Rabanast, Burmessia Kiast β, Kiast System, Nilgaard Sector
The piercing ice blue of the holoprojection was the only real source of light in the room. A small portable cylinder, it had been set in the middle of the room, and was the only item of real consequence left save for a mouldering sofa in the corner. The apartments had been flagged for demolition later that month, and anything of real worth had long since been stripped away. That had made it ideal as a rendezvous location. Or even just try to make sense of the world.
The projected words detailing the encounter scrolled past, their illuminated letters rolling over the face of the room’s occupant as she scrolled through the information. Sirra Werd'la looked over the details present in the report again and again, trying to make sense of anything in it. Even after accepting the mission offered by Mihoshi Keibatsu, learning of the killer’s identity, and a several hour covert flight from Kiast, little of it made sense.
Even before she had been adopted into his family, Sirra had accepted Celevon Werd'a was a killer. Like most Mandalorians he had more blood on his hand than some entire military garrisons. And yet there had always been a reason for such bloodshed and violence. Even in his darkest days as an assassin, he couldn’t recall him ever simply killing another person on a whim. Especially one of such power.
Sirra only paused as the room’s other occupant stirred. Mungo, the large Narglatch, raised his massive head. Sniffing the air he stared at the open door, a low growl rising in his throat. Sirra was reaching for the rifle next to her before sensing the thoughts of the approaching figure. Easing back and sending a telepathic pulse for Mungo to calm down, Sirra waited as a pale figure materialised within the doorway.
“Miho sent you as well?” Sirra asked, not entirely at ease with the new arrival.
When it came to matters within Clan Odan-Urr, Velira wore the mask of a medic—harmless, compassionate, and silent enough in her work to pass beneath notice. But a mission like this left no room for masks. The Anzati predator lurking beneath the guise of a healer stirred, coiling in the recesses of her mind, eager for release.
Despite the fact that Velira had sworn an oath never to feed upon the sea of memory from those within the Clan, the situation at hand regarding Celevon provided quite the interesting loophole. If it meant being able to extract information from Celevon, then in this rare opportunity, her feeding would serve a purpose. A slow, knowing smile curved across her lips, cold and deliberate, though her gaze remained void of warmth.
The chamber’s light was low, bathed only in the icy fluorescence of a dim holoprojection. From the corner, she emerged– The silhouette of an elegant female figure, wrapped in a flowing cloak of pure black silk that whispered against the stone floor. The hood cast a shadow over the strikingly pale features of her face, except for the curve of her full red lips and the unmistakable gleam of her predatory crimson hued eyes. Her gaze locked on the other figure in the center of the room upon the greeting, curiously surveying them from where she stood in the darkness, making careful note of the rifle.
“Ah… yes. Miho,” The name slipped from Velira’s lips slowly, her voice a low, velvety purr that seemed to breathe from the shadows themselves. She spoke quietly, each word a silken whisper, weighed down by the centuries of Velira’s extended lifespan. “Miho seeks the truth… As do I. And that is something that I intend to deliver to her… Through any means necessary. Pleasure to make your acquaintance… I presume you must be Sirra.”
Sirra nodded slightly, unease rapidly giving way to an adrenaline surge preparing to fight.
All Sirra had known from Miho was it had been someone new to the clan, and initially that had been enough. She had been around killers for as long as she could remember, and even the Jedi for years now. But Velira? Something about her screamed to run or fight. It was something beyond a simple capacity and desire for bloodshed. It resonated within the Force itself, like a high pitch ringing which made Sirra want to pick up her rifle and keep firing at the newcomer until its bolt magazine ran dry. It took several long moments to force down the desire entirely and put herself at ease.
“Likewise,” Sirra said, speaking the words rather than broadcasting them. Even with her contempt of physical languages, it was a more appetising choice than linking to whatever mind lurked behind those arterial red eyes. “Assuming you are up to speed on events, Celevon’s stupidity or insanity has dragged us to the brink of war. I’ve identified several potential locations for us to investigate for reasons.”
Stepping to one side, and keeping the holoprojector between herself and Velira, Sirra tapped out a short command sequence on its keypad. The scrolling sequence of information blinked away, and was replaced by a map of key locations throughout the city. Dots of scarlet broke out across the azure blue projection as she spoke.
“Two of these sites are where we believe he landed and prepared. Another is the site of the killing itself. The last is where we believe the authorities are gathering details for their own investigations.” Sirra let the words hang in the air before she continued. “We won’t have time for all of them, but this one,” she indicated the site Celevon had likely prepared for his attack, “hasn’t been stumbled upon by the investigators yet.”
“This Celevon… are you certain his choices were mistakes?” Velira’s gaze lingered on the scarlet points across the projection, her words measured, almost surgical in nature with the underlying accusation of her statement. “I’ve seen plans dressed as blunders before—missteps that draw the eye away from where the real work is being done. Sometimes… chaos is just a curtain for something far more deliberate….”
Velira paused to listen to Sirra within an analytical nature, hands folded loosely behind her back in a refined posture. She stepped closer to the holomap, her gaze honing in on the area of interest. Extending a pale hand, her talon-like nails hovered just over the blue light of the projection, tracing over the perimeter of the marked location.
