First Reply Shadows of Doubt

[Serina Calis]

Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Lower level library wing.
Tag: -|-|-​

The Jedi Temple was a bastion of tranquility at night, the towering spires casting long shadows under the soft glow of Coruscant's endless city lights. Within its depths, the lower levels of the library were eerily silent, save for the faint hum of the ancient systems that kept its archives operational. Rows upon rows of data terminals and holobooks lined the vast chamber, their contents containing the knowledge of countless generations.

Seated at a lone desk illuminated by a dim, warm light, Serina Calis leaned forward, her golden blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she pored over an old manuscript on the fundamentals of Force harmonics. A notebook lay open beside her, meticulously annotated with diagrams and personal insights. Her piercing blue eyes darted between the pages and a softly glowing object perched before her on the table.

The library had long since emptied, its usual patrons retired to their quarters, but Serina had lingered. She had ensured the area was clear before settling into her secluded corner. The precaution was habitual, not born of guilt but rather a pragmatic understanding that her methods—while effective—would raise questions she did not wish to answer.

From the glowing object, a figure materialized—a translucent, humanoid projection of striking intensity. The figure's presence exuded confidence, its voice resonating with a rich, commanding tone. "You're overthinking the harmonic alignment," the figure said with a faint trace of amusement. "It's about resonance, not precision. The Force doesn't adhere to arithmetic. It flows, it adapts."

Serina pursed her lips, her expression caught between concentration and mild annoyance. "I know that," she replied, her tone more conversational than defensive. "But these texts barely explain how it flows. They're all vague platitudes about harmony and connection. It's infuriating."

The projection chuckled softly, crossing its arms in a relaxed manner. "That's because the authors wrote for those already immersed in their dogma. They weren't trying to teach; they were preaching. But you… you're asking the right questions. That's why you'll learn."

Serina's gaze shifted to meet the figure's luminous visage. Despite her focus, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "You always say that. It's flattering, but not particularly helpful when I'm stuck deciphering ancient metaphors."

The figure leaned slightly closer, its posture almost conspiratorial. "Then let me simplify. Think of the Force like a river. You can shape the current, guide it, even divert it—but you cannot force it against its nature without consequence. Understanding begins with observation, not control. Watch how it interacts with you, and the answers will present themselves."

Serina nodded slowly, her pen moving deftly across the page as she jotted down the insight. She hesitated, then glanced toward the library entrance, her voice lowering instinctively. "You know, if anyone found me here at this hour talking to you, they'd probably think I was losing my mind."

The figure smirked, its tone teasing. "Then it's a good thing no one's here. Besides, you're not losing your mind. You're expanding it."

Serina chuckled softly, shaking her head as she returned her focus to her notes. Despite her caution, there was a comfort in these sessions, a strange camaraderie with the enigmatic figure that offered her knowledge no one else could—or would.

The stillness of the library persisted, broken only by the faint scratching of her pen and the gentle hum of the glowing object. Deep within, Serina knew the risks of her solitude, but the allure of understanding outweighed them all. For now, the quiet corners of the Jedi Temple were hers alone, a sanctuary for her burgeoning ambition and the secrets it harbored.

 

[Olin Pinestep]

Despite the supple glove encasing his hand, the holocron within his palm felt warm. It wasn't active and hadn't been for nearly an hour but Olin was not one to be returning things so late in the evening. After many weeks - months! - attempting to learn how to meditate he'd finally reached the point of simply existing.

'Feeling the energy' had always felt out of reach, or a platitude at best. And yet once it had come to him that was precisely what it felt like. The hand holding the holocron twitched, responding to the memory of all the micromovements he'd suddenly been exposed to that his body normally tuned out.

As he crossed into the cavernous space and it's impressive stacks of archival data, he felt like a lone speeder weaving through the spires of Galactic City, going nowhere discernible and yet clearly on a mission. Around him the dim lightning felt like home, and he was thankful both for his new helmet and the hood he'd pulled up over it. Anonymity was comfort.

The library felt empty and so he was unbothered to take the steps into the lower level, silent as a field mouse despite his growing frame. Clear was the memory of creaking floorboards and the smell of pine, tip-toeing through the camp in an attempt to avoid waking the other padawans. You learned or you got caught. Olin hadn't been caught in some time.

Down he went, descending into depths of forgotten knowledge in search of the pedestal that held this particular treatise on honing the mind and communing with the body. Settling onto a low floor he was about to turn in the direction he was sure was right before something nagged at him. Stopping, he cocked his head, a hawk turning it's eye to movement.

A voice?

Perhaps it was the librarian. That didn't feel right.

As ever, curiosity was his weakness, so he turned, descending a short set of stairs with deliberate silence: looking for movement; hunting for sound. Who was here? This was the Temple. His yearning to tug at this thread of mystery was not born of fear or concern, simply youthful inquisitiveness.

Who is here....

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Lower level library wing.
Tag: Olin Pinestep

Serina leaned back slightly in her chair, stretching her arms over her head as she let out a soft sigh. The dim, warm light of her secluded corner cast flickering shadows against the towering shelves of the library. Her piercing blue eyes narrowed as she studied the glowing figure before her, her pen poised above her notebook.

