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Chapter Text

The forest breathed with morning light. Golden shafts pierced through the canopy, scattering across moss and stone, while the air smelled of pine resin and damp earth. Birds darted between the branches, their wings flashing like quicksilver, and somewhere in the distance, a brook gurgled softly beneath the hush of trees.

A girl moved along the narrow trail with an ease that spoke of long familiarity. Even tho she was just 12-years old, she was tall for her age, her frame lean but strong from years of wandering these woods. Dark hair, falling loose to her shoulders, caught the sunlight in rich brown strands as she ducked beneath a low branch. Her green eyes scanned the ground with quick intelligence, bright and searching, pausing to study a patch of ferns before she brushed them aside with her hand.

Her clothes were simple—worn leather boots splattered with old mud, dark trousers patched at the knees, and a linen tunic cinched with a leather belt. A satchel swung lightly against her hip, the strap crossing her chest. There was a practicality to the way she dressed, the look of someone used to climbing trees, running through fields, or slipping between roots without care for dirt or scratches. Slung across her back was a hunting bow, its wood polished from careful care, a gift from her father, who had taught her to draw and loose arrows as soon as her arms were strong enough to hold the string.

Her father was known in the village for his skill. Venison, wild fowl, and boar often found their way to market because of his hunts, and though he kept mostly to himself, people respected the sharp-eyed man who could track prey through mud and rain as if he walked with them. Her mother was no less respected: the village healer, a woman with steady hands and endless patience, whose medicines had soothed countless fevers and pulled more than one farmer back from the edge of death.

She paused at a break in the trees, gazing out toward the valley below. A cluster of rooftops rose in the distance where the village sat nestled between the river and the hills. Smoke curled from chimneys, thin and gray in the clear sky. Beyond, the forest stretched endlessly, its edges melting into the horizon. It was quiet here, the kind of quiet that pressed close and seemed to breathe with you.

The stillness broke with a voice, faint at first, then clearer, carried on the morning breeze from the cottage tucked deeper in the trees.

“Athena! Don’t forget the greenleaf root. I’ll need it before nightfall!”

The girl smiled faintly at the sound of her mother’s voice. She adjusted the strap of her satchel and turned back toward the shadowed depths of the forest. The herb grew only at the damp bases of trees, its pale roots curling like fingers beneath the soil. She had gathered it many times before. With a tug, she freed a stalk from the earth, shaking off dirt before tucking it into her satchel.

She was bent to her work when a sound cut across the forest… low, distant, but unmistakable.

Engines.

She straightened, frowning, the herbs forgotten in her hands. Ships. Not the small cargo haulers that sometimes passed overhead, but something heavier, larger, the kind of sound that made the air tremble. Then, faint but clear, came another sound.

Screams.

Her heart lurched. She dropped the roots and ran. Branches whipped at her arms and face as she sprinted through the undergrowth, her bow bouncing against her back. The smell of smoke reached her first, bitter and sharp. Then came the sight through the trees, she saw rooftops ablaze, villagers scattering in panic, blaster fire ripping through the air.

"No..." Her breath caught as she pushed harder, legs burning. She tore through the last of the trees, keeping low, until her family's cottage came into view. And froze.

Through a screen of bushes, she saw them, her parents, forced to their knees before their home. A group of armed men stood over them, their armor scorched and rough, their weapons trained with brutal precision. At their center was a man who carried himself differently from the rest—his presence colder, commanding. On his belt hung a strange weapon unlike anything she had seen before: a cylinder of metal, polished and out of place amid the blasters.

Athena's pulse thundered in her ears. She couldn't hear what was being said, only the fear on her mother's face, the tightness in her father's jaw.

One of the soldiers stepped forward, pressing a blaster to her mother's head. Another mirrored him at her father's side.

She didn't think. She acted.

In one motion, she slid her bow free, notched an arrow, and loosed. The shaft hissed through the air, striking the soldier's hand. His blaster clattered to the dirt as he cried out. She loosed another, this one catching the second soldier in the leg, dropping him with a snarl of pain.

She drew again, this time aiming for the man in charge, the one with the strange weapon. Her fingers trembled on the string, but the arrow flew. It struck his shoulder, making him stagger back.

For a heartbeat, hope flared.

Then a shadow moved behind her. A pair of rough hands seized her arms, twisting the bow from her grasp. She cried out, struggling, but the grip only tightened. Dragged forward through the brush, she was thrown to the ground at the feet of the man she had wounded.

The strange weapon gleamed at his belt as he looked down at her, expression unreadable. And the world seemed to tilt, the screams of the village fading to a low, suffocating roar in her ears.

The man who seemed to command the soldiers steadied himself, one gloved hand pressed to the arrow jutting from his shoulder. His eyes fixed on the girl at his feet.

“You’ve spirit,” he said at last, his voice low and edged with disdain. “But spirit alone won’t save them.” He jerked his chin toward her parents, still forced to their knees, their faces lit by the flames consuming the village behind them.

Athena’s chest heaved with ragged breaths, fear twisting into something hotter, sharper. She bared her teeth like a cornered animal. “Don’t touch them!” she spat.

The man almost smiled. “And what will you do, little wolf? Scratch me with your arrows?”

Her answer came in a blur of motion. With a snarl, Athena wrenched a dagger free from the inside of her boot and lunged upward, driving it toward the man’s chest.

But he was faster.

With a snap-hiss, a blade of pure light burst from the strange weapon at his belt. The dagger met it and shattered, sliced clean in two. The weapon’s heat licked across her hand as she cried out, stumbling back.

The smell of burning flesh filled her nose. Pain exploded in her palm where the hilt of the dagger had been, and as she staggered, the blade grazed her face. A line of fire cut from her chin to her left cheekbone, searing deep. She fell to the dirt, clutching her hand, her vision swimming red and white.

The man deactivated the weapon with a hiss, its glow vanishing as quickly as it had come. He crouched beside her, studying the jagged burn across her face with unsettling calm.

“Reckless,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But not without potential.”

Her vision blurred with tears of fury and pain. She tried to push herself up again, but her ruined hand buckled beneath her weight. Her blood pounded in her ears—fear, rage, desperation—all twisting together until her body trembled.

Behind them, the soldiers shifted uneasily, waiting for their commander’s order. Her parents cried out her name, voices breaking with terror.

And something inside her snapped. Her breath came in ragged gasps, pain searing through her hand and face. Still, she forced herself up, teeth clenched against the agony. Her green eyes burned with hate as she threw herself at the man again, unarmed but desperate.

He barely moved. His fist connected with her temple in a brutal strike that sent the world spinning. Darkness swallowed her. But her mind was restless, she could hear a thousand voices screaming her name and then just complete silence. 

When she woke, the forest was silent. Smoke drifted low through the trees, carrying the bitter scent of fire and blood. The ground was scorched in places, littered with trampled earth and the remnants of the skirmish.

She pushed herself upright, head throbbing, and her gaze found the cottage.

Her stomach dropped.

Her parents lay in front of it, still bound on their knees, but no longer breathing. Their bodies were twisted in the dirt, their skin carved with deep, blackened burns, the same kind that seared her hand and scarred her face. Only worse. Deeper. Mortal.

“No…” Her voice broke as she stumbled toward them, falling hard to her knees beside their lifeless forms. She reached for them with shaking hands, her mother’s braid slipping through her fingers, her father’s hunting tunic stained dark. They were gone.

Her chest caved in. The pain was unbearable, something she had no name for. Loss. Rage. Terror. Grief. They tore through her like fire, burning away the edges of her mind until she thought she might break apart. A scream tore from her throat as the ground shuddered beneath her. The air exploded outward in a violent shockwave, uprooting trees, flattening brush, and sending embers spiraling high into the night. The Force burst from her small body like a storm unleashed.

The blast consumed everything.

And then she collapsed once again, her body limp, her cheek pressed against the earth beside her parents’ hands.

The forest had gone still. Not the natural stillness of night, but something heavier, suffocating, as though the very air had forgotten how to breathe. Smoke clung to the trees in thick coils, the flames from the village now nothing more than smoldering embers.

Then came a sound. Low, mechanical. A steady rhythm of breath that seemed to echo inside the bones rather than the ears. With each exhale, the air grew colder, the shadows darker, pressing close around the ruin.

An unseen weight settled over the clearing—vast, oppressive, impossible to fight against. Even unconscious, the girl stirred, her body trembling as if in response to the presence approaching her. The smoke parted.

A figure emerged from the haze, tall and clad in black armor that glistened with the reflection of firelight. A cape swept the ground behind him, heavy boots sinking into the ash. His mask, gleaming obsidian, caught the glow of dying embers, its lenses unfeeling, its breath a relentless machine.

Darth Vader stood over the child.

Stormtroopers filed in behind him, blasters raised, shifting uneasily in the unnatural quiet. One of them hesitated before speaking, his voice tight through his helmet.

“Lord Vader… shall we end her?”

The Dark Lord did not answer immediately. He only stared down at the girl, lying limp beside her parents’ broken bodies. The scars burned across her face, her small hands stained with soil and blood. The Force surrounding her was raw, unrestrained and untamed.

Vader bent, his shadow swallowing her small form, and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

“No,” he said at last, his voice a resonant command that seemed to shake the very air. “She is mine.”

Without another word, he turned, cape sweeping through the ashes, carrying her away from the ruin she had made.

Chapter Text

Athena's first awareness was pain. A dull ache throbbed in her skull, every heartbeat sending a fresh wave of pressure behind her eyes. Her right hand burned, raw and sensitive, and the skin of her cheek felt as if it had been pressed to hot iron. She drew in a shaky breath, the air tasting sharp and sterile, nothing like the forest she knew.

Her eyes flickered open.

The ceiling above her was smooth metal, dimly lit by pale strips of light running along its edges. Panels hummed with energy, their faint glow pulsing in time with machines at her bedside. A console projected soft blue readouts above her chest, symbols and lines of Aurebesh shifting too quickly for her to follow.

She sat up too fast, heart pounding. The surface beneath her wasn't wood or straw, but a rigid medbay cot lined with synthweave padding. Strange devices surrounded her — a kolto drip hooked into her arm, a diagnostic scanner sweeping a thin red light over her body. The walls curved with the sleek design of Imperial steel, no windows, no doors in sight.

Panic gripped her. This wasn't her home. This wasn't the village.

"Where—" Her voice cracked. She swung her legs off the cot, trying to stand, but her knees buckled. The machines around her beeped in protest.

The door hissed open.

Two stormtroopers stepped inside, their white plastoid armor gleaming under the lights, blasters slung at their sides. Their helmets tilted toward her, faceless and cold.

"Remain calm," one ordered, voice metallic through the vocoder. "You're safe. Do not resist."

Safe. The word curdled in her stomach. She staggered back against the wall, eyes wild, her hand flying to her belt—but her dagger was gone. Her bow, her satchel, all of it gone.

"Stay back!" she shouted, her voice trembling but fierce. "Where am I? Where are my parents?"

The troopers exchanged a glance, then stepped forward. One reached for her arm, intent on forcing her back to the cot. Instinct surged through her—the same fire she had felt in the forest. She lashed out, shoving him away with surprising strength. The trooper stumbled, crashing into a console that sparked and hissed.

The second trooper raised his blaster. Before he could act, the air grew heavy.

That sound filled the room, the mechanical breathing, deep and relentless, echoing off the durasteel walls. The troopers stiffened, lowering their weapons at once. The door slid wider, and a shadow fell across the floor as a towering figure stepped inside.

Athena froze.

The man—no, the thing —that entered was clad head to toe in black armor, a cape trailing behind him. His mask was featureless save for the cold shine of its lenses, and with each breath, the sound reverberated through her chest. He carried himself with absolute command, the stormtroopers shrinking back in his presence.

He stopped before her cot.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended, though her body trembled.

The black mask turned down toward her. "I am Darth Vader."

The name meant nothing to her, but the weight of it chilled her blood. Still, she refused to shrink away. "What happened? Why am I here? Where are my parents?"

For a long moment, the only sound was the slow rasp of his breathing. Then, his reply, deep and resonant.

"They are dead," he said simply. "Slain by Jedi."

The word was foreign to her ears. Jedi. She didn't know it, didn't understand. But the way he spoke it—like a curse, like venom—set her heart pounding with fury.

She shook her head violently. "No! That man—he—he had a strange weapon. He—"

"Yes," Vader cut in, his tone like steel. "A Jedi weapon. They came for your family. They murdered them. And they would have killed you as well, had I not found you."

The fire inside her, the rage and grief and helplessness, twisted tighter. She clenched her burned hand until fresh pain seared up her arm, her breath ragged.

Vader studied her in silence, the faint tilt of his helmet unreadable. But within the shadows of his mask, he was struck by something unexpected: the girl's defiance. Even scarred, trembling, broken, she did not cower. She stood against him demanding answers, demanding truth.

And in that defiance, he saw something more.

Potential.

The days after her parents' death blurred together.

Athena drifted between waking and sleeping, her body aching, her mind a storm she couldn't calm. Vader remained a looming presence, the slow rhythm of his mechanical breathing haunting every silence. Sometimes he spoke, his voice resonant and measured, planting words like seeds in her fractured heart.

He told her of the Jedi.

