First Reply Malice.

[Serina Calis]

Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Coruscant
Tag: ???​

The warehouse was silent but for the distant hum of Coruscant's never-ending traffic far above. Down here, in the forgotten depths of the lower levels, beneath the weight of a thousand stories built upon stories, where the light of day never touched and the air smelled of oil and decay, Serina Calis moved like a shadow given form.

The space was vast, its towering metal shelves packed with forgotten cargo, some marked with the symbols of long-dead corporations, others left unclaimed by time itself. Overhead, dim yellow lighting flickered intermittently, casting brief glimpses of rusted machinery and half-open crates filled with scrap. The cold floor, slick with grime, reflected these weak lights in a ghostly sheen. A single cargo droid lay inert in the corner, its photoreceptors dark, its servos dead—just another remnant of a world that had long since abandoned this place.

Serina inhaled deeply, tasting the damp, metallic air as she stepped forward, the soft tap of her boots swallowed by the vastness of the space. Somewhere in this forgotten vault, tucked away in an unmarked crate, was what she sought—a collection of chemicals, volatile and potent, the first ingredient in an alchemy of ambition.

Her fingers traced along the edges of a crate, feeling the cold, splintered wood beneath her gloves. It was not the one she was looking for, but it didn't matter. The search was only a pretense. She was patient. She was reveling in the moment.

Her thoughts drifted back—to the vision.

Darkness had swallowed her in her slumber, a deep and consuming abyss that pulsed with unwholesome vitality. And then it came—twisting, coiling, slithering into her mind like a lover's whisper, a vision both vivid and obscene. She had seensomething, something so profound and terrible that she had awoken in a breathless, shivering ecstasy. A purpose had been revealed, a calling, though the details of it remained veiled.

It was not a command, nor a prophecy—it was an invitation.

An invitation to become the thing that undid this fragile, rotting galaxy.

A slow smile curled her lips as she let the thought take root. She was not a warrior, nor a conqueror in the way brutes and warlords styled themselves. No, she was far more insidious. The heroes and tyrants of the galaxy were but crude tools, hammering at the walls of civilization with brute force, never understanding that true destruction came not from fire and steel, but from within. From temptation. From slow, creeping corruption.

She was the whisper in the dark, the hand that beckoned, the lips that kissed away restraint. It was her nature, her role, and she embraced it fully. The corrupter. The temptress. The slow rot that turned virtue into vice, that made the noble crave wickedness, that made the devout doubt. She was the unmaking of ideals, the perversion of purity.

Empires did not fall to siege engines. They fell when their own champions betrayed them.

And she would make sure that happened, again and again, until this galaxy—so arrogantly clinging to its notions of order, its feeble illusions of right and wrong—was nothing but a tapestry of decadence and ruin. The Jedi and the Sith, locked in their perpetual, mindless struggle, thought themselves invincible in their righteousness. They were both blind. She would poison them, twist them, show them what it meant to see beyond their feeble doctrines.

There would be no escape from her influence. The noble and the knave, the hero and the villain, the rich and the wretched—none would be spared.

For when the righteous fell, when the disciplined succumbed, when the most incorruptible begged for more—then she would know she had succeeded.

Her gloved fingers tightened around the edge of the crate. Somewhere in this forgotten tomb of discarded things was the next piece of her design. The chemicals, yes, but more than that—the means.

Another flickering light above her buzzed and died, plunging a section of the warehouse into shadow. She stood there, exhaling slowly, letting the dark embrace her. Somewhere beyond these walls, the great powers of the galaxy sat upon their gilded thrones, secure in their delusions.

They did not yet know that something had been set in motion.

They did not yet know that their undoing had already begun.

 

[Aion Voros]

The air crackled with the faintest hint of temporal distortion, a tremor in the fabric of reality that only Aion Voros could perceive. He stood in the shadows of a crumbling archway, his ancient helmet tilted slightly, attuned to the whispers of time. The warehouse, a decaying monolith in the heart of Coruscant's lower levels, pulsed with a dark energy that set his senses on edge. It was here, in this forgotten tomb of discarded things, that he had finally located the woman from his visions, her presence a discordant note in the symphony of time.

