Private Ashen Despair

[Darth Virelia]

"The brightest flame burns the quickest..."

Tags - Kito

The air in the lower reaches of Malachor's citadel was heavy—metallic, damp, tasting of rust and stone ash. The dungeons carved beneath the fortress had been left to rot for centuries before Darth Virelia claimed them. She had not sought to restore their dignity. They were not meant for dignity.

The walls still bore the scars of collapse, of seismic rifts that had twisted the rock into cruel angles. Chains dangled where ceilings had once caved, and the stones themselves glimmered faintly violet with the world's endless resonance. Every footstep here echoed as though the planet itself listened.

Virelia descended the spiral of basalt steps in silence, her cape dragging behind her, whispering against each stone. The glow of her six violet eyes lit the darkness long before any torch could. She had no need of keys—the doors recognized her, groaning open with the press of her will, seals of metal and stone shuddering apart like supplicants bending knee.

At the lowest vault, the dungeon air grew colder still. The cells were not cages so much as tombs—arched alcoves cut into rock, closed off by phrik lattice and reinforced with Sith runes that shimmered faintly in the dim, each filled with those who were in the process of being corrupted and broken for the Dark Court. Within one such tomb, Kito had been laid to rest. Not in death, but in the long twilight between suffering and surrender.

The Shaper's flame had been blinding once, but here the shadows ate at it, leaving only ember flickers. The cell smelled of scorched fabric, blood, and the acrid tang of lightning scars. Chains rattled faintly where they bound wrists and ankles, enough slack to pace a few steps, never enough to lunge, but always ready to be tightened on the command of their Mistress.

Virelia stopped before the cell door. For a moment she did nothing—only watched. Her presence filled the corridor like a tide: oppressive, electric, licentious. She stood framed by the violet gleam of her armor, the crystalline heart in her chestplate pulsing with its steady, alien rhythm.

When she finally spoke, her voice carried like silk draped over a blade.

"Kito? Was it?"

 

[Kito]

//: Darth Virelia //:

It was cold.

Kito hadn't known this type of chill in a long time. She spent time on Ilum with the Lightsworn, and she's been to Hoth, but this was different. This was the type of cold that reminded her that she was alone. Her blades were gone; she could no longer feel their warmth. Whatever armor she wore was stripped and left. She was alone.

There were flashes of memory from her arrival. She had mustered enough consciousness to open her mouth and unleash bursts of flame — a technique unique to her clan, one she often refused to use. Fear lingered that if it was recognized, the Sith who had slaughtered her kin would know her for what she was. She wasn't ready for them. They were meant to be the last.

Still, in the desperation of wanting to escape, she couldn't help it. Kito didn't want to be here. The chains felt heavy around her wrists and ankles; they didn't have much give, but she could move enough.

The floor and the ceiling of the cell were burnt, scorch marks of her tantrums and attempts to escape. But they grew wise and muzzled her. What they didn't know was that the longer she was in the shadows, the weaker her fire shaping became. Already, she could feel her strength waning.

Dim eyes glanced towards her hand, carefully, small flickers of flame danced along her fingertips. It wasn't much, but if she could just concentrate on whatever she had, she could melt the bars, her chains, and leave.

Her mind often wandered, mostly wondering. But the Shaper tried not to think too hard.

A new feeling washed over her, pulling her back. The Shaper narrowed her eyes and held her breath, straining to listen to the shadows. A sickly violet glow outlined the Sith's armor. Kito looked over her shoulder, her breath warmed under the leather muzzle. With every breath small sparks of flame escaped through the slits. Her fists clenched tightly, and crescents of blood welled in her palms.

Her breathing grew heavy. They had removed the shard of glass from her side, but the bandages wrapped around her were soaked with fresh and dried blood. The acrid stench of the wound clung to her. It hadn't grown infected only because she had seared the flesh herself, the way the shamans had taught her.

The voice echoed over the small distance from where she sat with her back turned towards the Sith.

Her breath hissed as the flash of deep orange flames sparked from the edge of the leather muzzle. The smell of burnt leather filled the room.

"What do you want?"

 

[Darth Virelia]

"The brightest flame burns the quickest..."

Tags - Kito

The dungeon was silence, save for the muffled hiss of Kito's breath through leather and the faint rasp of chains when she shifted. The scorched walls spoke of her rage, of her desperation. Yet the cold pressed heavier than either fire or fury—an isolation that clung to her skin as much as the wounds bandaged across her body.