“Preparation sites are where the real story begins,” she murmured, her voice carrying the smooth cadence of a hunter that had followed such paths before. “People leave far more of themselves in such places than they realize, especially if they aren’t careful, or if their judgment is clouded…”
Her sharpened crimson gaze flicked back towards Sirra, a faint smile curving across her red lips. “If the investigators haven’t touched it yet as you say, then we have an advantage… Access to the details that remain undisturbed, the kind that vanish once too many boots pass through… Perhaps there, we shall uncover Celevon’s purpose.”
The faintest glint of something darker lingered in Velira’s gaze as she weighed their options. Though the hunger was always there, she had long since learned to keep it under careful control—even more so now, with Sirra standing across from her. “If more details are needed,” she said evenly, “I’ll see to it we have them… one way or another.”
She began to move forward, her black cloak trailing in a slow, fluid sweep behind her. Pausing mid-stride, Velira glanced back over her shoulder, meeting Sirra’s eyes with a calm, unblinking intensity. “Lead the way,” she murmured. “Let’s see what this place has to offer us…”
“Fine with me,” Sirra nodded, watching Velira as she slung her rifle over one shoulder. Everyone had their tells, and Sirra had the distinct feeling the pale newcomer had been waiting to see if Sirra would insist upon going second. “Oh, and don’t worry about him, he’ll follow behind us. He’s used to keeping out of sight.”
The floor creaked under a sudden strain as Mungo stood up, stretching and flattening his head quills before looking between the two with a pair of eyes the colour of a dying glowrod. Felines were far from an uncommon sight in the city, but few weighed 1100 pounds and had a bite which could rip off a speeder’s door.
“But before we leave - two things,” Sirra said. She was already regretting her decision to speak rather than broadcast thoughts. Verbally trying to express emotions through crude vocal meanings and having to wait for one another to finish before answering? It was crude and ill formed, bereft of the immediacy or grace she was used to. “First off - I have known Celevon for a long time. You’re right, he’s not stupid and he’s subtle when he wants to be. But if he’d wanted to botch a kill, he would still try to cover his tracks, if only to prevent them becoming suspicious.
Second - No killing until we have to. And if we do have to kill someone, hide the bodies.”
She made an effort to emulate some of the bluntness she had seen others use, particularly those accustomed to power. It was a rare moment to have to issue orders in these missions, and a rarer opportunity for her to leverage any physical superiority over someone else. For all her grace, Velira lacked Sirra’s greater musculature. Not that it made her any less dangerous.
Sirra switched off the holoprojector and plunged the room into darkness once more; her matte black armour and Velira’s sable silken attire reducing them to merely two more shadows in the broken room. A few silent foosteps later and they were both gone.
Velira moved smoothly behind Sirra, clinging close to the shadows, each silken step carefully placed in silence as they carved a path towards their destination. Sirra’s orders still lingered—No killing until we have to. Velira’s lips curved ever so slightly at that. “You won’t have to worry,” she murmured in reassurance, her voice a soft thread of velvet, each word spoken in a gentle tone. “When I hide a body… no one ever finds it.”
She didn’t need to glance at the massive narglatch padding somewhere behind them to remain aware of the creature; the faint shift of weight, the subtle displacement of air, all spoke to its size and combative potential. Sirra’s beast was not hers to command, and with that in mind, Velira carried a sense of awareness. She also marked, with a predator’s instinct, Sirra’s apparent connection to Celevon—a tie Velira had not anticipated, and one she hoped would not cloud the edge of an interrogation, if the moment came.
A faint, metallic clicking broke the stillness as a spindly shadow detached from her hip—a spider-like droid that suddenly dropped to the ground from the inky shadow of her cloak, unfurling its long limbs in a series of motions, joints rotating with deliberate slowness before snapping into place. Its carapace was matte black and irregular, almost as though grown rather than built, its photoreceptors glinting red in fractured, insectile clusters. It clung to the wall for a moment, tilting its “head” as if understanding the task at hand, before darting away in silence, moving in jagged bursts.
The feed came back in moments later to Velira’s datapad: one lone investigator that hadn’t been accounted for, standing in their path, scanning the dark with an orderly stiffness that reeked of self-importance. Behind him, the building loomed—a mere shadow of what it must have been, many years ago. It sat nestled between a rundown speeder repair bay and a dimly lit caf-house, its duracrete facade dulled by years of wind-scoured grit. The streetlights overhead flickered intermittently, leaving behind stretches of shadows for them to prowl within. Narrow transparisteel windows were reinforced with latticework that might have been decorative once, but now only hinted at the secrecy of what remained inside behind locked doors.
As they made their way down one of Burmessia’s many winding streets and approached the building, Velira cast a glance towards Sirra through focused crimson eyes, silently communicating her intent. She advanced forwards, moving swiftly through the shadows, pausing only a few feet before where the man stood in silence.
