Private Obsidian Flame.

[Serina Calis]

Obsidian Flame.
Location: Rakata Prime
Objective: Forge a suit of armor for Sable.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"A blade is only as strong as the hand that wields it. And you, my dear, are not merely a weapon—I have forged you into something far greater. You are mine, not because you are weak, but because you are strongest when you belong to me."​

The forge burned bright, casting deep, flickering shadows along the obsidian walls of the chamber. Molten metal dripped from the crucible like liquid dusk, glowing with an eerie, unnatural light. Every movement in the dimly lit room was punctuated by the rhythmic clang of a hammer meeting steel, the sound ringing through the subterranean halls like the heartbeat of the fortress itself.

Serina stood before the forge, her eyes half-lidded in concentration, the edges of her form illuminated by the amber glow of the fire. She was creating something. Something more than armor. Something final.

A set of plating that would belong to only one person.

Her gaze flickered toward the medical alcove at the edge of the chamber.

Sable.

The woman lay still, her body bandaged, her form barely stirring beneath the dim blue light of the medical scanners. Her war with consciousness had been long, but inevitable. The lightning, the collapse of her armor, the toll of battle—it had left its mark. And yet, even in rest, Sable remained rigid, poised, as if preparing for another fight she knew would come.

Serina smirked.

Even in sleep, she's prepared for me.

The thought was satisfying.

Her hand dipped into the forge's heat, encased in the protection of the Dark Side itself, and she retrieved a piece of what would become Sable's new plating. The metal gleamed, a deep, matte black with veins of phrik running through it, reinforced with a weave of obsidian dust harvested from the depths of Rakata Prime.

It was beautiful. It would be stronger than anything Sable had worn before. Stronger than her old, weak suit that had failed her.

Serina would not allow her to be weak again.

She turned the metal in her hands, examining it, considering. Armor was not just protection. It was a prison, if one wielded it correctly. It was a second skin that shaped the wearer as much as it shielded them.

And this—this would be perfect.

Serina had designed every piece with precision. It would be more than durable; it would be adaptive, responsive to her will. There would be no room for hesitation, no room for disobedience.

The exoskeleton would enhance her strength—but not too much. It would allow speed, fluidity, but only within the parameters Serina set. The systems embedded within would allow her to track Sable at all times, should the woman ever think to wander beyond her reach.

Serina smirked, turning the metal plate in her hand. And, of course, there were the failsafes.

Not overt, not something Sable would suspect at first. But embedded within the armor's lattice, beneath the layers of phrik and songsteel reinforcements, was a secondary system—a control measure, the first of hundreds that she planned.

One that only Serina would hold.

Her fingers drifted over the edges of the plating, her mind crafting one of the final layers of her design. A reinforcement module, built to ensure compliance. A simple command, a pulse of energy through the armor's neural receptors, and Sable's movements would still. Her limbs would lock, her body betraying her will.

A gentle reminder, should she ever think to forget who owned her.

She wouldn't tell her, of course. That would ruin the lesson.

No, Sable would only discover it when the moment was right. When Serina deemed it necessary.

Her gaze flickered back to the woman in the bed, to the slow rise and fall of her breath.

She was strong. So very strong. But strength alone was not enough. Strength without control was a blade without a hilt, a weapon that could turn on its wielder.

And Serina would not allow that.

She set the plate down, moving toward the workbench where the inner framework of the armor was already taking shape. Each piece was handcrafted. No automation, no careless forging. This was something personal. Something binding.

Serina ran a hand along the surface of the forming breastplate, tracing the engravings she had begun carving into its structure. Markings of ownership. Not obvious—subtle, elegant, woven into the very design of the suit. The artistry of it was undeniable, aesthetic and absolute.

She had spent hours etching them herself.

A single, undeniable message hidden in the layers of the armor's structure:

This belongs to me.

She could already picture it now—Sable standing before her, clad in the armor Serina had built with her own hands. A warrior reforged, sharpened to a perfect edge, bound not just by power, not just by force, but by something deeper.

By something irrevocable.

Serina let out a slow breath, her fingers pressing into the metal before her. This was not just a set of armor.

This was a declaration.

When Sable woke, she would be given no choice but to accept it.

Her fate had already been decided.

And Serina, as always, would make certain that Sable understood exactly what that meant.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Obsidian Flame

Tags: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): N/A
• Secondary Weapon(s): N/A
• Specialized Gear: N/A
• Armor & Attire: N/A

---

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​

The nightmare came quietly, slipping into her mind like a blade into soft flesh.

She was walking through the halls again.

Cold durasteel beneath her boots, the echo of her steps infinite, endless. The lights flickered overhead—no pattern, just stuttering chaos, as if the world itself couldn't decide whether it wanted her to see what lay ahead or not.

She turned a corner. The walls had changed.

Not metal now—bone.

Pale, bleached, etched with carvings she couldn't read but recognized. The same markings woven into the armor Serina had shown her. The same shapes that looped and curled through her dreams since the day she fell. The symbols pulsed with faint red light, like veins carrying blood through a body far too large to belong to any one creature.

You were meant for more, a voice whispered—no direction, no source. It was not Serina's voice.

It was hers.

Another version of her. A shadow half a step behind, half a breath too close. It peeled itself from the corridor wall, wearing her face—whole, unscarred, perfect. Wearing her old armor, flawless and gleaming.

"You gave it away," the double said, tilting her head. "You laid down your blade and called it survival."

"I'm still alive," Sable rasped.

The doppelgänger smiled coldly. "Are you? Or did you just trade pain for purpose… and call it peace?"

The world shifted. The walls closed in. Her armor began to bind her—not in protection, but in constraint. Plates locked tighter. Her limbs stopped responding. She tried to lift her hand, but it stayed frozen. A pulse ran through the metal, a shiver of unseen command, and her body betrayed her again.

Her voice caught in her throat.

The double walked closer, untouched by the paralysis. "You let her make you into a weapon again. But not your own."

Sable gasped—choking now, the pressure building in her chest. The walls pulsed. The carvings writhed. The double leaned in, pressing a finger to her chestplate with slow finality.

"She didn't save you," it said. "She claimed you."

