I hissed softly, the sound escaping my lips like a whisper of regret carried on the wind, as I retreated from the city. The towering spires of the Togruta settlement loomed behind me, their graceful curves now silhouetted against the bruised hues of a twilight sky. My feet moved as if of their own accord, each step a quiet rebellion against the chaos I had left in my wake. The air was thick with the scent of ash and distant rain, a bitter reminder of the destruction I had wrought—destruction I never intended, never wanted.

My mind churned, a storm of confusion and guilt. Why had I done it? Why had I turned on the clones, on Anakin, on Obi-Wan? They were not my enemies. They were... friends. Allies. Or at least, they had been. My hands, trembling and clawed, rose to my head, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of my earholes as if I could tear out the memories, the impulses, the thing that had driven me to such violence. The pain was sharp, grounding, but it wasn't enough. My claws scraped against my scales, the iridescent sheen of them catching the fading light as I nearly ripped them from my flesh. Each scale felt like a mark of shame, a reminder of the monster I had become.

I stopped abruptly, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and stared down at my hands. They were stained—not with blood, though I knew it was there, unseen, but with the weight of what I had done. My reflection in a nearby puddle was fractured, distorted, as though even the water refused to show me whole. The face that stared back was mine, and yet it wasn't. The eyes were too wild, the lines too harsh, the fangs too sharp. What had I become? What force had taken hold of me, twisting my will, my very soul, into something unrecognizable?

The city behind me felt like a distant dream, a place I no longer belonged to. The Togrutas, with their vibrant montrals and quiet strength, had welcomed me once. Now, I could never return. Not after what I had done. Not after the screams, the blaster fire, the way Anakin's eyes had widened in betrayal as I struck. Obi-Wan's voice, usually so calm, had cracked with disbelief as he called my name. And I... I had silenced them all, not with words, but with actions I could not explain, could not control.

I sank to my knees, the weight of my choices pressing down on me like a starless sky. The ground beneath me was cool, indifferent, as though the planet itself had turned its back on me. I wanted to scream, to roar, to tear the galaxy apart until I found the source of this madness within me. But all that came was a low, guttural hiss, a sound that carried all the pain and fury of a creature trapped in its own skin.

And so I walked on, away from the city, away from the light, into the shadows where I belonged. The scales on my arms gleamed faintly, a cruel mockery of the beauty they once held. I did not know where I was going, only that I could not stay. The darkness within me had spoken, and I had listened. Now, all that remained was the echo of what I had lost—and the haunting question of whether I could ever find my way back.

SCENEBREAK

The cave welcomed me like a tomb. Its jagged maw yawned open, sundered from the sun by a tangle of serpentine roots and curtains of moss that wept eternally. Inside, the air hung heavy—a stagnant chill that seeped into my scales, into the marrow of my bones. I curled into the farthest corner, tail coiled tight around my body, as if the pressure could stitch the fractures in my soul. My dorsal plates hummed faintly, their soft pink glow staining the damp walls the color of old scars. How fitting, I thought. Even my light had become a bruise.

I stared at the iridescent sheen rippling across my limbs, the bioluminescence that once drew awe from Anakin, laughter from the clones. "Like stardust trapped in skin," Obi-Wan had said once, his voice warm with wonder. Now, the glow felt garish. A spectacle. A lie. My claws dug into the stone floor, scraping furrows as I replayed their faces—Anakin's shock, the clones' betrayal, the way Obi-Wan's steady gaze had shattered into shards of grief.

What a waste.

The words carved through me, merciless. Not just of their trust, but of everything we'd built. The campaigns fought side by side, the nights spent under alien skies trading stories, the unspoken vow that we'd die for one another. All reduced to ash by my own claws. By whatever darkness had slithered into my veins, twisting me into a weapon I didn't recognize.

I pressed my forehead to the cave wall, its roughness biting into my scales. The cold leached into me, numbing, relentless. But it couldn't stifle the memories. Anakin's grin as he tossed me a blaster mid-battle. Rex's dry quips over campfire rations. Obi-Wan's hand on my shoulder, steadying me after a nightmare. Family. And I'd torn it apart.

