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

 

[Jinn Lorso]

Seren Gwyn​

For a long moment, Jinn Lorso said nothing. The storm hissed and clawed at him, trying to claim his focus, but his attention never wavered from her. The shadows at his feet responded to hers, curious, almost deferential, tugging at the edge of connection that pulsed between them.

"What did I feel…" he echoed softly, the words caught between thought and declaration. His eyes gleamed faintly beneath the hood as he drew a slow breath, letting the weight of the air fill his lungs. "At first, I believed it was Malachor itself calling, a ghost, a remnant, a promise of power buried in its wounds."

He stepped forward, just enough for the storm light to catch the sharp lines of his face. "But then the voice sharpened. It grew clear. It carried intent. Not hunger. Not desperation. Something… aware."

The wind howled between them, and for an instant, the world narrowed to the hum that bound their presences two threads of the same storm.

"When I heard you." he said finally, voice low and steady, "I felt the Dark Side listening again. As if the galaxy itself had been holding its breath, waiting for a name it had almost forgotten."

He let the words linger before his tone softened, though the edges of darkness never left it. "Seren Gwyn." he said, as though speaking the name made the storm bow around it. "You are not what I expected. The Force between us… it does not seek to destroy. It binds."

The faintest glimmer of a smirk touched his expression an acknowledgment, perhaps even respect. "And that, in itself, is dangerous."

He tilted his head slightly, studying her with a quiet, predatory patience. "Tell me." he murmured. "When you called my name, what was it you wished to find?"

 

[Seren Gwyn]

The shadows at her feet shifted and stretched, echoing the thread that pulsed between them, rippling softly over the fractured ground. She did not move closer, though the Force's current between them was undeniable, a silent pulse they both carried.

"When I called your name," she said, voice calm, deliberate, carrying over the storm's roar, "it was not a plea. I sought someone…capable. Someone whose presence could match my own, whose strength could meet mine, and whose intent was clear enough to follow without hesitation."

The shadows twined subtly around her, brushing the edges of his awareness—not intrusive, but a quiet reflection of the connection she had threaded. "I wished to find an ally, a companion in this…storm. Not a friend. Not a guide. But a person whose power and purpose could be…used, as I would be used in turn."

Her gaze held his, steady, unwavering, shadows curling like a cloak around her, protective and deliberate. "That is what I sought. That is what I found."

Jinn Lorso

 

[Jinn Lorso]

Seren Gwyn​

For an instant, the storm seemed to listen. The wind faltered, the roar softened to a deep, thrumming hum that resonated through the ground beneath their feet. Jinn Lorso could feel it the weight of her words, the deliberate precision in every syllable, the way the Dark Side itself seemed to breathe through her.

He tilted his head, studying her as one might study a weapon crafted from the same forge that made their own. The air crackled between them, not with hostility, but with recognition.

"Used," he repeated, voice low, the word tasting more like understanding than offense. His cloak rippled in the wind, and the stormlight caught faint traces of the crimson hue that bled from his aura. "A rare honesty. Most speak of destiny, of fate, of power shared—but you speak of use."

He stepped forward again, deliberate, unhurried, until the edge of her shadow met his own. The contact was electric a meeting of currents rather than touch. The Force rippled outward in concentric waves, dark and alive, as though acknowledging a balance long absent.

"I have spent a lifetime among those who believe the Dark Side is only domination or submission." he murmured, voice threaded with a quiet intensity. "But you… you understand the third path. Symmetry. Mutual use."

Lightning flared again, casting their joined shadows long against the shattered stones.

He inclined his head slightly, a gesture that hovered between deference and challenge. "Then perhaps, Seren Gwyn, we are not merely echoes of the same call. Perhaps we are the storm that answers it."

His gaze burned, steady and unflinching. "Show me, then. Let Malachor witness it. Let it see what it has summoned."

 

[Seren Gwyn]

The shadows at her feet rippled and stretched, brushing lightly across the fractured stones as if beckoning him. Seren's gaze held his, steady and deliberate, the storm thrumming around them, but unable to touch the thread that pulsed between them.