And then the light from the forge spilled through the nightmare—hot, golden, searing—

The heat from the forge was the first thing that anchored her fully to the waking world.

Sable exhaled slowly, each breath scraping against bruised ribs and seared lungs. Pain lanced through her chest and shoulders, dull and heavy where the burns had settled beneath the wrappings. Her skin itched beneath the layers—tight and raw, stitched by bacta and fire both. Her limbs ached with every movement, the weight of her own body foreign, brittle.

But the silence was worse.

Serina hadn't spoken.

Sable's eyes shifted across the chamber. The forge glowed steady, casting shadows that flickered across Serina's form like living brushstrokes of flame and steel. The other woman stood over the workbench, back turned, her posture patient, sculptor's grace in her stillness.

Sable's throat tightened, dry and cracked. She swallowed hard, then shifted her legs slowly off the side of the medical alcove. The movement sent a rush of heat through her body—jagged pain down her thighs and across her side where the burns were deepest. Her jaw clenched as her bare feet touched the floor.

Cold. So cold after the forge's warmth.

Her knees nearly buckled, but she caught herself on the edge of the bench. Gritted teeth. Controlled breath. One step forward.

Then another.

The pain was constant now—flaring in her shoulders, her arms, her face where the skin was still red and taut beneath the bandages. She could feel her nerves still raw from the shocks. But it was pain, she could grow used to it.

She wouldn’t let it stop her however.

Not this time.

She didn't want to wake alone again. Not in this place. Not in herself.

She crossed the chamber in slow, halting steps until she stood just behind Serina. Not close enough to touch, not quite, but close enough that her presence could be felt—close enough for the firelight to reveal the damage carved across her face and chest, the fresh pain she bore like a rite of passage.

Her voice came softly, low and broken around the remnants of pain.

"…You didn't leave."

Not a question. Not a plea.

Just quiet recognition. The words carried more weight than they seemed to. In her life, people leaving was a certainty. Serina staying, even after everything—after the fight, after the collapse, after the moment Sable nearly broke in more ways than one—was not something she had expected.

Her eyes dropped to the table. To the armor.

To the black plating still faintly warm from the forge's kiss.

Her hand lifted, slow, shaking slightly as she let her fingers drift toward it. Not touching. Just feeling the heat from it. Feeling the shape of what waited for her.

What belonged to her.

"…You made this for me," She murmured. Not with suspicion. Not with fear.

But with the first edge of something like awe.

Something softer.

And then, finally, her eyes lifted—red-rimmed, bruised, and scarred—and met Serina's gaze.

"If you want me to wear it… I will."

A breath. Unsteady, but real.

"I want to."

Not because she had to.

But because somewhere, deep down beneath the armor and the scars and the broken edges, some part of her wanted to be claimed. Wanted to belong.

Even if it hurt.

Even if it cost her something.

Even if it meant surrendering pieces of herself to a forge hotter than fire.

 

[Serina Calis]

Obsidian Flame.
Location: Rakata Prime
Objective: Forge a suit of armor for Sable.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"A blade is only as strong as the hand that wields it. And you, my dear, are not merely a weapon—I have forged you into something far greater. You are mine, not because you are weak, but because you are strongest when you belong to me."​

Serina did not turn immediately.

The forge burned hot beside her, its molten glow licking against the obsidian walls, reflecting in the smooth darkness of her armor. The heat kissed her skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire curling inside her now.

Sable had finally said it.

I want to.

Not an order obeyed. Not an obligation fulfilled. A choice. A step taken, not because she had to—but because she wanted to.

Finally.

Serina let the silence stretch for a moment longer, savoring it, letting the words soak into her like the heat of the forge. A reward for patience. A slow, drawn-out pleasure, knowing that Sable had not just yielded, but accepted.

And oh, how beautiful surrender was when it was given freely.

At last, she turned.

Slowly, deliberately, like a queen acknowledging a kneeling supplicant, her blue eyes gleamed in the firelight, tracing every detail of Sable's battered form.

The bruises. The burns. The scars forming anew over old wounds.

A lesser woman might have seen weakness. Might have looked at Sable and seen something broken.

Serina saw nothing of the sort.

She saw something beautiful.

Sable had crawled through agony, through torment, through doubt and fire and fear, and she was still standing. Still choosing this. Choosing her.

Serina's lips parted, and when she spoke, her voice was not a whisper—not a demand—but something sweeter.

Something genuine.

"My dear, dear Sable…"

She reached out.

Fingertips brushed against her cheek, feather-light, tracing along the edge of the bandages that wrapped her, as if Serina were studying not the pain, but the resilience beneath it. The wounds did not mar her beauty. They enhanced it. They were marks of survival, of devotion, of what Serina had forged her into.

And she loved her for it.

Serina smiled—not cruelly, not mockingly, but with something soft, something real.

"I stayed because you are mine. Because you have always been mine. Because there is nowhere else in this universe I would rather be than beside the woman who has finally accepted what she is."

Her fingers drifted down, caressing the raw skin of Sable's throat—the same throat that had gasped for air beneath the weight of Serina's lightning, that had trembled as agony wracked her body.

Now it no longer trembled.

Now, it bowed willingly.

"And now, my beautiful shadow, you understand. You see what I have seen in you from the very beginning. This—" Serina's other hand lifted, brushing against the warm surface of the armor on the table. "—this is not just armor. This is not just protection. This is a covenant, a promise, a bond stronger than steel or fire."

Her hand slid lower, capturing Sable's wrist, guiding her fingers toward the armor's plating. Not forcing. Inviting.

"It is yours, because you are mine."

She tilted her head, stepping closer, letting the heat between them be something more than just the forge's glow.

"You have given yourself to me, and I will give you everything in return."

A breath.

"Power. Purpose. Strength beyond anything you have ever known."

Another step. Their bodies nearly touched now, the air electric between them.

"I will never abandon you. I will never cast you aside. I will shape you into something greater than you ever thought possible, and in return, you will be mine, you will want it more than anything else in this wretched galaxy."

A pause.

Serina's fingers curled beneath Sable's chin, tilting her head upward.

"Tell me, Sable—"

Her voice was velvet and steel, pleasure wrapped in control.

