Basic Information:

• Name:  Brina 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—low-emission sensitivity; manifests through anticipatory insight and reflexive awareness

Origin & Residence:

• Homeworld:  Zakuul

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

Physical Stats:

• Height:  1.72 meters (5'8")

• Weight:  65 kg (143 lbs)

• Build/Body Type:  Compact strength, agile resilience

• Eye Color: Hazel-gold

• Hair Color:  Black, thick; usually kept in a short braid or cropped for efficiency

• Skin Color:  Fair
  
  

Distinctive Features:

• Distinctive Characteristics:  Fluid, grounded posture; gaze unfiltered, presence felt before voice

• Scars/Tattoos/Markings:  Thermal scarring on right palm and left flank; faint Scion-script ink along left ribcage (deliberately concealed)

• Other Notable Features:  Modified Czerka field kit with her own lock clasp; pendant fashioned from decommissioned Zakuulan circuitry

Personality Profile:

• Openness to Experience: High (guided by experiential clarity and instinctual discernment)

• Conscientiousness:  Moderate (methodical under pressure, prioritizes intent over structure)

• Extroversion:  Moderate (measured, direct; expressive when trust is earned)

• Agreeableness:  High (empathy as principle, not performance)

• Neuroticism:  Low (burned through chaos, stable under strain)
  
  

Additional Traits:

• Strengths:  Reflexive courage, sharp moral compass, protection without hesitation

• Flaws:  Carries old weight in silence, restless between missions, flares under betrayal

• Likes:  Kinetic purpose, truth in motion, actions that honor memory

• Dislikes:  Sanctified hypocrisy, ritualized cruelty, silenced integrity

• Disposition:  Focused, loyal, shaped by conscious choice—not inherited conflict

Command Structure:

• Superior:  Lorim Vance (Czerka Field Director)

• Subordinates:  None formally; leads through trust, not hierarchy
  
  

Personal Connections:

• Significant Other:  None; emotional availability is selectively shielded

• Notable Friends:  Bella Tenebrix (cousin, counterpart, compass)

• Pets/Companions:  Ember (female loth-cat, rescued during post-Eternal salvage; emotionally attuned)
  
  

Family:

• Mother:  Isedra Tenebrix (former Valkorion medic, presumed lost)

• Father:  Darth Veraden (vanished legacy, still echoing)

• Other:  Bella Tenebrix (cousin; closest tie, shared reckoning)

Skills & Abilities:

• Signature Abilities/Force Powers:  Precognitive edge, Force-reactive shielding, situational empathy under duress

• Combat Specialties:  CQC intervention, rapid disruption tactics, terrain-based reflex execution

• Languages Spoken:  Galactic Basic (fluent), Zakuulan High Code, limited Sith

• Notable Achievements:  Refused termination protocol during Iziz breach; safeguarded cultural archives amidst systemic collapse

• Other Skills:  Vault decryption logic, field-driven improvisation, artifact intent recognition
  
  

Equipment & Gear:

• Primary Weapon(s):  Modified non-lethal plasma baton; Czerka pulse pistol (standard issue, precision-tuned)

• Notable Equipment/Gear:  Diagnostic dual-spike belt, custom archive casing with biometric fail-safes

• Armor/Outfit:  Matte salvage-grade field armor, enhanced with Horizon Guard inner-weave; inner collar sewn from ceremonial lining

• Personal Items:  Zakuulan pendant (obsolete circuit core), folded Knight sash kept in medkit

• Mount/Vehicle:  No personal mount; Czerka rotation shuttle assigned per active op

Roleplay Hooks:

• Quirks & Habits:  Knuckle pop before engagement; mutters archival ID strings when unsettled

• Rumors & Reputation:  Field agents say she “speaks only when the truth needs air”; known to override protocol if mercy is on the line 

• Open Connections:  Former Zakuul Knights, ghost network memory-keepers, resistance contacts, unregistered survivors
  
  

Story Seeds:

• Current Goals:  Safeguard meaning—even when no audience remains

• Hidden Agendas or Secrets:  Denied a fatal order during Horizon purge; believes one survivor remains untracked

• Fears/Weaknesses:  That mercy may not be scalable in war; that preservation may cost clarity

• Story Arcs:  To wield compassion without pause; to lead without command; to burn without losing herself to flame

Background:  

Raised in Zakuul’s Artisan Quarter under a cloak of intention and silence, Brina Tenebrix was shaped by the remnants of power—not its promise. Descendant of erased Sith legacies and medics who served behind masks, she learned early that obedience isn't loyalty, and structure isn’t safety. As a Knight, she questioned doctrine through action. As a Guard, she chose stillness when silence meant survival. She walked from empire, throne, and title—not in retreat, but in resolve. With Bella beside her, she unearthed memory where systems sought to bury it. Now a Senior Czerka Operative, Brina does not fight for recognition. She protects without needing permission. Her silence is no longer defiance. It is intent—and it burns with purpose. 

Timeline/Chronology:

• 3653 BBY | Age 0 — Born in Zakuul under shadowed Force inheritance.

• 3643 BBY | Age 10 — Rerouted district grid during containment drill; entered squire candidacy.

• 3636 BBY | Age 17 — Averted simulation collapse; earned reprimand for unapproved leadership.

• 3635 BBY | Age 18 — Knighted post-Valkorion; defied chain-of-command during refugee incursion.

• 3632 BBY | Age 21 — Promoted to Knight-Captain; issued redacted tribunal report.

• 3630 BBY | Age 23 — Appointed Horizon Guard; spared rebel operative during internal raid.

• 3629 BBY | Age 24 — Departed Zakuul with Bella; joined Czerka Recovery Ops.

