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[Darth Arcanos]

They stepped off the ramp and he didn’t move for a long time. He gazed out over the barren lands, the canyons in the distance, the wide sky, the searing, unforgiving heat. Azar could only stare in silence.

Almost seven years.

He crouched down for a moment, brushing his hands through the sand. He lifted the fist, watching the sand pour between his fingers and get carried by the wind. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and drinking in the familiarity. It was all painful and exhilarating at once. The Pureblood rose to his feet, the faintest smile gracing his face.

Azar chose to don more traditional attire, his lanvarok on his wrist. He knew exactly how to look like a local, and he had missed it. He began to think of the great Forges of Korriban, all the villages he knew, the tribes and the traditions of old. It all came flooding back at once.

“No matter what happens,” He spoke in ur-kittat, at last in a land where it was not such a foreign tongue, “I am forever grateful for this,” Azar said to Cyu, his tone genuine. He wouldn’t admit to her that he had been afraid - she was smart enough to decipher that on her own. None of that mattered now. They were here.

@Xorism

 

[Nevizkas]

There was no place like home.

For millennia and then some, their ancestors had ruled this land. History then recorded each outsider wishing to rule, arrive and die on Korriban. The pained existence of their people survived, whose blood had long been one with the sands, long before words had been written.

A thought that, always, spoke to the pureblood when she walked the sand dunes, as her toes dug beneath its grains once more.

The desert was more than just sands and scorching heat. It was a way of life for their people. Their ancestors walked the very same dunes, as each generation added its blood and iron to the sands. A land with the richest and darkest, but also the saddest history, how could one not feel small and humbled by glimpses of its magnificence.

Dusting off something colorful, Cyutadakyr enjoyed how the light fabrics breathed the desert air. Armed with only a small knife and a bag of things she had collected, the pureblood joined Azar in silence for some time as they took in the surrounding sight.

There would be a time and place for reminding him of the delays, but this wasn't it, she felt. The strength it took to look him in the eye and hold firm was immense, but replying in kind as she nodded, she offered him the greatest gift she could.

"Welcome home, Son of Korriban."

@Sreeya

Spoiler: theme

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Son of Korriban.

It felt good to hear that again. The name Kressh once held great pride and joy for him. He had been denounced, but he didn’t even know if he could use the name or not. Azar stood there in silence for a few moments before he began to walk. He hadn’t been here for almost a decade, but he still knew the way.

“Have you been to the Great Forges?” Azar asked as he looked over his shoulder. His path would lead the way towards Dreshdae from the Korriban arrival port. Though the city was in ruins centuries ago, over the years, it was rebuilt by Pureblood survivors. Cyutadakyr would have to introduce Azar formally as her guest to allow Azar entry into any cities here due to his exile status.

“Perhaps one day I will truly feel like a Son of Korriban again when I do not walk these lands as a step above a prisoner,” Azar mused with a hollow laugh. While he didn't expect her to abuse the position for no reason, he was effectively at Cyu’s mercy. It would be a daunting task to clear his name and regain his status again.

@Xorism

 

[Nevizkas]

Despite hailing from a more rural tribe, Cyutadakyr had been to Dreshdae more times than cared to remember. And yet, she had never visited the Great Forges, despite their great status among their people. Would they even still be intact? With the way the Sith Empire had pressed its foot firmly on their culture, that wasn't even certain. But with the combined power and wit they possessed, if anyone could do it, surely it was they.

Shaking her head to his first question, the pureblood looked forward to the path ahead, spotting the first obstacle to their quest. There wasn't anything to realistically stop Azar from lying about who he was in order to get in, but that came with a price. As an exile, he would only be afforded his legal protections as a guest of hers.

Without that, anyone who wished him harm could do so without consequence, and one didn't have to imagine hard what that would look like for him.

"Stop dragging your feet like one, then." She lightly chuckled over her shoulder in reply, completely concious of the emotional turmoil burrowing through the man. Perhaps the hint of humour in her voice would alleviate some of that pressure, perhaps not. The only way to free him for sure, they both knew, was to proceed with their mission and some day allow himself to find the path to his own salvation.

And if he wanted her there at his side while he did so? He had only, ask.

