𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒𝒹𝑜𝓂 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹, 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉.
Joseta Pro'oz, a pilot/medic with a sunny disposition is thrown into a war bigger than she ever imagined. As she fights alongside Ca...
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Wynn's eyes opened, the lulling thrum of the spaceship rising to her ears, but that was not what woke her. Master Kenobi's voice rose and fell like a passing shuttle, the voice of another joining in a discordant harmony. Windu.
She sat up from laying on the couch of the rec room, careful not to make a sound. Closing her eyes, Wynn used the force to slide the door open a crack.
"She is too powerful." It was Windu who said this. "She is related to Marssa and you want to keep her?"
Kenobi sighed. "Now that we know of her abilities, how much longer will it take for the Sith to find out? It is better we train her than to let other forces use her for their ill motives."
Wynn gulped, letting the door close softly. She covered her face with her hands, wiping away the grogginess from her eyes. What am I?
Disgust and guilt curdled in her gut. She was something to be feared. Enough that Windu was worried. Did the whole council know? Was that why she was getting special treatment?
Anger burned in her stomach. They hid what she was from her and yet treated her different. There was no justice in that. Who was Marssa? Was it Kenobi's sister? How was she related to her?
Her door slid open revealing her master who leaned on the doorframe. "Are you ready to descend to Mandalore?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" It came out a bit harsher than she had intended.
His face faltered. "I know you have an attachment here so sometimes it is hard to face the places of the past."
That was kind of him. Hope stirred in her chest. Maybe Kenobi didn't fear her. But he still was withholding information. A cold feeling seeped into her heart. She wanted to trust him so badly, but she couldn't. No attachments, right?
She followed him into the cockpit, trying to separate herself from her drowning thoughts. Kenobi sat at the helm of the ship, scratching his beard in thought. He had been doing that a lot lately. Crossing her arms over her chest, Wynn directed her attention to the Mandalorian landscape below. They were coming onto the capital quite quickly and it was churning Wynn's stomach at the speed at which Kenobi flew the ship. Something must be really making him anxious. He was a hazardous pilot when anxiety was within him. And Wynn could sense it. It was nearly contagious.
But she didn't say anything. She knew he got defensive about emotions. He liked to pretend he didn't have any, but it always showed through in his mannerisms he disguised as stability. Crossing his arms over his chest when holding back anger, hand on his chin when in deep thought, hands on his hips when he was self-conscious, scratching his beard when he was anxious—he had dead giveaways.
And Kenobi was right. Wynn herself had anxious feelings about returning to Mandalore. She had lived her quite uneventful life in the slums of the city and all within a week her life had changed. Coming back again felt strange—the city felt foreign. Dangerous even now that she had a taste of the reality of Death Watch. They were no longer a distant folktale, but instead a very real threat with treachery involved.
