Basic Information:

• Name:  Bella Tenebrix

• Alias:  None

• Species:  Human

• Gender:  Female

• Age:  32

Affiliation & Status:

• Affiliation:  Czerka Corporation (formerly Eternal Empire)

• Title:  Senior Recovery Operative, Elite Field Commander—Asset Recovery Division

• Rank:  Embedded Systems Specialist

• Force Sensitive:  Yes—subtle sensitivity aligned with precognitive intuition

Origin & Residence:

Origin & Residence:

• Homeworld:  Zakuul

• Current Residence:  Mobile— Outer Rim, Czerka Outpost (classified deployment)

Physical Stats:

• Height:  1.70 meters (5'7")

• Weight:  61 kg (134 lbs)

• Build/Body Type:  Slim, quiet strength

• Eye Color: Gold-amber; arresting, analytical intensity 

• Hair Color:  Deep violet with cool tones; worn in waves that cascade deliberately over one shoulder

• Skin Color:  Fair, luminous with restraint
  
  

Distinctive Features:

• Distinctive Characteristics:  Steady, anchored gaze; unnerving stillness that compels silence

• Scars/Tattoos/Markings:  Fine scar along right index finger; encrypted Zakuulan cipher tattoo hidden behind left ear

• Other Notable Features:  Stylus-etched datapad always within reach; carries a repurposed command ID badge embedded with silence protocol 

Personality Profile:

• Openness to Experience:  Moderate (panalyzes before engaging, deliberate in new terrain)

• Conscientiousness:  Very High (precise, mindful of consequence in every choice)

• Extroversion:  Low (rarely initiates, but commands attention without speaking)

• Agreeableness:  Moderate (trust is slow, but once granted, unwavering)

• Neuroticism:  Very Low (emotionally resilient, maintains clarity under duress)
  
  

Additional Traits:

• Strengths:  Advanced pattern recognition, structured logic, unshakable inner compass

• Flaws:  Hesitant at irreversible junctions, isolates in emotional stress, slow to forgive institutional betrayal

• Likes:  Uncorrupted data, intentional quiet, unspoken truths

• Dislikes:  Indoctrination, purposeless improvisation, historical manipulation

• Disposition:  Centered, watchful—guided now by emerging moral intent rather than obedience

Command Structure:

• Superior:  Lorim Vance (Czerka Field Director)

• Subordinates:  None formally; operates embedded within cross-functional retrieval teams
  
  

Personal Connections:

• Significant Other:  None disclosed or acknowledged

• Notable Friends:  Brina Tenebrix (cousin, mirror, trusted counterforce)

• Pets/Companions:  Trace (a female loth-cat bonded during Belsavis operation; highly attuned to Bella’s presence)
  
  

Family:

• Mother:  Sira Tenebrix (retired Spire intelligence operative)

• Father:  Darth Malis (vanished from Sith records, rumored to have served under Valkorion)

• Siblings:  Brina Tenebrix (cousin raised as a peer; operative partner in recovery fieldwork)

Skills & Abilities:

• Signature Abilities/Force Powers:  Preemptive perception—interprets collapsing systems and hidden alignments

• Combat Specialties:  Tactical suppression, perimeter fortification, high-stakes evacuation logistics

• Languages Spoken:  Galactic Basic (fluent), Zakuulan code-speech, partial Sith lexicon

• Notable Achievements:  Prevented archival purge on Iziz; rechanneled Eternal Fleet collapse telemetry—methods undocumented

• Other Skills:  Deep system forensics, reconstitution of corrupted archives, sublingual semantic infiltration
  
  

Equipment & Gear:

• Primary Weapon(s):  Zakuulan saberstaff—weathered, repurposed

• Notable Equipment/Gear:  Custom datapad—features active trace suppression and secure memory cache

• Armor/Outfit:  Czerka field uniform overlaid with Zakuulan mesh; reinforced for data field exposure

• Personal Items:  Silenced ID badge, redacted Ziost data spike, encrypted log of recovered Iziz narratives

• Mount/Vehicle:  Rotating field shuttle assignments; has never claimed a personal vehicle

Roleplay Hooks:

• Quirks & Habits:  Twirls stylus while processing; edits memory logs in isolation; murmurs unfinished phrases aloud

• Rumors & Reputation:  “Only speaks when it’s already over”; respected more for precision than approachability

• Open Connections:  Disillusioned surveillance operatives, rogue data architects, archivists seeking preservation over compliance
  
  

Story Seeds:

• Current Goals:  Archive meaning in spaces where systems erase it; act decisively when silence threatens permanence

• Hidden Agendas or Secrets:  Once carried sealed orders from Zakuul’s final days—never opened, never destroyed

• Fears/Weaknesses:  That precision may mask complicity; that patience may have cost lives

• Story Arcs:  Transmute silence into clarity; allow intuition to become action; rescue memory from oblivion 

Background:  

Born into a lineage curated by Zakuul’s design, Bella Tenebrix learned to wield absence as influence. Her father disappeared without scandal, and her mother shaped truths from behind encrypted barriers. Bella absorbed early that stillness could be strategic—that silence could both shield and subvert. Raised with Brina as peer and paradox, she became a Knight who recorded more than she enforced. Even at her most loyal, she distorted orders to preserve what mattered: voices, choices, moments that might otherwise have vanished. She refused to rise through destruction. Instead, she walked away from Zakuul carrying the weight of its erased histories and unread instructions. Now in Czerka’s employ, she safeguards the stories forgotten by conquest. Her mission is no longer compliance. It’s curation. Her command is not in title—but in the unwavering continuity of what still deserves to be remembered.

