Private Below the Tomb of the Forgotten King.

[Niysha]

Niysha could officially cross "getting dressed in a murderous evil tomb" off of her bucket list. When she'd finally managed to wriggle her way out of the vice grip that Serina had on her, Niysha gave the taller woman a brief but gentle kiss on the head and found a place to sit nearby. The antechamber they'd... well, "desecrate" was probably way too dramatic for a Sith tomb, considering the heinous acts that tended to take place in them before their final interment. The antechamber they'd sullied had something approaching a dais and a few uncomfortable chairs in the corners; Niysha had camped inside tombs before, and while she wasn't equipped for it now, she knew how to make the most of her kit. Her bag served as a passable cushion or pillow, there was a sealed blanket in her medpack, and so on.

It wasn't like either she or Serina lacked natural padding, either.

When she saw Serina stirring, Niysha offered a little wave from across the room, properly dressed with everything but her boots and tapping on her datapad. "Since we weren't attacked by any defenders, spiritual or physical, I'm guessing that your hypothesis was right about the mummies being batteries. Though there remains the possibility that they're only set to activate if someone touches the prison."

Hm. In retrospect, Serina wasn't... experienced. Niysha probably needed to be a bit more available. Getting down from her slightly warm spot on a crappy stone chair, she hopped back up onto the dais and sat cross-legged near Serina with a surprising amount of giddiness. Her datapad was still within reach, but she wasn't playing with it for the moment.

Big questions first. "How are you doing?" Niysha asked in her normal warm, quiet tone. Body language was hard for her sometimes, but emotional conveyance was much easier. Without any direct control over her presence, she gave off vibes of calm, optimism, and a bright little firecracker of distinctly suppressed glee. "Take your time. Work through it as much as you need to. I'm here to listen and I'm the only one here."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

"Deep, into the waiting dark."

Tag - Niysha



Serina Calis lay on the cold stone floor of a forgotten tomb, one boot halfway off, one glove somewhere behind her, and an entire empire's worth of carefully constructed composure scattered in discreet, intimate ruins around the room.

It was… not where she expected this expedition to end up.

She could still feel the low thrum of her body—sensitive in places she'd never given anyone permission to touch, now freshly mapped by a pair of curious hands and one very disarming Miraluka. Her chest rose and fell with steady breaths, each one reminding her that she was still here, still whole, still Serina. Not broken. Not unravelled.

Changed.

And gods help her, it wasn't bad.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she processed that thought—then smoothed again as she felt the residual satisfaction slip through her nerves. No weakness. No guilt. Just… pleasure. A puzzle solved not with violence, not with rhetoric, but with trust. With surrender she hadn't given, exactly, but chosen to allow within the bounds of her control. Niysha had offered her that. Structured chaos. A stable adjustment.

She'd taken it.

And she had not let go of the reins once.

Serina closed her eyes and let herself feel the cool air against her skin, the knowledge that she'd done all of it on her own terms. Not because of a political ploy, or a lesson in dominance, or some calculated flirtation spun into betrayal. But because she had wanted to learn.

And Niysha… gods.

Serina had studied people her whole life. Analyzing them. Manipulating them. Weaponizing them. But Niysha had flipped through her like a well-worn book, pages open at the corners, not tearing or burning—just reading. She hadn't tried to win Serina. She hadn't even tried to outmaneuver her. She just understood.

That made her dangerous.

Serina smiled faintly at the ceiling.

And kept her anyway.

A soft tap-tap-tap of fingers on plastoid brought her back. Serina blinked, slow and deliberate, and shifted just slightly—dragging herself back into the physical world like a woman swimming up from velvet.

Across the dais, her chaos incarnate sat cross-legged and content, radiating warmth and delight in equal measure like a damn bonfire with legs. Hair slightly mussed, datapad in hand, voice like embers dancing across silk.

"How are you doing?"

Serina gave her a long look. Not stern. Just… astounded. She pushed herself upright on one arm, hair falling in a dark sheet across her face. She didn't bother fixing it. Not yet.

"How am I doing?" she echoed, tone flat with faux disbelief. "I just had my first experience on top of a thousand-year-old Sith prison with a woman I met an hour ago, who may or may not be a professional tomb robber and whose pregame included disarming a lightning rune with a chisel and personality."

She blinked slowly.

"And somehow, it was still the least chaotic thing that's happened to me all week."

Then the corners of her mouth lifted in that sly, dry grin again.

"I'm doing great, Niysha."

