Session export: Will of Shadows

Velira remained within the medical wing— a space that, since her arrival, had been brought into meticulous order. Every supply was labeled and filed with precision, every instrument cleaned and returned to its place. It stood in quiet contrast to the usual disarray of the Kraken, but it was a kind of order Velira preferred. She had even found ways to subtly make it her own. Along the walls, a few hand drawn prints had been carefully placed… intricate sketches, rendered by her own hand. Each one detailed the delicate intricacies of circulatory and muscular systems, mapped with clinical precision.

Velira had seldom left the medical wing in the past few days, save for the hours she spent in the Captain’s Quarters… or the quieter moments where she retreated to the ship’s parlor to play the organ. At other times, she sketched— pages that were now filled with charcoal studies, many of which were in the shape of the Captain herself. At the thought, a warm, unguarded smile found its way to her lips.

And yet, it was a smile that quickly faded, with the sudden intrusion that trudged into her office. A bulky Barabel stumbled through the doors, nearly knocking over her carefully organized jars of medical supplies in the process. Velira swept forward in an instant, and with practiced ease, guided him down to the medical table. He was no doubt drunk— his face bruised, shards of glass embedded along his arm. It didn’t take Velira long to piece it together. A fight in the ship’s recreation area, most likely… a poorly thrown punch, followed by a hard fall into a scatter of glass bottles.

The alcohol coursing through his system only made matters worse, thinning his blood and quickening the flow from the wound. Velira did not hesitate. She moved to sterilize it at once, the sharp sting drawing a series of yelps, howls, and slurred curses from the Barabel. Numbing agents had become scarce aboard the ship over the past few days, an unfortunate consequence of too many injuries born from drunken recklessness. Velira made a quiet mental note to address the shortage with Charoo later, even as her hands continued their careful, practiced work.

Using a pair of tweezers, she carefully began to pluck each shard of glass free from his arm, one by one with precision, placing them neatly onto a small cloth. And yet, there was something in the act itself that called to her… This quiet, methodical work of healing. Even now, alongside drunken pirates— It was a chance to give, rather than take.

She drew in a steady breath, and as she moved to extract the final shard of blood slick glass, her hand stilled. No… not stilled— It stopped. Frozen in mid motion, trembling as she tried to will it forward, to complete the task. To remove the last piece. And yet, it did not respond to her will. Her brows drew together, tension tightening across her features as she strained to try again. Nothing.

Her mind began to cloud. An image surged forward… Not a memory, but something far more present. A jagged throne of black and crimson stone ensnared itself into her thoughts, wreathed in shifting mist and shadow, beckoning. It coiled through her mind, drawing her inward.

Velira struck back. Her will sharpened into something precise, something cutting, enough to surge forward through the haze of it. It fell in a spike of control, to shatter through the vision. And with it— Control came rushing back. Her arm lurched forward, unrestrained and slammed hard into the table of supplies beside her, sending instruments and vials crashing to the ground in a scatter of glass and metal.

Velira’s breath returned in sharp, uneven gasps, her posture drawn tight in lingering tension. “Somethin’ wrong, Doc?” the Barabel drawled, blissfully unaware in his drunken haze. Velira offered no reply. She simply finished the task with quiet precision, extracting the final shard before binding the wound. Moments later, she dismissed him with a brief instruction to return to the crew’s quarters and rest, watching only long enough to ensure he staggered out without incident.

Faint shadows had begun to gather beneath her eyes from a lack of rest. Though she did not require sleep, it showed in other ways— the deeper tint to her irises, now a darker, more vivid red. This was not the first time. The vision had come the night before… and the one before that. Not the physical aspect, but the image itself… The throne. Burning through her mind with a clarity that felt far too present to be dismissed as memory. And yet, each time, Velira had forced herself to do just that… A memory. Nothing more. She had slipped quietly from bed to the washroom, splashing warm water against her face in the silence while Morgan slept… or, on other nights, she had done the opposite— held onto her lover more tightly, clinging to the warmth as a distraction, as something real to anchor herself against it.

The past few days beside Morgan had been something rare… perhaps the first time in her long life that Velira had felt truly alive. Happy. And now— this. She let out another uneven breath, her gaze drifting over the scattered mess of the room. It could wait.

“Perhaps… all I need is a drink…” Velira finally murmured to herself. She made no move toward the Captain’s office. Not yet…Not when Morgan was preparing for what lay ahead, with war looming on the horizon.

She slipped off her bloodied gloves, casting them aside without a second glance. The rest of her form fitting white bodysuit remained immaculate despite the mess around her. And then, at last, Velira left the medical wing.

She moved into the heart of the ship, toward the bar… A rare sight in itself. Velira seldom left the med bay during the day, and rarer still was the fact that she had never been seen drinking among the crew. Not outside the quiet privacy she shared with Morgan.

A few curious glances followed her as she took a seat, posture poised, her dark hair still drawn neatly into a bun— her pristine appearance standing in stark contrast to the rough, disheveled state of the crew around her. “I would very much like to acquire a glass of Dragostse whiskey…” Velira began slowly. “No… Make that two, please.”

