You found yourself in a field of flowers, their whiteness rivaling the pristine snow that capped your ancestral mountains. Your silvery cosmic wings flared majestically, then folded with a soft rustle. A sigh escaped you as your claws curled into the snow—this memory was a painful vista that unfailingly became splattered with blood.

You knew it was a mere matter of moments before the recollection would carry you to the fateful day, the death of your parents, a haunting mantra you'd tried so hard to evade. A large shadow crept over the snow-covered field you were sitting in. There, in the vista of your youth, you were more innocent, but the mind was that of your present self—fully aware that this was but a memory.

You could see the flash of golden eyes; your mother soon landed, her majestic form obscuring the sun. You cocked your head upward, staring at her with wide, open-mouthed eyes that sparkled in sheer awe.

"Mamma," you called out, a youthful jubilance in your voice, barreling towards her. And she laughed, a rich and nurturing sound, as you nestled into her foreleg, wrapping your tiny paw around it, hugging tightly—the world was whole again, if only in the fleeting embrace of a cherished memory.

Hey there, darling," your mother cooed, bending down to sweep her tongue tenderly around your ears, which twitched under her touch. "Mama, stop doing that," you chuckled, squirming about in her warm embrace.

Another presence made itself known with a gentle thud upon the soft earth, and your father's emerald eyes came into view. "Papa!" you bellowed with a child's unrestrained joy, charging towards him. He grunted affectionately as you threw yourself into his massive chest, always a fortress of safety. Immediately, he steadied you there, cradling you with one stalwart foreleg.

"Tsk tsk, my little Whisper, what are we to do with you? Can't you stay put for more than a day?" he teased, a mirthful glint in his gaze meeting your own. You giggled and burrowed further into his warm, soothing embrace. "Sorry, Dad, I just missed you so much."

Within the embrace of your father and the touch of your mother, the memory was a cocoon of warmth and safety—an echo of times when happiness was as unrestrained as your youthful energy.

Your father's demeanor suddenly turned somber, and he gently set you down on the snowy ground. "Listen here, Whisper, we need to tell you something," he said, the gravity in his voice pinning you to the spot. You stared up as both your parents wore a look that was unfamiliar. Your mother's eyes glistened, not with the joy you were used to but with a depth of sorrow.

"We must leave for a meeting; it's imperative, darling," she told you, her ears flattening against her head—a gesture of regret. "We're sorry, but we cannot be here for your birthday this year. The Count requires our presence."

Your heart clenched tightly, a flicker of indignation stirring within you as you let your wings droop. "Oh," was all you managed to utter, deflated. You looked down at your small claws, burying them in the chill of the snow. "I understand," you said, though your tone betrayed your disappointment.

"Look, we're sorry, okay? If we could sever ties with Count Dooku, we would, but he wields the power—he's the reason we're still alive, you know that," your father explained, nudging you gently.

You toppled slightly, a breath escaping your lips, laden not with warmth but a hollow echo of sadness. "We'll be back before the next spicetail," he reassured you, his wings unfurling with determination. "Meanwhile, be good, and don't vandalize the valley, alright?" With a final nod to your mother, he launched into the air, a blizzard of snow swirling in his wake before he vanished into the profundity of a blue plasma bolt streaking across the sky.

"You do know we care for you, we both do," your mother said softly. "We both love you." You sighed and sat up, your tail sweeping patterns in the dust. "I know, Mother. I just wish you were here more. The kids by the river always bully me, saying my parents are the ones to blame for why our kind are so few," you confessed, the weight behind your words as heavy as the stones by the waterside.

"I don't fit in with the other dragons, Mom. They're... they're cruel," you murmured. Your mother's golden eyes softened, a window to the deep compassion that only a mother's love can truly know. She nudged you gently under your chin, and you leaned into her comforting presence.

"Stay strong, darling. When we return, I'll talk to the elders, and I will see to it that you'll be with the Spiketails," she promised. You nodded, a glimmer of hope breaking through the melancholy. "Thank you, Mama." She smiled, licking your throat in a tender gesture. "Anytime, darling. And now, I must go."

She drew back and, with a smile that seemed to hold every sunrise you'd ever known, she turned and shot into the air, leaving you in solitude.

