Liliane
Handmaiden to the Empress

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The Academy loomed over Jutrand like a jagged crown of stone and iron, its silhouette carving the sky in cruel, sharp angles. It had always been there, distant, towering, inescapable. For as long as she could remember, Liliane had known it only by rumour and shadow. The place where the worthy went to kill or be killed. The place she would never belong.
Until now.
She moved quietly across the vast antechamber, boots tapping lightly against the blackened marble floor. Around her, the air was thick with cold discipline, sermons of violence etched into every stone, every shattered monument to long-dead lords. She had come alone. Her crimson gaze lifted toward the far reaches of the vaulted ceiling, tracing the banners that hung like funeral cloths: symbols of war, blood and triumph. Once, they had terrified her. Now, they stirred something different, something she had only begun to feel since her talks with Darth Anathemous, and the wordless teachings of her Lady.
This thing that the Sith harnessed — this Dark Side — did not feel like a weight here. It moved around her. Through her. Not the crushing despair she had lived under all her life within Jutrand’s lower shadows, but a cold river she might one day command, if only she learned the shape of it.
She touched that awareness gently, like brushing her fingers across the surface of a blade. It was faint, uncertain, but it was hers now. Something she could reach for, instead of merely survive beneath. Liliane walked further into the heart of the Academy, passing training chambers lined with black-armoured initiates, instructors whose mere glances could peel back illusions. Every step was a lesson in restraint.
Move with purpose, not fear; exist, but not as prey.
Trust in the Empress.
The thought gave her spine the strength it needed to remain straight beneath the gaze of this harsh place. It was strange — deeply strange — to walk here not as a servant, not as a shadow, but as a student. A fledgling among predators. But she had come here to change the course of her very fate, so that perhaps one day — as Anathemous had told her — she may even conquer death itself.