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Chapter Text

"The strength of one can turn the tide. The strength of two can shatter empires."

The deep night sky above Felucia rippled with unnatural energy. A void, black as the depths of space, tore itself open with a violent shudder, arcs of violet and blue lightning crackling along its edges. From the swirling maw of the slipspace portal, a massive, broken hulk of metal emerged—half of a warship, ruined and adrift. The Forward Unto Dawn, or what remained of it, tumbled forward.

Gravity took hold. The vessel plummeted. A trail of smoke and debris streaked across the sky, its descent shaking the air with a distant, ominous roar. Then—impact. The ground quaked as the Dawn slammed into Felucia’s lush, fungal landscape, sending up a firestorm of dirt, shattered flora, and flame. The crash site burned through the night, a beacon of ruin beneath a canopy of luminescent fungi and twisted alien trees.

As the first hints of dawn crept across the horizon, the jungle stirred. Towering mushrooms cast long, eerie shadows as bioluminescent spores swirled lazily in the air. Beneath the kaleidoscope of color and creeping mist, the 327th Star Corps moved in disciplined formation. AT-TEs rumbled forward, their heavy metal feet sinking slightly into the damp soil, while AT-OTs followed closely, their troop compartments swaying with the movement. BARC speeders zipped ahead, weaving between thick stalks and massive, pulsing plants.

At the head of the convoy, Jedi General Aayla Secura strode forward with confidence, her sharp blue eyes scanning the terrain ahead. She was clad in her usual brown combat attire, her twin lekku resting against her shoulders as she walked with an easy grace, the hilt of her lightsaber swaying at her hip.

Beside her, Commander Bly kept pace, his yellow-marked armor blending with the vibrant jungle. His helmet was clipped to his belt, revealing his tanned, battle-hardened face. His eyes flicked toward the horizon, where a thin column of black smoke still curled into the sky.

"You really think something survived that?" Bly asked, his voice skeptical.

"Possible," Aayla replied, stepping over a thick root. "The ship was heavily damaged, but our scans confirmed it wasn’t completely lifeless."

Bly exhaled through his nose. "It was also giving off strange radiation. Nothing like what we’ve seen before."

"Which means it isn’t Separatist," Aayla said with a knowing glance. "That alone makes it worth investigating."

Bly frowned, clearly unconvinced. "Still don’t like it. If there was a crew aboard, they’re either dead or they wish they were."

Before Aayla could respond, another clone approached—a lieutenant clad in similar yellow-accented armor. Galle. His helmet was still on, but his voice came through the external speakers, edged with tension.

"General, Commander," he addressed, nodding. "We’ve picked up Separatist movements. Droids are closing in on the crash site too."

Bly’s expression hardened. "Of course they are." He turned to Aayla. "Guess that wreck’s got something the clankers want."

"Then we’d better get there first," Aayla said, her pace quickening. "If there are survivors, we need to reach them before the droids do."

Bly signaled to the troopers. "Double time it! We’re not letting the Seps get their hands on whatever’s in that ship!"

Engines roared, metal groaned, and the 327th pressed forward through the alien jungle—toward the unknown wreckage that had fallen from the stars.

The battlefield was a storm of blaster fire and explosions. The towering AT-TEs stood as immovable sentinels, their powerful mass driver cannons unleashing devastating energy bolts that sent shockwaves rippling through the jungle. With each thunderous blast, droid formations were torn apart, limbs and metallic plating scattering across the battlefield. Clones took cover beneath the six-legged walkers, using the thick armor as a shield while others huddled behind the jagged debris of the fallen ship.

The Republic had reached the crash site first, securing key vantage points and digging in for the inevitable Separatist assault. Now, as the battle stretched on, the tide had firmly turned in their favor. B1 battle droids fell in droves, their thin frames no match for the disciplined marksmanship of the 327th. A homing spider droid, its massive red optic glowing ominously, fired one last desperate shot before an AT-TE’s cannon obliterated it in a fiery explosion, sending shrapnel and molten wreckage in all directions.

Yet the B2 super battle droids proved more tenacious, their bulky, armored forms wading through the chaos with relentless purpose. Their twin wrist blasters spat red-hot energy, forcing the clones to stay low. One trooper, his armor scorched from a near miss, ducked behind a broken steel panel before daring to peek out. Spotting a cluster of crab droids scuttling across the field, he primed a thermal detonator, the small sphere beeping ominously before he hurled it with expert precision. The explosion sent a shockwave through the battlefield, flipping the spindly-legged droids onto their backs before consuming them in a ball of fire.