Not as guardians, but as traitors. Murderers. Hypocrites who had brought war to every world they touched. The weapon she had seen, the glowing blade that killed her parents and carved scars into her own flesh he called a lightsaber. A Jedi weapon. Their weapon.

He spoke of the Sith, too. Warriors who had risen to cast off Jedi tyranny. Betrayed, hunted, destroyed and yet, not gone. Vader was living proof.

Most of all, he spoke of the Empire. A beacon of order in a galaxy that had drowned in chaos. A vision of strength. A promise that no child would ever suffer as she had, so long as the Empire's hand was firm.

And Athena believed him.

Her grief demanded it. Her anger demanded it. The pain written into her scars burned whenever she thought of that night, whenever she closed her eyes and saw her parents' bodies collapse into the earth.

"I will kill them," she swore, her voice hoarse with rage. "All of them. Every last one."

Vader regarded her in silence for a long moment, his mask unreadable. Then, slowly, he spoke:

"Then you must learn to wield your anger. Only through strength can you destroy the Jedi. Only through the Force."

And so her training began.

At first, the lessons were agony. Vader drove her past the limits of her endurance. Hours of drills with blasters until her arms ached and her hands blistered. Combat practice with vibroblades until her reflexes sharpened. Harsh exercises in focus and meditation, forcing her to reach for the power Vader said lay all around her.

She learned to feel it: the current of the Force, invisible but heavy, wrapping itself around every living thing. Vader showed her how to bend it to her will, how to make it obey. How to shove, how to choke, how to crush.

But he also spoke of patience, of control. "Unleash your rage, but do not let it master you. The Force is a blade. It will cut you as swiftly as your enemies if you wield it carelessly."

As the years passed, Athena grew sharper. Stronger. She began building her own weapons under Vader's guidance, learning to shape machinery, to understand its language. The day she assembled her first lightsaber, the crystal bleeding red beneath her touch, Vader said nothing. But when she ignited the blade, its crimson light casting her scarred face in blood-colored glow, she thought she saw his head tilt almost like pride.

The lightsaber became her companion, her answer to the bow she once carried through the forests. Its hum sang to her, a promise that she would never again be powerless.

But secrecy clung to her training.

The Emperor could not know, Vader said. Palpatine was ruthless, suspicious, and the existence of another apprentice would be considered betrayal. So Athena lived in the shadows, training in hidden chambers, fighting unseen battles, waiting for the day she would be unleashed.

Inevitably, the truth came out.

She was sixteen when Vader brought her before the Emperor.

The chamber was cold, its floor polished obsidian that reflected her scarred face back at her. Palpatine waited on his throne, a twisted smile curving his lips beneath the shadow of his hood. His eyes gleamed with an unnatural yellow, piercing straight through her.

"So," the Emperor rasped, voice dry as ash. "My apprentice has been... keeping secrets."

Athena knelt beside Vader, her fists clenched against the floor. She felt the tension radiating from him, a storm contained within steel.

Palpatine rose slowly. His laughter was like knives. "You thought I would not see? You thought to shape your own weapon without my knowledge?"

Lightning cracked from his hands. Bolts of pure agony struck Vader, who collapsed to one knee, his armor sparking, his mechanical breathing distorted into gasps.

Athena's chest seized. Every instinct screamed at her to stay down, to remain silent. But the sight of Vader—the man who had saved her, who had given her strength—broken before her shattered something inside.

"No!" she cried, throwing herself forward.

Her scarred hand shot out, rage surging through her veins. The Force roared to life, crashing against Palpatine in a wave of wild energy. For a heartbeat, his lightning sputtered. The throne shook. The air trembled.

Then, with nothing but a flick of his wrist, he hurled her across the chamber. Her body slammed into the wall, pain flaring white-hot through her ribs.

And yet, as she gasped for breath, the Emperor laughed.

"You would defend him?" he hissed, delight lacing his words. "You would fight me?"

Athena tried to rise, her limbs trembling, but she forced herself onto her knees. "I... won't let you hurt him."

Palpatine leaned closer, his eyes gleaming. "Good. The Force is strong in you. Strong indeed."

To Vader's astonishment, the Emperor did not strike her down. Instead, he turned away, his cloak swirling behind him.

"She will continue her training," Palpatine declared, amusement dripping from every word. "But know this, Lord Vader—she is mine as much as she is yours."

From that day forward, her path was set.

By eighteen, she was no longer a hidden apprentice. She hunted survivors of the Jedi Purge, padawans who had clung to hope only to fall beneath her crimson blade. She silenced the first stirrings of rebellion, putting down uprisings before they could grow. Villages whispered of the mysterious woman who walked beside Imperial soldiers, striking down anyone who dared raise arms against the Empire.

At twenty, the Emperor himself summoned her. In a ceremony as cold as it was final, he bestowed upon her a new name.

"From this day forth," Palpatine declared, "you are no longer just Athena Valthor. You shall be known as Darth Lykara."

The words bound her like chains, yet they also freed her. No longer the lost child of the forest. No longer the hunted girl. She was Sith. She was Commander of the Imperial Forces, her authority absolute, her blade red as blood.

The galaxy had lost a daughter.

In her place, a shadow had risen.

Chapter Text

The galaxy never stopped whispering. Reports moved like veins of smoke across Athena's desk: Ferrix, Aldhani, rumors of insurgents growing bold enough to strike Imperial strongholds. And now... Sienar. A stolen prototype TIE fighter, taken from the heart of Imperial research, smuggled away under their very noses.

She absorbed the words on her datapad carefully, though outwardly she sat in silence, a dark figure beneath the glow of her quarters' dim lights. Her attire was as much armor as it was command—primarily black with accents of deep crimson that caught the glow when she shifted. Form-fitting armor-like leather clung to her frame, ribbed along the arms for protection and movement. A high collar rose to guard her throat, while a broad utility belt clasped snugly around her waist, silver fasteners gleaming in the low light. From her shoulders cascaded a long cape, its underside glowing faintly red when the light touched it, like embers flickering inside shadow.

Her gloves were tight and practical, every finger flex honed for combat. The hood of her cape lay resting against her back now, though she knew how easily it could be drawn up to drown her face in shadow. Beside her mask, folded neatly on the table's edge, the hood was another barrier—one more wall between the scarred girl from the forest and the commander the galaxy feared.

For now, the mask remained unworn.

She bent over the workbench tucked along the far wall, hands moving with precision as she coaxed life back into a small droid's broken form. Wires and servos lay scattered like the bones of a dissected creature, the hum of her fusion welder filling the room in bursts. A lock of hair fell loose across her face, and she blew it away impatiently before securing a fragile component into place.

"There," she murmured, voice soft in the silence. "Good as new."

The droid's optical sensor flickered briefly, a faint blue glow sparking in its core. A small, fleeting smile curved her lips, warming her features in a way no one beyond these walls ever saw. Here, alone, she wasn't Commander Valthor. She wasn't Darth Lykara. She was Athena—the forest girl who still found comfort in broken things.

The quiet was broken by a firm, deliberate knock at the door.

She didn't need the Force to know who it was.

"Enter," she said, setting down the welder.

The door hissed open, and the armored figure who stepped through filled the frame with ease. Matte black armor, modified from clone trooper origins, gleamed beneath the corridor light. A crimson stripe cut across his chestplate—a small defiance, tolerated only because of who he served. He removed his helmet, tucking it beneath his arm, and the man beneath was carved from years of war: a strong jaw, hair silvering at the temples, sharp eyes tempered by loyalty.

Dagger.

"Commander." His tone was steady, though his gaze flicked toward the droid parts scattered across her bench. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Still hiding in here, fixing scraps?"

Her eyes, bright green under the glow, lifted to meet his. "Someone has to keep the galaxy from falling apart," she answered dryly. "The engineers aren't half as clever as they think."

He shook his head with a quiet laugh. "You could run an entire fleet with those hands, and you spend your time rebuilding droids."

"They don't argue back," she said, arching a brow. The warmth between them softened the iron edges of her command.

Dagger knew better than anyone the duality she lived. He had saved her life when she was only seventeen, diving into the path of a blaster bolt that would have ended her before she could become what she was now. Since then, their bond had been forged in blood. When she handpicked her personal squad of Death Troopers, he had been the first. Not for protocol. Not for rank. But because she trusted him.

But the humor faded from his face as he set his helmet on the table. "I wish I came with better news."

Her posture straightened, the soft ease slipping back into steel. "Go on."

"It's Sienar," Dagger said, his tone grim. "The stolen prototype hasn't been recovered. Command fears it will embolden others. And Ferrix..." He hesitated before continuing. "They're not settling. The locals are organizing. Protests, sabotage. Resistance. Small, but growing. The brass wants it contained before it spreads. There's also Aldhani—Intelligence suggests it wasn't an isolated strike. Someone's pulling strings. Coordinating. This isn't random rebellion anymore. It's something larger."

Athena stilled, her fingers brushing the edge of her mask. The light caught on the scar that curved from her chin to her cheekbone. Her eyes darkened, and for a moment the green flickered, edged with a dangerous yellow.

"The galaxy believes chaos makes them strong," she murmured, voice low, cold. "It's time they remembered what happens when chaos meets the Empire's hand."

Dagger inclined his head, silent. He knew the fury beneath her words. He had seen her turn loss into fire before, and he knew that once she decided on a course, nothing—no army, no rebellion, no living soul—could stop her.

Finally, he asked quietly, "Your orders, Commander?"

Her hand closed around the mask, lifting it. In a single practiced motion she fitted it across her face, the polished steel swallowing softness, shadowing the scar. When she turned to him again, her eyes burned like embers in the dark.

"Ferrix. Sienar. I will handle both." Her voice carried the weight of command, of inevitability. Then, after a pause, softer but just as resolute: "But not yet."

Dagger frowned faintly. "Not yet?"

She glanced to the window, where the stars burned against the void. "First," she said, "I have a wedding to attend.

—

The evening air over Chandrila was crisp, scented faintly with the flowering trees that lined the Mothma estate. Guests in silks and embroidered coats strolled the gardens or clustered in the lantern-lit courtyards, sipping spiced wine while the sound of stringed instruments wove gently through the chatter. The wedding celebration had begun, its elegance untouched by the shadow of the Empire—or so it seemed.

That illusion shattered with the thunder of repulsorlifts overhead.

The guests tilted their heads toward the sky as a gray, wedge-shaped shuttle descended onto the private landing pad just beyond the estate's ornate gates. The sudden arrival was jarring; no other ships were scheduled, and Chandrilan tradition valued ceremony over intrusion. The whine of the engines deepened as the shuttle settled, and the crowd's murmur sharpened into whispers of unease.

Mon Mothma moved swiftly toward the gate, her pale gown trailing behind her as she walked, Perrin following with a glass of wine still clutched lazily in his hand. She tried to compose her features into calm neutrality, but her stomach was tight with apprehension.

A hiss of hydraulics broke the silence as the shuttle's ramp lowered. Heavy boots struck the duracrete in unison—stormtroopers, pristine in white plastoid, marched out in formation. Their rifles angled downward but ready, their presence alone enough to stifle the chatter of the guests. A few Chandrilan dignitaries exchanged nervous glances, convinced the Empire had sent an inspection force to hover over the wedding.

Mon forced herself forward, standing at the threshold as the stormtroopers split ranks. The sound of a cape dragging against metal echoed from within the shuttle.

And then she emerged.

Tall, wrapped in black with a hood shadowing her features, the figure stepped down the ramp with unhurried precision. At her waist glimmered the unmistakable hilt of a lightsaber. A half-mask, silver-edged, concealed her mouth and nose, lending her the aura of something more than human.

The guests recoiled, whispering in recognition. Rumors given flesh.

Mon Mothma did not retreat. Her pulse raced, but she bowed her head slightly, willing her voice to remain steady.

"Commander Valthor," she said carefully. "We were not expecting the Empire's presence tonight. This union was granted permission by the Senate to proceed without Imperial oversight."

The hood tilted, revealing faint glimmers of green eyes beneath the shadows. When she spoke, her voice was smooth, respectful, though filtered through the mask.

"I am not here for oversight, Senator. I was invited."

The statement was so calm, so matter-of-fact, that for a moment Mon faltered. She blinked, her mind racing through protocols and correspondences, her flawless memory scrambling for any indication of such an invitation.

"I... don't recall sending one," she admitted, her voice quieter, as if speaking truth might anger the predator before her.

But before Athena could reply, another voice chimed in from just behind Mon.

"I sent it."

Leida stepped forward, her ceremonial gown delicate against the pale light of the courtyard. Her voice trembled with excitement, but her eyes shone with something stronger—reverence. "I invited her. I didn't think she'd come."

Mon turned sharply toward her daughter, shock cracking through her composure. "Leida—"

Athena regarded the girl in silence for a long moment, then lifted her hands to her hood. With measured grace, she lowered it, shadows peeling away from her face. Fingers brushed the side of her mask, unfastening it with a soft click. She removed it slowly, as though deliberately allowing the gathered crowd to see what lay beneath.

Her face was striking, sculpted by youth and discipline alike. Only the scar—a thin, curved line running from her chin to her cheekbone—broke the symmetry, a mark that did not mar her beauty but made it impossible to forget.

