Basic Information:

• Name:  Sara Kenau

• Alias:  None

• Species:  Human

• Gender:  Female

• Age:  32

Affiliation & Status:

• Affiliation:  Sith Empire, Imperial Military

• Title:  Commanding Officer, 2nd Battalion, 13th Outer Core Regiment

• Rank:  Major

• Force Sensitive:  No

Origin & Residence:

• Homeworld:  Balmorra

• Current Residence:  Korriban

Physical Stats:

• Height:  1.75 meters (5’9”)

• Weight:  68 kg (150 lbs)

• Build/Body Type:  Lean, toned, disciplined

• Eye Color: Storm-gray eyes rimmed with cool blue

• Hair Color:  Dark brown, straight, chin length

• Skin Color:  Fair
  
  

Distinctive Features:

• Distinctive Characteristics:  Controlled gait, intense gaze, rigid military posture

• Scars/Tattoos/Markings:  Light scarring on forearms from early training drills

• Other Notable Features:  Often seen with a precise uniform, no visible adornments or personal flair

Personality Profile:

• Openness to Experience:  Low (structured, traditional, and duty-bound)

• Conscientiousness:  Extremely high (disciplined, meticulous, rule-focused)

• Extroversion:  Low (quiet, observant, commands through presence, not volume)

• Agreeableness:  Moderate (professional but often cold; improves under long-term trust)

• Neuroticism:  Low (internally repressive but appears calm)

Additional Traits:

• Strengths:  Tactical brilliance, organizational leadership, unshakable under pressure

• Flaws:  Emotional detachment, inflexibility under ambiguity, tendency to over-control when uncertain

• Likes:  Protocol, efficiency, personal logs, quiet walks after duty hours

• Dislikes:  Disorder, wasted time, open vulnerability

• Disposition:  Stoic, austere, unwavering

Command Structure:

• Superior:  Colonel Veyra Dren

• Subordinates:  2nd Battalion officers and personnel under her direct command
  
  

Personal Connections:

• Significant Other:  None (closely bonded to her twin sister)

• Notable Friends:  Few—primarily respected colleagues and former squadmates

• Pets/Companions:  None
  
  

Family:

• Mother:  Lena Kenau (alive, lives on Dromund Kaas)

• Father:  Varek Kenau (alive, logistics coordinator)

• Siblings:  Tarika Kenau (twin sister, fellow officer—now Major; relationship complex but healing)

Skills & Abilities:

• Signature Abilities/Force Powers:  Command presence and predictive tactical modeling 

• Combat Specialties:  Blaster pistol, squad-level coordination, suppression tactics

• Languages Spoken:  Galactic Basic, Military Cant, some Huttese

• Notable Achievements:  Promoted to Major during the Legacy of the Sith summit, prevented two covert sabotage attempts on Odessen, rebuilt 2nd Battalion post-Korriban unrest 

• Other Skills:  Advanced strategic planning, battle log documentation, regiment protocol auditing 

Equipment & Gear:

• Primary Weapon(s):  Modified EE-3 carbine, backup holdout blaster

• Notable Equipment/Gear:  Advanced command datapad, encrypted comm-link

• Armor/Outfit:  Standard officer uniform with black trim, red rank panel

• Personal Items:  A worn family holochip with an old image of the twins

• Mount/Vehicle:  Command-specced troop transport shuttle “Iron Calm”

Roleplay Hooks:

• Quirks & Habits:  Writes personal logs nightly; rarely uses first names, even for friends

• Rumors & Reputation:  Known for leading with "iron silence"; whispered to have once broken protocol to save her sister

• Open Connections:  Former squadmates now in rival battalions, a commanding officer who questions her reform, a soldier she once reprimanded harshly seeking re-evaluation 

Story Seeds:

• Current Goals:  Learn to lead with trust, not just control

• Hidden Agendas or Secrets:  Quietly documenting leadership models to reshape the regiment’s doctrine