Timeline/Chronology:

• 3653 BBY | Age 0 — Born to legacy and encryption on Zakuul.

• 3643 BBY | Age 10 — Restores collapsed grid during citywide blackout.

• 3636 BBY | Age 17 — Rewrites squad protocol in silent security breach.

• 3635 BBY | Age 18 — Knighted; begins altering data directives in quiet defiance.

• 3632 BBY | Age 21 — Knight-Captain; modifies tribunal record to spare a child.

• 3630 BBY | Age 23 — Promoted to Horizon Guard; lets cousin Raeya slip through protocol.

• 3629 BBY | Age 24 — Joins Czerka recovery unit; legacy rechanneled into salvage.

• 3627 BBY | Age 26 — Prioritizes memory archive over weapons during Onderon conflict.

• 3624 BBY | Age 29 — Vault contact classified; encounter reported only as “contained”.

• 3621 BBY | Age 32 — Walks untouched from Korriban vault; silence acknowledged, not broken.

Roleplayer Info:

• Contact Preference:  In-game (Bella Tenebrix - Imp Side)

• Timezone:  EST (UTC-5)

• Activity & Availability:  Weekdays (afternoon) & weekends (during day)
  
  

Roleplay Preference & Boundaries:

• Roleplay Style:  Prefer 1:1 or small group roleplay, mostly in-game.

• Triggers & Boundaries:  No god mode.

• Plotting & Collaboration:  Open to long-term plots but prefer things to develop more on the fly/spontaneously. 

• Other Notes:  Preferred session length: 1–3 hours.

🟥 Episode I – The Listening House
3643 BBY | Age 10 | Civilian | Zakuul, Artisan’s Quarter

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Treaty of Coruscant has stalled the galaxy’s war, but not its ambition. In the deep shadows of the Unknown Regions, Zakuul grows—quiet, elegant, and unseen. Loyalists from the old Sith order and disillusioned Republic minds now serve a new Emperor in golden silence. At the heart of this empire-in-waiting, Bella Tenebrix learns to hear what others do not. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ Bella Tenebrix was raised in a home where silence had gravity. Her father, once Darth Malis, had walked away from the Sith Empire without public disgrace—his disappearance was deliberate, his silence devout. Her mother, Sira, worked in the Spire’s data chambers, filtering truths and erasing names with equal precision. Words in their house were never wasted. Even love came wrapped in glances and guarded tones. Bella learned quickly that presence mattered more than volume, and that stillness could be a kind of shield. Her cousin Brina lived nearby, was like a signal flare, all motion and certainty. Bella didn’t need that fire—she just needed to know where it burned. Adults sometimes paused when hearing her surname, recognition flickering across faces before vanishing again. Bella noticed every pause, every hesitation, and filed them away like evidence. She didn’t speak of it, but she remembered.

✧ The Artisan’s Quarter was beautiful, but Bella understood that beauty was curated. The walkways gleamed under artificial starlight, and air gardens masked the scent of circuitry and vigilance. Zakuul’s perfection wasn’t accidental—it was controlled. Bella moved through it like a ghost with open eyes. She memorized guard rotations, timed the ventilation cycles, and learned which teachers spoke differently when certain topics came up. Her instructors praised her precision but warned her not to “overanalyze.” She didn’t argue. She just recorded what they said and compared it to what they did. Brina liked to test the edges; Bella preferred to map them. She didn’t want to be seen. She wanted to know. And that made her dangerous in a city that prized compliance.

✧ When a sanitation grid overloaded and power failed across three tiers, Bella stayed calm. While children cried and lights flickered, she moved straight to the utility alcove, accessing controls she wasn’t supposed to know existed. Her fingers shook briefly—just once—but her breathing stayed slow. The grid was compromised by a feedback loop, and she rerouted it without waiting for permission. By the time emergency crews arrived, the system had stabilized. “Who authorized this access?” a technician asked, squinting at her. “No one,” she replied. Her hands still tingled from the static. The man logged the incident, then said nothing. Zakuul rewarded efficiency, not credit. Bella walked away with her jaw tight and her mind racing—not with pride, but with calculation. Someone would notice. Someone always did.

✧ The aptitude assessment came three weeks later, led by silent Knights cloaked in gold and shadow. Bella arrived early, her uniform spotless, her pulse steady. The others whispered about outcomes, but she had already mapped the room and guessed which officials held influence. When her name was called, she stepped forward with neither hesitation nor flair. The lead Knight tilted his head. “You know how to listen.” “Yes,” she said. Nothing more. Her results weren’t the highest, but they were clean—measured, reliable, quietly exceptional. She and Brina were accepted into the preparatory squire track, flagged for “sponsored oversight.” The phrasing told her everything: her legacy was known, just not spoken. She didn’t need praise. She needed confirmation. That was enough—for now.

✧ That evening, Bella sat alone in her family’s kitchen, organizing files no one had asked her to keep. One folder contained instructor inconsistencies. Another tracked shifts in doctrine phrasing. She didn’t know what they meant—yet. But patterns always meant something. Across the ceiling, the Spire's highest light pulsed softly, like a heartbeat waiting to be noticed. Her datapad chimed once. A message from Brina: Awake? Bella stared at the text without replying. She knew Brina was likely on the rooftop again, watching the horizon like it owed her something. Bella stayed where she was. She didn’t need the stars. She needed the data. And in its shape, she could already feel the edge of what would come.

