The holo-trainer raised its blaster. Leia raised her staff. For weeks she'd dedicated herself to succeeding where once she'd fallen short. And even as it drained her physically and mentally, she was making progress, albeit slowly. She'd discovered a preference not for the twin staves Ahsoka seemed so fond of, but for a singular, well-balanced staff. It was far easier managing the weight and position of a single weapon, and since this realisation, Leia's performance had begun to improve. Frustration and doubt continued to gnaw at her. But as her trainers had advised, she'd worked to control these feelings- draw upon them- and use them to her advantage. Beneath the hopelessness- beneath the fear- there was a potent, burning rage. And the rage she felt at the world and at herself was a powerful motivator.

She closed her eyes, focused, sensed the sparseness of the training room around her. She felt the tiny buzz of energy emanating from the holo-trainer growing in intensity as it prepared to fire. She watched present and future become one, and in a practised motion, readied the staff to shield her shoulder. The holo-trainer's blaster bolt buzzed through the air only to dissipate harmlessly against her staff with a satisfying crackle. The trainer fired again, and muscle memory took over as Leia fell back into the Basic Form. She brought the staff around, intercepting the attack before it could impact her lower abdomen. The time between each bolt grew shorter with every shot. Leia's heart raced. Her motions quickened. There was a moment's elation, as she felt her body moving from one stance to another with an unconscious elegance, all the while fending off the unceasing assault. But exhaustion was taking its toll. Her focus slipped and her muscles grew heavy and finally, after almost two minutes of weathering the bombardment, a bolt slipped through her guard and struck her leg. Leia winced at the pain and slowly opened her eyes.

"Not good enough," she thought to herself. "Still not good enough."

She stepped unsteadily, ready to start yet another attempt. But then, the holo-trainer deactivated as the door to the room slid open. Standing in the doorway was Ahsoka Tano.

Leia's eyes widened in panic.

"Y-your Luminance!" She scrambled to her knees, kneeling both in reverence and fear. "I-"

Ahsoka entered the room, light and graceful, with an apologetic smile on her face. Leia was struck by a spell of nausea and her stomach wretched. Her hands shook- subtly, but perceptibly.

"It's good to see you again, young Leia. It was not my intention to suspend your sessions with me for so long, but my absence these past weeks was unavoidable. A critical moment approaches- one I have worked towards for no small amount of time- and it was necessary for me to ensure all the pieces are in place. But I thought it prudent to see how you are progressing before I depart."

"...yes, your Luminance," muttered Leia weakly.

Ahsoka's smile faded.

"No curiosity? No further questions? How... uncharacteristic."

"How goes your training?" asked the Empress.

"It is fine, your Luminance."

"I saw your most recent performance. Holding out for almost two minutes... it's a welcome improvement."

"Thank you," replied Leia, though there was little emotion behind the words.

"It is a shame that this improvement has come at such cost. You've fallen behind in your studies. Your performance in knowledge examinations continues to worsen."

"Forgive me. I'm... sorry."

"Don't apologise. Correct it."

"I will try."

"You will try? Either you will improve or you won't. There is no 'try'."

"Of course, your Luminance. I will improve. I promise."

"Good," said Ahsoka. For a moment, she was silent, as she studied her protege. Try as she might to hide it, Leia was visibly exhausted and utterly despondent. Ahsoka felt a pang of empathy for the girl but swiftly reminded herself where such feelings led. Part of her yearned to allow herself to care. But she forced herself to relive every loss- every betrayal- and the feeling grew uneasy. The festering wounds had taught her an important lesson. Nothing in life was constant- and even the most steadfast loyalties could change.

"I cannot allow myself sympathy. Such feelings will only weaken me... and they'll only weaken her as well."

The pain of having a loved one torn from her- or the even worse agony of betrayal- these were things she wouldn't wish upon anyone she valued. The Jedi were wrong about a great many things, but were right about this bitter paradox: that the most compassionate thing Ahsoka could do was show no compassion at all. As much for Leia's sake as for her own, she needed to remain detached.

"But I can't do that, can I?" she thought to herself. "I can't help but form connections. I can't help but burden myself... and I can't help but burden everyone around me."

Even as turmoil brewed beneath the surface, Ahsoka's expression remained passive.

"I leave for Mandalore today, and I can't say when I'll be back," she said. "I expect exemplary results by the time I return."

"Yes, your Luminance," responded Leia.

