The hyperspace tunnel shattered into streaks of starlight as the reinforced Republic task force dropped out of the Parlemian Trade Route. Obi-Wan Kenobi stood on the bridge of the lead **Accumulator-class cruiser**, hands clasped behind his back, the faint hum of fresh engines vibrating through the deck plates. Thirty-two Accumulator-class cruisers—sleek, newly commissioned, their hulls still bearing the matte-gray of Kuat's assembly yards—formed the core of the formation. Flanking them in tight escort wedges were fifty Consular-class cruisers, fresh from the Rothana lines, their point-defense arrays and light turbolasers gleaming under the running lights.
Behind Obi-Wan, the other Jedi assigned to the operation watched in silence. Master Buck Sirrus stood with arms folded, his Padawan Aubrie Win at his shoulder. Masters Pak Norcuna, Dara Leska, Sana-Jis Ilova, and Jeb Glaive formed a loose arc around the tactical holotable. Knights and Padawans—Railcema Bylissura, Dalnus Cam, Zule Xiss, Nico Diath, and the rest—monitored their own stations or simply observed. The atmosphere was one of quiet readiness; they had expected a brutal siege, a planetary blockade to punch through, droid swarms in orbit, and a desperate landing under fire.
What they found instead was a graveyard.
Jabiim hung below them like a wounded beast, its perpetual storm clouds torn open in ragged gashes. Where the dispersal rockets had burned temporary corridors, shafts of sickly daylight speared down onto a surface littered with ruin. Orbit was a debris field. Charred hulks of Lucrehulk-class battleships tumbled slowly, their spherical cores split open like cracked eggs, reactor plasma still venting in frozen plumes. Munificent frigates drifted in pieces—bow sections spiraling away from shattered sterns, turbolaser batteries sheared clean off by impossible forces. Recusant destroyers lay broken in long arcs, their spines snapped, armor plates peeled back as though clawed by something vast and electric.
Obi-Wan's breath caught. "Sensors—full sweep. Life signs, power signatures, anything."
The tactical officer's voice was hushed. "No active Separatist vessels, Master Kenobi. No droid signatures. No transmissions. The entire blockade… gone. Debris analysis shows hulls were… fused. Internal systems overloaded simultaneously. Some of the larger wrecks are still glowing from core breaches."
Master Sirrus stepped forward, eyes narrowing at the viewport. "This wasn't conventional fire. Look at the scorch patterns—lightning. Planetary-scale lightning."
Obi-Wan felt the Force ripple around him—shock from every Jedi on the bridge. Below the clouds, the surface was lit not by battle, but by thousands of Republic signal flares. Bright blue-white beacons rose in steady columns from the northern highlands, pulsing in the ancient Republic recognition pattern. Handuin plateau glowed with them. Kiffex Drift. Tarshil Ridge. Every major settlement and mining complex they had been briefed to assault was already flaring the all-clear.
Control.
The planet was under Republic control.
"Open a channel to the surface," Obi-Wan ordered quietly. "Priority to General Marek's command frequency."
The comm officer worked the panel. Static crackled for a moment, then a calm, exhausted voice answered—familiar, yet carrying an undercurrent none of them had heard before.
"Obi-Wan. You're late."
Dagon Marek's hologram flickered into existence above the table. His armor was blackened, scorched in places that no ordinary blaster could have caused. Rain streaked the feed, but the background showed the scarred plateau of Handuin—Republic banners already rising beside Jabiimi loyalist flags, Juggernauts rolling through the mud, clones and local fighters working side by side.
Obi-Wan stared. "General… what happened here?"
A faint, tired smile touched Dagon's face. "The Separatists sent everything. Two million droids. Armored columns. Durge himself. Nightsisters. A full orbital blockade. We held. Then… the storm answered."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. The debris field spoke for itself.
Master Leska leaned in. "The lightning… it was you?"
Dagon's eyes met hers through the hologram—steady, but carrying shadows the others could feel even across the link. "The Force was with us. The planet is secure. Alto Stratus is in custody. The loyalists are integrating. We've begun stabilization operations."
Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, the weight of thirty-two fresh cruisers and fifty Consulars suddenly feeling absurdly heavy. They had come to break a siege. Instead they had arrived at a victory already written in fire and ash.
"Orders from the Council stand," Obi-Wan said. "Reinforcements are yours to command. We'll assist with planetary security, medical relief, and securing the remaining mines."
Dagon nodded once. "Appreciated. Land at Handuin. We'll brief you in person. And Obi-Wan…"
A pause.
"Tell the Council the war here is over. Jabiim belongs to its people now."
The hologram faded.
On the bridge, silence held for a long moment. Then Master Glaive spoke, voice low. "Thirty-two Accumulators. Fifty Consulars. Fresh ships. Ready for war."
He looked out at the graveyard spinning silently in orbit.
"And the war was already won."
Obi-Wan turned back to the viewport, rain-lightning flickering far below amid the steady pulse of Republic flares. The stormy planet was no longer a battlefield.
It was a victory beacon.
And somewhere on its surface, a Jedi General stood amid the ashes, carrying a darkness the arriving reinforcements could already feel in the Force.
The ships began their descent.