Basic Information:

• Name:  Tarika Kenau

• Alias: None

• Species:  Human

• Gender:  Female

• Age: 32

Affiliation & Status:

• Affiliation:  Sith Empire, Imperial Military

• Title:  Commanding Officer, 3rd Battalion, 13th Outer Core Regiment

• Rank:  Major

• Force Sensitive:  No

Origin & Residence:

• Homeworld:  Balmorra

• Current Residence:  Korriban

Physical Stats:

• Height:  1.73 meters (5'9")

• Weight:  66 kg (146 lbs)

• Build/Body Type:  Slender, resilient

• Eye Color: Hazel-gray

• Hair Color:  Dark brown

• Skin Color:  Fair
  
  

Distinctive Features:

• Distinctive Characteristics:  Gentle expression, alert posture, calm energy

• Scars/Tattoos/Markings:  Old injury scar on leg from training explosion

• Other Notable Features:  Often wears a modest charm given to her by a rescued civilian child

Personality Profile:

• Openness to Experience:  High (curious, open to reform, psychologically adaptive)

• Conscientiousness:  High (thoughtful, organized, but flexible)

• Extroversion:  Moderate (engaging when necessary, prefers calm environments)

• Agreeableness:  High  (compassionate, supportive, loyal)

• Neuroticism: Low (emotionally grounded, even under stress)
  
  

Additional Traits:

• Strengths:  Emotional intelligence, conflict de-escalation, adaptive leadership

• Flaws:  Occasionally too lenient, struggles with command conformity

• Likes:  Personal connection, trust exercises, learning from other cultures

• Dislikes:  Harsh discipline, dogmatic adherence to tradition, emotional suppression

• Disposition:  Empathetic, warm, quietly firm 

Command Structure:

• Superior:  Colonel Veyra Dren

• Subordinates:  3rd Battalion under her leadership
  
  

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

Skills & Abilities:

• Signature Abilities/Force Powers:  Field-based psychological stabilization

• Combat Specialties:  Defensive formations, squad morale enhancement, negotiation under fire

• Languages Spoken:  Galactic Basic, Huttese, conversational Zakuulan dialect

• Notable Achievements:  Prevented a summit crisis via morale intervention,  built the most stable platoon in the regiment over three years, received informal commendation from Brina Tenebrix 

• Other Skills:  Mediation, diplomacy, stress-tracking protocols and adaptive team modeling 

Equipment & Gear:

• Primary Weapon(s):  Compact blaster carbine

• Notable Equipment/Gear:  Biofeedback field monitor, morale telemetry scanner

• Armor/Outfit:  Officer’s light tactical armor with soft plating

• Personal Items:  Worn field journal, field charm, meditation cube

• Mount/Vehicle:  Customized APC designated "Pale Horizon" 

Roleplay Hooks:

• Quirks & Habits:  Tends to hum quietly while reviewing rosters; journals her impressions of each squad member

• Rumors & Reputation: Known as the "Compassionate Major"; rumored to be the real stabilizing force behind the regiment’s cohesion

• Open Connections:  Survivors of her prior humanitarian deployments, sith acolytes who owe her a second chance, republic diplomats with mixed feelings about her approach 

Story Seeds:

• Current Goals:  Institutionalize empathy-based leadership across Imperial forces

• Hidden Agendas or Secrets:  Secret communication logs with ex-Zakuulan Knights—possibly forming a new doctrine

• Fears/Weaknesses:  Failing to protect her sister from emotional collapse

• Story Arcs:  Rise of a new leadership paradigm; reunion with Sara through joint crisis; facing a challenge where empathy may not be enough

• Background:  

Tarika Kenau was born on Balmorra, where survival meant structure—and strength came in quiet forms. Her parents modeled competence over control: her mother a systems engineer, her father a logistics coordinator. Their move to Dromund Kaas introduced her to a world of hierarchy and silent pressure. Tarika entered Imperial service not out of ambition, but purpose—rising through the ranks not with force, but with steadiness, empathy, and an unwavering sense of duty. Where others enforced order, she listened. Where the system demanded obedience, she offered care. From Korriban’s fractured dormitories to Taris’s wreckage and Odessen’s fragile hope, she built her command philosophy on trust, not dominance. Even as her ideals diverged from her sister Sara’s more rigid methods, Tarika held fast to one belief: that compassion wasn’t weakness—it was the Empire’s most enduring strength, whether it realized it or not.

