Private The Empress + The Grand Vizier

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Somewhere between Dosuun and Jutrand

Location classified. Atmosphere controlled. Intent unspoken.

The room had no name, no sigil on the wall, no seal pressed into the dark-polished stone of its floor. It existed only for moments like this, interims between eras, unmarked by map or memory.

The air was cool, dry, and still. A silence engineered, not natural. No wind, no engine thrum, no birdsong or breeze. Just the hush of walls designed to listen, not echo. Light filtered in through narrow, vertical slats high along the chamber's edges, not warm, not harsh, but steady. Shadow pooled where it was permitted. Everything else had been flattened, made clean.

A long table of obsidian alloy bisected the room, untouched, unadorned save for two carafes of water and a sealed dataslate set at either end.

It was not a space designed to welcome. It was a space meant to weigh.

And today, it weighed the Commonwealth.

At one end stood the Grand Vizier, Ivalyn Yvarro, the silhouette of the Commonwealth's iron spine rendered in human form. Her uniform was austere: high-collared, Dosuunian black with no filigree save the faint silver of rank bars at her throat. She did not sit. Not yet. She regarded the room quietly, composed, calculating, and utterly without haste.

A short distance away, shadows stirred with the presence of her retinue: two guards of the Janissary elite, stationed with ceremonial stillness. Somewhere further back, her aide Tessara waited with a datapad clutched at the ready, the modern weight of bureaucracy slung against the ancient weight of power.

The meeting, months in the making, whispered about in corridors on Riflor and hinted at in the subtexts of Jutrand, would begin when both women spoke. Not before. And not a moment sooner.

For today was not merely about diplomatic optics. It was not about ceremony or pomp.

It was about the recalibration of an empire within an empire.
It was about the edge of sovereignty, the price of allegiance, and the shape of what came after Rubicon.

Somewhere between Dosuun and Jutrand, in a room that did not exist, two sovereign powers would measure one another, and decide if they would rise, fall, or bend.

Srina Talon

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Ivalyn Yvarro
Location: We Have No Idea - HAHA

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The pale Echani moved through the room without a sound. She wasn't weightless, as nothing truly was, but the Dread Queen had learned long ago how to remain unseen until she chose otherwise. Each step was intentional without wasting any energy, every breath, so soft that her shoulders barely seemed to rise and fall. The faint tumble of fabric brushed against still air when she moved, and pearl-white skin caught what little light dared to touch it. Holding it close, swallowing it.

Nothing escaped her if she didn't wish it.

Not even the light.

Her attire was rather plain for a sovereign, considering, most associated the Sith with opulence and frivolity of resources. The traveling cloak she wore was the color of storm clouds over snow, sleeved in black spider-shell silk, that hinted at armor beneath. Her hands weren't gloved, and a pale finger traced the surface of a smooth table when she passed, mindfully, letting silence exist while she observed the occupants of the room. A single elegant braid, woven with specific tokens, lay over her shoulder, and white-gold hair glinted when her head inclined in greeting.

It was rather gentle.

Srina did not fill the room, not deliberately, but her attendance did change the composition. The air cooled, and the scent of jasmine moved with her, touched with ozone, and what came after a heavy rain. Petrichor. It was power fluttering down around her, leaking from her pores, even though her presence had been respectfully pressed down. Shadows leaned closer when she came to a complete stop, reaching for her, begging for her nearness…But she paid them little mind.

Those within this chamber would have felt her long before the door opened to allow her entry. She brought with her something that could not be named, pressure, or perhaps gravity that even a flatscan could recognize. The Janissary guards may have straightened further, without realizing it. Fingers brushing the triggers of weapons they wouldn't need.

The Empress had not come to fight.

She stopped directly across from Ivalyn Yvarro with her hands folding loosely before her. Her eyes lifted, and the tepid stillness of the room deepened. The shade of her iris was a mottled gold. Not the bright, living kind, but something corrupted. It would seem burnished from within, like molten metal that had cooled just enough to hold its shape. Beautiful, yes, but dangerous in a way that beauty occasionally forgets to be kind.

