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.

 

[Kito]

//: Darth Virelia //:

Kito's jaw tightened against the leather of the muzzle. She had expected to come prepared for the cruelty and casual violence of the Sith. Not for this — this suffocating quiet, words shaped like care but heavy with a hidden darkness.

She watched Virelia lower herself, sitting now in front of her. Kito felt as if she was being treated like an aggressive animal that a hander was trying to build a bond with. The feeling made her teeth grind, the heat of the fire grow in her throat.

Her fingers curled tighter in her lap until her nails bit into her palms, and pain gave way to warmth. She hated this conversation; she hated Virelia acting like they were two people trying to get to know each other. If the Shaper could, she'd pull away — leave or fight.

Once more, Kito sat in her defiance, refusing to answer the question. It was too personal and far beyond how the Sith had been when she entered. The shift in emotion, the angle she was taking with the Padawan birth suspicion.

The only sound that came from the Jedi was the sound of the chains rattling against the lattice of the stone floor. She shifted in her seat, feeling the fire in her chest surge. Every instinct screamed at her to burn through the walls, reduce the suffocating space to ash — but Kito swallowed it down.

Her mind was focused elsewhere, dancing along the edge of what Virelia had asked previously. Asking how she was? Kito's well-being was far beyond anyone's question. She was bleeding, in pain, and chained in a dark room of stone.

Kito's gaze didn't waver as she shifted again, the stubborn pride weighing on her shoulders. Virelia was graced with some words from the Shaper after the long silence.

"Don't pretend to care."

 

[Darth Virelia]

"The brightest flame burns the quickest..."

Tags - Kito

The words came sharp, hoarse, brittle as flint striking stone. Don't pretend to care.

She sat where she was, cross-legged on the fractured stone, the violet glow of her armor breathing faintly in the dark. Her helm tilted a fraction, six eyes aligning on Kito with quiet precision. The chains rattled again in the stillness, the only punctuation to the Padawan's defiance.

For a moment, the Mistress said nothing. Silence was its own answer—its own pressure. She let it linger long enough that Kito would feel it: the waiting, the inevitability, the sense that her words had been swallowed whole, leaving nothing behind.

When Virelia finally spoke, her voice came low, velvet drawn taut over steel. "You think it is pretense because cruelty is all you prepared yourself for. You came here braced for blades, for torment, for fire to be stripped from your flesh until only ash remained."

Her talons flexed slowly, resting against her knee, not reaching toward the girl but close enough that the shimmer of their violet runes lit Kito's shackled wrists. "And now, because I do not tear, you tell yourself I lie."

She leaned forward slightly, her cape whispering against the floor, helm dipping until the faceted violet eyes hovered just above Kito's bowed head. Her tone softened, but the intimacy was no less dangerous. "I do not pretend to care, little flame. I care as a craftsman cares for the steel he tempers. I care as the storm cares for the mountain it erodes. I care as fire cares for what it consumes. Do you see? It is not softness. It is inevitability."

She let the words hang, then reclined back onto her haunches again, her voice lowering to something that bordered on kind. "You are right about one thing, though. No one asks how you are, because the answer is obvious. You are broken, bleeding, muzzled, chained. You ache. You hate. You endure. That is the surface."

Her gauntlet lifted, one talon gesturing faintly toward her chestplate, to the crystalline node that pulsed like a dark heart. "But beneath, something still burns. I see it in your silence, in the way you clutch your fists until you bleed, in the sparks you smother behind that muzzle. That ember is what I want—not your weakness, not your surrender. Your fire."

The six eyes of her helm narrowed, the glow sharpening as her tone curled into something almost tender, almost reverent."So do not mistake me. I do not pretend to care. I choose to. And choice, little flame, is a rarer weapon than either of us were ever given."

Virelia folded her hands across her lap again, the storm of her presence pressing close but not smothering, her voice slipping into a near-whisper.

"She cares as well."

 

[Kito]

//: Darth Virelia //:

In any other circumstance, the way Virelia was talking would irritate Kito. The assumption was that she knew what the young Shaper had gone through, what her life looked like. All of it was an annoyance. Kito kept her composure, or what was left of it. The longer she sat, the more laboured her breathing — for a brief moment, she believed that she would die here.

Either from her wound or the conversation. Depends on whether the sweet release of death was merciful.

She felt the sweat collecting at her brow; the cauterization was only a temporary fix. It was only meant so she could survive travel for a few days on her own, but in the damp dungeon, she could feel the potential infection. Her arms tightened at her side, trying to hide the pain that continued to surge with every breath.