She stretched once, long and fluid, as if reminding herself that yes, her limbs were still attached. That she still was Serina Calis, even if some essential tether in her soul had been very politely changed for the better.

After a long breath, she finally stood, bare feet hitting the stone with quiet finality. Her gait was steady. Her presence, coiled. Focus returning, but tempered now with a strange warmth that even she found slightly unnerving.

"You were right, by the way," she said, voice returning to its familiar slow glide as she paced past the tomb's edge, letting her fingertips graze the nearby chair where her gloves had been discarded. "I didn't need to lose control. I didn't need to collapse or shatter or renounce my identity to enjoy myself. I held the leash. And you let me."

She looked back over her shoulder.

"That was… considerate."

A pause.

"No one's ever been considerate before."

Another pause.

"You're still dangerous."

That wasn't a warning. It was a compliment.

She pulled her gloves back on one finger at a time. No rush. It wasn't armor—just ritual. A restoration of rhythm. Of poise.

"You're right about the mummies," she added, stepping toward the wall again with renewed focus. "I felt the Force ripple as we… desecrated the antechamber. Something registered it. But it didn't move. Which means either the spirits don't mind, or they're waiting."

She glanced sideways, one brow raised with dry amusement. "In which case, congratulations. You may have just become the only woman in history to sleep with a Sith while under surveillance by a dozen enchanted corpses and not cause an incident."

A beat.

"I'm still going to put that on your résumé."

Then she softened again—just a little. Her voice dipped lower, more personal.

"You were good to me," she said. "More than I had any right to expect. And I'll remember that."

She leaned down slightly, a gloved hand brushing under Niysha's chin, thumb tracing lightly across her jaw.

"But now I'm me again."

The words weren't cruel. They were intimate. Like a lover telling you the spell had passed and the moon had set. The sorceress re-summoned from the girl beneath the skin.

"I've got an ancient Force prison to open, a soul-eating monolith to decode, and now you to keep alive long enough to figure out how the hell we get this thing to talk back."

She stood.

Then—casually—glancing over her shoulder as she walked toward the monolith again, voice like sin dipped in honey:

"After that? We'll find a tomb with pillows. And no witnesses."

 

[Niysha]

About what Niysha had expected.

More than anything else, Niysha's main plan was to ensure that this specific inexperienced, haughty, pseudo-dominatrix Sith had a gentle, compassionate, and pleasantly memorable experience to cut her teeth on. To make sure that she didn't share the same doom that Niysha and so many other young Sith were shackled with. The sheer amount of toxic lust that tended to pervade Sith society at large was legitimately unhealthy - it was one of the first things she learned when she'd liberated herself from the hierarchy. If she could make just one of them just a little less horrible and predatory, that'd be worth it. One half tiny social revolution, one half kindness for a hot stranger.

Serina showed off a lot while she got dressed. She deserved it, frankly; according to her previous partners, Niysha wasn't a slouch, though she hardly seemed to be the same level of bombshell that Serina was. It was the sort of thing she couldn't really check. She saw things completely differently from humans, so her aesthetic sense was very different. Even so, a wry grin still lingered on her lips, and her gaze still lingered on her impromptu partner; while she might not have been able to enjoy the visual aesthetic of it all, Niysha was enraptured with the blissful revelation flaring uncontrollably in Serina's aura. It was impossible to look away.

Mm. There was talking going on. Words and things. "It'll take me a couple of days to figure out that trap regardless of my newly-increased level of motivation," Niysha answered when prompted. "I should be safe while I'm doing that. I won't ask you not to worry about me, Serina, but I will ask that you please trust my process." The Miraluka cocked her head to one side and set her lips in an almost impish smirk. "I've been doing this for a while. This may be a unique challenge, but it's not like I don't have a frame of reference for it, or an SOP."

After a moment, Niysha visibly looked like she had an idea. She picked up her datapad and tapped it a couple of times, then offered it to Serina. "My contact information. It's not encrypted or anything, but no one's monitoring my calls. I'm pretty sure you're the only one in Sith space who knows I exist." She indicated to an app button in the top corner of the screen with her free hand. "If it's too hard to see, that one disables the Miraluka app. I'm given to understand that sometimes it's difficult to read for normal people."

It might well have been. Her datapad's screen was seemingly lit up entirely in neon, with extremely bright, thin letters on a very dark background and all in the same color. Amidst the eye-straining glare, though, were indeed Niysha's contact details. Comm codes for her personal, her ship, and even the Dancer. The sort of casual trust that a political creature probably didn't engage in very frequently.

