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 halls of Sundari's underground prison were thick with the scent of durasteel and something colder—blood, sweat, the remnants of old battles lost and won. The air hummed with artificial lighting, the flickering fixtures casting fractured shadows against metallic walls, stretching them long, warping them like ghosts trapped in a loop of endless suffering. Somewhere in the distance, the rhythmic sound of boots against the floor echoed—guards patrolling the outer corridors, oblivious to the storm about to descend.
Obi-Wan had moved with silent precision, the stolen Mandalorian armour moulding him into the enemy's ranks, his every step deliberate, his breathing measured. He had told himself that he needed to be careful, that he needed to be smart—but every instinct in his body had screamed to move faster.
The moment the Force had shifted, he had known.
Leilani was here.
Not just in the way a Jedi senses another through the Force. Not just as a presence, familiar yet distant. She was here, tangible, real, pulling at something deeper than duty, deeper than sense. It was raw, instinctive, undeniable—a tether tightening around his ribs, a silent demand for him to reach her before it was too late.
The cell stood before him, the red energy shield casting an eerie glow over the two figures inside.
Leilani sat against the farthest wall, her arms resting on her knees, her posture deceptively still. But Obi-Wan knew better. He felt the tension coiling beneath the surface, waiting, pressed down so tightly it had nowhere left to go.
Beside her, Nia was slumped against the durasteel, her injured arm tucked close to her chest, her breath slow but steady.
Obi-Wan hadn't expected relief to feel like this.
A breath away from activating the controls, he hesitated—and then she looked up.
Recognition flickered behind her expression, then something else. Something colder. Guarded. Distant.
A blade pressed just shy of skin.
Then, at last, she spoke. "Here to do more of your Master's bidding?"
The words struck deeper than they should have.
Obi-Wan exhaled sharply, fingers curling into fists. He should not have been surprised—not after everything. And yet, the quiet edge in her voice, the way she said it—
"I do my own bidding," he said simply, his voice steady as he reached for his helmet, removing it in one fluid motion.
The shield fizzled out, leaving nothing between them.
For half a breath, no one moved.
"Obi-Wan!" The recognition shattered whatever fragile barrier had held her in place.
