Private Ancient Aliens

[Darth Virelia]

"Jungle Trip."

Tags - Kaila Irons



Virelia did not flinch when the hand touched hers, nor when it gently moved her aside. She let it happen. She watched.

Her expression only settled into something… deeper. A slow curl at the edge of her mouth, the faintest tilt of her head. Indulgent, but understanding. Calculated. She took the space between them as an invitation, an assertion of agency.

Her response came in silence—at first.

The kind of silence that observed.

Felt.

Measured.

Virelia turned her body ever so slightly toward Kaila, hands folding neatly behind her back, the motion deliberate—almost ceremonial. No longer in contact, yet never truly disconnected. The kind of closeness that lingered in the air, in the breath between their words. She stood beside her, only speaking when the room had cooled, when the echo of chains had faded.

Her tone was light. Gentle. Honest.

"Then tell me something."

Six eyes glinted softly in the dark. They did gleam with absolute hunger now, with focus.

Precision.

One claw lifted from behind her back, reaching not for Kaila, but for the wreckage—one of the Guardian's shattered lenses. She turned it between her fingers like a philosopher might turn a stone.

To understand what made it break.

"Why did you leave him?"

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Darth Virelia

The fires cooled in silence.

She didn't show it but the fight was still wearing her down. Force rage, speed, Anathemous had expended energy on some of the most taxing powers in her arsenal, even if briefly. And so she absorbed the silence, let it cleanse her as dark energy sloughed from her form.

When at last the silence was broken, it drew the Sith lord's gaze sidelong as they walked.

And held it for a few contemplative beats.

"I... I didn't choose to become sith, Serina, not like you." she let out a shaky sigh.

It was an uncomfortable truth. The kind she must have shared with very few, if at all.

"I woke up in a hospital one day, with no memory of who I was, where I'd come from."

"Made to serve an emperor who no longer sits the throne, in an empire that fell long before you and I met."

She continued walking, speaking of all this in a voice that communicated time and distance, almost as though she spoke of childhood or a different person entirely, someone from a book written long ago.

But the way her brows furrowed, the look in her eye as she gazed into passing shadows, unfocused, this was personal.

"When the Tsis'kaar showed me that it was He who stole my memories I-" her fist clenched.

"I snapped."

"And swore I'd never be property again."

Anathemous stopped then, wincing almost inaudibly. She twisted to look over her shin, and only now had she realized the damage done, or even noticed the red trail left by her bleeding wound. Her features barely changed, pain having become an old acquaintance to the former Kainite.

"One moment." she grunted, summoning her discarded helm and shoto to her side.

​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Jungle Trip."

Tags - Kaila Irons



Virelia walked beside the younger Sith as if they'd always been two stars locked in the same slow, spiraling dance. She said nothing at first. Every step Anathemous took bled into that silence, into memory, into a confession so painful it was delivered like a veteran might speak of a war wound—impassive but still flinching beneath the surface.

She had not chosen the Sith.

She had awakened to chains.

And now, she bled again.

Virelia did not look at her immediately. Instead, her masked gaze drifted ahead—thoughtful, quiet, inward. Her six violet eyes pulsed softly behind the obsidian helm, returning to their natural hue now that the Rakatan circuits no longer demanded obedience.

Only when Kaila winced, drawing attention to the gash on her leg, did Virelia finally turn—smooth as silk, her motion all slow sovereignty and predatory grace.

A single word passed her lips like velvet:
"Stop."

She stepped forward, closing the distance they had just spent minutes building with a single, fluid advance. Her hand lifted. She didn't wait for permission. Her fingers, clad in clawed phrik alloy, glided gently down Kaila's thigh to just above the wound. She did not press. Just a feather-touch against torn synthatex and stained darksteel.

"You're hurt," she murmured, almost too softly to hear.

Then came the shift. Her voice was warm. Measured. A perfect blend of care and control.

"You were never a slave. Not really." Her head tilted. "You were something far more dangerous."

