Private Cartography of the Forgotten

[Serina Calis]

"Hard choices require hard minds."

Tags - Darth Morta



There was no sky on Polis Massa. Only the cold, unyielding silence of voidstone above, and beneath it, layers of lifeless bedrock carved into sanctuaries of calculation and conspiracy. No sunrises touched the corridors of her palace. No sunsets marked the passage of time in the ash-choked atmosphere. Even light here was synthetic, obedient, indifferent. And that suited Serina Calis just fine.

She stood alone on a precipice carved into the edge of the gravity-simulated command spire, one of the few exterior-facing platforms overlooking the barren face of the asteroid. From here, she could see nothing of note—just the same field of rock shards and old facility domes studded with red beacons that blinked in rhythm, like a dying heartbeat. But she wasn't here to see Polis Massa.

She was here to think.

The air was still, save for the subtle pull of the artificial atmosphere bending around her body. She wore no helmet, no mask. If something struck her down out here, unannounced and unseen, then it meant she had grown weak—and she would deserve it. But that was not today. Today, her mind was too sharp, her attention too measured.

Her gloved hand brushed against the edge of the obsidian railing as she stared into the emptiness, her gaze not falling upon the asteroid itself but into the hollows between stars—into the cracks that had opened since the planeshift.

They were calling it The Reappearance in some circles. Others whispered of forbidden maps, occult gravity scars, and the return of systems that had been scrubbed from galactic archives centuries ago. Planets that had never been found. Civilizations that had never existed. Worlds that had, according to every imperial record, every Jedi cartographer and Sith historian, never been at all—and yet now… they were here.

Real.

Reachable.

And hungry to be claimed.

She exhaled, long and slow. The breath misted briefly in the crisp cold. Was it chance? Or inevitability?

Serina did not believe in divine interventions, nor in the simplistic will of the Force. She believed in consequence. In echoes. In plans so vast and precise that they masqueraded as fate to minds too slow to track their trajectories. These worlds—these refugees from other dimensions, timelines, or forgotten eras—they were not gifts. They were opportunities. And like any opportunity, they were vulnerable to those who arrived first.

That was why she had sent the invitation.

It had been phrased delicately, in the way only Serina Calis could manage—elegant, restrained, threaded with implication and subtle obligation. The Sith she had summoned would arrive soon, if they had any sense of what this moment meant. But this meeting was not just about politicking or formalities. This was the first stone in a mosaic of domination she intended to weave across the unknown sectors.

Her laboratories had already begun parsing ancient galactic cartographies, charting gravitational echoes against subspace anomalies, looking for the weak points, the emergence points. A half-dozen expeditions were already underway under false identities. Mercenaries, archaeologists, Sith-aligned research guilds. Nothing pointed back to her—except the results.

Of course, the Sith Empire had taken note. They always did. But they were too slow, too concerned with holding what they already had. Serina had no such sentimentality. She was not here to preserve. She was here to conquer. And conquest did not wait for council meetings and bureaucratic permission. It required movement. Quiet. Swift. Precise.

Her thoughts lingered on the nature of these planets.

Some of them shimmered in the holomaps like mirages, appearing for days before vanishing into static. Others were dense with readings of radiation or psychic interference—suggesting ancient warzones, or worse. One, she remembered with acute clarity, had registered as a perfect void, a gravitational null where light bent the wrong way. The kind of place where something had gone horribly right. And yet, even that had sparked her interest.

She tilted her head. Somewhere beyond this black sky, entire continents awaited names. Cultures awaited annihilation or assimilation. Technologies long divorced from galactic evolution waited to be torn apart, understood, and turned into weapons. The future of the Sith did not lie in reinforcing the brittle territories they already held—it lay in the cultivation of the unclaimed, the unseen, the unbelieved.

A thin smile, cruel and knowing, touched the corner of her lips.

Yes. This was the moment. Not one of drama or ceremony—but of weight. Of gravity. The kind of moment that, in hindsight, entire empires traced back to as their genesis.

Her hands folded behind her back as the wind whispered through her cloak.

Serina Calis would not repeat the mistakes of those who ruled like tyrants but thought like cowards. She would not scream her ambitions across the stars or draw lines on a map and call it power. She would infiltrate the very foundation of galactic myth. She would seed her will in the soil of the forgotten and the impossible. And when the Sith Empire finally turned to face the void—she would already be entrenched within it.

