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Nikkimora

Bethika

Lady Boa of Hoth

Intrigue at the Royal Palace

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Artist Henry Stacy Marks Title Two Sketches: Father and Daughter Place England (Artist's nationality:) Date Artist's working dates 1849–1898 Medium Black pastel, heightened with white pastel, on blue laid paper https://www.artic.edu/artworks/46866/two-sketches-father-and-daughter

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Lady Boa of Hoth - Secret apprentice to Darth Maul.

Orlan The Silent from the Betheika series

May from the Intrigue in the Royal Palace series

Acolyte Snow from the Lady Boa of Hoth series

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Chapter 1: The Giant Girl from WuhanNikkimora stood out even as a child.By the age of twelve, she was already taller than most grown men. Her mother, a quiet seamstress in Wuhan, could only shake her head as Nikki devoured bowls of rice and slabs of meat like a soldier back from war. Her father, once a celebrated wrestler in the underground fighting rings, watched her with quiet pride and unease. "You’ll be someone strong," he told her. "Just don’t forget who you are."Strength, however, was both a gift and a curse.By high school, Nikkimora had become a legend. Captain of the girls' shot put, discus, and judo teams, she dominated tournaments with ease. Coaches from Beijing to Shanghai lined up to recruit her. But she had no love for the fame or attention. Her height—now past 6’6”—made her a spectacle. The boys were terrified of her. Girls whispered behind her back. They called her names: Giant. Gorilla. Beast.Nikki smiled through it. Then she punched the lockers behind the girls who mocked her and watched them scatter.She lived for competition, for the adrenaline of combat sports. Wrestling, judo, boxing—it didn’t matter. It was the only place she felt graceful. Free.But there was another world around her. One she tried not to notice. Her father's former friends, men with gold rings and dragon tattoos, would visit late at night. She saw money passed in red envelopes. Men limping. Sometimes bloody.She never asked.Until the day she came home to find her father missing, her mother crying, and a black car idling outside.That was the day Nikkimora stopped pretending.The world didn't want her strength.But someone would.And she was ready to give it to them—for a price.Chapter 2: The Fall of Coach LinCoach Lin believed in her when no one else did.He was the kind of man who saw past appearances. While other coaches joked about Nikki’s size or warned her she’d never fit into a “girl’s world,” Lin trained her like a champion. He taught her discipline—more than just brute strength. Under his guidance, Nikki learned to move with precision, to fight with her mind as much as her body.It was Coach Lin who got her into the national judo youth program. It was also Coach Lin who warned her to stay away from the men with dragon tattoos.“They don’t love you,” he said, handing her a towel after a grueling match. “They love what you can do for them.”But Nikki didn’t care.After her father disappeared, something inside her cracked. Her mother shriveled into silence, barely eating. The apartment became a grave. Nikki needed answers. She started hanging around late-night gyms and underground fight clubs. She won every match, sometimes against men twice her age. Her reputation grew. They called her “The Iron Blossom.”It wasn’t long before Madam Jasmin heard about her.One night, after a brutal bare-knuckle brawl, Nikki stepped into the locker room to find a sleek woman in a red qipao waiting. Tall, elegant, eyes like knives.“You’re wasted on these fools,” Madam Jasmin said. “You’re not a fighter. You’re a weapon.”Coach Lin found out.He begged her to walk away. Offered to pull strings with his contacts in Beijing. Told her she still had a future—Olympics, coaching, even scholarship abroad.“I’m not a child anymore,” she said coldly. “That world never wanted me.”He looked at her, defeated. “Then I’ve already lost you.”A week later, Coach Lin was found beaten in an alley.Nikki never cried.But she never forgave herself either.Chapter 3: Red Envelopes and Black EyesThe first time Nikki got paid to hurt someone, it felt like winning a gold medal.She told herself it was just a job—a message, a warning. Some deadbeat gambler owed Madam Jasmin a sum he had no intention of repaying. Nikki waited outside his cheap bar in the rain, face hidden beneath a hoodie, hands wrapped in cloth.When the man stumbled out, drunk and cursing, she stepped forward. He barely had time to blink before she smashed his jaw against the curb.That night, Madam Jasmin handed her a thick red envelope.