Velira paused as the drinks were slid across the worn wooden counter, the glass catching the dim, amber and blue lights of the cantina. Her gaze lifted to Torve— a tall Pantoran woman she knew more by business than familiarity. Their interactions had always been with a sense of purpose aboard the ship, confined to the aftermath of brawls and broken bones, sorting through the causes behind each one with clinical precision. And yet, she had not once allowed herself to truly talk to the Crew, at least outside of matters of both business and duty.

For a moment… long by most standards, fleeting by hers, Velira simply considered. She let the Bosun’s question simmer in her mind. Turning it over, quietly weighing it within herself. And beneath that stillness, she already knew the truth— That this might very well be her last chance… To live, truly live, with freedom.

Her gaze drifted from Torve to the room beyond, the cantina alive in its usual disarray. Voices overlapped in hearty strings of careless laughter, glasses that clanked against one another, with an occasional gruff argument that sparked and died just as quickly. In her eyes, the crew had always seemed to lean into one another without pretense, without masks. There was something raw, even vulnerable in it. Something honest. And in its own way, to her, she viewed it with a sense of beauty.

Velira had spent her time aboard the Kraken delving deep into her work, and observing, when afforded the chance. In her own way, she had held onto the moments spent with Morgan— Without ever truly allowing herself to consider that they might one day end, not when they had only just begun. Until now. The thought settled, quiet and unyielding, drawn forth by the image of the throne etched into her mind.

Without hesitation, she reached for the first tankard and downed it in a single motion, the burn sharp as it traced its way down her throat, coiling through her chest. The second followed just as quickly, her movements smooth and unbroken, as she welcomed the heat. Velira let out a deep breath, setting both empty glasses down before her.

“Ah, Now that right there is the good stuff. I… require more,” Velira quickly stated to the Bartender. “And, I should very much like one for Torve over here, as well,” she added, the faintest ghost of a smile touching her lips— subtle, but unmistakable.

Turning back to the Pantoran, Velira’s gaze lingered with quiet intent. “I do suppose you could say… that I am indeed having a bad day, and that I am seeking to turn it into a good one,” Velira said slowly. Her eyes flicked briefly to the room again… to the laughter, the noise, the life of it. She glanced back to Torve, tilting her head to the side in consideration. “Perhaps, that is something you and the crew could… assist me with.”

More drinks were slid down the counter toward them, the wood worn smooth beneath their weight. Velira’s gaze followed the motion before lifting once more to the Pantoran, that same quiet curiosity lingering beneath her composure.

She paused, offering her one of the heavy glasses. “And perhaps, you could even tell me a tale… of how you arrived here upon this vessel… I am quite fond of stories, Torve.”

The warmth of the drinks settled through her, slow and steady, easing the tightness that had gathered in her shoulders. Velira grew quiet once more, her gaze fixed on the Bosun with a quiet, attentive curiosity. The mention of the Outer Rim lingered. For a brief moment, her thoughts drifted… to Silas and Elyna. She could only hope they were well, that they had found some way to endure, to feed, in whatever way they could. And yet, Silas fell into that category… Too stubborn to leave, a factor that was only intensified by his sentimental attachment to the place, and belief that it was where they were safest.

Her focus returned to Torve as she listened, a faint curl of a smile touching her lips at the notion of keeping others alive—something familiar to Velira. But it faded just as quickly at the mention of a Hutt. She had always known the ship had once belonged to one… There were remnants of it still, in the gaudy gold fixtures left behind.

Velira’s thoughts had shifted yet again, as she considered Torve’s words on Morgan, and the quiet respect carried in them. That alone spoke volumes. And yet, beyond the reputation, beyond the danger… Velira had grown to see something more. Morgan was deliberate. Precise. Nothing she did was without purpose, without intent. It was one of the many things Velira had come to admire… the certainty beneath the fire.

Velira looked back to the Pantoran, her gaze holding hers for a quiet moment. “Ah, I see…” she said softly. “It would seem that survival tends to leave its mark… in one way or another.” She lifted her glass in return with the faint clink of a toast, before she took a long sip, allowing the warmth of the liquor to settle through her senses. “You hold them together… even when they try to fall apart,” Velira continued, her tone thoughtful, “whereas I tend to the aftermath once they do.” A slight pause. “I can appreciate the discipline your role requires.”

Velira stilled at the question again, noting the shift in her tone, the curiosity beneath it. She did not fault it. If anything, she understood it. She took another measured sip before speaking, her voice quieter now. “My work has always… brought me a sense of purpose. There is something grounding in it.. the ability to mend, to restore, to make something whole again,” she began, her gaze lowering briefly.

“And I prefer the quiet of it… the stillness and focus it demands.” A faint pause followed, her eyes lifting once more. “Otherwise, I am sure I would have been here sooner.”

Velira lingered on the question, turning it over in her mind. She found she did not wish to lie to the woman, her crewmate, and yet neither did she intend to offer the whole truth. For a moment, her gaze drifted.

“Not to forget… but to still the mind before what follows,” Velira said at last, her voice quieter now. “To afford myself a moment of respite. I have… matters to discuss with the Captain, eventually, it would seem.” There was a subtle edge of something else beneath the words, softened further as the warmth of the drinks began to faintly loosen her composure.

