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jetii · 23 days ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Five: Reformation

Chapter WC: 6,691

A/N: half this chapter and part of the next somehow got deleted and i crashed out but umm here's the rest. shorter chapter this week and next, then i promise we'll see our man and more 🙏

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Kamino, 21 BBY

Rex was right, of course.

Today is a big day.

Your shuttle touches down on the planet's surface, and the door opens to a blast of cold, wet air, the sound of the waves crashing against the platforms reaching your ears. You pull up the hood of your cloak and step onto the landing platform, your boots sliding on the wet duracreet, and a shiver runs through you. It's cold. And damp. And miserable. Exactly as you remember it.

You walk toward the entrance, your feet making a slapping sound against the duracreet, and you can't help but think about the last time you were here. Not too far from where you're walking, you had fought side-by-side with many of the clones that are about to become your men. And somewhere in the waters just beyond the edge of the platform, the bodies of hundreds of droids lay scattered across the ocean floor, their metal corpses slowly deteriorating into rust.

It's not a pleasant thought.

But it does bring a smile to your face.

You enter the facility, and the temperature-controlled warmth of the building immediately washes over you. The inside is much like the outside, utilitarian and austere. White walls, white floors, troopers in white armor marching past. It's a stark contrast to the chaos that's been the past few weeks of your life, and you would be grateful for the calm if it all wasn't so damn unsettling.

Water splatters onto the floor as you pull down your hood and wring out your hair, the sound of the droplets echoing through the cavernous space. The troopers that are passing by pause and turn, their heads tilting in your direction. You nod in acknowledgement, and they offer a polite salute, a brief, sharp movement of their arms, before continuing on their way.

In their wake, you see two figures approaching, and you let out a quiet sigh. One you recognize instantly, and the other, a Kaminoan, gives you a blank look that you can only interpret as distaste. Her eyes flicker to the puddle forming at your feet, and you resist the urge to scowl.

You had a feeling this meeting was going to be awkward.

"General Anathorn," Taun We says, her voice as stiff and cold as the air around her. "Welcome back."

You offer a small, polite smile and extend your hand, but the Kaminoan doesn't take it. Instead, she folds her long, slender fingers together and rests her hands in front of her, a detached, aloof expression on her face. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes, and you instead turn your attention to Shaak-Ti, who's watching the exchange with a look of barely-veiled amusement.

"It's nice to see you again," she says, and the warmth in her tone is a welcome relief. She inclines her head in greeting, and you do the same, your smile turning genuine. "Congratulations again on your promotion."

You bite the inside of your cheek, unsure of how exactly to feel about that particular topic, and you're saved from having to answer as the Kaminoan lets out a small cough.

"If you will follow me," Taun We says, her voice laced with annoyance. "We have much to discuss."

You fall into step beside Shaak-Ti, Taun We walking on her other side, the two of them speaking in low voices. You tune them out, taking the opportunity to study your surroundings. You wouldn't know that the clone army had nearly been decimated here a mere month ago. The place is immaculate, not a single sign of battle anywhere.

Even the scars that had covered the exterior of the building were gone, repaired and painted over. An effort to retain the illusion of safety. A facade to hide the truth.

It's hard not to feel a bit envious.

The three of you step into a hall with glass panels on either side, giving you an unfettered view of the large room below. The walls are lined with glass tanks, each one containing a clone in the earliest stage of development. They float in the liquid, their limbs barely formed, their bodies curled up in a fetal position.

You can't help but wonder how many of these infants are destined for the front lines and how many will never even see the inside of a starfighter. It's a sobering thought, and you tear your gaze away, forcing yourself to focus on Taun We's voice as her head turns, her white on black eyes meeting yours.

"The facilities have been updated since your last visit," she tells you, as if the last time you were on planet, you were sightseeing. "There have been several upgrades to the training rooms and the medical bays, and we've increased the number of security measures, as per the Chancellor's orders."

You give a slight nod, unsure of how to respond, and she continues, her tone shifting slightly.

"There's also a new simulation," she says. "One based on a recent campaign."

The words make you freeze, and you turn toward her, your eyes narrowing.

"Which campaign?" you ask. The corners of her mouth lift.

"Felucia," she answers, her gaze moving back to the hall. You bite the inside of your cheek harder this time, your fingers curling into fists, and Taun We lets out a soft, satisfied sigh, a hint of pleasure in her voice. "I understand it was quite...memorable."

