Private Introductions.

[Darth Virelia]

"Welcome, take a seat."

Tags - Adean Castor



There were few places in the galaxy where the air itself whispered of death and glory.

Korriban was one of them.

Beneath a blood-stained sky and jagged cliffs that clawed at the heavens, the Sith Academy loomed like a wound in the earth—half-buried in the bones of a dead civilization, and half-risen like a hungry beast. Its sandstone spires caught the waning crimson light of dusk, casting long shadows over the training grounds where hopeful acolytes tore one another apart in pursuit of power. The academy's silence was only ever momentary, broken soon after by screams, snarls, and the low hum of sabers igniting. Discipline was taught in scars. Ambition was measured in graves.

Serina Calis had been here for weeks. And not a soul knew why.

She was an enigma among the instructors—neither Sith Lord nor blade master, only the governor of a minor planetoid. She arrived without ceremony, her presence sanctioned by whispered permissions. Some suspected a political observer. Others, a spy. A few, the wiser ones, didn't dare guess at all. For Serina did not need to assert dominance through spectacle. She simply was—a figure of coiled darkness and terrifying restraint, too calm to be a student, too uninvested to be a teacher.

Her movements were like clockwork through the ancient halls. Observing. Listening. Saying little. Her words, when they came, were soft and deliberate—like the scraping of a scalpel across flesh. In these red halls of fury and fire, Serina was water: clear, reflective, still—until you sank too deep

She had taken up quiet residence in one of the deeper administrative offices, an oubliette once used by a Sith scholar who'd disappeared under mysterious circumstances some decades ago. Fitting, she thought. Now repurposed, it was a den of meticulous order. Dim, save for the pulsing amber light from the stone wall sconces, and the pale luminescence of her datapads. A thin veil of spice-scented smoke hung in the air, rising from a bronze censer etched with ancient runes—burning slowly like time itself.

She sat behind the desk in silence, fingers lightly steepled, a data-slate hovering in front of her—its contents unremarkable at first glance: daily attendance rosters, sparring records, and medical reports. But patterns emerged with time. Always, they did.

Tavis Ordel.

The name had surfaced repeatedly—mentioned in whispers and in grudging acknowledgments by rival acolytes. Not famous, not exceptional on paper. And yet… not forgettable. That was the difference. She moved just beneath the surface. No flair. No dramatic rise. But she lingered in records where others faded. Survived trials she had no business surviving. Gained the respect of some. The resentment of more.

A sleeper, Serina mused. Or a parasite. Both have uses.

She had requested a meeting, formally, through the official academy channels. Not a summons—no, not yet. That would invite unnecessary resistance. It was a request for a conversation. Polite. Curious. Deceptively gentle. She wanted to see how the girl responded to that kind of attention.

And more importantly, what the acolyte thought this meeting was about.

Serina adjusted her seating posture ever so slightly—leaning back, legs crossed neatly, gloved hands resting atop the polished stone desk. Her attire was its usual mixture of elegance and intimidation: a high-collared black tunic with dark crimson trim, overlaid with a corset of synth-leather so finely worked it looked like lacquered bone.

The door to her office remained closed, but not locked. She had given orders to the droid stationed outside to allow Tavis entry upon arrival—no delays, no ceremony.

In the silence that followed, Serina smiled faintly to herself, not out of warmth, but calculation.

Let's see what you're made of, Tavis Ordel.

And more importantly… what you might become.

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Virelia

To say Adean was filled with trepidation upon receiving the invitation would be an understatement. Terror, muted by the time spent at both academies, and then buried by the will to keep up appearances, flicked at a pit in her belly like a serpent scenting prey. Adean found herself fluttering between a reasonable temperature and growing clammy, overheated, as she contemplated the invitation.

It'd been some time since she'd felt so affected by anxiety. Where once her countenance would match her penchant for green when it came to displays of violence, now she remained collected. Where once she would've balked at the idea of challenging one of her fellow students, she no longer felt faint when pointing out flaws in their logic, even going so far as to reject a dueling challenge from a particular bully of an acolyte with a simple 'I have nothing to prove to you.'

Things were easier on Korriban. 'Tavis Ordel', at least from what Adean had gathered, hadn't come to the academy with a family name or reputation as storied as 'Brassius Zambrano'. As such, the pressure to succeed was significantly lessened. Shortcomings could easily be explained away by a lack of prior experience, a lack of interest, medical reasons (sucrose reliance, as she'd learned when she first took on the name), etc.

And yet it seemed, Tavis would be the identity her lies would be caught as. What other reason would she have been called to meet this newcomer? Adean thought she had been thorough in covering her tracks, even using her connections in the Tiss'kar since they'd gone through the effort of scouting her. Apparently not.

If she could reject the summons, she would - for in her mind, that's what it was. Disguising it as an invitation was surely just another cruel twist in the noose being spun around her throat. What she'd caught of Serina Calis' presence on Korriban was subtle and intentionally so. For what intention, however, Adean couldn't quite pinpoint.

Perhaps that was something she could use.

Fashion wasn't something Adean focused on when playing the role of Tavis, one of the larger differences between them and Brassius. Her robes were simple, provided by the academy, with a slight discoloration in the sleeves from time spent with chemicals in classes. Had Tavis sought to impress anyone, she would've selected the robes with added interfacing. But no, the goal wasn't to be impressive, it was to remain nonthreatening.

