Private An Order Worth Studying

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren listened as he spoke, her attention moving easily between his words and the space itself as they entered the Agora. Her gaze traced the curve of the seating, the deliberate symmetry, the way the room invited focus without intimidation. It was an old design—older than empires—and its endurance alone spoke to its effectiveness.

She stopped just short of the stage, hands folding loosely at her front as if instinctively adopting the posture of an observer rather than a participant.

"Failure without indulgence," she said quietly, more reflective than critical. "That is a difficult balance to teach." Her eyes lifted to the podiums, imagining them occupied—not by demagogues or zealots, but by students still learning how to argue without turning belief into weaponry. "Most orders fear this kind of space," Seren continued. "Debate invites fracture. It exposes contradictions. It gives students the language to challenge authority." There was a faint note of approval beneath the observation.

"The Sith prefer hierarchy. The Jedi prefer consensus," she went on. "Both struggle when ideas are allowed to exist without immediate resolution." Her gaze returned to him then—not probing, but assessing. "This explains much," Seren added. "Including you." The statement was offered, without weight or expectation.

At his mention of debates being recorded, something genuine stirred behind her eyes. "I would appreciate that," she said. "Not only to attend—but to see what arguments endure after the room empties."

She stepped a little closer to the stage, not mounting it, but standing near enough to imagine the cadence of voices, the tension of contested ideas. "A place like this does not merely teach students how to speak," Seren said softly. "It teaches them how to listen… and when not to."

Then, after a brief pause—lighter, but sincere: "Thank you for bringing me here first," she said. "You chose well."

She let her gaze wander the room once more before turning back to him, ready for whatever he intended to show next—curious not just about Bastion now, but about how he navigated it.

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

"That is no excuse not to teach it." He told her with a simple shrug. "If it were easy it wouldn't be worth learning. And debate may invite fracture, but it also invited rivalry. This is something that makes the Sith strong, and if used correctly results in stronger, more competent people as a result of these rivalries. But most importantly the Diarchy believes in the truth, and that what is true can only thrive if it is not stifled. That is ultimately what this is for, the pursuit of truth."

He nodded. "I had a feeling that this would speak to you most."
With that he turned to show her to the libraries which occupied the next few levels. This place, unlike the Agora, was occupied. Numerous students and teachers alike accessing the various books and archives available to them. It was a positively vast complex within the spire covering several floors of the tower. With a veritable treasure trove of knowledge available to those who wished to study it. It was not as old as the Jedi's archives, and perhaps not as extensive as those ancient texts to be found in the furthest bowels of their temple, but it was nonetheless a very respectable collection of subjects ranging from the philosophical to the practical.

"And this is where most of the learning happens." he told her as they entered. "Collections of writings from all sects that can be found. We have writings from Jedi and Sith masters, as well as a few more... exotic ideologies. I'm sure we have a few books on the Nightsisters somewhere... how practical what we have is might not be as complete as we would like. But we are nevertheless looking to expand our archives at every opportunity. Feel free to have a look around."

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren slowed the moment they crossed into the library proper, not out of hesitation—but out of instinct.

Her gaze lifted first, tracing the height of the spire's interior, the stacked levels and open galleries, the quiet movement of students and instructors between shelves and holotables. The air here was different from the courtyard. Less kinetic. More deliberate. Thought lived here, layered and patient.

For a moment, she did not speak.

Then—quietly: "You are right," Seren said at last. "This is where Bastion reveals itself."

She moved a few steps further in, fingers brushing lightly along the spine of a nearby volume without removing it, as though acknowledging its presence rather than claiming it. Her attention shifted from text to people—how they studied, how they argued in low voices, how disagreement did not immediately harden into hostility.

"Truth survives friction," she continued, tone thoughtful. "It weakens only when it is protected from challenge." Her eyes returned to him then, and there was something quietly approving there.

"Most orders claim to value truth," Seren said. "Few are willing to risk being wrong in order to find it." She gestured subtly to the surrounding shelves. "Jedi texts beside Sith treatises. Contradictions preserved rather than edited away," she observed. "That is… rare."

