Private Where the Shadow Calls

[Darth Prazutis]

The Sith Citadel of Dromund Kaas didn't simply rise from the city. It wasn't another construction marvel on the world.

It devoured it.

What once had been skyline and spire and district became meaningless in its shadow. The Citadel was a continent of stone stacked upon itself, a mega-structure of black iron and alchemized obsidian that climbed into the storm-choked heavens and burrowed down into the planet's scarred bones. Clouds did not pass above it, they broke against it, shearing apart around jagged towers and ritual spines that vanished into the lightning-veined sky.

The storm never stopped here. Thunder rolled like distant artillery, constant and low, as if the world itself growled beneath the Citadel's weight. Lightning didn't strike normally here, it crawled, slithering across runic pylons and blade-edged parapets, illuminating colossal surfaces etched with glyphs older than empires. A legacy of blood and iron carved into the annals of history itself. Each flash revealed another impossible tier, another sheer wall, another cathedral-sized corridor open to the air before vanishing again into darkness. All hope died before parapets draped with blood red banners of the Kainate.

Deep within, the Citadel wasn't silent, in fact It was listening.

Sound behaved strangely inside its depths. Footsteps dulled. Voices flattened. Echoes died before they could return. The air itself felt thick, saturated, not with any smoke or ritualized incense that flowed freely from chambers where the dark side bloomed in arcs of energy but with the thickness of presence. The Dark Side wasn't just an energy here. It was pure atmosphere. It pressed against the skin, settled behind the eyes, coiled in the lungs with every breath.

The Citadel did not welcome visitors.

It processed them.

Corridors stretched like arteries through its body, vast and austere, lined with blackstone walls that drank light rather than reflected it. Crimson sigils pulsed faintly beneath the surface, responding not to movement but to intent. Surveillance was omnipresent yet unseen, no obvious lenses, no hovering droids, only the gnawing certainty that every step, every hesitation, every breath had already been recorded, weighed, and judged. All throughout every shadow, every darkened hall eyes peered out from the abyss. Great things moved, slithered, stomped, crawled and flew through these halls.

Skadi Lightbane had lived within these halls long enough to know this truth:

No one walked the Sith Citadel by accident.

Elevators the size of fortress gates carried her through sealed strata of the complex, past sanctums restricted to bloodline and rank, past warded halls where the air burned faintly with old rituals, past levels where even the guards bore markings of absolute authority. With every passage, the world she had known receded further behind her, as if the Citadel itself were stripping away anything unnecessary before allowing one closer to its heart.

Deeper.

Closer.

The final threshold was not marked by ornamentation or excess. It was a wall of blackstone and rune cast iron so vast and seamless it appeared grown rather than built, its surface veined with dim crimson light that pulsed slowly, patiently, like the heartbeat of something too large to ever be threatened.

Imperial Crownguard stood at either side, motionless, monumental, their presence less a defense than a statement: nothing passed here unless it was permitted to.

The wall parted without sound.

Beyond lay a void made architectural.

The throne amphitheater was colossal, so vast that distance itself became a weapon. The ceiling disappeared into shadow, lost somewhere above the storm-lit apertures that bled pale lightning down the length of titanic columns. The floor was polished obsidian, dark enough to reflect the chamber like an abyss turned upward, swallowing light and perspective alike.

Everything in the room led forward.

Every line, every tier, every ascending platform drew the eye toward a single point of inevitability.

The throne.

It wasn’t decorative and nor was ceremonial. It was absolute. Forged from obsidian and alchemic metals, layered with ancient sigils and dark geometry, the throne rose upon a vast dais like the axis of the world itself. It was a seat built not for comfort, but for dominion, a place from which commands reshaped planets and silence carried more authority than armies.

Upon it sat a true Dark Lord of the Sith. The Shadow Hand of the Kainate.

The Elysian Grandeval Mortarch. The Lord of Lies. The Stormlord of Dromund Kaas. The Sovereign whose will had drowned civilizations and rewritten history. All around him two full cohorts of Umbral Guard stood execution pikes pressed down, they stood as statues cast in dark plate, crimson visors blazing among the darkness.

