Private Legends Written in Ruins

[Varin Mortifer]

The search to delve into the past of The Eater of Suns left nothing but dead ends. Crypts, forbidden tomes, holocrons all had nothing. Varin even thought about speaking with Sith Lords that have long since passed. But he was not quite that desperate yet. He heard about a planet that held deep seeded secrets of the Sith. Secrets so dark that the Jedi have tried to scrub it out. Rumor was they did not succeed.

Malachor, a planet with a bloody and violent history that brought its downfall. Any remnants of that battle can still be seen from petrified corpses. Or so it was said. This was the only information he could find about Malachor, that and that it supposedly housed an ancient Sith temple.

The ship's console beeped at him, waking him from his light slumber as he neared the planet. Instantly he sat up to take a look at the planet himself. Sinew, his Tuk’ata pup that he had adopted, had been nestled underneath the console in her own little bed. She too had awoken as soon as Varin moved, wanting to stay with her master. He began the landing routine.

All the information he gathered told him of some sort of guide he would meet, a Sith, he assumed, by the name of Seren. Of course he did not say no to a guide, he had little to no knowledge of the planet. Having someone who was familiar with it could be invaluable.

The ship split through the clouds as it shot forth, turbines booming through the skies, before it slowed its descent, landing at the specified coordinates with a heavy thud. The interior of the ship shook lightly as he looked down at Sinew.

“Another soft landing, perhaps I am getting better at this.”

Sinew gave a snort and barked back at him as they walked to the offboarding ramp that was now descending. He then looked at Sinew whose tail was wagging with excitement for adventure.

“Stay close. No idea what kind of beasts or flora reside here.”

On command Sinew ran off the ramp following Varin's long gate.

You really believe to find my history here, boy? What makes this place so special?

Ignati's voice echoed into the recesses of Varin's mind and he simply rebutled back.

"No, I don't think we will. But it is something that has potential."

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Malachor's winds howled across the plateau, scattering ash and grit in long, sweeping currents that curled around the jagged stone formations. Seren stood at the edge of one of the great fissures, her silhouette motionless against the stark landscape, as if she had always been part of this world's broken geometry. Her dark robes stirred only faintly in the gusts, and the shadows around her seemed to cling with quiet familiarity, not unnatural but as though the daylight preferred not to touch her. When Varin descended the ramp with his Tuk'ata pup bounding at his side, she did not approach. She watched, assessing with a calm precision that gave nothing away, amber eyes tracking the pair in silence until they drew close enough for her voice to reach him without effort.

"You have come far to chase a name that does not want to be remembered," she said, her words carried cleanly across the cold air. The pup gave a slight growl, uncertain at the energy that clung to the place, and Seren lowered her gaze to it—not affectionately, but with a measured awareness. "Even the beasts feel this world. Malachor unsettles anything that has not yet chosen what it intends to become."

Her attention returned to Varin, her posture steady, her expression unreadable. "I am Seren Gwyn," she continued, tone even, "and if you hoped for clear answers, I will disappoint you early." Without waiting to see if he would follow, she turned and began walking along the narrow path carved into the stone. The motion was neither brusque nor commanding; it was simply the cadence of someone accustomed to being followed. "Nothing on this world is given freely. The secrets you're chasing reveal themselves only when they decide you are worth the risk."

As they continued, the ground beneath them shuddered—just once, a deep pulse like some vast heartbeat buried in stone. Seren's gaze shifted slightly as she noted the reaction, then she continued without slowing. "But you seek the Eater of Suns," she said, and for the first time, a subtle narrowing of her eyes hinted at something sharper beneath her composure. "That tells me either you are unafraid of the danger involved… or you do not yet understand it. Fortunately for you, I can work with either."

The canyon grew narrower around them, the walls rising high overhead like broken teeth, etched with sigils worn by centuries of ruin. Malachor's air thickened, humming faintly with the pressure of invisible currents, a sound that was not quite breath and not quite memory. Seren moved through it with the ease of someone who had long since learned how to walk in places where the Force itself felt unstable and alert.

"The deeper sanctums hold the fragments you're searching for," she said finally, her voice calm and steady amid the tension of the place. "But be warned, Varin—history on Malachor does not wait passively to be uncovered. It pushes back, reshapes what approaches it, and tests those who would grasp at power not meant for them." She stepped into the next bend of the canyon, leaving nothing but the echo of her words behind her. "If you truly want the truth you're chasing," she said without looking back, "then you will need to prove you can withstand being shown it."

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He walked towards her as she spoke, keeping silent so she could say her piece. Something did settle deep into the marrow ever since he stepped out of the ship. The sorceress introduced herself and Varin gave a slight bow of respect.

“Varin Mortifer. My travels have taught me that clear answers do not exist. At least not whole. You have to find pieces then place them together in the correct sequence.”

He followed behind her, keeping his eyes on their surroundings, a force of habit.

“Nothing is ever free.”

He watched her eyes narrow, her words ringing towards him about the gravity of what he searched for.

“Risk always accompanies discovery and secrets. I search so that I may understand it to know if I should be afraid.”

As they passed into the canyon his gaze was ever vigilant. She may know what dangers lie on this planet. The sounds that haunted the canyon echoed around them in their faint whispers of secrets.

She confirmed that fragments he was looking for are on this planet, but there would be challenges. Challenges that would test Varin if he is worthy of such knowledge. He remained silent as he watched her.