A large Massassi warrior stood watch before them as they approached, flanked by several others speaking with what appeared to be a cabbage merchant. Stamping his great polearm into the ground, the warrior demanded they identify themselves.

"Cyutadakyr, of the Hretk tribe and this.." She waited for Azar to introduce himself before continuing firmly. "And he is my guest and is under my protection." They'd find the mighty warrior shuffle slightly, his menacing gaze staring down Azar briefly before stepping aside to let them pass without further issue.

Glancing back to her companion as they began the short walk into the city itself, she seriously confided in him. "Exile or not, if anyone wishes you harm now.." Her voice trailing off for a moment before returning. "They will have to go through me first."

@Sreeya

Roll: 10

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar chuckled to himself at Cyu’s quip, picking up his pace, “Let me be sentimental,” He quipped back, “I spend all my time as the scary Potionmaster. It’s my turn to pretend I have sand in my eye,” He gave her a playful wink as a joyful tease back to when she had shed tears around him. The Pureblood stood and stared as they approached the almost 7 ft tall Massassi. Azar almost forgot how large they got. His only recent frame of reference had been Karys, who was hybrid.

“Azar Kressh,” He stated flatly. He could have lied, but he had far too much pride for himself to do so. Besides, if anyone recognized him, lying would also reflect poorly on Cyu as the one bringing him in. The Massassi had no real reaction to him, though his stupid little eyes narrowed briefly in suspicion.

“Is that fruit?” Azar asked, pointing at the merchant. He quickly fished out some coins to fork over for the fruit. He even bought one for Cyu, shoving it into her hands before she could protest, “I used to steal these from my neighbor’s yard as a child,” He snickered as he bit into it, the juicy fruit absolutely exquisite against the heat. Azar sighed in contentment, “Just as I remembered..”

​

The city wasn’t exactly grand and most people still lived in poverty, but it was all familiar. Azar grinned the entire time, his head practically on a swivel as he looked around himself, “Where did you grow up?” He asked her as they walked. He was in no rush, and he slowed his pace to marvel at the rows of shops or buildings where people lived. A lot had changed in the time he was gone - most of this had been ruins when he was exiled.

@Xorism

 

[Nevizkas]

Cyutadakyr stared blankly at the fruit Azar slapped into her hands abruptly, suddenly hearing a crunch beside her followed by the sound of thorough enjoyment. While slightly parched herself from their hike, she instead opted to safely stow the fruit inside her cloth for later, in case a time came later that required it more than now.

Walking alongside Azar, she couldn't help but find it humorous at his wonder and amazement at the state of things within the city. His sudden question caught her off guard, causing the woman to miss a step before catching herself.

The emotional turmoil of the thought rolling through her mind wasn't the aim of his query, and neither was her answer going to solve them. "In the desert." She flatly said, a touch dejected but continuing their walk together regardless.

Neither was she lying, the ravaging sands and winds of the desert providing the only peace of mind and safety in her youth. Returning home was the price she paid for its liberty, and salvation. She wouldn't count the existence hung around her neck by her life givers as being a home, a prison perhaps and a void in her soul she rarely spoke of.

Curiosity and the desire to change the subject brought her restless mind back to Azar. She glanced over him, intrigued. "Why alchemy?" She asked, both direct and pointedly. There were many branches of study that he voided to go down this path and his reasons for doing so, she wondered, could illuminate something interesting about the man himself.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar was surprised and impressed at her answer, “A desert tribe? Curious,” He mused. They were seen as ‘lower class’ by the city inhabitants, but Azar found them fascinating. They were often the ones that fought off against tuk’ata and other threats before they ever arrived at the cities. Those people knew how to survive in the worst conditions and had their own rituals and festivals known only to them. However, Cyu’s body language when she said the words implied her memories were far too negative to discuss, so he didn’t pry.

He chuckled at her question, “I am Kissai, as you know,” Azar said, “Only a few ways for me to go. As the firstborn son, I was always to become the sorcerer priest like my father before me. Being who I was, naturally, I was destined to choose the toughest line of study,” He mused, grinning to himself, “I had a woman back then – a Massassi that taught me how to fight so I wouldn’t be entirely worthless,” His thoughts were far away briefly. It was a whirlwind, easygoing romance and they were only teens. He could still remember running away like a coward as the girl was torn to shreds by tuk’ata. And yet he could vividly recall how she stood well over a head taller than him and adored him.

