Private Darkness Rises

[Jinn Lorso]

Malachor
Seren Gwyn
​

The storm had no beginning, no end just the endless churn of shadow and ash that coated the horizon of Malachor. Lightning arced across the cracked expanse of the planet's scarred surface, lighting the sky in jagged bursts of green and violet. The air itself vibrated with the echo of old wars, the residue of every betrayal that had ever been committed in the name of power.

From the edge of a shattered canyon, a cloaked figure stood unmoving, the hem of his robes stirring in the toxic wind. Sith Master Jinn Lorso closed his eyes and let the storm's rage wash through him. Beneath the chaos, the Force whispered—a low, seductive hum that thrummed against his bones and clawed at the edges of his mind.

It was not merely calling. It was summoning.


Every night for weeks, he had woken to the same vision: a voice soft, defiant, full of something dangerous whispering his name in the dark. Jinn Lorso… The sound of it bled into his waking hours now, haunting him as much as the name she carried with her.

Seren Gwyn.

He spoke it aloud, and the storm seemed to falter, just for a heartbeat. The air thickened with the promise of revelation or ruin.

She was here. He could feel her, like a sliver of starlight buried deep beneath the crust of this desolate world. The dark side converged around the thought of her, coiling and hissing with something ancient, something that even he could not yet name.

Malachor waited, alive and listening. And in the space between one breath and the next, the Dark Side whispered again—this time not as a call, but as a command.

Find her.

 

[Seren Gwyn]

The storm roared around her, lightning fracturing the sky, but Seren moved as though it were nothing more than a soft murmur. Shadows coiled at her feet, stretching outward like liquid silk, rippling across the fractured ground in time with the pulse of the Force between them.

She felt him—the deliberate pull of his presence reaching for her—and she let her own thread respond, weaving back through the dark side like a quiet echo. It was not yielding. It was not a contest. It was a mirrored call, a shared current, a connection formed by choice rather than compulsion.

"You seek me," she murmured, voice calm and steady, carrying over the howl of the storm. "Even though we do not truly know each other…I have felt you calling, as I have called for you."

The shadows rippled in tandem, brushing lightly against the edges of his awareness, guiding without pressing, acknowledging without claiming. They had a language between them, a subtle reflection of the bond that ran through the dark side itself.

"Malachor is stormy tonight," she continued, a faint touch of amusement in her tone. "Yet we move through it together—threads interlaced, shadows entwined. A storm shared, not endured alone."

Each step she took was measured, deliberate, echoing the rhythm of their mutual summoning. The shadows followed, soft, attentive, protective—an unspoken gift of guidance and trust. Here, in the heart of Malachor, the call was not one-sided. It was theirs.

Jinn Lorso

 

[Jinn Lorso]

Seren Gwyn​

Jinn Lorso's eyes opened slowly, and the storm seemed to bend with the motion, its rhythm matching the slow rise of his breath. The Dark Side pressed against him from every direction, eager, hungry, alive. Yet beneath its chaos, there it was again, her.

Seren Gwyn.

The name moved through him like a memory not his own, carried on the electric pulse that threaded between lightning strikes. His boots sank into the ash as he advanced, each step sinking into a world built upon ruin. Statues half-swallowed by time stared down at him from the canyon walls shattered visages of Sith long dead, their silent judgment lost to the centuries.

And still, he felt her. The resonance was unmistakable. The Dark Side did not lie. it thrummed through the marrow of his bones, and the storm itself seemed to pivot toward her.

He stopped when he saw her silhouette dark against darker, untouched by fear or hesitation. The wind tore at her cloak, yet she stood unmoving, eyes burning faintly through the tempest.

Her words reached him through the roar of the storm, calm, measured, almost intimate. A storm shared, not endured alone.

The edges of his mouth curved, not a smile, but the ghost of one. "You speak of sharing storms," he said, his tone low, carrying the weight of a thousand unshed tempests. "But storms do not share. They consume. They remake."

He took a step closer, the ground cracking faintly beneath his boots, shadows writhing to meet his own. "And yet." he murmured, eyes locked to hers, "You stand unbroken."

Lightning carved their figures in stark relief two silhouettes caught in the breath between destruction and discovery.

"Tell me, Seren Gwyn." Jinn Lorso said, his voice dark silk over thunder. "Did you call to me first… or did Malachor?"

 

[Seren Gwyn]

The storm curled and snapped around her, but Seren remained steady, shadows coiling at her feet like liquid thought, stretching outward without haste. She did not move closer, yet the pull of the Force between them was undeniable, a current they both carried.

"Perhaps it is both," she said, voice calm and smooth, carrying faint amusement. "Malachor has always been alive, older than either of us. And yet…I have called for you as well. The threads met in the storm, and here we are."

Her eyes held his, unwavering, as the shadows rippled softly around them. They were protective, attentive, echoing the pulse of their shared presence.

"It does not matter which came first," she continued, tone deliberate. "Only that we answer it together. Tell me… what did you feel when you heard me calling?"

She allowed a faint curve to touch her lips, subtle and deliberate, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond they had begun to thread across the storm-tossed expanse of Malachor.

Jinn Lorso