Dev Project: SOVEREIGN VESSEL

[Serina Calis]

"To build a throne."

Tag - Darth Strosius



There was no sky out here.

Just a silence so total it became oppressive, pressing against the outer hull like a held breath. The asteroid—designated Theta-9 by Project: VESPER's internal registry—was little more than a fractured rock floating through the void, cratered and ancient, with nothing to mark it as special save the blacksite buried within its core. No surface markers. No emissions. Not even a shield grid.

And yet, from the inside, it thrummed with purpose.

Serina Calis stood alone in the observation chamber that overlooked the forge-deck—though to call it a forge would be to insult the scale of what VESPER's engineers had constructed. The chamber below resembled some unholy fusion of an operating theatre and an industrial temple: slabs of phrik alloy suspended on grav-lifts, vocal resonance emitters aligned in tight circles for alchemical inscription, obsidian-inlaid runes pulsing faintly along the ground like the slow heartbeat of something coming to life.

Project: SOVEREIGN VESSEL had not yet begun construction in full, but already the bones of it could be sensed.

Tyrant's Embrace, they would call it.

Not armor in the traditional sense. Not a shell to hide behind. A throne one wore. A symbol of dominion so absolute that even its silhouette would cow the weak and unmake illusions of equality.

And yet, for all its power, Serina knew it could not be built by flesh alone. The frame would require dark science. Its voice would need to carry the echo of ancient hate. And its soul... its soul would require something colder still.

That was why she had reached out to him.

Her reflection shimmered in the reinforced transparisteel, overlaid against the forge's faint red glow—tall, statuesque, swathed in a high-collared cloak of black weave, arms folded behind her back. The light caught the metal filigree of her vambraces, throwing soft crimson edges across her silhouette. Her hair, gathered in a smooth twist at the nape of her neck, was pinned with a VesperWorks sigil, though here, in this place, there was no one to impress with symbols.

Only him.

The thought stirred something rare in her.
Not fear. Not uncertainty.
But anticipation.

It had been too long since their last meeting. Too long since that moment in the Polis Massan lab—where alliance was forged not from flattery or manipulation, but from recognition. A meeting of dangerous minds who understood the necessity of their roles. Who had survived each other.

Before that: D'Qar. The duel. The storm of fire and willpower that had nearly ended her. She could still recall the hum of collapsing matter around them, the agony of being broken and reassembled in his presence. And yet, in that crucible, something more enduring had been formed.

Respect.
Uneasy. Inevitable.
Earned.

Now, he was coming again. Not as an enemy. Not as prey.

But as a collaborator. An architect of ruin beside her.

Serina allowed herself the smallest smile—slow, sharp, and unreadable. She wasn't sure if it was eagerness or pleasure that twisted behind it, but for once, she didn't dissect the feeling. She simply let it settle, like a heat beneath her skin.

The chamber lights dimmed. A silent alert pulsed along the floor in soft crimson.

His vessel had arrived.

She turned, footsteps deliberate, as the heavy inner blast doors began to cycle open with a thunderous hiss. The hallway beyond was dark save for emergency strips of amber light, casting long, angular shadows.

In the distance, she could hear the faint echo of boots against durasteel.

No guards. No ceremony. Not here. Not with him.

When at last the silhouette of Darth Strosius stepped into view, Serina did not speak immediately. She let the silence stretch for a moment longer than was comfortable—then, like a silk ribbon drawn slowly across a blade, her voice unfurled.

"Darth Strosius," she said, with a warmth that was almost impossible to fake—and wasn't. "How long it has been since I've had the pleasure of your company. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to walk through doors rather than tear them off their hinges."

Her tone was light—gracious, even—but there was an edge beneath it. A test. A welcome. A nod to the man who did not enter rooms, but redefined them.

She stepped toward him now, her poise liquid steel, her eyes alight with sharp curiosity.

"You're just in time. The forge has been silent too long. I think it's finally ready to remember what it means to build something terrible."

A pause. A breath of silence, thick with meaning.

"I thought it only appropriate we begin this together."

 

[Darth Strosius]

Lady Calis had a penchant for asteroids it seemed. Not at all an undesirable local He supposed but He had to admit that He did enjoy a reprieve from the vast abyss of the galaxy from time to time. Perhaps a sentiment born of having spent far too long in vessels going between planets rather than remaining planetside for the long haul. Regardless it was a minor and irrelevant thought, just something to occupy His mind as He marched from His shuttle down the dark hallways that led deeper into the rock.

For once His heavy stride was almost drowned out by the blast doors that opened and slid shut as He passed through them, no doubt a measure of both security and safety given what laid beyond the asteroid. Or lack thereof rather. Thankfully there was no greeting party or sentries to waste His time in meaningless prattle, He had been invited after all and He had no use for pleasantries beyond the main event that had brought Him here in the first place.

Lady Calis awaited His arrival at the end of the long corridor, although her surprisingly stylish attire didn't hold His hidden gaze for long. It drifted to the scene that she overlooked even as He stopped before her, peering around to glance over the foundry that seemed to be in full motion. Arcane and industry had been blended into one fluid system that sought to extort them both for all their capabilities. Not unlike what the lady herself had wanted from the Sith He supposed. How fitting, and a rather impressive display as well.

"If a door is too weak to withstand me then it has no business being in my path." Darth Strosius responded with the slightest hint of mirth, having turned His gaze back to her as she spoke. "I'm afraid none aside from my followers would describe my company as pleasurable however, you really must change your tactics of charm one of these days." Now He sounded more amused, even it was only for a brief moment as she stepped forward and reminded Him of why He'd made the trip here.