“For your discipline,” she said, smiling like a queen offering tribute to her knight.The money was more than Nikki’s mother made in three months. She bought groceries, fixed the broken heater, left a silent kiss on her mother’s sleeping forehead.And when the next job came, she didn’t hesitate. That’s how it started.At first, it was just debt collection. Then came intimidation. Escorts who needed protection. Clients who needed persuading. Politicians who needed a little fear in their eyes. Nikki’s size, her strength, her emotionless stare—these were her weapons, and Madam Jasmin wielded her like a blade.Still, she wasn’t heartless.Once, a young boy got in her way during a job. Instead of hurting his father, Nikki gave the man an hour to run—and slipped a wad of bills into the boy’s hand. “Go somewhere safe,” she told him. “Never get strong like me. It ruins everything.”She started dressing different too. Black suits, boots, sunglasses even at night. The streets began to whisper about her. “Madam Jasmin’s Shadow.” “The Walking Mountain.” “Monster Girl.”She didn’t mind.Let them fear her.Fear was cleaner than pity.And love? Nikki had already given up on that fantasy.Or so she thought.Chapter 4: Heart Like a HailstormHis name was Fei.He worked at a bike shop near the docks, all oil-stained fingers and quiet smiles. Nikki met him by accident—literally. She was chasing down a thief who stole from one of Madam Jasmin’s clients when the boy darted into the shop. Fei stepped in without hesitation, placing himself between the trembling thief and the giant woman looming at the door.“Maybe he made a mistake,” Fei said softly, eyes steady. “Not everyone’s born lucky.”Nikki stared at him, fists clenched. But something in his voice stopped her. She gave the thief a glare that promised consequences if he didn’t disappear, then turned and left.The next day, Fei found a new set of bike tires and a meat bun waiting at his door.Over the next few weeks, Nikki began finding excuses to pass by. Sometimes she bought something—grease for her motorbike, a new helmet. Other times, she just watched him work. His presence was like calm rain. Gentle. Still. Something her life had never been.They started talking. Fei didn’t ask questions about her bruised knuckles or the way people crossed the street to avoid her. He spoke to her like she was just... a person.For the first time in years, Nikki laughed.He made her feel clumsy and huge—but not in a cruel way. More like someone trying to fit into a world too small for her.One rainy evening, under the flicker of a broken streetlamp, Fei kissed her.“I don’t care what you’ve done,” he whispered. “I see you.”And for one brief moment, Nikki believed that maybe—just maybe—she didn’t have to be Madam Jasmin’s monster forever.But monsters don’t get happy endings.Not in Wuhan.Not in the shadows.Not ever.Chapter 5: Love, InterruptedFor three months, Nikki lived like a woman with a secret garden.By day, she remained Madam Jasmin’s enforcer—breaking limbs, collecting debts, scaring rivals into submission. By night, she rode her bike through quiet streets to Fei’s apartment above the bike shop, where warmth lived in tea cups and shared silence.He never pushed. He never probed.And that made Nikki fall harder.She began to dream of leaving it all behind. Maybe they could move to the countryside. She’d build muscle the right way—training athletes, not breaking skulls. He’d fix bikes and laugh with children. It was a ridiculous dream, but it kept her awake with hope.Then came the night of the warehouse deal.Madam Jasmin had her hands in many pots—guns, contraband art, even trafficking if rumors were true. Nikki didn’t ask questions. But that night, something was off. The drop was messy. Too many faces. Too many eyes. Someone had squealed.The cops raided hard.Nikki barely got out.She ditched the car, bruised and bleeding, and stumbled through back alleys until she reached Fei’s shop. She pounded on his door with bloodied fists, wild-eyed and desperate.But someone else answered.Two plainclothes officers stood inside. One with a notepad. The other with cuffs.And behind them—Fei.His face was pale.“I didn’t know, Nikki,” he said. “They threatened to shut me down. I thought if I just told them where you lived—”She didn’t hear the rest.Nikki ran.She ran until her lungs burned, until she collapsed behind a garbage bin, shaking like a child.She wasn’t arrested. Madam Jasmin had police in her pocket.But the betrayal? That cut deeper than any blade.Nikki never went back to the shop.She just stopped smiling.And started hurting people harder.