• Fears/Weaknesses:  Being seen as weak when she relinquishes control; losing respect through vulnerability

• Story Arcs:  Redemption through reform; mentorship of a younger officer with similar rigidity; reconciliation with Tarika

• Background:  

Sara Kenau was born on Balmorra, raised amid soot-stained cities and strict routines. In a household ruled by silent expectations and procedural rigor, she came to see the Imperial military not just as duty—but as order, survival, and self-definition. Her rise from recruit to officer was marked by tactical precision, loyalty to protocol, and an almost sacred adherence to control. But across battlefields from the relic-haunted halls of Korriban to the crumbling gridlines of Taris, and finally to the political tension of Odessen, that control was tested. The quiet strength of her sister Tarika’s compassionate leadership, the composed authority of allies like Brina Tenebrix, and the emptiness of victory through fear forced Sara to confront the rigidity she had built her life around. By the time she stood at the summit’s edge as a Major, she had begun to change—not by abandoning discipline, but by learning to lead with trust, vulnerability, and the belief that silence could give way to clarity.

• Timeline/Chronology:

  • 3658 BBY | 5 BTC | Born on Balmorra

  • 3642 BBY | 11 ATC | Age 16 | Relocates to Dromund Kaas with family

  • 3640 BBY | 13 ATC | Age 18 | Enlists in Civilian Enlistment Training; rescues Tarika during training explosion

  • 3638 BBY | 15 ATC | Age 20 | Promoted to Specialist; assigned to Sith Academy on Korriban; enforces Internal Stability Directive

  • 3632 BBY | 21 ATC | Age 26 | Promoted to Corporal; deployed to Taris during Republic withdrawal; hesitates during Jedi refugee standoff

  • 3630 BBY | 23 ATC | Age 28 | Promoted to Sergeant; leads security at Outer Valley Summit; observes Knight-Captain Brina Tenebrix

  • 3629 BBY | 24 ATC | Age 29 | Promoted to Lieutenant; oversees 2nd Company during Vashara audit; noted for precision, but criticized as inflexible

  • 3627 BBY | 26 ATC | Age 31 | Promoted to Captain; commands company during Korriban unrest; executes purge of Republic sleeper agents

  • 3626 BBY | 27 ATC | Age 32 | Promoted to Major; manages Imperial security at Alliance Summit on Odessen; begins transition to collaborative leadership 

Roleplayer Info:

• Contact Preference:  In-game (Sara Kenau - 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 – Before the Storm
3643 BBY | Age 10 | Galactic Cold War | Balmorra, Outer Settlements | Civilian

🪐 Galactic Context:

Though the Treaty of Coruscant (3653 BBY) paused open warfare, Balmorra remains a strategic powder keg. Civilian zones strain under Imperial surveillance, ration laws, and the persistent presence of resistance figures like Fortris Gall. The Order‑Aligned Youth Enclave serves both training and indoctrination—shaping children into instruments of stability. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ The thunder of repulsorcraft overhead was background noise to ten‑year‑old Sara Kenau, conditioned to forget the hum of Sobrik’s patrol grid. In her house, the holocomm sometimes flickered with reports of Fortris Gall’s raids, but Lena muted them before the captions scrolled full—another reminder that hope needed bureaucracy to breathe. Schools taught triage patterns and civic cadence alongside drills quoting Darth Marr’s words—“Discipline is clarity, clarity is survival”—phrases Sara absorbed even before they ended. Her world was prefab rows outside the logistics belt, sterilized classrooms, and clockwork dinners enforced by her parents, Varek and Lena. Lateness was weakness; emotion was noise; exceptions were errors. On the surface, she sought precision; beneath, she sought absolutes. Each data‑pad was stacked by priority, each boot’s toe angle by micrometer. Compliance wasn’t contentment—it was armor. When her teachers spoke of resistance cells in Gorinth Canyon, Sara logged the locations, not the sentiment. She didn’t dream of rebellion. She dreamt of error‑free routines.