“What sort of challenge awaits me, Seren? I have faced many trials and tribulations just to get this far, yet the knowledge still wishes to test me.”

Sinew started sniffing at a pile of rocks that they were passing before she caught back up to them, growling slightly at the surroundings.

The planet held ancient and secretive power. Power that was earned. Power of knowledge sealed by generations of death and conflict.

All he could think was…

Am I really ready?

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not stop when he bowed, but the faint inclination of her head showed she noted the gesture. Respect meant little on Malachor, but understanding protocol meant he was not foolishly reckless. That alone was worth acknowledging. When he offered his name, she let it settle between them like another piece of the puzzle he was assembling. Varin Mortifer. It suited him—precise, sharp, carrying weight even before meaning.

As he spoke of fragmented answers and assembled truths, she allowed the corner of her mouth to shift in what might have been the beginning of approval. "A sensible perspective," she said, her tone even. "Most seekers arrive looking for revelations fully formed, only to break under the emptiness they find instead. But you understand that the Force rarely speaks in whole truths. You do not chase clarity. You chase construction."

Ahead of them, the canyon walls grew steeper, curling inward as though the planet itself wished to swallow them. The whispers along the stone grew louder—still indistinct, but insistent, like distant breaths behind thin walls. Seren ran her fingers along the dark stone as she walked, barely touching it, yet the rock shifted beneath her touch, faintly pulsing with shadowed energy.

"Fear is not shameful," she continued. "It is a compass, if you know how to interpret its direction. You say you search to know whether you should be afraid. That is not cowardice. It is a calculation." She cast him a brief sidelong look, her gold eyes faintly reflective in the dimming light. "It means you intend to live through what you find. More than I can say for many who come here."

Varin's question lingered in the air between them as they walked deeper into the canyon. "What sort of challenge awaits me?" he asked, and Seren slowed her stride just enough to let the question breathe before she answered.

"The kind that cannot be predicted," she said finally. "Malachor is not a temple. It is a wound. The planet does not test your strength or your will as the Jedi do. It tests your understanding. It will show you reflections of what you carry—your doubts, your certainties, the pieces of the truth you think you seek. It will show you what you expect… until the moment it shows you what you never considered."

Sinew let out a low growl as they passed another pile of broken stone. Seren did not look back at the animal directly, but her voice softened just a touch. "Your companion is perceptive. The deeper we go, the thinner the veil becomes. The creatures here sense what we bring with us, whether fear, ambition, or hunger."

As they rounded a bend, the canyon suddenly widened into a cavernous opening. Jagged pillars rose from the ground like ancient vertebrae, and the air vibrated with a low hum that resonated in the bones. Seren paused, letting Varin take in the sight—and letting the planet take its measure of him.

"The trial is not a single test," she said quietly. "It begins the moment you step onto Malachor's surface. Every step you take into its depths is a question the planet asks you. And your survival is your answer."

Only then did she look at him thoroughly, her expression steady, assessing—not unkind, but unflinching.

"You ask if you are ready," she said. "That is the only question Malachor does not answer for you. But this much I can tell you—few people ever reach the place where you are standing now."

She turned back toward the yawning entrance ahead, the shadows gathering around her feet like a tide.

"That is not proof you are prepared," she added, her tone calm but firm. "But it is proof you are willing. And on Malachor, willingness is the first price of knowledge."

She took a slow, measured breath, then stepped forward.

"Come, Varin. Let us see whether the planet opens its truths… or its teeth."

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

“Construction is the only way to build clarity.”

He followed her through the trails, the canyon faintly changing in ways that would seem unnoticeable to one who was not paying attention, until the difference was enough that it seemed like an entirely different place. Varin took note of every detail, keeping it all in mind. The planet also seemed to react, almost like it was speaking to Seren, maybe even speaking through her. Her stare shined through the faint darkness, he gazed back. Unblinking.

“The biggest difference between me and your average knowledge seeker is they want the knowledge. I starve for it. Not only do I intend to live through it, I intend to use it.”

The trials of the planet would bleed anyone here dry. It would devour their very beings, many who seek knowledge tend to find secrets they were not meant to comprehend. They force themselves to witness something that their mind, body and spirit could never handle. Such is the price of the dark side. Malachor infects the minds of many, promising answers, promising hope, promising life. All of these are but a lure for the planet to feed on poor lost souls. To Varin, that is the test of true understanding. Is he a lost soul or is his purpose strong enough to carry him.

“Knowledge of the dark side…is similar to being fed after you have been starving. It starts off with a small portion, enough for you to want more. So you claw for it, you steal for it, you even kill for it. Soon as you gorge on what pile you have surrounded by the bodies of your consequences, your body goes into shock, the dark side takes you.”

He followed her as she presented the options the planet offers. Truth or teeth. His gaze glared after she spoke.

“It’s teeth would find that I am way too stubborn to fall easily.”

It wasn’t blind ego talking, he was never one to give in, never one to surrender. He always came back standing, sometimes angrier than before. Every battle led to that, but this was not a battle he could cross weapons with, an entirely different field set up to test his spirit.

“Lead the way, Sorceress.”

He spoke softly as he watched their surroundings.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

The air shifted again as Varin spoke, not simply with the pressure of Malachor's presence, but with something subtler—an alignment of intention. Seren slowed her pace, only slightly, enough to suggest she was listening with more than her ears. Varin's words carried the kind of hunger she understood intimately: not greed, not ambition, but need—the kind that carved its own shape into a soul long before the Force ever touched it.