Leida drew in a breath, as though seeing not a rumor, but proof that legends could bleed and survive.

Mon, however, forced her expression into cool diplomacy, masking the disquiet in her chest. "If you will excuse us," she said tightly, catching her daughter's arm. "There are matters we must discuss."

She ushered Leida swiftly from the crowd, Perrin following with narrowed eyes and muttered disapproval. They did not stop until they reached the shadow of the garden wall, where the music was distant and the curious eyes of guests could not follow.

Mon turned on her daughter, her voice a low hiss. "Leida, do you have any idea what you've done? Inviting her here?"

Perrin's tone was sharper, irritated rather than fearful. "The girl's gone mad. Bringing Vader's hound into our home on her wedding weekend—what were you thinking?"

Leida lifted her chin, defiant. "I was thinking that I want to learn more about her."

Mon's breath caught. "What?"

"She's strong. People fear her, but she helps them, too." Leida's voice softened, her defiance mingling with conviction. "One of my friends showed me a holorecording, from a small world near the Mid Rim. After a skirmish, she was helping civilians—lifting rubble without touching it, carrying children out of collapsed buildings, handing out rations from her own shuttle. People clung to her like she was a savior. No officers watching. No holocams. Someone caught it on a private recorder and posted it on the local HoloNet. It wasn't for show."

Mon scoffed. "Propaganda, nothing more. Manufactured to make you believe the Empire has a conscience."

"It wasn't." Leida's eyes flashed with certainty. "She didn't know she was being recorded. That's why I believe it. She's proof the Empire doesn't have to be cruel."

Mon stood frozen, heart twisting painfully. Her daughter's words rang with dangerous idealism, the kind that could shatter both of their worlds.

She forced herself to lay a hand on Leida's arm, her voice tight but steady. "We will speak of this later."

Yet as she led her daughter back toward the lights and the music, Mon's gaze flicked once more toward the dark figure standing calmly amid the stormtroopers at the gate.

The first day of the wedding was filled with ceremony. Chandrilan traditions unfolded in measured rhythms: prayers beneath starlit arches, music carried on the breeze, endless introductions between families bound by politics as much as by blood. Normally, Mon Mothma would have borne it with graceful detachment. But this time, her nerves were fraying.

Athena's arrival had unsettled every guest.

The stormtroopers stationed at the gates never left her side. They stood like white statues on the estate's edge, letting her move freely but reminding all who watched that she was no ordinary attendee. Rumors rippled through the banquet halls—hushed voices trading tales of Vader's apprentice.

And yet... when she entered the hall, heads turned not only in fear but in fascination.

Men and women alike watched her with wary admiration. It wasn't just power she carried—it was beauty sharpened into something dangerous, a flame that could either warm or consume.

She walked with silence, acknowledging no one until Leida broke from her mother's side and hurried to greet her. The girl's smile was genuine, unburdened by fear, and the two spoke briefly in hushed tones. The sight of it—this lethal shadow bending slightly to listen to a child—confused the guests more than her existence ever could.

Mon hovered nearby, her every nerve screaming. Every time Athena leaned close to her daughter, she wanted to drag Leida away. But to act rashly, to show her terror, would draw more suspicion than composure. So she forced her voice to remain even, her smile controlled, while her mind raced with calculations.

Perrin, for his part, found the whole matter entertaining. He lingered at Athena's side whenever possible, sipping wine, smirking as though proximity to such a figure elevated his own stature. Other Imperial officers were less subtle. Chandrilan senators and visiting governors alike drifted toward her, cloaking their unease in polished charm. They praised her victories, hinted at favors, sought to bask in the reflected glow of her power. She received them all with polite distance, answering with wit edged in steel. They laughed nervously at her sarcasm, eager to please, though she owed them nothing.

By the second day, the whispers had grown. Some guests swore they'd seen her in battle. A few, bolder still, muttered that she was even more feared than Vader, that she was the unseen hand crushing dissent before it reached the holonet.

Mon could not dismiss the tales. And yet, what unsettled her more was the other side that revealed itself when Athena was unguarded. Her laughter was low and genuine, not the harsh bark of a tyrant but the sound of someone alive beneath the armor. Once, Mon glimpsed her seated alone, gloves discarded, repairing a serving droid that had stumbled in the hall. Her hands moved with practiced care, and when the machine flickered back to life, she smiled in quiet satisfaction.

It was disarming. Terrifying. Because it meant she wasn't a monster in a mask. She was human—and that made her far more dangerous.

On the final day of the celebrations, as the banquet swelled with chandeliers glowing like captive suns, two figures lingered in the shadows near the edge of the hall. Luthen Rael's sharp eyes tracked Athena from across the chamber, watching the way officers gravitated toward her, watching how the girl of rumors revealed flashes of kindness when no one expected it.

Kleya stood at his side, her posture tense. "I didn't believe it until now," she whispered. "But she's real."

"She's more than real," Luthen replied softly, his gaze never wavering. "She's the kind of weapon the Empire shouldn't be allowed to wield."

"And yet," Kleya said carefully, "look at her. She doesn't look like she belongs to them entirely."

Luthen's jaw tightened. He saw the scar, the mask now hanging loose at her side, the way her eyes studied the room with weary intelligence. He saw the young senator's daughter laughing beside her, unafraid.

He murmured, half to himself, "The mask hides more than just a scar."

Kleya frowned, but said nothing.

Across the chamber, Athena lifted her gaze. For the briefest moment, her eyes caught Luthen's. Not suspicion, not hostility—just a flicker of awareness. As if she already knew he was watching.

Chapter Text

The chandeliers of the Mothma estate glowed like captured starlight, their warm brilliance spilling across silk-clad guests and gleaming marble floors. Music swelled from the far side of the hall, laughter rising above it in carefully measured bursts. Chandrilan elegance thrived in such moments, but the presence of stormtroopers at the doors and a dark figure in crimson-trimmed black silks had unsettled the carefully rehearsed harmony.

Athena moved among them like a tide, and the guests parted instinctively, never quite close enough to brush her cape. A glass of dark liquor rested in her gloved hand, though she had barely touched it.

It was then that Davo Sculdun appeared, flushed from drink but delighted by his own importance. He bowed with a flourish, motioning for two figures at his side to step forward.

"Commander," he said, his voice smooth with an edge of sycophancy. "Permit me the honor of introducing an acquaintance of mine—Luthen Rael, proprietor of a most refined antiquities gallery on Coruscant. And his assistant, Kleya."

Athena turned to face them, her gaze lingering as though she could weigh a person's truth simply by looking long enough.

Luthen inclined his head in practiced humility, his smile measured. "Commander. A pleasure."

Kleya echoed the bow.

Athena studied them in silence for a moment longer before answering. "An antiquities gallery," she said, her voice low. "I imagine you have pieces of great history hidden away there."

"A few," Luthen replied easily. His tone was light, but his heartbeat quickened. Up close, she was not just the rumor he had watched from afar. He felt the weight of her attention as though it pressed against him.

Her head tilted slightly, an almost feline gesture. "Do you deal only in art, or in rarer objects?"

Luthen let the corner of his mouth twitch upward. "Objects, stories, relics of forgotten wars. The galaxy is built on memory, after all. My work is to preserve it."

Her eyes narrowed faintly, though not in suspicion—more in curiosity. "Perhaps, one day, I will see this collection of yours."

Kleya's stomach tightened at the suggestion, though she betrayed nothing outwardly. Luthen, ever the performer, gave a gracious nod. "You would be most welcome, Commander. It would be an honor to host you."

The words were practiced, but his mind was racing. He had planned for years to remain invisible to such people, never to stand in the gaze of Vader's apprentice. And yet here she was, casually proposing a visit, her interest genuine enough to be unnerving.

Athena let the silence breathe before she added, "History interests me. Especially the kind not written by victors." Her words were soft, but they clung to him like smoke. Luthen felt Kleya shift slightly at his side, her controlled posture betraying the same unease that he dared not show.

It was then that Mon Mothma approached, her gown trailing in pale folds, her face composed though her eyes betrayed fatigue. "Commander Valthor," she said with a smile too careful, "I see you've met Sculdun's... companions."

Athena inclined her head in greeting. "The oligarch was kind enough to introduce us. I was just learning about Mr. Rael's gallery."

Mon's gaze flicked to Luthen for the briefest instant, a flash of something that might have been fear—or recognition. But before she could speak further, the clatter of boots broke the air.

An Imperial officer strode quickly through the hall, his face pale from the weight of the message he carried. He halted and bowed stiffly before Athena. "Commander Valthor—urgent orders. Lord Vader requests your presence on Mustafar immediately."

The guests near enough to overhear stiffened. Even in whispers, the name Vader carried a chill.

Athena's posture straightened, her aura hardening in an instant. Yet when her gaze returned to Mon, her tone was courteous, almost apologetic. "Senator. Forgive me. It seems I must take my leave before your daughter's wedding concludes."

Mon clasped her hands tightly to still their tremor. "Your presence has already been... memorable. We thank you."

Athena reached into her belt and withdrew a medium object wrapped in crimson cloth. She placed it into Mon's hands with quiet finality.

"A gift for your daughter. A companion droid I built myself."

Mon hesitated, unwrapping it just enough to glimpse the delicate form within—a small construct with rounded features and luminous eyes that blinked like soft embers. It let out a quiet chirp, and Leida, who had wandered close, gasped in delight.

Athena's green eyes softened almost imperceptibly at the sound before she turned back to the officer. With a final nod to those gathered, she pulled her hood into place and fastened her mask once more.

The stormtroopers fell into formation as she departed, her cape trailing like fire across the marble floor. The great doors closed behind her, leaving the hall hushed, unsettled. Mon stood rooted, the small droid warm in her palms, its soft golden eyes blinked up at her with innocent curiosity. She gave the gift to her daughter who quickly clutched the droid to her chest, her face bright with unguarded joy. “She made it herself,” she whispered, half to her mother, half to herself. “Can you believe that?”

She forced a smile for her daughter’s sake and gently guided her toward Perrin, murmuring something about showing him the gift. Once Leida was distracted, Mon’s composure faltered.

She turned swiftly to Luthen, her voice dropping to a razor-thin whisper. “You knew she might appear?”

“No,” he said too quickly, then steadied himself. “No. If I had, I would never have stepped foot in this hall tonight.”

Mon’s voice grew taut with urgency. “She spoke to you. Looked at you. You smiled at her like an old friend would. If she suspects—if she even dreams—”

“I know,” Luthen cut in softly, his tone clipped with suppressed agitation. “But she doesn’t. Not yet. To her, I am a collector. A merchant of trinkets. That’s all.”

“The rebellion cannot withstand her attention. You saw it. She has… presence. The room bends around her.”

“Yes,” his voice low and grim. “And she’s younger than I imagined. Which makes her even more unpredictable.”

Mustafar.

The word coils in my mind like smoke. The world of fire. My master’s fortress. His sanctum. His prison.

Why summon me there? Why now?

Lord Vader does not waste words. His commands are absolute, and never urgent without cause. Yet this… this was different.

I turn the possibilities over in my mind like a gambler with loaded dice.

A Jedi, perhaps. Not just any survivor, but one strong enough to warrant both our blades. Or a rebellion gathering fire too fast for the Empire to contain. Or… worse. The Emperor.

The thought coils like ice down my spine. If it were Palpatine, why would the summons come through my master? Unless he shields me. Unless he means to hide me from something that even I cannot yet see.

I clench my hands behind my back, the leather of my gloves creaking softly. It is not fear that twists through me—it is the unknown. And the unknown is far worse.

I know the weight of his silence, the measure of his words, the cadence of his fury. But urgency? No. That is something I have never seen in him.

The hum of hyperspace fills the bridge, stars stretching into white fire beyond the viewport. I let the sound swallow me, steady me. Still, the bond between us tugs—distant, veiled, but present. It pulls me toward Mustafar like gravity.

What awaits me there?

I close my eyes, lost in the storm of speculation.

A voice cuts through it, rough and grounding.

“Commander. We’ve arrived.”

I draw a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My eyes snap to the viewport. The stars collapse into clarity, replaced by a world of fire and smoke. Lava rivers snake across the surface, a crucible glowing in the darkness of space.

The fortress looms in the distance, jagged and black, rising from the inferno like the spine of some ancient beast.

It is time.

The Lambda-class T-4a shuttle broke away from her personal Star Destroyer, descending toward the infernal surface of Mustafar. Its wings folded up as it cut through the haze, the molten world below glowing like a wound in the galaxy. Rivers of fire split the blackened terrain, plumes of ash rising high into the choking sky.

Inside the shuttle, Athena sat with her hood drawn low. Dagger stood at her side, helmet clipped to his belt, his clone-bred eyes fixed forward with practiced calm. Neither spoke. They did not need to. The presence of the fortress grew stronger as they drew near, a suffocating weight in the Force.

The structure loomed from the lava fields like a blade driven into the planet’s flesh—tall, jagged, merciless. Vader’s fortress. His prison and his sanctuary. The shuttle settled onto a landing platform jutting from the black spire, steam rising around it like ghosts.

Athena and Dagger disembarked, boots striking the durasteel ramp. The silence of the place pressed in, broken only by the distant roar of lava and the echo of their steps. At the far end of a hall, silhouetted against the fire-lit horizon, stood Darth Vader.

