First Reply The Hunt On Corellia

[Valerian Calore]

Corellia was not a place for a Mandalorian.

Even during the best of times, his people had left a mark on the planet that could never be forgotten, and it sure as hell showed; even as Valerian trailed through the extensive slums of Coronet City, into the lightly patrolled Blue District, eyes followed him everywhere he went, judging, hating, damning him for the sins of his people. Not that he blamed them, the Mando'ade had made themselves more enemies than allies in his absence, embarking on a new, bloody campaign that stank of the old ways, a darker time, where his people committed atrocity after atrocity and swore their victims were better off for it. Truthfully, he disdained the bloodshed, the dealings he'd heard of with slavers and their ilk, but who was he to judge, he who'd learned lightsaber combat from a Sith, who'd broken bread with warlords, he who'd embarked on his own war in the Unknown Regions for little more than plunder.

But he wasn't here to ponder morality. Nor was he here for the low class thrills and chills that this part of Coronet City was known for; business had brought him here, hunting one of his own that'd fled Clan Calore, and while Valerian wouldn't hunt every deserter that crossed his clan, this one had left the sting of personal betrayal. One of the officers aboard his flagship had absconded with a not insignificant amount of credits, a kyber crystal, and more than a few too many secrets on his lips. The status alone had necessitated a personal hand on the matter, not to mention that he'd bought himself some muscle and had thought to play gang leader, hence why a Mandalorian Alor was slumming it on Corellia suffering under the withering gaze of prostitutes and petty fencers, searching for where the signal within the traitors armor had gone dark.

"Another one." A woman peddling crystals hissed to another Corellian in the stall next to her, making the Valerian stop in his tracks and turn toward her. She was older, with brown hair streaked with grey and white, worry lines around her mouth and brow, and an edge in her eye that made wonder whether it was only crystals that she sold.

Oh?

He was on the right track at the very least, all he needed was a better idea...

"Where'd the first go?" His voice came out dry from behind the layers of beskar and nano-laminate that made up his helmet, a tad bit off of monotone and as cordial as one could be given the circumstances. The woman glared at him, spat on the ground and then turned her nose up at him in disdain. Fair enough, Valerian thought to himself, not too surprised at the way she'd responded. After all his people didn't seem to have the best reputation, well, anywhere lately, it was a wonder he'd made it this far without being spat on. The man took step forward and reached into a pack on the small of his back, coming away with a fistful of credits to hold out for the woman. She stared at him for a long moment, then reached out to take the credits, but he drew his hand back before she could. "Where?"

The woman jabbed her thumb toward a cantina down the street, and Valerian nodded as he dropped the credits into her hand, turning on his heel away from the stall and making his way toward the bar. He wouldn't mind a drink, Valerian had always heard that Corellian swill wasn't half bad, but then again, he'd always heard it from Corellian recruits, so, maybe they weren't the most impartial judges. More stares followed him on the way, and when he crossed the threshold of the establishment, he thought that he'd be free of stares, but was immediately greeted with a silent room with far too many glaring eyes. The space was dimly lit with a smattering of occupants across the room, it smelled like earth and slum, an odd mix that wasn't wholly unpleasant to him.

Lovely.

He said nothing and made his way to the counter as chatter resumed, hushed and hostile. The Verd was quick to take a seat at the bar and remove his helmet, sighing as the cool air of the building hit his face, enjoying the relief offered by the comfort of a breathable atmosphere. The bartender, a portly man with dirty blonde hair gave him a dirty look as he waited for the Mandalorian to speak.