Granted entrance by the droid before she could say anything, Adean paused for one last stabilizing breath before Tavis entered the office. The expression on their countenance was neutral, save for a practiced furrow in the brow, manufactured curiosity. While her head might've been well protected from probing, she didn't want to give the other a reason to attempt doing so. "You wanted to see me?"

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Welcome, take a seat."

Tags - Adean Castor



The door whispered shut behind Tavis Ordel with the soft finality of a tomb sealing. In the heavy quiet of the office, time stretched thin—like breath held beneath the surface. A pause not long enough to be awkward, but intentional. Serina let it linger. A test. A temptation. An invitation.

Her gaze lifted slowly from the data-slate as if pulled from deep thought, and when her eyes finally met Tavis', it was with a look that could have melted steel or sculpted statues. A sculptor's eyes—knowing, discerning, patient. Ready to carve.

"Tavis Ordel," she said, the name curling from her lips like smoke off a dying flame, languid and sweet with implication. "Mmm. You're… deliciously punctual."

Her voice was low and smooth, an elegant thing marbled with indulgence. The kind of voice that promised secrets. The kind that pressed close in the dark and asked you to confess things you hadn't even admitted to yourself.

She stood, movements deliberate, slow as syrup poured over hot coals. Her silhouette was severe and feminine in equal measure, cloak slinking behind her like a lover's hands. The crimson glint of Korriban's dusk caught the sharp edges of her outfit—highlighting the sculpted structure of her corset, the artful cut of her gloves, the throat left provocatively bare save for a thin, ornamental choker shaped like entwined serpents.

Serina circled the desk—not fast, never fast—drawing a line through the air as if claiming the room with each step.

"I'm aware you've been… making an impression," she murmured as she came to a stop a pace too close, her tone brushing against the edge of mockery but never quite spilling into it. "Quiet, modest, unassuming. So very uninteresting. Which is why I was so intrigued to find you mentioned in three separate evaluations from instructors who never once speak to one another."

Her fingers slid along the edge of the desk idly, almost lazily, though the subtext in every motion was razor-sharp. There was nothing casual about Serina Calis. She wielded seduction like a scalpel, designed to peel away masks and expose what lay writhing beneath.

"Some acolytes shout their names with every clash of a saber. They burn bright and fast and die just as easily. But not you. No. You… linger. You slide between the cracks like something wet and clever, and you don't quite leave the room when you go. Isn't that fascinating?"

She turned toward Tavis again, this time examining her fully. Not the robes, not the hair, not even the stance. No, Serina studied posture. Tension. The choices behind the choices. The intention buried beneath masks. Tavis played a role.

Good.

That meant there was something worth uncovering.

"Tell me, Tavis," she said, stepping close enough that the space between them all but vanished, the scent of her—smoke, spice, and some pheromonal sweetness that had no place being natural—now impossible to ignore. "Do you enjoy being invisible?"

A single gloved finger rose to touch the acolyte's chin—not forcefully, just enough to tilt it up, like a handler showing off a prize.

"Or is it safer to be overlooked?" she cooed, voice a velvet knife. "Is it clever camouflage… or the slow death of someone too afraid to bloom?"

She released the touch before it could be mistaken for kindness.

"You see, I don't summon students. I don't lecture. I certainly don't mentor. But I do collect... interesting things. And people."

Serina moved again, this time to the sideboard, pouring herself a slender glass of something dark and viscous, its surface glittering faintly. She didn't offer one. She didn't need to. That wasn't the power dynamic being established here.

"I want to know who you are, Tavis. Not the name the Academy has. Not the records I can read on a slate. I want to know what you ache for. What your dreams taste like. What kind of monster you're hoping to become under all that clever neutrality."

"Why you want to be Sith."

She took a slow sip, licking a drop from her lip like a feline savoring blood.

"And perhaps, if you're interesting enough, I'll let you in on a little secret."

A pause, just long enough to sharpen the edge of desire.

"The Academy isn't the only place to find power on Korriban. Not anymore."

And with that, she smiled—slow and devastating.

"Now. Let's speak plainly, darling. Impress me."

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Virelia

A brow rose at 'deliciously punctual'. Serina seemed human, that's what Tavis thought they'd read as well. Perhaps they or the records were mistaken? Or perhaps the choice of words was intentionally confusing.

Where Serina seemed to almost weaponize her femininity, Adean wore it out of convenience. Even in a situation that called for a more opulent appearance, she often opted for sleek androgyny over striking curves. One could argue that it was only the green dye, now looking dark brown under the red lighting, that was the only thing truly striking about her physically. That, and her eyes, which remained a distinct green among the yellows and ambers of the Sith. There'd come a time, she'd start to realize, when she'd have to consider contacts if she really was committed to keeping up appearances.

A wave of dread, buried as quickly as it came, washed over the Epicanthix as her summoner spoke. Three separate instructors mentioned Tavis on evaluations? She'd expected one given Madrona A’Mia 's apparent fascination with her studies, but three? No, that wouldn't do at all. "I'd just as well not die at all if I can avoid it," she responded with a breath of a laugh, putting on airs as if she were pleased to hear this information. "Is there any way to see these evaluations, by any chance?" If she could find where they were stored, perhaps she could trade her 'name' in for someone else's.

