Tyrant Queen of Darkness
"Talent scouting."
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Virelia did not laugh.
She smiled—a small, invisible curve beneath the helm, the kind of smile one gives a feral cat trying to hiss through bloodied teeth. There was no amusement in it. Only the quiet, exquisite pleasure of watching the inevitable unfold exactly as it should.
"Set you on fire?" she repeated, voice languid as velvet dragged across skin. "Darling, I didn't light the flame."
She descended alongside her slowly as the lift carried them deeper, its ancient stone humming beneath their boots with quiet pulses of power—like the tomb itself was breathing in slow, hungry rhythm. There were no lights down here, only the faint violet glow of her eyes casting ghostly reflections across Valaine's pale skin, teasing every edge and hollow with soft, suggestive shadow.
"You walked in burning."
She tilted her head slightly, studying her companion's tired defiance with the precision of a jeweler turning over a flawed but promising gem.
"All I did… was stop you from pretending it wasn't already consuming you."
She said nothing more about the tongue. Not yet. Valaine's retort was exactly the one she expected, and Virelia had no intention of rewarding it with another debate. Biting was still a form of submission. An animal defending its throat was still admitting it had one.
That truth would work its way deeper soon enough.
Instead, she stepped off the lift first as it settled with a final sigh of stone against stone, revealing a vast, circular chamber beneath the rest of the tomb. The floor was perfectly smooth—like mirror-polished obsidian, but warm beneath the feet. The air here shimmered subtly, charged with tension. As if every breath dared to be the last.
There were no doors. No exits.
Only the two of them.
And the circle.
At the center of the chamber, lines of Sith runes had been burned into the stone in concentric rings—ancient, sharp, and still faintly smoldering. Virelia moved with a familiar ease through them, like stepping into a lover's bed.
She spoke again only once she reached the center, where a second platform—round, wide, and low—waited like a stage for a scene that had been rehearsed a hundred times in dream.
"You're still looking for the catch," she said softly, the words barely louder than breath. "Still weighing every word I speak, waiting for the betrayal hidden beneath the silk."
A pause. Her helm turned to face Valaine directly once more.
"But I'm not hiding the knife. I am the knife."
She extended a hand—not offering this time, but inviting. There was no compulsion behind it. No command. Just the knowledge that it was always going to be reached for, in time.
"This isn't another test. It's not even a fight. It's a claiming. One you can still walk away from."
A beat. Her voice curled at the edges again, licentious and low.
"But if you step into this circle… then you will officially be my apprentice."
Then, with absolute calm, absolute certainty—she asked:
"So… do you want to survive?"
A pause.
"Or do you want to thrive?"