Private Petals in the Wolf's Den

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Coruscant - Sith Academy

Equipment:
Knight Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm | The Wayward

Ace adjusted the cuff of his glove as he moved through the academy corridors, the prosthetic beneath giving a faint mechanical shift with the motion. Acolytes passed intermittently around him, conversations low, footsteps echoing softly through the halls before fading again.

He'd returned from Bonadan earlier that morning. The Vergeworks had stabilized considerably since he and Lysander crushed the remaining gangs fighting over Tessk's corpse and the vacuum left behind. Routes were functioning again, smuggling lanes were cleaner, and people stopped disappearing randomly every other night. Violence still existed, obviously, but now it had structure. Direction. Control.

Ace kept walking, posture loose, expression calm. Someone greeted him in passing.

"Knight Moonbound."

A small nod was all they received in return. Most of his reason for being back on Coruscant amounted to logistics more than anything else.

His gaze drifted briefly toward one of the narrow overlooking windows lining the corridor. Coruscant stretched endlessly beyond the glass, lights stacked into infinity beneath the night sky.
He still wasn't used to how high up everything here felt.

Ace exhaled quietly through his nose and rolled some lingering stiffness from his shoulder. Exhaustion sat heavier lately, though not the physical kind, more the constant weight of maintaining momentum once you'd already committed to a direction too far to comfortably reverse.

Still, there wasn't much point dwelling on it. The galaxy wasn't getting simpler anytime soon. So Ace kept moving through the academy at an unhurried pace, mind already shifting toward whatever Arris would inevitably drag him into next.

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

PETALS IN THE WOLF'S DEN​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Sith Academy
TAGS — Acier Moonbound
PARAPHERNALIA — Academy Robes and Vesper et Aurora.

The brightest of lights could not be dimmed by the darkness; the abyss would not consume the minor devotion her heart still harboured for Ashla. . . No matter how many lashings her teachers had tried to give her, how often she was reprimanded for not partaking in the countless violent pursuits of her peers--how she dared not look, dared not see, the downfall of yet another acolyte.

This path was fated for her, aye. . . but did it mean she must sacrifice her soul to its calling? Isobel complied in the formal lectures, tried to bring passion and fury into her execution of the force, yet too continued her silent rebellion--in the shape of 'hidden' embroidery in the inside of her robes--black flora, and a single moonflower. . . Nevertheless, as the mystics on Voss had dared proclaim, visions were never wrong, and however much it hurts, one could not alter the threads of fate.

Days spent on Pelagon brought her the knowledge of the true workings of being an Acolyte, and her studies would soon ensue on Coruscant--the same Coruscant where she had been previously called out on the Jedi dogma. On their inaction. It ached like a wound poorly stitched; it burned to know there was a faint truth to the accusations, a truth now manifested into this newfound allegiance. . . To the Sith. It was a poor joke. A terribly poor one. . .

The Acolyte wandered the halls of the Academy, it was grand and oppressive, the shadows of the pillars loomed over her like a reminder of both hierarchy--within the Force, within the Covenant itself. She felt smaller than a pawn upon a Shah-Tezh board, no more than a speck of paint upon a wide canvas. It mattered little to her; for she harboured no selfish ambition, no yearning to become some prominent lady within the vicious cycle of rulership. Merely to answer the calling of the Force when it was time to fulfill her part. . .

The gravity of her thoughts halted momentarily when she overheard a lost name: Moonbound. Her ambling came to a halt as the suffocating weight of loss settled upon her once more. Of irritation. Of uncertainty. Acier. The same rogue who had abandoned her upon Genarius for reasons she still did not comprehend. Yet it was not fury that settled within her core, but a hollow void... of loss, one akin to what she had had to endure alongside it.

