The gunship roared through the upper atmosphere, slicing through the roiling storm clouds that gathered like ghosts above Skako Minor. The steel walls vibrated with the thrum of repulsorlifts, steady and relentless, a heartbeat of war pressing ever forward. Inside, the scent of metal, ozone, and worn plastoid armor mingled with the tension that hovered just beneath the surface.

You sat near the back, half-shadowed beneath your tattered cloak, hands resting loosely on your knees, though every muscle beneath your skin coiled like a durasteel wire. A Jedi, yes—but one that unnerved even other Jedi. The Force in you didn’t sing; it growled, low and ancient, shaped by Dathomir’s crimson soil and the Nightsisters’ whispered curses. You bore the scars of that world—both the visible kind and the ones that lived deeper.

Across from you, Clone Force 99—the Bad Batch—occupied their space with chaotic ease. Wrecker was chuckling at something only he found amusing, shaking the hull with each laugh. Tech tapped rapidly on a datapad, its soft beeping almost musical beneath the drone of the engines. Crosshair leaned back with his arms folded, helmet off, toothpick shifting between his teeth, watching everyone like a predator bored with the waiting. Hunter sat the stillest, face half-hidden beneath the bandana, senses sweeping the air like radar.

Between them and the cockpit, Captain Rex stood with arms crossed, armor scratched from campaigns past, blue markings dulled by dust and blood. His eyes flicked to you now and then—not distrustful, but curious, wary. He was used to working with Jedi, but not ones like you.

And then there was General Skywalker, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, one foot braced as if the whole galaxy didn’t weigh on his shoulders. His lightsaber hung from his belt like an afterthought. There was a storm behind his eyes—brilliant, dangerous. A man who danced too close to the edge and dared it to fall away.

“You ever been to Skako Minor?” Rex asked, glancing around. The question hung in the air like a wire stretched taut.

“Twice,” Tech said, not looking up. “Not pleasant. High gravity, heavy fog, and the locals don’t appreciate visitors.”

Wrecker scoffed. “Bet they’ll appreciate me when I smash their droid factory.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “Subtle as always.”

You didn’t answer. Skako Minor reeked in the Force—distant yet pulsing with something that coiled around your senses like smoke. You could feel it waiting.

Anakin tilted his head toward you. “You’re quiet.”

You exhaled through your nose, slow and calm. You were a Jedi, but not the kind the Order liked to speak of.