• 3627 BBY | Age 26 — Prioritized memory archive over munitions in Iziz salvage.

• 3624 BBY | Age 29 — Led Delta-Seven vault recovery; encountered Force-bound relic site.

• 3621 BBY | Age 32 — Became Senior Recovery Operative; trusted to choose what endures.

Roleplayer Info:

• Contact Preference:  In-game (Brina 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 – Sparks in Stillness
3643 BBY | Age 10 | Civilian | Zakuul, Artisan’s Quarter

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Treaty of Coruscant has brokered a fragile peace, but tensions ripple beneath the galactic surface. While the Republic and Sith Empire repair their scars, Zakuul grows quietly, a rising empire under the enigmatic Valkorion. In the depths of the Spire, far from warzones and propaganda, Brina Tenebrix is born into silence shaped by purpose, and legacy woven through shadow. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ Brina Tenebrix was born under filtered stars, in a city where the sky never told the truth. Her father, once Darth Veraden, had vanished from the Sith Empire alongside his brother, answering a hidden call in the Force. That call led them to Zakuul, where they laid down their titles but not their vision, becoming quiet architects in the Emperor’s unseen order. Brina never heard these stories spoken aloud, but their truth was carved into the habits of her life. Her mother, Isedra, served as a medic in Valkorion’s inner sanctum—her hands steady, her voice precise, her silence deliberate. Her cousin Bella lived just a few levels below, the daughter of Darth Malis and Sira, whose work in the Spire’s Intelligence Net wove truths into codes. The girls were raised together, not as rivals but as mirror echoes—one flame, one current. Even at ten, Brina could feel the tension in her own bones, like a storm waiting for air. Instructors called her volatile. She didn’t mind. Fire needed fuel—and she was surrounded by it. 

✧ The Artisan’s Quarter gleamed with curated calm—marble arcades, quiet fountains, domed conservatories echoing songs written to soothe rather than stir. Brina walked these halls with restless purpose, counting steps between patrols and learning which murals covered access ports. Bella followed in silence, noticing the patterns Brina missed, saying little but offering direction in every glance. Their studies were clean, structured, full of doctrine and aesthetics—but Brina learned more from what wasn’t taught. She found meaning in the pauses, in the way guards stood at attention two degrees too long when certain names were spoken. The city raised children to blend into its perfection. Brina sought the edges, the flaws in symmetry. She earned demerits for questions, and warnings for “unmanaged energy.” But beneath it all, she felt the world watching—expecting. That pressure did not shape her into compliance. It sharpened her like a blade. Her jaw clenched every time they praised “unity.” She didn’t want unity. She wanted truth. 

✧ When the fire drill began, Brina immediately knew something was off. The sirens were two octaves higher than standard, and the corridors sealed in the wrong sequence. While others filed into safe zones, Brina slipped away, dragging Bella behind her into a service vent near the cooling conduits. The junction chamber pulsed with unstable charge—one capacitor seconds from overload. Brina crossed the threshold without thought, teeth clenched against the static sting. She rerouted the flow with burnt gloves and instinct, her hand blistering around the control stem. When the grid stabilized, the hum of catastrophe faded. Bella stood in the corner, face pale, lips pressed thin. “You could’ve died,” she whispered. Brina swallowed the ache that wanted to answer. “But I didn’t.” It was their first secret—a burn wrapped in trust, sealed by silence. That silence would become everything. 

✧ A Knight team arrived weeks later to test Force-sensitivity and readiness. Brina didn’t flinch under the scans or the questions. When asked what she would do if the system failed her, she answered, “I’d fix it.” Bella impressed them with insight and precision; Brina with instinct and defiance. Both were accepted into squire prep, flagged under “quiet sponsorship.” Brina understood what that meant: their parents were watching, or someone close to them was. A Knight paused on her profile, eyes narrowing just enough to reveal recognition. Brina didn’t ask what he saw—only that he saw. Legacy wasn’t about name or credit. It was about motion through silence. About being noticed without speaking. And she would be remembered, whether they wrote her name or not. 

✧ That night, Brina climbed to the highest rooftop she could reach, the Spire pulsing in the distance like a second sun. Below, the city whispered its seamless rhythms—too seamless. Bella joined her, saying nothing. “Do you think they’re out there?” Brina asked, voice barely above the wind. “They’re not gone,” Bella said. “They’re just waiting farther along.” Brina nodded slowly, her throat tightening. Not from grief. From certainty. Her parents hadn’t abandoned her. They had built a path she would have to choose to walk. And when the silence broke, she would be ready to run through fire to meet them. 

📓 Personal Log: “Before the Flame” | Zakuul, 3643 BBY

  "They say stillness is strength. But I don’t trust things that don’t move. Bella hears rhythms; I feel what breaks them. Our family served something older than titles, and deeper than loyalty. I won’t wait for orders to prove I belong here. I’ll act, when others are afraid to. My father left the Empire, but he didn’t leave his purpose. I’ll find it. And when I do, I won’t whisper—I’ll burn."

🟥 Episode II – First into the Fire
3636 BBY | Age 17 | Zakuul Squire | Zakuul, Squire Academy, Southern Training Cantonment

🪐 Galactic Context:

The galaxy reels after the devastation of Ziost, a world consumed by the raw hunger of the Sith Emperor’s spirit. While Republic and Imperial forces scramble to recover, Zakuul sharpens its silence. The Eternal Empire begins absorbing whispers from the edges—recruiting Force-sensitives, gathering artifacts, building without resistance. Brina Tenebrix stands on the cusp of becoming Zakuul’s blade—but first, she must learn to wield herself.

