"How far have I gone?"
Tag:
Alana Calloway
The air was thick with the acrid scent of burned ozone and churned earth as Serina Calis stood on the raised observation platform, her arms folded beneath the flowing sleeves of her dark robe. Below her, the Sith regiment moved in tight formations, their crimson banners rippling against the oppressive winds of the barren training field. Soldiers clad in blackened armor, adorned with the sigils of their warlords, marched in unison, their movements crisp and disciplined. Massive walkers and hovering gunships loomed in the distance, their presence casting long, ominous shadows over the ranks.
It was an impressive display, or at least it was meant to be. But Serina saw beyond the veneer of strength.
These men and women were not devoted to the Sith. They were devoted to the idea of power, to survival, to the shifting tides of fortune that had kept the Sith war machine in motion for millennia. And therein lay their fatal flaw.
She watched as a commander barked orders, his voice laced with venom and dominance, his authority projected through sheer force of will. The soldiers obeyed, but their compliance was mechanical, impersonal. Fear kept them in line, the ever-present specter of failure and punishment looming over them. But fear was fleeting. The moment it lost its bite, the moment another warlord, another opportunity, another promise of something better came along, their loyalty would shift like desert sands.
Serina had studied history, not just the grand battles and the rise and fall of empires, but the quiet, inevitable betrayals that always came with them. The Sith Order, for all its strength, was a house built on treacherous foundations. It ruled by dominance, by threats, by the raw exertion of power. But power alone could not inspire true loyalty.
She let her piercing blue eyes drift across the ranks, studying the way soldiers stood, how they held their weapons, how they reacted to the Force-sensitive officers that loomed over them. Some were rigid with tension, others barely contained their resentment. A handful—those who truly craved power—stood with pride, eager to prove themselves. But even they were liabilities. Those who sought power for themselves would never be content with servitude.
No, this was not the way.
The Sith had spent generations trying to command obedience through terror, through the raw imposition of will, and yet they were betrayed time and time again. Their generals turned against their masters, their armies fractured the moment their leaders faltered. She would not make that mistake.
Loyalty must be crafted, shaped with precision, not forced through the crude hammering of fear. If she was to command an empire, if she was to transcend the failures of both Jedi and Sith, she would need soldiers who followed her not because they were afraid, but because they believed.
And belief, she mused, was a far deadlier weapon than fear.
A smirk ghosted across her lips as the commander below bellowed another command, the regiment shifting into attack drills, their heavy boots pounding against the hardened dirt. A performance, nothing more. The soldiers might have believed they were proving their strength, but to Serina, they were merely proving their future betrayal.
She would do better.
And when the time came, when her own legions marched, there would be no question of their loyalty. They would not serve out of fear. They would serve because she had made them hers.