The door hissed behind her.

She did not turn to greet her guest.

Let them come to her. Let them walk across the threshold and feel the weight of this vision.

 

[Darth Morta]

This planet, as it barely had the right to be called, was quite possibly the most depressing place in the galaxy. Polis Massa was a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers cut into the raw stone of the planetoid, and as Darth Morta strode through the halls, to her, the place felt as id it were manufactured with little concern about the people who would live there.

In her experience, the Sith thrived where the extremes of emotion did as well; her world of Krayiss II wasn't exactly the perfect world for the Sith, not anymore. Though at least there, the force didn't feel limp and tepid, as if even the dangers of living in a place as dangerous as Polis Massa had just become routine, the death and injuries just incidents to be put into a report, and there was little or no joy to be found.

But these were things she could tolerate, especially for the rewards that she expected were on offer from this meeting, if handled correctly. The Galaxy had just rolled over and exposed its soft underbelly; now those who were bold enough to see this opportunity, and ruthless enough to exploit it, had the chance to see their power swell to beyond imagination.

It was enough to ignore the implications of being summoned here rather than being invited or having her presence requested. But this Serina Calis, who'd made this demand, was a rising star in the Order. Morta had seen fit to attach herself to another's strength before. She claimed her planet of Krayiss II in the name of The Kainite, so hitching herself to Serina, and putting up with the insult offered by doing so was not intolerable if it led to more strength and power.

She'd been too late, and ill-located to do anything on her own, blinded by the prestige of claiming one of the holy worlds, it was politically isolating, and only now was she trying to make up for lost time. Her company was putting the final touches on equipment meant for militarized scouts, and ships were leaving the dockyards, filling with crew and waiting for supplies. Not to scream her name into the stars, but softly whisper it into the ears of those who were already there or coming behind her, a subtle expansion of reach and power.

As Morta approached the room designated for their meeting, she silenced her thoughts, confident in her mental defences; this was about focus. Dealing with a fellow Sith in their own home had the potential to be a deadly affair, and something one didn't step into without a clear mind.

One didn't step into that without a gift either, an act more symbolic than anything, so Morta placed an extremely fine bottle of Rylothian Spice Liquor on a conveniently placed occasional table. Morta had no doubt that the alcohol would be tested before Serina let a drop touch her lips, if she ever drank it at all.

"Governor Calis," Morta started with the slightest bow, to break the silence. She did not doubt for a moment that Serina knew who she was long before she approached the door, and so didn't offer insult by introducing herself and implying she didn't. "It is a pleasure to join you here. Perhaps next time I can offer you the hospitality of my palace on Krayiss II."

The offer, despite being little more than a polite plesantry, was also one that Morta hoped would be accepted. She felt her world offered an atmosphere far more pleasant for conducting business, and when sweet rewards were available to grab, sweet surroundings felt only appropriate as well.

Tags - Serina Calis

- "Weakness is a choice."

 

[Serina Calis]

"Hard choices require hard minds."

Tags - Darth Morta



Serina did not move at first.

She remained exactly as Morta found her: a solitary silhouette on the edge of a black platform that jutted into a sea of vacuum. Her form was wreathed in layered silks so dark they swallowed light rather than reflected it, her hands clasped lightly at the small of her back. No greeting. No motion. Only the glacial presence of a woman perfectly still—so still, in fact, that one might wonder if she'd been sculpted here, carved from the same ancient basalt that housed the rest of Polis Massa's hidden catacombs.

She waited until the quiet had lingered long enough to become uncomfortable. Only then did she speak.

Her voice was not loud, nor cold. It did not bark or snarl or hiss like so many Sith favored when asserting dominance. No—Serina Calis whispered to the void, and the void bent to hear her.

"The pleasure," she murmured, "is a concept that eludes this place."

She turned slowly, letting the motion unfurl like the petals of some nocturnal flower. Her face, once hidden by the angle of her stance, came into view—a study in elegant severity. Pale skin like moonlight on glass, dark eyes that did not gleam but absorbed, judged, devoured. She looked at Morta as one might regard a reflection in a pond—knowing it to be both similar and distorted.