Your eyes drift to the side as a group of cadets walks by, and you take a deep breath, pushing down the anger and frustration threatening to rise. It shouldn't surprise you that the Kaminoans and their trainers would pick a failed mission as a learning experience. That they would use it as a means to teach the clones about their limitations, about the cost of failure.

The truth is, the loss on Felucia wasn't your fault. Not entirely. The situation had been a clusterfuck from the start. Between the weather, the terrain, and the sheer number of Separatist forces, it had been impossible to maintain control. You had done the best you could, given the circumstances, and the fact that most of the 212th and the 501st had survived was a miracle. The fact that Rex survived was a miracle.

But the Kaminoans and the trainers would see it differently. To them, the mission was a failure, and you were a Jedi who shouldn't have nearly given her life for a singular clone. You have no doubt they're using it as a way to drive home the need for a clone to follow orders, regardless of the situation.

You grit your teeth and swallow the retort on the tip of your tongue, knowing that any argument would be futile. This is their world. Their creation. Their playground. You are just a guest here, making a mess and leaving stains that are difficult to clean up.

Taun We's voice continues, a drone in the background, and the anger fades, replaced by a sudden rush of weariness. This was a mistake. You shouldn't have come here. You should've tried harder to find another option. Another way. Anything.

The group of cadets stumbles as the one leading the pack meets your gaze and stops dead in his tracks. His eyes are wide, his jaw hanging open, and he's staring at you as if you're a mythical creature come to life. You tilt your head and smile, giving him a small, friendly wave.

The gesture snaps him out of his daze, and he nudges the boy beside him, pointing in your direction. His friend's head turns, and he too stares, his eyes bulging out of his head. Slowly, the cadets behind them look up, and one by one, the group turns, the whole squad watching you, their gazes locked on your face.

You give another smile, and the lead cadet raises his hand, returning the gesture. There's a moment of hesitation, a pause, and a flurry of hands follow, each cadet saluting you, the gesture stiff and awkward, but earnest.

The sight is enough to pull you from your thoughts, and a smile spreads across your face, a small, amused laugh escaping your lips.

They're young, barely ten standard years old, their features still round and soft, their bodies not yet grown. But there's a spark in their eyes, a gleam of intelligence, a sense of humor and curiosity. They're cute. Like oversized tooka kittens.

Taun We turns, her eyes landing on the group. The sudden movement is enough to break the spell, and the cadets snap back to attention, their shoulders straightening, their hands falling to their sides. They're down the hall and around the corner before she has a chance to speak. You try to hide your grin, but it's difficult.

The Kaminoan lets out an annoyed huff, her eyes focused on the next set of cadets coming down the hall.

"I would ask that you refrain from interrupting the cadets' training," she says, her voice cool and detached. "It is imperative that they remain focused, and the distraction will only lead to mistakes and delays."

"My apologies," you say, struggling to keep the sarcasm from your tone. "I didn't mean to get in the way."

She doesn't reply. You let the silence hang between the two of you until Shaak-Ti's eyes find yours, and she gives a slight shake of her head, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"This way," she says, and you fall back into step with her.

You make your way deeper into the facility, the conversation turning to more mundane matters, like the weather, the state of the war, and the progress of the new armor that will soon be standard issue for the clones. By the time you arrive at the conference room, you're practically bouncing off the walls, torn between turning tail and running back to your shuttle or begging for the tour to end so you can get your men and get out.

"Your new brigade is waiting for you in hangar bay six," Taun We informs you as the three of you step into the room. "Your commander will be along shortly."

You let out a sigh of relief, grateful to be away from her. She gives a curt nod and sweeps out of the room, her long white gown billowing behind her. You turn to Shaak-Ti, and the two of you share a look.

"I think she likes me," you say, and then, unable to stop yourself from adding the extra bit of sarcasm, add, "What a warm welcome."

Shaak-Ti merely gives you a polite smile, giving nothing away. You've known her for a while, and you've learned to read her better than most, but the Jedi Master can be as impenetrable as stone. Still, you have the feeling she agrees with you.

She looks you over, her gaze lingering on your face, and after a moment, her smile softens. The look in her eyes is familiar. It's the same look that Yaddle used to give you. A look of kindness and warmth. Of pride and approval.