Discover the Magic of Storytelling. "Niikimora" Excerpt

Chapter One: The Day of FireThe morning was like any other.Bethika, nine years old, chased geese through the misty fields behind her mother’s cottage, laughing as their wings flapped in protest. The marsh grasses brushed her legs, and the scent of wild onions filled the air. Life in Rennol was quiet, simple—safe.Until the sky turned red.It started as a low rumble, like thunder in the distance. But there were no clouds, only a perfect blue stretching over the lowlands. Then came the wind—a hot, unnatural gust that bent the reeds and stung Bethika’s cheeks. The birds fled. The air grew heavy with smoke.Her mother screamed her name.Bethika turned just in time to see fire rain from the heavens.The dragon was young but enormous, its scales the color of fresh blood, its eyes glowing gold. It swooped low over the village, wings casting shadows larger than houses. Cottages exploded in bursts of flame. Livestock scattered. People ran in all directions, their screams mixing with the roar of the beast.Bethika couldn’t move.Her mother grabbed her, wrapped her in her arms, and threw them both into the well pit. Flames licked the edge as the dragon passed overhead.Darkness. Smoke. Heat. Pain.When Bethika awoke, Rennol was ash. Her mother’s body lay charred but intact beside her, arms still curved protectively around her. Bethika screamed then—one long, broken cry that echoed through the hollowed village.That day burned everything: her home, her innocence, her past.But it did not take her will to live.Bethika climbed from the pit, covered in soot and scars.She looked to the sky—not with fear, but fury.And from the ashes of her childhood, a hunter was born.Chapter Two: Orlan the SilentBethika wandered the charred ruins of Rennol for two days.She drank from the river and scavenged what little food the dragon had not burned. Birds circled above, drawn by the stench of death. Villagers who survived had fled. No one came back for the orphan girl with ash in her hair and burns along her arms.But then he came.A rider—tall, cloaked in grey, with a long sword strapped to his back. He said nothing as he walked through the smoldering village. Bethika watched him from the broken rafters of the inn, a piece of wood clutched like a club in her hand.When he spotted her, he didn’t speak. He crouched beside the well, set down a wrapped bundle of bread and dried meat, then walked away.The next day, he returned.Again, he left food. Still said nothing.On the third day, Bethika followed him.He didn’t stop her.His name was Orlan. People called him the Silent, but not because he couldn’t speak—he simply chose not to. He had once served as a soldier in the Border Wars and had hunted dragons for coin in his youth. His back was scarred with claw marks, his eyes gray and tired. He lived in a hut deep in the marshes, far from any village.Orlan never asked Bethika to stay. She never asked to leave.He trained her in silence—gesture, example, repetition. She learned to track, to fight, to survive. By her twelfth birthday, she could set a snare blindfolded, skin a hare in under a minute, and strike a moving target from fifty paces.But more than that, he taught her discipline—how to wait, how to endure, how to let pain forge you instead of break you.Bethika never spoke of Rennol again.She didn’t need to.Chapter Three: Tales of the HighlandsThe dragons came from the Highlands.That’s what Orlan told her one evening, his voice low and gravelly—the first time he’d spoken in days. He sat sharpening a blade beside the fire, the sound of metal on stone steady and slow.“They nest in the crags,” he muttered, “high above the tree line, where the air’s too thin for cowards.”Bethika leaned forward, her eyes wide.She had never seen the Highlands, only heard of them in campfire tales—an ancient mountain range that rose like jagged teeth from the north. Wind-blasted, storm-wracked, and shrouded in mist, they were said to be cursed. Nothing grew there, and even the bravest men feared to climb them.But the dragons ruled those peaks.“They breed in hollowed-out caverns,” Orlan continued, never stopping the grind of steel. “One queen to every brood. Eggs as black as obsidian. Younglings fight each other for food. The strongest survive.”Bethika imagined it: red-scaled terrors learning to fly beneath thunderous skies, tearing at one another with tooth and claw. No wonder they were so savage when they descended.“Then why come down?” she asked. “Why leave their nests?”Orlan’s eyes glinted.“Territory. Hunger. Blood instincts. The young ones fly south to prove themselves. If they survive the lowlands, they’re considered full-grown.”Bethika’s jaw tightened.“So we’re their proving ground.”Orlan finally looked at her, something unreadable behind his gaze.“No. We’re their warning.”Bethika stared into the fire that night, imagining the path north. She’d never been beyond the marshes. But something stirred in her chest—a pull, a whisper, like the wind calling through mountain canyons.One day, she promised herself, she would climb those cursed peaks.She would find the nests.And she would end the bloodline at its root.Chapter Four: First KillBethika was sixteen when her moment came.The village of Dornmere sent a runner—a boy soaked in mud and panic. A dragon, he gasped, had taken roost near the river bend. It wasn’t the sky-fire kind that burned towns. No, this one crawled. Slithered. Its wings were stubbed, more for gliding than flight. Locals called it a swamp crawler.Orlan watched Bethika as the boy spoke. Then, slowly, he stood and said, “It’s yours.”Bethika’s breath caught.He handed her a short spear tipped with iron, and a dagger as long as her forearm. No sword. No armor.She left at dawn, the fog thick and the air humming with insects. Dornmere lay on the edge of the fetid marshes—thick with reeds and shadow. Children had gone missing. Livestock vanished. The villagers whispered of scales glimpsed beneath the water and eyes that glowed like dying coals.Bethika tracked it for hours, moving silently through muck and moss. She found its trail: crushed reeds, claw marks on cypress