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rosachae · 20 hours ago

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salvation | megan skiendiel x reader

⁍ song: ghost - mary in the junkyard ⁍ requested: yes! thank you anon ⁍ genre: Star Wars AU! fluff, angst, slowburn. honestly everything. ⁍ a/n: okay so... i definitely went overboard. this fic occurs over the period of Episode 2: Attack of the clones, the animated Clone Wars tv show, and Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith. ⁍ wc: 28.3k ⁍ warnings: mentions of death, violent depictions. ⁍ synopsis:

megan skiendiel never meant to fall for the most disciplined padawan in the temple��it just sort of happened. caught between duty and feeling, two jedi have to decide what they’re really willing to risk.

28 BBY it was a time of peace in the galaxy. coruscant, the gleaming capital at the heart of the republic, thrived in harmony and precision. senators flowed through the grand halls of the galactic senate, their robes rustling like whispers of diplomacy. above the endless urban sprawl, airspeeders traced luminous trails between towering spires, carrying citizens from one bustling sector to the next. and high above it all, quiet and watchful, stood the jedi temple. but it wasn’t the temple’s architectural majesty that held importance that day, no. the galaxy’s quiet pulse beat a little louder somewhere less dignified. a single, fidgeting thirteen-year-old padawan lingered in a training room on sublevel five.

it was far too quiet for what megan skiendiel had in mind.

pale overhead lights hummed above her, casting long, sterile reflections on the polished floor. metal benches lined the walls, their surfaces gleaming from a fresh polish, and a single training droid stood powered down in the center of the sparring circle, its limbs folded neatly into standby. it wasn’t meant for solo sparring. it definitely wasn’t meant for unsupervised padawans. and it especially wasn’t meant for what megan was about to do.

she’d told herself it was harmless. five minutes. that’s all she had before master gun di came back from checking in with one of the temple instructors. he’d asked her–- specifically told her– to wait and do breathwork until he returned. focus your senses, megan. stay present. five minutes.

but five minutes felt like forever when you were thirteen and impatient and full of static in your bones.

megan bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, lightsaber hilt already warm in her palm. her beige robes, the standard-issue padawan kind with the sleeves rolled up just past her elbows, were creased from earlier drills and stained faintly at the knees. her boots were scuffed, and her padawan braid (always slightly crooked) slipped over one shoulder as she paced. her hair, freshly dyed orange despite her master's complaints, bounced slightly when she dropped into shii cho stance.

“alright,” she murmured to herself, thumb grazing the ignition. “just one round. quick match. no one has to know.”

with a sharp hiss of the sabers ignition, a bright blade flared to life. her saber, much like her master’s, homed a blue kyber crystal. the blue beam lit up the room and shrouded half of megan’s young face in its light. it hummed softly in the stillness, almost akin to that of a speeder's engine. across the room, the training droid lifted its head, sensors activating. it straightened into combat mode with a mechanical whir and stepped into the circle.

megan grinned, but she couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that cemented itself on her chest. like she just knew everything was destined to go south before she could even bat her eyes. afterall, she didn’t have the greatest of track records. nonetheless, she bit back her doubts. she already came this far, so why stop now?

“this is too easy,” she said, rolling her neck. “i could do this with my eyes closed.”

she wasn’t supposed to mess with the settings. but the override console was right there. she glanced back and forth between the training room's door and the placid droid before caving to her own impulses. she stepped to the panel and punched in a quick string of commands, fingers moving faster than they should. the console blinked red. training override: safety protocols disabled.

her grin widened. “let’s make it interesting.”

the droid lunged and megan reacted on instinct. her lightsaber snapped up in a clean arc, intercepting the first strike with a satisfying crack of plasma against metal. she twisted away from the follow-up, breath echoing off the walls. sharp, bright, and unbothered, her laughter ricocheted around the empty room. it was predictable. every movement telegraphed, every feint stiff and mechanical. she danced around its attacks with growing confidence, her form loosening, steps quick and daring. easy, she thought. i could do this all day.

if there was one thing to know about megan skiendiel, it was that she was reckless. impulsive. when she had her mind set on something, she would do everything in her power to get it done. she preferred fighting to talking, action to meaningless words. perhaps that would be her greatest downfall. she was an excellent saber duellist for her age, trained by perhaps the most skilled practitioners of the order. but, she was also clumsy. prone to mishap, however accidental.

in the fastest of seconds, everything changed. without warning, the droid shifted out of its standard training sequence. its head snapped toward her with eerie precision, servos whining, and before she could recalibrate her stance, it dropped low and drove a carbon-fiber fist straight into her chest. the impact was brutal. air exploded from her lungs in a shocked wheeze. pain bloomed across her ribs as she flew backward, limbs flailing in open air for the briefest second before she hit the mat with a solid thud. her lightsaber slipped from her grip and skidded across the floor, disappearing beneath one of the benches in a flickering hiss of light.

for a second, all she could do was lie there. stunned, breathless, blinking up at the harsh glow of the overhead lights.

“okay! okay! too interesting!”

she scrambled up, robes tangled, padawan braid whipping in her face. a stun bolt singed the air an inch from her shoulder. the droid advanced again, heavy and fast. she dove for her saber, frantically trying to channel the force into summoning her hilt back into her hands. instead she sent her own saber flinging across the room, even further away. panic started to rise in her throat, bitter and hot. she barely had enough time to roll out of the way of a deafening stomp before she reached again. this time when her hand outreached, her saber flew in her direction. her fingers brushed the hilt, just a second away from fully grasping it back in her hand. only she was too late. the droid grabbed it before she could and crushed it in its metal grip.

megan winced. that was her third saber this month alone.

without thinking, she turned and sprinted.

the door hissed open as she barreled into the hallway, heart pounding, boots echoing wildly against the stone.

“this is fine,” she panted, ducking around a column. “this is so fine.”

somewhere behind her, the droid followed. megan tore through the temple corridors like a comet, boots slapping the stone, braid half-undone.

“nope. nope nope nope,” she panted, whipping around a corner. “this is fine. this is fine!”

the droid clanked after her, relentless, firing low-powered stun bolts that sizzled against walls and statues alike. a bust of an ancient jedi, unknown to megan, exploded behind her in a shower of plaster.

“not my fault! that was not my fault!”

the jedi temple breathed in silence.

sunlight spilled gently through the high windows, casting soft bands of gold across the stone corridors. this wing, the archives, was always hushed, even by temple standards. every step taken here felt like a whisper. the marble floors, worn smooth by centuries of robed feet, reflected the past more clearly than the present.

in a quiet alcove tucked between rows of towering data stacks, y/n sat cross-legged at a wide circular table, surrounded by datapads. five in total, each one activated, bookmarked, and carefully arranged in a meticulous arc that mirrored her focus. one hovered slightly above the others, its projection glowing faintly with lines of dense, formal high galactic.

she didn’t fidget. she didn’t shift. she just read, hands folded neatly in her lap.

the soft beige folds of her padawan robes pooled around her, crisp and precisely layered. the darker tabard beneath framed her small, composed figure like an anchor. her boots, immaculately clean, were tucked beneath the hem in perfect parallel. nothing was out of place. not in posture, not in breath.

her lightsaber sat at her belt, silent and untouched. the hilt was a masterwork of simplicity: silver and matte-black alloy, with a subtle curve to the emitter and a grip designed for balance, not flash. she’d crafted it herself last year, under the steady guidance of her master, tera sinube.

he wasn’t far.

somewhere deeper in the archives, sinube wandered the rows with his cane in hand, pausing now and then to examine a scroll or insert a quiet correction into the stacks. he didn’t hover. he never needed to. his presence, like his teaching, was felt in stillness.

he had once told her in that slow, deliberate tone of his, “knowledge guards even those who cannot guard themselves.” and she had taken it to heart, she truly did. the archives were her favorite place in the entire temple. here, there were no drills. no sparring. no noise. nothing to defend against, and nothing to prove. just the soft pulse of history and the gentle weight of thought. the kind of stillness that made it feel like the force itself was listening.

until the silence was broken. a loud bang! her head lifted. one of the datapads flickered. somewhere beyond the sealed archive doors, a loud metallic thunk broke through the silence. then another. and another. faster this time. louder. crash.

y/n blinked slowly, fingers resting lightly against her lap. she waited, anticipating whatever storm was awaiting them on the other side. soon enough her questions were answered.

the archive doors burst open with a hiss and a crash, echoing off the stone walls like a blaster going off. a blur of beige robes shot into the chamber, much like her own, as a short feminine figure stumbled into a skid. her boots shrieked against the marble as she nearly lost her footing.

“nonononono--”

the girl spun around and threw her full weight into the doors, slamming them shut. she stood panting, shoulders rising and falling, half-hidden behind a scorched sleeve.

y/n blinked in quiet disbelief.

the girl in front of her was also a padawan, about the same age. her robes were standard-issue, but looked like they’d been through a battlefield. one sleeve was half-burned, her tunic askew, the wide belt twisted. a thick scorch mark stretched across the front of her outer tunic. her braid, regulation-length but fraying at the ends, clung to her cheek.

she was flushed, breathless, and very clearly in deep trouble.

“…what did you do?”

megan looked up at y/n through her frazzled state and stopped breathing altogether. for a second, the world simply... muted. the pounding of her heart, the shouting down the corridor, the sparking hiss of a very angry training droid trying to override a door lock behind her. it vanished. all of it. just gone.

she almost wanted to slap herself. to open the door then and there and be consumed by the training droids fury. the emotions she felt in that moment were all too confusing. things she had never felt before over her thirteen years in this galaxy. y/n looked at her, and megan couldn’t help but stare back dumbly.

where most people saw megan as a blur of motion, of noise and half-formed excuses, y/n’s gaze held steady. datapad lowered, brow lifted ever so slightly in calm, unreadable curiosity. no judgment. no immediate reprimand. just quiet, composed awareness. the kind that made megan feel seen in a way she wasn’t used to.

and force, she was beautiful.

the archive room was lit in soft, filtered panels overhead, dim by comparison to the training halls. but somehow, that only made her glow. shadows curved gently beneath her cheekbones, caught the faint sheen of light in her eyes. megan didn’t even know what color they were. just that they were the most incredible thing she’d ever seen.

her stomach flipped. then dropped. then did something complicated and probably against the jedi code.

because no one had warned her about this.

not in meditation, not in lectures. not in those long, meandering lessons about mindfulness. master gun di talked about being present, about listening to the force. but not about the way it could roar to life in your chest. not about the way it could stop time. not about the sudden, overwhelming certainty that something important--fated, maybe--was happening right now.

she was thirteen. filthy, bruised, still breathing hard from sprinting through four levels of the temple. her braid was half-undone, her sleeve singed, her saber broken and reduced to a heap of components behind her. and y/n? y/n looked like peace made real. steady. centered. like the quiet that came just after the chaos. and megan--megan was undone by her.

too late, she realized she was staring. wide-eyed. completely silent. and for the first time that day, it wasn’t because she didn’t know what to say. it was because she didn’t trust herself to say anything at all.

nonetheless, her voice fell from her lips in an almost pained whimper.

"uh," she croaked, blinking. "i... might've... started something?"

a distant bang rattled the door behind her. megan flinched, but her eyes stayed locked on y/n’s. even through the smoke, even through the panic, one thing was suddenly, blindingly clear.

she was never going to forget this moment. not in a hundred years. not in a galaxy full of stars.

“technically,” the girl added after a beat, “nothing illegal.”

a low, mechanical clang echoed behind the doors. followed by another.

“you didn’t,” y/n said, eyes narrowing.

“it was an accident!”

a stun bolt blasted through the metal seam, striking the wall just centimeters from a rack of holopads. sparks flew. y/n flinched.

“you brought a live training droid into the archives?!”

“okay, chased, not brought, let’s not assign blame unfairly--”

the doors hissed open behind her. the droid stepped inside, towering and charred, red optics locked squarely on its target. servos clicked as it raised its arm. megan jumped in fright and created a large distance between herself and the door. she practically dove for a table, hiding herself behind it with a sheepish grin.

“uh--hey, you’ve got a lightsaber, right?”

y/n hesitated for just a breath. just long enough to process the entire disaster unfolding in front of her. smoke curling under the doors. scorch marks on the archives’ usually pristine floor. a war-class training droid standing in the entrance like it owned the place. and crouched behind a table--grinning, hiding, looking entirely too pleased with herself--was megan skiendiel.

y/n knew who she was, of course. everyone did. she was the padawan with a reputation. chaos in a braid. the one who sparred too hard, talked too fast, asked too many questions, and broke things--constantly. she wasn’t bad, not really. just… a lot. and right now, she was very much a problem.

a problem who also happened to be--force help her--kind of stunning.

y/n hated that that was the first word that came to mind. but there it was, bubbling up against her better judgment. even with her robes scorched and twisted, hair frizzed and braid falling apart, megan practically glowed with adrenaline and mischief and something wild and bright that made her hard to look away from.

and now y/n was staring too.

only for a second, though. because the droid was still advancing. and this--this--was exactly the kind of thing she had not signed up for today. master sinube had left her with a stack of holopads, three hours of high republic archive review, and very specific instructions not to let herself get distracted.

and here came megan, all wide eyes and singed sleeves, crashing into her quiet corner of the temple like a walking, talking bombshell.

force, y/n thought, dragging in a breath, she’s going to get me in so much trouble.

but still--dammit--she stood. calmly. smoothly. as if she hadn’t just been handed a catastrophe wrapped in frayed robes and a crooked smile. she reached for the curved hilt at her belt and flicked it loose in one practiced motion. the green blade burst to life. she advanced with clean precision. the droid was far too distracted trying to hunt down the orange haired padawan. whatever string of code megan had entered into its computer, she made herself it’s only agenda.

three steps, then an upward arc of energy that sheared through the droid’s core. metal clattered to the ground as the droid sparked, stilling. y/n’s green blade dismembered it in one quick fluid motion.

y/n deactivated her saber and clipped it back to her belt. just like that, it was over. she turned to megan, the other padawn peering out behind the table like a child. y/n couldn’t help but scowl.

“what were you thinking?” she asked sharply. “that droid could’ve hurt someone!”

“it wasn’t supposed to be that strong,” megan muttered, scratching the back of her neck as she brought herself out of hiding. “i might’ve turned off the safety settings. just for a second.”

y/n stared at her, stunned. “are you--”

a cough sounded from deeper within the archive. measured. ancient.

they both turned.

y/n felt herself pale. she completely forgot her master was still in the archives, loitering among the shelves. she immediately straightened her posture, shooting megan a very pointed, very displeased glance when the orange haired girl stood stupidly.

master tera sinube was seated in the shadows behind a low data terminal, his walking stick propped beside him, hands folded in his lap. his pale, wrinkled face regarded them with cool calm.

“a jedi,” he said softly, “does not act without reflection.”

y/n knew exactly what he was talking about. her master was a peacekeeper: a well read, wise, and old man of cosian descent. so much of their training together thus far had been him teaching her the importance of negotiation and diplomacy. y/n bowed her head.

“my apologies, master. i should have attempted a nonviolent solution.”

“indeed,” sinube said, voice slow but firm. “while your action was swift, you could have tried a shutdown command, or--perhaps--addressed the matter before your blade was drawn.”

y/n nodded, chastened.

the doors behind them opened again, and in walked another figure. tall, broad-shouldered, with warm brown skin and sharp eyes. the iridonian’s horns was the first thing anyone saw, sharp. megan turned, and her stomach flipped sideways. master gun di stepped into the archive like a shadow cast by order itself--tall, composed, his blue eyes scanning the wreckage with a quiet precision that made megan want to disappear behind the nearest bookshelf. his presence was solid, always had been. not loud, not dramatic--just there. steady.

his gaze found her.

“…megan.”

she winced like she’d been physically struck. “master,” she said quickly, half-attempting to brush ash off her sleeve, failing miserably. “i was just--”

“testing your limits,” he finished, his voice level. not sharp. not angry. but not gentle, either. it was the tone he used when he was disappointed. which, somehow, was worse.

she hesitated. swallowed. “yes.”

gun di stepped closer, surveying the scorch mark on the floor, the still-smoking wall panel, the disabled training droid slumped in the corner.

then--he sighed.

it wasn’t a frustrated sigh. not exasperated, either. it was the kind of sigh megan had come to recognize over years of mistakes and sparring matches and long walks back to the temple infirmary. a sigh that meant he understood, even when he didn’t approve.

“i asked you for five minutes,” he said, finally looking down at her.

“i know,” she whispered.

“you lasted two.”

“i know,” she said again, voice smaller.

gun di studied her for a beat longer, then reached out and gently adjusted the fold of her scorched sleeve--his touch steady, grounding.

“you have potential, megan,” he said, soft but unwavering. “but you won’t find the edge of your limits by sprinting past every boundary.”

her throat tightened. “i just wanted to see if i could do it.”