Her hand moved. This time it cupped the injury. A faint flicker of alchemical warmth radiated through the gauntlet, a trickle of Virelia's very own corrupted Force Healing, not intended to seal the wound completely—but to touch it. To ease the pain. To make the moment linger.

And also with it came the special catch...

It felt good.

"You were stolen, Kaila."

And finally, she looked up into her eyes.

"No one gave you a choice. They hollowed you out, filled you with memory they chose to leave absent, with power they intended to own, and called it 'destiny.' You were never meant to bloom on your own. You were meant to be a weapon they could sheath whenever they pleased."

She paused. One finger delicately lifted a stray lock of Kaila's sweat-matted hair behind her ear.

"But you broke that cycle. You shattered it."

A beat.

And then her voice, quieter, lower—almost musical.

"You're still breaking it."

She stepped closer, until their chests were nearly brushing, until her breath warmed Kaila's cheek even through the heat of battle and wounded pride.

"And yet… I see how your hands still shake when I touch certain truths. How the word ownership makes you flinch like he's still in the room."

Her hand moved again. To cradle the edge of Kaila's waist. Slow. Intimate. Suggestive only in the way it refused to be anything but kind.

"You're not wrong to hate what he did. But don't confuse the tool with the tormentor."

A pause, heavy and deliberate.

She let the silence hang, like the echo of a vow that had not yet been accepted.

Then, she stepped back.

Just one pace.

Just enough.

And she reached out—slowly, a single hand extended, palm upturned.

Offering.

"You don't belong to anyone who wouldn't belong to you in kind," she echoed, the faintest smile forming beneath her mask. "And if I were ever to claim you… it would be as something sacred."

Her fingers remained open. Waiting.

"You were created to serve. But I… I want to teach you to rule. To see your reflection not in the eyes of your captors—but in the fear and awe of the galaxy."

She took a slow breath, savoring the taste of this truth.

"And I would make that galaxy kneel before you."

Another pause.

Then, softly—almost heartbreakingly soft:

"But first, you must choose to let someone see you. All of you."

She took one more step forward, offering just enough space that Kaila could meet her halfway or walk away.

Her hand still lingered in offering. Her tone never wavered—still infinitely confident.

And finally, her voice dropped to a whisper, just for Kaila. Just for now.

"Why do you think I speak to you this way?" she asked, head tilted ever so slightly. "Why do you think I push? Not to provoke the weapon you were made into…"

She reached up, slowly, and brushed her fingertips against Kaila's cheek.

"But to reach the woman no one was ever brave enough to believe could exist."

She pulled her hand away with the precision of restraint.

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Darth Virelia

Stop.

Kaila's thumb hovered over the activation switch, having fully prepared to cauterize the wound with her own lightsaber. It had become routine, a quick way to treat wounds in the battlefield far away from...

...her favorite healer.

"Stop."

She glanced in confusion, and for the first time, obeyed.

Virelia's touch was soothing in a way that she'd not thought possible of Sith. This wasn't the usual dark side healing she'd read about, it felt good. All the while, the spider whispered, reminding her of all the things that had been taken from her, stoking pain and hate that had always been there in every waking moment. She just brought it—and vulnerability—to the surface again.

And something very few had given her;

"But you broke that cycle. You shattered it."

Recognition.

It brought a glint to her eye that was both sad and somehow hopeful. Like an abandoned animal receiving care.

Her hand began to move, and for the first time she returned Virelia's touch, gently laying her hand over hers as the woman cradled her waist. Not to remove nor warn, there was no ulterior motive in this. These things she was saying, it made her heart beat faster, tightening her chest in a way she thought no longer possible.

It sounded dangerously close to recognizing her as an equal.

Or something more, something precious.

She reached up, slowly, and brushed her fingertips against Kaila's cheek.

"But to reach the woman no one was ever brave enough to believe could exist."