📓 Personal Log: “Quiet Recall” | Zakuul, 3643 BBY

"They taught us that silence is obedience. But they never taught us how to listen. I listen to voices others ignore. I hear what’s missing, not just what’s said. Brina is my fire. I am her shadow. Our fathers vanished into myth, but I remember them—through pattern, through absence. Legacy doesn’t fade when you guard its edges. And I will guard them, quietly, until I know what we’re meant to become."

🟥 Episode II – Echoes of the Spire
3636 BBY | Age 17 | Zakuul Squire | Zakuul, Southern Training Cantonment

🪐 Galactic Context:

In the wake of Ziost’s devastation, the Sith Empire stumbles—and whispers ripple through the Outer Rim. Zakuul remains untouched, veiled by design, expanding its Knight programs beneath the Republic and Empire’s notice. The Eternal Empire is not yet named, but its seeds are rooted in discipline, secrecy, and legacy. Bella Tenebrix, seventeen and already watching from the margins, is being shaped into something precise. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ The cantonment was colder than Bella remembered. Polished corridors stretched like veins around the Spire’s outer sector, sterile and whisper-quiet. Cadets filled them with perfect posture and polished boots, but Bella moved differently—fluid, observant, invisible by choice. Her instructors noted her “consistent precision,” but none knew how much she saw and filed away. She tracked syllabus changes, food shipments, and when surveillance drones shifted course by even a meter. Brina laughed at her for it—until one of those adjustments revealed a false fire drill masking a security stress test. Bella didn’t panic. She rerouted her squad calmly, documented the breach in neutral language, and submitted the report unsigned. It was reviewed, flagged, then quietly deleted. Bella never mentioned it again, but her breathing slowed whenever she passed that hallway, like bracing for an echo that never came.

✧ Brina had begun sparring with purpose now—harder, louder, daring instructors to call her reckless. Bella, by contrast, adjusted. She studied behavioral tells, identifying fear in the clench of a hand or the widening of a pupil. She noticed which overseers stammered when asked about Ziost, and who changed the subject when Valkorion’s name surfaced. She never asked questions outright. She made suggestions that felt like their ideas, guiding instructors to reveal more than they intended. Some called her manipulative. She preferred precise. When her cohort struggled with power regulation drills, she rewrote the training algorithm and sent it to command anonymously. They implemented it the next cycle—no credit given, none needed. But Bella tracked the acknowledgment in the smallest smile of an instructor who now stood straighter when she passed.

✧ On the fourth week of combat rotation, a cadet suffered a concussion during a botched drill. The protocol was clear: pause, secure the trainee, report. The instructor hesitated—too long. Bella moved in without rank or request, issued stabilization commands, and called for emergency evac. Her voice didn’t rise, but it carried. She saw the instructor’s jaw tighten as he lost control of the moment. Later, he filed a report criticizing her for “unauthorized initiative.” She accepted the reprimand without rebuttal. Inside, her hands trembled only once—behind her datapad, in the quiet of her dorm. The cadet survived. The silence around the report did too.

✧ Rumors grew, always half-spoken. That the Tenebrix line was curated for something more. That their fathers had followed Valkorion into seclusion, not exile. Bella tracked the rumors without feeding them, letting them swirl around her like dust she refused to breathe. She didn’t need truth from others—she was building it herself, piece by piece. The system around her moved on rules no one taught. And she was learning them by feel. Power didn’t announce itself—it rotated, adapted, embedded. Bella’s gift wasn’t command. It was interpretation. And interpretation could change everything if timed correctly.

✧ That night, she and Brina stood on opposite ends of the training balcony, facing the artificial stars. The silence stretched between them—not cold, just full. “You’re holding something back,” Brina said, her voice half-accusation, half-invitation. Bella considered lying, then shook her head. “Not holding. Measuring.” Brina nodded once, like she understood. Bella’s jaw unclenched slowly as she turned her gaze to the Spire’s apex, its golden shimmer humming like a question only she could hear. She didn’t want glory. She wanted accuracy. And that required patience—until the patterns broke open.

📓 Personal Log: “Edge of Signal” | Zakuul, 3636 BBY

"They teach us precision, but fear questions. They want us sharp—but never sharper than the system. I’m learning when to speak and when to suggest. Brina burns like a banner—I move like signal beneath noise. Our fathers left behind instructions we were never meant to hear aloud. But I hear them anyway—in pauses, in frequencies, in patterns that don't fit. I don’t want command. I want clarity. And when I have enough, I’ll act. Just not before."

🟥 Episode III – The Quiet Rebellion
3635 BBY | Age 18 | Zakuul Knight | Zakuul, Data Spine Monitoring Sector

🪐 Galactic Context:

The death of Valkorion has been repackaged as sacrifice; Arcann now commands the Eternal Throne with ruthless clarity. The Eternal Fleet wages silent devastation across the galaxy, striking Imperial and Republic worlds alike. Within Zakuul, peace is preserved through curated silence—yet Bella Tenebrix begins to hear too much to ignore. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ The briefing room lights flickered once—then settled into sterile brightness. Bella stood at parade rest beside Brina, the two newly knighted under Arcann’s sudden regime. Valkorion’s portrait still hung in the corridor, its edges freshly polished, as if to erase what had happened. Orders arrived faster now: assignments by algorithm, targets devoid of context. Bella’s first deployment was not to a battlefield but to the Data Spine, where anomalies were to be logged, not questioned. She accepted the assignment with neutral efficiency—but inside, her chest tightened with every message flagged for “quiet archiving.” Brina clenched her jaw beside her, pacing too much between drills. Bella didn’t tell her that she had already begun logging discrepancies—tiny, deniable shifts in surveillance, doctrine, phrasing. She almost told Brina everything one night before curfew—before swallowing the words, uncertain. Zakuul had always moved in silence. Now, the silence was weaponized.