"The storm is instructive," she said, voice calm and precise, carrying faint amusement, "but it cannot honor balance, nor can it move with intention. If we are to explore what the Force has woven between us, we must step somewhere…quieter, where its chaos cannot dictate the rhythm."

Her hand lifted subtly, a gesture both invitation and guidance. "Come with me. The Sub-temple of the Deep Abyss is nearby. Shadows there obey me fully, and the wind cannot reach us. There, we can move deliberately, measure the currents as they are, not as the storm demands."

The shadows stretched along a jagged fissure in the canyon, forming a faint, twisting path toward the interior. Seren's amber eyes glimmered in the dim light, the smallest curve at her lips acknowledging the bond they shared. "Step inside, Jinn Lorso. Let us see the threads we have drawn— and understand them on equal terms."

Jinn Lorso

 

[Jinn Lorso]

Seren Gwyn​

Jinn Lorso regarded her in silence long enough for another bolt of lightning to split the clouds above, carving their faces into sharp relief before shadow reclaimed them. The fissure at her back pulsed faintly, as though the world itself waited for his answer.

Her command or invitation hung in the air like a chord drawn taut.

Finally, he inclined his head, slow and deliberate. "You speak of intention." he said, voice quiet but carrying. "Good. Chaos without intention is waste. The Dark Side has never favored the undisciplined."

He stepped forward, and with that motion, the shadows at his feet stirred to life. They did not crawl as hers did they marched, shaped by the precision of his will, not the ebb of emotion. When his shadow met hers, the Force between them thickened, almost tactile a living thing, ancient and patient.

"Then we will go." he continued. "To your sub-temple. To your silence. But know this quiet is never absence. It listens, it learns, it waits for us to speak truth."

He followed her toward the rift. The descent was narrow, the rock slick with age and residue from centuries of storms. As they moved deeper, the world above receded the roar of the wind fading until only the sound of their footsteps and the low hum of the Force remained.

Faint carvings appeared along the walls: sigils of forgotten Sith houses, spirals of invocation, names long since consumed by dust. The air grew heavy, thick with history and the scent of stone long sealed from light.

When they reached the threshold, Jinn paused, turning his gaze toward her. "You said the shadows here obey you." he said softly. "Then let them bear witness as well."

The dark around him bent, curling upward in anticipation waiting to see what she would reveal.

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren's amber eyes flicked over him, unblinking, shadows along the walls rippling in quiet acknowledgment of his presence. They did not strike, did not lash, but pulsed with a subtle life, rippling outward as if aware of the delicate balance threading them both.

"They obey," she murmured, voice low and measured, carrying easily over the faint hum of the Force, "because I do not command them. I guide them. Their purpose is clear, as ours must be. And the quiet you speak of…it does more than listen. It remembers, reflects, preserves. Here, every thought, every motion, every intention is known—and respected."

The shadows behind her shifted, stretching along the threshold like living ink spilled across the stone. They curled around him lightly, brushing edges of his presence, teasing the space between them without touching. Seren's gaze lingered on him longer than necessary, amber eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and something darker, something deliberate.

"They bear witness," she continued, a faint curve at the corner of her lips, "not as judges, nor as guards, but as companions to intent. Each movement, each choice…mirrored and honored."

A slow, deliberate step brought her closer to the rift's threshold, letting the shadows trail toward him like a whispered caress. Her voice softened, almost intimate, threading through the dim light. "Step inside," she said, tone low and smooth, "and let us see what is drawn when intention moves without distraction…when shadows, the Force, and…desire align."

Jinn Lorso

 

[Jinn Lorso]

Seren Gwyn​

Jinn Lorso did not move at first. The air itself had thickened around them, dense with the weight of unspoken things. Even the Force so often a torrent, insistent and demanding had quieted to listen.