“But for now… I wish to truly learn what it is that you all do for fun. Whether it be a drinking contest, gambling, dancing… Brawling,” At this, Velira finally let loose a soft laugh and shook her head to herself. “Teach me the ways of the crew, Torve.”

Through it all, between the games and the rising noise of the room, Velira lifted her hand with quiet elegance whenever her glass ran low— each gesture met, without fail, by someone eager to refill it. At some point, it all began to blur. The edges of the room softened, voices blending into a distant hum as her balance wavered. She swayed with each step… and more than once found herself leaning involuntarily into Torve’s broad form, to steady herself, before quickly pulling away.

Was this what it felt like… to truly let go? Velira could not recall a single moment in her long life where she had allowed herself such an indulgence. Her existence had always been defined by survival— movement, concealment, and evasion. Never ease… Until now. The Kraken, alongside Morgan, had given her something rare, something she had never quite known how to name, that came with a sense of belonging, in the closest thing she had ever come to calling a home.

And yet… It would not last. Velira knew that with a quiet certainty, that twisted deep within her. That whatever this was, this fleeting freedom… It was nearing its end, even though it had only just begun. The thought crept in through the haze of the drink, uninvited. And with it… something else began to stir.

That voice. It slipped into her thoughts again— easier this time, clawing past the frayed edges of her awareness, loosened by drink. “You have thrown in your lot with the likes of pirates… and not even with the intent to feed on such prized cattle? My, my, Velira… how far you have strayed. We shall seek to correct that.” Her crimson eyes widened, just for a moment, as Torve’s smiling face began to blur at the edges, receding into something distant and indistinct. The echoing sound of laughter followed… deep, sinister, wrong. The very sound of it tore through the space around her. No… not the room— Her mind.

“You may have three final nights, a courtesy we have extended far beyond reason… When they fade, we shall collect.” The deep, regal voice lingered, coiling through her thoughts in its familiarity.

Velira hadn’t realized she’d shattered the glass, hadn’t even registered the moment she hit the floor… until Torve’s steady hands closed around her, lifting her with effortless strength. If the Pantoran spoke, the words never reached her. They dissolved into the haze.

And yet, the woman’s question lingered—coiling through her thoughts alongside that darker voice. The Captain… Morgan. The thought of her brought a sense of warmth, of light, in a steady presence that flooded through Velira’s core. It burned through the haze, cutting clean through the intrusion, until for a moment… the darkness receded.

Velira drew in a slow, steady breath, clinging to those thoughts— those fleeting, fragile moments she had shared with Morgan… The two of them tangled in bedsheets holding one another close, the way Morgan’s voice shifted when she focused, the rare curve of her smile.

Her gaze lifted, drifting across the room—the crew, the life, the chaos… and beneath it all, the structure Morgan had carved out for herself, that she had built. Velira felt it then, a deep, quiet admiration… tempered by something far heavier. The thought of endangering any of it, of endangering her, fractured something deep within Velira, alongside thought of leaving, when their time together had only just begun.

Velira looked up at Torve slowly, at the question, in an attempt to distract herself. Somewhere, bleakly within her mind, the memory of the Code emerged. Her lips parted for a moment, as though about to speak— to reveal the true nature of their relationship, what it was she felt for the Captain… Only to stop. Velira held herself back, as hard as it was in her current state, keeping those words unspoken— holding onto what she and Morgan had within herself, while they still could.

The desire for one final night of freedom overtook her. “I have a much better idea…” she said slowly, as she climbed atop one of the tables, steadying herself with Torve’s large hand. Her hair had come fully undone, falling in a cascade of dark, untamed curls down her back. “Come now, all of you… drinks and all. The revelry continues in the parlor!” Velira’s voice carried clearly across the room.

Her command was met with a swell of cheer and laughter. Without another word, Velira turned and made her way toward the dark, familiar space of the parlor. It was a place of sharper elegance and finer furnishings that felt almost out of place amid the press of pirates, now spilling in behind her. Still, she moved with quiet certainty, taking her seat at the red ball jett organ, its gold fittings extending outward in a web of polished pipes along the walls. Her fingers found the keys with practiced precision. The first notes came slow—measured and somber, akin to a requiem. The shift in tone was immediate, drawing confused glances as the lively energy of the room faltered, reshaped by the weight of the sound. Velira leaned into it… Into the feeling. Her body swayed with the music, each note drawn from what she felt within.

And then, with a subtle flick of a switch, Velira shifted the entire mood. A steady beat surged to life— deep, pulsing, heavy with bass that reverberated through the room, through each of the pirates, through the very glasses in their hands. The change was immediate. Drinks were downed or set aside as bodies moved instinctively toward the center, the space transforming into a makeshift dance floor. Laughter rose again, louder now. Some fell into wild jigs, while others leapt atop tables, as the energy built, feeding on itself. Another flick of a switch, and the dim parlor erupted into motion as lights spun to life, scattering in a kaleidoscope of color that danced across the walls and the polished gold of the organ pipes in a glow.

She lost herself in the music.. in the rhythm, in the precise motion of her hands across the keys as she tossed her head back. The sound swelled, until the bass struck low and heavy, vibrating through the very bones of the Kraken. It carried far beyond the parlor, stretching into corridors, traveling through bulkheads and steel alike in a steady pulse.