Athena stopped a few paces in front of him and dropped to one knee, lowering her hood. Her voice carried, soft but steady:

“What is thy bidding… father?”

The title echoed in the chamber, strange and intimate against its cavernous cold. Vader did not flinch. He had grown accustomed to hearing that word from her lips in the years they had shared—though no other soul, save for Dagger, had ever been allowed to witness it.

Vader’s respirator hissed, steady, measured. “Rise.”

She obeyed swiftly, her cloak settling around her. “What has happened?” she asked, urgency edging her voice.

But Vader only turned, his cape sweeping across the stone as he moved toward a set of doors. “Follow me.”

She exchanged a quick glance with Dagger, then moved after him. The halls wound downward, deeper into the fortress, until they entered another chamber—a vast council room, its tall windows looking out over the rivers of lava.

Athena stepped inside and drew closer, her green eyes narrowing as she pressed again. “Why the urgency, master? Your summons sounded… dire.”

Vader stopped at the center of the chamber. His mechanical breath filled the silence before he answered, voice deep and implacable.

“It was not mine. The urgency was the Emperor’s command. A needless dramatization. The matter is not so… grave.”

Athena blinked, bewildered. She had crossed the galaxy at his word, felt the heavy pull of it in the Force—and for this? Still, she bowed her head, containing her confusion.

“Then why summon me here at all?” she asked carefully.

Vader’s helm turned slightly toward her, an orange glow reflecting across the black visor. “Because there is someone I wish you to meet. A man whose ambitions exceed his reach. If only he were not so…” He trailed off, anger curling his tone. “Late.”

As if on cue, the great doors groaned open again. The sound of polished boots striking stone echoed into the chamber.

A tall man strode in, his white uniform pristine against the darkness, the emerald glow of rank cylinders glinting at his chest. A matching white cape swept behind him, every detail of his attire screaming of pride and control. His hair, silvered at the temples, was neatly combed, his angular face schooled into an expression of contrived confidence.

Director Orson Krennic.

He halted at the threshold, bowing stiffly. “Lord Vader,” he said, his voice rich with charm but edged with unease. “My deepest apologies for the delay. The hyperspace lanes out of Eriadu were more congested than anticipated, and—”

“Do not waste my time with excuses,” Vader’s voice cut through the chamber, cold as the obsidian walls.

Krennic’s mouth snapped shut. His eyes flicked briefly to Athena—taking in her mask, her scar, her stance beside Vader—and something in his gaze lingered.

Dagger shifted subtly closer, his hand brushing against his blaster.

Athena, for her part, remained silent, but her curiosity burned. This meeting had weight, she could feel it in the Force. Whatever game the Emperor was playing, whatever Vader meant to show her—it began here.

The silence stretched taut after Vader’s rebuke, broken only by the faint hiss of his respirator. He turned from Krennic’s excuse and let the heavy pause sink in before speaking, his voice a low growl that filled the obsidian chamber.

“She will attend the Maltheen Divide meeting.”

Krennic’s brow furrowed, his practiced confidence faltering. “My lord… with respect, the Divide is a council reserved for a select circle of officials. Military, intelligence, research—chosen by the Emperor himself. Why would—”

“You question the Emperor’s will?” Vader’s interruption cut like a blade, cold and merciless.

Krennic’s throat tightened. “No, my lord. I only mean… Commander Valthor’s presence there seems… unusual.”

Vader’s helm tilted toward him, the firelight glinting off its black angles. “Unusual?” The silence stretched, his breathing deepening, oppressive. Then: “You have both been summoned because the Emperor grows impatient. The Energy Initiative is to progress without delay, without failure. Too many resources have been squandered, too many promises left unmet.”

Krennic straightened, his white uniform almost glowing in the chamber’s fire-light. “My lord, the Death Star project is advancing exactly as planned. Every detail is accounted for, every setback—”

Vader cut him off with a tilt of his helm. “The Emperor has appointed oversight. Commander Valthor will ensure that progress continues. Efficiently. Uninterrupted.”

Athena’s head snapped up at that. “With respect, master—” She chose her words carefully, though her tone carried unmistakable edge. “I am honored by the Emperor’s trust, but my purpose is not to serve as a… babysitter. My place is on the field, hunting Jedi, crushing the rebellion before it spreads.”

At the word babysitter, Krennic’s composure cracked. His jaw clenched, the practiced charm slipping into something sharper. “Babysitter? I hardly require supervision, Commander. The project is in capable hands. My hands. It is proceeding precisely as the Emperor desires.”

Her eyes narrowed beneath the shadow of her hood. “So you claim. Yet we stand here because the Emperor disagrees.”

Krennic bristled, his cape flaring as he took a single step closer. “I will not have my work—years of it—reduced to the watch of someone who thrives only in battlefields and bloodshed.”

Athena’s mask tilted, her voice smooth but cutting. “Then perhaps you should take comfort in the fact that if anything threatens your precious project, I will discard it… or them. Without hesitation.”

The tension in the chamber climbed like static before a storm. Dagger’s hand twitched near his blaster, but his eyes never left Athena, steady, waiting for her cue.

“Enough.” Vader’s voice boomed, swallowing their discord. “This is not a request,” he continued, turning his visor from one to the other. “It is the Emperor’s decree. You will accept it. Both of you.”

His mechanical breathing filled the chamber again, slower, heavier. “Commander Valthor will oversee progress. Director Krennic will complete his task. Interference, failure, delays or disobedience will not be tolerated. The Emperor’s patience thins. Do not test it further.”

Athena bowed her head at once. “Yes, master.”

Krennic hesitated, lips pressed thin, but finally lowered his gaze in reluctant compliance. “As you command, Lord Vader.”

The chamber fell silent again, save for the endless roar of Mustafar’s fire beyond the window.

Chapter Text

Krennic's boots echoed against the black stone as he strode from the council chamber, the flames of Mustafar clawing through the tall window slits behind him. His pristine cape swayed with every step, immaculate even in this suffocating heat, but his jaw was locked, his fists still flexing from restraint.

The audacity. Babysitter.

The word gnawed at him, not because it came from Vader, but from her. A simple enforcer whispered about in corridors with a mix of awe and terror. He had seen her only in fragments before: reports from the Outer Rim, holofeeds carefully redacted, death tolls stamped with her insignia. He knew her reputation—merciless, unstoppable, Vader's heir in everything but name.

And now she would stand over his project. His project.

This wasn't just about construction schedules or supply chains—it was about power. Influence. Prestige. And she had been handed the Emperor's blessing to cut him down if he faltered. That thought twisted in his gut as Athena emerged behind him, her black-and-crimson attire rippling in the sulfurous wind, the faint glow of her cape's underside catching like flame. Dagger followed, helmeted and silent, his presence a looming reminder that she was never unguarded.

She said nothing as she stepped toward the waiting Lambda shuttle.

The shuttle carried them up, its engines screaming until the black wedge of Athena's Star Destroyer swallowed the view. The Eclipse was a leviathan in orbit, its flanks bristling with turbolasers and docking bays, the pride of a fleet built for fear.

They disembarked onto the command deck, officers snapping to attention. Athena gave only the smallest nod before striding toward the bridge's viewport, where Mustafar's firestorm glowed far below.

"Set course for the Maltheen Divide," she ordered.

Her voice carried, calm but edged with command. The helmsman saluted, and the stars outside began to shift as the ship prepared to jump.

Krennic lingered by her side, watching her with sidelong curiosity. "You don't seem eager to attend the Divide, Commander."

She didn't look at him. "Neither do you."

His lips twitched, but he said nothing. The silence stretched until she finally turned her gaze to him. "Tell me, Director. This project you spoke of so proudly—the Death Star." Her tone was deliberate, almost casual. "What is it?"

Krennic chuckled, shaking his head. "Surely you jest. The Emperor and Lord Vader entrusted you to oversee, and yet you claim ignorance?"

Her expression didn't shift.

The amusement drained from his face. "...You're serious."

"Yes." Her voice was smooth, controlled. "Perhaps they did not deem it necessary to burden me with... details. My duties keep me elsewhere, not buried in archives."

Krennic straightened, cape brushing the polished deck. "Or perhaps they withheld it because it was not yours to know. Perhaps they trusted me—" he leaned ever so slightly toward her, voice softening into condescension, "—more than you."

Her gaze flicked to him, green eyes catching the light like glass. "Or perhaps," she countered, "they knew I had no need to dig through records, because I was too busy ending lives while you wasted time counting parts."

Krennic's smile faltered.

She stepped closer, her presence commanding, almost suffocating in its stillness. "So tell me, Director. Enlighten me. What is the Death Star?"

For a heartbeat, he weighed silence. But then pride overtook caution, as it always did. His lips curved again, smug, savoring the chance to recite the scope of his genius.

So he told her—about the superlaser, the kyber crystals, the sheer scale of the station. A fortress in the stars, one shot capable of obliterating a world. As he spoke, his voice rose with pride, his hands gesturing, his chest swelling with every claim.

Athena listened without interruption, her face unreadable. When he finished, silence reclaimed the bridge, broken only by the distant hum of the hyperdrive.

Finally, she murmured, "A weapon to destroy the galaxy itself."

Krennic smirked. "A weapon to bring order."

Snow beat against the windows of the mountain lodge, the sound of the storm outside muffled by thick durasteel panes. Inside, the fire burned high, its light casting long shadows across the chamber where the Empire’s finest and most ambitious gathered.

Twelve men and women sat around the table, each important enough to be summoned, none powerful enough to feel at ease. The air smelled faintly of smoke and damp wool, filled with the rustle of datapads and shifting chairs.

At the head stood Director Orson Krennic. His uniform, blinding white even here in the glow of firelight, seemed designed to draw all eyes. He cleared his throat, his voice sharp and commanding.

“No notes. No records. None of you were here. All service and transport droids will be wiped once we are done. Your colleagues, your superiors—if they’re not in this room, they are not cleared for the project.” He paused, letting the weight of it hang. “Any violation will be brought to the Emperor’s personal attention.”

Murmurs stilled. Attention tightened.

But not all eyes stayed on him.

Seated midway down the table, hood lowered, was a figure most of them had never expected to see in the flesh. For a while she hadn’t spoken. She didn’t need to. Her presence carried enough gravity to bend the room around her. Those who knew her name shifted uneasily. Those who didn’t, whispered to themselves, until one man broke the silence.

“Forgive me,” drawled Admiral Daysar, his voice colored with disdain. “But are we truly expected to believe she is the same phantom whispered about in Outer Rim garrisons? I had assumed ‘Lady Vader’ was… a cautionary tale. To frighten the rank and file.”

A ripple moved through the room—half laughter, half nervous coughs.

Athena turned her head slowly toward him. She didn’t rise, didn’t raise her voice. She simply lifted a hand from the table, fingers flexing once.

The Admiral’s words cut off in a strangled gasp. His chair scraped back as his hands flew to his throat, clawing at air that would not come. His face darkened to a shade between red and purple as he struggled to breathe, the sound wet and ugly in the quiet chamber.

Gasps filled the silence. No one moved.

Krennic’s expression shifted—not horror, not fear, but something closer to fascination. His lips pressed together, the ghost of a smirk threatening the corners of his mouth.

Athena tilted her head, watching the Admiral tremble. She let the silence stretch until the room could not bear it any longer, then spoke at last.

“If you ever question my existence again,” she said, “you will not leave this room alive.” Athena’s voice carried across the chamber, calm but laced with threat. “And this goes for everyone here. If anything spoken here leaves this room, I will cut your tongues from your mouths myself. Consider that mercy compared to what Lord Vader would do.

She released her hand. The Admiral collapsed back into his seat, dragging in air like a drowning man. His eyes stayed fixed on the table now, unable to meet hers.

The fire crackled. Snow howled against the windows. No one else laughed.

Krennic allowed himself a short breath and continued as though nothing had happened, though his gaze lingered on Athena for a fraction too long. “Colonel Yularen and Governor Tarkin will be notified by the Emperor in due time. For now, this room is the tightest of circles. Any breach—any weakness—will collapse everything.”

The holoprojector hummed to life, flooding the table with images of Ghorman’s valleys. Horns blared as spiders spun silk in great webs, the voice of a narrator dripping with reverence for Ghorman’s luxury and pride.

Athena leaned back, arms folded, her expression unreadable. The others shifted uncomfortably under her silence, until Krennic cut the reel short.

“Ghorman,” he said firmly, “is the key. Its kalkite deposits are essential to the reactor lenses. We promised delivery in three years. If we fail, we risk the Emperor’s wrath. Relocation of the population would be ideal—but we must plan for alternatives.”

The Ministry officials, Dee Shambo and Nisus Osar, rose eagerly. They spoke of shaping public opinion, painting the Ghormans as selfish, obstructive, arrogant. Their smiles were too broad, their pride too eager, as they described how they had turned a tragedy into propaganda before.

Athena’s eyes narrowed, though she said nothing. The temperature in the room seemed to drop with her silence.

Partagaz raised concerns. Officers questioned logistics. Voices overlapped in careful tones, no one daring to address her directly again.

When the meeting finally broke, the officials scattered into smaller clusters, voices hushed, the weight of her presence still pressing at their backs.

