Private An Order Worth Studying

[Seren Gwyn]

Bastion announced itself long before Seren set foot on its surface.

Not with noise or spectacle, but with order—the precise alignment of traffic lanes, the disciplined cadence of patrols, the way the city seemed to breathe in measured intervals. Even the air felt regulated, filtered through systems designed to deny chaos its foothold. It was a world built on control rather than reverence, on function rather than myth.

She emerged from the transport without ceremony, dark coat settling neatly around her frame as the ramp lowered. The lights of the spaceport caught faintly in her amber eyes, reflecting a city that did not pretend to be anything other than what it was: a capital of survival after collapse.

Seren paused at the foot of the ramp, allowing the moment to stretch. She did not bow. She did not hurry. Bastion could wait. Her gaze swept the platform once—security placements, exits, overlapping lines of sight. Efficient. Predictable. Comforting, in its own way.

Then she turned her attention to the man assigned to her. Kallous. The name had reached her before the orders did. A functionary with teeth. A survivor who understood both obedience and discretion—rare qualities to find in equal measure. The kind the Diarchy trusted not because he was invisible, but because he knew when to be.

Seren inclined her head just enough to acknowledge him, her expression calm, unreadable. "I appreciate the courtesy of an escort," she said evenly, voice carrying without effort. "Bastion is… less forgiving to visitors who wander without context."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward the skyline beyond the port—clean lines, layered defenses, a city built to endure rather than inspire.

"You may consider me cooperative," she continued, tone mild, almost reassuring. "I am here by invitation, not curiosity. I have no interest in disrupting your order." A pause. The faintest hint of something knowing touched her gaze.

"Only in understanding it." She stepped forward at last, closing the distance between them until she stood comfortably at his side, not ahead, not behind—an intentional choice. "Lead on, Commander," Seren said quietly. "I am told Bastion rewards those who pay attention."

And with that, the Shadow of Malachor entered the heart of the Diarchy—not as a threat, not as a guest, but as something far more dangerous—an observer.

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

Kallous was not accustomed to this kind of assignment. This sort of domestic work was not his forte nor expertise. However given his position within the Diarchy he had decided that he could no longer neglect to educate himself on such matters. He was expected to be one of Diarch Rellik's hands, in some cases perhaps even a proxy. So this sort of assignment, he decided, was good for him. So he had accepted this task with the intent to diversify his skillset, and make himself even more useful to his home and people.

That, and he grew up among the Sith, he had been raised on Korriban as one of their own. A student at their academy. He'd never been one to engage in the more... conniving methods employed by the sith. But he knew the way that darksiders thought, up until recently he was one of them. So he reasoned that if this guest were to try anything, he would be one of the best equipped to handle the situation if he needed to.

Kallous stood on the landing platform with his feet at shoulder width and his hands held comfortably behind him, ready to recieve their guest. Watching intently as the ship descended onto the platform, and the gangway extended, allowing the passenger to disembark onto Bastion's surface. And his eyes landed on a rather demure looking woman, on the smaller side and clad in plain black clothes. He was hardly one to judge, though he found himself musing that all Sith wore black for some reason or another, and it was a thought he found amusing.

He didn't let any of this show in his face as the woman stepped off of the ramp and onto the landing platform where he was ready to welcome her.

When the woman, Seren he remembered her name being, approached him and began speaking he gave hera shallow and curt bow at the waist. A formal greeting that showed respect but did not suggest weakness or subservience. And his eyes never left hers, she would not need the ability to read his mind to know that he intended to watch her closely.

"It is a courtesy we are happy to provide Miss Gwyn." He said to her, "All visitors are welcome, though some are scrutinized more harshly than others. I apologize if it has caused you any inconvenience."