Her eyes widened as the distance between them temporarily vanished, the beginnings of heat gathering in her ears and threatening to creep into her cheeks at the sudden closeness. Her mind, which had been whirling in overdrive, trying to analyze what was being said and what was really being said, went blank once the glove hand met her chin. It didn't even cross her mind to back away.

"There is safety in utility." It didn't quite dawn on Adean how close she'd been to giving an honest answer, not until her chin was released and Serina was no longer in her immediate vicinity. A shudder ran down her shoulders, causing her to shake her head as if to reset it.

There was something about how Serina spoke - alluring, coaxing, yet somehow also distant - that filled Adean with more terror than anything else in the room. It was the voice of one who was told things, information they shouldn't be privy to, and was well aware of it. The voice of someone who'd stroke your hair and sing encouragement as you spilled your deepest secrets before turning around and using them against you without a second thought. The voice of someone Adean pretended to be every now and then.

She didn't even trust that version of herself.

Here, she had a choice to make. She could play along with Serina's wishes, see what secret she supposedly was offering to share. Alternatively, she could commit to Tavis even harder. Perhaps half a sliver of her mind played with the idea of revealing some inkling of truth. It could be a relief to let the Tavis identity go and revert to focusing on only one academy's coursework. Why, perhaps this was her chance to tell someone she didn't want to be a Sith to begin with.

That thought was dashed before it could be completed. Of all the Sith she'd met, there was perhaps one she'd think that wouldn't use that information to spell out her doom. Serina was nowhere close to that short list with just the minutes of time spent together so far. No, there had to be another way. Unless...

"Forgive me if I speak out of turn," she started slowly, still searching for the right words and the confidence to get them out. "You just said you neither lecture nor mentor. You ask so much of me yet offer only 'a little secret' in return. Sounds to me as if you ask for the whole deck yet offer one measly card." As if possessed by a newfound spirit of confidence (or mimicking the most recent example of one), she too crossed over to the sideboard to pour herself half a glass of...something, going to down the liquid before she fully lost her nerve and praying to who or whatever listened that it was not poisoned. She backed away a step as quickly as she set the glass back down, lest her moment of boldness be ill received.

"What are you hoping to gain from this? From the secrets of the invisible one, as you've put it?"

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Welcome, take a seat."

Tags - Adean Castor



The chuckle that slipped from Serina's lips was soft, but it coiled through the air like perfume—heady, slow, dangerous. It wasn't laughter at Tavis. No, it was laughter for her. The way one might chuckle at a stray cat clawing at silk curtains, completely unaware of its own elegance… or how close it danced to a noose.

Serina did not move from her position, but her body language shifted, ever so subtly. Shoulders angled. Chin tilted. She became something more languid, more feline—like a predator that had just decided the prey might be worthy of playing with after all.

"Mmm. 'A whole deck,' you say," Serina murmured, her voice like velvet drawn over glass. "How very transactional of you, little shade."

Her eyes—deep, liquid garnet—traveled the short distance across the room and drank in the sight of Tavis at the sideboard. Not hungrily. Not even lustfully. It was far worse than that.

Appraisingly.

Serina evaluated her the way one might admire a blade being forged—imperfect, but with potential. And a thousand delicious ways it might be bent, broken, or used.

"I admire your boldness. And your curiosity. Both are rarer than you might think in this place. This Academy swallows children whole and spits out either monsters or corpses. Sometimes both." She smiled, slow and utterly indulgent. "And you, darling, I think… you're still deciding which one to be."

She turned again, slowly, sauntering to the center of the room as though it were her throne—every motion dripping in that calculated elegance that made it impossible not to watch her. She could have been pacing before a lecture hall, a serpent across stone. But no words came immediately. Just silence. And heat. The weight of her gaze. The delicious, awful tension of anticipation.

Serina finally spoke again, more intimately now—lower, slower. A voice fit for a pillow just before the dagger slides in.

"You misunderstand what I offered. The secret was not your reward. It was the door." Her lips curled. "What I ask of you isn't a transaction. It's a… confession. A communion, if you like. I want your truths. Your fears. Your hungers. Not because they're valuable, but because they are you. And I collect the beautiful ones."

She stepped forward again—not closing the distance entirely, but enough to test boundaries. Enough to pull Tavis back into the heat of her gravity.

"And let's not pretend, sweet thing, that you came here expecting fairness. The Sith don't deal in equity. We deal in interest. In obsession. In corruption."

A pause, and then she delivered the line like a whip crack.

"And you, Tavis, reek of repressed rot. Of something tightly wound and exquisitely unspoken. Something aching to be found and twisted."

Another step forward, her gloved fingers now clasped gently behind her back.

"I want that."

She let that settle for a breathless second.

"But to answer your question—honestly—I gain a foothold in a structure that has stagnated. A talent pool choked with mediocrity and pyres of wasted potential. I want a network of students who don't follow the usual patterns. Who know how to lie. How to hide. How to bleed beneath the surface and make others smile while they do it."

Now she stopped in front of Tavis again, and this time she did lean in, her breath like a phantom across the girl's ear.

"I want acolytes who will poison the water, not drink it."

She lingered there, just long enough for it to feel like a touch.

Then she pulled back, her eyes half-lidded and smiling again—no warmth behind it, only delight.

