=== Count Dooku ===
The sun of Serreno blazed overhead, baking the dust of the once-pristine cobblestone streets as ash and smoke billowed into the sky. The Capitol city, Carannia, the last bastion of noble resistance, stood silhouetted against the haze like a wounded beast surrounded by fire. Its gleaming spires were scorched and cracked, stained with the soot of defiance. High above, Imperium bombers roared across the sky in formation, raining down fire on the outer walls while Mandalorian gunships circled like birds of prey, unleashing precise volleys on defensive turrets.
The wide boulevard leading to the Capitol had become a battlefield.
And at the center of it, leading the charge, was Count Dooku.
He walked at the head of the advancing column, flanked by the Legio Mandalora. The Mandalorians that had not been good enough to make the ranks of one of the three special legions.
Their gunmetal and crimson armor caught the light as they fired calculated bursts at defenders on the ramparts.
But beside the Count was Brother Aegis, whose footfalls cracked the earth beneath him. With each step, his assault cannon roared, spitting into the ranks of the defenders like the wrath of an angry god. Blaster fire peppered his armor, leaving the faintest glowing scorch marks but doing nothing to slow him. His left arm, a giant power fist hummed as he brought it down on those brave enough to charge him.
Dooku walked beside him, his pace slow. He simply deflected every bolt that dared approach with lazy, efficient flicks of his white blade.
The defenders, what few noble guards and household militias that hadn't been replaced with droids, fired from makeshift barricades built of marble pillars, overturned speeders, and sandbag walls. They shouted oaths and ancient house words, trying to hold the line.
They died screaming.
The Mandalorians surged forward behind the Count, firing into the entrenched defenders with deadly precision. Jetpacks ignited with loud bursts, lifting warriors onto balconies where they cut down noblemen and sons of lesser houses who dared resist. Flames licked the sides of the Capitol building, and the thunder of boots and blaster fire drowned out any cries for surrender.
"For Serenno!" one of the guards shouted from an upper window.
Brother Aegis turned, raised his cannon, and obliterated the window in a single deafening burst. The body simply evaporated.
At last they reached the grand steps of the Capitol. Once a symbol of grace and unity, now littered with debris and bodies.
Dooku paused, allowing his cape to billow behind him as he observed the massive double-doors ahead, doors sealed tight behind meters of durasteel, ancient oak, and plasma barricades.
The Force surged around him like a rising tide as he closed his eyes, invisible yet suffocating in its pressure. Dust swirled in spirals at his feet, whipped into the air by unseen winds. His cape fluttered outward, tugged by currents that only he could command.
Then his eyes opened, cold, focused, and utterly certain.
He raised one gloved hand.
A deep, resonant groan filled the air as the durasteel plating began to buckle. Bolts screamed from their sockets. The oak splintered like dry kindling. Plasma fields crackled and sputtered before shattering entirely.
Dooku's fingers clenched into a fist.
The doors exploded inward in a violent burst of splinters and metal. The barricades behind them tore free and scattered like leaves in a storm. The defenders posted within were hurled down the corridor, their weapons torn from their hands before they even struck the ground.
The smoke rolled outward, curling around the Count as he stepped forward into the ruin he had made.
Brother Aegis let out a low, mechanical chuckle.
"Efficient."
Dooku didn't answer. His stride carried him over the rubble, over the groaning bodies of the last defenders.
The Count stepped across the threshold, unbothered by the flames licking at his sides. His cape caught in the wind like a banner of conquest, red and regal. His lightsaber was low in his right hand, humming softly as ash and soot danced around him. His expression was calm, cold, and resolute.
Behind him, his troops poured in, fanning out through the entryway like a wave of silver and crimson death.
From the high balcony inside, House heads and desperate survivors of the noble families began to fire down in one last suicidal attempt to resist.
Dooku didn't even look up. He flicked his hand, and the balcony above groaned before collapsing in a shower of stone and steel, burying their defiance in rubble.
"Your time is over," he said to no one in particular, his voice quiet, yet carried by the Force.
Brother Aegis stepped up beside him.
"The city is ours."
Dooku nodded once.
"Yes. Do as you will. But please keep the slaughter to a minimum."
The Dreadnought gave a low, mechanical chuckle.
"I slay only the enemies of the Imperium. Those who do not fight back will be spared."
Dooku bowed his head to the Dreadnought, and started making his way up the stairs to finish those who remained.
The climb to the second floor revealed more of the Capitol's opulence, a blend of Serreno's ancient aristocratic taste and the sterile additions of modern governance. Chandeliers, once radiant, now swayed gently in the drafts created by shattered windows. Golden leaves along the walls had been scorched black in places.
Halfway along the landing, Dooku paused. A faint, rusty smear caught his attention. Blood. A trail of it, dark and thick, dragged in uneven lines across the floor, disappearing up the next flight of stairs. He followed without hesitation, his long stride carrying him higher into the heart of the building.
The scent of iron grew sharper. At the peak of the climb, a set of double doors stood ajar, one hanging crooked from its hinges. Beyond them lay a long ceremonial chamber, its length flanked by towering marble columns, open to the outside world through arched windows. Sunlight cut through the smoke that hung in the air, casting angled beams across the once-pristine floor.
Dooku entered, his eyes scanning the length of the hall.
