(C100) The World’s Epilogue

Raxus Secundus, Raxus System

Caluula Sector

“You won’t be able to do any strenuous activity for the rest of your life,” Doctor Cratala diagnosed coolly, “But considering your kind have your asses planted to the chair most of the time, I think you will do just fine.”

“But I can still walk?”

The Arkanian doctor stood up and brushed down her white coat, “You’ve been walking thus far, am I correct?”

I slowly leaned back into the consultation chair, “Just being conscientious.”

“You were lucky,” Cratala said, “A vac suit puncture as you are describing can be fatal in no less than two minutes. Either you misremembered, and the leak wasn’t that severe, or you were picked up and treated in less time than you remembered.”

I recounted the events at Rendili. I had been vented out of Chimeractica before being plucked out of space by the Kronprinz. How much time had passed between those two events? I could hardly remember; I don’t even remember being vented in the first place, only that I woke up in the middle of a raging melee with only a leaking vacuum suit between me and the nearest shrieking proton torpedo.

“If you want to be really sure,” the Arkanian turned her milky eyes towards me, peeling off her gloves, “You could let me–”

“I’ll pass,” I raised a hand immediately, “If the injury is not that bad, I’ll pass on the cybernetics.”

The Doctor raised her one natural eyebrow, “I’m sure the buckets already checked you over. They could have told you it was nothing severe, long-term effects notwithstanding. When I heard a dead man had booked a consultation, I was expecting much worse.”

That elicited a chuckle out of me, “Everyday, I thank my lucky stars I did not end up like the Old Spider.”

“Insulting my work, Bonteri?” Cratala’s bronze face implants gleamed in the fluorescent lighting.

“I don’t consider it an improvement, anyhow.”

“I’m familiar with your type,” the Arkanian cyberneticist grumbled, “Humans who would rather be wheelchair-bound than replace their leg with metal one.”

I couldn’t quite deny it; “Must be the blood.”

She gave me a skeptical side-eye, “Those types are usually Humanists.”

“You don’t need to describe them to me,” I replied dryly, “I can imagine the person.”

Doctor Cratala blew a strand of wispy white hair from her face, turning around and leaning back-first against a case cart, “Why have you come, then, Bonteri? I’m supposed to be checking up on you, but I have a feeling it’s the opposite here.”

I gritted my teeth as I pushed myself upright, “You got me there. I’m tying up my loose ends, and settling old debts.”

“Old debts,” Cratala mumbled, “Sounds like you’re planning on… disappearing.”

“It’s easier to disappear while dead than alive.”

Understanding dawned in her milky white eye, “So that’s why the Battle Hydra hasn’t revived.”

I nodded, crossing my arms, “So? Need me to settle anything?”

Doctor Cratala tilted her head, “I don’t think we’ve met in-person before this. Is there anything you owe me?”

“Not me,” I clarified.

“Ah…” the Doctor slowed, “I see. I wouldn’t imagine you weren’t the only death misreported, then.”

“I wish otherwise, everyday.”

Cratala smiled thinly, “I think otherwise. You’ve already moved past the battle. But now, you’re pulling yourself back, for my sake. What kind of woman do you think I am, Hydra?”

I stared at her, face as blank as a sheet of slate. She stared back, but it was difficult to see what she was looking for, for an Arkanian’s eyes were pupil-less.

“…I knew a man,” she finally diverted her gaze, “One Captain Rel Harsol.”

“I’ve heard.”

She sighed, “So you have. I made a particular deal with him. I would produce cybernetics and droidworks, and he would use his connections to sell them on the market.”

Black market, you mean. Doctor Cratala had been one of the most renowned doctors on Coruscant back in the years, to the point that the Supreme Chancellor attempted to headhunt–coerce–her into his personal medical staff. One of many reasons she decided to flee to the budding Separatist Alliance. Even with limited funding, Cratala’s products were top-of-the-line, and didn’t quite have any peers quality-wise.

Doubly so in the Outer Rim, where such sophisticated tech was few and far in between, compared to the Galactic Interior at least.

Suffice to say, Cratala and Harsol made a killing off their partnership.

And now that Captain Rel Harsol was dead–likely a frozen corpse drifting in some debris field in the Rendili Star System–that partnership had fallen apart.

“I am afraid to say,” I started, “That I do not have any connections to the market like Harsol did.”

“No,” she scoffed at me, almost saying ‘as if I ever expected that, dumbass’, “But you have connections to another market that would prove just as, if not more, lucrative.”