The music swept through the narrow passageways— until even Morgan’s office could not escape it. The distant thunder of the beat echoed through the walls, accompanied by the rising chorus of laughter and cheers from the dance floor as Velira’s fingers flew across the keys.

Velira’s gaze held onto Morgan again as the shifting of the room blurred into the background, and for one long moment, there was only her. Warmth flooded through Velira… not just the lingering heat of the alcohol, but of something deeper. Her lips parted as though she might speak, as though she might finally give voice to everything she felt… But she didn’t. Instead, her lips curved into a quiet, genuine smile.

Velira swept forward like a shadow, her movements unsteady at first, until she reached Morgan. Strong, familiar arms caught her, drawing her in for a brief, fleeting moment. Just long enough for her to feel it and be held. Then, just as quickly, Morgan released her, the two of them slipping back into the motion of the room, while the crew’s attention remained elsewhere. Even through the haze, Velira knew better. As much as she wanted to, she did not lean in. Not here, beneath the eyes of the crew.

Instead, she took Morgan by the hand in invitation, and drew her into the revelry… Into the rhythm of sung shanties and the thunder of stomping feet, the bass pulsing through the floor beneath them. It was an offering, of the same chance to let go, if only for a bit.

The crew responded in kind. Some stepped aside for Morgan with practiced respect, clearing space without breaking the flow, while others watched their Captain with something deeper in their eyes… Gratitude.

Velira’s steps fell back into rhythm alongside Morgan’s this time, matching her movements, and that of the crew around them. Her mind did not drift back to the voice that haunted her, nor to the warning that lingered just beneath the surface. Not here. Not now. Instead, she gave herself over to the music, the laughter, the freedom— Knowing, deep down, that this might be her last chance to feel such a thing. And to feel it beside Morgan… The warmth returned to Velira, steady and undeniable.

She stayed close to her lover, accepting each drink that found its way into her hand with a relaxed, untethered smile. Until the room began to blur into laughter, into joy, in a shifting swirl of color and light. The ease of it all settled deeper within Velira, softening the edges, as the haze swept through her senses.

———

Somehow, she had slipped into a deep sleep— no doubt pulled under by the effects of the alcohol. When Velira stirred, she found herself wrapped in silk sheets, the warmth of Morgan’s form resting somewhere beside her. Sleep itself felt… strange. Unfamiliar. The slow drift into unconsciousness, the surrender of awareness… It ran counter to her nature, to her natural biorhythm, or at least to the ghost of one.

Her thoughts drifted in a blur of frayed fragments of memory slipping through her mind. A dark stone palace. The jagged throne looming before her, and the weight of everything that came with it. “Three days”, the deep voice coiled through her thoughts once more. “And should you choose not to honor your end of the bargain…”

At that, a sudden awareness flooded through her, one that was sharp, invasive, and unmistakably not her own. It coiled through Velira’s thoughts, forcing its way into every nerve, and through each muscle. Her body moved without her command, as she slowly sat upright. Her eyes snapped open— no longer their natural crimson, but that of a sickly, glowing green, void of pupils. Velira fought for control, mentally straining against the presence that had seized her, her will coiling inward as she struggled to reclaim herself.

Her hands lifted, outstretching towards Morgan… toward where she lay at rest, her back turned. Reaching to grasp for her throat. The thought came, sharp and sudden, in one that was not her own to wrap her fingers there and squeeze. To tighten and constrict… To feed.

Velira’s hands trembled, suspended in place, arms outstretched as the command pressed harder. Every part of herself strained against it, her will coiling inward with desperate force, as she fought to drive the presence out… to reclaim control over her own body, before it was too late.

“Three days. And not a moment longer,” The voice echoed once more through her thoughts, then sharply vanished, releasing its grip as abruptly as it had come.

Velira collapsed back against the bed, her arms falling limp at her sides as she drew in sharp, ragged breaths. The sickly green faded from her eyes, giving way once more to their natural crimson. She shifted away from Morgan, putting deliberate distance between them, her arms wrapping tightly around herself. “Nightmare… I had a nightmare,” Velira managed to unsteadily say at last.

It was the truth, in its own way… perhaps the closest thing to a nightmare she had ever known. One that had only worsened with each passing day, ever since that first whisper took root in her mind. And yet, a realization settled over her. She would have to tell someone… But not Morgan. This was not a burden Velira intended to place on her shoulders— not now, not when so much already rested there.

Her thoughts shifted instinctively, to a few members of the crew. Velira exhaled slowly as she gathered her loosened dark hair, fingers moving as she carefully drew it back into place. She slipped a long black nightgown over her shoulders, the fabric smooth against her skin, and began buttoning it with slow, deliberate motions.

Velira descended down the stairs slowly, the silk of her long black nightgown trailing behind her in a soft, whispering train. At last, she came to a stop beside the holotable, taking her place opposite Charoo. The blue light cast upward, bathing her in a cool, luminous glow. The hues caught against her pale skin and reflected in her crimson eyes, with faint hints of violet. She met Charoo’s gaze, lingering for a moment as though weighing something unspoken to herself.

