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“Observation: the Expeditionary Fleet is crossing the Bandomeer-Harloen axis,” Augur tracked the progress of our quarry.

“So they’ve finally entered Serenno space,” I kicked back, resting my head against my hands, “What about Admiral Trench?”

The super tactical droid swiped at the holoprojection, “Our spy frigates have observed mass transit through Salin Corridor. Conclusion: Admiral Trench has crossed Phindian space.”

I eyed the starchart, tracing the winding hyperlanes with my eyes. Spanning the Trans-Hydian expanse, the Salin Corridor met and crossed the Hydian Way at the Botajef System, before continuing into the New Territories. I narrowed my eyes–it would be a race, then. A race to see which fleet captures Botajef from Serenno’s hands first. Botajef was a city-world, home of the Botajef Shipyards: formerly one of the most productive civilian yards in the galaxy, now one of the most productive military yards.

Considering its strategic location at the nexus of two major hyperlanes, and its sheer value besides, it would be safe to assume Count Dooku’s droid armies had fortified the star system to Firefist and back. If Botajef falls–and it will, that I had no doubt–then the fleet that captured it would dictate the pace of the rest of the campaign.

That, in turn, raised another concern. Convincing Phindar was one thing, but ensuring the Jedi Expeditionary Fleet and Confederate Armed Forces 2nd Fleet Group would cooperate was a different challenge altogether. I personally did not lack confidence in Trench’s means, as the Confederate Fleet Groups had been organized–intentionally or not–as vassals of their commanding admirals, securing their loyalty.

With Admiral Dua Ningo’s 1st Fleet taking up the post on the Perlemian Trade Route, the 2nd Fleet that Admiral Trench took with him through Phindar was utterly bent to his will. It helped that the old Harch was a somewhat legendary figure now. Nevertheless, his subordinates might grumble at his orders, even question his strategy, but they would fall in line when the time came. Phindar had proven that much.

The Jedi Expeditionary Fleet was a different beast altogether. Even ignoring the tension between Jedi and Navy ranks in the Expeditionary Fleet, not even the Jedi themselves could be treated homogeneously. Some were aware of the impending coup, most weren’t. Some were pro-Republic hardliners, others were more moderate. Some were willing to put aside differences to deliver justice to Dooku, while others considered cooperation with the Separatists unthinkable.

Alas, that was not up to me but Trench, and I did not envy his position. We were fortunate the Jedi General at Phindar was lukewarm to the Republic at best, but someone like Mace Windu would be much harder to convince. Which was why it was so paramount that Trench reach Botajef before the Jedi do: possessing such a massive bargaining chip would surely do wonders at the negotiating table.

The question in the air, then, was whether he would.

The CAF 2nd Fleet had the advantage of size and organisation, as well as unrestrained transit on the Salin Corridor. Meanwhile, the Jedi Expeditionary Fleet was huge, and frankly untenably mixed bag of formations and factions. Not to mention, they had to conquer their way down the Hydian Way, recapturing worlds and systems from General Grievous’ armies.

…

Shit, I totally forgot about the cyborg. Where the hell is he?

I couldn’t just sit still twiddling my thumbs whilst that monster was gallivanting about. Knowing Count Dooku, it would be just like him to keep his trump card hidden right until the critical moment. Tensions will be high enough at the upcoming confrontation at Botajef, and we did not need to risk a rogue party crasher come rampaging in as General Grievous ought to do.

I snapped my fingers, drawing Augur’s attention: “We need to account for all of Count Dooku’s military assets still in play.”

The droid’s head slowly turned towards me, “Statement: we were instructed to observe the situation.”

Hmm? Nothing I said indicated we would be doing anything but simply observing the situation.

“I am feeling restless,” I replied leisurely, “I am sure you agree with me that time is a resource we shouldn’t waste. And besides, Admiral Trench had permitted independent action.”