Her words drew through him like a blade pulled from its sheath: patient, deliberate, gleaming in the half-light. The dark pressed closer, tasting the edges of meaning in her tone, the invitation threaded between her calm precision and something far older hunger, perhaps, but refined into purpose.

He drew a slow breath, letting the Force settle in his chest. The shadows that reached for him no longer seemed like threats, nor even tests; they were extensions of her will, her understanding. They did not serve, they responded. And in that, he recognized her mastery.

"You speak of intention as if it were an ally." he said quietly, taking a measured step forward. "Most call it a leash. But perhaps that is why the storm could not touch you."

The last of the light from above flickered across his robes as he crossed the threshold. The shadows parted around him in concentric waves, accommodating his entry rather than resisting it. The chamber beyond unfolded slowly a cathedral carved into the bones of the planet itself. Black stone walls gleamed faintly, not from reflection but from memory, alive with the echo of power stored and shaped through centuries of devotion.

The Force here was heavy, patient, curious. It pressed against his mind not to subdue, but to understand.

Jinn's voice softened, though the edge of command still lingered in it. "You built this place." he said, not a question, but a recognition. "It is not merely a sanctum. It is a mirror of you, obedient not through fear, but through understanding."

He turned toward her, eyes bright beneath the hood's shadow. "So tell me, Seren." His words came slower now, as if measured against the pulse that still bound them. "What would you have this mirror show us? Power? Truth?"

He paused, the faintest glint of curiosity threading through the restraint. "Or something neither of us yet dares to name?"

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren lingered at the threshold, watching the shadows ripple as though deciding how near to draw. The air inside moved differently — less storm, more breath. The walls pulsed faintly with old energy, recognizing something familiar in him.

"A mirror shows only what we are willing to see," she said, voice quiet but edged with knowing. "Most look for power and find only fear. Others search for truth and find it hollow. But if one stands long enough in stillness…"

She descended the last step, the light shifting as she moved. Shadows slid with her like silk through water, circling his outline but never closing.

"…the mirror learns what to reveal."

Her gaze held his. "You ask what I would have it show us — perhaps not what we dare name, but what dares to name us."

A hint of a smile touched her lips. "Intent is not a leash, Jinn Lorso. It is a compass. You followed it here — not to conquest, but to understanding. To me."

Her tone softened, warmth threading through the chill. "You thought the storm sought to destroy, but it only clears the air for what comes next."

She stepped closer — near enough that their shadows met, merging into one. "Now," she murmured, "let us see what remains when there is nothing left to resist."

The chamber breathed with them, the Force echoing their heartbeats — shadow to shadow, intent to intent. Seren lifted her hand to the wall; the stone shimmered under her touch, silver veins of sigils waking to life, encircling them in faint light.

"The Force listens when balance is found," she whispered. "When dominance gives way to recognition."

A shadow brushed his sleeve — the softest graze of power, neither challenge nor invitation. Her eyes caught his, molten amber in the sigil's glow. "You feel it, don't you? The quiet between our thoughts." A breath, not quite steady. "It asks to be filled."

A shadow traced the air across his chest before fading back into the dark.

"This is what Malachor remembers," she murmured. "Connection born not of command…but of consent."

The sigils dimmed, leaving only the stormlight above. She regarded him through the haze — calm, reverent, a smile curving at her lips.

"So tell me," Seren said quietly. "When the storm clears…what will you make of what stands before you?"

Jinn Lorso

 

[Jinn Lorso]

Seren Gwyn​

The quiet that followed her words was deeper than silence.

It was the pause that came when the Force itself leaned in to listen.

Jinn did not answer at once. He stood in the stillness she had woven a stillness heavy with awareness, not absence and felt the boundaries of his own will begin to soften at the edges. The storm outside still raged, yet down here, beneath the scarred surface of Malachor, something greater moved: a rhythm, slow and deliberate, syncing to the space between their breaths.

When he finally spoke, his voice carried a strange calm, the kind that came only when every mask had already been stripped away.
"What stands before me." he said, "Is no illusion of power. It is the origin of it the place where control ceases to matter, because intent and understanding have become the same thing."