He had left his apprentice behind, immersed in the Order's ancient meditations. The fragmented, fleeting images, shrouded in a disquieting darkness, spoke of a threat unlike any the galaxy had known, a corruption that reached beyond the typical machinations of the Sith or the ambitions of power-hungry warlords. He had seen glimpses of her. Her face obscured by shadows, her intentions veiled in a miasma of twisted desires. But what he had felt through the Force was unmistakable: a creeping rot, a slow unraveling of the very fabric of morality and order. This was the very type of darkness that the Prescient Order was created to combat, the insidious corruption that threatened to consume the galaxy from within.

After weeks of searching, his visions had finally led him here, to this decaying warehouse on this day. His movements were a whisper in the Force, his presence masked by the ancient techniques of the Shadow Watchers.

His Temporal Awareness, usually so reliable, faltered in her presence. The future around her was a maelstrom of possibilities, a chaotic dance of cause and effect that defied his usual predictive abilities. It was as if she existed outside the normal flow of time, her actions creating ripples that distorted the currents of fate. He had encountered such beings before, those who seemed to challenge the fundamental order of the universe, but so few had ever possessed such a potent aura of corruption.

As he watched her move through the darkened aisles of the warehouse, her gloved hand trailing along the edges of forgotten crates, Aion felt a growing sense of unease. Her threat was not one of brute force or overt aggression. It was something far more insidious, a slow, creeping corruption that threatened to unravel the galaxy from within. He knew he had to act, but how? Could he confront her directly, risk a confrontation that might expose the Order and its secrets? Or was there a more subtle approach, a way to disrupt her plans without revealing his presence?

The weight of the future pressed heavily upon him, the burden of foresight amplified by the uncertainty that surrounded this woman and her intentions. He stood there, a silent observer in the heart of darkness, the fate of the galaxy hanging in the balance, his mind a battleground of conflicting possibilities. With no clear resolution, Aion remained concealed to gather more information from the shadows. Perhaps in time her actions would reveal her true intentions.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Coruscant
Tag: Aion Voros ​

Serina's fingers danced along the crate's rough surface, the sensation of splintered wood beneath her gloves sending a delicious thrill up her spine. The warehouse was silent, save for the distant hum of Coruscant's ever-churning metropolis above, but she could feel the weight of unseen eyes upon her. A presence lingered in the void, watching, waiting. How many times had she inspired this hushed reverence? How many times had unseen figures lurked in the shadows, captivated yet wary, drawn to her like moths to an all-consuming flame?

She smiled, slow and indulgent, reveling in the thought.

She existed for this.

The whispered temptation, the shadow at the edges of reason, the slow, deliberate hand that pried open the minds of the faithful and poured in the sweetest of poisons. She did not force her corruption upon them. No, that was the work of brutes, of Sith who wielded their power like a cudgel, forcing obedience through agony. She was far more refined. She offered—with a knowing smile, with a hushed suggestion, with the mere presence of something forbidden. She peeled away the layers of resistance, revealing the raw, trembling desires beneath.

And when they fell, they did so willingly, eagerly.

Her breath hitched as the pleasure of the thought washed over her. The galaxy saw the Dark Side as a force of hatred, of violent, animalistic passion—but they were so limited in their understanding. She had glimpsed its true nature, its vast, intoxicating embrace. It was not just power—it was release. It was the sigh of surrender on trembling lips, the unraveling of inhibition, the slow, sinuous descent into need.

And she was its emissary.

She existed not as an individual but as an extension of that creeping, inexorable hunger. Her will was an illusion, her desires merely an echo of something far greater than herself. She had come to understand it with time, to recognize the terrible, beautiful truth: there was no Serina Calis, not truly. There was only the Dark Side, wearing her skin, speaking with her voice, acting through her hands.

And yet, what ecstasy to be its vessel.

A low chuckle slipped from her lips as she traced her gloved fingers over the next crate, feeling the dust gather against her touch. Somewhere behind her, in the depths of the shadows, her unseen observer lingered still. She could feel him now, more clearly than before, like a discordant note within the harmony of the void. Male. Strong, but not brutish. Watching. Measuring. A lesser being might have felt exposed, might have stiffened, might have reached for a weapon in preparation for conflict.

