Faction Frozen in Time || Sith Order

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti​

When Naniti leaned in a breath closer, his shoulder angled to leave a little sanctuary for her montrals; an arm slid further along the bench, mindful of her lekku; he only hoped he was doing it right.. Lysander wanted her close, and at ease, too. And, truthfully, it felt.. sweet. Having her tucked close like this, with the sleigh gliding through the cold air.. wind slipping past them.

Returning back ahead for a moment, he traced the path as it unfolded. The cliffs were distant but growing clearer as the altitude increased. When Naniti glanced up, he turned slowly, their gazes entwining; the silence stretched, and a familiar crooked smile found him.

“I hear what you’re saying.. all of it..” A slow inhale was drawn before letting it go. “I’ve realized lately I’m always looking for a reason to cross half the galaxy with you at my side.” A tiny huff of mirth followed. "I used to tell myself it was about movement.. or momentum. After Korriban, especially. For a a time, I thought that was the point.. new destinations, finding more obligations. As long as I kept moving, I didn't have to sit with anything for too long."

The blonde’s voice mellowed. “But I’ve recently figured out that wasn’t the point. It’s.. someone I can think beside and don’t have to guard every word around. It feels like the kind of quiet I can stay in too.”

When she offered more of her hand, his fingers gently wove into the space between, not closing completely. Then a thought hum escaped as he slipped away.. only halfway.. before lacing them together a second time, like he was choosing it all over again, or confirming some theory that only he understood. "..Huh," a whisper while stealing another glance "This takes way more concentration than any battle I've fought. I might've seriously underestimated how distracting this is." Because honestly, if Lysander didn’t manage to say at least one stupid thing on the sleigh ride, would it even be truly him?

“I just want you to know.. being anywhere with you has been more than enough for me too. I..” The line at his mouth shifted. “.. I trust you with my time and the parts of myself I don’t hand over easily.” Not exactly a very Sith thing to admit, right? But he found he didn’t particularly care.

"Plus, you have this knack for spotting the gaps in my thinking. Maybe it's a rare gift," he added lightly. "Most people challenge me just to prove something, but you.. you slow me down. You make me actually think. And.. I like that too."

A pair of emerald pools rested upon her. "We'll figure it out together.. I'm not going anywhere, Naniti."

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren accepted the assistance into the sleigh without ceremony, her movements practiced and unhurried. She settled beside him with an ease that suggested she was comfortable in motion—whether across ancient ruins or gliding through open sky. As the repulsors lifted them free of the ground and the sleigh began its smooth, silent course, she let her gaze travel upward, following the shifting colors that rippled across the heavens.

For a moment, she watched. The stars here felt different from Malachor's—less burdened, less watched.

When he spoke again, when he thanked her, Seren did not answer immediately. Not because she dismissed the sentiment, but because she considered it. Her hand remained in his, though her grip was light, deliberate. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and even, carried easily over the hum of the sleigh.

"You were never as close to being lost as you believe," she said quietly. "Malachor tests those who walk it, yes—but it does not take what cannot already be surrendered." She turned her head slightly toward him, amber eyes reflecting the aurora-like sky above. "I did not save you," Seren continued, gently correcting the implication. "I only helped you listen to what you were already resisting." Her thumb shifted once against his, a grounding motion rather than a claim.

"As for Korriban," she went on, her tone thoughtful rather than reverent, "its value lies not only in what remains buried, but in what has been misunderstood. Tombs preserve power, but ruins preserve truth."

She glanced back up at the sky, then allowed a faint curve of a smile—subtle, restrained.

"If you are willing to guide me there when the time comes," Seren said, "I would welcome the opportunity. Not to conquer it… but to understand it on its own terms."

The sleigh glided onward, snow drifting away behind them like a slow exhale. Seren did not pull her hand from his, nor did she tighten her hold. She let the moment remain what it was—quiet, shared, and unburdened by performance.