• 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; survives training explosion with Sara’s intervention

  • 3638 BBY | 15 ATC | Age 20 | Promoted to Specialist; assigned to Sith Academy on Korriban; begins morale and cohesion work among noncombatants

  • 3632 BBY | 21 ATC | Age 26 | Promoted to Corporal; leads mixed-unit patrols on Taris during Republic withdrawal; defuses Jedi refugee standoff

  • 3630 BBY | 23 ATC | Age 28 | Promoted to Sergeant; supports Outer Valley Summit; forms quiet alliance with Knight-Captain Brina Tenebrix

  • 3629 BBY | 24 ATC | Age 29 | Promoted to Lieutenant; earns commendation during Vashara audit for trust-based command methodology

  • 3627 BBY | 26 ATC | Age 31 | Promoted to Captain; commands 2nd Company during Korriban unrest; co-leads infiltration purge with Sara

  • 3626 BBY | 27 ATC | Age 32 | Promoted to Major; oversees ambassadorial coordination and morale support at Alliance Summit on Odessen

Roleplayer Info:

• Contact Preference:  In-game (Tarika 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 – The Quiet Between
3643 BBY | Age 10 | Galactic Cold War | Balmorra, Southern Hab-Zone | Civilian

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Treaty of Coruscant has frozen open conflict, but the Empire’s grip on Balmorra only tightens. Civilian sectors near Sobrik and Gorinth Canyon bear the brunt of covert resistance, surveillance escalation, and resource militarization. While most children recite civic mantras and memorize triage patterns, a few start asking questions—quietly, carefully. Tarika Kenau is one of them. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ Tarika Kenau was born into stillness. Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that hung heavy in structured homes and regulated airspace. On Balmorra, stillness came between sonic drills and curfews, shaped by ration shortages and the hum of patrol craft overhead. Her parents thrived in that order: Lena, the efficiency officer who knew exactly how many seconds a supply delay cost the Empire; and Varek, a logistics technician who measured affection in approved phrases. In their household, emotion was secondary to stability. Tarika never doubted they cared—she just never heard them say it. She didn’t rebel. She observed. Where Sara built herself into routine, Tarika explored the space between rules. She didn’t break them—but she didn’t kneel to them either. Instead, she watched what rules did to people. Especially her sister.

✧ Sara was older by six minutes and sharper by a mile. She devoured checklists like they were doctrine and treated schedules like scripture. Their shared room became a line of demarcation: Sara’s side a model of discipline, Tarika’s a collage of data fragments, curious sketches, and half-finished journal entries. They moved in harmony, but not in unison. Tarika respected Sara's clarity—it was a fortress, impenetrable and precise. But even at ten, she wondered if that kind of strength could hold under pressure. The instructors at the Order-Aligned Youth Enclave reinforced command principles daily. Sara excelled in simulations. Tarika passed with quiet competence, often flagged as “non-disruptive but unremarkable.” That suited her. If no one watched too closely, she could ask the real questions.

✧ She stayed up late reading between redacted maintenance logs and tracing utility outages across quadrant maps. Her mother’s datapad sometimes synced to the home terminal. Tarika never tampered—she just observed. Patterns emerged—malfunctions aligned too closely with resistance comm bursts, and trauma response times always lagged after troop redeployments. She brought it up once, gently, to her father. He told her not to confuse conjecture with duty. She bit back the follow-up and simply nodded. But her eyes stayed open. She noticed that data loss always followed lockdown drills near the old Okara Droid Factory. She tracked encrypted spikes near the Gorinth perimeter and charted their overlap with equipment recalls. And when her classmates laughed too loud during drills or flinched when commands barked, she noticed that too. Every crack in the system whispered the same thing: someone had to see it, even if no one acted on it. 

✧ The containment malfunction in Sector 7 changed everything. Alarms shrieked, and evac orders flickered across classroom terminals. Sara executed flawlessly—leading their cohort like a young officer. Tarika followed until she heard it—a persistent beeping from an unsecured S2-MC support droid, still jacked into a comm relay node. If the network reset mid-lockdown, the node would wipe and possibly trigger a system scramble affecting Sobrik’s comm tower. Protocol said leave it. Tarika didn’t. She bypassed the evac checkpoint and reached the unit seconds before the AegisSeal foam system triggered. She emerged coughing, coated in dispersal mist, droid in hand and lungs burning. The patrol officer barely looked at her. “Misplaced courage,” he muttered—and for a heartbeat, Tarika felt her chest sink. Not from shame—but from the realization that some systems didn’t even want saving.

