Private What Was Sealed

[Kalja Tal'Vera]

Location: Tython
Time: Evening, Post-Jedi Raid

Kalja's breath came slow and measured, despite the heat pressing insistently against her skin. Evening had settled across Tython, but the ruin held onto the day's warmth like it refused to release it. Outside, the last light was fading—cut through by distant movement, by disruption that hadn't fully settled since the raid. The air inside remained thick, unmoving, heavy with dust and the faint mineral tang of ancient stone disturbed too many times over too many centuries.

The sleeveless tunic clung lightly to her frame, darkened in places where heat and effort had begun to take their toll. Sweat gathered at her temples and along the line of her neck, slipping downward in slow, unnoticed paths as she held her stance. Her boots were planted firmly against the uneven ground, weight balanced, shoulders squared but not rigid. Both arms extended forward, fingers slightly spread—not reaching in desperation, but in control.

The obstruction loomed before her, a collapsed corridor choked with massive slabs of stone and fractured columns, as though the temple itself had folded inward to bury whatever lay beyond. It wasn't clean damage. It wasn't random. Even at a glance, it carried a kind of intention—layers of debris compacted in a way that suggested more than time or battle alone. Something had sealed this place. Or tried to.

Kalja didn't move immediately.

Her attention settled—not on the surface of the blockage, but through it. Past the jagged edges and weight, beyond the visible mass. She let the Force extend—not as a surge, not as a demand—but as a quiet, deliberate reach. It brushed against the stone first, feeling its density, its fractures, the way the pieces pressed against one another in reluctant balance. Heavy. Unwieldy. But not immovable.

It didn't respond.

Not at first.

The pressure she applied was careful, testing—like pressing against a locked door to understand how it resisted before choosing how to open it. The stone held, stubborn and uncooperative, its weight distributed unevenly across itself. A brute approach would collapse it inward. Seal it tighter. Maybe worse.

Something about it felt wrong.

Her fingers shifted slightly, a near imperceptible adjustment, and the invisible pressure followed. Strands of blonde hair had come loose, sticking faintly against her skin where the heat refused to ease, though she made no move to brush them aside. Her gaze held steady, clear sapphire blue—focused not on the surface of the obstruction, but somewhere just beyond it, as if the stone itself were only a suggestion of what truly stood in her way.

She narrowed her focus—isolating individual points rather than the whole. A fractured edge here. A weakened seam there. The Force responded better to precision than force, and Kalja leaned into that instinct without hesitation.

The strain came quietly. A subtle tremor ran through her arms—not loss of control, but the cost of holding it. Faint vibrations carried through the stone beneath her boots—not enough to identify, but enough to remind her that the world above wasn't still.

It settled into her shoulders first, a slow tightening beneath her sleeveless tunic as muscles engaged in tandem with something far less visible. Sweat traced a subtle path along her spine, caught briefly at the edge of fabric before disappearing. Her breathing remained steady, but it carried weight now—each inhale deliberate, each exhale controlled. A subtle tremor ran through her arms—not loss of control, but the cost of holding it.

Above, somewhere far beyond the stone and ruin, the world was shifting.

She could feel it—not clearly, not directly, but enough. The aftermath hadn't settled. It lingered across the surface of the planet like a disturbance that refused to quiet—echoes of conflict, movement that hadn't yet found stillness. The Jedi had struck, and now the response was unfolding. Sith presence threaded tighter through Tython with each passing moment, no longer passive, no longer distant.

Patrol patterns would be forming. Perimeters tightening. Whatever gaps had existed during the chaos of the raid were closing now—slowly, methodically.

She didn't rush.

Rushing made mistakes. Mistakes collapsed corridors.

Instead, she adjusted again.

The Force threaded more precisely now, slipping between the gaps where stone met stone, where pressure held everything in place. She shifted the balance—not by lifting, but by easing. Redistributing. Allowing weight to move against itself instead of fighting it outright.

And beneath it all—something pulled.

It wasn't loud. Not overwhelming. It didn't surge or demand her attention. If anything, it might have gone unnoticed by someone less attuned to quiet things. But it was there. A subtle persistence just beyond the obstruction. Not light. Not dark. Just… present.

Waiting.

She wasn't meant to be here. That much was clear—not from warning, but from the way the space resisted her presence, like something long undisturbed had no intention of welcoming it.

Kalja's focus sharpened.

This was the moment she had chosen to move—not before, not after. While attention was fractured. While the planet was still reeling. It had never been about safety. Only timing. She didn't question it. Didn't analyze it beyond what it was. The moment she recognized it, the decision followed cleanly. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

She committed.

The pressure shifted.

What had been measured became deliberate—still controlled, but no longer tentative. The Force pressed inward at specific points, lifting just enough to break the static equilibrium that held the stones in place. A low, grinding sound followed almost immediately, the first real sign of movement as centuries-old weight resisted before beginning to give.

One slab tilted.

Another shifted in response, sliding a fraction of an inch before catching.

Kalja adjusted instantly, redirecting the pressure before the movement could cascade into collapse. Her stance tightened, one foot subtly shifting to maintain balance as the invisible strain increased. This wasn't clean work. It wasn't elegant.

But it was working.

Stone ground against stone with a harsh, grating protest, the sound reverberating through the confined space as a narrow gap began to form near the center of the blockage. Dust spilled downward in soft streams, catching the dim ambient light as it fell.

Her arms trembled—just slightly.

Not from lack of control, but from the sustained precision the effort demanded. She exhaled slowly, steadying it, refining rather than pushing harder. Precision mattered more than strength. It always had.

Another shift.

A fractured column piece dislodged with a sharp crack, dropping just enough to widen the opening. Kalja caught the movement mid-fall—redirecting it, guiding it down and away instead of letting it collapse forward. The Force resisted for a fraction of a second, then complied, the stone settling with a heavy thud that echoed through the ruin.

Silence followed.

Not empty silence.

Held silence.

Kalja didn't release her focus immediately. She maintained the pressure just long enough to ensure stability, letting the remaining structure settle into its new position without further disruption. Only when she was certain it would hold did she ease back, the invisible tension unwinding gradually rather than snapping away.

Her arms lowered.

The sudden absence of strain was almost as noticeable as its presence had been. She flexed her fingers once, subtle and controlled, as sensation returned fully to them. Her breathing steadied again, though the heat remained, clinging just as stubbornly as before.

The opening wasn't large.

Not yet.

But it was enough.

A narrow passage now cut through the obstruction, jagged and uneven, just wide enough for a person to pass if they were careful. Beyond it, darkness waited—not complete, but deep enough to swallow detail. The air that drifted through was cooler, carrying with it the faintest shift in scent. Older. Undisturbed.

