Our flight through hyperspace had been going on for nearly two hours. In four more, we would reach the fleet base above Lantilles.
By all measurable standards, the operation was a success.
No capital ships lost.
Fighter casualties within acceptable projections.
Both Republic task groups intact.
And the captured ruler secured in the brig—removing the political core of the crisis before it could escalate further.
Yet as I stood in the tactical room aboard the *Terminus*, listening to the after-action report, something gnawed at me.
An unease.
A faint, persistent pressure beneath the surface of my thoughts.
Strange.
And, if I were honest… I was tired.
---
Hovering above the tactical table were layered projections of the engagement—vector lines, formation shifts, casualty markers. Second Lieutenant Li Noriega presented her analysis with crisp efficiency while Captain Ntor Ragnos observed beside me.
"Thus," she concluded, "the total duration of the battle was thirty-one minutes for Commander Kinaun's engagement group and one hour thirty-five minutes for Commander Dittmar and General Dagon. Southeast Squadron lost fifty fighters but remains operational, destroying ten frigates and nine transports. We eliminated one Lucrehulk, four frigates, and eight transports directly. The remainder of the fleet was destroyed by General Dagon and combined starfighter assault."
The Zabrak muttered something under his breath—colorful, no doubt—before asking:
"What about our losses?"
"We sustained minor damage to one ship from heavy turbolaser strikes—the *Terminus* was not damaged. We lost thirty-seven fighters total. The group covering the main hangar suffered the heaviest casualties—twelve fighters, an entire squadron. Rear hemisphere defense lost eleven. General Vick's group lost five. Remaining losses were dispersed."
Ragnos nodded slowly.
"And their fighters?"
"No confirmed full count, but flight recorder data indicates our pilots downed four hundred seventy-two Vultures. General Dagon scored the highest individual tally. Red Squadron commander Tano accounted for twenty-three confirmed kills. KP-34T09 of the Eleventh placed third with eight."
The holograms dimmed.
"Excellent work, Lieutenant," I said. "Dismissed."
She saluted and exited.
Ragnos tapped a few keys idly. "What do you think, General?"
"What's there to think about?" I replied quietly. "We won."
He gave me a sideways glance.
"Headquarters won't like that you extracted the planetary ruler."
"No," I agreed. "They won't."
Kidnapping a head of state—even one aligned with the Separatists—had not been part of the plan.
But plans change.
"How are the trainees?" I asked.
"They had their moment," he admitted. "First real chaos for most of them. But they held. They've got potential."
A personnel list appeared.
"Our wing took losses. I drafted a transfer request for replacement fighters and pilots from the attached reserve group."
"Let's see."
Administrative details consumed another half hour. Numbers. Rotations. Resupply projections.
Necessary.
Tedious.
When finished, I left the bridge, intending to clear my mind in the training hall.
I never made it inside.
Halfway down the corridor, the unease sharpened.
Not tactical.
Not strategic.
Personal.
Ahsoka.
I turned immediately toward her quarters.
---
The door was closed. Lights dim.
She sat cross-legged in meditation.
Outwardly composed.
But the Force told a different story.
"Master?" she said softly, without opening her eyes.
"May I come in?"
"Of course."
I entered and sat opposite her.
"Ahsoka," I began, "we need to talk."
She bowed her head immediately.
"I'm sorry, Master. I failed you. I forgot your orders. I left the hangars exposed. Clones died because of me. I thought I could handle it. I wanted to prove I could. I'm not fit to lead."
The words came faster and faster.
She had been thrilled to fly—thrilled to command. She had thrown herself into battle, destroying droids in rapid succession.
And forgotten her assignment.
Nearly a third of the men entrusted to her had not returned.
For the first time, she had not just followed orders.
She had given them.
And she had felt what followed.
Only recently had she begun sensing death through the Force. Brief flares. Sudden extinguishing lights. During this battle, entire flashes had vanished at once.
It weighed on her.
I moved closer and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm not very good at comforting people," I said honestly. "But I understand loss."
She looked up, eyes bright with restrained tears.
"You're young, Ahsoka. In another era, you'd be negotiating trade disputes or settling border disagreements. Instead, you're commanding men in a galactic war."
She swallowed hard.
"There is no ignorance," I continued softly, "there is knowledge."
She blinked.
"Knowledge is power. Learn from this. Leadership isn't about never making mistakes. It's about surviving them—and ensuring they are not repeated."
Her composure broke.
She leaned forward, and this time I didn't hesitate.
I embraced her.
She cried silently at first, then openly, clutching my tunic as though afraid I might vanish.
"You didn't fail me," I said quietly. "You faced reality. That's harder."
Outside her quarters, the fleet continued its steady passage through hyperspace toward Lantilles.
We had won a battle.
But for my Padawan, the real lesson had only just begun.