📘 Narrative:

✧ The Squire Academy was elegant, sterile, and built like a lie. Its marble halls glistened, its instructors smiled, but Brina felt the tension behind every gesture. She walked those halls with a blade in her chest and no sheath for it—every lesson a test of restraint. Her instructors praised control, but Brina knew what they really wanted was suppression. She clenched her fists too often, asked too many questions, and sparred like someone trying to crack open the system. Still, she passed every trial. She did the drills, wrote the reports, even learned to speak their dialect of polite obedience. But inside, the fire churned. Bella warned her, gently—“Wait. Let them underestimate you.” Brina almost said I don’t want to wait, before swallowing it. And still, the silence dared her.

✧ Her training cohort was full of children with clearances higher than their courage. They whispered about legacy, about the “Tenebrix cousins,” but none dared say it too loud. When a saboteur disabled the eastern barracks grid, Brina didn’t wait for command. She grabbed a toolkit, barked orders, and rerouted the power manually—scorching her palms and tearing her sleeve. Bella arrived moments later, locking down the corridor with a single command. Her voice was even, eyes scanning for deeper motives. “You can’t fix everything with instinct,” she murmured. Brina met her gaze, heart pounding. “But someone has to act.” Bella didn’t argue. She just looked away. And still, Brina felt the judgment behind the next door.

✧ A week later, Brina was assigned to a live exercise in the Artisan’s southern sector—a sweep-and-clear with restricted oversight. She led her team through tight corridors, trusting reflex more than formation. Midway through, she sensed it: a tremor in the Force, like static before a lightning strike. A collapse had been staged—but someone triggered it early. Two cadets were pinned. Brina called for evac and dug with bare hands until blood slicked her fingers. One cadet screamed, then breathed. The other didn’t. Brina sat back, shaking, her throat tight. When the medic arrived, Bella stood beside her, silent. Brina wanted to scream. Instead, she whispered, “We weren’t supposed to fail.” And still, the silence swallowed it.

✧ The debrief felt like a tribunal. The instructors cited her “unauthorized leadership adjustment” and “failure to maintain formation.” Brina kept her voice level, even as her pulse roared. She refused to apologize for acting while others stalled. Bella sat beside her as silent counsel, her posture composed, hands folded. “I made the call,” Brina said. “I’ll take the responsibility.” But her hands shook beneath the table, and she saw Bella's jaw tighten when they issued the reprimand. Suspension of command status. No commendation. No inquiry into why the simulation collapsed early. Just silence. Brina stared at the empty space where justice should have been. And still, her fire held its breath.

✧ Back in the courtyard, drills resumed. Brina moved differently now—less fire, more steel. Her instructors noticed. One nodded in rare approval. That nod stung more than the rebuke. Bella watched from across the training ring, saying nothing. But her presence was weight. That night, Brina climbed the observation tower, wind cutting across her face. The artificial stars above shimmered, cold and wrong. She whispered to them, not for answers, but for memory. “I won’t let them make me quiet,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, but certain. And still, the silence tested her.

📓 Personal Log: “Fire-Shaped Silence” | Zakuul, 3636 BBY

"They say we’re learning discipline. I think they’re just teaching delay. One life saved, one lost—and they wrote it off as a leadership error. Bella says patience is power. But I burn while I wait. I’m learning to hold the flame without letting it consume me. Still, I don’t want to be someone who obeys while the world cracks open. Let them call me reckless. I know what I am. And I won’t apologize for it."

🟥 Episode III – Broken Pulse, Golden Veins
3635 BBY | Age 18 | Zakuul Knight | Zakuul, Eastern Command Docks

🪐 Galactic Context:

Emperor Valkorion is dead—assassinated under shadowed circumstances. His son Arcann seizes the Eternal Throne, weaponizing grief into conquest. As the Eternal Fleet descends upon the Republic and Sith Empire, Brina Tenebrix earns her full Knight status—and faces a system no longer pretending to be at peace. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ The promotion came with ceremony Brina didn’t care for—gold filigree armor, scripted vows, hollow words echoing through the command atrium. But beneath the fanfare, the weight was real. Knighted at last, she stood beside Bella beneath the Eternal Banner, her pulse tight in her throat. Valkorion was gone, and no one dared say how. Brina’s new orders came swiftly: deploy to the Eastern Command Docks, where internal drills blurred into readiness alerts. She accepted without question, though her thoughts raced. Bella's glance said everything—wait, observe, hold—but Brina felt her breath shorten every time a new command arrived. Arcann’s rise felt wrong, unsteady, too sudden to be clean. She almost said as much before swallowing it. The city whispered in a new frequency—and Brina’s fire knew change was coming.

✧ Her first field deployment wasn’t a battle, but a containment. Arcann’s first strike shattered Imperial outposts in the Outer Rim, and refugees began slipping into Zakuul's shadows. A transport ship—charred, limping—drifted into the docks unregistered. Protocol demanded lockdown and investigation. Brina instead moved toward the wreckage before command confirmed clearance, her boots echoing through the hangar. Inside, smoke coiled around a wounded mother clutching her child—neither of them Zakuulan. Brina hesitated. Just long enough to feel it: fear, human and unsanctioned, nothing like the doctrine she'd been taught to enforce. Her jaw tightened as guards approached. “Contain them,” came the order. Brina almost obeyed. Instead, she stepped between. “They need medics, not cells.” Her voice didn’t shake. But the silence after hung sharp and accusing.