bark, the half-eaten carcass of a goat.She didn’t hesitate.The swamp crawler rose from the water with a hiss, sleek and dark green, its body low to the ground like a serpent with legs. It lunged—fast, faster than she expected.She rolled, mud coating her back, and jabbed upward with the spear.It struck true.The beast shrieked, blood spraying as it twisted in pain. But Bethika was already on its back, driving her dagger between its spine and neck, just below the skull—where Orlan had taught her.It spasmed, then fell still.She stood there, breathless, soaked in blood and swamp water. Her hands trembled.Not from fear.From the thrill.When she returned to Dornmere, dragging the scaled head behind her, the villagers stared in awe.Bethika had arrived.Chapter Five: The Royal BeastsNot all dragons were monsters.Bethika learned this the hard way.After the Dornmere kill, word of her deed spread far and wide. Within weeks, a summons came—sealed in green wax, marked with the royal crest of House Virellian. The Lowland Court had taken notice.She and Orlan traveled by riverboat to the city of Verrinhold, capital of the marshlands. It gleamed like a pearl upon the water, with silver towers and lily-covered canals. But what caught Bethika’s breath were the dragons.They were everywhere.Not skyburners or swamp crawlers—these were Lowland dragons: sleek and elegant, smaller than their Highland cousins. Some had feathers, others smooth, shimmering scales. They perched on balconies, swam beside gondolas, even curled on velvet cushions in noble parlors.One nuzzled the hand of a young prince like a hound.Bethika stared, tense, as a blue-scaled creature glided down from a balcony and landed gracefully beside her. Its long neck bent, and it sniffed her leathers with soft, curious eyes.“They’re tame,” a woman’s voice said.Bethika turned. A tall lady stood nearby, her dress adorned with dragon motifs, a jeweled circlet on her brow.“I am Lady Rissane,” she said. “Keeper of the Bonded Ones.”She explained that Lowland dragons were a rare breed—born of ancient treaties between humans and the oldest dragon lords. They were bonded to royal bloodlines and trained from hatchlings. Intelligent, loyal, and above all, peaceful.“We mourn when Highland beasts go rogue,” Rissane said. “But don’t forget—dragons are not your enemy. Only the wild ones.”Bethika nodded, unsure. Her fingers twitched near her dagger anyway.She had seen what dragons could do.But now she saw something else: not all fire was meant to destroy. Some burned quietly beside thrones, protecting instead of devouring.Still, she kept her hand close to steel.Just in case.Chapter Six: The Last LessonThey were on their way back from Verrinhold when the storm rolled in.Orlan insisted they camp along the old pine ridge, a place he claimed had dry overhangs and no bandits. Bethika built the fire while he set traps. Rain drizzled through the trees, soft and steady. It felt like any other night.Until the screech split the sky.Bethika shot to her feet. Orlan was already standing, eyes fixed upward. A massive shape burst from the clouds—wings torn and crooked, scales dark as rot. It was no Lowland dragon.It was a rogue.A Highland exile. Wounded, starving, desperate.It fell upon them like thunder.Bethika drew her blades. Orlan shoved her aside.The dragon's tail lashed, catching Orlan across the chest. He crashed into a tree with a sickening crack. Bethika screamed his name, but he didn’t rise.Rage swallowed her.She charged.The fight was brutal—claws slashing, teeth gnashing, Bethika ducking and rolling, carving into its belly. It shrieked and lunged. She drove Griefbinder straight through its throat, twisting until blood fountained into the rain.The beast fell, twitching.She dropped to her knees beside Orlan.His eyes fluttered. Blood bubbled at his lips.“No tears,” he rasped, his voice a ghost. “You were… always meant for more.”She shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t say goodbye.”His hand, heavy with calluses, rested on hers.“I taught you… everything I know.”Then he was still.Bethika knelt in the rain for a long time.When the sun rose, she buried him beneath the old pine. She laid his sword across his chest and carved one word into the bark above: Teacher.She left the camp in silence.But inside her, something had changed.Now she hunted not just for vengeance.She hunted to honor him.Chapter Seven: The Prince and the BladeBethika returned to Verrinhold two weeks later.Word of Orlan’s death had reached the capital. A black ribbon hung over the city gates. Lady Rissane met Bethika in a private garden, where her bonded dragon—an emerald-scaled beauty named Vaelen—slept curled beside a pond.“I’m sorry,” Rissane said quietly.Bethika only nodded. Her grief was private, sharp as a blade. She didn’t cry. Orlan wouldn’t have approved of tears.That evening, as she prepared to leave, someone stepped into her path.He was tall, dressed in deep green leathers, his black hair braided down his back. A curved sword hung at his hip. His face was too handsome to trust—but his eyes… his eyes were honest.“Bethika, isn’t it?” he said.She tensed. “Who’s asking?”“Kaelen Virellian. Son of Rissane. Heir to the Lowlands.”A prince.He extended a hand, not with pomp, but like a soldier greeting another. She didn’t take it.“You hunt dragons,” he said.Bethika raised a brow. “I kill them.”He smirked. “Then maybe you’ll teach me. I’m terrible at anything that doesn’t involve books or court dances.”Bethika didn’t smile. But she didn’t walk away, either.Over the next few days, Kaelen kept finding excuses to join her: during weapon drills, at the training yard, even while she sharpened blades. He wasn’t just clever—he listened. He asked about Orlan, about the marshes, about her first kill.And when he sparred with her, he didn’t hold back.Bethika found herself drawn to him, despite every instinct to remain alone.He wasn’t like the noble sons she’d imagined—arrogant and soft. He was steady, curious, and sharp as flint.And when he looked at her, it wasn’t with fear.It was with something warmer.Something dangerous.Something she wasn’t ready for.Not yet.But soon.

