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