I could just feel the cogs whirring behind Augur’s beaked faceplate, his three yellow eyes staring blankly past me as he deliberated my unique interpretation of Admiral Trench’s words. I had a bit of leeway to play with, I felt. Besides, I now possessed the same rank as Admiral Trench, as the CAF hierarchy did not have any position higher than admiral or general. Now that I was no longer subordinate to the 2nd Fleet Group–as I had been replaced by Diedrich–Trench was no longer my commanding officer either.

Of course, the weight of my words held nothing compared to his, but considering Trench did explicitly tell me that he ‘trusted my judgement’, I think it\'s safe to assume I had the liberty of independent action at my disposal.

Otherwise why the hell would he give me the rank?

“If you don’t have any formal complaints, plug yourself into PRIESTESS and let’s start combing through the Republic’s observation reports.”

The tactical droid’s posture stiffened slightly, the faintest flicker of disapproval breaking through his emotionless faceplate, “–Affirmative.”

In an instant, the starchart flared to life, casting its radioactive green glow across the pilothouse. On the lower decks, Skakoan engineers paused their work, glancing up at the unexpected display. Threads of light radiated outward, tracing routes Rimward from Coruscant, unseen and out of frame. The holo highlighted the GAR’s key positions across the northern galactic quadrant, each line representing a fragment of intercepted communications. Yet, the web was incomplete–there were no radial threads between the northern systems, as PRIESTESS was only capable of reading signals routed through the Republic capital.

Nevertheless, I figured the locations of characters of such threat and import as General Grievous would be reported to Coruscant anyway. As Augur skillfully navigated the network, the hologram shimmered into sharp relief as PRIESTESS\'s datastream fully engaged, the starchart populating with a steady flow of glowing markers and data trails. Said markers then blinked out of existence as Augur flagged those logs of interest out of the banal cargo manifests and equipment requisition requests.

I unconsciously sat up a bit straighter, uselessly studying the spiderweb of information. There was nothing I could do with the technological monster that Augur couldn’t do better, but somewhere within the chaotic tangle of the GAR’s logistics and operations was our next target, and I could help but sit in anticipation.

After what seemed like an age, Augur’s voice broke through the ambient hum of the consoles, flat and clinical: “Observation: Admiral Pors Tonith’s fleet has been flagged in multiple recent reports.”

I straightened at that, my gaze fixing on a slash of data points along the Veragi Trade Route. Augur was already cross-referencing and extrapolating Admiral Tonith’s movements using the data at hand, and the bright crimson arc of an assault vector stood out like a bloodstain against the starlit expanse.

“...Looks like Admiral Tonith had the same idea we had, eh?” I murmured, “Using the Veragi Trade Route to circumnavigate the GAR’s defensive positions on the Celanon Spur… should we consider ourselves fortunate we did not decide to run the Veragi? Our meagre force would have stood no chance against his should we have encountered him.”

“Analysis: Recent Republic communiques indicate a significant concentration of Separatist naval forces in the Dubrillion and Jaemus Star Systems,” Augur noted, “Assessment: Admiral Pors Tonith is consolidating and reinforcing Serenno’s territories in the galactic northwest, with the intent on reclaiming the Banking Clan’s assets.”

“And counterattacking the GAR’s forces from behind,” I pointed out, “With all eyes turned to the Expeditionary Fleet’s offensive down the Hydian Way, the GAR Eighth Sector Army will be standing alone against Pors Tonith’s fleets.”

Out of left field, I must admit, but strategically sound. A diversionary attack on Dantooine and Muunilinst was perhaps precisely what Count Dooku needed to alleviate some of the tension against Serenno. Looking at the starchart, what Admiral Tonith was doing was tantamount to forcing the Republic’s northern armies into a war on two fronts. If resources from the Expeditionary Fleet are to be redeployed to the west, then Serenno’s chances of survival are just that much better. If the 8th Sector Army receives no help, on the other hand, then Admiral Tonith has a good chance of reconquering the lost systems of the InterGalactic Banking Clan.