Then a figure drew around the corner, bearing the precise visage she remembered him to have, save for the bits of 'very seriousness' etched on his face. Perhaps fury should have seized control of her body in that moment, yet instead it was relief--a glee even--at knowing he lived! And in spite of the recklessness he had displayed upon Genarius, they had not died that day, and thus she would not and could not blame him for it. "Ace!" slipped from her lips as she hurried toward him, throwing herself into his embrace before he could react.

"I thought you were gone--dead even. . . you bastard..." The words held no malice, for a part in her had blamed herself for his abrupt disappearance. Gone, just. . . gone, without a word, without a trace. "All to become a Sith," A soft self-deprecating laugh escaped her lips, as she struggled to pin what she should be feeling in this moment--delighted, angry, confused?

​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Coruscant - Sith Academy

Equipment:
Knight Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm | The Wayward

Ace felt a presence, something familiar brushing against his senses through the Force. It was soft enough at first that he couldn't immediately place it. It wasn't hostile or threatening, but it was... known. His pace slowed slightly as the feeling lingered at the edge of recognition.

Then, he heard someone call out his name, cutting cleanly through the corridor noise. The way she said it was too familiar for anyone in the Covenant. Ace turned toward it automatically, brows narrowing faintly before the confusion hit almost immediately.

Isobel?

For a second, he genuinely just stared at her. The last time he'd seen her was Genarius. Chaos, fighting, collapsing structures, Covenant forces flooding Edic Bar. Afterward, he'd disappeared into the Covenant completely and the galaxy had only become worse from there. Truthfully, he hadn't known whether she'd survived any of it.

Apparently she had. Something in his chest shifted unexpectedly at the realization. Relief maybe? Appreciation? Something older than the person he'd spent the last months forcing himself to become.

Before he could say anything, Isobel closed the distance between them and threw herself into an embrace. Ace stiffened immediately, not aggressively, just completely blindsided by it. His body locked on instinct, arms remaining at his sides rather than returning it while his brain tried to catch up with what was happening. Physical affection wasn't exactly common in the Covenant, or something he was used to anymore outside of Fatine. Neither was seeing people from before all this.

"...Isobel?" He said finally, confusion still clear in his voice.

He looked down at her slightly as she spoke, listening quietly while the emotions tangled themselves together somewhere behind her words. Relief. Frustration. Hurt. Then she laughed softly and said:

"All to become a Sith,"

Ace's brow lifted faintly. That was when it actually registered. Her robes, the academy, and the fact she was here. His eyes moved over her again more carefully now, confusion slowly giving way to something more unsettled beneath the surface.

This... didn't make sense. Not Isobel. When he'd known her, she'd clung to her convictions so tightly it almost bordered on stubbornness. The Dark side wasn't just something she disliked, she viewed it like corruption. Rot spreading through living things. Even now, part of him struggled to reconcile the woman he'd known with the acolyte standing in front of him.

But then again... People changed. He knew that better than most now.

Ace exhaled quietly through his nose before finally speaking again. "Why are you here?"

Isobel Serraris ​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

PETALS IN THE WOLF'S DEN​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Sith Academy
TAGS — Acier Moonbound
PARAPHERNALIA — Academy Robes and Vesper et Aurora.

Absence. The hollow space within her heart that had become akin to a black hole, an abyss that claimed more and more of her with each minute. . . Betrayal, loss, and unknowingness; how was a Jedi meant to remain on its path of virtue when so much much of what she had been subjected to were lies, or worse still. . . the absence of an answer itself? Ambiguity corrupted the mind in ways falsehoods never could, enclosing one within a maddening prison of doubt whose bars clawed endlessly at one's heart and soul.

Fury sought to grasp her, to seize the reins of control over her body and pull her from his embrace so she might battle whatever frail excuses may fill the void of his past departure. . . The flames never climbed higher, as they were rapidly extinguished by the cold sorrow drowning her senses the agony of living without the knowledge of whether she might have been able to save him, be it from death itself or from the Sith. But what did it matter. . .? The Force's composed strange tales, weaved strange paths--he lived and so did she. There was naught one might be able to do to alter such threads, and naught one might seek to accomplish the impossible.