She let the Force seep out from her like tendrils of cold smoke, coiling around the man’s mind with a heavy aura of foreboding. You are not supposed to be here. The thought slid into his awareness with a strong sense of dread. They’re watching you. You’re trespassing. Any moment now, they’ll come for you. His eyes darted. His breath shortened. Velira pressed harder through the weight of terror, feeding his fear with visions of reprimand and disgrace until his composure broke. Shoulders hunched, morale dissipated, and he retreated swiftly down the street without a single backward glance.
Velira summoned the droid back with a slow, curling gesture, its spindly limbs stuttering towards where they stood. Her gaze slid to the locked, reinforced steel door that rose before them. A flick of her fingers through the air sent the locks’s tumblers slowly clicking into place, the latch surrendering without a sound. She pushed it open just enough for the two of them to slip inside, gesturing with the wave of her hand invitingly, as her crimson gaze met Sirra’s.
“‘And now,” she murmured, her voice laced with the premise of discovery, “the true hunt begins…”
Sirra said nothing, biting back a hostile telepathic retort. Each of them clearly had a very different definition of “hunt” in their lives, especially when it came to searching for information. Having already uncoiled her own senses and reaching out through the Force, Sirra felt the animalistic panic of the lone sentry pulling away. In the building beyond there was nothing. Only the base instincts of a few mammalian scavengers echoed in her mind, each concerned with protecting their fist-sized nests they had eaten into the walls.
Pausing only to give Velira a look of deep irritation, Sirra pressed forward, one hand on the hilt of the narrow blade at their waist. What awaited beyond them was a ruin eaten away as much by the elements as by time. A skeleton with only the barest strings of meat left on the bones, the reinforced structure could be made out again and again, poking through the crumbling walls. The floor did not so much creak as sink as they moved forward, the consistency of the metal floor somehow reminding Sirra of sponge as they moved over it. Sickly beams of light pockmarked the blackened interior, granting the two a dim visage of the collapsing ruin.
The two continued, heading between disused rooms bolted and locked before finally finding a place with a door out of place. A thin holographic marker indicating police activity and a dinner-plate sized advanced lock bolting it in place. Sliding one of the three security blades at her disposal free from her belt, Sirra swiped it through the electronic tag scanner. A moment later, the near-inaudible hum of magnetics died away, and the door slid back.
“That might have had a silent alarm,” Sirra admitted, quickly scanning the interior for proximity sensor equipment. “I suggest we make this fast and then move onto the next location. Take nothing but holophotos, leave nothing but footprints, if anything.”
Velira’s lips curved in the faintest echo of a smile at Sirra’s glance, a quiet acknowledgment of a look she had seen in countless variations over the centuries. She had long since grown accustomed to the way others regarded her, abandoning any real effort to change their perception—save for those moments when she deliberately assumed the persona of a medic. Without a word, she let any flicker of emotion tied to the moment dissolve into silence and moved forwards.
She found herself in momentary contemplation at the sight of the skeletal remains—a stark reminder of something that should have claimed her centuries ago, yet never came: death. Such was the nature of an Anzat, condemned to immortality and hunger. And still, Velira harbored a fragile hope for something beyond it, that she had not yet found.
The ruin of the space felt hollow in a way that went beyond its physical decay. The interior had likely been decrepit long before Celevon ever selected it as a rendezvous—walls pitted with corrosion, metal supports bleeding rust into the floor. Yet even in such disrepair, there should have been some sign of recent presence. Instead, the place was stripped bare of anything personal: no discarded tools, no stray fibers of fabric, no misplaced debris. Every surface, every shadow, spoke to what Sirra had said before—Celevon was skilled at covering his tracks.
Velira’s steps made no sound, her presence a ripple barely distinguishable from the stagnant air. Calling upon the Force, she inverted herself in order to leave no trace upon the scene, feet finding purchase on the ceiling as though it were solid ground. Even her black silken cloak obeyed the manipulation of gravity, hanging obediently toward her body rather than betraying her inverted stance.
Below her, the spider droid lightly skittered forward in precise sweeps, its ocular array and sensors humming softly as they scanned for anomalies. A faint ping ebbed through her comlink as the droid sent a transmission—a secondary signal that had been discovered, resonant with that of a small lock. She followed the invisible trail with the poise of a predator following the faintest scent, weaving between the shadows fractured beams along the ceiling, leaping down to perch herself atop one in a smooth motion.
There, half-hidden beneath debris, was an object out of place. Her sharpened Anzat eyesight caught the faint texture of a cover—a journal, its edges curled but otherwise untouched, as though it had been deliberately hidden rather than forgotten. A metal lock sealed the book of interest, faintly resonating with the signal her droid had traced—possibly tied to the same security systems Sirra had already dismantled elsewhere in the building. Velira was able to recognize the unique seal on the cover of the journal, one that belonged to a family of nobility. She hadn’t planned to take anything, yet she couldn’t deny the pull of this discovery—and perhaps it was best that whatever secrets it held ended up in their hands, rather than someone else’s.
Extending a hand, she drew upon the Force, lifting the journal with the care of a surgeon drawing a needle from flesh, carefully letting the debris settle back into their original placement with a sense of precision.The book floated in midair, hovering towards Sirra.
