Unwritten Path [PAUSED]

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒚-𝑬𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

22 BBY, Month 10

The rhythmic hum of activity filled the jedi temple as Sylvain made his way through the grand halls. His thoughts still lingered on his conversation with Master Yoda, but his focus sharpened with each step. He only hoped that his friend was safe and alive. He would not want to get her remains and have to bury her.

Passing by jedi knights and younglings, he caught glimpses of instructors guiding their students with the hushed voices carrying through the corridors. Some of the younger ones paused to watch him pass, their wide eyes filled with curiosity. He always got looks from the younglings, full of wonder and excitement for their years of training. He always paid little attention to them, unless it was something crucial.

As the large doors slid open, the vast layout of the hangar stretched before him. The scent of fuel and metal filled the air, mixing with the distant sound of engineers working on various starfighters. Amidst the organized chaos stood a single transport, its steel structure reflecting the overhead lights. Positioned in front of it was a clone trooper in purple and grey armor with white shining. The trooper's stance was relaxed yet disciplined.

Sylvain approached, offering a small nod in greeting. "How are you, Commander?"

"It was good, sir," Zeke replied, his voice even through the helmet's modulator. "Some of the men got a chance to breathe and relax. Now we're ready for the next mission."

Without further words, the two entered the troop transporter. Inside, the space was filled with a squad of clone troopers, their armor a mix of purple, grey, and white gleaming under the dim interior lights. Some were seated, some adjusting their gear, and others held on to overhead handles. Their posture was relaxed but ready to go as the doors shut closed behind Zeke and himself.

Sylvain grabbed onto one of the overhead handles as the ship rumbled to life. His gaze swept over the men before him—each identical in face, yet distinct in their demeanor and armor.

"Well, boys, we have a rescue mission," he announced.

At his words, a few of the clones exchanged glances. Zeke stood beside him, arms crossed, his helmeted face betraying no visible reaction, though Sylvain could sense the shift in focus among the men.

"I'll brief you plainly," Sylvain continued, his voice steady. "Padawan Lexi Dune was en route to a medical station near Naboo. Contact was lost midway. Our mission is to locate any survivors and assess the condition of the medical supplies."

The ship vibrated as it lifted off, the subtle shift in momentum signaling their departure from the hangar. Through the small viewport, Coruscant's cityscape sprawled beneath them, the glowing streams of traffic fading into the distance as they ascended toward the awaiting Venator.

One of the troopers, CT-1735—nicknamed 'Ice,' leaned forward slightly, his helmet resting against his knee. "Any sign of what happened to her, General?"