The night air of Coruscant's high-levels had a way of clinging to skin.
Not like the sterile breezes near the Senate towers or the filtered calm of the Temple terraces. Down here the air carried warmth from a thousand exhaust vents, the scent of street caf, engine coolant, ozone from power conduits, and the faint perfume of lives lived too fast to bother with elegance.
Will Kriss stood at the balcony of Yma Gallura's apartment and watched the city breathe.
The place wasn't large, but it was high enough to overlook a narrow corridor of traffic lanes where speeders moved like glowing fish through neon currents. The railings were brushed metal, cold from the night's wind, and the curtains behind him drifted lazily with the evening light breeze.
Inside, soft music hummed through the room.
And behind him, Yma Gallura stretched slowly across the bed like she was a Nexu.
Her Tholothian tendrils shimmered faintly in the dim amber lighting, the pale light of the room pulsing softly as she rolled onto her side and rested her chin in her hand.
"You're overthinking again," she said.
Her voice was smooth and teasing, but there was no mistaking the quiet observation behind it.
Will didn't turn right away.
The wind tugged gently at the edges of his blonde hair.
"Occupational hazard," he said.
She laughed softly.
"You've been here half the night and you still look like you're standing in a briefing room."
"I've stood in worse places."
"I'm sure you have, love."
He glanced over his shoulder.
Yma was watching him with that same half-amused curiosity she'd had the first night they met, the one that said she knew him better than himself, even being just their second time seeing each other.
She slid from the bed slowly and crossed the room, the light catching the smooth olive color of her skin. When she reached him she leaned her elbows on the railing beside him and looked out at the traffic lanes below.
"You're leaving soon," she said.
Not a question.
Will exhaled through his nose.
"Yeah."
She tilted her head toward him.
"War calls?"
"War calls."
Yma's tendrils shifted faintly as she studied his face.
"You know," she said softly, "most of the clones who come through the bar drink themselves numb before they deploy again."
"I tried that once."
"And?"
"It didn't work."
She smiled faintly.
"Of course it didn't. You're a Jedi."
"That's not why. We aren't much above common people, at least the human ones."
"Oh?"
He leaned on the railing, the metal cool under his forearms.
"It's because I remember everything too clearly."
Yma considered that.
"Is that worse?"
"Most of the times."
The wind moved between them for a moment.
Then she reached out and lightly tapped the edge of the clone shoulder plate visible above his tunic.
"You still wear it everywhere."
"Yeah."
"Even here."
"Yeah."
She leaned closer.
"You know that makes you look dangerous."
"I am dangerous, miss."
She laughed again, low and warm.
"I know."
Her fingers lingered against the armor plate for a second longer before she stepped back.
"Well," she said lightly, "if you're going be deployed back to war, I suppose we shouldn't waste the rest of the night."
Will smirked faintly.
"Practical."
"I prefer enthusiastic."
She took his hand and pulled him back toward the bed.
And for a while the war stopped existing.
The room's amber glow wrapped around them like a secret as Yma guided Will inside, her fingers warm and insistent against his callused palm.
The soft music from the hidden speakers wove through the air, a low thrum that matched the pulse building in his veins. He followed her without resistance, his blue eyes locking onto the sway of her hips, the way her curvaceous form moved with deliberate grace—those full large breasts straining against the thin fabric of her slip, her peach ass shifting enticingly with each step.
Yma released his hand and turned to face him, her olive green eyes gleaming with that teasing fire. Her reddish-brown tendrils framed her face, quivering slightly in the warm light, sensitive tips brushing against her shoulders like whispers of anticipation.
She reached up, fingers tracing the edge of his armor shoulder plate, then slid part of the armor down to the fastenings of his tunic.
"Let me help you forget," she murmured, her voice a sultry purr that sent heat coiling low in his gut.
