Chapter Text
~~~~ Conflict of Force ~~~~
I
~~~~ Conflict of Force ~~~~
Dia Olan steps off the shuttle into the Venator's hangar, following her Jedi master, Emmari Vinives, towards the waiting clone commander. The polished durasteel floor reflects the shuffling of clones and the sleek, sharp lines of starfighters. The hum of activity fills the air, the clang of tools, the murmur of orders, and the steady thrum of the ship's systems creating a chaotic symphony. Emmari nods to the clone as he falls in beside her, his boots clinking rhythmically with theirs. Dia's gaze shifts around, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in the clone's dark red paint marking his armour, a stark contrast to the white plates of the troopers working around them. She feels a mix of awe and trepidation—this is her first time embedded with a Legion, and the scale of it all is overwhelming.
"Commander Neva, is the Legion ready to go?" Emmari asks, her stride causing her robe to flap around her heels. She runs a hand through her shoulder-length black hair, adjusting it as they walk.
"Yes, General. All troops and equipment loaded up and ready for deployment," the clone says, holding his helmet under one arm, his voice calm and steady, the kind of calm that only comes with experience.
"Good to hear. It should only be a day or two until they are on the ground again. Also, I should introduce my padawan, Dia Olan. She will need an overview of how the Legion operates. If you could arrange for one of your officers to go over it with her, I'd appreciate it," Emmari says, gesturing to Dia, who follows behind them, her eyes bright with curiosity and a hint of nervousness.
Commander Neva nods, his eyes briefly assessing the Twi'lek padawan. He notes her crimson skin and the tattoos decorating her face, lekku, and arm, each mark a testament to her history and journey as a Jedi. "I'll have Captain Zell handle that," Neva replies, signalling a clone with a distinctive kama, setting him apart from the others in the hangar.
"General, Commander," the clone captain says as he approaches, his posture straight, his eyes sharp.
"Zell, can you ensure that Padawan Olan here is settled in and introduce her to our tactics?" Neva says, his voice carrying authority while his eyes flick toward Dia, who tries not to shrink under the towering presence of the clones around her, the weight of their attention settling on her.
"Of course, Commander. If you would follow me, Padawan," Zell says, nodding before leading the way deeper into the Venator, the ship's endless corridors stretching out before them. The walls are adorned with the stark emblems of the Republic, and the lighting is dim, casting long shadows that make the space feel even larger.
"Dia is fine, Captain. Zell, was it?" she asks, keeping her voice polite and open while nodding to clones they pass, her smile tentative but genuine. She notices the camaraderie between the clones, the way they move as a unit, their unspoken understanding of each other.
"It is, Dia," Zell says, the name feeling unfamiliar to him. He hesitates, before adding, "Commander Neva mentioned you'd need an introduction to our tactics. Once we're underway, I'll have a couple from my company join us in one of the training bays. We can show you a few things."
Dia smiles, her tension easing a little at the thought of something concrete to focus on. "That sounds good. I need to see how you do things if I'm going to be working alongside you." She can feel the pulse of the ship beneath her feet, the low hum of its engines resonating through her bones, grounding her in the present.
"Right then. I'll grab a few of the boys, and we'll meet in the training bay shortly." Zell pauses in front of a door, indicating the quarters beyond. "This is your room."
"Thank you, Zell," Dia says, stepping into the room, her eyes scanning its simplicity—a bed against one wall, a desk opposite it, equipped with a data screen and ports for various devices. The door slides shut behind her, and she exhales, a hand coming to her lekku, tracing a slow, comforting path along the sensitive skin. The room is small, but it's hers, and for the first time since they left Coruscant, she feels a moment of calm.
The swirl of emotions and force signatures from the clones and crew around her press against her senses, a constant, fluctuating tide. She shuts her eyes, beginning her breathing exercises, focusing on the rise and fall of her chest, the familiar texture of her lekku beneath her fingers grounding her. Her lips move in silent prayer to the Twi'lek goddess as she centres herself, her focus only breaking as the Venator shifts, the hum of its engines signalling the jump to hyperspace. The sudden acceleration makes her sway slightly, and she steadies herself against the wall, her breath coming in slow, measured inhales and exhales.