✧ The first irregularity came from the Outer Rim intel streams: a cluster of encrypted bursts misrouted through Spire signal towers. Official logs listed them as atmospheric echoes. Bella knew better. She traced the packets to Imperial border stations—destroyed within the hour of transmission. Someone was using Zakuulan systems to map vulnerabilities before striking. She filed the discovery under “anomalous telemetry” and marked it for internal review. A week passed. No action. Then the file disappeared. She confronted her sector commander, voice low, breath measured. “Did you archive packet 873-Delta-Red?” The woman blinked too slowly, smiled too quickly. “There is no such file, Knight Tenebrix.” Bella’s spine straightened. Her voice did not rise. But inside, her pulse thudded like a warning beacon. She walked out without permission. The silence in the hallway pressed like a hand on her throat.

✧ Bella returned to her apartment that night and rerouted her backup storage to a shadow node she'd set up years earlier—an old habit born of legacy and instinct. She cross-referenced the lost packet with fleet movement records and found a pattern: reconnaissance disguised as humanitarian outreach. Arcann was not just retaliating—he was preemptively claiming control. Brina would have acted immediately. But Bella paused. She breathed. Then she forwarded the data—anonymized, stripped of signature—to a Spire official embedded in ceremonial compliance protocols, one Magistrate Indo Zal. She’d seen his name on encrypted morale briefings, his presence curiously constant at loyalty tribunals. She didn’t expect a response. Two days later, the pattern stopped—but her node was quietly purged from the system. Indo never acknowledged her. But someone had listened. And someone had erased her trail just cleanly enough to let her know: keep moving, but not too loudly.

✧ Brina noticed the shift before Bella spoke of it. During training rotations, she moved closer, eyes scanning more than forms. “They’ve tagged you,” Brina said one night, sweat still clinging to her brow. Bella nodded once, slow and quiet. “They’re watching everyone.” Brina’s hands tightened into fists. “Then we watch back.” But Bella knew that wasn’t enough. She couldn’t fight fire with fire—not here. She had to become what the system least expected: compliant, quiet, indispensable. She began adjusting procedures subtly, rewriting subroutines, embedding protocols that looked like efficiency but shielded vulnerable data. Resistance didn’t always shout. Sometimes it aligned the numbers, hid behind formality, and whispered just loudly enough to redirect the tide. Still, every keystroke tightened her chest. She couldn’t protect everything. She couldn’t tell Brina everything. And silence was beginning to feel like betrayal.

✧ A week later, during a classified comms analysis shift, Bella intercepted a desperate burst from a Republic scout vessel—crippled, drifting, pleading for mercy. The system flagged it for deletion. Instead, Bella rerouted the transmission to a decommissioned buoy and added a false “scrambled signal” tag. It would delay the Eternal Fleet’s targeting by 72 hours—long enough for an evacuation. When her supervisor questioned the anomaly, Bella met his gaze evenly, her hands folded behind her back. “Signal was too distorted to verify source. Logged accordingly.” He nodded, unconvinced but unwilling to push. That night, Bella stood beneath the old lift platform, hands cold, breath slow. Brina appeared beside her, quiet. “Something’s changing in you,” she said. Bella didn’t deny it. She just looked at the Spire’s apex, now dark in places it used to glow. “I’m still loyal,” she whispered. “Just not to the lie.” The silence that followed didn’t feel safe. But it felt true.

📓 Personal Log: "Whispers Against the Grain" | Zakuul, 3635 BBY

"Valkorion ruled by design. Arcann rules by deletion. I keep hearing the quiet things—orders without authors, silence shaped like obedience. I don’t want to tear Zakuul down. I want to preserve what mattered before power devoured purpose. I’ve begun to act—not boldly, but precisely. Brina thinks I’m holding back, but I’m carving a path. Not one they’ll see. One they’ll never trace—until it’s too late. This isn’t rebellion. This is protection, written in silence."

🟥 Episode IV – The Silence That Stayed My Hand
3632 BBY | Age 21 | Zakuul Knight Captains | Ziost, Containment Zone, New Adasta Perimeter

🪐 Galactic Context:

Three years after Emperor Valkorion’s death—Arcann’s Eternal Empire enforces its dominion through silence and spectacle. The Republic and Sith Empire lie fractured, their fleets broken by the Eternal Fleet’s precision strikes. On Ziost—a world already ravaged by the Sith Emperor’s hunger—Zakuul declares “containment,” but control proves elusive. Among scorched cities and psychic echoes, survivors whisper of prophecy and resistance. The Scions, hunted to near extinction, remain—offering visions not of obedience, but of warning. Now, Knight-Captains Brina and Bella Tenebrix are sent to enforce peace in the ashes of a world that refuses to forget.

📘 Narrative:

✧ Bella reread the tribunal order twice, fingers curling slightly against the edge of her datapad. Scion resistance was “escalating”—that’s how they phrased it, though no Knight had been harmed and the reports lacked detail. Her promotion gave her access to full logs, and what she saw unsettled her. Ritual bans, revoked clearances, designations of instability for children. Her breath caught. Her father had once said, “Information is the first lie we believe.” She thought it paranoid. Now it felt prophetic. A fellow Captain asked, “Protocol questions?” Bella shook her head. Her voice stayed level. And still, the silence thickened.

✧ The tribunal moved forward, masked in formality. A Scion boy refused biometric registration. Bella submitted a compromise clause—flag without detention. It was ignored. She stood beside the High Adjudicator, spine straight, pulse hammering. When the boy was led away, his gaze met hers, and something cracked beneath her ribs. She stepped forward—half a breath. Then stopped. Her hand twitched at her side. Later, she told Brina it was about timing. But the truth was simpler. She froze. And still, the quiet remained.