Darth Virelia lingered just inside the cell, a shadow gilded in violet. The glow of her six eyes cut faint lines across the floor, but her steps were measured, still, predatory in their patience. She let the silence live between them, savoring the way it bent, taut and trembling, around the Shaper's question.

"What do I want?"

The words came soft, almost indulgent, as though she rolled them across her tongue before releasing them. She did not project menace, though menace was never absent from her. Instead, her tone carried a curious weight, as if she were amused by the question's very simplicity.

Her gauntlet lifted slowly, talons grazing against the stone wall. Sparks flared, violet light hissing down ancient Sith runes etched into the phrik lattice. In her helm, the inner lenses shifted, the angles narrowing. She wasn't just watching Kito. She was recording. Streaming. Every flicker of flame through the muzzle, every tremor of her shoulders, carried live to a chamber elsewhere in the fortress. To Valaine Valentine .

But Virelia did not announce this. She savored secrets.

She remained behind Kito, not granting her the dignity—or the danger—of eye contact. A gesture of control, yes, but also of unexpected restraint. Virelia's voice lowered into something velvet, husky, intimate.

"I want you."

She paced slowly, her cape whispering against the fractured stone. The crystalline heart in her chestplate pulsed faintly, a steady rhythm like a second heartbeat filling the silence. She allowed the sound to seep into the cell, a subtle reminder of her presence. Not looming, not violent—simply there.

"Tell me about yourself, little flame."

The words drifted forward, not command but invitation, the kind a spider might extend to something caught gently, deliberately, in its web.

Her head inclined slightly, helm angling as if she could see through the girl's spine, read the threads of her life in the way she clenched her fists and bled into her palms.

 

[Kito]

//: Darth Virelia //:

The chains shifted when Kito moved, the grind of metal against stone echoing faintly in the cell. She sat with her back straight where they had left her, arms bound forward, legs shackled. The muzzle pressed close over her mouth, carrying the heat of her breath back into her face. Exhaustion gnawed at her, but she kept her stare fixed on the wall in front of her.

Despite everything, she held her pride. Kito refused to entertain the Sith by turning around.

Virelia's words — I want you — landed heavier than she expected. They crawled over her skin. But Kito didn't flinch. She didn't answer. She let them hang in the stale dungeon air until the silence stretched too long.

When Virelia's voice shifted, asking to hear about her, the Shaper's jaw moved. Her lips parted as if to form words, but instead she shut them again, tight. She let the taste of leather and ash fill her mouth rather than give the Sith anything of herself.

Finally, she drew in a shallow, painful breath. It made her chest ached with the effort, every pull of air tugging at raw muscle still knitting beneath her bandages. But her voice came low, hoarse, forced past the choke in her throat.

"No."

Just that one word.

The sound was raw, but steady. It echoed against the stone like a rock dropped in still water. Nothing followed. Kito let the silence return, heavier than before. Her fists stayed clenched in her lap, blood pricking where her nails broke skin, but she didn't move otherwise.

She would not give Virelia anything more — not her history, not her thoughts, not her pain. That was her answer. And she sat in it, in total silence, holding on to the only thing still hers: refusal.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"The brightest flame burns the quickest..."

Tags - Kito

The silence between them deepened, a silence thick enough to drown in. The echo of that one word—no—hung like a brand in the stale dungeon air.

Virelia did not move for a time. Her six eyes glimmered faintly violet in the dark, steady as candles in a crypt, watching the line of the girl's shoulders, the stubborn stillness of her neck. She could hear the scrape of Kito's breath beneath the muzzle, ragged and hot, the clench of her fists that bled quietly into her palms.

Then, at last, she moved.

Her cape whispered over fractured stone as she crossed the cell. No suddenness, no threat—only that deliberate, measured grace that was her hallmark, each step the punctuation of inevitability. She did not circle behind, nor did she loom overhead. She came before Kito and lowered herself, armored knees settling onto the floor until she was level with the bound Shaper.

The crystalline node in her breastplate pulsed like a quiet heart, throwing a muted glow across the girl's gaunt face, across the shimmer of blood and sweat. Virelia tilted her helm, studying every defiant line, every tremor that betrayed pain.

She did not force her touch upon her, though the talons of her gauntlet rested lightly against her own thigh, close enough that Kito could feel the faint hum of power radiating outward. She gave her the illusion of space.