A slow incline of her head acknowledged the liquor without touching it. Her expression did not shift. Whether it pleased her or bored her, she did not say.

"But I thank you for the offering. Rylothian spice is a... sentimental vintage. For people who still feel."

Her gaze drifted past Morta, toward the slumbering machines buried in the stone behind her—the seismic monitors, the planetary gravimetrics, the vaults of data etched into pulsating crystal. Then, almost as an afterthought, she returned her focus to the present.

"You will find Polis Massa does not accommodate sentiment. It preserves outcomes. Data. Injury. Silence. It catalogues the remains of decision."

She walked forward a pace, not toward Morta, but alongside her—like a shadow brushing past its source. The scent of her was not perfume, but old books, melted stone, and the subtlest trace of ash. Her presence pressed like gravity.

"This world has no love for the Force," she said, barely louder than the hum of the wind. "No ecstasy in the darkness. No passion in power. No light. No fall."

Then she stopped, finally facing Morta squarely. They were close now, but not intimate. Measured. Serina did not raise her chin to look down upon the other woman. She did not smirk. She did not posture. But she radiated the kind of awareness that made titles unnecessary.

"And that is why we are here."

She let the words settle, let them hurt if they chose to. There was always pain in truth, and Morta, if she had endured Krayiss II for any length of time, would have already understood that lesson. The holy worlds made martyrs out of architects and dreams into mausoleums. Prestige had chained better Sith than either of them.

"The galaxy has shifted, Lady Morta. Or perhaps we have shifted around it. These new worlds—these old names—they come to us not as maps but as questions. Not as prizes. Not yet."

She finally glanced at the bottle again.

"Spice numbs. Memory numbs. Prestige numbs."

A breath.

"But curiosity… that burns. That drives. That feeds."

She stepped past her guest once more, walking slowly toward the interior of the command chamber, gesturing—not in command, but in invitation. No guards. No titles exchanged. Just one mind reaching for another across a chasm of dust and doctrine.

"Come. Let us speak not of empires or rites. Let us speak as cartographers. As predators."

She did not look back, but her voice lingered like incense in the air.

"We have a galaxy to trespass."

 

[Darth Morta]

"Pleasure is something that one should be able to have no matter where they are," Darth Morta said as she stepped deeper into the room with Serina. "We are not Jedi, to fear our emotions. We are Sith, we embrace them, we rule them."

What Morta wanted to say was 'Stop being such a depresive little shit, you're Sith, passion is our fuel to be burnt on the pyre to turn our ambitions to reality.'

But Serina was not her apprentice to chastise; no matter how badly she wanted to change her attitude. So Morta listened to the rest of what the other Sith had to say. They were here for mutual benefit, and there was no sense in ruining that over a minor complaint about a mindset she didn't like. But it did show the way the two of them differed; Serina had more cunning and, to Morta's eye, had shed anything that did not serve to advance herself. Morta herself simply desired a life where she did not have to worry about someone larger coming down on her and crushing her like a bug beneath their heel, and was only recently been finding out that that struggle in itself was more difficult than she had originally imagined.

"This change in the galaxy. It's like the case of the unstoppable force versus the immovable object." She spoke calmly, "It's all just a matter of perspective."

Glancing casually at one of the displays, Morta was still impressed by just how much the geography of the galaxy had shifted in the blink of an eye, not on the galactic scale, but in the flap of a moth's wing that made up the lives of those living in it.

"There is a great benefit to being the ones to fill in the edges of the map, so let's not waste time."

Tags: Serina Calis

- "Weakness is a choice."

 

[Serina Calis]

"Hard choices require hard minds."

Tags - Darth Morta



The holomap expanded.

Each system came into focus with a flick of Serina's gloved fingers—measured, slow, deliberate, like a surgeon laying bare the organs of something that once lived. And perhaps, in its way, the galaxy had been alive before the shift. But what lay before them now was something else. Something half-born and screaming.

Three anomalies flickered into full resolution—though "resolution" was generous. Each was framed by erratic metadata, unresolved mass readings, and gravitational discrepancies. Yet they were there, and that was enough.