"This part," she began, gesturing to her notes with the pen, "about attuning oneself to an artifact... It's fascinating but vague, as usual. I understand the theory of connecting to an object through the Force, but I can't imagine the scale of something like the Star Forge." Her voice lowered slightly, a mix of curiosity and awe. "How did you manage it? Was it instinct, or something more deliberate?"

The figure smirked, its tone taking on a note of pride. "The Star Forge... Now, that was a conquest of will. It was not simply a matter of connection—it was domination. To bend such a creation to your will requires unyielding focus and an understanding that the Force is not just a tool—it is a weapon, a lifeblood, and an ally."

Serina's pen moved swiftly, recording his words as she tilted her head thoughtfully. "Domination," she murmured, her brow furrowing. "But that seems... antithetical to how the Jedi describe interacting with the Force. They insist it's about harmony, about balance."

The figure gave a low chuckle, crossing his arms. "Balance is a lie told by those who fear power. The Force itself is not balanced—it shifts, it changes, it grows in response to those who wield it. The Star Forge responded to me because I did not seek permission to command it. I seized control. Remember that, Serina: power is not given; it is taken."

Her lips curved into a faint, contemplative smile as she set the pen down and rested her chin on her hand. "I can't say I entirely disagree. The idea of waiting for power to present itself has always felt... passive to me."

"Good," the figure replied, his tone approving. "Passivity is a weakness. The galaxy respects strength, and the Force is no different. Tell me," he added, a glint of curiosity in his gaze, "how far are you willing to go to grasp the knowledge you seek?"

Serina hesitated, her piercing blue eyes locked with his. "Far," she said finally, her voice steady but quiet. "But not recklessly. Knowledge without control is just chaos. I need to be sure of every step."

"Control," the figure echoed, his tone thoughtful. "A wise choice. But control is earned through trial, through the crucible of action. Remember that."

As their conversation continued, Serina remained oblivious to the faint, almost imperceptible sound of footsteps descending the nearby stairs. She was too engrossed in the moment, her caution momentarily overridden by the allure of the knowledge being shared.

 

[Olin Pinestep]

He was headed the right direction, that much was clear. Knowing his limitation in sense he didn't bother reaching out - little point in letting them know he was here already. A glove found the edge of his cloak and pulled it in closer across his chest before both arms lifted. Securing the holocron to his belt both wide sleeves were lifted and joined together, hands clasping his forearms beneath in the habitual pose of a Jedi going about their business.

Pausing again, he turned his head, ear rotated towards the depths of the floor in an attempt to better understand direction. A bit silly, he realized, given his helmet.

"Two voices." The words were mouthed, not spoken, and he furrowed the inner arch of his brow.

Perhaps it was a Master, recently returned, here at late hours to communicate with a holocron. A common enough picture in the Library. At most any time of day one could find them hunched over a table, the hololithic matrix throwing their features into sharp relief from the projective glow. Conversations between peers, past and present, digging for kernels of truth like prospectors in a river.

The image wasn't enough to stop him. The enigma drew him on like a hook sunk into his jaw, tugging him towards the surface and from there, truth. Like a spelunker hearing the stirrings of fresh air he ventured forward, trusting that freedom was at the other end of that breeze. Parceling out a dim glow not in line with the others, he realized he was close to his quarry.

Now he slowed his pace, mindful to distribute his weight onto his heel first and then ease the rest of the foot onto the flooring. It was the best way to avoid noise and wayward crunches and creaks, as it allowed you to stop the moment you felt you were giving way. Around a shelf he caught a length of blonde hair, and what appeared to be a holocron, though perhaps it was merely a recording?

More than one individual talked themselves through the hours in the archives. Pausing within view over the back of a shoulder, he remained silent for now. Were it a holocron, it would warn her, provided it could see this far. Were it a recording, he could listen a moment before announcing himself.

A female though, that much was clear. It was hard to tell if she were human or near-human, so he didn't dare think 'woman' just yet.

The left corner of his mouth twitched: amusement. Impressive hair, honestly.

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Lower level library wing.
Tag: Olin Pinestep

Serina leaned closer to the holocron, its dim, pulsing light casting an otherworldly glow across her features. The figure's projection remained composed, arms crossed as he regarded her with an air of both authority and curiosity.

"Darth Malak," she said softly, her voice barely carrying beyond their intimate corner of the library. "You've mentioned the Star Forge was more than just a tool—it amplified the will of its master. Was that a function of its connection to the Force, or something unique to its construction?"

Malak's holographic visage turned contemplative, his expression marked by the faint trace of a smile, as though he enjoyed her persistence. "Both," he replied, his tone measured yet engaging. "The Star Forge was a living conduit for the Force, feeding on it, twisting it, and magnifying it in ways that defied natural laws. Its creators understood what most Jedi cannot grasp: the Force is not bound by the binary concepts of Light and Dark. It is power, raw and infinite."

Serina nodded, her pen scratching hurriedly against the notebook as she captured his words. "But how did you—" she began, then paused, her eyes narrowing in thought. "How did you resist its influence long enough to seize control? If it fed on the Force, surely it would have tried to feed on you as well."

Malak's laugh was low and resonant, carrying a hint of dark amusement. "Ah, Serina, you ask the right questions. The answer is simple: I did not resist it. I embraced its power, let it flow through me like blood through my veins. To wield such a creation, one must understand the balance between surrender and dominance. It's a dangerous dance, one most fail to master."