But Serina merely smiled.

Let him watch. Let him wonder.

Had he come to stop her? To save her? How quaint. How utterly predictable.

Perhaps, like so many before him, he thought himself incorruptible. Perhaps he believed that his precious foresight, his rigid training, his iron discipline would make him immune to the inexorable pull of what she was. The Jedi and the Sith alike had made that mistake before, convinced they could resist, that they could stand against the tide. But they all came to understand in the end.

The noble and the knave. The hero and the villain.

It was only a matter of time.

Her lips parted slightly as she tilted her head, speaking into the stillness of the warehouse, her voice rich and dripping with languid amusement.

"You can come out, you know. I do so hate being made to wait."

She turned slowly, knowing that whether he stepped forward or remained hidden, she had already begun weaving the first threads of his unraveling.

The pleasure of the game had only just begun.

 

[Aion Voros]

Tags: Serina Calis

The amusement in her voice, laced with a hint of something darker, hung in the still air of the warehouse. Aion Voros emerged from the shadows, his movements as fluid and silent as the passage of time itself. He did not adopt a posture of aggression. He was not here as a Jedi, nor as a Sith, not as a warrior or a peacekeeper. He was something else entirely, an instrument, a guardian of the delicate balance of time.

His ancient helmet, its surface subtly etched with the echoes of countless visions, remained fixed, concealing his expression. His grey robes flowed around him like mist, adding to his air of quiet intensity. He stopped a few paces from Serina, his gaze, though unseen, fixed upon her.

"You are Serina Calis," the name he had tediously pulled from his visions. His voice reminded calm and measured, devoid of any hint of accusation or threat. It was a simple statement of fact, an acknowledgement of her presence.

He did not echo her amusement, nor did he engage in any playful banter. He was here for a purpose, a purpose that transcended the petty power struggles and moralistic pronouncements that defined the Jedi and the Sith. He was here to understand.

"I have seen you in visions," he continued, his voice resonating with the weight of countless years and the echoes of potential futures.

Though he expected them, he was not interested in her taunts or her games. He sought clarity, understanding.

"You move in shadows, manipulating those around you, sowing seeds of corruption and discord. But your purpose remains veiled. Why are you here, Serina?"

He did not expect a straightforward answer. He knew that those who trafficked in darkness rarely revealed their true intentions so easily. But he had to try. He had to understand the nature of the threat she posed, the scope of her ambition, the depth of her depravity. Perhaps knowing even a small piece of her ultimate plan would give greater understanding to the visions.

"I am neither your enemy, nor your ally," Aion continued, his voice unwavering. "I have seen the potential futures that branch from your actions, the chaos and destruction that follow in your wake. I am here to change that future."

He remained silent, his gaze unwavering, waiting for her response. He knew that time was a river, constantly flowing, constantly changing.

However, he also knew that some currents were too dangerous to be allowed to continue their course. He was here to navigate those currents, to protect the timeline from those who would seek to corrupt it, to unravel it, to destroy it. And Serina Calis, he sensed, was one such threat, a dark vortex in the river of time, threatening to consume everything in its path.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Coruscant
Tag: Aion Voros ​

Serina tilted her head, her slow smile deepening as she took in the figure before her. So, this was the thing that had been watching. This—thing. The name meant nothing to her, but the way he stood, the way he spoke, the way he resisted the pull of her presence—oh, that was far more interesting than the mere syllables that made up his title.

The dim light of the warehouse flickered against her, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers across the cold floor. She exhaled, soft and deliberate, letting the moment breathe. Letting it coil around them both like a serpent ready to strike.

"You poor, wretched thing," she purred, stepping forward, each movement a carefully crafted display of indulgent grace. "You come here, so noble, so composed, so sure that you are above the petty games of Jedi and Sith. And yet, my dear, you are playing one yourself, aren't you?"

Her hand lifted, fingers trailing idly through the dust-choked air between them, as if she were plucking unseen strings in the fabric of reality itself. "I imagine you think yourself different. That you are not here to fight me, nor to judge me. That you are here to understand. But what you fail to grasp, my sweet observer, is that there is nothing for you to understand that you do not already know."