Through the chaos, Aayla Secura stood tall, her presence a beacon of calm amidst the storm. Her blue lightsaber ignited with a sharp snap-hiss, casting an azure glow on the scorched metal of the ruined vessel. Reassured by her men that the battle would be won, she turned to Commander Bly and a small squad of troopers.

"We're going in," she said, her voice firm yet quiet.

Bly nodded, securing his blaster rifle as they pressed forward into the wreckage. The ship's darkened interior was a graveyard of twisted metal and sparking conduits. Its corridors bore deep scars from whatever battle had led to its downfall—blown-out walls, ruptured piping, and exposed wiring that crackled with dying energy. The air was thick with the scent of burned circuitry and smoldering metal.

The floor beneath them trembled as another explosion rocked the battlefield outside. Dust and loose debris rained down from the ceiling, rattling through the ruined halls.

Aayla frowned, her lekku twitching slightly. "We shouldn't linger. I don’t want to leave my men out there longer than necessary."

Bly, ever the soldier, gave a small smirk. "Don’t worry, General. By the time we finish our search, the 327th will have mopped up the last of the clankers."

Aayla didn’t argue, but the tension in her stance remained. She moved forward, leading the way through the ruined corridors of the unknown ship, unaware of the secrets buried within.

Bly grunted as he forced the ruined door open, metal groaning in protest as it scraped against the warped floor. His helmet light cut through the suffocating darkness, illuminating dust particles drifting lazily in the stale air. He stepped in cautiously, blaster rifle raised, scanning the room for any sign of movement. Behind him, two troopers followed suit—Sergeant Voss and Corporal Tek, their rifles sweeping the shadows as they secured the space.

"Clear," Voss muttered, his voice low through his helmet comms.

Aayla entered next, her blue skin faintly reflecting the cold artificial glow of their lights. Another trio of clones followed—Trooper Fen, the squad’s scout, along with Privates Jace and Due. Their footfalls were muted against the debris-littered floor, the ship’s structure groaning faintly in the silence.

Rows of cylindrical pods lined the walls, their transparent panels clouded with age and grime. Stasis pods. But every single one was empty, their interiors hollow and lifeless. Aayla ran a hand across the smooth glass of one, feeling a thin layer of dust beneath her fingertips.

"No survivors," Jace said, his tone neutral but edged with caution.

"Or bodies," Due added, stepping past another empty pod.

"Maybe they escaped after the crash," Fen suggested, his sharp eyes flicking toward one of the empty pods. "Could’ve run out into the forest."

Tek scoffed. "Then they’re dead. No one lasts long in that death trap." He jerked his thumb toward the exit, where the alien wilderness of Felucia loomed beyond. Everyone knew what lurked in those jungles—nightmarish predators, toxic spores, and a landscape so hostile it swallowed people whole.

A heavy silence settled over them. Even the hum of flickering emergency lights seemed distant, swallowed by the eerie stillness of the ruined ship.

Aayla exhaled, ready to speak, when Bly’s voice cut through the quiet.

"Over here!"

He stood at the far end of the chamber, helmet light focused on a single pod—unlike the others, this one was not empty.

The clones rushed ahead, boots crunching over bits of shattered metal plating. Aayla, however, moved slower. Something about this place, about this ship, made her uneasy. The Force was whispering—soft but insistent.

As she passed a small column near the center of the room, something flickered in her peripheral vision. A soft blue glow, like an ember struggling to burn, pulsed for half a second before vanishing.

She froze.

Tilting her head, she slowly crouched down beside the column, her fingers brushing over its smooth surface. It was warm. Warmer than it should have been.

Faint etchings lined its exterior, worn down with damage. Symbols—foreign, alien, but carrying a sense of importance. Whatever this was, it was still active.

Her fingers hovered over the surface, hesitant, as if the very air around it was waiting. Watching.

Finding a slit along the edge, she pressed her fingers against it, a small chip slotting out. A data chip or something similar. She examined it, turning it over in her hands, its surface cold and lifeless.

She pocketed it. Whatever this was, it could wait until after they had found the survivor.

The Jedi turned away, striding toward the others who were gathered around the single occupied pod.

"What have we got?"

Bly glanced up as she approached. "A survivor, but..."

He stepped back, letting her see.

Frost coated the transparent panel of the pod, obvious swipes from her men had revealed its contents. Inside lay a body— clad in olive green armor, a golden visor staring back at them. The helmet was angular, its design harsh and unfamiliar. Not Republic. Not Separatist. Nothing they had seen before.

