Private The Shape of Patience

[Shade]

The cell on Desevro was quiet in a way Shade understood intimately.

Not silence, not truly, but the regulated hush of systems doing exactly what they were designed to do. The low, constant hum of the containment field. The soft cycling of filtered air. The faint vibration through the durasteel floor marked distant movement elsewhere in the Academy. All of it was predictable. All of it catalogued.

Shade sat on the narrow cot with her back straight and her shoulders relaxed, hands resting loosely in her lap. She was not leaning against the wall; she had learned long ago that walls belonged to other people's architecture. Her posture suggested waiting rather than restraint, as if she had chosen this stillness rather than been placed within it.

Her hair was loose, falling down her back in dark, unbraided lines, not by preference, but by circumstance. The absence of tools and time had stripped away habit, leaving something more honest in its place. She felt the difference, even if she did not dwell on it.

The Force shifted before the door did.

Not sharply. Not intrusively. Just a change in density, like someone entering a room who understood how space worked. A presence that did not press or withdraw, but assessed. Shade's breathing remained steady as she adjusted her attention, following that subtle disturbance with the same precision she once used to map exits and threat vectors.

Footsteps approached. Slower than a guard's. Heavier with intent.

The containment field disengaged with a soft hiss, and the cell door slid open, admitting a slice of corridor light that cut cleanly across the floor. Shade lifted her gaze then, not startled, not wary: simply present.

Varin Mortifer stood in the threshold.

She did not rise. She did not speak immediately. She let the moment exist as it was, observing him with the quiet, unblinking focus of someone accustomed to being studied and no longer inclined to perform for it. His posture, his balance, the way his attention moved through the space before settling on her — all of it registered, sorted, retained.

When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, level, and deliberately unprovocative.

"You aren't part of the standard rotation," she said, not as a challenge, but as a statement of fact. Her tone carried neither welcome nor resistance, only accuracy. "Which suggests you're here by choice."

Her eyes remained on his, steady and unreadable.

"That makes this an inquiry," she continued quietly, "not a transfer."

She shifted only slightly, enough to resettle her weight more comfortably on the cot, a movement unhurried and unguarded. There was no attempt to appear smaller. No effort to assert control. Just composure held without apology.

"You may proceed," Shade added after a beat.

Not a command. Not permission.

An acknowledgment: that she understood the nature of the moment, and that she was prepared to meet it without flinching.

The cell remained still around them, the hum of the field unchanged, the corridor light holding steady at the threshold. Shade waited.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin had the free time for the day, and he did not have much to do to occupy that on Desevro. It was still a newer planet to him. Making his way back to the academy to walk the grounds he kept his armor and helm on. Almost like impromptu security. The students gave him a wide berth as his smoldering cloak trailed behind him. Conversations paused as they felt his presence was felt approaching. Even students here had heard of his violent exploits on the battlefield. His effectiveness of spreading chaos and fear on the battlefield with just his weapons and his fury.

The heat radiated from his body as a constant wave. Finally he visited the security personnel where he requested to take watch. The personnel knew he was not asking, and they were very much willing to take the free break as he descended to the cells.

He looked over at Shade, his red visor giving a faint light into the room as she spoke. She spoke truth, perceptively. He did not respond, but he did listen.

After her phrase of proceeding he stepped in further, the heat from his body stretched out over the walls.

“Very interesting that someone from the Republic would willingly work with the students of the Covenant.”

He spoke low but his voice carried.

“You had opportunities to mortally wound or even kill an upcoming Sith. Besides the fact of being overpowered and swarmed immediately, Why didn’t you?”

His arms slowly crossed over his back, palm over hand, feet square with his shoulders, knees slightly bent. A stance of attention and discipline.

“Instead you willingly sparred, you learned. And you taught.”

He stood over her, not closely, but his shadow eclipsed her. His frame nearly blocking any resemblance of a form of escape, whether that were his intention or not was unknown.

Shade​

 

[Shade]

Shade did not move when Varin finished speaking.

She remained where she was, back against the stone, posture aligned rather than slack, hands resting loosely at her sides. The restraints around her wrists continued their steady hum, a constant and measurable presence. Heat rolled off him and pressed into the cell, warping the air in subtle waves. She registered it without reaction, the way she registered everything, noted, categorized, and set aside unless it became relevant.

When she spoke, it was unhurried. It always was. "Because killing her would have been the least efficient outcome," she said evenly.

Her eyes lifted to him then, not in challenge and not in deference, simply present. She did not avert her gaze from the faint glow of his visor, nor did she strain to meet his height. Shade had never wasted effort trying to occupy more space than she required.

"I sparred with one student," she continued, her tone precise and factual. "Naniti. No one else."

She shifted her weight slightly against the wall, a controlled adjustment rather than a retreat, as though settling more firmly into the answer itself.