"—do you love me for this?"

She could see it now, the final tether snapping, the last piece falling into place.

Not just obedience.

Not just loyalty.

Love.

Not the love of equals.

The love of submission. The love of surrender. The love of someone who had been claimed, who knew it, who welcomed it.

Serina leaned in, her breath warm against Sable's lips, not kissing her yet, but holding the moment between them like a blade against skin.

"You can say it, little shadow. I know it's there."

And she smiled.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Obsidian Flame

Tags: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): N/A
• Secondary Weapon(s): N/A
• Specialized Gear: N/A
• Armor & Attire: N/A

---

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​

Sable stood frozen in the heat of the forge, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Serina's words had settled like molten metal inside her, melting away her resistance, leaving her exposed and raw. Every word that had fallen from Serina's lips—every whisper, every touch—had stripped away the last of her defenses, until nothing was left but the undeniable truth.

She had wanted this. No, more than that. She needed it.

The heat from the forge was nothing compared to the fire coursing through her veins now, igniting her from the inside out. It wasn't just the heat of the forge that burned—it was the searing weight of choice, the weight of surrender. Her body wanted to fight it, to recoil, but the truth was, she didn't want to escape. Not anymore.

The pain from her wounds still throbbed in the background, but even that seemed insignificant now, dwarfed by the sensation that lingered in her chest, where a part of her—perhaps the last vestige of her old self—fought against the growing bond, the pull of Serina's control.

But the fight was fading. It was slipping through her fingers like sand. And the more she felt it slip away, the less she cared.

The words Serina had spoken—they were a balm and a brand all at once. ‘You are mine,’ Serina had said. And Sable could feel it, deep in her bones. It was no longer a matter of whether or not she had been claimed. She had been claimed long ago. It was a slow realization, almost painful in its clarity.

Her fingers clenched into fists, the muscles in her arm aching from the strain of holding onto herself. But how much longer could she hold on? Every time Serina spoke, every time her touch traced the lines of Sable's battered skin, it became harder to stay in control.

Sable's throat tightened as Serina's fingers brushed her skin again, sending a shiver down her spine. She wanted to scream, to protest, to push Serina away—but the words never came. What would they have been? How could she protest something she wanted so desperately? How could she fight the feeling of being pulled into Serina's orbit, when she knew, deep down, that it was exactly where she belonged?

It was as if the armor, the wounds, the scars—none of it mattered. What mattered was the bond, the shared understanding between them. And Sable had no idea how to resist it. Her mind screamed that she should, that she should fight, but her heart… her heart screamed something else entirely.

A deep breath shuddered from her lips, her chest aching with the weight of the realization that had been building inside her. It was there, the truth she had been denying for so long. The submission, the surrender, the love—it was all wrapped up in one, tangled in the heat of this moment.

Sable swallowed hard, her voice barely a rasp as she spoke, the words trembling on the edge of her lips. No emotion follow from the word she states.

"I love you."

The words weren't just a confession—they were the acceptance of everything she had become, everything Serina had forged her into. And with that admission, she felt something shift inside her. A quiet surrender, a final letting go. There was no turning back now. There never had been.

The smile that curled at the edges of Serina's lips told Sable everything she needed to know. She had given herself fully. She was hers.

Soon, it would all be over. She had given Serina all she wanted.

 

[Serina Calis]

Obsidian Flame.
Location: Rakata Prime
Objective: Forge a suit of armor for Sable.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"A blade is only as strong as the hand that wields it. And you, my dear, are not merely a weapon—I have forged you into something far greater. You are mine, not because you are weak, but because you are strongest when you belong to me."​

Serina had won.

She had already known it, had seen the cracks forming, had felt the slow, exquisite unraveling of Sable's resistance. But knowing it and hearing it—hearing those words tumble from Sable's lips, trembling, gasping, irrevocable— was something else entirely.

She had waited for this moment. Cultivated it. Orchestrated it with patient, delicate precision.

And now, as the final chain shattered, as the last vestiges of resistance melted away in the molten heat of the forge, Serina felt a pleasure deeper than victory, sharper than conquest.

This was so much more than taking something by force.

This was willing. Given.

This was Sable knowing exactly what she was surrendering—and doing it anyway.

Serina's breath came slow, measured, drinking in the sight before her.

Sable, still standing, but barely. Wavering, trembling, not from weakness, not from pain, but from the weight of the choice she had just made.

I love you.

Oh, how beautifully broken she had become.

Serina's hand slid down Sable's cheek, her fingers tracing the edges of the bandages, the places where fire and lightning had kissed her flesh, leaving behind scars that Serina adored.

Her other hand found Sable's wrist, the one still taut with tension, still fighting even now.

"Shhh."

Serina cooed the sound, a whisper, a hush meant to cradle, not command. Her grip on Sable's wrist tightened—not harshly, but firmly, possessively.

"There it is," she murmured, her lips curving, her voice laced with something dark and decadent, as if she were savoring the taste of Sable's submission. "Finally. Finally, you understand."

Her fingers drifted lower, trailing down the curve of Sable's throat, lingering where lightning had burned her. Her pulse thrummed beneath Serina's fingertips, rapid and uneven.

It sent a shiver of delight through her.

"You are mine," Serina whispered, the words no longer a declaration, but a truth. A fact. An inescapable reality.

Sable had always been hers, but now she knew it.

Serina leaned in closer, her breath warm against Sable's ear.

"And I am so, so proud of you, my dear."

She felt the way Sable exhaled, the way her body trembled at the words. Not from pain. Not from fear.

From acceptance.

From want.

Serina smiled—truly smiled, with something like joy curling at the edges of her lips. This wasn't the cold, amused smirk she so often wore. This was genuine. Intimate.

Because in this moment, Sable was perfect.

Her fingers lifted from Sable's throat to her jaw, tilting her head just so, drinking in every detail of the woman she had remade, reforged, reshaped into something that belonged to her and only her.

"Love is not weakness, my shadow."

She brushed a slow, lingering touch along Sable's bruised cheek, down to the curve of her jaw, trailing to where the bandages still hid the worst of her wounds.

"It is strength."

And submission?