Unleash Your Imagination with Figment's Fantasy. "Bethika" Excerpt 

Chapter One: The White Silence of HothThe planet Hoth was a graveyard of ice and forgotten things. It was no place for a child, yet there she was — a small girl with pale skin and eyes too bright for the snowstorm. Her name was Boa, born to scavengers who scraped survival from downed transports and ancient rebel wreckage.Boa had always known she was different.When the wampas came too close, she made them stop — not with traps, but with her mind. When the ice caverns cracked above her head, she screamed, and the falling slabs froze in mid-air. Her parents called her cursed. Her brothers feared her. And in that fear, they abandoned her to the cold.She should have died. But death never came.Instead, something far worse — or far greater — found her.Darth Maul had sensed her through the Force. A flicker, a whisper, buried in the blizzards of Hoth, calling to him like a bleeding wound. He came not in a ship of war but in silence, his cloaked figure a shadow in the storm.He stood above her half-frozen form, the ice clinging to her eyelashes.“You are not meant to die,” he said.Boa opened her eyes. She didn’t speak. She didn’t cry.She simply knew him.And he smiled.Maul wrapped her in his cloak, carrying her through the storm like a phantom.He did not bring her to Mustafar or Coruscant, but deeper into the hidden places — places that whispered in ancient tongues, beyond even Sith archives. He would train her, mold her, and hide her. Boa was not to be a tool of the Empire or a pawn in the Jedi games.She was to be a weapon. His weapon.And no one would ever know she existed.Chapter Two: The Hidden TempleDeep beneath the shattered crust of Orsis, within a forgotten Sith outpost buried in obsidian rock, Darth Maul made his lair. It was here that little girl Boa awoke, wrapped in silence, warmed by fire, surrounded by shadows older than empires.The temple was ancient, a relic from the Old Sith Wars, untouched for millennia. It was Maul’s sanctuary — and now hers.He spoke little in the early days. Words were for the weak. Pain was her language now.Boa’s days were forged in agony — running barefoot across stone floors, meditating beneath freezing water, dodging searing bolts from remotes that showed no mercy. She had no lightsaber, only a wooden staff. She had no comfort, only purpose.She was quick. Too quick.Within weeks, she could anticipate Maul’s movements before he struck. She danced through his attacks like snow across durasteel. Her Force sensitivity was raw, untrained, but pure. It sang through her veins. She made rocks rise and flames dim with nothing but thought.Maul never praised her.But he watched her more closely with each passing cycle.To the galaxy, Maul was a ghost. To the Sith, he was presumed dead. And so, his apprentice would remain buried — a secret even to the Dark Side.He disguised his comings and goings through Sith shadows, masking their presence with ancient rites and Force illusions. Droids maintained the temple, programmed with old Sith tongues and erased memories.Boa was never allowed outside.The galaxy could not know she existed. Not the Jedi. Not Sidious. Not even the Inquisitors who now prowled the stars, sniffing out Force-sensitives like carrion birds.She belonged to no Order. No rule. No doctrine.Only to the dark.And to him.Chapter Three: The Phantom TrialsBoa’s thirteenth year marked the beginning of her Trials — not Jedi tests of discipline or Sith duels for dominance, but Maul’s own cruel design. The first began with silence. No training. No food. No light. She was locked within the labyrinthine catacombs of the temple with nothing but the voices of the dead.Ancient Sith spirits, their remnants etched into the walls, whispered to her: secrets of pain, betrayal, and rage. Boa did not cover her ears. She listened.On the seventh day, a door opened. Maul stood before her with a curved dagger forged from the bones of a fallen Jedi."Kill the beast," he said.No explanation. No direction.She followed the path into darkness and found it — not a beast of flesh, but one of the mind. An illusion given form: her younger self, weak and crying, a reflection of who she once was.Boa didn’t hesitate.She killed the illusion without mercy. Maul watched from the shadows, pleased.The second trial tested her loyalty. A captured mercenary was brought into the chamber — an offworlder who had trespassed too close to their temple. Maul told her: “Spare him, and you betray me. Kill him, and you bury your past.”She didn’t flinch. The man died quickly.No regret.But the final trial was unseen.It was trust.Maul vanished without warning. For three months.Boa was left to fend alone, unsure if he was testing her or truly gone. Droids grew silent. The temple’s energy dimmed. For the first time, fear crept in.But she endured.And when Maul returned, cloaked in fresh scars and darkness, she did not greet him with relief.She bowed.She was no longer a child.She was becoming Sith.Chapter Four: Fuel the FireFear is a leash, Maul once told her. But hatred? Hatred is a blade.After her Trials, Boa no longer trained to survive — she trained to destroy. The cold discipline of her childhood was replaced by fire. Maul taught her not to push her emotions aside, as the Jedi did, but to harness them. Fear, anger, pain — these were not flaws. They were power waiting to be carved into shape.