“i know,” he said again--so calm, it made her chest ache. “but the force isn’t a thing to prove yourself to. it’s something you listen to. trust. that takes time.”

she nodded, staring down at the floor. her voice was barely audible. “sorry.”

he gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. “we’ll talk more later.”

and somehow, despite the wreckage, despite everything, megan felt a little less like she’d failed. not completely.

gun di turned to sinube and offered a respectful bow. “master sinube. i regret the disturbance.”

sinube inclined his head. “a lesson was learned. though perhaps not the one either of them intended.”

“i’ll ensure it’s remembered,” gun di said. then his voice softened slightly. “she’s still learning.”

“as they all are,” sinube murmured.

when gun di turned toward the doors, sharing a brief bow with the man who was once his mentor, megan fell into step behind him at his very pointed stare. she stole one last glance over her shoulder.

y/n stood in the soft library light, saber clipped back at her belt, datapad tucked under one arm. she wasn’t saying anything. just watching. in that brief moment, their eyes met. just a moment. just long enough for the breath to catch in megan’s throat again, for her steps to falter.

y/n’s expression was unreadable. still and composed, like always. but something had shifted in the way she looked at her. a curiosity, maybe. or a question not yet asked.

megan didn’t look away. not this time.

she followed her master out of the archive, heart thudding unevenly in her chest--and every step echoed with the same thought, over and over again. force help her, she was in trouble. the real kind. the kind with pretty eyes and a calm voice and the ability to throw her completely off balance without lifting a finger.

and megan had never wanted anything more.

silence reclaimed the archives like a long exhale after chaos. the datapads flickered softly. the air still carried the faint scent of scorched metal. master sinube shifted only slightly where he sat--his long robes unmoving, his cane resting beside him like a third limb. his ancient, pale eyes remained half-closed, his breath slow and even.

“impulse,” he said, as if to the air itself, “is the first hurdle every padawan must learn to weigh. to leap before reflection… is to fall.”

y/n bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment. her hands settled over the datapad in her lap, but she didn’t look at it yet. not right away.

she let the silence settle fully this time. let the hum of the archive systems smooth the edges of her pulse. and still--somewhere in the back of her mind, the sound of skidding boots and wild breath echoed on repeat. that girl had been chaos in its purest form. loud. reckless. impossible to ignore. and she had left a mark.

y/n didn’t think she’d ever forget her.

not anytime soon.

22 BBY megan skiendiel was not great at meditating. she could stand on one hand for an hour. she could break apart and rebuild a lightsaber blindfolded. she could land a stun bolt on a moving target from fifty meters out. but ask her to sit still in a quiet room and “reach for inner stillness,” and her brain went sideways faster than a speeder in a rainstorm. today, it was especially hopeless.

she was lying flat on her back in the sublevel seven sparring chamber, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. it didn’t. it just buzzed softly overhead, humming its low, mechanical hymn under rows of white panels. familiar. quiet. annoyingly peaceful--unlike her. her heart had been pounding for thirty-two minutes.

six years had passed since the archives. six years since a training droid nearly flattened her, and a girl with impossibly steady hands and an even steadier voice deflected it like it was nothing. six years since that same girl levelled her with frazzled eyes, as if megan was the real hazard in the room. eyes that lived in megan's mind everyday, the only thing she saw when she tried to sleep at night.

and somehow, she still hadn’t shut up about it. not out loud. that would’ve been embarrassing, no. she knew better than to be open with her confusing emotions, especially as a jedi. she kept it all up here: spinning circles in her brain like a malfunctioning astromech.

y/n this. y/n that. y/n, the picture-perfect padawan. calm, brilliant, controlled. she hadn’t seen her since they were thirteen, but the memory had only grown sharper with time. her saber technique. her clipped, unimpressed tone. the way her robes sat just so as if the Force had ironed them for her.

megan groaned into the silence and covered her face with both hands.

she didn’t even know what it was that got to her. maybe it was the reputation. the way people talked about y/n like she was everything a padawan should be. always composed. always polite. good with younglings. a favorite of the council. the kind of jedi who probably meditated voluntarily.

and then there was megan: late to morning lessons. always moving too fast. laughed too loud. probably had crumbs in her robes. a walking ball of kinetic energy and half-formed thoughts. gun di liked to say her mind burned brighter than most. sometimes she wondered if that was just a kind way of saying chaotic.

part of her was jealous of y/n. the other part--traitorous, ridiculous--just wanted to see her again.

would she still be that calm? would her voice still make megan feel five inches tall? would she still be as pretty?

megan’s ears burned.

“this is not the jedi way,” she muttered to herself.

“correct.”

megan yelped, scrambling upright. master gun di stood a few feet away, hands behind his back, expression unreadable. he’d been there long enough to hear more than she wanted.

“master,” she said, trying to sound calm. it came out somewhere between sheepish and strangled.

“you’re fortunate i didn’t attack. lying in the middle of a training room is a poor defensive posture.”

“i was--uh--meditating.”

he raised one dark brow. “with commentary?”

“it’s a… new method.”

gun di stepped closer, his voice quiet. “you’ve read the briefing.”

she nodded, trying not to fidget. she’d read the file debrief her master sent her at least ten times over the very minute it chimed on her datapad.

“we’re being assigned to senator avanzini. we will be stationed on her homeworld, polaris minor, for extended protection detail.”

“and?”

“and we won’t be alone.”

gun di tilted his head slightly. at this point he could read his padawan like a book, even without her voicing whatever was on her mind. he levelled her a knowing look, probing.

megan exhaled. she knew what he was after. she rocked on the balls of her feet, pointedly avoiding his gaze. “and… y/n’s coming.”

silence stretched. she kept her eyes on the floor.

“do you feel ready?” he asked.

“of course,” she said, too fast. then again, quieter. “i mean… i don’t know.”

she finally looked back at her master with a sigh. she continued after a beat.

“i haven’t seen her since we were thirteen. but i’ve heard about her. a lot. she’s… perfect. basically. and i guess--maybe--i’ve been thinking about her too much. which is dumb. i know it’s dumb.”

gun di’s voice was low and steady. “attachment is not a crime. but it is dangerous.”

megan winced.

“you are not in trouble,” he continued. “but i must remind you, megan. we do not serve our feelings. we serve the Force.”

she nodded, ashamed.

“emotions are natural,” he added. “but you must observe them. understand them. not let them dictate your path. whatever thoughts you are having about this girl--”

“i’m not--” she tried.

“--must be examined carefully,” he finished. “because if left unchecked, they will grow into something else. and that path leads to fear. to obsession. to loss.”

she looked down. “i didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“few ever do.”

he paused, then gentled his tone. “you are strong in the Force. you are reckless, yes--but your heart is good. which is why you must guard it fiercely. especially now.”

“…yes, master.”

“this mission will test you. it will test your discipline. your composure. and i expect you to meet that test with clarity.”

“even if she’s still pretty?” megan muttered before she could stop herself.

gun di sighed. “especially if she is.”

megan groaned into her hands. “i hate everything.”

“good,” he said, turning for the exit. “it means you know right from wrong.”

and she followed him, footsteps heavy, heart somehow heavier still.

she was going to see y/n again.

if she wasn’t careful, she’d come apart. she knew it already.

the very moment their t-6 shuttle emerged from hyperspace above the system of polaris major, megan felt her mouth open slightly ajar. even as the shuttle descended towards one of it’s two moons, polaris minor, she was taken aback by the sheer beauty of the moon above orbit.

from orbit, polaris minor shimmered in cool tones. deep slate-blue oceans curling around pale green highlands, with long ribbons of mist trailing over the mountain spines. the clouds never fully cleared, shifting in soft layers of silver and gray, veiling the surface in a constant, gentle motion. it was a quiet looking world. private. self contained. like it had no interest in being watched. it almost reminded megan of alderaan, a planet she had only visited once before.

the air on polaris minor was crisp, touched by the scent of damp stone and pale wildflowers that grew between flagstones. rain fell often on this moon, master gun di had told her on the journey over. it was never harsh, but steady. the city itself was carved into the highlands, all sweeping arches and glass-covered walkways, gleaming softly beneath the low clouds. from the landing platform, the peaks beyond looked blurred at the edges, softened by mist and the gentle hush of falling water.

megan descended the transport ramp slowly, hood pulled halfway up. her padawan braid clung to her cheek, still damp from the shuttle, and her fingers tightened around the strap of her gear bag like it was the only thing tethering her to the ground. her new robes, deep navy with a dark maroon tabbard, clung heavier than she was used to. different weight, different cut. nothing like the light, standard-issue tan she used to wear as a child. back when her hair had been bright orange and she hadn’t thought twice before jumping headfirst into chaos.

now her hair was brown. her natural color. like her master had once said--you’re allowed to change your mind. it’s how you know you’re growing.

but force, the second she saw her, every ounce of that grown-up composure unraveled.

y/n stood at the far end of the platform beside senator avanzini, back straight, chin lifted, calm as ever. the same beige robes as always, but they fit her differently now. tailored, refined, like the force had smoothed every line until it all settled just right. her sleeves curved neatly at her wrists, the hem resting perfectly against the wind. the kind of quiet elegance that didn’t ask for attention, just commanded it.

her presence hadn’t changed. still centered. still unshakable. but something about her was sharper now. older. as if time had been kind to her in ways it rarely was to anyone else.

y/n turned, and their eyes met.

megan’s breath caught, too fast and too high in her chest. she felt the old jolt--sharp and immediate, like a saber brush against bare skin. all at once, her body remembered everything her mind had tried to forget. the archives. the droid. the way y/n had looked at her back then; cool, unreadable, and somehow still the only person in the entire temple who ever really saw her.

and now? she looked at megan the same way.

megan gritted her teeth, tried to stand taller, straighter. she was still a padawan, and admittedly just as (if not even more) reckless. but she was different now. she’d grown. she’d changed. her robes were darker, her steps quieter, her saber steadier. but standing there, staring at y/n across the platform, she still felt like a girl with soot on her sleeves and her heart beating too fast in her throat.

because the truth was, she never really stood a chance. not then. not now. y/n was everything megan had never been able to touch without setting herself on fire. on one hand, y/n made her feel small. inferior. like everything she did was half-formed chaos next to her well-measured calm. on the other hand, megan wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone so pretty in her life.

and gods, she’d never stopped loving her.

“you’re thinking too loudly,” master gun di murmured beside her.

megan startled, yanking her gaze away. “what?”

he gave her a look. the kind that said i’ve known you since you were twelve. don’t lie to me.

“whatever that expression is,” he said quietly, “you might want to lose it before you approach the senator.”

megan huffed, tugging her cloak tighter around herself. “it’s not an expression.”

“no?” his voice was light, teasing. “looked like a crisis of identity to me.”

“i’m fine,” she muttered. “i’m… just surprised to see her.”

gun di raised a brow. “surprised?”

“not like--okay, not surprised. i knew she’d be here, obviously. it’s just--she looks--”

“focused,” he offered. “disciplined. well-prepared.”

megan frowned. “smug.”

gun di didn’t laugh. he didn’t smile, either. instead, he touched her elbow gently and spoke with quiet weight.

“padawan. remember what we talked about.”

megan’s heart sank.

“i know.”

“attachments lead to fear. fear leads to impulse. you can respect her. you can even admire her. but you must not allow those feelings to cloud your duty.”

megan stared down at her boots, rainwater pooling around the soles.

“i won’t,” she said. but it sounded like a lie.

gun di, mercifully, said nothing more. he gave her a nod, and together they stepped forward to meet the senator and the girl megan had spent six years trying--and failing--not to think about.

senator daniela avanzini was far younger than megan expected.

she couldn’t have been much older than herself. she stood with practiced poise, her skin soft and luminous beneath the clouded polaris sky. her robes shimmered in the light, thin silk layered in sweeping tones of violet, edged in silver. a golden circlet crowned her head, half hidden beneath a fall of dark brown curly hair. her eyes, a beautiful shade of hazel brown, watched them approach patiently. despite her youth, there was a quiet steel in her eyes, the kind that came from surviving too many senate sessions. if megan wasn’t far too enamoured by the jedi flanking her, maybe she would’ve combusted on the spot. daniela avanzini had no business being so pretty for a senator, megan decided.

she greeted gun di first, nodding with the ease of someone used to jedi company.

“master gun di,” she said graciously. “your presence is most appreciated. the threats we’ve received are credible and unsettling. i’m relieved the council responded so swiftly.”

“the honor is ours, senator,” gun di replied, bowing at the waist. “we are at your service.”

then her gaze shifted to megan. megan straightened. bowed. tried to remember how arms were supposed to hang.

“padawan megan skiendiel,” gun di said, with a hand on her shoulder. “she will assist me on this mission.”

daniela’s smile was kind. a little tired. “well met, padawan skiendiel.”

then she turned to y/n.

“and of course,” she said warmly, “padawan y/n has already proven invaluable. i have felt much safer since she arrived.”

megan’s stomach twisted. right. y/n was here without master sinube.

no chaperone. no guiding hand. no quiet, hovering presence to correct her form or recite temple scripture or nudge her back on track when she got distracted by a butterfly or a cute girl.

megan tried not to sulk. she really did.

but y/n stood there with that perfect stillness, like she’d always belonged on important missions with important people. and megan--well, megan still had her master hovering three paces behind, just in case she said something embarrassing or accidentally force-tripped on a staircase.

and worse--worse than the jealousy, worse than the sudden jolt of inadequacy--was the fact that y/n still hadn’t said anything.

not a ‘hi, a nice to see you again’, not even a ‘wow, didn’t think they’d send you, of all people.’

just that cool, unreadable gaze. arms tucked into her sleeves. serene. unimpressed. megan wanted to punch a wall. or maybe throw herself off one of the spaceport bridges.

gun di, ever the diplomat, stepped in again.

“shall we escort you to the capitol, senator?”

“of course,” daniela said. “we’ve arranged accommodations for your stay. and i believe my staff has a full briefing prepared once we arrive.”

she turned toward the waiting transport, and everyone followed. y/n falling into step beside the senator, megan a little too close behind, and gun di trailing silently at her back like a shadow.

rain slicked the cobblestones. the clouds above swirled low and heavy.

the first week was… rough. megan had thought maybe y/n would ease into things. maybe the ice would crack. maybe they’d fall into that easy banter she always imagined in the quiet hours of temple dormitories, when she couldn’t sleep and her brain wandered places it probably shouldn’t.

but y/n was distant. polite. professional. maddeningly calm.

megan, in comparison, was a tornado. a fidgeting, quipping, restless storm of limbs and noise and too much energy that had nowhere to go. she poked and teased and made dumb jokes when no one laughed. she tripped over her words, her robes, her own feet. she tried to impress daniela’s guards by juggling datapads and got scolded when one cracked on the floor. gun di cleared his throat behind her at least three times a day.

“maybe don’t throw things in government buildings, padawan.”“maybe speak when you have something to say, not just anything.”“maybe just… breathe.”

he didn’t sound angry. never did. just patient. always patient. endlessly, frustratingly calm in the way only a jedi master could be after years of watching his disaster of a padawan try to sneak sugar cubes out of the mess hall or hide tooka kittens in the dormitories.

still, megan caught the way he sighed behind her back. the way he pinched the bridge of his nose during her third attempt at distracting y/n with an unsolicited force-powered pebble duel during a senate security briefing. y/n, of course, didn’t even blink. just kept taking notes on her datapad like she didn’t notice the pebble ricochet off her shoulder and straight into her tea.

megan almost screamed.

she didn’t want to be mad at her. she didn’t even know why she was mad at her. well. that wasn’t entirely true.

maybe it was the way y/n never cracked. never stumbled. never got yelled at or fidgeted in meetings or said the wrong thing at the wrong time. maybe it was how effortlessly she moved through rooms full of important people, how she listened without interrupting and bowed without tripping and made being a padawan look like something noble instead of… whatever mess megan was.

or maybe it was the way y/n’s eyes lingered on her for a second too long when she thought megan wouldn’t notice. megan always did.

one particular night near the end of the first week, megan found herself wandering the halls of the polaris palace. the last thing she expected was to run into the very girl who had consumed her thoughts relentlessly.

the courtyard was quiet, save for the low hum of distant traffic weaving through polaris minor’s capital. high above, the second moon orbiting polaris major cast silver light over the polished stone floor, still damp from the day’s earlier rain. vines clung to the outer pillars, and small droplets clung to their leaves, catching the moonlight like glass.

y/n stepped into the open space with her hands clasped behind her back, her boots clicking softly against the tile. she took a long breath in. held it. let it go.

it was late. senator avanzini had retired for the evening, and the guard rotation was stable. megan was off patrol for once, probably off being… whatever she always was. loud. kinetic. a little too much. which was fine. y/n didn’t need distractions. not that night.

she reached for the hilt at her belt and ignited her saber with a quiet hiss. the green blade hummed to life, throwing soft light across her robes. she began to move. carefully. deliberately.

form iii: soresu.

the movements were circular. tight. inward-focused. she traced the patterns master sinube had shown her from holorecordings. deflect, retreat, reposition. let the enemy wear themselves down. he’d offered to find her an instructor. someone who could guide her through the form properly, step by step. but y/n had declined, perhaps too quickly. she didn’t need help. she just needed time. practice. discipline.

she turned, lifted her saber again, parried an invisible blow from the side, just to falter. again. too wide. too slow. y/n exhaled through her nose, shoulders tense. she reset her stance, gripping the hilt tighter than she should.

she wasn’t a bad student. she was precise, focused, diligent. she excelled in strategy, in ethics, in diplomacy. but this? this she had to work at. the only problem was that there wasn’t time anymore. rumor had reached them that morning--quiet, unconfirmed, passed between guards on break--that there’d been another attack. this time, a senator from naboo. details were thin. y/n didn’t know the name, and she didn’t ask. it wasn’t her assignment. her mission was daniela.

concentrate, she told herself.

the saber hissed through the air again. another parry. another falter. she bit the inside of her cheek.