The shadows coiled near his boots, not in defiance but in recognition. They reached for hers again, tentative, testing the boundary between two presences that had stopped pretending they were separate.

"I was taught that Malachor devours all who seek meaning here." he continued, his tone low, thoughtful. "But perhaps it devours only those who arrive empty those who demand the Dark Side to serve them rather than speak to it."

He looked toward her, and for the first time the weight in his gaze was not command, not challenge, but understanding. "You've shown me that the Force can remember without obedience. That shadow is not the absence of light it is the space where the two can look at one another without fear."

A pause. The faintest curve at the edge of his mouth.

"When the storm clears." he said softly, "I will not stand above what I find. I will stand with it. I will stand with you."

The sigils on the wall pulsed once more, responding to the harmony that threaded between them a resonance that belonged to neither of them alone.

The storm outside rumbled again, not as a threat, but as acknowledgment. Jinn stepped closer, the distance between them narrowing to a breath.

"Then let us see, Seren." he murmured, voice a dark whisper softened by reverence. "If the galaxy can bear what the storm has left behind. Let see if they can bear us."

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren's amber eyes held him, steady, unyielding. The shadows at her feet stretched toward him, deliberate, echoing the rhythm he had summoned.

"Then we stand together," she said, low, measured, "not as master and follower, nor prey and hunter, but as two currents flowing into the same stream."

She stepped closer. The space between them hummed with recognition. Sigils glimmered faintly, casting shifting light over their faces. Her gaze lingered on his jaw, the rise of his chest — cataloging, understanding, without judgment.

"Malachor watches," she said, quiet, almost reverent, "but it does not command. It learns from what we reveal."

A shadow drifted across his shoulders — soft, deliberate, intimate yet restrained. Her lips curved slightly, a hint of acknowledgment.

"Then let us see what the Force remembers of us," she whispered, "what it carries forward when the storm passes."

Her hand traced a slow arc of sigils in the air between them, drawing the space closer, testing the harmony and the consent of their shared power.

"We are not yet finished," she murmured, anticipation threading her voice, "but I intend to see it through…with you."

Jinn Lorso

 

[Jinn Lorso]

Seren Gwyn​

Jinn inclined his head in that same patient, deliberate rhythm that had marked every motion since their meeting. The glow from the sigils caught the pale edge of his cheekbone, then sank again into shadow.

"Then together." he said quietly.

He reached toward the arc she'd drawn, touching her hand briefly. The energy suspended between them bent slightly, forming a thread of light that trembled with their shared intent. The hum grew deeper, more harmonic than violent, resonating through the chamber's black stone until it seemed that Malachor itself exhaled.

The vision came not as image, but as sensation. Heat. Cold. Breath. Two currents coiling in the same sea, shaping new patterns where none had been. He could feel her presence woven through it, distinct yet interlaced, neither yielding nor resisting, simply aligned.

When the surge receded, the chamber was still again. Dust settled in the faint light of the sigils; the air smelled of rain that would never fall.

Jinn's gaze met hers once more. "So be it." he said, tone softer now, stripped of ceremony. "Whatever this place remembers of us, it will remember us."

He let the Force settle between them, no longer as storm, but as steady pulse. "When next the wind rises, Seren… we will see what the galaxy makes of the current we've set loose."

Outside, thunder rolled, a distant, answering sound, and further off in the distance, as if wanting to test their bond and their strength. Monstrous creatures rose from the depth, drawn to the power of them both. It would seek to bring and end to them.

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren's amber eyes lingered on the faint glow of the sigils, tracing the trembling thread that had sprung from their joined hands. The chamber still smelled of rain that would never fall, yet the Force hummed with a different resonance now—steady, anchored, and unmistakably theirs. She let the sensation wash over her, a quiet acknowledgment of the alignment they had achieved.