"So, darling Tavis… I see you. The question is, will you let yourself be seen? Will you step beyond the mask, or shall I carve my own version of you from what little scraps you've let peek through?"

Serina reached over, plucked the empty glass from the sideboard, and set it aside with a dainty clink. Then she turned fully toward her guest, arms folding across her corset—not tightly, but thoughtfully, suggestively.

"I don't want your loyalty," she said finally, voice soft now, but no less compelling. "I want your interest. Just a thread. Just enough for me to tug on."

Her smile returned—wider this time, as if she already knew the answer.

"And if you're very interesting, perhaps you'll get more than a secret. Perhaps, one day, I'll teach you how to own people the way others only dream of owning power."

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Virelia

Between the chuckle and the subtle shift in posturing, Tavis felt themself instinctively shrinking away. Perhaps she'd been a bit too bold there. What she'd give to have a crowd to slink back into, to return to anonymity.

But that was not possible in the given moment. So Adean went with the only other avenue available to her - commit to the bit. Shoulders squared a fraction, not enough to imply a challenge. Her posture straightened before it was allowed to fall lax by a peg or two. To many, the move may have been mistaken for trying for good posture before laziness or habit took hold.

"Are we not all transactional among the Sith?" It was a lesson Adean had learned quite quickly when she'd first joined. Altruism was a relic for the naive, seen only among the more hopeful of acolytes before they, too, learned the harsh reality. Even the most kind of instructors wanted something in the long run.

The longer she was under her scrutiny, the more Tavis wanted to sink into the very earth to avoid that gaze. It was impossible to tell what the other was thinking - be it if her insolence had justified risking any rules against killing students or something more in line with the purpose of the summons. A hand balled into a fist outside of Adean's own notice. Monster or corpse - she didn't want to be either.

The very way Serina moved was mesmerizing, enough so that Tavis didn't think to give her choice between the two options (and to be entirely fair, she didn't believe it was a question meant to be answered). When the woman spoke once more, lower in tone, she couldn't help but wonder if the words weren't meant for her ears at first. As such, heat returned to her face in full force as notions of confessions, a communion, beautiful ones, drifted to her ears.

She had the wherewithal to take half a step back when the advancement began anew. "Fairness, no, but everything is a give and take." The words came out like a stammer, losing whatever distance she had maintained as Serina continued on.

Waves of relief and disappointment washed over Adean almost simultaneously, not quite cancelling each other out but making them all the easier to disguise under the carefully cultivated masks she wore. Relief at not being the sole target of Serina's designs, if her honest answer were to be believed, yet also disappointed at being only a part of a whole.

The conflicting sensations were what kept Adean from once more getting fully swept up in the other's force of personality, however tempting it was. The tide of temptation pulled at her limbs, nearly pulling her under as pet names plucked at her resolve, and that voice lingered in her ear. The lack of warmth in the eyes was another solid wake-up call, one that Adean met with a gaze more carefully -no, intentionally - guarded. It was as if she wanted the woman to know she recognized the tactics being used on her, as if doing so would negate the satisfaction of what effect they did have.

"I'll admit, I'm curious what version of me you'd carve." It was her turn to shift in posture, hands drawing back to tightly grasp wrists behind her back, keeping herself open to further encourage the illusion of confidence with nails digging into flesh to act as a source of grounding. There was no point in playing nonchalant, not with how she'd been clinging to Serina's every word mere moments before.

"I'm not, however, interested in being just another minion, however tantalizing as that power sounds. I know you say you're not interested in loyalty but I have to wonder if that's not mere platitudes." It'd be dangerous to reject anything outright, just as it was dangerous to imply, well, anything outside of the safety of a group. "Mobility is a treasured resource here, as I'm sure you understand." As was 'autonomy', a word that fit the overall topic far better, but even Adean could see she had long lost that.

"Say you do have my interest, for now, then what?"

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Welcome, take a seat."

Tags - Adean Castor



The silence that followed was thick, palpable—like velvet curtains pulled tight around a stage that had not yet revealed its final act.

Serina watched her with the kind of stillness that wasn't natural—predatory, magnetic, intimate. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes… those gave everything away. They were drinking Tavis in. Not just the words, but the way her spine straightened, the subtle tension in her shoulders, the white of her knuckles pressing into the back of her wrist. A storm of self-preservation and performance, hidden behind a carefully guarded mask.

Serina adored masks.

And she loathed them.

She stepped forward slowly—almost lazily—her gait measured and sinuous, as though she were wading through something heavier than air. Every movement deliberate. Every breath drawn like a line across parchment.

"Tantalizing," Serina echoed softly, like she was tasting the word. "Darling, you've only glimpsed the edge of what I offer. You think I want minions?" Her voice darkened, but it didn't harden. It ripened. Grew warm and low, honeyed with the promise of things best left unnamed.

"Minions are boring. Obedient. Predictable. Replaceable."

She circled Tavis like a noose slowly being drawn tight—her presence not oppressive, but inevitable. Gravity in silk. Orbiting.

"No, I want something rarer. I want wild things. Fractured things. Creatures of shadow and contradiction—like you, little ghost." She passed behind her, close enough for her voice to brush the back of Tavis' neck.

Serina's tone sharpened—not cruelly, but with surgical precision. "You think autonomy is freedom? Sweetling, autonomy is an illusion sold to the desperate. I don't offer autonomy." She stepped back around, now before Tavis again. Her gaze pierced straight through the veil.

