A brilliant fire


Outfit: Combat Jumpsuit (Torn)
Weapons: Blasters | Lightsabers
"Chit."
The word slipped from Valery's lips as her eyes cracked open, raw and rasping like her throat. At first, there was only the sensation of weight — not on her body, but pulling at her arms, her shoulders. A dull, grinding ache radiated from where her wrists were bound, metal cuffs hooked to a rusted ring high above her head. She was on her knees, the cold stone beneath her slick with condensation and time. Her muscles burned. Her head throbbed.
And her memory?
Broken.
She blinked against the dim light. A shaft of sunlight filtered in from somewhere high, maybe a cracked ceiling above the cell. Dust hung in the air, lazy motes drifting between the stones and roots that had long since reclaimed this place. A cell, clearly. But not part of any modern prison. This was old — fallen ruin kind of old. Ancient bricks. Symbols long worn smooth on the walls. She could feel the age of it in the air.
But it wasn't where she had started.
The last thing she remembered was the temple itself. A descent into an uncharted ruin, deep beneath the crust of a world that didn't even have a name anymore. A civilization lost to time, wrapped in whispers of Force-sensitives who'd splintered off long before Jedi and Sith were ever etched into the stars. She'd made it past the guardians, the riddles, the shifting floors and triggered illusions.
Until she didn't — A misstep. A pressure plate?
Then nothing.
And now this. Her head slumped forward against her arms for a moment, breath shuddering out between cracked lips. Her black jumpsuit was torn in places — streaked with blood, dirt, and who knew what else. She could feel bruises blooming across her ribs. Her lightsaber? Gone. No belt. No gear.
But she was alive with one burning question on her mind.
Where the hell am I now?
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