"So it remembers," she murmured, more to herself than to him, "but memory is only the beginning. What we choose to do with it… that is the test."</color>

Her gaze shifted toward the darkened corners of the chamber, and she could feel it even before the sound reached them: the stir of something ancient, drawn by the currents they had shaped. The creatures, monstrous and primal, rising from Malachor's depths, sensing the bond and power now radiating between them. A pulse of unease rippled through the shadows, faint but sharp enough for her to notice.

"They come," she observed, voice low, controlled. "Not as a threat, not yet. But as a test. Malachor offers its reminders in forms that the unprepared call terror."</color>

Her hand brushed along the edge of the sigil, feeling its energy respond to her touch as she considered their next step. "We should move," she said, a plan forming with her habitual precision. "There is a chamber deeper within the sanctum—one attuned to the Umbra itself. There, we can observe…and prepare. Let it rise, and we will see what shape it takes under our guidance."</color>

A slow inhale, amber eyes meeting his. "We are no longer merely in the storm," she added, a faint edge of warmth threading her tone, "we are part of it. And whatever comes, we meet it together."</color>

Jinn Lorso

 

[Jinn Lorso]

Seren Gwyn​

The Force around them had changed tenor: no longer the still harmony of joined intent, but a resonant vibration, curious and testing. Malachor had taken notice. The bond they had forged had become a beacon and now, the planet answered.

"The storm remembers its makers." he murmured, his tone calm though the air itself began to hum with the coming of the creatures. "And it comes to ask if we are worthy to name it."

He stepped toward her, the sigil-light painting his features in soft glimmers of red and silver. The shadows at his back moved like a tide drawn by gravity, following her path toward the deeper passage she'd indicated.

"Then let them come." he said, the faintest pulse of satisfaction beneath the composure. "The Dark Side has always favored trial over tribute."

He reached one hand outward, not to seize hers but to let the Force between them rethread, drawing on that balance they had wrought in the chamber. The ground's vibration steadied beneath his boots; the echoes of power now seemed to move with them, not against.

As they walked, the sigils dimmed behind, their light swallowed one by one by the encroaching dark. The air thickened, humid and heavy with the scent of mineral and ozone. From the fissures along the walls, eyes began to open luminous, colorless things that blinked without lids, their gaze fixed on the two who had disturbed the quiet.

Jinn did not draw his weapon. Instead, he looked once toward Seren, and there was neither question nor command in his voice, only understanding.

"Let the planet watch." he said softly. "Let it learn what balance does when tested." Then he moved with her into the depths of the sanctum, toward the chamber of the Umbra two silhouettes bound by the same storm, descending together into the heart of the dark that had called them both. He took her hand, as the moved deeper into the sanctum. The darkside of the force emitting from them, just as the creatures were fast approaching. They would make for a good test against the duo.

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren's amber eyes narrowed, tracing the slow, deliberate movements of the creatures as they emerged from the fissures. Each was a ripple of ancient malice, yet their awareness was drawn, almost politely, to the power she and Jinn had wrought. She could feel their probing, their hunger for disruption, but it was tempered now—tempered by the alignment of her own intent.

"So it begins," she murmured, voice soft but firm, carrying over the silent hum of the Force. The shadows at her feet responded immediately, weaving upward in delicate arcs around her legs, then reaching out like tendrils to stir the approaching forms. She let them brush against the creatures first, teasing and testing—not to harm, but to gauge.

Her hand flexed slightly, fingers tracing arcs through the air, drawing the sigils' echoes from memory. Veins of dim silver light coiled outward, forming patterns around them both — barriers, guides, and lures all in one. The creatures paused, swaying almost in curiosity, drawn to the pulse she set.

"Observe," she whispered, a faint smile touching her lips. "Learn what balance feels like…when dominance and recognition are equal."

She shifted her weight, letting the shadows around her shift in response—a subtle, deliberate dance of darkness, curling toward the creatures, teasing and shaping their movement. The hum of the Force vibrated through her, warm and alive, synchronizing with the rhythm of her heartbeat.