✧ Vos Alin found her in the archives. “You weigh silence like it’s currency,” he said. “Sometimes it’s the only tender they’ll accept,” she replied. He studied her face. “Then you’ve already lost.” His voice was soft. Not cruel. Just accurate. She couldn’t argue. She spent that night revising tribunal notes. Deleted the word “defiant.” Left it blank. No error. Just absence. And still, her breath caught when she passed that file again.

✧ The rupture came during a Scion gathering. Force saturation pulsed from the ground like a second heartbeat. Her detachment raised shields. An aide shouted, “Break formation, they’re amplifying.” Bella scanned the resonance pattern. Not amplification—containment. She invoked an obscure protocol. Cooperative harmonics. “Hold position,” she ordered. The surge dissipated into soil and stone. Her report listed it as joint stabilization. But in her own notes, she wrote: They were saving us. And still, she didn’t know if command would believe it—or punish her for it.

✧ She and Brina met under a broken memorial, its text long since eroded. “You didn’t report the boy,” Brina said. Bella didn’t deny it. “I wanted to stop it. I didn’t.” Brina said nothing. Just placed a hand on her shoulder. It steadied her—but didn’t lift the weight. Bella whispered, “None of this fits anymore.” Her voice shook. Not from fear—but from knowing too much. And still, the silence was no longer peace. It was pressure.

📓 Personal Log: “Where I Froze” | Ziost, 3632 BBY

"I wanted truth to be precise. Like a record. Like a file. But silence can erase without permission. I stood still when I should have moved. And when I did move, it was only to soften the damage—not to stop it. I told myself timing mattered. But maybe I just hesitated. Brina acts before the world asks her to. I ask questions I no longer have time to answer. And still, I can’t forget his eyes. Or mine."

🟥 Episode V – The Silent Measure
3630 BBY | Age 23 | Horizon Guard | Zakuul - Palace of the Eternal Dragon

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Eternal Empire glitters, hollow at the core. Empress Vaylin’s Grand Festival consumes the Spire in spectacle, even as rebellion brews beneath its foundation. After a violent purge—sparked by Vaylin’s fury over a failed Alliance interception—nearly a dozen Horizon Guards were executed. Bella and Brina Tenebrix, newly promoted from Knight-Captains, fill the empty ranks with silence as their shield. Celebration masks desperation. And Zakuul forgets to ask what happens next.

📘 Narrative:

✧ The Palace shimmered like a monument to denial—curved marble, mirrored ceilings, gold thread woven into silence. Bella walked the halls not with pride, but precision. Her new title—Horizon Guard—meant proximity to power, but not safety. She and Brina had been promoted barely a week ago, after Empress Vaylin reduced an entire guard wing to ash in one uncontrolled moment. “Immediate replacements,” they’d called it. Not earned. Just required. Bella adjusted her grip on her helm, her hands cold despite the heat rising from the festival below. Her breath caught when her HUD flickered with a Sentinel net alert—unauthorized signal, east corridor. She answered without hesitation. But something in her ribs tightened. The palace had never felt this loud. And still, the silence lingered.

✧ She found the corridor half-shadowed by light refraction—a quiet place carved from chaos. At its center, a girl in stolen silks. Bella’s first instinct was identification: posture, height, facial match. Her pulse faltered when the name registered. Raeya. Her cousin. Her friend. Her fault? The saber in Bella’s hand stayed unlit. She didn’t trust her voice to remain neutral. Raeya stared back—not with fear, but with sorrow. Neither spoke. Protocol filled the silence like static in Bella’s ear. She considered calling it in. Considered lying. Considered nothing. The corridor stretched between them, time stalling around a single choice. Bella inhaled. Stepped aside. And still, the silence lingered.

✧ Above them, the dome fractured in color as fireworks burst—illusion against rebellion. Bella reached for her comm but didn’t speak. She saw what others would miss: Raeya’s hesitation wasn’t fear. It was mourning. “We were never meant to be just this,” Raeya said. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a truth long overdue. Bella clenched her jaw. Her programming offered a dozen responses. None of them mattered. “Then go,” she said, voice flat but weighted. Raeya nodded once—an answer, a farewell. Bella didn't follow. Didn't stop her. She just stood there, hearing every breath like a fault line cracking under her feet. And still, the silence lingered.

✧ When the rebel systems crashed through the palace protocols, Bella didn’t flinch. She tracked disruption signals through her HUD—cascade failure in GuardNet, biometric loops scrambled, Sentinel reroutes jammed. She saw names. Saw Kylia’s code embedded in the breach. Saw the divergence curve mirrored perfectly. Her lips parted, just for a second. Brina would see it too. Would know. Bella rewrote her trace log—delay, not deletion. A favor. A fracture. A choice. She turned away before the alarms could reframe her silence as complicity. She was a Guard, yes. But not blind. And still, the silence lingered.

✧ Brina found her beneath the fractured arch—sky cracked open above them, the air heavy with ash and sparks. Bella held the data spike in her hand, glowing like judgment. Her grip trembled once—then steadied. Brina didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. “Do we report?” Bella asked. Her voice was quieter than usual, almost human. Brina exhaled. “They chose to run. We chose to let them.” Bella closed her fist. The spike shattered like brittle glass. Her breath hitched. Not from fear. From certainty. She wasn’t protecting traitors. She was choosing which future might still deserve protection. And still, the silence lingered.