Kaila took slow, deep breaths, each drowned in the perfume of a woman who had her full attention. She gingerly took her hand, never once looking away until their fingers had threaded.

Finally she released a breath she did not realize she was holding, and blinked.

"I... I didn't realize..." she swallowed.

Gaze cast to the stone walls beside them, Kaila was beginning to understand what Serina truly wanted from her. Or perhaps, what she wanted her to think she wanted.

"You said something earlier."

"Do you really think I could be empress?"

No, that sounded too close to doubt. It was, but that was not her only question.

Lips pursed in thought, eyes narrowed upon arachnid features as she pieced together the gravity of it all.

"Do you really think you can make me empress?" she clarified.

​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Jungle Trip."

Tags - Kaila Irons



Virelia's fingers curled around Kaila's the moment they intertwined—lightly at first, then firmer, deliberately so.

The violet glow of her eyes dimmed, softened—with focus. Purpose. In this narrow corridor between pain and power, Virelia moved like a tide drawn inward, eyes glinting with something far more dangerous than simple ambition.

She did not answer right away. She simply looked at Kaila, like a vision or prophecy made real. Her head tilted with the gentleness of a curious creature, as though surprised by how naturally the moment had arrived.

The younger woman's question echoed in her mind. And Virelia was pleased.

She stepped forward until only inches remained, until Kaila would feel the magnetic pull of her presence, as though the very Force were folding inward toward this single idea.

Her voice came soft. Barely more than a breath.

"No."

A beat.

"I don't think I can make you empress, Kaila."

She lifted her other hand now, and placed it over Kaila's heart—fingertips splayed against the armored chestplate like a sigil being stamped into place.

"I know I can."

Her tone was calm. Absolute. Every syllable infused with the kind of faith most beings never received from anyone—let alone a Sith.

"Tell me, if you were to trust me…"

She leaned in, her mask whisper-close.

"…do you know for certain what you would become?"

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Darth Virelia

"Hmh." Kaila afforded her a thin smile.

One that grew, ever so slightly, as she reached up to put a hand upon her armored shoulder. She searched those arachnid eyes, picturing Serina's underneath. They would have been calculating, of course, but she'd like to imagine softer than before as well.

"It doesn't matter, I suppose."

"I will always find a way to be me."

Defiance, acceptance, it was hard to tell now.

In the end she turned just enough to cast her gaze to the stone below, freckled features scrunched in thought, and perhaps concern. Did she think Virelia could place her upon the throne? No, but could she rule? Was that not, in a way, the goal that she and the princess had once strived for?

Kaila swallowed.

"I think... I do not wish to rule the Blackwall." she breathed out an uneasy confession.

"Not while Quinn has a claim. I think she and I have similar goals for this empire."

Finally she turned to face Virelia, and though this was hard for her, her eyes left little room for argument.

"It would be a shame to destroy so much, only to accomplish the same goal."

​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Jungle Trip."

Tags - Kaila Irons



Virelia didn't move at first. She let the weight of Kaila's words linger—let them unfurl in the silence like silk caught on the wind. Her hand, still resting over Kaila's heart, didn't flinch. But the shift came in the smallest twitch of her thumb, a slow stroke against the armor's edge—calculating, intimate.

When she spoke, it was quiet. Not because she lacked power—but because she wanted the words to press in.

"You think..." she echoed, the word heavy with careful curiosity, not scorn. "Kaila," she said it like it was sacred, "you're not a woman who thinks. You are a woman who knows. Who acts. Who becomes. Thinking is for those still waiting to decide who they are."

She took a slow step forward again, more deliberate. She wanted Kaila to feel the presence of her will brushing against her mind like a silk thread drawn tight. She wanted her to choke on her own mind, velvet chains spun by a Queen of Spiders.

"You do not know Quinn's goals," she said, voice warm, not challenging, "and she does not know yours."

She reached up with her other hand, holding it just to the side of Kaila's face, close enough to snatch her soul.