"Grand Vizier…", her greeting poured through the silence, not meant to carry, but it did with perfect efficacy. It was a strange sound to come from her…With the surprising softness of silvery bells. As long as she wished, Srina merely watched the woman who stood before her. It was an Echani trait to witness whom they conversed with to let the keenness of their eyes discern what words they would never say.

She had been informed that this meeting held the utmost importance, which was why things had moved so swiftly. The Empress was only recently removed from the front lines of a disturbing battle over Atrisia that somehow was designed to test the mettle of their territory. She did not express any exhaustion but the determination of one who recognized that there were many moving parts to an Empire as vast as the Order.

She doubted that Lady Yvarro would call upon her, now, during a war, without reason.

"The Commonwealth has flourished throughout these long years…You recently fought for the Holy Worlds, watched our border, and provided refuge during an incident of internal strife."

Her tone wasn't praise, it was observation, the kind that made notations and filed things away for reflection. She was not unaware of their contributions, like many systems, and had only become more informed since her husband had taken leave. It was not common knowledge…But it was for the best. Sith civilization was typically heavily stratified, in was their way, but Srina came from a differing era. Having served as an Exarch in the Confederacy gave her notions that they would all likely find heretical.

Sith carved the shape of power and led from the front…But there was always a group behind that that was required to tend to the wounds they left behind. It was a balance that had kept the Order in a position of strength for far longer than most would care to admit.

"Thank you."

She paused and her head tilted slightly, a small, almost human gesture that broke the symmetry of her unnatural stillness. Srina had ensured that the Commonwealth retained its spoils from the war with the Imperials, their share of the glory, even if they turned it into molten slag. Recognition was often something those beneath their banner yearned for, even if they didn't realize it.

The simple way to say: We are here.

"You've done nothing to warrant my ire. There are no accusations, no charges, and not even a whisper of dissent worthy of my time…", her gaze flickered to the aide with the datapad, before returning to Ivalyn. Every system that the Sith Order swept through held some level of agitation when they felt like their sovereignty was being ripped away. There was always wariness, but that, was not at all what she referenced. She believed the Grand Vizier was intelligent and formidable enough to understand.

"I am not proficient in diplomatic ventures, although I am often required to do so. We all have our failings, so I request that you forgive my lack of tact…"

Srina was a simple creature. Plain. She did not dwell on lofty wording, genuflection, and what High Sith society might demand of her. There was a nation to run and it wouldn't wait while she sat on her laurels and agonized over which proverbial "fork" to use with dinner.

"What is it that you require of me?"

The question hung there, almost gentle, with her barely there tones.

Almost.

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Ivalyn appreciated the directness. In a galaxy awash with ceremony and self-indulgence, it was refreshing to stand across from someone like Empress Srina Talon, a leader who understood the value of clear purpose over frills.

"Empress," the Grand Vizier began, addressing the woman before her with the due formality of imperial stature, "the Commonwealth seeks to renegotiate its terms with the Sith Order."

Her hands remained calmly at her sides as she stood, poised, unyielding.

"The event known as Planeshift has redrawn the borders of many. Ours included. It is that reality which brings us to the table today."

She reached for the data slate, though her gaze never left the Empress.

"I have in my possession the list of systems recognized under the original agreement between our two nations. Since then, many of these worlds, as a consequence of cosmic upheaval, are no longer where they once were. The stars themselves have shifted."

A beat.

"On behalf of the Commonwealth, I seek recognition of our revised borders. In doing so, we reaffirm our status as a loyal vassal. Tithes shall continue to flow toward your Empire, as is proper. And, in light of the Empire's growing momentum, I propose that the Commonwealth be granted license to expand westward in its name."

She tilted her head, just slightly, the faintest edge to her voice.

"Any such territories annexed will remain under Commonwealth administration, but with full acknowledgment of Sith dominion."

Srina Talon ​