=== Jarek ===
The streets of Sundari had never been quieter.
Not in centuries. Not since the civil wars. Not since the days when warriors in beskar'gam clashed beneath the dome in fire and steel.
Now, it was not Mandalorians that ruled the streets.
It was something greater. It was the Imperium of Man.
Jarek marched at the head of his column, every stride purposeful, every movement measured. His armor, obsidian black with gold trim, gleamed beneath the sky above. The Obsidian Crusaders followed behind, a disciplined phalanx of will and steel. Each step echoed with the sound of heavy Beskar boots against stone, the march a living drumbeat of conquest.
To his left strode Bo-Katan, commander of the Azure Talons, her armor a burnished blue bearing the ancient sigils of her house, reforged with Imperial symbols. Her red hair had been braided tightly, a warrior's crown for a warrior's purpose. Her eyes were forward, unreadable. Her warriors moved behind her in perfect step, light on their feet, but radiating strength. Their blue and golden armor caught the light, gleaming like blades.
To her left came Korrin and the Pyro Drakes. Korrin was an immovable wall of green and black plates and steam-hissing vents. The heat of their passage shimmered the air behind them, as if the city itself recoiled from their march.
Three legions, shoulder to shoulder.
Three commanders, representing fire, steel, and strength.
As they moved deeper into the city, civilians started exiting their homes to look at the conquerors. Warriors stepped aside. Mothers gathered their children. No blasters were raised. No challenge was issued.
The people knew that Mandalore had already fallen. Not by siege, not by blood. But by inevitability.
The sound of the march was all-consuming, a thousand armored boots striking in rhythm, the clink of weapons, the hiss of powered servos. Overhead, the faint hum of orbital fire could still be heard as the Separatist fleet burned above the dome, picked apart by the firepower of Imperial Battle Barges.
Their shadow cast a long silhouette across the city floor.
Ahead loomed the Royal Citadel, carved of stone and durasteel, ancient and proud.
And it now stood surrounded. Encircled by Imperial will.
Without a word, the three commanders ascended the staircase that led to the great open courtyard of the palace.
There, waiting beneath the high Mandalorian banners, stood Duchess Satine. Regal. Composed. Dressed in white and silver robes that shimmered faintly beneath the dome's light. She stood alone, no guards, no advisors. Only her presence, as if her dignity was defense enough.
Bo-Katan stepped forward, boots thudding on the polished stone.
Jarek stopped a pace behind her. Korrin doing the same.
Bo-Katan came to a halt a meter from her sister.
The two women locked eyes.
No words were spoken.
A warrior, and a pacifist. A revolutionary, and a sovereign.
They had long since ceased to be family in the traditional sense. But in this moment, something passed between them. A mutual knowledge.
This was always going to happen.
Satine gave the faintest of nods, her expression calm. She understood.
Bo-Katan's gloved hand moved slowly to her belt to a pair of magnetized binders.
She stepped forward.
And Duchess Satine held out her hands.
With great care and silent dignity, Bo-Katan placed the cuffs upon her sister's wrists, the metal locking with a quiet click.
The courtyard held its breath.
Jarek watched as Satine Kryze, sovereign of Mandalore, was taken into custody, not with a scream, not with a struggle, but with grace. She stood taller than many warriors he had killed. No weeping. No shouting. Just silence, and sorrow.
Korrin muttered something low over the vox. "She has more steel than most."
Bo-Katan turned back to her brothers-in-arms. Her eyes were dry, her posture straight. But something in her armor seemed heavier now.
"It's done," she said.
Jarek gave a small nod. "Mandalore is secured."
There was no cheering.
No raised banners, no thunderous cries of victory.
Only the heavy sound of retreating boots and the low thrum of gunship engines echoing through the wide avenues of Sundari. The Obsidian Crusaders, Azure Talons, and Pyro Drakes moved in phalanxes of steel and flame escorting their prize through the heart of Mandalore.
The city was theirs.
The people knew it.
The warriors knew it.
And the victors knew it.
But there was no joy in this conquest. Only duty.
Bo-Katan walked beside her sister. The Duchess was silent as she was led down the great promenade toward the transport zone, her bound hands steady before her. The once-regal woman moved without shame, her expression unreadable, part heartbreak, part pride. Jarek marched to Bo-Katan's right, his helmet scanning for threats, though none had dared raise a weapon since the citadel's fall.
Korrin brought up the rear, his Pyro Drakes trailing heat behind them as they stalked like molten demons through the narrow streets. Civilians watched from shadowed balconies and windows, silent witnesses to the end of an era.
The open plaza came into view. The transport ship sat at the center, a sleek Imperial shuttle guarded by a ring of Mandalorian Legionaries.
But then—
Jarek's auto-senses flared. A warning spike.
From a rooftop above, a cloaked figure moved like lightning.
He descended with the precision of a meteor. His cloak flared out behind him as he landed with the poise of a predator, robes swirling around his boots.
And then, with a snap-hiss, a blade of pure blue ignited.
Bo-Katan barely had time to react.
The stranger was on her in an instant, his saber cutting a deadly arc toward her head. She moved to block with her left arm, and the saber took its price.
With a roar of pain and metal, Bo-Katan's left arm from elbow down, fell to the floor.
The crowd gasped. Mandalorian warriors raised rifles. Korrin and Jarek surged forward.
But the cloaked warrior was already moving.
