Chapter Twenty-Five
Mira

The chronometer on my desk blinks steadily toward the late-night hours of Coruscant's endless city-glow. Datapads and ancient texts surround me, their soft blue illumination casting a gentle glow across my quarters in the Jedi Temple. Tomorrow's training session with Master Yoda looms in my mind as I study the advanced Force techniques he'd asked me to review – manifestations of the Living Force that even experienced Knights find challenging.

The soft chime of my door's alert breaks through my concentration. Through the Force, I sense a familiar, calming presence – as refreshing as a cool breeze on Shili. Turning from my studies, I find Master Plo Koon standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the hallway's warm lighting. The Kel Dor's masked face tilts slightly as he regards me, and even through his protective goggles, I can feel the gentleness of his gaze. The respirator that allows him to breathe Coruscant's atmosphere gives his words a distinctive, yet warm resonance.

"There you are, dear Mira," he says, his voice carrying that particular paternal tone he's used with me since my earliest days in the Temple. "I was looking for you."

The antiox mask that protects him from our oxygen atmosphere can't hide the fondness in his expression – a subtle shift that only those who know him well would recognize. Through the Force, his presence radiates the serene warmth that has guided so many younglings through their Jedi training.

I tilt my head toward the respected Jedi Master, curiosity flickering through our Force bond. "And why's that, Master Plo?"

Though his mask conceals any physical expression, his Force signature radiates warmth – that particular gentle amusement that's become so familiar over my years in the Temple. "I'd like you to meet my captain and commander," he says, extending a taloned hand in my direction. The gesture is both invitation and guidance, characteristic of his teaching style.

I take his offered hand, and he leads me down through the Temple's winding corridors to the vast hangar bay below. The space buzzes with military efficiency – clone troopers in pristine white armor move with purpose between gunships and cargo containers, their boots echoing against the durasteel floor. The air carries the sharp scent of ship fuel mixed with the metallic tang of weapons and armor.

Through the organized chaos, one figure stands out – a clone trooper whose armor bears distinctive gray markings, battle-worn yet meticulously maintained. A jagged scar runs through his right eye, telling silent stories of battles survived. He turns toward us, his posture immediately straightening with military precision.

"Ah, General," he says, offering a crisp salute to Master Plo before turning to face me. His eye shows recognition as he gives a respectful nod. "And greetings, Your Highness."

I lift my hand in a gentle, dismissive gesture, feeling the weight of formality unnecessary among warriors. "Please, call me Mira," I insist, my voice warm but firm. "Here on the battlefield, we all are equals."

The hangar's busy sounds seem to fade slightly as I speak, and I notice several nearby troopers pause in their tasks, their Force signatures brightening with appreciation. In their identical faces, I see the same individuality that the Force shows me – each one unique, each one valuable beyond their military designation.

My facial muscles curled upward into a warm smile, revealing a set of gleaming teeth as I addressed the stoic individual standing before me. His armor, a gleaming spectacle of the Republic's finest craftsmanship, reflected the artificial light of the room, casting an array of shadows across his stern features. "What's your name, trooper?" I inquired, my voice a gentle melody amidst the cacophony of the bustling military compound.

The man's gaze remained unwavering, his eyes like deep pools of cerulean, reflecting the intensity of his focus. His expression softened slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he responded with a firm tone. "Wolffe, ma'am." He dipped his head ever so slightly in a gesture of respect, a well-practiced move that spoke volumes of his military upbringing.

Shifting my gaze to the figure standing next to the newly introduced Commander Wolffe, I recognized the familiar presence of Plo Koon, my Jedi Master. His deep-set eyes, filled with wisdom and the weight of countless battles, held a knowing smile as I acknowledged him. "Greetings to you then, Commander Wolffe," I said, the words carrying a hint of curiosity about the impending relationship we were about to forge.

I then directed my attention back to Plo Koon, my eyes searching his for any underlying meaning. His gaze was steady and reassuring as he spoke. "Is this the commander you wanted me to meet, Master?" The question hung in the air, a silent inquiry into the trust my mentor placed in this new addition to our ranks.

He nodded, the smile on his face growing wider, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening with the warmth of his affection. "Indeed, this is the one," he affirmed. "Commander Wolffe will be leading you on many missions from now on." His words were filled with a sense of excitement, hinting at the adventures and challenges that lay ahead.