Serina's lips pressed into a thin line as she considered his response, her blue eyes flicking to the holocron as if trying to discern its secrets through sheer will. "You make it sound so... effortless," she said, a touch of skepticism in her voice.

"Hardly effortless," Malak countered, his projection leaning slightly closer as though to impart a secret. "But neither is it impossible. You've felt it yourself, haven't you? The pulse of the Force when you reach for it, that moment when it bends to your will?"

Serina hesitated, her gaze dropping to the notebook in front of her. She had felt it, fleeting moments where the Force responded to her in ways that defied her training, moments that left her both exhilarated and wary. "I've felt it," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it's..."

Serina's pen froze mid-sentence, the ink pooling on the page. Her piercing blue eyes lifted from her notes, scanning the dimly lit rows of the library. A chill ran down her spine, an inexplicable sensation prickling at the edge of her consciousness. She sat perfectly still, her breathing slowing as she reached out with the Force.

There it was—a presence. Subtle, quiet, and deliberate, like the muted vibrations of a string just out of tune. Someone was here.

Her heart began to pound, her calm composure cracking under the weight of this intrusion. She had been so careful, ensuring no one was around before she began. This library, this corner of solitude, was supposed to be hers.

Her hand drifted to the hilt of her lightsaber, the cool metal familiar and grounding. She glanced at the holocron. Malak's projection stood silent, observing her with an unspoken curiosity.

"There's someone here," she muttered, her voice sharp with tension.

"Yes," Malak replied calmly, his tone devoid of concern. "I felt it as well. The question is, what will you do about it?"

Serina's grip on her lightsaber tightened. "I'll deal with it," she said, rising from her chair. Her cloak swirled as she moved, her blonde hair catching the faint light from the holocron.

Her emotions churned—a mixture of fear, irritation, and worry. Her thoughts spiraled: Who could it be? How long had they been there? What had they seen? Each question fed into her growing anger, an unsteady flame flickering within her.

"Careful, Serina," Malak's voice echoed, his tone deceptively neutral. "Anger can sharpen your focus, but lose control, and it will blind you. Control is your weapon now."

She nodded tersely, drawing in a shaky breath as she turned toward the source of the presence. "Show yourself," she called, her voice low and commanding. With a snap-hiss, her aqua blade ignited, the brilliant light casting dancing shadows across the towering shelves.

The Force rippled as she sent a subtle pulse outward, seeking the presence more precisely. She could feel them now, close—just beyond the nearest row of data terminals.

"I won't ask again," she said, her voice tightening. The anger bubbling within her lent strength to her words, a sharp edge to her usually measured tone.

In the stillness of the library, Serina prepared herself. Whoever had dared to intrude on her sanctuary, they would not catch her unready.

 

[Olin Pinestep]

Whatever he expected to find in the bowels of this most holy of edifices, it was not youthful beauty turned to wrath, for surely that's what stood before him. Gray datastacks lined with dim blue were illuminated by a new glow heralded by the hiss of a force containment field coming to life before filling with plasma. Surely not a training blade, and surely one of the most arrogant moves he could imagine taking in this scenario.

Olin had not come looking for guilt, but it appeared he found it. Whoever was on that holocron was not meant to be heard, of that he was sure.

Yet, with a calm his tutors would be proud of, he remained unarmed with his hands hidden in his sleeves. There was no motion, but she'd find him easily enough, blending in with the background simply from lack of movement.

"I am here."

Despite the fact she'd been talking, and the hum of a lightsaber now overlayered that of the stacks glowing around them, his helmet-altered voice still caught him momentarily flat-footed, as it was tinny and cheap like a mass-manufactured soldier's modulator.

"What is it you are up to down here that fight is your first response? This Temple is the safest place to be to learn." It was hard to inflect curiosity into such modulation, but he did his best to avoid sounding judgmental. It was an observation, not a jab. As someone profoundly shaped by anger and the struggle to control it, he knew full well that leaning into that emotion would only feed it.

There was little need to reach out and feel for her. She wore her emotion as he did his robes. "Violence has no home where learning rests its head."

Olin did not know this Jedi, but he hoped he could. They clearly needed an attentive ear.

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Lower level library wing.
Tag: Olin Pinestep

Serina's eyes locked onto the figure that emerged from the shadows, her cyan blade humming softly as its light cast long, flickering shadows across the rows of datastacks. Her grip on the hilt was firm, her knuckles white, but her breathing slowed as she took in the sight before her.

The voice that spoke was calm, modulated, and devoid of immediate threat. Still, her anger simmered beneath the surface, an unsteady flame fed by the indignity of being discovered. She did not lower her weapon.

"You startled me," she said, her voice clipped, her words measured to conceal the swirl of emotions within her. "I didn't think anyone else would be down here this late."

Her gaze flicked to the figure's hands, hidden in the folds of his robes. He hadn't drawn a weapon, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. His calm demeanor only irritated her further, her frustration bleeding into her tone.

"This is the safest place to learn?" she echoed, her words sharp, almost mocking. "You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe, considering you've been sneaking around in the dark, unannounced."

She took a step closer, the glow of her blade brightening the space between them. Her blue eyes were piercing, scrutinizing the intruder. "Who are you, anyway? And what business do you have lurking in the lower levels of the library?"

Her emotions were at war within her—anger, fear, embarrassment, and curiosity all vying for dominance. She could still feel the weight of the holocron on the table behind her, its secrets exposed to this unknown observer.