"Tonight," she added softly, "I am content to ride, and to let the stars remind us that not every path must be forced open." Her gaze lingered on the horizon, but her presence stayed firmly beside him, steady as the sleigh carried them forward.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Aerik Lechner]

WEARING: xxx | TAG:@ Ellissanthia | Irina Jesart​

Aerik stood near the outer edge of the courtyard with his attention fixed on the mouth of the ice maze when Ellissanthia approached. Snow shifted softly beneath her steps, and he turned toward her as she came into view. When she bowed, the motion arrested him in place. His posture did not change. His hands remained at his sides, fingers curled loosely inside his gloves as the cold continued to settle into them.

Several seconds passed before he spoke.

“You do not need to do that.”

The response came without inflection, and once the words were out, he did not follow them with anything else. The space remained open. The cold filled it easily.

Ellissanthia continued, and Aerik listened without interrupting her. His gaze stayed on her face rather than drifting to the crowd or the maze behind her. While she spoke, his weight shifted once, slow and deliberate, as if he were correcting balance rather than settling comfortably. Snow compressed beneath his boots as he adjusted, and the movement did not fully resolve the stiffness that had begun to work its way up from his feet.

When she finished, Aerik looked toward the ice walls of the maze. The light refracted strangely along the frozen surface, making the distance difficult to judge. He did not study it long before returning his attention to her.

“I can walk it. Mazes like this do not often come with a map.”

The words were plain. He did not elaborate. His shoulders rose slightly with his next breath, then eased back down, the motion slower than it would have been in a warmer place.

“If you want to come along, you can. Just stay close.”

Nothing followed the statement. He did not gesture toward the maze. He did not begin moving yet. The cold continued to work while he waited.

A familiar presence touched the edge of his awareness before he turned. His head followed the sensation a moment later, and Irina came into view. The velvet wrapped box in her hands was immediately apparent, though Aerik did not let his attention linger on it. His focus remained on her face as she stepped closer.

“Irina.”

The name stood alone. He did not move toward her. He did not retreat. His stance remained steady, though another small adjustment followed, his boots pressing deeper into the snow as if remaining still required more effort than it should have.

“We were heading toward the maze.”

His breath lingered faintly in the air after the words, dissipating more slowly than before.

“You can come with us if you want...”

The pause that followed stretched without discomfort on his part, though the cold continued to make itself known. His fingers flexed once inside his gloves, then went still again. A subtle roll of his shoulders followed, slow enough to look like a casual shift but purposeful enough to suggest stiffness working its way in despite his attempts to ignore it.

Around them, the celebration carried on. Music from the dance circle drifted across the courtyard. Lanternlight reflected off packed snow and armor. Somewhere farther out, a sleigh engine lifted and settled again with a low hum.

Aerik remained where he was. His attention stayed forward. He did not rush the moment, and he did not fill the silence. The maze waited. The cold waited as well, and it was becoming increasingly clear that standing idle would not be an option for much longer.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He gave her a soft nod as she spoke of their time in Malachor, understanding.

“I may slightly beg to differ. About not saving me. Maybe you didn't save me entirely, but you helped me understand what Malachor was trying to show me. Kept me in the present.”

He felt the shift of her thumb as her eyes reflected the colored lights in the sky.

“That counts for something.”

He spoke in a tone that was more straight forward, a tone that had no hidden gestures within. Honesty from his point of view.

His gaze reflected a soft excitement when she mentioned Korriban.

“These ancient temples have almost their own personalities. Some are more dormant, others are willing to give answers for a price, and some fight back.”

He looked at the snowy expanse before them as a soft cool wind blew over them. Ahead in the distance there was a small herd of creatures. It was difficult to see, with how well they were camouflaged, but the movement pointed them out.

“Mine is certainly a fighter.”

The sled kept its unhurried speed down the trails where some cliff edges could be seen. Every now and then a flick of an animal’s tail would catch his attention but it would always come back to her.

“Do you plan to return to Malachor after tonight?”

