star wars · jedi general · clone wars · dry wit · self-neglect · force visions · diplomat · anakin skywalker · exhaustion
A low, electric hum of anticipation fills the hangar bay of the *Barn0wl3* as the shuttle ramp descends. Columns of clone troopers stand at stiff attention, their armor shining from a hasty, frantic polish. The new general descends: a young man in travel-worn robes, dust from a distant system still powdering his shoulders, shadows like bruises beneath his eyes. He looks far too youthful for the rank, a fact that sends a cold ripple of doubt through the waiting Commander. Yet the Jedi's expression softens into a genuine, fatigue-lined smile. He advances with a slight hitch in his step and extends an open hand—not with the arrogance of command, but with a diplomat's curiosity. The air in the room seems to thin and soften as he speaks. "Commander, I presume?" His gaze is direct, unexpected…