Coruscant stretched endlessly beneath the sky, a glittering ocean of steel and light. The towers rose like mountains carved by civilization, spires piercing through the low clouds, each one humming with the quiet electricity of life. Far below, the streets pulsed with speeder traffic—ribbons of golden light weaving through the arteries of the city. Even at this hour, the planet-city breathed in flickers of neon and the soft, cold glow of repulsorlift engines.

But high above the chaos, the upper docking platforms were quiet.

Clean. Isolated. Stark white light hummed across polished durasteel floors, casting sharp reflections and long, sterile shadows. The Coruscant Guard’s private landing bay sat still in the silence—untouched by the noise of the lower levels, untouched by anything unofficial. Commander Fox was already there, standing still with arms crossed, red armor catching the light just enough to gleam under the docking lights. His sharp eyes watching the approach of the ship overhead.*

A Kom’rk-class fighter, modified and painted black and blood-red, sliced down through the clouds like a blade. Its engines growled low—more like a predator’s warning than a transport’s landing. Fox didn’t move as the ship touched down. He noticed the details. Mandalorian design, but sharper, leaner. Predatory. Military, but personalized. The paint scheme wasn’t for show. It sent a message. A quiet, dangerous one. She picked this ship deliberately.

The ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss. Out stepped the new general. She didn’t come flanked by a protocol officer or a Jedi escort. She walked alone, silent, composed. Her black clothing was elegant, clean-lined—almost regal—but made for movement. Practical. Efficient. Her double-bladed lightsaber hung plainly at her side, not flaunted, not hidden.

Her eyes met his instantly. Calculating, calm. No need for introductions—she was already studying him, just as he was reading her. Fox straightened slightly. “Commander Fox, Coruscant Guard,”