"What is it?" you ask warily.

She hesitates, and for a moment, you're convinced she's going to say something that will send your already fragile mood spiraling. Instead, she reaches out and places a hand on your shoulder, her grip gentle but firm.

"I sense a change in you," she says, her voice low, her gaze locked onto yours. "You seem...different."

The words catch you off guard, and your eyes widen, a nervous feeling twisting in the pit of your stomach.

Different.

A month ago, a day ago, even, that word would have set off a wave of panic. It would have been a reminder of what happened, the memory of what you'd seen, the realization of how close you'd come to disaster. It would have sent you spiraling down the same path you'd been on before, the same path that led you here.

Now, however, the word holds a different meaning. It's not an accusation or a condemnation. It's not an indication of weakness or a mark of shame. It's a sign of growth, of maturity, of healing.

And for the first time since you've known her, Shaak-Ti's gaze doesn't fill you with dread. Her words don't bring back the memories of the Council's betrayal, the pain of their dismissal, the guilt of Yaddle's death. Instead, it's as if a cloud has lifted, allowing you to see her for who she is, and not the person you have come to resent.

"It has been a long month," you reply, the words coming out softer than you had intended. Shaak-Ti hums in agreement.

"I am sorry for what happened," she says. Her grip tightens, and her eyes flicker away, the shame and guilt visible on her face. "I had hoped the Council would have listened to you. That we would have shown more compassion, this time and the last. But it is no excuse. You deserved better. You deserved a chance to grieve."

You're silent, unsure of how to respond. You've heard the apology before, from Obi-Wan and the other masters, but none of them had meant it. They had said the words out of obligation, not understanding the weight and depth of what they were saying. They hadn't understood what it had meant, what it had done.

But Shaak-Ti does. And she knows it.

The truth is, there's a part of you that still hates her. She took your master's seat on the Council, she was one of the voices that condemned you, and she's been a member of the Order long enough to know that their treatment of you was wrong. That they had failed you.

But the more rational part of you understands that it wasn't personal. It wasn't her decision, and the Council's actions were in the best interest of the Order. As much as it hurts, as much as it infuriates you, as much as it makes you want to scream, you can't fault her. Not anymore. Not after everything that's happened.

So instead, you reach up and place your hand over hers, a small, grateful smile on your face.

"Thank you," you tell her. Her eyes return to yours, a surprised look on her face. "For the apology, and for the support. It means a lot."

"Of course," she says, and the corners of her mouth lift. "And I am glad to see you are finally taking our advice."

Her words cause your shoulders to stiffen, a surge of defensiveness bubbling up. But the look on her face stops you short, and a wry smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

"That was a joke," she clarifies, and you snort, a surprised laugh escaping your lips.

"Right."

"I see the past few weeks have been good for you," she says. Her eyes twinkle, the expression on her face one of amusement and pride. "Your encounter with Count Dooku must have been...illuminating."

Your face heats up, and you duck your head, an embarrassed flush creeping up your neck. You had told Obi-Wan the bare bones of what happened, and he, in turn, had passed the information onto the Council. After a great deal of questioning, of course. And no small amount of suspicion. But they had decided to take you at your word, and that was all that mattered.

Or at least, that was what you told yourself.

You knew that the Council, or a few of the members at the very least, were suspicious. You also knew it would come back to haunt you eventually, but for now, you were content to ignore it. At least until after you had your first mission with your new men under your belt.

"Uh, yeah," you mutter, clearing your throat. "It was definitely an eye-opening experience."

"You've always had a knack for finding trouble," Shaak-Ti chuckles.

"Trouble finds me," you correct, and her chuckle turns into a laugh.

"Regardless," she says. "I am glad to see you are finally moving forward. And not just in regards to the Council."

Her words cause your heart to skip a beat, and a knot forms in the pit of your stomach, the butterflies fluttering inside. You try to play it off, but the blush on your cheeks gives you away, and the knowing look on her face tells you that she's well aware of the effect her words are having.

She seems to stop short of mentioning Obi-Wan directly, and for that, you're grateful. The idea of talking to her about how the two of you had decided to distance yourself from each other is almost as uncomfortable as the thought of discussing the nature of your relationship with Rex.