"Construction," she echoed, glancing toward him as the canyon walls flexed with a low ripple of energy "requires discipline. Most who come here believe clarity comes from revelation. You understand it comes from assembly. That is why the planet has not yet swallowed you whole."

There was no sharpness in her tone now; instead, a quiet warmth threaded beneath the words, the kind offered only to someone who might actually appreciate its meaning.

When he spoke of starving for knowledge, Seren's gaze drifted toward him again—not a typical scrutiny, but something closer to recognition.
"Good," she said softly. "Hunger is honest. It tells me you are not chasing secrets out of vanity. Only those who starve for truth survive the first layer of this world."

The canyon widened, opening into a chamber where the air vibrated with a low, constant thrum. Seren paused at the threshold, letting him catch up before she stepped fully inside—a gesture she almost never made. The shadows around her gentled, softening their lines as though they, too, were listening.

"Most fear the dark side because it consumes," she said, her voice quiet, almost reflective. "You see its other nature. It feeds those who dare to feed themselves. Even if the meal leaves scars."

She looked at him then, fully, the amber of her eyes catching faint light from the cracked stone ahead. "You speak as someone who has been starved a long time," she murmured. "And someone who knows the danger of being fed too quickly. That awareness… it is rare. Rarer still on Malachor."

There was something like approval in her expression—not admiration, not desire, but the closeness that forms between two people who understand the same language of suffering and purpose.

When he claimed the planet's teeth would find him stubborn, her lips curved faintly. "Stubbornness is not a flaw here," she said. "It is the difference between being tested and being consumed. Malachor respects those who refuse to kneel."

His final words—Lead the way, Sorceress—echoed softly between them. Seren inclined her head, and for the first time, there was a gentleness in the motion.

"Then walk beside me," she said, turning toward the deeper passage. "Guides are for the fearful. You are not afraid—only waiting to see whether the truth offers you a place within it."

As they stepped forward, the air warmed around them despite the cold stone. Not because Malachor approved—but because Seren, in her own quiet way, had.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin took his place at her side, as she requested. He gave her a silent glance as she spoke of guides being for the fearful. Varin was never one to kneel to fear. Though as much as he believed his rage bent the knee to him, it was far from the case.

The warmth that surrounded them did not go unnoticed, and almost as if syncing in a form of harmony, the brands along his arms shun with a steady warm glow. The fires beneath his flesh stirred and writhed from within. It felt as if the planet and the fires itself were speaking with each other.

As the shadows softened around Seren, the inferno of passion in Varin’s bones seemed to cool only slightly, as if to match the warmth that had presented itself.

“I heard that this planet had a temple at one point. That it was said it had a super weapon as well that caused its downfall. Tell me, do the ghosts of former warriors still haunt these caverns?”

His voice echoed through the chamber. Every now and then his gaze would be pulled from a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. Silhouettes of strange shadowy figures presenting themselves just long enough for direct sight only to disappear once again.

The formations of the land were both haunting and beautiful. Showing that even somehow on a dead planet, a certain life is still formed in constant change. But it also seemed to have a pull.

A faint pull that kept Varin on the path with Seren.

Sinew still kept up with the both of them, also every now and then gazing at dark corners and shadows around them. Varin could tell she was a bit nervous, but the loyalty that ran in her veins kept her going.

There was a tightness in Varin’s chest as they delved deeper into the cavern. He could feel the whispers of promises seeping into his marrow. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up past his forearms, the steady pulse of the runes giving a faint hint of warm orange light.

It was like the ancient Sith brands were trying to speak with the planet in a chorus of secrets. He gently ran his fingers over his arm, the heat that was given off not bothering him, almost as if he were lost in thought, absent minded as the whispers seemed to get louder.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

The canyon swallowed the last of the daylight behind them, leaving only the deep thrum of Malachor's pulse and the faint glow of Varin's runic brands to light the way. Seren felt the shift in him before she saw it—the warmth rising through his skin, the fire in his blood answering something buried far beneath the surface of the planet.

She didn't look directly at his arms, but the gold of her eyes flickered with recognition.

"Malachor listens to any power that remembers its own name," she said softly, her voice carrying through the cavern like a calm through storm air. "Your brands were not made to sleep forever. This world stirs them. They stir back."

She walked beside him without hesitation, matching his long stride as naturally as a shadow matched its source. The soft warmth threading the air did not dissipate; it grew steadier, as if the planet acknowledged something in their shared pace.

Varin's question drifted between the stone pillars.

"There was a temple," Seren answered, her tone expanding into something deeper, the cadence of a historian who had studied wounds as others studied scripture. "There was a weapon. And yes—there were warriors. But ghosts?"

Her gaze shifted to one of the fleeting silhouettes that flitted in the periphery before vanishing like dust disturbed by wind.

"Not in the way most imagine. What lives here are echoes. Imprints. The Force remembers what was done to this place. Those memories wear shapes when the planet wishes to warn or tempt."

She extended a hand slightly, her fingertips brushing the air. A faint distortion rippled outward, and one of the shadowy figures paused—long enough to tilt its head toward her before dissipating entirely. "They are not ghosts," she murmured. "They are reflections of consequences."

The path constricted again, and the whispers in the stone thickened like a pressure behind the eyes. Seren felt it press against Varin more strongly than most; the planet had sensed the fire in him, and fire always drew curiosity.