He didn't move. He didn't need to when the world, when reality itself bent to his whims.

The Dark Side bent toward him as iron filings toward a magnet, saturating the space around the throne so completely that it felt as though reality itself had been subtly rewritten in his favor. His armor was not merely worn, it was inhabited, a dread regalia that turned the idea of a man into something closer to a force of nature given form.

Time stretched and silence thickened. The Citadel seemed to hold its breath. Then, at last, the Dark Lord spoke. His voice didn't echo. It carried through the vast citadel with calm, measured inevitability, every syllable placed with the precision of a sentence that had already been decided long before it was spoken, right to her ears.

"Skadi Lightbane."

Skadi Lightbane​

 

[Skadi Lightbane]

The Sith Citadel

​

Finally.

The Summons came for her.

And with it came a coil of wariness that she was not accustomed to. Skadi did what she did best in those moments, however, she beat it back and pushed her confidence and boldness to the forefront. She didn’t want to appear weak or fearful in front of this ‘Lord Prazutis’ - the supposed ruler of this planet, this “holy” Sith world called Dromund Kaas.

Skadi had been staying with Aerik Lechner (the supposed apprentice of Darth Prazutis) for some time now; she waited with the patience of a sentinel for the Sith Lord to call for her, and Aerik had been a very gracious host. Soon, it would be decided if she was to stay on Dromund Kaas, or if she was to leave and go elsewhere.

Hopefully she didn’t lose her head in the process. That would be unfortunate.

She was led towards the great Citadel, that massive piece of architecture that dominated the skyline. It was so huge and tall that it pierced the cloud veil above her head, attracting the forked lightning that constantly churned in the skies above.

Once inside, even Skadi could tell that this place…was not open to strangers. No one belonged in here, unless they were given the express permission to be there. And clearly, she had the permission to be there, and traverse its many great halls.

Skadi carried herself with confidence, her chin lifted, completely unfazed by those whose eyes would linger on her for longer than normal. Inside the Citadel, things were not as they seemed: sound travelled differently here, things moved in the shadows, lingered and watched. Though she had sensed the presence of the dark side on Dromund Kaas - nowhere was it stronger than here in this Citadel. It was like a fog that surrounded her, pressed against her skin. It was cold, but its chill reminded her of the biting winds back home on Toola. And the further she went through its halls, these blackened arteries, the stronger the chill sensation became - like it was coming from somewhere, or perhaps someone.

She followed it, like a tether, allowing it to guide her deeper and further.

She rode great elevators that brought her closer to her destiny, her fate, and she passed by sanctums and chambers and corridors that she didn’t even grace with a second glance.

Finally, Skadi of House Lightbane came before the last threshold, golden corrupted eyes settling upon those that guarded the way beyond. Before her was the way beyond, and she watched with some mild awe and perhaps a hint of being impressed, as the wall parted for her to continue onward.

She passed the Crownguard without a second glance, as if their existence to her didn’t matter - and it didn’t. The only thing that mattered here was the one who had summoned her, and she could feel in her bones that she was coming ever closer to seeing him with her own two eyes.

The chamber she stepped into next was a grand throne amphitheater. Above her, the ceiling disappeared into utter darkness so deep that the eye could not penetrate its veil. Beneath her, the floor was polished obsidian, absorbing light and reflections that dared to touch its surface, lending another strange layer to this otherworldly place.

The room led her forward, onward, and straight towards the centerpiece of the throne chamber: the throne itself.

And seated upon it, was a figure who seemed to defy everything she had ever known or been told about the Sith and the dark side. Power flowed and radiated from the throne like a crushing stone, bearing down on her shoulders. It only made her stand taller. She would not be bowed down by such weight.

Skadi slowed her steps as she made her approach. There was no hesitance, no fear, in her - but there was caution. A sort of air about her that told those around her that she was aware of herself, and the one seated on the throne. She wasn’t stupid; she knew to behave and show respect in a place like this - her Father had made sure to drill that into her skull long ago.