Either way, Serenno wins.

Alas, Dubrillion was too far away for me to do anything about it, not that Pors Tonith was the subject of my interest anyway. Nevertheless, the news was enlightening; Count Dooku had two main military leaders under his vassalage–Admiral Pors Tonith and General Grievous. With the former accounted for all the way in the west, the latter must be much closer to home.

I gestured at the map, zooming out with a deft flick of my hand to encompass the sprawling northern quadrant. My gaze swept over the faint, shadowy indicators marking Republic losses and compromised systems, until my attention snagged on another crimson flag. It was situated in the Taris System, and the sheer density of signals was a telling giveaway.

“There,” I said softly, my voice sharpening, “That’s where Grievous is. It must be; it tracks with the latest reports of his campaign up the Hydian.”

“Accessing transmissions…” Augur tilted his head, “Observation: General Grievous has executed an aggressive orbital and planetary assault on Taris. Local forces reportedly overwhelmed and communications blackout in effect.”

“Looks like the Expeditionary Fleet prioritised haste over securing their flanks,” I stood up, “From Taris, Grievous has a whole cornucopia of options to choose from.”

Taris, sitting just a thousand light-years north of the Hydian Way and seven-thousand light-years southwest of Bandomeer, was the perfect staging ground to undermine the Republic’s supply and reinforcement lines. Not to mention, the ability to attack the Expeditionary Fleet in the rear opens up to him as well. Obviously, the GAR knows this, considering the sheer number of flags around Taris. In all likelihood, a fleet had already been redeployed to dispatch of General Grievous.

I frowned, wracking my brain for anything my hazy memory could provide me. Memories of my homeworld were fading, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand to harder I tried to clutch onto them. Somewhere within me, a new fear blossomed; the fear that I might no longer remember where I came from. Maybe I should write down what I know while I still can, as spotty as my memories may be. Then, after the war is over…

Perhaps I should go searching for a distant star in the night sky? A galaxy far, far away…

I still had my whole life ahead of me, after all, and surely with the authority of the CAF behind my back, I could afford to construct some long-range observatories and space telescopes in the spiral arms of the Outer Rim.

…A mission for another time.

In any case, what I knew of General Grievous was perishingly little, but I knew for a fact he was the Supreme Commander of the Confederate Droid Armies in another life. I must consider him to be a military commander on par with Sev’rance Tann. And if that was the case–no Republic fleet could ever put an end to him in a straight naval engagement.

“We should go take a look,” I said aloud, pacing slowly along the edge of the hologram.

Augur’s three yellow eyes swiveled to track me, “Query: is this an appropriate juncture to invoke independent action?”

I stopped and turned to face him fully, a faint smile tugging at my lips, “What do you think?”

“Clarification: my approval is irrelevant. Your orders take precedence.”

I clapped, like a snap of thunder jolting everybody in the bridge, “Then let’s get to it! Get the Scepter on the line and have Illiet plot the most direct course for the Taris System!”

⁂

Taris Orbit, Taris System

Ojoster Sector

Surprise. Shock. Awe.

Two years fighting the largest war the galaxy has ever seen, and Jedi Master Luminara Unduli have only felt those emotions so rampantly once before, evoked by a then unheard of Confederate commander in the uninhabited backwaters of the Outer Rim. Ambushing a fleet was no easy feat–space was vast, and sensors far outrange effective weapon envelopes by light-hours. In this age, to so expertly jump an ambush right on top of the unsuspecting victim requires two things; complete control of the local astrography, and a certain kind of cunning.

Luminara Unduli could not have known that two years ago, she was witnessing the first tentative steps of a new monster to the Republic. Since then, Luminara Unduli should have been more cautious whenever engaging a new Separatist foe.