Her name. He had seen it in visions. Her future. He had glimpsed its inevitability. His words—so heavy with purpose, with burden—meant nothing to her. He had already drawn his conclusions, already chained himself to the illusion that he had the ability to alter fate.

Serina's smile sharpened, the predatory amusement in her eyes glinting like a blade catching candlelight. "If you could truly see me, then you would already know, wouldn't you? You would know that my birth was not natural. That I was not meant to exist in the way you believe people are meant to. That my fate is not something that can be rewritten, that my presence here is not something that can be undone."

She took another step closer, the scent of expensive perfumes and exotic oils mingling with the dust and decay of the warehouse. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were about to confide some great and intimate secret. "So tell me, why pretend? Why ask me a question when you already know that the answer is meaningless? Why try to change what cannot be changed?"

Her breath curled in the air between them, decadent and slow, before she let out a soft, knowing laugh. "Ah. I see it now. You wish to play the Reikjudge, don't you?"

She turned from him then, leisurely, trailing her fingers along the next crate like a lover's caress, her voice rich with indulgent amusement. "Oh, how I adore the Reikjudge. A fine little piece in one of my games, one I often play in the dark of my chambers, sprawled across silk sheets within my obsidian walls on Rakata Prime."

Her eyes half-lidded as she savored the memory, the quiet flicker of her private war games unfolding in her mind. The Reikjudge—a being of absolute law and order, existing only to ensure that the universal constants were kept in place, that entropy was contained, that chaos never overtook the great, delicate balance.

She turned back to him, the dark silk of her voice pressing into the air between them like velvet and vice. "But the thing about the Reikjudge, my dear, is that it is always doomed to fail. It fights against a force that does not care for its laws, that does not recognize its authority. It is an elegant, noble figure in my game, oh yes—but always, always, it loses."

She lifted a hand, tracing a slow circle in the air as if weaving something unseen. "You see, I am supplanting that law now. It is not the Force that bends to me. It is not the Jedi or the Sith who will decide what is to come. It is I. I am the new constant. The new inevitability. Eventually, everything will bend to me. The stars, the people, the very nature of existence itself."

She stepped closer to him now, until she was only a breath away, her presence curling around him like something insidious and inescapable. "And that includes you."

Her fingers lifted to his chest—not an attack, not a threat, just a touch, light as silk, deliberate as a knife pressed just above the heart. "Your presence here, your little quest for understanding—all of it is just another step toward the outcome you fear the most. Because you cannot change this. You cannot change me. The moment you saw me, the moment you spoke my name, your fate was sealed."

She leaned in, her breath warm against his concealed face, her voice no longer amused, but something lower, something darker, something filled with promise.

"So tell me, my dear Reikjudge. When will you realize that you are the one being played?"

 

[Aion Voros]

Tags: Serina Calis

Aion remained silent for a moment, the echoes of his master’s wisdom resonating within him. “True power does not fight with weapons, it fights with words. It fights with logic and impenetrable reason,” the words were a shield against the seductive whispers of the dark side that emanated from Serina. He tilted his head slightly, his senses assaulted by the subtle distortions in the Force around her, like ripples in a stagnant pool.

“You grant me much greater authority than my Order grants me,” he said, acknowledging her perception of him as some kind of ultimate arbiter, while inwardly, he felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle upon him, a burden he carried willingly. “Do you always bestow such flattery and seduction upon all you encounter? Does your manipulation blind them so easily?” He dismissed her attempts with a subtle shift of his weight, a physical manifestation of his mental detachment. 'Her tactics are transparent,' he thought, 'yet they are effective on those who seek what she offers: power, validation, release.'

"One does not have to be recognized as any meaningful authority to enact great change just as one does not have win the battle to enact their success in the overarching war. Many have succeeded solely in their death or undoing. I'm sure you of all people understand this as your search for a transcendence to something beyond, you will bare great sacrifices of your own," he argued, turning her own words back on her. He felt a flicker of something in the Force – not surprise, but perhaps a flicker of annoyance at his deflection. 'She seeks to control the narrative,' he thought.