Will's jaw tightened, his serious demeanor unyielding even now—focused, like a blade honed for this singular purpose. As a Jedi, he tries masterying control over his emotions and actons, and tonight, that discipline would channel into claiming her completely. He caught her wrists gently but firmly, halting her progress, his grip a promise of the dominance she craved.
"No," he said, voice low and steady, laced with the weight of command. "I'll set the pace this time."
Her juicy lips parted in a soft gasp, eyes darkening with arousal. She nodded, yielding to him, her body arching instinctively toward his touch. Will released her wrists only to grasp the hem of her slip, pulling it up and over her head in one fluid motion.
It pooled at her feet, revealing the olive expanse of her skin, her lean yet curvy frame glowing in the dim light—dark brown pert nipples hardening on her heavy breasts, the curve of her waist flaring into wide hips and those thick, powerful legs that begged to be spread.
He stepped closer, his athletic build towering over her, chiseled features set in intense resolve. His hands roamed her body with purposeful exploration, palms cupping her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until she whimpered. Yma's tendrils twitched, brushing against his forearms as she tilted her head back, exposing the sensitive lengths to the air—and to him.
Will noticed immediately, his keen Jedi senses attuned to her every reaction. He leaned in, lips brushing one tendril lightly, feeling it quiver under his breath. "These," he murmured against her skin, voice roughening with desire, "they respond for you, your levels of pleasure. So, tell me, tell me how they feel."
"Sensitive," she breathed, her teaser facade cracking into raw need. "Like... like fire when you touch them. Please, Will..."
He didn't smile, but his eyes burned with passion as he obliged, fingers weaving into her tendrils, stroking the soft, silken appendages with deliberate care. Yma moaned, her body shuddering, knees weakening as waves of pleasure radiated from her scalp down her spine, pooling hot between her thighs. It was intimate, erotic—those tendrils alive with sensation, amplifying every caress until she was trembling in his arms.
With controlled strength, Will guided her back onto the bed, the sheets cool against her heated skin. He shed his tunic and armor plates swiftly, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the defined ridges of his abs, and lower still, the bulge straining against his trousers. Yma's gaze dropped hungrily, licking her lips at the promise of his big and thick veined member, ready to fill her.
He joined her on the bed, positioning her on her back, legs parting for him as he settled between them. His hands pinned her wrists above her head with one firm grasp, the other trailing down her body—over the swell of her breasts, the dip of her navel, to the slick heat of her pussy. She was soaked already, folds glistening, clit swollen and slightly aching.
"You're mine tonight," he said, voice a gravelly command, blue eyes piercing hers. No jokes, no lightness—just the raw truth of a man about to face the stars, pouring his urgency into her.
"Yes," Yma gasped, arching up as his fingers parted her, stroking her clit with precise circles. "Fuck, Will, take me. Dominate me."
He did. Sliding two fingers inside her tight warmth, he curled them against her inner walls, pumping steadily while his thumb worked her clit. Her tendrils writhed against the pillow, each thrust of his hand sending jolts through them as if they were extensions of her core. She cried out, hips bucking, the masochist edge sharpening as he held her down, controlling her pleasure.
But Will craved more—needed to bury himself deep, to mark her with his release before the war tore him away. He withdrew his fingers, slick with her arousal, and freed his cock, stroking it once to full hardness. It throbbed in his grip, his length curving slightly upward.
Positioning himself at her entrance, he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, savoring the way her pussy clenched around him—wet, velvety heat enveloping his girth. Yma's moan was guttural, her walls fluttering as he stretched her a little, filling her completely. "So big," she whimpered, tendrils quivering around her shoulders instinctively, their sensitive tips sending sparks through her.
Will groaned low, the sensation of her tendrils against his hands skin adding a kinky layer of intimacy. He bottomed out, hips flush against hers, then began to thrust—deep, measured strokes that built with precision, hitting that spot inside her that made her scream. The bed creaked under them, the city's distant hum fading as their world narrowed to this: skin slapping skin, her big tits bouncing with each drive, his balls tightening already from the urgency.