The purple hyacinth of regret and sorrow withered and left behind an empty field--devoid of passionate emotions to grip her, as the space between them gradually opened up again. Isobel took a step backwards, eyeing his dark robes--no different from back then, but worn with a new form of gravity. Of allegiance. The scruffy looking scraps he had donned then still held their mark on his fashion now--the almost rebel-like attire did not carry the regality another Sith might harbour. . . There was a modesty in it, one she had not discovered with the Sith before.

"Me? I ought to ask you the same," The grin on her face refused to falter, as the humour in her voice found an unexpected return. "I. . . left the Order after Edic Bar--" Part of that truth, the reality, still stung like a freshly cauterised wound. The brightness of the sun faltered from her voice, leaving only a sorrowful seriousness as her gaze eluded his

"My vision was obscured by someone, and the Order failed to remedy it--failed to prepare me for the realities of this galaxy. The façades I had only thought to know from the nobility, displayed so carelessly by nearly everyone I have encountered. And the violence with which it all unfolds. . ." Her hands moved to cover one another, as her nails dug into her skin. "Yes, it begs the question of why I would join the institution responsible for it. But the Force has shown me this path night after night, in every dream I've dreamt. A place within the Covenant. . . one I am destined to tread, whether I willl it or no."

Her words were soft, and yet echoed throughout the lonesome halls of the Sith Academy. She dared not proclaim herself to be Sith; yes, she was an Acolyte, but. . . all within her cohort knew she did not truly belong with them, no matter how desperately she attempted to acquiesce to the ruthless teachings of their instructors.

​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Coruscant - Sith Academy

Equipment:
Knight Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm | The Wayward

Ace felt it through the Force before he fully processed her words. Not anger or hatred, but exhaustion. Grief stretched thin enough that it had almost circled back around into numbness.

His eyes stayed on Isobel quietly while she spoke. The Jedi had failed her. Ace understood the disillusionment more than he probably should have. Their hesitation and endless insistence on restraint while the galaxy burned around them. He'd seen too many people die because someone stronger, smarter, or crueler moved first while the Order debated morality afterward.

His lips parted slightly, ready to ask the obvious question. Why she immediately would run to the Sith. But she answered it herself.

Destiny.

Ace's eyes lowered briefly and he pinched the bridge of his nose between two gloved fingers with a quiet exhale. Of course. Lily Rhodes had said almost the exact same thing on Bonadan weeks ago. Stop fighting it and accept the path.

"I know all about that." Ace answered vaguely.

The Final Weave. The prophecy surrounding his birth, and the path he'd supposedly been meant to walk long before he'd ever existed. Unite Dathomir. Conquer the galaxy. The galaxy bending itself around a future someone else had written thousands of years ago.

And somehow, despite every turn his life had taken, despite every attempt to walk away from destiny entirely, he still found himself here. Standing within the Sith Covenant. Commanding power. Moving pieces across the galaxy exactly the way people feared he eventually would.

Maybe fate was real. Maybe it wasn't. Ace honestly wasn't sure he cared anymore. As far as he was concerned, these were still his choices, his actions, and his reasons. That was enough.

His attention returned fully to Isobel then and his expression tightened faintly. Because even now... he still couldn't feel it in her.

The rot.

Not the way he felt it in himself, or people like Arris. Mercy. Even Lysander and Varin carried traces of it beneath everything else. That erosion. That hunger.

Isobel didn't. There was still something painfully untouched about her.

"You need to leave here, Isobel." Ace said quietly, gaze drifting briefly toward the distant halls beyond them. "This place isn't your answer."

He paused, glancing back at her before adding:

"You're lost. I can feel it. But I know this isn't where you should be."

Isobel Serraris ​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

PETALS IN THE WOLF'S DEN​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Sith Academy
TAGS — Acier Moonbound
PARAPHERNALIA — Academy Robes and Vesper et Aurora.