“tighten your elbow.”

y/n turned sharply, saber still raised. the sound of the familiar voice had her internally rolling her eyes. the familiar voice belonged to the very chinese girl who seemed to make it her personal goal of annoying y/n at any possible chance she got. she was insufferable. loud. cocky, despite all of her clumsy mishaps.

megan stood in the archway, arms crossed, shoulder leaning casually against the stone. her expression was unreadable, somewhere between amusement and challenge.

“you’re dropping your left arm too much in the second sweep,” she added. “you’re exposing your entire side.”

y/n frowned. “i didn’t ask for commentary.”

“you didn’t have to,” megan said, stepping into the courtyard. “the form did the talking.”

y/n extinguished her saber with a tight flick. “shouldn’t you be on rest rotation?”

“i was.” megan’s boots tapped lightly on the stone as she approached. “couldn’t sleep.”

of course she couldn’t.

megan never stayed still for long. even now, y/n could feel the energy radiating off her--barely contained, like lightning in a bottle. her new robes, darker than the ones she’d worn as a padawan, gave her a sharper silhouette. the navy-blue tunic fit close across her frame, offset by the deep maroon tabbard hanging loose down the front. grown-up armor. she looked older. calmer. but she was still very much herself.

“you’re trying soresu?” megan asked, gesturing toward the saber hilt in y/n’s hand.

y/n nodded stiffly. “master sinube recommended it.”

“and you didn’t ask for help?”

“i don’t need it,” y/n replied, a touch too fast.

megan tilted her head. “mm. maybe. but it’s a lot to teach yourself from holos. i could help you, you know.”

“i learn better alone.”

“clearly,” megan said, glancing at the puddle where y/n had almost slipped two minutes ago.

y/n narrowed her eyes. “what are you trying to say?”

“just offering a duel,” megan said with an easy shrug. “practice, if you’re serious about improving.”

“you use djem so. that’s not comparable.”

“sure it is. you want to learn to defend? learn what you’re defending against.”

y/n hesitated. that was all the confirmation megan needed.

this was her chance. the first real opportunity she had to spend time alone with the girl. it made her feel giddy. megan took a step closer, questioning.

“come on. one round. you might even like it.”

y/n stared at her. at the glint in her eye. the cocky tilt of her mouth. everything about her was the opposite of restraint. and yet, there was something honest in the offer. something warm beneath the bravado. something that had her heart fluttering in her chest despite all of the warning signals which blared within her, telling her to relax and let go.

but then y/n sighed.

she turned the hilt once in her hand, thumb brushing the ignition. the green blade hummed to life, casting a soft glow across the damp courtyard floor.

"fine," she said, not quite meeting megan's eyes. "one round."

one turned into two. then three.

their sabers moved like light and shadow through the courtyard, green and blue clashing in sharp arcs. the mist from earlier rains still clung to the stone, gathering in the dips between tiles. megan’s strikes came strong and sure, each one deliberate, clean. she wasn’t rushing, but she didn’t hesitate either. it was a rhythm y/n couldn’t quite match. y/n tried to keep her footing, tried to remember everything she’d studied. keep the blade close. circle. deflect. conserve.

but megan never gave her the room. every time y/n tried to reset her stance, the next blow was already coming. her wrist twisted back to parry, arms shaking from the pressure.

"you’re clenching again," megan said, breath even. "you’re locking your wrist."

"i’m aware."

"you sure? because you keep doing it."

y/n parried hard, their sabers sparking between them. “djem so isn’t the answer to everything.”

"it’s better than standing around waiting to get hit."

"djem so is brute force."

"no, it’s control. just not the slow kind like soresu."

y/n stepped back to breathe, saber raised. her chest rose and fell, sweat starting to gather at her temples. she felt the ache already forming in her shoulders. she hated that megan made it look easy. hated the way her feet barely seemed to touch the stone when she moved. hated, most of all, how beautiful she looked in motion.

not that she hadn't wondered before.

since they were kids, megan had carried that edge of chaos like it was part of her uniform. there were stories, passed from padawan to padawan in quiet corners of the temple--half-whispers, muffled laughter, always a little incredulous. one in particular that always stuck with y/n was rumors of a duel with grandmaster yoda that left her and another padawan, manon, in the medbay for a week.

people didn’t mock her for it. they told the stories with awe. with admiration. megan didn’t ask for permission--she just was. bold. relentless. unapologetically herself.

y/n had never admitted how much she admired that. not aloud. not even to herself. but she remembered the way those stories stuck in her mind long after the laughter faded. she remembered thinking it took a different kind of strength to burn that brightly and not be afraid of who saw it.

she hadn’t seen megan since that day in the archives when they were children. not in person. but the stories had always found her. and she’d never doubted them, not for a second. because some part of her already knew they were true.

and now that presence, fierce, unyielding, real, was no longer just a story. it was here. in front of her. and it was aimed directly at her.

megan feinted left, then pivoted sharply. y/n caught the motion too late, stumbled over a slick patch near the edge of the garden tiles. her foot slipped and she lost balance.

megan lunged forward on instinct, reaching to catch her, but y/n’s momentum pulled her down too. they hit the stone in a tangle of limbs, breath knocked from both their chests. megan’s hands landed on either side of y/n’s shoulders, pinning her in place.

they froze.

the moonlight made y/n’s face glow. her braid was mussed from the fall, lips parted just slightly. her saber had rolled out of reach. her eyes locked on megan’s, surprised. breathless.

megan didn’t move. didn’t speak. just looked at her, heart thudding hard against her ribs.

“you’re beautiful,” she said quietly. without irony. without defense.

y/n blinked. once.

for a moment, the courtyard might as well have disappeared. there was only the space between them, charged and thin. megan wasn’t laughing. she wasn’t trying to win anything. she just meant it.

y/n's fingers curled slightly against the tile. her eyes flicked away. she nudged megan off of her and sat up slowly, brushing her palms on her robes.

"don’t say that," she said, barely above a whisper.

"why not?"

"because we are jedi."

megan didn’t answer. she knew what she meant instantly. the jedi code lived in their minds like a mantra that confined them. y/n didn’t wait for her to respond. she stood, collected her saber, and turned away. her shoulders were square. her steps steady. but something in her chest felt pulled taut.

behind her, megan stayed on the ground, watching her walk into the night. the air felt colder without her in it. she let her head fall back and groaned.

the second week was even worse. they didn’t talk about what happened in the courtyard.

megan hadn’t expected anything to change. if anything, she was afraid she’d said too much. afraid that her words had cracked something too fragile to fix. maybe she’d ruined the awkward, unspoken friendship they were just starting to build. maybe she’d imagined it was even that much.

truthfully, y/n didn’t know what to expect either. when she walked away from megan that night, her chest was so tight it felt like her ribs might snap. sinube’s teachings echoed in her head with every step.

still, nothing had happened. no attempts on senator avanzini’s life, no signs of escalation. just long patrols, security briefings, and shared silence. enough quiet to pretend nothing had shifted between them.

but y/n still felt it.

the council chamber wasn’t grand, not by coruscant standards. but it held a particular polaris elegance. tall windows, soft indigo light, a long table of polished stone that caught the glow of the overcast sky. rain tapped gently against the glass panes. it was all very calm. very quiet. y/n stood near the head of the room, just behind master gun di, who was mid-briefing via holocall. master sinube’s translucent form flickered steadily atop the console beside them, nodding slowly as updates rolled in.

“--security rotation has doubled,” gun di said, voice measured. “no direct threats since the transmission intercept. but we’re not taking chances.”

y/n stood still, hands folded behind her back. she tried to focus, she truly did. but she couldn’t. she felt so unlike herself. she felt so alien in her own mind and body, and it all started the very moment megan waltzed back into her life.

her gaze kept drifting.

at the far end of the chamber, megan was laughing. senator avanzini stood close, her hand lightly resting on the back of megan’s chair as they looked over a shared datapad. something about a travel schedule. megan said something quick and half-mocking, and daniela threw her head back in laughter. her hand brushed megan’s shoulder on the way down, lingered for half a second longer than it needed to.

y/n’s chest went tight. her jaw clenched before she could stop it.

it was stupid. it was nothing. just a senator appreciating her guard. megan was charismatic, impulsive, ridiculous--and people liked her for it. of course they did. but still, y/n couldn’t help but taste bile rising in her throat as she watched them.

she wanted to pinch herself. to slap herself silly, and wake herself from whatever resentment she felt in that moment. but she just couldn’t help it. afterall, it wasn’t even two days ago that megan had called her beautiful. her heart was beating at a million miles per minute. all of sinube's teachings echoed through her mind. she felt dirty. wrong. all she had done, everything she had learned as his padawan, she could feel it slipping the more time she spent in megan's orbit.

they had a code to abide by. and yet, megan calling her beautiful made her vision foggy. the way megan looked at her, those brown eyes deep and sensitive, as if she was at the center of her world in that very moment– it made y/n swallow. she was confused. completely and utterly perplexed. these were unfamiliar emotions. each one just as dangerous as the next.

and now she was here, watching as megan laughed like nothing had happened. she knew it was silly. she was the one who walked away, afterall. left megan by herself in the courtyard to pick up whatever pieces of her dignity she’d left broken. but it bothered her nonetheless.

how could she pretend like the courtyard hadn’t shifted anything between them? like y/n hadn’t lain awake two nights in a row trying not to think about the look in her eyes?

she felt as if she was thirteen all over again, staring at a reckless, infuriating girl who made her feel like the floor was moving.

“you’re distracted,” master sinube said softly, his voice gravelly through the holodevice. y/n knew he was talking to her almost immediately. sinube always had a way of knowing when something was amiss, even when they were many moons apart.

y/n flinched. her eyes snapped back to the holocall. “apologies, master.”

“hm,” sinube murmured. he didn’t sound upset. just observant. “the force is loud today.”

gun di gave y/n a brief glance in the corner of his eye but said nothing.

the briefing wound down soon after. daniela thanked the jedi for their vigilance, gun di bowed, the holocall faded. the others dispersed in quiet pairs, datapads tucked under arms.

but y/n stayed rooted in place. she wasn't even entirely sure why she felt so bothered. senator avanzini was a lovely, intelligent, well meaning woman. and yet her smile didn’t reach her eyes when the senator passed, a friendly expression etched across her young face.

y/n thought her smile was believable. nothing out of the ordinary. nothing worth batting an eyelash about.

but of course, megan noticed. she always did.

megan doubled back as the room emptied, feet light against the tile, expression unreadable. she stayed silent for a moment as gun di motioned for them to follow him, and she didn’t miss the way y/n seemed to stiffen at her mere presense. she didn’t bother hiding the look of confusion fighting its way across her face.

they hadn’t truly spoken since their duel. if anything, they almost seemed to avoid eachother. y/n, in her emotionally guarded way. and megan in a way meant to respect her wishes. and yet, here they found themselves now: megan trying desperately to decipher the aura surrounding the other girl.

“you good?” she finally asked, tone deliberately casual. low but loud enough for only the two of them to hear.

y/n didn’t answer. she simply let her feet carry her as they followed gun di, his strides purposeful. she wasn’t too sure where they were heading, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. megan’s words hung through the silence. it’s not like she pointedly meant to ignore her. truthfully, she just didn’t know what to say. some part of her almost felt petty.

megan squinted at her after a beat. “you’ve been weird all week. is it because of the courtya-?.”

“i haven’t.” y/n cut her off before she could even mention it, voice a little sharper than intended.

of course it’s about the courtyard, she so desperately wanted to say. but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

megan sighed. she folded her arms as she walked alongside y/n. “you have. don’t make me list examples.”

y/n finally looked at her. that familiar padawan braid, the smirk that always danced around her mouth like it lived there. the same look she’d worn in the archives years ago. the same one she wore in the courtyard. but softer, now. less teasing. more curious.

but perhaps that was her undoing.

in the split second her eyes met megan’s, megan was able to detect every minute emotion she felt in that very moment. it was almost scary how easily she could do it. how within the short amount of time they’ve been around each other, megan somehow just knew how to read her. a flash of recognition crossed her face, then confusion, and then something unrecognisable.

megan’s hand reached out to gently grasp y/n’s elbow, effectively pulling them both to a stop in the long hallway. she pulled her to the side, waiting for gun di’s figure to disappear behind a corner (unaware they were no longer trailing him). and then she spoke. her voice was quiet, tentative, gentle.

“you’re jealous.” she deadpanned, not quite a question.

y/n felt her ears burn. she instinctively yanked her elbow out of megan’s grip, crossing her arms over her chest.

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

y/n stood stiffly, weighing her thoughts in her head. she opened and closed her mouth, searching for the right words. and then she settled on the few she wished she could take back immediately. a confirmation of megan’s suspicions.

“it’s unprofessional. we’re here to protect the senator, not flirt with her.”

“i wasn’t flirting,” megan said. “we were going over her travel logs.”

“you were touching.”

“she touched me.” megan leaned in, voice dropping slightly. “do you always get this jealous, or am i special?”

y/n turned sharply, but megan frowned.

“look,” she said, voice quieter now if possible. “if you want to pretend the courtyard didn’t happen, fine. i’ll follow your lead. but don’t get mad at me for doing my job.”

y/n stared at her. her mouth opened. then closed again.

megan didn’t press. just tilted her head and added, “why are you so bothered anyway? i thought being a jedi meant more than that to you.”

“did you mean it?” yn found herself asking. her insecurity was laid bare.

megan didn’t need to ask her what she meant. she just knew.

megan looked at her. truly looked at her. as if it was the silliest question known to man, like the answer was as simple as asking for the time. second nature. a fact.

“i will always mean it.”

she turned and walked away before y/n could respond.

and force, y/n hated how much her heart stuttered.

neither of them had said a word in the following days. by the end of the second week, their tension had started to grate on everyone. the senator’s guards were eyeing them with thinly veiled suspicion. daniela herself had gently suggested they “perhaps find a moment to align their strategies.” gun di had started making megan meditate twice a day just to get her to sit still.

megan lasted three minutes before falling asleep in lotus pose. but then something shifted.

it happened on a rainy afternoon, high above the city in one of daniela’s quieter chambers, when megan found herself alone with y/n once again. no masters. no senator. no guards. just the hum of distant thunder and the two of them, seated on opposite ends of a narrow bench, pretending to read through patrol rotations.

megan tapped her stylus. then her knee. then the bench.

“are you always like this?” she blurted.

y/n didn’t look up. “like what?”

“all stiff and perfect and… and cold.”

there was a pause. then y/n slowly lowered her datapad. “are you always this loud?”

megan’s jaw dropped. “excuse me?”

“you heard me.”

“okay, wow.” she folded her arms. “i see you’ve been spending time with the senator’s security detail. they’re rubbing off on you.”

“they’re professionals.”

“they’re boring.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“you’re--!”

silence. they stared at each other. megan could hear her heart thudding behind her ribs, quick and loud and embarrassing.

“you always do that,” she muttered.

y/n raised an eyebrow. “do what?”

“make me feel inferior. do you get some kind of kick out of it while you’re sitting on that high horse of yours?”

y/n, for the first time in probably forever, felt her composed facade crack. her eyebrows knitted together, a deep furrow cementing itself across her face. she shook her head and peered at megan with incredulous eyes.

“you’re impossible, did you know that? so uncivilised, and rough, and meandering.” she trailed off for a second, clicking her tongue against her cheek.

megan wanted to jump in, to defend herself, anything. however y/n’s next words stop her.

y/n scoffed an empty laugh, humorless. the fire in her eyes was replaced by something tired. “do you even realize how lucky you are?”

this time it was megan’s turn to frown. she tilted her head. “lucky?”

