The sunlight was blinding as we were ushered into a sprawling colosseum, the heat of the day pressing down on us like a physical weight. My steps faltered for the briefest moment as I took in the sight—thousands of spectators crammed into the towering stone stands, their alien voices merging into a low roar of restless excitement. The arena floor stretched vast and barren, the sand scorched and shimmering under the harsh light.

I swallowed hard, clamping down on the sharp retort that hovered on my tongue. There was no room for bravado here, not when the stakes were so high.

We were marched forward, our guards leading us to our respective poles. As we drew closer, I saw him—Obi-Wan, standing tall despite the shackles binding his wrists. His calm demeanor was infuriatingly intact, even in the face of all this.

"Well, hello there," he greeted with a faint smirk, his voice laced with dry humor.

I huffed, rolling my eyes as I was shoved past him, my frustration at his perpetual composure momentarily distracting me from the situation.

But then it changed. Abruptly, I was pulled away from the group, the guards dragging me toward a shadowed door at the edge of the arena. I barely had time to glance back at Anakin and Padmé before the heavy door slammed shut behind me, sealing me into the dimly lit space beyond.

The room was stark, the walls smooth and unyielding, but what held my attention was the man standing before me. Cloaked in dark robes, his gray beard neatly trimmed, he radiated an air of quiet menace. His piercing gaze swept over me, assessing, calculating.

"You are indeed quite curious, my dear," he remarked, his voice smooth and deliberate. His eyes lingered on my side, where my belt still held Anakin's lightsaber—a fact I was grateful for, though I doubted it would remain unnoticed for long.

I said nothing, my gaze steady as the guard beside me stepped forward, holding the confiscated weapon that had been taken from me—the plain silver sword Anakin had given me.

The robed man's expression shifted, a flicker of recognition sparking in his eyes. He reached for the blade, studying it with an almost reverent curiosity. His hand turned it this way and that, his fingers running along its hilt as if searching for confirmation.

"This is the sword made for the Queen of the Guisenière by master blacksmiths," he proclaimed at last, his voice echoing faintly in the chamber.

I stiffened at the mention of the title, my jaw tightening as I kept my face carefully neutral.

He turned the blade toward me, pointing its tip in my direction. The guards on either side of him tensed, but I felt no fear. My gaze didn't waver, and I met his piercing stare with calm defiance.

"So what if it is?" I replied coolly, my voice steady.

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint, knowing smile. "You can't possess her sword," he said, his tone laced with certainty. "It's impossible. She's just a legend."

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with doubt and intrigue. I stood my ground, letting the silence stretch between us, my golden eyes glinting faintly in the dim light.

"Legends," I said finally, my voice low and deliberate, "are only as powerful as the fools who believe in them."

For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. He lowered the sword slightly, his brow furrowing as if trying to reconcile the impossibility before him.

But I didn't wait for his response. Legends or not, I wasn't about to let anyone decide my fate but me.

I tilted my head ever so slightly, a spark of amusement playing in my eyes as I spoke. "I thought Jedi were supposed to be gentlemen. Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

The words, laced with deliberate insolence, hung in the air like a challenge.

The man's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as a steely glare locked onto me. For a moment, I thought I might have struck a nerve. Then he straightened, his posture rigid, his voice dripping with cold authority.

"I am no Jedi," he said, his tone sharp and cutting. "In fact, I am far more powerful than one, as you shall soon witness."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, the faint smirk on his face a testament to his confidence. "My name is Count Dooku," he continued, his voice calm and measured, as if rehearsed countless times. "And you, my dear, are about to become entertainment—a game for sport."

I held his gaze, my lips curling into a small, defiant smile. "Charming," I said, the sarcasm dripping from the single word.

Dooku's smirk didn't waver. He turned to the guard beside him, extending the golden sword. The blade gleamed in the dim light, and his voice took on a clipped, dismissive tone.

"Take care of this," he ordered, "and bring her to the Colosseum. Bind her with the others."

The guard nodded sharply, taking the sword with reverence. I noted how his hands trembled slightly, the awe in his gaze betraying the intimidation Dooku's presence instilled in his own men.

Dooku looked back at me one last time, his expression calm but calculating, as though filing me away as nothing more than another piece of the game he was about to orchestrate.

I met his gaze without flinching, the hint of a smirk still playing on my lips. "I hope your audience is ready," I said softly, my voice low but carrying enough weight to give him pause. "They're in for quite the show."

For the first time, the faintest flicker of uncertainty crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with the air of superiority he so clearly cherished.

"Take her," he commanded again, his voice sharper now, the guards moving to obey.

As they bound my wrists and led me back toward the colosseum, my mind raced. Dooku might believe he was in control, but he had no idea who he was dealing with. A "game for sport," perhaps, but this was a game I didn't plan to lose.

As the guards shoved me forward, my boots kicking up the dusty arena floor, I caught Anakin's gaze. His expression was somewhere between concern and frustration, his blue eyes narrowing as he stepped closer to me within the bounds of his own restraints.

"I thought he wanted to negotiate with you," he said, his voice low but edged with disbelief.

I snorted, rolling my eyes as the Geonosians tugged at my arms. "Negotiate? With me? Not a chance," I replied sharply. "I'd rather stick a sword in his gut for all I care, and he knows it. That's why he sent me out here—get rid of me without dirtying his hands."

Anakin looked like he was about to say something else, but his attention flicked to Obi-Wan, who was already bound to his own pole nearby, his composure unshaken despite the chaos.

I turned toward him with a mock bow, grinning despite the situation as the guards fastened my wrists tightly to the pole. "Hey there, sir. I'm Nyx, a friend of peace," I said dryly, my tone laced with obvious irony.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips as he inclined his head. "I'd shake your hand if my wrists weren't tied, too. It's nice to meet you face to face, Nyx, even under these... less-than-ideal circumstances."

I couldn't help but smile wryly, tilting my head at him. "It is indeed, Master Kenobi."

That earned a chuckle. Obi-Wan shook his head lightly, his amusement softening the sharp lines of his face. "No, no, call me Obi-Wan. Adding 'Master' makes me sound so old."

Despite myself, I laughed, the sound brief but genuine. It wasn't often I found humor in situations like this, but somehow, Obi-Wan managed to make everything seem a little less dire—even if we were literally tied to poles in the middle of a colosseum, surrounded by bloodthirsty Geonosians.

"Well, Obi-Wan," I said with a nod, "let's hope your negotiating skills extend to wild beasts and bloodthirsty crowds, because I'm not much for speeches."

Obi-Wan smirked. "Oh, I've had my fair share of wild beasts. It's the bloodthirsty crowds that tend to be trickier."

Anakin groaned from his post nearby, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Will you two stop bantering and focus? We need a plan to get out of here!"

I turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, do you suggest, oh great tactician?"

He opened his mouth to retort, but the booming sound of drums interrupted him. The crowd roared to life, their alien cheers echoing through the massive arena as gates at the far end began to rumble open.

I sighed, the humor of the moment fading as adrenaline took its place. "Looks like the time for planning just ran out."

Obi-Wan glanced at me, his smirk softening into something more serious. "Stay sharp, Nyx."

I nodded. "Always."