It seems some lessons are not so easily learned when taught only once, Luminara Unduli thought dryly as she commanded Task Force Garland thick into the fray. Venator-class attack cruisers plunged into the flanks of the Separatist warfleet like freshly honed knives, their dagger-like hulls gleaming with fresh, unscarred doonium, and artillery decks blazing like an edge of blue fire.

Too hasty, the Jedi Master frowned lightly, we were too hasty to act.

As if upon noticing the rare feature of concern gracing the usually impassive General’s face, Clone Commander Gree was moved to comment.

“It is fortunate we had been detached from the main fleet when General Grievous sprung his ambush,” Commander Gree commented, “At least we are now in the position to help.”

“From a certain point of view,” the Mirialan Master murmured, “Can we contact the Insolent?”

Task Force Garland’s advance ground to a halt as it slammed into a roaring wall of Banking Clan frigates, the combat so tightly packed that the hulls of warships scraped against one another, and turbolaser fire barely had time to clear the barrels before slamming into their targets. The lattice of Munificent-class frigates held their line adamantly, unwilling to allow Garland to break through–and Master Luminara knew why.

Through a fleeting gap in the frigate lattice, she could see the Insolent bracketed, a lone island of steel in a sea of Separatist fire. A Providence-class dreadnought loomed over the Republic flagship, its massive bulk shrugging off the efforts of desperate Republic escorts as it bulled its way forward. The Invisible Hand was relentless as it ran its beam alongside the Insolent, launching breaching cutters toward the struggling warship. On the far side of the lattice, Luminara’s flagship was forced to hold position, unable to aid against General Grievous’ single-minded warpath.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Droid-crewed warships,” Commander Gree’s lips thinned, “They will not break their line even if we blew their reactors out from behind them.”

“We have fought so many Separatists, against their vigor and stubbornness, that we have come to look forward to fighting against droids,” the Jedi Master replied simply, “Whilst forgetting that droids are oft as stubborn as men and women with a cause, many times moreso.”

“Droids aren’t capable of thinking like men and women with cause.”

Luminara Unduli gestured at the unbreakable battle lattice before them, “They need not to, when the single mind behind them is capable of thinking for them.”

Clone Commander Gree grimaced, but did not refute it.

Droids are computers and programs given form and locomotion; they are only as capable as the orders given to them, and they will do no less and no more. The Separatist Alliance’s greatest mistake at the beginning of the war was deploying their droid legions with inexperienced minds behind them, who thought to command droids as they could organics. The greatest general in the galaxy could be given a droid army, and flounder against any professional droid slicer given the same resources.

The Pantoran rectified this mistake with the Militia Act, and the likes of the Perlemian Coalition and General Horn Ambigene’s 4th Fleet Group proved the value of her military reforms.

However, when a droid army is put into the hands of a general who knows how to use them?

“Recusant-class destroyers on our starboard bow,” Commander Gree warned, “They are overwhelming our formation, General. Magnolia’s moving forwardto hold our right wing, but we can’t expect her to last forever.”

“Is there any hope of salvaging this battle, Commander?” the Jedi General asked, feeling the Force flow through her fingers, “Any course of action in which we can rescue the Insolent?”

“...With all due respect, General Unduli,” the Clone Commander answered stiffly, “the best thing General Piell can do now is blow the Insolent whilst Grievous is still onboard.”

The words hit her like a physical blow, but she kept her composure. Master Luminara did not look at any tactical display, and instead delved deeper into the Force to find her answers. Insolent was boxed in, signals flickering from its listing form erratically as the Grievous’ fleet jammed everything around it. The battle was already slipping, and there was no helping it.

Nor could the Magnolia hold much longer, under the onslaught of Separatist destroyers. Fires burned visibly across her midsection, dorsal hangar doors locked open, but her gunners kept firing, overclocked point-defence cannons staving away boarding skiffs like an umbrella of fire.

Soon, Garland will be boxed in as well.