A pause—then, more personal: "I suspected this place would matter to you," Seren added. "Not because of what it contains—but because of what it permits." She shifted slightly closer to him as they walked deeper between the aisles, her voice lowering naturally to match the space.

"You speak of rivalry as refinement, not domination," she said. "Of debate as a means of sharpening rather than conquering." Her gaze lingered on him a fraction longer than before. "That suggests someone who learned the cost of dogma the hard way." There was no accusation in it. Only recognition.

Seren finally stopped near a central archive node, turning slowly as if taking the measure of the entire collection. "I will look around," she said softly. "But I suspect the most instructive texts here are not only written." Her eyes flicked back to him—warm, curious, unguarded. "If you are willing," Seren added, "I would value your perspective on what you once believed… and what you no longer do."

Then, with a faint, almost amused edge: "Libraries tend to reveal their best truths when shared." She turned back toward the shelves, already reading titles, but she did not move away from him—leaving the choice to stay, to guide, or to walk beside her very much open.

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

Of course with the amount of former Sith among their number hostility was an issue that needed addressing. The Brotherhood was not so naive as to believe that Sith would change their nature the moment they arrived. He himself had been watched closely when he first arrived, and with good reason. Early on he took challenge and disagreement to be a threat, as Sith had a tendency to do. It took a long time for him to learn what he knew now and to see things as they were. It took a very long time indeed before he was able to think critically, take criticism and learn from debate rather than see it as a means of domination or conquest, as means of discovering truth rather than controlling narrative.

It was a hard lesson to learn. But he was happy to have learned it.

"They are kept not necessarily because the Diarchy believes they are wholly correct themselves, but rather to preserve their ideas and learn from them. In what ways they are correct, in what ways they are wrong. From what I have learned the Jedi and the Sith are not what most make them out to be. The Sith know themselves better than the Jedi do, they are unapologetic in their ideology. The Jedi, I have found, have fallen to hypocrisy and delusion. Seeing themselves as keepers of peace and justice, but unable to enact justice because of their restrictive life. Likewise both seem to fundamentally misunderstand the Force as a whole, separating it into two parts, light and dark. Though what I've found is that the truth is both simpler and infinitely more complex than that. What determines if the force being used is "light" or "dark" is entirely dependent upon the wielder and their choices. There aren't two separate minds within the force that push against one another, but rather are simply excuses meant to justify the actions of the force user. And by comparing and contrasting the two I've reached this conclusion, which you will not find in these archives."

He walked with her as he spoke. "You were a Jedi once, as you said. You know how they work, what they believe, what they permit, and what is intolerable. And now you are Sith, where all is permitted, so long as you win. Do you really subscribe to that way of thinking? Or was it a choice made out of rebellion against control?"

He glanced over the bookshelves, and called a book to his hand. It was an essay, labeled Philosophies of Force-Centric Cultures. "This is a book I've read once or twice that helped me reach the conclusions I have. It's not ultimately what brought me to them, but it helped. It's a good read, no opinions inserted, no unneeded input, just an essay that compares and contrasts the various philosophies of various groups. Jedi and Sith prime among them, with a few others included in its analyses. It might not surprise you to know that this was written by one of the instructors here at the academy, and has since been published across Diarchy space."

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not interrupt him.

She walked with him at an unhurried pace between the shelves, listening not only to his conclusions but to the way he arrived at them—the pauses, the careful phrasing, the absence of triumph where one might expect it. When he finished, she stopped, turning slightly so she could face him without blocking the aisle or the flow of others around them.

Her expression was thoughtful, not defensive. "You are not wrong about the Jedi," she said quietly. "Nor about the Sith."

She let that sit for a moment before continuing. "The Jedi mistake restraint for virtue," Seren went on. "They believe denial absolves them of consequence. In truth, it only blinds them to it."

Her gaze drifted briefly to the shelves—rows of preserved contradiction—before returning to him.

"The Sith, by contrast, mistake permission for clarity," she continued. "They strip away limits and call what remains truth, without asking whether hunger is a reliable compass." There was no disdain in her voice. Only precision. "I did not choose the Sith out of rebellion," Seren said after a beat. "Nor because I believe that victory sanctifies every act."

She reached out and accepted the book from his hand, fingers brushing the cover, not yet opening it.