✧ An official reprimand followed—veiled as “assessment review.” Brina stood before the tribunal with hands clasped, shoulders squared, but heat crept up her spine with every word. “Knight Tenebrix displayed initiative without chain-of-command clearance.” “Compassion is commendable—but protocol is primary.” Each phrase chipped away at her faith in the structure she’d been raised to serve. She offered no apology. “If you want Knights who obey regardless, you don’t want Knights. You want enforcers.” Her heart pounded, her breath shallow beneath the weight of her own words. Bella later called it brave. Brina only felt raw—scorched by the choice, unsure if it mattered. When the verdict came—no demotion, just surveillance—it felt less like mercy and more like warning. Still, she walked out taller. Something had cracked. Not her. The foundation.

✧ Deployment continued. Each mission now carried two burdens: the objective, and the lie of unity. Her squad followed orders, but eyes shifted more often now. Brina heard the mutters: “She’s reckless,” “She’s her father’s fire.” But they still followed her into collapsing corridors, through unstable shield zones, past refugees who flinched at the sight of gold-cloaked Knights. One evening, during evac prep near the Riven Sublevels, Brina found a Sith child tucked behind crates—half-starved, silent. She felt the Force in the girl like a heartbeat out of sync. Command said “report all non-citizens.” Brina hesitated. Just long enough for her to kneel and whisper, “You’re safe now.” She didn’t report the girl. She just didn’t mention her. Bella noticed, of course. Said nothing. Just met her gaze later that night, eyes quiet and knowing.

✧ Back at the docks, Brina stood alone beside the primary intake corridor, helmet under her arm, wind scraping dry across her cheeks. The Eternal Fleet had departed again—this time toward Dromund Kaas. No one called it war, but she knew. War wasn’t always declared. Sometimes it just arrived, one breath at a time. The stained plating beneath her boots bore scorch marks now—unpolished, unrepaired. Zakuul wasn’t shining anymore. “What are we becoming?” she whispered to no one. Bella approached, silent but sure, her presence grounding like gravity. Brina didn’t turn. Just asked, “If I keep choosing wrong by their standards, am I still Zakuulan?” Bella’s answer was a soft, steady exhale. That silence said enough. Brina gripped her helmet tighter. She wasn’t turning away from the city. She was trying to save what was left of its soul.

📓 Personal Log: “Cracks in Gold” | Zakuul, 3635 BBY

"They told us Valkorion’s death was the end of an era. But it feels like the start of something worse. Orders keep coming, but they sound more like control than purpose. I saved lives, and they called it disobedience. I don’t want to fight Zakuul—but I won’t be a shield for its lies. Bella’s still watching, still steady—but even she feels the shift. Maybe this is what legacy really means: carrying the weight when your world forgets why it stood. I won’t abandon the people. Even if the Empire calls it treason. Even if Zakuul forgets me."

🟥 Episode IV – Ashes Between Us  
3632 BBY | Age 21 | Zakuul Knight Captain | Ziost, Containment Zone, New Adasta Perimeter

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Eternal Empire’s conquest accelerates under Arcann’s reign, sweeping across the galaxy with silence enforced by the Eternal Fleet. Ziost, shattered by the Emperor’s devastation and choked with Force residue, is declared a “containment zone” by Zakuulan command. Amid tensions with surviving Scions and Reclamation Service remnants, Knight-Captains Brina and Bella Tenebrix are deployed to maintain peace—but peace here is a brittle fiction.

📘 Narrative:

✧ Brina stood on the cracked scaffold overlooking New Adasta, her breath catching at the sight of the ruins below—ghosts of spires, choked in ash. The recent promotion to Knight-Captain still felt unreal, even with the gold-trimmed armor cinched around her ribs; some said she and Bella had been rewarded for “unswerving loyalty,” but Brina knew better. She didn’t feel loyal—she felt exhausted. Her gauntlets creaked as she tightened her grip on the railing, watching Scion adepts gather near the shattered fountain again, humming some half-lost chant. The Knight beside her shifted, waiting for orders, but Brina said nothing. She almost told him they should leave the adepts alone, but silence felt safer. She didn’t fear the Force currents here—she feared what they were becoming by pretending not to feel them. “Maintain presence,” she ordered finally, voice low. Her chest tightened when she saw the adept child glance up toward her—just for a second, with something too knowing in his stare. And still, the silence lingered.

✧ The tribunal came next, all echoing floors and carved authority. A civilian woman had been caught harboring fragments of forbidden Scion doctrine—poems, prophecies, nothing strategic. Brina’s hand hovered over the detention order, her pulse stuttering. “This isn’t sedition,” she said, not looking up. The room didn’t respond. She felt her jaw clench, the heat rising under her collar as the other officers signed without comment. She could’ve spoken again—insisted, argued—but her voice failed her at the last second. Later, she told Bella it was about timing. That wasn’t the truth. The truth was, she hesitated. And she hated how easy it was becoming to obey without belief. 

✧ The next day, they found the adept boy collapsed near the containment wall—his body riddled with feedback burns from a flare rupture. Brina knelt beside him, her palms trembling as she stabilized his breath with the Force, whispering reassurances he couldn’t hear. A medic moved to bind his wrists; she slapped the cuffs away with a growl. “He’s not a prisoner,” she snapped, more to herself than anyone. The other Knights hesitated—no one wanted to contradict a Captain—but the air buzzed with their unspoken judgment. She wanted to scream at them. Instead, she helped carry the boy to the medbay, ignoring every protocol she was breaking. “He absorbed the surge,” she whispered later to her report, fingers shaking as she typed. But no one asked why he was there in the first place. And still, the silence lingered. 

✧ She found Bella that night on the temple roof, the wind cutting sharp over the burned skyline. “This place is cursed,” Brina muttered, sitting beside her without asking. Bella didn’t reply at first—just nodded, eyes locked on the dark horizon. Brina’s breath caught in her throat. “If I keep choosing people over rules, they’ll take my badge,” she said quietly. “Then let them,” Bella answered, almost too softly to hear. Brina stared down at her gloves, still dusted in ash. She thought of their father’s oaths, their mother’s quiet instruction. She thought about legacy, and how it never once mentioned surrender. But what she felt now didn’t feel like victory. And still, the silence lingered. 