And beneath that—that same presence.

Clearer now.

Not stronger. Just closer.

The last traces of natural light had long since disappeared from this depth, leaving only shadow and the faint ambient glow of disturbed dust drifting in the air behind her. Kalja stepped forward without hesitation, boots scraping lightly against stone as she approached the gap. She paused just short of it—not out of uncertainty, but out of habit. A brief moment to observe. To listen.

Nothing moved.

Nothing rushed to meet her.

The ruin remained as it was—silent, heavy, and watching in the way abandoned places sometimes did. Her gaze settled into the darkness beyond, those same steady blue eyes adjusting to the absence of light as if it were simply another variable to account for.

She didn't reach for her sabers.

Didn't announce herself.

Didn't rush in.

Instead, she angled her shoulders slightly and stepped through the opening with controlled ease, one hand brushing lightly against the stone as she passed—not for support, but awareness. Grounding.

The temperature dropped immediately on the other side, subtle but noticeable against her skin. The space beyond opened just enough to breathe, the ceiling higher, the structure more intact. Whatever this section had been, it had been preserved—intentionally or otherwise.

And the presence—waited.

Kalja stilled just inside the threshold, her posture relaxed but precise, her awareness extending forward without force, without announcement. No tension entered her stance. No urgency overtook her movement.

Only focus.

Only intent.

Whatever lay deeper within the ruin—whatever had drawn her here through stone, silence, and buried time—she would reach it.

One step at a time.

Tag: Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kalja Tal'Vera​

The fueling station no longer existed as such.. just scattered fragments of durasteel and duracrete that told a story of destruction. So, Lysander now found himself navigating the aftermath, each step sending shards of transparisteel crunching beneath his boots. Something about this particular loss nagged at him even if the station carried minimal strategic value.

Tython’s darkness pressed against his senses, seeping through the soil. He’d encountered similar phenomena on Korriban and Byssal, but never quite with this intensity. And unfortunately, the Force carried echoes of the Jedi assault. A reminder that he would probably carry for days to come.

Regional security protocols were now activated. Patrols condensed their coverage. Standard procedure following an incursion, which wasn't entirely foreign to the Covenant. Their response, as always, was ruthless and methodical. With some of the Triumvirate members absent during the attack, naturally his report would be critical. Casualties, tactical movements, irregularities. Nothing new, really.

Obsidian armor became increasingly burdensome against his lithe frame, now streaked with blood. . Jedi or Sith blood, in truth, it was impossible to distinguish after the fact. Neither side came out unscathed. But one thing nagged at him more than the carnage.. a presence he’d sensed during battle. Impossible to examine then but unmistakable now. An all too familiar signature, none other than his sister.

Amidst that turbulence of thoughts, something else rippled through the Force. Just a whisper where there should be silence. It grazed his consciousness like satin snagging on ore. That was when his trajectory was altered. There would be no attempt made to conceal himself. What would be the use? The Sith Knight’s presence pressed forward like an approaching storm. Perhaps, this stemmed from the typical Sith pride. Perhaps weariness.. or that stealth simply bore no interest for him. From what he understood, this section of the ruin had but a single entrance. An encounter could not be avoided.

In truth, Lysander sought neither drama nor intimidation. Otherwise, reinforcements would've been summoned, and his hand hadn’t moved toward the curved weapon at his side either. All he required was clarity. If truly a Jedi waited within, for what reason had they been abandoned?

As he approached, the stone revealed the first tangible proof. The passage that was once sealed by a wall of rubble was partially cleared. Experienced eyes recognized the nature of this work. The precision was impressive in some ways. Nothing that suggested raw power by the hand of one that was careless. Rather.. it confirmed his suspicions about whoever was inside.

Darkness swallowed the path before him. Pupils widened to capture what little light remained. Slowing his pace, boots crunched against loose stones. Gloved fingers traced the edges of a stone. The Force responded, memory of connection, and memory of touch too. Telekinetic pressure, or so he believed..

At the far reaches, a figure took shape. A slow breath was drawn before speaking. “This territory is under Covenant jurisdiction.” Old diplomatic phrasing came automatically, a foundation that was impossible to shake. “If the Jedi sent you, I need to hear it directly.” By Sith standards, this counted as mercy, no? Offering a chance for explanation before judgment fell.

“Tell me your purpose while you still can. The others who follow me won’t bother with questions.”

 

[Kalja Tal'Vera]

Kalja felt the shift in the Force before the sound of his approach ever reached her. It came not as a disturbance, but as a defined presence—measured, heavy, and unmistakably aligned with the dark side. It pressed outward rather than concealed itself, a deliberate weight that settled into the space behind her without hesitation.

The ruin did not change—but the balance within it did.

She stilled, her awareness sharpening as the chaotic current of the place shifted around that new arrival. Light and dark moved through the ancient structure in uneven layers, brushing against one another in a quiet, inevitable tension. It wasn't conflict—not yet—but something closer to recognition.

At the mention of the Covenant, Kalja's expression tightened just slightly, a fleeting reaction that passed as quickly as it came. The name carried weight here now, whether she acknowledged it or not. Still… the restraint in his voice drew her attention more than the claim itself. That was unexpected.

"I didn't know Jedi needed the permission of the Sith to pilgrimage to a place such as this?"

The words came easily, light on the surface, though nothing about her presence here had been accidental. She had chosen this moment—while attention fractured, while the planet reeled in the aftermath of the raid. If he had found her, then his awareness matched the precision she had used to get here. That alone said enough.

She didn't fully turn—only enough to catch his outline as it sharpened against the dim light behind her. Her sapphire gaze flickered over her shoulder, catching what little illumination remained, a brief flash of clarity against the shadowed ruin. There was nothing hurried in the look, nothing uncertain. He was there—already measured, already accounted for.

Her hands remained visible, lifted slightly in front of her—not in surrender, but readiness held in restraint. The waning light traced along the edges of her form, catching faintly against the twin saber hilts stacked horizontally at the small of her back. She made no move toward them. Not yet.

"Jurisdiction implies ownership—" she said, a quiet chuckle threading through the words. "You're standing in something older than your claim."

She didn't move from where she stood, her stance grounded, unyielding without being rigid. The space between them remained unchanged—deliberately so. If he wanted closer, he would have to take it.

Her presence settled, not outwardly projected, but opened just enough to feel the subtle shifts around them. The Force moved through the ruin in quiet currents—directional, responsive. She didn't reach for it fully, but it lingered at the edge of her awareness, ready if needed.