"I chose them because they do not pretend," she said. "They do not disguise desire as balance, or power as service." Her eyes lifted to meet his again. "That does not mean I accept their conclusions," Seren added. "Only that I prefer my dangers named."

She glanced down at the title of the book, a faint interest flickering across her features. "You are right about one thing," she said softly. "The Force does not divide itself. People do that—for comfort, for justification, for control."

A pause—then, quieter: "Where I differ from you," Seren continued, "is that I do believe intention leaves a residue. Choice shapes consequence, yes—but repeated choices shape the self."

She closed the book gently, holding it against her palm rather than shelving it.

"That is why I study shadows," she said. "Not because they are evil—but because they remember what people do when they believe no one is watching."

Her gaze softened slightly—not into agreement, but into something closer to respect. "You learned to listen to the Force without trying to master it," Seren said. "I learned to master myself without pretending the Force was neutral." A faint, thoughtful curve touched her mouth.

"Perhaps that is why this place works," she concluded. "It allows both interpretations to exist long enough to be tested." She inclined her head slightly—acknowledgment, not concession. "And thank you," Seren added, holding up the book. "For offering something that does not try to persuade me."

Then, gently: "That is rarer than you might think."

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

"So then your theory is that shadows are, in a sense, memory?" He asked curiously, genuinely interested in what her process was. "that you can learn of past events or the intentions of people long gone through what they tell you?"

He of course didn't tell her everything about what lead him to his conclusions, else they'd be there all day and that wasn't why he was here. And she still didn't have a full grasp of his belief revolving the force and its true nature. Though he really hadn't taken much time to explain it in detail, he had instead explained to her what had disillusioned him with Sith teachings, and what about Jedi teachings had convinced him that they were wrong. And aside from that had thus far presented the methodologies the Diarchy used to address these shortcomings as best it could. So while her conclusions about what he had done were ultimately correct, they didn't actually know what he thought the force was or its true nature, at least not yet.

He shrugged. "You asked me to give you insight on the Diarchy's doctrines and methodologies, so I provided it. I did no more than was asked of me. The Diarchy believes that both of those sects have lost sight of the truth in lieu of fighting one another. The Diarchy encourages study and experimentation more in line with what the old Je'Daii practiced. Learning over all else, with a government to back it up and give it purpose. Not unlike the Jedi and their Republic. It is this line of thinking that appeals to so many, Jedi and Sith alike, because at the core of everyone they instinctively want to know the truth. All we really do is allow the truth to be pursued."

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren considered his question for a moment before answering—not because it was difficult, but because precision mattered.

"Memory is part of it," she said softly. "But not in the way archives preserve memory." As she spoke, the light in the library did not dim—but it shifted. Nothing dramatic. No swallowing darkness. The shadows cast by the towering shelves loosened at their edges, as if the room had exhaled. "Shadows are what remains after intention has passed," Seren continued. "They are not records of events so much as impressions of will."

One of those softened shadows detached itself—no sudden movement, no threat—and drifted closer to Kallous. It did not coil. It did not grasp. It passed him like a slow tide, brushing just along his cheek and temple. A cool breeze followed it. Not cold. Not invasive. Just enough to stir a few strands of his hair and ghost across his skin, like the memory of someone passing behind him in a quiet hall.

"They remember how something felt," Seren said evenly, watching his reaction rather than the shadow itself. "Fear. Resolve. Conviction. Regret." The shadow did not linger. It slipped back toward the shelves, rejoining the lattice of darkness as naturally as breath returning to the lungs.

"When people act with purpose," she went on, "they impress themselves upon the world. Stone. Air. Light." Her gaze held his—calm, steady. "Shadows listen when nothing else does."

She folded her hands again, the room settling fully, as though nothing unusual had occurred.

"I cannot see the past as it was," Seren clarified. "But I can trace where intent lingered long enough to leave a mark." A brief pause. "That is why I value places like this," she added, glancing around the library. "Knowledge preserved by choice… and knowledge preserved by consequence."

Then, quieter—more personal: "You speak of the Je'Daii seeking truth through balance," Seren said. "I seek it through residue." Her expression softened—not into a smile, but into something close. "Different methods," she concluded, "for the same question." She did not ask if he felt it. She did not need to. The shadows had already answered for her.