"You may hold yourself as being something beyond the rest of us, but if that were truly the case, would not all this be beneath you? Wouldn't others be doing your bidding? Wouldn't your search for more be over? There would be no need for the games and manipulation if you could truly bend the Force to your will. You would command all. But you're not there yet," Aion observed, his voice calm, dissecting her motivations with clinical precision. 'Her arrogance is a mask,' he realized, 'a defense against the fear that she is not as powerful as she believes.'

"I do not care about your endeavors for power. In fact, I encourage them. The ideal of absolute peace and tranquility is a myth long disproven by my people. It is the ebb and flow of good and evil that pull upon the strings of time. One cannot exist without the other," he stated, acknowledging the necessity of conflict in the cosmic balance. He felt the weight of this truth, the constant struggle between light and darkness, a struggle that played out across the vast tapestry of time.

"I have already recognized that I cannot change you. Those like you with such convictions cannot be changed. Now that I understand what you seek, I understand the cause for the devastation that will be left in your wake. Such transcendence, such power, must feast upon something," he said, finally revealing that he had gleaned her ultimate goal, not from her words, but from his own understanding of the Force and the nature of power.

"My curiosity lies in what's next for you? Say you become this goddess, bending the knees of your people, wielding the power of the stars. Then what? Sit upon a throne gazing upon your galaxy? So detached from your own people they constantly question your existence?" he asked, probing the hollowness at the heart of her ambition. He wasn't trying to stop her, not yet. He was trying to understand the full scope of her vision, the potential consequences of her actions, and how best to mitigate the damage she could inflict upon the timeline. 'She is a danger,' he thought, 'but she is also a pawn in a larger game, a game that spans millennia and transcends the petty ambitions of individuals.'

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Coruscant
Tag: Aion Voros ​

Serina's laughter was low, sultry, curling into the dim air between them like the slow, sinuous drag of silk over bare skin. It was not the laughter of someone dismissed or insulted—it was the laughter of a woman who had heard everything she needed to.

"Oh, Reikjudge," she breathed, stepping closer, her voice laced with that slow, deliberate pleasure that came from watching a beast struggle in a trap it had yet to recognize. "You are so terribly fascinating."

She reached out again, not to touch him this time, but to let her fingertips hover in the air between them, just close enough that if he so much as twitched, they would brush against him. She wanted him to feel it, the possibility, the temptation, the threat—all wrapped into one.

"I must admit," she continued, her tone languid, indulgent, "you wound me with such coldness. To think that I lavish my affections upon just anyone—why, Reikjudge, what sort of creature do you take me for?"

Her lips curved in that knowing, wicked way of hers, as though she could already taste the words he hadn't yet spoken.

"No, no, my dear," she whispered, "I do not offer my corruption freely. I do not waste my time on the dull and the unremarkable. But you—" She exhaled, slow and heavy, as though savoring the very air he breathed. "You are different."

She took another step, her presence pressing into the space between them, a living force of decadence and inevitability.

"You, my dear Reikjudge, are something else entirely. You think you are outside of all this, don't you? Above it. Beyond it. You watch the currents of time, you weigh the balance of the cosmos, you whisper your pretty little truths about sacrifice and inevitability and oh—you think yourself immune."

She let her voice drop lower, rich and honeyed with something dangerous.

"But I wonder," she mused, trailing a single gloved finger down the air between them, as if painting something unseen, "if you are truly as detached as you claim. Because for all your careful words, your measured logic, your deflections—you are still here."

She let that linger, let him feel the weight of it.

"You are still watching me, aren't you?"

Her smile widened, cruel and knowing.

"Tell me, Reikjudge—how long have you been watching?" she purred. "How long have I lingered in your thoughts? How many times have you turned over your visions, tracing the lines of my existence with those clever little hands of yours, wondering where I will strike next?"

Her breath hitched, her fingers curling in delight.

"Oh, the restraint you must have."

Then, as quickly as the heat rose, it cooled—her expression sharpening, turning from indulgent pleasure to something more precise, more purposeful.

"But let us not dance in circles, my dear," she said smoothly. "You are a man of reason, after all, and I do so love reason. Logic. Calculation. So let us speak plainly, yes?"

She inclined her head, eyes gleaming beneath the dim, flickering light.

"You say you do not care for my ambition. That you see the necessity of conflict, of suffering. That you understand that the galaxy is not meant for peace, but for struggle. And oh, my sweet, sweet Reikjudge—you are so close to seeing the truth."

