The Maw – The Prison of Abeloth
Reality twisted and screamed as Serion stepped into the black-heart chamber of the Prison.
There was no door no threshold. Only will. His mind pressed against the ancient barrier, and it split, not with force, but with understanding.
She waited inside.
Abeloth. The Chaos Mother. A being not of this galaxy, not of this era. Something that predated form. Her eyes were oceans of madness and love twisted into a thousand layers of hunger.
"You are not the Ones," she whispered, coiling in his thoughts. "You are not Sith. You are not Jedi. What are you, child?"
"The architect of what comes next."
Serion raised his hand. The Seed inside him pulsed violently but not in resistance. No, now it obeyed. It had no more voice. Only his will remained.
With that dominion, he unleashed a crimson lattice of containment, drawn from the language of the Force written in Rakatan, Zeffo, and his own tongue. Abeloth shrieked not in pain, but surprise.
"You seek to bind me?"
"No," Serion said. "I came to understand you."
And as she writhed, caught in his web of voidsteel and will, he entered her mind.
Visions – Abeloth's Memories
He saw before time. The Celestials. The Ones—Father, Son, and Daughter—keeping balance, until Abeloth drank from forbidden fountains to remain immortal, to stay close to them.
He saw the Ones fear her, saw them bind her here in eternal loneliness.
He saw ancient empires rise and fall. Kuat, Rakata, Sith, Jedi. Abeloth was always there, in dreams, in madness, in whispers.
"And now," she wept, "you will unmake the balance."
"No," Serion whispered. "I will make a better one."
Mortis – The Final Confrontation
As he stepped back into realspace from the Maw, they waited for him.
The Ones.
The Father, balance incarnate.
The Son, darkness devouring.
The Daughter, light eternal.
"You walk where gods fear," the Father warned.
"You have taken from that which is not meant to be known."
"I take only what you failed to control."
The Son lunged, consumed by arrogance. The Daughter followed, sorrow in her heart. The Father moved to restrain them.
But Serion, elevated by the Seed—by the truths of Abeloth—was beyond them now.
The duel was not long. It was myth.
He wove the dark and the light into one.
The Son screamed as Serion's blade of entropy pierced his chest, his body unraveling into smoke.
The Daughter gasped as her light was inverted into a collapsing sun—drawn into Serion's palm and consumed.
And the Father—ageless and wise—bowed his head before the blow fell.
"Let it be done… But may you do better than we did."
When the battle was done, only silence remained.
The Force shuddered. Across the galaxy, beings of power—Palpatine, Vader, Yoda, even Snoke—fell to their knees, choking on the ripple.
They did not know what had died.
But they knew something terrible and vast now watched from the stars.
Yavin IV – The Theft of the Death Star Plans
The Rebellion had no idea what storm brewed in the outer reaches.
While Mon Mothma and Bail Organa celebrated the sacrifice of Rogue One, while the data tapes arrived safely in nelly Organa's hands aboard the Tantive IV, a darker victory echoed elsewhere.
The Death Star was exposed. A weapon of fear now had a weakness.
The Rebellion believed they had hope.
And Serion… had a plan.
Zereth Prime – Throne of the New Order
Serion returned to his throne, eyes glowing with secrets no mortal had ever survived.
Abeloth was trapped her power siphoned. The Ones were gone their essence integrated into his own. The Seed was no longer a chain it was a crown.
He did not speak of his victories. He let the galaxy play its wars—Rebels against Empire, Jedi ghosts against Sith phantoms.
But slowly… methodically… Serion began the construction of a new doctrine.
His Oblivion-class fleet expanded.
Hyperlanes shifted by his command.
Rebels unknowingly received his resources.
Sith spies disappeared across the Outer Rim.
Serion did not move as a tyrant. He moved as a gardener.
Planting ruin. Harvesting control.