Below the offices and living quarters of the Headmaster and his Praetor lies the Hall of Secrets—a room dedicated to the members of the Dark Council, and practically unknown by the rest of the Brotherhood. The spacious room is highly secured, with a curving stone ceiling and thick, stone walls. Any noise from the rest of the Academy is completely muted, the silence of this place like a tomb. You were summoned here, the note still clenched in your hand, but so far you haven't seen a soul.

There are a nine cubicles—one for each Councilor—made from transparent crystal, which divides the room evenly into sections. Glancing into one, you see that it contains a small console. You walk towards it and tap in a simple command. Immediately the crystal walls grow opaque, obscuring the interior from view and sealing you within. It seems obvious that this is a secure study for the Council, where its members come to access artifacts, holocrons, or other data, without the prying eyes of the Academy watching.

You reverse the command and step back into the Hall. Glancing around, you search for the person who summoned you. Most of the cubicles are currently transparent, but the furthest one is dark—currently in use. You step towards it just as the walls flicker back to transparency revealing a single figure with weapon in hand…

She clenched the note in her hand, the fragile parchment crinkling under the pressure. Adorned with a single wax seal bearing the image of the Headmaster’s symbol of office, it contained the last remnants of Solari’s machinations against the Dark Council. Long violet fingernails traced a line through the letter’s delicate seam; the seal shattering into a million fragments. With extreme precision, the message unfurled – its forbidden knowledge revealed to the Togruta, who delved into the stratagem’s depths. Stained from decades of safekeeping, the sheet of flimsiplast was barren, aside from a single string of letters and numbers penned within its center. Against the crystalline surroundings, the ancient scrap of parchment was almost foreign in the transparent cubicle.

Chest heaving against the unwelcoming exterior of the Hall of Secrets, A’lora Kituri stepped towards the console in the cubicle reserved for the sole use of the Headmaster of the Brotherhood. Sweating despite the coldness of the ventilated room, her fingernails prattled against the console. Within moments, the Dark Council’s secrets were available to her. However, the politics of the Iron Throne were of no interest to the woman. Instead, she began to enter the final letters of the parchment into the console.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Resonating within the chambers, the footfalls of another being entering the spacious room drowned out the sound of the Togruta’s own heart beating within the muted silence. With the final keystroke, the transparent walls of the Headmaster’s cubicle turned opaque. The footsteps stopped, and for a moment the Jedi feared that she might have been discovered. Several beeps emitted from the console before she was able to retrieve the datacard. Phantom fingernails traced along her spine as she departed from the cubicle’s translucent entrance. All other offices were completely transparent – save for the one adjacent to the Headmaster’s.

“Looking for this?” A voice cackled from behind her – a well-dressed figure wearing a smirk. Sardonically, he produced a similar datacard from the interior of his suit, waving it around with mild enthusiasm.

“Give it here, that information is forbidden without the explicit permission of the Dark Council.” She snarled in a derisive tone, showing no amusement at the Sith’s mockery. Adjusting her stance to one mimicking authority, she intentionally disregarded his attempts at irritation.

“Oh, really? It seems they give that to just about anyone these days.” He sneered, waving the fragile device in the space between them, “Don’t think me to be so foolish, I know a Jedi when I see one. I’m sure the Dark Council will forgive my… transgressions once I deliver you to them, dead or breathing.”

Vivackus Kavon di Plagia was an example of someone who commanded an air of arrogance at his presence. With the distinctive “snap-hiss” of a lightsaber, the translucent glass reflected several shades of crimson that danced as his lightsaber traced several flourishes through the ambience. Casting an emerald glow in response, the Togruta summoned her own lightsaber into her hand; the contrasting colors fighting for dominance in the confines of the vaulted passage. Without feeling the need to exude the same aura of superiority, A’lora extended her lightsaber off to the side.

Vivackus was the first to strike. Bearing down on his opponent with a ferocity matched by few, he sought to exert his will over the other’s defenses. Fast and light, his assault was conducted at the wrist with minimal effort – designed to gauge his opponents’ strengths and weaknesses without exhausting his endurance. He was impressed at the woman’s effectiveness as she turned the blows at a harmless angle, utilizing her graceful form to avoid a direct assault. At the same time, her lightsaber and Lekku trailed beside her as she deflected the weaker slashes with the elegance of a Twi’lek dancer.

“Impressive, but have you considered that there is one fatal flaw in your approach?” He mused, exuding the same confidence he carefully maintained. Subtle in his command of the Force, he manipulated the perceptions of his adversary; an aura of uncertainty surrounded him, working their way into her thoughts. “With each passing moment, your chances of survival are dwindling. Your body will be left drained from exertion, and the Dark Council draws nearer. They will toss your carcass around this very room like a sack of bones.”

“Not before I remove your filth from the galaxy, Sith.” She remarked. Blazing a glowing trail in its wake, the blade of her lightsaber carved a horizontal path through the opaque window behind her. Millions of fragments like knives reverted back into their natural translucent state, falling halfway to the duracrete flooring. Invisible forces kept the shards hovering two meters above ground, arranged above the Togruta’s twin Montrals before accelerating towards the Sith at the opposite wall.