“You wouldn’t need me to introduce you to the CAF,” I frowned, “You’re the best cyberneticist on Raxus Secundus. Not to mention you worked with them before.”

“I worked with the Separatist military before,” Doctor Cratala chided me, “That was before the Pantoran was elected Supreme Commander. That was before the CAF became a thing. Count Dooku understood my value then, but the Pantoran is a completely different matter entirely. Quite frankly, Admiral Bonteri, she frightens me.”

Dry day on Jabiim before an Arkanian admits someone, much less an ‘alien’, frightens them. Cratala may complain about Humanists refusing to adopt cybernetics or some shit like that, but Arkanians were a veritable species of racists. Elitists, each and every single one of them, who consider themselves biologically and technologically superior to every other species in the galaxy.

“I will try to procure you a favourable contract from the CAF,” I sighed, “I’ll be in touch.”

I patted myself down and reached for the door.

“Wait,” Doctor Cratala suddenly called, “I’ll have you take this.”

I spun around. Cratala had produced a cane, a walking stick. It was just a little too long for her, and clearly uniquely made. The shaft was extendable and made of a polished black metal that seemed to ripple like oil under the light; the collar was beaten gold, almost molten-like, interwoven in tiny rivulets. And the crown, that caught my eye the most, where the hand would rest. It was bronze, a staple of Cratala’s craftsmanship, and fashioned into the reared head of a serpent, each scale glinting individually.

Since she was giving it to me, I took it, and hefted it. For a thing fashioned entirely out of metal, it was far lighter than I had expected.

“I recall saying something about not wanting to be the second coming of Trench,” I mused, feeling the serpent’s head slide cool and comfortably underneath my palm, “Thankful as I am, this is a bit… much.”

“Insulting my work, Bonteri?”

“Insulting your style, yes,” I smiled thinly, waving it around, “How many credits do I owe? For the consultation, and for… this.”

Cratala brushed her white hair out of the way again, revealing that disconcerting sapphire eye inlaid into her bronze cybernetics, “Consider it a settled debt. That’s what you are here for, yes?”

“I am afraid you have me at a loss, Doctor.”

“I owe Captain Trilm my life and station,” Cratala strode past me and opened the door, “If another accident ever befalls you, and you decide to change your mind, consider my door open to you, and my services free of charge.”

I accepted her gesture and exited her clinic… laboratory, “Almost sounds like you are wishing for harm to visit me.”

“I don’t need to,” Doctor Cratala wiped her hands, “Not as long as you keep your trade.”

“I will… keep that in mind,” I bid her goodbye.

⁂

How long has it been since I last visited this place?

My mind wandered as my eyes tracked the veritable gothic mansion squat atop the forested promontory overlooking the capital of the Confederacy. The Onderonian Embassy was identical to the last time I paid the place visit, as if the building itself had been suspended in stasis. The only signs of the passage of time were the glistening emerald leaves swaying from the forest framing the house, for the last time I was here, it had been autumn on Raxus Secundus.

Hare gently set down the shuttle on the vacant landing pad and lowered the boarding ramp.

Exiting the shuttle was a breath of fresh air. Literally. How long has it been since I last set foot on solid ground, with a crust and mantle beneath my feet? A planet as idyllic as Raxus Secundus, no less, at the doorstep of a building so isolated it may as well be playing the role of the haunted house in one of those cheap horror holoflicks? Years.

I began climbing up the long staircase leading up the front door, and it was more of an ordeal than I would have liked to admit. Maybe the Doctor had a point about my lack of exercise. I had not expected to use the cane she gifted me so soon, but by time I made it to the top, I could only be grateful she did.

Hare helped me open the door using her keypass, and when I crossed the threshold, I was struck by a sudden… somberness. The ornate windows around the common lounge were fastened shut, and almost seemed immovable. There used to be a constant breeze through the building, but now the air was heavy and stagnant. I caught a glimpse of the pavilion and surrounding garden outside. Despite the springtime, I couldn’t hear the insects.

I brushed my fingers over a couch, maybe expecting dust. There wasn’t any.

So the place isn’t abandoned.

Was nobody home, then? Even without the Bonteri family, this place was an Embassy, and should always be staffed. Was it a public holiday on Raxus Secundus, then?

I couldn’t imagine overlooking something like that.

“…Rain?”