The figure's words, though steady, struck a nerve. Violence has no home where learning rests its head. She hesitated, the phrase gnawing at her defenses. Slowly, her stance softened, though she did not extinguish her blade.

"I don't mean to fight," she admitted, her voice quieter, almost reluctant. "But you should know better than to sneak up on someone in the middle of the night. It's... unnerving."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying him. "So, are you going to tell me why you're here? Or am I supposed to guess?"

 

[Olin Pinestep]

"Neither did I," he replied conversationally, as though bumping into an old friend unexpectedly. A mental note was logged to improve the modulator at some point. There wasn't enough inflection lost to sour things but it could be better. At least, here behind his visor, he could lock his eyes on her and not feel awkward.

Making eye contact was much like his first attempt at connecting to the Force, slippery and always on the edge of his fingertips.

It appeared she wasn't about to lunge, so he took that as a sign to continue, and he stepped forward unhurriedly as if he was simply perusing the stacks. "We all end up in our own little worlds as we work, sooner or later. It wasn't my intention to startle you." A truth; one of many.

Though he didn't dare get close enough to be seen a threat, he could well imagine how it looked to her. A helmeted Jedi, with his hood up but shallow, leaving the front and sides clearly visible. A traveler's hood to ward against the sun, rather than the thief's to hide the face.

His chuckle came out with a hint of static. "Returning a holocron to the stacks." Head canted to one side, he smiled, hoping it would be heard as he spoke. Human, then. Woman, perhaps? Age was hard to tell, and he'd grown nearly six inches this last year alone - he was still having trouble adjusting to the new height and broadened shoulders.

It left the robes hanging wide as though he had bulked them out - it was why he'd tried to pull the edges in closer to his chest. Little sense walking around showcasing you looked like a lightpost. "I suppose that's the struggle this time of the evening. Given the emptiness here it's better to see who is here than to simply... hear a noise, and be left to wonder. Accept my apologies for startling you. I had heard something and come to investigate, as like you I expected to be alone. Your senses are fine, as I had only just come around the corner when you noticed my presence."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Lower level library wing.
Tag: Olin Pinestep

Serina's grip on her lightsaber hilt loosened slightly as the figure's calm and conversational tone sank in. His demeanor was measured, even polite, his posture non-threatening. The glow of her blade cast sharp lines of light across his hooded visage, reflecting off the edges of his helmet. He moved with a deliberate lack of urgency, as though the whole encounter were a mundane coincidence rather than a potential confrontation.

She tilted her head, her piercing blue eyes narrowing as she studied him further. "Returning a holocron to the stacks, you say?" Her tone carried a trace of skepticism, though she kept it from tipping into outright accusation. She didn't extinguish her lightsaber yet, but its hum softened as she adjusted her stance, shifting from defensive to guarded.

The way he spoke, the unassuming humor threaded through his words, disarmed her—if only slightly. Still, her mind churned. Who was this person? And why now, of all times, did he appear?

"You have an interesting sense of timing," she remarked, her voice cooling but not hostile. "Most would choose the daytime to return a holocron. But then again," she added, the faintest hint of a wry smile curling her lips, "I suppose I'm hardly in a position to lecture on that."

Serina's blade tilted downward, no longer raised in preparation for a strike, though she held it steady. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the table behind her, where the holocron still rested, its faint glow visible even from this distance. She resisted the urge to glance at Malak's projection, knowing full well it could betray more than she wanted this stranger to see.

"So," she continued, her voice soft but pointed, "you wander the stacks, curious about noises in the dark, with nothing but an apology for startling someone? No accusations, no questions about what I'm doing here? That's... surprisingly understanding for someone who just walked in on a Jedi Padawan with a drawn blade."

Her words were probing, testing his response. The hum of her lightsaber persisted in the quiet, filling the void left between them.

"I appreciate the apology," she added after a pause, her tone softening just enough to feel genuine. "But I'd still like to know who you are. A name, at least, if we're going to stand here in the middle of the library trading pleasantries."

She kept her eyes on him, her expression carefully neutral, though her mind remained sharp and wary. Whatever this encounter was, it wasn't over yet.

 

[Olin Pinestep]

At her first question, Olin politely gripped the inside hem of his robe and pulled it outward, showing the small lattice-device on his hip. A holocron, no questions there. The robe was returned to its resting position, and his hands disappeared back into voluminous sleeves. Pleased that his calm demeanor was bringing her back around, he was thankful, in hindsight, for all those awful years where he felt he could not control his emotions at all.

He still lacked the appropriate metaphors for how that came about, but he supposed struggle created strength provided one was able to actually come out on the other side.

"No, I don't suppose you aren't." A grin lay there, beneath the helmet, lightening his voice. Still, she hadn't fully let her guard down.

Whatever she was doing, she likely shouldn't be. This padawan felt cornered and he was, somehow, going to find out why.

"Olin Pinestep," he greeted. "Padawan learner. I'm sure I'd remember having met you before, but there are... quite a good deal of faces in the Temple."

Some static; a snort. "I did ask, in a way. Adrenaline has likely obscured it from your mind. Fight is your first response, so I was curious... what is it you're studying?"

A pause, and then his head tilted again wryly. "I don't believe I would consider lightsaber greetings pleasantries, but I understand what you are trying to say." It was a battle, reeling in someone from such a ledge, and any wrong move could snap the line or the rod leaving you without the catch. While he'd never be accused of true maturity, in this one thing he was well-versed.