When the woman stepped next to him to begin the initial tour of Bastion's most prominent locations he began to walk with her, not attempting to overtake the woman or fall behind her. Both seeming to have the same idea of being to the side of the other. His considerable size compared to hers meant he had to trim his stride a little, but it was not a difficult thing to do. The gesture seeming to convey from both, to both, that neither trusted the other to be at their back, nor wanted to be easily observed by the other.

Kallous' caution was of course not altogether unfounded or unreasonable. She, being the researcher she was, likely knew a little about him. And understood that he had been sith too once ago, and was thus wise to their usual machinations. Hence his subdued but not at all subtle mistrust.

"It does. And I am sure you will find it agreeable." He responded neutrally, "Would you like to see where you will be staying before I show you around? Or would you like to see the sights first?"

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren inclined her head in return, the motion precise and restrained—an acknowledgment of courtesy rather than submission. Up close, her presence was quieter than many expected: no deliberate pressure in the Force, no attempt to dominate the space. What lingered instead was a sense of containment, as though whatever power she carried had been folded inward and set aside by choice.

"I appreciate the clarity," she said evenly. "Scrutiny is rarely inconvenient. It simply establishes the shape of the room."

Her gaze held his for a brief moment longer, amber eyes steady, assessing without challenge. She did not comment on his caution or his stance, but she noticed both—the measured distance, the matched pace. Neither dominance nor deference. That balance earned a quiet note of approval.

"I would prefer to see my accommodations first," Seren continued as she stepped forward, aligning her stride naturally with his. "It is easier to understand a city once one knows where it intends for you to rest."

As they moved, her attention shifted outward, taking in Bastion's architecture and ordered flow. Unlike Malachor, the world did not whisper to her or claw at her awareness. It simply existed—disciplined, deliberate, patient. She found that instructive.

After a moment, she spoke again.

"Seren Gwyn," she added, her tone unchanged but intentional. "Scholar of the Dark Court. My work concerns memory, concealment, and what survives collapse. I am here to observe and learn, not to interfere." A pause followed. Then, not warmth, but candor softened the edge of her voice.

"And you are Kallous," she said. "Former Sith. Current protector of Diarch interests. Assigned not merely to escort me, but to measure me." She kept her eyes forward as she spoke, letting the words stand without accusation. "I find that acceptable."

Her pace matched his, unhurried and composed. "Please," Seren concluded quietly. "Lead on."

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

"A pleasure Miss Gwyn."

Already the two of them were duelling. It was the kind of dance he'd learned in his youth, and hadn't had to engage in for some time. But it was an instict that had been beaten, burned and branded into him during his formative years in the academy on Korriban. The subtle, insidious contest of wills, wits and presence that defined Sith culture. The intent to establish dominance without doing so overtly enough to cause an issue. Under the old rules of the Sith Purebloods this didn't exist, it was simply who could kill the other more dead, but the Sith had evolved since then and politics, posturing, subtlety and subterfuge had entered the scene where overt violence hadn't been permitted. And these practices had expanded beyond the realm of those who intended each other harm, and had transcended to an art form. A game, one the Sith seemed addicted to, and one they could do even in settings where open conflict was either undesirable or unacceptable.

This fell solidly into both categories. And so this duel between the two of them was already well underway, both maintaining decorum, both remaining within the bounds that had been set for them, but both of them exerting their efforts to subtly prod the other into weaker footing. Kallous was rusty, but he was not incompetent at this, and his home field advantage already afforded him the slight advantage he needed to maintain this despite his lack of expertise in this particular match. Whether that would remain the case however was yet to be seen.

Seren even decided to probe his defenses by revealing that she had studied him prior to her arrival. Not a surprise. She did not seem to him to be the brutish, violent type. He had no doubt that she was dangerous in her own right, but by his assessment if it came to blows he would likely overpower her. So he immediately suspected that she would be more inclined to be an intellectual threat rather than a physical one, and this offhand sentence where she recited to him that he had been Sith once, and that his presence here was not just as a tour guide.