✧ Life resumed. The silence between her and Sara deepened—not angry, just quieter. Tarika knew her sister was processing the event through logs and metrics. Tarika processed it through stillness. She sat with the droid later that night, checking for any anomalies. None found. No record kept. But she remembered standing in the corridor with the alarms screaming and no one giving orders. She hadn’t acted to disobey. She acted because no one else would. That moment taught her something vital: structure could hold—but only if someone noticed the fractures. And she would never stop noticing.

📓 Personal Log: “The Space Between Orders” | Balmorra, 3643 BBY

"I didn’t break protocol. I filled the part it didn’t reach. That droid mattered to someone. And maybe I’m the only one who saw that. Sara says rules are safety. I think silence is what kills. I won’t stop noticing the cracks. Even if no one else cares to seal them. One day, the Empire will need people like me—people who see the systems, but also the lives moving beneath them."

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

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Treaty of Coruscant, broken just four years prior, has unraveled in a slow tide of espionage, skirmishes, and reassignments. Its collapse still echoes through Imperial ranks as the Sith Empire pulls youth from volatile Outer Rim zones into centralized training compounds. Civilian Enlistment facilities across Dromund Kaas now operate at maximum capacity—designed not just to produce soldiers, but to erase uncertainty. For Tarika Kenau, that erasure is something to resist—not openly, but deliberately.

📘 Narrative:

✧ Dromund Kaas struck like thunder through her senses—lightning veined across the black sky, acid rain hissed against the durasteel transit canopy. Tarika Kenau stepped from the shuttle with steady breath and eyes that scanned the movement around her, not for threats, but for patterns. Sara moved ahead, posture perfect, already syncing with the cadence of incoming orders. Tarika stayed a half step behind—watching which recruits hesitated at the checkpoint, who adjusted their packs out of rhythm, who carried fear behind still faces. The city pulsed like a heart wrapped in cables, and somewhere within it, their parents had already folded into the grid: Lena embedded in mid-tier audit command, Varek rerouted to troop logistics. The transition hadn’t changed their habits—just shifted the context. Tarika felt her mother’s efficiency even from here, as though schedules whispered through the air. But she didn’t come here to vanish into the system. She came to understand it. And that meant staying awake to the parts no one wanted to see.

✧ Training came like a storm—unrelenting drills under rain-choked skies, doctrine reviews delivered with surgical finality. They marched through static fields and recited regulation until their breath aligned with the pulse of power grids. Most recruits adapted through mimicry; a few cracked entirely. Tarika listened more than she spoke. She adjusted timing during formation drills so the weakest rewasn’t exposed. She swapped gear tags to balance equipment loads without triggering inventory flags. She never claimed credit, but squad tension eased. Instructors called her “behaviorally compliant with irregular influence markers”—which she translated as “useful, but hard to define.” That was fine. Sara chased perfection. Tarika chased cohesion. But sometimes, alone after curfew, she stared at the lights flickering outside the barracks window and wondered if all this subtle defiance would be enough to keep anyone whole.

✧ Sara thrived. Her timing, language, posture—everything was regulation incarnate. Tarika admired the discipline but worried about the silence that came with it. They shared a squad, a barracks, even meal rotations, but they moved like orbital twins—close, aligned, and drifting. Tarika tried to reach across the gap: small comments, questions she knew Sara wouldn’t answer. Her sister didn’t dismiss her, but she didn’t engage either. One night, Tarika passed Sara’s bunk and saw her staring at nothing, hands clenched in her lap like they were holding back something she didn’t understand. Tarika didn’t speak. She just sat nearby and breathed. Later, as the room dimmed, she whispered, “You don’t have to be perfect for them.” Sara didn’t answer. But her breathing slowed. And in that silence, Tarika began to suspect their pairing wasn’t coincidence—it was observation. The Empire didn’t need unity. It needed data. And what better test case than mirrored minds split by method? 