"Whatever passes for a stiff one around here." He dropped a fist full of credits in front of the man and watched his face for any sign of change. It was still as stone, and it made Valerian sure that another big spending Mando had been through here. The bartender placed a cup in front of him filled with a dark brown liquid, then stepped back as Valerian took it in hand, giving it a test sniff before bringing the drink to his lips and taking two large gulps. It burned like star dragon fire, and it tasted like a mix of burnt cinnamon and off fruit. "Keep 'em coming." A laugh echoed from the blonde man, and Valerian felt himself grow hopeful of his situation. Maybe this wouldn't take so long, all he had to do was figure out who in here to press first.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Corellia
Tag: Valerian Calore
​

The cantina was a forgettable place, filled with forgettable people. The scent of stale alcohol and burnt spice lingered in the air, mingling with the muted murmur of hushed conversations and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. The dim lighting did little to obscure the cracked floors and stained walls, the kind of place where people came to drink away the weight of their own insignificance. Serina Calis had no business being here—at least, not in the way the others were.

She sat in the corner, draped in a cloak of deep blue, the color so dark it melted into the shadows, leaving only the soft, golden glow of her hair to catch the dim light of the bar. A simple silver ring rested on one gloved finger, a quiet reminder of who she was beneath the disguise. Her presence was deliberate yet unobtrusive, a figure of silent observation. She was not an intruder here. She was a predator, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And she had found her prey.

Valerian.

The Mandalorian was easy to track—not because he was careless, but because he stood out like a warship in a still night. A lone Verd in the heart of Corellia, a world that still bore the scars of Mandalorian conquest. He carried himself like a warrior, but there was something else beneath the armor, something deeper. He was not here for war. No, he was here for something far more personal.

She had known of his arrival long before he set foot in this cantina. His quarry, the deserter, had already caught her attention, though for entirely different reasons. Stolen credits and a kyber crystal meant little to her. It was the secrets he carried that intrigued her. The words whispered in the dark, the knowledge that could shift the balance of power, if wielded correctly. A lesser mind would have simply taken what they wanted, discarded the man like refuse. But Serina was not so crude.

She had waited. And now, she would make her move.

Valerian sat at the bar, the weight of his mission evident in the rigid line of his shoulders, the careful way he surveyed the room even as he drank. He was cautious, but he was tired. Not physically—no, men like him did not falter so easily—but in the way that only warriors who have seen too much do. He was not a man lost, not yet, but he was a man searching. For what, she did not yet know. But she would.

She rose from her seat, her movements fluid, effortless. She did not need to push through the crowd—they simply moved aside without realizing why. It was not the Force that guided them, but something deeper, something instinctual. A presence that demanded attention without a single word.

She reached the bar beside him, leaning against the counter with the same casual grace one might use in a royal court. She did not look at him at first, only at the bartender, tapping a single gloved finger against the counter.

"A glass of something clean," she said smoothly, her voice low, controlled. Not seductive, not inviting—simply compelling. A voice that held weight. A voice that had been trained to be listened to.

The bartender hesitated before nodding, placing a glass in front of her. She took it, tilting the drink slightly before setting it back down untouched. Only then did she turn her attention to Valerian.

"Another Mandalorian," she mused, as if tasting the words on her tongue. "I should think Corellia has had its fill of your kind."

It was a test. Not an insult, not truly. A push, subtle yet deliberate. Would he bite? Would he bristle? Or would he reveal something far more interesting?

She did not wait for an answer.

"You're searching for something," she continued, tilting her head slightly, watching him as if he were a puzzle waiting to be solved. "Someone, rather. A man who has a tendency to take things that don't belong to him. And from what I gather, you don't much care for traitors."

Now she had his attention.

She smiled then, slow and knowing, the way a queen might smile at a knight who did not yet know whether he was being honored or toyed with.

"Tell me, Mandalorian—" she set her glass down and turned fully toward him, her piercing blue eyes catching the light like ice in the dark. "—what would you be willing to trade for your prize?"

A simple question, but one with a thousand answers. She already knew some of them. Honor. Duty. Blood. The codes and creeds that defined his kind. But Valerian was not a simple man, and that was why she was here.

Because she did not just want to give him what he wanted. She wanted to see what he would become when faced with something he had not yet considered.

A choice.

And perhaps, if he proved himself worthy, something far greater.