Azar pointed at a massive structure ahead, “The Kressh citadel,” He remarked gloomily, “The halls of my family,” Even now he could make out his kin wandering around, dressed in their fancy silks and copious amounts of jewelry. It was a completely different aesthetic than the shabby, poverty-stricken towns they just passed. This was where the wealthier houses dwelled, “Descendants of Vowrawn, Ragnos and others are in large houses further down that way.”

He took a moment to stare at the Kressh Citadel, taking in sight of its intimidating and magnificent presence. It would be the first glimpse into who Azar truly was and the kind of claim he once had. Azar grimaced before pivoting to walk towards the left, “The forges are this way.”

@Xorism

 

[Nevizkas]

Even as they walked a steady path, the conversation began to flow freely. The Kressh name was one that she was familiar with, although not one she expected to see wandering around her tribal lands. A powerful name buried beneath the weight of its history, the pressure this must have applied to its current inhabitants...

Cyutadakyr smiled, as his story developed, and she imagined the small Azar coupling with a mighty Massassai warrior. "So is alchemy what you always wanted to do, or was it what your father wanted for you?" She asked curiously. She was acutely aware of the downward pressures that parents could place upon their children, even if the latter sometimes struggled to see it. The fact that he felt his destiny intertwined with his caste, applied its own invisible pressures.

As they continued and passed through the impoverished parts of the city and wandered into the more affluent, Cyu couldn't help but admire the style and beauty that their kin had erected. Had she not journeyed the galaxy, she might have thought these houses the pinnacles of civilisation and power, at least comparatively to where she hailed from.

The powerful names of purebloods past, their deeds legendary or infamous, depending on who you spoke of. But since then? How many of these men and women claim success or power in their own right, rather than clinging on to the wonders of their forbearer. "Imagine the extent of your own footnote in history being only that you were born to the right womb." She said quietly, not speaking of anyone in particular and without venom behind the words.

Cyu had never been to the forges themselves, having heard tales of them, sure, but never seeing them with her own eyes. Would they even be intact and operational? Had the Sith Empire destroyed them as part of a cultural destruction effort, or perhaps the great houses had locked them away from prying eyes.

She trusted that Azar knew where he was taking them, but reaching them was perhaps the easiest of the challenges they were set to face. "Have you seen them for yourself?" She inquired as they took the turn. Drawing nearer to their destination was becoming intimidating, although she tried to hide it. "Please don't tell me we have to defeat some guardian or the like first."

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar smirked at her asking so many questions about him. There was a point in time when he would have been exceedingly suspicious of her, but he had no reason to be wary for now, “What my father wanted, of course,” He answered honestly as they kept walking. She would notice that he stepped into what looked like a cave, the path leading down to the depths below, “But over time I developed a passion for it and the rest is history.”

She would notice it started to get increasingly hot as they descended further into the lower levels, their path spiraling down, “Is it because you will only choose a woman?” Azar asked calmly without looking at her, “The reason you went through your own estrangement?” He doubted she was formally exiled, but with their numbers declining, there were stigmas against certain sexual orientations that could impede more pureblood offspring. If Cyu was going to ask him deep questions, it was only fair he threw one back once in a while.

Cyu would see the reason for the heat, lava pooling around the grand forge that was in the depths below. Not only was it formidable in appearance, but she would feel the pulse of the Dark Side here. There was a corrupted nexus nestled away by the forge - a pool from which to draw their strength.

“I was here often as a boy,” He explained, “But I know the ways,” He said. His mother’s side of the family had a proud lineage of forgemasters.

“I will guide you, but you will forge your own blade,” Azar said after a moment, “It is important you learn our ways. There are only so many of us left to pass the knowledge on.”

@Xorism

 

[Nevizkas]

Even if Azar's father had set his life into the makings of a path, it was the potion master himself that had taken that raw talent, and gouged his own trough through life with laser focus. Much how like their trip thus far had been direct, and with purpose, absent a meandering that so often plagued substantive efforts of other Sith.

Their ancestors were provocateurs, perhaps even delighting in the showmanship of their craft. It would have been far too boring for their forges to be built on ground level, with ample illumination and adequate ventilation - although this would undoubtably spoil the ethereal mood lighting that they always seemed to strive for.

