LEILANI SERENNO bridged the past and the present, born into a family of cruelty and then groomed to fulfil a role in the grand scheme of things. She was a puppet manipulated by her brother, ensnared in a larger narrative orchestrated by the Force. Y...
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The darkness before her eyes and the gnawing uncertainty within her mind were terrifying—the absurdity of being blind and yet asked to trust blindly. As she began to realize, it might have been easier to place that trust in Obi-Wan than in herself. She could rely on his calm presence, his unwavering certainty, without the crushing weight of her own fragile confidence. Trusting him meant surrendering control to something steady and familiar, while trusting herself meant confronting every shadow of doubt, every fear that sought to unravel her resolve.
She lifted her eyelids, then closed them again, repeating the motion over and over, a flicker of hope lingering that she could somehow find silver-line; a way not to walk this path purblind.
It had been so long since she'd truly trusted her senses since she had allowed herself to close her eyes for even a moment—fearing the loss of control. In doing so, she had forgotten the words her Master and brother had often spoken: that the eyes can deceive. Yet, keeping her eyes open and remaining in motion had always been her way of ensuring everything went right, of protecting herself from harm, even if, in recent months, it had seemed to fail. The world around Leilani seemed to narrow as the dust settled, the rumbling of the earth subsiding into an eerie silence. She had always prided herself on her awareness, her ability to anticipate and feel the pulse of the Force—but now, with the tremors and the absence of her allies, it felt as though that pulse had vanished.
Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one a reminder of how fragile her strength had become. She could feel the sand beneath her, each grain pressing against her feet, but it wasn't the grounding comfort it once had been. The familiar sensation of the Force was harder to reach, like trying to grasp smoke. Her heart pounded in her chest, reverberating through her whole body, yet no matter how she reached out, she couldn't find the clarity she so desperately needed.
Where are they? Where am I? The question echoed in her mind, but even the answer seemed to elude her. Why do I feel... nothing?
A slight tremor ran through the ground again, just beneath the surface, and Leilani instinctively tightened her grip on her lightsaber. She could not see the vibrations, but the tremors travelled up through the sand, flowing like threads of warning through her body. The Force pulsed around her—more erratic, more charged than usual.
Something's wrong.
She tried to push away the tightening sense of dread that crept up her spine. It was rare for Leilani to feel so vulnerable—she had long learned to rely on the Force to guide her where her eyes could not. But the chaos of the battle, the separation from her comrades, and the distorted energy now surrounding her left her unsettled. Her blindness, once a tool of profound connection with the Force, now felt like a liability—especially in such a strange, hostile place.
Her fingers curled tightly around her lightsaber, the hilt warm and steady in her grip, a familiar weight in a world that felt suddenly alien. She inhaled deeply, drawing in the air around her and reaching out, not just with her senses, but with her essence—her very connection to the Force. The pull of the moons above still whispered, like an ancient song on the wind, their gravity shifting and distorting the very air around her.