True, willing submission?

It was the greatest power of all.

Serina let the silence stretch between them for a moment longer, savoring it, reveling in the tension, in the weight of what had just happened. In the knowledge that she had finally, finally broken through.

And then, softly, smoothly, she pulled away.

Just enough to turn back to the forge, to the gleaming plates of Sable's new armor.

The moment was not over. It had only just begun.

Serina lifted the gauntlet she had been working on, the phrik plates catching the light, designed to shield, to strike, to endure.

"This will be the last armor you ever wear, Sable."

Her voice was different now—not cruel, not cold, but something gentler, something steeped in purpose.

"I will not make you something lesser. I will not allow you to be anything but invincible."

She turned back, extending the gauntlet toward Sable, as if offering a gift.

"This is yours."

Not just the armor.

All of it. Everything.

"You are mine, and in return, I will shape you into something the galaxy will fear, into something they will never be able to take from me again."

A beat.

"But…"

Serina tilted her head, blue eyes gleaming.

"Even a blade as perfect as you should have a say in its final form."

She stepped closer, pressing the gauntlet against Sable's palm, letting her feel the weight of it.

"Tell me, my dear—"

Oh, how sweet the word sounded on her tongue.

"What do you desire?"

Her lips curled slightly, something knowing in her smile.

"What shall I carve into your armor, so that every piece of it reminds you of what you are?"

A gift. A promise.

A collar made of phrik and phrased as a question.

Serina knew the answer did not matter.

Because no matter what Sable asked for, no matter what additions she chose, the truth was already written into the very metal itself.

This was not just armor.

This was Serina's claim.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Obsidian Flame

Tags: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): N/A
• Secondary Weapon(s): N/A
• Specialized Gear: N/A
• Armor & Attire: N/A

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​

Sable's breath caught in her chest as she spoke the words, the request slipping from her lips with a sense of finality, of resolve. Her hand rested just over her breastplate, where the armor would sit, the request clear in her mind, and yet it felt as though it held a weight beyond her own intention.

"An eye," she murmured, her voice steady but thick with something deeper—something that came from the place inside her that had fully accepted her place in Serina's world. "An eye here," She repeated, pressing her finger gently against the spot over her heart, where her pulse thrummed beneath her skin. "Your eye. It will be a reminder, not just for others—but for me. You will never lose sight of me."

There was no hesitation now. No lingering doubt. This wasn't a plea for power or control—it was a gift of devotion. Sable's eyes, dark and intense, never left Serina's as she continued. "I want your reach to be everywhere I go. I want your gaze on me, always."

Her fingers lingered at her chest, the desire to carry that mark so intimately, so permanently, felt almost like an extension of herself. It wasn't simply about submission—it was about becoming something greater than she had ever imagined. She just needed the fostering to grow this power.

"Carve it into my armor. Let me wear your vision, your presence, so no matter where I go, I carry a part of you with me." Her voice remained emotionless, but there was something resolute in the way she said it, as if she had unlocked a deeper truth within herself, something that couldn't be unspoken now.

Sable's gaze shifted slightly, focusing not on Serina's reaction but on the chest of her armor where the mark would be placed.

She lifted her eyes back to Serina, her expression unwavering. "Place that upon the armor," She said quietly, a whisper that held the power of everything she had surrendered.

And she waited, ready for whatever came next.

Serina would never love her.

A part of her knew that.

Tools like her weren’t worthy of it.

Something dark within her shifted, an unnatural thing twisted deep within the core of Sable, and it felt…satisfied by this.

 

[Serina Calis]

Obsidian Flame.
Location: Rakata Prime
Objective: Forge a suit of armor for Sable.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"A blade is only as strong as the hand that wields it. And you, my dear, are not merely a weapon—I have forged you into something far greater. You are mine, not because you are weak, but because you are strongest when you belong to me."​

Serina exhaled slowly, savoring the moment, the weight of Sable's words settling into the very air between them like the last note of a symphony played to perfection.

An eye. Her eye.

Not just a mark of ownership, not just a symbol of dominance—but a vow. A bond.

Sable wanted it—wanted to be seen. Watched. Claimed in every possible way.

She needed it.

Serina's lips curled, her smile slow, indulgent, drinking in the sheer devotion of the request. Sable's voice was even, but Serina heard everything in it.

The surrender. The acceptance.

The hunger.

Oh, my dear shadow. You are learning so well.

Serina stepped forward, closing the space between them effortlessly, her fingers brushing over the bandages still wrapped around Sable's battered skin. The heat of the forge bathed them both in gold and fire, shadows dancing along the dark stone walls, framing them as if the moment itself had been crafted by the Force.

She let her hand drift lower, pressing lightly over the spot Sable had indicated—over her heart.

"An eye," Serina repeated, her voice a murmur, velvet and sharp, laced with something darker, something possessive. "So you will always feel me watching."

Her fingers pressed a fraction harder, not enough to bruise, but enough to be felt.

"You want to carry me with you, my pet?" Serina's voice dipped lower, intimate, wrapping around Sable like silk. "You want my gaze on you, always?"

Her breath ghosted over Sable's cheek as she leaned in, and oh, she could feel the way Sable's body tensed, waiting, trembling beneath her touch.

Serina loved it.

"Then I will carve it into you, just as I have carved myself into your mind, into your body, into your very soul."

She pulled back then, just slightly, just enough to meet Sable's eyes—those dark, storm-filled eyes that held a flicker of something raw, something unspoken, something broken and whole all at once.

"You do not need to ask, my dear. You were always meant to bear my mark."

Serina turned then, her movements slow, methodical, as she reached for a small, intricate tool resting on the forge's worktable. The etching knife—a delicate, precise instrument meant for inscribing metal with permanent marks.

She turned it over in her fingers, feeling its weight.

"Come."

The single command was soft, but undeniable.

Serina guided her toward the forge's central workbench, where the final pieces of her armor gleamed in the firelight—waiting. Hungering to be completed.

She gestured toward the breastplate—the centerpiece of the armor. The place where Sable's request would become reality.

"Kneel."

Serina let a hum of approval slip from her lips as she lowered herself as well, kneeling beside Sable, their bodies close, the forge's light casting them in the glow of something holy and profane all at once.