"I see you've done some reading." he commented calmly. "Anything else they have on me? Truthfully I've never known what the Sith actually have regarding my sudden departure, or what records were even kept."

Right now he was interested in keeping her talking, to get a better gague on what exactly he was dealing with. And how he should go about handling this woman.

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not slow her pace, but there was a fractional shift in her attention—a subtle rebalancing as his question landed. She had expected it. Curiosity was rarely absent in those who had survived leaving the Sith alive.

"I read what survives," she replied evenly. "And I am careful about what does not."

Bastion's corridors unfolded ahead of them in clean lines and disciplined symmetry. She did not look at him as she continued, her words chosen with restraint rather than certainty.

"Your early years on Korriban are… sparse. Adequate training. No particular distinction. No recorded failures." A faint pause. "That kind of absence is rarely accidental."

She turned her head just enough to acknowledge him, amber eyes steady but not invasive.

"What is noted comes later. A deployment beyond Sith space. A system under dispute. Conflicting interests. Conflicting orders." Her tone remained neutral—observational, not accusatory.

"The records agree on very little after that. Only that something fractured." She let that sit, refusing to supply the shape of it for him.

"You returned changed," Seren continued quietly. "And then you did not return at all." Another pause—intentional, measured. "Everything beyond that becomes speculation. Analysis layered over silence."

Then, deliberately, she shifted the balance. "In exchange," she said, her voice lowering just a degree, "you may have something of mine."

Her hands folded loosely in front of her as they walked.

"I was trained as a Jedi scholar. Not a blade. Not a commander." A faint, wry note touched her words. "I asked questions. I remembered things others preferred forgotten."

"That made me…inconvenient." She glanced toward him briefly. "I was not cast out in anger. I was removed quietly." Her gaze returned forward.

"Malachor did not claim me by force. I chose it. I learned that shadows keep records light refuses to hold." There was no pride in the admission—only certainty.

"I did not leave the Jedi because I lacked belief," she added. "I left because belief without doubt is just another kind of obedience."

She let the silence breathe between them before finally looking at him again—fully now, openly, but without intrusion.

"That is what I know," Seren said softly. "And that is where it ends." A beat. "If you wish to correct what the shadows assume," she finished evenly, "you may."

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

They continued to walk, Kallous guiding her to their first destination. The place where she would be staying while on Bastion was not a hotel per se, not really open to the public. It was a building reserved for dignitaries, diplomats and emissaries as well as their retinues and other official guests, such as Seren. It wasn't a palace, but it wasn't some backwater cantina either. It was warm, comfortable, furnished and well decorated. Kept clean by well paid staff. Resulting in an environment that was certainly one for the more privileged in life, while maintaining Bastion's characteristic simplistic elegance.

They would step into a lobby and immediately make their way to the elevator while the conversation continued.

Kallous nodded thoughtfully when Seren summarized what she knew. It was about what he expected. Not wholly accurate, but it wasn't so egregiously wrong as to warrant correction. The core of it all was true, and that was sufficient, and even relieving to know that what the Sith did have were fragmented. At least, if she were telling him the truth.

"A jedi?" He asked, slightly surprised to hear that. Most Jedi that were converted became even more vicious than those born and raised, at least in his experience. They'd fallen from a higher place so they hit the bottom the hardest, that was the way he understood it. So to see one here, still somewhat reasonable, seemingly, and not frothing at the mouth with bloodlust was not the most normal. It was curious. "I worry you may have traded one misguided dogma for another. The Sith have it no more right than the Jedi do. Though I will agree with you on the point on blind belief, it is unwise to neglect contemplation."

He said this last part as one who knew from experience, as someone who had been ignorant and had been elevated out of it. He'd once been such a blind simpleton as that, and even when he'd left the Sith behind and found himself exposed to a part of the force and himself that he'd never previously known he'd chosen to hide from it rather than learn for the longest time. Now he knew better, and it was a relief to see that this woman was of a similar mind. Those Sith that tended to think more were often the more dangerous ones, but also tended to be the wiser ones. Sith such as the likes of Revan or Marr were the greatest of their times, and also some of the wisest, and they started by thinking before they felt.