Her fingers curled into a fist, a sharp, deliberate movement.

"But you misunderstand me still."

Her voice was like a slow, creeping tide, pulling him ever further out to sea.

"You ask what comes next," she murmured, "as though you still believe I will rule this galaxy like some petty warlord upon her throne, sipping wine and drowning in the banality of my own dominion."

She tilted her head, watching him, drinking in his every reaction.

"I do not seek a throne, Reikjudge."

She let that settle. Let the weight of it sink.

"I do not seek mere power—I seek dominion."

She stepped closer, her body nearly brushing his, her presence an intoxicating blend of forbidden promise and quiet annihilation.

"I seek the undoing of limits. The collapse of resistance. I seek a galaxy where desire is law, where need dictates action, where nothing is denied to those with the will to take it. I will not sit upon some gilded chair while others whisper doubts in the dark—I will erase the very concept of doubt."

Her voice dipped lower, her lips curling into something close to a snarl.

"I will take what this galaxy calls good and make it want its own undoing. I will take the noble and make them crave their own fall. I will take the righteous and make them plead for corruption. I will take men like you and make them love what they once feared."

She exhaled, her gaze bright with something primal, something raw.

"That is what I seek, Reikjudge."

She reached up, her fingertips just brushing the edge of his helmet, her voice nothing more than a sultry, decadent whisper.

"And you," she breathed, "you will watch me do it. You will stand in the ruins of all you once swore to protect and knowthat it was always meant to be. Because I do not fight the tides, my dear—I am the tide."

She leaned in, the whisper of her breath hot against the cold steel of his helmet.

"And the tide always comes."

 

[Aion Voros]

Tags: Serina Calis

Aion acknowledged the skill of Serina's tongue. Her allure was notable. Had he been less trained and unprotected by his helmet, her seductive powers likely would have started to grip him. However, he remained steady. Void of feeling. There was no doubt that Serina would sink her teeth into any notation of emotion.

With his mind, he reached to anticipate her movements and intentions. Were her words veiled threats or just words of confidence? Flashes of short images flickered in his mind of possible futures. He discarded the most absurd and impractical ones. Though she stood close, too close, he did not sense or predict any sudden threats. Her words alone suggested interest in Aion. She was working on him for a greater plot, one that would be compromised by an attack of aggression.

He saw that she knew this.

Nonetheless, he readied himself. Slightly, he reached out with the Force ready for any sudden changes in his predictions. The most formidable opponents were the most unpredictable. Only a fool would not prepare themselves in given her intentions.

"I did not assume your corruption was not so freely given to all, just savored for those of actual use to you. Again, flattering, but one must possess a heart of desire to be affected by such things," Aion replied, his voice a steady counterpoint to her seductive cadence. He felt the subtle probe of her power against his mental defenses, a silken tendril seeking purchase. He subtly deflected it.

"You assume too much of my kind. My oaths are not designed to prevent the collapse of a galaxy or the end of time. That's far too simple-minded. It is understood that all things will end. Death is the only absolute to all things," he continued, his gaze, though unseen, holding her own.

"You error again in your assumptions. I do not believe I am outside or beyond the realm in which I walk as you do. Do not project your desires onto me. My kind, especially my kind, are heavily intertwined more than most," Aion countered, subtly shifting his weight.

Their dance with words was now beginning to quicken. "I must admit, I'm rather disappointed in the revelation. Domination? That's all you desire? You're simply hungry rather than thirsty? Domination is but the throne that proceeds the throne of power. Mere semantics," he observed, his voice laced with a hint of genuine disappointment.

"I have followed you here for understanding. I suspect that you are a small cog in a much larger machine. And I mean that with the utmost respect, sincerely. I do not deny that you are capable of great things, but those who are blinded by the prospect of such power often sacrifice everything to obtain it, including themselves. Thus, leaving their life, schemes, and endeavors to pass in vain," he paused to add weight to the words.

