Private The Scion of Shadow.

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Chamber, Polis Massa
Tag: Zachariah Conway ​

Darkness.

Serina breathed in the stillness, allowing it to settle upon her like a second skin. She was alone. But she was never alone.

The chamber was dimly lit, carved from the ancient rock of Polis Massa's depths. The air was stale with forgotten secrets, with the weight of voices that had long since faded into the abyss. It was the perfect place to vanish—a world that had once held knowledge beyond reckoning, now reduced to whispers beneath stone. How fitting.

Her gloved fingers trailed along the cold surface of the console before her, feeling the worn edges, the indentations of time. Polis Massa had always been a world of ghosts, and she had always felt at home among them. There was something intimate about such places—buried, unseen, forgotten by the galaxy at large. The greatest power was not found in banners raised high, but in the shadows cast beneath them.

She had no need for banners.

No need for proclamations.

Power belonged to those who did not announce it. To those who let the world believe in illusions—and pulled the strings beneath them.

Secrecy was not simply a tool to her. It was a truth of the Force itself. It was nature, as absolute as entropy, as inevitable as death. The Jedi and Sith waged their wars in the open, clashing sabers and ideals, believing that history would bow to the mightiest blade. But the true masters of power? They knew better.

Let the warriors fight and the emperors rule.

Let them believe in the game they played.

And when the time came, they would realize that the game had been hers all along.

She exhaled softly, stepping away from the console, her black robe pooling at her feet like liquid shadow. The metallic mask concealed her features, its golden etchings catching the pale light of the chamber. She had worn many names, many faces—but here, in this moment, she was the whisper, the unseen hand, the breath between heartbeats.

Darth Latens was coming.

A child of power, born from legacies old and ambitions new. She had watched him from afar, measured the weight of his presence, the shape of his potential. He was Malum's apprentice, and that meant something. He had value. He had use.

The question was…

Did he understand the game?

Or did he still see power as something wielded, rather than whispered into existence?

Serina had no intention of revealing her identity to him—not yet. It was far more delicious to remain an enigma, to watch as the mind of another tried to grasp at something that was never truly there. Let him wonder. Let him doubt. Let him feel the tension, the curiosity, the quiet pull of something unseen.

She stepped toward the center of the chamber, where the shadows thickened, where even the dim light could not fully touch.

Waiting.

She had all the time in the galaxy.

And the shadows…

The shadows were always watching.

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Polis Masa
Tags: Serina Calis
Equipment: Lightsaber | Sith Armour | Helmet
​

There was a chill that followed.

The temperature plummeted the moment the masked figure entered the room, as if happiness was being sucked from everyone inside. It was silent. Every breath taken by the Sith Knight was audiable, each step could be heard as his boots collided with the floor below.

Darkness licked at him from every angle, yet he stood tall. It reminded him of being present in his grandfather's throne room, but he'd conquered that fear. He wouldn't have been invited to Polis Masa if there wasn't a need for him. Nothing on the planet would hurt him.

Manipulating the temperature was a trick that he'd actually taken from his grandfather, a way to display power and instill fear before even speaking a word. It was something that had been used on him to great effect when he was younger, so why not borrow it?

Under his helm, the boy let out a smile.

The figure that had summoned him refused to show itself, instead manipulating the force and the shadows to disguise itself. He could sense it there though, watching him and studying him and he held himself at full height. Zachariah was almost impressed.

"Wherever you are" he spoke softly, amplifying his voice with a mixture of his helm and the force. "I would suggest you reveal yourself. I do recall it being yourself who requested this meeting, and I for one would like to know why" he continued.

"Why summon the heir of Ophidia and Malum to your domain?"

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Chamber, Polis Massa
Tag: Zachariah Conway ​

A sigh.

Not one of frustration, nor impatience, but something indulgent. Something amused. The sound slithered through the chamber, curling into the air like a slow exhale against bare skin.

"My, my… how commanding you are."

The voice did not come from one direction. It did not echo as it should have in the chamber's acoustics. It was everywhere, a whisper curling into the spaces between heartbeats, pressing into the mind with a pressure too soft to be ignored.

"And yet, you are so very young."

A chuckle—low, sultry, laced with something teasing, something savoring. The temperature did not rise. If anything, the cold deepened, thickened, but it was a different kind of cold now. Not one meant to instill fear, but something more intimate. More deliberate.

"Tell me, Heir of Ophidia… does it bother you?"