She stepped aside slightly, offering Morta a clear view of the rotating projections. Her voice dropped to an even, surgical register. Not because she was hiding her enthusiasm—but because she measured it, like everything else.

"Three candidates. Three first incisions into this... new anatomy."

Cieress IV
Designation: Forge World

The first globe spun into place—dark red, striated with glowing veins like a cauterized wound. Its surface shimmered with heat signatures, and orbital scans displayed massive metallic structures embedded deep in tectonic fault lines.

"Cieress was not simply rediscovered. It was unearthed—buried in the gravitational shadow of a collapsed dwarf star. For reasons unknown, no ship in recorded history ever observed its existence, despite proximity to known hyperlanes."

She paused a beat.

"We now understand why. The entire crust is saturated with metallic isotopes that scatter long-range sensor pings. But what caught my attention were the signals."

Serina expanded the scan. Crude, rhythmic pulses danced across the display—repeating mechanical data packets in a language not found in any archive.

"Automated forges still run. Unmanned. Entire mountains move on internal rail systems. Cities without citizens. Machines without masters."

She let that idea settle, then added with a hint of cruel satisfaction:

"Imagine what a forge-world does without restraint. No doctrine. No limits. Just endless function. Endlessly... available."

Delgas' Mare
Designation: Water World

The second image emerged—a beautiful, almost serene sphere of glistening blue-white, surrounded by an unusually reflective atmosphere. The clouds rotated in unnatural formations, suggestive of massive heat currents or unseen orbital phenomena.

"A water world—Delgas' Mare. Its name is not ours. It came with it, written in the flow of old navigation buoys recently reactivated near the rimward sector."

She offered a single tilt of the head toward the map, a gesture not of admiration but... curiosity.

"Orbital probes returned only partial data. Ninety-seven percent oceanic. No notable land masses. No planetary rings. And no known life... yet."

Then, with a hint of sharpness behind her words:

"But something moves beneath the surface. Mass readings fluctuate. Tides react to internal forces."

A quick toggle revealed a heat map—the deep ocean lit like veins of fire beneath the skin of a corpse.

"Hydraulic pressure tunnels, magnetic interference. It is not just a world. It is a... chamber. A puzzle built in liquid. Whether ancient prison, living organism, or divine mistake—Delgas does not invite. It waits."

Vash Ra
Designation: Tomb World

The last projection flickered into view with resistance, as if the system itself refused to be looked at. A dead sun. A planet frozen not just in temperature, but in time. Black, rough, cratered. But the orbital path was precise. Artificial.

"We named it Vash Ra. The archives have no record of its existence—yet fragments of Sith scripture recovered from Ossus speak of it."

Serina's voice dropped further, the hint of something reverent—not in the spiritual sense, but in the methodological. As if speaking of an extinct virus rediscovered in a sealed vial.

"They called it the Womb of the Hollow Kings. A place where Sith Lords too dangerous to be remembered were entombed not in carbonite or stone... but in ritual. Reality around it is damaged. No hyperspace entry closer than two light-years. Ships sent near it suffer subsystem... confusion."

A brief flicker—archival footage of a droid melting without external cause.

"And yet... beneath the crust… structure. Chambers. Vaults. An intact obelisk. One I believe to be of pre-Republic origin."

She turned her head slowly toward Morta, voice now smooth as flowing ink.

"We do not yet know if the obelisk contains knowledge, a mind, or simply a trap left for those too curious to live."

She let the three worlds spin in silence, side by side—heat, water, and ash. They were not aligned. They were off. Distorted. But real.

"Choose," she said simply.
"Or offer a fourth."

Then, after a beat, her eyes glittered behind the mask.

"The unknown does not wait. And I do not intend to ask permission from it."

 

[Darth Morta]

Morta skimmed the data in front of her as Serena gave her the summary of the worlds she'd picked up. Morta didn't actually only have a fourth option, but a fifth as well.

"Don't doubt me so much, I may have had some catching up to do with you, but I'm not that far behind. I have two viable options." Morta said with a playful smirk as she pulled out a data card and inserted it into an open slot.

Morta waited for the computer to verify that there was no malicious code on the device, and then pulled up the files.