The next two days blur together, a routine of training and introductions. Dia shadows Captain Zell, watching as he interacts with the clones, matching names to faces, names to the unique, intricate force signatures she senses from each of them. Their tactics are sharp, efficient—not quite what she expected after the rush of simulation trainings back on Coruscant. She finds herself impressed by their precision, their unity. She watches them spar, their movements fluid and coordinated, each clone knowing exactly where his brother will be, anticipating each other's actions without words. It’s almost like watching a dance, and Dia can't help but admire the bond they share.
She meets several of the troopers in Zell's company—Jax, a sharpshooter with a dry sense of humour; Sparks, who seems to be the go-to tech expert, always tinkering with his gear; Rook, a heavy weapons specialist whose imposing stature is matched only by his gentle demeanour; and Rose, one of the ARF section leaders, who carries herself with a kindness but in training is ruthlessly effective. They treat her with respect, but there's a camaraderie between them that she knows she isn't a part of—not yet. She listens to their stories, their jokes, and slowly begins to understand what it means to be part of a clone Legion. There’s a sense of brotherhood here, a unity forged in the fires of their shared training and the couple battles that have made up the war so far, something that she finds both inspiring and a little intimidating.
Now, hours from dropping out of hyperspace, Dia stands alongside her master on the bridge, the air tense with anticipation. A holomap of the planet Etin flickers before them, its green and blue surface marred by the bright indicators of conflict. Commander Neva and Admiral Harpea, the Venator’s commander, flank Emmari, their faces impassive.
"The last report from Master Nima indicates they still hold orbital control," Emmari says, her fingers tracing a location on the map. "But the Separatists are putting up fierce resistance, especially in the built-up areas. The 72nd Legion is stretched thin. Once we land, the 42nd will be responsible for the main offensive, giving the 72nd time to regroup." Her voice is steady, but Dia can sense the underlying tension in her master. The situation is more precarious than the reports have indicated.
Neva nods, the holomap zooming in to display a junction within the city. "Our bulk landing will be here, reinforcing this point. We lose this junction, and the clankers get a clear shot at the 72nd's main supply depot. It’s crucial we hold." The map shifts, showing the intricate layout of streets and buildings, a maze that promises fierce urban combat.
Emmari turns to Admiral Harpea. "Once we arrive, and the gunships are away, begin landing the Acclimators." She then looks at Dia, her expression softening. "Come, Padawan. We need to be in the hangar."
Dia follows, her master’s calm presence a beacon. "Stick close once we’re on the surface," Emmari says as they leave the bridge, her pace quickening. "Master Nima will update us when we land. Let the clones handle the initial push while we gather information." Dia nods, her hand resting against her lightsaber, her thumb brushing the hilt. "Of course, Master," she says, her voice betraying the nervous edge she tries to hide.
Emmari glances at her, her expression softening. "Trust in the Force, Dia. With the full Legion behind us, the Separatists should capitulate quickly." Her words are meant to reassure, but Dia can't shake the gnawing doubt in her mind. The Force feels restless, as if warning her of something yet to come.
They step into the hangar, the roar of engines, the clatter of boots, and the sharp orders echoing around them. Emmari strides towards one of the waiting gunships, but Dia hesitates. Her hand moves to her left lekku, her fingers stroking gently, her eyes closed, trying to control the fear running through her veins. The fear prickling at the edges of her mind, the unknown waiting below them—it all tightens around her heart.
A hand on her shoulder breaks her concentration. "Commander? You all right?" Zell’s voice cuts through her thoughts, concern in his eyes.
Dia blinks, forcing a smile. "I… I'm just preparing for the landing. First time in a… well, you know," she admits softly, the word "battle" left unspoken, its weight lingering between them. She hates that she feels this way—Jedi are supposed to be fearless, but the anxiety gnaws at her, refusing to let go.