“Order all ships to break contact. Cycle Magnolia with Celosia to hold the flank as long as possible while the rest of the Task Force retreats to the closest hyperlane egress behind us,” Master Luminara ordered, voice clipped, “Pained as I am to say, this battle is lost.”

Commander Gree wasted no time: “Right away, sir!”

He began barking orders into the comms, his tone sharp as he directed the formation shift. Magnolia

banked hard to port, allowing Celosia to charge forward and absorb the brunt of incoming fire with her broadside. Celosia’s shields flared and buckled, but held, responding with her own blistering salvo of fire. At the same time Task Force Garland’s remaining ships began peeling away from the engagement zone, engines flaring as they pushed for hyperlane egress behind them.

Master Luminara closed her eyes briefly, reaching out with the Force towards the Insolent. She felt the chaos aboard the flagship, the courage of her crew, and the defiance of Jedi Master Even Piell standing against the shadow of General Grievous. She sensed no fear in his presence, only assurance.

Then–there was no more presence.

A rupturing thunder rolled through the Force, an explosion that echoed out as the Insolent\'s main reactor detonated in a blinding cascade of energy. The shockwave shattered the surrounding Separatist boarding craft, tearing through the Invisible Hand’s shields and venting whole sections of her hull to the void. The Republic flagship’s wreckage spiral outward, a glowing cloud of debris that illuminated the blackness of space like a dying star. The Force was still, save for the faint ripples of countless lives extinguished in an instant.

General Grievous had bet the speed of his boarding party against the will of Even Piell who had his finger on the self-destruct button. And he lost.

“By the dark stars,” Commander Gree gritted his teeth, “I hope that monster is dead.”

Master Luminara did not let Even Piell’s death move her, busying herself with coordinating Task Force Garland’s fighting retreat. Beyond the frigate lattice, the outlying warships of Battle Group Insolent were withdrawing as well, kicked into a rout by the sight of their flagship’s destruction. Unfortunately, with active interdiction mines still blowing holes in hyperspace with their artificial mass shadows, an emergency jump would be no easy feat.

“General,” a comms officer marched up the bridge, whispering in her ear, “The refugee transports are requesting permission to evacuate the battle zone.”

“They have not already?” the Jedi Master whirled around, robes billowing, “Send them back to Taris immediately! They will be safer planetside than caught between our crossfire.”

“Understood, sir.”

“General,” Commander Gree leaned in as the comms officer raced back to his station, “The enemy lattice had broken to pursue us. I suggest we launch torpedoes.”

“Our Venators are not known for their torpedo launchers,” the Jedi General mused, “What’s to say our meagre efforts won’t be completely shot down by their point-defence?”

“Unlike Providences, Munificents and Recusants lack total point-defence coverage,” the Clone Commander replied, voice steady but tight, “They have a blind spot–their ventral bow, right on top of their curtain armour. We can program our torpedoes to climb, then dive. What little we have won’t do anything considering their shields and armour, but it’ll slow them down by however much.”

“No point in holding onto weapons,” Luminara Unduli nodded, “Launch them.”

“Very good, General.”

Each Venator in the fleet cold-launched four torpedoes, spluttering mites of dull metallic dust in a fast-moving river of durasteel, ion-blue attitude thrusters flaring briefly as they angled their payloads in accordance to their programmed trajectories. Moments later, Garland’s retreat was punctuated by flashes of hot ignition, and a forest of violet streaks arced upwards, blazing trails into the vast space over the fleet like purple flowers upon stalks of smoke.

As Commander Gree had anticipated, the pursuing Separatist vessels immediately cut their main drives, swinging their vessels into defensive postures, angling their hulls to maximise their point-defence envelopes. Upon reaching the crown of their arc, the torpedoes cut burn and flipped, guided warheads singling out targets in the Separatist formation–and tore back down on screaming impulse drives into waves of point-defence. Turbolaser bursts and flak fields stitched the void, and Master Luminara turned away, knowing the pursuit had been staved off for a little while.

