Character
The Spire was a lattice of shadow and industry, every corridor humming with the low resonance of generators, every sealed viewport bleeding faint violet light across black durasteel. Iskera moved like a surveyor through it all—hands behind her back, respirator resting at her lips, grey-violet eyes tracing each lab with clinical fascination.
One chamber held arrays of glass tubes, their contents glimmering faintly with alchemical suspension. Another bore dissected droids laid open on slabs, their circuitry tagged and catalogued. She paused at each threshold long enough to map the flows of knowledge, like a jeweler inspecting cuts and flaws. Efficient. Promising. Still—too much wasted energy in presentation, not enough in precision. Her mind kept a quiet ledger of improvements.
Yet even as she measured steel and glass, her thoughts betrayed her. She remembered the chaos of the free-for-all: the way Pandora's invisible grip had tightened around her throat, cool and merciless, until stars had blurred the edges of her vision. No desperation, only a flash of heat she had not expected. Power exercised so easily—and then that word spoken, Mistress. Iskera told herself she was dissecting its significance. But underneath, there lingered the sharp taste of curiosity, even hunger.
The next set of doors parted, and there she was.
Pandora's silhouette filled the lab's sterile light. Iskera's chin inclined a fraction, her composure immaculate, though her pulse betrayed her discipline with a quiet acceleration. She stepped forward, words chosen like scalpel strokes.
"I believe we have crossed paths already—though I was somewhat…occupied at the time." Her tone was level, precise, but edged with a quiet undertow. "Iskera Valest." A pause, then the faintest hint of a smile. "Perhaps you might enlighten me further about this Mistress you serve."
Viscountess Pandora
One chamber held arrays of glass tubes, their contents glimmering faintly with alchemical suspension. Another bore dissected droids laid open on slabs, their circuitry tagged and catalogued. She paused at each threshold long enough to map the flows of knowledge, like a jeweler inspecting cuts and flaws. Efficient. Promising. Still—too much wasted energy in presentation, not enough in precision. Her mind kept a quiet ledger of improvements.
Yet even as she measured steel and glass, her thoughts betrayed her. She remembered the chaos of the free-for-all: the way Pandora's invisible grip had tightened around her throat, cool and merciless, until stars had blurred the edges of her vision. No desperation, only a flash of heat she had not expected. Power exercised so easily—and then that word spoken, Mistress. Iskera told herself she was dissecting its significance. But underneath, there lingered the sharp taste of curiosity, even hunger.
The next set of doors parted, and there she was.
Pandora's silhouette filled the lab's sterile light. Iskera's chin inclined a fraction, her composure immaculate, though her pulse betrayed her discipline with a quiet acceleration. She stepped forward, words chosen like scalpel strokes.
"I believe we have crossed paths already—though I was somewhat…occupied at the time." Her tone was level, precise, but edged with a quiet undertow. "Iskera Valest." A pause, then the faintest hint of a smile. "Perhaps you might enlighten me further about this Mistress you serve."
Viscountess Pandora