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

Kallous had become more of a scholar over the past year or so. Even though he'd become wiser over the years, his interest in scholarly pursuits was still very new. So what she explained to him, while clear what it was, still left him wondering why. Why follow such a theory. To learn through the memory of intent seemed far to abstract to be useful, most likely he didn't fully understand what it was she was saying simply because the idea was so foreign. But as it stood he did not understand the point of doing it that way.

Not to say he was judging her decisions of course, he was hardly one to be passing judgement on someone for an unorthodox theology.

"I'll not lie and say I understand what you mean. Though I'd be interested to learn." He said absently as he considered what she was saying.

However he could hardly deny the practical aspect of such a skill. The ability to bend shade around oneself seemed like it could have a few uses. Though he had a feeling that he wasn't going to be reaching any correct conclusions when it came to guessing at what exactly this power could be used for or why.

"And the Jedi found this unacceptable? I fail to see how such an ability is inherently dark as their dogma identifies it. This seems to be an ability divorces from passions, which is what the Jedi disavow the most."

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren listened to him with the same patience she brought to archives and half-translated fragments—letting his uncertainty exist without rushing to correct it. When she answered, her tone was calm, almost reflective, as though she were revisiting the moment herself. "The shadows were never the reason," she said quietly. "They only became convenient."

She slowed her pace slightly as they walked, hands loosely folded behind her back now, gaze drifting across the shelves and students before returning to him. "You are correct," Seren continued. "Umbrakinetic study is not inherently passionate. In fact, it requires restraint. Distance. Observation without interference." A faint pause followed.

"That alone should have made it acceptable." Her eyes met his, steady and unflinching. "What the Jedi rejected were the questions that followed." She spoke the words without bitterness, but there was clarity in them—hard-won and precise.

"I began asking why certain memories linger in the Force while others vanish, why places remember violence more clearly than mercy. Why the dead sometimes answer more honestly than the living." She gestured subtly around them—not at the library, but at the idea of preserved thought itself.

"If the Force binds all things," she said, "then intent must leave an imprint. Choice must echo. And if that is true, then memory is not merely recollection—it is structure." A softer note entered her voice, not regret, but certainty. "The Jedi do not fear darkness as much as they fear implications," Seren said. "If memory can be read, then history can be questioned. If intent lingers, then absolution becomes… complicated."

She glanced aside briefly, then back to him. "They told me I was eroding the boundary between observation and influence," she went on. "That by studying how the Force remembers, I was inviting attachment to outcomes."

Her mouth curved faintly—not amused, but aware. "In truth, I was inviting accountability." She let the words settle before adding, more lightly: "The shadows simply gave me a language they could not control."

Seren inclined her head toward him slightly, acknowledging his curiosity. "If you wish to learn," she said, "I will explain it—not as doctrine, but as process. It is not about reverence. It is about listening where others insist on speaking."

Then, after a brief pause: "And you are right about one thing," Seren added. "The Jedi did not cast me out for following shadows." Her eyes held his. "They cast me out because I refused to stop asking what their light chose to forget."

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

The gears in his head were grinding... trying to fully understand what it was she was trying to tell him. Was this... Umbrakineticism she was talking about reading memories? Reading minds? Was she reading the force or people? He was having some trouble fully comprehending what it was she was trying to tell him. He understood it on a macro scale. Why it caused her to be cast out, what it allowed her to do, but the minutia and the details were still a little fuzzy to him. He had been more introspective as of late, but he was still a warrior at heart.

And that meant his brain was a little slow sometimes.

"Perhaps..." He said thoughtfully, this subject was fascinating, and he would certainly like to learn more. Though it would probably need to wait for a more opportune time. And maybe the Diarchy had a few sources on this particular technique. Umbrakinetics she called it? He'd be looking into that later to be sure.

"You say it reads intent? How exactly does it do this? And how is this useful?" He decided to ask. "To see into the past isn't unheard of. Prophecy and visions of the future are a common skill to practice among all sects of force users the galaxy over. Seeing into the past is rarer but not as esoteric as some might think. What is the benefit of using this method of yours over the more generic variant of simply looking into the past? Would it be used in tandem with it?"