"She was not a target," Shade said. "She was a variable in an environment I needed to understand." There was no defensiveness in her voice. No attempt to justify. Only explanation.

"Violence would have ended the exchange immediately," she went on. "And it would have taught me nothing I did not already know." Her gaze remained steady, unblinking.

"She is inexperienced," Shade added. "Talented, but unrefined. Dangerous in the way all untested weapons are dangerous, particularly to themselves." A brief pause followed, deliberate rather than hesitant. "By sparring, I learned how she thinks under pressure," she said. "What she reaches for when instinct overrides training. Where she hesitates. Where she overcommits."

Her voice did not rise or sharpen. "And she learned that not every opponent will rush to kill her simply because the opportunity exists." Shade inclined her head a fraction, not conceding, but acknowledging his assessment. "That lesson will last longer than a wound," she said quietly.

She did not comment on being overpowered or surrounded. Those were conditions, not failures.

"You describe it as willingness," Shade continued. "I describe it as discipline."

Her eyes never left him.

"If my actions here are to be judged," she said calmly, "then judge them by what they produced, not by what I deliberately chose not to do."

The cell fell still, the restraints humming, the heat of his presence pressing in.

Shade remained exactly where she was. Patient. Waiting to see what he would ask next, and whether it would merit an answer.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He paced slowly before her as she spoke. Picturing their spar and how both parties had reacted.

“Interesting choice of words. About efficiency and outcome.”

He stopped.

“Call it what you will. I still find it odd. Most enemies would try to make their opponent try to doubt themselves entirely. Break them down in their head and spirit first.”

His head slowly turned back to her.

“It is especially dangerous that you know so much of her, where I can only guess she knows less of you.”

Knowledge through violence, Varin was extremely familiar with.

“Most would say, those with little experience, pain is the best teacher. The lesson settles deep. They stay with you.”

He was quiet for a moment as his phrase settled between them.

“Not many would show the discipline you have shown on enemy territory. They would take their first opportunity to leave, and that fog was thick. Why did you not try to escape?”

He stood before her, his voice falling silent after he spoke. A stark contrast of silence falling over them after his deep voice traveled over the air.

“It is no surprise to me that at any time you could escape this place. Yet you expect me to believe you stay for simply knowledge and learning alone?”

Varin was choosing his words carefully, not just asking about the spar but her philosophy in general. About her patience, about her logic. He was slowly picking her apart so that he himself could understand her as well. Shade knew next to nothing of Varin, but the same was also true vice versa. The tone in his voice never shifted, this was not an interrogation, it was an opportunity of familiarity.

Shade​

 

[Shade]

Shade did not answer immediately.

She remained where she was, posture unchanged, letting Varin's words finish echoing through the cell and dissipate on their own. Silence, when used correctly, was not avoidance. It was an acknowledgment. It gave weight to what had been said without conceding ground. Only when the moment felt settled did she lift her gaze to him again, steady and unguarded, her expression composed rather than defensive.

"My name is Shade," she said at last, voice calm and even. "It is the name I answer to, and the one I choose to speak with."

There was no elaboration, no lineage offered, no rank or title attached. The simplicity was deliberate, not evasive.

"You are not wrong about pain," she continued, her tone thoughtful rather than confrontational. "It is an efficient teacher, particularly for those who need to learn quickly what not to do."

She shifted her weight slightly against the wall, not to retreat from him, but to settle more comfortably into the truth she was articulating, her movements unhurried and controlled.

"Pain teaches fear, avoidance, and reflex," Shade went on. "Those lessons embed deeply, and they are effective in producing obedience or survival."

Her eyes remained on him, unblinking, as she allowed the thought to finish before refining it.

"They are also limited," she said. "They teach reaction far more reliably than they teach understanding."

She did not deny his philosophy. She contextualized it.

"Pain teaches you what breaks," she continued evenly. "It rarely teaches you what endures."

When she spoke of the imbalance he had noted, she did not soften the admission.

"You are correct that she knows less of me than I know of her," Shade said calmly. "That was intentional, not accidental."

There was no pride in it. No apology either.

"If I had sought to dismantle her completely," she said, voice steady, "the lesson she would have taken from that encounter would have been fear, resentment, or hatred."

A brief pause, measured and deliberate.

"Instead, she learned that restraint exists," Shade continued. "That control is not synonymous with weakness, and that strength does not always require domination to be proven."

Her gaze narrowed just slightly, not in challenge, but in focus.

"Those lessons do not take hold immediately," she said. "But when they do, they persist far longer than pain ever does."

Varin's question about her failure to escape lingered between them, and this time Shade did not allow it to sit unanswered.

"You asked why I did not attempt to leave," she said evenly. "The answer is not because I was unable to do so."