"Harder," she begged, loving the restraint of his hold on her wrists, the way he loomed over her like a conqueror. Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels clinging into his back, urging him deeper.
He obliged, pace quickening, pounding into her with passionate force. Sweat glistened on his athletic frame, blonde hair falling into his eyes as he leaned down, capturing a tendril between his teeth—nipping gently, then sucking. Yma shattered, her orgasm crashing over her like a hyperspace jump, pussy spasming around his cock, milking him as she wailed his name. The pleasure from her tendrils amplified it, waves of ecstasy radiating from her head to her core.
Will didn't stop. His discipline held, thrusts relentless even as her climax gripped him. "Not yet," he growled, voice strained but commanding. "I need to fill you. Again and again."
He released her wrists, hands gripping her hips instead, angling her for deeper penetration. Yma's fingers clawed at his back, nails raking red lines as he fucked her through the aftershocks, building her toward another peak. The room filled with their sounds—her breathy curses, his controlled grunts, the wet slide of him inside her.
When his own release hit, it was explosive. Will buried himself to the hilt, cock pulsing as he came hard, flooding her pussy with thick ropes of cum. He didn't pull out, grinding deep to push every drop inside, feeling her walls clench in response. "Take it all," he murmured, romantic intensity in his serious tone, blue eyes locked on her flushed face.
Yma whimpered, the warmth of his seed triggering her second orgasm, tendrils being locked in his right hand set her orgasm to the max, heightening the bliss until she was sobbing with pleasure.
But he wasn't done. The war's shadow loomed, and with it, a fierce need to claim her utterly. Will rolled them over, keeping himself seated inside her cum-slicked heat, now positioning her astride him. His hands guided her hips, lifting and dropping her onto his still-hard length—Jedi stamina serving him well.
"Ride me," he ordered, one hand tangling in her tendrils, tugging lightly to arch her back. The pull sent fresh jolts through her, making her pussy tighten around him like a vice.
Yma obeyed, grinding down with adventurous fervor, her big booty bouncing as she set a teasing rhythm, then faster, chasing the friction. Her breasts swayed hypnotically, nipples grazing his chest. "Fuck, you feel so good," she panted, leaning forward to kiss him—juicy lips devouring his, tongues tangling in a passionate duel.
Will's free hand slapped her ass sharply, the crack echoing, marking her as his in this passionate dance. She yelped in delight, riding harder, the sting blending with the pleasure from her tendrils as he stroked them rhythmically. The city lights flickered through the balcony doors, casting neon patterns on their sweat-slicked bodies.
He thrust up to meet her, the angle hitting her G-spot relentlessly. Yma came again, harder this time, her cries muffled against his neck as her pussy gushed around him, soaking his balls. The sensation tipped Will over once more—his cock swelling, erupting deep inside her, another heavy load painting her walls white. He held her down, ensuring not a drop escaped, their mingled releases dripping down his shaft.
"More," he rasped, voice husky with unquenched fire, flipping her onto all fours without withdrawing. The urgency burned in him now, romantic and raw—a Jedi pouring his essence into a woman, and this made the galaxy feel alive for him once more.
From behind, he took her with adventurous dominance, hands gripping her wide hips, pulling her back onto his cock. Her big ass jiggled with each powerful thrust, the sight fueling his passion—something dangerous for a Jedi.
He reached forward, fingers delving into her tendrils again, massaging the bases where sensitivity peaked. Yma bucked, moaning obscenities, her body a live wire under his control.
"You're so kriffing tight," he growled, the rare curse slipping through his serious facade, in this intimate battlefield. His pace was punishing, balls slapping her clit, building them both toward the edge.
She came first, collapsing forward with a scream, pussy convulsing in rhythmic squeezes that dragged him with her. Will roared low, third climax ripping through him—cum surging in hot spurts, overflowing her, trickling down her thighs as he kept pumping, determined to fill her to the brim.