✧ In the days that followed, Brina’s detachment patrolled the perimeter, logging incidents, quoting protocol—but something had shifted in her. Her movements were sharper, more deliberate, her eyes scanning for gaps not in security but in mercy. A Scion elder bowed to her during a patrol, murmuring, “Not all justice is judgment.” She nearly asked him what he meant, but the words caught behind her teeth. In the next briefing, she rewrote a line in the report—erased a phrase that labeled the boy “noncompliant.” It wasn’t redemption. It was defiance in the language they taught her. When her aide asked if it was a mistake, Brina only nodded once. She didn’t explain. And still, the silence lingered. 

📓 Personal Log: “Glass Beneath My Feet” | Ziost, 3632 BBY

"They called it a promotion. Said it was earned. But I think they’re testing us—to see if we’ll bend under the weight. I used to think orders were tools. Now they feel like excuses. That boy shouldn’t have been there. That woman shouldn’t be in a cell. I acted, and I’ll keep acting—but every step forward feels like walking across glass. I’m not afraid to bleed. I’m afraid I’ll get used to the cuts." 

🟥 Episode V – Horizon’s Edge
3630 BBY | Age 23 | Horizon Guard | Zakuul - Palace of the Eternal Dragon

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Eternal Empire dazzles beneath golden veils as it begins to fracture from within. Empress Vaylin’s Grand Festival cloaks systemic rot in spectacle, her volatile temper leaving a trail of executed commanders and broken ranks. After a purge in the upper echelons of the Horizon Guard—many slain by Vaylin herself in a fury following the Alliance’s raids—Brina Tenebrix is promoted from Knight-Captain to Horizon Guard, alongside Bella. The vacancy was sudden. The honor hollow. The rebellion waits just beneath the marble.

📘 Narrative:

✧ The scent of polished stone and blood lingered as Brina strode through the Palace of the Eternal Dragon, her newly issued Horizon Guard armor too bright under the mirrored ceilings. She’d worn it for less than a week, promoted not for valor but vacancy. Empress Vaylin had shattered half the Guard after a single disobedience—an entire column struck down for what they didn’t prevent. Brina hadn’t asked why she survived. She just accepted the posting. Her comms crackled with encrypted urgency—Sentinel anomaly, eastern corridor, verify and contain. Her pulse quickened, not from fear but from disruption. Her steps echoed alone. She adjusted her gauntlet, lips pressed tight, the scent of ion discharge tickling memory. Something about the signal felt familiar. She almost voiced it—but silence had served her longer than instinct. And still, the silence lingered.

✧ The girl in the corridor wore ceremonial silks—stiff with meaning, soft with fear. Brina’s breath hitched. Not because she didn’t know who it was—but because she did. The Sentinel data hadn’t named them. Hadn’t said Raeya. The saber in Brina’s hand activated on reflex—its hum a threat, a question, a tether. Raeya didn’t flinch. Didn’t run. Her eyes held not defiance but recognition. Brina’s jaw clenched. Her orders whispered protocol. But her chest burned with the weight of another truth: We were never built to stay here forever. Raeya didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Brina lowered her blade. And still, the silence lingered.

✧ Fireworks ignited behind the stained-glass dome above, casting red across Raeya’s face like war paint. Brina’s fingers hovered near her comm, the confirmation key blinking. Rebel contact located. It would be so easy. One line. One report. One execution. But her hand didn’t move. Raeya stepped back once—slow, deliberate. “You always knew we wouldn’t stay,” she said. Her voice was soft, but it shattered something in Brina. Her throat tightened. “Then make it worth it.” Raeya nodded. Brina didn’t blink. Her cousin’s face flashed in her mind—Bella, who would understand. And still, the silence lingered.

✧ Minutes later, chaos erupted. The rebel prisoners surged free. Skytroopers fired into crowds. Ion surges flickered across the corridors like dying stars. Brina stood her ground—too close to the breach to be clean, too far to stop what had already begun. Her visor displayed a rebel overlay signature—Kylia’s. She traced its cascade backwards through the net. Her fingers hovered over the trace log. She could erase it. Or let it stand. But her decision wasn’t made with her hands. It was made in the stillness before the order came. She closed the trace. Walked forward, not toward the fight—but toward the exit. And still, the silence lingered.

✧ She found Bella later beneath the shattered arch of a gallery walkway, the sky above fractured by debris and light. A data spike glowed in Bella’s palm—evidence, final and sharp. Brina didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Bella’s gaze met hers, unreadable but seen. Together, they stood at the edge of treason, legacy, and mercy. “Do we report?” Bella asked, voice barely audible. Brina inhaled—and exhaled. “They chose to run. We chose to let them.” Bella crushed the spike without fanfare. Brina closed her eyes as the wind carried ash across their boots. And still, the silence lingered.

📓 Personal Log: “Blade Unraised" | Zakuul, 3630 BBY

"They said Horizon Guard was an honor. They never said it came from death. The Empress destroyed half her elite in a fit of rage, and someone had to fill the gap. Bella and I were next in line. But no ceremony can make you believe a lie you’ve already seen through. Raeya didn’t betray anything. She chose truth over ritual. And when the system told me to extinguish that truth… I didn’t. Maybe that means I’m finished here. Or maybe it means I’ve finally begun."