"Who is he?" Tek asked, his helmeted gaze fixed on the figure inside. "Mandalorian maybe?"

Jace leaned in closer. "Not like any Mando I’ve ever seen. Armor’s different. Looks more like a soldier, but not one of ours."

"Maybe a Trandoshan merc?" Voss suggested, tilting his head.

Aayla said nothing, her eyes narrowed in contemplation. There was something...strange about this figure. She could sense it—like a ripple in the Force, a note out of harmony. But was it the figure itself or something else? She couldn’t tell.

"Get him out of there," she ordered, her tone calm and assertive. "We’ll take him back to the medical bay at our outpost. We need to find out what happened here, and what he knows."

"Right," Bly nodded. He stepped in and began to manipulate the controls on the pod, his gloved fingers moving with practiced speed. The other clones gathered around, ready to assist but as seconds ticked by, Bly’s frown deepened behind his visor.

"It’s not responding..." he muttered, his tone laced with confusion. He tried again, tapping in codes and adjusting settings, but the pod remained sealed shut.

"Let me try," Voss suggested, nudging his Commander aside. He worked on the controls for several long moments before shaking his head. "It's not working. It seems like, before the crash, the pod went into some kind of security lockout. We'll need real equipment to crack it open."

The group exchanged uncertain glances. Aayla's expression was thoughtful, her blue eyes lingering on the figure inside the pod. The helmet's visor stared back at her impassively, a blank and lifeless reflection.

"Then we'll have to bring the entire thing with us," Aayla decided her tone firm. "Commander, see if you can disconnect the pod from its housing. We can secure it to one of the AT-OTs."

Bly nodded, turning to his troops. "Voss, Tek, let's get to work on dislodging this thing. Jace, Due, scout ahead. See if the path back to the walkers is clear. I don't want any surprises while we're hauling this guy."

The clones sprang into action, the hum of power tools and shuffling of gear filling the once-silent room. Outside, the sounds of battle had died down to the occasional burst of blaster fire. Another explosion, distant and muffled, rumbled through the floor, the dimmed emergency lights in the pod room flickering in response.

Aayla watched them work, her thoughts far away, her mind replaying the image of that brief, enigmatic glow. The data chip felt heavy in her pocket, a silent question yet to be answered.

A loud thunk resonated as the cryo tube settled onto the AT-OT’s cargo platform. The massive walker's metal frame shifted slightly under the new weight, its six insectoid legs adjusting to balance the load.

Aayla observed the proceedings quietly, the last whispers of the battle fading into the dense jungle. The 327th worked with quiet efficiency, their armor bearing the fresh scorch marks of the firefight. Clone troopers were busy loading up salvageable equipment from the wreckage around them, their movements brisk but cautious, wary of the ever-present threat from the alien landscape.

The damaged ship cast a long shadow over them, its once-proud hull now a shattered husk. Blackened scars marred its flanks, the result of the tumultuous battle it had endured. Aayla's eyes traced its contours, her mind grappling with the mystery of its origin. Who had flown this? Where did they come from?

Her gaze drifted to the sealed cryo tube beside her, the lone figure within still locked in suspended animation, his visored helmet staring blankly ahead. They would find answers, she knew, but for now, the priority was getting him—and that data chip—to safety.

"General Secura, sir," Commander Bly approached her, his face set in a confused frown. "Look what we found." He held up a rifle unlike any she had seen before. It was sleek and deadly, its matte black exterior giving it a sinister appearance. The design was wholly foreign, a far cry from the standard issue DC-15A blaster rifles the clones were familiar with.

Bly handed it over to Aayla, who hefted it in her hands, testing its balance. It was light but sturdy, and she could tell from the weight distribution and the complexity of its internal workings that it was a precision weapon, designed for skilled marksmen.

"It's some kind of slug thrower," Bly explained, his voice carrying a tinge of humor. "Guess our friend here is from some backwater planet if he's still relying on that."

Aayla ran a hand over the weapon's barrel, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Don't be too quick to judge, Commander," she murmured, looking back at the mysterious figure in the pod. "I have a feeling there's more to him—and this weapon—than meets the eye."

Bly shrugged, clearly not convinced, "There were a handful more inside, plus some smaller ones and ammunition," he said flatly. "We've got them secured now, might make a good show and tell when we report back in."

She nodded, setting the rifle down beside the cryo tube. "I want everything cataloged and ready for transport back to Coruscant," she said, her voice taking on a note of authority. "And I want a full analysis on our frozen friend here as soon as possible. The Jedi Council will be expecting answers."