Sinew pressed closer to her master, ears flattening. Seren's tone softened, if only by degrees. "Your companion is wise to be uneasy. Fear on Malachor is not cowardice—it is instinct."

She glanced sideways at Varin then, not in warning, but in acknowledgment of what she sensed unfolding in him.

"Your brands resonate with the fractures beneath us," she said, her voice steady, deliberate. "The runes speak because Malachor is speaking. But you must not answer too quickly." Her hand brushed lightly—not touching him, but indicating the warm glow along his arm. "Old Sith marks are not passive. They remember who forged them, and they remember who broke."

The cavern ahead widened, revealing a massive archway carved with spiraling sigils, half-collapsed yet still thrumming with ancient force.

"If you listen too deeply, the planet will try to claim your fire for itself," Seren added, her tone quieter now, a note of warning threaded through the calm. "And Malachor has never been gentle with those who burn."

But then, softer—almost surprisingly gentle: "Stay beside me. Your fire is not meant to be drowned by this place."

She stepped forward through the archway, shadows trailing her like obedient ink, trusting he would follow.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Her words reached him as the dance between the planet and his flame continued. He paused but for only a moment.

“It’s strange..”

His voice was deep and quieter.

“It’s as if…the flames are meeting with an old acquaintance. Like they had a shared history.”

It was at this moment Varin could feel that he would at least get some sort of answer off of this planet.

Varin continued beside her as she delved into some of the planet's history, just a mere drop in the ocean of history that drowns what lies beneath the mantle of this planet. She stopped one of the shadows. Featureless, but he could tell it seemed lost. Beings imprisoned to this world by their own hubris. A fate that likely claimed more as they searched for answers themselves.

“So not only is it a planet of vast secrets and knowledge. It is a prison?”

He felt Sinew press further to him. Either to seek comfort or to protect her master, it was unclear. But something ahead had her weary. An instinct she had displayed that Varin would never take lightly. Though Sinew was young, she held bountiful knowledge of the dark side, such as her ancestors before her. Her kind’s experience with safeguarding ancient Sith burials or temples was always something to take note.

The massive archway came into view. Its surface displaying that it had stood firm and held its ground through the test of time. Seren spoke a warning to Varin, the planet will try to claim him. It is likely that what resides within him is such a rare entity that it would just leap at any time to keep him here. Imprisoned with the rest of the shadows.

“The planet starves as well, Seren. It will claw its way to any source of power that it can. Such is the nature of a dying Sith world.”

He stepped with her into the archway. The feeling was almost instantaneous, what he felt was a syncing of forces within his body, felt as if it were a lure now. The whispers of temptation settled into the forefront of his head. Ignati had been nearly alarmingly quiet this entire trip, since landing. Varin knew he did now want to rediscover his past, but in order to break one of the other chains, Varin felt he had to.

The hum settled into his body almost like a soft buzzing vibration, set at a frequency that would convince the body to find its own trail. The temptation began to settle, but Varin remained on the same path with Seren. Unconsciously grabbing his bone rosary dedicated to Bogan. He held it close to ground himself of a promise he made after crash landing on Korriban over a year prior. His thumb gently running over each smoothed bead, each bead a silent prayer. Though this time he prayed he would have clarity of guidance, praying in the language of High Sith, it was quick and subtle.

He pressed on beside her.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not break stride when his voice dropped, but she felt the shift in him—the way his flame-adjusted presence resonated deeper with the soil, as though the planet itself had pressed a palm to his spine.

"Not strange." she murmured, her tone quiet but confident. "Familiarity is the echo left behind when two powers once touched… even if the memory of that touch was buried."

Her gaze flicked to the runes burning faintly along his arms, then back to the shifting shadows. The way they leaned toward him had changed—not hostile, not worshipful, but recognizing. It made the air feel different, heavier with something older than either of them.

When he asked if the world was a prison, Seren's expression softened by a degree. "A prison…a tomb…a library. The distinction depends on who enters and who leaves. Walls did not trap those shades, Varin. They were trapped by themselves. Malachor only preserves what destroys itself."

She slowed as Sinew pressed closer to him. The pup's instincts sharpened the moment before they reached the archway, and Seren acknowledged the creature with a faint, approving nod.

"She feels truth. Good. You will need that."

The archway loomed, a relic of impossible age, stone still humming with the residue of ten thousand deaths and the knowledge they left behind. Seren lifted her hand, touching the surface as lightly as one might feel a wound.

"It starves, yes." A slow breath. "But not for power. For a purpose. This world has forgotten why it was born… and it seeks anyone who might remind it."

As they stepped through the threshold together, Seren felt the shift in him immediately. The way his breath altered. The way his aura tightened. The way the whispering current coiled around his mind, testing him—not with claws, but with promises.

Then came the prayer. Soft. Quick. High Sith syllables flattened into something intimate. She did not look at him, but she listened. Seren always listened. And she understood. Not every word, but enough: a grounding vow, a call for clarity, a reminder of purpose over hunger. A plea not for power… but for direction.

For a moment, the shadows around her stilled.

"Good." she said, voice lower now, resonant in the charged quiet. "The old tongue remembers intention more than meaning. And yours speaks of tether, not surrender."

Her gaze finally turned to him, amber eyes glimmering with a depth that was not warmth exactly, but recognition indeed—the recognition of someone who has walked this path before and knows the difference between one who will fall and one who will endure.