"Purpose implies something deliberate—" her voice remained even, unhurried. "I'm here because something remains. Your occupation didn't change that… it only buried it deeper."

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, measured, before easing slightly. "Not everything worth finding announces itself. Some things wait."

"That was never in question," she replied quietly, without any shift in posture. "They were always going to close in. That's the nature of control."

A faint pause followed—not hesitation, just space.

"Time was never the variable."

Kalja turned then—fully this time—her attention leaving him as naturally as it had settled. She didn't wait for permission, nor did she look back again, her focus already shifting deeper into the ruin ahead. The darkness beyond did not deter her; if anything, it drew her forward with quiet certainty.

If he wanted answers, he would have to follow.

Tag: Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kalja Tal'Vera
​

The woman’s words almost painted the Covenant’s arrival as some coincidence.. with some grand philosophical inevitability that validated her worldview. For the most part, he’d always kept his thoughts practical, even as the Dark pulled him deeper. He didn't fault her perspective, though he certainly couldn’t embrace it either.

Lysander’s awareness pulsed outward like sonar, mapping the guards’ movements in his mind. Their patrol routes followed the same pattern.. Casual figure eights that left this area unwatched for a few minutes at most. Those, there was a chance someone would notice sooner, and adjust the rotation. Either way, the window of opportunity was shrinking.

Several paces pulled him deeper into the shadows, sweat cooling against his skin as the temperature dropped several degrees.

He let her walk ahead. Something in him knew she wouldn’t escape. Not physically at least. There were still too many unanswered questions to separate that distance, and so he remained out of striking range.

“Your pilgrimage means nothing to me. The Covenant doesn’t ask for permission. Power demands responsibility.. and so responsibility demands control.” Simple, in his own opinion.

Always the idealist, he thought, tasting the bitterness of the Jedi’s naivety. Some weaknesses were eternal.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.. this place was here before any of us laid claim. Before Covenant. Before Jedi. But you know what happens to ancient things? They’ve had the longest time to starve. They get hungry. And when someone like you comes strolling into their territory..”

His hand slipped to his belt, fingers curling around the hilt one by one.

“Some things stay buried because they’re waiting for the right moment. If that’s changing now?” Lysander shook his head. “That’s not your sign from the Force. That’s a fething problem.”

“And if you really believe all this was meant to happen.. then you should also understand that destiny comes with a price tag.”

Another truth pressed in on him, much like Tython's dark. There was no diplomatic angle to play here. If he hauled her back to Coruscant? They'd probably thank him for the effort and execute her before any report was finished. And if they didn’t? The pain they’d inflict would make death seem a kindness.

A final warning. His mouth went dry. “If you keep going, don’t expect the ruin, or the Covenant, to care that you chose this place as your burial ground.”

 

[Kalja Tal'Vera]

The deeper Kalja moved, the clearer it became. The presence ahead wasn't residual or ambient—it was contained, deliberate, and unmistakably familiar. She didn't need to search for it. She already knew exactly what it was.

The air cooled as she descended, the lingering heat from the upper ruin fading into something still and undisturbed. Dust clung to the stone instead of drifting, settled into edges that hadn't been touched in years. The corridor itself shifted—less fractured, more intact—as if this section had been preserved rather than spared.

Behind her, Lysander's presence held steady, unhidden and closing without hesitation. Beyond him, the Force carried the tightening pattern above—patrols organizing, adjusting routes, closing gaps left behind by the raid. The window she had used to get here was already shrinking, pressure building in quiet, methodical layers.

Kalja didn't slow.

His warnings followed her—danger, buried things, consequences. She let him finish before answering, her voice calm but edged just enough to carry.

"You always talk like that?" she asked lightly. "Or just when you're trying to sound convincing?"

Her hand brushed along the wall as she moved, feeling the difference in the stone—smoother here, untouched by the collapse behind them. "You're reading this wrong. This isn't a trap, and it's not waiting for someone to wander in and get eaten."

A slight turn of her head acknowledged him without giving him her full attention. "You're treating it like everything else you've been taught to control." A faint exhale followed, almost amused. "It's not that complicated."

Her gaze dipped briefly—not to meet his eyes, but to the shift she had already expected. His hand settling on his hilt. The change in his stance.

Noted. Still not a reason to reach for hers.

"I didn't come here because this place is hidden," she continued. "I came because I knew what was here."

A faint vibration ran through the stone beneath her boots—stronger now, more defined. Not from the ruin. From above. Patrols tightening. Movement overlapping. Someone would notice the gap soon—if they hadn't already.

Still, she didn't rush.

Rushing meant mistakes. And mistakes meant losing it.

"If this was actually dangerous in the way you think," she added, quieter now as the corridor narrowed, "it wouldn't still be intact."

The passage opened into a chamber carved into the cliffside, older than the structure behind her and untouched by collapse. The air inside was colder, heavier, the kind of stillness that resisted disturbance. Sound dulled here—footsteps softened, breath contained—like the space itself refused to carry anything unnecessary.

And there—set into the stone with deliberate precision—was the holocron.

Unadorned. Sealed. Exactly where it had been left.

Kalja stepped into the chamber without hesitation, her focus narrowing completely onto it.

"This isn't something the Order lost," she said, her tone flattening as she closed the distance. "It's something I put here."

That landed clean.

"Which means I'm the one taking it back."

The connection clarified the closer she moved—not emotional, not reactive—just aligned. What sat within it wasn't meant for teaching or preservation. It was record and consequence. Decisions she had made without permission. Moments she had no intention of explaining to anyone. Some of them crossed lines the Order pretended didn't exist. Others proved those lines were never real to begin with.

Behind her, the pressure of the world continued to tighten. Patrols closing. Movement above resolving into control. And closer still, Lysander remained within reach—close enough now that if he chose to act, it would happen fast. The space between them had thinned into something fragile, one decision away from breaking.

That mattered. Just not enough.

Her hand moved—slow, deliberate—reaching toward the holocron. The Force settled with her, quiet but absolute, mapping the chamber without spectacle. Stone, weight, distance—every surface, every fracture point fell into place under her awareness. Nothing was forced. Nothing strained.

Everything was ready.

She didn't look back.

"If you're going to stop me," she added, almost absently, "this would be the moment."

The words weren't a challenge. They didn't need to be.

Her fingers hovered just short of the holocron as the air in the chamber seemed to tighten around them both—pressure building, balance shifting, the ruin itself poised on the edge of movement.

And if he chose to act—if restraint gave way, if he stepped forward or reached—then the chamber wouldn't stay still.

Neither would she.