You'd spoken to Obi-Wan at length during the aftermath of Dooku's offer, the two of you going through the whole conversation, the Council meeting, the decision to put your friendship on hold. He had been sympathetic and supportive, and while there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes, he seemed content to accept the new status quo. Or at least, appear that way.

As for the matter of Rex, neither of you had brought it up. Not once. You had declared the topic strictly off-limits, and while the air between the two of you had cleared, there was still a lingering sense of awkwardness and discomfort. You had decided that the best thing to do was to avoid the issue entirely. At least for now.

"Yes, well," you say, shifting from one foot to the other, trying desperately to steer the conversation away from anything resembling feelings. "There's still a lot I have to learn."

"And there's a lot you can teach," Shaak-Ti replies, her tone encouraging. "Your experiences have given you a unique perspective, one that is often overlooked. A valuable asset. And the men will benefit from your newfound optimism. I have no doubt you will lead them well."

The words are unexpected, and you're not sure how to respond. You hadn't exactly expected a pep talk, especially from someone like Shaak-Ti. But as much as it confuses and surprises you, there's also a sense of gratitude and relief.

"Thank you," you say. "That means a lot, coming from you."

"It is the truth. I have always believed in your potential. As did Yaddle."

Her eyes flick down to your belt, and they settle on the second lightsaber hanging there. It had taken a great deal of courage and self-reflection to decide to place it the clip where your shoto had once hung this morning, and it had taken even more courage and self-reflection not to immediately remove it again.

It still felt odd and unnatural, but somehow, it also felt right. As if the weight of the weapon was exactly what you needed to bring you into balance.

"She would be proud of the Jedi you have become," Shaak-Ti continues, and you let out a humorless laugh.

"I'm not sure about that," you mumble. "But I'm trying."

She opens her mouth to reply, but the sound of the door sliding open cuts her off, and the two of you turn to see a tall, broad-shouldered clone stride through. He's wearing armor you've never seen before, a new design that's sleeker and more streamlined than the usual. His helmet is the most noticeable difference, the lack of fin and rounder, smoother silhouette a stark contrast to the familiar T-shaped visor.

There's a flurry of activity in the hallway behind him, and the door closes, cutting off the commotion. The trooper takes a deep breath, the movement causing his chestplate to expand, and his feet snap together, his hand raising to his head in a crisp, formal salute.

"General," he says stiffly.

You blink, taken aback by the formality, the lack of a nickname or any sort of personal acknowledgement. You're not used to such a cold greeting, and you wonder if maybe there's been a mistake. Maybe you've mistaken him for someone else, or perhaps he's got the wrong room.

You feel a thread of amusement tug at the back of your mind, and the realization dawns on you. Of course. He's putting on a show, drawing out the reveal, making the entrance more dramatic than necessary.

You let out a huff, struggling to suppress a smile, and you give him a curt nod, playing along.

"You remember Commander Booker," Shaak-Ti says, turning toward the commander, a hint of a smile on her face.

He's still standing in the same spot, stiff as a board, and you can't help but feel a little guilty. The man had been waiting outside, listening for his cue, and you'd given him nothing. He deserves a reaction at the very least, and you offer him a smile, hoping it's enough.

"How could I forget?" you ask. "It's been a while."

"It has, sir," he agrees, his hand lowering to his side. "But the memories are still fresh. Especially the ones where you nearly got me killed."

You let out a bark of laughter, the comment catching you off guard, and Shaak-Ti shakes her head, a disapproving frown on her face. Booker's shoulders, however, are shaking with silent laughter.

He takes a step forward and pulls his helmet off, revealing a familiar set of dark brown eyes, a crooked nose, and messy hair. It's only been a few weeks since you've seen him, but he looks older, somehow, stronger and more confident

The helmet goes onto the table with a thud, and he runs a hand over his hair, pushing it back into a more controlled style. The smile on his face fades, and he takes a deep breath, his expression shifting into something more serious.

"Good to see you again, sir," he says, and the warmth and sincerity in his voice is a welcome relief. "I've been looking forward to this for a while now."

You let out a quiet snort and move forward, holding out your hand. "Likewise."

"You look good," he says as he accepts your handshake, his hand clasping your forearm. "For someone who's been through hell."

"Heard about that, did you?" you ask with a grimace.

"Just the highlights," he replies, shrugging. "I hear it was pretty bad."

"It wasn't pretty," you confirm. You release his arm, and he nods, his expression solemn.