"You will not be claimed by this place." A pause, deliberate. "Your will burns too bright. Even Malachor hesitates before a flame that chooses its own course."

Ahead, the passage deepened into darkness—not an absence of light, but a presence of something waiting.

Seren stepped forward, shadows flowing open for her like a curtain. "Come, Varin. The first truth waits for you. And your fire is strong enough to meet it."

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Familiarity….It felt as if he had walked a similar path before. Possibly in another lifetime, it seemed that Sinew felt that sense of familiarity as well. The faint scent of deep earth settled around them as they drew past the archway, Seren’s words echoed off the walls as Varin listened. The prayer giving him a sense of direction and purpose.

“To wander without purpose, is to be truly lost.”

His words were soft as he walked with her as she placed her hand on the runic archway. She seemed to intimately know the planet itself. Almost as if she were its voice. For a moment his blazing eyes met hers as they walked. There was almost a sense of trust from her. A very dangerous feeling for any Sith.

The air and rock shifted into what seemed to be a thicket of darkness. Swaying like cloth in a soft breeze. Varin paused and watched as Seren parted the darkness. His first trial was not far away now.

Called back to her side Varin followed as Sinew stayed with him. The darkness seemed to even try to choke the light from his brands as they moved forward. But again, Seren’s words grounded him, the planet would not claim him. Not today. The darkness of the planet would not gorge itself on his flame.

The incoherent whispers began to morph into words in his head. Almost like chanting. Ancient chanting.

The familiarity struck him like a mortar, the words were strikingly similar to the chants used on him during the ritual that tethered Ignati to him when he was so young. When he obtained the brands. His skin felt as if it began to burn slightly as he gripped his forearm tightly, a soft wince escaping his lips.

He could hear the chanting as if it were echoing off the walls, followed by the cries and wails of a young child in pain. His pain. The planet had begun to open old festering wounds that still resided on the surface of his flesh.

The further they walked, the further the burning began to climb to his shoulders then his back where the source of the brands were. All of them brightening bit by bit as the feeling traveled, the brands brightening under his clothes and burning their shapes into the cloth, a new scent clung to the air. One of burnt cloth.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren stopped the moment his breath hitched.

Not entirely—her body did not turn, did not twist—but the shadows around her stilled as though at her command, halting mid-sway. The darkness responded to her concern before she voiced it. She pivoted just enough to look back at him, amber eyes reflecting the growing glow of his brands like molten gold.

The scent of scorched fabric curled into the air.

The whispers had grown bold now—no longer incoherent echoes, but ritual cadence. Old words. Painful ones. Seren knew that language all too well.

"This is not the planet testing you." she said softly, stepping closer. "This is memory testing its hold."

A tremor passed through the darkness behind her, as if even the shadows recoiled from what was surfacing in him.

She lifted her hand—not to touch him, but to hover close to his forearm, where his grip had tightened until his knuckles paled. The brands beneath his skin burned like molten lines, bright enough to pulse through his shirt, bright enough to make the darkness lean back as though blinded.

"Your flame remembers a violence you never chose."

The chanting deepened. The cries of a child overlapped it—his cries. Old agony clawing its way back through time. Malachor did not need to conjure illusions. It simply peeled back the scab of a wound that had never healed.

Seren's voice cut through it—low, steady, grounding.

"Breathe, Varin."

She extended her other hand, not touching him, but creating a pocket of space—calm, cool, deliberate—where the shadows softened, dimmed, thickened into stillness—an anchor. "The brands respond because they think you are still that child. You are not."

Her eyes narrowed, not in judgment, but in recognition of a truth she knew too intimately. "Pain tied to ritual does not fade. It waits. It festers. And when you walk through a threshold like this one, it tries to rise again and reclaim the shape it had."

The darkness around them tightened.

Sinew pressed closer to Varin, whining low—fear, but also defiance.

Seren lowered her hand an inch more, bringing it close enough that he could feel the cool ripple of shadow-energy against his overheated skin. Not to take the pain away—but to give him something steady to push against. "Let it surface. Not to control you…but so you may watch it burn."

A soft pulse ran through the ground beneath them, like a heartbeat syncing to his own. "Your first trial isn't behind that darkness, Varin." A beat. "It is here what you carry. What was carved into you."

Her voice remained calm, but warmer than before—an unusual warmth for a Sith, as if her certainty in him was as natural as breath.

"The planet is listening. Show it the man who survived the ritual. Not the boy who endured it."

And as she said it, the chanting shifted—hesitated—like the past itself felt its grip slipping.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Hot coals burned beneath his flesh as newer brands began to carve themselves into his flesh. He growled deeply as the pain bled up his arm before a yell ripped from his throat. His knees started to buckle as if the memories were trying to force him to kneel.

Seren's voice started as a muffle in a darkened tunnel. The beating of his heart quickened as his brown eyes bled to their molten orange state. Sinew dropped to a low protective position and growled at Varin.

The tremor passed by them from the planet as his molten gaze found hers. Her voice began to clear up from the muffled tone.

“Your flame remembers the violence you never chose.”

His breathing was still harsh as he began to fight back from kneeling. He promised himself he would not kneel. Not to a legend and certainly not to his trauma.

“Breathe Varin.”

Her voice was clearer now as the tunnel of his vision started to clear. Inhaling and exhaling in a rough state, but deeply.

He could feel his heart rate slow and deepen.

