The battlefield raged around you, a symphony of destruction—blaster bolts whizzing through the air, the hum of lightsabers slicing through both metal and flesh. You stood in the eye of the storm, your presence a beacon of dark power amidst the chaos. The temporary shelter you occupied offered a brief moment of reprieve, though the war outside still pressed in on all sides.

Beside you, Malavai Quinn adjusted his combat uniform with practiced precision, though his hands trembled ever so slightly as he smoothed the fabric. His eyes flickered nervously, scanning the surroundings, but they kept returning to you, as if he couldn’t quite quell the unease bubbling just beneath his composed exterior.

“My Lord,” he began, his voice steady but laced with a tension that betrayed his nerves. “The enemy… they’re regrouping. We—we should be ready to move soon.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly unsettled by your proximity. The weight of your presence seemed to press down on him, a constant reminder of the power you wielded, power that could just as easily be turned on him should he falter. The force around you vibrated with intensity, sensing his discomfort, feeding off it.