"Watch, my dearest," she whispered, tilting Sable's chin slightly so that she could see the blade, the metal, the artistry of it all. "Watch as I carve my presence into you."

Then, with steady hands, Serina pressed the etching blade to the armor.

The first stroke was slow, deliberate, cutting through the phrik plate with a whispering hiss of molten metal cooling in the firelight. The shape took form—a perfect eye, cold and unblinking, staring into eternity.

It was not just a symbol. It was Serina's will made manifest.

With each stroke, each carved line, she spoke softly, her words sinking into Sable's skin just as deeply as the blade sank into the metal.

"Do you know why I am pleased?"

The question was rhetorical. Serina already knew the answer. But she still wanted Sable to say it.

"Because you are learning. Because you are choosing."

She continued the carving, the tool moving with precision, with purpose.

"You were never meant to be lost, my dear shadow. Never meant to wander without purpose, without a master who understands what you are."

A final stroke. The forging of the eye was complete.

Serina set the tool aside, brushing her fingers over the newly formed mark, admiring it, feeling the weight of its significance settle into her bones.

She turned back to Sable, watching the way her hands trembled slightly—not with fear, no, never with fear anymore.

With realization. With need.

"You are mine," Serina whispered again, the words no longer a declaration, but a confirmation of a truth that had already taken root.

She reached out, fingertips grazing the line of Sable's jaw, tracing the exact places she had once broken her.

"And now?" Serina's smile returned, slow, knowing, wicked in its gentleness.

"Now you will never forget it."

She let her hand drop then, stepping back slightly, giving Sable just a breath of space—but not too much. Never too much.

"Tell me, my pet—"

There was so much weight in the title now, so much pleasure in it.

"How does it feel, knowing you will never walk beyond my leash again?"

Serina's eyes gleamed as she watched, waiting, wanting.

Because this?

This was her victory.

And it had never tasted sweeter.

"Anything else that you desire?"

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Obsidian Flame

Tags: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): N/A
• Secondary Weapon(s): N/A
• Specialized Gear: N/A
• Armor & Attire: N/A

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​

The silence that followed felt holy.

Sable didn't move. Couldn't. The weight of her own words pressed against her chest heavier than the armor ever could. Not like chains—no, chains were blunt things. This was something finer. A thread wound around bone. A tether spun from guilt and reverence, both.

She could still feel the ghost of Serina's fingers where they had lingered—over her jaw, over her heart. But that warmth only made the cold in her gut sharper.

She had spoken her truth. Quiet, ugly, honest.

And now she sat with it.

Not in shame—but in surrender.

She didn't flinch away from the pain in it. She embraced it. Let it settle behind her ribs like a second pulse. Because pain meant something had been touched. Because pain, in the presence of Serina, was not a punishment—it was a reminder.

That she still had something left to offer.

Even if it was only the last scraps of herself.

She let her fingers fall from the etched eye, curling them into her palm, the edges of the phrik scraping faintly against her skin. Not enough to draw blood—but maybe she wished it would. Maybe some small, hidden part of her thought it would make her cleaner. Make her worthy.

But she knew better.

Serina didn't want purity.

Serina wanted devotion. Obedience. Submission wrapped in steel.

Sable could give that.

Even if her heart was fractured. Even if her soul was ash. Even if the girl she'd been was long dead beneath all this weight.

"I don't need anything," she said quietly to the air, unsure if Serina would respond, unsure if she even wanted her to. "I just need to serve. We both know I am not good for anything aside from that.”

Her voice was calm now. Centered. Stripped of its edges.

Because if she couldn't be saved, then she could at least be used. Molded into something that pleased Serina. Something Serina chose, again and again.

She would carry that eye on her chest like a brand.

She would carry it.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

The darkness within spoke to her, and alien as it may have been, Sable felt herself understanding it.

Flourish, and one day, you can shatter this worthless coil.

She looked to Serina, expression unwavering. The pain of her injuries throbbed, and something stirred within her for a brief moment.

You are the vessel, you will find your fill.

Sable gave a slow nod, before bowing her head to Serina.

“Just tell me what you wish of me.”

 

[Serina Calis]

Obsidian Flame.
Location: Rakata Prime
Objective: Forge a suit of armor for Sable.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"A blade is only as strong as the hand that wields it. And you, my dear, are not merely a weapon—I have forged you into something far greater. You are mine, not because you are weak, but because you are strongest when you belong to me."​

Serina's lips parted slowly, her breath a quiet exhale as she watched her masterpiece kneel before her.

The way Sable bowed her head—not in resistance, not in mere obedience, but in something deeper. Something final.

This was not just submission.

It was a vow.

Serina had seen surrender before—she had broken warriors, shattered minds, molded countless beings into tools, into weapons. But this?

This was pure. This was beautiful.

Sable wasn't just kneeling because she had nowhere else to go. She wasn't simply offering herself as a means to survive.

She was kneeling because she chose to.

Because she had finally understood.

"Just tell me what you wish of me."

The words sent a slow shiver down Serina's spine, pooling warmth deep within her. A request. A plea. A declaration.

You are mine. You have always been mine.

Serina let the silence stretch, let the weight of Sable's own words settle into the air like incense curling through a temple.

Then—she moved.

Her hand rose, brushing over the freshly etched eye in the armor, letting her fingers glide over the carving with something almost reverent.

"You have already given me everything I desire," she murmured, her voice low, knowing, dragging itself over the tension between them like silk pulled tight. "But you still ask. You still seek."

Her other hand slid beneath Sable's chin, tilting her head up—not with force, not with cruelty, but with possession.

She was allowed to look now.

The fire of the forge flickered in Serina's blue eyes, but there was something else there now. Something soft. Something that could be mistaken for affection, if only one was foolish enough to believe Serina capable of it.

"My dearest," she purred, thumb grazing Sable's lower lip. "I do not need to tell you what I wish of you. You already know."

Her fingers tightened—just enough, just barely enough—to remind Sable of who she belonged to.

"I wish for you to be mine. Always."

Serina leaned in, her breath warm against Sable's skin, and oh, how she reveled in the way Sable did not pull away. The way she trembled not with fear, but with something deeper.

