The airlock slid open with a soft hiss.
The guards straightened, tense. One tried a salute, uncertain, but Scourge didn't even glance his way.
— "Out."
A single word. Sharp. Irrefutable.
The six guards exchanged glances, as if unable to believe their release. One nodded, backed away slowly, and the others followed in silence, their steps quick with relief.
Scourge remained alone.
He stepped inside.
The cell's lighting was dim, tinged with blue. The air felt heavy, strange, still. It vibrated faintly, as though every breath resonated too loudly.
She was there.
Still kneeling, eyes closed. Her long hair—nearly white—fell around her face like a soft, shifting curtain. A few strands had come loose and clung gently to her skin, though it was dry. Her eyelids didn't flutter. Her chest barely moved. She seemed… elsewhere.
And he… watched her.
He took his time. A long time. Detached. Cold. An observer.
Yet somewhere, deep within that perfect machine he had become, something… cracked.
He studied her from head to toe.
Her posture—straight, despite exhaustion.
Her hands resting open on her knees.
Long fingers.
Dark lashes a stark contrast to the pale cheeks.
A mouth closed but relaxed.
Delicate features.
He observed every detail like one would study an ancient relic, a remnant from a forgotten age.
She reminded him of someone.
Or something.
Faint memories stirred—hazy, unformed, yet insistent. Shapes, voices. Lost days.
He didn't know why she awakened them.
He didn't feel.
No desire.
No attraction.
Not even compassion.
But…
But he saw her.
And that, for him, was already too much.
Suddenly, she opened her eyes.
Her eyelids lifted like a door creaking open onto another world.
Eyes of deep, iridescent turquoise locked onto his—without surprise, without panic. Just presence. Cold clarity.
She looked at him too.
Up and down.
The red in his eyes.
His imposing frame.
The dark armor, the cape still streaked with dust.
The saber at his hip.
Hands clasped behind his back.
She noted everything.
And she waited.
A long silence stretched between them.
Then, he was the one to speak first.
His voice—deep, resonant—filled the cell without echo:
— "Who are you?"
No answer.
— "How do you do it? The dreams. The visions. The singing... The ice. The water. This… resistance."
Still nothing. She blinked slowly.
— "You fear neither death nor pain. You want nothing. You reject everything. So why…?"
He stopped. It wasn't anger. Not impatience. Just a string of observations.
Facts he couldn't align into a logical shape.
At last, she spoke.
Her voice was soft. Almost fragile.
But firm. Clear.
— "What is your name?"
He stared.
For a long time.
— "Scourge."
A breath.
She mouthed the name, not aloud—just the movement of her lips.
Then, she tilted her head slightly.
— "So, Scourge… why do you look at me like you're trying to understand something you no longer believe possible?"
He didn't respond right away.
She had pierced him. Just a little. And it surprised him.
His jaw tensed—barely noticeable. He swallowed the reflex. He was master of himself.
He had to be.
But she had seen it.
Without moving. Without frowning. She had seen.
He stared harder, as if trying to pierce the calm mask she wore.
— "Why the silence? Why this stubborn refusal to speak?"
She tilted her head again. Not in submission—but in thought.
— "I have my reasons."
Her tone was calm. Steady. Almost gentle. But unyielding.
He knew he would get nothing more from that line of questioning.
He stepped closer. Slowly. Heavy-footed.
— "You know you'll die at this rate."
No answer.
A slight smile appeared at the corner of her lips.
Not mocking. Almost… peaceful.
As if she held a truth he did not.
Scourge noted that, filed it away with cold precision. He didn't like it.
She knew something.
And for the first time, he wondered sincerely if he had brought something aboard far more dangerous than she appeared.
They kept speaking—fragmented phrases. Hints. Nothing concrete.
— "You escaped me for months," he said. "Every time, you were already gone."
— "I never ran. I followed the current."
He narrowed his eyes.
— "You deflect. You speak in riddles."
— "That's how you listen. Anything direct, you distort."
A tense silence.
Then he asked again:
— "Where are you from?"
No answer.
He changed his tone—sharper:
— "What do you want?"
She looked up at him—calm, unreadable. And simply said:
— "To see the world without hate."
He stared.
It wasn't an answer.
Not really.
And yet… something echoed inside him. Not emotion. Just… a resonance. A strange, persistent dissonance.
Silence settled once more. Heavier.
Maybe even… human.
They continued to speak for a time. About everything. About nothing.
Of hazy memories. Distant constellations. The rain on distant moons.
Of the sound stones make when they sing.
Then—suddenly—she jolted.
Her hand flew to her chest.
She coughed.
Once.
Twice.
A third time—deeper.
The last cough tore a ragged gasp from her.
Blood spilled from her mouth, running over her fingers—vivid crimson under the blue light.
She collapsed onto her side, breathing shallow, limbs shaking.
Scourge surged forward, immediately pressing his communicator.
— "Medical team, Cell 17. Vital emergency. Now."
His voice hadn't changed.
But in his eyes… something flickered.
Not panic.
Not fear.
But something.
Something alive.
In the shadows of his sanctuary, the Emperor opened his eyes—just barely.
He didn't need to look to see. He had felt the scene.
Lived it, like a riptide in the Force.
An anomaly that should have been erased… and yet persisted, by sheer force of will.
Her.
A healer? No. A wild mind.
An unclassifiable potential.
And perhaps… a tool.
If she could be broken. If her gifts could be harnessed, channeled...
Imagine it, he mused.
An elemental power tied to the Force.
A pure connection, fluid, unbound by ancient doctrines.
A new weapon. An evolution of the Fury. Or perhaps… an extension of himself.
But something irritated him.
His thoughts drifted toward Scourge.
His creation. His Fury.
He felt.
That should have been impossible.
He had made certain of it. He had hollowed him out. Stripped him of sensation, of emotion, of humanity.
And yet… this woman had awakened an echo in him.
An anomaly.
A threat.
To submit her would not be an option.
It would be an urgent necessity.