(From the perspective of Reva'la Tereen)
The locals didn't trust her.
That wasn't surprising.
Reva'la stood in the shade of a rusted moisture collector, helmet tucked under her arm, sweating through the remains of her flight suit. The nearest homestead — a battered dome-shaped building with sun-bleached panels — was guarded by two grizzled humans and what looked like a modified protocol droid with half a vocabulator.
She had limped into their outer perimeter the day before, nearly collapsing from heat and exhaustion. She didn't draw her weapon. Just raised her hands.
And asked for water.
Now, after food, rest, and a suspicious amount of silence, they let her stay — in a side building with a tarp roof and no door.
It wasn't much.
But it was safe.
---
"Silver ghost," one of the children had whispered.
She'd asked carefully, cautiously, about the strange figure in the dunes. About the glowing towers and the humming crystals.
They shrugged.
"Not local," said one farmer.
"Not Republic," said another.
"Maybe Sith?" someone muttered.
"Not... natural."
No one had answers.
But no one denied the thing was real.
The way they spoke of her — the white-haired woman — was half myth, half warning. Some thought she was a protector. Others, a curse.
Most just avoided the area entirely.
Reva'la wasn't sure what unsettled her more: the silence… or the half-belief.
---
Two nights later, she stood outside her shelter, staring at the stars.
And then she saw it.
Another smoke trail.
Darker this time. Closer.
She narrowed her eyes. Different trajectory. Different burn pattern. Smaller crash radius.
Another fighter?
She replayed the ambush in her mind — that second blip on her sensors, the one she hadn't had time to identify.
She grabbed her pack, slung her blaster over her shoulder, and set off.
---
If someone else had gone down...
It might be Imperial.
Or worse: someone looking for her.
Either way, she wasn't going to wait for the mystery to come to her.
Not again.