Zell's frown deepens, but he nods. "We've got a couple of shinies with us, too. It’s their first battle. You’re not alone, Dia. We’re bred for this. It'll be fine." He gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping back, his expression softening. "Just stay close, and you'll be alright. We look out for each other."
His reassurance, as simple as it is, calms her slightly. She takes a deep breath, feeling the tightness in her chest loosen a fraction. "Thank you, Zell," she says, pushing the fear down, the blaring of the alarm signalling their exit from hyperspace. She glances towards her master, already aboard the gunship, then back at Zell. "May the Force be with you," she says, before jogging towards the waiting transport, her fingers drumming lightly against her saber hilt, each step taking her closer to the chaos below.
She climbs aboard the gunship, settling in beside her master. Emmari gives her a reassuring nod, her eyes filled with quiet confidence. Dia closes her eyes, taking in the steady hum of the engines, the chatter of the clones around her, and the subtle vibrations that seem to echo through the ship's entire frame. She focuses on her breathing, each inhalation and exhalation calming her nerves as they prepare for the inevitable descent into chaos.
A moment later, the Venator drops back into real space with the main hangar doors opening, allowing the lead flight of escorting V-19 Torrents to launch into space, followed by the LAATs with infantry and a few carrying AT-TEs. Dia holds onto the side of the gunship while it flies towards the planet, the interior dark apart from a dim red light, the only sounds being the thrum of the engines, the breathing of the passengers, and the creak of the leather straps above them that are being held onto. The red light bathes everything in an eerie glow, and Dia watches as the clone troopers silently prepare themselves, each one lost in his thoughts, focused and calm. Her heart pounds in her chest, but she breathes in, then out, feeling the Force flow through her, the threads of energy that connect her to her master, to Zell, to every clone aboard this ship. It is a reminder that she is not alone.
The descent to the surface is turbulent, the gunship swaying as it enters the atmosphere, each jolt shaking Dia to her core. The clones around her remain calm, focused, their helmets on, their weapons ready. Dia watches them, drawing strength from their confidence. She grips her lightsaber tightly, her thumb brushing the activation switch, seeking reassurance in the familiar touch. Most of the planet is overtaken by sprawling urban areas, with only a few areas of mountains breaking through the lines of towering buildings. The city below comes into view, smoke rising from several locations, the flashes of blaster fire visible even from this height. Her stomach twists, but she forces herself to stay calm, drawing on the Force to steady her as she feels a surge of pain through the Force, the overwhelming suffering of those caught in the battle pressing on her senses like a crushing weight.
Emmari taps her comm as soon as it starts flashing. She nods slightly while listening to what is being said. "OK, we will reroute to assist there," she says before switching to the ship's intercom. "Pilot, the droids have launched a major attack. Land us as close to the front as you can."
Dia steadies herself as the gunship seems to drop away beneath her, the sudden dive between the buildings making her stomach lurch. The city rushes past them, the tops of buildings a blur of metal and glass as they weave their way through the urban landscape. With the gunship doors sliding open, they are hit by the rush of wind, Dia's lekku tensing slightly to stop them from being blown about too much. Along with the wind, the sounds of explosions and blaster fire fill the cabin, a reminder of the chaos waiting for them below. The moment the gunship touches the ground, the clones rush out to reinforce the 72nd Legion clones, the dark red armour of the 42nd standing out against the green of the other Legion. Dia steps out of the gunship, drawing her lightsaber but hesitating to ignite it, the pain she feels through the Force making her pause, the weight of the suffering pressing down on her shoulders.
"Goddess, guide me," Dia whispers in Ryl, her voice almost lost in the cacophony of battle. She closes her eyes for a moment, drawing on her training to block out as much of the pain as she can before igniting her lightsaber, the azure blade springing to life, its hum a reassuring constant amidst the chaos.