I spun around. There, standing halfway up the stairwell to the second floor, was one Mina Bonteri. It was as if she had aged a decade in three years, with hair now more grey than brown. Mina Bonteri had never been a woman to be described as youthful before, but she certainly was not now.

“Ah,” I moved back to take a good look at her, “I’m back.”

Mina’s face was chalk-white, as she slowly descended the rest of the stairs, hands gripping the bannister, “I… I was told you were killed in action over Rendili.”

“So I have been informed far too many times,” I snapped my fingers, and Hare darted off to pry open the windows and bring some life back into the building, “Please do not mistake me, Mina. I’m not here to stay, and I’d very much like to remain as dead as possible.”

“But you’re alive…!” Mina almost jumped the last three steps, rushing towards me and gripping my arms, as if to check whether I’m actually alive and not some reanimated corpse, “Why would you want… where will you even go?”

“I think…” I pried her iron grip off me, and led her around to the frontside of the couch, “…you need to compose yourself.”

Mina wiped her face and slowly lowered herself into the cushions, “–Yes, you’re right. My apologies. I imagine you’re just here to give me some closure. Thank you.”

Out of politeness, I waited until the Senator from Onderon had gathered herself back to an acceptable level before taking a seat opposing her.

“I understand that my name is plastered all over every other propaganda reel on the HoloNet,” I told her, “If it gets out that I’m alive, I will no doubt be made very busy outside my will. That is something I’d like to avoid.”

“Besides,” I smiled wanly, “Our Confederacy has no shortage of war heroes. These names are symbols of victory. It doesn’t matter whether they are dead or alive, or even real. If people think they are real, then all is well and good. Besides… the war is over, yes? We don’t need war heroes anymore.”

Mina Bonteri brightened at that, “Oh–yes! The Supreme Commander had lifted the suspension of Parliament! I, and many of my colleagues, had been afraid she never would. Shame, I say, shame on us for that.”

She sighed deeply, “But yes, you are right. You always seem to be. The war is over. And you are alive. That’s all that matters.”

By this time, Hare had returned with a platter of refreshments, including drinks and snacks. She had adapted back to her old role so well I almost forgot I ever took her in the first place. Soon enough, noise began filtering back in as well; the whistle through the windows, the laughing of wind chimes, and buzzing of insects in springtime.

“Speaking of which,” I started, after wetting my lips with wine, “How goes the rebuilding effort?”

“Better than I could have imagined!” Mina laughed, the tension visibly lifting from her shoulders, “It is a shame Dooku had to be exiled, but I understand it had been a necessity for compromise between the Parliament and CAF. Speaking honestly, Rain, I am still unsure what to think about Dooku’s alleged crimes. Personally, I thought the Pantoran certainly made it plainly obvious what her real intentions were.”

“To seize complete control of the state?”

“Well, speaking bluntly, yes,” she took a long sip, “It still surprises me that it was her office that approached us with terms for reconciliation.”

“Yes,” I swirled my cup absentmindedly, “Quite an ordeal that was.”

I hadn’t noticed Mina eyeing me carefully until a good second had already passed, and by the time I raised my head, she had blinked and shook her head wistfully.

“No… I shouldn’t be so surprised you had a hand in it,” she murmured, “I imagine her sudden leniency concerning Dooku was part of the deal the Second Fleet made with her?”

“I didn’t know you were so conversant about the situation in the CAF.”

“With my job suspended, that was not much else to keep an eye on,” she replied dryly, “Even now, we have to keep an eye on the Tannists, but I think the worst has passed. Parliament is back in session, and the upcoming general election…”

“Any favourites?”

“Bec Lawise, I think,” she gazed distantly out the window, “He was Count Dooku’s right hand during the formative years of the Separatist Alliance. He’s the favourite to win.”

I nodded appreciatively, “Good hands.”

Honestly, I didn’t really have any opinion on Bec Lawise. Or really any of the candidates. As long as the Confederacy was in competent hands–competent enough to keep it enduring for the next couple decades until my death. Until then, I had an orchard and a silk farm waiting for me on Onderon. Money wasn’t much of a problem either; my payout notwithstanding, there should still be a bunch of generational wealth remaining in the Bonteri Estate… if Mina hadn’t already sucked it dry.

Mina shifted in her seat, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “Stay for dinner, at least. Before you leave again.”

Did she think I would be going so soon? I had planned to, of course. I was just dropping by to give her some closure, to assure her that I was still alive. But then again, there was no rush now. No more urgent mission, no grand strategy to draw me away. For the first time in a long while, I could afford to linger. To relax. And that thought made me more anxious than anything I’d faced in the past half-year.

