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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There was never time for proper goodbyes. War did not wait for sentiment. It did not allow for drawn-out farewells, for quiet moments of reassurance, or for promises made with certainty. It only demanded movement, action, and the relentless forward momentum that pulled them toward the next battlefield.
The news had come swiftly, crackling over the comms with the urgency of impending catastrophe—Coruscant was under attack; General Grievous had struck at the heart of the Republic, leading a full-scale assault against the capital. The Chancellor had been taken. The entire planet was embroiled in chaos, the battle raging in the skies above the city as the Republic scrambled to defend its very core.
There was no time to think. Only to move.
The hangar bay of the Resolute was a storm of movement, a blur of soldiers and officers preparing for departure. Mechanics rushed between the starships, finalising checks, securing hulls, and ensuring that every craft was ready to launch the second they reached Coruscant's orbit. Pilots hurried to their stations, helmets in hand, tension thrumming through every step. Clone troopers moved with methodical efficiency, falling into ranks, preparing for what awaited them in the capital's skies.
Leilani walked quickly, her boots echoing against the durasteel floor, her heart beating in tandem with the hum of the engines warming up around her. The air smelled of fuel, of ozone, of something heavier—the weight of another battle, another war zone, another step into the endless cycle of conflict that had become their reality.
Nia was at her side, matching her pace with ease.
But soon, they would part ways.
The moment had crept up on them—too soon, too abrupt. While Leilani remained with Anakin and Obi-Wan, preparing to jump to Coruscant's defence, Nia was leaving. She would go with Ahsoka and Bo-Katan to Mandalore, to face Maul, to fight a battle of her own. Their paths diverged once more.
They reached the junction where their fates split—Nia's transport waiting, engines primed, while Ahsoka stood ahead, speaking quietly with Bo-Katan.
Leilani turned to her Padawan — her friend, a beat of silence stretching between them. There was so much to say, and yet no time to say it. Instead, she reached forward, clasping Nia's shoulder, anchoring her.
"Don't fight like a Jedi," she said softly.
Nia blinked at her, her brow furrowing slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Leilani's lips twitched—not quite a smile, not quite amusement, just something knowing, something deep.
"You know exactly what I mean," she murmured. "If you find Maul, do not hesitate. He won't. He never does. If you see an opening, take it."
There was no room for idealism when it came to Maul.
Nia's expression was unreadable, her gaze flickering briefly toward Ahsoka, then back to Leilani. There was understanding there, something shared between them, something built through years of war and survival.