✧ The barracks whispered about Jornas—a Republic sniper turned rogue, said to haunt abandoned conflict zones, impossible to catch and impossible to predict. Most recruits laughed it off. Sara ignored it. Tarika listened. The story changed with each telling, but the theme stayed the same: someone outside the system making choices the system couldn’t explain. That possibility haunted her—not because she wanted to escape, but because she knew what it meant to feel like no one in power saw the cracks. She began sketching fault lines—actual and metaphorical—across spare training slates. Balmorran outages. Utility mismatches. Drone misfires. She mapped them with cold precision. Not to act. But to understand. And each new data point deepened the silence between her and Sara.

✧ The explosion came not as fire, but as light—blinding, immediate, without sound until the moment passed. The scaffold cracked beneath her. A support beam slammed into her left leg. Pain bloomed bright and hot through her side, her thoughts scattering like sparks. Her comm filled with static. Smoke choked the air. She tasted blood. Somewhere beyond the noise, someone screamed—but not near enough. Protocol said wait. Protocol said containment first. But lying there in the wreckage, Tarika knew: the system had no plan for moments like this. 

📓 Personal Log: “Stillness and Fire” | Dromund Kaas, 3636 BBY

"I don’t remember the blast. I remember the silence that came after. The pain, yes—but more than that, I remember Sara breaking every rule she believes in to find me. That’s not discipline. That’s devotion. They train us to survive by order. But we survived because she chose something else. I think that matters more than any commendation. I hope she sees that. One day, I’ll remind her—when she’s ready to hear it." 

🟥 Episode III – Love, Not Protocol
3635 BBY | Age 18 | Rise of the Eternal Empire | Dromund Kaas, Logistics Sector 12 Training Yard | Imperial Private

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Eternal Empire’s sudden rise has unbalanced every galactic front. Zakuulan fleets bypass planetary defenses entirely, cutting straight through supply chains and disrupting internal cohesion. The Sith Empire turns inward in response—drills double, power reroutes stack without warning, and logistics sectors become contested ground. For soldiers like Tarika Kenau, protocol is no longer protection. It's prediction. And prediction, in the Empire, is fragile.

📘 Narrative:

✧ Tarika Kenau stepped onto the scaffold with her teeth set and her eyes scanning fast. Rain slicked the plating, thunder rolled low, and static crawled along the handrails from a half-stabilized reroute surge. Sector 12 had been reassigned that morning without explanation—just a redirection ping citing fleet drill priority. Her fireteam arrived tense, under-briefed, and already behind calibration schedule. The squad leader paused mid-command. Tarika took the step forward, voice calm, posture centered, reinforcing order without undermining it. She almost flagged the scaffold’s status—deferred maintenance, listed months overdue. But without direct evidence, warnings looked like panic. And fear, now more than ever, was treated as infection. She exhaled, took her position, and tried not to look toward the storm.

✧ The explosion came not as fire, but as light—blinding, immediate, without sound until the moment passed. The scaffold cracked beneath her. A support beam slammed into her left leg. Pain bloomed bright and hot through her side, her thoughts scattering like sparks. Her comm filled with static. Smoke choked the air. She tasted blood. Somewhere beyond the noise, someone screamed—but not near enough. Protocol said wait. Protocol said containment first. But lying there in the wreckage, Tarika knew: no one was coming.

✧ Footsteps hit the metal—too fast, too direct to be standard recovery. Sara. Tarika blinked through the haze just as her sister dropped to her knees beside the beam. Her armor was seared, her face streaked with soot, but her hands didn’t shake. "You shouldn’t be here," Tarika managed, breath shallow. Sara didn’t answer. She lifted. Her whole body locked as she forced the beam to shift—barely, but enough. Tarika slid free with a gasp. Her vision dimmed. But before unconsciousness took her, she knew: her sister had broken protocol. And that act might have saved them both.

✧ She woke in medical hours later, the haze still clinging to the edges of thought. Sara sat nearby, silent, datapad in hand, fingers steady despite the bandages. The report had been filed already—standard field disruption, no external enemy confirmed. But the whispers outside told a different story. Some blamed Zakuulan saboteurs—though no proof ever surfaced. The Eternal Empire struck hard and fast, not subtly, but fear didn’t need logic to grow. Tarika didn’t ask what Sara had risked to pull her out. She already knew. The deviation was logged. So was the outcome. And neither of them spoke the words that lived in the silence between: that love had cracked the armor they’d both been trained to wear. 