A proclamation for the future, a vow for events yet meant to unfold; there was no mercy to soften its weight. It simply was. As the Voss Mystics had sought to make clear, truth remained truth regardless of whether it had yet come to be enacted. A seed not yet flowered did not make it any less real. Nevertheless, not all canvases had been painted, only some colours revealed themselves through visions, whilst others remained shrouded, unwilling to be perceived by the Watchful Eye.

The Force had nudged her toward the embrace of the Sith in rhythmic succession, there was no violence between her like and theirs, only the carefully placed questions that gradually eroded her dwindling devotion to the Light. It remained there still; there was not a particle within her soul that doubted Ashla's essence. Yet one could not deny. . . its fervour had weakened as rain does when at last the sun breaks through the clouds, its light reduced to a mere candle, but not entirely extinguished.

Her brown eyes stared back into his, unspoken questions blossomed within her thoughtscape, acheing to know what had drawn him to the Sith--what had made the rebel join up forces with the entity he fought? What had sparked the bloom of a blue hydrangea within his heart--a flower as beautiful as it was cold, treasuring the frigidity of Ilum within its petals. For it was naught akin to the boldness he had shared in the past, or had that been a façade to begin with. . . Had the shadow loomed over his head for longer than she had realised?

Another step in retreat, as her gaze flitted over his being, gauging his stance primarily, whilst the muscles around her eyes tensed imperceptibly. Time had wilted the person she knew as Acier, shaping him into someone different--a new figure, an anomaly within the Garden of the Living Force.

"Speak to me not as though I am blind, Ace." A bark escaped her before she could temper it, refusing to be diminished into some lost whelp. "The canvas has already been painted. I seek not to become some mighty Sith--some ridiculous crime lord, or an Empress--do not mistake me for such a fool. My purpose is to play the role I am meant to within this grand theatre of the galaxy."

Her nail dug deep into her skin, a habit meant to divert her feelings into a silent, unnoticed act. A deep breath left her nostrils as she sought to reclaim her inner peace, to surrender herself to the vestiges of the Light and restore control over her body and soul. There were moments where she slipped, giving way to thoughtless actions as though she were some animal. A lady must think before she acts, before she speaks, before she dares to call upon the Living Force in pursuits of folly.

Isobel's hands withdrew from one another, momentarily struggling to find the right place to position them, before settling them uncomfortably just below her hips. "You say you know, and yet you dare not to show it. We cannot always choose the path we are proud to wander; sometimes. . . sometimes," her voice softened once more, stumbling over the same word as if it were a condemnation.

The shield of prophecy, of visions, clattered on the floor within a moment's notice, and for a moment her eyes sparkled with a sense of. . . loss, a sparkle of doubt even. Bel had prayed her time with the Academy would bring her the clarity of thought, and yet it had been a cruel affair. Bloodshed, blackmail and fear, for one may never know when their end had come for them. "Pardon me, I have lectures to attend."

With a hurried pace, the Nabooan slipped past Acier, heading down the right corridor--away from the lecture halls.

​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Coruscant - Sith Academy

Equipment:
Knight Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm | The Wayward

Ace rubbed at his forehead, he'd always struggled with the way she spoke. Maybe it was inevitable, a street rat from Bonadan and a noble from Naboo were bound to run into some kind of barrier eventually. They both spoke Basic, but half the time it felt like they were speaking entirely different languages.​

​

Still. He'd caught enough​

​

"The canvas has already been painted."

​

"We cannot always choose the path we are proud to wander."