"I'm not expecting that to be reciprocal. You seem to be a very private person," Niysha continued with the most genuine, girl-next-tomb smile she'd given, her head cocked slightly to one side. "So call me sometime."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

"Deep, into the waiting dark."

Tag - Niysha



Serina took the datapad as if it might explode.

Not from mistrust—no, not that. But from the sheer weight of the gesture. Something simple. Unencrypted. Open. It was baffling. Bold. It had no leash attached to it, no conditions, no hidden poison capsules or deadman switches.

No Sith in her entire network—no one she had ever worked with, slept near, touched—had given her anything that didn't come with an angle. A price. A contingency.

Niysha handed her a line.

And asked her to call.

She stared at the app for a moment—squinting a little, expression halfway between amused and physically assaulted by the aggressive neon design. Her gloved thumb hovered over the screen, the corner of her mouth twitching upward despite herself.

"Do you have any idea," she murmured, voice dry and quiet, "how many Sith Lords would physically combust if they saw me accepting an unsecured comm code from a rogue Miraluka in the middle of an ancient tomb without a single background check?"

She didn't expect a reply. Didn't need one.

Because the answer was all of them.

Serina closed the screen gently—like it was something sacred—and slid the datapad into a compartment on her belt with a soft snap of magnetic seal. She'd copy the data later. Secure it, archive it, install firewalls and traps and self-deleting timers. That was protocol.

But she wouldn't delete the number.

Not this one.

She turned back to Niysha, hair now properly pinned, collar half-fitted, her outer coat slung back across her shoulders. The sovereign armor of Serina Calis had been reassembled.

But something beneath it had changed. A shift in posture, in presence. Like the steel had remembered it could be warm, too. That its sharpness was not dulled by pleasure, but refined.

Her expression now was calm. Focused. And—just for Niysha—undeniably fond.

"I will call you," she said at last. "If for no other reason than to prevent you from trying to flirt your way past another tomb's guardian spirits."

She stepped forward, stopping just in front of the smaller woman again. No teasing this time. Just intimacy. Her voice dropped to a murmur.

"I know you're good at this. I saw it. Felt it. Every step you took in this place was calculated, studied, confident. You're the first person I've met in years who didn't ask for my name, my rank, or my allegiance—just my pace."

Her thumb brushed over Niysha's chin again, slow and reverent.

"I will give you space to work. Time to decipher. You've earned that. And if anything tries to interrupt you—spirit, corpse, rival archaeologist—burn it. Then call me."

She pulled away then, not coldly. Just like someone returning to their orbit. The stars couldn't linger too close. Even if they wanted to.

Her voice changed—still soft, but more serious. A deeper note.

"There's something else," she said, pacing now in a slow arc across the dais, as though turning over thoughts like precious artifacts. "A project I'm involved with. Something very old. Very quiet. It doesn't have a name. Not a real one."

She paused, glancing at Niysha sidelong.

"It exists beneath the Sith Order. Beneath the factions. Beneath the titles. Not a cult. Not a cabal. Not some rebel sect with lofty ideals about balance or salvation."

Her eyes locked.

"It's a pattern. A design. A subtle architecture running under the chaos, steering ideology without drawing attention. It doesn't conquer by blade. It poisons wells. Corrupts thoughts. Builds loyalties where none should exist. It is very slow. Very deliberate. Very… me."

She let that sit.

"I don't offer access to it. Not to agents, not to apprentices, not even to allies. Most of them don't even know I'm part of it."

A beat.

"But you don't serve anyone. And you can see what most people miss."

Another step.

"If you wanted, you could work for it. Or… with it. Quietly."

She stopped.

That smile returned.

"But you'd be part of something vast. Hidden. Something that changes everything without ever being seen doing it."

Serina lowered her voice, a whisper meant for no one but Niysha and the dead listening in the walls.

"You don't have to answer now. Just… consider it."

And then—because this was still her, and always would be—Serina leaned in one last time.

Not to kiss her.

To claim a breath of closeness, the barest brush of her lips against Niysha's temple, heat lingering like a sigil burned beneath skin.

"You were my first," she murmured. "But I think you'll find I'm a very fast learner."

Then she straightened, turned toward the vault's yawning dark, and walked away like nothing at all had just happened—leaving behind only the faint scent of red perfume and the unmistakable weight of something ancient finally stirring in the silence.

She didn't look back. She didn't need to.

Niysha already had her number.