Then, the Empress left, pacing the vast halls of her palace in an attempt to ward off her growing restlessness. In principle, the plan was simple. She'd ensured naval High Command was made aware of Thrawn's recent activities, and of the complaints these had raised from members of the Ruling Council. As she'd anticipated, they'd thrown caution to the wind, bringing the Chiss to trial in the middle of his perilous siege against the Children of the Watch. Such an act would cripple Mandalore's ability to respond to the threat, especially since she'd maneuvered the rest of the system's military resources far from the engagement zone. The outcome was inevitable- the terrorists Thrawn had so expertly contained would be emboldened, unleashing violent retribution on the people of Mandalore.

It was a regrettable necessity which would allow her to publicly decry the ineptitude of Mandalore's Ruling Council. It would expose the undesirables within her ranks, those opportunists who'd seized every opportunity to bring down valuable assets like Thrawn. It would make Mandalore's System Defense Fleet appear weak and ineffective. And it would provide the final justification Ahsoka needed to tighten her grip around the entire sector and put Mandalore under the direct control of the First Light. She'd learned long ago that people couldn't recognise the need for strong leaders- leaders like her- so long as they felt safe. But thanks to Thrawn, the Children of the Watch's desperation would soon turn into a suicidal ferocity that would shake all of Mandalore to its core.

Still, there was one other reason for this gambit. Not something concrete, nor political, but an intuition. Through the misty haze of the Force, Ahsoka sensed a threat in the shadows- an as-of-yet-unseen adversary, guiding the hand of the Children of the Watch. Presenting them with this opportunity- this moment of vulnerability- would perhaps give them cause to reveal themselves. It was a faint and tentative hope, grounded in nothing more than vague feelings. Still, it was something. Just to be safe, she'd scattered non-combat surveillance vessels throughout the system, hoping that something- anything- would come of it. But otherwise, there was nothing she could do. The Force was so clouded that any attempt to peer past the present gave her little more than a glimpse of the shape of things to come. There was no certainty- no comforting knowledge that could illuminate a path through the treacherous future. There was only an uneasy foreboding, a terror at that which lurked in the dark.

The withdrawal of Thrawn's forces was exactly the kind of disaster Bo-Katan had been desperate to avoid. Because Fleet Captain Graven prohibited any further bombardment of the stronghold, citing regulations restricting the use of such measures against Light-affiliated worlds, the Blitzkrieg and its entourage of bombers had no choice but to cease fire. To nobody's surprise, the consequence was nothing short of a massacre. The Children of the Watch, once pinned down by the threat of obliteration from above, began a brutal counterattack. Swarms of Watch soldiers encircled the Surface Facility, outnumbering Bo-Katan's forces twenty-to-one. Light Paladins fought valiantly as the Blitzkrieg's technicians and engineers on the surface evacuated aboard TIE Reapers. In a desperate move, Thrawn sent down his Fang starfighters and Y-Wing bombers to draw away enemy fire. But neither clever trickery nor ingenious strategy could pull a victory from this unwinnable position. Of the three Reapers dispatched to the surface, only one returned. And of the twenty-three Paladins who'd survived the initial assault, nineteen perished screening these troop carriers from fire. The few survivors, Bo-Katan among them, escaped the slaughter in a desperate ascent. They'd come perilously close to draining the last of their jetpacks' fuel reserves- their armour was singed and their bodies were broken- but they were alive, swiftly tractored from low orbit into the Blitzkrieg's hangar before it escaped into hyperspace. Bo-Katan didn't know what happened to the fighters and bombers she'd requisitioned. She didn't want to know. After fighting so ferociously- after overcoming such impossible odds- it was harrowing how quickly everything had fallen apart.

In her time with the Death Watch, Bo-Katan didn't spare a second thought for the warriors lost under her command. Back then, she'd believed it honourable- noble- to die in battle. To be granted such death was her aspiration since childhood, and she hadn't been alone. But it was during the Siege of Mandalore that something finally broke. She finally saw the wastefulness of it all- countless lives, countless stories, countless irreplaceable people- lost forever, and for what? What good was personal glory if one wasn't alive to experience it? What was served by the endless fighting, the endless bloodshed, the endlessly expanding list of atrocities and tragedies? She'd once believed that to embrace such death was life's ultimate purpose. Now, she seemed to have no purpose at all. As she lay in the Blitzkrieg's medbay, still short an arm, Thrawn entered and took a seat next to her.

"What's the damage?" smirked Bo-Katan, turning to face the Chiss Captain. Speaking in euphemisms was a necessary defense. She couldn't bear to speak her true question aloud.

"You don't need to do that, High Paladin."

"Do what?"

Thrawn's expression was as steely as ever- cold, but intensely focused.

"You don't need to force a smile on my account. Especially not in times like these."