She came to a halt at a respectable distance, and cast her gaze around the place one more time with an expression that said she was judging everything around her, measuring it, before she settled that same gaze upon the Sith Lord on his throne.

She judged him too, weighed him, in her sights. She didn’t bother hiding her scrutiny either, but she kept her mouth shut until she was addressed. She had been taught well by her Mother and her Father, afterall.

After what felt like an eternity of heavy silence as she waited to be acknowledged (and in turn be able to acknowledge this Sith Lord as well), her name was uttered. She listened to how it echoed through the chamber, how his voice held the weight of power and command.

The Valkryi dipped her chin and brought a closed fist to thump her chest in the traditional greeting of her Clan, her people.

“Lord Prazutis, I presume.” Skadi greeted in turn after a moment of silence, her accent thick though her Basic was near flawless by this point in time. About damn time you summoned me, whispered a voice in her mind, but she wisely kept that thought to herself. He was the ruler of this place; he was the one who decided when someone would come before him.

And truthfully, she hadn’t minded the wait. It allowed her to get to know Aerik a little more.

“I appreciate your willingness to allow me to approach your throne.” She said after another moment of silence. She figured it would be good to show her appreciation for the summons. “Your Apprentice, Aerik, suggested that I speak with you if I truly wished to understand what it means to be a Sith, and if it is the pathway meant for me to walk. And so, here I am.”

Darth Prazutis ​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The silence that followed Skadi Lightbane's words deepened, thickened, as though the throne chamber itself had drawn inward around her very presence. The storm beyond the Citadel's vast apertures continued to churn, yet its thunder seemed distant now, muted beneath a greater gravity. Beneath the shadow He cast, the giant didn't shift upon the colossal throne, nor did He incline His head in acknowledgment. He had no need to. The Dark Side itself responded in His stead, rolling outward from the dais in a slow, inexorable tide. What had been pressure became weight, what had been atmosphere became gravity. It wasn't an attack, nor a test in the crude sense, but exposure, the quiet, undeniable realization of standing in the presence of something that had ended worlds not in moments of fury, but across decades of deliberate, unrelenting dominion.

Blazing lenses regarded her from within the shadowed helm, unblinking, unreadable. She was not merely seen, she was assessed, catalogued, everything about her was being read. Everything from her stance, her defiance, to her discipline, the way she chose to stand rather than yield beneath the growing weight. When He spoke, His voice didn't echo nor did it rise. It arrived, calm and measured, each syllable carrying the certainty of something already decided. "Skadi Lightbane." Her name was not spoken for ceremony, but as fact, as ownership of the moment itself. "You stand before me because you were permitted to stand. Do not mistake patience for absence, nor silence for disinterest. The Citadel does not forget those who walk its halls. Neither do I."

The pressure didn't increase, but it focused, pressing against her shoulders and spine, not to force her to kneel, but to make standing an act of will. "You have been measured." Prazutis continued, unhurried. "Observed. Spoken of. Not by fools, nor by sycophants, but by one who already bears my mark. To determine if you deserved to stand in my shadow." Aerik's name did not need to be spoken. "You did not bow, nor did you posture. You did not beg for knowledge, nor deny its cost. That restraint is why you remain whole."

He paused, and the throne seemed to loom larger behind him, its sigils pulsing faintly, as though the Citadel itself listened. "You ask what it means to be Sith. It does not merely mean power. Power is common. Power is cheap. Even the galaxy bleeds it freely. It means shattering the chains of fate itself, and those who are truly willing to sacrifice what is, for what could be." His gaze did not waver. "To be Sith is to accept that the universe is not cruel, only honest. That mercy is a currency spent by the weak to excuse their fear of consequence. That order is not peace, but dominion maintained without apology."

The Dark Side leaned in, the weight peaking, not crushing, not overwhelming, but inescapably present. "You were summoned because you do not yet know whether you wish to become something…or whether you merely wish to survive proximity to it." His voice lowered, steady and inexorable. "Tell me, Skadi Lightbane, do you believe strength is something you possess…or something you are prepared to become, even if it costs you everything you think you are? Those who walk the path of the Sith must be willing, those who aren't have no place in my dominion." The Dark Lord closed his fist tightly then, and the simple act caused the air to warble and blur around him, runes pulsing like a nervous system across black plate swallowing all light.