He was not that child anymore. He had not been that child for a long time. The darkness coiled around them as a cooling sensation fell over his body. The feeling pulling him back to reality. The cloth still burned, but the pain began to vanish.

Slowly his breathing slowed to take a normal state, his eyes retaining the molten orange color. He slowly began to take his hand off of his arm as the new brands receded back into normal flesh. The dead flesh now falling away like old ash.

Varin rested his arm onto the archway as he regained his balance, his head still pounding from exertion.

“The ritual of binding…”

He spoke between breaths.

“I remember it all clearly. Carved in flesh and memory.”

He looked down at Sinew who had just started to relax and step closer to her master once more. Pushing his arm off of the stonework he brought himself back to his feet.

“....I am ready to continue, Seren.”

His voice was quiet and strained, but it retained a determination to finish what they had started. To continue down the path. He would face as many trials as needed to get even a shred of an answer. Just a piece of the story. It would at least be something to start with.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

The cavern held its breath, not in fear, but in recognition.

Seren had felt the shift in him—the sudden convulsion of memory, the way the Force recoiled and then lunged forward as if trying to devour the man he had become and drag him back into the shape of the child he once was. She did not flinch when the brands seared through his flesh. She did not recoil when his knees dipped or when the world around them warped under the pressure of resurfaced agony.

She stepped closer. Shadows curled around her ankles, rising toward him like cool mist drawn to flame.

As his bellow broke the cavern silence, she lifted a hand—not to touch him, not yet—but to steady the air itself, grounding it, forcing the darkness to remain still around him.

His molten eyes found hers. At last. Anchored by the one thing in the room that did not waver.

"Good." Her voice slipped into the moment like a stone settling into deep water—quiet, weighted, resonant.

"Do you feel it now? Not the pain—the memory of its shape."

She watched his breath slow, watched his trembling body lessen as he forced himself upright again. Not fighting her, not fighting the planet, fighting the echo.

When his hand finally peeled away from his arm, and the ash-flesh fell like spent embers, Seren allowed her gaze to soften. It was not warmth, not exactly—but an understanding so deep it almost refracted like heat through cold air.

She stepped closer still, within arm's reach but not touching him. Her presence itself served as the contact.

"The ritual did not scar you because you were weak." A breath. A truth spoken without hesitation. "It scarred you because you survived it. And because you remember what others would rather forget."

Sinew's growl faded. The pup pressed closer to Varin's side, fur trembling. Seren lowered her head slightly in acknowledgment—not to the beast, but to the instinct behind its fear.

Finally, when his breathing settled fully, she lifted her hand and touched two fingers lightly to his sternum—just enough for the Force to press there like a steadying palm. "Your path, Varin, was never meant to erase what was carved into you." She withdrew her hand, shadows swirling in its wake. "It was meant to make use of it."

When he straightened and declared himself ready, she inclined her head—not in approval, but in recognition of his choice. "Then we continue." Her tone shifted—low, solemn, almost ceremonial. "The first truth has surfaced: your pain is not dormant. It is alive. And it remembers."

She stepped past him toward the deeper passage, the stone groaning softly under their feet as though aware of what had been awakened.

Without looking back, she spoke—her voice carrying easily through the archway: "Do not fear what rises next. It will not be worse than the truth you already carry." A pause. Then, gentler: "Walk with me, Varin. The next chamber waits."

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

It's true. Anyone who would remember the ritual he endured laid deep into the ground, becoming one with the planet itself. Feeding it, nourishing it. He was the only one to not endure the ritual, but endure a familial purge that ripped him from his home.

The memories still echoed through his mind, like a distant cry in an open cave. Present, evident; but distant. A deep dull pain radiated through his body like a full body muscle soreness. The shirt on his body barely clinging to him.

“They would not just rather forget, Seren.”

He spoke quietly almost in a voice of deep mourning, a fight within him to reject moving past what had been taken.

“They simply can't remember. Not anymore now.”

Her fingers pressed onto the surface of his sternum. A cooler feeling washed over him, as if the rains had come to relieve the ground of a burning summer. It was still hot, but it was more bearable.

“The scars will always be a part of me. For years I have tried to hide them. Away from prying eyes that would only be attracted to it's power rather than…”

He paused for a moment.

“Me…”

The word lingered for a moment. A silence fell over him as heat waves rose from his body.

“The pain will always remember, and it will always remind me of everything.”

The rock beneath them groaned with recognition. Recognition that Varin did not quite understand just yet. Was it recognizing his will to keep going? Or just simply the power that lies within his very soul?

Varin gave Seren a slow soft nod as he regained his footing, following her deeper into the darkened caverns. He had gotten a taste of what Malachor has in store for him, he now expected what else was to come.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren slowed when he did. Not to halt him—never to deny forward motion—but to allow the weight of his words to settle rather than fracture under haste. The cavern responded almost immediately. The whispering dark receded just enough to grant space, the stone cooling beneath their feet as though the planet itself had chosen to listen rather than intrude.

Her hand did not leave his sternum at once. She kept it there, steady and anchoring, not to restrain him but to remind him that he was still here. Still standing. Still present. The contact was deliberate, measured—the way one braces unstable ground before it gives way.

"No," she said quietly, the word carrying no correction, only shared understanding.
"They do not forget. The living world forgets them."

Her thumb shifted slightly, tracing a small, absent arc through the fabric of his shirt. She did not linger on the scars beneath—only acknowledged the heat, the endurance that had shaped them.

