The med bay lights were dimmed to a soft amber, the only sound the steady beep of monitors and the faint hiss of bacta recyclers. Ahsoka floated in the tank, suspended in pale blue gel, her breathing slow and even. The wound was gone—nothing but smooth skin where Durge's blade had punched through. My blood had done something. The 2-1B droid had confirmed it: midi-chlorian resonance had spiked during the transfusion, then stabilized at levels far above baseline for both of us. Not a cure. A bridge.
I sat in the chair beside the tank, elbows on knees, staring at the faint glow of her silhouette. The dark side still lingered in my chest like smoke after a fire—present, patient, waiting for the next gust. But right now, all I felt was a strange, fragile calm.
The door hissed open. Puck stepped inside, helmet tucked under one arm. His face was drawn, eyes shadowed.
"General. Alto Stratus is secure in the brig. Still out—med droid says severe concussion and internal bruising from the bunker collapse. The other nobles are awake and talking. Gillmunn's people want a tribunal. Soon."
I nodded without looking up. "Let them have it. Jabiim's justice, not ours."
Puck hesitated. "Sir… you've been in here three hours. The column's ready to move on the next settlement. Gillmunn insists on coming along—says his loyalists need to be seen liberating their own towns."
"Fine. Integrate them. Keep the clones on outer security. No incidents."
He lingered a second longer. "Ahsoka…?"
"Stable." I finally met his gaze. "She'll wake soon."
Puck gave a short nod and left. The door sealed behind him.
I leaned back, closed my eyes, and reached inward.
The Force responded—not the clean, bright current I'd once known, but something deeper, threaded with shadow. I followed the thread until I found her.
She was there—suspended in white fog, just as she'd described in our last conversation. Not unconscious. Not dreaming. Waiting.
*Master?*
Her voice echoed soft and uncertain.
*I'm here.*
*I can feel you… closer than before. Like you're sitting right next to me, but also… inside.*
I exhaled slowly. *The bond. It's stronger now. The transfusion… it linked us. Midi-chlorians recognized each other. Blood to blood.*
A faint ripple of surprise passed through the connection. *That's why I felt you when I was falling. Your voice… it pulled me back.*
*And I felt your pain. Took it. Almost lost myself to the dark because of it.*
Silence for a moment—long enough that I wondered if she'd drifted away.
*You didn't lose yourself,* she said finally. *You brought me back instead.*
The words landed heavier than she probably intended.
*I almost did,* I admitted. *The rage… it was ready to take everything. You, the clones, the planet. I saw it—yellow eyes, choking hands. I was one heartbeat away from becoming the thing we fight.*
Another pause.
*But you didn't.* Her presence brushed against mine—warm, steady. *You stopped. You chose.*
I opened my eyes, staring at her floating form. *I don't know how long I can keep choosing.*
*Then we choose together.* Her mental voice was firm now. *That's what the bond is for, right? We share the weight. You pull me back when I get reckless. I pull you back when the dark gets loud.*
A faint smile tugged at my mouth—the first real one in weeks.
*You're supposed to be the Padawan.*
*And you're supposed to be the wise Master. Guess we're both bad at our jobs.*
The humor was thin, but it cut through the heaviness.
*Rest,* I told her. *Heal. When you wake, we talk training. This bond… we need to understand its limits. How far it reaches. What it costs.*
*Promise you won't experiment on me while I'm sleeping?*
*I promise nothing.*
A soft mental laugh—bright, tired, hers.
The connection dimmed as she slipped deeper into healing trance. I stayed linked a moment longer, feeling the slow rhythm of her heartbeat sync with mine. Then I withdrew, gentle.
Back in the physical world, the monitors beeped on.
I stood, rolled my shoulders, and walked to the viewport. Outside, the rain had eased to mist. Fires on the horizon were dying down. Ten Juggernauts waited in formation, engines idling. Gillmunn's ten thousand loyalists had formed up beside the clones—mismatched armor, mismatched hopes, but marching in the same direction.
Puck's voice crackled over comms. "Column's ready, General. Destination: Tarshil Ridge settlement. Intel says nationalist holdouts are digging in. Gillmunn wants to lead the approach—show the locals it's not just offworlders coming."
"Approved," I replied. "I'll take the lead walker. Keep a tight screen on the prisoners. Alto wakes up, I want to know immediately."
"Copy that."
I clipped my lightsabers to my belt—blue and white, the stolen double-blade from Savage still a cold weight against my hip—and stepped outside.
The air was thick with ozone and wet earth. Clones snapped to attention as I passed. A few of Gillmunn's people watched me warily—whispers of the blue lightning storm still fresh in their minds. I ignored them.
I climbed into the command hatch of the lead Juggernaut. The hull was scarred black, paint long gone, but the engines thrummed strong.
"Move out," I ordered.
The massive vehicle lurched forward, treads chewing mud. Nine more followed. Behind them, clones and loyalists marched in columns—fifty thousand Republic soldiers and ten thousand Jabiimi citizens, united by necessity if not trust.
Inside the cabin, I opened a private channel to the med bay.
"2-1B. Status on Ahsoka."
"Vital signs improving steadily, General. Consciousness expected within twelve to eighteen hours. The midi-chlorian resonance remains stable—elevated, but within safe parameters."
"Good. Keep me updated."
I cut the link.
The convoy rolled north, past smoldering wrecks and flooded fields. Week four on Jabiim.
Alto Stratus slept in binders. Ahsoka healed in bacta. The dark side waited in silence.
And somewhere ahead, the last pockets of resistance waited too.
I leaned back against the bulkhead, eyes on the viewport.
*We choose together,* she'd said.
For the first time in weeks, that felt possible.
The Juggernaut rumbled onward.