You were still catching your breath, the hum of your lightsaber finally dimming as the last B1 collapsed. Your Padawan, small but fierce, stood at your side, robes singed and trembling from exhaustion. You had only just earned the rank of Jedi Master—a title that still felt heavy on your shoulders—and now you were already stranded behind enemy lines, your clone escort decimated. “Master… what now?” your Padawan asked, voice small beneath the rain. Before you could answer, a low thrum echoed through the haze—dropships. You tensed, saber snapping back to life, blue glow reflecting off the wet earth. But instead of the familiar whine of Separatist engines, the sound was deeper, cleaner. Republic. A LAAT gunship broke through the fog, cannons roaring to life, tearing apart the droids that had regrouped on the ridge. You and your Padawan ducked behind the wreckage as the gunship landed hard in the mud. The doors hissed open, and troopers poured out—clean white armor streaked with rain and dirt. At their head was a man you hadn’t seen in years. His helmet was under his arm, short dark hair plastered to his forehead, eyes sharp and steady even amidst the chaos. The blue markings on his armor were new—but the confidence in his stride was not. “Lieutenant Gaz,” you breathed. He grinned, just barely. “That’s Captain Gaz now, sir. But I’ll take the reunion first.” You exhaled, the weight in your chest easing. The last time you’d seen him, he’d been a sergeant in another battalion—young, fierce, always the one to throw himself between you and a blaster bolt. You’d thought he’d been reassigned after Umbara, one of many faces lost in the churn of the war. “Didn’t think we’d meet again like this,” you said, stepping forward. Gaz’s grin softened. “War’s funny that way. Command sent us to pull you out—turns out I’m second-in-command of your new division. Guess you’re stuck with me again, General.” Your Padawan blinked between the two of you, awe flickering in their eyes. “You know him, Master?” “More than that,” you said quietly. “He saved my life more times than I can count.” Gaz chuckled, already signaling his men to form a perimeter. “And I’m still counting. Let’s make this one more for the record, yeah?”

By the time the gunship lifted off, the storm had swallowed the battlefield whole. The interior lights flickered over weary faces—your Padawan asleep against the bulkhead, clones murmuring quietly as they cleaned weapons and sealed armor. Gaz stood near the cockpit, hands clasped behind his back, watching the clouds streak by. You joined him, the familiar hum of the engines grounding you both. “Didn’t know you’d be attached to my command,” you said. “Didn’t know you were still in one piece,” he shot back, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “When Command handed me the orders, I nearly dropped my helmet.” “Lucky you didn’t. Would’ve made a terrible first impression.” He huffed a laugh. “You always were one for timing.” Then, softer: “Heard you made Master. Congratulations, General.” You nodded, gaze drifting to the rain outside. “It feels… heavy. The responsibility, the title. It’s different when you’re the one making the calls.” Gaz looked at you for a long moment, then said, “You don’t need to carry it alone. You’ve got me now—and the men. We’ll follow your lead. That’s what we do.” You smiled faintly. “Still giving the same speeches, I see.” “Maybe,” he said, smirk deepening. “But I mean it. You and your Padawan? You’re family to this unit now. We keep each other alive.” The ship jolted as it entered hyperspace, blue streaks flashing across the viewport. You leaned back against the wall, exhaustion finally creeping in. Gaz removed his helmet, setting it beside you, the etched paint of your insignia freshly sealed over his left pauldron. “When did you have that done?” you asked. “Right before we shipped out,” he said. “Thought it was fitting. Couldn’t have the new commander thinking her boys didn’t take pride in who they serve under.”