Amber eyes flicked toward the descending passage, toward the deeper chamber she had chosen. "We do not strike first," she said quietly, more to herself than to the creatures. "We let them test…we let them come. And when they do, they will find not prey, but shadow itself, guided."

A slow breath, and she let the Force ripple outward, threading through the chamber and her shadows, tugging ever so gently at the creatures—a silent challenge. The anticipation was a weight she savored, and even as they drew closer, she moved with quiet certainty, her eyes never leaving the pale figure at her side.

"Let them learn," she murmured again, soft, deliberate, "that the storm has two faces…and we are both."</color>

Jinn Lorso

 

[Jinn Lorso]

Seren Gwyn​

Jinn Lorso watched the creatures with a stillness that was not restraint but calculation.

They moved like echoes given flesh distortions of bone and sinew that crawled from Malachor's fissures, carrying the taste of old fear and older memory. The air vibrated around them, each step accompanied by a sound that was less growl than reverberation, as if the planet itself was murmuring through their throats.

He did not draw a weapon; instead, he let his awareness sink into the current Seren had already woven. The pulse of her sigils, the silver lattice breathing through the shadows, met his own power like opposite halves of a heartbeat. Where her shadows flowed, his gathered—compact, heavy, forming gravity rather than movement.

A slow exhale, and the faintest ripple of energy spread from his hand, meeting the line of her sigils. The glow deepened, threads of crimson threading through her silver, uniting the pattern. The effect was immediate: the nearest creatures faltered, heads tilting as if listening.

"They test for weakness." Jinn murmured. "For a break in the rhythm. But you've already taught them balance. Now they must learn consequence."

He extended his palm toward one of the shapes that dared to edge closer. The shadow wrapped around it not in violence, but in compression, the sheer weight of his focus forcing it to kneel. Not submission. Recognition. When he released it, the thing slithered backward, eyes dimmed, and the others shifted their stance.

Jinn's gaze flicked to Seren. "They respond to harmony as they would to fear." he observed, almost thoughtful. "Malachor does not punish it mirrors. It gives back exactly what is offered."

He stepped closer to her, the stormlight from above faintly catching the line of his jaw. The chamber pulsed again deep, resonant. The air carried the scent of stone newly split, and beneath it, something else: the whisper of the deeper sanctum calling them onward.

Jinn's tone softened, though the edge of command lingered within it.

"Come." he said. "Let them watch as we descend. Let them understand the shape of what balance becomes when it is not asked for, but chosen."

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren's amber eyes followed the creatures, noting the subtle falter in their approach as Jinn's influence met hers. She allowed herself a faint, satisfied smile—quiet, almost imperceptible—as she felt the resonance between their efforts ripple through the chamber.

"Yes," she murmured softly, letting the words pulse through the Force. "Balance is never demanded. It is accepted…recognized. Malachor remembers the hand that offers it, and the one that honors it."</color>

Her fingers brushed the nearest sigil, coaxing the silver light to stretch outward in arcs that interwove with the crimson threads of his power. The creatures hesitated again, their luminous forms swaying as though attuned to the combined rhythm of her shadows and his gravity.

"They are curious," she whispered, her voice low, deliberate. "Drawn not by hunger, but by the understanding we have taught them. Let us descend…deeper. Let them see that what we offer is neither prey nor predator, but something older. Something neither to be taken nor broken."</color>

Shadows lifted from the walls and floor, curling around the creatures like the softest of cages, guiding without touching. Seren's gaze flicked toward Jinn, acknowledging him with a nod—a silent invitation and a test both.

"Walk with me," she said, stepping toward the deeper sanctum, the sigils pulsing in response to her motion. "They watch, they learn. And so shall we."

Her hand hovered just above the nearest tendril of shadow, feeling its shape, its weight, the tension in its form. Every movement she made coaxed the creatures to follow, not as prey, but as observers of the dance she and Jinn had begun.

"The deeper we go," she added softly, "the more they will understand the cost of imbalance…and the quiet power of those who walk it willingly."

Jinn Lorso