✧ At the Enclave, simulation drills came on schedule. Breach exercises, blackout triage, civilian suppression—all calibrated. Sara led by example: posture exact, tone neutral, commands punctuated with clarity. She catalogued every variable, isolated each deviation, listed non‑compliant comments in her mental ledger. Other children flinched or joked; she didn’t flinch. Even instructors noted her “predictive regulation affinity,” a bureaucratic phrase meaning she acted before orders were spoken. She didn’t seek praise—it was ephemeral. Precision endured. Silence reigned. Only Tarika, her twin, noticed the toll those routines took: a tremor under control, a pause before speech. But Tarika didn’t remark. Not in public. Not yet. No weakness. Just quiet curiosity. 

✧ Their shared room was a study in contrast. Sara’s side was immaculate—datapads by deadline, boots aligned, sheets tucked. Tarika’s side held sketches of gridlines, minor infractions in supply runs, quiet questions in unshared journals. They never argued. The distance between them was procedural. At night, Tarika whispered mappings of outages near the Okara Droid Factory—other kids slept through data spikes Erica had flagged. Sara listened. She didn’t second‑guess. She didn’t object. Listening wasn’t disobedience; but neither was it belief. Their parents said nothing. Efficiency didn’t reward introspection. Still, Sara felt something shift each time Tarika spoke—like an error entering her careful log, unacknowledged but persistent. 

✧ Then came the day of the containment malfunction in Sector 7. Sirens blared, and hazmat teams deployed AegisSeal foam through red corridor vents. Most children cried, but Sara executed by the book: mapped exits, checked headcounts, filed incident flags for non‑compliance. Tarika stayed behind—she’d spotted an S2‑MC support droid still logged into a comm relay node. Protocol said evacuate; Tarika didn’t. She raced back, pulled the droid free, and emerged coughing, foam‑soaked with soot. The patrol officer barely glanced at her, muttering, “Civilian courage, wasted.” His tone carried distance. Sara’s throat tightened. Rules spoke one language; fear another. When Tarika walked away, chest heaving, something in Sara’s grip loosened—just a little.

✧ In the following weeks, all surface order resumed: drills, schedules, meals. But under the routines, something shifted in Sara. Precision felt shaky. Doubt crept into margins. She doubled down—checklists more frequent, datapads scrambled by micro‑timestamps, posture stricter. Still, once, she nearly flagged Tarika for smiling during a cadence review. She didn’t. Instead, she corrected the unit’s rhythm, chest tight. Tarika’s laughter rippled elsewhere—others joined. Sara drew the line tighter around herself. She whispered numbers in the dark, tried to steady her form. But each night, her bunk felt colder. The fiction of safety had cracks. They were quieter than alarms—but unmistakable. 

📓 Personal Log: “Order Is Armor” | Balmorra, 3643 BBY

“Order keeps us safe. It separates the strong from the reckless. But today, Tarika broke protocol—she didn’t evacuate, she saved a support droid from comm wipe. The officer called her brave, but I think he meant stupid. I kept to the rules. I checked every headcount and every door. I filed flags for hesitation and deviation. And yet—I don’t know which one of us was right anymore.” 

🟥 Episode II – Ashes of Kaas
3636 BBY | Age 17 | Fall of Ziost Era | Dromund Kaas, Civilian Enlistment Training Grounds | Imperial Recruit

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Treaty of Coruscant collapsed four years ago, and the Sith Empire consolidates power amid sporadic skirmishes. Dromund Kaas serves as the Empire’s heart of recruitment and indoctrination—echoing Darth Marr’s legacy with drills and doctrine. Rising tensions from the Invasion of Ziost energize drilling and surveillance, turning recruits into living metrics. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ Thunder streaked across the black sky of Dromund Kaas, electric veins illuminating recruits lined on the training yard. Sara Kenau stepped from the civilian transport without emotion, her jaw locked in precise alignment. Advanced drills already referenced Marr’s reforms—“Order through purpose, obedience through understanding.” She inhaled the acid-scented air and dismissed everything but routine. Behind her, familial constancy waited in her parents’ postings: Lena in grid audit command, Varek in troop logistics. They were phased into war effort silently, like the murk around Kaas’s valleys. To Sara, their path was progression—not sacrifice. At approach, the containment field buzzed; an officer barked her designation. Sara straightened silently. This was structure, not threat.