It was a good path to take.

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren listened as they crossed the threshold into the residence, her attention registering details the way a scholar instinctively did—the restraint of the décor, the absence of ostentation, the quiet efficiency of the staff. Bastion did not perform excess. It curated it. That alone told her much about the people who ruled it.

When the doors slid shut behind them and the elevator began its smooth ascent, she finally answered him. Her posture remained relaxed, hands loosely folded, presence contained rather than diminished.

"It is a reasonable concern," she said evenly, acknowledging his skepticism without offense. "And one I asked myself more than once."

Her gaze shifted briefly to the polished surface of the elevator doors, not to avoid him, but as if the reflection offered something worth considering.

"The Jedi taught me discipline, patience, and the value of restraint. They also taught me which questions were permitted—and which were not." A faint pause followed. "When curiosity becomes heresy, knowledge stagnates." She looked back at him then, amber eyes steady, thoughtful rather than defensive.

"The Sith are not an answer to that failure," Seren continued. "They are a response. Sometimes, an overcorrection. Sometimes a necessary one." There was no zeal in her voice, no fervor. If anything, her tone suggested distance—chosen, deliberate.

"Malachor did not offer me truth," she added. "It offered me perspective. The shadows are useful not because they dominate, but because they reveal what certainty tries to erase."

The elevator hummed softly as it passed another level.

"I do not follow dogma," she said simply. "Jedi or Sith. I study patterns. Causes. Consequences."

Then—quietly, unmistakably—she corrected the implication without altering her calm.

"That said, I am not an observer standing outside the Dark Side," Seren continued. "I am a Sith Knight. I took that title knowingly."

There was no pride in the statement. No apology either.

"I wield the Dark Side. I have killed for it. I have shaped it—and allowed it to shape me in return." A measured pause. "What I rejected was not power, but obedience without comprehension."

A fractional softening touched her expression—subtle, but real.

"That makes me unwelcome in many places," she admitted. "But it keeps me honest." She inclined her head slightly toward him, not a bow, but a gesture of mutual recognition. "You are not wrong to be cautious of thinkers," Seren said. "They tend to change things."

The elevator slowed.

"If nothing else," she finished quietly, "you may find my presence here…instructive."

The doors slid open, revealing the corridor beyond—quiet, composed, and waiting. She stepped forward without hesitation. Very much a Sith Knight—just not one history found easy to simplify.

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

Kallous was uncertain what to make of this woman. On the one hand she confessed openly to choosing the path of the Sith, which Kallous understood now the be objectively evil. Something that he had rejected after seeing it for what it was. On the other hand her logic wasn't entirely incorrect. Even her acknowledgement that the Sith were frequently an overcorrection told him that she knew exactly what she was doing, and had made all of these decisions consciously. Something he found almost sad, that someone could see what the Sith were, understand what they were, and embrace it wholeheartedly. The pursuit of knowledge and power for its own sake, the truest way of the Sith.

His meditations had taught him much about the nature of the Force, and the Force spoke to him, it spoke to all who could hear it. All one needed to do was listen, truly listen, not impart their own perpsectives on it, not impose their own dogma or creed on it, but listen. To empty oneself of their thoughts, their feelings and the knowledge they had attained, in order to fill themselves with the message the Force wished to impart for them. It was a meditation that Kallous had undertaken only once when he was in the confines of the Maw, and it had revealed to him the truth. He didn't fully trust that he understood it in it's wholeness, all he knew was that what he wanted the force to be didn't matter, and that the truth was far more profound than anything he could wish it to be. He'd begun to explore the Force and its mysteries as a student, doing all he could to hear its words again. It was not easy.