The whisper curled through the chamber, a velvet caress against the mind, softer now. Knowing.

"That no matter how tall you stand… no matter how deep your voice carries… I do not fear you?"

A flicker. A shift in the darkness. She had not moved, and yet… she had. Her presence did not come closer—it simply became. The shadows did not release her, they did not need to. They were her.

"You stand before me, wrapped in the name of your blood, cloaked in the teachings of your master… and you expect that to mean something to me?"

Another chuckle, low and indulgent, drawn out with an almost languid pleasure.

"Mm… no, no, no, little heir. You do not summon me. You do not command me. You do not even see me."

A pause. A deliberate stretch of silence, taut as a thread pulled to its limit. And then—

"And that… is why I summoned you."

A flicker of movement. The barest shift of fabric against air. Then, finally, she emerged, stepping forward into the dim glow of the chamber.

The robe—black as the void, flowing like liquid shadow, embroidered in intricate, shifting gold that caught the dim light like secrets whispered in the dark. The mask—sleek, metallic, adorned with delicate engravings that shimmered faintly with every slight tilt of her head. No eyes to meet his. No face to read. Only the whisper of her presence, coiling around him like a breath against his throat.

"Because you do not yet understand the power of being unseen."

A step. Slow. Purposeful. The movement of someone who did not walk, but drifted. Someone who was not bound by the mortal concept of presence.

"Your blood, your name, your voice—you announce yourself with every breath. But tell me, Heir of Malum…"

She leaned in ever so slightly, though the distance between them had not changed. And yet, somehow, it felt as though she had come closer.

"What is more powerful? A blade that is seen?"

The whisper slithered closer, curling against the air, pressing into his mind now, a sensation that did not quite touch, yet was utterly there.

"Or the one that is already at your throat?"

Silence.

And then—soft, satisfied—a final whisper.

"Do you see me now?"

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Polis Masa
Tags: Serina Calis
Equipment: Lightsaber | Sith Armour | Helmet
​

It was a familar voice.

One he'd heard only once, on the day that Darth Malum of House Marr had introduced Darth Latens to the Tsis'Kaar. She'd been present then and he could only assume that's where she'd learned of him. He'd been laying low since, preparing for the upcoming attack on the Galactic Alliance that his Grandfather was leading.

Did it bother him, that he couldn't see her? It was an interesting question, and one which caused an eye raise under his helm. Her presence was different to that of his Grandfather. Even though both of them had a way of projecting their voice, at least he was actually able to see Empyrean.

This girl just bacame the shadows as far as he could tell.

A useful trick, actually. He had to admit that. The unseen threat was definitely more of a risk than the threat you could see coming. He thought back to his meeting with the ghost of Ophidia and thought back on what the history of the Tsis'Kaar had been.

He smiled under his helm.

The shadows began to twist in front of him, revealing a figure that didn't entirely seem to be all there. The Sith had a thing with being undead or some form of semi present being and for a brief moment, Zachariah wondered if he was missing a trick.

"A useful skill" he commented after a moment, eyes focused upon the figure opposite him. "A skill an assassin would find useful" he mused softly. "However none of this explains why I was invited here? You claim that I do not command you but I think you're confused. I have no wish to command you" he stated quite openly. "I'm here for a purpose, correct? I simply wish to understand that purpose"

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Chamber, Polis Massa
Tag: Zachariah Conway ​

A shudder of pleasure rippled through the chamber, not from movement, not from the Force, but from something felt—an unseen, unfathomable current in the air, thick and suffocating. The shadows stirred, not merely as darkness, but as something alive, something that watched, that touched without hands, that tasted without a tongue.

And then, the voice.

Low. Breathy. A whisper dripping with intimacy, as if spoken directly into his ear, lips brushing against the shell of it though no one was there.

"Mmm… how deliciously measured you are."

The words curled, slid, caressed.

"No fear. No bravado. No need to prove anything to me."

A hum—slow, indulgent, the kind that vibrated through the air like a teasing touch across bare skin.

"You might yet be worth my time."

The figure did not move, and yet… she did. The shadows swayed around her, thick and heavy, like black silk winding around an unseen body, shifting, flowing, never quite still.

"Ahhh, but you see me now, don't you? You feel me."

The mask remained unreadable, smooth, metallic, faceless, but the voice—oh, the voice—was an instrument, each word plucked like a note, slow and purposeful, played across his senses as if his very presence were something to be savored.