For the second time in as many moons, Cyu found herself spiralling downward, although this time not only literally but metaphorically, as Azar ambushed her with his prose. At least in this case, she importantly with both feet firmly on the ground, unlike the previous encounter with stairs. She still hadn't entirely forgotten the rash that the damn second hand red suit had given her afterwards.

Azar wasn't even looking at her as his lancing question struck at her core, the feeling of insecurity, doubt, foolishness, pain and expectations all bottled up under years of containment. In another life she might have been one of many wives, under lock and key producing a dozen heirs for some half-baked, minor nobody. He spoke of ways for him to go as a son, this was the ways of a daughter.

Stopping briefly, she winced. "Do you know what it's like to lose the only person you've ever loved? One day you're in each other's arms, the next, both our parents find out, and it's over?" Of course, she'd been far too meticulous to have been caught out by the machinations of their parents, instead being betrayed by he who shared a familiar bond only force users could compare to.

Naturally, her father sought the rod, hoping to beat it out of her and encourage his one and only daughter to meet their societies lofty expectations. The physical scars were long outlived by the internal, and even if she chose a man in her own volition, she remained haunted by this past.

With cold eyes, Cyu trudged on towards the forges down below, where the bellowing heat was only offset by the immense cloud of darkness radiating from the nexus. Not only empowering, but strengthening the emotional turmoil swirling about in her head as she absent-mindedly clenched one fist into her linens.

Retrieved, a small block of metal lay between her fingers that would form the basis of her sword. At its core was a cortosis alloy, which on its own would produce a weapon that could compare with a lightsaber, but that alone did not make it special. Constructing the weapon would be the easy part, but applying the arcane and thus the application of alchemy was entirely a matter outside of her sphere.

In sadness and sorrow, Cyutadakyr felt the blistering heat lick at her skin as she made her way to the forge. "Let us begin." She uttered, solemnly.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar considered her question, feeling the surge of emotions she had brewing beneath the surface, “I know what it’s like to be responsible for the death of the person I loved above all,” He said quietly. Even as he said the words, he could see his sister’s face briefly flickering in his mind. He would never see that smile again, would never hear her sarcastic jabs at him or the little jokes only they understood. His sister had been the other half of him, the first being he had truly trusted and adored. And ultimately he failed to prevent her death.

He watched Cyu's eagerness to get to work right away, but he knew her heart wasn’t in this entirely. Not yet. Azar guided her to the forge, pointing to the anvil and various tools.

“The nexus is your main resource here,” Azar explained, “You must tap into it and invite the energy into your mind and thoughts. Allow it to empower you with each strike of the hammer. You must surrender yourself to the voices that live in this nexus and allow them to guide how you craft the metal. You cannot have an idea of what sword you want and shape it - the spirits shape it through you.”

It was a complex way of forging, but Cyu would realize that the less control she took, the more the Force would work with her to shape her weapon. The more control she sought, the worse her outcome.

“Use the Force to heat the metal,” Azar said, “We do not use furnaces here,” It was one of the unique ways this forge was completely different.

@Xorism

 

[Nevizkas]

The explanation that he gave around the use of the forge and its exclusion of the norms of forging made sense, in an annoying kind of way. Not only did it explain why she had been struggling whilst using a formal forge, but worse, what was the point of building it in the midst of a superheated thermal lake if they weren't utilising it? Mood lighting? Irony?

Taking a hefty hammer in one hand and placing the alloy block down upon the anvil, she stared at it as he finished his piece. His words of responsibility weighed on her mind, despite attempting to compartmentalise it. Their pasts, as different as it might be, shared a similar strand of fate that had somehow twisted in a way they both hated.

Speaking no further, the pureblood focused her attention on the lump of metal that would become the basis of this new sword, somehow. The obvious answer, was pyrokinesis and with an outstretched hand she began drawing upon her own power. The arid, intense temperature inside the room made it relatively easy to set a spark into flame, as a scorching jet erupted before her fingers to consume the metal.

A slight grin marked its presence upon her face, but that was short-lived, as even through the flames they would both see that the metal remained dormant and bored. Increasing the intensity produced no results, as if even the metal itself defied her attempt to control it.