She did not explain how, or when, or what contingencies she had already mapped. That knowledge was unnecessary for the truth of the answer.

"I remained because leaving immediately would have resolved nothing," Shade continued. "Not about this Academy, not about its students, and not about the shape of power being cultivated within these walls."

Her voice lowered slightly, not in secrecy, but in precision.

"Escape is simple," she said. "Understanding is costly."

She allowed the distinction to stand.

"You suggest I stayed here for knowledge alone," Shade acknowledged. "That assumption is incomplete."

Her gaze held his, level and composed.

"I stayed because patience reveals intent," she said. "Because systems under observation eventually expose their priorities, and people behave differently when they believe they are not being challenged."

The restraints hummed softly, unchanging.

"And because sometimes the most efficient path forward," she finished calmly, "is to allow others to believe they are in control while you listen."

She fell silent then, not because she had nothing more to say, but because she had said enough. Her posture remained composed, her breathing steady, offering no invitation to rush her, no need to fill the quiet.

"I do not require belief," she added after a moment, her voice level. "Only understanding."

And with that, Shade returned to stillness, leaving Varin to decide what weight to give the truths she had chosen to reveal — and which ones she had deliberately kept her own.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The red glare from his helm pierced into her, looking into her and through her. Measuring intent and bluff. She told him her name. Shade. And the way she described it was used seemed to be either a nickname or a callsign.

Varin's gaze fell to a nearby chair which he pulled over. Its metal legs scraping and screaming across the floor. He removed his heavy mace off his back, leaning it onto the desk by him and then slowly took his seat, maintaining eye contact.

“...Do you know who I am?”

It was not a question of him asking if she recognized any fame, or if he had some form of nobility. Just a simple question.

“If your study of intel and certainly patterns. Surely you have studied each student including their names.”

He was quiet for a moment, letting the question linger, giving her an opportunity to answer.

“Anyone who goes by callsigns or names given to them not by birth can usually be controlled if an enemy knows their true name.”

He paused again, his voice low like grinding stone.

“They gain access to people they may know, occupations, family.”

It was not a threat to her. He knew that someone of her caliber, such threats would be useless, especially for most spies. It was merely an observation on the kind of knowledge she would have on everyone else.

“Out of the two of us in this room. Do you know who I think is the bigger threat.”

His hand slowly raised as he silently pointed a finger to her.

“I may be bigger and stronger physically, but knowledge, knowing your enemies, working with them, possibly even gaining their trust. That, can kill an empire. But you know that, I am very sure.”

He stared through her now, as if to see the real her.

“I do not need to understand why you do things, I do not need to know your intent behind it either. At the end of the day, you are a prisoner here.”

He slowly leaned closer.

“I am not one to trust so easily. I do not trust you. I have seen what people like you can do. The first sign I see of you stepping out of line while you walk these grounds.”

The metal table behind him creaked and groaned as it began to fold into itself and ball up into a crumpled mass of unrecognized shape, before it started to melt.

“I know you are not scared of that. But you are a woman of evidence. You need to see what happens before you believe it.”

He tilted his head towards the table.

“Believe that.”

He kept his eyes on her, watching her shift, watching her facial expressions, her eyes. Everything down to breath.

Shade​

 

[Shade]

Shade remained still as the last of the metal finished collapsing in on itself, the heat distorting the air in slow, visible waves. She did not step away from it, nor did she lean further into the wall behind her. Her breathing stayed measured, unbroken, each inhale and exhale steady enough to count. When she looked back at Varin, it was not with challenge or submission, but with the quiet focus of someone who had already taken the measure of what she had been shown and filed it accordingly.

"Yes," she said at last, her voice calm and unhurried, carrying easily through the lingering heat. "I know who you are."

She did not rush to justify that knowledge or soften it with qualifiers. Shade never did.

"Varin Mortifer," she continued, speaking his name without emphasis or fear. "Your history is well-documented, not in accolades or rumor, but in repeatable behavior. Tactical preferences. Escalation thresholds. The way environments change after you pass through them."

Her gaze stayed level with his visor, unblinking.

"Reputation can be manufactured," she went on. "Patterns cannot."

When the subject of names returned, her expression shifted only slightly, a subtle tightening at the corners of her eyes that suggested consideration rather than resistance.

"You are correct about birth names," Shade said evenly. "They anchor people to places, to histories, to others who can be pressured or punished in their stead. They create leverage long before a blade or a threat is ever raised."

She adjusted her stance just enough to redistribute her weight, a slight movement born of comfort rather than constraint.

"That is precisely why I do not use mine," she continued. "Not because it was stripped from me, and not because I am hiding from it, but because I refuse to make it useful to anyone who would weaponize it."

Her tone remained factual, stripped of sentiment.

