Location: Tython – Paladin Training Grounds / Katana Fleet Recovery Mission
Date: 24 BBY – Four Months Before 23 BBY
The sun rose early over Tython's northern range, casting long streaks of golden light across the black stone parade grounds. Wind kicked up red dust across the lined-up formation of Paladin Initiates—over 80 of them standing tall.
Seris and Anakin stood at the front, arms behind their backs. Behind them, a series of transports touched down, and from them stepped the instructors.
Jango Fett was first. Clean armor, and a glare that could cut through cortosis. Clone troopers Commander Cody and Captain Rex followed behind him, their customized Phase I clone armor painted in the colors of the Eternal Alliance colors and scarred from years of private testing.
"Eyes forward!" Cody shouted. "Stand at attention!"
The recruits snapped to position—some slower than others.
Jango stepped forward, scanning the group.
"I'm not here to be your friend. I'm not your general. You're here to learn how to survive. And if we do our job, some of you might even learn how to lead."
He turned and pointed at the rows. "You'll be learning battlefield doctrine from me, Rex, and Cody. Urban tactics. Large-scale deployment. Close-quarter battle. Everything from siege warfare to rescue operations."
Rex stepped forward. "First thing you'll learn is how not to panic when shots are flying. The second thing you'll learn is how to act under fire without making comrades and civilians collateral. Anyone shoots a surrendering target in training, and I make an example of you."
Jango nodded. "You'll also learn military ethics, rules of engagement, what we do when civilians are present, and how to deal with prisoners of war. If you can't show restraint, you will not wear the armor of a Paladin."
A few of the recruits looked nervous. Good. That meant they were listening.
From the other transport came the next instructors.
Maul, now fully recovered and dressed in simple combat attire stood at the front. At his side was Serra, her posture relaxed but sharp.
Maul's gaze swept across the recruits with quiet scrutiny.
"You are not warriors," he said flatly. "Not yet. You are tools—unrefined, clumsy, arrogant."
Serra stepped forward, arms crossed. "That's where we come in."
"You will undergo daily conditioning," Maul continued. "Hours of saber drills. Disarm techniques. Disabling techniques. You will lean how to kill and when not kill in every way possible that I know of. How to control and channel your range and bloodlust and turn into power to protect others."
"Lose control," Serra added, "and you lose your chance to wear a blade."
Maul stepped back. "You will break. That's the point. Then we rebuild you."
From the final transport came Barriss Offee and Sha Koon, the Mirialan and Kel Dor both dressed in white and gray robes. .
Barriss addressed the crowd first.
"We'll train you in emergency field response, Force-aided diagnostics, surgery under stress, and triage prioritization. That includes making decisions when your friends are dying. You will learn to act, not freeze."
Next came the final pair of instructors.
A man in a flight suit and a white scarf stepped forward with a cocky grin. Firball, ace pilot from the Fire Ring, former racer, current rogue with a heart of gold.
With him was Tophen Vain, a lean, sharp-featured Duros who had once flown in the Battle of Makem Te, with more kills than his ego suggested.
"I'm Firball," he said. "This is Vain. We're your flight instructors."
Tophen nodded. "We'll teach you how to fly starships, starfighters, and get you through basic atmospheric and space combat simulations."
Firball grinned. "Some of you are going to puke. Most of you are going to crash in the sim. But that's fine. By the end of the next year, every one of you will know how to fly like a pro."
Seris stepped forward and turned to the group.
"You'll rotate through each department. Every few weeks you change instructors. This is total immersion. You will be the protectors the galaxy needs you to be when this is done should you succeed."
Anakin stepped beside her.
"Some of you will fail. That's expected. But if you're still here by the end of this training, you will be part of the foundation of the Eternal Dawn's Paladin Order."
The recruits nodded.
The instructors left.
The gates to the training yard closed.
Meanwhile
Bo-Katan's Strike Team – Katana Fleet Recovery
The Mandalorian assault ship cut through the void like a silent dagger. Inside, Bo-Katan Kryze stood hands clasped behind her back. Beside her stood tech specialists from Clan Wren and strategic advisors from Tython.
Before them, through the viewport, was the Katana Fleet.
Hundreds of Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruisers, floating in formation like ghosts—powered down but still locked in tight military structure. They drifted in perfect silence near a gravity well the Republic had long written off as unreachable.
Bo-Katan's second-in-command stepped forward. "The fleet's AI is dormant. No active signals."
"Begin entry," she said.
Dropships launched from the hangar, approaching the nearest cruiser. Boarding parties breached silently, slicing into the command cores.
One by one, the fleet's lights began to flicker on. Slowly.
"Flagship is stable," her pilot called. "Power cores are intact. Shields dormant but functional."
Bo-Katan nodded.
"Secure every ship. Transmit report to Tython. The Katana Fleet is now under control of the Eternal Galactic Alliance."