And with this experience, knowing what it was that both sides hadn't the ability to fathom, be it from restriction, dogma or selfish pursuit of power, it deeply saddened him to see anyone who had the capability to go that deep neglect to do so. Especially if it was simply out of spite, or some misguided idea that one side was wrong so the other had to be right.

"I see." He said simply, accepting her explanation. "I hope you find what you are looking for. On another note, here we are."

He stopped at a door numbered 343, and offered to her the key. "This is where you will be staying. You'll find the rooms here are cozy, tidy and warm. You won't be disappointed."

When she stepped in she would find that Kallous had described the room accurately. Bastion had a tendency to be simplistic in much of its architecture. And this room was likewise simple. But this did not mean it was unwelcoming or of lesser quality. The floor was carpeted, the bed was neat and all of the furnishings of a home were present. Giving Seren a veritable home away from home to enjoy while she was planetside.

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren accepted the key without ceremony, her fingers brushing the durasteel lightly before she closed them around it. She did not move to the door immediately. Instead, she regarded it for a moment as if weighing the meaning of being housed rather than merely accommodated.

When she spoke, it was not to counter his judgment—but to acknowledge it. "I would not expect you to agree with my conclusions," she said calmly. "Only to understand that they were reached deliberately."

Her gaze lifted to him again, steady and unflinching, but without challenge. "I do not mistake the Sith for virtue," Seren continued. "Nor do I believe power is justification in itself. But I also learned that waiting for the Force to tell me who I was allowed to become meant surrendering choice entirely."

She turned the key once in her hand, an idle motion.

"You listened and were changed," she acknowledged. "I listened—and learned that silence can be shaped." There was no defensiveness in her tone. If anything, there was quiet certainty.

"Perhaps that is the difference between us," she said. "You sought truth and let it redefine you. I sought understanding and refused to be defined by it." She inclined her head slightly—respectful, restrained. "If that saddens you, I accept that," Seren added. "Not all paths are meant to converge."

Only then did she turn and step toward the door, pausing briefly at the threshold. "Thank you, Kallous," she said, sincere but contained. "For the courtesy. And for the honesty."

The door slid open at her touch, revealing the quiet order of the room beyond. She stepped inside without hesitation—comfortable, not because it was warm or well-kept, but because it was temporary. A place to pause. Not a place to belong.

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

He shook his head slightly at her conclusion, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He did not expect her to fully understand what his experience had been. He hadn't changed, not really, at least not as a person. His passions remained the same, he still had a deep love for bladework. The Force hadn't changed him as a person, it hadn't turned him into some hollow shell, some vessel for its own devices to work through. Rather what he had found was something else altogether, and it was that misunderstanding that had permeated everyone whom he'd tried to explain this to, Jedi and Sith alike.

Nevertheless he didn't see fit to explain it to her that she had entirely missed the nature of his newfound understanding. His connection to the force had deepened much, yes. He was more introspective, more thoughtful and more prone to meditation now yes. But at the end of the day, he was still Kallous. And the Force hadn't redefined him, nor did it redefine anyone on its own. That was not the nature of the Force, not the way it interfaced with the people who could touch it.

Honestly, he was actually quite amused by these misunderstandings. Her words told him that she had well and truly become Sith, and accepted their doctrine whether she knew it or not. She saw the Force as something that sought to control her, which was false. She saw herself as rebelling against something that had no real interest in controlling her at all.

"And thank you for your own honesty Miss Gwyn." He replied. "It is always good to know someone's thoughts. Take all the time you need to get settled. I will be here when you are ready to look around."

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren paused just inside the doorway, the soft lighting of the room catching along the edge of her profile. She did not turn fully back to him at once, as if considering his words rather than reacting to them. When she did look over her shoulder, her expression held that same composed attentiveness—neither corrected nor chastened.

"I do not think the Force seeks to control me," she said quietly, clarifying without defensiveness. "I think people mistake influence for intent. And fear influences because it reveals where they are not as free as they believe."