"What was buried here was not memory," she continued, her voice low and even.
"It was witness."

She stepped closer then, close enough that her presence became something felt rather than seen, her shadow folding naturally into his without pressing. "Malachor consumes those who surrender themselves to it completely. It does not remember them as people—only as fuel. But you were torn away before it could finish that work."

There was no judgment in her tone, no praise either—only truth delivered without adornment. "That is why the planet responds to you," she added softly. "Not because it owns you…but because it does not."

Her hand withdrew slowly, deliberately, not as a rejection but as a quiet acknowledgment that he was steady enough to stand without it now.

"Scars do not exist to attract power," Seren said, her gaze lifting to meet his. "They exist to prove survival." Her eyes did not flinch from the heat rolling off him, from the remnants of pain still echoing beneath his skin.

"Pain remembers because it was never allowed to rest," she continued. "But memory does not have to rule you to remain true."

The rock beneath them groaned again—deeper this time—not hunger, not threat. Recognition, yes, but without claim.

Seren turned and set off again, her pace measured so he could follow without being rushed or tested. "You endured what should have erased you," she said over her shoulder. "That alone places you outside the fate this world expects."

She paused just long enough for the words to settle.

"Whatever comes next will not ask you to kneel," Seren finished quietly. "It will ask whether you are willing to carry yourself forward anyway."

And with that, she led him deeper—not as a master guiding a weapon, but as someone walking beside another who had already proven he could survive the fire.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin remained quiet as Seren spoke of the planet, and the people that grow lost in the stillness of their own hubris. Of the fact that Malachor was no stranger to pulling people in only to break them down, desperately trying to satiate itself. Whether it knows that its starvation moves more rapidly than it can fill itself may remain a mystery. But one thing is certain, the planet shows recognition to those who refuse its allure.

Seren stepped closer to him, causing Varin’s gaze to meet her. Orbs that represented the chaos and stirring of suns stared back at her. Though his eyes looked like chaos there was almost a certain order to it. As if the destructive force of a dying star was kept under his control, his will.

“The only being that can lay claim to me is Bogan himself. Anyone or anything else is left to my choice. Malachor can have me, when it earns me.”

His voice deepened as his gaze remained unblinking. His body remaining resolute towards any form of temptation the planet could offer him as a lure. A stubborn creature refusing to join the masses of corpses that lay inside and outside the planet's mantle.

He felt her thumb run over the fabric, just over one of the branded scars that had spread over his body some time ago. He had stopped paying attention to them, the feeling that the spread would continue regardless of if he had broken his chains or not. To most it would seem like a deformity, to him it was a symbol of symbiosis. Both respective parties giving and taking what is needed to survive.

Her hand withdrew from him as he finally gained his full balance. The dull soreness still persisting in long slow pulses throughout his body. But as swiftly as they came, they became an afterthought. Her gaze met his as she spoke of his scars proving his capability of surviving and surpassing great odds. The ritual he had endured by his father would have killed anyone as young as him. He simply had enough drive to push through the pain and suffering, growing in strength from the experience.

“No, memory does not have to rule me. But it does stand to remind me of what I had taken an oath for.”

He paused for a moment.

“A silent vow that since I survived I must retain my family’s throne. Only now, I must retake it. That is why I remain on my path. It is why I am able to refuse the planet's silent promises. I must press forward for that, or the slaughter they went through would have been for nothing.”

He kept at her pace, not rushing and not taking his time. Simply following the speed at which fate had told him to take. To be a weapon ready for war, one must test its own metal and know when to strike. Instinct guides him, and it's demanded he stay at her side during this travel.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren listened without interrupting, her steps steady but her gaze softer than before. The cavern's dim murmurs curled around them like a half-remembered breath, and she let them speak first before she offered anything of her own.

When she finally answered, her voice came slower, as if she weighed each word before letting it go.

"I think…" The word lingered gently, shaped by thought rather than certainty. "I think Malachor calls to many, but it keeps only those who fall willingly into its hunger. And you—" her eyes flicked upward to his molten gaze, "you do not strike me as someone who bows without choosing to."

A hint of something—agreement or admiration—passed through her expression before fading again into stillness.

They moved deeper into the dark, and Seren kept her attention divided between him and the shifting stone, as if listening to both with equal care. His declaration about Bogan and his oath carried weight, and she did not dismiss it; instead, she seemed to fold it into her thoughts.

"…I think your oath to the dead shapes you more than anything bound to your flesh."
Her tone didn't press, didn't claim knowledge—only offered a reflection of what she sensed.

The shadow-thicket thinned. Beyond it, the cavern widened, its walls filled with a cold, mineral glow that swirled like frozen smoke. Seren slowed her pace, letting him walk beside her rather than behind.

"Memory doesn't have to command you," she murmured. "But I think it gives you direction—something solid enough to stand on when the rest of this place tries to unmake you."

Her gaze met his again, more tentative now, as though she were searching the edges of truth rather than dictating it.

"Your scars…" she hesitated, choosing her next words with care, "…I think they are less a mark of what was done to you, and more a record of what you endured despite it."

The archway ahead pulsed faintly in the half-light. Seren approached but didn't cross, pausing long enough for him to feel her attention settle on him fully—curious, steady, but without certainty.

"If your vow keeps you moving forward," she said, her voice quieting as if shared only with him and the stone, "then I think…that is why Malachor cannot claim you."

