The battle, once fierce and chaotic, was finally winding down. The air still crackled with the tension of it all, the stench of burning flesh and the metallic tang of blood lingering in the dust-choked atmosphere. Amid the carnage, Count Dooku stood on a balcony, his gaze piercing as he sneered down at us with the cold arrogance that only he could muster.

"It is sad that it had to come to this, old friend," Dooku said to Mace Windu, his voice smooth but laced with disdain. His words were meant to sting, to mock, and Mace's silent response—only a sharp glare—spoke volumes.

"We will not be made bargaining chips for you, Count Dooku. The fight is over. Come down, and we will speak," Mace declared, his voice steady, unwavering. There was no fear in him, only the quiet determination of a Jedi who knew the battle was won, no matter how long it took.

Dooku's laughter echoed across the battlefield, hollow and mocking. "Oh no, I'm not going to go down that easily," he said with an almost playful arrogance, his form retreating further into the shadows of the arena.

I exchanged a glance with Anakin and Obi-Wan, both of them still on edge, their weapons drawn but no longer poised for combat. We moved as one, an unspoken agreement passing between us to press on. The clones followed close behind, their armor scarred from the battle but their resolve steadfast.

The ships, those lifelines that would carry us away from this battlefield of death, hovered in the distance. The hum of their engines filled the air, a comforting sound amidst the wreckage. The scene around us was one of quiet devastation. Several Jedi had fallen, their bodies scattered among the dead clones and the swarming corpses of the Geonosians. Yet despite our losses, the numbers of the enemy were far greater. Their death toll marked the true cost of this conflict.

We made our way toward the ships, our steps slow but purposeful, each of us carrying the weight of what had transpired on this planet. The clones assisted us onto the vessels, their movements practiced and efficient, but I could see the weariness in their eyes. Their faces were hard, grim, and filled with the sorrow that accompanies war's unrelenting cycle.

As I stepped onto the ship, my gaze lingered over the battlefield one last time. The fight was over—for now. But I knew it wouldn't be long before we'd face another. The war was far from finished.

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We touched down on Coruscant with the familiar hum of the ship's engines slowly dying down. The city-planet stretched endlessly around us, its towering spires and bustling traffic a sharp contrast to the battlefield we had just left. Obi-Wan and Anakin, both visibly weary but composed, helped me and Padmé down the ship's ramp and toward the medical wing. The atmosphere was a mix of professionalism and underlying concern, but I could sense their efforts to keep the mood light.

Although I didn't particularly need any medical attention, one of the clones, Kix, eagerly approached, his eyes bright with curiosity and respect. His face, usually so stoic behind the helmet, softened a little as he greeted me. "It's great to meet you, Your Highness," he said, his voice respectful but warm.

I waved my hand dismissively, smiling faintly. "Don't call me that here; we are all friends," I replied, my voice light and casual, yet with an undercurrent of warmth. I had no desire to be treated like royalty, not in this setting, not among these people who had fought by my side and seen me for who I truly was.

Anakin grunted, crossing his arms with a slight smirk on his face. "What? You are the Queen of the Universe, aren't you? Of course, we're going to treat you as such." He gave me a teasing look, but there was a deep respect in his eyes, one that mirrored the feeling I had for him.

I rolled my eyes playfully, narrowing my gaze at him. "No, thank you, Anakin. I want to be treated as Nyx," I replied, my tone light but firm, and he only shrugged with a chuckle.

Obi-Wan, ever the source of calm wisdom, stroked his beard thoughtfully. His gaze softened as he looked at me, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "I've heard tales about you, Nyx," he said, his voice carrying a playful hint of amusement. "It's astonishing to see that you are actually alive."

I chuckled softly at his remark. "You're not the first to say that," I remarked, glancing over at Padmé, who was watching the exchange with a knowing smile. The memories of those who had once spoken of me with awe, or even fear, lingered in my mind, but hearing it from Obi-Wan gave me a strange sense of comfort.

Kix gave me a gentle but insistent look, raising an eyebrow as he prepared to examine me. "Just a quick checkup," he said, his voice steady and professional. Despite his enthusiasm, there was no pressure in his words, and I found his calm demeanor oddly reassuring.

I nodded, giving in to the checkup, but it was clear from the way he looked at me that he had already seen much of what I was capable of—and yet, he treated me as a person, not a symbol. That, more than anything, made me feel at ease in this strange, vast world.

As I sat down for the examination, I looked around, at the bustling medical bay, the clones moving efficiently, the Jedi working with a purpose, and Padmé standing nearby with a reassuring presence. Despite the chaos of everything we had been through, I felt a rare peace settle over me.

For the first time in a long while, I was simply Nyx—no titles, no expectations, just me. And for now, that was enough.