"I'm sorry."

The words take you aback, and the shock must be visible on your face, because he continues, a serious, determined look in his eye.

"I'll make sure we inspect the ship thoroughly before we leave," he says. "I don't want anything like that happening again. Ever."

You manage a small, grateful smile, touched by the sincerity. The memory of the explosion, the fight, the aftermath, is still raw, and it's a wound that's barely healed. To have someone acknowledge it and offer to do something about it is more comforting than you'd expected.

"Appreciate it," you tell him. "And thank you."

Booker nods, his gaze moving over your shoulder. His eyes meet Shaak-Ti's, and he straightens, his expression hardening.

"I trust everything is in order, Commander?" she asks, and he gives a sharp nod.

"Yes, General," he replies, his tone formal and clipped. "The men are ready and waiting."

"Very good," she says. With a slight incline of her head, she turns to you. "It was a pleasure speaking with you. I wish you the best of luck in your new command."

"Thank you," you tell her. "For everything."

"May the Force be with you," she says, a warm, knowing look on her face. With that, she strides past you and heads towards the door. She pauses at the threshold, and turns back to Booker. "Please escort your general to the hangar bay. She has much to prepare for."

He gives a curt nod, and the two of you watch as the door slides shut, leaving the two of you alone. For a moment, you stand in silence, taking each other in. Then, Booker smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"So," he drawls. "What do you think of the new look?"

You let out a soft laugh, studying him. He seems taller than before, though you're not sure if it's the armor or just his natural build. The armor is lighter, the plates smaller, and the helmet is sleek and smooth.

It's a subtle shift, but you can see the difference in the way he's standing. There's a lightness, a speediness, a fluidity to the new armor that the previous one lacked. And while it still looks a bit bulky and cumbersome, it's a far cry from the clunky, clumsy appearance it had before.

"I like it," you say. You give him an appraising look and cross your arms, tilting your head to the side. "It's a bit more...elegant."

Booker lets out a loud laugh, the sound echoing off the walls. He shakes his head and leans over, plucking his helmet off the table and turning it around in his hands.

"Elegant, huh? I don't know about that." He looks up, his eyes finding yours, a mischievous gleam in his gaze. "But I'll tell you one thing. It's a hell of a lot easier to see out of. Not to mention move."

"Is that so?" you ask. He grins.

"We've already seen a decrease in troopers tripping over their own feet. And that's just the first day."

He holds the helmet out to you, and you take it, your hands wrapping around the edges. It's lighter than you had expected, the material smooth and cool to the touch. You study it, admiring the details, the sleek lines and sharp edges.

"It's a prototype," he tells you. "Not officially released yet, but the boys and I have been testing it out."

You give a noncommittal hum and flip the helmet over, studying the inner workings. It's not the most high-tech piece of equipment, but it's still a vast improvement from the original. You feel a small amount of relief that the GAR was finally listening to the clones and making some upgrades. It's about damn time.

"I, uh, didn't want to paint it yet," Booker says, and the slight hesitation in his tone causes you to look back up. "Wasn't sure what color you wanted to go with."

You find yourself staring at him, unsure of how to respond. The idea of choosing the colors for the brigade hadn't remotely crossed your mind. To be honest, you had forgotten that was something you were supposed to do. It seemed so trivial, so superficial. So insignificant compared to everything else that needed to be done.

But the look on his face, the anticipation, the excitement, is enough to remind you that this is important. To him, at least. And to the other men.

You may not care about the color of your armor, but they do. They want to stand out, to be noticed, to be distinguished. And if choosing the colors is the first step in showing them that you care, that you respect their individuality, it's the least you can do.

You give him a warm smile and hand the helmet back. "Well, I'm sure we can come up with something."

"We can workshop it, if you want," he offers. "Once we're underway. Give the men a chance to put their opinions forward. See what they like."

The offer is unexpected, and you're touched by the thoughtfulness. You had been planning on making the choice yourself, but now that he's brought it up, the idea of including the other clones in the process seems far more fitting. And more than a little relieving. You've lived most of your life in white and beige robes, and the last thing you want is to subject the men to a similar fate.

"I like that," you tell him, and his smile widens.

"I'll let the boys know," he says. He tucks the helmet under his arm and moves towards the door. "I'm sure they're already thinking of ideas."