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not answer him immediately.

Instead, she slowed—just a fraction—so their steps naturally fell into the same rhythm. Not to command attention, but to give the question the space it deserved. When she did speak, her tone was patient, assured, and deliberately precise. This was not mysticism meant to impress. It was a craft meant to be understood.

"It does not read minds," she began calmly. "And it does not read memory in the way visions or prophecy do."

She lifted her hand slightly—not in a spellcasting gesture, but as if illustrating a concept in the air between them. "Umbrakineticism listens to what remains after choice," Seren explained. "Not thought. Not emotion. Intent." Her amber eyes flicked briefly to the stone beneath their feet, then to the walls around them.

"Every action leaves an imprint," she continued. "Not just on people—but on places, objects, even absence. Shadows are where those imprints settle once time has stripped away narrative." As if to punctuate the point, the light in the corridor shifted subtly. Not dimming—just bending. A thin ribbon of shadow lifted from the edge of a pillar and drifted past him like a breath of air, cool and harmless, brushing his cheek and stirring his hair before dissolving back into nothing.

Seren did not look at the shadow. She watched him—gauging reaction, not control. "What you felt just now," she said softly, "was not my will imposed on you. It was a residual echo of countless students who have passed through here—focus, uncertainty, resolve." She lowered her hand.

"Prophecy shows you possible outcomes," Seren went on. "Psychometry shows you what occurred. Umbrakineticism shows you why—but only as clearly as the original intent was formed." A pause, then a faint, thoughtful curve to her mouth. "Which is why the Jedi disliked it," she added. "Intent cannot be sanitized. It reveals a contradiction. Self-deception. Hypocrisy."

She met his gaze again, unflinching. "It is useful because people lie," Seren said simply. "History lies. Even memory lies." "Intent does not." She inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the rest of his question. "Yes," she said. "It can be used alongside traditional methods. But it is slower. More dangerous. And far less forgiving."

Then, quieter—more candid: "It also requires the practitioner to accept what they find without reshaping it to suit themselves." Her gaze held his, steady and thoughtful. "That," Seren finished, "is why I was cast out."

Not an accusation. Not bitterness. Just a fact.

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

Kallous listened closely, the concepts being presented to him slowly making more sense. And it earned thoughtful nodding from him as she continued to explain it to him. The simplest comparison to make sense of it that he could think of immediately was Psychometry, as she said, showed events. Umbrakineticism could determine what the motive was. Such as with a murder. The murderer killed someone, Psychometry would tell how, Umbrakineticism would tell why. Perhaps an oversimplification, but if he was right it was a good step forward to understanding this art she'd studied.

He could also, to a certain degree at least, understand why such a thing would be scary to some people. Though he still didn't fully grasp why the Jedi in particular would be frightened of it. As far as he knew the Jedi were wrong, but had good intentions. And if intent was what Umbrakineticism could determine, wouldn't that help them validate themselves? Even if they were incorrect, he didn't believe the Jedi had ever intended any harm to anyone, and the choices they made were usually made with good intentions. To safeguard themselves and others from the dangers of the dark side, or preserve the unity of the republic. Why would they find such a thing frightening? Wouldn't it be something they found great interest in instead?

Speculations for later. He did not know the Jedi, he'd never really met any that were still with the order. Most of the Jedi he'd met had been disillusioned already, and that tended to make them either bitter or at least see their old home with disfavor. So he, without firsthand experience, preferred to reserve judgement.

"I see." He mused quietly, contemplating both the uses and the implications. "It seems like an incredibly useful skill, especially for separating the earnest from the fraudulent. A very useful skill indeed..."

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren inclined her head slightly as he spoke, not in agreement so much as acknowledgment. He was circling the idea correctly, even if he had not yet reached the center of it. That, in itself, told her something about him. "Your comparison is not wrong," she said calmly. "Only incomplete."

She slowed again, letting the flow of students and scholars pass around them, giving the conversation a pocket of quiet. "Psychometry shows the act," Seren continued. "Umbrakineticism reveals the moment before the act—where choice crystallizes. Where justification is formed."