​

Those two things didn't fit together. If the future was already decided, then choice didn't matter. If choice still mattered, then the canvas wasn't finished.​

​

Ace slowed for a moment as the contradiction settled into place. No. That wasn't what she was arguing anymore, at some point during the conversation she'd stopped saying this was what was meant to happen. Now she was saying it was necessary, and if that was true... Why?​

​

The mention of lectures pulled him from the thought, and his brow furrowed. The lecture halls were in the opposite direction. Ace watched her retreating figure for another second before realization settled in.​

​

A quiet sigh escaped him. Then he followed, catching up quickly. "Come with me."​

​

There wasn't much room for argument in the request. He led her through a series of quieter halls until the sounds of the Academy faded behind thick stone walls and empty corridors. Far enough away that nobody would overhear them. Only then did he stop, and for a few moments he simply looked at her.​

​

"You don't even believe what you're saying." His voice wasn't angry. If anything, it sounded tired. "Listen to me, Isobel. If you stay here, you're going to hate what you become. You're going to do things that go against everything you believe in."​

​

He held her gaze, hoping she'd see it, hoping she'd understand. Because this wasn't philosophy, it wasn't a warning pulled from a vision, it was experience.​

​

For a brief moment Ace closed his eyes, then he let the walls drop. Enough for her to feel his presence in the Force now. The hollow feeling came first, like something important had been carved out of him and never replaced.​

​

Then came the darkness, it clung to him. Wrapped around his presence like smoke trapped beneath skin, a plague he carried everywhere he went. The anger, the exhaustion, the compromises, the deaths, the things he'd justified, the things he'd stopped feeling. All of it sat there beneath the surface, heavy and rotting.​

​

Ace opened his eyes again.​

​

"It's too late for me, Isobel." His voice was barely above a murmur now. It wasn't too late for her.​

​

The darkness remained exposed only for a moment longer before he pulled it back behind familiar walls.​

​

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

PETALS IN THE WOLF'S DEN​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Sith Academy
TAGS — Acier Moonbound
PARAPHERNALIA — Academy Robes and Vesper et Aurora.

A path woven through the labyrinthal corridors of the Sith Academy, seeking the comforts of seclusion, of the enfeebled flora she sought to hatch in her chambers. . . Home, was a distant prospect, an illusion that oft-haunted her thoughtscape when it lay not riddled by canvases of the future (and past). She sought to replicate the aspects that had shaped it to be thus, but it lacked the warmth; no matter how many plants one might sneak into the dormitory.

Warmth had been experienced in the presence of some, but their numbers had grown scant, akin to an anomaly almost. Acier himself, had once held a presence like a star, a constant in the nightsky, yet it had. . . fallen following Edic Bar, and did not shine as brightly now as it had back then. Was it the fabled corruption of the Dark Side that had tainted him so? Or had it solely revealed the colours beneath the rogue façade?

It was not long after she had parted with Ace, that she felt a hand on her arm gently nudging her down another path--accompanied by the soft and decisive voice of the Sith. The hand faltered as soon as it was placed, but not to draw attention from their most inquisitive surroundings, Isobel stalked down the same path as he.

The march of Sith and Guard alike was suppressed by the eerie silence of this particular corridor. There was naught more than the intricate pillars that climbed like vines toward the domed ceiling of the Temple, and the pair of conflicted Sith beneath. . . Mere specks of ink in comparison.

His words presented a truth, one Bel so dearly wished to deny and veil. Yet how could truth remain buried for all eternity? Admission did not depart her lips. Instead, it sparkled faintly within her depthless brown eyes, the only place where such feelings could be nestled amidst a ceasless warzone like the Sith Academy. . .

Discord tore at the edges of her composure, pricking her skin with the force of a thousand thorns--a never-ending rampage aiming to drive her into what the Sith wish to see; turbulence, pain and its passion. A deep breath left her, soothing the rising agony until a moderate level.

"You think it does not already vex me!?" Isobel interrupted him loudly, twin tears falling down her cheeks. "Another was forced to bleed, to be maimed, for my weakness, and yet I cannot stray from this path as it has been foretold. I have fled from the visions, prayed against them, cursed them. . . and still, every path leads me back to the same horizon."