“yeah. lucky.” y/n’s shoulders visibly deflate. “you come in with all your noise and your laughter and your questions and your… your everything. and suddenly everything feels louder. harder to ignore. but i don’t get these same luxuries that you do, megan. i don’t get to fool around.” she pauses, gathering her thoughts, before settling on a defeated sigh. “do you think i want to be pressured into being the ‘perfect padawan’? is that why you hate me? you call me beautiful one second, and then basically call me stuck up the next? god, you’re confusing.”

something cracked in megan’s chest. she shook her head frantically, mind running at a million miles per minute as she digested y/n’s words.

“i’m confusing?? you walk away from me like i’ve split your world in two, then get jealous when you think i’ve found interest in someone else. i thought you hated me! you can’t be serious,” megan stammered. “you walk around all perfect, and pretty, and mature, and you smell nice, and--“

she cut herself off, embarrassed. nonetheless, her next words fall from her lips before she can stop them.

“and i’ve thought about you every single day since we’ve met.”

y/n opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, not sure how to respond. this was the second time megan had said something in the heat of the moment. y/n wasn’t sure whether to believe her. she knew though, deep down, that a large part of her wanted nothing more than to take her word. in some way it almost felt vindicating to know that megan had thought about her as much, if not more, than she’d thought of her.

the silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft patter of rain against the window and the low rumble of thunder in the distance. y/n looked like she wanted to say something. anything. her mouth moved, then stopped. her fingers curled slightly around the edge of the datapad she was no longer pretending to read.

megan waited, pulse hammering in her throat.

when y/n finally spoke, her voice was quiet. uncertain in a way megan had never heard before.

"why are you saying this now?"

megan blinked. "because it's true."

"but why now?"

"because if i don't say it, i'm going to explode," megan said, almost helplessly. “because you keep pretending there’s nothing here. and i--i can’t do that.”

y/n’s gaze dropped. her hands folded carefully in her lap.

"megan..." her voice trailed off, caught on something that wasn’t quite breath.

"do you feel it too?" megan asked. not pushing. not demanding. just asking, like she needed to know. like the question had been burning inside her for years and she finally had a moment to speak it aloud. "even a little?"

y/n inhaled slowly. her throat bobbed with the effort of it. she didn’t answer right away. and then, she sighed.

"yes."

megan felt the breath knock out of her.

y/n wasn’t looking at her. she stared ahead, eyes fixed on the far wall like it held her together.

"i’ve felt it for a long time," she admitted. "but feelings don’t matter when you’re a jedi. not like this."

"that’s unfair.” megan’s retorted firmly. she wasn’t quite sure when she moved, inching closer to y/n on the bench. one second the gap between them was large enough to fit a hutt, and the next she leaned in so close that y/n could see the utter sincerity in her brown eyes. megan continued after a moment with a shake of her head.

“y/n, i don’t know how else to spell this out for you, but i think i’ve longed for you from the moment i met you.” her voice in that moment was so tender. cautious. her eyes darted back and forth between y/n’s own, desperate for some kind of inclination that what she was feeling wasn’t one sided. “ever since we were thirteen, i’ve lied awake at night waiting for the day i’d get to see you again. you’re always in my dreams. haunting me. and now that you’re here, real right in front of me… it breaks me. torments me. please, tell me what i’m supposed to do.”

y/n’s mind raced. megan’s words settled on her like a heavy blanket, weighing down on her in the most cathartic-- and bittersweet-- way possible. she sat there in that moment, looking back in megan’s eyes and seeing only want. need. still, the guilt that pronged at her was stronger. she pursed her lips.

"we’re not allowed to want it," y/n said, shaking her head. "you know that."

"yeah, i know the code," megan muttered half heartedly, fleetingly dismissive. "i’ve had it quoted at me my whole life."

"then don’t ask me to break it with you."

"i’m not asking you to break it," megan said, voice low, steady now. "i’m asking if you feel the same way."

that was the moment. that fragile, splinter-thin beat between truth and denial. between what was safe and what was real. y/n stared at her for a long time. her eyes were glassy. unreadable. her face still carried that perfect composure, but it was faltering around the edges now.

"i do," she whispered.

megan’s heart surged. but then y/n looked away.

"and that’s why this has to stop."

"y/n--"

"don’t." her voice was firmer now. not harsh. just final. "please don’t make this harder than it already is. jedi aren’t supposed to marry. to love. we swore an oath to the order. even if there was something more to this-- to us. we could be expelled. is that truly something you want?”

megan’s jaw tightened. she looked down at her hands, at the datapad still useless in her lap. the bench felt too narrow all of a sudden.

“we could keep it a secret.”

“then we would be living a lie. could you truly do that?”

a pause, and then megan sighed.

“no. it would destroy us.”

outside, the rain kept falling, soft and endless.

neither of them spoke. and megan thought, quietly, that no war could ever feel as painful as being this close to the thing you want most in the galaxy, and not being allowed to reach for it.

the jedi code, a mantra engraved into their minds since day one, had never felt so distant.

the third week on polaris minor was when everything came to a standstill.

megan had finally learned how to stay still during meetings. gun di’s patience was wearing thin, but the senator was busy enough with security and her advisers that she didn’t notice the quiet tug-of no-war happening between the two padawans.

there was a subtle difference between them. megan noticed it first. not just in how y/n’s posture had changed or how much more tense she seemed-- if even humanly possibly. but also the small things. the way y/n didn’t seem so focused on her datapad when they were in a room together. the brief moments when their eyes would meet, and neither would look away immediately. but they always did eventually. megan had laid her heart out bare and y/n had fearfully refused to take it.

it was confusing. maddening.

megan wasn’t used to this kind of tension. she was used to feeling like she had to fill the air with jokes or ridiculousness just to break the silence. but with y/n, the quiet felt different now. suffocating.

whatever moment of peace they had didn’t last when the alarm finally blared.

it was only a matter of time before it happened. if she were being honest, megan was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. she’d just stepped out of a strategy briefing with gun di when the comm crackled. urgent. panic laced the voice.

“assassin has been sighted. senator avanzini has been targeted--main courtyard.”

megan didn’t think. she ran.

by the time she reached the courtyard, the air was thick with tension. guards were shouting, crowd dispersing. smoke rising from a thermal charge. and in the middle of it all, she saw the one thing that had her eyes blowing wide. she tried desperately to force herself through the crowd, her hand already reaching for her saber hilt. in the moments she struggled to reach the center, all she could do was watch.

y/n stood in the middle, blade drawn, the green beam lighting her up in its earthly hue. her saber deflected blaster bolts from a shady figure perched on a nearby rooftop, just narrowly missing senator avanzini as she and her guard ducked behind a wall. the guard raised his blaster, peering out behind the wall and zeroing his sights on the sniper. but he fell just as quickly. the assassin’s bullet pierced through him, a loud plasma bolt that left smoke rising off his body. still, despite it all, y/n stood steady. calm. even as the assassin scaled down the building, as they unsheathed a vibroblade from where it was strapped to their back, y/n waited.

across from her now, cloaked in shadow, stood the assassin.

they were fast. blaster in one hand, vibroblade in the other. they moved like water, slipping through guards, aiming straight for daniela. but y/n was faster.

she intercepted the strike, her saber crackling as it met the blade. their duel was a blur--light and shadow, hiss of metal and hum of plasma. megan stood frozen for a second too long, heart lodged in her throat.

when the assassin narrowly avoided a strike and rolled away just out of view to seek cover, it happened clear as day. they threw a stun grenade. perhaps y/n didn’t see it. perhaps there was too much happening all at once, too much to keep up with. the spherical grenade rolled right under y/n’s feet.

megan shouted a warning, but it was too late.

the blast caught y/n off guard. she stumbled backward, vision disoriented, arms scrambling for balance. the grenade exploded with a burst of electricity. not strong enough to kill, but enough to have her falling unconscious. her body went limp, her saber beam retracting as her hilt dropped from her hands and rolled across the floor. the assassin raised their blaster then, straight for the limp jedi. even as the senators guards and gun di closed in behind megan, even as the assassin was soon to be outnumbered-- they aimed for the fatal blow mercilessly.

megan moved before she could think. she pushed through the last of the dispersing crowd, fear and frustration pronging through her.

her own blade ignited mid-sprint, and she threw herself into the path of the shot. a large jump infused by the force that had her standing between the blaster and y/n within a split second. the bolt grazed y/n’s cheek as megan deflected it, just briefly scraping the surface and instead ricocheting to the floor beside her head. too late to stop it completely, too fast for it to do any real damage.

for a moment they stood, megan’s eyes trained hard on the assassin with a mixture of foreign emotions coursing throughout her. the knowledge that y/n lied unconscious on the floor besides her had her chest aching, her grip on her saber tightening. the assassin stared back at her. at some point during the fight, their helmet had been knocked clean off their head. it was a changeling, its upturned nose flaring as it stared back at her with vehement disgust. the assassin looked like it wanted to move, to land it’s next blow– but it stopped itself. the very second master gun di entered the fray, blue saber drawn and commanding in his stature, the assassin cursed. throwing one last smoke-like grenade, it vanished. escaping from the courtyard while it was still possible.

part of megan wanted to chase. to take off into a sprint after the changeling assassin, to get answers. but when she was reminded of the girl beside her, her attention shifted. she sheathed her blade and dropped beside y/n, gently nudging her shoulder. y/n murmured incoherently, an unintelligible sentence stringed together. but it was enough for megan to release the breath of air she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

she barely registered her master kneeling down just slightly to check on y/n before he stood back up. he barked orders, said something about following the assassin, about taking y/n back to the medbay. but all megan could see was the blood on y/n’s face, the scar slowly forming just under her eye. megan had seen it as clear as day. the way the bolt had nearly struck her temple. if she’d been just a second slower, if she hadn’t ricochet the plasma shot in time... perhaps it would be a different story.

all she could feel was her own heartbeat. and fear.

the medbay was sterile in a way that made megan’s skin itch. light pooled in too-white sheets across the walls, soft and clinical, casting long shadows beneath the edges of the diagnostic panels. it smelled like disinfectant and recycled air. too bright. too clean. too quiet.

she sat curled in the corner of the room, elbows braced against her knees, fingers knotted so tightly her joints ached. the medical droid moved with practiced efficiency, gliding between consoles and the bedside, running quiet scans, smoothing bacta strips into place, adjusting vitals with soft, mechanical chirps. everything was stable. everything was under control. it said nothing concerning.

but megan couldn’t take her eyes off the bed.

y/n hadn’t stirred since they carried her in.

her saber hilt rested on the side table, untouched and silent, the metal catching the medbay lights in dull glints. her hair, normally so neat, was a tangle-- gently brushed back from her face where the droid had treated the wound. megan could still smell the faint singe of ozone and burned cloth clinging to her robes. a sharp, metallic echo of the blast.

just beneath her eye, where the bolt had grazed her, there it was. a thin, raw line. pink and swollen, not deep but angry. a reminder. too close.

megan stared at it like it might vanish if she willed hard enough. like she hadn’t seen the whole thing unfold. like she hadn’t watched the shot line up, hadn’t felt the force scream in her chest until she moved without thinking. until she threw herself in front of it.

she rubbed her hands together once, slow and aimless, as if friction alone could bring sensation back to her skin. but her fingers stayed cold. distant. unfeeling.

it had been hours--at least she thought it had--since gun di told her to bring y/n to the medbay. time had gone strange since then. at some point, a palace guard had slipped in with news. the assassin had fled, chased off-world by gun di and the senator’s patrol ships. a temporary solution, nothing final. the danger wasn’t over, not really. but the senator was safe. the immediate threat had passed.

she was supposed to feel relief. she was supposed to be happy, overjoyed that she could leave the planet and head back home to coruscant. but she wasn’t. it was a two pronged assault on her mind. not only would going home mean that she would be away from y/n again, but it would mean she couldn’t track down the assassin that almost ripped the very world from underneath her.

she should’ve chased them. she could’ve. she’d seen the path through the smoke, had felt the force stirring at the edge of her senses, pulling her forward. it wouldn’t have taken much. just a step, a leap, a push of will--and she would’ve done it. cornered them. ended it.

but she didn’t. she stayed, and now that choice sat heavy in her chest. the truth was simple. she hadn’t stopped it. she’d hesitated.

part of her hated herself for even thinking it. for letting the idea take shape, sharp and unspoken, behind her teeth. she was a jedi. she wasn’t supposed to crave retribution. wasn’t supposed to mourn the absence of a final blow. she knew better.

but the thought lingered anyway--heavy, unshakable. a quiet hunger for resolution that left a bitter taste in her mouth.

and she was almost certain gun di had felt it.

she could still picture the look he gave her--brief, wordless, when he knelt beside y/n in the courtyard. it was a look she ignored at the time, but one she now couldn’t shake. not scolding, not cruel. just steady. a quiet warning in his eyes that said: stand down. let it go. she hadn’t needed a lecture. that one look was enough.

still, shame curled in her gut like smoke. shame for the thought, for the still-burning impulse. for the fact that, even now, a small, dark part of her wished she’d followed through. not out of duty. not to protect the senator.

but because it hurt to see y/n like that. limp. silent. fragile in a way megan had never imagined possible.

the fear hadn’t left her since. no amount of jedi training could quiet the way it gripped her now.

the door hissed open behind her, tearing her from her thoughts.

senator avanzini stepped in, arms wrapped neatly in her long shawl. her pace was quiet, deliberate, eyes scanning the room until they landed on megan.

“how is she?” she asked softly, nodding toward the bed.

megan stood halfway, clearing her throat. “stable,” she said. “just… stunned. the blast wasn’t lethal.”

daniela crossed to the bed, her expression shifting as she took in the sight of y/n--still, quiet, her padawan braid slightly undone from the scuffle. her gaze lingered for a moment before drifting back to megan.

“you stayed behind for her,” she said gently. “when you could’ve chased the assassin.”

megan didn’t answer at first. her eyes flicked to the floor, jaw tense. “i made a choice.”

“not the one your code would’ve dictated,” daniela said, final.

megan’s posture stiffened. her mouth opened, then closed again. her eyes snapped up towards daniela in silent disbelief. daniela simply stared back at her, calm but perceptive.

“you don’t have to say it. i already know.”

megan swallowed hard. “you don’t,” she said, quiet and tight. “and even if you did… you shouldn’t.”

daniela tilted her head. “you’re afraid I’ll tell someone.”

“if you did, it would mean consequences,” megan said. “real ones.”

the silence hung between them like a drawn curtain, and then daniela stepped closer. not looming. not confrontational. simply present.

“no one will hear it from me,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “i know what it means to carry something the system says you shouldn’t. and i know what it is to keep something sacred out of reach.”

megan didn’t move. didn’t breathe.

daniela’s gaze softened. “i’ve come to care about both of you, over these past few weeks. perhapsnmore than i probably should. but i’ve seen the way you look at her. and i’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one is watching.”

megan’s shoulders dropped slightly, but she didn’t respond. daniela glanced back at y/n, her expression unreadable for a long, quiet beat.

megan sat back down, gaze dropping to her hands as she finally caved to the truth. something about the senator had her resolve crumbling. the words slipped out before she could stop them.

“i told her. before. how i felt.” she let out a humorless breath. “she’s better at pretending it doesn’t matter.”

“because of the jedi code?”

megan nodded.

daniela sat down in the chair opposite her. the silence lingered for a beat before she hummed.

“i’ve spent half my life trusting in institutions. codes. rules. the systems meant to protect us. and today, all it took was one assassin and one moment of hesitation for everything to almost fall apart.” her voice softened. “life isn’t always fair, megan. and it certainly isn’t always long.”

megan didn’t respond. her throat felt too tight.

daniela glanced at y/n once more. “i don’t presume to know what’s right for the jedi. but i know what i saw today. you didn’t hesitate when it mattered. you chose to stay. and sometimes, that choice... it means everything.”

she stood. “thank you, megan. for saving my life.”

and then she left, as quietly as she’d come.

the door hissed shut behind the senator, and the room fell back into stillness.

megan leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees again. the words daniela had said echoed in her chest, loud where her thoughts had gone quiet.

she looked at y/n.

she should’ve chased the assassin. should’ve done her duty, followed through, ended the threat properly. but she hadn’t. not because she was afraid. not because she was weak.

because she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her behind.

her eyes burned, but she blinked hard against it.

“you scared the hell out of me,” she whispered.

y/n didn’t stir. didn’t answer. but her breathing was steady now. real. alive.

megan let out a slow breath.