 

[Valerian Calore]

Tag: Serina Calis

Valerian sipped his drink, growing used to the taste, while savoring the feeling of freedom that came with the introduction of alcohol into his system. His stomach grew warm and for a moment he felt the draw to close his eyes, to let the the world fade away so he could just enjoy his drink. But there could be no peace, not while he hunted, not while he resided on a hostile world where many would cut his heart out given the chance.

Soft footfalls sounded behind him, almost unnoticed in the din of the cantina. They were slight, even, precise, predatory as if an ice tiger had been given free roam of the place. Despite himself, Valerian didn't turn around, but rather continued to sip his drink, letting his eyes continue to roam to room, noticing the subtle shift of patrons, keeping himself composed, refusing to give any indication that something was amiss.

But whatever he would've guessed was far from the waif of a thing that appeared next to him. The girl was striking in her appearance, and with golden hair that drew in the light of the room around her, and blue eyes that shone like blue dwarves. Needless to say, she was out of place, she was a girl in a hole in the wall cantina that looked far too comfortable among the patrons. Not a prostitute, her bearing was too noble, the way she moved spoke of high class upbringing, she was something, but he couldn't place what.

When she made her drink order, a chuckle broke from his chest, a low rumble that resonated from within the armor he wore. Whatever the girl was, she was definitely more than some fledgling hunter; her voice rang like the women in his army, almost commanding, as if her words were orders and not requests.

Despite himself, Valerian laughed at her words, a wry, empty thing that sprang from the audacity of her words more than anything else. A reply danced on his tongue, but before he could say anything she pressed on, her words flowing over him like water over rock.

His eyes narrowed when the girl spoke of his quarry, the traitor that compelled him to make the journey so far from his home. He'd made himself known, and the Alor's eyes narrowed as his gaze settled on the person in front of her, the weight of her being hitting him all at once. Brown eyes flashed for just a moment, as if he were deciding whether to threaten the woman or play her game.

Violence would do him no good here, he decided, begrudgingly, Valerian would play her game, let her dance about him like some sort of dark fairy.

Her probing continued, and when she asked the question, there was silence for a long few seconds as he thought on the question. What would he trade? For what? His honor? His pride? Many things, but somehow the question was so much deeper that, so much deeper than himself and the notions that his people held so dearly to their hearts. What would he trade for the safety of his clan, the future of the many thousands who called him their leader, who'd fought and killed and died by his command, for those who'd followed him into hell a half hundred times and had uttered little more than crude jokes.

"Everything."

As the word left his mouth he knew that this encounter had been steered in her favor. She knew what he needed, she knew what the stakes were for him, and had played her cards masterfully.

"This is a prize that's worth everything." The words held an edge, and this time his tone bore the hint of a threat that he wasn't sure he could afford to deliver on. He turned to her, letting his cup clatter onto the bar with a light series of clinks as it bounced.

He gave her a long look, sizing her up for a moment before speaking again. "But you knew that." It wasn't a question, if she knew his quarry, then she knew why he sought him, but there was no way she could've known the full extent. . . unless the traitors lips were looser than he thought, which meant more trouble to come if he wasted any more time toying with this woman. "And I'd wager that you can't bargain for everything. So what do you want? What do you know?"

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Corellia
Tag: Valerian Calore ​

Serina watched him, the barest hint of a smirk curling at the edges of her lips, though it never quite formed. His answer had been revealing—far more than he likely intended. Everything.

There were few men in the galaxy who would say such a thing and mean it. Fewer still who would admit it aloud, even to themselves.

Valerian was a man willing to wager it all, to lay his very existence on the altar of necessity, and yet he did not speak like a desperate man. No, his words were not the wild grasping of a cornered beast but the measured resolve of one who had already weighed his sacrifices and made peace with them. That was rare. That was valuable.

And that made him dangerous.

She met his gaze without hesitation, her blue eyes locked onto his brown, unwavering as if she were reading something beyond his words, beyond even his physical presence—searching the spaces in between, the cracks in his armor, the places where men like him bled without realizing they had been cut.

But he was no fool. He had caught on quickly, and that pleased her.