“Perhaps… I am looking for an evening snack,” Velira said at last. The faintest trace of amusement touched her lips, subtle and fleeting. It was a quiet attempt at humor… or perhaps, the final effort to distract herself from what truly lurked within her mind.

And yet, it didn’t work. Her gaze dropped, if only for a moment, to her own pale hands—hands that had nearly closed around her lover’s throat, ready to steal the life from her, all beyond Velira’s carefully maintained control. She had felt the magick rip through her on its own accord, recognized it for what it was within her years of studies…possession. And yet, for once… it had been beyond her own control, in an unexpected turn that she had not foreseen.

Velira lowered slowly herself into a leather chair beyond the holo table and folded her hands in her lap. Her expression settled into a mask of calm composure, enough to conceal what churned beneath.

“I suppose I could say the same of you, Charoo. You have not slept yet, have you? That, and you were perhaps one of the few I did not see at the festivities earlier,” Velira remarked. There was a quiet note of curious respect in her tone. She understood it… the same diligence, the same devotion to duty she had always upheld in her work as a physician— both in her clinical practices, and in her scientific pursuits.

“Before we carry on with matters of business…” Velira began, her tone composed, almost measured despite what lay beneath the surface. Her crimson gaze settling on the Quartermaster with quiet intent.

“Tell me… Where is that stash of fine cigars I have seen you carry? I would very much like one.” There was a subtle shift in her posture as she spoke her request… An attempt to steady herself, before they continued.

Velira accepted the cigar and lit it in one smooth motion, the brief orange flare of the flame reflecting in the deep crimson of her eyes. She crossed one leg over the other, settling into the leather chair as she drew in a slow breath of smoke, exhaling it in a measured stream that curled into a ring before dissipating into the air.

For several long moments, Velira said nothing. She only inclined her head slightly to his words, allowing the silence to stretch between them, as she gathered herself. Another quiet exhale followed, the smoke drifting upward in thin, languid trails. At last, Velira extended a pale hand, tapping the ash from the cigar into the tray beside her with a soft, precise motion.

This time, Velira lifted her gaze to Charoo, something sharper settling into her expression as she drew in a steady breath. “Can I trust you?” she finally asked, her voice measured as she spoke. A brief pause followed before she continued, quieter now. “That this matter… will remain between us…”

Her expression shifted, just for a moment. A flicker of pain surfaced, unguarded and raw, before it was carefully smoothed away once more. Her lips curved into something polite and composed, as the flawless mask returned.

“And more than that, Charoo…” she continued, her voice softer now. “Can I trust that you will advise me honestly on what must be done, for the good of everyone…” A brief pause followed as Velira took a slow breath. “…Even if it is not an outcome Morgan would wish for?”

For a long moment, Charoo’s words lingered in her mind. The realization settled heavily within her that, whether she trusted him fully or not, there was little choice but to place some measure of faith in him now… If not trust, then necessity. Someone had to guide her toward the path that would do the least harm— for the crew, for everyone involved… and above all, for Morgan. And given Charoo’s line of work, she knew instinctively that he was the one suited for such a task.

At the mention of a home, a slow, rare smile touched her lips. It lingered there only faintly, yet was softened by something. “When I first stepped aboard this ship, in those early days… I did not know what to make of any of it,” Velira began quietly, drawing in a slow breath to herself. “The Kraken. This crew. It was unlike anything I had known in all my three hundred years… A future I could never have imagined for myself.”

Her crimson gaze drifted for a moment, distant with memory. “I was raised in a place of strict order, and control. A place where kindness was rarely given freely, and everyone carried ulterior motives beneath their etiquette and practiced smiles. My lifespan, however long it may be, had already been decided by my Father… An Emperor, among my people.”

Her expression darkened slightly at this notion. “But I did not wish to remain trapped. I forged… an agreement, to negotiate for such freedoms.” She exhaled softly at this, something close to regret hinting in her gaze.

“I owe a great debt, Charoo,” Velira said at last, her eyes lifting to meet his fully. “And in three days time, they will come to collect it.”At the mention, something cold settled across her pale features.

“My family… if such a word can truly be used for them.” Her voice lowered icily, edged with bitterness. “They will arrive with legions at their backs. They will tear this vessel apart… This ship, this home, piece by piece… Until nothing remains.”

For a moment, her gaze drifted somewhere far away, as though already seeing the practiced destruction beginning to unfold, as her family had crafted for centuries in their pursuits of the hunt. “Unless…” Velira said softly, in consideration, “I leave willingly to return to them, and repay the debt myself.”

Velira looked toward Charoo then, holding his gaze for a long moment before she spoke again. This time, the carefully maintained composure in her voice gave way, if only slightly, to something quieter and more vulnerable that she was unable to fully conceal.

“And so… I have come to you, seeking your counsel in this matter,” Velira finally stated, drawing in a measured breath. For the first time in centuries, she had something worth protecting, and Velira intended on holding to that. Her eyes lowered briefly, before returning to his. “I ask not for comfort, but honesty… What course of action would you propose, for the good of the crew… and for the ship?”