Krennic lingered by the fire, already speaking low with an ISB officer in a misty white uniform. Dedra Meero.

Athena approached, her steps measured, and the two turned toward her.

“Commander Valthor,” Krennic said, tone polite but tinged with irritation that he masked poorly. “You may find ISB’s perspective of interest. Supervisor Meero has been instrumental in rooting out rebel activity.”

“Ferrix,” she said, her voice carrying across the chamber.

Dedra Meero stiffened, surprise flashing in her eyes. She turned sharply, recognizing the speaker at once. “You know of Ferrix?”

Athena’s tone was even, unhurried. “I know you let that speech run. You could have destroyed the droid, ended it. Instead, you let words spread fire.”

Dedra’s chin lifted, defensive. “The goal was exposure. To bait the insurgents into action.”

“You succeeded,” Athena allowed. Her stare held steady, piercing without force. “But you underestimated the reach. That speech echoed across more than just a square.”

Dedra said nothing, though her jaw tightened. It wasn’t often anyone spoke to her like that.

Krennic, sensing the tension, interjected smoothly. “Supervisor Meero achieved what few could. The messiness of Ferrix was… instructive. But instructive nonetheless.”

Athena inclined her head, the faintest nod. Dedra gave a brisk bow before retreating into the flow of officers leaving the chamber. Her composure never faltered, but her glance over her shoulder revealed the truth: she hadn’t expected her to be watching.

The room slowly emptied until only Krennic and Athena remained by the fire. Snow roared against the windows, drowning out the distant murmur of departing voices.

Athena studied him for a long moment, her head tilting slightly. “You and her,” she said at last. “Did you had something?”

Krennic blinked. “Something?”

“A bond. Tension.” Her words were calm, deliberate. “Romantic, perhaps.”

Krennic’s laugh escaped before he could stop it—short, incredulous, edged with nerves. “With Meero? Stars, no.”

Athena didn’t smile, but her eyes narrowed in a way that was almost teasing. “Strange. That’s what it felt like.”

Krennic straightened, smoothing the front of his immaculate white tunic as though to reclaim composure. “Tension does not equal romance, Commander. It equals rivalry. And believe me, there’s no romance in the ISB.”

“Mm,” Athena murmured. “If you say so.”

He exhaled through his nose, caught between offense and amusement. “Do you always pry into other people’s affairs with such precision?”

“Only when they try to hide them,” she replied.

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them, broken only by the fire’s hiss and the storm outside. Something unspoken lingered there—an edge, a weight, the suggestion of a clash neither of them had yet named.

Krennic was the first to look away, clearing his throat. “Well. We should both get some rest. Tomorrow, the work begins again.”

Athena turned back toward the window, watching the storm devour the mountainside. She didn’t answer.

But Krennic, for reasons he could not admit even to himself, found her silence far louder than any words.

Chapter Text

Athena was calm, most days. Too calm, some whispered. She spoke rarely, issued orders with clipped precision, and carried herself with an ease that unnerved even hardened officers. Her crew respected her—fiercely, in fact—but respect was not the same as comfort. They knew her presence well enough to understand the rules: keep to task, follow her lead, and never mistake silence for mercy.

She wasn't like Lord Vader. She didn't cut men down for failure or line halls with corpses as a reminder of her authority. Her wrath fell in other ways—objects smashed against walls, steel bulkheads dented by a flick of her hand, an entire console ripped from its housing because it had dared to relay news she did not want to hear. That was how she bled out her anger. Not on her crew. Not on Dagger. On things. And when there were no things left to break, she hunted.

This time, fate was cruel enough to provide her prey.

The news had struck like a blade to the chest: the stolen TIE Avenger prototype, her design, her brilliance, her mark on the Empire's fleet—wasted. Worse, turned against them in Mina-Rau.

She had listened to the report in silence, one gloved hand resting on the arm of her command chair. The crew had watched her carefully, knowing that silence could mean many things. Then, without a word, she rose.

Now, the jungle burned.

The rebels had been a small, unorganized band—farmers, smugglers, off-world drifters who had believed themselves part of something greater. They had picked the wrong planet to vanish to, the wrong time to brandish their banners. Athena descended upon them with her squad like a stormfront, and there was no reprieve.

Red streaks of blaster fire cut through the dripping green foliage, the hiss of plasma clashing with the shriek of dying wildlife. Smoke rose from shattered huts, curling upward into the canopy. Death troopers moved in perfect formation at her command, their black armor gleaming wet in the rain as they advanced.

Normally, Athena's hunts had purpose. Captives taken. Interrogations performed. Information extracted with ruthless efficiency. She preferred it that way. But not today.

Today, she moved through the mud and fire with her saber alive in her hand, its crimson light reflecting off wet leaves and terrified eyes. She cut down every rebel that dared stand in her path, not pausing, not questioning. The Force roared inside her, her fury spilling outward in waves that sent enemies crashing into trees, weapons ripped from their grasp before they even had time to aim.

"No prisoners," she commanded, her voice flat but final.

The troopers hesitated only a heartbeat—they knew it was unlike her, knew she always wanted the mouths that could talk. But one look at her was enough. The order stood.

Screams echoed in the rain-soaked night, swallowed by the crackle of flames. Entire lines of fighters were crushed by falling trees she ripped from the ground, their roots snapping like bones as she flung them into clusters of men too slow to scatter.

By the time it ended, the jungle was a graveyard. The soil ran black where rain mixed with blood. Smoke choked the air. The last rebel, a boy who couldn't have been more than seventeen, crawled backward until his back hit a shattered trunk. His hands shook around a blaster he didn't know how to fire.

Athena stopped in front of him, her saber casting hellish light across his face. For a heartbeat, she stared at him—yellow eyes lit faintly red at the edges, her breath steady.

And then she turned the blade, driving it through the trunk beside his head, so close the heat singed his hair. The boy screamed, dropped the blaster, and fled into the darkness.

"Let him run," she said when Dagger raised his rifle.

Her second-in-command lowered his weapon, saying nothing. He'd seen her like this before. She would leave one alive, just one, not out of mercy but because fear spread faster than anything. The boy would carry this story further than any prisoner ever could.

Athena deactivated her saber and turned away, rain hissing as it struck the scorched metal of her armor.

No one dared speak as they followed her back to the shuttle.

The Galactic Senate rotunda was alive with clamor—overlapping voices echoing up the vast dome, platforms gliding forward and back as delegates argued their causes. Light shimmered off polished marble and durasteel rails, lending grandeur to chaos.

Athena entered quietly, her hood drawn low. The murmurs began almost at once, spreading tier to tier like ripples across water. Senators leaned toward one another, whispering in disbelief. Few had seen her in person. Many assumed she was rumor—a phantom conjured by fear and Imperial propaganda. Yet here she was, alive and solid, gliding across the marble floor toward the platforms.

Her gaze swept the corridors and settled on a familiar emblem on the door: Chandrila.

With a swept of her hand, the doors open. Mon Mothma stiffened as their eyes met. For a heartbeat, she considered looking away. Instead, she inclined her head politely, schooling her face into something neutral. Athena, without hesitation, stepped onto Mon’s platform.

Every eye in the chamber seemed to set on them.

Mon forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Commander Valthor,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the chamber’s din. “What brings you here?”

Athena lowered her hood, revealing her face, calm and unreadable. “To listen.”

“To… listen?” Mon echoed. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her to keep them from trembling. The thought of being seen side by side with Vader’s protégé filled her with dread. Any suggestion of cooperation could destroy the fragile web of trust she’d built among her allies in the Senate.

“Yes,” Athena replied simply. She rested her hands on the rail of the platform, her gaze sweeping across the chamber with dispassionate focus. “The senators speak of their worlds, their people, their needs. If I am to enforce Imperial order, I should know what those voices sound like.”

Mon’s pulse quickened. “You realize,” she murmured under her breath, “how it looks to have you here. On my platform.”

Athena tilted her head, studying her with mock seriousness. “Oh, are people staring? I hadn’t noticed.” Her smile widened, teasing. “Let them. I’m only here to listen. No secret pacts, no whispered treason.”

Across the rotunda, a Rodian senator protested the tightening of food blockades. A human delegate from the Core countered with accusations of smuggling. Two Mon Calamari representatives demanded increased protection for their trade lanes. Athena stood still, listening. She did not interrupt, did not posture. But her presence distorted the chamber’s rhythm, every voice seemed sharper, more guarded, knowing she was there.

Mon shifted uncomfortably beside her, nodding along to the speeches, but her thoughts ran wild. Every senator who looked at her platform now saw her flanked by one of the most terrifying figures in the Empire. How many suspected her sympathy for the rebellion? How many would report this to ISB?

“You make them nervous,” Mon whispered, barely moving her lips.

Athena’s eyes followed a Bothan senator as he raised concerns about displaced communities. “Good,” she murmured. “Nervous senators say more truth than confident ones.”

The chamber swelled once again with the Rodian delegate’s complaints about famine relief, followed by a Core Worlder dismissing the claims as exaggerated. Athena’s eyes lit with interest, not menace.

Mon found herself glancing sidelong at her trying to reconcile the contradictions. Vader’s apprentice, with the blood of Jedi and rebels on her hands, standing here with an almost joyful curiosity. Laughing. Breathing life into a space that usually reeked of cynicism and fear.

And yet, Mon could not relax. Every second Athena lingered, suspicion tightened its noose. Her colleagues would see them together. Whispers would spread.

Still, she asked softly, “Why here, truly?”

Athena’s voice was light, almost conspiratorial. “Because I like to know what people fight for. It makes it easier to understand why they scream so loudly when we take it away.”

The words hung between them—bright and cold all at once.

Mon’s stomach knotted. Athena smiled again, as though she’d just commented on the weather.

And across the chamber, several senators watched her, some with awe, others with loathing. None with ease.

Mon Mothma kept her composure, but her heart raced. She had glimpsed the young woman within Athena.

Later, in a closed chamber high above the Senate floors, the real meeting took place. The rotunda was for pageantry. This room was for knives.

Around the long table sat Tarkin, Yularen, a few governors, ISB officers, and industry delegates. Athena stood, arms folded, leaning against the wall rather than taking a chair. The light caught the steel of her half-mask resting at her belt, though she had not bothered to wear it today. Her presence was enough.

Tarkin wasted no time. “We are proceeding with mining operations on Ghorman. Resistance is inevitable. The Ministry of Enlightenment has been tasked with narrative control. What concerns me—” His gaze slid toward Athena, “—is the waste of Imperial resources on… charity.”

The word was acid in his mouth.

Governor Reston, a sharp-featured man with ambition etched into every wrinkle, leaned forward. “Indeed. Reports suggest Commander Valthor has diverted transports to resupply starving colonies in the Outer Rim. She shelters nonhumans displaced by our campaigns. And she keeps clones in her personal retinue.” His lip curled. “Clones. Castoffs. Pets.”

A murmur rose around the table. Some nodded in agreement. Others avoided her eyes.

Athena’s head tilted slowly, her silence stretching until the air itself felt brittle.

“Say that again,” she said softly.

Reston smirked, emboldened. “You parade your charity cases like trophies. Aliens, dregs, the remnants of Kamino’s failed experiment. They’re not soldiers. They’re vermin. And you—” he sneered, “—waste Imperial strength protecting those who will always side with rebellion.”

The Force stirred in her hand before anyone saw her move. Reston’s words cut off in a strangled gasp as his throat tightened. He clawed at the invisible grip, eyes bulging. Chairs scraped back as officials shifted nervously, but no one intervened.

Athena took a step forward, her voice calm, controlled. “You think them vermin? Then you are beneath them. They bleed where you cower. They fight where you scheme.” She tightened her hand just enough to make him choke, his face reddening. “You dare speak of my men as pets? They are more loyal than you could ever imagine.”

Tarkin’s eyes flickered, cold amusement barely hidden behind his rigid posture. Across the table, Krennic had reclined in his chair, cape draped with casual elegance. His lips twitched into a smirk he didn’t bother to hide. He had seen generals roar, admirals bluster, bureaucrats puff themselves up—but this? This was artistry. He found himself almost enjoying it

Athena released her grip. Reston collapsed into his chair, wheezing.

The silence was suffocating until Yularen cleared his throat. “This… display aside, the question remains. Ghorman will fall under direct suppression. Our only debate is how much force to use.”

The meeting bled into silence at last. Phrases like “containment strategy” and “acceptable loss” still clung to the stale air as chairs scraped and boots echoed across the floor. One by one, the governors, officers, and industrialists filed out, leaving behind the fading hum of datapads powering down.

Athena stayed where she was, in her corner, arms folded, her eyes half-lidded. The silence felt heavier now, pressing against her ribs. She wanted to leave—wanted to return to the clarity of her ship, to the comfort presence of Dagger and the predictable rhythm of hyperspace.

When the last murmur of footsteps faded, only Tarkin remained.

He moved with measured precision, the sound of his boots clicking across the polished floor. His hands clasped behind his back, posture immaculate, voice smooth as cut glass. “Commander Valthor,” he said, lingering on her name as though tasting it. “You handled yourself with… conviction tonight.”

She straightened, cautious. “I spoke truth.”