"So sharp. So focused. So very, very careful."

A pause. A breath.

"Tell me, little heir… is it exhausting?"

A whisper in the dark, a sigh that coiled against the mind rather than the ear.

"Holding yourself so tightly, so perfectly upright, always the poised son, the calculating warrior, the perfect apprentice?"

She laughed then, a sultry, velvet sound that curled through the chamber like smoke from a dying flame.

"Mmm… but you are right about one thing, my dear. You are here for a purpose."

Another shift, another flicker of movement that wasn't quite movement at all.

"You intrigue me."

The words dripped from her lips, slow, deliberate, savoring every syllable as if rolling them across her tongue.

"The heir of Ophidia. The apprentice of Malum. A shadow, a blade… but not yet fully either."

A purr now, soft and indulgent, wrapping around the spaces between heartbeats.

"You understand the need for shadows, for control, for patience… but do you feel it? Do you know what it is to let go of the illusion of power and take hold of the only power that truly matters?"

She moved then, but it wasn't a step. It was a presence pressing in, curling around him. Closer, yet never close enough to touch. Felt, but unseen.

"I did not bring you here to test you. I did not bring you here to command you."

Her voice dropped, lower now, velvet, hushed, thick with something more, something deeper.

"I brought you here because you are on the cusp of understanding something far greater than the lessons your masters have given you."

Another shift, the scent of something faint—incense? Perfume?—or was it merely the idea of it?

"Power is not the blade you wield. It is not the voice that commands armies. It is not the throne upon which you sit."

A breath against his senses, a teasing, flickering sensation just beyond reach.

"Power is the hand at the nape of the neck. The whisper against the ear. The weight of a breath before the fall."

Another laugh, softer now, knowing.

"But you know this, don't you?"

Silence stretched between them, thick, electric, waiting.

And then, she asked it.

The question that had toppled kings, broken warriors, shattered empires. The question that was the first sin, the first temptation, the first truth.

Her voice dipped, slow and syrupy, like warm honey pooling at the base of the spine.

"Tell me, Heir of Ophidia…"

A pause. A breath.

"What do you desire?"

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Polis Masa
Tags: Serina Calis
Equipment: Lightsaber | Sith Armour | Helmet
​

She had powers he wanted to learn.

That was the first thought that went through his mind. The ability to become one with the shadows was most useful, especially with his vision of how the Tsis'Kaar should act. Even as a Knight and even into being named a Sith Lord, one never stopped learning.

His second thought is that she was a speaker. She was better with words than he would ever be, another useful skill in it's own right. Words could be used in many different ways. Manipulating people into doing things was just one of their uses.

Latens was growing to admire his host.

"You were there, if I recall" he noted, pausing for a moment. "On Dorvalla. You heard the words spoken by Malum of Marr in just the same way I did. So let me answer your question with a question. Was that your view of what the Sith should be?"

Both users of darkness were questioning each other, probing for just a little bit of information. Both of them wanted to know just a little bit more about the other. Both of them had uses for the other, it was just a question of who would get what they needed first.

"Because not all of it was mine" he confirmed.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Chamber, Polis Massa
Tag: Zachariah Conway ​

The whisper came slow. Leisurely. Indulgent.

"Mmm… how delightful you are."

A purr, thick with satisfaction, curling through the chamber like a teasing finger tracing the line of a throat.

"Probing me, testing me, offering me just enough to see what I will give in return…"

A chuckle. Low. Amused.

"You are learning."

The darkness around her shifted, not moving, but breathing, as if the very shadows were alive, pulsing in time with the tension that thickened between them.

"Dorvalla… ahh, yes. I was there."

A slow step forward, or perhaps she had not moved at all—only the feeling of her presence thickening, wrapping around him like a slow, silken coil.

"I listened. I watched. And oh, how your master spoke so beautifully."

Another soft laugh, more a breath than a sound. It was almost as if that last comment was, sarcastic?

"But tell me, Latens… do you believe in beauty?"

The pause was deliberate. Measured. Like a blade hovering just above the skin, waiting to descend.

"Do you believe in words? In visions? In promises?"

The silence stretched, heavy with something too close, too knowing.

And then—soft, teasing, almost tender—

"Because I do not."

The words curled, twisting around him, sinking into the marrow of the moment.

"The Sith are not meant to be anything but what they already are."

The shadows stirred, licking at the edges of perception, folding into themselves, hiding her even as she stood before him.