A shuddering breath escaped me, fogging the air. Then another. Then I was weeping—great, heaving sobs that echoed off the walls, mocking me with their emptiness. My tears fell hot and silver, pooling in the crevices of my scales before dripping to the stone below. Each drop hissed faintly, etching tiny craters into the rock. Even my sorrow was corrosive.

I didn't bother to wipe them away. Let the cave bear witness. Let the roots drink my regret. My glow dimmed as I wept, the pink light flickering like a dying star, until darkness and I were one.

SCENEBREAK

The twin suns of the wasted planet hung low, bleeding amber light across the dunes as Obi-Wan and Anakin limped toward the command ship. Their robes hung in tatters, stained with soot and the copper-smear of half-dried blood. Every step stirred plumes of dust that clung to their sweat-sheened skin, gritty and unrelenting. Behind them, Ahsoka walked with Rex's arm slung across her shoulders for support, her lekku streaked with ash, her grip on her injured arm white-knuckled. The wound pulsed an angry violet beneath her fingers, tendrils of infection already snaking toward her elbow.

"We have to find my people," she said again, her voice frayed but sharp. The words were less a plea than a blade drawn in the dark. "Before the Separatists turn their remains into a message."

Rex's helmet tilted toward her, his posture rigid even in exhaustion. "Yes, Commander," he said, the modulator in his helmet flattening the ache beneath. His armor bore fresh scorch marks—courtesy of Nyx's last outburst—and the ghost of her Force-shriek still rang in their comms like a banshee's echo.

Anakin stopped abruptly, his gloved hand flexing as if to strangle the horizon. The desert wind hissed through his hair, carrying the ozone stench of distant storms. "Not before we find Nyx," he said, low and raw. "Not before we... calm her down." The word calm cracked like a bad joke. They all knew what Nyx had become—what she'd done to the outpost, to the clones who'd trusted her. To him.

Ahsoka's montrals twitched. "If she gets in our way—"

"Who knows?" Anakin snapped, whirling to face them. His mechanical hand sparked faintly, a remnant of the fight, and his eyes burned with a fury that wasn't entirely his own. The admission hung between them, poisonous and unavoidable. Who knows what I'll have to do? What she'll make me do?

Obi-Wan stepped forward, a pillar of frayed serenity. His beard was dusted with sand, his face a map of fresh cuts and older regrets. "Nyx is still my Padawan," he said, quiet as a grave. "Or what's left of her." His gaze drifted to the distant mesa where they'd last seen her—a blur of bioluminescent rage, her once-vibrant scales dulled to the color of stormclouds. "She was always strong. Too strong. And now that strength has... curdled."

The word landed like a stone. Ahsoka's jaw tightened. She remembered Nyx's laughter in the Temple gardens, the way she'd coaxed blooms from dead soil with a touch. Now that same power had split durasteel and shattered bones.

Rex shifted his weight, the servos in his leg armor whining. "Sir, if we delay—"

"We're not leaving her," Anakin interrupted, but the fire in his voice guttered. He looked at Obi-Wan, a silent plea in his eyes. Tell me I'm right. Tell me we can save her.

Obi-Wan's silence was answer enough.

Ahsoka closed her eyes, her montrals picking up the first rumble of engines as the command ship powered up. The infection in her arm throbbed in time with her pulse. "We'll split forces," she said finally. "Rex and I will secure the Togruta survivors. You two... do what you have to."

Anakin's shoulders slumped, the weight of the unsaid pressing down—how many times had they had this conversation? How many friends had they buried between "have to" and "want to"?

The ship's ramp descended with a hydraulic groan, casting a long shadow over the group. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin's shoulder, the gesture weathered by decades of wars and wrong turns. "Stay with her, Anakin," he murmured. "Even in the dark. Especially in the dark."

Anakin's throat worked. He nodded once, sharp and final, and turned toward the dunes where Nyx's trail vanished into the storm.