A future painted in crimson, in ashen shades, in an eclipse for which no end lay in sight. . . Light faltering beneath the cloak of shadows of those near. A canvas of the Sith, of Bogan. But she was not the conduit of darkness, merely its oracle, illuminating the path others might yet tread. Aiding those in need of glimpses of what awaited them, aiding the galaxy in understanding what may yet come to be. . . if the path required its messenger's voice, and not its silence.

Visions were. . . fickle and complicated. Some strokes of paint were fixed, dried, whilst others remained liquid and shifted like petals on the wind. Yet its outcome, the painting itself, would be unchanged, no dot of pigment shall alter the greater message--the horizon remained the same. For one could never outrun the blade of fate.

Her fate resonated with the chants of the Sith, yet his. . . echoed a contrasting harmony; in spite of the darkness tainting his proximity, his force presence. The rot and the anger, a blight that promised no end, no mercy, and yet he persisted in ways as before. No matter the rage, no matter the scars--be they physical or otherwise--they had failed to reach his core, they had failed to alter his fate.

With a sniffle, the Nabooan moved closer and took hold of his cybernetic left hand and held it firmly. "It is not, Ace." Her voice was composed, devoid of the reckless emotion of before. . . presenting only a clarity of thought. Her eyes fixed on his, and did not stray, not a moment. "I long for our lives to revolve around petty rebel things once more, aiding Jedi, aiding people." A beat. "I shall not become a blade to strike down others, and neither shall you. . . not innocent at least. Whatever this place has shaped you to be, it is not too late to be remedied."

Her hand abruptly released him, and took a step back. "Trust me," A fragile smile appeared on her lips, noticeably forced coming from her, as her eyes glimmered with a thousand unspoken thoughts and emotions.

​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Coruscant - Sith Academy

Equipment:
Knight Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm | The Wayward

The tears running down her face drew no visible reaction from Ace. Not because he didn't notice. He noticed everything. But somewhere along the line he'd become too hollow to know what to do with things like that anymore.

His head tilted slightly as she spoke of someone being hurt because of her weakness. The admission caught his attention, but it was the rest of it that lingered. Fleeing from destiny. Fighting it. Praying against it. Only for every road to somehow circle back toward the same horizon.

Ace's gaze drifted away for a moment. The words struck close. Then his eyes settled on her once more as she approached, catching him off guard. Again. His shoulders stiffened slightly as she took hold of his cybernetic hand, though he made no move to pull away. Instead he glanced down briefly at the contrast between polished metal and living flesh before returning his attention to her face.

He listened to every word, and with it, every attempt to convince him. Every stubborn fragment of hope she still carried. Hope that he wasn't lost, that whatever this place had shaped him into could still be undone.

His mind drifted briefly through the bodies left behind in his wake. Tapani. Coruscant. The Trinity. Balmorra. Faces he'd never known, names he'd never learned, people who had simply been in the way of a mission, a strategy, a greater objective. They were compromises. Necessary sacrifices. Justifications. The sort of language people used when they wanted to live with themselves afterward.

And somehow Isobel still looked at him like there was something worth saving. That was exactly why she didn't belong here.

Ace shook his head once she released his hand, a dry scoff escaping through his nose. "You have no idea what you're talking about." The words weren't cruel, just tired.

His tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek as he reflected on what she'd said. Then he looked back at her.

"You won't become a blade to strike others down?" He said, almost disbelieving. "So what, you think you can just move amongst everyone here without getting your hands dirty?"

The question hung between them heavy and uncomfortable. But nonetheless real.

Isobel Serraris​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

PETALS IN THE WOLF'S DEN​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Sith Academy
TAGS — Acier Moonbound
PARAPHERNALIA — Academy Robes and Vesper et Aurora.