When she spoke, her voice was low, almost solemn, stripped of the lilting mockery that often colored her words.

"Refusal."

The words lingered, heavy, like a balm and a threat both. Virelia leaned in slightly, violet eyes glinting beneath the hood, every syllable brushed against the air as though it might graze the girl's ear.

"But silence cannot heal you, little flame."

She let the stillness reclaim them again, her breathing measured, the weight of her presence pressing down not through menace but through inevitability. Her gaze never wavered, her voice almost tender when she spoke:

"She hasn't told me, but I can see how much she cares about you."

Virelia did not explain, nor did she reach for chains or weapon. She only sat there before the Shaper, her sovereign armor gleaming faintly, her presence like a tide slowly filling every corner of the cell. To anyone watching through her helm's hidden lenses—anyone far away in some private chamber—the image was intimate, unsettlingly so. A predator who had chosen not to strike, but to stay, patient and attentive.

And Virelia would wait. Always wait.

Because inevitability did not need to shout. It only needed to remain.

 

[Kito]

//: Darth Virelia //:

Kito had hoped her refusal and disregard would drive the woman away. If Virelia didn't get the attention or reaction she wanted, why would she stay? The thought comforted her — soon she could return to the darkness where only her thoughts and her fonder memories waited.

She told herself this was the end. The Jedi hated it, but she accepted it. You could only escape fate for so long, and it had finally caught her in the shape of a six-eyed Sith.

Kito didn't lift her head when the Sith came closer. She felt the faint shift of the floor as armored knees settled in front of her, the pull of presence pressing tighter into the cell. Her breath rasped hot against leather, shallow and uneven, but she refused to grant Virelia the dignity of her eyes.

When the word came — refusal — it hit like a verdict. Kito's jaw clenched until it ached, nails biting deep into her palms. She felt blood bead, sticky against her calloused skin. The sting was welcome. Pain meant she was still her own.

But Virelia knew more than Kito expected. The mention of someone caring cut sharper than the wound at her side. Her chest seized at it, but she forced her breath steady, refusing to let even that falter slip free. The only reaction Virelia would get was her eyes narrowing to slits, heat building in her throat until flames flickered against the muzzle.

Her reaction remained quiet, but beneath the surface, it was visceral. Her mind spiraled, wondering if something had happened. Were they not careful enough? Her breathing grew shallow as she struggled to maintain her composure, protectiveness pushing hard against her restraint.

Exhaling, she forced the fire back down. Flickers licked at the leather, smoke curling faintly as she recentered herself.

Her head turned only slightly, enough to glance at the violet glow bleeding from the Sith's armor. Her ochre eyes burned—tired, rimmed red, but steady. Through cracked lips and a raw throat, she forced the words out, quieter than before, but firm: "Why are you telling me this?"

Her gaze lingered a heartbeat, then dropped back to the stone floor. She shut her eyes, sealing herself into silence again. The question was too much. She cursed herself for even asking.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"The brightest flame burns the quickest..."

Tags - Kito

The silence clung to the cell like frost. Virelia did not fill it with more words; she let Kito's question hang in the air like incense, fragrant and heavy, saturating the space until it seeped into the Shaper's bones. The girl's head had already turned, if only slightly, eyes flicking toward her glow. That was enough.

The Dark Lady lowered herself fully to the floor, crossing her legs with deliberate calm, a sovereign who made no show of needing to loom. The phrik lattice sealed behind her, and the weight of her presence closed the space as surely as the walls.

Her talons flexed against her knee, slow, careful. She could have reached for the chains, for the muzzle, for the girl herself—but she did not. Instead, she leaned forward, helm tilting just enough that the violet glow of her six eyes spilled soft across Kito's ash-marked face.

"Because no one else has asked you."

The words were simple, spoken low, almost tender. They filled the cell like warm smoke.

The crystalline node in her breastplate pulsed faintly, casting a soft violet rhythm over the Shaper's bound hands. Virelia let her gaze linger there, watching the blood bead at her palms. With slow grace she extended her gauntlet, not to touch, but to let the glow of its runes illuminate the clenched fists.

"How are you, Kito?"

Her tone carried neither accusation nor cruelty. Only a strange solemnity in the question, as though she mourned what she saw. The silence stretched again, but this time it was different: not heavy, but waiting, like breath held between confession and release.

Then she leaned back, settling deeper into the shadows opposite the girl. She gave Kito space, the illusion of distance, but her presence threaded through every corner of the cell.