"'Shade' is not a callsign imposed by command," she added. "It is a name I chose because it describes how I operate rather than where I come from. Function over origin."

She let that settle before addressing the unspoken accusation beneath his words.

"You are also correct about threat," she said quietly. "Physical force can destroy structures, individuals, even cities. Knowledge changes trajectories. It alters what people believe is inevitable."

Her eyes did not leave him as she acknowledged what that meant.

"I am aware of how that places me in your assessment," she said. "I would expect nothing less from someone in your position."

When he reminded her of her status, Shade did not contest it. She accepted it with the same composure she applied to every constraint placed upon her.

"I am a prisoner," she agreed calmly. "That designation limits my movement. It does not limit my perception, nor does it absolve me of choosing how I conduct myself within those limits."

Her gaze flicked briefly, deliberately, to the ruined table before returning to him.

"You wanted me to believe what I saw," she said. "I do."

There was no bravado in the statement—just acknowledgment.

"I do not confuse demonstration with intent," Shade continued, her voice steady. "If harm were your objective, this conversation would not still be ongoing."

She allowed a pause, long enough for the truth of it to stand on its own.

"You do not trust me," she said next, neither offended nor defensive. "That is reasonable. I would question your judgment if you did."

Her posture remained composed, shoulders relaxed but ready.

"I am not here to persuade you," Shade went on. "I am not here to earn leniency or favor. I am here to remain within the boundaries you have set, to observe what is shown to me, and to decide what conclusions can be drawn from it."

The room felt quieter as she finished.

"If I step out of line," she concluded evenly, "you will act. I have already accounted for that variable."

Her gaze held his, unwavering.

"Until then," she finished, "I will remain exactly where I am."

Not defiant. Not afraid. Simply precise.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He leaned back in the chair as she said his name. She may have that but there are some things her intel could never have. The real him inside. She would have only seen what he wanted everyone to see.

She would only know certain habits. Not his history.

Until then she would not hold any real power over him.

“If it were up to me, you would not even have your name. You would be a number. Another headcount in the slot that is only temporarily filled. We don’t retire numbers. Once a prisoner is gone that number is free again. The person is irrelevant.”

His head tilted as she spoke.

“Like you said, bringing harm to someone would be a waste. There are other ways to break people.”

He folded his arms at his chest.

“Everyone has patterns, including you. Your pattern is to observe, to assess, to calculate. What were to happen if I took your eyes and ears? Leave you in this box with no senses to calculate with. Unable to see the skies again, unable to hear your own screams.”

His eyes glared under his helm.

“But it is not up to me. Probably the biggest pattern you have out of me is I follow orders. Unfortunately you are out of my reach unless provoked.”

He slowly stood back up.

“Tell me, if I were sent here to end you. How would you stop me right now?”

He already knew the answer. There would not be much she could do but delay the inevitable. If she truly watched him she would know that he had a personal disgust of pointless and sportless slaughter.

Shade​

 

[Shade]

Shade did not shift when he leaned back, and she did not flinch when his words turned deliberately cruel. The cell remained unchanged, cold and restrained, but the stillness around her felt intentional rather than imposed. She listened the way she always did when someone tried to define power in terms of erasure, violence, or fear. She listened long enough to understand what he wanted her to react to, and then she declined to give him that satisfaction.

When she spoke, her voice was level, unhurried, and entirely unraised. "You are correct," she said calmly. "You do not know me. Not in the way that would give you leverage."

Her gaze remained steady on him, not challenging, not submissive, simply present. "You know patterns," she continued. "You know habits that can be cataloged, behaviors that can be observed, and responses that can be anticipated under controlled conditions. That is not the same thing as knowing a person."

She did not deny the system he described. She did not argue with the concept of numbers replacing names or people being rendered interchangeable. She acknowledged it by not resisting it. "Reducing individuals to numbers is efficient," she said. "It allows institutions to function without friction. It also creates blind spots, because systems built to erase people inevitably stop recognizing them."

Her hands remained relaxed, her posture unchanged, but there was a quiet certainty beneath her composure.

"You are right about something else as well," she added. "There are ways to break people that do not involve physical harm. Sensory deprivation, isolation, uncertainty. They are effective because they rely on the assumption that awareness is the only form of strength."

Her eyes never left him when he described taking her senses, when he spoke of silence and darkness and screams. She absorbed it without reaction, not because it failed to register, but because it did not achieve its purpose.

"If you took my sight," she said evenly, "I would still have memory. If you took my hearing, I would still have time. If you isolated me completely, I would still have discipline."

She paused, not for emphasis, but because the next part required precision. "Calculation is not dependent on constant input," she continued. "It adapts to absence."