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

That was the last time you ever saw your parents. What you heard of their demise was that they died valiantly, but details were scarce. Yet, deep in your heart, you knew that Count Dooku was to blame. Years later, when you confronted him to sever the ties that bound you to his service, you saw the dragon hides adorning his walls—your parents. That was the moment when your raw, seething anger could no longer be contained, the inferno within your chest that had been kindled since their departure was about to incinerate him, if not for the interruption of his MagnaGuards.

The galaxy might have been rid of his malevolence if they hadn't intervened. But from that fire-forged encounter, you emerged no longer solely as Whisper; you became Midnight, the name you wear like a cloak, a symbol of the resolve and strength that's been your constant companion since the last light of your lineage faded into legend.

In the present, you awoke in the medical ward, enveloped by a bed that, despite efforts to the contrary, seemed comically ill-fitted for one of your stature. You snorted softly at the thought—poor clones, doing their best. Yawning wide, you revealed row upon row of teeth, a formidable sight of sharp, gleaming daggers.

"I see you're awake," grunted a voice to your right. You turned to see a clone clad in grey and white armor. His helmet sat aside, revealing a face marked by battle, one eye replaced with a cybernetic implant that sparkled coldly. You cocked your head, probing gently for his essence in the Force. Loyalty radiated from him, a steadfast aura. He regarded the General you had met yesterday almost like a father figure.

"Nice to meet you, Wolffe," you greeted him warmly, recognizing him even before he had introduced himself. The clone named Wolffe startled slightly but quickly regained his composure, his stoic facade sliding into place like a mask of indifference.

"Don't do that," he said, though without any real heat in his voice. Even so, his unease was almost palpable—understandable, given your not-so-ordinary nature and the intimacy of reading one's essence. It was a sign that, despite the marvels of the galaxy, the mysteries you represented were still enough to unsettle even the most seasoned of soldiers.

You smiled wider. "Noted. Now, what are you doing here? Did Master Plo send you, or did you come of your own accord?" Before Wolffe could respond, the door swished open, and the familiar figure of the Kel Dor Jedi stepped in.

"Ah, I see you're awake, Midnight. It's good to see you on your legs again," Plo Koon said, his voice a soothing rumble. You righted yourself amidst the improvised nest, stretching out comfortably. "I am, thank you, Plo. It's wonderful to feel my wings again," you chuckled, a sense of lightness returning to your spirit.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Wolffe roll his, a silent but expressive gesture. You hid a smirk behind your claw. It seemed you might very well end up prodding him more often than not. It was the beginning of what you could sense would be an entertaining dynamic.

Plo Koon clasped his hands before him in a gesture of formality. "Would you join me for a debriefing with the Council? I can assure you, they're not as intimidating as they may appear," he proposed, the subtle humor in his Force presence betraying the seriousness of his demeanor.

"I never thought they were," you retorted with a hint of dry humor and, pushing past the lingering weakness, you stood up. A wobble in your gait betrayed the toll recent events had taken on you. As your head cleared with a determined shake, you took a step forward.

"Careful," Wolffe warned, his voice breaking through your focus. You tossed him a glance that paired amusement with a silent acknowledgment of his concern. He quickly sealed his lips again, as if realizing his protective instinct might be misplaced.

With a twist of an ear in absent agreement and Plo's reassuring hand resting lightly upon your shoulder, you walked out of the medical ward and made your way towards the bridge of his ship, ready to face whatever awaited you in the grand chambers of decision and command.

When you entered the bridge, the sea of troopers and clones immediately snapped to attention. "At ease, boys," Plo Koon's voice commanded, resonating with calm authority. As the clones relaxed, you approached a round table that featured a glowing blue map at its center. You poised just a breath away from the table and deftly tapped some buttons. Holographic projections of four unfamiliar Jedi and one familiar face popped up.

Inhaling sharply, your gaze met with Anakin's, and you noted with a flicker of amusement the identical expression of surprise mirrored on his features. Behind him, a bearded Jedi glanced in Anakin's direction with concern. "Anakin, are you alright?" he enquired.

The blue-eyed Jedi offered a quick nod. "Y-Yes, Master, I'm fine," Anakin stammered, straightening himself as he regained his composure.

Another familiar presence commanded your attention. "Ah, Master Yoda," you greeted with a dip of your head, settling down and folding your wings close against your flanks. The venerable green Grand Master acknowledged you with a nod.