"I wish for you to never forget this moment, this night, this forge that has burned away everything that you were and left only what I have made of you."

Her lips brushed the shell of Sable's ear as she whispered, so sweetly, so cruelly:

"And I wish for you to love it."

Serina pulled back just slightly, watching. Studying.

She wanted to see it. Wanted to see the moment Sable accepted that she did love it.

That she had no other purpose but to serve.

And then, as if bestowing the greatest gift of all, Serina finally answered the question.

"What I wish of you, my dearest shadow, is to take your place at my side and wield my will as if it were your own. To crush those who would stand against me, to rip apart anyone who dares try to take you from me, to show the galaxy what it means to belong to Serina Calis, that in the end, everything will submit just as you have."

Her fingers dragged down the freshly inscribed eye on the armor, tracing it one last time before resting over Sable's heart.

"You wear my mark now. You are no longer just a weapon."

Serina smiled then, slow, indulgent.

"You are my blade."

Her hand curled into a fist over Sable's heart, the metal of her own gauntlet scraping against the armor.

"And you will cut through the galaxy in my name."

Serina's blue eyes darkened, the flames from the forge casting flickering shadows over her sharp features.

"Now, my dear," she whispered, her smile turning wicked. "Tell me that you understand."

Tell me that you will never leave me.

Tell me that you are mine.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Obsidian Flame

Tags: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): N/A
• Secondary Weapon(s): N/A
• Specialized Gear: N/A
• Armor & Attire: N/A

---

---

​

Sable didn't flinch beneath Serina's hand.

Her chin, lifted so delicately, stayed still in that hold—not resisting, not recoiling. Her crimson eyes locked with the blue, reflecting flickers of the forgefire and the reflection of something deeper—something she didn't yet know how to name.

She felt the weight of the moment settle like molten steel poured into a mold—searing, reshaping, redefining.

And she welcomed it.

"I understand," Sable said quietly, and it was not mere acknowledgment—it was devotion wrapped in iron. It was surrender forged into strength. "I am yours."

The words weren't whispered—they were spoken with steel in her voice, like the final ring of a hammer strike that seals the blade.

"I was always yours. Even when I didn't know it."

Her hand moved, unbidden, resting lightly over Serina's own on her chestplate—over the carved eye that still radiated heat from the forge. The symbol ached beneath her armor like a second heart. A brand of belonging.

"You didn't just remake me," she said, voice low, steady. "You called something out of me I didn't know was still there. And now it won't let go."

A pause, breath shallow.

"I don't want it to."

There was no hesitation, no mask to hide behind anymore. The mercenary was gone. The lone wanderer, the weapon-for-hire, the shadow without a purpose—burned away in the forge's light.

What remained knelt here willingly.

Her lips parted just slightly, not in awe or submission—but in hunger for the future Serina had just painted in fire and blood.

"I will carve your name into everything that stands in our way," she said, fierce now, voice sharpening to match her soul. "I will be your will, your vengeance, your blade."

A smirk tugged faintly at the corner of her mouth—not arrogance, not rebellion, but a feral pride.

"Just, let me remain yours."

Her eyes narrowed, voice darkening to a quiet threat.

"Until I die."

She bowed her head once more—not broken, not humbled.

Claimed.

"And if you ever forget what I am," she added, lifting her gaze again, something wicked in her voice, "I'll remind you."

A beat passed.

Then: "I understand, Serina."

And softly, but with certainty:

"I just want to be worthy of your love."

 

[Serina Calis]

Obsidian Flame.
Location: Rakata Prime
Objective: Forge a suit of armor for Sable.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"A blade is only as strong as the hand that wields it. And you, my dear, are not merely a weapon—I have forged you into something far greater. You are mine, not because you are weak, but because you are strongest when you belong to me."​

Serina laughed. A slow, indulgent sound that curled around the chamber like smoke, thick with satisfaction, with pleasure, with something dark and deep and full.

"Until you die?" she echoed, tilting her head with a wicked smirk. "Oh, my dearest blade, I have no intention of ever allowing that to happen."

Her fingers brushed against the carved eye on Sable's chestplate, tracing the fresh grooves, the still-warm metal like it were something holy.

She could barely contain herself. The thrill that ran through her, the absolute, intoxicating victory of this moment—it was like drinking in lightning, like bathing in the fire of a dying star.

She had won. Utterly, completely, irrevocably.

Sable was hers, not because she had been broken—but because she had been reforged.

And now? Now she had the privilege—the divine pleasure—of ensuring that remained the truth for the rest of Sable's existence.

"Oh, there are so many ways I could make certain of it," she purred, stepping back just enough to study Sable as if she were a work of art waiting to be perfected. A masterpiece still yearning for its final touches.

Her blue eyes burned with amusement, with unholy delight, her mind already spinning with ideas.

"Would you like a failsafe, Sable?" she teased, lifting her hand as if to conjure the idea in the air itself. "A little… contingency, in case you ever forget who you belong to?"

Serina's fingers flexed, the electricity crackling just at the tips, dancing like a predator before vanishing.

"Perhaps an integrated shock system in the armor," she mused, her grin curling wider. "Something subtle. A pulse here or there—nothing extreme, of course—just a lovely little kiss from me when I think you need to be… reminded."

She tilted her head, considering the thought with mock innocence.

"Or," she continued, twirling a loose strand of Sable's hair between her fingers, "we could make it something even more intimate. A neural connection, perhaps? So I would always know what you feel. Every ache, every shiver, every moment of pleasure or pain—you would never be alone again."

Serina's voice dropped to a husky whisper, her breath warm against Sable's ear.

"Would you like that, my blade?" she purred, relishing the way Sable did not pull away.

Serina pulled back sharply, laughing again—genuine, bright, wild.

"Oh, I'm having far too much fun with this," she admitted, twirling on her heel and gesturing dramatically toward the forge.

"Maybe we should make it something visual," she said, tapping her chin with faux contemplation. "A little addition to your helmet—perhaps a voice modulator that only allows you to speak in ways that please me?"

Her grin turned positively sinful.