“You feel fear? Good,” he said, pacing around her like a predator. “Let it teach you. Let it burn you.”He tested her endlessly. Sometimes with droids, sometimes with illusions drawn from her worst memories. He would conjure the face of her mother — smiling, then abandoning her. Her brothers, leaving her to die on the ice.Each time, Boa would hesitate. Just for a second.And Maul would strike.He punished hesitation with pain, yet never let her forget its source. “The ones who left you,” he whispered, “they feared your strength. That is the way of the weak — to destroy what they don’t understand.”Boa began to carry that hatred like armor.When she meditated, it was no longer in silence. Maul had her kneel before holocrons of ancient Sith Lords, absorbing their philosophies — Darth Nihilus, Darth Bane, even fragments of Revan’s rage. She recited their mantras until they echoed in her bones.He showed her galactic news intercepted through encrypted channels — Jedi celebrating victories, empires rising and falling — all hollow games played by fools.“They think they rule,” Maul hissed. “But power belongs to those who seize it. You are not a child of peace. You are the shadow beneath their light.”And Boa, eyes closed, fists clenched, whispered the words Maul craved:“I hate them all.”Chapter Five: The Unseen RivalBoa had spent her youth hidden in shadow, forged by Maul’s rage and sculpted in secret. She was his blade in the dark — unknown, untraceable, unstoppable.But she was not alone.Elsewhere in the galaxy, Darth Maul wore a different mask. He appeared as a ghost-king, recruiting and training apprentices under a false banner of rebuilding the Sith. To the scattered remnants of the Sith loyalists, Maul had two heirs: Darth Talon, the fierce and fanatical Twi’lek assassin, and Darth Krayt, a once-Jedi warrior twisted into something monstrous and cold.They were not secrets. They were symbols.Talon, with her red skin and black Sith tattoos, was ruthless and devoted, ruling through seduction and bloodshed.Krayt was worse — calm, methodical, and strategic. A warlord with visions of empire, already gathering fleets in the Unknown Regions. He believed Maul had chosen him to revive the Sith Order.But none of them knew about Boa.And they were never meant to.Until now.Maul returned from a long absence, wounded, darker than before. He stood before Boa in the temple’s crypt-chamber and said only: “They know.”Talon and Krayt had discovered whispers of a hidden apprentice — a true heir forged in silence. They were hunting her now. Not out of loyalty, but fear. Because if she existed… they were nothing but placeholders.Boa did not speak.She simply knelt and ignited her saber.“They will come,” Maul said, watching her rise. “You will face them both. Not as my secret… but as my successor.”For the first time, Boa stepped beyond the veil.No longer a ghost.She would meet her rivals — and end them.One by one.Chapter Six: Crimson BladesDarth Talon descended upon the moon of Vharra like a storm of fire and poison.The ancient Sith tombs trembled with her presence, her red flesh gleaming beneath black armor, curved lightsaber spinning at her side. She moved with lethal grace, expecting a challenge. But not this challenge.Boa was already waiting.Cloaked in black, her pale face half-lit by flickering torches, Boa stood at the altar of the dead — calm, expressionless. Her twin-bladed saber remained unlit. She simply watched Talon approach, the way a predator watches a wounded beast.Talon hissed, lips curling. “So it’s true. Maul kept a pet in the dark.”Boa said nothing.“You’re the reason he disappears. The reason he trains us… but favors no one.”Still nothing.Talon struck first.Her saber ignited in a crimson arc, wild and precise. Her fury was personal — not just for power, but for betrayal. She spun, flipped, struck low and high, roaring her hatred. She was fast. Loud.Boa was faster.And silent.She moved like ice on glass — cold, fluid, inevitable. Her blade ignited only at the last second, a hiss of red heat clashing with Talon’s fury. The tomb chamber lit with strobe-like flashes as saber met saber.But Boa didn’t fight with anger.She fought with control.With purpose.Talon screamed as Boa caught her arm in a twist, wrenching her off-balance. A knee to the chest. A kick to the face. Boa disarmed her with a flick of the wrist, Talon’s saber clattering across the stone.Boa stepped forward.“No,” Talon snarled, spitting blood. “I earned my place—!”Boa’s blade ignited through her chest.One clean strike.Then silence.The tombs were quiet again.Boa left without a word.One rival remained.Chapter Seven: Rise of the LadyDarth Krayt waited in the ruins of a shattered Star Temple above Dromund Kaas. The sky was electric with storms. He stood unmoving in the center of the crumbling arena, armored in black cortosis weave, his body laced with cybernetic enhancements — part Sith, part machine, part monster.He had seen Boa coming.“You killed her,” he said as thunder rolled overhead. “Good. Talon was impulsive. Undisciplined. But you—”Boa stepped into the arena, her hood falling back. Her face was unreadable, but her blade was already lit.“I’m not here to debate legacies,” she said, her voice cold, sharp as obsidian. “I’m here to end yours.”Krayt sneered. “Maul trained us both. But I command armies. What do you command, little shadow?”Boa raised her blade.“Death.”The battle began like a lightning strike.Krayt lunged with overwhelming force, a tank of muscle and rage, his saber heavy and brutal. Boa danced between his strikes, her twin-bladed saber spinning in wide arcs, parrying and sliding, striking at gaps in his armor. He was stronger.She was better.Krayt tried to crush her with a telekinetic wave — Boa leapt over it.He launched a storm of Force lightning — she absorbed it with her saber and hurled it back.Still, he pressed forward, refusing to fall.“You’re nothing,” he growled, one hand gripping her throat. “You were hidden because Maul feared your failure—”Boa’s eyes flashed.“No,” she whispered. “He hid me… because he knew I would win.”Her blade flared through his chest.Krayt staggered, collapsing into the storm.Boa stood alone in the rain, the thunder now fading.From the temple ruins, Maul emerged — his eyes glowing with grim pride.“You are no longer my apprentice,” he said.Boa turned to face him.“I never was.”She stepped past him.“I am Lady Boa now.”