Serina lifted her glass, finally taking a sip, though her eyes never left him. "Everything," she echoed, as if tasting the weight of the word. She let the silence stretch between them just long enough for the weight of his answer to settle, to coil around him like an unseen chain.

Then she placed her glass down with deliberate care, fingers resting lightly against its rim. "You speak as though you understand the cost of such an offer." A slow tilt of her head. "I wonder if you truly do."

She let the question linger in the air, knowing he would not answer. It did not matter—she had not asked for one.

When he pressed her, his tone edged with threat, her smirk returned, small and knowing, but it never reached her eyes. "What I want?" she mused, the words rolling off her tongue as if she found them amusing. "Knowledge, mostly. A few secrets here and there. The satisfaction of seeing the pieces move across the board as they should."

She lifted a hand, almost lazily, idly tracing the rim of her glass with one gloved finger. "And what I know?" Her tone turned light, teasing, as if she were savoring a private joke. "Well. That depends on the nature of our relationship, Alor."

The word was spoken with measured intent, slipping past her lips like a blade between armor plates. She had known who he was from the beginning, but now she made it clear—this was not just idle curiosity.

She watched his reaction closely before continuing, leaning forward just slightly, just enough to encroach upon his space, to force him to acknowledge her presence not just as an obstacle but as a force all its own.

"You chase a man who believes he can outrun his past, and for a time, he succeeded. But men who steal from warlords and kings, from leaders of nations and clans—they always think they are cleverer than they are. Until they aren't."

She lifted her hand, gesturing subtly to the cantina, the room, the slums beyond its walls. "Corellia has a way of swallowing people like that whole. Some become part of the rot, lost in the underbelly of a city that does not care for them. Others think they can carve out a new throne in the muck, pretending that they have left their past behind while still clinging to its spoils."

Her gaze sharpened. "Your man is the latter."

She let the revelation settle before continuing.

"He has bought himself a little empire here, propped up by fools who think he is something greater than a desperate thief with stolen wealth and a loose tongue. But even he knows that his time is running short. The Dusk Fangs grow restless. His funds are dwindling. And he has too many enemies, some of them quite powerful, sniffing at his heels."

She leaned back again, tilting her head slightly as if considering something. Then, after a pause, she shrugged. "He would have run by now, I think, had he not been waiting for something. Or perhaps someone. Maybe he believes he still has a hand to play. Maybe he does."

A pause. A shift in her posture. A test.

"But tell me, Mandalorian," she said, her voice quieter now, lower, as if this next part mattered more than the rest. "If I tell you where he is, if I lead you to him, will you simply kill him?"

There was something unreadable in her gaze now. Something watching, weighing, assessing.

 

[Valerian Calore]

Tag: Serina Calis

For a while neither of them said nothing, and Valerian relished the silence, the long stretch of quiet as man took in woman. She was not what he first thought, not the landuur woman that most aruetti tended to be. She was cunning, more than him by far, and that had put him at a disadvantage. But while she wielded her words like a blade, she could draw no blood from him.

While they held eachothers gaze, Valerian wondered how many men had seen her looks and took her for something to be trifled with, how many had she played for fools while they'd gotten lost in those clear pools of cerulean. Too many, he decided, and he would not be the next. A proverb entered his thoughts, appearing from the back of his memory: the prettiest flowers sting the worst. And she was a flower best handled with crushgaunts.

Her breaking of the silence made him narrow his gaze, and indeed he felt himself bound to her, with the image of her holding him by the leash like some kept pet flashed in his mind. This time he did bristle, but quickly stamped out the resentment he felt bubbling up from within him. She wasn't a foe, not yet, and despite her taunts and teases, she had been fair during their encounter. Valerian closed his eyes and begrudgingly nodded, accepting that she'd just barely kept to the tenants his people held aruetti to.

When she asked if he understood the cost of what everything was, he nearly scoffed. She was still toying with him, playing her little game. What could he have said to her? There weren't words to describe the sheer potency of what that meant to him. His life, his body, his freedom, his very essence, all he had to give, he would give if the time came. Such was the way of his people.

