Shaidin Kamari

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After so much talk… she fled.
That woman stood as a testament to the weakness of the current Sith Order. All bravado and no substance. Her confidence would be her undoing—her belief that she was cleverer than those around her would unravel her future and see her fade into the darkness she so arrogantly danced with.
The very foundations of the Sith had been laid by titans—men whose names still echoed in the Force, immortal in fury and purpose. Darth Malgus, who understood the true nature of war and never wavered in its grasp. Emperor Vitiate, who, for all his depravity, never once turned from a foe. And Darth Sidious—Emperor Palpatine—who, facing the greatest lightsaber duelist of the era, stood his ground and prevailed.
Serina? Serina fled.
She cloaked her cowardice in silk and sin, in words dripping with poison and charm. She spoke of strength while backing away from its raw embodiment. She masked retreat with seduction and mockery, but Shaidin saw through it. Her spine may have been straight, her voice smooth—but fear had danced behind her eyes, even if she refused to name it.
She loved the sound of her own voice. Of that, Lord Depravious was certain.
No matter.
She would return. They always did. And when she did, she would crumble in the ruin left in Shaidin Kamari's wake.
He did not lash out. There was no tantrum, no howl of rage as she vanished. Instead, he merely shook his head—cold, calculating rage ebbing like a tide, veins fading from crimson back to black.
"Cowardice in its finest degree," he muttered. "It's a great thing the Force blessed her with good looks… because it didn't seem to give her much else."
With that, he drew his cloak around his form and clipped the curved hilt of his saber back to his side before heading towards his ship. She had failed his test. She had misread the lesson entirely—confusing mercy with weakness, gamesmanship with victory.
And so he saw her for what she truly was.
Not a viper.
Not a queen of shadows.
But a single grain of sand in a sea of dust.