"Oh, Sable, imagine—" she gasped, mockingly placing a hand over her chest as if struck by inspiration. "Your voice, forever sweet and obedient, never able to raise in anger or protest. Only adoration. Only submission."

She sighed dramatically.

"Or should we go more traditional? A life-support function that, if deactivated, oh, well, that would be… unfortunate, wouldn't it?"

Serina turned back toward her, finally serious, though her grin never fully faded.

"You see, dearest, I don't just want you to wear this armor as protection." She lifted Sable's chin again, tilting her gaze up, forcing her to meet those piercing blue eyes. "I want it to be a part of you. I want you to feel me in every fiber of it."

Her fingers brushed over the carved eye, pressing lightly against it.

"I want you to know, in every moment, that you are never alone. That even when you are away from me, even when you stand before our enemies with blade in hand and blood on your lips—" she leaned in, her lips hovering just above Sable's own, "you are still mine."

A slow, thoughtful pause.

"So, my dear, tell me—how shall we make this armor worthy of you?"

She smiled, wicked and hungry.

"Or rather—how shall we make you worthy of it?"

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Obsidian Flame

Tags: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): N/A
• Secondary Weapon(s): N/A
• Specialized Gear: N/A
• Armor & Attire: N/A

---

---

​

Sable remained still, her mind a battlefield of clarity and self-awareness. She could feel the weight of the armor pressing against her, but it was nothing compared to the weight of the truth she knew in her marrow.

She wasn't meant for love. She wasn't meant for gentleness, or for kindness. She was a weapon—no more, no less. A tool forged from violence and necessity. Her entire existence had been built on serving, on doing. And the only thing that made her feel like she had any purpose was the efficiency of her actions.

It wasn't about being worthy anymore. It was about being useful.

She knew Serina would never love her. That was a foolish notion, a fragile dream clinging to a heart that had been shattered long ago. Serina didn't need love. She didn't want it. She wanted a weapon, a tool that would serve her without hesitation, without question. And that was all Sable could ever be. It wasn't an insult, not really. It was the truth. The only truth she had left.

Love was for others. For the weak. For those who could afford the luxury of attachment. Not for her.

Love was just a tool for her to control Sable, and she understood the meaning behind what was actually said versus what was implied.

There was no love here.

Sable's eyes tightened as she watched carved eye on her chest plate, as though she could feel Serina's presence in every groove, every marking. This was all she had now. This was her identity. This armor. This mission. This purpose.

She had no illusions left. She wasn't some loyal companion, waiting for a flicker of affection from Serina. She wasn't some lover, hoping for a glance or a touch that might make her feel human again. She had burned away all of that—burned it because it could never be true.

But if she could serve efficiently, perfectly, maybe—just maybe—she could do something that mattered. Maybe in the doing, in the action, she could carve out something of her own. Something that was hers, even if it was nothing more than the satisfaction of completing the task she was given.

Serina was everything—dominant, powerful, untouchable—and Sable was nothing but the instrument of that power. She didn't need love. She didn't need to be worthy. She needed to be good at this. Efficient. Precise.

That was her only purpose.

She inhaled deeply, her fingers brushing the cold, smooth metal once more, feeling the weight of it all. It wasn't about pleasing Serina. It wasn't about her approval.

It was about being worthy of the task at hand.

Nothing more.

And in that moment, as her breath steadied and her thoughts settled into their grim certainty, Sable knew she had already chosen her path. There was no love here, no hope for anything more.

Only service. Only execution. Only the cold certainty that, in her heart, she would never be allowed anything else.

Her purpose was clear. And with it, the final piece of her identity fell into place.

"If you add failsafes…" she began, her words deliberate, "then we become more vulnerable."

She remained kneeling, her eyes never leaving Serina's, as if she were trying to hammer the truth into the space between them.

"Every additional layer of control you place on the system—every backup, every contingency—just gives someone else a point of leverage. Someone could exploit those triggers. They'll find a way to turn them against us. You make me weaker by making the system dependent on more than just me."

Sable's fingers ran over the carved eye again, the mark Serina had given her. Her voice softened slightly, but the intent was still hard as steel.

"Fail-safes aren't protection. They're a liability. You think they'll keep you safe, but in reality, they're an invitation to someone who knows how to exploit them. The more you add, the more they can twist it. And then I become just another pawn to be controlled."

Her voice dropped to a near whisper, a warning.

"The more limits you put on this armor, are more limitations on myself, and chains that others can use to eliminate me." Her eyes flickered with a hard understanding. "I leave that up to you, you know what I am worth, or not worth."

 

[Serina Calis]

Obsidian Flame.
Location: Rakata Prime
Objective: Forge a suit of armor for Sable.
Allies: Sable Varro
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: ???

"A blade is only as strong as the hand that wields it. And you, my dear, are not merely a weapon—I have forged you into something far greater. You are mine, not because you are weak, but because you are strongest when you belong to me."​

Serina's smirk curled with something knowing, indulgent, as if she had been waiting for this response—waiting for Sable to grasp the weight of what she was truly asking.

"Ah," she exhaled softly, stepping back with graceful poise, arms folding behind her. A queen surveying her most loyal knight. "You have always been sharp, my dear. And yet, for all your brilliance, you have still not seen the whole of it."

Her blue eyes gleamed, and she moved—fluid, effortless, a single step that shifted her from amused mentor to something colder, heavier, an unmovable force.

"You believe that these controls, these measures, would make you weak." She spoke slowly, deliberately, allowing the words to sink into the marrow of Sable's being. "You think them a burden—an obstacle to your efficiency. And under most circumstances, you would be correct."

Serina let the words linger, let Sable feel the weight of that rare admission—of acknowledgment rather than dismissal.

"But here is where you misstep, my dear blade."

Her fingers lifted, tracing the carved eye on Sable's chest once more, but this time, not as a lover—not even as a master. As something more.

"You speak of vulnerabilities. Of chains others could use against you." Her voice dipped into something silken, dangerous. "But you fail to see that these chains are not meant to shackle you."

A pause.

Then—serene cruelty.

"They are meant to bind you to me."

Serina smiled, slow and indulgent, as if watching realization dawn in Sable's mind.