With her saber ignited, Dia rushes forward after her master, following the purple glow of Emmari's lightsaber, which is already spinning to deflect blaster fire. Dia leaps up next to Emmari, her own lightsaber moving to intercept the blaster bolts aimed their way. She looks out at the approaching droid army—hundreds of B1 battle droids marching in rigid formation, with AATs rumbling behind them, their cannons trained on the Republic line. The sheer number of them is staggering, and Dia has to steel herself against the fear that rises in her chest.
"Master Nima is to our left; we need to hold off these droids before we can plan our next moves," Emmari says, her voice calm despite the blaster rounds flying at and around them. Dia can feel her master's focus, her unwavering confidence, and it helps to steady her own nerves.
"Yes, Master," Dia replies, ducking slightly as the AT-TEs behind them fire their massive cannons overhead, the resulting explosions ripping through the droid formations. The ground shakes, and Dia feels the heat of the blasts even from where she stands, her lekku twitching at the vibrations. She moves in sync with her master, their lightsabers creating arcs of light as they deflect blaster bolts and cut down the droids that press forward.
With the reinforcements arriving and gunships flying overhead, it doesn't take long before the droid attack starts to falter. The majority of the droids lie destroyed in front of the line, their parts scattered across the street, while the remaining units fall back under heavy fire from the clones. As the fighting dies down, Dia feels the tension in her chest begin to ease, though the pain and fear in the Force still linger. She deactivates her lightsaber, taking a deep breath to steady herself as she looks around at the aftermath of the battle.
The two Legions work together to tend to their injured, the clone medics moving swiftly from one soldier to the next. Dia watches for a moment, the efficiency of their movements a stark contrast to the chaos of the battle that had raged only moments before. She follows her master as they make their way down the line, heading towards the other Jedi. Her steps feel heavy, each one weighed down by the lingering echoes of pain she had felt during the battle.
"Master Nima, Padawan Vaal," Emmari greets the Mirialan Jedi Master and her Togruta Padawan with a nod, her voice carrying over the background noise of the soldiers regrouping. The sight of the other Jedi is a comfort to Dia, a reminder that they are not alone in this fight.
"Master Vinives, Padawan Olan," Runi Nima replies, her green skin coated in dust, her expression weary but relieved. "I'm thankful you arrived when you did. If you come this way, Commander Rov should be able to update us on the situation." She motions towards a small command post set up behind the line, makeshift but functional, with a holomap projecting the current state of the battlefield.
Dia follows her master, her gaze shifting to Zela Taal, the Togruta Padawan. Zela offers her a tired smile, her face streaked with dirt, her montrals drooping slightly from exhaustion. Dia returns the smile, her heart lifting slightly at the sight of her friend. The sight of a familiar face amidst the chaos brings a sense of normalcy, however fleeting.
"It's good to see you, Dia... even if the circumstances could be better," Zela says, her voice heavy with fatigue. There is a tightness in her shoulders, the exhaustion evident not just in her face but in her entire posture.
"Same, Zela. The Temple wasn't the same without you. I was so relieved when I heard we were coming here—I was worried about you," Dia admits, bumping her shoulder against Zela's. Despite the grime and the tension in the air, there's a warmth between them, a small comfort amidst the chaos. The bond they share is a reminder of better times, and for a moment, Dia allows herself to remember those times, to draw strength from them.
"I would feel the same if our positions were reversed," Zela says, her lips quirking in a faint smile. "Though I still wish you could have avoided this. The Seppies are hiding in the buildings, fighting us block by block... it's a mess." Her voice trails off, and she looks out at the ruins around them, her eyes filled with a tired resignation.
Dia nods, her expression softening. "I wish you weren't here either. This..." She gestures to the ruins around them, the smoke still rising from the buildings. "It doesn't feel right. We should be protectors, not soldiers." Her hand brushes against Zela's, a silent show of support. The weight of what they are being asked to do feels wrong, and she knows Zela feels it too.