She rested one hand lightly against the doorframe, grounding herself in the moment.

"If I have embraced anything the Sith taught," Seren continued, "it is ownership. Of choice. Of consequence." There was a faint, thoughtful curve to her mouth—not quite a smile. "Perhaps we are less opposed than our conclusions suggest," she added. "You listen. I shape. Both require awareness. Both carry risk."

She inclined her head once more, respectful and unhurried.

"I will not take long," Seren said. "And when I am ready, I would like to see Bastion through your eyes—not the Diarchy's." With that, she stepped fully into the room, the door sliding closed behind her with a quiet, final seal—not an ending, but a pause.

It did not last long.

When the door slid open again with a soft chime, Seren emerged unchanged in posture but subtly eased, as though the space had served its purpose. The dark fabric of her clothing lay smooth and unhurried, her presence once more contained and deliberate. She came to stand beside Kallous rather than behind him, neither yielding ground nor pressing it.

"Thank you for the courtesy," she said simply. "I am ready." Her gaze traveled briefly down the length of the corridor, taking in its clean lines and quiet order before returning to him.

"Show me Bastion as it truly is," Seren continued, "not as it is presented to visitors, nor as it is recorded for history." There was no challenge in the request—only intent. "I have spent much of my life studying what hides beneath careful structures," she added softly. "I find it is often there that understanding lives."

With that, she fell naturally into step beside him, her pace matching his without adjustment—ready to see what Bastion revealed when one stopped asking it to perform.

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

Kallous had originally looked at this woman with suspicion and caution. That wasn't gone. But now he found himself thinking that perhaps this woman would make for an interesting conversation. She certainly seemed more... deliberate than a lot of Sith were, especially those that had been pulled out of the Jedi life. Of course it was too early for him to really say that he knew her or what she was, how she thought. So he couldn't say anything for certain. But his gut told him that this woman would be fun to speak with on this subject.

He waited patiently for her to reemerge, and when she did he stood ready to fulfill his duty. And right away he was asked to be earnest about how he saw Bastion, not as it was presented to visitors, but how it actually was. As far as he was concerned, they weren't actually that far apart from one another. Obviously visitors were shown the best parts of Bastion, and the worst parts were generally downplayed, but that was hardly special. He liked to be honest, and the Diarchy didn't really hide its nature.

"Hmmmmm... is there anything in particular you would like to see then? I had intended to show you the various academies and other places of interest. Though if that isn't of interest to you... what would be of interest to you Miss Seren? There is much to say, and even more to see."

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not answer immediately. They were still within the dignitary housing wing, where the corridors were quieter and more insulated from the pulse of the wider city. The air here felt deliberately calm—designed to settle visiting minds, to soften edges before politics or purpose intruded. She noticed it, of course. Spaces like this were never neutral.

She walked beside him, neither ahead nor behind, her pace unhurried. His question lingered, and she considered it with the same care she had given everything else since setting foot on Bastion.

"The academies will be of interest to me," she said at last, voice low and composed. "But there is no urgency."

Her gaze traced the clean lines of the corridor, the symmetry, the absence of ornamentation that served no function. Bastion did not hide its priorities—it simply did not shout them.

"For now, I am content to observe how you choose to speak of your home," Seren continued. "People reveal as much in what they volunteer as in what they withhold."

Internally, she found herself reassessing him yet again.

He was guarded, yes—but not rigid. Curious—but not invasive. And when faced with a Sith who did not perform cruelty or ambition on cue, he had not recoiled. That intrigued her more than she would have admitted aloud.

"You asked what would interest me," she added, glancing toward him briefly. "At the moment? Context." A fractional pause.

"I have spent most of my life studying institutions from the inside—how they teach loyalty, how they discourage doubt, how they decide who is worth investing in." Her tone remained neutral, scholarly rather than accusatory. "Bastion feels… intentional. I would like to understand that intent before I see its results."