📓 Personal Log: “The Cost of Stillness” | Zakuul, 3630 BBY

"Horizon Guard. A title for survivors. Vaylin burned through the last set like they were kindling. We were promoted not because we impressed her—because we didn’t flinch fast enough to die. But today, I made a different choice. I saw Raeya. And I didn’t raise the alarm. I didn’t stop the breach. I watched the line between loyalty and clarity blur… and I didn’t look away. Maybe this title means nothing now. Maybe it never did. But silence isn’t the same as obedience. Not anymore."

🟥 Episode VI – The Circuit That Knew
3629 BBY | Age 24 | Czerka Recovery Operative | Odessen, Northern Reclamation Ridge

🪐 Galactic Context:

Odessen—former nerve center of the Eternal Alliance—sits quiet in the wake of Zakuul’s fall. While its command council maintains a neutral reconstruction effort, the forests and ridgelines surrounding it remain dense with forgotten wreckage, memory-bound tech, and sealed vaults. Many are still powered by Zakuulan frameworks—part machine, part Force. The Czerka Corporation, now managing artifact reclamation across former Eternal Empire space, dispatches specialized operatives to locate, secure, and sanitize remaining sites. Bella Tenebrix, once a Horizon Guard, now serves as a full-time recovery operative under Czerka employment. She salvages memory—not to recover it, but to understand what the galaxy forgot.  

📘 Narrative:

✧ Bella traced her fingers across the vault seal, its pulse unsteady beneath her glove. Zakuulan design didn’t flicker—it flowed. This stuttered. Her data-spike slid into place, lights cycling—green, amber, stall. “Stabilizer’s degraded,” she murmured into the comm. Static answered. No reply. Her jaw tightened. She waited, breath held. The seal yielded—not to command, but pressure. And still, her spine stayed taut.

✧ Inside, the chamber breathed memory. Light warped at the edges, bending around fixtures like it wanted to leave. Bella walked slow. Careful. Listening. “Hybrid signatures,” she whispered. Zakuulan glyphs woven with Alliance code. Something had grown in here, evolved without permission. “Don’t touch the pedestal,” she reminded herself aloud. Brina paused. Bella crouched, tracing a floor filament—motion-triggered. Not hostile. Curious. And still, the vault watched.

✧ Then she felt it. Not presence—attention. Her breath stopped mid-inhale. A figure stood past the archway, half-shadowed, cloaked. No insignia. No movement. Neither threat nor welcome. Bella didn’t reach for the Force. She didn’t breathe. The vault’s hum deepened, like recognition. The figure inclined its head. Once. Then vanished. She stood still long after. Her pulse returned too fast, too loud. And still, her hands stayed at her sides.

✧ She resealed the artifact container, motion careful, deliberate. Brina met her at the threshold. “Someone was there,” she said. Bella nodded, eyes shadowed. “Not someone,” she whispered. “Something.” Neither had drawn weapons. Neither spoke warning. They walked out quiet. Not victorious—just permitted. And still, Bella couldn’t name what she’d felt. Only that it hadn’t ended.

✧ On the shuttle, Bella sat across from the sealed crate. Her fingers hovered over the datapad. She typed the report. Efficient. Accurate. Untrue. “No anomalies detected.” She powered the pad off. Brina watched her from the viewport. “You sure it’s done?” Bella exhaled slowly. “No.” She looked back toward the ridge. “It let us go. That’s not the same.” And still, the silence echoed.

📓 Personal Log: "Echoes in the Circuit" | Odessen, 3629 BBY

"I didn’t raise a weapon. I didn’t speak. But something saw me. The vault wasn’t just old—it was watching. The figure didn’t threaten. It measured. I don’t think we were meant to take anything. We were meant to be seen. I told the report what it needed. But the silence didn’t end when we left. It followed. And still, I feel like it’s waiting."

🟥 Episode VII – The Line We Stepped Across
3627 BBY | Age 26 | Czerka Recovery Operative | Onderon, Iziz Subterranean Vaults

🪐 Galactic Context:

War has returned to Onderon. As the Sith Empire tests Republic defenses in Iziz and disrupts jungle settlements with precision strikes, Czerka Recovery Operatives are deployed to extract key infrastructure, data cores, and “historical liabilities” before they fall. Bella and Brina Tenebrix work in tandem under Czerka Field Coordinator Lorim Vance—recovering not just technology, but the fragile threads of what still matters. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ Bella moved through the vault corridor in silence, Trace riding lightly on her shoulder. The little Loth-cat—adopted after a salvage mission near Belsavis—had learned her stillness, her caution. “Tunnel pressure’s spiking again,” she said softly, her gloved hand brushing the edge of the sensor panel. Brina crouched nearby, inspecting a collapsed archway. Ember prowled along the debris line, low to the ground. Bella narrowed her eyes. “Imperials didn’t just target command sites. This was mapped. Surgical.” Her voice didn’t rise, but her jaw locked with the thought. “They weren’t looking to win this war. Just erase it.” Brina didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. They’d both seen it before. And still, the core pulse of the vault thrummed steady—uncaring.

✧ The vault entrance stuttered open with a hiss, air heavy with chemical damp and scorched stone. Bella stepped in first, her scanner already mapping energy differentials. “Power grid’s unstable, but holding,” she murmured. Trace hopped down, nose twitching as he circled a cracked pedestal. Brina followed without hesitation. “This isn’t a munitions vault.” “It’s a memorial,” Bella said, almost too softly. The data cores weren’t indexed by tactical field—not coordinates or battle analytics. They were oral histories. Archive stacks labeled with family names. “Czerka flagged this site as strategic debris,” Bella whispered. Brina’s fist clenched. “They always do.” And still, the room remained unbearably intact.