"You think this might be a bigger deal than it looks?" Bly inquired, his tone skeptical. He had seen more than his fair share of strange encounters across the galaxy, and this, while unusual, didn't quite seem to warrant the level of attention it was receiving.

"This war is almost at its end, Commander. For something like this to appear now, just as things are nearing a conclusion? It leaves me... unsettled." Her hazel eyes met his, a quiet determination in her gaze. "I trust my feelings in the Force. And right now, they're telling me this is no mere coincidence."

Bly sighed but nodded. "You're the boss, General." He looked around, taking in the wreckage and the jungle beyond. "I'll have the troopers finish the sweep," he replied, already turning to fulfill her orders.

As the clones continued their work, Aayla watched the frozen figure, a silent sentinel standing vigil. The mystery of this fallen vessel and its occupant had begun to unfurl, and she could only hope that the truth it revealed would not be more than she—and the Republic—were prepared to handle.

Having chosen to stay on board the AT-OT to keep a close watch over the cryo pod, Aayla had found a place to rest on top of one of the massive walker's many cargo compartments. The slow but steady sway of its six-legged gait was surprisingly soothing, and the gentle rustle of the passing jungle was a peaceful contrast to the earlier chaos. From her vantage point, she could see the dense forest canopy stretching out around her, an endless sea of vibrant hues and towering flora.

Her eyes scanned the terrain, ever watchful for threats that might be lurking in the shadows. If things progressed as planned, Obi-Wan Kenobi would be finally dealing with General Grievous and putting an end to his threat on Utapau, and then they could start wrapping up the war.

She'd be lying if she said the prospect didn't appeal to her. The thought of this war finally coming to an end brought a cautious sense of hope. It would mean a return to some semblance of normalcy, an opportunity to rebuild and heal.

Her eyes went to the front of the formation where Bly and a few of his troopers were walking ahead of the lumbering walkers. He would have much more of a problem than her. What was he supposed to do when the war ended? What were any of them supposed to do?

Perhaps patrolling the galaxy and keeping the peace? It wouldn't be too different than what they were already doing, but they'd certainly prefer it over fighting the Separatists. Even so, Aayla did not doubt that the Republic—the Galaxy—couldn't afford to fall back into complacency as it had before the Clone Wars. A new, dedicated force would be needed.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she felt a ripple in the Force. It was subtle at first, easy to overlook among the myriad sensations that permeated the Living Force. But then, it grew stronger, more insistent, a discordant note in the natural harmony of the jungle. Her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of it, her senses reaching out, trying to locate the source.

Standing up, she placed a steady hand on the cold surface of the cryo pod, wave after wave of unease washing over her. Something wasn't right, she realized, her heartbeat quickening. The Force was whispering a warning, yet its message remained frustratingly unclear.

She didn't register the AT-OT slowing to a stop, nor did she hear the footsteps of Bly and his men as they approached, quiet and measured as if not to disturb some unseen presence that seemed to hang in the air.

Looking up, she could make out their reflections in the glass canopy of the cryo tube. Weapons slowly drawn, postures tense and aiming in her direction.

A quick turn, a flash of blue light, the hiss of a lightsaber igniting—

A change throughout the galaxy was occurring at that very moment. One the Jedi could not hope to prepare for, and one that most would not survive. But with this unknown warrior present, perhaps the fate of the future might be changed.

Chapter Text

Aayla spun on instinct, her lightsaber igniting in a flash of brilliant blue. The first bolt ricocheted off the blade, searing into the bulkhead beside her. Another shot followed—then another. She pivoted, feet planted firm, deflecting each with practiced precision.

Her mind reeled. This wasn’t a mistake. This wasn’t friendly fire in the heat of battle. Her own troops—her men—were shooting at her.

Her saber hummed as she knocked another bolt aside, eyes narrowing at the figures standing before her. Bly, her most trusted officer, stood at the front, rifle raised. Behind him, Tek and Voss did the same. Their dark visors stared back at her, empty. No hesitation. No remorse. Just blind obedience.

“Bly—what are you doing?!” she demanded, her voice edged with confusion and disbelief.

No answer. No flicker of recognition. Just more blaster fire.

Her jaw tightened. They weren’t going to stop.

Aayla stepped back, her shoulder pressing against the icy surface of the cryo tube. She clenched her teeth, her heart hammering against her ribs. Defense wouldn’t be enough.