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Lower level library wing.
Tag: Olin Pinestep

Serina extinguished her lightsaber with a sharp hiss, though she kept it in her hand as a precaution. The soft hum of its deactivation left the library in a deeper silence, save for the faint ambient sounds of the Temple's systems. She studied Olin for a moment, his introduction lingering in the air like a handshake left unanswered.

"Olin Pinestep," she repeated, her tone measured as she weighed her next words. Her grip on her lightsaber relaxed further, and she offered a small nod, though her body language still spoke of guardedness. "Serina Calis. And you're right, we haven't met. I tend to keep to myself."

Her eyes flicked briefly to the holocron resting on the table behind her before snapping back to Olin. She pushed a lock of golden blonde hair behind her ear, her movements fluid and deliberate, as if to reclaim a sense of control in the situation.

"Studying?" she echoed, her tone lightening as she forced a faint smile. "It's nothing unusual. Advanced Force techniques—harmonics, attunement, that sort of thing. Dry, esoteric subjects most Padawans avoid unless they're looking to bore themselves into a stupor."

She took a slow step toward the table, positioning herself subtly between Olin and the holocron, her body blocking his direct line of sight. "And I'm not so much studying as I am... searching," she added, her voice taking on a thoughtful edge. "Trying to fill in the gaps the archives gloss over. They love to offer high concepts but leave the practicalities buried in metaphor."

Her gaze softened slightly as she gestured to her notebook, its pages filled with diagrams and annotations. "It's frustrating, honestly. You spend hours combing through texts only to find that the key details are missing. So, here I am, chasing threads in the dead of night like some obsessive scholar."

Serina paused, tilting her head as if considering something. "What about you?" she asked, her tone shifting to curiosity, her attempt to redirect the conversation clear. "I don't imagine most Padawans come all the way down here just to return a holocron. Surely there's more to your visit than that?"

Her eyes locked on his visor, a subtle challenge in her gaze. It was a delicate dance, pulling his attention away from the glowing artifact behind her while maintaining an air of casual conversation. But she was determined to keep the holocron—and its occupant—a secret.

 

[Olin Pinestep]

Was this particular holocron part of the archives, or had she brought it in from outside? Neither made particular sense for this scenario. "Yet you aren't bored." More observations, as though pointing out a single rare winged species in an aviary full of them. With the lightsaber lowered and now off, he approached closer.

Still measured, still unhurried, just crossing the distance to be more conversational. After all, she hadn't wanted to be found. Having a loud talk across fifteen meters or so was the opposite of that.

Eyeing the notebook and the pen she'd set down, he nodded. "Perhaps ironically, it's that very thing that brings me here so late. I had intended to return it earlier but had become lost in my meditations. For the first time, I truly understood what meditation meant, and how one should feel the energy flowing through themself.

The instructions, of course, were right. It was my own perception of them that was perhaps flawed in some way." His shoulders lifted into a shrug. "Either way, it quite distracted me and having already committed to bringing it back I decided to do so despite the late hour."

Frowning pensively, he considered her words and the situation they were in. She was not unguarded, merely not on edge, and he was still an intruder to her, that much was clear. It was the hard stare of blue eyes that let him know just how focused he was; normally, her beauty would be distracting and leave him awkward. Instead, he stood, composed and assured.

Focus. How funny to not even recognize this was focus.

"When one discusses controlling the unseen through the mastery of emotion, how does one speak in anything other than philosophy? I spoke with one of the archivists the other day, cataloging some histories of the Outer Rim, and they told me the hardest part of historical texts isn't interpreting them, it's figuring out all the things they mention without explanation.

These are things that were so common in their day they didn't feel the need to explain them in detail, assuming whoever read the history would simply know. Are you coming across the same thing with these holocrons?"

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Lower level library wing.
Tag: Olin Pinestep

Serina's lips curved into a faint, playful smile as Olin moved closer. She reached up, absentmindedly tucking a lock of her golden blonde hair behind her ear before letting it fall over her shoulder, catching the light from the glowing data stacks. The motion was casual, deliberate, drawing attention away from the holocron on the table behind her.

"Not bored, no," she admitted, her tone softening, taking on a lighter, more conversational quality. "I suppose I'm one of the odd ones. I enjoy the chase—the mystery of unraveling something elusive. It's... satisfying, in its own way."

She leaned slightly against the edge of the table, her body angled toward him as her piercing blue eyes met his visor, her gaze steady but inviting. "It sounds like your meditation was quite the breakthrough," she continued, her voice carrying a warm, almost teasing edge. "Discovering what it really feels like to let the energy flow through you... That's something some Padawans spend years trying to achieve. I imagine it must have felt incredible."

Her fingers played idly with the edge of her notebook, brushing over the faint marks of her annotations as if pondering something profound. Then, she looked back at him, tilting her head just enough for her hair to shift slightly, catching the dim light once more.

"You're right, though," she said thoughtfully, her tone shifting to a mock seriousness, as if sharing a secret. "Some of these texts—holocrons included—are maddeningly cryptic. It's as if the authors assumed we'd all have a galactic historian on hand to explain their vague references."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her smile deepening as she allowed a flicker of curiosity to enter her voice. "Speaking of cryptic, you mentioned hearing something that brought you this way. What was it exactly? Was it just the hum of my lightsaber, or did you hear something else? I hope I wasn't muttering to myself loud enough to be overheard."