Strange, wasn’t it? That of all things it was the thought of sitting still–of peace–made me feel like I was caught on a wire, balancing on the edge of something unknown.

But I wasn’t about to say that.

“I don’t see any reason to decline,” I answered as plainly as I could manage.

Mina nodded, pushing herself up from her chair, “I’ll call Lux back now. You missed him the last time you visited, remember? He hasn’t seen you in years.”

Indeed. He also thinks I’m dead, too. That he missed his last chance to see me alive, all those years ago.

“Indeed?” I mused, letting the cushions pull me deeper, “And where is he now? I was wondering why the place’s empty.”

Mina gave me a wry smile, “Where else? He’s out celebrating the victory. The end of the war.”

The end of the war. I tasted the words like they might dissolve on my tongue, as if saying them out loud would prove them false. The end of the war. It didn’t feel real. It still felt like something fragile, something that might break apart at any moment. Maybe I wasn’t alone in that. Maybe the whole of Raxus Secundus felt the same, still hesitant to believe it, even as the streets roared with jubilation and cheers.

“But you aren’t?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Her lips curled up in a rare grin, “It’s their prerogative, not ours. It’s the end of the war–the end of your war. My war is now finally just starting.”

I gave a faint chuckle, letting the tension in my shoulders ease, “I see. And you’re optimistic? That this Confederacy will survive?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” she replied, as if the thought itself were absurd, “We have victory at our backs, and our chief institutions have proven themselves willing to compromise. Fortunate for us all that Sev’rance Tann knows when to step back. You soldiers have done your job splendidly–leave the rest to us politicians and bureaucrats. After such a show of strength, we can’t let the people down now.”

I couldn’t help but let my gaze drift to the window, where the faint echoes of celebration filtered through the glass. So the Confederacy had entered its honeymoon phase; that fleeting stretch of time when unity feels natural, when victory feels permanent. When everything feels like it might actually work out.

It wouldn’t last forever. Old frictions would resurface, power struggles would ignite again, and peace would eventually crack under its own weight. But looking at Mina Bonteri’s determined expression, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope, hope that this couple years would last long enough for the foundations to set, for something real to take root before the gears inevitably locked up again.

And for some reason, I believed it.

⁂

I couldn’t say I was wholly unworried when Admiral Trench called me back to the Parliamentary Palace. Surely there wouldn’t be another mission, right? If there was… I was fully prepared to hand in my resignation letter then and there. I’d already done too much, accomplished too much, lost too much to keep throwing myself back into the fire.

As I approached the doors, I found myself bracing for the worst–some new catastrophe, some crisis that couldn’t wait, something that demanded my presence on the bridge again.

The doors whispered open, and I stepped inside, already fighting down the tension gathering in my gut.

To my surprise, Admiral Trench was not alone.

The reception suite was well-lit, the glow from the tall windows spilling across the polished floor like pools of molten gold. Trench sat in one of the low-backed armchairs, his towering figure hunched forward, multiple eyes fixed on the guests seated across from him.

Two robed figures.

The first I recognized immediately to be Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, his presence as calm and centered as I remembered. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair short and orderly, and his expression betrayed nothing beyond polite attention. The other was a woman, younger, with sharper features and keen, perceptive eyes, whose name I could only suspect.

It took me a second to find my voice.

“Admiral,” I greeted, glancing at the two Jedi before stepping further into the room.

“Ah, you’re here,” Trench clicked, his mandibles twitching slightly, “Take a seat. You’ve been expected.”

I did as he instructed, settling into one of the armchairs beside the Old Spider, my mind still unsure what to make of the unexpected company. My gaze flickered to Kenobi, who offered me a slight nod and a faint, diplomatic smile. The woman remained still and silent, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Last I met the Jedi was at Phindar Station, in the wake of Serenno, but I had not recalled meeting the two of them then. Nevertheless, neither of the Jedi looked any worse for wear, though that could simply be the Jedi style of concealing their true emotions.

I decided to not let it concern me. If it wasn’t forced to be my business, I wasn’t about to invite myself into trouble.

“Is my presence necessary?” I asked bluntly.