Another shot came fast. She turned her blade, not just to deflect—but to redirect. The bolt snapped back at its source, striking Tek square in the chest. He crumpled, a strangled gasp barely escaping his helmet’s vocoder before he collapsed in a lifeless heap.

Bly’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Take her down!"

More fire erupted. Aayla swayed on instinct, twisting her saber to send another bolt careening into Voss’ knee. He staggered, a pained grunt escaping him—just before another deflected shot struck his helmet, cutting him down.

Her breath hitched. Just an hour ago, these men had been her loyal soldiers. Now, in mere moments, she had killed two of them in self-defense.

Blaster fire raged on, hammering the floor around her. The sounds of boots thundered against the forest floor—more troops pouring in to reinforce Bly.

Dodging a shot from Bly, it and a few others slammed into the cryo pod's canopy. The clones who were once careful in loading the pod now seemed to not even care if they destroyed their unknown frozen passenger. Their focus was entirely on ending her.

She had to get away.

Contact with the Republic and the Jedi Order was her only hope, perhaps someone might know what was going on. Perhaps there was something that could be done. But she had to survive first.

The cryo tube flickered, stray blaster bolts scoring its surface, sending erratic sparks cascading down its length. Deep within, the failsafe mechanism engaged—emergency protocols overriding dormancy. A low hum vibrated through the reinforced glass as frost-coated circuits sputtered to life, the stagnant air within the chamber stirring.

A single beep. Then another.

The flatline on the heart rate monitor pulsed.

Inside, the armored figure lay motionless, encased in the frigid grip of stasis. But as the system whirred and hissed, warmth seeped back into his limbs. A faint twitch of fingers. The slow, deliberate rise and fall of breath. Awareness, once buried beneath layers of artificial sleep, clawed its way to the surface.

The Master Chief opened his eyes.

A blur of blue and light danced before him, distorted by the thin film of frost still clinging to the cryo glass. A shape moved—fast, fluid, graceful. A blade of pure energy flashed, weaving through the storm of blue bolts that streaked through the air. The figure deflected them with impossible precision, twisting and pivoting, her every motion a testament to deadly efficiency.

Chief’s vision sharpened.

He took in the rest of the scene beyond the blue figure. Soldiers, clad in white armor, pressed forward in disciplined formation, rifles raised, blasters firing in a relentless assault. Their movements were practiced. Coordinated. Military. But their target—this lone warrior, smaller than him but impossibly agile—was holding them off.

He forced his mind to orient itself. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was—Cortana. The Forward Unto Dawn. The wreckage. Drifting in darkness.

His breath steadied, instincts overriding confusion. The firefight outside his pod was growing more intense, the ringing of blaster fire against metal filling his ears. He flexed his fingers, testing his grip. A dull ache lingered in his limbs, but his strength was returning. He took stock of his armor—intact, systems rebooting, shields dormant but functional.

He needed answers, and there was only one way to get them.

With a swift, controlled motion, Chief reached to his side, fingers brushing against the cold metal of the manual release lever. Gripping it tight, he pulled.

The mechanism groaned in protest before hissing open, sending a thick cloud of cryo mist billowing into the air. Cold air rushed from the chamber as warm, oxygen flooded in.

The pod's glass lid snapped upward.

Chief exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as his body fully awakened. The weight of battle settled over him in an instant. He stepped out, boots thudding on the cold metal floor. His helmet's HUD flickered to life, displaying a series of diagnostic readings and status reports. As his visor adjusted to the bright Felucian sun, he scanned the scene before him, assessing and analyzing.

He had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten here, but one thing was clear: the chaos outside his pod was far from over.

Aayla’s eyes widened in alarm as she looked over her shoulder at the sound. Her unknown guest had awoken—and at the most inconvenient time. “What the...?”

She was quick to recover. The soldier stepped out, a towering presence in the open interior of the AT-OT, his green armor dented and scuffed, a testament to past battles. He stood silently, his stance betraying a casual confidence, as if unfazed by the blaster fire that rained around them.

Jace continued firing at Aayla from behind a low wall of cargo. "Commander, what do we do?" he shouted.

"Don't stop, trooper," Bly replied. "The Jedi is our priority. If the unknown gets in the way, gun him down."

Given the all-clear, Jace and several other clones continued firing at Aayla, not at all caring if their stray bolts hit the newly awakened warrior.

The Twi'lek, however, was far more concerned with their new companion.

"You!" she shouted, stepping to now stand directly in front of him, her lightsaber defecting the bolts that came her way. "I'm not sure who you are, but you need to leave! You're not safe here!"