✧ Training split flesh first: flooded yards, grueling posture correction, chanting doctrine through static drills. Instructors calibrated tone, posture, not emotion—remolding will. Sara adapted instantly; a scout’s breath would register, a syllable off cadence. Her early report noted: “Operationally ready without augmentation.” She felt pride—for a breath—then buried it beneath protocol. That night, she closed her eyes and registered the tremor in her palms. She catalogued it mentally: “#Tremor‑Log, 212 secs of dorm lights out—first conscious entry.” She didn’t know why she tracked it. But discipline was a ledger of anomalies, and all data could matter. 

✧ Tarika was in her squad—same bunk, same mess—but she reframed the yard. Sara heard her calming faltering recruits, smoothing formation gaps with a wordless signal. Instructors flagged her for “non‑doctrinally supportive behavior”—a badge of quiet imbalance. Sara bristled. Empathy wasn’t weakness. Cooperation without orders? That was chaos disguised as cohesion. But after Tarika passed through, the squad’s breathing slowed, timing evened, and hurt backs straightened. Sara watched, grudgingly impressed. She logged every infraction, every assist Tarika gave without command. She catalogued it. She didn’t argue. But she didn’t forget. 

✧ Rumors floated post‑lights‑out: a ghost sniper, Jornas, taking no orders. Sara dismissed them—stories were tactical misdirection. Tarika listened and sketched. She marked sabotage grids across training slates, overlaying Balmorran outage maps onto recent incursion logs. Sara noticed the ritual but saw no threat. Intelligence dripped from unobserved places. Tarika aggregated; Sara annotated. They were complementary data streams. But Sara’s lips sealed the moment she thought of feeding it upward. 

✧ Then the ordnance explosion shattered the southern catwalk. White flash, thunder, the world decayed in smoke. Sara froze—protocol: rally point, headcount, status log. Then she remembered Tarika’s absence. Her heartbeat clanged, then triggered action. She sprinted through debris, voice lost in the blast fog. She found Tarika pinned under twisted scaffolding. Her grip locked around metal, lifted with feral precision. When she pulled Tarika free, breathing staggered, soot-coated, she logged the moment—heart over head, protocol overridden. Then the med-drones came. 

📓 Personal Log: “Discipline Isn’t Silence” | Dromund Kaas, 3636 BBY

“I have followed every rule since I could walk. I believed precision would keep us alive. But when that blast hit, I froze—then I moved. I broke formation. I risked a reprimand. I tore steel away to save Tarika. That was choice, not command. And in that clarity, I learned discipline is not silence—it’s action when silence fails.” 

🟥 Episode III – The Line Breaks
3635 BBY | Age 18 | Rise of the Eternal Empire | Dromund Kaas, Logistics Sector 12 Training Yard | Imperial Private