At the far end, a man crawled desperately toward the outermost column. His fine robes, once befitting a noble of Serreno, were torn and soaked with blood. Both legs trailed limply behind him, shattered beyond repair, likely from the earlier blast of the doors. The smear he left behind was fresh, glistening on the polished floor.
The Count's pace was unhurried. He advanced through the great hall with all the inevitability of a tide rolling in, each step accompanied by the faint hum of the lightsaber in his hand.
The man heard him approach. With visible effort, he twisted his upper body enough to glare over his shoulder, his face pale but twisted in defiance.
"You… traitor," the noble spat, his voice cracking with pain. "You've sold your soul to those… machines. You are nothing more than the Imperium's hound. A lapdog… leashed and collared."
Dooku's expression didn't shift. No trace of anger. No need for words.
The man's voice rose, desperate now, his insults spilling over. "You were born here, to us! And yet you butcher your own people… for what? To rule a graveyard?" He coughed, blood flecking his lips.
The Count stopped just short of him. For a moment, he regarded the dying man with a look that might have been contemplation, or perhaps judgment.
"I was never "one" of you. And for that, I am thankful." The Count said coldly.
The noble's eyes widened suddenly as they found the white blade at Dooku's side. He tried to crawl faster, but his ruined legs betrayed him. The blade came down in a merciful stroke, one that silenced the man mid-breath.
The hum of the weapon lingered for a heartbeat more before Dooku deactivated it. The hall fell silent again, save for the faint crackle of distant fires.
He stepped over the body without pause, continuing toward the far end of the chamber. There, he emerged between the final pair of columns, standing at the open edge of the Capitol.
Below him, the city sprawled outward in smoke and ruin. Fires burned in the market districts. The main thoroughfares were clogged with the carcasses of shattered speeders and armor, while squads of Imperial Mandalorian troops moved methodically through the streets, putting down any last pockets of resistance. The acrid scent of battle drifted up on the breeze, mingling with the faint tang of ozone from blasterfire.
Dooku stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, the wind catching the edges of his cape and sending it billowing outward. His gaze swept over the smoking spires, the charred rooftops, and the subdued remnants of Serreno's defiance. There was no triumph in his expression, only a calm, assessing stillness, as though he were studying a battlefield map.
And then… he felt it.
It was the familiar tingle of a presence in the Force, warm and inviting. It was something ancient, older than the temple archives, older than the Republic itself. It swept over him like the pull of a deep ocean current, at once immense and intimate.
He did not turn. He simply stood, letting the wind push strands of silver hair across his face, his cape fluttering faintly against the marble.
Soft footsteps approached him, measured, deliberate, unhurried. They came to a stop beside him, as if the owner had no need to announce themselves.
A voice, calm yet carrying an undercurrent of mournful weight, spoke.
"So much loss," she said. "So many lives extinguished… in a single day."
Dooku's eyes remained on the city. His tone was level, without apology.
"It is the cost of war," he replied. "One you know is coming."
There was silence for a moment, save for the whispering wind. He finally turned to face her.
She was tall and slender, draped in flowing white and gold garments that seemed to shift with the light, as though woven from the dawn itself. Her hair, long and a faint green color, framed a face both youthful and ageless. Her features were serene yet touched by the faint sorrow of one who had seen countless ages pass. A soft radiance seemed to cling to her skin, casting her in a perpetual halo, and her emerald eyes held a depth that hinted at eternity.
She stood there, a figure both ethereal and solid, the light catching in her eyes as if it lingered longer than it should. She was regal, though not in the way of noble houses or military command. Her presence radiated something deeper: the serenity of the living Force itself. And yet, beneath it, he could sense the faintest thread of worry.
"I have seen you in my dreams," Dooku said quietly.
Her lips curved in the barest hint of a knowing smile. "And I you. Our paths have crossed for longer than you realize. The Force has… permitted our communion."
The Count studied her. In those dreams, she had been the whisper at the edge of battle, the voice in the stillness between missions. "So it was you," he murmured.
"It was," she admitted, her gaze shifting back to the burning city. "And now, I bring you this warning: The Son… and the one you call the Chaos Sorcerer… are preparing their final move. The end of their long game approaches."
His brow furrowed faintly. "Where?"
Her eyes met his. "Mortis."
The name lingered between them like a tolling bell. Even Dooku, with all his years of study and mastery, felt the gravity of it.
"So… it is time then." he asked at last.
"It is." she said simply.
He turned fully toward her. "You know I am no longer a Jedi," he said, his voice low but firm. "But I still have… connections to the Order. I will do everything in my power to mobilize the Republic's forces when the time comes. But understand this, before that can happen, the Separatists must be defeated. The galaxy will not unite for Mortis while still torn apart by war."
"I understand," she replied. "And I will aid you in whatever way I can."
For a brief instant, their eyes locked.
Then her expression shifted, curiosity lacing her features. "It interests me… that the Force has chosen you for this task. You, who have allied yourself with the Imperium."
The faintest hint of a smile touched the Count's lips. "Perhaps," he said, "it is because I have sided with the outsiders that the Force entrusts me with it. The Jedi are… bound by their own rigidity. I am not."
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as if measuring the truth of his words. "I hope," she said at last, her voice losing its warmth, "that it was right in its choice."
The last word hung in the air. And then, without flare or spectacle, her form dissolved, folding back into the wind like a breath of cool air on a summer night as an owl flew away. The terrace was empty once more, save for the Count of Serreno standing against the backdrop of a city in ruin.
===
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