Her words were urgent, her eyes flicking between the encroaching soldiers and the armored figure. In front of her, Bly's forces were closing in, their shots becoming more precise.

A few stray blaster bolts flew past her, one hitting the floor next to the armored figure's boots. Another slammed into his arm, a golden shimmer of light rippling across his armor’s surface. His expressionless visor tilted downward as he stared at the impact point. Then, he looked back up, his gaze fixing on clones, a silent acknowledgment of the threat before him.

As if a decision had been made. He grabbed the slug thrower that had been set next to the cryo pod. With a fluid, practiced movement, he checked the rifle, his gloved fingers sliding over the weapon with a familiarity that suggested a deep-rooted understanding.

Chief locked eyes with her. "Get down," he said, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone through the helmet filter. The order was firm and unyielding, leaving no room for debate. He raised his weapon, muzzle pointing in the direction of the nearest approaching clone trooper, his stance solid and unwavering.

With a quick flourish of her saber, Aayla deflected the next volley of blaster fire before she dropped into a crouch behind seats meant for transporting troopers. Her eyes remained locked on him even as stray bolts zipped overhead.

Chief didn’t hesitate. As soon as she was down, he squeezed the trigger. The battle rifle roared to life, each shot a sharp, thunderous crack that shattered the air. His accuracy was immediate and precise. The first burst caught Jace in the chest, sending the clone reeling before he collapsed in a heap. Two more shots followed in rapid succession, each one dropping a trooper with terrifying precision. Their armor, designed to disperse energy bolts exploding in a flurry of shattered plastoid.

Aayla’s breath caught. Slugthrowers were rare in the Republic, relics of a cruder age. But this? This wasn’t some antiquated ballistics weapon. Whatever he was firing hit like a blaster, but without the energy dispersion. Each shot punched through armor and flesh, leaving gaping, bleeding holes.

Taking the small moment of respite, Aayla caught her breath and looked over her covered position. She could make out the bodies of Fen and Due sprawled on the floor, their rifles discarded beside them. Further back, she could see Bly, crouched at the boarding ramp, motioning for more clones to climb aboard and reinforce his position.

The troopers, in disciplined formation, moved up the ramp. They wore identical armor, their faces hidden behind their helmets, making it nearly impossible to distinguish one from another.

"Push forward, men! Don’t let up!" Bly ordered. "We can't let her escape!"

A few clones managed to move up the boarding ramp. Taking cover in any available space, as some of their brothers were cut down from the slug thrower. The armored stranger didn’t flinch, his rifle barking again and again, each shot finding its mark. But even he couldn’t hold them all off forever.

She turned, her eyes finding the soldier's helmeted face, his visor a blank, unreadable slate. He was unloading his weapon into the clones, his shots precise and devastating, but even he couldn’t stand against the firepower of an AT-TE’s main gun.

"We need to go! Now!" she shouted over the din of battle. She rose back up, lightsaber raised, deflecting another barrage of bolts, as she inched toward the side of the walker, closer to the edge. "I don't know who you are, but unless you have a death wish, follow me!" She moved to the edge, readying herself to make a leap.

The soldier paused. Glancing over his shoulder, noting her movement. With a curt nod, he followed her to the edge. Together, they jumped just as the walker's blaster cannons fired. The shot slammed into the back of the AT-OT, obliterating a chunk of its bulkhead in a deafening explosion. A wave of heat and force swept over Aayla and Chief as they fell, the shockwave propelling them farther and faster than intended. They hit the ground hard, a cloud of dust and debris swirling around them. Without missing a beat, she rolled to her feet, her lightsaber still in hand.

As if by some miracle, the armored warrior was already standing, rifle aimed at the remaining clones that were spilling out from the ruined transport. He seemed unfazed by the fall, his attention firmly back on the fight.

But a fight was something they couldn't afford to have right now. There were too many of them—Bly had rallied his troops. She could hear the AT-TEs that lead the convoy starting to move their heavy legs to turn and bring their guns to bear. And there would be more clones coming from the rear of the convoy.

Aayla grabbed his arm. "This way!"

She didn't wait for a response. Breaking into a sprint, she weaved through the thick underbrush, vaulting over roots and dodging low-hanging branches with a speed and agility that belied her exhaustion. Her heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline fueling her flight as the sounds of pursuit echoed behind them. A few stray bolts whizzed past her head, but she didn't slow down, pushing herself harder, deeper into the jungle. The sound of heavy footfalls behind her told her knew 'friend' was following close behind, his rifle occasionally firing at their pursuers.