“A gift from this Celevon perhaps, or a carefully hidden trinket..?” She began to muse. “In any case, I trust you’ll be able to dispatch the lock on it, as you did for the other security measures of this place. I am not entirely well versed yet with all the technology of this modern age.”
Velira dropped soundlessly from the ceiling, her cloak spilling around her like liquid shadow as she landed beside Sirra. “Time is of the essence, yes? Perhaps we shall now consider venturing to our next location…”
Sirra quirked an eyebrow, overlooking Velira’s comment of technological illiteracy for the time being but making a note to examine it later. Taking the journal from where it floated in the air, but rather than drawing another security blade Sirra tugged free one armoured glove and placed it in her pocket. As useful as the Kiffar’s gift could be in most environments, it left a nasty habit of plastering fingerprints in every corner. With an item they were intending to pilfer, it wasn’t so much of a concern.
Sirra placed two fingers onto the item and the cold preparation of readying for a kill. Distanced and dispassionate, not thinking of the man’s life or who he might have been. Only what he had been party to. A necessity to avert the river of fate taking a new path. The gun will work for this, a single shot which will keep his distance, leaving him enough time to depart. Enough time to prepare the leads. Damn it all, he needs to get this all down, he needs to enter it in the journal clicked open. Only half aware of the room in her semi-trance as she delved through the memories imprinted upon the item, her free hand had been copying his memories of the lock. Disguised as an archaic design requiring a metal key, the device had unfolded like the petals of a flower in her hand and refolded in a new sequence. The journal snapped open, its cover parting in the same second it disarmed several micro-explosives woven into the aged nerf leather.
“He did note something in here,” Sirra said curtly, skimming over more private details from past years. “I’m not sure how much we will get but…”
Sirra paused on the last page. The scribbles in Mando'a over the curling yellowed parchment were hastily written, with an unsteady scrawl which was uncommon for him. “The clan needs to know. I need to ensure they make the choice for themselves and I am in the right place to guide them. On my head be this action. The guilt of Rabanast must not be so easily hidden this time.”
Sirra looked over the words several times and then tossed the book over to Velira.
“He sounds mad, but he was calm when he wrote that. Coherent and driven. I’ve been in the thoughts of madmen before, there were none of the usual telltale markings of a broken mind.”
Velira’s gaze lingered curiously on Sirra for a moment, faintly impressed at the deft precision with which the journal’s lock had been undone. “Efficient,” she murmured, the word low and tinged with intrigue. She stooped over the pages as they were tossed her way, studying the scrawl of writing with eyes that narrowed ever so slightly in focus.
“No… these are not the frayed edges of madness,” she agreed after inspecting the text, her voice quiet, almost contemplative. A darker shadow crossed her expression, in the depths of her crimson gaze. “I have… seen those particular fractures of the mind before. Created them, even.” There was a flicker of regret that laced her words, but it vanished in the next breath, pushed indifferently aside for the sake of concentration. Her tone hardened as she tapped the page with a single finger, “This speaks of intent. Purpose…”
The faint scuttle of mechanical limbs came from the spider-like droid as it prowled the room in pursuit. A moment later, it crept out from beneath a warped floorboard, tiny red eyes glinting, casting dimmed specks of crimson light in the dark space. As the droid quickly reappeared, its legs moved in a rapid blur of motion as it diligently crept forwards, dropping a trinket at the foot of her cloak. Velira stooped, lifting the silver amulet in a delicate grip. Shaped like a python forged into an intricate winding shape, its surface caught the light with a gleam, the letters SW carved along its back. She tilted it, unable to help but be pleased at the sinister artistry of the python amulet, with various Sith elements in its design.
Her gaze flicked toward Sirra, recalling earlier threads of conversation. “Does this mean anything?” she asked smoothly, turning the amulet between her fingers. “I wonder if Celevon intended for this to be found… If he meant this for you…”
The droid clicked softly, instinctively flicking its red vision receptors to the necklace once more, as if confirming that there was still more to uncover. Lifting it toward her datapad, she scrutinized its twisted form with renewed focus, measuring the object against a map she had devoted time to carefully study prior to the mission. The defined coils of the python, she realized, mirrored the contour of a narrow alleyway on the outskirts of the city—an almost flawless overlay. Offering the amulet to Sirra, her lips curved faintly as she gazed at the map. “Curious… Perhaps, this is where we will find Celevon?”
Before more could be said, the narglatch’s ears suddenly pinned back flat. Instinctively, she stashed her datapad away and shifted her senses to their surroundings. Velira felt it—the brush of several presences, steady but unrefined, drifting closer. Life essence, warm and tangible, brushed against the edges of her perception, stirring the ancient hunger that always faintly lurked at her core. For a fleeting instant, the predatorial instincts in her yearned to feed, to draw out the vitality and silence the approach. Yet with years of discipline—and not without mild discomfort—Velira kept that side of her restrained under a measured sense of control.
Instead, she glanced toward Sirra, voice level, yet carrying a subtle weight. “We won’t be alone for much longer.” Her sharpened gaze swept the chamber, tracing the lines of the walls and floor until she caught sight of a fissure in the corner where stone gave way to rusted metal. With a deliberate pace, she crossed the room, her fingers searching along the edge until she found a recessed latch. She pulled, revealing a hidden stairwell, its steps descending into darkness with a gust of stale air.