✧ Back in barracks, Tarika walked slower. Her leg would take time. But the space between her and Sara had shifted. Not closed, exactly—recalibrated. At night, when the lights dimmed, she could hear her sister breathing across the room—steady, but not relaxed. Sara hadn’t apologized. Tarika hadn’t thanked her. Neither were necessary. What mattered was the change. Sara had moved. Not by command. By choice. And Tarika knew that command would read those records differently than she did.

📓 Personal Log: “Love, Not Protocol” | Dromund Kaas, 3635 BBY

"Protocol said wait. Sara didn’t. She moved—not from command, but conviction. I wasn’t a line item or a liability. I was her reason. The report reduced it to deviation. But I remember the fire, the weight of that beam, and the moment she chose risk over regulation. That wasn’t failure. That was love. And the system can file that however it wants." 

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

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Eternal Empire’s expansion has driven the Sith Empire to reinforce from within. While the war rages beyond the Core, Korriban braces for fracture—not from invasion, but from fatigue. The Korriban Regiment, known as the red-armored sentries of the Sith Academy, serves as both a safeguard and a proving ground—guarding relics, enforcing doctrine, and watching for signs of instability. Tarika Kenau, reassigned after her field deviation on Dromund Kaas, now walks those ancient halls.

📘 Narrative:

✧ Tarika Kenau walked her loop with deliberate ease, crimson armor catching low light from flickering corridor sconces. Corridor Zone D was silent—always silent—but it wasn’t still. The stone hummed faintly from deep vault resonance, and every breath felt half-watched by statues older than the war itself. She didn’t mind. Korriban tested every kind of strength, and she wasn’t here to overpower it. She was here to read what doctrine missed. The Korriban Regiment—distinct in their red armor—were known as the sentries, defenders of sacred relics and enforcers of internal doctrine. Nearly a decade earlier, Sergeant Cormun of Fifth Company had stood vigil at the Tomb of Ajunta Pall, his presence still echoed in the halls she now walked. The regiment didn’t merely guard history—they were studied through it. That was why she was here. Not to protect relics, but to understand what they revealed about those who did. 

✧ Her reassignment came without ceremony—just a code buried in a personnel file. But she understood what it meant. Command didn’t exile her to Korriban. It studied her here. Bravo Squad was wary at first. Not hostile—just uncertain. She moved in ways the manual didn’t teach: adjusting formations without word, softening tension without undermining command. Over time, their rhythm synced. The instructors noticed. Correction flags dropped. Cohesion rose. But no one gave her credit. That was fine. Influence didn’t need applause.

✧ She rarely saw Sara. Patrol cycles were staggered by design. But when they passed—often in vault wings or during equipment checks—Tarika noticed the shift. Her sister’s posture remained impeccable. But something behind the precision had settled. No longer rigid. Just… aware. That awareness hadn’t come from doctrine. It had come from failure, risk, and recovery. Three years ago, Sara broke protocol to save her. Now, she held protocol like a framework, not a wall. That mattered more than any recorded metric. 

✧ The Vault D-6 breach was quiet at first—just a pulse, a flicker, a young acolyte frozen beneath the resonance wave of a holocron. Tarika arrived first. The standard response called for weapons, escalation, force discipline. She didn’t draw. She stepped in. Voice low. Presence steady. “You’re safe,” she said. The holocron dimmed. The boy broke into tears. That was all. Nothing more. No Force outburst. No casualty. Just one breath returned to someone who had nearly lost it. 

✧ Sara entered six seconds later, weapon drawn. Tarika didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. Her sister stood still—evaluating, measuring. Then lowered her weapon. Not because of protocol. But because of trust. Later, in the report queue, Tarika saw the log entry: "Recommend review of context-based de-escalation under non-standard protocol." She smiled once. Not at the system. Not at herself. At the space that now existed between them—space neither had tried to fill, but both had learned to respect.

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

"I saw her choose restraint today—not from fear, but clarity. Three years ago, she ran into fire for me. Today, she let silence carry the weight. That’s not hesitation. That’s growth. We’re not what the system shaped. We’re what survived it. The report will say we followed procedure. But the truth lived in what we didn’t escalate." 

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

🪐 Galactic Context:

In 3630 BBY, the Sith Empire declared open war on Zakuul following years of covert resistance and failed diplomacy. While Eternal Fleet strikes devastate key worlds, systems like Taris—fractured by past wars and stripped of strategic value—become makeshift containment zones. The Empire dispatches troops under vague stabilization orders, expecting compliance over clarity. Corporal Tarika Kenau, reassigned from the Korriban Regiment under temporary directive, is one of them. But clarity, she has learned, is not always found in orders—it’s found in what they miss.

