"How far have I gone?"
In the cool, silent hours before dawn at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, Serina Calis found herself awake, her mind racing with the vivid images from her dream. Night after night, the same haunting visions crept into her sleep—visions of a mask, ancient and ominous, its surface etched with forgotten Sith symbols that seemed to pulse with a dark energy. The Mask of Xynoth, as it whispered its name to her in the depths of the night, promising the power of foresight beyond any Jedi's comprehension.
Despite her rigorous training and discipline, Serina couldn't shake the feeling that this was not just a figment of her imagination but a calling. Perhaps it was the allure of forbidden knowledge that drew her in, or maybe it was her unyielding ambition to master the Force in ways no one else dared. Either way, she knew that the answers she sought might lie within the Temple's restricted archives—a vast collection of texts and artifacts deemed too dangerous or unstable for general study.
Tonight, like many before, she found herself walking the dimly lit corridors of the Temple, her footsteps silent against the cold stone floors. The archives were strictly monitored, but Serina had learned to move unseen, her presence masked by a subtle manipulation of the Force around her. As she reached the heavy durasteel door that guarded the restricted section, she paused, reaching out with her mind to ensure no one else was near. Satisfied, she keyed in the access code she had memorized from watching over the shoulder of an unsuspecting librarian weeks ago.
The door hissed open, revealing rows upon rows of ancient texts, holocrons, and relics, each containing secrets that could enlighten or corrupt, depending on who wielded them. Serina's heart raced as she stepped inside, the door closing silently behind her. The air was thick with the musty scent of old parchment and metal, a smell she had come to associate with the pursuit of knowledge.
She moved directly to the section she had scouted previously, where manuscripts related to Sith artifacts were kept. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled out scrolls and datapads, each entry scanned with a hungry intensity. Hours passed as she delved deeper into the lore of Sith relics, her eyes scanning rapidly under the dim light of her datapad.
Then, she found it—a tattered parchment detailing The Mask of Xynoth. The text was ancient, written in a script that was barely legible, and it spoke of a mask created by a Sith alchemist known for his cruel experiments on the minds of his captives. The mask, it said, was imbued with the power to grant its wearer visions of the future, but at a terrible cost: the gradual erosion of their sanity.
As Serina read, a chill ran down her spine. The descriptions in the document mirrored the haunting images of her dreams with unnerving accuracy. She knew then that this was no coincidence—the Force was guiding her to this artifact.
Determined, Serina copied the pertinent information onto her datapad, carefully replacing the original document. As she prepared to leave, her resolve hardened. She would find this mask and claim its power. After all, she thought, who better to harness such a force than a Jedi who could see beyond the limitations set by fear and tradition?
With a new sense of purpose fueling her steps, Serina slipped out of the archives just as the first hints of dawn began to light the horizon. The Temple would soon stir, and she would be just another Padawan returning from a night of meditation. But inside, the seeds of a darker journey had been planted, one that promised to change the course of her destiny forever.