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 Siege of Anaxes had barely ended when the call for war rose once more, urgent and unrelenting. The embers of battle had not yet cooled, and already, the Jedi were summoned to another front, another conflict, another world caught in the tightening grip of war.
Obi-Wan and Anakin had been the first to be deployed, their presence requested before the dust of Anaxes had even settled. There had been no rest, no time to process the weight of another victory won at too great a cost. The war did not allow for reflection. It only demanded more.
And it was not just them. Master Plo Koon had also been summoned, his fleet drawn into the widening net of the Republic's war effort. His calm, steady leadership had been a guiding force in the chaos of battle, his presence a silent reassurance to the clones under his command. The 104th Battalion had seen its share of brutality, and yet they pressed forward, unwavering in their duty.
But the summons had reached further still. Leilani and Nia had received their orders last.
The battle had already begun by the time their forces arrived. Yerbana was not a world of great political significance, nor was it a stronghold of the Separatists, but it was a world caught in the crossfire. A planet of sprawling valleys and dense forests, of towering bridge cities that spanned its vast canyons, now turned into war zones, contested ground where neither side could afford to lose footing.
The Republic had fought for weeks to secure its hold, but the Separatists had dug in deep, their droid legions fortified within the labyrinthine infrastructure of the cities. The bridges were battlegrounds, the streets filled with barricades and blaster fire, the sky thick with the streaks of starfighters locked in dogfights above. Every meter gained was a battle within itself, and the cost was paid in blood.
And so, they had been divided.
Obi-Wan had taken command of the Republic's main offensive, leading the assault to reclaim the primary bridge that had become the Separatists' chokehold. His forces moved with precision, every step a calculated manoeuvre in the delicate balance of war. His mind was always working, always anticipating, always seeking a path forward. The weight of leadership was something he carried without question, though the toll was written in the lines of his face, in the quiet resolve in his eyes.
Anakin had been sent deeper into the city, leading a strike force through the ruined streets, cutting through enemy strongholds with relentless efficiency. He was fire, burning through the battlefield with a fury that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. The clones followed him without hesitation, their loyalty absolute, their faith in his ability to carve a path through the chaos unshaken. He thrived in this—the rush of battle, the clarity it brought, the way it allowed him to move without thought, without doubt. Here, he did not have to think of Ahsoka or of the fractures forming in the Republic. Here, there was only the fight.