Tag: Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kalja Tal'Vera​

Followed felt like the wrong word for whatever this was. The deeper they moved, the more the encounter took on a stranger shape.

Fingers tightened around the curved hilt at his side. At first, he didn’t answer the Jedi. Convincing? The word lodged in the young Sith’s throat like a shard of glass. He wasn’t trying to convince her of anything. If anything, Lysander was desperately trying to convince himself that this path still made sense.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. But the sound remained trapped behind his teeth, another prisoner in the cell of well-maintained composure.

Something else she said caused his jaw to tighten. With another stride, he exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Control’s what’s kept me breathing,” came a small confession that tasted foreign on the tongue. “Kept a lot of others breathing too.” The foundation of his existence, rewired by years in the Outer Rim. One mistake in the Covenant meant entire sectors burning. The weight of that knowledge pressed against his ribcage daily. Responsibility he wouldn’t expect a Jedi to understand.

“Simple is what puts people in the ground.” Another warning, or a hint. Did it matter which? “So you just, what, strolled into a conflict zone for something you hid? Something your precious Order couldn’t see? Something the Covenant would never let you walk out with?”

That last bit told him everything he needed to know.

A thumb brushed the emitter as the holocron came into view; not because he was eager for violence, but because he’d already given his warning. Strange to many Sith no doubt, but he always honored his words. No point in drawing a line if you weren’t planning to hold it.

“Listen, if you take that holocron, you’re not just stealing from the Covenant. You’re screwing up both our lives for the next few hours. Maybe longer.”

“It’s been a long day,” his voice scraped raw, “but don’t think I won’t do what I have to if you make me.” The red light caught the sweat on his brow as he shifted his stance into one that spoke of being a duelists. “You’re not the only one with skin in this game. If you walk out with that thing, I’m the one who has to explain why I let a Jedi stroll past with something the Covenant would burn down cities to get back.”

The distance was closed by another step. “I will do what preserves my life and guarantee my report is never questioned. Nothing personal.”

 

[Kalja Tal'Vera]

Kalja listened—really listened this time.

Not to the threat. Not to the posture. To what sat underneath it. Survival. Responsibility. The quiet admission that control was the only thing holding his world together.

He wasn't wrong.

Just not enough to change anything.

Her gaze shifted slightly, not fully turning to face him, but enough to acknowledge the weight of what he'd said—the tightening of his grip, the shift into stance, the line he was preparing to hold.

"You're doing what you think you have to," she said, calm and direct. "I get that."

A faint breath followed—almost a concession. Almost.

"But this?" her eyes flicked briefly toward the holocron, then forward again, "this was never going to end clean for either of us."

The corner of her mouth twitched faintly, not quite a smile—but close enough to carry the edge of one.

"You should've stopped following me sooner."

She didn't wait for a response.

Her hand closed around the holocron.

The connection locked instantly.

Not a surge. Not a flood.

Recognition.

Something in the chamber shifted with it. The Force tightened—not outward, not violently—but inward, compressing into a dense, controlled pressure that settled into the space around her. Dust lifted in a thin veil and hung suspended, stone creaking softly as the balance of the chamber adjusted to her presence and the object now in her grasp.

Kalja didn't rush.

Didn't hesitate.

But the moment changed.

Her stance settled—weight grounded, center aligned—as the Force mapped everything around her in a single, precise frame. Distance. Angles. Surfaces. His footing. The line between them reduced from space… to decision.

"You're right about one thing," she said, quieter now.

Her free hand lowered slightly, fingers flexing once as tension in the room drew tight enough to snap.

"This doesn't stay simple."

The shift came without warning.

Not an explosion—a correction.

The stone beneath Lysander's forward step fractured and drove sideways under sudden pressure, disrupting his footing just enough to break his advance. The follow-up came immediately—a tight, controlled wave of force directed into his center mass, not meant to throw him across the chamber, but to force him to react instead of strike.

Space broke.

Control shifted.

Kalja moved with it.

One step back—clean, deliberate—creating distance as she pivoted off her rear foot, turning her body toward the exit corridor in the same motion. The holocron was already secured at her side, her grip firm but unstrained as she transitioned from retrieval to movement without pause.

She wasn't fleeing.

She was leaving.

The Force shifted with her as she moved—subtle, precise—pulling loose debris along the chamber floor just enough to disrupt clean footing behind her, creating instability rather than obstruction. Nothing dramatic. Nothing wasteful. Just enough to slow pursuit by fractions that mattered.

Her other hand rose slightly as she moved, not drawing her saber, but ready—balanced between options.

"If you're still trying to protect your report," she added over her shoulder, her tone steady with a faint edge of dry amusement, "you're already past the part where that was possible."

The corridor swallowed her movement quickly, the cooler air rushing past as she pushed into it with controlled speed—not sprinting, but fast enough to maintain advantage. The space tightened again, stone closing in around her as the exit path reformed into a narrow channel of fractured structure and shadow.

Behind her, the chamber settled—but not completely. The disturbance lingered, pressure still hanging in the air like something unfinished.

He would recover.

He would follow.

And next time—he wouldn't hold back.

Kalja didn't look back.

Her pace adjusted slightly as she moved deeper into the corridor, already accounting for the shifting patrol patterns above, the narrowing exits, the angles she would need to take to avoid being cut off. The holocron remained steady at her side, its presence now constant, grounded—no longer something distant, but something claimed.

This part was over.

The next part wouldn't be.

TAG: Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kalja Tal'Vera​

The stone shifting beneath him felt like sabotage. Lysander’s ankle rolled at first, sending pain through his leg as muscle memory fought to seek gravity. His body went through a cascade of corrections while irritation bloomed hot in his chest. The dark energy of it steadied him more than his physical training. Another breath was drawn in through clenched teeth.

He watched her clutch the ancient holocron, its ancient power humming just beyond hearing. The Covenant would exterminate entire bloodlines for the relic. Yet his eyes would focus on hers, ones that witnessed his moment of hesitation from the first step that’d begun to follow her earlier. Weakness. Those above him would burn that word into him until it tasted like ash in his mouth. The Covenant’s doctrine echoed. Intent was irrelevant. Only results mattered. Power demanded perfection. For months he let these truths slowly shape him, carving away what was soft.

“Your little trick changes nothing,” the whisper echoed through the narrow passage. “That holocron.. it’s already stained with your blood. You just don’t see it yet, Jedi.”

He inhaled deeply, drawing the cold air which scraped his lungs, feeling the darkness gather around him like a cloak as he stepped forward.

“The Covenant does not forgive. I do not forgive.”

Lysander advanced, each footfall with purpose now, as the hate in his chest crystallized. This hunt transformed into something primal, and inevitable..