"I offer influence. I offer desire."

She reached up with one gloved hand, slow and open, giving Tavis every chance to flinch or recoil. But she didn't touch her face this time. No—her hand simply hovered, fingers suspended just beside her jawline. A breath away. A choice. A question.

"There's power in seduction, Tavis. Not the crass kind the brutish lords here indulge in—power through domination. That's for children playing at monsters. No, true seduction… is when they want to kneel. When they thank you for the leash. When they ask to be unmade."

The fingers withdrew.

"I don't want your obedience. I want your evolution. You see, most students here fight to be seen. To claw their way up the pyramid. But I…"

Serina finally returned to her desk, but didn't sit. She leaned against it, half-perched—her body language relaxed, intimate, like they were now co-conspirators rather than predator and prey.

"I pull the strings beneath the pyramid. I build the rooms where power is shaped. I don't raise monsters—I compose gods from what's left of the broken."

She reached for a small, obsidian-tipped rod and tapped it lightly against the datapad. A map of the academy's subterranean levels bloomed to life, subtle and incomplete. It showed tunnels, corridors, half-hidden passages not on any official records. It shimmered for a few seconds, then vanished just as quickly.

Then she smiled. Not smug. Not triumphant.

Inviting.

"You have my attention, Tavis Ordel. That's your 'now.' What comes next depends on you."

She stepped forward once more, closing the space again—but not as before. No longer circling. No longer testing. This time, Serina stopped close enough to reach out if she wanted, but didn't. Her hands remained by her sides. Open. Honest, in the way only liars can truly be.

"You can walk out of here. Nothing will follow you. Not yet. Or…"

Her lips curved into something soft, dangerous, and strangely tender.

"…you can let me show you the first step toward becoming something no one will ever control again."

Her voice dropped, velvet laced with heat.

"No masks. No masters. Just you, refined until the galaxy bleeds for the privilege of saying your name."

A beat.

Then, softly—

"What do you want, Tavis? Tell me. Not the answer they taught you to give. Tell me what burns behind your eyes when no one's looking."

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Virelia

"Forgive me if that sounds like the same thing," Just differing levels of controllable. "All depends on what you do with them, minions or wild ones." Another shiver ran down her spine as Serina passed behind her. It wasn't a good feeling, being circled like some sort of prey. It also wasn't terribly unfamiliar with how the entire encounter had gone so far.

Her forehead creased, lips pursed. "I said nothing of autonomy." She'd thought it, certainly. And if the other had picked that up despite her mind's natural shield and her own careful approach, then that was a cause for more than concern. A wave of panic licked at her belly as she was no longer being circled, eyes looking right through her.

The gloved hand was once more nearing her vicinity. Practiced will saw Adean remain rooted in one spot, even raising her chin a fraction as the hand drew nearer, body moving on its own accord before mind could think too hard about it. A dark brow rose as the hand hovered, never making contact. Tavis wasn't certain if it was cruelty or kindness to leave the opening up to her.

And yet, confidence was the role she had selected for herself mere moments ago. It would be foolish to back down from that pedestal so quickly, so she accepted the offer before her, tilting her chin into the open hand. Her eyes were like mirrors, meant to reflect rather than provide a window to her own thoughts. That's what she told herself, at least, between the smattering of reminders that the touch was just that and nothing more. "Is that what this is meant to be, then? 'True seduction?'"

A breath of relief Adean didn't realize she was holding was released once distance was at last reinstated. She really ought to keep that distance, judging from how her mind whirled as if it were rushing to catch up after the last several moments.

"That's nice and all, but why me? Surely there's other students who've caught your eye." That was a line of questioning that was asking for more manipulation. Deep down, Adean knew that. And yet, she had to ask, even if the more accurate question might've been 'What about the teacher's reports suggested I'd be the best fit?' or 'Do I really seem that manipulable?'

Adean's carefully guarded expression shifted to genuine curiosity as the map sprang to life. All sweet promises and seduction aside, it meant nothing in the face of knowledge and secrets. She had studied the maps of the academy and its varying forms, making note of the hidden nooks and crannies. Unrecognized halls, now those were interesting. One way or another, she wanted to know more.

Her focus was drawn by movement once more, though not with the same enthusiasm now that there was a more tangible object of interest in the room. She did notice the shift in how Serina carried herself, though whether it was a true peek behind the curtain from one charlatan to another or another ploy, it was hard to tell.

"Not yet," She echoed, brow raising at that, the words curving into a question. So she'd live to make it down the hall, at least, should she reject the offer laid before her. But for how long? That would remain to be seen. That is, if she wanted to test that theory, something Adean was very much inclined not to do.

Where the red hues of the room did only favors for Serina's carefully cultivated image, they turned the greens of Adean's own brown, plain. Inversely, when Serina seemed to drop pretenses, Adean held fast to hers, clinging to the illusion with every ounce of her being as she took half a step forward. "Alright then, show me."

Serina's question drew forth a pause as Adean considered an honest answer. What did Tavis want? No clue, that'd require communing with the deceased, and such a thought saw Adean's palms begin to clam up. What did Adean want? Perhaps an even more complicated answer, made even more so as Serina peeled back the layers of falsehoods she could lie behind, likely unaware of just how many layers there were. Enough layers, Adean didn't actually know if she could answer the question honestly. She'd forgone active participation in her own life some time ago, playing one assigned role after another long before she had anything to do with the Sith. Once upon a time, she'd wondered how long she could keep it up. Now, she wondered if she could ever stop.