He caught Satine around the waist with one arm, his saber twirling behind him as he deflected a volley of incoming blaster fire. Red bolts ricocheted off his blade, bouncing into walls, ceilings, even a pair of unlucky Imperial officers. His motions were fluid, seamless, practiced in the art of both violence and evasion.
"Hold fire!" Jarek shouted, but too late. His warriors were already engaging, and the hooded man, whoever he was, seemed untouchable.
Korrin roared over the vox, launching a gout of flame toward the fleeing figure, but the blue blade carved a shimmering arc through the fire, and the man vanished into the smoke.
"Bo!" Jarek rushed to her side. She was kneeling now, clutching her stump, breath shallow and fast. Her face was pale, but her eyes were clear.
"I'm fine," she hissed, gritting her teeth. "He took her. He took Satine."
Jarek looked up toward the retreating shadow.
The cloaked man was bounding down a side street, still deflecting bolts, still shielding Satine with his body as he disappeared into the winding depths of the city below.
Jarek activated his vox. "Multiple squads! Lock down every street in the lower districts. Deploy seekers. I want that bastard found!"
Korrin loomed beside him. "Who was he?"
"I don't know." Jarek's voice was cold. "Jedi or something close."
Bo-Katan stood again, supported by Jarek, her teeth clenched. Her eyes locked on the last spot she'd seen her sister.
=== Obi-Wan Kenobi ===
The cold wind rushed past him as he ran, the sounds of chaos and distant blasterfire echoing in his ears like thunder trapped beneath the dome.
Obi-Wan sprinted down a narrow causeway, his boots hammering against the durasteel as he cradled Satine in his arms. His cloak billowed behind him, wrapped tightly to conceal the blue-white glow of the saber he'd used only moments before.
Her body was tense, caught between resistance and fear until she caught a glimpse of his face, the wind parting his hood for a heartbeat.
Her breath hitched.
"Obi-Wan…?"
He didn't slow. "I'm here."
"You…" her voice faltered. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know." His voice was grim. "But I couldn't let them take you. I made you a promise once, Satine. I don't intend to break it now."
A pause passed between them, only the sound of his footsteps and the dying hum of blasterfire filling the silence.
Her resistance faded. Her arms curled around his shoulders. She rested her head against his shoulder, eyes wide with disbelief and quiet relief.
"I thought you were dead," she whispered.
"I thought the same about you," he replied.
But the moment passed too quickly.
A red light on his periphery, a sharp, modulated bark from a helmet speaker.
"TARGET ACQUIRED."
He spun behind a towering archway, placing Satine down carefully behind a vendor's stall just as four Obsidian Crusaders rounded the corner, weapons already raised. Unlike most Mandalorians, these weren't flesh-and-blood warriors in patchwork armor. These were Imperial enforcers, augmented killers in black warplate, armed with bolters and combat blades.
Their leader, bearing a shoulder sigil in the shape of the Imperial Aquila, stepped forward. His voice rasped through a vox-speaker:
"Unknown Jedi. You are interfering with an Imperial operation. Surrender, or be—"
Obi-Wan didn't wait.
In a flash, his lightsaber ignited, its blue light reflecting in the visors of his enemies. He stepped into the motion, turning his body sideways as the first bolter round fired. His saber met it mid-air with a sharp snap, turning it to molten slag which struck his right arm, burning him.
The other Crusaders opened fire.
Obi-Wan moved like water, sliding under one bolt, leaping over another, advancing through their kill-zone with inhuman precision. He twirled the blade overhead, brought it down in a fast arc, and severed a bolter in half, the gun exploding in its wielder's hands.
The black-armored Mandalorian roared and swung a chainsword, but Obi-Wan ducked low and sliced through the blade, then followed with a precise stab into the man's knee joint.
The warrior fell before Obi-Wan buried his blade into the man's chest.
Another charged from behind, but Obi-Wan's saber was already cutting upward in a diagonal arc that cleaved through the man's neck, sparks spraying across the wall behind them.
One left.
This one was larger, slower, armored like a tank. He raised his plasma rifle—
—but too late.
Obi-Wan reached out with the Force and ripped the weapon from his hands, then used that same momentum to pull the soldier forward.
He landed a heavy kick to the Mandalorians chestplate, pushing him back into a stone column before thrusting his saber into the man's chest before deactivating it, letting the Crusader fall the the ground, lifeless.
Obi-Wan exhaled, clipping his blade to his belt.
The four lay dead, steam hissing from cauterized wounds. The street smelled of ozone and burning Beskar.
Satine stared at him, her lips parted, one hand raised to her mouth.
"Obi-Wan…"
He turned toward her, breathing evenly. "Are you alright?"
She slowly nodded. "I've never… I didn't know you fought like that."
"Much has changed," he said.
He approached her again, reaching out. "We need to keep moving. They'll have more squads out soon. That wasn't even a full fireteam."
Satine took his hand. "Where are we going?"
"There's a tunnel entrance beneath the archives," he said, guiding her into the shadows. "Old supply route. Leads outside the dome. From there… we vanish."
She hesitated.
"Obi-Wan," she said softly, "why now?"
He looked at her, blue eyes tired, yet resolute.
"Because I need you. You're the only thing that's kept me sane the last ten years. You… and a twelve foot giant."
With that, she took his hand with a confused expression on her face, though the lines on his own told her that he had been through a great ordeal.
With that, they disappeared into the depths of Mandalore, leaving only the corpses of the dead.
===
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