“Truth,” he repeated, as though testing the weight of the word. “Rare in these chambers. Even rarer when spoken with such force.” He stopped a pace too close, his hawk’s gaze unyielding. “You and I—we are not so different. Both feared. Both underestimated. Both… capable.”

Athena kept her arms folded, though her fingers tightened against her sleeves. “What are you suggesting?”

Tarkin’s mouth twitched into something that almost resembled a smile. “Dinner. This evening. I would find your company… stimulating. And I believe you would find mine instructive.”

Her pulse lurched. Dinner. The word was simple, harmless, but the way he said it carried no warmth. It was command dressed as invitation. She shook her head, her voice carefully even. “I’ll decline. My duties—”

“Are precisely why you should accept,” he interrupted smoothly. “There is more to power than the battlefield, Commander. Influence is cultivated at the table as much as on the front lines. You would do well to learn that. With me.”

She stepped back, but he followed with a subtle lean, his shadow swallowing hers. Her throat constricted, a feeling she despised. For all her strength, for all the terror she inspired across the galaxy, in that moment she felt impossibly small—just a girl who had never been allowed to be one. Training had stolen her youth. War had stolen her ease.

Her refusal caught in her chest. “No,” she said again, quieter.

“Think carefully,” Tarkin murmured. “Few are granted my attention. Fewer still survive without it.”

The walls seemed to close in. The chamber that had felt like a stage for her power now pressed down on her shoulders, suffocating. For the first time in years, she felt cornered.

The hiss of the doors saved her.

“Ah,” came a voice, brisk and laced with practiced charm. “I thought I’d missed you.”

Director Orson Krennic swept into the room, cape flaring with theatrical precision. His gaze darted once between Athena and Tarkin, and in an instant he seemed to grasp the tension hanging thick in the air.

“Governor Tarkin,” Krennic said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I see you’ve detained my Commander. You’ll forgive me, but she and I are already expected elsewhere.”

Tarkin’s expression hardened, his thin lips pressed tight. “Expected?”

“Yes,” Krennic said smoothly, stepping to Athena’s side with casual possession, as though it were the most natural thing in the galaxy. “The Emperor is most insistent that Lady Valthor review the next round of resource allocations. And you know how His Excellency feels about delays.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Even from you.”

For the briefest instant, Tarkin’s eyes flared with cold irritation. But protocol and pride bound him. He drew back a fraction, hands clasping tighter behind his back. “Of course. Duty comes first.”

Athena didn’t breathe until Krennic guided her toward the door. His hand brushed lightly against her arm just enough to steady her trembling she hadn’t realized had started.

Once they were in the corridor, away from the weight of Tarkin’s gaze, Krennic exhaled softly, the smirk returning to his lips. “Dinner with Tarkin?” he murmured, half-amused, half-disgusted. “My dear, you must learn to avoid predators dressed as gentlemen.”

Athena’s voice was quieter than she wanted, raw at the edges. “I thought I could refuse. But he—he made me feel like—” She broke off, biting down on the words.

Krennic glanced sideways at her, and for once, his expression softened. The mocking tilt of his mouth eased into something else—something closer to understanding. “You don’t have to explain. He has that effect on people. It’s how he wins.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. For the first time that evening, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

Chapter Text

The shuttle rattled as it pierced through the upper atmosphere, but inside, laughter drowned out the roar of the engines.

"Rook, admit it," Spire leaned across the row, grinning under his helmet. "You missed the drop zone on purpose last time. You wanted us running across half a canyon while you sat on your ass."

Rook's grunt was the only reply, low and dismissive.

"Not denial," Vance piped up, "which means it's true. I nearly broke my leg on that cliff!"

"That's because you don't look where you're running," Ash said, nudging him with a gauntlet. "You've got the attention span of a gundark pup."

The cabin erupted with laughter. Even Cipher, who rarely bothered with banter, shook his head with a quiet chuckle.

Athena leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. They were incorrigible and impossible.

"Enough," she finally said, though her voice was warm, not sharp. "If this mission goes sideways, it won't be because of cliffs or canyons. It'll be because Vance can't keep his mouth shut."

That drew another round of laughter. Even Dagger, seated closest to her, allowed a smirk to break his usual stern composure.

Athena's gaze lingered on him, and for a heartbeat the noise of the squad faded. Her mind drifted back, unbidden, to the day she met him—when she was barely more than a girl, standing in smoke and fire, convinced she was about to die.

It had been her first mission without Vader at her side. She had been overconfident, too eager to prove herself, and the ambush nearly ended her story before it began. Pinned beneath a shattered column, blasterfire raining down, her saber sparking uselessly at her side—she had thought that was it.

Until a clone trooper she didn't know cut through the crossfire like a blade. His rifle barked with precision, his movements calm, deliberate. He reached her, hauled the rubble from her chest, and dragged her into cover.

"Stay alive," he'd told her, voice low, steady. "You're not done yet."

That was Dagger. The one who saw her not as Vader's apprentice or the Emperor's new puppet, but as a soldier who still had something left to fight for. From that day on, he was more than her protector. He became her anchor. Her brother.

Spire came next, all sharp edges and sharper tongue. She could still see him smirking through smoke on Raxus, standing beside her as if it were the most natural thing in the galaxy. Reckless, brilliant, infuriating—yet when the chaos closed in, his courage never faltered.

Rook she found in chains, fists bloodied, spirit unbroken. Silent, immovable, a wall of iron who followed her out of the dark without a word.

Vance, the youngest, the loudest, had stumbled into her life with more enthusiasm than sense. But it was his stubborn spark that kept the rest of them laughing when death was all around.

Cipher, the quiet shadow at her flank, she had stolen from under the Empire's nose. Not a fighter by nature, yet his brilliance saved them more times than any blaster.

And Ash—brave, stubborn Ash—who had dragged his brothers out of fire with his own skin burning, who never let anyone else fall if he could carry them himself.

The shuttle rocked in turbulence, and Athena blinked back to the present.

Six men. Six stories bound together by survival and choice. The Empire saw them as relics, misfits, expendable. But to her, they were more than soldiers. They were proof that loyalty wasn't built on fear.

She glanced at them now, bickering and joking like children stealing moments of freedom before the storm of war. Dagger caught her eye, the faintest question in his expression, as if to ask why she was so quiet. She only shook her head with a small smile.

They thought she had given them purpose by taking them in. But the truth was simpler. They had given her something she had never expected to find: a family worth protecting.

After a few more minutes they landed on a moon orbiting the planet of Kafrene. Once a mining satellite of modest prosperity, it was now carved hollow by years of exploitation, its settlements clinging to survival amid crumbling infrastructure and bitter winds. For the Empire, it was another name on a ledger; for Saw Gerrera's extremists, it was fertile ground for rebellion.

Athena stood at the edge of the drop-ramp. She breathed the cold, metallic air as her squad readied their weapons behind her. The shuttle's engines roared against the crosswind.

"Eyes up," Dagger said over the comm, his voice clipped but calm. He stood closest to her, rifle slung with the ease of experience.

"Always are," Spire replied, checking the charge pack on his weapon. "Just hoping the locals roll out the welcome mat. Been a while since I've had a home-cooked meal."

"You wouldn't know good food if it shot you in the face," Vance muttered, earning a quiet laugh from Ash. Cipher only shook his head, adjusting the satchel of field medkits he carried. Rook stood silently near the back, as immovable as the armor he wore.

Athena's gaze swept across the scarred landscape as the shuttle banked low. "Stay focus. This isn't a welcome party. It's Saw's people. They don't play fair."

Spire grinned under his helmet. "Neither do we."

The battle came sooner than expected.

The squad advanced through a narrow canyon, flanked by crumbling stone outcrops and broken mining rigs. The mission was simple: flush out an extremist cell that had taken refuge here, cutting into Imperial supply lines.

It should have been straightforward. It wasn't.

The first detonation tore into the canyon wall, showering them with jagged stone. Blasterfire followed, red lances cutting through dust and smoke. The extremists had the high ground, dug into makeshift bunkers above.

"Ambush!" Vance shouted, rolling for cover.

Athena's lightsaber snapped to life, its crimson blade cutting incoming fire as she moved forward with terrifying precision. The clones fell into motion around her, their years of practice turning chaos into choreography.

Dagger barked orders, steady as ever. "Rook, flank left! Spire, eyes on that ridge! Cipher, with me—Ash, keep Vance upright!"

"I'm upright!" Vance yelled, popping up from cover to return fire. "Mostly!"

A grenade whistled down. Ash shoved Vance flat, taking the brunt of the blast against his armor. He groaned, staggering, but kept firing.

Athena surged ahead, leaping onto the canyon wall with a Force-assisted vault. Her saber carved through the bunker's crude plating, sending extremists scattering. She cut them down in a blaze of red and smoke, every movement efficient, merciless.

Below, the clones pressed forward. Rook's heavy repeater laid down suppressing fire, each shot hammering into the canyon wall. Spire's sharpshooting dropped targets before they could reload. Cipher dragged Ash into partial cover, quickly sealing a burn along his side with a hiss of bacta spray.

"Save it for later," Ash growled, pushing himself back to his feet.

"Don't be an idiot," Cipher muttered, but there was no time for argument.

The fight dragged on in brutal, staccato bursts. Explosions shook the canyon, the air thick with the acrid bite of scorched stone and ozone. But inch by inch, the squad advanced, until the last of Saw's extremists broke and fled into the wilderness.

Silence followed, broken only by the hiss of Athena's saber as she deactivated it. Dust drifted in the weak light, settling on the bodies littering the ground.

"Report," she said, her voice steady.

"Spire's fine, Rook's fine," Dagger answered, scanning the squad. "Cipher's scraped but mobile. Vance... still loud. Ash is—"

"I'm fine," Ash interrupted, though his voice was strained. He clutched his side, blood seeping through scorched armor where Cipher's quick work hadn't fully sealed the wound.

Athena moved to him, eyes narrowing. "That isn't fine."

"Better than dead," Ash said, trying for a grin.

"Barely," Cipher muttered, already digging for another patch kit.

Before Athena could respond, an explosion thundered from behind them. The squad turned as the plume of fire rose into the sky. Their shuttle, parked in the canyon's mouth, was gone.

"Sabotage," Rook said flatly.

"Or another ambush," Dagger added. He scanned the ridges, but no one fired. The extremists had vanished, leaving only destruction in their wake.

Athena exhaled, forcing down a surge of frustration. "We're on foot now. And Ash needs treatment."

"Nearest settlement's five klicks east," Cipher said, already pulling data from a wrist scanner. "Small mining town. Or what's left of it."

Athena nodded. "We move. Quietly."

The town looked like it had already lost. Buildings sagged with age and neglect, their walls blackened by scorch marks from past skirmishes. Streets lay empty, littered with rubble and abandoned carts. The few faces they glimpsed were hollow, pale with hunger, darting back into shadows at the sight of armed soldiers.

"This place is a grave," Spire muttered.

"Watch your tongue," Athena said, her voice quiet but firm. "These people didn't choose this war. They're caught in it."

That silenced the squad, if only for a moment.

They found shelter in what looked like a half-collapsed miner's house at the edge of town. Ash slumped against the wall, Cipher immediately kneeling beside him. "I'll need more supplies than I've got."

"Then we rest here," Athena said. She moved through the house, her senses alert, when a faint sound froze her in place.

Breathing. Too fast. Too shallow. Not theirs.

"Come out," she said softly.

From the shadows of a back room, a figure emerged—then another, and another. A woman, gaunt but fierce, clutching two small girls to her chest. A boy, maybe ten years old, stepped in front of them with a piece of broken pipe held like a weapon.

"This is our home," the woman said, voice trembling but defiant. "Leave. Please."

Athena raised her hands, empty, her saber still clipped at her belt. "We don't mean you harm. One of my men is hurt. We just need a place to rest, nothing more."

The boy's grip on the pipe tightened. "You're Imperials."

"Yes," Athena admitted. "But not here to hurt you." She crouched slightly, meeting his gaze. "If I wanted you dead, you would be. But I don't. I just want to keep my people alive, the same way you're keeping your family alive."

The woman's eyes darted to Ash, then to Cipher's frantic work. Her jaw tightened. "If you bring danger to my children—"

"Then I'll stand in its way," Athena said, her tone quiet but unshakable.

The silence stretched until the woman finally nodded. "One night. No more."

"Understood."

The children clung to their mother as Athena rose. Her squad settled into the corners of the room, their joking gone, replaced with weary silence. The war was outside these walls, but here, for a fragile moment, they existed as more than soldiers.

Athena glanced at the small family, at the boy still watching her like a hawk, and felt a weight in her chest. This wasn't victory. It wasn't survival. It was something smaller, more fragile.

It was the reason she fought—not for glory, not for orders, but for the fleeting chance that families like this might still exist when the smoke cleared.

And she knew, as she looked at her wounded brother-in-arms and the frightened eyes of three children, that she would kill Saw Gerrera's men again and again if it meant protecting this fragile flame.

The sun had long since slipped beneath the jagged ridgelines of Kafrene's outer moon, leaving the town cloaked in silence. The air outside was knife-cold, seeping through stone walls and into bone. The small house groaned against the wind.