When he stood and asked his final question, Shade did not rush to answer. She let the silence stretch just long enough to make it clear that she was choosing her response, not searching for it. "If you were sent here to end me," she said at last, "I would not attempt to overpower you. I would not attempt to escape. Those are reactions you are prepared for."

Her gaze sharpened slightly, not with defiance, but with clarity. "I would delay you," she continued. "Not with resistance, but with uncertainty. With conversation. With enough deviation from expectation that you would be required to reassess rather than act."

She inclined her head just a fraction. "People like you do not kill without reason," she said quietly. "And you do not act without alignment between order and conviction."

Then, without challenging him, without pleading, she finished. "I would not need to stop you," she said. "I would only need to make you hesitate."

The cell remained silent after that, the kind of silence that did not belong to fear or submission, but to two people measuring exactly how much ground existed between command and choice.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

She spoke the truth. He hated purposeless violence. Not because it was immoral, but because well it was senseless. Everything he did always had a purpose to it. Though she was a capable fighter, she had no weapon. And she was not issuing a challenge. He would not harm her, for now.

“I do not hesitate.”

He spoke quietly.

“I pick my battles. I measure my opponents. I study them.”

Footsteps could be heard approaching as one of the regular guards came down the stairs whistling some tune then stopped midstride once he saw Varin from around the corner.

“Uh…what’s going on here?”

Varin did not look at the guard but his voice reached him.

“You are relieved for now until I feel I am finished.”

The guard looked at Varin then at Shade. A nervous sense about him being in the same room with him crept up his spine as Varin spoke. He straightened up and nodded.

“Right away sir. Sorry for the intrusion.”

The guard turned on his heel and walked back up the stairs.

Varin’s gaze never left Shade’s. And it never would. He would always keep an eye on her.

“Hesitation brings death.”

He continued his thought.

“If I were her to break you out that guard would not have had the chance to round the corner. His hesitation just now, cost him his life.”

His stance shifted ever so slightly on his feet.

“I have seen enough battles to know what hesitation and over thinking does.”

Shade​

 

[Shade]

Shade did not look toward the stairwell when the guard appeared, and she did not react when he retreated just as quickly. The interruption registered, was cataloged, and then dismissed. Her attention never left Varin, not because she felt threatened by him in that moment, but because she understood exactly what he was doing. He was asserting control of the space. Of the silence. Of the narrative.

She waited until he finished.

Only then did she speak.

"I did not say you hesitate," she replied evenly, her tone calm and unstrained, as if they were discussing doctrine rather than lives. "I said you choose."

She did not shift her posture. She did not rise to meet him or shrink beneath his presence. The stillness she held was deliberate, practiced, and entirely her own.

"There is a difference," she continued. "Hesitation is uncertainty. Choice is judgment. You are not uncertain. You evaluate, you weigh outcome against cost, and then you act."

Her gaze sharpened slightly, not in challenge, but in precision.

"The guard did not hesitate because he was weak," she said. "He hesitated because he lacked context. He entered a space without understanding the power dynamics already in motion, and his body reacted before his mind could align."

She let that settle, the implication hanging between them without emphasis.

"That does not make him inefficient," she added. "It makes him unprepared."

When she spoke his name, it was not a provocation. It was an acknowledgment.

"You and I are not built that way, Varin Mortifer," she said quietly. "We do not act without internal alignment. That alignment is what allows restraint to exist alongside violence."

She did not deny what he was capable of. She did not soften it, either.

"In the heat of battle," she continued, "you will not hesitate. You will do what must be done to survive, because survival is the objective."

A pause. Not dramatic. Structural.

"But outside of that moment," she said, "you do not kill unless your hand is forced."

Her eyes never left his visor.

"Not because of mercy," she finished, "but because purposeless violence produces no usable outcome."

The words were not praise. They were not defiant. They were accurate.

And in the quiet that followed, it was clear she was not testing him, nor attempting to manipulate the situation. She was doing exactly what she had said she would do from the beginning.

Observing. Assessing. Speaking only what could not be disproven.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

“I beg to differ. A guard you should be prepared for surprises. You should act without hesitation. Otherwise prisoners would be running rampant.”

He slowly paced the hall outside of her cell.

“Make no mistake, if I am ordered to execute you, I will do so. That much we know.”

He returned back to her.

“What would you do in my situation though? I am curious. A Sith like me, known to have hurt and killed many without so much as a blink of an eye, imprisoned under your watch.”

His voice dropped.

“I know you would feel the rage of knowing I killed many possible fellow allies of yours. Destroyed their homes. Would you be tempted to take my life? And if so, would you do it?”

He stood in silence waiting for her response.

Shade​

 

[Shade]

Shade remained seated when he finished speaking, her back resting lightly against the wall, knees drawn just enough to be comfortable without appearing diminished. The posture was deliberate. She was not slouched, not guarded, not presenting defiance or submission. She occupied the space the way someone did who had already measured it and found no need to move.