“We’ve cleared the interdiction field, General!”

Under this brief reprieve, Task Force Garland burned hard toward the hyperlane egress, the safety of the Halmad Star System on the other side. It was a ways off from Bandomeer, but they could still rendezvous in time. The battered fleet stretched into an orderly formation, warships moving swiftly under the protective aegis of their escorts. Luminara Unduli, standing rigid on the bridge of her flagship, let the Force guide her resolve as the countdown to the jump commenced.

Then, as if the stars themselves spited her, the tactical console chimed, sharp and insistent.

“General,” Commander Gree alarmed, his voice taut. “We’re picking up a target lock. Unknown origin.”

The holodisplay refreshed, its projection spinning and scanning furiously, raking the artificial horizon for signatures. The bridge crew froze for a heartbeat, an unspoken question hanging in the air before the alarm blared again.

Bearing oh-two-four mark oh-one-one relative! Range…

Luminara Unduli tore her gaze from the readout, fixing her attention on the display. Far away, just outside visible range, lurked a dark shadow, a splotch of space completely black, the glitter of the stars swallowed by a great mass easily picked up by an active scanner.

“Signature acquired!” the sensor officer called out, “Accessing registry… star dreadnought Devastation!”

And the great, black mass then gleamed a bright, burning red.

“Last sighting report–Celanon System!” the readout continued, “Before that… Columex System!”

Subjugator-class star dreadnought, Devastation. An entire class of Separatist superweapons, and one the Republic knew about. Except, Republic Intelligence could count the number of Subjugators in the galaxy on one hand: three, to be exact. And of the three, only the Devastation could be accounted for after the Battle of Columex. And if the reports were to be believed, it was the warship that turned the battle against Denn Wessex’s Ninth Sector Armada at Celanon, putting a brutal end to any effort to eliminate it.

It was a terrifying thing to behold, eight klicks long and fitted with a massive moon-cracking spinally-mounted bow cannon–the cannon that was pointed straight at the Garland. Instinctively, Master Luminara knew no amount of evasive action could dodge the beam; for at this range, that cannon would awash the entire hemisphere of Taris in red fire.

But to aim such a massive spinal cannon in the first place, one would have to painstakingly manoeuvre the entire length of the eight-kilometre long hull, tracking Task Force Garland throughout its retreat… to the one spot they knew Garland would stop: the hyperlane egress. Furthermore, using such a weapon would assuredly cause friendly casualties in a close quarters battle… friendly casualties that were no longer there as Garland’s pursuers had been slowed down. Master Luminara struggled to decide whether it had all been planned in advance, or an unfortunate coincidence.

“They’re charging their cannon!”

That red sun in the distance swelled, glowing brighter.

“All shields to the front, evasive action!”

And brighter, until it dwarfed all the stars around it.

“Orders, General!?”

Luminara Unduli opened her mouth, but her speech was replaced by a frantic alarm.

“Our scanners are picking up more signatures off our port bow!”

“More Separatists!? Did they circle the planet from the other side!?”

“We’re detecting massive gravitational distortion!”

“More interdiction mines!?”

“I-I’ve never seen anything like it, sir!”

An object shot past the viewports, nothing more than a dull grey smear on the monitors, appearing in one frame and disappearing in the next. There was no light, just a blurred, metallic cylinder–one moment, empty space stretched out in all directions, and the next, a flash of impossible velocity ripped across their path for a fraction of a second.

And before the very same second could even tick by–

That blazing red sun in the distance winked out like a snuffed candle.

The bridge of the Garland did not have the time to react, not even the Jedi Master could. Everything happened in the fraction of the time it takes to close an eyelid–one moment they stared down an eternity with the Force, and the next moment they were not.

“–What happened?” someone asked.

And the data pits scrambled to provide an answer.

“What in Nine Hells was that thing!?”

“It looked like some sort of asteroid!”

“An asteroid isn’t made of polished metal, idiot!”