“i swear,” she said softly, fingers brushing the edge of the blanket near y/n’s hand, “i won’t let it come that close again.”

the assassin had been chased off-world. the danger, at least for now, had passed. and with the immediate threat neutralized, it was time for them to move on.

y/n had woken sometime before dawn, her brow furrowed with pain as she stirred. she didn’t say much--just a quiet, strained sound when she tried to sit up, her body still reeling from the lingering shock of the grenade. megan had been at her side in an instant, hand hovering just above her arm, unsure whether to touch her. unsure what was allowed.

“don’t move,” she murmured, barely above a breath.

y/n didn’t argue. she just blinked slowly, the exhaustion carved deep into her features.

that was all. no dramatic reunion. no words of comfort. just quiet, shared breath and the space between them filled with everything unspoken.

and then, too quickly, they were gone.

one moment they were on the palace steps bidding senator avanzini farewell beneath a gray sky. the senator stood with her hands folded, a slight smile hidden beneath tired eyes. her goodbye to megan had been brief, but meaningful--an unspoken nod that said remember what i said. to y/n, it had been gentler. familiar. fond.

the next, megan had barely stepped back aboard the t-6 shuttle before the holoterminal lit up. an urgent transmission, flagged by the council. they were needed. immediately. she hadn’t even taken her cloak off.

as the stars began to blur beyond the viewport, the polaris system shrinking into the vastness behind them, megan sat motionless in the co-pilot’s seat, her thoughts still caught somewhere on the marble floors of the palace courtyard. and yet, beneath the dull hum of hyperspace and the weight of everything left unresolved, a small part of her felt… relieved. they weren’t going home. not yet.

she still had time.

as master gun di input the coordinates into the navicomputer, his fingers moving with calm precision over the control panel. megan sat besides him, still and silent, trying not to let her thoughts spiral. the soft chime of hyperspace calculations echoed around the cockpit, and somewhere beneath the mechanical hum, her heart was pounding.

geonosis.

the name alone made something twist in her chest. whatever waited for them down there--whatever the council had deemed urgent enough to summon them directly from polaris--it wasn’t going to be simple. it wouldn’t be clean.

she could already feel it in her bones.

her palms had gone clammy. her breathing uneven. she tried to center herself, to reach for that internal stillness that master gun di had spent years trying to instill in her. but it slipped through her fingers like water. the force echoed with her nerves, loud and raw, thrumming in the air around her like a struck chord.

she didn’t miss the glance he cast her through his peripheral. a silent check-in. not invasive, not reprimanding. but she felt the message all the same: breathe, padawan.

she dipped her head in acknowledgment and stood from the copilot seat, turning on her heel before he could say anything aloud.

the shuttle's corridor was narrow and dimly lit, the quiet hum of hyperspace folding around the space like a blanket. megan moved down the aisle with soft steps, her boots barely whispering against the floor. at the back of the ship, in the co-passenger bay tucked just out of sight of the cockpit, she found her. y/n sat cross-legged on one of the cushioned benches, back straight, hands resting lightly in her lap. her eyes were closed, face calm– at least on the surface. but megan could sense it in the air between them, thin and electric. meditation didn’t quiet emotions. not entirely. it just held them in check.

her padawan braid had been freshly re-tied, neat again. her robes had been pressed, the creases sharp in the low light. but the scar remained. a thin, vivid line beneath her eye, still healing but settled now. permanent.

megan stood in the doorway for a moment, not speaking. just looking.

it would never fade, that mark. no matter how many healing sessions she sat through, no matter how many years passed, it would stay--a reminder of how close things had come. of what could’ve happened. what almost did. and still she was beautiful. not despite the scar. rather, because of it.

megan stepped into the room, slow and measured, careful not to startle her. they were alone. gun di was piloting, and he couldn’t see them from where he sat. just the two of them now. a pocket of privacy.

“hey,” she said quietly.

y/n opened her eyes, drawn back from meditation by the weight of a gaze she knew too well.

megan stood nearby, not speaking, just watching her with a quiet intensity that made y/n's chest tighten. there was nothing judgmental in her expression--just a soft, searching focus. and yet, it was enough to stir every old insecurity buried just beneath the surface.

self-consciousness crept in before she could stop it. her fingers twitched, and then slowly, instinctively, she raised a hand to her face, as if to shield the angry mark that lived there now.

but she didn’t get far.

megan moved before she could flinch away, her own hand catching y/n’s gently, carefully. not forceful, just certain. she guided it down and held it there, warm and steady between them. then, slowly, her other hand reached up. fingertips brushed just below the scar, feather-light. a reverent touch, as if she were tracing a constellation across fragile skin. careful. intentional. like the scar was something worth memorizing.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat. she didn’t move. didn’t blink.

megan’s voice came quiet--low and certain, a truth she’d already decided long before she spoke it.

“it suits you.”

y/n blinked, startled by the softness of it. “what does?”

megan’s thumb barely grazed the edge of the scar.

“the scar.”

y/n didn’t respond at first. her expression stayed still. unreadable. but her eyes searched megan’s face, like she was trying to figure out if she meant it.

she did.

megan shrugged, eyes still lingering on y/n’s face. “it makes you look… real.”

y/n tilted her head, brow faintly furrowed. “i was real before.”

“yeah,” megan said, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of her mouth--soft, but weighted. “but now the galaxy sees it too.”

outside the shuttle’s viewport, the stars blurred on in silence, streaks of light bending toward the horizon. geonosis loomed ahead, just beyond reach. but in here, the world felt momentarily still. megan’s hand lingered by y/n’s cheek, gentle and unmoving.

“you’re beautiful,” she said quietly, like it was a fact, not a risk. “always.”

the words landed like a blow softened by velvet. familiar, but no less piercing. the same words she’d spoken in the senate hallway a week ago. and still, somehow, they hit just as hard. she uttered them as if she was still just as sure. as if it was fact, still just as true.

y/n didn’t respond right away. she couldn’t. something in her chest ached with the weight of it. of all the things she’d kept buried under duty, under silence. the look in megan’s eyes unraveled every wall she’d spent years building. and yet, the only thing louder than her heartbeat was the truth pressing at the edges of her ribs.

she still felt it. she always had. perhaps, she always would.

it felt fragile. whatever existed between them in that sliver of privacy, somewhere between confession and restraint. outside, the stars streaked past in pale blue ribbons. megan had only just started to breathe again when the shuttle lurched out of hyperspace.

they were finally over geonosis.

“prepare for descent,” gun di called from the cockpit. his voice was tense, clipped--sharper than usual. “we’re being diverted straight to the surface. no time to brief. something’s happening.”

megan and y/n exchanged a quick glance. they didn’t ask questions. there wasn’t time.

the shuttle broke atmosphere, rattling as the turbulence kicked in. sand blew in waves beneath them, red dust curling like smoke over jagged rock formations. then the arena came into view. massive, ancient, crumbling. and full. megan stepped to the edge of the ramp as it opened mid-hover. her boots hit stone before the ship even settled, and for a moment, she just… stared.

hundreds of beings filled the towering balconies. geonosians. thousands of them. their wings fluttering with agitation. the air was thick with tension, and beneath them, on the arena floor, a spectacle had already begun. dozens of jedi. lightsabers ignited. clashing against lines of battle droids.

megan froze in place. they were standing in a warzone.

megan’s chest tightened as her eyes swept the arena again. figures she recognized, jedi she'd trained beside at the temple. all fighting, bleeding, shouting orders over the chaos. they hadn’t been briefed. hadn’t even been told what to expect. but this wasn’t just a mission.

this was something else.

and then--up near the high podium, framed by geonosian guards--was a man with a red saber, his blade clashing against purple. the color alone made megan's stomach turn.

they’d only been on polaris minor for three weeks. twenty-one days. and somehow, the galaxy had fractured. a blaster bolt snapped overhead, breaking their daze.

gun di was already on the ground, saber ignited, calling out to them. “move!”

instinct took over. megan leapt into the fray, blade flaring to life in her grip. y/n moved with her, fluid and fierce. together, they carved through the battle droids with a rhythm honed over years of training. megan, reckless but precise--flipping over collapsing debris, driving her saber into circuits. y/n, calm and tactical, covering her blind spots, intercepting fire with clean, perfect deflections. they were two halves of the same strike. seamless. brutal. unstoppable.

and then the sky cracked open. ships roared overhead, laat gunships that pierced through the haze. lines of soldiers descended from them. white-armored, faceless, organized in ways the republic had never been. they landed in formation and opened fire on the droids.

for a heartbeat, megan thought she was dreaming.

“who are they?” she shouted, panting.

y/n ducked behind a pillar, deflecting incoming fire. “i don’t know--they’re not jedi. but they’re on our side!”

republic insignias gleamed across their chestplates.

megan didn’t have time to process it. didn’t have time to ask how or why or what had changed. because in the periphery of her vision, cutting through the chaos like a dark flame-- she saw it. a cloak. black. fast. a glint of a vibroblade, and a long barreled sniper rifle.

the assassin.

megan’s heart seized. before she knew it, she was already moving. she broke from formation without thinking, legs moving before her mind could catch up. y/n turned sharply behind her, confusion flickering across her face.

“megan!”

but megan was already chasing the figure, weaving through crumbling archways and shattered debris at a dead sprint. her heart thundered in her ears. the assassin moved ahead of her like a shadow cut loose from the battlefield--silent, fast, slipping between the bones of the arena with terrifying ease. but not fast enough. not this time.

not again.

y/n was just behind her, breath coming sharp, her boots slamming against the ancient stone floor as they dove deeper into the arena’s underbelly. it was quieter here. no war cries, no blaster fire. just the echo of their footsteps and the scent of dust, rust, and something older. something dry and dead. here, there were no guards. no senator. no backup. just the two of them and the thing that had almost killed her.

they rounded a collapsed archway, and that’s when megan saw them. the cloak. the glint of the blade. the assassin had slowed, thinking they’d lost their tail, pausing to slip into the shadows of a narrow corridor. only megan didn’t slow. she leapt.

her saber came down in a blur of blue, crashing into stone as the assassin twisted away just in time, sparks flying from the wall where her blade struck. the figure hissed and spun, backing away with inhuman grace.

a curse rang out in huttese, low and guttural, though megan caught the words.

“should’ve stayed on polaris.”

the assassin’s mask turned toward her, vibroblade sliding into a ready position with a resonant hum.

“you don’t give up, do you?” the voice said now in basic--distorted, modulated, but undeniably mocking. “or is it the girl you’re really chasing after?”

megan’s saber snapped back into a guard position. “you’re not getting away this time.”

the assassin lunged.

metal clashed with light, blades screaming against each other in a flurry of motion. megan struck fast and hard, her anger fueling every move. but the assassin was relentless--slipping under her swings, deflecting with practiced flicks of their blade, countering with bone-shaking kicks and sweeps that kept her off balance.

y/n joined the fray, saber flashing into the space between them. her timing was clean. but even with both of them pressing in, the assassin held their ground. megan gritted her teeth. she was faster. stronger. trained. but nothing landed. every time her saber carved through the air, the assassin was already gone, turning, ducking, slashing back. one blade caught her shoulder, too close. she barely blocked the second.

“you’re supposed to be better than this,” the assassin growled, twisting around y/n to drive a blade toward megan’s side. “jedi are supposed to be better.”

the words stung more than the blow. megan blocked it just in time, but her footing slipped. the frustration burned hot in her chest.

y/n lunged to intercept, but the assassin pivoted, spinning low, and kicked her square in the chest. y/n, still rather new to soresu and definitely not as adept as she should have been, had no time to react. she hit the wall with a sharp grunt, saber clattering from her grip. she crumpled to the floor, dazed, one arm curling protectively around her ribs.

megan’s heart snapped. everything inside her surged. there was no thought. no discipline. no training.

only fear.

her hand lifted before she even realized what she was doing, and immediately the force answered. violent and raw. it surged through her like a storm breaking loose.

the assassin froze mid-lunge, their body snapping upright, limbs trembling as an invisible grip closed around their throat. their boots scraped helplessly against the stone floor, trying to dig in, to breathe, to move--but megan held them suspended, her arm extended, fingers curled tight like a vice. her breath came hard. her muscles shook. her thoughts--her training--had vanished, replaced by one singular, pulsing need.

make it stop.

her saber buzzed low beside her. her other hand rose, slow and deliberate, as she stepped forward.

“you don’t get to hurt her again,” she whispered, voice low and shaking.

the assassin clawed at their throat. their mask turned toward her. eyes wide. the vibroblade slipped from their hands, clattering uselessly to the floor.

megan didn’t release them.

the grip she had--it felt good. for a split second, it filled the hollow in her chest with heat. with power. the way their body convulsed, helpless, suspended midair--there was a part of her, small and buried, that reveled in it.

a cruel part. a frightened part. and it terrified her.

but she didn’t stop.

with a breath that trembled like rage, she tightened her hold then drove her saber forward. the blade burned through armor and flesh.

the assassin's body jerked violently, the grip breaking as they collapsed in a heap. the mask slipped from their face and rolled across the floor, coming to a stop in the flickering light. the changeling’s mouth hung open, eyes still wide. still staring.

and they were dead.

because of her.

megan stood over the body, frozen. the hum of her saber still echoed through the chamber, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. the power she’d just wielded still clung to her skin like a second layer--wrong, heavy, dark. she staggered back a step. looked down at what she’d done. she felt her stomach drop.

the hum of her saber faded as she deactivated it. the light was gone. so was the noise. only silence remained.

megan stood there, trembling. the force still churned in her like a storm barely held back. her breath came in short, shallow bursts. her hand--still outstretched--slowly lowered.

behind her, y/n stirred. she pushed herself to her knees, wincing. blood trickled from her brow.

megan didn’t move.

“megan,” y/n said gently, voice rough, “you did what you had to do.”

megan shook her head.

“no,” she whispered, backing away from the body. “i-i panicked. i saw your face. i saw the scar. i saw you unconscious in the meday. and i thought--you’d die. i thought--”

her voice cracked, and she sank to the ground beside the body, hands trembling in her lap.

“i should’ve ended it then. i had the chance. i could’ve. but i didn’t. and now--”

y/n crawled toward her through the dust and blood, each movement labored. pain rippled down her side, her ribs aching, her limbs sluggish--but she didn’t stop. not when megan looked like she was about to shatter.

not when she needed her.

she reached her slowly, knees scraping against the stone, and lifted both hands to cup megan’s face--dirt and ash smudging between her fingers. her thumbs brushed gently over tear-streaked skin, grounding her.

“you saved me,” she whispered.

megan flinched like the words hurt. her gaze stayed low, locked on the space between them.

“i wasn’t supposed to feel like this,” she choked out, barely audible. “i wasn’t supposed to care. we’re not supposed to--” the sentence caught on the edge of something sharp. something ancient and sacred and breaking.

“but i can’t,” she said, and this time her voice cracked. “i can’t see you die. not now. not ever.”

her eyes burned, breath catching in her throat. the weight of it--the grief, the fear, the truth--finally crushed through her chest.

she sobbed.

“i love you, y/n.”

the words came out broken, raw and unguarded, a truth dragged up from the deepest place in her soul.

y/n stared at her.

her heart thundered against her ribs. this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. not here. not like this. not after blood and death and war. and especially not with megan--silly, infuriating, soft-hearted megan, whose laughter filled every quiet space and whose loyalty ran deeper than anyone she’d ever known.

but none of that mattered now.

because this was real.

and y/n had spent so long pretending it wasn’t.

so she did the one thing she’d forbidden herself from doing.

she leaned in--and kissed her.

it was soft at first, uncertain. her lips barely brushed megan’s, like she was afraid they’d both break from the touch alone. but megan breathed in sharply and reached up, hands trembling as she caught y/n’s face like she was something precious, like the only solid thing left in the galaxy.

the kiss deepened, slow and desperate and reverent. pain and fear and love poured into it, until neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.

it was raw. it was wrong. but it was real.

when y/n felt megan kiss her back, her hands warm and shaking against her skin, she didn’t think about the code. or the council. or what would come next. she only thought of her. everything else--jedi, droids, blood in the sand--faded away. maybe it was dangerous. maybe it would destroy them.

but here, in the burning heart of a dying arena, it was the only thing that made sense.

_ the clones had names. that was what stayed with her, long after the battle ended, long after the shuttle lifted off the blood-red sands of geonosis. they weren’t just serial numbers printed on armor or shouted across comms--though they answered to those, too. ct-8214. cc-2224. ct-6507.

but they had names. names they’d given themselves. some sharp, some ridiculous. a quiet rebellion against the order they were born into.

megan remembered one in particular: jex. he had a scar down his chin that looked almost deliberate, a crooked grin that didn’t match the bruises across his jaw, and a way of sitting like he’d been through this all before--even though, by every definition, this was the first time any of them had stepped into war. he offered her a ration bar and called her “ma’am” with a kind of teasing lilt, like he already knew she hated it. like he knew she didn’t feel any older than him, any more in control.

he talked with the guards like they were old friends. laughed too easily. and when he looked at y/n, he gave her the kind of nod soldiers give each other after surviving something terrible.

y/n didn’t nod back. she just watched them, silent and still, as rows of identical faces filed off the gunship. they all looked the same, but somehow, none of them did. white armor gleaming under the hangar lights. polished boots. unreadable expressions. every one of them carried a blaster. every one of them carried a fate that had been decided for them.