She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face with an elegant motion. "I get so lost in my thoughts sometimes. I'd hate to think I was narrating my frustrations to an unintended audience."

Her words hung in the air, carefully poised between casual charm and subtle inquiry. She studied Olin's posture, his responses, looking for the smallest indication that he had overheard anything he shouldn't have. At the same time, she maintained the illusion of openness, her playful demeanor a tool to keep his focus on her rather than the holocron resting silently behind her.

 

[Olin Pinestep]

The sudden shift to a bubblier personality was either her guard going fully down, or just an attempt to take him off the edge he was feeling. Only time would tell and so he didn't focus on it. Instead, he nodded his agreement. "I hate puzzles, but love digging into mysteries. Go figure." His head tilted right, then left, and he cast is eyes upward a moment in thought before straightening and squaring his shoulders in an attempt to get to proper posture.

"Energy is not necessarily the word I would use, but it was the one I was taught." Only then did he realize it was just as cryptic as the things she studied, and he realized, quite directly, how all of this had come to be. How did one communicate what you felt in your soul? The answer was 'as best you could.'

Little did that help anyone with more life ahead of them than behind them.

"Ah, simple enough," he replied, sensing a preparatory surge in adrenaline as he realized he was potentially about to cross a line. "There were two voices."

A hand appeared, gesturing to the glow coming from where she was deliberately trying to keep him from. "A luxury for us to have such technology we can commune with the memory of those who came before us directly." How many masters lived forever both in the Force and in technology in this way? Holocrons were fascinating. This particular conversation likely would have been too, on any other day.

For now, the tension in the stacks was like humidity on Mon Cala; water atop water.

This was maddeningly funny to him in the least humorous way possible. At literally any other point he'd likely be a puddle before her. To see artwork in motion was rare, and yet he saw Serina with the detachment of a man brooding out over a treeline. It was there, but his vision was turned inward.

"Late night studying was never my thing, but whatever it is must be of some considerable interest. Do you need a sounding board to order your thoughts?"

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Lower level library wing.
Tag: Olin Pinestep

Serina's smile froze for the briefest of moments, her piercing blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly as Olin's words settled in the air. Two voices. The phrase echoed in her mind like the tolling of a distant bell. Her instincts sharpened, a cold calculation replacing the warmth she had so carefully projected.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her lightsaber, though she kept her body language relaxed, her charm and demeanor still intact. "Two voices," she repeated softly, as though considering his words, her tone laced with curiosity and just a hint of amusement. "That's an interesting observation. Perhaps I was muttering more than I thought."

She took a slow, deliberate step toward him, tilting her head slightly so that her golden blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder, catching the dim light once more. Her movements were fluid, graceful, yet underpinned by an energy that hinted at coiled tension, like a nexu stalking its prey.

"Holocrons are fascinating, aren't they?" she continued, her voice still warm and conversational, even as her heart began to pound with the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. "The way they preserve knowledge, voices, memories... It's like speaking with the past itself. A true luxury, as you said."

Her eyes flicked briefly to his hand, the subtle gesture toward the holocron not lost on her. He knew. Or at least, he suspected. That was enough.

"I appreciate the offer," she said smoothly, her tone taking on a slightly playful edge as she stepped closer, her gaze locking onto his visor. "But I think my thoughts are already quite... ordered."

As she finished speaking, Serina reached out through the Force, her mind snapping into focus. The invisible energy coiled around her like a tempest, gathering power as she subtly raised her free hand. In an instant, she released a sharp telekinetic blast aimed at Olin's midsection, intending to knock him backward into the nearest datastack.

Simultaneously, her lightsaber ignited with a brilliant cyan glow, the snap-hiss of the blade filling the silent library once more. She lunged forward, her movements precise and controlled, though her blue eyes burned with a dangerous intensity.

"You shouldn't have come down here," she said, her voice cold now, stripped of its earlier warmth. Her charm remained in her tone, like a venomous flower concealing its thorns. "I can't have you interfering with my studies."

She followed up the telekinetic push with a sweeping strike from her blade, her form lacking the refinement of a true duelist but fueled by raw determination. The Force rippled around her, amplifying her movements and lending her speed and power she couldn't achieve on her own.

Her thoughts raced as she pressed her attack. He knows too much. I can't let him leave with what he's heard. Yet even as her anger drove her forward, a part of her mind remained cold and calculating, analyzing Olin's every move, searching for weaknesses to exploit.

The quiet sanctuary of the Jedi Temple's library had become a battlefield, the hum of her blade and the crackling tension of the Force drowning out the stillness that had once enveloped them.

 

[Olin Pinestep]

Desperately, and purely from instinct, he knew something would go wrong. It was just a matter of what and when. That when lasted just long enough for her to stay just friendly enough to marshal her thoughts and focus into action. He knew this in the past tense, as he was already flying back and into a datastack, which trilled an alarm at having a semi-armored Padawan thrown into it.

Not an actual alarm, of course, but it would be pinging a maintenance droid he was sure.

Purely on instinct, he had pulled his own lightsaber out and ignited it in time to catch the downward stroke of her blade. Magenta and cyan met, clashing with the distinct clash of containment fields meeting. He wasn't even fully upright yet, but he didn't need to be. She was close enough - and him seemingly flat footed enough - that a subtle kick for her ankle should throw her off balance or at least get him some room to get to his feet.