Such an admission wouldn't do, even if the other woman pried for the truth. While she hadn't yet decided if she wanted to impress Serina like she'd been previously asked to, that wouldn't be the way to do so. If anything, it was a way to get tossed aside, perhaps killed. So instead, she opted for another non-answer, one that did include at least an inkling of truth. "Nothing I dare say here. Too many ghosts, too many ears."

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Welcome, take a seat."

Tags - Adean Castor



Serina let the silence stretch between them like silk pulled taut. She didn't need to speak immediately—no, that would spoil it. She let the weight of Tavis's answer settle, breathing it in like a fine spice, savoring its contradictions. It wasn't quite defiance. It wasn't quite surrender. But it was laced with awareness. And that… that was what made her lips part into a slow, serpentine smile.

"'Too many ghosts,'" she echoed softly, her voice like a breeze curling through a crypt. "How deliciously tragic. And beautifully evasive."

She stepped forward again—but not with the same prowling grace as before. No, this time she moved like a confidante, as though some quiet accord had already been struck. Her steps were softer now, less predatory, as if Tavis had invited her closer. A dangerous illusion to cultivate.

Serina stopped only when she was close enough for her presence to be felt, not forced. The air between them crackled with heat—not from anger, not from the Force, but from something far more volatile: intention.

"I think you're quite wrong, you know," she murmured, eyes half-lidded with a kind of lazy, devastating affection. "This is the place to say what you dare not. The ghosts can't judge you. And the ears?" She leaned in, conspiratorially, her breath a whisper against Tavis's cheek. "They only listen when I let them."

Then she pulled back, just a little, just enough to watch her expression shift again. Serina had no interest in brute manipulation—not when temptation was so much more elegant. It wasn't enough to twist someone. They had to want it. They had to look at the cage and step inside because the silk lining made it feel like a throne.

"But I won't press," she said, her voice softening. Not out of mercy. But out of patience. "You're not ready to be known. Not yet. You're still too tangled in the roles you've performed, like a courtesan who's forgotten whether she's dancing for coin or survival. Perhaps both."

She circled the datapad again, bringing up another display—this one not of the academy itself, but a cluster of names. Students. All anonymous to the untrained eye, but color-coded. Connected by thin, pulsing lines.

Influence. Reputation. Weakness.

"You asked me earlier: why you? Why this invisible one?"

She turned back to Tavis, gesturing lazily to the display.

"I don't want the bold. The loud. They're tools. Useful in the short term, but never reliable. But you… you're a thread in the seams. A whisper in the walls. And yet, your name lingers in rooms you don't enter. People are starting to ask questions about you without realizing it. That is power. That is potential."

Her expression shifted—no longer seductive, but reverent. Almost tender. But not in a way that promised safety. In a way that promised significance. That whispered: you matter. You could be mine.

"Tavis Ordel is a mask, Serina Calis is a mask." she said gently, crossing the space again, now close enough to reach out—though this time, she didn't. "But masks, darling, are invitations. What fascinates me… is what kind of creature builds one so carefully. And why."

A pause. Her voice dropped, barely more than a hush now.

"You've learned to survive. I want to teach you how to thrive. How to make others cling to your shadow like it's salvation. I can show you how to infect the air of a room, how to weaponize silence. How to make people need you without knowing why. Until even those above you speak your name with reverence, not suspicion."

She tilted her head slightly, hair cascading over her shoulder like dark water, the light of the room casting crimson across her cheekbone, her throat, the glinting edge of her lip.

"But I won't lie to you. There's a price. Always."

The smile returned—slow, sharp, intimate.

"If you step into this, if you truly show me that interest you teased… then you are mine. Not in body. Not even in loyalty. But in trajectory. I will guide you. Shape you. And you will not escape it. Not unless you'd prefer to break yourself trying."

A single gloved finger rose again, this time not to touch, but to hover just beside Tavis's collarbone—so close, so charged, it might as well have been physical.

"You'd still wear masks, of course. But you'd never need them again."

Then she lowered her hand and stepped back—not in rejection, but as a final stroke. The painting was finished. The trap was set.

"So," Serina said, tone now light again, as though they'd been discussing nothing more serious than choosing which wine to drink, "you've asked me to show you. I will."

Her gaze narrowed, smirking now, amused and terrifying all at once.

"But understand, little ghost: once you start walking with me, you don't get to be invisible anymore."

A beat.

"You get to be seen."

And gods help you for it.

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Virelia

The distance closed, step by step. Despite the facade that she buried herself in, Adean could feel her eyes widen as that distance became less and less. A line of questions she'd been pointedly avoiding thinking of - namely, if this meeting was more than a grab for allies - was gnawing on her mind more and more with each advance and retreat, each pet name, each smile. Surely that wasn't the case, right? They'd only just officially met and multiple times, Adean had been referred to as a ghost - hardly what she'd consider a point in her favor if she was even tallying up points.