For a long moment after the question, Velira remained silent. If it had merely been a matter of credits, of something tangible and negotiable, it would have been far simpler. But this… The careful composure she wore so well effortlessly faltered, if only for a brief moment.

“Time,” Velira began. “The cost is time.” She closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a slow breath. “I was granted two centuries of freedom. Now, the debt must be repaid in equal measure… through servitude.”

Velira fell silent once more, choosing not to speak of what that servitude truly entailed. Of the palace walls she would not be permitted to leave. Of the likelihood of an arranged marriage, forged not from affection but obligation, in service to preserving the Morvane bloodline… A bloodline that, with each passing century, had only continued to fade.

What remained of her family had grown increasingly desperate with time, clinging tightly to tradition, legacy, and control as their numbers continued to thin. She knew that they had been faced with too many wars, and carried too much hunger turned inward upon itself. Even early on, Velira had always understood what she represented in their eyes— one of the last noble descendants still carrying the Force strongly enough to pass it on, to save the bloodline from extinction.

And yet… The Kraken, the crew, her home would be safe. Morgan would be safe. Finally, she let out a slow breath and opened her eyes, enough to meet Charoo’s gaze. “They will not relent, and will do whatever it takes to reach me. They do not sleep. They live for the hunt.”

She paused for a moment, her tone softening. Beneath the solemnness in her gaze, something gentler surfaced—something close to hope. Hope that somehow, the Kraken might endure the ravages of time. Even if Morgan did not. The very thought caused her breath to hitch faintly in her chest. And yet… at least Morgan’s life, however brief it might be in comparison to her own, would not be cut short by Velira’s family.

“I could… return,” she said quietly after a long pause. “In two hundred years. When I am free again.”

Velira hadn’t realized the flame of her cigar had gone out, not as each word of his rolled through her mind. Settling there. What Charoo had endured, alongside the countless wounds Morgan had carried throughout her life— the long, brutal path that had shaped her into the formidable woman Velira knew now. And that she loved her. It was something neither of them had ever truly spoken aloud, at least not in words. The feeling crashed over her like a wave, sweeping through her as though nothing else had in centuries… as finally, Velira could put a label to what it was she felt in return for the woman. Love.

Her gaze hardened, crimson eyes narrowing to razor thin slits. Velira would not allow herself to become prey, nor would she allow Morgan to set foot upon a world teeming with sentient beings who would hunger for her life essence— not because of her. No. The thought of her family laying hands upon Morgan, or upon the crew that had become her home, awoke something lethal within her.

And for the first time in centuries, Velira had something worth fighting for. Something worth living for. Not survival. Not hunger. Not another fleeting stay she would inevitably abandon. Running was no longer a viable option— Not when she had finally found something that was a home aboard the Kraken. The realization settled heavily within her chest, with warmth. Determination burned within her crimson gaze as she rose slowly from the chair. She would not place this burden upon Morgan. Not yet. In her eyes, the Captain already carried enough upon her shoulders, with the shadow of war looming ever closer.

Velira made her way into a small private chamber tucked deeper within the vessel, the door hissing shut behind her. With practiced ease, she slid away the fine layers of silk and lace, letting the elegant garments fall across the back of a chair. From an old storage locker built into the wall, she retrieved something far more suited to the Kraken.

Dark leather pants now clung closely to her form, disappearing into a pair of thigh high boots polished from years of wear aboard the ship decks. Over her torso she fastened a form fitting corset style vest of black leather, its rows of brass buttons and reinforced seams drawing around her waist and emphasizing the curves of her chest. Several weathered belts now settled low across her hips, from where she fastened them into place.

Last came the coat. Heavy black leather lined with deep crimson fabric fell from her shoulders, its long tails flaring behind her with each movement. Gold embellishments traced the cuffs, collar, and seams in ornate patterns faintly worn by time and travel. As Velira stepped back toward the door, little remained of the noblewoman she had appeared to be moments before.

Velira strode swiftly through the corridors of the ship, her coat flaring behind her as she followed the familiar path toward Bellamy’s quarters. The steady rhythm of her boots against the metal floor carried an unmistakable urgency. Reaching the door, she rapped her knuckles firmly against it, sharper than her usual measured composure would allow.

“I have… something that requires your attention,” Velira called through the door, her voice low but tense beneath its controlled calm. “Cheoogouna as well. I am requesting a meeting… as soon as possible.”

For several moments, there was only silence. Then came the muffled sound of serval movements, followed by a heavy thud and a low curse from the opposite side of the door. The panel hissed open to reveal Bellamy, now half awake and thoroughly confused, dark circles beneath his eyes as he squinted into the corridor light.

“What in the…” he muttered, rubbing at his face before blinking again, this time far more slowly. His gaze drifted downward, then stopped. Velira was not dressed in her usual immaculate formalwear, nor the pristine white medic uniform the crew had grown accustomed to. Instead, he noted the dark pirate attire that she now donned. Bellamy stared at her for a long beat before letting out a mildly surprised huff.

“Well… that’s new.” His brow furrowed faintly, though a faint gleam of amusement shone in his tired gaze. “And for the record, Doc, it’s generally considered a bad idea to wake a sleeping Wookiee.” And yet, whatever further complaint he had intended to make faded the moment he registered the tension wrought beneath Velira’s posture. Bellamy straightened, nodding his head slowly with a sense of understanding.