The mention of our new partnership brought a sudden rush of emotions—anxiety fluttered in my stomach like a caged bird, anger surged through my veins as I thought of the battles we would face, and a comforting warmth enveloped me, reminding me of the camaraderie that existed within the bonds of the Jedi Order.

Before I could process the tumult of feelings, I felt two familiar presences approaching. Ahsoka Tano, my young Padawan, her stride brimming with enthusiasm, her eyes alight with joy. As she came into view, she broke into a sprint, the fabric of her tunic fluttering behind her. "Master Mira!" she exclaimed, her voice a delightful blend of excitement and relief.

Her arms wrapped around me in an embrace that was both fierce and filled with love, the warmth of her touch briefly banishing the coldness of my anxiety. I chuckled at her exuberance and gently patted the top of her head, feeling the softness of her short, white-and-blue Togruta lekku. "Greetings, little Soka," I said, using the affectionate nickname I had given her since she was a youngling.

Her smile was like a beam of light, piercing the shadows of the room, and for a moment, the gravity of the situation was forgotten. The camaraderie shared between us, master and student, Jedi and clone, filled the space with a sense of belonging that was both reassuring and invigorating. This was the alliance that would see us through the trials that lay ahead, a bond forged in the fires of the Clone Wars.

As the dimly lit corridor of the Jedi Temple stretches before me, the hum of distant lightsaber duels and the murmur of Jedi conversations serve as the backdrop to my encounter with Anakin Skywalker. His gaze is intense, and I can feel the anticipation in the air as he approaches me.

"Ani," I begin, using the affectionate nickname from our shared past, "What's the reason behind this unexpected visit? Didn't Master Obi-Wan Kenobi schedule training for you?"

Anakin shakes his head, his dark hair brushing against the collar of his Jedi tunic. His eyes, filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness, dart towards the end of the corridor, ensuring our conversation remains private. "No, Mira," he says, "I'm actually planning to take Ahsoka to the training field personally. But before that, I had something important to discuss with you."

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that echoes softly in the vast emptiness of the hall. "I was hoping you might want to accompany us... and perhaps, if there's time, we could speak privately."

I nod, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I bid farewell to Master Plo Koon and Commander Wolffe. They exchange knowing glances but say nothing, allowing us our moment of discretion. Ahsoka, ever eager, takes the cue from Anakin and sprints off towards the training field, her braid bouncing with each stride.

With Ahsoka out of earshot, I face Anakin, my curiosity piqued. "So, what is it that you wanted to tell me?"

He takes a moment, as if gathering the courage from the very depths of his soul. His hand reaches out to find mine, and his thumb gently traces the outline of my palm. "Mira," he says, his voice trembling, "I think... I'm in love with you."

My heart skips a beat at the revelation. His words hang in the air, charged with an emotion that resonates through the very fabric of the Force. I can see the sincerity in his eyes, the way they bore into me, searching for a response, an answer to the question that has gone unspoken for so long.

"Mira," he continues, his voice a mere breath, "I've always felt this way about you. I just didn't have the strength to tell you."

I'm speechless for a moment, the weight of his confession settling heavily upon me. Finally, I find the words to respond. "Anakin," I whisper, "We're both Jedi now. Our path is clear—we can't indulge in these... attachments."

Anakin's grip on my hands tightens, and his eyes plead with me. "I know, I know," he says, the desperation in his voice palpable. "But can't we try? Just once, in secret?"

A wave of conflicting emotions crashes over me. The part of me that is a Jedi, bound by the Code, screams in protest. Yet, the part of me that is still Mira, the girl from Moonshadow, feels a yearning for the companionship he offers. With a sigh that carries the weight of my reservations, I agree to his proposal. "One year," I say, my voice firm, "We'll try to keep this hidden. If it doesn't align with our Jedi duties, we'll have to end it."

Anakin's eyes light up with hope, and he nods fervently. He brings our foreheads together, and I can feel the warmth of his skin, the pulse of his passion. Despite the betrayal that whispers through the back of my mind, the part of me that still cherishes our bond relents, and I kiss him back. The touch of our lips is a silent promise, a pledge of love that we both know is forbidden.

For now, the allure of our shared feelings is enough. We stand in that secluded hallway, lost in a moment that is both joyful and bittersweet, a secret shared between two souls bound by the rigid laws of the Order.