“they’re clones,” master gun di had said earlier, voice calm and grave. “grown for combat. commissioned by the republic. we’ll be commanding them.”

“commanding,” y/n had repeated under her breath, the word sour in her mouth, like it didn’t belong to her.

they hadn’t said much since. not on the shuttle ride back to coruscant, not while the bruises on megan’s shoulder still ached from the last skirmish, not while the hum of the hyperdrive filled the space between rows of quiet, waiting soldiers. gun di sat near the front of the transport, arms folded, eyes closed in meditation--or something close to it. the clones took up the back, their helmets tucked beneath their arms, or clipped to their belts, heads bowed in a way that didn’t feel like rest.

it felt like ritual. it felt like they were waiting to be used again.

megan didn’t look at her master. she didn’t look at the clones, either. she looked at y/n.

she watched the way y/n kept her hands folded in her lap, perfectly still. the way her posture remained rigid, even seated. the way her gaze never rested for long. she looked like a statue built to withstand the storm, only megan could feel the cracks beneath the surface.

they never told anyone what happened with the assassin. officially, the senator was targeted. a padawan neutralized the threat. some reports named y/n. some named megan. no one clarified. no one needed to. they didn’t lie. they just… didn’t correct anyone. they were already hiding one thing. what was one more?

she wanted to say something. anything. but nothing felt right. not until the shuttle began to descend, until the familiar spires of coruscant broke through the clouds, rising like jagged silver towers in the dusk.

the city pulsed beneath them. the temple’s lights blinked on, one by one. and before megan could think better of it--before she could stop herself--she pulled y/n aside the very second they were alone.

“marry me.”

it slipped out like breath. like truth. like it had been sitting on her tongue for hours, days, years. not planned. not dramatic. just real.

y/n’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. “what?”

megan didn’t flinch. she just shrugged, like she hadn’t just shattered the fragile balance between them. like this wasn’t the biggest thing she’d ever said in her life.

“i’m serious.”

they stood side by side on the landing platform now, robes catching the edge of the night breeze. the shuttle’s doors had opened, the others already filing off. clones. jedi. gun di, walking ahead with calm, purposeful strides. no one noticed them lingering.

“megan,” y/n said, her voice low, tired. the kind of tired that lived in the bones. “don’t.”

“why not?”

“because we don’t have time for this,” she said, and there was no anger in it--just exhaustion. “not now. not with all of this.”

megan didn’t step closer. didn’t reach for her. just stood still, watching her.

“that’s exactly why i’m asking,” she said, softer now. “because we don’t have time. we never did.”

and that–- that-- was what made y/n pause. for a moment, the city felt distant. the whine of starfighters overhead. the distant glow of senate rotunda windows. the murmur of guards and mechanics and transport crews. all of it blurred.

megan said nothing more. she waited, like she always did when it mattered. y/n looked down at her hands, fingers curled at her sides. then she looked back at megan.

and finally, up--toward the sky, where a heavy cruiser passed low over the cityscape, its shadow sweeping across the platform like a stormfront rolling in.

“not now,” she said, quiet but certain. “but if we wait just a little longer--my answer would be yes.”

megan’s chest tightened.

“you’d marry me?” she asked, almost like she couldn’t believe it.

y/n nodded slowly. “yes. i would. but not while the whole galaxy’s still falling apart. not while there’s so much we don’t know. not with war on our heels and the council breathing down our necks. just… give it a little more time. please.”

megan’s breath left her in a slow exhale, like she’d been holding it for days.

“okay,” she said, and the word felt warm in her mouth. “i can wait.”

y/n stepped in just close enough that their sleeves brushed, a single fold of fabric grazing another. not quite touching. not quite safe. but real.

“just don’t ask me again,” she whispered, “unless you really mean it.”

megan huffed a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “i always mean it.”

“i know,” y/n said, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled. small. fleeting. but there. “that’s what scares me.”

above them, the cruiser’s shadow passed over the hangar. and beneath it, two girls stood shoulder to shoulder at the edge of everything, armed with nothing but a ‘maybe’, a promise, and the quiet understanding that no one was coming to save them from what they were already feeling.

at the end of the day, they both knew. the worst was yet to come. but at least now they’d face it together.

the war had changed everything. since geonosis, since the sand had settled around the petranaki arena and the galaxy realized what it meant to bleed, nothing had been the same. the jedi, once peacekeepers, were now commanders. generals. quiet figures caught in the center of a growing storm.

megan skiendiel had changed, too.

there had been slight alterations to her robes since polaris minor. deeper shades. heavier fabric. not quite what she was used to, but she wore them anyway. they felt closer to who she was now. not so much the girl who dove headfirst into chaos, but someone who thought before she moved. someone who had learned what it meant to lose.

but in the middle of it all, there was love. something steady. something that hadn’t faltered.

she and y/n had been together since geonosis. not in the way the jedi council would ever acknowledge. not in public. but in the quiet places, when the war hadn’t reached them yet. a shared glance in the temple halls. laughter muffled under temple sheets. megan brushing her fingers against y/n’s wrist as they passed in the archives. moments stolen, held tightly, never taken for granted.

and in those spaces, megan had come alive. not in the loud, reckless way she always had, but in something softer. more sure of itself. more her. no grand confessions. no oaths. just presence. closeness. they became each other’s still point in a world that kept turning.

and for megan, it was like something had unlocked inside her. she let herself be clumsy. silly. honest. the war might have forced her to grow, but love had allowed her to stay soft.

there were memories tucked into the months like pressed flowers.

she made y/n laugh whenever she could. terrible impressions during medbay check-ins, dramatic reenactments of council briefings that never failed to pull a smile. she once spent an entire week memorizing three forms of serenno dialect just to impersonate a particularly rude senator they’d encountered. she didn’t even regret it when it got her temporarily banned from the archives.

in the training rooms, she always pushed y/n harder than she pushed herself. soresu first, then djem so. not for competition, but rather for preparation. blades humming, sweat beading along her brow as she laughed through every sparring match.

“if we ever get split up,” she said once, flicking y/n’s saber away with a grin, “i want to know you’ll be okay without me. not that you ever will be.”

then there was the droid.

it happened after a long session at the senate tower, during one of their quieter assignments. y/n had lingered beside an astromech near the platform gates, kneeling to check a misaligned circuit. she didn’t say much, but megan could see it. the soft smile. the way she rested her hand on the droid’s dome like it was already hers.

when they left, she looked back once. just for a second. that was all megan needed.

senator avanzini had always been easy to talk to, especially after their conversation in the medbay on polaris. megan had come to appreciate those quiet moments with the soft-spoken senator. her warmth, her patience, the way she never pressed too hard. later, when megan told y/n about it while she was still recovering, y/n’s reaction was immediate. shock, then fear. she was terrified the senator might tell their master’s, that the secret of their arrangement would be exposed. low and behold, those fears vanished two days after y/n’s run in with the astromech when there was a soft knock at her chamber door.

megan didn’t even have to explain the full situation to senator avanzini. she simply said that it was “for her”, that it would “make her happy.” daniela didn’t need to hear anything more. by the end of it, daniela was beaming on the other side of the holocommunicator. she had the droid delivered to temple the very next morning.

it wasn’t quite the same droid, but it was close enough. r3-d4– arthree for short– showed up just after sunrise. a class two astromech, painted in soft greens and silvers, with an oddly polite chirp that almost sounded shy. megan handed him over with a grin, standing besides the little astromech on the other side of the door.

“his name’s arthree,” she said. “you looked like you missed the other one.”

“megan—”

“daniela insisted,” she shrugged, half truthful. there was zero chance she would admit to y/n how nervous she was when she made the call to their senator friend. how long she stood outside y/n’s door that moment then, trying to build up the courage to knock and gift her the droid. after a beat, she grinned. “besides, i thought we could use a new friend. anything to see that smile of yours.”

y/n looked left and right before grabbing megan by the collar and tugging her in immediately, pressing a long, meaningful kiss against the taller girls lips. arthree whirred besides them in surprise (the poor little droid needed a debriefing not five minutes later that it was imperative he kept their secret, to which he blipped and beeped in excited agreement).

when their masters asked about the droid, they said arthree was a thank-you gift for protecting the senator during the polaris minor incident. no one questioned it. it was almost too easy.

megan knew, though. deep down, pushed into the furthest reaches of her being, that it wouldn’t last forever. she just didn’t expect this reality to become numbingly clear so soon.

the soft beep of megan’s holocommunicator broke the silence, pulling her from sleep. the chamber around her was still and warm, dimly lit by the first hints of morning. like most jedi quarters, it was spare, simple, functional, and intentionally unadorned. no decorations, no keepsakes. they were taught not to cling to material things. but one object stood out. set neatly on the corner desk, a small carved stone rested in quiet defiance of the jedi code. smooth, pale, shaped into the likeness of a bird mid-flight. megan had found it in a vendor’s stall deep in the lower levels of coruscant and pocketed it without hesitation. she said it reminded her of y/n. she’d given it to her just a week ago.

morning light slanted across the stone floor of y/n’s chamber, soft and golden, filtering in through the narrow window and casting long shadows across the walls. her breath was warm against megan’s bare shoulder, slow and even, the steady rhythm of sleep not yet disturbed. for a long moment, megan didn’t move. didn’t blink. just watched her.

there was something sacred in the quiet. the way y/n’s brow stayed smooth in sleep, how the edge of her hand rested against megan’s ribs like it had always belonged there. it was rare, this stillness, this peace. and megan let herself soak in every second of it. her heart ached with it, full in a way she didn’t have words for.

she loved her so much it hurt. not in the loud, desperate way love was often written about, but in the quiet, unshakable kind. the kind that lived in mornings like this.

megan finally tore her gaze away, eyes drifting to the ceiling as the shape of reality began to settle around her, slow and heavy.

she should’ve slipped out hours ago. but she hadn’t. not this time.

not when y/n was still curled so close, lost in sleep, holding onto her like she never wanted to let go.

eventually, the insistent beeping of her holocommunicator refused to be ignored. megan let out a soft sigh, careful as she eased herself from y/n’s arms. her grip was firm even in sleep, and it took effort not to wake her.

she moved quietly, pulling on her robes with practiced ease, smoothing down her dark brown hair with quick, habitual sweeps. the communicator lit up in her hand, casting a faint blue glow as she angled it away from the bed, shielding y/n from view.

when the channel opened, her master’s face flickered into form. stern, tired, and not in the mood for conversation. master gun di gave a curt nod, skipping any pleasantries. his voice was calm but carried enough weight to make her shoulders square.

“padawan. y/n is needed in the hangar bay. gather her and come immediately.”

megan hesitated. her voice caught slightly as she tried, and failed, to sound casual.

“y/n...? she’s probably asleep in her quarters. have you tried calling her?”

gun di didn’t respond right away. his expression didn’t change, but the silence said enough. he knew. or at the very least, he suspected. the kind of quiet intuition a seasoned jedi couldn’t ignore. his gaze lingered, unreadable, and then he sighed.

“five minutes.”

the transmission ended with a soft warble, his image vanishing into static.

megan let the communicator drop to her side, slipping it into the front pocket of her robes. she turned, eyes falling back on y/n’s sleeping form, still curled beneath the sheets. part of her wanted to stay. to climb back in, tuck herself beneath the covers and forget the galaxy existed. just for a little longer.

but she knew better.

she leaned over, hands finding y/n’s shoulders with familiar gentleness. her grip was soft, careful not to startle.

“hey,” she whispered, just above a breath, as she gave the smallest shake.

y/n stirred slowly, lashes fluttering as her eyes blinked open. hazy, confused, still wrapped in the last threads of sleep. megan couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her mouth. it was quiet and warm, the kind that slipped in without permission.

“good morning,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from y/n’s cheek. “i let you sleep as long as i could.”

y/n hummed, voice raspy with sleep. “what time is it?”

“too late,” megan said. “gun di’s looking for us. something about the hangar bay.”

y/n groaned, rolling onto her back and draping an arm over her eyes. megan laughed, soft under her breath.

“come on,” she said, pulling back the covers with a dramatic sweep. “we’ve got five minutes.”

megan stepped back to give her space, but her gaze lingered, soft and steady, like it always did. only when y/n stood and reached for her robes did megan finally turn away, hands fidgeting, shoulders tense in that familiar, awkward way of hers.

y/n laughed quietly under her breath. it was one of the things she loved most about megan skiendiel. for all her fire and boldness, she never overstepped. always respectful. always gentle. always hers.

once they were both ready– robes straightened, boots laced, lightsabers clipped to their belts– they shared one last glance. a silent kiss passed between them. then they moved.

the corridor buzzed with the quiet churn of the temple’s early stirrings. somewhere along the walk, a small metallic blur zipped around the corner. arthree. the little droid let out a cheerful trill, servos whirring as he spun toward them, bumping lightly against y/n’s leg like an overeager pet.

“morning, buddy,” y/n murmured, giving him a fond pat.

megan grinned beside her. “he missed you.”

by the time the three of them reached the hangar bay, the space was already humming with activity. clones assembling in quiet formation, transport ships powering up, and mechanics shouting over the noise. the war never slept, and neither did its soldiers.

and then they saw him. master– no, general gun di stood before a group of clones. their armor was pale gray with soft blue accents, clean and lightweight with various tech-enhancements. he stood in conversation with one of them, a tall clone whose presence stood out even among his brothers. a dark kama draped from his belt, a crossbody pauldron slung over one shoulder, both markers of command. his posture was easy, but sharp-eyed. alert. he had to be the troops commander.

the very second gun di felt his padawan approaching, he turned. and for the first time since the war began, he smiled. so faint it might’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. but megan saw it. she always did.

gun di had changed in the months since geonosis. the calm, introspective man who once quoted the code by heart now carried himself with the stillness of someone who had seen too much, too quickly. his robes were the same cut, but his wrists bore clone-style bracers, the durasteel lined with mesh, a large republic insignia etched into the left one. his blue eyes, once bright with patience, had dimmed to something steadier. more burdened. his mouth wore a permanent, unreadable line. war had hardened him, but not erased him. there was no mistaking his silent delight in seeing the girl he’s known since she was twelve.

general di stood with his arms behind his back, expression unreadable. whatever ghost of a smile had flickered there vanished as quickly as it had come. duty came first.

“knight y/n,” he greeted, his tone even, clipped. his gaze flicked to megan beside her, but his words were meant only for one. “your unit awaits.”

megan’s jaw tensed, just slightly. the word sat heavy in the air– knight.

she glanced sideways at y/n, who stood a little straighter under the title, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. pride, maybe. or nerves. maybe both. megan didn’t blame her.

she was proud. truly. she remembered the moment y/n told her, quietly, in the gardens outside the temple how the council had voted. how her knighthood came not at the end of a formal trial, but out of necessity. sinube would remain at the temple, overseeing younglings and archives. there were too few generals. too many battles. too much loss.

y/n, steady and capable, had been chosen.

megan had smiled when she heard. hugged her. kissed her, even. but that smile had a weight behind it.

because she was still a padawan. still reporting to gun di. still waiting.

in some twisted way, it felt almost unfair. megan was a skilled saber duelist. perhaps one of the best in the order, even. and for all the pride she felt, all the love she had for the girl beside her– it still stung.

gun di turned toward the tall clone commander, motioning to y/n with a short nod. “commander trace, this is your general.”

trace stepped forward. “sir,” he said, offering a sharp salute. his voice was calm, thoughtful. his eyes studied y/n for a moment, not judgmental– just observant. measuring. respectful. “we’re honored to serve under you.”

megan’s fingers tightened slightly within her sleeves, but she didn’t move, her gaze flicking between y/n and the clones. she could sense the weight of the moment, the subtle shift that was happening all around them. y/n was now a leader, a general, and she would have to guide them through the battles ahead. it was what she wanted. what she had earned. but megan couldn’t shake the feeling that, in some ways, this moment had been stolen from her.

gun di, seeing the moment had passed and knowing the need to press forward, motioned for the legion to fall into formation.

“your unit, general y/n. the 227th legion. congratulations.”

for a moment megan stood. y/n met her gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. megan’s lips tugged into a soft smile, one that didn't reach the corners of her eyes. as gun di’s call echoed in the air, megan could feel the smile fade, the ache rising in her chest once again.

she was proud, yes, but it didn’t stop the sting from creeping in, a quiet resentment she couldn’t shake. she couldn’t help it. not for y/n, no. never for her. but for her master. for the council. she’d been waiting too, hadn’t she?