Gravitational Anomaly Survey 4

Noctyss
Primary Classification: Terrestrial World
Secondary Classification: Frozen World
Special Classification: Rogue Planet

Expedition Summary:
Gravitational Anomaly Survey 4, henceforth called GAS 4 or Noctyss, is a rogue planet discovered as a mass shadow that should not have been present in our hyper route. A navigational satellite was deployed to allow us to return freely while the engineering crew assessed possible damage to the ship.

Atmospheric scanning indicated great amounts of heat under the ice as well as liquid water. This was followed up by a ground team, which took ice core samples that implied Noctyss was ejected from its sun approximately 10,000 years ago. Water samples showed volcanic molecules, suggesting that life is possible in the seas. Secondary tests found evidence of marine life, ranging from single cell to large complex organisms.

Metallic anomalies were detected moving across the surface of the Noctyss, though follow-up scans were inconclusive in determining if they were natural or artificial.

Survey ended as the shuttle needed to be cannibalized for parts to fix the main vessel. Return to a loyal shipyard was deemed necessary by the captain.

Initial findings end here.

Automated Exploration Array 16

Ashfall
Primary Classification: Terrestrial World
Secondary Classification: Ecumenoplis
Special Classification: Necropolis

Automated Log:

• Survey Team One enters orbit.
• Survey Team One logs initial observations.
  • 96.2% coverage by artificial structures, updating secondary classification to ecumenoplis.
  • Breathable atmosphere.
  • Liquid Water present.
  • No complex life forms detected, adding special classification of necropolis.
• Survey Team One departs before conducting groundside exploration.

• Survey Team Two enters orbit.
• Survey Team Two delays ground-side exportation for further scanning.
• Survey Team Two logs observations.
  • High particulate levels detected in the atmosphere.
  • Collapse of a deteriorated structure observed by a low atmospheric probe.
• Survey Team Two departs before conducting groundside exportation.

• Survey Team Three enters orbit.
• Survey Team Three files military authority overrides, identifying as members of unit designation "Crimson Oath".
• Survey Team Three enters atmosphere and lands in open area.
• Survey Team Three reports heavy ashfall.
• All contact lost with Survey Team Three.
• Planet under Quarantine Order until further notice.

"To be quite honest, though, the planet you named Vash Ra sounds the most interesting in the short term. With Cieress IV being the most obviously useful. Though rather expensive of an operation to ensure it doesn't melt down when someone flicks that switch out of standby." She said, willing to admit that while her government's discovery of two viable planets was interesting, they were in less need of immediate follow-up. "My opinion is we focus on Vash Ra while jointly assembling the proper resources to exploit Cieress, though with your more intimate knowledge of these worlds, I'm willing to concede there may be a better option."

Serina Calis

- "Weakness is a choice."

 

[Serina Calis]

"Hard choices require hard minds."

Tags - Darth Morta



Serina stood silent as Morta's two additions took form on the holoprojector—Noctyss and Ashfall. She said nothing during the upload, offering no interruption, no twitch of impatience. Only stillness. The kind of stillness that, in other contexts, preceded dissection.

Noctyss was a voidwalker. A planet denied its star, condemned to the cold between systems, yet still warm at its heart. A rogue world—a thing lost and wandering. She watched the display trace its internal vents, the sea beneath the ice, the anomalies that moved without signature or origin. It was a planet that should not be and yet was.

Ashfall, by contrast, was insultingly clear. An ecumenopolis without inhabitants. A corpse wearing the crown of civilization. Her gaze lingered on the quarantine log—Crimson Oath. She noted that with silent precision, cataloguing the name like a soft-breathed vow. Their failure would be her invitation.

When Morta finished speaking, Serina took several seconds more before responding. Not to project dominance—but to think. Because Morta, now, had earned that consideration.

Her voice, when it came, was quieter than before.

"You have done well."

She did not embellish the compliment. In the economy of Serina Calis' speech, that was currency with weight. Recognition without sycophancy.

She turned to face the five planets—hovering in orbit around their ambitions like stars around a singularity. Then, without looking at Morta:

"Noctyss reminds me of the Sith."

A hand raised, elegant fingers brushing just above the frozen world's projection.

"A thing broken from orbit. Cold. Isolated. Feared for what it might yet become."

Her hand passed through the light. She moved on.