Inside his helmet, dark eyes narrowed as a second hand gripped the hilt of his saber and prepared for another attack. That split-second allowed him to utilize one of his helmets other functions and ping the Temple Guard. One way or another, they'd get to the bottom of this, whether Olin was alive or dead.

No part of him doubted they already knew - unauthorized weapon usage in the Archives? Surely there was a sensor for that. But he didn't know and so the message went out. To buy him the moment to set his footwork, he gave a flick of the hand that snapped some of the Force towards her shoulder, intending to distrupt her concentration or her balance and let him set into a proper guard.

Until security arrived or she escaped, Serina Calis and him were going to find out a good deal about each other. "Clearly it isn't one of our holocrons."

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Lower level library wing.
Tag: Olin Pinestep

The clang of magenta and cyan echoed through the library, the energy fields of their lightsabers crackling violently as Serina's blade was halted mid-strike. She felt the tremor in the Force as Olin kicked at her ankle, forcing her to twist away to maintain her balance. Her cyan blade cut through the air as she pivoted, her movements sharp but unrefined, driven more by instinct and fury than skill.

Olin's words—sharp and direct—stung her pride, though she masked it well behind a veneer of cold charm. "Perceptive," she said softly, her voice laced with venomous sweetness. "But your insight won't save you."

With a flick of her free hand, she reached out to the Force, her anger sharpening her focus. The door to the lower levels groaned and slid shut with a loud thud, locking them inside. The sound of the locks engaging reverberated through the room like a judge's gavel, sealing their fates.

"You think the alarms will save you?" Serina asked, her tone laced with bitter amusement as she began to circle him, her blade held low but ready. Her golden blonde hair shimmered in the faint light, her piercing blue eyes never leaving his visor. "I chose this level for a reason. No alarms, no immediate security. Only silence. A perfect place to... study." Her smile was faint but deadly, a predator's grin. "Or to fight."

Even as she spoke, she reached deeper into the Force, letting it guide her movements. She sent a subtle ripple toward Olin, her focus aimed at his shoulder, using his own tactic against him to disrupt his balance and throw off his guard. Her cyan blade darted forward in a feint, a classic Shii-Cho maneuver, meant to draw his defense high.

But as her blade clashed with his again, she leaned into the more devious skills she had honed. Her voice dropped, soft and cutting, as she began to weave the threads of Dun Möch into their encounter. "You're just a Padawan," she murmured, her words like silk, seeping into the cracks of his composure. "Clinging to your lessons, your rules, your precious Order. Do you really think they'll save you from someone like me?"

Her words were not shouted; they didn't need to be. They slipped into the gaps of the fight, filling the silence between the clash of their blades and the hum of their weapons. She let her Force empathy sharpen her words, sensing the edges of his resolve and aiming precisely where she could unsettle him most.

"You've never faced this before, have you?" she continued, her tone almost sympathetic, though her cyan blade was anything but. "A fellow student willing to go this far. To risk everything. Tell me, Olin—what will you risk to stop me?"

She feinted again, this time using Tràkata, disengaging her lightsaber mid-swing to bypass his guard before reigniting it in a swift attempt to strike at his side. It wasn't perfectly executed, but it was unexpected, a trick born of creativity rather than precision.

As they moved, the fight took on a tragic rhythm, each clash of their blades underscored by the weight of unspoken truths. Serina's mind churned with conflicting emotions. She hadn't sought this fight—she hadn't wanted to draw her blade against a fellow Jedi—but Olin had left her no choice. He had heard too much, seen too much. To protect her secret, she had to stop him. And yet, the cost of this act, the consequences, loomed over her like a shadow.

"You should have walked away," she said, her voice quieter now, almost mournful. But the venom remained, entwined with a dangerous charm that dripped from her words. "You didn't have to follow the voices, Olin. You didn't have to find me. But now..."

Her words trailed off as she sent another telekinetic push toward him, trying to knock him off balance again. Every action, every strike, was calculated, her movements guided by the Force's unseen currents. But even as she fought, a part of her couldn't help but feel the tragedy of it all.

 

[Olin Pinestep]

"Answers never save anyone," he replied, knowing full well she'd been down here seeking her own. "It's what we do when we have them." And for now, neither could do much of anything save fight, and though for now the floor was locked, he did not let it work against his mind. The Temple Guard would open the doors sooner or later, but what they did was not his responsibility or concern.

There were, for him, two outcomes. Live or die.

That meant staying focused, and as he was forced a step back off-balance by her own riposte with the Force, he made a minute adjustment to his guard to catch hers. He was never a fan of constraining saberwork to a 'style' but he did know that many practiced particular moves from one more than others.

He preferred defense and economy of motion, as he loathed violence. That would help him here.

"You didn't have this planned at all," he countered, blade sparking. Each strike of their blades caused him to reposition, mindful of the datastacks and tables. For now, he had his back to more open ground which was good. Duels required space; both for blade and combatant. "If you did, you wouldn't be in the Archives."

While her words came through with odd severity and weight, and her beauty only added to a peculiar charm, he still found himself focused primarily on bladework rather than her. He continued the conversation only on instinct, speaking only as words left his lips without thought.