“…Alright,” he said at last to her. “Lead the way.” Together, the two began to make their way deeper into the winding passages of the Kraken, until they reached the heavy steel doors of Cheoogouna’s quarters. Velira stepped forwards, knocking firmly.

In reaction, a thunderous roar suddenly exploded from the opposite side of the door. Another soon followed after it… louder, sharper, and distinctly irritated. Bellamy grimaced, shifting towards where Velira stood with a small smirk as he crossed his arms. “Told ya.”

Heavy footsteps shook the floor beyond the door, before it finally slid open with a metallic hiss. Cheoogouna stood framed in the doorway, massive even by Wookiee standards. Her brown fur was disheveled from sleep, broad shoulders nearly filling the entire entrance as another low growl rumbled from deep within her chest. Visibly groggy and irritated, she towered over both of them from where she hovered. Slowly, her gaze lowered, and landed directly on Velira. More specifically… Velira dressed in pirate attire.

The shift within the Wookie was immediate. Cheoogouna’s growls of annoyance abruptly ceased, replaced by a curious rumble, before something of delight entered the massive Wookiee’s expression. Without warning, she reached forward with her enormous arms, only to lift Velira directly off the floor and pull her into a crushing embrace. A series of enthusiastic Shyriiwook roars followed the sudden motion. For a moment, Velira visibly stiffened in surprise, instinctively tensing as her boots dangled several inches above the ground. It took her a brief second to even process what was happening before gradually, she lifted a slow hand to gently pat the Wookiee’s shoulder in return.

“… Why yes, hello to you as well, Cheoogouna,” Velira managed faintly with the smallest of smiles. “I… kindly request to be at ground level, once again.” Satisfied, Cheoogouna carefully set her back down after a long moment. Velira paused to readjust the front of her coat, smoothing the fabric back into place. Though she could not speak Shyriiwook herself, Velira pointedly looked toward Bellamy, then back to Cheoogouna, gesturing them both to follow her.

The three moved through the dim corridors of the Kraken together until they reached a meeting chamber, where holographic maps illuminated the darkened room in hues of blue and crimson. One displayed the Kraken drifting through space alongside the nearby trade routes and debris fields, while another projected a detailed tactical grid across the central holotable, with a miniature model of the Kraken that rotated slowly at the center. To the far right of the display, swirled the unstable mass of a nearby maelstrom… dangerous, but distanced enough for now.

Red light from passing stars bled through the viewports, alongside the occasional slash of white lightning from somewhere deep within the storm beyond. Velira stepped toward the holotable, placing her hands on either side of it. “In three days time, my people… the Anzati, will attack. They are… after me.”

Her crimson eyes lifted toward Bellamy and Cheoogouna, looking between them. “I have already conferred with Charoo on the matter. And I have no intention of leaving this ship… nor allowing anyone to set foot upon my homeworld on my account.” A slight pause followed Velira’s statement. “Therefore, I wish for our defenses to be… prepared.”

She carefully withdrew a sketchbook from within the pocket of her coat, and opened it across the table. The first page displayed several detailed charcoal renderings of Anzati in their truest forms… elongated clawed nails, probosces unfurled and poised to attack their prey, with bodies twisted into predatory postures, as they moved together in a pack. Velira let the book hover in midair towards Cheoogouna, allowing the Wookiee a clear view of what they would soon face. With her other hand, she then reached toward the holographic model itself. Velira repositioned several smaller ship markers into a hexagonal formation, around the model of the Kraken.

“The Anzati are patient hunters,” Velira explained, turning slightly toward Bellamy. “They will not rush blindly into battle, and they rely heavily upon cloaking technology with prolonged observation. They will wait… until the precise moment they determine the Kraken is most vulnerable, before committing to a full assault.” With another motion of her hand, several holographic ship silhouettes appeared around the display. “Their preferred vessels of choice have traditionally been modified Star Couriers, TIE Phantoms… and, on occasion, a Harrower Class Dreadnought.”

Another flash of pale lightning suddenly illuminated the room through the windows. Velira’s gaze drifted briefly toward the darkness beyond the glass, as she lightly tapped her nails against the table. “I believe they are already nearby…” she said quietly. “Tracking us… Waiting…”

Her words settled into the room, as she turned another page within the sketchbook telekinetically from where she stood. This time, the various illustrations now depicted Anzati emerging from streaks of shadows to ambush their prey. Beside them, were figures wielding Nightsister magicks… ritual circles and inscriptions etched with dark green ink, while others stood alongside massive Krykna and Chirodactyls. Velira angled the page toward Cheoogouna once more. “These are some of the methods in which they are trained… ” She began to explain.

Another page turned, with a few more final sketches scrawled, ones of feral Anzati etched into blended charcoal. Their depicted bodies twisted into brutish forms of muscle, with sharpened teeth and elongated claws. Velira slowly gazed up, looking between her two Crewmates.

