Wolffe stood amidst the chaos, watching as the last of the droids crumpled to the ground. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt metal and blaster fire. A sense of weariness washed over him, a familiar feeling after countless battles.

His gaze shifted around the battlefield, scanning for survivors or stragglers. And then he saw them. The General's Padawan, lying motionless on the ground, their form bathed in the harsh glow of the setting suns. A wave of dread washed over him as he sprinted towards them, his heart pounding in his chest.

He holstered his blaster before kneeling beside them, placing two fingers against their neck to check for a pulse. Relief washed over him as he detected a faint throb- they were thankfully alive. Their breathing was shallow and labored.

Quickly, he spoke into his comm the situation to get the medics ready for another. He glanced around before picking them up, one arm under their knees and the other behind their back. He cradled them close, their head against his shoulder. He only hoped he could get them to the ship in time, and he felt guilt flash through him. He had failed to protect them, to keep them safe.

As he carried them back to the ship, his mind raced. He tried to recall the events of the battle- he could see blood on their clothes, but he couldn't see any injuries clearly. He remembered seeing them fighting alongside the other clones with the General. But then, as the battle raged on, he had lost sight of them. He vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to save them.

"Kid, you gotta open your eyes for me. You awake?" He questioned as he quickly made his way back.