Clarity was a scarce resource amid the perilous landscape of Chaos that the Covenant had built its haven upon. Death lurked behind every corner within this accursed hellscape, seeking the next prey to quell its gluttony for but a glimpse. Even in the quiet corners of the Sith Temple, one could not deny the suffocating grasp of the Dark Side upon their throat. . . it burned with each breath she took, leeching off her fear, off this dwindling hope within her once-cheery heart.

Fingertips grazed her skin as she swept the tears away, dismissing the sorrow for what the instructors had called it to be--weakness.

Anger must fuel her, must forge her song to hum like Ace's, and yet it failed, over and over again. Still. . . with each strike, each snarl delivered upon her being, her heart hollowed out a little more. What once felt unthinkable had slowly eased into 'tolerable'. Akin to bark upon trees, her skin had grown thicker to counter the weakness within. . .

Her eyes grew distant, the sparkle within them vanishing like the sun behind clouds. "Do not accuse me of ignorance, you may flee as I had done, but it caught up to me all the same." A peculiar stillness washed over the young Nabooan, as her sniffling gradually subsided. "All because the Force sought to entwine my path with the Sith, with-. . . hm. Whilst yours now stumbles toward the Light. Such is its will. So do not fear it. It comes for us all."

To hear him speak of the Light as though it stood beyond his reach left her befuddled, nigh on wounded. For how could he fail to see the blessing that had come to grace him? He could return to Ashla's embrace. He could find his way home, whilst every whisper of her fate seemed set on pulling her further away from it. And yet, he refused to accept it. . .

A fleeting flicker of sorrow glimmered in the dark of her eye, before fading once more with a passing blink. Home. A word that failed to find a meaning within the galaxy's discord, for was it Naboo? Was it someplace else. . . could it be found on Zardossa? Could it be found with the Covenant?

His exasperated question cut through the haze unexpectedly, for how clean could her hands remain whilst wandering in the wolf's den--surrounded by those who would not think twice about murder, about destruction.

The urge to fight withered within her, finding no foothold in the soil poisoned by Bogan. "The blood of some shall taint my skin, my heart, mayhaps even what remains of my Light. . . but I aspire not to be the hand that spills it." She could not gaze upon him. Could not bear to witness the disbelief blooming within his gaze, nor the cold dagger of his disappointment seeking to pierce her bark skin. Whatever feeling now blighted him, it would be too fervent to defend against. Too warm, too familiar! When all within her had begun to grow terribly hollow. . .

"Whatever it is you are trying to do, Ace, it is not working..." It was more an affirmation to herself, a reassurance that she could uphold this barrier, rather than a true strike against her friend. . .

​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Coruscant - Sith Academy

Equipment:
Knight Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm | The Wayward

Ace was quiet and the corridor settled into silence after her words. For a moment he simply watched her, the frustrating part was that she might've been right.

Despite everything he'd told her. Everything he warned her about. She still refused, and worse yet, she offered hope. His jaw tightened slightly at the thought. Sibylla had looked at him differently after the Trinity, so did Lorn. That he could stomach. Not this.

Hell, even Aether and Fatine looked at him differently. Not necessarily for the worse, but he could feel it. Like they'd all realized something about him that couldn't be unseen. Isobel on the other hand... maybe she didn't care.

"The blood of some shall taint my skin, my heart, mayhaps even what remains of my Light. . . but I aspire not to be the hand that spills it."

His gaze drifted briefly toward his prosthetic hand. He thought about what she'd said there. Every atrocity he'd committed alongside the Covenant, for the greater good... because someone had to.

His tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek. Maybe six months ago he would've said the same thing she just had. Then reality got involved. Which was the reason he understood exactly where this ended.

His eyes lifted back to hers. "You think you're different. That you'll be the exception"

His tone didn't convey accusation, not even challenge. Just observation. Then he shook his head.

"I used to think that too."

His gaze lingered on her for a second longer before he shook his head. There wasn't much point continuing. Neither of them were changing the other's mind.

So Ace turned slightly toward the corridor.

"Just... think about what I said."

Isobel Serraris ​