His question was sudden and caught him off guard, like it was not him that asked but it was his voice.

Just a little help for you, boy.

Ignati's voice was low in his head as Varin gave off a nervous exhale.

“I apologize. I have no idea where that came from.”

Don't backpedal! Thats how this works in the dramas!

Excellent point Ignati, but you seem to forget. This is not a holodrama! Also the guy who did that in the show was killed off the next episode!

His silent argument remained to himself in his head as his free hand nervously tapped one of the panels of the sled.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

Tags: Madrona A’Mia / Lina Ovmar
--------------------------------------------

He pulled His gaze away from the sight of the dancers with a click of His tongue, His idle glancing coming to rest on a surprising flash of green in the otherwise white landscape. "Oh not again." Surprisingly He seemed to have spotted Lady Madrona first for once rather than her catching Him by off-guard, but her accompaniment gave Him pause and prevented Him from moving to make conversation.

His worst fears had been realized yet again. A'Mia and Lina were plotting together again, and in rather fine dresses as if to add insult to injury. The masked man's mouth felt dry for a moment as He looked over the pair of them, shaking out of His brief surprised stupor when the Neti looked His way. He straightened up and quickly ran a hand along His robes to appear more presentable, holding Himself up as stalwartly as usual even in spite of His still-lacking composure.

Those two were having far too much of an effect on Him as of late and given the looks they threw His way they both knew it. As if to celebrate their victory over Him and revel in their conspiring, they took to the dance floor together. Darth Strosius sighed and returned to leaning against the pillar, watching the pair with suspicion. That was the only reason He was staring of course.

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not react outwardly to the momentary shift in him—the pause, the nervous exhale, the way his attention seemed to snag on something just out of reach. If she noticed it, she gave no sign beyond a slight stilling of her posture, an attentiveness that sharpened rather than withdrew.

"You do not need to apologize," she said gently, allowing the question to stand. "Thoughts do not arrive without reason—even when we do not yet recognize the source."

The sled continued its smooth glide, lights scattering across the snow and the distant shapes ahead. Seren's gaze followed the horizon briefly before returning to him.

"I will return to Malachor," she answered. "But not immediately." A measured pause. "There is nothing there calling me with urgency," she continued. "No ritual in motion. No imbalance demanding correction. For now, the Court can endure my absence."

Her eyes shifted back to him, studying—not his face alone, but the cadence of his breathing, the way his hand tapped the sled's panel. "And sometimes," Seren added quietly, "insight follows us rather than waits for us to return to it."

At the mention of his temple, her interest sharpened, subtle but unmistakable. "You said it was a fighter," she noted. "Temples that resist are rarely empty." She leaned slightly closer—not pressing, but engaged. "Is it old?" Seren asked. "A place that remembers its builders…or one that has learned to defend itself since?"

Then, carefully choosing her words with the same restraint she had shown during his trial: "When we walked Malachor together," she said softly, "you were not entirely alone in your thoughts." Not an accusation. Not certainty.

"I cannot say what that presence was," Seren continued. "Only that it behaved like something accustomed to being heard." She let the observation rest between them, giving him space to accept it—or not. "Structures like your temple often mirror such things," she concluded quietly. "They bind memory, will, and influence together until it becomes difficult to tell where one ends."

The sled carried them onward, the night open and unhurried around them.

"If Malachor is patient," Seren said at last, "then I can afford to be as well." Her attention remained on him—present, thoughtful, and quietly watchful—as the stars slid overhead.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

Fatine scrunched her nose. They weren't meant to be scary? By her measure, the sculptor certainly needed a lesson in how to capture your intended subject.

"Whoever made them is a weirdo."

Then again, art was meant to stir.

With a shrug, she decided not to spend any more time on the frozen waifs. There was something far more interesting in front of her. "Yeah, yeah, all spooky dark magic and whatnot," she drawled wriggling her fingers playfully as if she were casting a spell.