"Ashfall is proof that greatness does not guarantee survival. A monument to overextension, perhaps. Or a warning written in architecture."

She allowed herself a breath—subtle, pensive.

"Both are valuable. But you are correct. Vash Ra is urgent."

Serina circled the Tomb World's flickering image again, and for the first time, something in her voice darkened—not emotion, but investment. Vash Ra was not simply a curiosity. It was a question directed personally at her. A scar in the fabric of reality that demanded explanation—or exploitation.

"I suspect the obelisk may not be a monument, but a key. The rituals preserved there are not the kind wielded by the current generation of Sith. They are older. Hungrier. Unrefined."

She paused before continuing.

"And if they are traps… then I want to know for whom they were laid. That tells us who was once powerful enough to warrant them. And who might yet rise again."

At last, Serina turned fully toward Morta. Her tone softened into something approximating confidence—not boastful, but assured. Calculated.

"I agree. We begin with Vash Ra. Together."

She let that decision hang, final and heavy.

Then, pivoting to logistics:

"I will supply the initial forward team—engineers, sorcerers, scouts, and shielded excavation walkers. Your forces will oversee perimeter security and provide planetary extraction assets. I want redundancy. Every artifact removed is to be mirrored in imaging and dark-field containment. No contact with foreign intelligences. No interpretation on-site."

A pause.

"And no heroics."

Then she gestured toward Cieress IV—its molten surface burning softly in holographic stillness.

"While we dig through history on Vash Ra, I will begin phase one asset evaluation on Cieress. I have a fabrication guild already in transit to my vaults here. Their task will be to model potential AI containment protocols and environmental shielding."

Finally, she returned to Morta with the closest thing to warmth Serina Calis was ever known to show: a slow incline of the head, a gesture not of deference, but of recognition.

"You were wise to bring options. Rarer still, you brought restraint."

She stepped back, folding her hands neatly again behind her.

"It seems we are not so far apart after all."

Another beat.

"Any questions?"

 

[Darth Morta]

"Too many of our colleagues would try and grab for everything without regard, and choke on it after they bite off more than they can chew." Morta nearly spat the words with the amount of vitriol that was behind them.

Of course, that being said, if she had the reach to do so Morta would have grabbed for more, knowing one's limits was the first step in learning how to expand them. Weakness is a choice after all, and this would be the first step of many that would free her from one of them.

She'd have to send a message back to Krayiss II, get her people at Eclipce to start fabricating containment units for the artifacts, at least the hypergate would make logistics easy. If Morta had to have her ships travel most of the galaxy's span, it might almost be worth giving up her claim and trying for one of the new worlds to be close to the action on these new worlds.

"I assume we'll be staging operations from this end of the galaxy. Do you have space prepared on Polis Massa for my men and material, or is there a secondary location prepared, away from prying eyes, we'll be working from?"

There was a secondary motive other than just keeping their work secret; whoever had the artifacts on their planet for study would have an advantage when it came to exploiting their power. By implying Polis Massa may be watched by competitors, Morta intended to implant the idea that staging from a location where they had a more equal stake was better for both of them. Even though her main motive was just to ensure that Serina couldn't shut Morta out of the profits of this expedition at a whim. For one who preferred to work alone, she was already putting immense trust into another, and another Sith at that.

While waiting for Serina to chew on the suggestion and see if she chose to notice the limits of how much Morta would trust at this point. Morta quickly got to work on her datapad, starting from a cached roster of available units and officers, she began to select those she'd have assemble the forces on her end. Starting with an officer to oversee the logistics, she picked a PDF captain who, while lacking imagination, was stubbornly loyal and a stickler for details. He'd be ideal for making sure no one messed with artifacts in transport on her and Serina's behalf.

Security would be more difficult, normally, Morta would just turn the officers in her Crimson Oath over to oversee militia units, but their recent failure on Ashfall had her considering another option. Gida Luroon, a promising militia colonel from the Twi'lek enclave on Krayiss II Morta had been cultivating.

Tag: Serina Calis

- "Weakness is a choice."

 

[Serina Calis]

"Hard choices require hard minds."

Tags - Darth Morta



Serina listened.