Her gaze drifted briefly across the shelves, across the countless preserved arguments and beliefs.

"As for the Jedi," she went on, voice thoughtful rather than sharp, "they were not afraid of being exposed as malicious." She looked back at him then, amber eyes steady.

"They were afraid of discovering that good intentions are not the same as clean ones." A pause—measured. "Intent often carries fear," Seren explained. "Fear of loss. Fear of disorder. Fear of becoming what they oppose."

"The Jedi preach detachment, yet much of what they do is driven by anxiety disguised as responsibility." She did not say this with contempt. Only clarity. "Umbrakineticism does not judge intent," she added. "It simply reveals it. And once revealed, one can no longer pretend their choices were inevitable."

Her fingers brushed lightly along the spine of a nearby text, not opening it.

"For those who build identity around moral certainty," Seren said softly, "that is deeply unsettling." She turned back to him fully now. "It is useful for separating the earnest from the fraudulent," she agreed. "But more importantly, it separates conviction from justification." A faint, almost wry note entered her voice. "Many people do not survive that distinction intact."

She let the silence settle for a moment, then added—quietly, honestly: "I did not lose my place among the Jedi because I was wrong." "I lost it because I asked them to look." Her gaze remained on him, searching not for agreement, but understanding.

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

"So in a sense it would expose to the Jedi as a whole the failings that have driven so many away from them." Kallous mused aloud. "I can see why that would frighten them. The Jedi are too timid for their own good. It is bad for the unity of a group to have what's driven so many out of it be brought into the public for all to see and understand. I suppose they feared it would chase many more away from them and into the waiting hands of the Sith who would devour them."

Thinking the way he did, he both thought in terms of the value of the truth, and also the political nature of such a revealing ability. On the one hand the truth was utterly invaluable, on the other he fully understood that the truth in the hands of a large group of people tended to lead to consequences that weren't always positive. Especially when it came to a group so entrenched in politics as the Jedi were, they had enemies within and enemies without, and could hardly afford to have any sort of critical weakness exposed to anyone for the sake of their own stability.

"Though I will have to partially disagree with you on the point that it frightens those who build identity around moral certainty. I would argue that is only case if that moral certainty is founded from a falsehood. The Sith operate off of a moral certainty, a backwards one, but a moral certainty nonetheless. And as wicked as it might be, their moral certainty is built around a fundamental truth that cannot ultimately be disproven by such an exposure. To tell a Sith that the motives behind certain decisions made by their forebears is not what they thought it was, they would shrug it off and say that the only thing that mattered was the result." He offered as a partial counterargument to her statement. Not a total disagreement, in the case of the Jedi it was infallibly true as things stood. But he wanted to test his understanding of the concept by challenging it, and seeing if perhaps his argument held any water.

He was no master debater, but he was not some inexperienced whelp either. And he stood by what he said earlier, the best way to get at the truth, was to put arguments under strain, to test them and learn from what was said.

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not answer immediately.

She slowed her pace by half a step—not to halt him, but to give the thought the space it deserved. This was not a question meant to be parried quickly. It was one meant to be tested, and she respected that he was doing precisely that.

When she spoke, her tone held no defensiveness—only careful precision.

"Your argument has merit," she said at last. "And you are correct about the Sith—at least in part." Her gaze drifted briefly across the shelves, fingers brushing the spines of books without selecting any, as if grounding the abstraction in something tangible. "A Sith's moral certainty is rarely threatened by exposure," Seren continued. "Because it is not built on the illusion of righteousness. It is built on acceptance of desire, ambition, and consequence."

She looked back at him then, amber eyes intent. "If Umbrakinetic truth reveals that a victory was won for reasons less noble than the story claims, a Sith does not feel betrayed. They ask only whether the victory endured." A faint pause. "But that is precisely why the skill is still dangerous to them." She tilted her head slightly, thoughtful.

"Because while the Sith are comfortable discarding motives, they are far less comfortable confronting patterns."
"When shadow reveals that their triumphs are repetitive…that their rebellions end in the same hierarchies…that their freedoms consistently recreate new chains—" She let the sentence trail just long enough to land.