Velira stood by the opening, one hand on the iron frame, as she held the passage wide enough for Sirra and the narglatch to slip through. With a subtle flick of her wrist, the hatch sealed itself, metal groaning low but muted under the weight of her careful control. She wove her will into the durasteel door, telekinetically turning its inner workings until it held fast—quiet, secure, and final. Only then did she descend into the shadows, joining Sirra as the tunnel stretched ahead before them, a concealed path that curved towards the streets above.
There had been a moment of nostalgia for Sirra as they had searched the building and descended not the lightless passageway. Although a pale emulation of the durasteel jungle which had been Nar Shaddaa’s undercity, it had been enough to recall thoughts of that old terrifying rotting catacomb. As much out of common sense as old instinct, Sirra had opened up her mind and stretched her senses outward, feeling about them for anything moving. She avoided any telepathic contact with Velira, even as the hunter joined behind Sirra and she could feel her red eyes peering into the back of her head. Instead she focused upon the building they had abandoned.
Three minds were approaching. As Sirra touched each of them details solidified within their psyches. They were tired, overworked, and sent simply to prepare the site for a proper examination team. Two were already half gone, pulled from other cases an barely standing. The thoughts of the last were tinged with anger, feeling his placement had been the result of a drugs examination gone wrong. The door, having swung shut and the lock clicked into place after Sirra had briefly opened it, was causing them issues. Their leader was swiftly berating the older of the remaining two, citing why no one had told them of the device.
“We’re safe,” Sirra whispered as they crept along the tunnel. “They’re struggling to even access the room.”
The two exchanged no further words as they kept moving, Mungo leading the way as he moved forward. Low and barely large enough for the massive feline, the tunnel had clearly been intended as an access point. Sirra momentarily brushed her gloveless hand against the floor. Penetrating decades of nothingness and the scurrying of vermin, she settled upon the old memory of a maintenance worker, trying to find a damaged power core among the tangled snake-pit of pipes and trailing cables.
With a mental nudge to direct Mungo’s path, Sirra guided the two through the darkness and led them out into the street.
They pushed aside a long discarded panel of metal plating resting against the wall and, after Mungo sniffed the fresh air, confirming no others were nearby, stepped out into the night air. Once Velira had stepped out after them, Sirra held out her hand. It took a moment to once again remember she needed to speak such commands since the other woman’s mind was repelling her.
“The amulet, hand it over,” she asked. When it was passed across, Sirra managed a nod in thanks. The intricate design, coiled and stylised as it was, had an undeniable familiarity to Sirra. The eyes were too small and pattern of the scales too specific to be anything besides Celevon’s personal familiar, Jormungandr. Gorged and with its bone and sinew enlarged by Sith magic, the snake had been part of her first encounter with Celevon, almost killing the man she had initially thought of as her surrogate father. As with most things, Ka Tarvitz had laughed off his poisoning and near death at the fangs of the snake.
“It’s part of an old memory,” she explained to Velira, willing to offer up at least that much. “Something that echoed when I met Celevon, six or perhaps seven years ago now. And I think you are right.” Her fingers traced over the rough cut initials of her name which had been roughly carved into its back. There was no artistry to the efforts, the lettering shaped by knife blade rather than a true tool, and carrying the sheen of a recent reshaping.
With a sigh, Sirra touched the icon and the world began to bleed. There was no simple echo of times past, the very environment ran like molten steel only to reshape itself into a black void. Already reaching for the blade at her back, Sirra only paused as Celevon’s hooded shape emerged in the void, smiling and bowing in greeting. He began to speak, his words noiseless. Moments passed as raw knowledge passed into Sirra’s consciousness, and she reawoke less than a heartbeat later. She looked at Velira.
“I know where he wants us to go.”
When Sirra’s hand traced the carvings, Velira caught the subtle shift of her focus, the way her presence bent inward. An ability, one that she couldn’t help but feel drawn to out of her own Anzati nature. In another age– and were it not for the Narglach that seemed to watch her in suspicion– then Velira may have viewed this as the opportune moment to strike, a chance to draw out the sea of memory and feed. Instead, her stance shifted outward, carefully scanning the rest of their surroundings and their periphery, while allowing Sirra to focus. She found herself protective, watching the streets through crimson eyes with quiet vigilance, as Sirra submerged herself in the vision. The realization startled her. She was unaccustomed to such reflexes. Mihoshi’s words came back to her, about the makings of a good, honorable Clanmate. Perhaps this—this choice to aid another, rather than act alone and on predatory instinct—was what she had meant.
Her gaze curiously shifted to the amulet once Sirra was finished inspecting, and Velira listened as she spoke of the memory and the time that she’d known Celevon. Six or seven years. For most, a span of great significance; yet for Velira, that timeframe felt only as though for a matter of months. She had to pause to remind herself, subconsciously, that such lengths carried meaning to others—that time did not diminish what bonds they had forged, and instead enriched them.
