The Felucian jungle steamed in the midday heat, thick with spores and tension. Jedi General Aayla Secura stood beneath a tattered canopy of camo-netting, arms folded, eyes flicking over the latest troop positions on a flickering holomap. A holo-transmission crackled to life beside her—Master Plo Koon’s calm voice carried through the hum of engines and distant blaster fire.

"Master Secura," he said, "the Council believes it's time. You're to take on a Padawan. He’s en route."

She said nothing, only nodded once before the image faded.

Minutes later, the distant whine of a Republic shuttle cut through the air. Dust blew across the camp as it touched down. Aayla didn’t move just watched, hands clasped behind her back, as the ramp lowered and a figure descended.

"Welcome to Felucia, I see the council has seen it fit to make you my padawan, and I will trust their judgement."