Knowledge? Secrets? Pieces on the board?

The words stuck with him, and Valerian made sure to hang onto the notion for later. He supposed he'd been a piece for a long time, unknowingly, perhaps even unwillingly, shuffling along the board toward a goal he couldn't see, could barely fathom because he chose to live in a blissful world where politics and intrigue mattered little to him. This would change.

"Relationship?" His tone was flat and cold, a stark contrast to the tease that she held in hers. "Do not presume that I am a man so easily won by a pretty aruetti who speaks a few words of Mando'a with a talent for espionage." She knew his title, which meant she knew name; she'd been on him for some time, and their encounter here was no crossing of paths toward the same target. No, she'd wanted to catch him here. She'd again shattered his assessment of her, and again forced him to reconsider what she was

Her explanation of Corellia and those who'd inhabited the place made his thoughts run amok. Valerian had assumed that Orrin had sought to start a his own mercenary group, maybe sell the secrets to further pad his own pockets. But the fact that he'd set himself up here in hopes of making his own little kingdom meant that he'd vastly underestimated the man's ambition. Fuck.

But money and a Mandalorian reputation could only buy him so much. If she was right and the noose was tightening, then he had precious little time to move on him before others did. The rat would sell out the entire clan to save his skin, and many in the Underworld would pay good money for secrets that could cripple an entire clan, they'd hold him hostage, run his kin ragged if they didn't use the knowledge to outright ruin him.

Her final question made him think. Would he kill the traitor? Of course, he was too rash, too disloyal, too ambitious and stupid to be left alive with what he knew. But Valerian knew that she wanted more from him, wanted him to prove that he was more than the brute his people were oft painted as.

"Killing him comes last." His tone was, not friendly, but different than it was before, warmer? Less hostile at the very least. "I must ensure that any copies of the data he stole are destroyed, any man he made privy to his knowledge killed, his entire empire must be destroyed root and stem, else I'll be back where I started in a week, stuck on this planet hunting ghosts."

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Corellia
Tag: Valerian Calore ​

Serina watched him carefully, her smirk deepening as his response came—not with a curt dismissal or blind fury, but with calculation. Thoughtfulness. He did not rush to violence like a beast set loose from its chain. He was more than that, more than a war dog eager to taste blood at the first scent of treachery. That intrigued her.

She leaned forward just slightly, just enough to close the space between them, just enough for the scent of something warm and sweet—exotic, lingering— to reach him. Not a perfume, no. That would be too obvious, too cheap a trick for a woman who preferred more subtle ways to wind her fingers around the throats of men. No, it was something natural, the faint trace of spice from the Corellian whiskey on her lips, the clean scent of her cloak, a whisper of warmth that did not belong in a place as cold as she was.

"Killing him comes last," she repeated, savouring the words like a fine wine, rolling them over her tongue as if tasting their meaning. She tilted her head, letting her golden hair fall just slightly over one shoulder, her gaze still fixed on his own, those too-intelligent blue eyes watching, waiting, searching.

"A Mandalorian with patience," she mused, her voice softer now, smoother, slipping into something slower, something that lingered in the air like a velvet ribbon twisting in the wind. "How… unexpected."

Her fingers traced the rim of her glass again, a lazy, absentminded movement, as if she were merely passing the time. But there was nothing idle about it. Every shift, every flicker of motion was deliberate.

"Most of your kind are so…" she trailed off, letting the words hang between them, letting him fill the space she left open. The moment stretched, coiling with something unspoken, something unsaid. Then, finally, she gave a soft, knowing hum. "Impulsive. Eager. So quick to act on instinct."

Her lips curved, her voice dipping lower, the tease woven in so gently it was almost imperceptible. "Not you, though. No, you think before you strike. You consider the angles. That makes you interesting."

She lifted her glass to her lips, taking another sip, watching him over the rim with an expression that was far too amused, far too entertained for the conversation at hand.