The only thing that the Sith was correct about was the desire to continue forward. She didn't want to give up — Kito was always a fighter. But to hear the name her mother would call her so lovingly be twisted in this way ate at her soul. For the first time in a long time, she wanted her mother.

Virelia continued to talk, speaking about how she wanted to claim and own the fire that burned inside Kito. The thought made her scoff lightly behind the muzzle. That's all this was — she wanted to own. It was apparent when they fought, and even now, she continued to do so.

Then she spoke of the Sangnir again. Kito's eyes, which had drifted and dulled as she tried to dissociate from the pain, snapped back into sharp focus. Fire returned to them, but she said nothing. To weave Valaine Valentine into this was torturous. It was hard enough to keep her out of her mind when she'd already accepted that she might die here. The thought of her twisted her stomach.

She shut her eyes tight, trying to burn away every thought. She was Kro Var. She was a Jedi. If she were going to die, she would not die begging.

Exhaling, she opened her eyes again. She let her body slump slightly, forcing her voice into something quiet but steady.

"I know," she said at last. "You don't need to tell me."

Her head turned, gaze fixed on the darkness instead of the violet glow.

"She knows I do too." Her brow furrowed. At least if she died, someone would know she'd cared for Valaine.

Her ochre eyes cut back toward Virelia, defiance still smoldering there.

"Stop calling me Little Flame."

 

[Darth Virelia]

"The brightest flame burns the quickest..."

Tags - Kito

The violet glow of Virelia's helm dimmed slightly, as though the six eyes had narrowed all at once. The quiet in the cell seemed to shift with it—less a predator's silence now, more like the hush before a confession.

She did not recoil at Kito's words, nor flare with anger at the defiance. Instead she leaned back on her haunches, armored knees still on the stone. Her cape pooled around her like dark water, edges glinting faintly where the cell's runes caught the light. The crystalline node in her chest pulsed once, slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat heard from very far away.

For a moment, she simply watched. Kito's shoulders drawn tight, the tremor of her breathing, the way her eyes burned when Valaine's name had been hinted to. Virelia's head tilted fractionally as if she could see past the girl's blood-stained bandages and bruises, into the thread of stubborn fire that still lived under all of it.

Her talons moved—only a slight flex of fingers against the phrik floor, a gesture more like a pianist's testing the keys than a threat. The six eyes flicked once to the muzzle, then back to the Shaper's gaze. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, almost tender, but the cadence still carried that same inescapable gravity.

"Why not, Little Flame?"

Just a question, soft as ash drifting through air.

The sound filled the cell and stayed there, coiling around Kito without pressing closer. Virelia did not follow it with a speech; she let the words breathe, waiting for them to find their mark. She only shifted slightly, crossing her gauntleted hands in her lap so the glow of their runes illuminated Kito's fingers where they were clenched and bleeding.

Her presence pressed forward not with violence but with patience. She had used lightning and shadowflame; now she used stillness. The quiet became almost tactile, like a velvet cloth laid over the girl's wounds. The Dark Jedi's helm remained angled down, the six violet eyes steady but unblinking.

Her breathing was audible in the mask's vocoder, slow and measured, echoing faintly like a tide in a cavern. She offered no threat, no promise, no philosophy. Only that one question, spoken once, hanging between them like a lit match waiting for air.

Why not, Little Flame?

 

[Kito]

//: Darth Virelia //:

Her simple request was ignored. Kito looked away again. She wondered why it was so hard to agree to. Every time the nickname was said, her fist clenched tighter, her muscles ached with the constant tension, and she could feel the blood now leaking from the bandages. She tightened her arm protectively against it.

The air was growing thick, and Kito found herself struggling to breathe. She wanted this conversation over; she wanted to be left alone so she could just let whatever darkness loomed take her. The only comfort that she had in this cell was that she would at least get to see her Mother again. But even then, it didn't outweigh the pain she felt knowing that she didn't get to say what she wanted to say…

She watched, from the corner of her eye, the way Virelia didn't move, only shifted where she sat. Nothing made sense; her words meant nothing to the Shaper. Frivolous questions and answers that fell on her deaf ears. It would have been better for the Sith to cut her down where she stood.

Instead, she had to let the lingering pain grow and remember that a fellow Jedi watched her be taken. Her brow furrowed, thinking about how she was really alone. As much as she wanted to believe the Lightsworn was her chance, it wasn't. She didn't have enough time to grow and develop. Exhaling, she felt the warmth from her breath counter against the chill she was starting to feel.