Explore the World of Figment: "Lady Boa of Hoth" Excerpt

Chapter 57: Enter Seraphina the SorceressThe grand courtyard filled with a shimmer of golden mist and the strong scent of roses… and fried radish.With a dramatic flourish and a small explosion, a tall, radiant woman appeared atop a stack of upside-down chamber pots. Her robe was embroidered with stars (some of which were falling off), her long silver hair shimmered unnaturally, and a floating ribbon followed her every move—erratically.“I am Seraphina the Spectacular!” she declared with a deep bow… which immediately sent her tumbling headfirst into a flower bush.SuMing caught his breath. “She’s... beautiful.”May rolled her eyes so hard it echoed. “She just exploded a carrot cart and declared herself spectacular while sneezing glitter.”“She’s foreign,” Lian muttered, “and chaotic. That’s two strikes.”The Empress clapped with delight. “She shall stay! She amuses me. Finally, someone with flair!”May’s lips twitched. “You mean flares. She set three eunuchs’ sleeves on fire during her entrance.”As servants scrambled to put out the smoldering topiary, Seraphina emerged from the bush holding a beetroot and a frog.“Ta-da!” she chirped. “I shall now turn this into a love charm!”A bright flash followed. The beetroot vanished. The frog turned into a squeaky toy. SuMing jumped.Lian nudged May. “Is it just me or is SuMing blushing?”May narrowed her eyes. SuMing was, indeed, tomato-red. He bowed awkwardly to Seraphina, who winked in return and summoned a floating heart… that exploded.“She’s clearly a fraud,” May said.“Or very committed,” Lian said with an evil grin.May glared. “We’re proving she’s fake.”“Why?”“Because if I have to compete with another pretty girl, she’s at least going to earn it.”Lian grinned wider. “Let the magical misfires begin.”Chapter 58: The Black Silk SorceressSeraphina swept into the palace courtyard like a dark cloud dipped in perfume. Draped head to toe in billowing black lace, she blinked against the brightness of the Eastern sun and gasped, “How do you people live in so much light? Where is the fog? Where is the gloom?”May, arms crossed, whispered to Lian, “She looks like a mourning goose with eyeliner.”The Empress, trying to impress the court with her “foreign taste,” had Seraphina escorted to the west wing with a full entourage. But within minutes, chaos erupted.Seraphina sniffed the steamed dumplings. “These smell like boiled sadness.”She attempted to conjure a loaf of rye bread but instead produced a twitching eel in a bonnet.SuMing was nearby, trying not to laugh. “Need help, Lady Seraphina?”She fluttered. “I only eat things that match my wardrobe. Black sesame? Black rice? Do you have... black silk noodles?”The kitchen staff stared.A palace runner was dispatched at once to locate “the finest black silk from the southern looms.” Seraphina claimed she couldn’t meditate unless wrapped in obsidian fabric under moonlight, which no one really understood—but the Empress clapped anyway.May and Lian exchanged looks. “We have to prove she’s a fraud,” May whispered.“But she’s... oddly charming.”“She’s a disaster in heels. I love her already.”Chapter 59: Eastern Delicacies and Exploding DumplingsSeraphina’s culinary journey continued. Today she tried pickled lotus root. One bite, and she turned green—literally.“Is this a side dish or a curse?”“Both,” said May, with a wink.Trying to impress SuMing, Seraphina attempted a “Flavor Enhancement Charm” at lunch. Instead, every grain of rice turned into tiny fireworks. A dumpling exploded on Lian’s robe.SuMing ducked and got hit in the face by a rogue fish.“Your nose is bleeding glitter,” Seraphina cooed.May’s eyebrow twitched. “She’s winning hearts with edible explosives.”“I demand black tea... in black cups,” Seraphina cried.SuMing handed her a teacup, then tripped over her floating skirt. She caught him—with a spell that accidentally turned his boots into slippers shaped like cats.“Purrfect,” she smiled.May cracked her knuckles. “She has to go.”Lian sighed. “Or we learn to fight sorcery with sarcasm.”Chapter 60.1: Shadows and SilkSeraphina insisted on a grand entrance.Having begged the Empress for a bolt of the finest black silk in the Eastern Empire, she claimed she would enchant the cloth into a “Gown of Living Shadows.” May rolled her eyes. Lian watched, arms crossed. SuMing… hid nervously behind a cherry blossom tree.The courtyard audience gathered. Maids gossiped. Even the palace cat squad lounged lazily nearby.Seraphina raised her wand — an obsidian stick carved with strange foreign glyphs.“Prepare yourselves,” she declared with flair, “for the most enchanting attire you’ve ever seen!”The silk unraveled midair. It danced like a ribbon, spun around her body, shimmered with violet sparks——and vanished.Not into a dress. Not into anything wearable. Just… gone.The smoke cleared.Gasps echoed.Seraphina stood completely naked in front of half the palace.SuMing choked on his breath and dropped his peach bun. May audibly gasped. Lian stood with eyes wide as plates, face the color of hibiscus tea.“I…” Seraphina blinked. “This is… not quite the effect I wanted.”SuMing spun around so fast he crashed into a water urn.From behind her fan, May whispered to Lian, “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”Lian nodded slowly, dazed. “Unfortunately, yes.”