“And these…” she said evenly, her gaze lingering upon the sketches of the feral creatures, “…are what remain when hunger overtakes discipline entirely.” Velira’s expression darkened slightly. “They hunt in packs… hiveminds, even.” A faint pause followed her words. “My father… Emperor Viktor Morvane and his associates, often use them as thralls during assaults… Ones that are mindless, and obedient to his will.“

Velira listened intently, her arms crossed tightly as the pale features of her face settled into a mask of concentration. Her mind moved rapidly through the ship’s defenses as they were provided, considering how the Kraken might fare against her people. With enough preparation, and with enough assistance, she believed they stood a chance. And yet, beneath all of the careful analysis, Velira could not fully rid herself of the lingering truth that this was her doing.

She turned towards Bellamy at the question. It was… reasonable. And one that carried more than a single answer alone— One of those answers being that, until only moments ago, Velira had very seriously considered leaving the ship altogether. And the thought of having had to tell Morgan something like that… It was a possibility even Velira herself had not known how to grapple with, let alone put into words.

And yet, there was still more to it than that. For a moment, her expression softened. “With the war looming, and all that has come with it… the planning, the sleepless nights the Captain has already endured…” Velira began with a slow sigh. “I did not wish to burden her with yet another problem to resolve…” Her crimson gaze lowered briefly toward the holographic map, before lifting once more. “But now, seeing as we have established some form of accord regarding how this matter shall be handled, strategically speaking… I shall inform her.”

Velira regarded the two of them for a moment longer, quietly weighing whether or not to reveal the matter of her… possession. But just as quickly, she decided against it. That, however, was one thing she intended to tell Morgan herself.

“I thank you both for taking the time to meet with me, to discuss this matter,” Velira said quietly.

She turned then toward Cheoogouna, the sketchbook floating in her direction. “You may keep this…” The book landed gently within the Wookiee’s massive hands following her words. It was not the only sketchbook Velira possessed, but it was the one most heavily filled with studies of her kind— detailed renderings of Anzati anatomy and hunting behaviors, all meticulously drawn in charcoal and ink from her years of study. As the meeting gradually came to its conclusion and the others began to depart, Velira lingered for only a brief moment longer before finally turning herself.

She made her way back toward Morgan’s quarters, pausing briefly along the way to prepare a fresh mug of caf, the rich aroma curling softly through the quiet halls of the ship. It was nearly morning… Or at least, whatever passed for morning aboard a vessel adrift in the dark of space. Velira stepped inside the familiar chambers, leather boots quietly thudding against the floor as she moved to sit at the edge of the bed, setting the mug of caf on the table beside the Captain. Her red gaze swept over Morgan, still asleep, and for a moment a warm smile came to her lips. She reached out, gently running her hand down along the woman’s muscled back over the intricate array of tattoos, and through the soft strands of her black and white hair.

“Time to wake up…” Velira whispered softly. She sat back slightly afterward, though the warmth of her smile slowly faded, replaced by something more serious. “I… need to speak with you, Morgan,” she began carefully, straightening where she sat. One leg crossed over the other as her hands folded neatly within her lap, composed despite the tension. “I owe a debt to my family. One measured in… time. Two hundred years, to be exact.” Her gaze lowered briefly. “And in three days, they will come to collect.”

Beyond the windows, crimson flashes of lightning streaked across the darkness, briefly illuminating the room in flares of red. “I have already informed the crew… And made preparations with them. ” Velira continued quietly. Finally, she drew in a slow breath. “But there is more—”

And yet, the words refused to come. Her throat tightened as the familiar presence began to press once more against the edges of her mind, coiling inward in an attempt to seek purchase. Velira’s hands curled tightly into fists within her lap, her composure straining for the briefest moment, as she forced herself to steady. She steeled herself again, shoving the invasive presence away, until it faded into the background.

The lights suddenly began to dim. Slowly, a shadow passed over the window of the Captain’s quarters— One that did not belong to a ship. The room darkened as something immense drifted silently beyond the glass, blotting out the distant stars and streaks of crimson. For one long moment, only shadows lingered outside the viewport. There came the sudden flash of lightning, splitting from somewhere beyond the window, highlighting the shape.

A massive eye stared inward through the glass. Its pupil was stretched into a narrow slit surrounded by sickly glowing green, while black veins spread across the surface of the eye. Its colossal body followed, emerging piece by piece through the crimson flashes outside. Jagged obsidian scales drifted past the window, as the creature slithered along the ship.

A Duinuogwuin… Runes had been carved directly into the creature’s thick hide, glowing beneath the twisted layers of scar tissue. Between them, pulsed streams of green Nightsister ichor, moving in sharp veins of unnatural life beneath the beast’s scales. The beast’s movements were wrong. They were not the graceful drifting of an ancient leviathan, but something strained and unnatural— Each motion through its serpentine form came with slight jerks through its massive musculature, as the creature suddenly seized.

Its enormous body tensed outside the viewport. The glowing runes carved into its flesh flared brighter, spreading in pulsing veins across its scales as the green ichor beneath them surged through its body. The Duinuogwuin’s jaws slowly opened, as a pained roar echoed out. Even through the vacuum of space, the sound was enough to thunder through the Kraken itself. Its colossal claws slowly unfurled beneath the crimson flashes of lightning, extending towards the hull of the ship, in preparation to strike.