Finally, spent but sated, he eased her down onto the sheets, still buried inside, his body covering hers protectively. Yma's tendrils dropped over his shoulders, quivering with aftershocks, her breaths coming in soft, contented sighs.
The war waited outside, but here, in the glow of her apartment, Will allowed a rare tenderness—kissing her temple, fingers lingering in her tendrils. "Thank you," he whispered, voice steady once more.
She smiled, turning in his arms. "Anytime, love. Come back to me."
And for now, that was enough.
The dawn over Coruscant was never quiet.
Even before the first real sunlight filtered through the upper atmosphere, the city began its daily roar: traffic lanes filling, commerce channels opening, endless towers coming alive with light and sound.
Will stood in the apartment doorway fastening the clasp of his cloak.
Yma leaned against the wall behind him, watching.
"You always leave before breakfast," she said.
"I'm terrible company in the morning."
"That's not what I saw last night."
He gave her a sideways look.
"Careful."
She grinned.
"You started it."
He finished adjusting the cloak, making sure the armor settled properly. The clone plates fit naturally now. Not something he wore for symbolism.
Just part of his gear.
Yma stepped forward and kissed him once, quick but deliberate.
"Don't die," she said.
"I'll try."
"Trying is lazy."
"Then I'll succeed."
She seemed satisfied with that.
"Come back when you can," she added.
"I will."
He meant it.
The Jedi Temple felt colder after the mid-levels.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
The corridors were quiet as always, polished stone reflecting pale morning light, younglings moving between lessons with hushed voices, padawans carrying datapads and training sabers with the earnest intensity of people who still believed the galaxy was understandable.
But the tension beneath that calm had changed.
Word had spread.
Even if was supposed to be a secret. But, not the full truth about the industrial hideout though. Not the Sidious transmissions. Not the Sith shrine beneath the Temple.
But enough whispers had slipped through that the Order felt… unsettled. And the moment Will stepped into the main hall, the change became obvious.
Knights noticed the armor.
Again.
But now the reaction wasn't curiosity.
It was recognition.
Respect.
A few nodded as he passed.
One Temple Guard paused mid-stride and inclined his helmeted head slightly.
That still felt strange.
He headed directly for the Council chamber.
When the doors opened, the Masters were already assembled.
Yoda.
Mace Windu.
Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Shaak Ti.
Ki-Adi-Mundi.
All the others too.
And the atmosphere inside the room felt like a debate that had already gone several rounds.
Windu gestured toward the center.
"Knight Kriss."
Will stepped forward.
"You reviewed the data, Master," he said.
"Yes," Windu replied.
"And?"
Silence stretched.
Yoda's ears dipped slightly.
"Grave discoveries, these are."
"That's one way to put it, Master Yoda."
Shaak Ti spoke next.
"The transmissions from Darth Sidious during the Naboo crisis are authentic. The data integrity checks confirmed that."
"And the Temple foundation?" Will asked.
Ki-Adi-Mundi folded his hands.
"The historical analysis is… plausible."
"Plausible," Will repeated, clenching his eyes, looking directly at Master Mundi.
Obi-Wan spoke carefully.
"Even if the Temple was built over a Sith structure, that does not necessarily mean the Order has been influenced."
Will stared at him, with a blank face.
"You don't think it's worth investigating?"
"It will be investigated," Windu said firmly.
"But?" Will pressed.
Windu's voice hardened slightly.
"But the war does not pause for archaeology."
There it was.
The decision.
The kriffing, complacent way, galaxy-wise known as the Jedi way.
Will exhaled slowly.
"So you're shelving it, Masters."
"No," Shaak Ti said. "We are assigning a specialized research group to examine the matter quietly."
"And Sidious?"
The Masters exchanged glances.
"We continue the investigation," Windu said.
"But not publicly."
"It never was, to start with, but please, continue Master." Will said clearly irritated.
The Masters present there noticed the change in his voice tone.
