𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - 𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐬

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ⸺ 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.

1401 local hours, Year 7958 (19 BBY).
Cato Nemoidia, Core.

⚡︎ ⁺. ◍ 。

𝓣HE SUN WAS shining in a cerulean sky that day, and without the screams and fire, one could have the impression of peace. But on Cato Nemoidia, peace was foreign.

"I have broken through the enemy lines, Master," Væmas indicated trough comms. "We are ready for the air strike."

"Copy that, Padawan. Stand by for reinforcements."

Væmas deflected a few shots with her lightsaber and shouted to her troops.

"Everybody, take cover! The party's on its way!"

"Copy that, Commander!"

The clones crouched down behind the barricades, and Væmas did the same on the side of the bridge. Down there, she could barely see the bottom and swallowed nervously. She better not fall— this time.

The troops waited for a strike that never came. Frowning, Væmas looked in the sky, muttering to herself: "Master Plo should be there by now."

She finally made out her master's fighter, followed by his squad, and smiled in relief. But suddenly, everything changed. Væmas first thought that she was dreaming, but what she was seeing was as real as it could be. The clone squad, clones that fought alongside her master for years, and treated her like their little sister even though she only met them months ago, started firing on his fighter, and immediately, Væmas called over the comms:

"Master? Master Plo, do you copy? What's going on?"

The comms sizzled, and she only picked up a few words: "R—un, Little...V—Væ!"

The world seem to fall off its axis as Væmas witnessed her Master crashing onto a building, and slammed her hand before her mouth to stifle a scream. She turned to her troops in disbelief, tears flowing through her child-like eyes:

"D— Did you see..."

Her squad, acting mechanically, got slowly up and pointed their blasters at her.

"What...what are you doing?" She turned to the Commander of the company, a soldier that had become a friend to her over the past year despite his apparent grumpy character. "Wolffe! Wolffe, it's me, Væmas! Stand down, trooper!"

None responded. And what had to happen happened. The clones opened fire, and Væmas was forced to defend herself. Advantaged by her agility, the result of her Togruta heritage, she managed to hold her ground for a moment, her blue lightsaber blocking as many shots as she could. But there were too many, and she had no choice but to get back as the troops went forward. A shot grazed her shoulder, the bolt of pain making a gasp escape her mouth. Biting back another cry of pain, she fell back even more, tiring and tiring as every second passed.

And suddenly, the ground evaded under her feet.

And she fell.

***

0804 standard hours. Year 7963 (14 BBY).
Stinger Mantis, Gamor Run.

"Master!"

Væmas jolted up in her bed, tears running on her face. It took a moment for her to realize where she was. She was not falling of the bridge again. A hand landed on her shoulder, urging her to calm down. She turned to meet the woman's face, Cere, filled with understanding, handing her a glass of water.