Sweat dripped from her hairline, coating her face as she struggled. The muzzle and the pain weren't helping; she could feel the labor it took to just inhale and exhale. What did this woman want from her?

Her fire?

Why not what?

Kito shook her head lightly, her hair sticking to her face now, but she refused to wipe it away. It would only get worse. Was she here to watch her die?

Annoying.

Her eyes searched for something to focus on, trying to find something besides the violet glow that was in the cell with her. Groaning, she wanted to move away from her, but that would require too much effort, and the chains wouldn't allow much distance. She was, to her knowledge, as far as she could with their slack.

Her attention remained elsewhere as she began to let her mind dissociate to a place she'd rather be right now. There, it was warm and nothing mattered but what it was.

"Are you done yet?" Kito murmured as she sighed.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"The brightest flame burns the quickest..."

Tags - Kito

The girl's sigh drifted into the stone like smoke. Are you done yet?

Virelia did not rise, nor did she bristle at the dismissal. Her stillness was deliberate, a quiet weight that refused to be ignored. The violet glow from her helm painted the wall between them, flickering faintly in rhythm with the crystalline heart at her chest. She let the silence breathe, let Kito's words hang like dust motes in the air until they almost seemed to vanish on their own.

Her talons shifted lightly, brushing once against the stone floor with a sound like a knife across glass. She tilted her helm a fraction, studying the Shaper through the slant of six burning eyes.

"No."

The single word was soft, not sharp, but final. She was not done. She would not be done until she decided it was so.

For a long moment, she said nothing else. Only her breathing filled the chamber, slow, measured, unnervingly calm against the rasp of Kito's own. Her presence pressed on—not cruelly, but as inevitable as the tide.

Then, with the same quiet tone, she spoke again.

"Tell me… do you have friends among your Jedi?"

It was not a casual question, nor was it baited with scorn. The words fell with a solemn weight, like stones cast into water. The Dark Jedi's voice was even, almost gentle, yet it carried the same invasive intimacy as a hand pressed against a wound.

Her helm lowered slightly, eyes glinting through shadow.

"Anyone who would come for you. Anyone who would weep when you are gone."

The phrik plates of her gauntlet caught the dim light as her fingers flexed once more, talons curling slow. She did not press the question further, did not demand an answer—she only left it hanging, close enough to bite.

Silence crept back in, thicker than before. Her gaze never left the girl, waiting. Not as a tormentor this time, but as something worse: a listener who could not be pushed away.

Virelia's presence was patient, suffocating, and disarmingly calm. Her question lingered in the stale dungeon air, prying at the cracks Kito fought to hide.

"I didn't."

The last words fell hushed, solemn, and then the cell was quiet again.

 

[Kito]

//: Darth Virelia //:

More talking. More questions.

The woman's words hung in the air, trying to reach her.

Kito blinked as her vision blurred. She tried to focus on the shadows dancing against the walls, to do anything to keep her mind sharp.

Everything was starting to dull. Her breathing quickened — short and shallow, muffled beneath the muzzle. She was cold. Colder than she'd been since entering the cell. The more Virelia spoke, the faster Kito felt her heart hammering against her ribs.

She shifted, her body aching. Kito could feel the warm blood from her side now trickled along her leg. It was getting worse, but she tried not to think about it. Perhaps Virelia would grow tired of her and let her die in peace.

Kito wanted this over already, but still she sat in silence and listened. Each question was a painful jab, reminding her that she was alone. There was doubt that anyone had even noticed she was missing. No one would come looking.

But the last question — about whether someone would mourn her, weep for her death — forced a sound from her throat.

"Yes."

Even that one word was a chore. All of her energy was focused on staying upright and awake. The Shaper shut her eyes, feeling the dampness at their corners — tears or sweat, Kito couldn't tell. Crying might have felt good, like letting everything out as she came to terms with her fate.

What would happen after? Her faith had been wavering, but for good reason.

Kito shook her head, forcing herself to stay present. A few long, hard blinks and her vision steadied. Her mind crawled back to the reality around her. Virelia was still talking. Kito replayed the last few moments, remembering the woman had mentioned the Jedi.

So she had been a Jedi once. Most Sith were. The Shaper stayed quiet, listening. Virelia was trying to connect to her in a way she didn't understand.

She had a feeling the Sith would explain everything — if Kito didn't bleed out first.