LATER THAT NIGHT
The hall pulses with warmth from hanging braziers, casting deep crimson shadows across the ceiling’s arches. The smoke-thickened wine in Zori’s chalice now glows faintly violet, its surface swirling as though whispering secrets.
Zori reclines lazily on her throne, one leg draped over the armrest, the other grounded like a predator at rest.
A slight smirk touches her lips as she finishes her drink.
She lifts the chalice.
"
I’m bored. Bring me entertainment."
The acolytes freeze for only a second—then bow wordlessly and begin to move. There’s no panic. This is a ritual. And they’ve been trained well.
From a side corridor emerge two figures—her personal slaves, both beautiful, both silent.
RHYSSA – a tall, lithe Mirialan woman with jade skin and gold-ink tattoos along her cheekbones. She wears a translucent silver tunic, trailing at her ankles.
DAEN – a young human male with dark auburn hair, bare-chested, wearing loose black silk trousers. His wrists bear elegant Sith-script cuffs—decorative, but symbolically binding.
They kneel at the base of the dais, heads bowed. Zori leans forward with theatrical grace, one finger curling against her lips in mock thought.
"
Rhyssa. Daen. You’ve been watching the fire dances, haven’t you?"
They nod, eyes averted.
"
Then show me something… original."
Rhyssa rises, pulling Daen to his feet. They move like shadows, gracefully circling one another as the room stills. A new music begins—low, pulsing drums mixed with breathy vocals, ancient Sith hymns turned seductive.
The two begin their dance—not crude, but intimate, dangerous. Like two serpents circling flame. Every motion crafted to please her. Every glance a silent offering.
Zori watches, sipping her wine again. Her gaze is heavy, hungry, but also… reflective.
She leans toward a nearby acolyte.
"
Do you know what the Jedi never understood?"
"
Desire is power."
"
And power, properly wielded, is irresistible."
The acolyte says nothing. She doesn’t need him to. Zori reclines again, eyes never leaving the performance. The flames flicker in her gaze like a prophecy being written.
But even as she indulges, her mind is elsewhere.
With Elian.
With Veleth.
With the throne she hasn’t yet taken.