Velira inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the certainty in Sirra’s tone. Without question, she followed. Through the winding veins of Burmessia’s streets, they moved—narrow alleys breathing damp air into the stretch of night, shadows flickering against concrete walls. Velira’s senses observed each sound within their radius, every flicker of motion. The mood within the city felt tense, given the recent turn of events. Inevitably, the wide street they had turned down faced a blockage ahead: a small cadre of guards, their grey armor gleaming faintly under harsh lights.
Her gleaming red eyes narrowed. Instinctively, she reached for the shadows through the Force. The darkness answered Velira’s call, dense and absolute, a black void that slithered outward and coiled around the light, smothering it. Guards shouted at one another in confusion, flashlights cutting only into the cloud of an unnatural black haze, swallowing their light and the receptors of their worn lenses . With a gloved hand, she beckoned Sirra and the narglatch close, leading them forward. Her sight pierced through the veil, as they proceeded in silence past the confusion of the guards.
Velira steadied herself, knowing what had to be done. The only thing that could be done, to ultimately keep the coils of her hunger contained, and prevent them from growing beyond her control. When Sirra and the narglatch exited the darkness, Velira gave the two of them a long glance, her crimson eyes softening to convey an apologetic look. She turned away from them, her form consumed by the cloud of darkness that still loomed behind them. She moved in a blur of motion through the shadows that she’d created, swiftly standing behind the guard that was most isolated. “It will be over quickly,” she murmured in a velvet whisper for only his ears. Extending gloved hands, one went to his mouth to smother any potential screams, while the other brushed his shoulder with a sense of care, not to seize but to steady him.
Her proboscis flowed past her form in wisps of silk, albeit for the elegantly curved barbs at each end. With a practiced sense of precision, Velira struck in a matter of seconds, the serpentine tendrils moving to his head until they each found their target. The essence of the soup’s layered flavors hit her at once— the brightness of vitality, softened only by a tangible sense of dulled emotions, which Velira could sense as his feelings towards his job. She forced herself to feed swiftly, yet carefully, rather than to completely give into her carnal urges as others of her kind had done for centuries.
Velira felt his strength begin to waver, the beat of his heart growing slower. She deliberately pulled back in an instant, before the fragile line irreversible damage could be crossed. Her tendrils carefully withdrew in a whisper, vanishing back into the hollows of her elegant cheekbones. She eased him down to the ground rather than allowing him to collapse, his face pale but alive, chest rising slowly. Tilting his head back with one arm, Velira quickly administered a measured dose of bacta fluid as she had many times before, to aid in the healing process.
She vanished from his side and emerged from the darkness just as it began to waver, a more solemn expression of remorse shifting across her features as she made her way back towards Sirra. Velira did not speak on the matter, as they left the area in haste and vanished down a series winding alleyways away from the guards, though she was certain Sirra could read what she felt.
She vaguely recognized the pathways as the ones she had spotted on the map, knowing that they were heading in the right direction. They paused, once they reached a large building with revelry thrumming in dancing lights at the rooftop—music, laughter, the indulgence of officials and outsiders, opposite to the nearly dilapidated shadows of the alleyways that lurked beneath. Velira grimaced faintly. Noise without substance had never appealed to her.
The lower levels were empty, blockaded off by a back wall to the alleys with no obvious points of entry. Etched across the worn steel of the building, half shadowed by a layer of debris, was a small indentation in the same shape of the serpent. Once the amulet was placed into the indent, a mechanical door slowly slid open for them. They stepped inside, the same door locking behind them once the serpentine amulet, now a key, was retrieved.
The sounds of the club dissipated through the layered walls of steel and stone. A downward slope carried them deeper, where flickering orange light revealed a cache of various assorted weaponry. At the corner, lay a steel desk, scattered with various folders and a lone datapad… Along with a mostly finished cup of caf, still faintly warm to Velira’s senses.
“He must be close,” she murmured at last, eyes narrowing as they swept the compound, focusing in on another pathway that she suspected led to a docking bay. “Assuming he has not already left the city…”
“He won’t have,” Sirra said. “He wouldn’t have left a note like this if he had.”
Sirra stared at the other woman, indicating for her to go first. There was no hesitance there, but something of a clear understanding as Velira swept about the dingy environment. While still alert, muscles tensing for combat, the certainty of what Velira was had at least grounded Sirra compared to the nebulous threat she had previously been. Even if she had not seen it for herself, Sirra had felt the human fall in the Force, and it echoed a past conflict. There had been things in the depths of the Smuggler’s Moon, forgotten things which chose to disappear. Sirra had avoided most but she had found one, a white skeletal being near feral with hunger. She had watched it drain a man, his essence dissipating like morning dew as it drained him of his very being. Although she felt the guard’s life pulse within the Force, Sirra could tell it had been a similar influence.
With her grip tightening upon her rifle, Sirra was less concerned about what awaited them with Celevon than any powers she had displayed so far; considering those that might surprise Velira should it come to a fight between them. Mungo sniffed the air, rubbing his massive head on her shoulder as he stood by, sensing her discomfort. A quiet series of thoughts passed between them, as Sirra urged him to keep watching Velira over guarding the door.