"You're right. It would be a shame to destroy what you could reshape."

Then came the turn—gentle, sharp.

"But if your thoughts hold you back from becoming more, then perhaps it is not the throne you doubt…"

Her eyes, six and violet, narrowed.

"…but yourself."

She didn't accuse. She offered.

"You haven't answered my previous question..."

A pause.

"…do you know for certain what you would become?"

And she smiled, soft and certain. "Do you know?"

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Darth Virelia

Doubt.

Kaila released a slow, shaky sigh, eyes shut tight as though the truth would burn.

Virelia—goddamn her—was right. She did not know Quinn's goals, perhaps she never had. How the empire would look under her rule had always been an assumption, based solely on how she'd treated someone like Kirie, and or herself. But now? after so much pain that she still did not understand.

Kaila was beginning to doubt she knew much of anything.

"You're right. It would be a shame to destroy what you could reshape."

Well, she knew some things anyway.

So that was Virelia's game. Sow doubt, turn her against the princess she was unable to corrupt.

Her hand dragged, then fell limply from the spider's shoulder. Finally she turned away, eyes dim and gazing half lidded down the hall.

"…do you know for certain what you would become?"

"...A traitor." she answered.

Whether she stayed, or took her far from the Sith, Virelia was too ambitious not to turn on them eventually.

She paused there a moment, breathing out the turmoil.

"...we need to start the forge..."

Kaila continued walking.

​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Jungle Trip."

Tags - Kaila Irons



Virelia stood there, letting the weight of the word traitor roll off Kaila's lips and settle like dust on stone. Her helm tilted—not in pity, but in fascination. The kind reserved for a subject mid-transformation. The moment before fracture. Before clarity.

She took one step forward. Then another. Her gait was slow again—silent, gliding like a shadow with weight behind it.

And then, softly, with unbearable precision:

"Did he call you a traitor when you left?"

The gentlest scalpel. Cut deep enough, and even dead nerves remember how to scream.

She let the question breathe. Let it echo through the chamber like a judgment waiting to be answered.

"If he did…" she said, following, "was he wrong?"

Her voice turned lower now, silk soaked in heat, in knowing. "You left him—and you were right to. You chose yourself. Not duty. Not the lie they dressed you in. You clawed free because there was still something in you that refused to be broken."

She reached out again, not to restrain Kaila, but to speak to the space between them.

"This isn't about Quinn. Or me. Or thrones."

Her hand fell back to her side, slowly closing into a fist.

"This is about you, Kaila. What you need. What you are. What you desire...."

A beat.

"You didn't betray the Sith when you left him."

Another.

"You saved yourself."

And quieter now, the whisper meant to crack the foundation:

"Can you truly break your chains?"

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Darth Virelia

"Of course He did." she scoffed.

Master of the Sepulchral, how far the empire had fallen. The air seemed to chill as her teeth ground. The lengths He had gone to bring his toy back instead of sending an assassin was absurd to her.

But as long as the Emperor allowed him to hold that power, perhaps he was—

"If he did…" she said, following, "was he wrong?"

She clenched her fist, leather audibly straining.

Virelia was starting to make sense. She hated when Virelia made sense. It made her sound strong, on the surface level, but every time it pressed upon her the true weight of what she'd set out to do.

Gloved hands threaded through golden locks, gliding over her sweat matted scalp.

"Can you truly break your chains?"

She looked to Serina, and for the first time since Ando, her frown was not filled with anger or bitterness. Behind those eyes was a vulnerability they allowed few to look upon, especially not her.

"...I do not know, Serina..." she finally admitted.

"Unless I can find a way to stop Him from resurrecting? Or if the fates themselves may die—"

"—No."

Kaila shook her head.

This wasn't her, not the her she'd spent so long building.

"One day." she corrected herself, and kept walking.

"Somehow, some way, even if it takes lifetimes."

"I will remake the Sith."

And then her chains would be broken.