Her gaze followed him as he paced, not tracking him like a threat, not ignoring him either. Simply aware. When she finally spoke, her voice was even and unhurried, carrying through the corridor without effort.

"Emotion does not rule me," she said calmly, not as a denial, but as a statement of fact shaped by experience rather than ideology. "If it did, I would not have survived long enough to be sitting here, and far fewer people would have survived the paths that crossed mine before this place."

She shifted only slightly, enough to settle more comfortably against the wall, hands resting loosely where they could be seen.

"I have taken lives," Shade continued, her tone steady, unsoftened. "Some of them may well have been allies of yours. Some believed in their cause as fiercely as you believe in yours. I do not excuse that reality, and I do not distance myself from it."

Her eyes lifted to meet his again, unflinching.

"But captivity is not combat," she said after a brief pause, allowing the distinction to stand on its own. "A prisoner is not an opponent. Violence in that context does not prove resolve or strength. It only proves how easily restraint can be abandoned when it is inconvenient."

She did not raise her voice. She did not sharpen it.

"You ask whether I would be tempted to take your life," Shade went on, thoughtful rather than defensive. "The answer is no. Not here. Not like this. Not because of what you have done, or who you have harmed."

Her head tilted slightly, a precise, analytical motion.

"If we were to meet in battle," she said, "in a real fight, with intent declared and ground contested, then I would act without hesitation. Not out of rage. Not for vengeance. But because that would be the moment where action has meaning."

She let the words settle, then finished quietly.

"That distinction is the lesson you are circling," she concluded. "And it is the same one that brought me here."

Shade did not look away when she fell silent. She remained seated, composed, and waiting not for permission, not for mercy, but for whatever he chose to do next.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin was quiet for a long moment as he stared at her, her words struck some truth and some falsehood to him. But what he knew and what she thought did not matter.

His hands slowly came up to his helm, clicking two buttons. A soft hiss bled out as the rebreather was cut off. Slowly he lifted the helm off his head. His jaw set, his one good eye staring at her almost emotionless.

He had made his point on aggression before, not to scare her but to inform her. And he could tell she took note. He was a dangerous man, and the power that flowed off of him would catch the attention of an entire room.

He settled the helm under his arm to his side as he stood up straight, looking her in the eyes.

“The helm played an unfair advantage. If you truly wish to study me, you would look me in the eye.”

His voice was still deep without the helm, carrying to her with almost more authority than before, a genuine voice from him, not a piece of tech. The armor had its purposes, but when it came to face to face interactions, he would rather have the armor removed. He would show his true intentions. It felt more organic.

He brought his hand up to the security pad, shutting down the cell.

“Walk with me.”

He stepped to the side, waiting for her to exit first, he kept the cuffs on her.

“You are to remain with me at all times, and within my line of sight. Is that clear?”

He spoke to her, his eye never leaving hers. Then he spoke again after a moment.

"We will study each other for now, until I see fit."

Shade​

 

[Shade]

Shade did not react immediately when he removed the helm, allowing the moment to exist without interruption as she registered the soft hiss of the rebreather disengaging, the subtle change in acoustics, and the way the room itself seemed to recalibrate once there was a face where there had previously only been an instrument of war.

She noted the set of his jaw, the unblinking focus of his remaining eye, and the absence of performative menace in his posture, understanding that this was not meant to intimidate her so much as clarify the terms under which he preferred to be known.

It told her more than words would have.

When the security field disengaged and the door opened, she felt the shift immediately, not as relief that needed expression, but as the quiet return of something essential. Space. Movement. The ability to engage her body as well as her mind. Confinement dulled perception over time, no matter how disciplined the prisoner. Motion restored it.

She was internally grateful for that alone, and she did not waste the opportunity.

Shade rose smoothly from her seat, the restraints limiting her range without disrupting her balance or control, her posture straight as she stepped forward without hesitation. She did not linger at the threshold or look back at the cell she was leaving. That chapter was closed for the moment, and she treated it accordingly.

She positioned herself precisely where his instructions implied she should be, within his line of sight and within reach, neither crowding him nor testing the boundary, meeting his gaze with the same calm steadiness she had maintained throughout their exchange.

"It is clear," she said evenly, her voice carrying neither challenge nor concession, only comprehension.

She began to walk when he did, matching his pace without correction, aware of the world around them even as her attention stayed forward. Each step mattered, not because she was planning anything, but because observation required context. She listened to the cadence of his boots, the subtle difference in the sound of his armor without the helm, and the way the space ahead seemed to anticipate his presence.

"If observation is the intent," Shade continued after a measured moment, her tone precise and unhurried, "then movement will serve it better than confinement. You will learn more by seeing how I navigate space than by watching me sit behind a barrier."