Athena sat near the battered hearth, her saber lying dormant beside her, its faint presence the only warmth she could draw on. Ash dozed restlessly against the wall, bandaged and pale, Cipher keeping a watchful eye on his breathing.

"Place feels colder than Hoth," Spire muttered, his teeth chattering audibly despite his helmet.

"Maybe if you stopped talking, you'd save body heat," Vance shot back, rolling his eyes.

The woman of the house kept her children close in a corner, wrapped in threadbare blankets. They watched the soldiers with wide, uncertain eyes, the boy still refusing to sleep.

Rook returned from outside, arms full of splintered wood and scavenged furniture. He dumped the pile by the hearth with a grunt. "Not much, but it'll burn."

Athena nodded. "Light it."

Minutes later, fire crackled in the fireplace, shadows dancing across tired faces. The warmth filled the room slowly, a fragile shield against the bitter cold.

Spire dug into his pack, pulling out sealed ration packs. "Bantha stew, compressed." He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "Or at least, that's what the label claims."

"Stop whining and eat it," Cipher said, tearing his open.

Vance tossed one across the room to Athena. She caught it, turned it over in her hands, then looked at the family huddled in the corner. The boy's eyes lingered on the pack, hungry and wary.

Athena stood, crossing the room. She knelt and placed the ration in the mother's hands. "For them."

The woman froze. "I... I can't—"

"You can." Athena's voice was gentle, but firm. "They need it more than I do."

Dagger's head snapped up. "Commander—no. We don't know when extraction's coming. We can't spare—"

"They'll survive tonight because of this," Athena interrupted softly.

For a moment, the room held its breath. Then Spire sighed and shoved his own ration toward the boy. "Guess I wasn't hungry anyway."

Vance followed with a resigned groan. "If I starve, I'm haunting you, Commander."

Cipher handed over a packet without hesitation, then glanced at Ash. "He doesn't get a choice."

Rook said nothing, but wordlessly set his ration on the pile.

The mother's hands trembled as she divided the food between her children, who devoured it with wide, grateful eyes. The boy paused, meeting Athena's gaze for the first time without hostility. He gave the barest nod.

Athena returned to her spot by the fire, her chest tight but warm in a way the flames couldn't match. The clones settled in around her with a quiet acceptance.

Dagger sat closest, helmet off, his expression was grim, but his voice softened. "You'll break yourself this way."

"Maybe," Athena admitted. She leaned back against the cold stone, eyes fixed on the fire. "But if we can't give them a chance, then what's the point of all this?"

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was filled with unspoken loyalty, with the quiet bond of soldiers who had chosen long ago to follow her into the abyss and back.

Outside, the wind howled. Inside, the fire burned, fragile but defiant, holding back the night. Little by little all of them slipped into comfortable darkness. 

But then: 

The first sound was a scream. High-pitched, sharp, and too close.

Athena's eyes snapped open. Her hand went immediately to her lightsaber, body rising before her mind fully caught up. The fire in the hearth had burned low, little more than smoldering embers casting faint orange across the walls. The children stirred in their corner, clinging to their mother.

Then came the blaster fire. Distant at first, but growing closer. Each shot cracked through the cold night, carried by the wind.

"Contacts," Cipher hissed, already on his feet, rifle in hand.

Rook and Spire scrambled toward the windows, peering through the slats. Dagger was up a heartbeat later, pulling his helmet on and snapping his carbine off his back.

"Too many flashes," Rook muttered. "At least a dozen. Maybe more."

Athena straightened, pulling her cape around her shoulders. "The Empire?"

"No," Ash groaned from his spot, still weak but conscious now. His voice was hoarse. "That isn't formation fire. That's chaos."

The door creaked, and Athena nearly turned before she felt the tug. A small hand, trembling, clutching hers. She looked down. The boy. His wide eyes were filled with something heavier than fear: horror.

"It's not the Empire," he whispered. His voice shook, but his grip did not loosen. "It's the bandits. They come sometimes... to take everything. Sometimes they take girls. Women. Please—" He swallowed, looking at his sisters huddled behind him. "Please don't go. Stay."

Athena knelt, lowering her face to his level. His words struck something inside her chest she hadn't wanted to feel. That old, gnawing ache—the memory of being small and powerless while monsters came in the night.

"If you're right," she said softly, "then maybe it's better if I go and help your people."

The boy's eyes widened, uncertainty flickering there.

That was when the door burst inward.

The wood splintered as figures slammed through—men with mismatched armor, faces scarred, tusks glinting in the firelight, their laughter cruel and eager. A Nikto shoved forward, raising his blaster toward the family.

But the clones were faster.

"Down!" Dagger barked, and four rifles flared red in near-perfect unison. The first wave of bandits collapsed before they even understood what they'd walked into.

Athena surged forward, igniting her saber and putting her mask on. Crimson light filled the cramped room, humming like a predator's growl. She shoved the family behind her with one hand and raised the saber with the other, its glow painting her face in hellish strokes.

More bandits poured in. She cut the first blaster bolt aside, the second, then lunged. The saber carved through a Trandoshan's rifle, sending the alien sprawling back with a howl.

The house was suddenly filled with chaos: firelight, blaster bolts, screams.

And then, over it all, another sound—louder fire, heavier. The whine of explosives. The shriek of orders barked in another voice entirely.

"Extremists," Cipher snarled. "Saw's trash!"

Athena's stomach tightened. Of course. The extremists had tracked them this far, and now their arrival clashed with the bandits. A storm inside a storm.

"Protect the family," she snapped to Dagger, even as she turned toward the door. "We hold this town. No one takes them."

The clones moved without hesitation, forming a shield in front of them.

Another blast rocked the street outside, shaking the house and rattling the walls. Spire ducked as debris rained through the ceiling.

"On your left!" Vance shouted, firing through the broken doorframe. A bandit spun and fell, his scream cut short by a blaster bolt to the chest.

Athena pushed forward into the street, cape snapping in the wind. The scene was carnage—bandits and extremists colliding in brutal confusion. Blaster fire tore across the cobblestones. Fires had spread from torched houses. Civilians screamed as they ran, caught in the slaughter.

The extremists were better armed, better organized, but the bandits had numbers and cruelty on their side.

And now, they both had her.

Athena's saber became a blur. She moved through the street like a storm, cutting down anyone who dared raise a weapon toward the civilians. Her lightsaber deflected a bolt into the chest of an Aqualish raider. She swung low, severing a blaster from a human's hand before driving her boot into his chest and sending him sprawling into the dirt.

Behind her, the clones poured out, rifles singing, their formation tight even amidst the madness.

"Three o'clock!" Cipher shouted.

"I've got them!" Rook answered, dropping to one knee and unleashing a barrage.

Ash, pale but stubborn, leaned against a doorway with his blaster pistol. He grinned weakly as he dropped a bandit who had gotten too close. "Still better than you, Spire!"

"Shut up and don't bleed out!" Spire yelled back, covering him.

The civilians screamed again as more raiders broke into nearby houses, dragging terrified figures into the street. Athena's gut twisted. She sprinted, cape flaring, saber cleaving a burning arc that forced two bandits back. She slashed low, severing a chain where a girl had been bound, then pulled her behind her.

"Go! Run!" she ordered, voice sharp but not unkind.

The girl hesitated, staring at her as if unsure whether to fear or trust. But then the sight of the red saber cutting down another bandit silenced her doubts. She ran.

Every scream was another echo of what she had lost years ago. She would not let it happen here. But the town was becoming a slaughterhouse.

"Commander!" Dagger's voice cut through, urgent. "We're being pinned down! Too many angles!"

Athena spun, eyes narrowing. The extremists had begun to turn their fire on the clones, recognizing the Imperial squad for what it was. The bandits, caught between, didn't even realize they were being used as fodder.

"Form up!" she barked.

The clones closed ranks, shifting around her into a circle of firepower. Together, they pushed down the street, every shot deliberate, every movement honed by years of brotherhood. 

But the fighting did not stop.

Athena's saber was a streak of crimson light, but even she could feel the tide pressing harder with each passing moment. The extremists, disciplined in their chaos, were regrouping, their heavy repeaters hammering at her squad's position. The bandits, wild and frenzied, swarmed like vermin in the gaps, throwing themselves forward even as they fell by the dozens.

The clones were holding, but barely.

"Ammo running dry!" Cipher shouted, slamming a fresh power pack into his rifle. His armor was scorched, his visor cracked.

Ash leaned against a half-toppled wall, blood running down his side. "I'm still in the fight—"

"Like hell you are," Rook growled, dragging him back just as a blaster bolt scorched the stone where his head had been.

Dagger fired point-blank into an onrushing Weequay, then shoved his body off the barrel of his rifle. "We can't hold this much longer!"

Athena spun, cleaving down two more bandits that broke through the line, but the weight of numbers was undeniable. For every one she struck down, three more seemed to pour into the street. Her jaw clenched. She could taste the smoke in her throat, feel the desperation clawing at the edges of her control.

This wasn't a battle anymore. It was a drowning.

The boy's voice echoed in her mind: Please don't go. Stay. Help us.

And she had. But now... she was about to lose all of them.

A scream tore the night. One of the bandits grabbed a girl by the hair, dragging her through the street, her tiny fists beating uselessly against his armor. Athena lunged forward, rage surging—

Then the sky itself roared.

The shriek of ion engines split the darkness, a sound so sharp and familiar it made her chest seize. A second later, the night lit up in streaks of green fire as a squadron of TIEs swept overhead, their cannons raining precision death on the edges of the town.

Explosions rolled through the streets, sending dirt, fire, and screaming bodies into the air. The extremists broke ranks, bandits scattering in terror as the sky fell upon them.

And then came the stormtroopers.

White-armored figures poured from transports, their lines clean, their blasters precise. The chaos of the fight was swallowed in disciplined volleys. Extremists were cut down in the open; bandits fled into the hills only to be chased by searing cannon fire.

Athena lowered her saber, chest heaving. For a moment, the relief felt almost foreign.

"Reinforcements," Dagger said. 

Vance let out a low whistle. "Never thought I'd be glad to see bucketheads."

The family crept out from their hiding place, eyes wide as the Imperials swept through their ruined town like a tide. The mother clutched her children close, her expression torn between awe and terror.

Athena turned back toward them, her saber still humming faintly in her hand. She caught the boy's gaze again.

"You're safe now," she said, though her voice felt heavy with all the weight she didn't say.

The boy nodded, though he didn't look convinced.

Overhead, the TIEs screamed again, circling the smoking battlefield. The Empire had arrived. And with them came the reminder Athena could never quite escape: that even when she fought like a protector, she was still the Empire's assassin. 

She walked among it all. Her clones formed a perimeter, weapons at the ready, though the fight was over. Bandits and extremists had either fled into the horizon or been reduced to smoldering corpses under the TIEs' guns.

A detachment of stormtroopers fell in around her. A man in grey uniform—marked with the blue and red rank of a lieutenant—strode stiffly toward her, rifle slung at his side. He stopped, boots clicking against the cracked stone.

"Lady Valthor," he said, bowing his head. "The sector is secured."

Athena deactivated her saber and clipped it to her belt. Her voice was calm, but her presence was steel. "Then secure the survivors. Food, water, medical assistance. Immediately."

The lieutenant hesitated. It was small—half a breath—but she caught it.

"My lady... with respect, these villagers have nothing of value to the Empire. This settlement—" he gestured at the blackened ruins around them, "—was already dying. We were ordered to eradicate hostile elements, not... administer charity."

The word grated in her ears, the same way it had from Tarkin's mouth.

Athena stepped forward until she was within a pace of him. Though her hood had fallen back, she had not bothered with her mask; her face was bare, her voice unflinching. "You misunderstand. That was not a request."

The stormtroopers shifted uneasily, as though sensing the change in air pressure. The lieutenant stiffened, his chin lifting as if to summon some shred of authority. "My lady, diverting resources for this purpose would be... inefficient. These people will either starve or fall to insurgents within the year. Frankly, our time is better spent—"

The words cut off with a choked rasp. His boots scraped against the dirt as his hands clawed at his throat, invisible fingers closing tight around his windpipe.

Athena didn't move. Her hand remained at her side, but the Force crackled in the space between them, unyielding. The clones did not so much as flinch—they had seen this before.

Her voice was low, controlled, lethal. "You will provide medical supplies. You will distribute rations. You will summon a construction crew to rebuild this town. And you will do so not because it is efficient, not because it is profitable, but because I have commanded it. Do you understand?"

The lieutenant's face flushed crimson beneath her shadow. His legs buckled. Only when he nodded frantically did Athena release him.

He stumbled back, gasping, clutching at his throat. "Y-yes, my lady. At once." He turned sharply and barked orders into his comlink, his voice hoarse. Stormtroopers scattered, already moving to obey.

Dagger smirked faintly under his helmet. "Always a pleasure watching you handle bureaucracy," he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

Athena allowed herself the smallest flicker of a smile. Then her gaze shifted, drawn back to the family she and her squad had sheltered with.

The mother stood frozen near the broken doorway of her home, arms wrapped protectively around her daughters. The boy lingered just ahead of them, eyes wide, still fixed on her as though she were both savior and monster.

Athena approached slowly, lowering herself so she would not tower over them. Her voice softened, carrying none of the iron edge she had used on the lieutenant. "Thank you. For opening your door to us. You gave us more than shelter."

