The Zira Chronicles

Zira’s life as Iymril’s slave wasn’t as horrific as what she endured in the past. This didn’t negate the circumstances, but it did mean she was given more avenue to exert her own will than before. The Sephi was often teaching long days at Umbara and Zira accompanied them to tend to their needs. After the domestic chores were done, she was left the entire day to herself.

Iymril was allowed to use Darth Arcanos’ old office temporarily with a balcony overseeing the courtyard below. While the Sephi was away teaching all day in the lower chambers of the academy or taking students on field trips, Zira gazed over the railing to oversee the saber lessons that took place below. At first, she watched with fascination - amusing herself with acolytes using training sabers on one another while a teacher barked out instructions.

After almost a week of this, Zira decided to pick up a training saber that one of the acolytes discarded some time back. With nothing to do for hours but watch the same steps and instructions, she began to mimic the gestures in the office. She felt silly at first, but as a dancer, she found it entertaining.

Over time, the steps became just a bit more practiced. As the acolytes went through their kata, Zira repeated the same precise moves on a level above, staring at her imaginary enemy in the empty wall above.

“Strike…strike…parry..” She mouthed the words as the instructor called them out below, dodging an invisible strike as she dropped, rolled and sprang up again to swing the training saber from the flank. Her tail was a part of her little dance, jutting out to trip her imaginary enemy before she ran her weapon right through their neck.

“Move with grace,” She whispered as she circled the room with practiced steps. Sweat lined her entire body from doing this for every single class that came through the courtyard below.

This was all to cure boredom, of course. This was never anything she would ever truly learn or use. It was not permitted. It was just very close to dancing and growing into a passion.

One no one needed to know about.

She ran. Like a coward.

She could still picture him vividly, lying there on the ground and spasming from the stun bolts. A better person would have taken him to safety just as he had done for her. But what were his motivations?

There were no heroes.

Still.

Zira had kept up with her strict shadow training of the classes she watched during the day. She was largely unaware of how practiced her movements were getting, but she got tired of her imaginary enemy. With the help of Swoogle and some instructional videos she managed to make a rusty, old training droid operational. Zira found an abandoned classroom that wasn’t in use anymore to practice what she learned. Still with that shoddy training saber.

She could be with her own thoughts here, her own failings, and she could dance. Except this droid danced with her, and in all the ways she despised.

She abandoned Corax to his fate. No, he was no hero. He would have done the same.

Would he have?

“You’re a pleasant person. Pleasant people are a rarity.”

His voice echoed within her mind like poison. Zira brought up her training saber against the battle droid that effortlessly parried her and slammed a training sword against her gut. The breath was knocked out of her as she landed on the ground with a thud, gazing up at the ceiling.

“I would have done more..” Zira said, staring vacantly, “But I’m not a pleasant person. I’m a fucking coward.”

She rolled out of the way right as the droid slammed the weapon down on the ground where she was laying. She was a coward. But she never called it cowardice until now. It had just been her role as a slave. She was not meant to think for herself, she was not meant to defend others or do anything for anyone other than her master. Her Master took care of her and was responsible for her.

At the end of the day, she looked at herself in the mirror, her body covered in bruises and blood seeping from her mouth.
“Fuck,” She whispered at herself, gazing there from sweat-stained strands of hair. Iymril (@Apollyon )couldn’t know. They weren’t seeing her undressed, so the bruises could be concealed. She would need to make up a lame story about her lip.

I am not a pleasant person, her thoughts echoed her in mind as she spat out a glob of blood into the sink before meeting her own gaze in the mirror, I never want to be a pleasant person.

Korriban.

Iymril claimed not to be their master anymore, but a business partner. So far they had kept their word and Zira ran the shop. Over the months she picked up how to work the finances, how to put together a business plan, how to set appropriate margins, how to manage suppliers. She developed a passion for it and the shop ran like a well-oiled machine. She didn’t give a fuck what Iymril did - only caring for their input when it came to new designs.

Korriban meant Iymril was busier than ever with their new teaching position. Zira had plenty of time to run the shop and continue her training. Her internal rage never subsided despite the relative ‘freedom’ granted to her. She had tasted ‘freedom’ before and it was taken from her. No, there was no such thing. The only thing she could do was become more than a helpless little girl who couldn’t control her fate in any shape or form. For better or worse, Milo Corr ignited a fire in her. A flame that refused to die.

She found herself back in a training room where she secretly met with a tall Pureblood male. He found her training by chance and she managed to charm him into keeping quiet, playing the curious helpless girl who wanted to learn about his culture. As a result, he let her use a Sith blade to train with him, teaching her his warrior culture methods of combat. It was far more brutal and effective than the slow pace at the acolyte academies, and more than once she returned home sporting several injuries.

But nothing would make her resolve waver.

“Again,” She snapped, sweat drenching her body as she circled with practiced steps around the Massassi that stood almost a foot taller.

“We go all day…” He chuckled, “What you train so hard for anyway? You run a dress shop.”

He was forced to parry when Zira simply attacked in response, starting the next engagement with their blades. Unlike when she began, the tiefling was a whirlwind of movements, their blades clashing and dodging with intense fury. Zira ducked under his guard and swept him with her leg, the maneuver making the massive man topple backward and land with a thud on the ground. His yellow gaze stared up in shock as Zira stood above him with her blade pointed under his chin.

“I said no questions,” She reminded the far larger alien, ice in her tone.