That was perhaps the most dangerous thing about her—not the command in her tone, nor the precision of her operations, but the way she listened when others spoke. She did not interrupt. She did not correct. She absorbed, like dark stone drawing in heat. Every word Morta said—every calculated implication, every shard of insecurity disguised as strategy—was filed and indexed in the cathedral of her mind.

She moved only after Morta had finished and the silence hung like velvet between them.

Then, slowly, Serina stepped closer—not in aggression, but in intimacy. Her presence didn't fill the room so much as steal space from it. The dark layers of her robe hissed faintly as they brushed against the polished stone of the command deck. She stopped less than a meter away.

Her voice came low. Smooth. Icy. And beneath it, always, that glint of amusement—as if she already saw the shape of things yet to unfold and merely chose when to let others catch up.

"A thoughtful concern. Equal stakes. Mutual transparency. A shared veil over shared ambition."

She let that linger in the air just long enough for Morta to feel the bait.

Then, she smiled.

It wasn't warm. It wasn't cruel. It was deliberate—like the curl of a scalpel at the corner of a surgeon's mouth just before the first incision.

"No, we will not stage from Polis Massa. The atmosphere here is inhospitable to more than the body—it corrodes the will. This world is my vault, not my theater."

She turned away then, graceful and unhurried, her fingertips drifting along the edge of the holotable as she circled it again. Each motion precise, practiced, sensual in its cold elegance.

"I have already secured a forward installation. One of the reappearance anomalies briefly exposed a collapsed naval relay station on the edge of the new Sector. I claimed it before the cartographers finished arguing over whose jurisdiction it fell under. It is officially abandoned. Unmapped. Unmonitored."

The map adjusted itself at her gesture, revealing a jagged slice of space—dead systems, irradiated husks, debris fields, and somewhere within it, a lone red pin.

"It is remote enough for discretion. But close enough for power."

She turned back to Morta, one brow raising beneath the glimmering slits of her helm.

"You will have your landing rights. Your bunkers. Your privacy."

And then her voice dipped, velvet over steel.

"But understand, Darth Morta, that I allow this not out of necessity… but as a gesture. A silk thread, extended from my hand to yours."

She drew closer again. Her eyes glittered behind the lenses of her mask.

"Trust, as you implied, is dangerous. But control… is intoxicating."

A pause.

"We will share the stage. For now. Until the audience begins to clap. Until the curtain rises on something older than us both."

Her gaze dipped briefly to Morta's datapad—reading the patterns in her posture, the quiet tension in her scrolling, the hesitation around security decisions.

She circled Morta once, slowly, then stopped just behind her—voice close enough now that it became something felt, not just heard.

"I'll have my own watcher on-site as well. One of my Magisters. She'll handle containment, replication protocols, and counter-possession rites. Don't worry—she's very polite. Very lethal. And very curious."

A whisper of laughter—just the faintest, hushed sound.

"Let's see how long we both manage to pretend we aren't planning to betray each other."

Then, a step back. Distance returned.

She returned her attention to the holomap, now showing both Vash Ra and the unnamed forward base.

"You'll have your schedules within the hour. Expect to move within seventy-two."

A final glance back.

"And Darth Morta—" her voice curled slightly at the edge, dark and silk-slicked, "—don't ever assume I doubt you."

She smiled again, all shadow and intellect.

"Anything else?"

 

[Darth Morta]

Morta did not gloat, did not push for more; she'd gotten the concessions she'd asked for, and that was enough for her in this negotiation. She'd won, or at least did in her eyes, regardless of Serina's reasons for giving up the ground, so she'd make sure to do it gracefully.

"No, I think this will be fine." Answering Serina's final question. "I'll get some initial personnel mobilizing as soon as I have comms, with the specialists coming through the hypergate as soon as they can get their gear packed up.

Those were good words, a thread of trust, Morta would live by them and not pull too hard; she wasn't eager to break this alliance, though she'd be ready so as not to be caught flat-footed if Serina saw profit in burning the bridge. Morta would not burn that bridge unless something drastic happened, something like the Dark Council taking a negative interest in what the two of them were up to.

Morta thought that this was going to be quite interesting, looking at the new galactic map and all the new areas that had opened up. The two of them were going to work together to fill in the blank edges of the map; all the risks and thus the rewards would be theirs.

Tag: Serina Calis

- "Weakness is a choice."