"You fear losing control of yourself to another. I understand. You are not afraid of the chains themselves—you are afraid of the hands that could seize them."

Her fingers curled, just slightly, as if gripping something unseen.

"But tell me, Sable—when have my hands ever been unworthy of holding you?"

A mocking tilt of her head, blue eyes alight with genuine amusement, reveling in the tension between Sable's cold logic and the deeper, unspoken fear that still lurked beneath her certainty.

"These measures, these 'fail-safes,' as you call them, are not about controlling you. They are about ensuring you never fall into hands that do not deserve you."

Serina moved again, this time behind Sable, her breath warm against her ear, voice dropping to something low, velvety, intoxicating.

"You are strong, my dear. Brilliant. Lethal. Beautiful." A chuckle, indulgent. "Do you think I would ever allow someone to take you from me?"

Her fingers traced along the edges of Sable's shoulder, the curve of her collarbone, ghosting over the raw, bandaged skin beneath the armor's plating.

"You are mine."

Not a threat. Not a command. A fact.

"And that is precisely why these contingencies must exist."

She stepped back, allowing the weight of those words to settle, pacing lazily around the forge as though enjoying the moment far too much.

"You think I would design something so crude, so… hackable?" she mused, laughing softly, her fingers running over the hilt of Ebon Requiem where it rested against the forge's edge.

"Do you truly believe any being in this galaxy could turn my own will against me? That they could take my blade—my greatest creation—and wield it for themselves?"

Serina turned sharply, facing Sable once more, her amusement morphing into something sharper, hungrier.

"No, my dear. The fail-safes are not shackles. They are safeguards. They ensure that, no matter what happens, you remain exactly where you are meant to be."

A pause. A deliberate, careful silence.

Then—

"If someone ever tries to turn you against me…" she breathed, eyes locked onto Sable's like a predator savoring the moment before the kill, "they will find that I am already there, waiting for them."

A slow smile.

"And so will you."

Another pause. Another breath. Then—

"You are correct about one thing, however."

Serina tilted her head, her smile shifting, something darker, softer, almost… affectionate.

"There is no need for chains when you already walk willingly into my grasp."

Her hand lifted once more, fingertips grazing Sable's chin, tilting her face up—not in dominance this time, but in something quieter. Something dangerous.

"Tell me then, my love—how would you have me ensure your loyalty? How shall I bind you, if not with failsafes, without chains?"

A smirk, but not mocking this time.

"Without chains, devotion means nothing, the physical act of wearing the chain transcends every word and action, it is the acknowledgement that you trust the devoted enough to wield such chains in a manner conducive to you, rather than detrimental."

It was Serina speaking from the heart, she truly believed she was doing this FOR Sable, that it was the best thing for Sable.

"Have I, been conducive?"

The question was almost shockingly timid.

 

[Sable Varro]

​

Obsidian Flame

Tags: Serina Calis

Equipment Loadout:

• Primary Weapon(s): N/A
• Secondary Weapon(s): N/A
• Specialized Gear: N/A
• Armor & Attire: N/A

---

---

​

Sable stood still—utterly composed in the eerie silence that followed Serina's final words. There was something almost unnatural in the calm that wrapped itself around her expression, the way her features settled into something unreadable, like glass smoothed over fire. No defiance. No sorrow. No pride. Only the quiet, absolute resignation of someone who had long since made peace with the fact that her desires would never outweigh her purpose.

Her voice, when it came, was steady. Measured. Not cold, but hollowed out—worn smooth by the endless repetition of this dance between autonomy and obedience.

"…Then so be it."

The words rang softly, lacking resistance, lacking passion. They were not a capitulation offered in protest, nor a concession carved from some reluctant loyalty. They were simply a statement of truth. The final step into a role already carved for her, already lived in a thousand subtle compromises over time.

"If this is what you believe is best… then it is."

She didn't argue. She didn't press. She didn't ask to be heard—because deep down, she already knew Serina hadn't asked for her opinion. Not truly. This was a declaration, not a negotiation. And Sable? Sable had always been the vessel that received, not the voice that questioned.

Her chin remained lifted slightly in the cradle of Serina's fingers, not in defiance, not in pride—just stillness. Submission without fanfare. A wordless acknowledgment of the control Serina already wielded, and always had.

"You've already decided what I am," She continued, eyes flicking upward, meeting Serina's without flinching. Her voice had no venom, no pain—just that low, clinical clarity that came from a life of being forged into something useful. "A blade. A tool. Something to safeguard, perhaps. Something to protect. But never something truly free."

A long pause followed. Sable let the weight of the words settle into the forge's shadows, into the silence between their breaths. And then, quietly:

"And that's fine."

It was almost startling, how genuinely she meant it.

"I don't need to be convinced. I don't need speeches or promises. I don't even need reassurances." Her gaze softened faintly, but it wasn't warmth—it was weariness. "Because I was never designated to want anything else."

Her hands remained by her sides, unmoving, unresisting. Her armor still bore the marks of Serina's touch, the symbols of ownership etched into the very fabric of her being. And yet she did not reach for them, did not try to hide them.

"You already hold the chain," Sable said again, more softly now, like a confession spoken into the hollow of her own ribcage. "Whether I like it or not stopped mattering a long time ago."

There was no hate in her voice. No bitterness. Only the raw acceptance that came when someone stops fighting the tide—not because they've lost, but because they've realized the ocean was never something they could shape.

"And maybe it's better that way."

Her eyes dropped for just a second, not in submission—but something adjacent to it. A quiet acknowledgment that her ideas of strength, control, and choice were just illusions Serina had allowed her to keep—for a while.

"I was forged for you. Every inch of me shaped by your will. Your plans. Your touch."

Her hand slowly lifted, fingers brushing lightly over the eye carved into her chestplate.

"So bind me however you see fit. Program your safeguards. Install your chains. Make me yours in form as well as function."

A faint, wry curl of her lip—not quite a smile, not quite bitterness. Just the last ember of something human beneath the layers of duty.

"Because I already was."

And then—quiet again. Just her breath in the stillness, steady and resigned.

"You don't need to ensure my loyalty, Serina."

A pause.

"I stopped having a say some time ago."