✧ Bella stepped toward the main console, her breath catching as the display flickered to life. Not with authorization codes—but with handwritten entries. Voice logs. Personal testimony. “They stored truth here,” she said. “Not intel. Just what they wanted to survive.” Trace leapt onto the crate beside her, tail curling. Bella reached to deactivate the relay—then paused. “This is what gets deleted first.” “Then we make sure it doesn’t,” Brina said behind her, already moving to unseal the core locker. Bella worked quickly, her fingers steady even as her pulse wasn’t. The last file she queued was labeled For My Daughter. If We Don’t Come Back. She didn’t listen. She didn’t have to. And still, the weight of it hung in her chest like gravity.

✧ Their comms chirped. “Five minutes. Prepare for evac,” came Vance’s clipped voice. Bella exchanged a glance with Brina. Two sealed crates—one weapons cache, one memory archive. Only one would fit. “We don’t get to save both,” Brina said. Bella nodded. “Then we don’t save weapons.” — “You’re sure?” Brina asked. Bella’s breath caught for just a second. Trace brushed her boot with her head. “Yeah,” she said. “If this war matters at all, it’s because someone remembers what was lost. Not how we kept losing it.” They moved fast, Ember slipping ahead, Trace quiet at their heels. The weapons would be taken by whoever came next. But the memory? That would vanish if they left it. And still, the silence pulsed like a choice.

✧ The surface was thick with smoke and the sound of distant skirmish fire. The evac shuttle waited—grime-streaked, hull scorched, engines humming like a countdown. Bella loaded the crate with deliberate care, then slumped into the seat beside it. Trace curled into her lap without waiting, purring so faintly it was almost a vibration. “You know he’s going to ask,” Brina murmured. Bella nodded. “Let him.” She stared out the viewport, where the city trembled through the haze. Her hands were still cold. But her breath no longer stuttered. The report would list a successful salvage. The silence would hold the rest. And still, she didn’t regret it.

📓 Personal Log: “What I Let Pass” | Onderon, 3627 BBY

"They only gave us room for one crate. Brina chose the memories. I didn’t argue. Trace didn’t blink either—just curled into my lap like the choice was obvious. I used to calculate risk by metrics. Now I feel it in silence. The weapons will fall into someone’s hands. But what we carried—those stories—might have vanished forever. Vance will ask what we left behind. I hope I never stop asking too." 

🟥 Episode VIII – Stillness in the Storm
3624 BBY | Age 29 | Czerka Recovery Operative | Onderon, Vault Delta-Seven

🪐 Galactic Context:

In the wake of galactic destabilization and Force ruptures tied to ancient Sith secrets, Czerka Corporation invokes Treaty Annex Twelve to secure a newly revealed vault beneath Iziz. Bella Tenebrix, former Knight of Zakuul and now independent recovery operative, is tasked with observation and containment. Her mission brief lists “artifact classification.” But what she finds beneath the city is not salvage. It is stillness with memory. And something that watches back.

📘 Narrative:

✧ The air in the vault moved like breath held too long. Bella Tenebrix stepped carefully past the threshold, eyes scanning the room without hurry. The walls were carved with overlapping glyphs—some sharp as threat, others curved like lullabies in stone. She adjusted her scanner settings. Nothing coherent. Not from Zakuul, not from Sith or Republic. The structure itself resisted classification. Brina moved ahead, sweeping for structural hazards. Bella remained back, absorbing the scene the way she always did—quietly, thoroughly. The relic hovered at the center like it had always been there. Not placed. Not built. Waiting. And still, she didn’t speak. 

✧ The relic pulsed faintly—fragments veined in dark light, floating without visible support. Bella logged its configuration, but her device returned static. She disabled the recorder. This wasn’t data worth sharing with anyone who’d try to weaponize it. The Force here didn’t hum. It listened. Every surface radiated history, but not the kind that asked to be uncovered. It felt... reluctant. Not trapped. Not hostile. Simply aware. She took a step forward, then stopped. Brina crouched nearby, hand close to the floor but never touching. The relic did not react. But the silence deepened. As if something was turning its gaze inward. And still, it said nothing. 

✧ Then came the first outsider—armor black, movements exact, eyes sweeping. Sith. Bella recognized the bearing, if not the individual. The second followed soon after. Unarmored. Calm. Present without edge. Her arrival changed nothing, and yet Bella felt the vault shift. Not in defense. In... consideration. The two women did not speak. They didn’t need to. Between them was a tension she couldn’t name, but didn’t fear. Brina tensed subtly. Bella placed one hand near her belt—not in alarm, just readiness. And yet, the moment didn’t build. It waited. And that, more than anything, held her attention. 

✧ The presence arrived like a break in temperature. Not visible at first. Not loud. Just… there. At the far edge of the vault, a hooded figure stood—not obscured by power, but woven into the stillness itself. Her breath caught. The relic pulsed once. Brina shifted stance. One of the Sith barely moved. The other seemed almost reverent. Then came the voice—not from the figure, but from the one who understood. “We’re not here to claim. Only to witness.” The presence tilted its head. Then faded. Not in exit. In conclusion. Bella didn't move. But her heart felt like it had just been exhaled by something older than speech. 

✧ Afterward, nothing happened. And that was the point. No alarms. No readings. No response. Bella sealed her datapad. Brina looked to her once, question unspoken. Bella nodded—just once. This wasn’t something they were meant to report. Not truthfully. Not fully. She had seen relics that screamed, vaults that fought. But this one had simply remained. And that kind of power—steady, patient, unmoved—was far more dangerous than fire. She walked out beside Brina. Said nothing. But in her log, later, she left a blank page. And still, that page feels heavier than anything she brought back. 