“general y/n,” she eventually said instead, stepping beside her with a crooked smile. “should i salute now, or wait until you start ordering me around?”

y/n glanced at her sideways, lips twitching. “now’s fine.”

“you’re not gonna make me call you that all day, are you?”

y/n tilted her head, amused. “depends. are you going to start listening to me?”

“absolutely not.”

y/n’s laugh echoed off the durasteel walls. and for a moment, despite everything, it felt easy again.

with a final, sharp nod to the legion, gun di turned on his heel, his cloak brushing the floor as he left them. only before he left, he finally turned his attention to megan, motioning for her to follow.

her gaze flicked back to y/n one last time before she turned, her footsteps light but lacking the enthusiasm she wished she could fake. it was wrong, she knew. she should be cheering, not feeling this knot twist tighter in her stomach.

but jealousy had a way of sinking into your bones, like a quiet whisper you couldn’t shake. and for all the love she had for y/n, it was there, present and undeniable.

as she followed gun di, her step was less than peppy, a stark contrast to the hopeful confidence that was supposed to be there. she hated how it felt, but the truth was clear. for now, all she could do was stand by her, even if her own heart twisted in places she couldn’t explain.

she loved y/n. that would never change. but sometimes, love wasn’t enough to silence the quiet ache of wanting more.

she didn’t want ‘more’ to happen at the expense of someone she cared for, however. only it was too late. the force had a funny way of responding, megan realized. it had its own sense of timing. cruel, deliberate.

it wasn’t even a month later that news had reached her. the message came without warning. one encrypted report, buried beneath dispatches and logistical updates.

master gun di, confirmed dead. killed in action on ryloth. no survivors.

it didn’t feel real. not at first. not even when she read the full transmission. not even when she saw his name listed beside captain keel’s, among the dozens of others lost.

the rain on coruscant didn’t fall like it did on the rim worlds. it didn’t carve through dust or flood broken homes. it was filtered, processed, condensed and redistributed through repulsorlift towers that shimmered in the skyline. still, it found the temple. soft against the windows. quiet in the way grief often was. it was the kind of rain that didn’t cleanse anything. just filled the silence.

and megan had never felt so hollow.

megan stood just outside the council chambers.

knighted, they said. in the absence of her master. in honor of his sacrifice. the ceremony had been brief, formal. a few quiet words. a nod from masters she’d never trained under. no time for questions. no room for grief. just the hum of the temple continuing without pause, as if the war had simply absorbed one more name.

they gave her a title. a command. a clone troop waiting for her and whatever came next.

the ninety-second assault battalion.

they wore dark gray and faded crimson armor. scratched, worn. stripped of anything ceremonial. they were built for function, not for show. veterans of geonosis, of christophis, of campaigns she hadn’t even read the reports for. they didn’t salute when she walked in. they just looked at her. assessed. nodded like they’d seen too many new commanders already and knew better than to get attached.

commander jex had been the first to speak.

same scar on his chin. same deep voice. but different now. more hollow. megan remembered him from the shuttle ride home after geonosis, back when he’d cracked jokes and hummed low tunes over the comms. he’d looked her in the eye then. now he just glanced past her, quiet and watchful.

but still, he remembered her.

she wasn’t ready. not for the armor. not for the weight of command. not for the silence that came after being told to move on.

it was too much. all of it. too fast. knighted, reassigned, re-armed.

her master was dead. she hadn’t cried. not when they told her. not during the hollow ceremony. not when the title was given and the braid was cut.

she cried now. not loud. not broken. just silent. the kind of grief that lived in the chest and never made it to the throat. she leaned her head against the smooth stone wall and let the tears fall where no one would see.

she hadn’t been there. she hadn’t even known. not until the temple was already flying the flags at half-mast and her master’s quarters had been sealed for debrief. they called it honorable. they called it necessary. but they didn’t call it what it was.

a loss. a theft. a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. and she was angry.

megan didn’t remember walking back to her chambers. her feet carried her on instinct, down long stone corridors washed in temple light, past other jedi who bowed gently or said nothing at all. she barely saw them. couldn’t bring herself to look.

it wasn’t until the door slid open and she stepped inside that she realized where she was.

her own quarters.

hers, now. not the shared padawan dormitories. not y/n’s room, where she’d curled into borrowed sheets more nights than she could count. just her own. a small, circular space with clean floors, a narrow sleeping pallet, and a meditation mat that still looked untouched.

the door closed behind her. the silence pressed in.

for a moment, she just stood there. the hum of the temple walls was steady, unchanging. and yet, everything felt unfamiliar. this place hadn’t changed. she had.

megan crossed to the small shelf by the bed, fingers trailing across the simple objects still left from before. her old training saber hilt, scorched and cracked from a bad duel when she was twelve. a holocube from gun di, a gift given to her on her seventeenth birthday. she didn’t activate it. she couldn’t.

instead, she sank onto the edge of the bed and let her hands fall to her lap.

they had knighted her. told her it was a testament to her master’s sacrifice. a recognition of the growth he had fostered. a reward for resilience. they spoke in quiet, even tones. told her that loss was part of the path. that to love a teacher was natural, but attachment led to fear, and fear led to suffering– darkness. she’d nodded.

because what else was she supposed to do? but deep inside, the questions wouldn’t stop.

why didn’t he wait for her? why did he go alone? why didn’t anyone warn her? and why—why did they expect her to just move on?

was this what it meant to be a jedi? to stand tall in the face of unbearable silence and pretend that letting go didn’t hurt like hell?

she bowed her head and clenched her jaw.

there was no room to grieve. only duty. no time to process. only progress. and somewhere beneath the weight of it all, something inside her shifted. it was quiet. small. a crack, not a break. but she felt it. the start of something else. something colder.

she had thought she understood the code. she had recited it every day since she was a child. peace. serenity. no attachments.

but now? now it felt like a lie. like a rule meant to bind, not protect. like a reason to keep her heart locked away until it stopped beating for anything at all. megan swallowed hard. she looked around the room– her room– and felt nothing but the echo of absence. gun di would have hated this. he would have seen right through it. he would have told her to trust the force. to breathe. to wait.

but he was gone.

the door behind her slid open with a gentle woosh, but she didn’t flinch. she felt her before she even entered, her force signature practically engraved into her mind and heart. a familiar hum in the force– warm and grounding, wrapped in calm. soft footsteps. careful, quiet. not temple protocol. not someone on assignment. just someone who knew. someone who didn’t need to knock, someone who didn’t need a key. the girl who already held her heart in the palm of her hands, tender.

y/n stepped into the room without waiting for permission. her robes were still neat, untouched by the day. not a single crease out of place. but her hands… megan caught the way her fingers twisted at her sides. the way she paused just long enough to breathe before moving forward.

“you should be resting.” her voice was quiet. steady. megan didn’t turn. she didn’t have to.

“i couldn’t,” megan said quietly. her voice was rough, barely holding together. “i feel like if i stop moving, i’ll fall apart.”

footsteps padded closer across the floor. no hesitation. no pretense. y/n came to her side and didn’t say a word. just stood close. shoulder brushing shoulder. the way she always did when words weren’t enough.

megan’s eyes stung. she looked down at her hands, like they might offer answers. like they could still hold something that wasn’t already slipping through her fingers.

“he didn’t even say goodbye.”

a moment of silenced passed before y/n gently shook her head.

“if he’d had the chance, he would’ve.” y/n’s voice was barely above a whisper. “you know that. he believed in the cause. in duty. but that doesn’t mean he didn’t love you.”

megan let out a sharp breath, the edges fraying. “then why didn’t he stay? why wasn’t i enough?”

the room fell into silence. thick. heavy. y/n didn’t flinch from it. didn’t look away.

“he loved you,” she said again, quieter this time. “anyone could see it. and none of this—none of what happened—was your fault.”

“i was twelve,” megan murmured. “when he took me on. i thought he was invincible. like he couldn’t be touched by anything, like none of it could ever reach him.”

y/n turned to face her. close enough now that megan could feel the heat of her body, steady and grounding.

“he didn’t want it to reach you.”

megan laughed once, dry and empty. “it did.”

her voice cracked on the last word. she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, like she could push the grief back in. like she could pretend it hadn’t rooted itself deep inside her.

then she dropped her hands, curling them into fists against her thighs.

“they knighted me. no time to breathe. no time to feel. just gave me my orders and sent me out. said i was ready.” she swallowed hard. “i don’t feel ready. i don’t feel anything but hollow.”

y/n reached out. slow. deliberate. her hand brushed megan’s fingers, soft and searching. when megan didn’t pull away, y/n laced them together.

“you don’t have to feel okay,” she said.

“i don’t feel like a knight. i feel like a kid who lost everything.”

“you didn’t lose everything,” y/n whispered. “you still have me.”

megan turned toward her fully now, like she couldn’t hold herself upright without the contact. she leaned in. not because she wanted to. because she needed to. her forehead found y/n’s shoulder. her breath trembled.

y/n’s arms slid around her without question. without pause. she held her tightly, one hand at the back of her neck, the other curled around her waist. firm. safe.

“the order says we’re not supposed to grow attached,” megan said, voice muffled by y/n’s robes. “but how could i not? he was my family.”

y/n didn’t answer right away. just pressed her lips gently against megan’s temple.

“he was mine too,” she said. “not like he was yours, but… he looked after me when sinube couldn’t. i felt it too. just not like this.”

megan closed her eyes. let herself breathe into the shape of y/n’s hold.

“i met my new unit,” she said after a while. “the ninety-second. commander jex. i knew him, from geonosis. he used to joke. used to be warm. now he barely speaks. just watches everything. like he's waiting for the next thing to go wrong.”

“he’s not the only one who feels like that,” y/n murmured.

“the war has only just started and it’s already eating us,” megan whispered. “i don’t want to lose who i am.”

y/n didn’t answer right away. instead, she reached up and gently cupped megan’s face in her hands, thumbs brushing softly beneath tired eyes. she leaned in until their foreheads touched, the space between them folding into nothing. their breaths mingled, slow and uneven.

“then don’t let it,” y/n said, voice steady. “hold on to what’s still yours.”

“i don’t know what is anymore.”

outside, the rain tapped softly against the window. the lights of coruscant blurred through the mist, a city too bright to ever feel quiet, and yet the silence in the room was complete.

y/n tilted her head just slightly, brushing her nose against megan’s. grounding her.

“you’re not alone,” she said. “you never were.”

megan’s chest tightened. her next breath hitched. she blinked hard, but the tears still came, silent and slow.

“stay,” she whispered. “please. just… stay.”

y/n didn’t hesitate.

they moved toward the bed without speaking. megan crawled under the covers and y/n followed without hesitation, settling in close behind her. arms around her. hands gentle and grounding. the warmth of another body, solid and real and present, was the only thing that kept her from splintering. her eyes were open. the ceiling above blurred through tears she refused to let fall again.

“i won’t let it happen to you,” megan said into the dark. her voice was quiet, but full of iron.

y/n’s answer came after a pause.

“that’s not a promise you can keep.”

“maybe not. but i’ll die trying.”

“megan…”

“no. listen to me. i can’t lose you. i won’t.”

y/n didn’t argue. she just moved her hand until their fingers laced again, slow and certain. the words hung there. not romantic. but heavy. sacred. a truth born from grief and the ache of holding too much pain in too small a body.

megan closed her eyes. for the first time in days, she let herself breathe. somewhere outside the temple walls, the war moved on.

but in that moment, in that room, they stayed still.

19 BBY y/n thought it all would’ve been over by now. they were now three years into the war. three. at some point, time had almost started blurring together. she was tired. exhausted. the war was long and grating, and if she were being honest, some part of her doubted it would ever be over.

for three long years, she watched clones and fellow jedi fall around her—one by one. clones from her own battalion, clones from megan’s… it was never-ending. a cycle that held them in an iron grip.

she never meant to grow so attached to them. they were supposed to be soldiers. assets. lab-born on kamino and bred for war. but somewhere along the line, they became more than that. she tried not to dwell on the first time she met them, when their armor still gleamed and their eyes burned with purpose. time had weathered them all.

only one clone had made it this far with her. commander trace. maybe it was luck, or maybe sheer force of will. either way, the galaxy never stopped reminding her that clones were meant to be disposable. replaceable. but y/n knew that was a lie. deep down, she understood it was never that simple. and more than anything, she hoped trace would never be the next to fall. he was a reminder of everything they’d fought for, and everything they’d lost.

trace was more than a designation—more than cc-527. he was her brother. the one who dragged her out from under blaster fire on felucia, when a droideka had her pinned and she was seconds from death. he didn’t hesitate. just charged in, blaster drawn, like he always did.

he was her friend. a person she could count on when everything else was falling apart.

of course, second only to her.

it was another joint operation, one of many since the war began. y/n’s 227th legion and megan’s 92nd assault battalion had been deployed to chandrila, a mission that felt too calm to be real. the dropship skimmed low through clouds heavy with rain, its engines a steady hum against the stillness. below, the fields of chandrila stretched wide and golden, rows of wheat swaying beneath the gray sky like they hadn’t yet heard the rest of the galaxy was on fire. everything was too quiet. too neat. like war had no business here.

megan sat near the back of the transport, gloved hands folded loosely at her belt. beside her, commander jex tugged at the straps of his chest plate, his crimson-striped pauldron dulled with dust and wear. he spoke in low tones, something about landing zones, strategy, fallback points.

megan nodded, listening. composed. focused. but even then, she didn’t look away from y/n, and y/n didn’t look away from her.

despite the armor, the war, the weight of command—their eyes always found each other. in every quiet moment between chaos, in every half-smile or lingering glance. unspoken words passed like breath between them. megan was utterly, painfully captivated.

and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“locals’ve got strong opinions about the republic,” commander jex muttered, voice gravel-thick with exhaustion. “too quiet out here. too clean.”

“i know,” megan replied, steady.

and she did. she’d read the intel alongside y/n, late into the night, datapads casting pale light across their faces in a dim field tent. this wasn’t just another mission. this was a political fault line. chandrila had been a loyal republic world for generations, but even loyalty had its limits. as the war dragged on, fear spread like smoke. resentment festered. trust began to crack. the daughter of a prominent political leader had been taken during what was supposed to be a goodwill tour through rural chandrila. according to a trusted diplomat—an old friend of the girl’s family—it was planned. targeted. a move meant to fracture what little faith remained in the republic’s reach. now, they were en route to meet that same diplomat. an informant brave enough to speak up. she claimed the girl was being held in a secluded commune, far from the eyes of the capital.

“we need to be careful,” megan said under her breath, just loud enough for jex, trace, and y/n to hear. “we’re basically painting a target on our backs flying in on this dropship.”

jex gave her a single nod. firm, wordless, steady. then he stood as the dropship ramp began to lower, rain slicing sideways through the opening. dust and wind whipped into the cabin as the ramp dropped, carrying with it the sharp, storm-laced scent of rain-soaked wheat. chandrilan air was rich and earthy, heavy with the promise of more rain. the boots of the 92nd and 227th hit the ground in near-perfect unison.

kareth hollow didn’t look like a battlefield.

modest homes stood quiet, built from weatherworn permacrete and salvaged steel. irrigation towers loomed along the edges, their blades spinning slow under the weight of the overcast sky. wind turbines hummed steadily beside sleek water collectors. everything about the settlement was clean, efficient. sustainable. a town built to endure.

the main square was small, more of a shared space than a center people could conjugate at. a circular co-op building sat at its heart, part market, part administration. locals drifted through in quiet patterns. polite nods. brief glances. smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. greetings clipped just short of warmth. they were being watched. not by one person, not by snipers on rooftops or scouts in the trees, but by everyone. by the town itself. she could sense their wariness, the kind born from secrets. the kind that said we know what this is but we’re not going to say it out loud. megan knew that kind of silence well. it was the kind that always came before something went wrong.

sure enough, there she was. a diplomat stood at the base of the co-op steps, flanked by two guards. young, no more than twenty-five, with the composed stillness of someone raised around politics. her silks were layered and fine, dyed the soft green of chandrilan governance. a diplomatic crest gleamed on her shoulder, catching the light as the wind shifted through the square.