“They can’t be real,” May added in disbelief.Seraphina heard them and smirked. “Oh, they’re very real. Want to touch?”Both women hissed and dragged her behind the closest screen, wrapping her in a bedsheet.Meanwhile, SuMing staggered behind the tree, pressing his hands over his face. “I’m a good man. I didn’t mean to see that.”The mouse scurried by and squeaked smugly.Chapter 60.2: Teasing, Tension, and Torn DignitySeraphina, now wrapped in hastily summoned curtains and radiating zero shame, strutted through the palace like nothing had happened. “Well,” she sighed, “at least the silk obeyed someone.”SuMing hadn’t recovered.He sat slumped on a garden bench, his face still red, mumbling to himself like a monk in penance. “Nope. Didn’t see anything. Nothing at all. Pure thoughts. Just fog. Mist. Shadows. Not curves. Definitely not curves.”May arrived with a tray of tea, smirking. “Still dizzy, Captain?”“I’m fine!” he said, then accidentally dunked his sleeve into the teacup.Lian sat beside him and patted his back sympathetically, only to whisper: “So... were they real?”He jumped so high he knocked over the tray.“Lian!” he hissed. “I am a soldier of discipline!”May leaned in on the other side, sipping with dramatic slowness. “They did bounce.”SuMing nearly fainted.That’s when Seraphina arrived, still regal in her makeshift curtain-dress. “I can perform a memory-erasing spell, if you’re all that scandalized.”“No!” SuMing shouted, nearly tripping over the palace cat that had crept up behind him.The mouse squeaked from the balcony above, chewing smugly on the very black silk that vanished during the spell.May pointed. “There! That rat ate her dress!”Seraphina gasped. “So it wasn’t my spell?! I’ve been sabotaged by a rodent!”SuMing gave a tired groan and collapsed face-first onto the grass.The three women stood over him.May: “Poor thing.”Lian: “He’s so cute when he suffers.”Seraphina: “I give him a week before he proposes.”As SuMing groaned and rolled away, the mouse dropped a tiny torn piece of black silk on his head… like a trophy.The war had only just begun.Chapter 61: The War of Wits and WhiskersThe mouse had declared war.It chewed through silk, stole palace keys, nibbled a sacred scroll, and even left a tiny turd on SuMing’s perfectly polished armor. This was not mischief. This was sabotage.“Enough is enough!” SuMing declared, banging his fist on the planning table. “I’m initiating Operation Whisker’s End!”He gathered his guards, all solemn and ready for battle.May peeked into the war room with a snack in hand. “You’re holding council over a mouse?”Lian added, “It already pantsed your Captain last week. What’s left to defend?”Seraphina waltzed in, holding a tea cup that floated above her hand—then exploded in a puff of glitter.“Who needs plans,” she said dramatically, “when you have magic?”SuMing paled. “No! No more spells! Your last ‘mouse detection spell’ turned my bed into a sponge cake!”“It was delicious,” Seraphina shrugged.Operation Whisker’s End began at dawn. Traps were set. Cheese was baited. Guards were posted.Then… silence.Until midnight.BOOM!May, awakened by a loud crash, peeked into the hallway.Seraphina was clinging to the chandelier.Lian stood on a stool, armed with chopsticks.And SuMing? He was on the floor, wrapped head to toe in a spellbound curtain—again. His armor had vanished. Again.From the shadows, the mouse squeaked victoriously… and vanished into the night with a sliver of black silk clenched in its tiny teeth.“It took her bra again,” May muttered.Seraphina snarled. “That demon vermin has tasted its last glamour thread. I shall summon... the Cat Legion.”SuMing blinked. “Wait… the what?”The sorceress grinned. “The Special Forces. Of Cats.”From behind her, six majestic feline silhouettes emerged… wearing tiny helmets.“Ladies and SuMing,” Seraphina declared. “The war just got adorable.”Chapter 62: Scooby-Doo and the Black Silk PhantomLate at night, under the eerie glow of the palace lanterns, the Mouse struck again—stealing a sacred hairpin and leaving behind a single black silk thread tied around SuMing’s doorknob.“A warning,” Lian said grimly.“We’re being taunted,” May growled. “And I don’t like it.”They gathered in the hidden corridor of the palace’s east wing.“We need a plan,” SuMing whispered.“We need traps,” Lian suggested.“We need drama,” Seraphina said, sweeping in wearing a black robe two sizes too long. “And better lighting. This wing is terribly flat.”“You’re Daphne now,” May announced.“Excuse me?”“Pretty, dramatic, keeps getting into magical trouble. Definitely Daphne.”Lian nodded. “I’ll be Fred.”May pushed up her spectacles. “Velma. Obviously.”Everyone turned to SuMing.“…I hate this,” he muttered. “Why am I Shaggy?”“You keep losing your pants,” May replied with a straight face.With that, the hunt began. May and Lian set logic traps. SuMing carried snacks and panic. Seraphina, desperate to be useful, cast a revealing spell.POOF!Nothing.POOF!More nothing.BOOM!SuMing screamed as his pants vanished again. “WHY DOES IT ALWAYS TARGET ME?!”The mouse skittered by, wearing SuMing’s belt as a sash.Lian lunged. May dove. Seraphina shrieked.They landed in a heap—on top of SuMing.“Get! Off! Me!” he shouted, blushing so hard it turned his ears red.The mouse vanished once more, laughing in squeaks, black silk fluttering behind it like a cape.Seraphina groaned. “This is a curse. I’m cursed. We’re all cursed.”“Split up and look for clues,” May muttered.“I swear,” SuMing said, still pantless, “if that mouse shows up in a monocle and cane, I’m retiring.”