She finally lifted her hand to the archway, not in command but in invitation—an opening she thought he was ready for, not one she was certain of.

"Come with me, Varin." A soft breath, almost contemplative. "I think your path is meant to go farther than this. And I would see where it leads."

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Her words reached him, as if picking through his brain. Sifting through each file of memory, morale and view of life. Not only was she speaking of Malachor, but she was learning about him and teaching him about Malachor’s preferences and the way the planet seems to survive.

“I believe that bowing or kneeling shows submission and allegiance. I learned years ago that you have to be careful with who you make partnerships or deals with.”

The air felt a bit heavier to him as they drew further into the darkness. It wasn’t the planet refusing or fighting, it was as if the raw power of dark side presence became thicker. He felt this feeling before, when he would meditate in the super volcano of his home world. It marked them drawing closer to a place of ancient significance.

He took a slow deep breath. Taking in the scent and presence of the dark side. He was accustomed to harsher climates, he had to be. But there was a difference between rising climate and descending climate. The thickness of the air was not discomfort, but seeing the caverns and the surrounding walls. The possibility of being forever trapped and devoured by this planet without a guide, even Varin knew that would be terrifying.

“The dead tend to tell more tales in truth than the living, lessons as well. Death is finality’s beginning shape, it has to speak truth.”

The darkened veil thinned as they approached a room of soft glow and mist. Varin paused his steps as the sight took him by surprise. Gazing at the walls for but a moment before he stepped beside her continuing their journey.

He spoke quietly, a response to why he grounds himself with memory.

“I tend to lose myself in battle. The memories are the only things that pull me back. Not only is it direction in many cases, but it is also foundation.”

His gaze met hers as she looked into his eyes. Not many people would give such attention to him. He was either avoided or challenged always. Never observed or searched. Her gaze drew his sight in as the gold in her eyes looked into his unrelenting. Again she spoke truth, directly through him. Piercing his armor and walls that he had set up so long ago. She spoke as if she endured such trials before. Her words he would not just throw away, the shun over him like a bright search light looking for anyone hiding.

He was quiet. A look of recognition in his eyes found hers. He gave a slow nod of understanding. The pulse of the archway rippled into the cavern, almost as if it were inviting them through. Pulling him through. He walked with her further and through the arch way.

Another memory began to pass into his mind. No physical pain, but a reminder. As if the planet itself had read into his history. The flash of a white saber cutting through the servants and friends of his family. The blaster fire and the airstrikes that raided his home, the screams of familiar faces and voices. His fists clenched as he pressed forward.

Ignati spoke into Varin’s mind.

Malachor, a planet of death and failure. Such a waste. Boy, I don’t think you should go further.

Varin’s eyes glared as he responded back in his head.

That is why I must continue.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

The darkness ahead deepened, not in the absence of light but in density, as though Malachor was thickening around them in anticipation. Seren's steps slowed, her posture shifting almost imperceptibly—not in fear, but in recognition. Something in the air had changed. Power had begun to coil, not outward from the walls, but inward toward Varin.

She felt it ripple across the Force like a heartbeat that was not his. She glanced at him as he spoke of kneeling, of caution in alliances, of the dead speaking truth. There was clarity in his voice, but beneath it…something frayed—something bracing itself. When he inhaled, she watched his lungs strain as if the cavern itself were pressing into him.

"You feel it," she murmured. "Good. Trials worth surviving should never hide their teeth."

The path constricted. Sound dulled. Even Sinew's soft padding against the stone seemed swallowed whole.

Then she felt it—the flicker in his presence, the vise tightening around old wounds, the echo of a memory not yet formed but already bleeding into reality. Her eyes narrowed, not in worry, but in precise understanding. "The dead do tell truth," she said quietly. "But Malachor prefers another method. It makes the living face the truths they try hardest to bury."

His stride faltered. The air shimmered. A soft vibration passed through the floor like a pulse of grief. She stepped closer—not touching him yet, but aligning her presence with his, an anchor without claiming him.

"Varin." Her tone sharpened gently, like a blade drawn not to harm but to keep him awake. "The next room will not ask for your strength. It will ask for your memory."

The archway ahead brightened with a cold, white glow—not the glow of light, but of a saber cutting through the darkness of his past. The hiss of plasma. The echo of blasterfire. The smell of charred stone. It bled through the doorway before he even reached it.

Sinew whimpered, ears pinned, recognizing danger older than her bloodline.

Seren watched the tension climb Varin's spine—the fists, the breath, the rigid determination that masked a wound that had never closed.

And then, softly but unwavering: "Do not fight the memory. You will lose. Walk into it." She lifted a hand, touching only his wrist—a point of grounding, not comfort.

"Malachor does not want your death here. It wants your surrender. That is how it feeds. That is how it keeps what enters." Her thumb traced a slow arc against his skin—a silent command to listen, not to retreat. "You will not give it that."

The archway pulsed again. Through it, shapes formed—corridors he had run through as a child, flames licking the edges of the walls, the sound of his father's roar, the white blade cleaving through someone he once knew.

Varin's breath hitched.

Seren's voice dropped to a whisper, dark and steady as the shadow she commanded: "Go. Face what hunts you. I will not pull you out—only hold the path open behind you." A pause. Her golden eyes reflected the blazing ghosts of his past. "Do not let the memory decide who you are. Decide it yourself."

And the moment he stepped through, the world reshaped into the night, his life was taken from him.

Varin Mortifer