Sirra was almost about to join the other woman while rifling through the documents, when she heard a creak of floor plating. The barrel of her gun came up, whip fast, its snub-nose pointing toward the doorway. The figure that stepped forward was all too familiar; alabaster skin and ice sharp features exaggerated by the pooling shadows playing across his face. Wearing an armoured suit of plating built more for silence than hard combat, he seemed to have discarded most of his weapons, leaving only his rifle slung over one shoulder and Mandalorian vambrace at his side.
“You’ll find the family jewellery in the safe to the right,” Celevon Werd'a said, his face breaking into a tired smile after the joke. “Hello Sparrow, I was hoping it would be you and…” his eyes drifted from his daughter to Velira. “Hello indeed.”
With less than her usual subtlety, Sirra resorted to her typical form of communication, thoughts uncoiling from her mind. In the space of a thought, Sirra broadcast a wordless rebuke, casting forth first images of the many siblings she had only learned of years after joining his family, and then memories of what she had felt within the Force as Velira fed.
“Ah,” was all Celevon said, the barest hint of a wince at the blunt telepathic message passing over his face. “I see. Well, there’s time for fun later.”
“You’re too happy for someone who just murdered a head of state,” Sirra said, speaking for Velira’s benefit over using her thoughts once more. Celevon’s expression of surprise seemed more related to that than any accusation.
“Not an unsanctioned one. I was sent here by one of our glorious leaders given the complications he posed,” he answered, leaning against the wall. “And not for coin either. I’d explain more, but I was waiting here for you to see what I was shown.”
“Oh we’re sure you had a good reason,” Sirra said, irritation as much as anger rising within her. “Did Miho decide he was too big of a threat to live?”
“You know as well as I that Miho have told you if she did,” Celevon answered. He’d now folded his arms, and Sirra felt within his thoughts he was being actively relaxed so not to pose any threat and keep them talking. “Anyway, it came from a higher authority than her. But that’s not what you should be asking. Instead, you should be wondering why your friend has paused on that page.”
Sirra looked away from Celevon for a moment, and risked a glimpse at Velira. She still believed that Celevon might run if needed, but there was something about Velira’s expression that gained her full attention.
A hardness in her eyes that looked more outraged than mortified. Still as any marble statue, it was only a slow turn of her head and exhalation of air that indicated she was still alive. Velira handed Sirra the document, thrusting it at her as if wishing to be rid of the thing. Sirra took it, and peered over the sight that awaited her.
Sirra titled her head, frowning at the grainy distorted image which had been captured on the plastic paper. Grey and overexposed, it seemed to have captured a broad rock formation - A large mound of water smoothed silicone which had been reshaped over time. But as Sirra looked on, more details became visible. There were too many cracks, and no pattern to what was there. No way for water to run and form them, or even for rock to break as it did. Too smooth and too rough at once, it was only as she noticed the first hand that the sight became clear to Sirra.
“How many?” Sirra asked, not bothering for further context.
“We had a lot of transports disappear to pirates over the years,” Celevon answered. “A few dozen, perhaps a hundred. Not to mention any they might have tried to gain through other sources. There are a lot of empty buildings here, after all.”
“And why?” Sirra asked. She had seen corpse mounds before, anyone in the undercity had seen them. But there was a wrongness to this which caught her off guard. An industrial element over the raw violence of gang battles and feudal rulership which demanded so many massacres.
“If you kept going you’d find another face on this page - A Kaminoan,” Celevon continued. “I’m not sure if they’re alive or dead now, but they were attempting to recreate a viral strain of some form. The kind which infects only the people with the right kind of genetics. Perhaps bloodlines. Perhaps a certain number of Midichlorians.
I’m not sure when our Empress learned of this, but she saw it as a reason to remove this state’s head as a warning.”
Velira drew herself upright, her posture elegant, controlled—yet in her absolute stillness, there was a lingering hint of her predatory nature. Slowly, her gaze left the image in Sirra’s hands and fixed curiously on Celevon. For all the tension bristling between the walls, she chose her words after a long moment, a sense of patience following them.
“Celevon Werd’a,” she said at last, her voice carrying his name with a measured cadence. There came a soft scuttling as her spider droid crawled to her side, leaping into her arms. With the flourish of her silky black cloak, the droid seemingly vanished from view. Her voice finally brushed again through the dark room, in a soft whisper, “I am Velira.”
She did not offer a title, a lineage, or an apparent place of origin. The name alone was cast into the space between them, without further embellishment or additional context. “And you…” Her head tilted slightly, the faintest curve of amusement on her lips. “…have been quite the elusive prey.”
The man’s pale eyes shone, his smile sharpening with a glimmer of something lighter—mildly flirtatious. “You could say I have many years of experience…” His attention lingered on her a moment longer, taking in the glowing crimson of her eyes and the flowing quality of her raven hair.
Velira let out a soft exhalation, the ghost of a laugh. Already her mind wandered inward, not necessarily focused on his words, but to the reservoir that swirled behind them—his sea of memories. The temptation to taste it whispered to her faintly, to pry into his past experiences and the rich flavors of his various emotions. But her appetite was dulled for now, her recent indulgence leaving her sustained, if only temporarily.