"Chaos. Hunger. Desire. Strength. We do not need to be reshaped, reforged, redeemed."

The whisper turned softer, like a breath against the skin, intimate in its closeness.

"We only need to be let loose."

Another pause. Another shift of presence.

"And yet, Malum wishes to build something. To mold. To define. And you…"

A hum, slow and knowing.

"You hesitate."

The word curled, deliberate, pressed into the space between them.

"Not all of it was yours, you say."

The shadows deepened, pulling inward, wrapping her in their embrace.

"So tell me, Latens… what is yours?"

A slow step. A subtle tilt of the mask. A presence that should have been distant, but wasn't.

"What do you wish to be?"

 

[Zachariah Conway]

Location: Polis Masa
Tags: Serina Calis
Equipment: Lightsaber | Sith Armour | Helmet
​

"He made me powerful"

The he in reference was quite obvious. Zachariah wasn't ever going to lie, Darth Malum of House Marr had taught him to harness all of the feelings he had and use them to manipulate the Force. Since he'd been entrusted into Lord Marr, he'd become more powerful than he ever imagined he could be.

"He seeks to rule through control"

The speech on Dorvalla had proven that. Malum's goal was to rule and he seeked to do that through control. At the current moment, it was the underworld on Jutrand but what would it be next? What would Malum decide to control next?

"The Sith shouldn't rule in the way Malum wishes to rule. His Master agrees" he stated as a matter of fact. Zachariag thought back to his experience on Elrood, when Ophidia had shown herself to him in a poison induced vision of some description.

"They should rule from the shadows, control without being seen" he acknowledged. "No-one within the Sith Order should even know the Tsis'Kaar exists. They should operate in the shadows, in much the same way that you do" he said with a smile under his helmet.

"Speaking of you, Serina. I've done some digging on you. You've been asking all of your questions so I believe it's my turn. You should be dead. So what's your play here?" he asked with genuine curiosity. Serina Calis was dead officially, so he wondered exactly what her goal was in this.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Unknown Chamber, Polis Massa
Tag: Zachariah Conway ​

A hum. Slow. Knowing.

Serina did not react—not in any visible way. But the air itself shifted, tightened, as if the very space between them had become more intimate. Closer.

And then—soft, syrupy, curling around him like the slow descent of honey down the spine—

"Mmm… my name."

She laughed, quiet, indulgent, savoring each syllable as if she tasted them.

"You say it as though you understand what it means, little heir."

The shadows moved, wrapping around her like a lover's embrace, shifting and pulsing as if they breathed. Her mask tilted, just slightly, a subtle, unreadable motion—nothing but suggestion, but it felt like she was smiling.

"Serina Calis."

The whisper lingered, dripping with something more, something thick with meaning.

"My name is the first sin."

The words slithered through the air, pressing into the silence, wrapping around the mind like a warm breath against bare skin.

"The ultimate temptation."

Another step. Or was it a presence? A pressure? Felt, but never truly seen.

"It is the whisper in the dark that sends kings to war. It is the promise that turns brother against brother. It is the question that unravels nations, the answer that shatters empires."

The chamber was thick with something unseen, a heat that was not warmth, a weight that was not touch.

"It is the fall of the righteous. The undoing of the wise. The breath before the fall."

A pause. Deliberate.

And then, soft, velvet, utterly decadent:

"My name is what will ruin you."

The words did not threaten. They did not boast. They simply… were.

And yet—

"And yet, Zachariah, dear Latens… I am not here to ruin you."

The voice shifted, dipped into something softer, something gentler, something that curled like silk around the mind, teasing at thoughts that had not yet formed.

"I am here to help you."

A hum, pleased, slow and indulgent, winding through the air like a lover's touch across the nape of a neck.

"You see, we want the same thing."

The whisper slid closer. It was not just in his ear—it was in his mind, threading through the very space between his thoughts.

"The Tsis'Kaar should not be known. It should not be seen. It should not be whispered of in the dark halls of Korriban or the palaces of Dromund Kaas. It should be the dark. It should be the whisper."

A pause. A breath. A smile—unseen, but felt.

"And I…? I am the whisper that has come to you."

A flicker of movement. A shift of light. A presence, warm and too close, without ever touching.

"You already know this, don't you?"

She did not ask.

She knew.

And in the silence that followed, she let the weight of her words settle—like a blade already at his throat, waiting for him to decide whether he would lean into it… or let it guide him forward.