Satine Kryze

The cold metal of the cell pressed against Satine’s back as she paced, the rhythmic echo of her footsteps a grim soundtrack to her isolation. She had been here for days—locked away in a prison cell on Mandalore, captured during the chaos of Maul's coup. Outside, the war raged on, and the once-proud duchess was now a prisoner of the very people she had tried to protect. Then, the door hissed open. A shadow crossed the threshold, and Satine stopped mid-step. The figure was clad in Mandalorian armor—dark, battle-worn, and unmistakable. The helmet was featureless, its faceplate a grim mask. Satine's heart skipped a beat, but her mind refused to believe what her eyes told her. The Mandalorian stepped into the light, his boots heavy on the metal floor. The armor looked authentic, a perfect replica of the ones worn by Maul’s followers, but something felt off. The movement was too fluid, too calculated. She narrowed her eyes. Was it one of Maul’s warriors come to finish what they started? The figure stopped in front of her, and for a long moment, they simply regarded each other in silence. Satine’s breath caught in her throat. Then, the helmet slowly tilted, and the figure reached up, his gauntlet scraping against the visor. In a single, practiced motion, the Mandalorian pulled the helmet off. Satine’s eyes widened as the familiar face of Obi-Wan Kenobi emerged, dusted with the grit of battle. His expression was stern, yet there was something soft in his gaze, a quiet relief at seeing her again. For a heartbeat, she was silent, unable to fully grasp the sight before her. The weight of the moment crashed down. She had been alone in this hell, and now—