A single hand rose, palm facing not her vulnerable back but the stones above. The Force answered his will, not as a servant, but as extension of his darkening thoughts.. spiraling outward in controlled fury. Stone cracked where his power commanded. That wasn’t the say the desire to crush her form was no longer present, for the temptation flared within. No, he needed to reshape her advantage into his own, as she had done to him moments before. Enough to fracture her escape. What Lysander wanted was her submission to inevitability.

“One way or another, this ends with you on your knees or in the ground.”

 

[Kalja Tal'Vera]

The shift came a heartbeat too fast to ignore—and just slow enough to matter.

Kalja felt it before she saw it. The pressure in the stone above tightened, a low, strained groan threading through the ceiling as weight shifted under will instead of time. Fine grit loosened first, whispering down against her shoulders and the back of her neck, slipping beneath the collar of her tunic in dry, irritating trails.

He wasn't just breaking the space.

He was aiming it.

She moved—but not fast enough to clear it clean.

A slab tore loose and dropped at a sharp angle, catching her across the shoulder and upper back with a force that drove straight through muscle into bone. The impact crushed the air from her lungs in a tight, violent exhale, her body pitching forward as her footing slipped against fractured stone.

It wasn't clean.

It dragged.

The edge of it scraped across her back as it fell, tearing through fabric and skin in the same motion before slamming into the ground beside her hard enough to shudder through the corridor. The vibration carried up through her arm and into her chest as her hand hit first, palm skidding across grit and splintered dust, skin biting against the rough surface.

The holocron stayed locked in her grip.

Her fingers tightened around it instinctively, the edges pressing into her palm as her other arm braced just long enough to keep her from going fully down. Pain flared hot and immediate along her shoulder, then spread—tightening into her ribs, pulling across her side in a way that made the next breath catch halfway in.

For a moment, her lungs didn't cooperate.

The world narrowed to pressure and dust and the sharp, contained burn of impact.

Then air came back in—thin, controlled, not as deep as she wanted but enough to function.

A line of blood traced down from where the stone had torn across her back, warm at first, then cooling quickly as it spread beneath her tunic and along her side. It wasn't deep, but it wasn't shallow either—enough to sting, enough to remind her every time she moved.

Annoying.

Not enough.

The corridor didn't settle. It shifted again—sharp cracks snapping through the walls, followed by the heavier grind of stone adjusting under new stress. Dust thickened in the air, turning each breath dry and abrasive, catching at the back of her throat and clinging to the inside of her mouth.

Kalja pushed up before the moment could stretch.

Not fast. Just immediate.

Her shoulder protested as she rose, a tight, dragging resistance that threatened to lock if she let it settle. She didn't. She rolled it once—sharp and controlled—forcing the movement through the pain until the joint responded again. The pull remained, heat building beneath the surface, but it held.

That was enough.

Behind her, he was already moving.

She could feel it clearly now—his presence sharpened into something narrower, more focused. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just intent closing distance.

Good.

That made things simpler.

Her head turned slightly as she stepped forward again—not stopping, not fully facing him—just enough for her voice to carry back through the fractured corridor, steady despite the lingering tightness in her chest.

"You're going to have to do better than that."

It wasn't taunting.

Just accurate.

Her pace shifted—not a sprint, but no longer measured. Controlled speed, each step placed with intent as she moved deeper into the narrowing passage. The walls pressed closer here, forcing her into a straighter line as uneven stone and broken surfaces tightened around her, limiting space and options.

The Force moved with her—not outward, not explosive—but precise.

Loose debris dragged subtly across the ground behind her, shifting just enough to interfere with clean footing. Small stones rolled under weight at the wrong moment. Dust shifted unpredictably. Nothing dramatic. Just friction. Instability. Enough to cost him time if he pushed too hard.

Her breathing steadied as she moved, though each inhale pulled faintly against her ribs, a reminder of the impact that hadn't fully settled. The pain didn't disappear. It became background—something she worked around instead of through.

The holocron remained firm in her grasp, its presence no longer distant or searching. It was grounded now. Claimed. Its edges pressed into her palm with each step, a steady, physical anchor against everything else shifting around her.

Ahead, the corridor bent, opening just slightly—enough to hint at a wider path beyond. The air shifted there, less stale, carrying a faint current that brushed against her skin and cooled the sweat at her neck. Not an exit yet. But closer.

Behind her, the pressure followed.

Not just him.

Everything.

The tightening patrols above. The unstable structure around them. The narrowing margin between movement and being cut off entirely. The space between pursuit and escape thinning with every step she took.

Kalja adjusted her stride as the ground shifted again beneath her boots, already accounting for the next break, the next angle, the next place he would try to force her to stop.

If he wanted her on her knees—he was going to have to earn it.

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kalja Tal'Vera​

The ground still trembled beneath him, but his mind was already elsewhere—not with the Jedi, but stretching upward through cracks in the stone ceiling toward the open sky. He sensed the patrols moving above. Force-blind, all of them, limited to what eyes could see and ears could hear. Dangerous nonetheless.

He visualized their positions as coordinates in a three-dimensional grid. The way he’d been taught since childhood to see any combat zone. Each guard’s path became a vector, and each moment of distraction a vulnerability to exploit. Of course, the calculations came unbidden.. three seconds here while that one checked his comlink, five seconds there when those two’s sightlines diverged. In truth, he hated how he couldn’t turn it off sometimes.

He moved forward with a hunter’s patience. No need to sprint. He knew precisely how much ground separated them and how fast he needed to move to close it.

Something else changed. His awareness registered it before his mind could name it.. another ripple in the Force.. delicate as a finger tracing circles on still water. He didn’t need physical evidence; sharks knew when there was blood. Each step she took away from him left an invisible thread in the fabric of the Force, and he could follow it to its end. He would follow it.

Words would have been lost in the narrow space, so he extended his awareness through the Force instead. Gentle as breath, careful as a hand suspended above skin, close enough to feel warmth but never truly making contact. Lysander wouldn’t violate her mind; that lesson had cost him too much to forget. So, instead, he created a presence at the periphery of her consciousness.

<<You’re compensating for the uneven ground, no? But you won’t disappear from me here. Not anymore.>>

 

[Kalja Tal'Vera]

The corridor narrowed as Kalja pressed forward, stone closing in on both sides until the space felt carved rather than collapsed. The air cooled into something dry and stale, stripped of movement, thick with dust that lingered from the earlier collapse. It hung in uneven veils behind her, turning each breath rough as it scraped down her throat and settled bitter on her tongue. Even the sound of her movement dulled here—footsteps softened, cloth shifting against skin reduced to a muted drag—as if the space itself absorbed anything unnecessary.