You follow him out the doors and into the hallway, and the two of you walk side-by-side, the conversation turning to the men, their training, their readiness for the fight ahead. Booker has already gotten a head start, having spent the past couple weeks drilling the new recruits. According to him, the boys are "ready for anything."

The pride and enthusiasm in his voice makes it difficult to question him, so you don't. You just let him talk, taking advantage of the distraction his presence provides. Tomorrow, you'll no doubt have a long list of things to worry about. But for now, you can just focus on getting through today.

"And they're ready to meet you," he continues. He flashes you a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "They've been waiting for weeks."

"Really?" you ask, surprised. "Why?"

Booker stops, and he turns to you, an incredulous look on his face.

"Uh, because you're a hero, sir," he replies, as if the answer should be apparent.

You let out a snort, amused by the comment. "That's a bit of an exaggeration."

Booker gives you a look, his eyes narrowing slightly, and the air between the two of you shifts. His posture becomes stiffer, his gaze more serious. You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling a slight sense of trepidation.

"No, sir, it's not," he says, his tone clipped and formal. "Not to me, and certainly not to my brothers."

You let out a quiet breath, the knot in your stomach tightening. You had been hoping to avoid this topic, at least for a few days. But it seems as if Booker isn't willing to wait.

"They remember what happened," he continues, his voice low, his eyes locking onto yours. "They saw what you did. They watched you throw yourself into the line of fire. They saw you save our lives."

He steps closer, and you take a step back, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. You had done what any decent person would do during the battle here. You had been trying to keep everyone alive, not play the part of the hero. And while you can appreciate the sentiment, you also know that the men have a tendency to make a bigger deal out of things than necessary. Especially Booker.

"They've been waiting for you since they heard the news," he says. His tone is soft, but his words are firm, unyielding. "They're excited. They want to meet you."

You give a small nod, unsure of how to respond. This is a new side of him, one you've never seen before. The man in front of you is different than the one you knew, and the sudden change is unnerving. It makes you feel like you're on unfamiliar ground. Like you're being judged.

Booker stares at you, his eyes searching your face, his gaze intense and penetrating. For a moment, neither of you speak, and you're unsure of what to do. If you should speak. If you should try to explain. If you should simply accept the praise.

After what feels like an eternity, his expression changes, the seriousness fading. A slow, easy grin spreads across his face, and he reaches up and squeezes your shoulder.

"I get it," he says. "But trust me, they're not looking at you like some kind of legend. They're just happy to have a general who cares."

You open your mouth, the denial on the tip of your tongue, but Booker cuts you off, giving your shoulder another squeeze.

"Just trust me on this," he says, his gaze softening. His grin widens, and he releases his hold. "The men are going to love you."

"Okay," you relent, the word coming out as a sigh. "I'll take your word for it."

The truth is, you're not convinced the men will even want anything to do with you. But if you're going to be their general, you need to set a good example. That means showing confidence, and that means believing in yourself, even if you don't. And if the men are ready, willing, and eager to fight for you, it's the least you can do to give them the same.

After another long look, Booker gives you a nod, and the two of you start down the hall once more. You're relieved the conversation is over, but you can't help the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Something is bothering him. And judging by the look on his face, it has something to do with you.

You keep the conversation centered around the troops and what's expected of you in the coming days. As soon as everyone is loaded into your new Venator, the Oracle, you'll be following the 501st to Bothawui, where you'll rendezvous with the 212th and the rest of the fleet. From there, the plan is to hit Separatist outposts, supply lines, and bases, anywhere that needs your attention. And according to the Senate, that's just about everywhere.

The war is in full swing, and it's going to be a while before things begin to settle.

By the time you reach the doors to the platform overlooking the hangar bay, the sun has begun to dip below the horizon, pockets of warm, golden light seeping through the clouds. The sky is a brilliant mix of red and orange and gold, the colors shimmering off the clouds and the ocean, the whole world outside the window bathed in the dying rays of the setting sun.

As beautiful as it is, however, it also brings with it the realization that the time has come. There's no running from it now.

Booker steps aside, his hand resting on the keypad. He gives you a slight nod, and you take a deep breath, letting the calm of the Force settle over you. It's now or never.

"Ready, sir?" he asks, and you let out a small laugh.

"As I'll ever be."