Once upon a time, I might have been more polite, adhering to the practices of courtesy and protocol. Not these days. My tongue had long since run dry of honey, leaving only spit behind. The only reason I was still on Raxus Secundus was to wash my hands of any lingering commitments before I fucked off to the ass end of nowhere. So it was, admittedly, a little irritating when people kept throwing more shit into my sink.

“The Master Jedi have come to ask a favor,” Trench gestured, his voice a low rumble, “I thought you would be the most knowledgeable of us in this matter.”

“In handing out favours?” I frowned, leaning back against the wall, “I’d rather not be known for that.”

“In sending them where they want to go,” Trench clarified.

“Oh, I see,” I glanced at the two Jedi, eyes narrowing with curiosity, “Empress Teta it is, then? I hope you won’t need a personal escort.”

“–Nothing of the sort,” Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi quickly waved his hands, that disarming calm smile on his face, “We would just like to request a method of safe passage through Separatist space. Until Yag’Dhul, at least, if it isn’t too difficult of an ask.”

I let out an explosive breath and slumped into the chair, staring accusingly at Admiral Trench– “Does the Supreme Commander know about this?”

“I will handle her,” Trench replied, his mandibles clicking softly, “And I am determined she will accept what I say.”

“If you say so, sir.” I shrugged, then turned back to the Jedi, giving them a once-over, “So, all of you have decided to depart for Empress Teta? That was quicker than I had expected.”

“You think too highly of us, Admiral,” Kenobi said with a regretful smile, the first note of weariness creeping into his tone, “We are rather divided on the issue… to put it lightly. We have mutually decided to go our separate ways.”

Ah. So that’s how it is. Well, I couldn’t exactly fault them for it. The Jedi Order was a reflection of the galaxy. When the galaxy was united, it was natural the Order was united. When the galaxy was fractured, it was natural the Order fractured with it. After all, Jedi or not, they were still people, with their own beliefs and morals and ideals. So they wanted to pursue their own paths–so be it. I could only wish them the best.

“Enlighten me.”

Kenobi’s gaze dropped for a moment, his eyes reflecting more than just the room’s dim light, “The Jedi Order as it once existed is no more. Some of us wish to rebuild. Others… see little hope in that.”

His eyes flickered to the woman beside him.

I slowly turned to look at her.

“Master Rahm Kota and Master Luminara Unduli have decided to wager their bets on the Restorationists,” the female Master said, “They and their followers are determined to keep up the fight against Palpatine and his Loyalists. Master Kenobi here, and others like him, have decided to try to rebuild the Jedi Order in the Deep Core, away from the war.”

“But not you, Master…?”

“Keelyvine Reus,” Master Keelyvine Reus supplied, “I have come to negotiate the Jedi’s entrance into the Confederacy.”

Now that is a curveball. I paused in surprise, my mind scrambling to read the implications. As if reading my mind, the Jedi Master took it upon herself to explain.

“With the state of the world as it is, the Outer Rim is now, rather ironically, the most stable slice of the galaxy,” Master Keelyvine knitted her fingers together on her lap, “Not only that, but the Confederacy has proven itself a reasonable democracy. I still have my reservations about the Pantoran… but she appears to understand the value of diplomacy. And with Count Dooku exiled, I see no reason not to make terms with the Separatist Senate.”

I suppose with the Parliament back in session, Master Keelyvine’s faction of the Jedi could directly negotiate with them, rather than be forced to accept Sev’rance Tann’s demands. I know for a fact the Separatist Senate would be more than willing to give up some concessions to host a new Jedi splinter faction.

Whether such concessions would be popular with the military, or the voting population at that, would be a different matter entirely.

Either way, not really my problem.

“Sure,” I decided not to think too hard about it, “Why not?”

“Right, sorry about that,” I said, producing the device from my coat once more, dialing in the address. “I can get you to Yag’Dhul. There’s just one problem.”

Kenobi raised an eyebrow, a familiar spark of curiosity in his eyes. “And that is?”

“It will have to be done in secrecy,” I explained, tossing the circular projector onto the table between us, “Which means you won’t be able to bring any of your ships. Just yourselves, and whatever you can carry.”

“…That can be arranged,” Obi-Wan replied, though I could see his mind already calculating the logistics.

Finally, the blue light spat from the holoprojector, and the hairless form of Asajj Ventress materialized, shimmering faintly in the dimly lit room. The two Jedi went as still as statues at the sight of her.

“Bonteri,” Ventress rasped, unable to see any of them, her tone as sharp as ever, “What can I do for you?”

“I have another mission for the Storm Fleet,” I told her.