With but a thought, the dark side granted Vivackus strength beyond his natural capacity. The Sith coiled his legs and leapt aside, behind a cubicle and narrowly avoiding the majority of the sparkling razor sharp glass shards. The fragments each struck the far wall with a crack and exploded in glittering dust, leaving behind a powdery white coating on the stone surface, twinkling in the uneven light of the Hall of Secrets. Vivackus allowed himself a moment of amused reflection, doubting the wisdom of constructing a window in a place such as this.

The Consul’s distraction was cut short by tinges of pain along his left arm and down his leg. The fine black fabric of the Corellian-tailored suit was ripped in several places, exposing thin red gashes along the pale skin underneath. Vivackus frowned as he stood and pushed the superficial wounds from his mind. There would be time to clean up later. Returning his attention to the more pressing matters, the Sith froze.

A’lora was gone.

Vivackus deactivated his lightsaber as he made for the center of the hall, scanning the place for traces of Togruta. This Jedi was intriguing; she fought with a ferocity that was almost feral. Vivackus didn’t need the Force to see the anger - or was it hate? - that burned just beneath her lavender skin. For a moment, Vivackus had feared that A’lora had taken the opportunity to flee, but subtle ripples in the Force provided evidence to the contrary.

“The Jedi capacity for self-delusion is astounding.” Vivackus spoke to the hall at large, “The Shard’s body was constructed by the Grand Master himself. Do you really believe that you can keep such machinations from the Dark Council?” The question was answered only by a faint whistle of wind from the hole that formerly contained a window. “I suppose that’s easier than accepting the truth,” Vivackus continued, his visage breaking into a dark grin, “that you’re all really just caged animals.”

As if on cue, a wave rippled through the Force like a bell toll, accompanied by the familiar snap-hiss and an emerald blade igniting from the right side of the hall. A’lora vaulted off the top of the cubicle wall and high into the air, her saber held over her head with both hands, intending to cleave Vivackus from head to toe. The Sith sidestepped and called his own crimson blade to life once more, meeting the Consular in a clash as she landed. Two energy beams screeched against one another and A’lora met Vivackus’ gaze unwaveringly.

The intense distain was written plainly on her face. Somehow this was personal to her. A’lora was projecting something from her past onto him, that much was clear. A dead friend? No, not quite close enough. Family or lover perhaps? Probably too close; A’lora was containing her rage, not succumbing to it. Personal failure then. Most likely, yes. She lost someone to the dark side, unable to redeem them. That explains her resistance.

“Why are you afraid?.” Vivackus asked.

She broke the clash with a twirl, spinning like a ballerina as she stepped forward into a slash, and then reversing direction to strike again from the opposite side. Vivackus took a step backward, catching both. “You don’t scare me,” the Seer spat, planting her foot against the stone wall and leaping into a backflip over the Sith, continuing her assault with quick, erratic attacks as she landed behind Vivackus.

“I didn’t say you were afraid of me. You are afraid of yourself.”

“Be quiet.” A’lora made a particularly violent downward strike, speaking through gritted teeth.

She’s beginning to crack, Vivackus thought, parrying the energy beam harmlessly along the durasteel floor. A’lora’s attacks were not slowing despite her constant movement - a clear testament to the Togruta’s exceptional fitness - but her form was beginning to get sloppy. Slight body movements telegraphed her strikes milliseconds in advance and allowing Vivackus to conserve energy in his defense. It was unlikely, however, that he would find an opening for a killing blow before she wore him down through sheer attrition.

Sweat began to bead down the Battleord’s forehead in the face of A’lora’s relentless movements, but Vivackus did not lose his composure. “Even if you manage to kill me, they will arrive before you can escape.”

“I said be quiet.” The Togruta spun, her head-tails carving out an arc behind her. Not just yet.

“You will be too tired to resist when Darth Ashen gets here.”

“Shut up.” Horizontal swing. Almost there.

“You’ve already lost.”

“SHUT UP!” A shockwave exploded from A’lora’s palm, sending Vivackus backward and crashing into one of the cubicle walls. The Sith wheezed as the air forcibly left his lungs and barely struggled to his feet in time to raise his lightsaber against the blade crashing down on him.

Now.

Vivackus felt the intoxicating energy as the dark side answered his call to envelop his Jedi adversary and invade her psyche. The seeds of fear and anxiety he had been cultivating throughout the fight bloomed violently and took a stranglehold on her mind, bringing the despair and horror to the forefront and blocking out all else. At the same time the dark side surrounded her like an invisible fog, so as to obscure all but the most immediate from her senses.

A’lora flinched and staggered backwards, struggling to cope with the mental onslaught as the Sith rounded on her. Vivackus let out a cackling laugh which rang, hollow, through the hall, as he glanced to the door. “It’s over. Lord Ashen has arrived. If you wish to live, you have but one choice. Do you know what that is?”