We landed before the other commanders arrived.
The clearing was quiet, smoke from the ruined Separatist outpost drifting along the treeline. High above, the *Terminus* hovered like a silent sentinel against the pale sky.
For the first time in hours, there was stillness.
I sat on a fallen tree trunk near the edge of camp. The bandages around my head were long overdue for removal. I simply hadn't prioritized it.
Ahsoka lingered nearby, arms folded, pretending not to watch.
I began unwrapping the cloth.
Layer by layer.
The final strip fell away.
Ahsoka snorted — then immediately doubled over laughing.
"What?" I asked flatly.
"Master— your hair— it's—" She tried to finish the sentence and failed.
I pulled a small mirror from my belt pouch.
She wasn't wrong.
The regrowth had come in uneven — jagged dark strands falling over one eye, shorter at the sides, slightly spiked from neglect. It wasn't clean-cut or symmetrical.
It looked accidental.
"It suits you," she wheezed. "Very fierce. Very intimidating."
"You're enjoying this far too much."
"Am not," she said, still grinning. "It just happened."
I ran a hand through it, pushing the longer strands back. They fell naturally into place — framing my face rather than obscuring it.
High cheekbones. Pale skin marked faintly by healed scars. Storm-grey eyes steady and sharp beneath dark lashes. The battlefield grime didn't diminish the effect.
If anything, it sharpened it.
Ahsoka stopped laughing.
Completely.
"…Oh."
I glanced up.
She was staring.
"What?"
"N-nothing."
"You were laughing a moment ago."
"Well," she muttered, looking away, "it grew in better than I expected."
I stood, brushing dust from my coat. The dark combat attire, fingerless gloves, and saber at my hip gave the look a deliberate edge now — less wounded survivor, more composed warlord.
"You look…" she began.
"Yes?"
"…different."
"That tends to happen when one removes bandages."
She rolled her eyes — but there was a faint flush rising beneath her markings.
"You don't have to sound smug."
"I wasn't aware I was."
"You were."
I stepped closer, tilting slightly to catch her gaze as she very deliberately examined a tree.
"Something on your mind, Snips?"
"Stop calling me that!"
I pretended to consider.
"Very well."
She brightened.
"From now on, I'll call you Stardust."
She blinked.
"…What?"
"Stardust. You drop into combat zones, cause chaos, burn bright, and somehow survive. It fits."
There was a pause.
Then her expression softened despite her effort not to.
"That's not fair," she muttered. "You can't replace it with something better."
"Dust, then," I amended. "For short."
Her eyes flicked back to mine.
"Dust?" she echoed.
"Yes."
She tried not to smile.
Failed.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
Her gaze lingered — thoughtful now.
"You really are different," she said quietly.
Not just the hair.
Something steadier. Sharper. Controlled.
I looked up as distant hyperspace signatures flared overhead.
"They're here."
---
Three Acclamators descended through the clouds, settling into the clearing with controlled precision. Among them was Commander Rinaun's flagship — modified heavily.
As it turned out, he wasn't transporting a full army. Only one regiment and several tanks for security. Most of his hangars were packed with V-19 Torrent starfighters — nearly three hundred of them.
He had turned his Acclamator into an improvised carrier.
Not a Venator-class by any measure — but clever.
Efficient.
The first priority was evacuation. Construction machinery and grav-platforms moved quickly, loading wounded clones and stabilizing rescued personnel.
A small speeder approached our command post.
Commander Rinaun stepped out.
Early thirties. Light-haired. Precise posture. Naval uniform immaculate despite recent engagement. Controlled, observant eyes.
He approached and offered a firm nod.
"General Marek."
"Commander."
His gaze shifted briefly to Ahsoka — then back to me.
"I understand you were responsible for extracting my student."
So.
The human captain that following the jedi we had rescued.
"She is stable," I replied. "Physically unharmed. Psychological strain. She'll recover with time."
Rinaun exhaled slowly — tension leaving his shoulders for the first time since arrival.
"She was under my student operational coordination," he said evenly. "I advised against that assault."
"I gathered as much."
He held my gaze a moment longer, then inclined his head more deeply this time.
"You have my thanks, General. I do not forget debts."
Behind me, Ahsoka shifted slightly — surprised at the sincerity in his tone.
"We protect our own," I said simply.
His eyes flicked over my armor — scorched blue plating beneath a damaged cloak, helmet tucked under my arm — then to Ahsoka with her dual blasters, grenades, and tactical headset.
"You are… unconventional Jedi," he observed.
"That's one word for it," Ahsoka muttered.
Rinaun's expression sharpened.
"You remind me of privateers. Or mercenaries."
There was a faint edge there.
A history, perhaps.
"Is that disapproval I hear?" I asked mildly.
"Professional assessment," he replied. "To be frank, I am not enthusiastic about the navy and army being placed under Jedi authority."
He turned slightly aside.
"You may be capable, General Marek. Your results speak for themselves. But I do not trust the Order's overall doctrine in war."
Ahsoka stiffened slightly.
"You don't trust the Jedi?" I asked.
"I find their tactics… inefficient. The Code restricts decisive action. War requires balance between principle and necessity. Many Jedi lean too heavily on the former."
He paused.
"I apologize if that offends you."
"It doesn't," I replied.
Both he and Ahsoka looked surprised.
"Our Order grew soft after Ruusan," I continued calmly. "We adapted to peace. War exposes the flaws in that adaptation."
Rinaun studied me carefully.
Interesting.
"You mentioned archived tactical materials," I said, shifting the conversation. "Fleet doctrine predating the Reformations."
"My family maintains records," he confirmed.
"I would appreciate access. The Temple Archives are… incomplete."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"I suspected as much."
There was a moment of quiet understanding between us.
Above, the *Terminus* remained in orbit — silent, powerful.
Below, wounded were loaded. Fighters refueled. Perimeter secured.
The sector was stabilizing.
And for the first time, the Republic navy and a Jedi general were speaking not as rivals — but as professionals.
Beside me, Ahsoka — Dust — stood a little straighter.
War was changing all of us.
Some more visibly than others.