That was precisely when she'd avoided that line of thinking, however difficult it continued to be. Mentions of interest, desire, seduction, and the like speckled throughout the conversation had turned an uphill battle into climbing a cliff face with no equipment. But what was the intention behind it all? A means to further the game of acquisition? Habits left to operate unchecked? Points of emphasis to further solidify what all Tavis had to learn?

It couldn't have been a genuine interest...Right?

Despite her careful control over herself, Adean felt her cheeks turn beet red as whispered words brushed over her face, into her ears. Seeing Serina pull back just enough to see her face was enough set off an internal scramble to regain some sort of control over her countenance, leading to a feedback loop of a deepened blush. "M-more I've seen the spirits that linger here on Korriban. I'd rather not write them off like most others do, not until I get a gauge for them myself." Yes, that was the only reason she gave the response she did, clearly, nothing more.

If it was relief Tavis was meant to feel after being assured Serina wouldn't press, the memo was missed. Her fingernails dug further into her arm as the other continued with her description, closer to home than she'd ever want to admit.

The change in subject was a godsend, Adean studying this list with a bit more fervor than the brief glimpse of a map. Here, there were names she recognized, patterns to decipher and compare with her own analysis. She could lose herself in such a chart for a good while, not quite able to ignore the dread that came with Serina's words. People weren't supposed to be asking questions about her - they were barely supposed to notice she was there. She had to do something - pick a fight and lose miserably so others would lose interest, do poorly on a few exams enough to fade back into the crowds, maybe even fake her own death and return to Jutra --

Her train of thought was interrupted when Adean looked up in time to see Serina's shift in expression. Like an animal caught in the headlights of a speeder, she wasn't quite sure what to do with the stimulus. As Serina approached once more, she would've offered no resistance had the woman reached out. Force, it wasn't as if she'd been met with much resistance to begin with. Lips opened and closed as she was caught in a whirlwind of unmade decisions. She didn't want this power, or did she? Was it still a matter of survival as it had always been, or had she developed a taste for it and the influence it'd afforded her?

Adean knew the answer, deep down, whether or not she could come to terms with it was another question entirely.

"And what if I lose it all?" The words were barely above a whisper, their speaker still stunned by the proclamations before her, still stuck trying to decipher truth and hidden meaning behind each word. "By being seen? What if the moment I'm visible, it all goes away?" She hated how weak she sounded, certainly not becoming of any Sith she'd borrowed the name of. A part of her hoped to whomever may be listening that the trepidation in her voice was taken for the mask she wore rather than a glimpse beyond to the one who had no power, not really.

The price named, there was a part of Adean that might've considered the proposition of 'mine' to be reason enough in its own right to agree to the arrangement. That errant piece of her was tapered by the further elaboration, overtaken by a much larger looming dread. She couldn't help but remember the encounter that'd locked her into the Sith Order to begin with, how that instance of artifice had ensured her enrollment in the Jutrand academy under the name of Zambrano, and the spiral of misfortune that eventually led here. "And what if that's not mine to give?" She wondered aloud.

It'd be foolish, surely, to trade one theoretical master for another, especially given who the other was. But a part of her couldn't help but consider the possibility of a way out. Or, at the very least, a way to further herself until she found the next way out.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Welcome, take a seat."

Tags - Adean Castor



Serina did not interrupt.

She absorbed.

Every tremor, every glance, every slight blush of uncertainty—she drank them in the way some might sip a vintage liqueur: indulgently, languidly, savoring the burn. Tavis's voice faltered, yes—but there was truth in the falter. And Serina loved truth. Not because it was pure, but because it was so very easy to corrupt once uncovered. Truth was soft. Vulnerable. Exposed. And what she did to exposed things… well, that was the art.

She didn't flinch at the question. What if I lose it all?

Instead, Serina tilted her head, slow and deliberate, a gleam of almost pity in her crimson eyes—but not the kind of pity that offered comfort. The kind that knew the answer. The kind that had already accepted the worst-case scenario and found it wanting.

"You already have," she said softly.

It was said without cruelty. In fact, it was almost… tender. A gentle, bladed truth meant not to wound but to confirm what the soul already feared.

"You've buried the real girl beneath layers of borrowed names, borrowed sins, borrowed expectations. You speak of visibility as if it's a death sentence—but darling, you're already drowning in the dark. You're just too used to the pressure to realize it."

Her eyes scanned Tavis again, not like a predator this time—but like a sculptor looking at a block of marble. Potential. Inherent beauty. Lines waiting to be freed with the right incisions.

"You wear a mask," Serina whispered, now circling—not with menace, but reverence. "And not a crude one. No. Yours is elegant. Artful. I admire it, truly. It's hard to live as someone else without losing the thread of your own heartbeat."

She stopped behind her, and her voice shifted—not louder, but richer. Slower.

"I would know. I've worn many faces."

A flick of her finger, unseen, and the dagger at her side hummed. Tyrant's Kiss—ever-hungry, ever-watching. A relic that knew masks better than any holocron. A blade that took identity and wore it. That remembered what it had tasted.

Serina did not reveal it now. She did not need to. But it whispered to her. As it always did, when someone stood before her who had forgotten what their real skin looked like.

She stepped in front of Tavis again, meeting her gaze—this time without the flirtation, without the coiling suggestion of touch. Just stillness. Intensity.

"I don't want what isn't yours to give. I want what's left when you peel the others away."

Her voice dropped lower.

