his visor once more.

"I appreciate it, Reicher." The words came quiet, but deliberate. Not casual. Not deflecting.

Real.

"But I still need to win. I still need to survive. And I still need to do it my way."

She inhaled slowly, steadying herself before speaking again.

"But maybe… just maybe… that doesn't mean I have to do it alone."

She let the thought linger between them, not fully committing to it, but allowing it to exist.

Then, after a beat, her lips curled into something resembling a smirk. "Of course, if you tell anyone I said that, I'll have to kill you. Can't have people thinking I've gone soft."