The Felucian sun now hung at its zenith, casting a harsh, yellow-orange glow over the dense jungle canopy. Below, Aayla slowed to a stop, leaning against the rough bark of a towering fungal tree. Her chest heaved with each labored breath, her usually calm composure shattered by their desperate escape.

A brief glance over her shoulder confirmed they had momentarily eluded their pursuers. The clones were no longer visible through the thick foliage, though their distant shouts and the heavy clank of the AT-TEs still echoed through the jungle.

She looked to her unexpected companion, her eyes narrowing as she took in his imposing form. His green armor, dented and scuffed from countless battles, seemed oddly out of place amid the vibrant colors of Felucia. He stood silently, an immovable pillar of stoicism, his expression hidden behind his mirrored visor. In his hands, he held the strange rifle at ease, ready for whatever lay ahead. Despite the chaos of their retreat, he appeared almost relaxed, his bearing that of someone used to being in control of any situation.

A flock of native birds suddenly scattered overhead, their cries a dissonant chorus. Aayla's eyes flicked upward before she turned back to the armored warrior. They needed to press on and find a way to contact the Jedi Council, but first introductions had to be made. And in a galaxy at war, trust had to be earned, not given freely.

A moment of silence hung in the air, broken only by the rustling of the alien flora around them. She straightened, her posture regaining some of its usual grace.

"I'm grateful for your help, stranger," Aayla started, her tone measured, "I don't know if I'd have gotten out of there on my—"

"Identify yourself."

She blinked, caught off guard by his blunt interruption. His voice was deep and gruff, with a hint of electronic distortion from his helmet. It carried an air of command, of someone unaccustomed to having his questions go unanswered.

Clearing her throat, Aayla nodded. His demand, while unexpected, was understandable, especially in their current situation. Waking up to a firefight on an unknown planet, surrounded by unfamiliar soldiers and weapons, his caution was warranted.

"My name is Aayla Secura," she began, "I'm a Jedi Knight and general in the Grand Army of the Republic."

The warrior tilted his head slightly, his expression hidden behind his visor. "Jedi?" He repeated, his voice low as if considering the word, testing its familiarity. He paused, then asked, "Where am I? And who were those troopers?"

"This is Felucia, in the Outer Rim Territories of the Republic," Aayla responded, watching him carefully for any reaction. "Those soldiers... they were under my command until something made them turn on me. I don't know why they did that, or what could have caused it."

He remained silent, seemingly processing her words. Then, he shifted, the plates of his armor grinding softly against one another. "Mutiny."

Aayla frowned. The thought had occurred to her, but the circumstances were too strange. "Perhaps," she admitted, her tone wary. "If that was the case, they were well organized and prepared. But there's more going on here. Something doesn't feel right. The way they turned on me... it was like a switch flipped."

Her voice trailed off as she struggled to find the right words to describe the inexplicable shift in the troopers' behavior, the sudden, violent betrayal that had turned comrades into hunters.

He didn’t respond, didn’t ask for clarification. Whether he believed her or not it didn’t seem to matter. Instead, he shifted the topic. “You extracted me from my ship." It wasn't a question, just a blunt statement of fact.

"We found your ship crashed in the jungle," she replied, choosing her words carefully. "There was no one aboard except you. We... thought it might have some connection to the Separatists, so we decided to investigate. You were in some kind of cryogenic suspension—we weren't sure if you were even alive."

Digging into her pocket, she took a small chip out. "I also found this. I don't know what it is but... maybe—"

The behemoth moved with startling speed. One moment, he was standing several meters away; the next, he was right in front of her, his gloved hand snatching the data chip from her open palm before she could react.

Aayla stepped back, her eyes wide, hand dropping to her lightsaber. But the giant simply looked at the small chip, turning it over in his fingers, silent and brooding. Before he plugged the chip into a slot on the back of his helmet.

Taking a few steps away from her, he stood still, almost statue-like, as if lost in his thoughts.

Cortana's voice didn't respond to him; turning off his helmet's external speakers, the Master Chief had been calling to her again and again, his voice a mix of concern and determination. But there was only silence in reply, the absence of her usual snarky quips or dry wit was jarring.

"Cortana," he had said, his tone firm and commanding, "Report."