Bo-Katan let out a sharp breath.

"This isn't the first time I've lost people, Captain."

"I know."

"So why are you here?"

"Because I owe you an apology. I knowingly violated the Light's rules of engagement, and-"

"Save it. Everyone knows those regulations are little more than suggestions. I've seen admirals glass entire cities and receive little more than a slap on the wrist in response. The lines you crossed amounted to little more than legislative technicalities. If it was anyone else-"

"But it isn't anyone else. I cannot afford to make such miscalculations."

"...I told you, Captain. If you want to remain in the First Light, you need to learn to play politics. But that doesn't change the fact that High Command was willing to sacrifice lives- our lives, and the lives of the people of Mandalore- just to get a shot at you. They're the ones you should be blaming for this."

Thrawn shook his head.

"Assigning such blame is a meaningless gesture. And it is pointless to despair at that which we cannot control. When I say I owe you an apology, I mean to say that I've analysed the situation- and my response to it- and will do my utmost to ensure it never happens again."

"Thank you. I... appreciate the sentiment."

A moment of silence passed between the two before Thrawn spoke once more.

"There is something else I wish to confess."

"And what would that be?"

"Prior to you coming aboard this ship for the first time, I had my communications officer begin logging any authorisation credentials used on our network. I prepared this in anticipation of you connecting your datapad to the Blitzkrieg's systems. Once you did, I obtained your details and used them to access restricted sections of the First Light's database. Feel free to scrutinise the logs of my activities- it should be clear my intention was only to resolve this investigation as quickly as possible- but even so, I recognise that it was a betrayal of your trust."

In spite of the circumstances, a wry smile spread across Bo-Katan's face.

"So... that explains why you were so determined to meet in person. You weren't afraid of spies in our ranks- you just needed an excuse to bring me onto this ship."

"Indeed. But... you don't seem upset."

"I am, a little bit. You should have asked me. You shouldn't have lied. But you clearly care more for outcomes than the means used to get there."

Thrawn was taken aback by Bo-Katan's nonchalance.

"So... this doesn't change your opinion of me?"

"If what you did was in service to the Light- and I'll be sure to check- then I honestly couldn't give a kriff."

"And you do not feel slighted in any way?"

"...it's not like I haven't suffered worse betrayals. But why are you so focused on this line of questioning? It's almost as if you want me to-"

Bo-Katan stopped in sudden realisation.

"Oh."

"What?"

"Clever position you tried to put me in."

Thrawn's face betrayed a flicker of a smile.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he lied.

"You never do anything without a reason. So why confess this to me?"

"Why indeed. Perhaps I thought my punishment would be less severe if I confessed to this crime sooner rather than later?"

Bo-Katan shook her head. It was clear that Thrawn was testing her.

"Oh, please- it's not like your comms officer could rat you out without implicating themselves. And if you had decided to erase the Blitzkrieg's network logs, there would be no other evidence leading back to you. If you'd wanted, it could have been the perfect crime."

"So what's your conclusion?"

"You made your intention to take complete responsibility for orchestrating our siege all too clear. You didn't want me to put myself on the line protecting you. But if you admitted to betraying my trust, maybe I wouldn't be so eager to stand by you. I might have even been willing to condemn you myself- thereby ensuring my name and reputation would be untainted. That was your line of thinking, wasn't it?"

Thrawn smiled.

"Very good. I admit, I did not account for such a subdued reaction. Nor did I anticipate you seeing straight through my scheme. But again, I must ask that you disavow me and deny your part in this operation. You are a well-respected and exceedingly capable Paladin of the Light. There's no sense in throwing all that away for my sake."

"It's not just for your sake. The state of our navy is pitiful. I know you feel the same way. Outdated technology, outdated doctrine, and where there aren't cynical ladder-climbers, there are zealous fanatics. The losses we took today for no damn reason are proof that something needs to change. We need leaders who can see the bigger picture. Leaders who can think beyond the meaningless promotions and shiny accolades. That's why, when we get to Radiance, I will not entertain this farce of a tribunal. You've still a ways to go, but who knows? Maybe one day you'll turn our navy into the proud force of warriors that it currently pretends to be."

"You're taking a great risk for such a distant hope."

"Not as great as you'd think. High Command has no choice but to consider my words carefully. As self-important as they are, they don't know our Empress. Not like I do, at least."

"Then I appreciate your support. And I thank you. Truly."

"...you're welcome. But... the whole 'stealing my credentials to access restricted information' thing? Don't do it again. It wouldn't kill you to ask nicely next time."

"Hm. I suppose it wouldn't."