“Where did it come from!?”

“What about the Devastation!?”

First, the Devastation. It was still there, but no longer dormant; a massive backwash appeared on the scopes, sixteen mammoth sublight drives pushing it great bulk away. The only indication it had been hit: a gaping through-hole in the mid-length of its spinal cannon. Whatever the object was, it had bored straight through the cannon starboard to port, smashing out the other side without detonating and disappearing into deep space.

Second, the object. It was a kinetic slug from a mass driver, though one much larger than anybody aboard the Garland had seen before. Though, from the sensor readings taken prior, it could have been a gravitationally driven slug.

“Another Separatist superweapon,” Master Luminara murmured, “They used it at Columex and Commenor.”

Commander Gree immediately caught on, “This one looks unlike any we’ve seen before, General. Now that the immediate threat has passed, it may be worth trying to identify the nature of the weapon before we insert into hyperspace.”

The Jedi Master shook her head, “Let us not take the risk. Sync the fleet and prepare to make the jump to Halmad. Let us count our stars today, and not risk fate.”

“As you wish–”

“–General!” the comms officer shot to his feet, “We’re getting an incoming transmission!”

It was enough cause for alarm to make the Mirialan Jedi pause, “From who?”

“Unknown, but It’s on the open frequency, sir!”

Luminara Unduli shifted, feeling the weight of her crew settle on her. The intense, burning curiosity, the great desire to see questions answered. She inquired the Force, and upon receiving an answer, decided to hear the transmission against her better judgement.

“...Put it through. I want us to jump as soon as we hear it.”

“Yes, sir!”

–tzzk–tzzk–

General Grievous. Master Luminara knew it as soon as she heard the voice, though she had neither seen nor heard the creature before. She knew not what to expect, but expected it nonetheless.

“–We finally meet–”

It was a soft, guttural growl. Almost a whisper, as if speaking too loud would cause physical pain.

“–So called ‘

Master Luminara Unduli froze, her hands stilling on her lightsaber as the voice slithered through the comms like venom. Hydra. The Battle Hydra? That man was dead, killed at Rendili. That report had been accompanied by solemn confirmations and sensor data that left little room for doubt. Yet here was General Grievous, invoking the name with a chilling certainty that left no room for misinterpretation.

She felt the ripple in the Force, a cold tide that surged through her awareness. Death had its own clarity, a signature of finality that even the untrained could sense. But this? It was an absence where there should have been silence, a void wrapped in mystery and dread. Grievous continued, his rasping tone filled with cruel amusement.

“–I have looked forward–to this day–”

“Hah… hah-hah… HA!”

Click–silence. A loud, heavy silence that settled over the bridge of the Garland like a blanket of uncertainty knitted with dread. He’s alive? How?

Wait, General Grievous lived through that?

Did he just mention the Battle Hydra?

Is this a trick?

The questions swirled unspoken, ricocheting through the minds of the bridge crew as they exchanged uneasy glances. Each officer clung tightly to their station, their hands gripping consoles and railings as though grounding themselves could fend off the icy chill creeping through their thoughts.

“Orders, General?” Commander Gree’s voice cut through the oppressive atmosphere, his posture betraying tension.

Luminara Unduli exhaled slowly, forcing her thoughts into focus, “Maintain our jump trajectory to the Halmad System. If this is a trick, we will address it after ensuring the safety of this fleet.”

She turned to the comms officer. “And keep monitoring that open channel. If he transmits again, I want it recorded.”

“Yes, General,” the officer replied, swallowing thickly.

The silence persisted like a fog as the ship hummed with the building energy of its hyperdrive, Luminara closed her eyes for a fleeting moment, reaching out into the Force. She could feel the unease spreading through the Garland like ripples in a pond, touching every soul aboard.

Click–tzzt–

“...So you lived through all that,” a dead man growled through the open channel, “You really are one damnable metal cockroach, Grievous.”