"Still," she continued, setting the glass down, her fingers lingering against it, tapping lightly. "You wish to destroy everything he has built. To uproot him, unmake him, leave nothing behind." Her gaze flickered downward, just briefly, to his hands. Strong hands. Calloused hands. Hands that had killed. Hands that had built. Hands that had ruled.

She let her lashes lower just slightly as she glanced back up at him. "I like men who are thorough."

There it was. The shift. The first tendril of something more dangerous slipping into the air between them. It was not overt, not crude, not a blatant invitation—but it was there, woven in the silken threads of her words, in the way her voice softened just slightly, in the way her body leaned ever so subtly toward his without closing the space completely. Just enough to remind him that she was there, just enough to see if he would notice, if he would react.

"And yet," she said, tilting her head again, voice turning thoughtful, almost idly contemplative, "I wonder if you have considered all of your options."

A slow breath. A long pause.

"There are many ways to dismantle a man," she continued, her fingers tracing slow circles against the wood of the bar, as if she were sketching something unseen. "Brute force. Yes, that is always an option. Always effective, always… final." She glanced at him then, her gaze sharp, thoughtful. "But it is not always the most effective."

Another pause. Another flicker of something in her eyes, something like curiosity. Like interest.

"A man who fears death will do anything to avoid it. But a man who loses his power? His purpose?" She let the question settle before she added, "That is a fate worse than death."

She reached for her glass again, taking another sip, her lips parting just slightly as she let the taste settle on her tongue before swallowing. When she set the glass down this time, she exhaled, a slow, measured thing, and let her gaze slide back to his, her smirk returning, smaller this time, more intimate.

"If you truly want to ruin him, Alor, perhaps you should consider breaking him first."

Her voice was quiet now, just for him, just between them, and for the first time, the air between them felt heavier, charged with something unspoken, something shifting, something threading its way through the conversation like a hidden current beneath still waters.

She tilted her head once more, her golden hair brushing against her cheek as she watched him, waiting, wondering.

Would he take the bait? Would he see the game she was playing?

Or would he surprise her again?

 

[Valerian Calore]

Tag: Serina Calis

Valerian inhaled sharply when the woman leaned forward, tensing slightly as he further invaded his space, hand twitching as he fought against years of trained reflex. He relaxed a half second later, eyes flicking left and right as he sought to avoid her gaze before settling on her. He hated to admit it, but she smelt pleasant, comforting almost, alluring in a way that would've made him smile under different circumstances. She was a sharp contrast to him, spice and warmth and rich cloth to his blood and iron and oil.

Again she looked at him, studying him in a way that made him wish he could've read her thoughts. His eyes flicked to the soft tumble of her hair, down to her chin and then back up to her bright as stars blue eyes. He nodded as she repeated his words, a soft affirmation, saying nothing while she continued to lead their conversation.

The Alor swallowed a scoff when she remarked on his patience, but brought his own drink to his lips and swallowed thickly, letting the liquor burn a harsh line down to his stomach, licking his lips to collect the few drops that remained. He wondered how she could be so steady, so...slow, as if the universe progressed at her whim and by nothing else, treating all of this as if it was as trivial as a game of sabacc.

"Decisive." He offered when she paused. His people were decisive, fast, quick to resolve their matters with blade or blaster, unwilling to let their issues drag on for longer than necessary. Her counter made his tilt his head in contemplation, then he shrugged, not finding any way to really disagree with what she said. Once upon a time, he was all of these things, eager to lead, wanting to prove himself the equal of his forebears, that boy had died years ago in the shadow of war brought on by the Sith.

Her flattery made him quirk an eyebrow, wondering what she embellished and what she truly meant, forcing him to focus on her features more and more to discern the meaning in her words. Brown eyes against her blue, flicking across her face, to her lips, her hands, hunting for a tell, anything that would give him an edge over her.

But while the woman spoke, layering her words with soft looks and pretty tricks, he only found temptation. She was relentless, endlessly lessening the distance between them, watching, prodding, teasing; drawing him ever closer of his own volition, though he was loath to admit it himself. Danger, he reminded himself, she was dangerous, a different creature entirely from those he'd faced down before. But he didn't draw back or recoil, and lacked the resolve to push her way. All the years he spent raising walls, shielding himself from seduction and desire, throwing himself into war and conquest and rule, made pointless by this one woman.