📓 Personal Log: "Blank Entry" | Onderon, 3624 BBY

"I logged the dimensions. That was all I needed. What we saw there doesn’t belong in reports. It belongs to something else—something not waiting for us, but letting us arrive anyway. I don’t know what that figure was. I don’t think it wanted to be known. The relic didn’t respond to touch, threat, or reverence. It simply was. That’s harder to write about than danger. Harder to forget, too. I think it let us go because we didn’t ask for anything. Or maybe because we already knew not to."

🟥 Episode IX – The Line We Keep
3621 BBY | Age 32 | Czerka Senior Recovery Operative | Korriban, Ridgewatch Sensor Blind Zone 3

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Sith Empire grants access to few outsiders, and even fewer are trusted. As Senior Recovery Operatives for Czerka—and among the few Force-sensitives on staff—Bella and Brina Tenebrix, former Knights of Zakuul, are tasked with retrieving a Force-reactive artifact buried in one of Korriban’s ancient vaults. The mission is sanctioned. The relic is mapped. But nothing on this world comes without a price. Two Imperial Majors—never named, never far—have been assigned to monitor the operation. Observation was expected. Silence was not. But Bella has learned to read what isn’t said. And on Korriban, silence is never empty.  

📘 Narrative:

✧ The sand here carries weight—not just in its coarseness, but in the way it moves. Like it remembers who bled on it. I adjusted the environmental seal on my gloves as we descended past a row of broken pylons, my scanner sweeping ahead of Brina’s steps. The vault entrance pulsed faintly through the dust—a low, rhythmic signal, barely above threshold. “Still stable,” I said into the comm. She didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. I could feel the shift in her gait, the coiling of her muscles. The officers were near again—Imperials in red armor, posted above the ridge. We hadn’t been introduced. We wouldn’t be. But we were being watched. Closely. Constantly. That wasn’t unusual. What was—was how quiet it all felt, like even the Empire didn’t want to admit the mission was happening at all. And still, the silence lingered. 

✧ Inside, the vault lights flickered with dormant power, tracing arcs across runes that hadn’t seen air in decades. I moved first, tagging the safe lanes, rerouting ambient pulses through our relay net. Brina followed, her presence like a blade held just short of striking. She sensed it before I even confirmed it: a Force bloom, subtle but present, woven into the stone like breath caught mid-inhale. I logged the harmonic trace. It responded to proximity—but not aggression. “It knows we’re here,” I said softly. Brina’s fingers hovered near the containment unit. No guards. No resistance. Just permission. And that was what unsettled me most. This wasn’t clearance. This was a test we hadn’t been told we were taking. And still, we moved forward. 

✧ The artifact was small—sleek, obsidian-housed, etched with faded Sith symbols. Brina lifted it carefully, her posture crisp but her jaw clenched. I scanned for active resonance. Minimal. Dormant, but not dead. The kind of silence that waits. Above us, the Imperials remained motionless. Their positioning was tactical, but their purpose wasn’t force. They were here to witness. One of them—taller, rigid, methodical—tracked Brina’s movements. The other watched both of us, not with suspicion, but something else. Awareness. Their presence didn’t interrupt us. That was intentional. The Empire doesn’t forget where it places its shadows. And it doesn’t blink without reason. I didn’t raise it on comms. Just adjusted the frequency shield around the case. Some things don’t need to be spoken to be understood—especially when your employers make it clear they won’t write up your obituary. And still, the silence deepened. 

✧ On the surface, Ember and Trace were waiting—our loth-cats, each as still as the vaults they’d come to know. They bristled when we returned, though not in alarm. They sensed what I did: that something unseen had passed between us and the stone, and we had not walked away untouched. Trace brushed against my ankle, gaze trained on the ridge where the observers had stood. Gone now. Or maybe just out of view. I exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the sealed container. The vault hadn’t rejected us. But it hadn’t welcomed us either. It had tolerated us. Measured us. And let us leave. Not because we were allies. But because we weren’t threats. I couldn’t decide if that felt like approval… or dismissal. And still, my hands stayed steady. 

✧ The debrief was procedural. I wrote it clean: extraction successful, no artifact breach, no resistance. No mention of presence. No mention of being watched. But the words sat strangely. I added one line I hadn’t planned: “Imperial observers did not interfere.” That was true. But incomplete. I paused, then typed again: “Artifact retrieved without engagement. Exit allowed.” I didn’t submit immediately. I looked at Trace, curled near the bunk. Her eyes were open. Watching. Not fearful. Just aware. I thought of the officer who never broke her gaze. Of the relic that didn’t pulse in warning. Of Korriban itself, quiet not because it was dormant—but because it had made a decision. About us. About what we were. And still, the silence lingers. I don’t know if it’s over. Or if we just survived the opening question. 

📓 Personal Log: “Permission Isn’t Peace" | Korriban, 3621 BBY

"I’ve stood in places where silence meant danger. Korriban wasn’t like that. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t hostile. It just… watched. We were given access, yes. But that’s not the same as being welcome. The vault let us pass. The Imperials didn’t interfere. And the relic—if that’s even what it was—never tested us. But every step felt like a question we didn’t know we were answering. Trace is unsettled. So is Brina, though she won’t say it. I keep thinking about the officer who never moved, never spoke, but didn’t feel cold. She felt present. Like someone weighing not our threat—but our intent. I think we passed. But I don’t know what we passed into. That silence… it wasn’t absence. It was decision. And I’m not sure whose."