She folded her hands loosely in front of her as they continued walking.

"So," Seren said softly, "tell me what you think visitors usually misunderstand about this place." It was not a test. Not yet.

But it was an invitation—to speak honestly, before the wider world intruded, before academies and doctrine entered the conversation. And beneath that calm exterior, Seren noted something unexpected: she was looking forward to hearing his answer.

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

"I think what most people misunderstand about this place is its ultimate purpose." He answered. "This planet is home to a great many people, and is the seat of the Diarchy's power. It houses our Naval Academy, the Brotherhood's Academy and other such places of importance. And that is its ultimate purpose. Bastion is not a place for grandstanding, its importance lies in what it produces. It is somewhat comparable to Korriban in the sense that it is the heart of our burgeoning empire, and its primary purpose is to raise the next generation of its leaders, officers and warriors. Official events are held here, dignitaries invited and diplomats hosted. It isn't entirely devoid of the things that the rich from other governments would find a requirement, but that is a necessity rather than a preference. Simplicity and efficiency are at its core. And like many capitals it represents the ideals of the Diarchy as a whole, I truly believe this. It is perhaps a little more restrictive than the Republic that the Jedi seem to be so fond of, though I would hardly call it oppressive either. But perhaps the thing that makes Bastion special on its own would be its academy, and its ability to pool together diversity of thoughts and persepectives when it comes to the study of the force and its applications. We have Jedi, Sith, Nightsisters and everything in between that have come through our academy. Me being one of them. Insofar as that goes, Bastion is at its core a place meant for discourse of ideas. A place of learning and debate as well as a center of government."

He had a lot more complicated thoughts about Bastion, but to keep it concise that would be sufficient. He was very fond of his home, and while he wasn't blind to its shortcomings, he truly believed that despite those faults it was the best place to be.

"In a sense you could say that Bastion is simple by design, to avoid creating an atmosphere of oppression or grandness where it isn't needed."

They would continue their journey as they spoke, preparing to leave the housing complex behind so Kallous could show her the city's highlights.|

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren listened without interrupting, her attention fixed not just on his words, but on the cadence of them—the places where certainty settled easily, and the places where it softened into belief rather than doctrine. As they walked, the architecture around them subtly changed, the quiet insulation of the dignitary housing giving way to wider corridors and the faint suggestion of the city beyond.

When she spoke, it was not immediate. She allowed his explanation to breathe.

"That distinction matters more than most realize," she said at last, her tone thoughtful. "A capital defined by what it produces rather than what it displays." Her gaze drifted briefly to the passing walls, the restrained design now reading as intentional rather than merely austere.

"Korriban was never subtle about what it was," Seren continued. "Its weight pressed down on you from the moment you arrived. Bastion does not do that." A pause. "It instructs instead."

Internally, she found herself recalibrating again. This was not a world built to intimidate through excess or myth. It was built to shape—quietly, persistently.

"You speak of restriction without oppression," she went on. "That is a narrow balance. Most governments fail it by mistaking control for stability." Her eyes returned to him, studying—not judging.

"The academy you describe," Seren said, "that convergence of traditions…that is what will draw scrutiny, not your fleets or your laws." A faint, knowing note entered her voice.

"Institutions that allow discourse tend to produce people who cannot be easily categorized. Or easily ruled." She let that thought linger as the corridor opened further ahead, the hum of Bastion's life beginning to register more clearly.

"I think most visitors expect Bastion to tell them what it is," she said softly. "What they misunderstand is that it expects something of them instead." For the first time since leaving her quarters, there was a hint of genuine interest that edged past composure. "I look forward to seeing the academy," Seren added. "Not as a symbol—but as a crossroads."

She matched his pace as they moved toward the city proper, her presence calm, deliberate—already engaging with Bastion not as a guest to be impressed, but as a mind measuring another system that, like her, had chosen to be intentional rather than loud.

Kallous