(From the perspective of Reva'la Tereen)
The sand crunched beneath her boots — a quiet, almost respectful sound. She kept low, moving from dune to dune, her blaster drawn and held close.
Smoke curled lazily into the air ahead. Thin, black, sharp-scented. Not old. Not wreckage fading.
Fresh.
Reva'la crept over the final rise, her macros scanning the crash site.
Another starfighter — smaller than her X-wing. Sleek. Obsidian-black with burn marks along one wing. The TIE silhouette was unmistakable.
Imperial.
She ducked lower, scanning for life signs.
Movement.
Someone staggered out from behind the wreck, holding his side. Tall. Armored. Helmet cracked, but intact. A standard-issue sidearm hung low on his belt.
She steadied her aim.
Then the wind shifted.
The pilot turned.
Their eyes met.
For a split second, everything froze — just the suns, the silence, and the unspoken recognition of two survivors in a hostile world.
Then he reached.
She fired first.
The bolt grazed his shoulder — he stumbled, dropped behind the wing.
Return fire crackled past her head.
Reva'la rolled into cover, heart pounding. The dune offered little protection. This wasn't a duel — it was desert warfare. Blind, brutal, close.
She moved laterally, trying to flank.
Another shot — closer this time.
"Rebel scum," he shouted across the sand, voice ragged.
"You're a long way from your orders," she shouted back. "You planning to die here for your Emperor?"
"You first."
She ducked again. Her back hit something solid — metallic.
She turned.
A small structure.
No — not a building.
A Pylon.
Glowing blue. Humming. Out of place. Alien.
And then she remembered.
The silver figure. The towers in the sand.
They were close.
Very close.
---
She risked a glance toward the sky.
A shimmer. A blur. Like heat distortion — but colder.
Something watched them.
Her stomach tightened.
She fired again. Missed.
The Imperial pilot charged. They met at the edge of the wreckage — blasters clashing, fists landing. Trained movements. Precision.
He was strong.
But she was faster.
She swept his legs, brought him down, blaster to his visor.
And then — a shadow passed over them both.
Both froze.
Above, barely visible against the light, floated a silent, blinking eye.
A drone. The same one from the dunes.
Neither moved.
Reva'la's finger hovered on the trigger.
The pilot's breath caught in his throat.
The drone emitted no sound.
But its presence spoke volumes.
They weren't alone.
And whatever was watching… was deciding.