"With that in mind, how does one achieve such a feat where so many have failed? What makes you so different or sets you so staunchly apart from all those who fell before you?" he asked, his voice calm. He waited, patiently, his mind a whirlwind of calculations, anticipating her next move.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Coruscant
Tag: Aion Voros ​

Serina's laughter came slow and sinuous, curling into the air like the exhale of a decadent indulgence. Her eyes burned with cruel amusement, but beneath it, something sharper, something ravenous. She had known men like him before. Steadfast. Resolute. Oh, how they loved to posture in the face of temptation, standing firm as if their will alone could hold back the tide.

But Aion Voros was not a fool. He had not come here thinking she would tempt him like some common courtesan whispering promises of pleasure into the ears of weak-willed men. No, he knew she was far more than that. He sought understanding, and that was the greatest weakness of all.

Because to understand something, one had to open themselves to it.

And Serina always found her way inside.

She did not retreat from his disappointment, nor did she respond with frustration or insult. No, that would be giving him too much credit. Instead, she leaned in closer, drinking in the space between them as though she could taste his very presence in the air. Her lips parted as though she might whisper something forbidden, something obscene, but then—she smiled. Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.

"Ah, my dear Reikjudge," she sighed, tilting her head just so, letting her blonde waves cascade over one shoulder as she studied him through lidded eyes. "You still don't understand, do you?"

She let the moment breathe before her voice dipped into something lower, something wicked.

"Power," she purred, dragging the word through the air like silk slipping from bare skin, "is a means, not an end. The brutes before me? They wanted power. They wanted dominion over their enemies, thrones of blood and bone, the obedience of the weak, the worship of the desperate."

Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, savoring the next words before they dripped from her mouth.

"But I am not interested in power, Aion. I do not wish to merely rule this galaxy. I wish to ruin it."

She took another step closer, her breath just a whisper away from where his flesh would be, were it not for that wretched helmet. "They wanted to win, my dear Reikjudge. But I? I want to make them love losing."

Her gloved hand lifted again, not quite touching him, but tracing unseen patterns in the air between them. "You say I am like the ones before me, that my path is one of inevitable failure. But do you know why they failed, Reikjudge?"

Her tone was intoxicating, velvet and shadow, as she whispered, "Because they fought against what people are."

A single delicate laugh, dark and sultry, spilled from her lips before she continued, her voice heavy with cruel satisfaction.

"The Jedi? They seek to deny the flesh. To suppress their desires. To chain themselves to empty virtues and hollow abstinence. And the Sith? Oh, they are no better. They indulge, yes, but they still fight for their hunger. They struggle. They conquer."

She exhaled sharply, as if in disappointment.

"They do not realize the simplest truth of all."

She leaned in closer, her voice dipping into the space between them, intimate and knowing.

"People do not need to be ruled. They do not need to be commanded. They only need to be… allowed."

She let that word linger, heavy and dripping with promise.

"They wish to be unmade," she whispered, her breath just barely brushing his helmet. "They wish to be freed from the tyranny of their own morality. And I? I do not force them. I do not conquer them. I let them fall. I let them want it."

She took a slow, deliberate breath, as if tasting the very idea of it.

"That, my dear Reikjudge, is what sets me apart."

She straightened, drawing back just enough to let him see the satisfaction curling at the edges of her lips.

"They wanted power. I want corruption."

Her fingers trailed along the air as if painting something only she could see.

"They tried to rule people. I will make them crave their own destruction. Not with force. Not with fear. But with hunger."

She exhaled, decadent and slow. "That is the difference, my dear. Power is taken. Corruption is given."

She tilted her head, her smile widening, taunting, knowing.

"And you?" she murmured. "You are so close to understanding. But tell me, Reikjudge… do you think you can keep watching me without letting me in?"

She let that hang between them, the taste of it thick in the air.

"And how long do you think you can resist?"

 

[Aion Voros]

Tags: Serina Calis

Aion stood motionless, a statue carved from patience. The longer he remained thus, a conduit for the swirling currents of time, the clearer the whispers of the future became. His mind, a canvas for potential realities, flickered with images. He saw Serina, her eyes gleaming with avarice, fixated on the crates. He’d observed her from the shadows, a silent voyeur of her ambition. Now, he probed the crates with his prescient senses. Most held the mundane: spare parts, empty containers. But one pulsed with a different energy, a resonance that echoed Serina’s desire. He saw her, in a flash of precognitive vision, claiming its prize.