Ventress’ eyes widened, a hint of annoyance creeping into her expression, “Am I your lackey now, Bonteri?”

I shrugged, keeping my tone cool and measured, “I’d hate to pry your legitimate salvage away from you. That said, I don’t need you personally–just the Storm Fleet. If you’re willing to part ways with it once you arrive at Raxus, consider the matter settled. If not, we can discuss terms of the contract.”

Ventress narrowed her eyes at me, a familiar glint found in them, “Cargo you don’t want anyone knowing about, huh? Let’s say I could use the credits.”

Of course she did. She no longer had an employer. Count Dooku was dead, and Trench and I had ordered the hit ourselves. The plan had been simple: convince Dooku to surrender, which Trench had managed masterfully. He struck a deal with Dooku on Serenno–promising exile, and subsequent return, to oust Sev’rance Tann out of power.

The Count of Serenno accepted readily; Dooku had been convinced that Tann would never relinquish power, fallen to the dark side, as he believed she was. Except, she did. Sev’rance Tann stepped down willingly, in no small part because we used Dooku’s own capture as leverage between her and the Parliament. Because if there was one trait present in the mind of the commander of the largest military force in the galaxy–a trait that may or may not exist in a Sith–it was pragmatism.

And just like that, once Dooku’s role had been fulfilled, he became just another loose end. A target to be silently erased. If the hit was discovered, it would be chalked up as a pirate attack. If it wasn’t, then Dooku had peacefully died of old age in exile on Cophrigin V. It was clean, tidy, and simple.

“Perfect,” I clapped my hands together once, “Let me know when you arrive.”

I reached out, snatched back the holoprojector, and shut it off.

When I turned back to the two Jedi, Kenobi’s expression was unreadable.

“There. Matter settled. Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

“–Wait,” Kenobi’s hand snapped out, stopping me in my tracks, “Asajj Ventress? Really?”

I gave him a look, feigning innocent confusion, “She’s a citizen of this Confederacy, in service to this Confederacy. What’s wrong with her?”

Kenobi glanced at his companion, clearly taken aback, “She’s… Count Dooku’s personal assassin.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Not anymore,” I corrected, my tone flat. “That was then. Now she’s just another free citizen, looking for work like anyone else. Or will you condemn every soldier and agent and secretary that pledged their allegiance to the Separatist Hex?”

Keelyvine Reus gave Kenobi a pointed look, “We aren’t exactly in a position to pick and choose our allies right now, Obi-Wan. Much less you.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi exhaled, his shoulders dropping slightly, “Very well. You make a good point. We will discuss terms.”

I nodded. It wasn’t like I had any personal attachment to Ventress; she’s enough trouble on her own that I wouldn’t lose sleep if she vanished tomorrow. But freedom meant something here, and I wasn’t about to start picking at old scabs just because a couple of Jedi were uneasy. The Confederacy was meant to be a departure from the old system, and that included whatever religion the Jedi believed. We were a secular state. If Ventress was to be condemned, it won’t be because she’s a darksider, but because she committed a crime.

Or more accurately, a crime not sanctioned by the government.

Besides, Asajj Ventress wasn’t the only one trying to navigate a future that didn’t fit her past.

And as I looked at Obi-Wan Kenobi, his shoulders hunched under a world of defeat, I couldn’t help but notice the same raw uncertainty. The same struggle to adapt to a galaxy that had changed around him. Too fast for him to adapt. He was a Jedi without an Order, clinging to old ideals while the galaxy had shifted beneath his feet. I almost felt pity for him. Almost.

But I didn’t dwell on it. I stood, stretching the tension out of my shoulders, already thinking about the next step. It was strange, how much the end of the war didn’t feel like peace. How the hollow victories and compromised alliances felt like stitched cracks just waiting to reopen.

But for now, I had a job to finish and a Supreme Commander to speak to. I wasn’t naive enough to think that laying down arms would mean laying down suspicions. It was a new galaxy, where force or arms wasn’t so important and navigating shifting loyalties and unexpected alliances.

And not for the first time, despite Sev’rance Tann’s claims and speeches, it was starting to feel like peace wouldn’t come from strength alone. Maybe not at all.

⁂

Trying to find the Supreme Commander found me on Star Station Independence instead. True to her word, the moment Count Dooku had been shipped off-world, she immediately withdrew her armies and returned to her flagship on high. Say anything about Sev’rance Tann, she was nothing if not expedient.