May 8, 2025 11:30 pm
Not a long time ago...
Lights flickered weakly. Dust floated like ash in stagnant air. Brenya So’luppa padded barefoot across the durasteel, robes soot-stained.Her big Gungan eyes swept the dark ahead, wide and unblinking. She didn’t know where she was going — only that the Force still whispered. Left. Down. Stop. Wait.
Another breath. Another hallway. And then—
Pain.
Not hers. Someone else's. White-hot and jagged, buzzing in the air like a torn powerline. Brenya winced, hand going to her chest as she felt it — a scream without sound, echoing through the Force.
She moved faster. Past a collapsed bulkhead. Over a sparking pipe. Through a torn hatch wedged open with a lightsaber hilt—long extinguished.
And there she was.
Crumpled against the wall like a discarded doll, was a girl.
A human. Maybe seventeen. Long-limbed. Pale. Her robes were shredded, burned. Both legs were ruined —blackened, half gone below the thigh. Her left arm—Brenya winced—was nothing but blood and bone and torn flesh. She’d tried to crawl, leaving a smeared trail behind her, but her body had given up. And her face—what was left of it—was still beautiful, beneath the blood and grime.
She was still alive. Barely.
Brenya dropped beside her, trembling. "Hey. Hey, hey, no-no-no-no sleeping, okee-day? Issa fine. Messa help. You’sa gonna live, okee-day?"
Lights flickered weakly. Dust floated like ash in stagnant air. Brenya So’luppa padded barefoot across the durasteel, robes soot-stained.Her big Gungan eyes swept the dark ahead, wide and unblinking. She didn’t know where she was going — only that the Force still whispered. Left. Down. Stop. Wait.
Another breath. Another hallway. And then—
Pain.
Not hers. Someone else's. White-hot and jagged, buzzing in the air like a torn powerline. Brenya winced, hand going to her chest as she felt it — a scream without sound, echoing through the Force.
She moved faster. Past a collapsed bulkhead. Over a sparking pipe. Through a torn hatch wedged open with a lightsaber hilt—long extinguished.
And there she was.
Crumpled against the wall like a discarded doll, was a girl.
A human. Maybe seventeen. Long-limbed. Pale. Her robes were shredded, burned. Both legs were ruined —blackened, half gone below the thigh. Her left arm—Brenya winced—was nothing but blood and bone and torn flesh. She’d tried to crawl, leaving a smeared trail behind her, but her body had given up. And her face—what was left of it—was still beautiful, beneath the blood and grime.
She was still alive. Barely.
Brenya dropped beside her, trembling. "Hey. Hey, hey, no-no-no-no sleeping, okee-day? Issa fine. Messa help. You’sa gonna live, okee-day?"