Flush with frustration, she stopped to take stock of the situation, knowing that Azar would probably be judging her every move. Could he blame her for wanting to tackle the problem herself? Maybe, maybe not. But then again, it was relatively instinctual for a person grown on self-reliance to cling to it, an entirely different beast to then give up that control to the meddling and entropy of the force itself.

Gritting her teeth in realisation that not only had she been wrong, but in that she should have listened to him in the first place, was an annoying little wound she would have to nurse as she had shown then and there that she hadn't been ready. To achieve her aim, required swallowing these doubts and focusing on the instructions that he had set, on easing her mind and releasing the control that she had spent the better part of a decade building toward.

The powerful nexus radiated strength and power that not only enhanced their abilities, but this entire time had been attempting to whisper to her. The more she struggled for control, the weaker and quieter they were, and the more she focused and calmed her mind, the louder they grew.

The vocalisation of their mother tongue sound beautiful to behold, but it was entirely another experience to both sense its power and hear its strength echo through one's existence in the force. With each moment passing, Cyutadakyr gave more and more of herself over to the voices, their chants growing all consuming.

Clang, the sound of a hammer striking metal.

Clang it rang.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

It wasn’t Azar’s place to judge, so he didn’t. He observed her, but he did not point out her mistakes. She was not his apprentice nor would he coddle her. She had to find her own rhythm here, and he trusted that she would. Soon enough, she began to surrender herself to the nexus and the Force began to guide and operate through her. She would see the benefits almost at once as the metal took shape in a particular way.

“Release all visions you have of the destination,” Azar reminded her, “Focus only on the journey to get there,” It was an important rule to abide by if she wanted a powerful blade, “Trust in an entity greater than yourself,” Azar told her, “Let our ancestors act through you. Know that this is the one place in the galaxy where we are not alone. We are not outsiders. We belong. Hold onto that as you craft a blade of Korriban.”

Azar hadn’t come here just to instruct her. He had his own metal to work. He set it down and focused the Force, drawing upon it to shape the blade. He would chant loudly in ur-Kittat, repeating ancient texts that were long lost in written word but carried on solely through memory now. Kressh could have ousted him, but he wouldn’t oust Kressh so easily.

The blade he began to forge hummed with life he poured into it. He first began by taking a knife and slicing his own palm open. Drops of blood dribbled onto the metal, fusing and streaking through the metal to become a part of it. Azar continued chanting, unleashing lightning into the blade, and then fire, and then ice, and then a concussive blast with the Force. Each surge of power he poured into it drained him, pulled from him and burned his arm. But he was relentless, continuing his chanting.

The pureblood drew from the nexus, letting it fuel him as he hammered away at the metal. His left arm had countless lacerations opening up along the length of it. Skin cracked and bubbled, but he didn’t stop, hammering away as if his life depended on it. There was a price to power, and he was going to pay it to forge this blade.

“Passion, Cyutadakyr,” He spoke through gritted teeth, “Find it. Pour it. Bind it.”

@Xorism

 

[Nevizkas]

Spoiler: Theme

As Cyutadakyr continued to free herself from the bonds of control, she felt the ripples etching themselves out from the nexus grow in both tempo and strength. She closed her mind to all but his words and the force, putting off her questions and doubts before they would arise, as she fought her own desire of control with the desire for the knowledge that lay within these sacred walls.

The metal in its raw, crude form took notice as from the cold depths began a warmth, a soft glow that would grow across its rough dimension until it was entirely aflame. Without any visible sign of instruction or interference, the metallic object joined her in the force, enthralled and imbued by the very energy and spiritual connection that the pureblood drank from.

Burning her wants and needs, the flash imagery of what she wanted, the sword she imagined, drifted into obscurity as it was brushed aside. The voices grew in power, swirling around in her mind as she sought out the nexus itself. The stygian monolith, as she imagined it might appear, was far beyond comprehension and scale to master. Its power and might far exceed her own, with one explicit thing very clear.

It would not come to her, she would have to come to it.

Cyutadakyr continued to wash away her fears, doubts, thoughts and draw upon passion. The less she was, the more she became. The less in her cup, the more it filled.

