Tags:
Serina Calis
- Primary Target Zone: [Dantooine]
Sable stood still, the silence between them stretched taut, humming like a powerline before the storm.
The wind caught the edge of her poncho, flaring it just enough to reveal the weathered butt of her sidearm and a sliver of old ink on her forearm—black lines etched in a language of violence and regret. She didn't look at Serina right away. She didn't need to.
"I didn't come here for answers," she said, voice low, rough like gravel under a boot heel.
"I came to burn this place down."
Her gaze shifted finally, eyes like storm glass meeting Serina's with that calm, coiled stillness that said she'd bled through worse things than ghosts.
"I still see this place in my dreams."
She stepped forward then—slow, deliberate—and passed through the wreckage like someone walking a crime scene rather than a childhood memory. Her boots cracked a broken support beam underfoot. She didn't flinch. She removed her mask, stowing it away on her belt. Her white hair tumbled down, bringing her mood along for the ride.
"I've been shaping it." She said over her shoulder.
"I think it's time I just...break it down."
There was no anger in her voice, no heat. Just the kind of hollow certainty that came from living too many years with a hole where something soft used to be.
"I've let you shape me, and I've continued to let you." A pause.
"I'm not exactly sure where I'd be without you. I guess that's the point."
The threshold stood like the mouth of a grave—weathered, hollow, and waiting.
Sable stepped toward it slowly, boots crunching against a scatter of broken tiles half-buried in windblown dirt. The skeletal frame of what had once been the doorway rose before her, leaning slightly to one side where the foundation had begun to sink, crooked like a tired old man bowing beneath the years. The wood was splintered and sun-bleached, warped by rainstorms and the heat of countless Dantooine summers. Faint scorch marks curled along the frame—residue from whatever fire had claimed the house's final breath.
It had to of happened years ago. She was surprised it was still standing honestly.
Above, the lintel beam still bore the faint carving Alfonz had etched into it—just a crude sigil of a star and a crescent moon. A family mark, or maybe just a passing thought he'd scratched in during one of those long, quiet evenings. Time had worn it thin, but not gone. Not yet.
Inside, shadows pooled like old secrets. The roof was gone, torn away by time and wind, but the bones of the house remained—a few support beams jutting like ribs from the earth, shattered window frames clinging to the edges of their openings, a cracked hearthstone visible beyond. The walls were half-fallen, scattered stone and fractured plaster overgrown with stubborn weeds and creeping grass.
Sable stopped at the doorway.
She didn't cross it. Not yet.
She stood there, hands at her sides, one curling unconsciously near her holster—not to draw, but to anchor. A reflex. A habit.
Her habit.
Beyond her, the wind stirred through the ruins again, lifting dust and dead leaves, curling them in lazy spirals across the floorless interior. The scent of ash and dried wood still clung faintly to the air, mingled with the earth-rich breath of the plains.
She looked at it all, not with longing, not with grief.
Just with eyes that remembered.
And for now, she didn't move.
Just stood at the doorway, like someone visiting the tomb of a life that never quite belonged to them.
"But you already know that, don't you?"
She turned then, standing to face Serina fully now, wind tugging strands of pale hair loose from beneath her hat.
"You poke at memory like it's a wound you want to infect. But that only works on people who still feel pain."
The edge of a smirk tugged at her mouth. It wasn't humor—it was defiance, worn smooth by time.
"And if you're asking what I hoped to find…" She shrugged.
"Maybe just the proof that nothing here matters anymore."
Another pause. The smirk faded.
"…Or maybe I just needed to see if I still cared."
She let the silence settle again, let Serina stew in whatever meaning she might pull from that.
Then Sable turned away and started walking again, toward the old trail that led past the ridge.
"I can still hear her sometimes," She called without looking back,
"I just need to...really cut her out..if I want a future with you, this all has to go."
And just faintly, she turned back to Serina:
"…I'll give you whatever you want. Because, I love you." She motioned to the weathered structure.
"It's...why I want your help...destroying this."