"You're gonna be fine," he tells you, his tone confident. "They're going to love you. Just wait and see."

You give him a slight smile, hoping that's the case.

He pushes a button on the panel, and the doors slide open. The sound of hundreds of voices fills the air as you step through, your eyes sweeping over the mass of soldiers gathered below. It's a sea of white armor, rows and rows stretching and curving in all directions. They're packed in tightly, forming neat, orderly lines, the perfect picture of discipline and obedience.

They're ready for their commander, and you know it's only a matter of moments before they find out exactly who that is.

The thought is enough to send your stomach into knots. You're not used to being the center of attention, and the prospect of speaking in front of so many is unsettling. Especially since they'll be judging every word, every gesture, every movement.

You try to keep your nerves under control, focusing on the Force, on your training, on anything and everything except the fear. You have nothing to worry about. It's just a few words, and it's not as if the entire future of the Republic depends on them. No pressure.

As you step closer to the edge of the platform, you notice a few soldiers turn, their heads snapping up. You can see their gazes following you as you make your way to the railing, and as soon as you stop, the whole group comes to attention, the sound of boots hitting the floor filling the air.

There's a hush that falls over the room, and a shiver runs down your spine, a flutter in your stomach. You can't see their eyes, but the feeling in the Force is unmistakable. Excitement. Anticipation. Pride.

It's almost enough to knock the breath out of you.

For a moment, all you can do is stand there, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the emotions washing over you. It's as if a wave has crashed over the crowd, the energy rising, cresting, and breaking against the wall of the platform. You've never felt anything like it before, and it takes a great deal of effort to stay upright. To remain in control. To not collapse under the weight of it.

Booker comes to your rescue, stepping forward and raising his hand.

"Alright, men," he says, his voice ringing through the hangar. "Listen up! Our new general has arrived!"

His words are enough to snap you out of your daze, and you straighten, forcing the feelings aside. You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. This is it. No more delaying. No more stalling. It's now or never.

With one final glance at Booker, you take a step forward and raise your voice, hoping it's loud enough to carry.

"Thank you," you begin. Your voice carries through the room, and the men below go still, their attention completely focused on you. "Welcome to the 419th. I won't waste time. I know that, for some of you, this is the first time you've stepped foot off Kamino. For others, it's your first time seeing a real battle. But whatever your experience, whatever your history, we are all here for the same purpose. To serve the Republic. To bring justice and peace to the people of the galaxy. And I am honored to lead you."

The words come out stronger than you expected, and the feeling is surreal. You had been terrified that the moment would be filled with stutters and mistakes, but it's not. In fact, you barely feel nervous at all. The men below are listening to you, their focus completely on your words.

"We have a difficult task ahead of us, but no one of us is fighting alone. Every member of this brigade is important. Every life is precious. And every man is irreplaceable," you continue, a rush of confidence filling you. "Whatever challenges we face, whatever trials we must endure, we will face them together. We will overcome them together. And we will defeat the Separatists, together."

A murmur spreads through the men, and you glance at Booker, who's giving you a slight nod. His eyes are shining with pride, and the sight is enough to fill your chest with warmth. You turn back to the troops, a smile spreading across your face. And as the words leave your mouth, you find yourself actually meaning them. Actually believing them.

Because this time, things are different.

This time, you're going to win.

You're going to prove everyone wrong.

"Today marks the beginning of a new chapter in our lives," you say. "Today, we embark on a journey that will shape the future of the Republic. Today, we show the galaxy that the clone troopers are the heroes the Republic needs.

"And from this day forward, I will be standing beside you. In victory, and defeat, and whatever else may come."

The words are barely out of your mouth before the room erupts, a cheer echoing through the air. The noise is deafening, the sound rattling the floor beneath your feet. And the feeling is indescribable.

“Told you, sir!”

Booker claps a hand on your shoulder, shaking you slightly, and he's practically vibrating with excitement. You turn, and the smile on his face is enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're not sure how long it takes before the noise finally dies down, but by the time it does, you're grinning like an idiot.

You stand there, letting the moment wash over you, taking in the feeling. For the first time since Geonosis, you finally feel ready. You finally feel prepared. You finally feel like the leader these men need.

Most importantly, you finally feel like yourself again. And no matter what happens, you won't let these men down.

"Alright," you say, your voice barely audible above the noise. "Let's get started."

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