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 day passed in a slow, lingering haze—one of the rare, in-between moments where the war did not press against their every breath, where duty did not loom like a shadow at their backs. The battle with Dooku, the confrontation with the Pykes, the weight of everything left unsaid—it all remained, woven into the fabric of their thoughts, but for now, there was space to simply be.
Leilani and Obi-Wan walked through the lower levels of Coruscant without rush or purpose, their steps unhurried, their conversation sparse but comfortable. They had extended the invitation to Anakin, knowing he would need a moment to breathe, to process, and to steady himself in the wake of everything. But he had declined, too consumed with his own battles, with the desperate need to ground himself in the one thing that still felt certain—his wife.
So it was just the two of them.
The neon glow of Coruscant's underbelly flickered in shifting hues as they moved, washing their cloaks in blues, reds, and golds. The distant hum of speeder traffic was a constant, the ever-present pulse of a city that never slept, never stopped, and never allowed a moment of stillness. But within their small pocket of the world, there was an ease to the silence between them—a rhythm that had long since settled into something second nature.
Dex's Diner was warm and familiar, the kind of place untouched by the weight of politics and war. The air smelled of fried food and caf, of something real, something lived-in. It was a stark contrast to the pristine halls of the Temple, to the sterile war rooms where decisions were made with cold detachment. Here, there were no titles, no ranks—just people.
Dex greeted them with his usual booming cheer, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag before ushering them toward their usual booth. It was tucked into the corner, away from the main crowd, offering just enough privacy to let them sink into the illusion that, for a little while, they were not generals, not Jedi, not soldiers in a war that refused to end. They ordered without thought, their choices made from familiarity rather than hunger. The food arrived quickly—piping hot, simple, and deeply satisfying. It was not the refined meals served at the upper levels of Coruscant, nor the bland, rationed portions they had grown accustomed to on the front lines. It was messy, real, and exactly what they needed.
The conversation wove between the immediate and the distant, touching on the mission, on Dooku's escape, and on the implications of what they had learned. But they did not linger there. Instead, they allowed themselves the indulgence of small things—memories of past visits, musings on Dex's ever-changing menu, quiet observations of the people who filled the diner's worn booths and barstools.
Leilani stirred her drink idly, watching as Obi-Wan rolled his shoulders subtly, trying to ease the tension that still lingered in his muscles. There was something deeply human about the way exhaustion settled into him, the way he allowed himself—if only for a moment—to relax and to steal a few kisses from Leilani in between the meal.