“thank you for coming,” she said, voice low and steady. “we don’t have much time.”

without another word, she turned and led them inside.

the war hadn’t reached kareth hollow in fire or flame, but it had settled into the town in other ways. slow. quiet. ideological. like mold that crept into walls and stayed there, unnoticed until it was too late.

in the central chamber, she activated a display table. a flickering map filled the space—grainy, hastily rendered. outlines of farmland, irrigation lines, and scattered structures formed the shape of the commune. three red heat signatures pulsed near the edge of the map, close to an old water treatment plant.

it was in that room they learned her name. it was there that the plan took shape. the intel was broken down. roles assigned. their next steps made clear.

in hindsight, maybe it had been a mistake when megan suggested they split into teams. that she take her battalion and scout the west side of the commune, while y/n and trace took the east. maybe they should have stayed together. trusted their instincts. recognized how wrong the town felt the moment they landed. maybe, too, she should’ve asked more questions. like how the diplomat even got her hands on that intel in the first place. but she didn’t.

the wind picked up as they moved along the outer edge of the commune. tall grain stalks brushed against armor and boots, swaying in restless waves, just high enough to shroud movement from a distance. overhead, thick clouds rolled in, turning the sky a heavy, unbroken grey. everything looked washed out—muted. still.

the comms stayed quiet. too quiet. an hour passed. maybe longer. time blurred when nothing happened, when all you could hear was the wind. then the signal dropped. megan felt it before she heard the static. her chest tightened.

“y/n, do you copy?”

silence. not the kind that meant interference. not the kind that meant distance. the kind that meant something was wrong.

that silence lodged itself deep in her ribs, familiar in the worst way. it felt like ryloth. like geonosis. like the reports that came too late or never came at all.

she didn’t remember barking orders. didn’t remember how her saber found her hand, or how she covered half the distance between the commune and the field in seconds. only the sharp ache in her legs told her she was moving too fast, that the wind was cutting past her like a blade. jex was already shouting commands behind her, calling for backup, for medics, for scouts to sweep the perimeter. the rest of the 92nd moved fast and clean through the commune’s edge, boots kicking up dirt, armor cutting through the swaying grain. then—blaster fire. a spray of red light cut through the haze, and megan’s body moved before thought could catch up. she ducked low, slid across damp soil, came up behind the rusted shell of an irrigation valve. she counted the shots. heard the modulated whir of a droid’s servo. too smooth. too controlled. not local militia. they were separatists. she bit down hard on the rising dread. it was a trap, and they’d walked straight into it.

all she was wreckage. the remains of a signal repeater station, its outer panel blasted open and sparking faintly. a scorch mark carved across the ground. impact craters. the kind droids made when they rained down fast and hard.

then trace. he was the first thing she saw.

he lay slumped half-covered by the body of a deactivated droid. like he’d taken it down with him. his blaster was still gripped in one hand, fingers frozen mid-trigger.megan dropped to her knees beside him. his helmet was cracked. scorched black across one side. blood pooled beneath his torso, dark and already drying into the soil. no pulse. no breath. nothing.

she didn’t speak.

she just pressed a hand to his chest plate. then the side of his neck. as if maybe, just maybe, something would come back. megan stood, slowly, mechanically. her limbs felt too far from her body.she scanned the field, eyes catching movement—droids, collapsing under blaster fire from her men. and then she saw her. half-hidden beneath a section of torn tarp. bound. slumped. her cloak gone, robes battered. blood down one side of her face. the world narrowed to a point. megan crossed the distance in seconds, dropped beside her, hands moving without hesitation. she tore the bindings free, checked for broken ribs, a concussion, anything that would stop her from being moved.

“y/n,” she whispered, “i’m here. you’re safe.”

y/n stirred weakly, a sound escaping her throat. half a breath, half a warning. her eyes fluttered open, bleary. “trace…?”

megan’s breath hitched. she looked away.

“i’m sorry.”

and that was the only answer she gave. she gathered her close, pressing her forehead gently to y/n’s. let the rain hit her back, let the wind howl through the grain. she could still smell fire in the air. smoke and scorched metal. it was always the same.

“med team inbound,” jex said quietly from behind her. “they’ll take her. she’ll live.”

megan nodded, but didn’t let go. the area was secured within the hour. the field was clear. the remaining insurgents either fled or dropped their weapons and surrendered. the droids were scrap. but it didn’t feel like a victory.

it felt like an ending .trace. gone.y/n. almost. megan exhaled, long and low. there was a storm coming in behind her. wind twisting through the wheat. clouds dark with thunder.

how could she let this happen?

the days after chandrila blurred into one long stretch of heavy silence. time seemed to shift around y/n, a constant pull between the past and the present. it had been weeks since trace had fallen, but the weight of it still hung between them, thick in the air. she had expected to fall apart, to break under the strain of losing someone she’d been so close to for so long. but instead, she found herself strangely composed. she grieved, yes—grieved for trace, for everything they’d lost—but she was steady. she moved forward, quietly, silently, as if trying to protect something fragile within herself.

megan, on the other hand, was falling apart in slow, agonizing pieces.

megan tried to move through the motions, to maintain that fierce, unshakable resolve she’d developed since the start of the war. but it was as if the battlefields of the galaxy had taken something from her, something irreplaceable. she wasn’t the same. y/n could feel it in the way megan’s gaze lingered on her longer than it should, like she was constantly watching, waiting. maybe it was because they had been through so much together, maybe it was because they were all each other had left, but there was something new in the way megan looked at her. something different.

y/n had noticed the shift in her immediately. she noticed it in the way she had arthree keep a closer eye on her. the way the droid warbled happily. in the way megan’s once carefree smile had become a shadow of itself, how even in the quiet moments, she would always seem to be on edge, like she was waiting for something to happen. and maybe she was. after all, they’d lost so much. the scars of chandrila ran deeper than the ones that marked their bodies.

but it wasn’t just the loss of comrades. it wasn’t just the war or the constant threat of death hanging over them. megan was afraid, and it was a fear y/n had never seen before.

it started with the nightmares. megan would wake in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, her body slick with sweat. the first few times, y/n had thought it was just a bad dream, a lingering trace of the chaos they’d lived through. but then it kept happening, over and over, and megan’s reactions grew more frantic, more panicked.

one night, y/n woke to the sound of megan’s desperate breaths. she was sitting up in bed, her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes wide open, staring into the darkness as if seeing something beyond it. y/n moved toward her, her heart pounding, unsure of what to do or say.

“megan?” y/n’s voice was soft, hesitant. she reached out, placing a hand on megan’s shoulder. it was warm to the touch, but her body was rigid, her muscles trembling with barely contained fear. megan flinched at the contact, and y/n’s chest tightened.

“hey… it’s okay,” y/n said, trying to ground her, but megan’s eyes were far away, lost in a memory or a vision that only she could see.

“no,” megan gasped, her voice strained, almost pleading. “no, y/n, please. i saw it again… i saw you—” she stopped herself, taking a sharp breath, shaking her head as if trying to rid herself of the image. “you died. i couldn’t… i couldn’t save you.”

y/n’s heart cracked at the words, the vulnerability in megan’s voice. it was like a wound that had been hidden, festering beneath the surface. she had never seen megan so… broken.

“megan…” y/n whispered, her hand gently cupping her cheek, guiding her to look at her. “you’re not going to lose me. i’m right here.”

but megan’s eyes were distant, unfocused, as if the words weren’t enough to chase away the terror that gripped her. the fear was deep, primal—rooted in something that y/n couldn’t fully understand. it was like megan was seeing a future that she couldn’t escape, a future where y/n wasn’t there.

“i couldn’t protect you,” megan said again, her voice shaking. “i couldn’t save you. it’s always the ones i care about. i—I failed you, y/n. i failed you just like i failed everyone else. i—”

y/n cut her off, pulling her into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around her like a shield, holding her as if she could somehow erase the fear, the guilt, that had taken root in megan’s chest.

“stop,” y/n murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “stop thinking that. you didn’t fail me. you’re not going to lose me. not like that.”

but even as she said it, y/n could feel the cracks in her own resolve, the weight of megan’s words pressing down on her chest. she had never seen her like this before—never seen megan so terrified of losing the people she loved. and it was becoming clearer with each passing day: this war was breaking them, piece by piece.

megan’s hands trembled against y/n’s back, her breath still coming in shallow bursts as she tried to steady herself. “i don’t know what to do anymore,” she confessed quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’m so scared, y/n. i’m scared that one day, i won’t be able to save you. that i’ll lose you, like i lost… like i lost everything else.”

the words cut through y/n like a knife, a reminder of just how fragile everything was, how fragile they both were.

“you’re not alone, megan,” y/n said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from megan’s face, trying to offer some small comfort. “you don’t have to carry this alone.”

but the truth hung heavy between them, an unspoken reality neither of them could ignore.

megan’s fear wasn’t something that could be easily soothed. it wasn’t just about the war, about the battles they fought or the losses they suffered. it was about the possibility that, no matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t protect the one person who mattered most to her.

the nights came more frequently, and megan’s nightmares grew worse. y/n could see it in her face. see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she flinched when y/n got too close, like she was afraid of the inevitable, afraid that someday, the nightmare would be real.

megan had once sworn to y/n that she would never let what happened to master gun di happen to her. that she would never allow herself to be weak, to be broken. but the fear had eroded her confidence. it had made her question everything she believed in, and y/n wasn’t sure how to fix it.

one night, after another nightmare that left megan trembling in her arms, y/n finally whispered the only thing that made sense, the only thing she could say to remind them both of the strength that was still there.

“i’m not going anywhere, megan. not today. not tomorrow. i’m not going anywhere.”

megan’s grip on her tightened, and for the briefest moment, y/n felt the warmth of a fragile hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, she could keep them both from breaking. but it didn’t.

the nightmares didn’t stop. the fear didn’t fade. and no matter how many times y/n held her through the night, whispering reassurances into her hair, the darkness always came back.

megan began to withdraw. not from y/n—never from y/n—but from everything else. her laughter became rare, her presence more solemn. and when she wasn’t on assignment, she found herself drifting toward the jedi archives, somewhere she had barely spared a glance in the past. they had always felt too sterile, too quiet, too vast. she was never the studious type. everything she’d learned, she learned in motion—in the field, in training, in war. but now, the archives became something else entirely: a place to search.

she didn’t even know what for, not really. ancient records, prophetic scrolls, restricted transcripts. anything that might explain why her dreams felt like memories of something that hadn’t yet happened. she scanned records of force premonitions, of jedi who had foreseen loss. she read about padawan bondings, trauma bonds, the rare and painful consequences of attachments. and she kept reading, even when her eyes blurred with exhaustion. even when the words stopped making sense.

megan sat curled in the dim corner of one of the lower archive rooms more often than not, her elbows on her knees, datapads stacked around her. she wasn’t supposed to be in this section—not without clearance—but she knew how to override the doors. the librarians had stopped asking questions after the third week. she was always polite. always quiet. and always alone.

she had no one to go to. her master had died in the early stages of the war, and master sinube—y/n’s old teacher—was wise, yes, but distant. their paths had never crossed beyond a few formal exchanges. besides, how could she explain it? how could she look a council member in the eye and say: “i’m dreaming of the woman i love dying over and over again, and i think the force is trying to warn me.”

no one would understand. they’d remind her of the code. they’d warn her about attachments, about fear, about what came from holding on too tightly. but they didn’t see y/n’s blood on the duracrete floor. they didn’t wake to the echo of her scream in the back of their mind. they didn’t love her the way megan did. so she searched.

she searched because it was the only thing that made the dreams feel bearable, like maybe she could outpace them, maybe she could find something that would help her stop them from becoming real. she’d stopped meditating—every time she tried, all she saw was y/n’s eyes, wide and empty, her body cold in megan’s arms.

megan had always been brave. reckless, even. she’d faced droid battalions and warlords and death without flinching. but this fear was different. it was quiet, persistent, suffocating.

and it was winning.

when the galaxy collapsed around her, it began with a whisper. a single transmission came through—garbled, panicked, laced with static and fear. execute order 66.

megan didn’t need the words to know. she felt it in the force first, like a sharp intake of breath across the galaxy. something vast and bright was dying. a thousand threads snapped at once. grief rushed in before understanding did, thick and suffocating. and then she heard the scream. she ran.

the temple was a blur of flickering lights and falling bodies. blasterfire lit the smoke-choked corridors as red stained stone and robes alike. alarms howled. the scent of burning was everywhere—robes, hair, skin. megan didn’t stop. couldn’t. she knew where to go. the force didn’t guide her; it dragged her forward. when she reached the courtyard she stopped cold.

jex stood near the center, framed by the smoke and fire curling through the broken archways. his blaster was raised, steady in his grip, aimed directly at the figure standing just a few feet away.

y/n.

she was hurt—megan could see the blood, the way her stance wavered—but she was still on her feet. no weapon. no defense. just raw defiance in the set of her shoulders, and something unspoken in her eyes.

only she wasn’t looking at jex. she was looking at her. across the chaos, across the ruin of everything, y/n’s gaze found megan’s. and in that instant, the noise seemed to fall away. there was only the two of them. only the bond still burning between them—tattered but not yet broken.

megan’s mouth opened. she tried to call out, to move, to do something— but the shot came first.a single bolt. clean. merciless. it hit y/n center mass. she jolted, eyes still on megan, and then her knees buckled. she crumpled forward, a soft exhale escaping her lips. her body hit the stone with a sickening finality. megan's heart stopped.

she lunged forward, fury and desperation crashing over her. but she only made it a few steps before a new sound split the air behind her. the sharp, coordinated rhythm of synchronized boots. the hiss of blasters powering up. clone troopers stepped into the open, surrounding her in a half-circle. their armor was familiar. marked with the colors of the 92nd assault battalion. her battalion. they didn’t hesitate.

she lit her saber.

the force surged through her. not calm, not steady, but violent and raw. she struck the first two troopers down before they could reload, leapt over another and sent him crashing to the floor. they kept coming. disciplined, coordinated. she kept fighting.

there was no time to think. only movement. only rage.

she didn’t hold back. didn’t calculate. every strike was faster, heavier, more brutal than the last. even as her muscles screamed, even as her heart shattered.

then a bolt hit her left arm. the pain was instant, sharp and searing. something tore inside, and her fingers went numb. the saber almost slipped from her grasp. nerves below the elbow were gone. just heat and blood and fire. she forced herself to keep going. she had to.

she turned, just in time to see jex lifting y/n’s body. but he didn’t look at her. didn’t flinch. just walked away into the smoke, y/n in his arms. megan screamed. tried to run after him, but her legs faltered. her vision blurred. her body wasn’t listening anymore.

and so she ran—not toward them, but away. the only direction left.

by the time reinforcements arrived, the courtyard was littered with the dead. the girl who had fought for peace, who believed in light, was gone.

something else had taken her place.

18 BBY

it took a year for her search to bear fruit. tatooine was cold that night—unnaturally so. the kind of cold that settled deep in the bones, cutting through the usual blistering heat of the twin suns that scorched the dunes by day. the desert, for once, was still.

she moved like smoke. silent. relentless. megan—no, not megan. that name belonged to someone else. someone who had died long ago in a courtyard soaked with ash and blood. what remained now left behind only the hum of a lightsaber and the ruin it carved in its wake.

she found them in mos isla, tucked into the shadowed corner of a cantina that reeked of oil and sweat. a familiar woman, dressed in scavenger gear, sipping something cheap and bitter. her face was the same. older, maybe. harder. but still recognizable. she had no idea what was coming. none of them did.

they were the ones who had orchestrated the ambush on chandrila. the ones who had shifted the course of everything in a single, brutal moment. they hadn’t known. not then, that they planted the seed of their own destruction.

and megan, whoever she had once been, could no longer speak her name. couldn’t even summon the memory of her face without something inside twisting to ash. it was too much. too sacred. too painful. the thought of all that could have been lingered in her mind everytime she closed her eyes.

once upon a time, they talked about getting married. they could have. but the more time that passed at war, the longer they kept fighting-- the more distant the idea of marriage became. they could have married on polaris minor, megan often thought. she could see it as clear as day, a memory of something that never happened.

she would have invited senator avanzini, arthree, and whoever else they wanted. she would have reached her hand out and traced the scar on y/n's cheek, the one the assassin gave her early before she slaughtered the changeling on geonosis.

she would have left the order. for her. on their own terms they could have settled down, together. walked away from it all while they could.

yet despite everything, despite the armor she now wore, despite the fury that lived where her heart used to be, one truth remained, unshakable.

even now, as she stepped into the cantina, clad in black inquisitor armor that swallowed all light. even as she unclipped the saber from her belt, once blue but now a searing crimson. even as her gloved hand stretched toward the booth, and with a subtle clench of her fingers, four bodies lifted into the air.

the woman’s guards. the same ones who’d stood with her that day. they scrambled, flailed, choked. the woman stared at her. wide-eyed. terrified. and still, none of them recognized the figure standing before them. not this shadow in black. not this weapon with nothing left behind her eyes. not the thirteenth sister—vader’s blade. one tried to plead. one tried to run. none succeeded. she didn’t speak. didn’t ask. didn’t hesitate.there was no mercy.

only the low, hungry hum of her saber, and the sharp crack of terror in their last breaths.

and even as she painted that corner of the mos isla cantina in red and ruin, even as silence reclaimed the room and the woman’s body slumped lifeless at her feet—she knew. she would always love her.

even if that love was the very thing that destroyed her.

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