The hit had set in.

Not sharp anymore—worse.

A deep, dragging heat anchored in her shoulder where the stone had caught her, pulling tight across her ribs with every step. It resisted when she moved too far, too fast, like something just short of tearing that hadn't decided if it would yet. Blood had worked through the fabric along her back and side, no longer warm, now cooling where it spread, sticking to her skin in uneven patches that shifted each time her stride lengthened or shortened.

She rolled the shoulder again as she moved—controlled, deliberate—forcing the joint through its range until it answered. Not clean. Not smooth.

Enough.

Her footing adjusted automatically over the broken ground, boots finding unstable purchase without hesitation. Loose fragments shifted under her weight, sliding just enough to threaten balance before her center corrected. The holocron remained firm in her grip, its edges pressing into her palm—a steady, grounding pressure that didn't change no matter how much the rest of the space shifted around her.

Then she felt it.

Not pressure. Not a strike.

Presence.

Subtle. Careful. Close enough to trace the edge of her awareness without crossing it.

Tracking.

Kalja exhaled through her nose, sharper this time, irritation settling in alongside the pain.

'Of course he was.'

Her pace didn't break, but the rhythm shifted—steps shortened, then lengthened, weight shifting unpredictably across the uneven terrain. Her presence in the Force followed suit—not hidden, not gone, but uneven, threaded with interference, refusing to resolve into something clean or predictable.

'Let him follow.'

'Just don't give him a straight line.'

The awareness lingered, patient, deliberate—and this time she didn't leave it unanswered.

<<You're late.>>

Flat. Irritated. Already moving past him before the thought had fully formed.

The corridor bent again, tightening before opening slightly, the ground dipping at an angle that forced her to adjust mid-stride. She leaned into it without hesitation, boots sliding briefly on loose grit before catching against older, more stable stone beneath. The shift carried through her shoulder again, a tight pull that flared and settled in the same breath.

Above her, the planet shifted.

It came through the Force in fragments at first—movement, direction, intent—then sharpened into something structured. Patrols tightening. Routes overlapping. Gaps closing with quiet, methodical precision. Comms traffic flickered like static at the edge of perception, unseen but present, layered through the air in sharp, disjointed pulses.

Tython wasn't reacting anymore.

It was locking down.

She could feel it in the way the margins disappeared. The paths she had used to get here narrowing behind her without sound. The exits ahead tightening before she even reached them. What had been open space minutes ago was becoming controlled ground, every movement accounted for whether they knew she was there yet or not.

Behind her, he was still there.

Closer now.

Sharper.

Certain.

Her free hand lifted slightly as she moved, fingers flexing once before settling. The Force shifted with it—subtle, precise, threading through the space without flare. Loose fragments dragged across the ground behind her, shifting footing at the wrong moment. Dust rolled where it shouldn't. Small disruptions layered into the path she left behind, stacking friction into motion.

Not enough to stop him.

Enough to slow him.

Enough to matter.

Her breathing steadied again, though each inhale pulled faintly against her side, the pain settling into something constant and manageable. It didn't fade. It just stopped being relevant.

The holocron remained steady in her grip, its presence no longer distant or searching. It was grounded now. Claimed. Its weight real, its edges pressing into her palm with each step, a reminder of why she hadn't stopped. Ahead, the air shifted again—faint, but unmistakable. A thin current slipped through the corridor, brushing against her skin, cooler, cleaner, carrying the subtle scent of open space somewhere beyond the stone. Not far now.

Behind her, everything tightened.

Him.

The patrols above.

The structure itself, strained and adjusting under the pressure building through it, as though it could feel what was happening inside it and hadn't decided how much more it would tolerate. Kalja adjusted her line again—sharper this time, cutting off the natural path of the corridor, forcing a new angle, a less predictable route as the ground shifted beneath her boots and the walls pressed closer.

If he wanted to track her—he was going to earn every step.

Tag: Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kalja Tal'Vera​

His throat felt coated with grit, each inhalation scraping like sandpaper. Beneath the obsidian armor, cooling sweat plastered his underclothes to his skin, creating a subtle drag.. a second or two slower. When his boot slipped on the debris she'd scattered, the Sith recovered instantly, betrayed only by the slight downward pull at one corner of his mouth.

He recalibrated. Shorter strides, center of gravity lowering. He extended the Force before him like a probing filament, sensing the narrow passageway's contours, searching for meaning in her retreat. A pattern. Anything..

A slow exhale left him, quelling the rising sensation that bordered on, but wasn't quite, irritation.

<<You can keep twisting the ground behind you. But you're not shaking me in here.>>

Before Lysander could contain it, something jagged leaked from him into the Force. The ancient structure began to respond immediately. Above her position, or so he believed, stone fractured with a noise akin to snapping bones.. then collapsed.

<<And you know it.>>

 

[Kalja Tal'Vera]

The warning came a fraction too late. The Force twisted above her—sharp, wrong—and the ceiling gave way in a violent, splintering crack. Stone didn't fall clean; it collapsed in layers, a grinding avalanche that hit her shoulder and upper back hard enough to drive her sideways into the wall and rip the air from her lungs. Something caught her on the follow-through—a sharp edge glancing across her brow—and the world flashed white as she went down beneath dust and weight.

For a second there was nothing but pressure. No breath. No space. Only the suffocating scrape of stone shifting against stone as the corridor compressed around her.

Then her hand moved.

Fingers clawed into fractured rock, nails biting for purchase as she forced space where there wasn't any. The holocron pressed tight against her side beneath the satchel—still there—and that was enough. Pain flared white-hot through her shoulder as she pushed, something deep pulling wrong, threatening to tear. She blinked hard, grit grinding under her lids, and a thin line of blood slipped from the cut above her eye, warm at first, then cooling as it traced down along her temple. It blurred her vision just enough to irritate. She wiped it away with the back of her wrist and drove upward anyway.

Stone resisted, ground, then gave just enough for her to wrench herself free. Dust cascaded over her as she dragged in a shallow, ragged breath that scraped her throat raw. She came up unsteady, one knee under her, then forced herself upright, shoulders tightening as the pain settled into something deeper and more constant.

The corridor behind her was gone—buried completely beneath the collapse.

‘Good. Let him fight through it.’

She moved before her body could argue. Each step jarred through her ribs, the pain syncing with motion, settling into something insistent that refused to fade. Blood had soaked through her tunic along her back and side, cooling now, sticking against her skin and pulling with every shift of her stride. It re-wet when she twisted too sharply, a slow, persistent warmth that she ignored.

