Ascending Legend
Iandre moved along the edge of the hall, adjusting Life Day decorations with precise, deliberate motions. The Force rippled faintly beneath her awareness, carrying nothing urgent—except the presence that had just entered her senses.
A man, casually dressed, adjusted ornaments along a beam. At first glance, he seemed ordinary. But the posture, the subtle precision in his movements, the rhythm of discipline—it all clicked. Clone. Grand Army.
Her breath hitched. Recognition without familiarity. She didn't know his name. Had never met him before. A cold thread of unease ran through her. He could be loyal—or dangerous. Order 66… could he?
Her dark hair, tightly braided down her back, caught the lanternlight as she shifted slightly. Her hand moved subtly toward the hilt of her lightsaber at her side, resting just close enough to draw it smoothly if necessary.
"You… served in the Grand Army, didn't you?" Her voice was low, cautious, edged with tension. "I… didn't expect to see someone else from that time… here. Alone."
Her eyes never left him, scanning for telltale signs—any flicker in his stance, the way he breathed, a moment that would give away intent. The faint echo of campaigns, of betrayal, of soldiers turning on those they once fought beside, lingered at the edges of her mind.
"But the Force… it has a way of showing what lingers in the shadows," she added, measured, keeping her distance. Every instinct screamed caution. Past and present hovered uneasily together as she waited, unsure if he would remain a silent echo of the war—or something far more dangerous.
Sergeant Omen
A man, casually dressed, adjusted ornaments along a beam. At first glance, he seemed ordinary. But the posture, the subtle precision in his movements, the rhythm of discipline—it all clicked. Clone. Grand Army.
Her breath hitched. Recognition without familiarity. She didn't know his name. Had never met him before. A cold thread of unease ran through her. He could be loyal—or dangerous. Order 66… could he?
Her dark hair, tightly braided down her back, caught the lanternlight as she shifted slightly. Her hand moved subtly toward the hilt of her lightsaber at her side, resting just close enough to draw it smoothly if necessary.
"You… served in the Grand Army, didn't you?" Her voice was low, cautious, edged with tension. "I… didn't expect to see someone else from that time… here. Alone."
Her eyes never left him, scanning for telltale signs—any flicker in his stance, the way he breathed, a moment that would give away intent. The faint echo of campaigns, of betrayal, of soldiers turning on those they once fought beside, lingered at the edges of her mind.
"But the Force… it has a way of showing what lingers in the shadows," she added, measured, keeping her distance. Every instinct screamed caution. Past and present hovered uneasily together as she waited, unsure if he would remain a silent echo of the war—or something far more dangerous.
Sergeant Omen