"Great to see you, it is, Midnight Whisper. Worried, my troops have been about you since you have not contacted us," Yoda's voice was tinged with relief and concern. It was clear that your absence had not gone unnoticed, reinforcing the bonds you had formed with those who now considered you one of their own.

Your lips quirked into a small, apologetic smile. "I've been... busy lately, Master Yoda. I'm sorry for the lack of communication," you said. The Grand Master shook his head, his small frame still imposing in its authority, and he offered a smile that was both warm and knowing.

"Worry, you should not. Understand, Thire, Rex, and Jek will. Time they need. Young Skywalker here, perhaps not so patient," Yoda said, casting an affectionately critical glance toward the flustered Jedi.

Anakin's image flushed—a display of emotion that even the holographic technology couldn't conceal. In the midst of it, Plo Koon cleared his throat, commanding the room's attention with his imposing stance and his hands folded behind his back. Wolffe remained a silent but steadfast presence just behind him, his helmet still off and a cybereye glittering.

"If you don't mind me interjecting," Plo intervened with an air of respect tempered by the urgency of their situation. "We still need to find a way to destroy the Malevolence."

The Council members expressed their agreement. "Indeed," affirmed the bearded Jedi you recognized through a vision as Obi-Wan Kenobi. He was a figure of calm resolve, his reputation for wisdom and skill well-known even among his peers. Your smirk deepened as you observed him—that one, you thought, you would definitely enjoy meeting. The future held intriguing prospects, indeed.

Plo Koon then turned to you, commanding the attention of the entire Council. "Midnight here has been inside the Malevolence. I thought it'd be prudent for her to share her insights," he said, indicating that it was your turn to speak.

You stepped forward, your presence undeniable as your chin tilted with quiet assertion, and your purple eyes flashed once, then twice with a focus that startled even the bravest amongst the gathered. You weren't mistaken—some council members recoiled slightly, a fleeting shadow of fear passing through their eyes.

You began to describe what you knew: the inner workings of the Malevolence, its design, the frequency of Dooku's presence. Your fists clenched instinctively at the mention of the white-haired count, the architect of so much grief. The simmering anger within you threatened to overflow, but with a conscious effort, you cooled it to a steady simmer, not the consuming inferno it yearned to become.

Plo Koon's gaze brushed yours, a silent message of restraint, and you nodded ever so slightly in acknowledgment. "That is all the information I can provide, gentlemen," you concluded, stepping back with resolute grace. You offered no bow; deference was not in your nature. After all, you were a dragon, a sublime creature of power and fire, and within these walls, you yielded to none.

A new figure crossed the threshold into the council's space, and age had etched deep grooves into his visage. Plo Koon's voice barely reached you under his breath, "That's the Chancellor."

You let out a silent sigh—of course, the leadership of the Republic would be personified by an elder statesman whose presence commanded the room. The Chancellor's eyes swept over you, assessing, before he inclined his head respectfully. "Midnight Whisper, greetings. It's a pleasure to finally meet you; my Jedi have spoken highly of your valor," he spoke. His voice was smooth, almost too smooth, and you could barely suppress the bristle that ran through you at its timbre.

A steady gaze from your vibrant purple eyes conveyed the extent of your distrust toward this patriarchal figure. Obi-Wan caught your look and tilted his head inquisitively. The worry in his jade eyes was clear, a flicker of concern for the tension thickening the air between you and the Republic's leader. You exhaled slowly, mindful of the need to keep the peace despite the skepticism coiling within.

"It's an honor to meet you as well, sir. I never thought I'd meet the leader of this peaceful and prosperous galaxy," you said, your smile sharpened with an undercurrent of falsity that stretched your lips enough to reveal the gleam of your deadly sharp teeth. Your wings twitched subtly at your sides, a physical reflection of your internal unease.

Wolffe, with the instinct of a protector, shifted imperceptibly closer to your side. His presence was a quiet reassurance, the warm touch against your scales a silent declaration of solidarity. Despite your facade, you realized you were surrounded by allies—people with deliberate intentions to support and help you.

This cruiser, with its steadfast crew, and the Wolfpack, led by Plo Koon, were united in their commitment to justice and peace. In that moment, you were reminded that here on this ship, in the midst of war, there existed a sanctuary built by noble hearts.