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Eternal Empire of Zakuul has entered the galactic war with brutal efficiency, bypassing traditional battlefronts to dismantle power grids, fleets, and command structures. The Sith Empire scrambles to reinforce internal sectors like Dromund Kaas, where discipline replaces strategy and doctrine becomes a firewall against collapse. Logistics Sector 12, once routine, now simulates war in real time. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ Stormclouds crouched over Logistics Sector 12, the sky heavy with static and reroute surge warnings. Sara Kenau moved through the relay yard like a vector—direct, silent, exact. Her breath matched the hum of cycling energy coils overhead. The day’s drill was live-rated: fleet contingency cascade, power grid instability, simulated sabotage linked to Zakuulan fleet patterns from Dubrillion. Sara’s team topped readiness metrics across the sector. She logged deviation flags mid-march, corrected a technician mishandling a charge pack, and filed a timing drift against B-Squad’s second formation. Her fingers never shook. Above her, Reclamation Service drones blinked red—silent observers with deeper clearance than she was cleared to question. They watched for pattern anomalies, yes, but also for personnel drift. Sara made sure her rhythm never wavered. She believed perfection could hold the line. 

✧ That morning, Sector 12 had been reassigned under emergency scramble conditions. No cause stated. Rumors whispered Zakuulan slicer ghosts had wormed through the outer comm nets. Sara dismissed the noise. Her job wasn’t speculation. It was regulation. Still, the reassignment came with a logistical reshuffle—and Tarika’s squad was rerouted into a maintenance scaffold corridor flagged in a two-month-old audit as overdue for reinforcement. Sara logged the anomaly. She almost flagged it. Almost. But to question without evidence would be considered instability. She swallowed protocol like a tranquilizer.

✧ She spotted her sister briefly before the drill—just a silhouette disappearing into the scaffold zone. Her breath caught. Tarika had paused at the threshold, scanning the overhead grid like she was listening to something unspoken. Sara turned away. Ten seconds later, the grid detonated. White-hot light flared across the yard, followed by a bloom of smoke and the shriek of collapsing durasteel. Her earpiece screamed lockdown commands. Her fingers hovered over her datapad—fallback protocol, status sync, auto-rally. But she didn’t move toward the rally point. Her memory moved first: Tarika under rubble once before, smoke in her lungs. She sprinted into the breach. 

✧ The scaffold spine was split, a crumpled carcass bleeding sparks into the yard. Debris rained across the catwalk. Through the haze, Sara found her: Tarika pinned beneath a twisted girder, blood on her collar, eyes barely open. Her hands moved before her mind did. She screamed as she lifted, spine locking against the beam’s weight. Her shoulder armor cracked—but it shifted. She dragged Tarika out as med-drones blinked to life. Someone shouted across the yard. Sara ignored them. In that moment, there was no doctrine. Only her. 

✧ Reports listed the incident as “intra-field disruption.” No saboteurs found. No enemy traced. But whispers claimed Zakuulan slicers had piggybacked through local comm boosts and buried their signal under training cycles. Sara didn’t care. Her deviation was logged. Her superiors didn’t reprimand her—but they didn’t commend her either. A passive flag appeared in her personnel file: response irregularity—emotional override suspected. Beneath it: Resilience audit requested. Korriban-compatible. Korriban wasn’t a reward. It was scrutiny carved into stone. A test, not of her skills—but of her thresholds. 

📓 Personal Log: “The Line Breaks” | Dromund Kaas, 3635 BBY

“I didn’t follow fallback markers. I didn’t wait. I moved—because Tarika was under that beam and doctrine didn’t know her name. I’ve spent my life believing precision protects. But that moment didn’t need precision. It needed presence. If that makes me unstable, then maybe the system doesn’t understand what stability really means. I hope they are still watching.” 

🟥 Episode IV – Doctrine and Dissonance
3632 BBY | Age 21 | Age of Zakuul | Korriban, Sith Academy, Corridor Zone D | Imperial Specialist

🪐 Galactic Context:

With the Eternal Empire’s pressure reshaping the war, the Sith Empire turns inward—fortifying doctrine, locking down strongholds, and studying its own for weaknesses. Korriban, sacred world of the Sith, becomes both fortress and crucible. The Korriban Regiment, its crimson-armored sentries, are stationed across sacred tombs not just to protect—but to be measured.