The cut above her eye continued to bleed in a thin line, slipping past her brow and threatening her sight until she blinked it back again, jaw tightening with quiet irritation.

The air ahead changed—cooler, moving—and she pushed through the narrowing corridor into a wider chamber. The shift was immediate. The ceiling lifted. The pressure eased just enough to notice.

The control room opened around her, abandoned and wrong in the way only forgotten places were. Consoles lined the walls, layered in dust and neglect, their displays cracked and flickering weakly with what little power remained. The air here carried a faint current, slipping through unseen seams in the structure.

The viewport drew her next.

Mist pressed thick against the glass, drifting in slow, heavy currents that caught the light in muted streaks. Beyond it, the cliff fell away into Ashla Valley, the distant roar of water rising up in a low, constant vibration that hummed through the platform beneath her boots. Movement cut through the haze—ships repositioning, personnel tightening into formation along the edges of the landing pad.

Lockdown.

Her jaw set as she moved to the nearest console anyway, hands bracing against it, fingers moving quickly across dead controls. A flicker answered her—weak, incomplete—then died. She shifted to another panel. Nothing. The systems were gone or locked beyond anything she could force in the time she had.

Behind her, the pressure sharpened.

Closer.

Kalja pushed off the console and turned toward the door beside the viewport, irritation cutting clean through the pain now. Her hand hit the seam, fingers digging into the narrow gap. Locked. Of course it was. She planted her stance, feet set wide, grounding herself despite the instability running through her body, and pulled.

The strain hit immediately.

Muscle tightened through her arms, across her back, into her ribs. Her shoulder resisted hard, a sharp, tearing pull that made her breath hitch as her vision flared white again at the edges. Blood from the cut above her eye slipped lower this time, dragging across her lashes and distorting the edges of the world until she blinked hard, clearing it.

Her grip slipped—blood, sweat, dust—but she reset and pulled again, harder, forcing through it with a low, strained sound she didn't bother containing.

The door didn't move. Not enough.

She stopped. Just long enough to know.

This wasn't opening in time.

Her hands dropped from the seam, breath tight, chest rising and falling unevenly as she forced control back into it.

In the same motion, both sabers were in her grip.

Twin blades ignited with a sharp snap-hiss, blue-white light flooding the dead room—pure blue wrapped around a bright white core, harsh and clean against the dust and decay. The glow cut across the fogged viewport, catching the drifting mist beyond in fractured reflections.

She stepped in and drove both blades into the durasteel seam.

The metal screamed.

A violent hiss as the blades bit deep, resistance lasting only a heartbeat before the structure began to give. The seam glowed dull, then brighter, heat blooming outward as the durasteel warped under pressure. Smoke curled upward in thin, acrid streams, the smell sharp and metallic, burning the back of her throat as she breathed through it.

Kalja leaned into it, forcing the blades deeper, jaw tight, breath uneven as the strain pulled through her shoulder again. Pain flared—bright, insistent—but she locked it down, forcing her focus inward. Not on the door.

On the metal.

On how it held together.

On how it could break.

The Force tightened with her—precise, controlled—threading through the durasteel, pulling, twisting, urging the structure to fail where it resisted most. The seam began to warp, edges softening, structure weakening as heat and pressure built together.

Behind her, the pressure was unmistakable now.

Close.

Relentless.

Kalja tightened her grip, blood still slipping from the cut above her eye, breath rough as her vision narrowed again under strain and heat. The durasteel began to give—slowly, stubbornly—but it was giving.

And she forced it further.

Tag: Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kalja Tal'Vera​

At first, the collapse hit only as a confirmation. Above the corridor, the Force twisted.. like fabric being wrung, and then the ceiling surrendered with a roar that devoured what little light remained. Dust bloomed outward, a flower of destruction.

The impact registered through the Force as a compressed jolt. Lysander wondered, briefly, if this was mercy or cruelty, to know so precisely how she was broken. He exhaled once through his nose and moved forward.

Lighting was unreliable at best. Depth became illusion; the ruin felt narrower, ancient beyond its years. Dust clung to the inside of his throat but he adjusted. His boots ground over fractured stone.

The rubble field rose in front of him.. interlocked slabs. He didn't try to shove it aside. One gloved hand lifted, fingers splayed slightly as the Force threaded through the debris, mapping stress lines, pressure points, the delicate balance of stone against stone. He shifted the weight just enough to create space, stabilizing the ceiling above with a controlled, upward brace of power. For one that preferred a clash of blades.. he certainly was no novice when wielding other powers.

He glided into the room. Overhead, light strips pulsed erratically. A crimson blade ascended with liquid grace, finding its purpose in the negative space behind her spine.. close enough to promise, distant enough to offer choice.

"Surrender." The blade remained still. "Or continue," he said, "and discover how thoroughly I've imagined every possible outcome of this moment."

 

[Kalja Tal'Vera]

The durasteel screamed under the pressure of her blades, a high, warping sound that vibrated through her hands and into her arms as heat bloomed outward from the seam. Blue-white light flared against the metal, bright enough to wash the dust-choked room in harsh contrast, the glow reflecting back through the fogged viewport where mist curled and shifted beyond the glass. The smell hit next—burning alloy, sharp and acrid, filling her lungs with every forced breath.

It was starting to give.

Not fast enough.

Her shoulder trembled under the strain, the earlier hit no longer distant—now a constant, grinding pull that flared each time she forced the blades deeper. Blood from the cut above her eye slipped again, warmer this time as it tracked across her brow and down along the edge of her nose. It blurred her sight just enough to irritate, catching in her lashes until she blinked it away hard, jaw tightening.

‘Focus.’

The Force narrowed with her, threading through the structure of the door—through stress, heat, and the weakening bonds she was forcing apart. It was working. Slowly. Stubbornly.

Behind her—something shifted.

Not sound.

Presence.

Close.

Kalja didn't turn immediately. Her grip tightened on the sabers, breath pulling unevenly through her ribs as the pressure behind her settled into something unmistakable—controlled, measured, patient.

Too close.

The blades held in place for one more second, heat building, metal warping further under sustained pressure—

Then she stopped.

Not abruptly.

Deliberately.

The sabers hissed as she drew them free, molten edges cooling just enough to hold shape as the seam glowed faintly where it had begun to fail. Smoke curled upward in thin strands, the door no longer intact—but not open. Not yet.

She turned.

Slowly.

Just enough.

Her sapphire gaze caught the erratic light first—then him.

And the blade.

Crimson.

Close enough to feel.

Not touching.

Not yet.