"And I want to be the one who sees it first."

Then—she smiled.

That devastating, magnetic curl of lips that could unravel kingdoms or bend monsters to heel. And just as the heat in the room threatened to become unbearable—just as the intimacy of the moment thickened into something so taut it might snap—

She turned away.

A full, sudden pivot. Her cloak swirled behind her like liquid shadow, and she returned to her desk without a word of transition. She sat. Crossed her legs. Gloved hands folded with effortless grace atop her knee.

The spell was not broken. It was worsened. Because nothing whetted desire like denial.

"That's enough for today," she said airily, like the last twenty minutes hadn't been a crucible of identity, temptation, and whispered ruin. "You've answered more than you realize."

She glanced back at the datapad, not looking at Tavis now. A perfect dismissal. A perfectly intentional one.

But as Tavis moved—if she moved—Serina spoke one last time. Soft. Measured.

"Don't make yourself small again. The next time I see you, I expect to meet the one behind the mask."

And then, her voice dipped into velvet as the final line came, the dagger's whisper threading through her tongue:

"I don't chase, Tavis. I invite. Don't keep me waiting."

She didn't look up again.

The audience was over.

But the corruption?

That had just begun.

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Virelia

Adean lived life at both academies banking on others thinking less of her. No, that wasn't true. She banked on them not thinking of her at all, and when that wasn't an option, she would accept being underestimated. Doing so granted her a fraction of the mobility she desired, had allowed her to slip by unnoticed when it came to practical exams her untrained hands had no business passing.

It'd also allowed her to avoid that look.

Where the Epicanthix was stunned to silence by the hint of affection and practically short-circuited at the mere whisper of reverence, pity caused the pit of her stomach to curdle. With it came the foolish - at least Adean could admit it was foolish - urge to double down harder, to prove the woman wrong enough to question if this meeting had even taken place.

Her gaze hardened, the pull of Serina's gravity losing its potency even more so as she was circled once more. Emerald eyes shifted to the desk, searching for the datapad. It held information she wanted and, even more importantly, secrets that could prove to be a liability. If she could get the model, the make, that was something she could work with.

Her attention was called back to Serina at the mention of wearing many faces. Now that was a clue she shouldn't be entirely surprised by in retrospect. Just as a liar recognizes a liar, a chameleon does a chameleon. Though in the moment, Adean found that hard to believe given the woman's utterly distinct presence...No doubt, by design.

Adean's face softened as Serina shifted to face her once more, slipping back to reflect someone who was utterly under her spell. And she certainly felt it's call like a siren song. That smile alone could pry secrets from the most reserved. The heat of the room intensified, beckoning, almost demanding that Adean act on it.

And then it was over.

That was the true devastation, a masterful move. Had spite not steeled the Epicanthix in its cold grip, she may have crumpled right there. Adean's face was a practiced combination of neutral and dazed, as if her focus was in trying not to look too desperate or rejected. Curiosity still poked at her, as did the pull of Serina's gravity, as much as she wouldn't admit it now. She turned to leave almost in an embarrassed huff, but was stopped by Serina's softened words.

The words gave her pause. The offer that had been presented was still tempting, even if she had designs to flip it on its head. And to even start on her own designs, because clearly that was her only priority now, keeping contact would still be necessary.

Waiting an extra beat to break the silence, forcing herself to do it at that, she spoke just above a whisper, as if she didn't trust the words coming from her own mouth. "When or where would I find you again?"

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Welcome, take a seat."

Tags - Adean Castor



Serina didn't look up at first.

The pause that followed was not hesitation—it was orchestration. A silent measure in the symphony she conducted, letting the question hang in the air like the final note of a song that hadn't yet decided whether it was tragic or triumphant. Her fingers moved slowly across the datapad, one last, unnecessary gesture that betrayed nothing of her thoughts… only that she could make Tavis wait, and therefore would.

Then, finally, she lifted her gaze.

The full weight of her presence returned—not like a crashing wave this time, but like the heat that follows a lightning strike: sudden, intimate, dangerously close. Her expression was unreadable, all softness drained from it, but her eyes gleamed—amber-ringed rubies, reflecting far more than they revealed.

And then she smiled.

But not like before. No, this smile was something else entirely.

Subtler.

Worse.

"You'll know."

The words came slowly, each one wrapped in satin and thorns. Serina's voice dipped into that same velvet register she had used when promising influence and undoing just moments earlier. Not a promise. Not a threat. A certainty.

"I don't haunt corridors like the other Lords here, posturing for adoration or fear. I am… an intersection. When you are ready to cross again, you'll find yourself there."

She leaned forward ever so slightly, forearms resting on her thighs now, the tilt of her head sharp as a blade's edge. The firelight caught the sharp hollow of her throat, her silhouette painted in gold and crimson like a living idol.

"When the mask begins to chafe… when you feel the ache of the thing you've tried so hard not to name—I'll be there."

Her voice dipped even lower.

"Because I always am, little ghost. I have a taste for haunting the ones who don't yet know they're hungry."

And then, as if the moment were no more significant than dust on the wind, Serina waved one gloved hand through the air with effortless dismissal.

"You're excused."

But as Tavis turned to go, the air stirred behind her one last time with the low murmur of Serina's voice, too soft to be an order, too sharp to be a whisper:

"Do not let anyone else get to you first."