Kark.

Valerian's mind turned away from his desire to listen to her once more. He said nothing, waiting for the point to be made, the corner of his mouth quirking upward ever so slightly, an echo of a smile as she spoke of the ways to deal with his traitor. She certainly kept herself busy with all manner of ways to remove pieces from the board.

The longer he looked at her, listened to the honey flow from her mouth, he found himself drawn closer, breaking the long instilled propriety that been ingrained by his culture. He pondered her words, knowing what she wanted, but lacking a proper way to express his own thoughts. It'd been awhile since his Basic had failed him, since he'd forgotten words enough that his communication faltered. Too much time among verd.

"You want him...demar...flayed. You want him hopeless, to gedetir...to beg me for his life, to come back into my good graces." His eyes flashed, a spark of ambition burning within the deep brown of his gaze. "You would have me be his savior, and rip it away at the very end." He had never been a vengeful man, always considered himself above those notions, better than his peers in that regard. But it was too tempting, she was too tempting, and all at once he found himself more than eager to break him.

His breathing had slowed, breaths heavier than before, looking upon her with a queer look in his eye, his free hand falling to her waist and pulling her close to him, removing the last bit of distance that remained between them. "What do you gain from this? You will not gather knowledge, the secrets he holds will not pass to you." His voice was low, barely above whisper, and almost entirely lacking the edge from before. "I am not a piece to be moved, nor am I beholden to you and your desires." I am not yours, he wanted to add, but swallowed the words before they came.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Corellia
Tag: Valerian Calore ​

Serina did not resist when he pulled her close.

If anything, she let him.

Her body pressed lightly against his, her warmth a contrast to the cold beskar that framed his form. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the slow and steady rise of his breathing, the tightening of his fingers at her waist—a hesitation, a restraint. A man at war with himself.

Good.

The game was no longer just words.

She let the silence stretch again, stretching the tension taut between them, the air thick with something unnamed, something unspoken. He had allowed her to draw him in, but he had done so knowingly, willingly. And that made it all the more interesting.

His voice was low, hushed, filled with something deeper now, something darker. She could hear the shift in it, the way the edges softened just enough to betray him.

She inhaled slowly, her lips parting just slightly, as if she were savoring the taste of the thought, of the temptation. Her blue eyes flicked between his, searching, watching, understanding. And then, just as slow, her lips curled into a smile—small, knowing, dangerous.

His free hand had claimed her waist, but she was the one who had him.

"You see it now," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her breath warm against his skin. "What power truly means. It is not just the blade. It is control."

Her fingers, light as a whisper, traced the edge of his collar, lingering for just a moment before sliding upward, over the curve of his jaw, over the roughness of stubble, until they rested just beneath his chin. A slow, lingering touch. A test.

"You could simply kill him," she continued, her voice dipping lower, sultry, teasing, a blade wrapped in silk. "Or you could own him. Break him. Take everything from him but the air in his lungs and let him know, forever, that he exists only because you allow it."

She leaned in, just slightly, close enough that the space between them had all but vanished, her lips hovering near his ear.

"That is what makes a man a god."

And then—

BLASTER FIRE.

A shattering explosion of noise. A bolt of red light searing through the air, striking the bar just beside them with a violent crack, sending sparks flying.

The moment between them shattered.

Serina reacted instantly, her body twisting away, her cloak flaring as she moved, slipping free from his grasp like smoke through his fingers. Her glass hit the floor and shattered, but she did not flinch, her blue eyes already scanning the room, already calculating, already moving.

The cantina erupted into chaos. Patrons scrambled, tables overturned, shouts rang out as more blaster bolts tore through the air.

Serina, however, simply smiled.

"Ah," she murmured, stepping back, slipping just beyond his immediate reach, her voice laced with something almost amused, almost disappointed. "And here I thought we were finally getting somewhere."