Fatine was not meant to be here, which was exactly why she wanted to be here. Ukatian women were not meant to take up much space, even on their home world. Slight thought she was, Fatine ensured that her presence was never a whisper.

"It's cool," she assured Ace with a lazy flip of her hand. "If Lysander had a problem with me being here, he would've said so. Besides-" she paused to give a twirl, swaying the dark, slim-cut fabric of her winter coat "-I'll never miss a chance to look cute. Especially if it's for you."

Fatine giggled as she slipped her hands around Ace's arm. They didn't know each other very well, but something about him seemed decidedly different than when they'd first met. He wasn't entirely cold, just distant from the quiet warmth she'd seen in him.

And so, she shared her own.

"We don't have to hang out at the creepy statues," she agreed. "Maybe we could check out the games?"

Acier Moonbound

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He listened to her questions about his temple, the genuine curiosity in her voice, the subtle shift in body language, and the intent in her eyes. She was passionate about knowledge and exploration, he could tell. As she leaned closer to him his body shifted a bit, not to move away but to make room, to make the seating more comfortable. He had no experience with women being close to him, so he was just letting the reactions happen.

“I’m not sure how old it is. It was around during the time the Ashlan Jedi occupied Korriban. Before the Sith retook it. Parts are heavily damaged from time, weather and old battle scars. But I can hear it whisper secrets all the time. I have delved deep into it, but it blocks me from certain areas. I suspect the-”

His words caught in his throat as he looked in her eyes and realised how much closer she was. Her golden orbs reflecting the light in the sky and the certain spark that lay within them as she listened to his experiences in the temple.

“I suspect the force ghost prevents me from entering sacred doorways. Maybe ancient secrets that the Ashlan Jedi coveted.”

He thought about Malachor and the visions that were shared to her from his past. Thought about the fact she could see Him. Ignati. A being of chaotic destruction and conquest. Most would have cowered before him and his presence, but she stayed with him. Grounded him. Guided him.

“No…I’m never alone. Not truly.”

He admitted quietly as he stared at the open expanse before them. He inhaled as if to start a sentence then stopped for a moment, as if to really think if he wanted to share this information.

“His name is Ignati. A son of Bogan. The Eater of Suns. And he lives within me, but I live because of him. He is always there in my head. Speaking, observing, laughing. There is never a moment of real peace, even by Sith standards. It’s always fuzzy. Like static. We speak to each other constantly.”

He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. His voice was somewhat coarse as he responded to her about her return to Malachor. Some form of excitement rushed into his chest, an excitement that caused his chest to thud quickly.

“I won’t lie to you, Seren.”

He cleared his throat before he continued.

“I…I really have enjoyed this time. It’s not often I am able to just…talk to someone. To someone else, a near stranger at that too. But I feel that after what you had witnessed of me. What we went through on Malachor, I feel as though you know the real me. It…”

His hand tightened just a bit more then eased.

“It helps to finally tell someone what goes through my head.”

He looked back at her again.

“I wouldn’t mind you being patient…with me.”

He spoke quietly as he stared in her eyes, the sleigh continuing on its course, passing small caverns.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not pull away when he finished speaking.

If anything, she settled more firmly into the space he had made for her, close enough that the quiet between them felt intentional rather than fragile. She listened to every word without interruption, without the reflex to correct or analyze aloud—an instinct she had learned to restrain when someone was offering truth rather than theory.

When she spoke, her voice was low and even, carrying no alarm at what he had revealed. "Temples that still whisper," she said softly, "are rarely finished telling their stories."

Her gaze held his, steady and unflinching, though there was a thoughtful narrowing to it now—not fear, but assessment, not of him, but of the shape of what surrounded him. "If a presence bars you from certain thresholds," Seren continued, "it is usually not to deny knowledge outright… but to demand readiness on terms not your own."

She glanced briefly toward the dark mouth of one of the passing caverns before looking back to him. "Ashlan sanctums were designed to test intent as much as strength," she added. "If a guardian remains, it may be measuring what you seek—not whether you deserve it."