"Such anger," he replied, "Perhaps one day you'll understand anger is about the power in others, not in you. You hate yourself for being unable to control others."

She did have a point. He hadn't faced this before. No Padawan truly had. Sith did not make their home in this Temple. Having brought his saber across his body, tip of the blade angled towards her in a guard prepped for counter, her disappearing blade surprised him. They were both open now.

In the moment she'd need to continue beyond his guard, he stepped forward to push his saber through her collarbone, pivoting his hips and weight to throw the blade down across her and to her opposite hip to either cut her in half or strike a mortal blow that would ultimately avenge his own demise.

Whether this was the first or last opening of the fight, they'd only know after the damage was done.

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Lower level library wing.
Tag: Olin Pinestep

Serina felt the air shift, the hum of Olin's blade sweeping toward her collarbone like a viper's strike. Her instincts screamed, and she twisted her body with fluid precision, narrowly avoiding the searing edge of the magenta saber. The Force surged around her, guiding her movements as she spun out of his range. Her cyan blade reignited with a snap-hiss, the light casting sharp shadows over her sharp, striking features.

But something had shifted within her. Where the fight had begun with tragic inevitability, now Serina felt exhilaration coursing through her veins. The danger, the clash of wills—it was intoxicating. And so was the dance of deception.

"Bold move, Olin," she said, her voice low and smooth, almost purring. She turned to face him fully, her cyan blade held at her side, its tip just above the ground, a faint wisp of smoke rising where it grazed the durasteel floor. Her blue eyes locked onto his visor, a predator's gaze gleaming with dangerous amusement. "But boldness alone won't win this fight."

She began to circle him, her movements slow and deliberate, like a nexu stalking its prey. Her golden blonde hair shimmered in the faint light, her every step radiating confidence. Her voice, when she spoke, was sweetened venom, dripping with mock concern and disarming charm.

"You don't have to keep this up, you know," she said, her tone softening, almost tender. "You've done well—better than I expected, honestly. You've shown resilience, determination. It's admirable."

Her cyan blade twirled in her hand, a fluid, almost playful motion as she feigned a lack of urgency. But her mind was anything but idle. She reached out with Force Empathy, subtly probing his emotions, searching for the cracks in his resolve. Fear, doubt, determination—they were all there, swirling beneath the surface.

"You don't want this, do you?" she continued, her words laced with honeyed understanding. "You're not like me. You weren't made for this kind of fight. All you wanted was to return a holocron and meditate on the Force. A noble pursuit, truly. But this?" She gestured to the space between them, the air thick with tension and the hum of their sabers. "This isn't who you are, Olin."

Her words weren't just lies—they were a weapon, wielded with the same precision as her blade. She felt the Force around him, the struggle within, and leaned into her strengths. Dun Möch was her melody, a symphony of manipulation.

"You're scared," she said, her voice softening further, almost a whisper. "I can feel it. And that's okay. Fear is a natural response to danger, to uncertainty. But why should you be afraid of me?" She tilted her head, her golden locks falling over one shoulder as she gave him a smile that was equal parts charm and menace. "I'm not your enemy, Olin. I don't have to be."

Even as she spoke, her body remained ready, her cyan blade steady and prepared. She wasn't so foolish as to leave herself entirely exposed, but she let her posture convey a deceptive ease, an openness designed to pull him further into her web.

"Let it go," she urged, her voice soothing, like a lullaby. "Put your saber down. We can talk about this. I'll explain everything—you'll see. You'll understand." She took another step closer, her gaze locked onto his, her tone almost pleading. "You don't have to fight me, Olin. You can walk away. Just… trust me."

Her words hung in the air, the silence between them heavy with possibility. Serina's mind raced, ready to exploit any hesitation, any moment of weakness. She felt a thrill in the game she was playing, a dangerous dance of deception and power. And though the fight was far from over, she relished every step of it.

 

[Olin Pinestep]

This was the hard part. He knew, in a student's way, what to expect. It had been poured over in documents, holocrons, lectures and more besides. Easy enough to find was the picture of him in a chair in tiered seats around a Master, talking about the importance of mental strength. It was not something innate, as one might believe.

He'd held onto the metaphor of workers laying foundation, and perhaps finding a flaw, just to repour it again. And eventually, no matter how strong, that foundation would crack and need rebuilt. Painful? Yes. But it was a fact of life.

"I am scared, and so are you." He replied, mindful to keep his guard close to his body as he was taught. Economy of motion. She was the one doing the acting, wearing herself down all the quicker. Compared to me. That reminder was necessary, as all of this was relative, and neither Serina Calis nor Olin knew the true capability of the other.

For a moment, she almost had him. She didn't lower her guard, as that was a fool's errand, but she did give the growing appearance of a desire to be more open.

Yet, in a heartbeat's worry, he was reminded of one thing and one thing only. He had only asked a question.

A question that was, in any context, innocuous. He'd asked what show she was watching, or what book she was reading. It was her that had drawn her saber in response. That was enough to keep his hands secure on his blade, grip tightening in preparation for a strike.

Yet he still did not attack. That would no doubt frustrate her, if not infuriate her. He'd do everything he could to avoid being a true aggressor. The longer this went on, the sooner she'd have to employ her escape strategy or face the guard. Perhaps both, depending on how it went.

"We did talk." He replied, as calmly as reminding her that she had an appointment today. "Yet you chose violence."