​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Jungle Trip."

Tags - Kaila Irons



Virelia followed. Slowly. Like a shadow with breath.

Kaila's vow had settled into something molten beneath the skin. The echo of "I will remake the Sith" had fully rippled across the stone, carved itself into the air like scripture in pain.

And then her voice came, silk drowned in hunger:

"How far will you go?"

Her tone slithered through the corridor like smoke from a holy pyre—sweet, choking, sacrificial. She didn't stop walking, her armored hips swaying with predatory rhythm, the heat of her presence crawling up Kaila's back even without touch. Her helm shimmered faintly with violet pulse, not from circuitry, but from the raw, hungering thrill vibrating behind her words.

"To save them. To truly break the chains. To cleanse the rot," she breathed. "What price are you willing to pay?"

Her clawed fingers brushed over the wall as she walked—dragging like an artist toying with unfinished clay. The sound was faint, delicate.

"To destroy the thing you love in order to redeem it. That's the irony, isn't it?" she said, coming closer now, circling Kaila. "The galaxy screams of legacy. But you and I know—"

She leaned in, hot breath curling just above the line of Kaila's neck.

"None of that means anything if you don't survive the fall."

Her voice dropped to a velvet hush, the edge of a purr that promised worship and destruction in equal measure.

"To remake the Sith…" Her claw traced the seam between Kaila's neckplate and her shoulder. "You must break them. Shape them anew. You must burn down everything that would stop you—until only your truth remains."

She stepped in close, the press of armor against armor no longer suggestive—it was possessive. Claimed space. Claimed air. Claimed fate. Claimed entirely.

"I see what you are, Kaila. What you could be. I could build an empire around that."

Then, slowly, her gauntleted hand slid around Kaila's waist. Firm. Anchoring. Not forceful—but there. As if she'd always belonged in that space.

"I will give you every weapon. Every throne. Every soul that dared to leave you. I would make them beg at your feet like the goddess you are."

Her other hand lifted, brushing back damp hair from Kaila's face, lingering at her jaw.

"But only if you'll take them."

A beat.

A breathless promise:

"How far are you willing to go?"

Her masked head tilted—six eyes glowing softly, hungrily.

"How much are you willing to sacrifice?"

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Darth Virelia

Virelia came in and out like a breath.

It was fascinatingly strange, the way they always seemed to dance. One step forward, one step back in a false retreat if only to demonstrate once again that they could take that ground if they really wanted.

And so Kaila laid her ambush, let Virelia come closer, put her hands all over.

Her shoulder twitched under those claws, posture straightened in their grip as she grabbed the young Darth's waist.

But despite the weight of their whispered conspiracy, Kaila grabbed her waist in kind, arms coiling around slowly, firmly. Her expression was stern, but her words? they came soft, smooth.

"If you keep doing that... I'm going to keep you here." she swallowed.

A defeated huff followed her raised brow.

"Now then, I'm going to be blunt, for old times sake..."

"I don't like the implications you've laid out before me. And if Saijo has taught me anything, it's that you'd see us into civil war to get what you want, murder your way to the top even it kills us all."

"That. is not. How. I do things."

Even so, her gloved fingers were traveling up Virelia's backplate.

"I like you, Serina, against my better judgement. So I will say this; change takes time."

"And unless the Kainites seize power, I intend to take my time."

She leaned in then, close to Serina's ear the way she'd done to her so many times now. And with the faintest smirk, she whispered something she knew would get the spider's attention;

"Like poison."

Then pulled back enough to look her in the eye, brows furrowing just a moment. If only that mask were gone.

"My doctrine will rise from within, and only when we're good and ready will we oust the enemy."

"And you...?" she sighed.

"You do not have the resources nor influence that I do."

"I alone hold the power to break my chains."

Finally she uncoiled her arms, turning her face away.

"I want my saber now, Virelia..."

Even if her hands remained on the woman's waist.





"And proof."

​