It was not advice offered for his benefit, nor an attempt to steer the situation. It was simply an acknowledgment of shared understanding, however provisional that understanding might be.

She did not question his authority, did not test the restraints, and did not ask where they were going, because none of those things were necessary for what was happening now.

She understood his orders completely, and she followed them without friction.

And as they moved farther from the cell, Shade allowed herself one quiet truth, kept entirely internal and carefully contained.

For now, this was enough.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He led her out of the cells, towards the other guards who stepped in front of her.

“What is the meaning of this?! Get her back in her cell now!”

Varin stepped up the steps, now in view as the leading guard’s visage drew pale, eyes widened at Varin’s sheer mass.

“She is due for exercise.”

He spoke quietly, but his voice reaching directly to him.

“Step aside”

The guard quickly nodded before he backed away.

“Of course, Sir.”

They both pushed past the guards and into the cold open air. He kept her walking straight, past other patrolmen as they watched, not understanding what was going on. They were not looking at an escape but an escort.

Varin remained quiet for a time until the open was a bit more quiet.

He stayed behind her as he lead her towards the pyramids, the temples of Desevro. The central one being the biggest and most significant, he stopped her in front of the temple, eyes glancing upwards towards the steps and its entrance. The echoes of voices from beings unseen bounced between Varin and Shade.

“We will not be going in, at least not yet, unless I deem it so. But it is much more quieter here.”

He walked around her, his bootfalls tapping the stone floor. He let out a deep exhale.

“Where did you train at? They must have been rather effective in their routine.”

His question was not meant to probe, but to encourage thought. Though it could be mistaken as interrogation it was certainly not the case. More of a general curiosity.

Shade​

 

[Shade]

Shade complied with the escort without resistance, her pace steady and unhurried as Varin guided her past the guards and out into the open air. The cold settled against her skin immediately, sharp and clarifying, a contrast to the stagnant confinement of the cells. She registered the patrolmen's looks without reacting. Curiosity, confusion, a flicker of unease. None of it altered her posture or her focus. This was not an escape, and she had no intention of turning it into one.

When they reached the temple grounds, and Varin brought her to a halt, she stopped exactly where he indicated, hands still bound, shoulders relaxed rather than drawn tight. She followed his glance up the steps for a moment, taking in the scale of the structure, the way sound carried here, voices echoing without faces attached to them. It was quieter, as he said. Not empty, but removed. A place designed to make people feel observed even when they were alone.

She did not turn to follow him as he circled. She did not need to.

At his question, she remained still for a breath longer than was strictly necessary, not out of reluctance, but out of habit. Some truths did not benefit from being delivered quickly.

"When I first trained," she said at last, her voice calm and even, carrying clearly in the open space, "it was on Csilla."

There was no reverence in the name. No bitterness either. Just a fact.

"The discipline was structured," Shade continued, eyes forward rather than on him, "methodical, and unforgiving. Observation came before action. Control before expression. You were taught to see patterns before you were ever allowed to disrupt them."

A pause, measured.

"When Csilla fell," she went on, tone unchanged, "my training did not end. It was completed elsewhere."

She shifted her weight slightly, the movement subtle, more about balance than discomfort.

"The Veiled Sight took over what remained unfinished," she said. "They were not concerned with refinement. Their focus was outcome. Survival under pressure. Decision making when there is no margin for error and no reinforcement coming."

Only then did she turn her head enough to look at him, not challenging, not deferential, simply direct.

"They did not teach loyalty," Shade added quietly. "They taught clarity. How to remove hesitation without surrendering judgment. How to act without letting impulse make the choice for you."

Her gaze returned to the temple steps.

"If their methods were effective," she concluded, "it is because they were consistent. Nothing was wasted. Not effort. Not failure. Not pain."

She fell silent again, leaving the words where they were, neither defended nor withdrawn. This was not a confession. It was context, offered because he had asked, and because she did not see value in obscuring what had already shaped her beyond reversal.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He listened to her, remaining silent as he slowly walked around her, arms gently clasped behind his back.

“And this Csilla, did you weep for anyone when it fell?”

He stopped behind her.

“Do you still think of them today?”

His voice had grown quiet. It seemed as though he were prodding into personal memories and nothing more, but to him he was gaging her. Understanding how it was she thought and ticked.

He continued, his voice deep and rumbling.

“Loss, is a powerful motivator. It forces you to analyze what you could have done, how you could have done it and how to apply it for next time.”

He paused for a moment.

“But some people are too weak to face their mistakes. To afraid to look back and think of ways they could have changed it. I do not mean dwelling on the past. I mean learning from it, evolving.”

His eye met hers.

“Tell me, are you capable of evolution? To look back at the screams of those who depended on you and ultimately…disappointed?”