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

🪐 Galactic Context:

A year after the Eternal Empire's fall, Odessen remains the nerve center of the Eternal Alliance—a fragile coalition holding together survivors of both Republic and Imperial descent. Though the war has quieted, the scars remain, especially in remote sites like the Reclamation Ridge, where Force-etched Zakuulan tech resists dismantling. Czerka Corporation, under new recovery contracts, has taken lead in neutralizing and extracting these vaults—often with more ambition than oversight. Brina Tenebrix, once a Horizon Guard, now wears the crest of Czerka as a full recovery operative—though her silence still bears the shape of Zakuul.

📘 Narrative:

✧ Brina crouched at the vault’s perimeter, her glove sliding across ice-flecked plating warped by time and weather. The Odessen air was crisp, but the vault radiated something colder—something deeper than temperature. Bella’s voice crackled over the comm: “Signal variance, two meters west.” Brina didn’t reply. She rose slowly, breath tight, and moved to the edge of the ridge, gaze catching on moss-choked wiring and scorched fracture lines. This wasn’t just tech—it was memory sealed in alloy. Her pulse stirred like it always did near Zakuulan relics, not from fear… but from something harder to name. Legacy, maybe. Guilt, probably. She keyed her datapad with stiff fingers and stepped inside. Behind her, the forest held its breath. And still, the vault waited.

✧ The interior lit dimly, reactant coils flickering with ghost charge. Brina moved with practiced caution, eyes flicking from exposed conduit to inactive holos. The silence was too complete, too deliberate. “Run an echo scan,” Bella said through the comm. “I already did,” Brina murmured. Her voice sounded small inside the metal. She passed what looked like a harmonic stabilizer—Zakuulan made, but fused with Republic casing. It didn’t belong. None of this did. Her jaw clenched as she scanned the room again, this time slower. The core chamber hummed faintly, like breath beneath stone. And then she felt it. Not presence. Not danger. Just attention—quiet and cold and focused on her alone.

✧ Her hand hovered near her belt. No saber now, just a standard Czerka-issue pulse pistol. She didn’t draw it. Not yet. Something moved just beyond the chamber arch—no footsteps, no sound, just a flicker of robe and shadow. Brina turned fast, breath caught in her throat. A figure stood in the corridor: tall, unmoving, hood drawn low. No insignia. No words. Her throat tightened. She reached for the Force—and felt it curl away, displaced like light bent wrong. The figure didn’t approach. Didn’t speak. They watched. Brina held still. Not frozen, just… measured. Something passed between them. Something not meant for the report. Then, without sound, the figure stepped back—and was gone. And still, she didn’t lower her hand.

✧ She rejoined Bella at the exit, lips pressed thin. “Did you see it?” Brina asked, voice flat. Bella didn’t answer right away—only nodded, eyes shadowed. The vault sealed behind them with a hiss, pressure equalizing like a held breath released too late. “No alarms, no traps,” Brina muttered. “No guards.” “No mistakes either,” Bella said. Brina’s hands were cold. She flexed them twice, watching mist rise from her breath. The artifact was packed, sealed in a clean box with clean paperwork. But none of this felt clean. She turned toward the ridge. The trees didn’t move. The silence felt deeper now—not emptiness, but observation. Like something had let them go. For now.

✧ Back at the outpost, Brina sat with her boots still on, shoulders hunched as she filed the report. Her tone was neutral. No references to the presence. No irregularities noted. The scanner log showed nothing. The vault’s defenses never activated. The shard hummed faintly in containment, but calibration showed no spike. It was as if the mission had gone perfectly. And yet, her fingers hesitated over the final entry field. Successful acquisition. She typed it. Let it sit. Then submitted the log. She stared at the closed terminal for a long moment, the hum of the base soft around her. And still, her mind returned to that presence. Not hostile. Not welcoming. Just… there. Watching.

📓 Personal Log: "After the Static” | Odessen, 3629 BBY

  "The vault wasn’t empty. It was waiting. The shard was real—but it wasn’t the only thing we walked away with. Something watched us. I don’t think it meant harm. But I also don’t think it meant peace. We were measured. And allowed to pass. That kind of silence… it doesn’t come from absence. It comes from intention. And I don’t know what that makes us now." 

🟥 Episode VII – The Crate That Chose Me
3627 BBY | Age 26 | Czerka Recovery Operative | Onderon, Iziz Subterranean Vaults

🪐 Galactic Context:

With war reigniting between the Sith Empire and the Republic, Onderon becomes a flashpoint. As Republic forces struggle to hold Iziz against Sith sabotage and royal unrest, Czerka Recovery Teams are deployed to reclaim critical infrastructure, “neutralize legacy threats,” and extract cultural assets before the vaults fall. Brina and Bella Tenebrix, now employed full-time by Czerka Corporation, are assigned to lead a joint salvage op—deep beneath a city already burning from within. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ Brina crouched beside a cracked support beam, the ground beneath her boots humming faintly with vibration. Ember—her Loth-cat companion, adopted from a ruined trade post near the Tion Cluster—padded along the rubble edge, tail flicking with warning. The air in the vault was humid and heavy with static. “Three meters deeper,” Bella’s voice murmured through her rebreather. “Power junction’s still hot. Someone kept this place alive.” Brina exhaled slowly, sweat already collecting beneath her collar. “Then let’s not bury ourselves with it.” She tightened the straps on her harness, her breath catching—not from fear, but from the weight that never quite left her chest. Above them, the artillery rolled closer. Ember paused at a fracture line, then turned her gold eyes to her. A signal. And still, the silence loomed.