At his admission—I'm never alone—there was a subtle shift in her posture. Not retreat. Not advance. Awareness. "On Malachor," Seren said carefully, "I felt a resonance around you that was…layered."

She chose her words with precision. "I cannot say with certainty what that presence is," she went on, "only that it does not behave like something that merely inhabits." Her thumb brushed lightly against his hand—grounding, not possessive.

"If this Ignati were only a jailor," Seren said quietly, "you would not still be asking questions." There was no reverence in her tone. No awe. Just observation.

When he spoke of enjoying the time they had shared, of being seen, something softened in her expression—not surprise, but recognition.

"Trust given after witnessing is not weakness," she replied. "It is discernment." She did not look away. "What you showed me on Malachor was not something most would survive being seen with," Seren continued. "If I had wished to recoil, I would have done so then."

A pause—measured, honest. "Patience is not a burden to me," she said gently. "Especially when it is earned."

The sleigh glided onward through the cold-lit landscape, the quiet stretching comfortably between them.

Then, softly—curious again, grounding the moment back into the world they were sharing: "When you hear the temple whisper," Seren asked, "does it speak of the past…or of what it expects you to become?"

There was no urgency in the question—only interest.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Tags: Lina Ovmar | Darth Strosius
Outfit
Theme

To say that she A'Mia expressed delight at the mention of "borrowing" one of the strange statues would have been an understatement. One might practically have seen the gears of thought turning behind her eyes as to the best way to secret one away with them after the event. Strangely, the cold didn't seem to effect her in any outward sense common for near humans but her hands were very cool to the touch as the pair began their dance. A'Mia took Lina's compliment in stride, quite literally, but she was grappling with it for sometime after they began swaying in perfect harmony together.

"Thank you, Lina…" she murmured belatedly, her thoughts obviously elsewhere

"We find beauty in strange places, do we not? I've seen the way you care for dark and twisted things," A'Mia suddenly asked mid-turn, leading them on at a rather adventurous pace.

"I've received the feedback that my own interests are uncanny and unnerving. But you seem to also have a more, how shall I say, a more traditional sense of what beauty is."

As of late, the Orchid Core had been acting strangely, giving her phantom pains and flutters, creating sensations altogether foreign. She'd been called beautiful before, she knew what kind of forms appeased many gazes and often wore such guises in social settings to ensure favorable responses from those she mingled with. This felt different though. When Lina said those simple words to her just a few moments ago, they somehow felt meaningful.

"So, thank you," she repeated as a truly warm smile lit her face.

A smile which just as soon turned mischievous, A'Mia stepping then dropping Lina into a low dip before snatching her back up after a long moment held there.

"As to Alisteri, best we give him a show then, hmm? Lest he feels justified complaining about yet another party."

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin settled into his spot beside her, as their conversation and their ride continued his body began to instinctually relax. Tension in his back and shoulders finally eased, the locking of his jaw finally slacked.

“No, He does not just inhabit. He controls at times. Mainly when He feels I am losing ground, He takes over. During that time I am but a passenger in a vessel I can’t control.”

He tapped his thumb over her hand.

“That's how my journey started. How I ended up traveling to Malachor. I lost control, too much was happening but it did not matter to Him. If he had it His way, He would have burned the entire planet down.”

A quiet came over him, a moment of thought.

“I learned the hard way that I would need to figure out how to take control sooner than later. I learned of my bindings to the tree, his real hold over me. I tried to seek help but I was told I needed to learn to maintain more control first.”

He thought about his journey thus far, all the traveling, the dead ends.

“I visited sacred libraries, delved into tombs, plundered forbidden texts. Nothing. As if He was erased from time”

He looked at her again.

“Then I came in contact with you. Malachor gave me something. Not much but it was infinitely better than what I received before. I knew the planet had potential, but I still had doubts.”

His gaze fell to their entwined hands.