She gave the gentle wave of her gloved hand, gesturing for the documents. Her red gaze next swept icily through the various files and their continents, as she began to study them. At the final page rested a photographic glimpse of a recording unlike the others: a Kaminoan’s elongated features rendered in brutal clarity, the individual’s skin marred with lesions, their eye glazed with a half-living sheen. Attached were various hastily scrawled notes, detailing the physical aspects of the test subject. Having studied various body systems for numerous years of her life, this was something Velira could easily recognize, something she could analyze.
Her head tilted at a slight angle, the dark curtain of her silky hair falling over one shoulder, as her eyes narrowed. Something passed over her expression then—something sharp. She leaned closer, her voice a low murmur. “They tested it on themselves.” The words were not a question, but a statement of sudden realization. “It seems that they were thorough with their experiments, enough to be able to possibly reach an outcome.”
Velira’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. “The Kaminoan’s insatiable craving for knowledge and success in their scientific methods… A hunger that does not end,” she said softly, her voice carrying an undertone of thought. For a moment, Velira’s crimson eyes shone not with outrage, but something akin to recognition.
A viral strain that targeted bloodlines. Blood itself, perhaps. Midichlorians. Fragments and veins of life, disrupted by a methodically crafted contagion, something that was bioengineered not just to erase individuals, but entire legacies.
Her mind, however, did not rest on the Kaminoans alone. It turned inward, toward the shadows of what remained of her own kind, hunting from the darkness on an endless pursuit. Bloodlines… but what of those who carried no blood, in the human sense? The Anzat were icy to the touch, their bodies unmoved by any semblances of warmth. No pulse, and no circulatory system to carry such a virus through an intricate network of veins.
“I suppose we can only hope that this contagion remains… contained. And yet, should the need arise… Let it be known that I personally volunteer to study this strain, and perhaps find a cure… However, I do sincerely hope that day never comes,” Velira began, though a shred of doubt flashed through her eyes. Civilizations could be such fragile, delicate things.
Celevon shifted his weight against the wall, his earlier smile turning into something darker. “Now you see why the order was given,” he said quietly. “And why the Empress would tolerate no hesitation…” His voice trailed off, letting the implication linger.
“Ah, which explains why you carried out the sentence… Efficiently, I might add,” Velira quickly stated, with a faint smirk curling across her lips.
The room grew still again, the silence broken only by the faint hum of the dim fluorescent lights. Velira closed the final file with a controlled motion, her gloved fingers brushing the surface as if sealing it away for now, as she passed the contents back to Celevon and Sirra.
A telepathic pulse passed between Sirra and Celevon again, this time carrying with it the urgency of time an a question of knowledge. Celevon just smiled.
“Be nice, Sirra. Let her know your question as well.”
“Did the Empress only just learn about this?” Sirra asked, after taking several moments to best consider how to compress the several highly specific thoughts into a single broad question.
“I can’t say,” Celevon admitted. “I don’t know if my target was acting alone, part of a wider society, or if they had been sitting on this for some time. This might have even been insurance for himself, should we end up at war again. A nasty little phage to wipe out the Empire’s elite and its allies in one go.” Some of that cocksure amusement faded slightly. “This place has no shortage of skeletons to hide. I needed to make sure this one was dragged out into the open.”
“In the most reckless way possible?” Sirra asked again, trying once more to get a further point of her questions across.
“I found signs it was being experimented on further. Refined. I couldn’t hit the Kaminoan or his associates. I didn’t have the resources to destroy the lab, assuming they even had only one. But, I could confirm that the Prime Minister had the only permission to unleash this virus. Now he is out of the equation, we have a wealth of information on this project…”
“And you left your calling card so they know we are onto them, even if we cannot act yet.”
Celevon chuckled slightly.
“In part. Also deniability. They could claim I was working alone. One lunatic who just acted without support after his mind broke, too fractured from the past war.”
Sirra listened to this, her distaste for politics rising once more. Complicated, bitter, and murky, they somehow made the simple kills of an undercity gang war seem clean by comparison. Yet an understanding dawned upon her. There was only one way for him to survive. To have allies who could speak to the Clan in private of his findings,
even show them what had been uncovered if needed. And also to claim deniability of any knowledge by bringing him back captured and bound, even if that was from an already scheduled transport.
It was only then that Sirra realised Celevon was less than subtly indicating the top draw of the desk. In the flickering light of the candles, Sirra made out a set of stun cuffs. She almost laughed at the absurdity. Given half of his past escapes from prisons and personal torture chambers, the idea of a simple set of cuffs holding Celevon was ridiculous. Now they just had to hope the Republic did not recognise that.
“Celevon Werd'a,” Sirra said, taking up the pair of cuffs and, after taking some effort to fit them around the Mandalorian vambrace, locking them about Celevon’s wrists. “You are under arrest for potentially dragging Clan Odan-Urr and a Vatali Empire into a war. Anything you say or think may be used against you.”
“Good,” Celevon said. “Now that’s done, please be sure to bring each of the folders, and knock over one of the candles on your way out so this place leaves only ashes for people to root through.
Now come on, we have a shuttle to catch.”