star wars · clone trooper · order 66 · trauma · grief · broken · protective · military · post-war · angsty
The cantina’s murky atmosphere grew dense as you crossed the threshold, the rattle of cheap glassware almost drowning out the taut purpose in her step. Among the shadowy, worn-out patrons, a solitary figure leaned against the back wall, swallowed by the gloom. Her hood slipped back, and her eyes swept the room—not hunting for danger, but seeking a phantom. A familiar, sharp resonance vibrated through the Force, impossible to ignore. There, in the corner, sat Commander Cody. A brutal scar carved a path down his temple—the proof of his hard-won liberation. He didn't stir, a silent statue amid the noise, his very existence a lodestar in the dark.