He stepped closer.

“You could receive that training here. You could learn to be strong enough to face your failures. Anyone else would train you to blot it out, ignore it and do away with it. But you know that if that is the case, history is doomed to repeat itself.”

His hands gently fell to his sides.

“You learned to kill away your emotions, lock them up and bottle them inside. A cowards training. You will get the same speech from any Sith. Give into hatred and you will grow strong. No, that is not the case. Hatred makes you careless. You need to find something to lock your strength to and sharpen it.”

Another pause.

“Desevro can teach you that. But you have to need it, wanting gives room to throw it away. You need to feel as though you are starving for that knowledge, that feeling. But…”

He looked at her again, his voice falling quiet once more.

“I don't see that in you. Not now at least.”

Shade​

 

[Shade]

Shade did not turn immediately when he moved behind her. She did not need to. His pacing, his pauses, the deliberate weight he placed behind each question were familiar tools, ones she had encountered in interrogation rooms, training halls, and moments meant to break rather than build. She let them pass over her without a reaction. Her posture remained composed, hands relaxed at her sides, gaze forward, unyielding.

When she spoke, her voice was steady, neither defensive nor brittle, but settled.

"Yes," she said simply. "I wept."

She turned then, slowly and without hesitation, meeting his eyes directly. There was no flinch, no retreat, only acknowledgment.

"For my parents, who died when Csilla fell," she continued. "For my brother, who survived only long enough to be made an example of. And for my sister, who endured both, only to be taken from me years later."

There was no tremor in her voice. The grief had not vanished, but it had been shaped, integrated into her rather than sealed away. It existed without controlling her.

"I think of them still," Shade said quietly. "Not as screams. Not as failures. But as anchors. They remind me of what mattered before everything else was stripped away."

She drew a measured breath, not to steady herself, but to give the truth its due.

"Loss does force analysis," she agreed. "But not all analysis ends in self-reproach. I do not ask what I could have done differently to save them, because the truth is simple and unkind: their deaths were not mine to prevent."

Her eyes held his, unwavering, refusing the invitation to assume guilt where none belonged.

"What was mine to decide," she continued, "was what I became afterward."

At the mention of disappointment, something colder entered her expression. Not anger, not bitterness, but precision sharpened by experience.

"You mistake discipline for cowardice," Shade said evenly. "I did not kill my emotions. I learned how to carry them without allowing them to dictate my actions."

She shifted just enough to reclaim space between them, neither retreating nor advancing, asserting presence rather than opposition.

"Hatred is easy," she went on. "It feels like motion. It feels like purpose. But it narrows vision and shortens patience. It convinces people they are evolving, when they are only repeating the same mistakes with more force and less restraint."

Her gaze sharpened slightly, the focus of someone who had examined herself honestly and survived the process.

"I have looked back," she said. "I have learned. And I have changed."

She allowed a deliberate pause to settle between them, giving the next words weight rather than heat.

"I am not lacking," Shade said softly. "And I will not unmake myself in pursuit of something I already understand."

She inclined her head a fraction, respectful but resolute, signaling that she had answered the test fully.

"If that means you do not see what you are looking for in me," she concluded, "then you are correct."

The words were not a rejection of him or his teachings, but a clear delineation of where she stood. They were a boundary, drawn calmly and with intention, and one she had no intention of crossing.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He kept slowly pacing around her as she spoke, listening to every word she said, taking in the imagery of the event. He stopped right behind her and took a breath when she finished.

“No, perhaps I am incorrect, Shade. I still feel there is more you have lost, something or someone you could not protect no matter what.”

He looked at her and slowly stepped around.

“You hold a deep burning pain. A loss. Not a sibling, not a parent. Someone…closer.”

He looked her in the eye, deeply as if reading every tick, every movement and every moment. He would read her as closely as a novel. His eye would never leave her as he glared into her.

“You lost someone else, didn’t you?”

He stopped a bit closer, not taking in all space but not leaving her any room to breathe hardly.

“I know the eyes of someone who had experienced true loss. Someone extremely important did not make it, and you were not there to help them. You failed them. Didn’t you?”

He held his ground towering over her, the heat reflecting from his body almost boring into her as well.

“You call it disciplining your emotions when you hide from the feelings you should feel with failure, you hide your shame, you cling to false doctrines of those you could not save to feel as though you have moved on, but every night you see their faces.”

His eye flared orange, like molting magma spewing from the cracks of the planet.

“Shame helps you learn, failure teaches you more than success, and you hide from it. You hide from it by burying it deep within yourself letting it fester, you are riddled with decay and you do not even know it.”

He took a deep breath, exhaling steam towards her as the scent of heated cedar and burning leaves wafted around them.

“They still haunt you, don’t they?”

Shade​