📘 Narrative:

✧ The wind off the waste carried more than static. It carried the scent of scorched durasteel and the low-frequency hum of surveillance drones. Tarika Kenau scanned the collapsed med-station ahead—flagged for unauthorized Force activity after a recent Zakuulan relay burst. Her squad advanced with discipline, their formation tight, weapons low but ready. Doctrine was clear: detain, debrief, quarantine. But Tarika had long since stopped mistaking doctrine for truth. Emergency lights flickered across the crumpled structure like dying stars. She moved forward slowly, her breath shallow, heart pacing a rhythm she wouldn’t show. Inside, a quiet cluster of civilians huddled beneath fractured walls. Two Jedi Padawans stood in front of them, still but alert—guarding, not attacking. Tarika stepped into the doorway. She did not draw her weapon.

✧ The civilians were gaunt, dehydrated—some barely conscious. The Padawans didn’t speak. Their presence was enough. Tarika felt her squad tense behind her. One word from her and the room would shift—into chaos, into fear, into violence. She looked at the youngest child: wide eyes, dirt-smudged face, curled behind a crate like he was born in crossfire. The moment stretched. Her throat tightened. She spoke quietly. "Stand down. No movement. No force." Her team held. The Padawans relaxed a fraction. Behind them, the civilians rose—slowly, shakily, like people unlearning fear.

✧ They moved without formation, just gravity—drawn toward the open door. No one resisted. No one ran. Just the sound of footsteps over dust and glass. The Jedi passed her last—silent, solemn, eyes lowered in exhausted acknowledgement. She nodded once in return. A silent pact. Behind her, more footsteps—Sara’s squad. Clean armor. Clear lines. Tarika didn’t turn. She expected the override, the correction, the escalation. But instead, her sister’s voice: "Non-lethal perimeter." That was all. No questions. No reprimands. Just belief, spoken through restraint.

✧ Back at the forward bivouac, Tarika filed her report. The words were spare: "Contact incident. Resolved without detainment. No casualties. Jedi present—no aggression." She stared at the screen. Then typed: "Containment preserved through non-escalation." Her finger hovered over the submit key. She added nothing more. Her hands trembled once before stilling. She would not be praised. She might be flagged. But the civilians were alive. The Padawans were unarmed. And something had passed between her and Sara—something heavier than silence, older than protocol.

✧ That night, Tarika stood at the edge of the forward encampment, armor sealed against the chill. Across the camp, she saw Sara move through the mist into the mess corridor. Their eyes met—only for a second. No salute. No nod. Just gravity. They had not spoken since the incident. They didn’t need to. Trust, it turned out, didn’t always speak. Sometimes it stood still. Sometimes, it simply chose not to override. And in that stillness, Tarika finally felt seen—not by surveillance, but by someone who understood what silence could carry. 

📓 Personal Log: “The Command I Withheld” | Taris, 3630 BBY  

"I didn’t fire. I didn’t detain. I didn’t escalate. I stood still—and watched a crisis dissolve without force. Doctrine says hesitation kills. But presence saved lives today. Sara didn’t override me. She didn’t praise me either. But her silence meant something different this time. It meant belief. Or maybe... trust. If that’s a risk, I’ll take it again. I’d rather be questioned for showing mercy than remembered for following orders that never saw the people behind them."

🟥 Episode VI – Blood and Oaths
3629 BBY | Age 24 | Age of Zakuul | Korriban, Regiment Headquarters, Command Wing | Imperial Sergeant

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “What Victory Costs” | Korriban, 3629 BBY

Coming Soon

🟥 Episode VII – The Quiet Front
3627 BBY | Age 26 | Onslaught | Korriban, Outer Core Barracks Command | Imperial Lieutenant

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “Trust Is a Harder Doctrine” | Korriban, 3627 BBY

Coming Soon

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

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “Restraint as Mastery” | Odessen, 3624 BBY

Coming Soon

🟥 Episode IX – The Strength We Remember
3621 BBY | Age 32 | Galactic Threads | Korriban, Remembrance Tier One | Imperial Major

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “The Strength We Remember” | Korriban, 3621 BBY

Coming Soon