Without shifting his gaze, he subtly angled his eyes toward the designated crate. Could he reach it first? A dangerous game, but one he felt compelled to play.

"It seems we've reached an impasse, then," Aion murmured, his voice a low thrum. He paused, calculating the intricate dance of cause and effect. Visions, like shards of broken mirrors, reflected possible futures.

"Your heart is set. That, there is no doubt. I have seen what it is you seek." He turned his head, feigning a glance at at the wrong crate, then snapped his gaze back to her, as if betraying his knowledge by accident. A subtle tell, he hoped she would fall for.

He desperately wanted to avoid a confrontation. He’d seen the myriad paths branching before them. In one, Serina, intrigued by his apparent slip, momentarily investigated the wrong crate, giving him the opening he needed. In another, her eyes narrowed, detecting his deception, and she became openly hostile. Worst of all, he saw a future where she ignored his ploy entirely, continuing her insidious manipulation, tightening her grip on him. The thought sent a chill down his spine, despite the heat of the Force flowing through him.

He focused on his breath, a steady rhythm against the chaotic symphony of possible outcomes. Serina’s next move was a fulcrum, balancing the fate of their encounter. He centered himself, drawing strength from the Force, preparing for whatever path she chose. The air crackled with anticipation, the silence a taut string about to snap.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Coruscant
Tag: Aion Voros ​

Serina's lips curled, slow and indulgent, as she let the silence stretch between them, a predator savoring the moment before the strike. She saw the flicker of his gaze, the feigned slip of attention, the almost imperceptible tell that suggested he knew something.

Oh, how delightful. How utterly, deliciously predictable.

She had played this game before.

Men—Jedi, Sith, fools of every persuasion—always thought themselves clever, always believed that a subtle deception could outmaneuver her. That they could bait her with a glance, with a misstep, and she would stumble after it like a mindless beast drawn to the scent of blood.

But Serina Calis was no beast.

She was the tide. The tide did not chase. The tide consumed.

And so she did not react.

She did not lunge, she did not glance, she did not investigate. She let his deception hang there, let the tension tighten in the air between them, let his carefully measured bait rot in the silence.

Instead, she laughed.

Low. Sultry. Almost affectionate.

"Oh, Reikjudge," she purred, stepping toward him with that slow, too-close grace, her body languid and unhurried. Her gloved fingers lifted, hovering just above his chestplate, not quite touching, but close enough that the heat of her presence was undeniable.

"You thought I wouldn't notice?"

Her voice was a murmur, rich with dark amusement.

She exhaled, letting the moment stretch, reveling in it, drinking it. He had miscalculated. He had underestimated her.

Serina did want what was in that crate. That much was true.

But not nearly as much as she wanted this.

The control. The game. The pleasure of watching his carefully laid deception unravel before her eyes.

She leaned in, her breath a decadent whisper against the cold steel of his helmet. "Did you think you could mislead me with a flick of your eyes, a shift in your weight?"

Her fingers traced the air between them, painting invisible lines of ownership. "Did you think you could trick me?"

Then, slowly—slowly—her gaze lowered.

Not to the crate he had misdirected her toward. Not to the crates at all.

But to him.

She let the moment settle before she spoke again, her voice smooth, confident, utterly certain.

"Oh, Reikjudge, my darling fool."

She let out a slow, indulgent sigh.

"I already know which one it is."

Then—before he could move, before he could so much as breathe—she was in motion.

Not with desperation. Not with brute force.

But with absolute certainty.

One fluid, elegant turn—her cloak whispering through the air—and her gloved fingers found the crate. The crate.

The one pulsing with her ambition.

She didn't need to look for it. She didn't need to waste a moment playing his little game of misdirection.

She had always known.

And now? Now she had won.

She did not open it immediately. No, that would be too… mundane.

Instead, she rested her palm atop the rough wooden surface, turning her head slowly back toward him, eyes alight with cruel amusement.

"Did you really think you could outmaneuver me, Reikjudge?" she whispered, her lips curving into something wicked.

Her fingers curled, dragging slow, deliberate patterns against the crate's surface.

"Do you feel it now? The inevitability?"

She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

"You never stood a chance."