✧ They moved in rhythm—Bella sweeping for signal traces while Brina secured the path, Ember darting ahead like she’d always belonged in war zones. The vault walls curved inward, decorated with Onderonian sigils—heritage markers, not military codes. “This wasn’t a command hub,” Bella said. “This was preservation.” Brina nodded once, running her glove across a wall etched with names. “Families. Bloodlines.” “Czerka marked this vault as expendable.” “Then they didn’t read the walls.” Brina’s voice came low, sharp. Trace, Bella’s own Loth-cat, wound silently behind her feet. The floor vibrated with another distant blast. Brina steadied herself. Not from the tremor—but the choice she knew was coming. And still, she moved forward.

✧ Ember yowled low—a warning. Brina dropped to a crouch as the next chamber came into view. Crates, mostly sealed, marked in old Republic standard. One was half-open. She stepped forward slowly, unfastening it. Inside: a wrapped data core nestled beside a bundle of cloth and a child’s wooden toy. Her fingers hovered. “This isn’t just storage,” she said. “Someone left this for safekeeping. Not retrieval.” Bella joined her, scanning quietly. “Civilian registry records. Pre-war. Probably flagged for deletion.” Brina’s jaw tightened. “Then we take it.” She closed the crate, hands shaking. Not from fear. From the ache of choosing between what saves now… and what saves later. And still, the weight of the core pressed like truth.

✧ Their comms lit up. Lorim Vance’s voice: “Extraction window closing. Imperial patrol in range. Five minutes.” Bella looked at her. “One crate.” Brina scanned the room. The weapon cache gleamed from the other side—untouched. She could feel it—the choice pulling at her ribs like a thread. “We take the records,” she said. “If they want weapons, they’ll build more. But no one rebuilds what they’ve already forgotten.” Bella didn’t argue. Just helped her lock the container. Ember nuzzled her leg once, quiet approval radiating from him like heat. “You’re sure?” Bella asked as they turned back toward the corridor. “No,” Brina said, voice low. “But I know what I’d regret.” And still, the silence between them held like a vow.

✧ Outside, the jungle smoldered under the fading light. The evac shuttle trembled on repulsors as they boarded, crate secured between them. Ember leapt lightly to Brina’s lap, curling into a tight, soot-dusted coil. Trace nestled beside Bella’s boots. “Vance will ask what we left behind,” Bella murmured. Brina stared out the viewport, where flame met canopy. “Let him.” Her hands were scraped raw, and the ache in her shoulder from the descent still pulsed. But her breath was steady now. The crate wasn’t full of strategy. It was full of stories. “We did the right thing,” Bella said. Brina nodded, but didn’t answer. And still, she wasn’t sure what right even meant anymore.

📓 Personal Log: “What We Carried” | 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 – What Remains
3624 BBY | Age 29 | Czerka Recovery Operative | Onderon, Vault Delta-Seven

🪐 Galactic Context:

Onderon’s surface fractures under pressure—political, seismic, and spectral. In the wake of Sith and Republic entanglements, a buried vault emerges beneath Iziz, its structure older than any known war. Czerka sends a neutral recovery team to secure and stabilize it. Brina Tenebrix leads from the front, as always. She's been in warzones, faced corrupted Jedi, watched empires fall. But what she finds in the vault isn’t a trap or a weapon. It’s something that doesn’t need to defend itself.

📘 Narrative:

✧ She felt the air shift before her boots touched the stone. Brina Tenebrix moved first, sidearm unholstered but lowered, eyes adjusting to the torchlit vault. The walls breathed in layered echoes—etched symbols curling like fossilized language. She didn’t like it. Didn’t hate it either. But it wasn’t neutral. It was listening. She swept left, keeping her line of sight clear while Bella scanned the vault’s architecture. Nothing matched known civilizations. Nothing was dated. And still, something waited in the center—pulsing faintly, like a wound that had never stopped bleeding. 

✧ The relic hovered in silence, fractured yet whole, suspended above a dais that hummed without sound. Brina crouched, hand to the stone—not touching the relic, but gauging temperature, vibration, anything. Her scanner gave no readings she trusted. It never did in places like this. The Force warped tech, warped instinct. Her chest tightened. She didn’t fear relics. But she hated uncertainty. Especially when it felt like being watched. Bella said something behind her—soft, clipped, no fear in it. Brina nodded. She didn’t need details. She needed intent. And still, the vault offered none. 

✧ Then came the first outsider. Black armor, deliberate steps, cold presence. Sith. Brina rose, silent, hand returning to her weapon but not lifting it. This one didn’t speak—didn’t need to. Her posture was rigid, but her eyes moved too much. Calculating. Not just confident—daring the room to respond. Brina didn’t blink. The second figure followed. Lighter footsteps. Same bloodline, she guessed. Same blade, different edge. The second woman didn’t posture. She simply... entered. Brina and Bella exchanged a glance—short, tight, practiced. The kind that meant: This isn’t ours anymore. Be ready anyway. And still, no one drew a weapon. 

✧ The relic pulsed once—like it had noticed. Then something deeper stirred. Not a noise. A weight. At the far end of the chamber, a figure formed. Not cloaked in darkness. Not made of fire or light. Just there. Brina’s fingers twitched toward her belt. But her hand didn’t rise. It wasn’t fear. It was recognition. The way predators recognize the moment the forest goes silent. The Sith on her right tensed. The other one... softened. Brina exhaled once. “We’re not meant to take anything,” she said, unsure if she was stating fact or warning herself. The figure tilted its head. Then it was gone. 

✧ No violence. No challenge. Just absence. Brina stood in place a moment longer. Then she turned to Bella. No words. Just confirmation in the look they shared: We log nothing that invites war. One sabered guest lingered. The other backed away like someone leaving a place of worship. Brina stepped to the threshold of the relic once more. She didn’t bow. She didn’t reach. But in her silence, there was respect. She didn’t understand what they had witnessed. But she knew what they hadn’t: claim, conquest, agenda. The vault hadn’t surrendered. It had simply allowed. And still, that felt like the most dangerous thing of all. 