Skadi Lightbane​

 

[Skadi Lightbane]

The Sith Citadel

For a long moment, nothing but silence met Skadi’s ears after she had spoken to the figure seated on the throne. The young Valkyri woman remained in her position, unmoving, despite the pressing aura of dark power that pressed in and all around her. She waited in her silence, knowing full well that individuals of power - like this one - would speak when they deemed it was right. Her Father was the same…though she noted that his presence and power paled in comparison to this Darth Prazutis.

Blazing eyes of fire stared down at her through a blackened helm that was, admittedly, intimidating. She felt as if that stare was burning holes through her very soul - weighing her, judging her. It only made her stand a little straighter, as if someone had rammed a rod down her spine. This was not a place to show fear of uncertainty; she had a sneaking suspicion that the moment she did so, she would be ripped apart.

When the giant on the throne did finally respond back to her, he did so in a measured and calm voice that took her a bit by surprise - though her only indication of that surprise was a single blink of her golden amber eyes. She listened closely to his words, absorbing them. He told her that she stood there before him because she’d been permitted to do so. Something her Father would have told those before his throne too. This mighty Sith Lord told her not to mistake patience for absence or silence for disinterest - and told her clearly that, like the Citadel around her - he did not forget those who walked its halls.

He’d been aware of her presence on Dromund Kaas since the moment she stepped foot on the planet, that much she was certain of. With that sharp understanding came a sense of pressure upon her shoulders, rippling down her spine. Testing her will to stand on her own feet under the weight of this Lord’s piercing stare. Skadi shifted ever so slightly on her feet, adjusting her stance. Her Father, and truly the other men of her Clan, tested her in a similar manner. What good would she be as their Clan’s future leader, their future Jarl, if she buckled and bowed under pressure?

It was also done a bit in defiance, if she was brutally honest with herself. Her Father liked to force those around him to bend and kneel at his feet on a whim - and he tried his best to subjugate his own children to his authority. Skadi had learned to stand despite this, much to her Father’s chagrin as much as to his pride.

Darth Prazutis continued, informing her clearly that she had already been measured, observed, and spoken of. She knew instantly who he was referring to. He pointed out observations - the fact that she had not bowed, had not postured or begged. And that alone was why she still remained…whole.

It was another indicator to her that his man, this being, was powerful enough that if he wanted her dead - she would be nothing but dust by now. The knowledge of that alone made her lift her chin just a little more in bold assurance. If she was still alive, then she was doing something right.

The Heir of House Lightbane remained silent and still - like a statue - as the Sith Lord continued. Now came a bit of insight, of wisdom, that she eagerly absorbed and weighed against what she had been taught by her Father. Already, she could see differences between this supposed Sith and her own blood kin, and it intrigued her further. Her Father believed that power was all that mattered, and the Code was best exercised through that showing of power. But this Lord Prazutis was saying that being a Sith didn’t just include power - but other things too. Shattering of chains, making the necessary sacrifices, accepting the brutal and honest truth of the Universe itself - that mercy was weakness.

Now that was something Skadi Lightbane could understand and agree with. Mercy was not something found amongst her kin. Not for one’s self, and not for others. In fact, the great mercy one could give to another was death - for in death, there was peace.

But peace was a lie when one was still breathing.

Life required one to be brutal, violent, and merciless - because life itself was merciless and brutal and cruel.

Skadi was pulled from her musings when she felt the weight of the darkness bear down upon her, surround her. She recognized it for what it was - her Father was a powerful Sith Lord in his own right - but the weight and presence she felt now was beyond even that which she had known all her life.

It both terrified and fascinated her.

"Tell me, Skadi Lightbane, do you believe strength is something you possess…or something you are prepared to become, even if it costs you everything you think you are? Those who walk the path of the Sith must be willing, those who aren't have no place in my dominion."

The Valkyri woman did not speak immediately, choosing instead to ponder that statement and weigh her response carefully.

