The Acolyte

Posted on Thu May 7th, 2026 @ 11:50pm by Verse & Hollow

2,280 words; about a 11 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Cult of Axion Enclave
Timeline: Less than an hour after Chapter IX: "Heralded"

OLD

"I am Hollow," she continued, the name settling with a strange finality as she spoke it. "I receive what you would make of me. By your command, mistress."

NEW

It was not the most pleasant of scents, but the fragrance of tarine tea was most welcome to Verse nevertheless. She had poured a small cup to her apprentice, then for herself. They were knelt in a small room that was barely more than a hole in a wall near the living quarters, each one facing the other and between them a small wooden floor table for the cheap mass-produced tea making set, all plastic, none of finer trappings of wood or porcelain.

Verse silently awaited her apprentice to take the first sip, assessing the Muun's body language and the supplicant gaze from her eyes. There was an almost serene statuesque quality to Hollow that Verse found to be far more fascinating than what she once saw in Hesk Scivo in another life, a life that seemed to feel like little more than a strange dream now.

Hollow did not yet reach for the cup - did not choose to without instruction, it seemed.

She remained exactly as she had been placed, long limbs folded with deliberate symmetry, her posture upright without strain, as though stillness itself had been practised and perfected. The small wooden table and its crude implements sat between them, but she made no move to disturb the arrangement, her hands resting lightly upon her knees, fingers relaxed yet precise in their placement.

Her gaze lingered upon the cup that had been set before her, including the faded stencilling of an outdated GalactaWerks logo - not with hesitation, nor confusion, but with a quiet, focused awareness, as though even this simple offering from her new mistress required understanding before it could be accepted. The faintest shift passed through her slender shoulders, a controlled breath drawn and released, the only outward sign that the moment held any weight at all.

There was a peculiar completeness to her stillness that Verse had not seen before - not even among the most disciplined of the Jedi and former Jedi she had encountered before. It was not restraint, nor the careful suppression of thought or feeling. There was nothing held back, nothing pressing against the surface.

Where others carried tension beneath their composure, the quiet friction of identity and instinct, Hollow seemed absent of it entirely. The Force did not gather around her in the familiar currents Verse had come to recognise, nor did it recoil or churn as it so often did in the presence of conflict. It passed through her cleanly, uninterrupted, as though she offered no shape for it to catch upon.

Then, slowly, the Muun's eyes lifted. They did not meet Verse's fully, not without invitation, but they rose just enough to acknowledge her presence, settling in that careful space of deference between servant and master. There was something within that gaze now that had not been there before the chamber - not defiance or independence, but a subtle, almost luminous attentiveness, as though the act of being observed had become its own form of fulfilment. Excitement was held beneath the veil.

She waited still, clearly unwilling to make any assumptions. The tea cooled fractionally between them, untouched, as Hollow held herself in perfect readiness, requiring nothing more than the smallest indication to act.

It had begun to dawn on Verse that her apprentice was aptly named. She smirked at the serene Muun and closed her eyes.

"'Waves kiss the shoreline...'" she said softly, beginning an old poem she knew by heart, and the first words she shared with Hollow in private. The Force was gingerly applied with great care upon Hollow's teacup and it floated gracefully towards Verse without a drop lost. "...Eternal dance of tide and sand..." she continued and accepted the cup in her waiting hands. 'Soothing symphony.'"

Verse tenderly sipped the cup she held with a near absolute silent inhale, savoring the barely acceptable flavor, and then set it aside and nodded to Hollow, "Now, complete the circle," she gently instructed. "Do as I did. Play the Force as an instrument in your heart, guide the cup I poured for myself to you, and explore the flavor. You may repeat my poem, or share one of your own. Either way, let nothing shake you of your focus."

The instruction settled over Hollow with immediate clarity. The restrained energy that had lingered beneath her composure since the anointing seemed, at last, to find direction. Not release or relief, but purpose. The faint quickness in her breathing steadied almost instantly, drawn into alignment with the task set before her, and for the first time since entering the chamber there was the slightest visible shift in her expression: not warmth, nor affection, but a minute sharpening of attention that bordered upon quiet exhilaration.

She obeyed and her long fingers lifted slowly from her knees, one hand remaining poised within her lap whilst the other extended toward the untouched cup before Verse. The movement was smooth to the point of discomfort, absent the tiny hesitations and unconscious corrections common even among trained Force adepts. The Force gathered around the vessel not in turbulent currents, but with an eerie cleanliness.

The cheap plastic vessel rose soundlessly from the table. Not a single drop disturbed the dark surface of the tea. As the cup drifted across the narrow space between them, Hollow spoke at last, her voice low and measured, the cadence carrying the faint traces of old Muun diction polished by wealth and education.

"Ice binds the patient hand.

Slow ledgers bloom across the land.

Still waters birth command."

The words carried the shape of a nursery recital rather than true poetry, some half-remembered financial proverb dressed in the rhythm of a child's teaching verse from the high vault-families of Muunilinst.

The cup settled gently into Hollow's waiting hands and only then did she lower her gaze to it fully, studying the faint ripples across the surface with an attentiveness that bordered upon even more reverence. The steam curled upward past the geometric markings upon her throat and jaw as she brought the drink toward her lips with both hands, the gesture ceremonial.

She drank. Verse knew taste was objectively poor, really. Mass-produced leaves, overboiled water, the faint chemical note of heated plastic lingering beneath it all. Yet, the smallest shift passed through Hollow's posture as she swallowed - a form of fulfilment, of completing the task her mistress had set.