"Because if the Senate learns a Sith has been manipulating events inside the Republic for years without proof of identity," Obi-Wan said quietly, "the political consequences could destabilize the war effort."
Will almost laughed sarcastically.
"Destabilize the war effort," he repeated.
"Yes," Windu said, hardening even more his expression and voice.
Windu is starting to see that Knight Kriss was another rebellious Jedi, the type he liked to deal with.
"So the plan," Will said, voice flat, "is to keep fighting the war while the Sith who started half of it is still hiding somewhere in the capital."
"That is an oversimplification," Ki-Adi-Mundi replied.
"No," Will said, cutting the miserable attempt of Master Mundi to defend the council's decision.
"It's not." Will finished.
Silence again.
Finally Windu spoke.
"Knight Kriss."
"Yes."
"You and your unit have been assigned to the front again."
Of course, keep they would keep the one guy good at infiltrating places and discovering things—aside Master Vos—far from the investigations.
"Where?" Will asked, his mood comlicated.
"Outer Rim campaigns," Shaak Ti said. "Several systems where Separatist forces are consolidating. Your infiltration capabilities and your relationship with your clone company make you uniquely suited for the assignments."
Will nodded slowly.
Disappointment sat heavy in his chest, but he was not surprised.
War rarely waited for truth.
"Understood," he said.
Yoda watched him carefully.
"Frustrated, you are."
"Yeah," Will said honestly.
"Understandable, that is. But fight the war we must."
Will bowed his head slightly.
"Yes, Master."
He turned back to leave, with every master present in the room feeling the frustration in Knight Kriss presence in the Force for the first time...
The next weeks blurred together.
War did that.
Planets came and went.
Operations blurred into each other.
The Bad Company lived up to its reputation again and again: infiltration strikes, stealth raids, sabotage missions behind Separatist lines.
Will led from the front.
Sometimes literally.
Sometimes from the shadows.
And every time he ignited his green and blue blades beside clone troopers who trusted him with their lives, he remembered why he wore their armor.
A month later.
The Temple training hall rang with the sharp crack of practice sabers colliding.
The duel circle was wide enough for four fighters, and today it was occupied.
Baylan Skoll.
Kento Marek.
Etain Tur-Mukan.
And Will Kriss.
They circled each other slowly, sabers humming.
Baylan's stance was disciplined and grounded—classic Form V, Shien and Djem So, influence, power through structure.
Etain moved lighter, her style fluid, more defensive, using Form III Soresu and Form 5 Shien.
Kento Marek had the fast, aggressive movements of someone who had grown up with the blade as a constant companion. He used Form IV Ataru and V Djem So too that means.
Will rolled his shoulders.
"Ready?" he asked.
Baylan smirked faintly.
"Always."
Kento ignited his saber.
"Let's go."
Etain remained quiet, but still ignited her saber.
The duel exploded into motion.
Baylan struck first.
A heavy diagonal cut meant to test defense.
Will deflected with the green blade of curved hilt, sliding the impact aside rather than meeting it directly.
Kento came from the left, fast thrust toward Will's ribs.
Will pivoted.
The blue shoto ignited in his off hand and caught the thrust midline.
The blades hummed.
Etain circled behind them, waiting for an opening.
Will moved like a hinge between the attacks—Makashi precision in his green blade, Soresu defensive arcs with the shoto.
Baylan pressed harder.
Kento adjusted.
Etain finally stepped in with a clean angled strike meant to force Will backward.
Instead he stepped forward.
Their sabers clashed in a tight triangle of light.
Then Will disengaged, flipped backward with Ataru speed, and landed lightly.
"Again," he said.
The three young knights reset.
And in the quiet moments between strikes, Will waited.
For the Council to call him again.
For the war to shift.
For the shadow of Darth Sidious to finally show its face.
Somewhere in Coruscant, the game was still being played.
But sooner or later—
The board would run out of pieces to use, and he would show himself.