“I believe it is something I possess - but have yet to unlock to its fullest potential. My fullest potential. I believe that had I remained with my kin, my Clan, they would have strangled and suffocated all that which I could become. I am more than what they believe me to be, and they fear that. My kin’s perceptions of me are chains I will break - not for them, but for myself.”

Skadi paused for a moment to breathe, before her eyes narrowed somewhat. She saw an image in her mind, and she used it as an analogy for herself. “I am but a cold hearth, without the heat of fire…but with potential to become an inferno. I am more than willing to be…ignited…to become something that burns fiercely. But I cannot add fuel to the fire, to ignite the spark. I do not have the experience to do so. But you do, Lord Prazutis. More than my Lord and my Father ever could.”

Darth Prazutis ​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Skadi's words were given their due silence. Not the silence of hesitation but the silence of judgment. The Dark Lord didn't answer immediately. The storm beyond the Citadel's apertures surged, lightning branching across the sky in blinding veins of white fire that briefly illuminated the throne in stark relief. In that momentary brilliance, the figure seated upon it seemed less a man and more a silhouette carved from the absence of light itself. Then the storm receded, and still He had not moved. The blazing lenses regarded her without interruption, without reaction, as though weighing not the confidence in her voice, but the truth beneath it. The pressure in the chamber shifted again, subtle and suffocating, not to break her resolve but to expose its structure. When Darth Prazutis finally spoke, His voice was low, measured, and utterly certain.

"A cold hearth." The words were repeated not in mockery, nor approval, only correction. "You misunderstand what stands before you." The air grew heavier. "Sith are not ignited." he said. "They are unmade." The throne seemed to loom larger behind Him, runes along its surface pulsing with slow, deliberate rhythm. "The galaxy does not grant power to those who wait for a spark." Prazutis continued. "It devours them. Fire is not gifted. It is taken, ripped from the bones of the universe and forced to obey." His gaze didn't waver. "You speak of potential as though it sleeps within you, waiting for another's hand to awaken it. This is the language of those who still cling to the comfort of what they are." A pause. Then.

"The Sith do not awaken what already exists." The Dark Side pressed inward, vast and inexorable. "We destroy it." The words didn't rise in volume, yet they struck with the weight of inevitability.

"Identity. Certainty. Mercy. Doubt. Even purpose. All that you believe defines you will be stripped away until nothing remains but will…and the strength to impose it upon existence itself." Lightning flashed again beyond the chamber. "Your kin did not chain you." He continued. "They defined you. Gave you shape. Meaning. Limitation. The Sith path demands you sever such foundations and stand willingly within the void that follows." A long silence followed. "Most who seek this path discover they do not desire freedom." Prazutis said. "They desire permission." His voice lowered further.

"I do not grant permission." The pressure sharpened, not crushing, not hostile, but absolute. "I offer truth." The Dark Lord's gauntleted hand shifted slightly upon the arm of the throne. The movement was minimal, yet the air itself warped in response, reality bending like heated glass around the ancient armor. "If you remain." He said, "You will not be taught how to become stronger. You will be shown every weakness within you and forced to confront it until either it dies…or you do."

A pause.

"There is no honor in this path. No glory. No assurance of survival." The chamber seemed vast beyond comprehension in that moment, the distance between them immeasurable. "Only transformation." His burning gaze held her in place. "And transformation." Prazutis said quietly. "Is indistinguishable from destruction to those who cannot endure it." The Dark Side settled, heavy and patient. "You claim you would burn." He continued. "You claim willingness to become more than what you are." A final stillness. Then the inevitable question: "Will you surrender the woman who stands before me…so that something else may rise in her place?" The storm thundered and the Citadel listened, and the Sovereign of Dromund Kaas waited for her answer.

Skadi Lightbane​

 

[Skadi Lightbane]

The Sith Citadel

The weight within the chamber, before the throne of this massive and undoubtedly powerful individual, beared down upon Skadi’s shoulders. After she had spoken, she felt the weight of judgment settle over her. She felt the temptation to shift or squirm under it; instead, she set herself more firmly on her feet and straightened her back, as she waited for this Darth Prazutis to respond back to what she had said. She had no idea if her answer would be accepted or not, but she waited in silence nonetheless, her golden amber eyes never leaving the red slits in his dark helm.