Her posture didn't collapse under it. It shifted—subtle, controlled, weight settling differently through her stance as she angled her body just enough to track him without fully giving him her back or her front. One saber remained low at her side, the other angled slightly across her center, not raised in defense, not yet—just present.

Blood slipped again from the cut above her eye, tracing a thin line down across her cheek before catching at her jaw. She didn't wipe it this time.

"Surrender?"

The word came quieter than expected, edged not with disbelief—but irritation.

Her chest rose and fell once, breath still tight from the collapse, from the strain, from everything that hadn't stopped pressing in around her.

"You've been following me through a collapsing ruin…"

Her head tilted slightly, just enough to regard him fully now, eyes sharp despite the blur that threatened at the edges.

"…and that's the best option you came up with?"

There was no panic in it.

No fear.

Just a thin, tired edge of defiance that hadn't dulled—if anything, it had sharpened under pressure.

The room held its breath with them.

Mist drifted beyond the viewport, the distant roar of water steady and unmoved by anything happening inside the chamber. The half-melted seam behind her still glowed faintly, heat bleeding out into the air, the door not yet open—but not whole either.

Kalja adjusted her footing by a fraction, the movement small, controlled, redistributing weight despite the way her shoulder protested it.

"If you've imagined every outcome," she said, voice steady now, quieter—focused—

"you're already wrong about at least one."

Tag: Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Kalja Tal'Vera​

Now, closer up, Lysander dissected her stance with the clinical detachment of someone who'd survived a thousand such encounters. A predator on the prowl. The way she angled her body.. a perfect compromise between defense and readiness. Of course, that spoke volumes about her training, though it didn't mean he respected Jedi.

Blood traced its crimson path down her face, untouched, marking her like war paint. The sight stirred something primal within him.

"Surrender is simply efficiency, and preserves what little we might both value," he stated, voice hollow as a tomb. "Time. Energy. Life.. why prolong the inevitable? Or perhaps, you value nothing at all."

Then, examining her like a flawed weapon. "Your potential," came the murmur, "wasted on their dogma."

Her stubbornness reminded him of himself before the breaking. Before understanding.

"Your resilience is..." he continued, searching for words that wouldn't sound like the empty Sith platitudes he'd been fed, "..familiar to me." He tilted his head slightly. "But the galaxy doesn't reward pain endured.. only pain transformed." The chamber contracted around them, reality narrowing to this singular confrontation. In his mind, he'd already killed her seventeen different ways. Each death more intimate than the last.

"If I've imagined every outcome," he whispered, savoring the concept itself. "That would be a fascinating hypothesis. Luxurious even. But imagination is merely the shadow of will. And my will," the crimson light cast shadows across his features, "..is absolute."

The blade arced toward her neck, a burning pendulum of annihilation.

 

[Kalja Tal'Vera]

The room held tight around them, dust drifting through fractured light, the low, distant roar of falling water pressing up through the structure beneath their feet. Behind Kalja, the durasteel seam still glowed faintly—warped, softened, close to failure but not yet broken. Beyond the fogged viewport, mist rolled in slow, heavy currents off the cliffside, catching pale light as ships passed beyond the main landing platform, their silhouettes cutting through the haze. Below and outward, troops had begun to mass—small, ordered movements gathering into something deliberate. The planet wasn't just reacting anymore. It was closing.

Then he moved.

The crimson blade cut for her neck—clean, efficient, absolute.

Kalja met it.

Blue-white light snapped up, catching the strike just short of contact. The impact hit hard—plasma crackling violently as the blades ground against one another, energy flaring and hissing in the tight space. The sound wasn't clean; it rasped and screamed, vibrating through her hands and up into her arms.

The force of it drove into her shoulder.

Pain answered immediately—sharp, deep, tearing through muscle that had already been pushed too far. Her breath hitched, just once, the edges of her vision flashing white as the joint threatened to give under the pressure. Blood slipped again from the cut above her brow, tracking down through strands of loosened hair that clung damp against her temple, matting where it met sweat and dust. It dragged across her lashes, distorting the edge of the world until she blinked hard, forcing it clear.

She didn't yield.

The Force answered instead.

It tightened around her—focused, internal—reinforcing the failing line of strength through her shoulder, not removing the pain, but pushing through it. Stabilizing it. Buying her the moment she needed.

She stepped in.

Closed the distance further, turning her body just enough to break the angle, sliding his blade past her shoulder rather than holding against it. The blade passed close—too close—the air snapping sharp at its edge as it skimmed past, close enough to scorch fabric where it nearly touched.

No hesitation.

She broke the bind and pivoted.

The second saber drove back into the door.

Hard.

Blue-white light plunged into the already weakened seam, biting deeper into metal that had begun to soften under repeated stress. The durasteel shrieked louder now, the pitch warping as structure gave way in uneven lines. Sparks burst outward in sharp arcs, scattering across the floor as the metal deformed and began to liquefy where the blade bit into it.

She felt it.

The weakness running deeper now—beyond surface, into structure.

Kalja ripped the blade free and turned back toward him, breath rough, uneven, pulling hard against her ribs. Her grip tightened again—blood, sweat, dust slicking the hilt, forcing constant correction as she reset her stance.

As the blades' light flared between them, it threw her into stark relief—hair no longer held in place, dark strands loosened and clinging where sweat and dust had turned them heavy against her skin. A darker line cut through near her brow, matted where blood continued to slip from the shallow wound, streaking across her cheek in uneven paths before catching at her jaw. Dust had settled into her skin, dragged by sweat into rough streaks along her cheekbones and neck, dulling the natural tone beneath heat and strain.

Her jaw set harder against it.

Not fear.

Irritation.

Control—held tight under pressure.

Behind her, the seam glowed brighter now, warped and uneven—not open.

But close.

So close.

The mist beyond the viewport shifted again, thicker for a moment as another transport cut past the main platform, its passage stirring the air along the cliffside. The service platform outside sat exposed to it—narrow, jutting out over the drop, a path out if she could reach it.

If the door gave.

In front of her, he hadn't slowed.

If anything—he had settled deeper into the moment.

Closer. Sharper.

Waiting for the next mistake she couldn't afford to make.

Kalja adjusted her footing by a fraction, boots grinding softly against dust and debris as she redistributed her weight despite the protest in her shoulder. One blade angled low, the other held ready across her centerline, the Force still coiled tight through her frame—reinforcing, stabilizing, holding everything just past the point where it would fail.

Her breathing didn't fully steady.

It didn't need to.

Another exchange was coming.

Another opening.

Another strike at the seam.

That was all she needed.

And she would take it.

Tag: Lysander von Ascania