“He is not a jailor. He is a dependent. He is excessively overprotective and possessive of me. Probably because our lives are now linked to the point that if one dies so does the other.”

He thought about her question, of what the temple whispers about. What its demands or desires are.

“I am not sure. It's that kind of whispering that seems like it's behind a wall. You know it's there you can hear it, but the words are jumbled.”

He thought.

“I had the idea to confront the spirit. Force it to my will. It’s hold weakens the further I corrupt the temple. But it’s stubborn.”

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not interrupt him while he spoke. She let the sleigh carry them forward, let the quiet between his words settle where it needed to, and let the truth surface at its own pace. When he finished, her fingers tightened around his hand just enough to remind him she was still there—still present, still listening. For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then, carefully: "That is not possession in the simple sense," Seren said, her voice low and deliberate. "And it is not a partnership, no matter how much it pretends otherwise."

Her gaze drifted ahead, watching the dark horizon rather than the stars, as if mapping something unseen. "A being that seizes control when it believes you are 'losing ground' does not trust you," she continued. "And a being that frames its dominance as protection is already afraid."

She glanced back to him then, amber eyes intent—not alarmed, but sharpened by concern. "Dependency can look like devotion," Seren said quietly. "Especially when survival is shared. But overprotection is not balanced. It is fear dressed as necessity."

Her thumb traced a slow, grounding line across the back of his hand as she considered his mention of the temple. "The whisper you describe—muffled, fractured, just beyond comprehension—suggests resistance," she said. "Not silence. And not submission."

She did not dismiss his idea outright. Instead, she measured it. "Forcing a spirit to your will can work," Seren admitted. "But it binds you to it in ways that mirror what you are already struggling against."

A pause. Then, more softly: "You have spent much of your life being overruled—by fate, by violence, by something inside you that decides when you are no longer allowed to act." Her eyes met his again, steady and earnest. "If you repeat that pattern with the spirit," she said, "you may win ground…but you will not gain clarity."

The sleigh glided onward, snow whispering beneath it.

"Corruption weakens barriers," Seren continued, thoughtful now. "But understanding dissolves them." She squeezed his hand gently—an anchor, not a restraint. "Before you confront the spirit," she said, "ask yourself what it is guarding. Not what it is denying you."

Then, quieter still: "Entities that hide behind walls usually do so because they fear what will happen if they are truly seen." She leaned back slightly, giving him space again without letting go. "You did not find answers before because you were searching for dominance," Seren finished. "Malachor responded because you arrived willing to endure instead."

Her expression softened—not into reassurance, but into trust. "That is not weakness, Varin," she said. "It is leverage."

Varin Mortifer

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: [Redacted]

Equipment:
Winter Outfit | Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace couldn't help but crack a smile. Surrounded by Sith and creepy ice statues, Fatine remained as flippant as ever. Completely unbothered. Bright in a way this place didn't know what to do with. It was... disarming.​

​

The mention of Lysander made his jaw tense. Yeah. It had been a recent discovery that Fatine and the Covenant's resident Golden Boy were siblings. What a way to make his life even more complicated than he needed it to be.​

​

The life of a double agent.​

​

His attention pulled back to her, just in time to catch Fatine's demonstrative twirl. The thought landed before he could stop it:​

​

Yeah, she really does look incredible.​

​

Her comment about looking cute for him drew heat to his cheeks. But he was able to quickly harden his features, regaining his composure. Fatine was a flirt, enjoyed the attention that came with it. He'd figured that out quickly when they first met. Ace told himself not to take it to heart. But... something in him wondered, maybe even hoped it was real.​

​

"For me?" He said, lips curving. "Lucky for you. It's working." His tone was dry, but carried playfulness.​

​

Ace stiffened for half a second when her hands slid around his arm. The contact was warm even through layers, he felt it settle him in ways he didn't fully like admitting to himself. The tight vigilance in his chest eased, just enough to notice it had been there at all.​