His initial response made her grow very still indeed. He didn’t mock her choice of wording, her description of herself, but he corrected it - her view, her understanding. It was then that she realized that all that she had been taught, might have perhaps been wrong. And the more Prazutis spoke, the more she felt the foundation she had grown up on crumble from underneath her.

But perhaps…that was a good thing.

Especially in light of what this Sith Lord had to say to her.

Despite the sudden feeling of having everything questioned, Skadi didn’t shift from her place before that throne or the figure on it. She kept herself still, eyes sharp and attentive, listening. Absorbing…trying to understand.

When he said that the Sith did not awaken what was already there, but instead destroyed it, Skadi allowed her eyes to dip from that helm to the center of his mass as she let that settle over her. The weight of the power and presence seemed to weigh further on her shoulders…a cold weight of sudden reality and just what she was asking for, or what she thought she had asked for.

Now she was on a precipice that would see her return to her family, or press further into this - no matter what the cost was.

And what was perhaps most frightening to her, in the moment, is that she knew this Darth Prazutis was right.

"Your kin did not chain you. They defined you. Gave you shape. Meaning. Limitation. The Sith path demands you sever such foundations and stand willingly within the void that follows."

He was right. And she knew it to be so.

A long silence followed his words, ample time for what he had said to her thus far to truly take root. Skadi’s mind was already swirling with thoughts, considerations, weighing this moment against the familiarity of what she knew.

When Prazutis continued, it was to reveal to her that most who sought this “path” were looking for permission, and that was not something he would give. Instead he would offer truth. And whatever that truth looked like, she knew would undo her over and over again, break her down, reshape her.

Did she want that? Truly?

He seemed to almost sense her thoughts for his next statements laid it bare before her. "If you remain - you will not be taught how to become stronger. You will be shown every weakness within you and forced to confront it until either it dies…or you do."

Skadi swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling parched and dry. Her jaw worked, not to speak, but from the conflict that was rising up within her - the conflict of how she had been taught, and what she was now facing. She lifted her golden eyes back to the helm, still silent and still listening.

She was told that there was ‘no honor’ and ‘no glory’ or even the assurance of survival on this pathway - only a transformation. It made her wonder for a moment just what that transformation might look like for her, but she had nothing to call upon to know for certain.

"You claim you would burn. You claim willingness to become more than what you are."

The weight of the dark side beared down on her further; she felt the urge in her knees to buckle, to give way, but she defied it. Not the pull of it, but the weakness crack under the pressure. If she couldn’t survive that, then how would she survive anything thrown against her on this path…if she agreed to go down it?

Another pause followed, a stillness that carried weight. Finally, the Sith Lord asked the question of her - the one that would allow her to decide her fate. "Will you surrender the woman who stands before me…so that something else may rise in her place?"

Outside, the storm thundered, its sounds adding to the weight of the moment before her. It was almost as if the gods themselves were waiting to hear her answer, her response, and the Threads of her destiny, her fate, to be re-woven.

Skadi’s silence to the question was not hesitation - it was thoughtful and careful consideration. This was not something she knew she should just jump straight into. This was a life or death choice for her. But beyond that, it would also determine what sort of person she became at the end of all of this.

The Valkyri knew in her heart, however, that she had been guided here for a reason. She had been brought to the throne of the ruler of Dromund Kaas and had the identity that her Family, her kin, had placed upon her practically ripped away and laid out before her.

She could either turn away and stay the same…or she could press forward and become something that stood apart from her Family.

Finally, after a long pause, Skadi made her decision.

“Yes, I will.”

Her words fell, and the weight behind them descended like an executioner’s blade, cleaving through to separate who she was prior to entering this grand hall, and the young woman who stood before the Sith Lord now.

Now she just waited for his final decision on the matter, the judgement she knew was waiting in the shadows. But the Valkyri felt no fear. Instead, she just felt the dark siren call of destiny.
​

Darth Prazutis ​