"Indeed, a cold forge is quite a sour thing to behold. One without purpose is even more tragic." One of those issues had already been remedied it seemed, now all that remained was to give it something worth forging. He had some inkling of what Lady Calis had in mind but the exact details hadn't been enclosed in the invitation. Not that He expected specifics from her anyway. Vagueness was a tool and one that she was fond of wielding no matter how frustrating it could be.

It had served her well enough thus far He supposed, it had allowed her to scorch Saijo without all that much issue after all.

He stepped past her and looked over the forge once more, His hands clasped behind His back as He surveyed the machinery and tools in more depth for a few moments. Measuring what they had to work with so that He would know the limits that needed to be adhered to. "I suppose we had better attend to the matter at hand then, what do you seek in your armor?" Simple gadgets and technological baubles alone would be unfit for a forge such as this.

This place was meant to craft imbued items first and foremost. To bring the strength of the Dark Side into a more physical and manageable state so that it may empower whatever was desired of it. While this particular arrangement was far more intricate and technical than what He was used to working with, the methods of such craft were more than familiar to Him. His own robes and armor were proof enough of that. Perhaps that was why she had asked Him to come and assist in this project.

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

"To build a throne."

Tag - Darth Strosius



Serina's smile bloomed slow and sharp, like a blade being unsheathed beneath silk.

"Oh, you wound me," she purred, the mirth in her tone unmistakable—though it never quite reached her eyes, which gleamed like polished obsidian beneath the forge's ambient light. "I thought flattery was the expected greeting for one's executioner-turned-collaborator. Or do you only approve of charm when it's delivered with a halberd?"

She stepped beside him as he regarded the forge again, her own gaze not on the machinery, but on him. Measuring not his mood, but his presence. There was no one else in the galaxy like him—she had confirmed that on D'Qar, and again in the shadows of Polis Massa. And yet every encounter felt like something new, as if she were parsing through layers of myth and weapon, never quite reaching the core.

Now she turned, facing the central gantry, and gestured toward the elevated hololith at its heart—currently dormant, ringed by pylons that hissed with low, building charge.

"The armor," she began, voice turning cool and crystalline, "is not armor. Not truly. I don't want plating or plating with gadgets. I want to become something... inevitable."

She let that hang in the air a moment, then continued—voice tightening into that sharper register she used when speaking of serious things.

"The goal is twofold. The first? I want it to be a conduit. Not a cage. Something that draws the Dark Side into me like a black hole draws light—amplifies my will, sharpens my instincts, breaks through the weaknesses of flesh. The Dark Side has always been something we draw upon. I want to wear it. I want it to resonate with my bones until thought and Force are indistinguishable."

Her gaze flicked to him then, precise and knowing.

"You know better than most how difficult that will be. I need you to help build that core. You've shaped darkness before. You've forged it, given it form. I've seen the remnants of your sorcery—on D'Qar, and in your legacy. I can build a thousand machines, but I cannot make the Dark Side sing. Not the way you can."

She didn't flatter. She stated.

Then her tone lightened—still serious, but edged with that sly, dangerous delight she reserved for things most people would consider impossible.

"The second part… well, that's where I indulge myself."

She tapped a holopad attached to her vambrace. Eight sigils appeared, hovering midair—each glyph slowly rotating, each etched in the archaic alphabets of science and sorcery.

"Project: ARACHNEA. Eight Subcores, each an artificial intelligence designed to rule a domain of knowledge. Not just data banks. Minds. Each one an expert in a field that no single being could hope to master in a dozen lifetimes. They will reside in the armor, integrated into a lattice beneath the phrik-armor shell. I will be the sovereign, and they the voices in my crown."

She pointed to each sigil in turn.

"VESTIGIA for the past. SAPIENTIA for philosophy and logic. NATURA for the body. FABER for creation. CAELUS for the stars. BELLUM for war. TECHNE for code. And FATUM—for prediction."

She exhaled, just a little, her voice almost reverent.

"Eight minds. One queen. I want to become a codex of everything that matters."

Then, with a faint laugh, she added, "And besides, if I'm going to outlive half the Empire, I might as well enjoy the occasional witty conversation with my own subroutines."

She tilted her head toward him, expression thoughtful now.

"You know my talents lie in that second half. I've spent months constructing the ARACHNEA framework. Getting them to cooperate without devouring each other's processes was... challenging. You'll like BELLUM. He's already tried to outmaneuver me in my sleep. I think you two would get along nicely—he even called you 'an unaccounted variable.'"

She let the amusement settle before turning serious once more.

"But the real threat—the real challenge—is in combining both halves. The armor needs to handle the Dark Side and the AI systems without destroying itself. Or me. We'll need null-field lattices to isolate the ARACHNEA minds from metaphysical bleed, alchemized matrix insulation to channel the Force rather than disrupt it, and you'll no doubt want to install... Mechu-deru precautions."

A flick of her fingers, almost dismissive, but with underlying trust.

"You'll have full access. ARACHNEA already has protocol subroutines to defend against machine possession—one of them tried to rewrite my entire spine the first time I plugged her in, so we've learned a thing or two."

She looked back at him then, eyes gleaming like stars falling into themselves.

"I want to be unassailable, Strosius. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. Not as a gesture of paranoia—but because I plan to outlast every single one of them."

A pause. Not ominous—solemn.

"And I want to build it with you."

Her expression relaxed. The mirth returned—but it was genuine this time, warm in its rarity.

"Besides," she added, "it's only fair. You nearly killed me once. I think you've earned the right to help armor what's left."