The two Padawans exchange a look, the weight of their shared feelings hanging between them, before they turn their attention back to their masters as they reach the command post. Commander Neva and Rov are already there, both focused on the holomap displayed on the table in front of them, their expressions grim.
"Commanders, what is the situation?" Emmari asks, her eyes scanning the map, her focus intense. The holomap flickers slightly, showing the layout of the city, key positions marked in red and green.
"Generals," Commander Rov begins, his finger tracing a line on the map, "With the attack repulsed, the droids are pulling back to the next block. However, there are still multiple lines of defense between us and the governor's palace. Intelligence indicates that's where the Separatist general is commanding from." The map shifts, zooming in on the palace. "The palace is heavily shielded, with multiple AA emplacements. We'll have to approach on the ground."
Runi leans against the holotable, her eyes narrowing as she studies the layout. "My Legion is tired but still able to support yours," she says, her voice firm despite the exhaustion Dia can feel radiating from her through the Force. There is a determination in her voice, a refusal to back down, despite everything they have already faced.
Emmari nods. "Agreed. Once the 42nd is fully landed and organized, we will begin preparations for the advance." She turns to Neva. "Commander, start making the necessary preparations."
Neva nods, stepping away from the table to relay the orders to his officers, his movements efficient and purposeful, each step carrying the weight of their mission.
"Commander Rov, begin organizing the rest and resupply of our troops," Runi adds, her gaze shifting to the clones tending to the injured. "Master Vinives, my Padawan, and I will assist in the attack. We can also share what we've learned about the Separatist general's tactics so far." There is a quiet confidence in her voice, a strength that Dia draws comfort from.
"Your help is appreciated," Emmari replies. "It will take a few hours for us to prepare. In the meantime, rest while you can. We will cover the front." She glances at Rov, who nods in agreement before stepping away to see to his duties.
Runi gives a nod of thanks before turning to leave the command center. Zela hesitates for a moment, her gaze lingering on Dia, a question in her eyes.
"Master, unless you need me, I'd like to inspect the camp and help with the preparations," Dia says, her voice hopeful, the desire to do something to help driving her.
Emmari gives her an approving nod. "Go ahead, Padawan. Ensure everything is ready for when we move out."
Dia quickly steps over to Zela, falling into step beside her as they head towards the mess area. "I'm sure you have something you could actually be doing instead of tagging along with me," Zela says, a teasing note in her voice despite her exhaustion. There is a lightness to her words that brings a smile to Dia's face.
"I could probably find something, but honestly, I'd just get in the way. Besides, I like spending time with you," Dia says, a small smile playing on her lips as they sit down, each taking a ration bar. The mess area is bustling, clones moving back and forth, the air filled with the hum of conversation and the clatter of metal.
Zela's montrals darken slightly, her face turning away as she tries to hide her smile. She looks back at Dia, her expression softening. "I like spending time with you too. It feels... strange, being here with you instead of sneaking around the Temple." She pauses, her gaze dropping, her fingers brushing against the edge of her ration bar. "This is all so different."
Dia leans into Zela's side, their lekku brushing gently against Zela's montrals. "I know what you mean. We were taught to be peacekeepers, to help people... and now we're here, fighting a war." Her voice drops, her words barely audible over the distant sounds of blaster fire. "I hate it." There is a vulnerability in her voice, an admission of the fear she has tried to keep hidden.
Zela reaches out, her hand finding Dia's and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know. I hate it too." They sit in silence, the weight of the war pressing down on them, but for a moment, they find solace in each other's presence, the noise of the battlefield fading into the background as they share a quiet moment of connection. The bond between them, forged through their shared experiences, is a source of strength, something to hold onto in the midst of the chaos.
The sound of an explosion in the distance pulls them back to reality, and Dia sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. "We should get moving. There's still a lot to do." She stands, offering Zela a hand.
Zela takes it, her fingers lingering for a moment before she pulls herself up. "Yeah. Let's go." Together, they make their way through the camp, the noise of preparation surrounding them, each step taking them closer to the inevitable battle ahead.