The woman's brow furrowed, suspicion wrestling with disbelief. "You... thank us? You serve them—" she gestured shakily toward the stormtroopers now unloading crates, "—and you thank us?"

Athena held her gaze, unflinching. "I serve the Empire," she said. "But I do not forget the people who make up its worlds. Without them, there is nothing worth protecting."

The woman's lips trembled with a bitter laugh. "Protecting? The Empire burned our fields last harvest because some men here refused conscription. They hanged my husband in the square for sheltering deserters. They tax us until there is nothing left. And now you bring stormtroopers to our streets and call it protection."

Her words cut deeper than Reston's sneers ever had. Athena felt them sink beneath her armor. For a moment she had no reply, only silence and the weight of truth pressing heavy on her chest.

At last she spoke, quieter than before. "I cannot undo what has been done to you. But I can ensure you live through tonight. That your children see tomorrow. That much... I will not fail."

The mother shook her head, disbelief still etched into every line of her face. "And when tomorrow comes, it will be more of the same."

Athena had no answer for that. Only a hollow ache in her chest, one she did not let show.

She turned to the boy, the one who had taken her hand before the battle. His small eyes, too old for his years, met hers. She almost reached for words—something to give him, to place between them like a shield against the galaxy.

But the words never came.

The shot cracked through the night, loud and sudden.

Athena's body jolted, the air punched from her lungs. For a heartbeat she couldn't place the sound—then the heat bloomed in her side, searing through flesh, white-hot pain flooding her senses.

She hit the ground hard, the world tilting sideways. The boy's gasp was the last thing she heard before the street erupted in chaos again.

Dagger's roar echoed, raw and furious: "Sniper! Protect the Commander!"

Blaster fire answered from the rooftops. Stormtroopers scrambled, shouting, firing blindly into the shadows above. Civilians screamed, ducking into what ruins remained.

Athena's vision blurred, the stars above spinning. She tasted iron in her mouth.

The boy's small hands pressed against her arm, trembling. "Don't die," he whispered, voice breaking. "Please don't die."

Darkness threatened at the edges of her sight. She clung to consciousness by sheer will, the Force pulsing faintly around her like a storm muffled beneath water.

Find me…

And then she heard something else—the shriek of TIEs diving low, the thunder of boots as more troops poured into the town. But none of it mattered as the pain dragged her down, and the night swallowed her whole as a voice called to her again. 

Find me, daughter. Find me. 

Chapter Text

Pain was the last thing Athena remembered before the darkness claimed her. But even in unconsciousness, there was no peace.

The first vision was fire. Not the controlled fire of a blaster bolt, but wild, consuming flame. It licked the walls of a familiar home—her childhood refuge—engulfing her parents' faces in waves of smoke and shadow. She heard her mother's scream break into silence. Her father's hand reaching for her, only to be swallowed by the blaze.

Then came Dagger. She saw him torn apart in the chaos of battle, his helmet cracked, his voice calling her name until it was nothing but static. One by one, the others fell—Hex, Varn, Sul, Kye, and Jorren—cut down in flashes of red and white. Their laughter, their banter, gone in an instant, leaving only blood on her hands.

Athena ran through the smoke but found herself in another place—Mustafar. Vader's fortress loomed above her like the shadow of a god. But instead of her master, she saw Vader broken, his armor shattered, his chest plate sparking. He reached toward her, his respirator faltering, before he collapsed into molten rock.

Then Krennic. His white uniform was stained crimson, his smile gone, his body crumpled on the floor of some nameless chamber. She knelt beside him, but when she reached out, he dissolved into ash that slipped through her fingers.

Alone. Every path led to death. Every bond snapped. And she—at the center of it—unable to stop the unraveling of everything she cared for.

Her chest heaved, though she had no lungs in this place.

And then she heard it.

The voice. Deep. Male. Like an echo carved into her bones.

Find me, daughter. Find me.

The words reverberated in her skull, not heard but felt, as if the Force itself carried them.

Athena spun, searching the void. Shadows moved like smoke, twisting into vague shapes of men. None had a face she could grasp.

They will all fall. Your family. Your soldiers. Your masters. Even your lovers. They will betray you. Leave you. Die screaming. Unless...

Her breath quickened. "Who are you?"

I am the truth you've been denied. The blood that flows in you. The legacy that binds you. And I will show you the path to power, the path to keep what you love from being torn away.

The visions shifted—this time not of death, but of her standing above endless fields of corpses, enemies and allies alike. Her saber hummed in her hand, the stars bent low, and fleets bowed to her. At her side, her clones knelt, bloodied but alive. None dared touch them so long as she stood.

But when she reached for them, their faces flickered—friends, then strangers, then ash again.

Her scream tore the dream apart.

Kill them all, the voice whispered now, cold and intimate in her ear. The rebels, the traitors, the liars in their shining halls. Kill them all, and you will never lose again.

Her body convulsed on the medical cot where she lay in reality, drenched in sweat, her fingers clawing at phantom wounds.

The darkness pressed tighter. The voice softened, almost gentle now.

You are not hers. You are not his. You are mine. Find me... and you will know who you truly are.

Her heart thundered. Her throat burned. She gasped—eyes snapping open.

The infirmary's dim light stabbed her vision. The sterile smell of bacta filled her lungs. For a moment she couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as if the nightmare still had claws in her chest.

And then came the realization. She had survived the shot.

But the words lingered, more haunting than the pain in her side.

Find me…

The world swam back to her in fragments. A ceiling of sterile light. The faint sting of bacta in her lungs. Muffled voices she almost recognized, layered like echoes in a dream.

Her eyelids fluttered open. Six identical faces yet each so unique from the other came into focus. Six men who should've been sleeping, but instead were crowding her bedside like sentinels.

Her throat was dry, her chest aching with every breath, but her first thought wasn't herself. She rasped, "Ash... how's Ash?"

The big man himself leaned into view, his square jaw breaking into a grin that was half exasperation, half relief. "Still here, Commander. Doing better than you, apparently."

Rook barked a laugh, clapping Ash on the shoulder. "He's right. You're the one flat on your back. Maybe we should start calling you the liability."

"Watch it," Dagger growled from her other side, though the relief in his eyes undercut the warning.

Vance smirked. "No, no, let him talk. First time in history Ash gets to say he's doing better than our fearless leader. Don't ruin this for him."

Ash rolled his eyes, but his chuckle rumbled low in his chest. "Not the way I'd prefer it, but I'll take the win."

Athena managed a weak laugh, her lips quirking despite the weight in her ribs. "Good. I... can't lose you. Any of you."

Cipher looked up from the datapad balanced on his knees, voice steady, clinical as ever. "His recovery is statistically ahead of schedule. You, however, had only a forty-three percent chance of survival. Vitals were unstable for two days. By waking now, you've exceeded projections."

Spire leaned closer, his boyish grin easing the heaviness in the room. "Translation: you scared the kark out of us, Commander."

Athena's chest warmed, her gaze moving from one familiar face to the next.

Ash was closest, hunched over the bed, his helmet resting on the table beside a pile of ration wrappers. His broad shoulders sagged as he exhaled. "We thought we lost you, Commander. Don't do that again."

Athena swallowed against the dryness in her throat. Her voice came out rasped, but steady. "So, you were... all here? All this time?"

Dagger leaned closer, his jaw set but his eyes soft. "Where else would we be?"

The warmth of them—of family—clashed with the lingering chill of her nightmare. Her chest ached, not just from the wound but from the memory of seeing them all fall. She forced it down. For now, she was awake. And they were alive

Before she could speak again, the temperature in the room seemed to shift. The air grew heavier, oppressive, like the oxygen itself remembered who it belonged to.

The door hissed open and Darth Vader stepped inside.

The clones snapped rigid and putting their helmets on instantly, every trace of humor extinguished.

The Dark Lord's respirator filled the silence with mechanical finality. He moved to her bedside, armor gleaming like obsidian, cape dragging the shadows with him.

Athena forced herself upright despite the pain lancing through her body. "Master..." Her voice cracked. "I—"

"Rest."

The command silenced her.

Vader loomed over her for a long, punishing silence. The weight of his gaze pressed down through the mask, unyielding.

Finally, his voice rumbled low, filled with restrained fury. "You were reckless."

Athena lowered her eyes, her throat tight. "The mission succeeded. And we saved the people."

"The people are not your concern." His voice thundered, but beneath it... there was something else. A weight she had learned to recognize over the years. Not just anger. Fear.

Vader's mask tilted slightly toward the clones. "You will see that she does not make the same mistake again."

"Yes, my lord," Dagger answered without hesitation, though his jaw clenched tight.

Vader lingered one moment longer, then turned and swept from the room, leaving the weight of his presence behind. Only after the door sealed shut did the clones let themselves breathe again.

Athena exhaled slowly. None of them dared to speak of what they all knew—that beneath Vader's fury was something closer to... worry.

That night, long after the others had finally allowed themselves a few hours of sleep, another visitor came.

Director Orson Krennic entered with his usual immaculate composure, hands clasped behind his back, cape trailing lines across the floor. His expression was restrained, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something else when they fell on her awake.

"So," he said coolly. "The reports of your demise were premature."

Athena tilted her head, lips quirking faintly. "You sound almost disappointed."

"On the contrary," Krennic replied, though the edge of tension in his jaw betrayed him. "The Emperor's favorite... asset lying comatose would've been disastrous for all of us."

Her green eyes narrowed. "You came all the way here to remind me I'm an asset?"

"I came," he said, stepping closer, "to remind you that while you lie here, the galaxy moves on. Your work waits. Don't make me remind you again."

The words were cold. Practiced. But Athena could see it, just beneath the mask: worry, buried under layers of pride and denial. The words of a man who knew exactly how dangerous it was to care.

"You almost sounded worried," she murmured, voice low and pointed.

He didn't answer at first. His jaw flexed once, twice, before he smoothed it away. Straightening, he drew his cape back into perfect order. "Recover quickly, Commander. The Empire has no patience for sentiment."

And then he turned and left, though not fast enough to hide the faint shadow of relief in his eyes.

Athena lay back in the silence, the echo of her nightmare crawling into her chest once more.

Kill them all...

Athena's first week of recovery had been confined to a med-bay aboard her Star Destroyer. The bolt had struck high along Athena's ribs, tearing through the edge of her armor before searing into flesh. Were it not for the phrik plating beneath her cape, the shot would have burned clean into her lungs. Instead, it left a savage welt across her side and back—tissue scorched, every inhale a reminder of how close death had been. She hated the floating, the waiting but the bacta tanks could only do so much.

Two weeks. That was all she allowed herself.

She could barely sit up in her quarters aboard the Eclipse, each breath scraping fire through her chest. Then she was forcing herself to stand, ignoring the med-droid's protests. Dagger caught her once, steadying her with one arm before she fell. "You're not ready, commander," he muttered. She only glared, clutching the table until her vision steadied.

By the following Taungsday, she was back on the bridge. Her crew did not question it. They had grown used to her returning sooner than any sane commander should. The clones shadowed her in silence, their helmets angled toward her like sentinels, though she knew what they were really doing: watching her breaths, measuring each step for weakness. She hated it. She also loved them for it.

The Eclipse cut through hyperspace once more, duty pulling her forward as though the wound had been nothing more than a dream.

It was during those days of recovery that Krennic returned into her orbit.

The first time they met again was in the war room at Imperial Center. He swept in as though he owned the place, cape immaculate, voice carrying above the chatter of lesser officers. He did not glance her way at first—though she felt the weight of his awareness like a blade pressed to the back of her neck.

When their eyes finally locked across the room, there was no acknowledgement of her injury. No courtesy, no concern. Only the sharpness of his words directed at the assembly.

"Resource allocations," he declared, hands braced on the holotable. "Wasted, siphoned into Outer Rim backwaters by Commander Valthor. Supplies meant for progress—diverted to starving non-humans who would sooner spit on the Empire's banner than serve it."

Athena said nothing, arms folded as she leaned against the bulkhead. The silence between them was deliberate, sharpened with the tension of two predators in the same cage.

By the end of that week, they had already clashed twice more. Once over troop deployments to Chandrila's shipping lanes, where Athena dismissed his concerns with a pointed, "If your project falters because of a handful of freighters, perhaps it isn't worth the Emperor's time." And again in front of Governor Reston, where her remark about "men who mistake archives for battlefields" left Krennic's jaw tight with fury.

He ignored her in the corridors, brushing past with deliberate precision, his cape snapping at her like a banner of contempt. She ignored him in return—but every encounter left her pulse unsteady, though not from fear.

Even her clones noticed.

"You and him," Rook muttered one night as they played dejarik in the mess, "you fight like you've been married twenty cycles already."

Vance chuckled. "She'd kill him before the first rotation was done."

Athena silenced them with a look, though her lips twitched with the shadow of something almost like a smile.

But alone, when the Eclipse drifted in hyperspace and the stars smeared like silver across her viewport, she thought of him. Of how he never once asked about her recovery. Of how his words struck deeper than most vibroblades. Of how much easier it would be if he were just another arrogant Imperial climbing the ladder.

But he wasn't.

Not to her.

Not yet.