Her mind stared at a long familiar face. The raw electric emotion of that moment balled up within her, reaching out to Saviel, the small girl from a past she escaped. A tender, delicate, complex yet simple chemistry fuelled her youthful passion. A broken, torn woman arrived, but another would leave. The final key to the puzzle, revealing and revelling in its discovery as she grasped the memory, its primal power drawn.

At this moment and time, no longer did only Cyutadakyr, daughter of Torius stand before the forge. In her place stood an ethereal conduit, embracing the immense power unconditionally, surrounded by throngs of her once mighty and powerful ancestors as they guided both her thought and action, hammer and strike.

Through Passion I gain Strength.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar was relentless as he hammered away at the metal and shaped it. His arm was wrecked more and more as he poured more of his energy into the blade. It was his essence, and his ancestors worked through him. He felt nothing but strength surge as he crafted the weapon. The process would take days for both of them, slightly longer for Cyutudakyr as she was newer at this. This craft couldn’t be rushed.

The pureblood was exhausted and taxed by the end of each day, collapsing for the night only to begin anew the next day. It was almost a week before his blade was complete.

By the end of it, Azar lifted the blade out and refined the hilt. He grasped it and gave it a few swings, the metal humming with power. If Cyutadakyr glanced over, she would notice right away that the blade was not suited for Azar. It was crafted for someone decidedly larger than Azar himself. He had poured his blood, soul and energy into a weapon that would ultimately go to someone else.

“Are you pleased with what you have made?” Azar asked, his entire body ragged and tired from the effort of constructing the blade. He had been at her side the entire time to offer suggestions, to push her when she was close to breaking, to truly teach her how to craft. Her skills in alchemy were not as refined as his, so her first blade would not be as powerful as any she chose to make after this. However, it would hum with the powers of Korriban nonetheless.

Azar’s left arm, his dominant, was all but useless. It was cracked, torn up, bleeding. It would take weeks to heal, but it had served its purpose.

“It will take you years to learn the craft,” He explained to Cyu, “Do not be discouraged if the first is not the ultimate weapon you expected. Stay here as long as you wish to learn it,” Azar explained. After all, Azar sacrificed direct combat prowess to specialize in the alchemical arts, “The grand libraries near the old palace still house some texts from which you can learn,” While much of it was looted over time, Darth Raze had taken great care to restore many of the old tomes that were scattered across the galaxy prior.

@Xorism

 

[Nevizkas]

The crafting of such a special blade, both a potent weapon in its own right and a symbol of their people, would take its toll. Neither relented for days, having fully committed to the task ahead. With each crash of the hammer came an expression of herself, the strength of a thousand kin and the Dark Side itself guiding its careful creation.

Each day that passed, Cyutadakyr felt drained to a husk, discarded to the floor and without the grace of conciousness to care. Each falling gave way to a rising, flesh and bone bruised and worn, driven solely by the insatiable need to reach the next cycle.

At last, the weapon held aloft in her hand, the voices for the first time in days began reducing as if withdrawing. The pureblood winced as her body fought to remain standing upon her own strength, just barely catching herself from collapse. The red blade that had been forged spoke to her in a way that no other weapon she had held could compare. It's design and power unique, becoming in effect her signature and statement.

"I am." She forced out. The crude craft was far from the sword that Azar now possessed, even its appearance invoked a certain kind of dread. Given its masterful creator and the lengths that he had gone to manifest it, even she admittedly remained wary of it.

The possibility of continuing to practice and strengthen her methods in both the forge and library were of great interest to her. What would pass for an excited look, hoist upon her face, as the two were still quite some time from recovery. "Thank you, Azar. I shall master it." She spoke slowly, full of genuine gratitude.

But that wasn't all she had to say, and his knowledge wasn't the only thing to be given. Cyutadakyr had brought Azar to Korriban as her guest, allowing him access to their home, but until he had found a way to end his exile this arrangement would be painful. As tempting as it was to keep him reliant on her, knowing full well its importance to him, she didn't.

Instead she pulled something small out of a pocket in her coat, offering it to him with an outstretched hand. "Keep it safe for me." Upon inspection the small red stone would be easily identified as a desert ruby, set into a small chain with an unfamilar tribal mark. The family heirloom would, while in his possession, show that he remained her guest whether she was present or not.

A powerful symbol, of what his knowledge meant to her.

@Sreeya