Verse had carefully examined the Force Pull of the cup, scrutinized for even the slightest drop lost, and was prepared to slap it aside if an error was made. To Hollow's credit, she met Verse's expectations, though it was only a mild soothing start to the hard and dangerous work that lay ahead. However, it didn't escape her notice that Hollow favored even-numbered syllables as opposed to Verse's preference for odd numbers. It was a tiny, maudlin detail to most, but to Verse, that gave her hope that Hollow could indeed be a great compliment to her. A left hand needs the help of a right hand, after all.

"Your poem," Verse admitted, "was artful, touching even. Where I come from, the exchange of music and poetry are celebrated and honoured. You allow the Force to flow gently in tandem with your spoken thoughts. That is good. I could say that the Cult taught you well, but I have a feeling you adapted and learned quickly, perhaps even improvised. I can appreciate that. And yet here you are. So calm. So...servile." She paused for a moment and lowered her gaze to the floor, then Hollow's knees and rose along the length of her form until their eyes met again. "You would make a fine Jedi, I think."

Verse rose with smooth grace to her feet made effective through a subtle use of her gifts of levitation to make it so that no muscle strain was needed to stand. She gazed down at her very tall apprentice who was almost eye-level with her even seated.

"But that is of no use to our Lord Axion," Verse affirmed sternly, the gentle demeanor cast aside. "Rise and listen."

Hollow rose immediately. There was no flicker of disappointment at the loss of Verse's earlier softness, nor any visible reaction to the sharper edge that had entered her mistress' voice. If anything, the severity seemed only to sharpen her focus further. She unfolded from her seated position with fluid precision until her full height was realised before the Nautolan, hands settling neatly behind her back, chin lowered just enough to signify obedience without fully breaking eye contact. The faint excitement that lingered beneath her otherwise serene composure had not diminished; it had merely disciplined itself around the command she had been given.

"What we do here, together, will not be drawn by cruelty, but by merit and by truth," Verse explained, her voice a touch lower even though she was certain there was no one nearby to listen. "I have been given license to guide and mentor you as your master, but they also gave me the freedom to teach as I see fit. Therefore, you will no longer learn the methods of the Cult. You will be trained to learn as a Sith. Not just their techniques, but their ideology. I don't do this to tear you away from Axion, but to strengthen your appreciation for Him. Now, I admit, I'm not the best at what I can do, and it was only a short time ago that I was an apprentice like you. So even as you learn from me, I shall learn from you. You will teach me the intricacies of this Cult, and how you were taught to serve the divine Master. We will compare our knowledge, work hard to sharpen our skills, and we will grow together. But understand this..."

She slowly stepped up slowly to Hollow in an almost predatory manner, nearly chest to chest when she stopped, gazing harshly up at her, heavy tension in her furrowed and blue-gray brows. "...if I, for one second, sense even the slightest hint of treachery, or discover that you are reporting about me to anyone else in this Cult aside from Axion Himself, I will end you. I expect absolute unconditional loyalty. This relationship is not a negotiation; it's entirely about survival and preparing for war. Honor me, and I shall honor you as a sister. Fail me, and you die. Do you understand me?"

The threat did not disturb Hollow. Neither did the intensity in Verse's gaze, nor the predatory closeness with which the blue Nautolan approached her. She accepted it all with the same strange, reverent stillness she had accepted the tea ritual and the anointing alike, dark eyes fixed attentively upon her mistress as though every word carried the weight of sacred revelation.

Somewhere deeper within the enclave, a distant scream briefly echoed through the stonework - sharp, wet, abruptly cut short. Hollow did not so much as blink. Instead, something within her expression seemed to brighten, with an almost dizzy clarity of purpose. The firelight reflected within her obsidian eyes with the deep mineral sheen of polished mephite crystal, dark and glasslike at first glance until touched by light, where hidden colours revealed themselves beneath the surface. Her breathing had quickened again.

"You honour me beyond deserving, mistress," she said softly at last, her young voice melodic and carefully measured, though unable to fully conceal the fervent undercurrent beneath it. "To be instructed so plainly by the Herald herself... to be entrusted with truths not given to lesser voices..." Her long fingers tightened once behind her back before stilling again. "I will receive all that you offer with gratitude." Her chin lowered slightly further. "My love and obedience are for Axion alone," she continued without hesitation, the declaration immediate and absolute. "But you are His Herald. His will made manifest upon this plane. To honour you as you see fit is my highest purpose beneath Him."

There was no guile in the words - no attempt to flatter, at least in any way Verse had experienced with 'normal' people. If anything, the sincerity behind them only made them more unsettling.

"I owe nothing to the failings of our brothers and sisters," Hollow said quietly. "Too many became enamoured with themselves. Trey, and Voq... Mentis..." The faintest trace of confusion touched her features at that last thought, as though the very notion remained incomprehensible to her. "Each was imperfect in their devotion and are warnings to us all."

Her gaze lifted slightly then, attentive and luminous in the dim chamber. "If the teachings of these Sith strengthen the hand that serves the Dark Master, then they cannot be heresy," she said simply. "Power offered upward remains holy... Sister."

A small pause followed, but then, with sudden, almost childlike conviction breaking briefly through the serenity she had so carefully maintained, Hollow added: "We are Axion."

"We are indeed," Verse affirmed. She gestured for Hollow to lead the way out of the room, and they left to begin their lightsaber training.

From deep within the recesses of her mind, hidden within the subconscious, the Dark Lady of the Sith added to herself...

...and more, dear Hollow. We...'I' am much, much more. Together, we will surpass the false god. I will find a way to crush him, with or without your help. It's only a matter of time...

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