📘 Narrative:

✧ The stone corridors of the Sith Academy whispered like something half-alive. Specialist Sara Kenau walked Corridor Zone D with regulated posture, red armor gleaming beneath ancient torchlight. She had been reassigned into the Korriban Regiment—an unspoken consequence of her deviation report from Dromund Kaas. It wasn’t commendation. It was assessment. The phrase in her transfer packet had read “resilience suitability—Korriban compatible.” She didn’t argue. She logged vault integrity checks, ran posture drills, executed Force-pressure resistance protocols. The Tomb of Ajunta Pall loomed just off-route, and even through sealed stone, its resonance pulsed faintly against her breath. Her shoulder ached where armor had warped during the last containment test, but she didn’t report it. She almost did—then marked it “tolerable strain.” And still, the silence lingered. 

✧ Force resonance disrupted more than sensors—it skewed instincts. Sara could track biometric shifts in her squad before they noticed them. One recruit flinched every third pass. Another’s pulse spiked in Vault Wing C regardless of rotation. She logged it all. Patterns mattered more than events. She reported nothing—yet. Doctrine required proof, not intuition. Still, she calibrated her movements by more than just protocol now. Even the Reclamation Service drones watched differently here—less as monitors, more like priests. On Korriban, even silence was a form of testing. 

✧ Her own personnel tag still bore a passive flag: emotional override—resilience audit ongoing. She knew what that meant. Every vault she guarded, every inspection she passed, wasn’t just for stability—it was a stress test. What bends. What breaks. What remains operational. The crimson armor was heavy, not from weight—but expectation. Sara performed without deviation. But now she wondered: was stability just the absence of rupture? Or something else—endurance shaped by choice, not compliance? 

✧ She rarely saw Tarika now. Their patrols were staggered intentionally—independent evaluation protocols, separate resilience vectors. But once, in Vault Alcove D‑6, she crossed paths with her. No words, no nods—just presence. Tarika moved like she'd stopped resisting the system and had started negotiating with it. Balanced. Observant. Unthreatened. Sara said nothing. But she felt something she hadn’t in months: not doubt, not pressure. Stillness. That wasn’t in any handbook. 

✧ Then came the breach alarm in Corridor Zone D—artifact pulse spike, unauthorized access logged. Sara moved fast. Protocol etched into reflex. She arrived at D‑6 expecting saboteurs or untrained acolyte panic. Instead, she found Tarika—unarmed, crouched beside a boy no older than thirteen. The holocron pulsed erratically, glowing like a wound. The boy was breathing fast, fingers curled, on the edge of panic. Tarika’s voice was low, even. “You’re safe,” she said. And it worked. Sara didn’t lower her weapon out of policy. She lowered it out of trust. 

📓 Personal Log: “The Space Between Orders” | Korriban, 3632 BBY

“I followed the breach protocol to the letter—until the moment came when the protocol didn’t fit. Tarika was already there. No weapon. No escalation. Just stillness, and presence, and clarity. I watched. I understood. And I chose not to override. Maybe trust isn’t a deviation. Maybe it’s doctrine, too—just not the kind they measure.” 

🟥 Episode V – Echo Response
3630 BBY | Age 23 | War Against Zakuul | Taris, Southern Containment Zone | Imperial Corporal

🪐 Galactic Context:

Open war between the Sith Empire and Zakuul has reignited across the galaxy. Outer Rim planets like Taris—scarred by past wars and stripped of strategic value—now serve as makeshift containment zones. The Korriban Regiment dispatches red-armored sentries under temporary assignment, including Corporal Sara Kenau, whose orders are to hold the perimeter, restore order, and contain the unpredictable. But doctrine, under pressure, becomes suggestion.  