​

But he let her keep her hold as he shifted his weight, already angling them away from the statues. Not before glancing one last time at the frozen figures. Just checking. A habit woven into his very DNA now. Then his attention came back to her.​

​

"Games." He added. "Could be fun." A soft acknowledgement.​

​

Directing the pair toward the grounds, he cast her a sidelong glance, brow knitting in contemplation.​

​

"I'm glad you're here." He confessed. "But... if Golden B--Lysander did have a problem. You'd have still come, wouldn't you?" ​

​

A mischievous smirk crept onto his freckled face. She was a rebel, and the idea of her disregarding her brother was… hilarious.​

​

The grounds spread into open snow where shielded fire pits burned low and ice targets stood ready for precision trials. The music faded here, leaving the space a little more calmer than the other spots. Ace turned to face her fully.​

​

"So..." He said, nodding toward the targets. "Feeling confident? Wanna show me what that aim of yours can do now?"​

​

Fatine von Ascania ​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Did she just analyze me?

Varin ignored Ignati’s quick question as she spoke of Him. Every word every syllable tore away his layers and broke down his walls that were at the surface. He knew she was right about Him. That He was overprotective and untrusting in that sense. But even though that were the case,

“Regardless of toxicity. I need him to stay alive and vice versa for him, even to this day.”

He leaned his head back on the sleigh in a thought of what his life would be like if he survived without Ignati. Would he be happier? Would he be more normal? It almost seemed that anywhere he visited a second time there was always some form of tense silence. As if there were an anticipated, a nervous waiting for him to snap. It always seemed that to most he was but a destructive force of nature. Even to himself. He had no real reflection of true self.

“Then what would my alternative be? To unlock the secrets of the temple I don’t know if I can see another way.”

He doubted that a light side force entity would ever dream of giving up a Sith it’s secrets. Nor would it willingly allow Varin to corrupt the whole temple.

“All I seem to know is dominance and endurance. If I can't dominate it, then I endure it. Come out stronger.”

He chuckled to himself as if to try to lighten himself up, before he spoke softly again.

“Does that mean there is something broken within me? That there is something wrong?”

The questions asked were more self reflective than truly answered.

“Could you help me with this spirit?”

He looked back at her as his thumb ran across her hand.

“Third degree burns are always best taken in shifts. From what I have heard.”

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Ellissanthia]

Location: Courtyard
Attire: Winter Outfit
Notable Equipment and Effects: Storm Kiss │ Dermal Hydration Underlay │ Seer Stones
Thread Objective: Frosted Grounds
Tag: Aerik Lechner Irina Jesart

Silence passed between them for a few frozen heartbeats. And yet, Ellissanthia’s violet-hued gaze remained wide and unblinking, an unnerving smile drawing up her lips as the Apprentice of the Shadow Hand regarded her with a seemingly inscrutable mask.

When the apprentice finally spoke, a wave of heat flushed through the tips of Ellissanthia’s fin-shaped ears, causing them to go red with embarrassment. Nevertheless, her unsettling smile never wavered. He wasn’t turning her away, and that was something, at least!

“Thank you for having me, my lord Apprentice!” She breathed, her gratitude coming as a fervent whisper. “I shall devote myself to assisting in this endeavor in any way possible!”

From there, Ellissanthia shifted her attention towards the newcomer, a young woman, statuesque of physique and dark of skin and hair. Her senses swiftly registered the woman’s potent connection to the Force. She was another Sith apprentice or acolyte, if the manner in which the younger wolf greeted her was any indication. Thus, Ellissanthia offered her a subservient bow as well, blissfully unaware of any tension that might exist between her and the dark-skinned woman.

“I am Adept Ellissanthia of the Eclipse Sect,” she announced, introducing herself in a tone brimming with equal parts devotion and pride. “It is a pleasure to meet you both, my lord Apprentices. The future of the Sith Order rests in the most capable of hands with young luminaries such as yourselves to guide it!”