📓 Personal Log: "Thresholds Unspoken" | Onderon, 3624 BBY

"It didn’t challenge us. That’s what struck me. It could have. I think it’s done so before. But this time, it just… listened. Or waited. I don’t know which is worse. I’ve fought monsters. I’ve walked through fire. But I’ve never stood in a place where power didn’t even care if I existed. We weren’t intruders. We weren’t welcome either. We were tolerated. That’s the truth I won’t file. Some boundaries aren’t defended. They’re remembered."

🟥 Episode IX – The Flame We Carry
3621 BBY | Age 32 | Czerka Senior Recovery Operative | Korriban, Outer Vault Descent Sector 6C

🪐 Galactic Context:

Korriban does not forgive. Even under sanctioned truce, the Sith homeworld offers no welcome—only permission. As Senior Recovery Operatives for Czerka, Brina and Bella Tenebrix are tasked with retrieving a sealed relic deep within the catacombs. The Empire approved the mission. But permission is not protection. Two Imperial Majors—unintroduced, ever-present—have been assigned to "observe" the recovery effort. Brina doesn’t need names to recognize scrutiny. She’s been watched her entire life. But this world doesn’t just watch. It waits. And some silences feel too much like fire.  

📘 Narrative:

✧ The surface of Korriban cracked like old bone beneath my boots—dry, uneven, whispering heat through the soles. I followed Bella past a broken obelisk half-swallowed by red sand, our scanners pinging faint signatures from the tomb’s outer rim. Officially, we were here on a Czerka retrieval op—authorized, internally logged, and signed like any other corporate asset task. But I knew better. You don’t walk into a Sith grave under orders so secret that even Lords were cut out of the loop, with a mission no one will claim if you vanish. Our clearance was real, yes. But so were the shadows trailing us—two Imperial officers, always at the edge of our path, watching like the stone itself had grown eyes. We weren’t introduced. No names. Just presence, measured and deliberate. I didn’t need the Force to know the Empire never gives you space without testing what you’ll do with it. And still, the silence followed us in.

✧ The descent into the vault was slow, steady, deliberate—our equipment pre-calibrated to avoid triggering Sith proximity wards. Bella handled the signal mapping while I kept one hand near my sidearm, the other gripping the reinforced datapad we’d synced to the tomb schematics. The chamber breathed around us—dry air laced with something ancient and sour. My pulse stayed calm, but my instincts prickled. This wasn’t like Odessen or Onderon. This place didn’t just feel watched. It felt… aware. A relic hummed faintly behind a veiled arch—low resonance, subtle power. We paused before crossing. “Still clear,” Bella murmured. I nodded, stepping forward. My hand tightened involuntarily. This wasn’t a recovery. This was a trespass assigned because we were expendable—Force-capable but unaffiliated, perfect for a job that needed power but no legacy. And still, we moved forward. 

✧ I felt them watching from above—Imperial, by posture if not insignia. Their armor gleamed red even in shadow, like blood made manifest. They didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just tracked us like surveillance ghosts carved from doctrine. I didn’t glance up. I didn’t need to. Observation was a familiar weight. Bella shifted beside me—calm, efficient, as always—but I caught the way her hand lingered a moment longer on the data lock than necessary. We weren’t scared. We were measured. That’s what Korriban did. It didn’t kill you. It asked what you’d choose when everything felt allowed… but nothing felt safe. The artifact rested in a sealed container: obsidian-trimmed, faintly pulsing, weightless yet dense with memory. I closed the lid gently. My gloves creaked as I secured it. And still, no one stopped us. 

✧ Outside, the heat had deepened, and the wind carried grit like ash. We didn’t speak until the vault sealed behind us. “Any resistance?” Bella asked. I shook my head. “No traps. No interference.” Just watchers. Just silence. Ember—my loth-cat—met us near the perimeter, ears back, tail twitching. Her posture mirrored my own unease. Beside him, Trace—the one Bella had bonded with months before—stood still, eyes fixed toward the ridge where the Imperials had last stood. Neither loth-cat made a sound. I knelt beside Ember, hand brushing behind her ears. Her purr was faint. Steady. But not content. I didn’t ask what he sensed. I already knew. The Force wasn’t loud here. It was waiting. Like the world had seen us… and decided to let us leave. For now. 

✧ We filed the report in orbit, datapads synced to the Czerka command ship—though we knew no one would read too closely, so long as no Sith names were in the casualty report. Everything was clean. Extracted. Verified. Logged. But my fingers hovered too long over the last entry line. Notes: No complications. I typed it. Let it sit. Then sent it. I knew what was missing: the weight of unseen scrutiny, the quiet in the vault that wasn’t empty but listening, and the strange, aching certainty that we had been judged not by words—but by presence. I didn’t name the officers. I didn’t question their orders. But I felt them. One moved like she measured certainty in posture. The other… like she remembered what mercy felt like. I didn’t know their names. But I remembered the feeling. Korriban didn’t reject us. It let us pass. And that scared me more than any trap. And still, the silence followed us out. 

📓 Personal Log: “Judged in Stillness" | Korriban, 3621 BBY

"They say silence means permission. That’s a lie. Korriban didn’t welcome us—it tolerated us. The relic is ours, technically. But the moment felt less like a win and more like a pause in someone else’s sentence. We were watched. Measured. Not by the Force alone. By two Imperials who didn’t speak, but didn’t look away. I kept my hand near my weapon, but I never raised it. That felt like the real choice. I don’t know why they didn’t intervene. Maybe they didn’t need to. Maybe they saw what we were… and didn’t feel threatened. That might be worse. Ember still won’t settle. And neither will I."