📘 Narrative:

✧ The wind over Taris carried the stench of old war—charred durasteel, collapsed permacrete, rot beneath new ash. Sara Kenau moved through the remains of a perimeter checkpoint like an instrument: scarlet-armored, quiet, calibrated. Her shoulderplate still bore the crimson sigil of the Korriban Regiment, even as her command routes now funneled through the overstretched 75th Containment Legion. The war here was not clean—containment breaches blurred into sabotage drills, and scanners flickered from proximity static. They said Zakuulan slicers used mirrored comm spikes from the Outer Rim to disrupt formation cohesion. Sara didn’t speculate. She observed. Taris wasn’t a warfront. It was a proving ground for clarity under pressure. And clarity, here, had teeth. 

✧ Her squad's objective was to sweep the ruins of a collapsed med-station flagged for unauthorized Force-user presence. Interference bursts had knocked out short-range comms. Sara reviewed the scan—clustered lifesigns, stationary, faint. "Standard breach protocol," she ordered. Her tone flat, steady. Then came the override: “Hold position. Civilians present. Jedi confirmed—no aggression.” Tarika’s voice, calm over comms. Sara stopped cold. Her jaw locked. The med-station loomed ahead—half-collapsed, lit by failing emergency strips. Her pulse ticked like a relay trigger. 

✧ At the breach point, Sara saw the tableau through her visor: two Jedi Padawans, hands open, guarding civilians too weak to stand without leaning. Behind them, a child stared—face hollow, eyes wide. Tarika stood at the center, weapon holstered, spine straight. Presence—not command. Sara’s boots clicked to the threshold. Her squad behind her waited for the word—engage or detain. Doctrine demanded force. But what she saw didn’t match the field manual. It matched something older. Something truer. She exhaled. “Maintain perimeter,” she said. 

✧ The room shifted. Not physically—but emotionally. The civilians moved slowly. One woman wept quietly. No one resisted. No one ran. The Jedi passed last, offering nothing but a glance. Tarika didn’t look back. She remained in the threshold, like silence was the shield she carried. Back at camp, Sara filed her report: Civilian contact. Jedi non-aggressive. Incident resolved without detainment. Then she paused. Cursor blinking. She typed: Discretion exercised under duress. No tactical losses. She let the line sit—then submitted. 

✧ She passed Tarika in the mess corridor later—no salute, no formalities, just a glance held a second longer than needed. Their armor still bore ash. Their boots still echoed with smoke. For one breath, they stood in a silence too fragile to break. Sara didn’t speak. But she saw it now—the same conviction Tarika had always held, not as rebellion, but as mercy. And mercy wasn’t weakness. It was control—exercised, not relinquished. She walked away before the feeling surfaced. But inside, something recalibrated. Maybe silence wasn’t absence. Maybe it was trust—and she just hadn’t seen it until now.

📓 Personal Log: “The Order I Didn’t Give” | Taris, 3630 BBY 

“I was sent to enforce control. The scan flagged Force-users. Protocol said engage. But Tarika was already there. No weapon. No threat. Just conviction. I didn’t override her. I didn’t escalate. I held the perimeter—and somehow, that was the clearest command I’ve ever given.” 

🟥 Episode VI – The Silent Divide
3629 BBY | Age 24 | Age of Zakuul | Korriban, Regiment Headquarters, Command Floor | Imperial Sergeant

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “Control Isn’t Trust” | Korriban, 3629 BBY

Coming Soon

🟥 Episode VII – Victory Without Eyes
3627 BBY | Age 26 | Onslaught | Korriban, Central Barracks Sector | Imperial Lieutenant

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “Victory Without Eyes” | Korriban, 3627 BBY  

Coming Soon

🟥 Episode VIII – Final Orders
3624 BBY | Age 29 | Legacy of the Sith | Odessen, Alliance Summit Grounds | Imperial Captain

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “Breathing Room” | Odessen, 3624 BBY  

Coming Soon

🟥 Episode VIII – Final Orders
3621 BBY | Age 32 | Galactic Threads | Korriban, Memorial Plateau Overlook | Imperial Major

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “The Space I Now Hold” | Korriban, 3621 BBY  

Coming Soon