Again, silence had greeted him, and his grip on his battle rifle had tightened. Diagnostics scrolled across his HUD, confirming she was indeed present on the chip. The AI was there but for some reason, she had not spoken a word since he'd retrieved her. This wasn't like her. Cortana was always there, a constant presence, providing strategic input or sarcastic commentary. But now, she remained ominously silent.

The Chief had a moment to reflect. Was she damaged? Had the transition through the portal done something to her? Perhaps the crash had scrambled her matrix. A thousand possibilities raced through his mind, each one more troubling than the last. Without Cortana, he was blind, operating without the strategic and tactical guidance that had kept him alive in countless battles.

He'd need her. Especially here. He was alone, surrounded by an unfamiliar environment and hostile forces that bore no resemblance to anything he'd seen before. He needed to find a way to repair her, or at least figure out why she had become unresponsive. Which meant he would need to cooperate with this... Jedi.

Aayla watched as the armored warrior reached up and pulled the data chip from his helmet. She could see the tension in his body, the subtle shift in his stance indicating he had come to some kind of decision. He turned back to her, the visor reflecting the jungle around them.

"I need your help to fix what’s on this chip. It's important."

There was a weight to his voice that Aayla couldn't ignore, a sense of urgency that belied the simplicity of his request. She could feel the importance of the chip to him; it was as clear to her in the Force as the sun shining above. Whatever information—or program—the chip contained, it was crucial to him, a piece of a puzzle she was only beginning to comprehend.

She didn't exactly trust him, not yet. But if there was one thing she was certain of, it was that they needed each other to survive. Out here, alone in the heart of a hostile jungle, they were all either of them had.

The hum of LAATs in the distance reminded her they didn't have time to waste. With a nod, Aayla stepped closer, her gaze steady and resolute. "We're both stranded here," she said, gesturing to the jungle around them. "If we want to get off this planet alive, we'll need to work together."

There was a pause, a moment where their fates hung in the balance before the armored man gave a single, curt nod. "Agreed."

As he turned to move, Aayla called out, her tone carrying a hint of curiosity. "You know, you never told me your name."

He paused, then looked over his shoulder at her. "Master Chief, UNSC Navy."

She tilted her head slightly. "UNSC?" The term was unfamiliar. Perhaps the military of his home planet or system. And Master Chief? Not a name but a rank. She'd have to ask him about it later. For now, there were more pressing concerns.

Aayla nodded. "Alright, Master Chief. Follow me. We need to find a place to lay low."

With that, she turned and led the way deeper into the jungle, the Master Chief following closely behind.

The shifting gears of AT-RTs rustled through the dense foliage. Led by Lieutenant Galle, the scouting force stopped just short of the makeshift command post that Bly had set up. The clone commander was waiting, his focus on a holo-map of the area, his expression a mix of determination and frustration. He didn't even glance up as the lieutenant approached.

Galle cleared his throat. However, before he could speak, comms from one of the search parties came in. "Sir," Trooper Frontline reported his tone tense.

The commander was quick to reply. "This is Bly; what's your status?"

Static crackled through the speaker before a clear voice responded. "Separatist forces have been sighted in Quadrant 7-3. Looks like a droid scouting party, about 25 strong. Should we engage?"

Bly looked at the holo-map, noting the position of the droid forces. The fewer clankers around, the better. "Engage and eliminate, trooper. But remember our priority is the Jedi."

"Yes, sir," Frontline acknowledged, the line cutting out abruptly.

Bly turned to Galle, his gaze steady. "Lieutenant, report," he commanded.

Galle straightened. "Sir, we swept the area but found no sign of them. It's like they vanished."

A muscle in Bly's jaw tightened. He'd expected this, but it still frustrated him. "They're out there," he said firmly. "They can't hide forever. Not on Felucia." Turning to look out over the jungle, he added, "Expand your search parameter. Take the AT-RTs and comb every meter of the quadrant."

Galle nodded sharply. "Yes, sir." He turned back towards the other troopers, his voice ringing out across the camp. "You heard the commander. Move out!"

The scouts immediately sprang into action, mounting their walkers and preparing to move back into the jungle. As they dispersed, the low rumble of engines signaled the arrival of more LAAT/i dropships, spreading the net of the search even wider.

Bly watched them go, his expression grim and then turned to gaze back down at the holo-map. He knew Secura; knew how skilled she was. How resourceful she could be. Finding her wouldn't be easy. Especially if the stranger with her was going to prove troublesome. But the order was clear, and Bly was not one to defy orders. She was a threat to the Republic, and she had to be eliminated.

"Wherever you are, Secura," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible over the noise of the departing search party, "we will find you."