"—that is where certainty begins to erode." Her expression softened, not in concession, but in nuance. "The Jedi fear Umbrakinesis because it exposes contradiction between belief and action," Seren said. "The Sith fear it because it exposes inevitability." She met his eyes again, something quietly approving there.

"You are right that truth destabilizes institutions," she added. "But institutions are not destabilized by lies uncovered." A faint, almost wry curve touched her mouth. "They are destabilized when they discover they have been telling the same truth for centuries and calling it progress." She shifted slightly closer—not invading his space, but aligning with him, voice lower now, more personal. "That," Seren said, "is why I study intent rather than outcome."

Then, gently—inviting rather than challenging: "Do you think the Diarchy would endure such scrutiny…if the shadow were turned fully upon it?"

Kallous

 

[Kallous]

"That much is true. I'm usure of how much damage it would do, as patterns are recognizable without Umbrakinetics and doesn't make them uniquely vulnerable to that skill as a whole. Rather they would simply be faced by their own history, which they already know. Darth Sidious, Darth Vitiate, Naga Sadao, all of them failed in the end. And all Sith know this. So being faced with this pattern might not be so debilitating as you would think." He countered, thoroughly enjoying this debate of theirs. He found immense pleasure in speaking with someone who had a different point of view that they could discuss, agree and disagree on. It was truly a gift that there was so much to learn.

"I think it would." Kallous affirmed honestly. "It is simply too young in the grand scheme of things for such things to have corrupted it enough. And I sincerely doubt that it was founded on such a lie on its inception. The entire point was to create a place liberated from dogma, to allow the Force to be studied in its entirety and truth to be pursued. With the potential involvement in government being a way to ensure responsibility was something at the forefront. It was meant to solve the problems presented by both sides of the argument, and it hasn't thus far pretended to fully succeed, it only claims to be making progress, which is true. So yes, I think the Diarchy as a whole would endure such scrutiny. I doubt it would be very fazed truth be told. I'm sure there are some individuals it would expose, but I also imagine it would be a skill deeply appreciated by the Diarchy as a whole. The ability to understand someone's intent is an invaluable skill to have when it comes to keeping government pure."

Seren Gwyn

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren listened without interrupting, her attention fixed on him in a way that made it clear she was not merely waiting for her turn to speak. This was not a debate she meant to win. It was one she meant to test—and he was meeting her there with equal care.

When she replied, her tone carried quiet approval. "You are right about the Sith recognizing their own failures," she conceded. "They wear them almost as proof of legitimacy—survival through collapse, power reclaimed from ruin."

She folded her hands loosely behind her back as they walked, pace unhurried.

"But recognition is not the same as reckoning," Seren continued. "The Sith acknowledge the pattern without ever questioning why they continue to recreate it."

Her gaze drifted upward briefly, as if following a thought rather than a structure.

"They accept inevitability as validation," she said. "That failure is merely the cost of ambition, not evidence that the method itself is flawed."

Then, softer—more reflective than argumentative: "Umbrakinesis does not wound the Sith by reminding them that their empires fall," Seren said. "It unsettles them by showing that their choices were never as free as they believed."

She looked to him again, studying not his words, but how he weighed them. "That they, too, are shaped by inheritance—by doctrine masquerading as instinct."

At his confidence in the Diarchy, she did not challenge him immediately. Instead, she nodded once, thoughtfully. "Your assessment aligns with what I have observed," Seren admitted. "The Diarchy does not claim moral perfection. It claims process." A faint pause. "That alone grants it resilience."

She allowed herself a small, almost private smile—something warmer than before. "Institutions built on the promise of progress rather than purity tend to survive exposure," she said. "Especially when they expect to be wrong… and plan accordingly."

Her eyes lingered on his for a moment longer than strictly necessary—not lingering enough to be overt, but enough to acknowledge the shared rhythm of the exchange. "You argue like someone who has been disillusioned without becoming cynical," Seren observed quietly. "That is rarer than most Force traditions care to admit."

Then, lightly inviting the next turn rather than closing the conversation: "If the Diarchy values intent as much as outcome," she asked, "how does it guard against those who learn to perform sincerity?"

There was no accusation in the question. Only curiosity—and the subtle sense that she was enjoying this far more than she had expected to.

Kallous