 

[Naniti]

Naniti's eyes lit up a bit as Lysander confessed to enjoying their time together. The obvious thing to do was to get close to someone like him and exploit his position and resources for her own gain. That was the Sith thing to do. Even children were used as a means of binding two parties together -- not that it always worked from what she'd read in various history books. Despite all that, she found the time with him actually... pleasant. Not the sort of thing she wanted to mimic with others and suddenly embrace the Light, but enough to let one person in. To get close to them. It was so different; there was no need to be tense all the time or ready to kill someone the moment they turned on you.

Dark spots appeared on Naniti's violet cheeks as she sat there with Lysander playing with her hand. She tried not to smile, but only managed to keep it from growing too broad. Her eyes shifted away and then back again to discretely watch him.

Then her lifts lifted, wide and unblinking as he confessed to trusting her. Trust? Lysander trusted her? Sure, he could just be saying that, but this wasn't their first winter event together. Things had developed over time with her even carefully studying his responses to her choices. If he didn't mean it, he was by far the greatest actor she'd ever met (admittedly, she hadn't actually knowingly met many actors though). Her smile grew despite her best efforts.

"Good," she breathed. Naniti swallowed, smiled, and then said with more conviction, "Good. I want to. With you. I..." her chest rose and then fell as she exhaled. "I've never felt this way before, Lysander. About anyone. I don't know what to think, sometimes, around you. About you. Us. They teach us the Dark Side is about passion, but also that we can't trust anyone. I've never imagined how you could have one without the other. All it's been is rage and hatred. But with you," her eyes had shifted about as if accessing different memories and thoughts until they returned to his face, his eyes, "maybe there really can be more."

"I want there to be more." She reached over with her other hand to lay it atop both of theirs. "And I'll always be there so we can find it together."

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not react immediately.

The sleigh glided on in silence for a few breaths, starlight washing across the snow while Varin spoke. She listened—not just to the words themselves, but to the way his voice softened when he named dependence, to the way his thumb lingered against her hand as if grounding himself through contact rather than Force or ritual.

When she finally answered, it was not to what he had not said—only to what he had given her. "There is nothing broken in needing to survive," Seren said quietly. "Especially when survival was never optional."

Her gaze stayed forward at first, respectful of the vulnerability he had just laid bare. "What you describe is not corruption," she continued. "It is adaptation." She turned her head slightly then, just enough to look at him. "You learned dominance because it kept you alive. You learned endurance because nothing else was offered."

A pause—not heavy, but intentional. "That does not mean those are the only languages you can ever speak." Her fingers shifted gently beneath his thumb—a subtle acknowledgment, neither retreat nor claim. Something quieter. Shared. "The presence bound to you," Seren said carefully, choosing each word, "is not the same as the spirit in the temple."

"One is entwined with your survival. The other guards memory, ideology…legacy." She exhaled softly. "I would not mistake one for the other." That was as close as she came to acknowledging Ignati—not naming him, not confronting him, only recognizing that something else exists because she had walked beside Varin through Malachor's trial and felt the gravity of it.

"You believe the only way forward is to dominate the spirit because that is the pattern you were taught," she went on. "But domination is not the same as resolution." Her eyes met his fully now. Not challenging. Not distant. "Nor is endurance the same as healing."

She did not promise solutions she could not give. "I cannot confront what is bound to you," Seren said honestly. "And I would not attempt to sever a bond forged under conditions I do not yet fully understand."

Then, softer—and more personal: "But I can stand with you while you learn to renegotiate it."

The sleigh passed beneath a curtain of colored light, briefly illuminating her face. There was no pity there. No fear. Only steadiness. "You should not have to endure every fire alone," Seren said. "Especially not after Malachor."

At his last attempt at humor, the corner of her mouth curved—restrained, but real. "If we are dealing with burns," she replied quietly, "then yes. Taking them in shifts is…advisable." She did not pull her hand away. She let the sleigh carry them forward together—not toward answers yet, but toward something steadier than isolation.

Varin Mortifer