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echoreconcrew · 23 days ago

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Meet Me In the Woods

Chapter 1: Victory Val

Author's Note: It's finally here! Chapter 1 of Vol. 1! So excited to launch the first bit of this story. Don't forget to check back here on Wednesday's and Sunday's every week. This time around, art included in the story is by @legacygirlingreen, meanwhile art in cover art by @leenathegreengirl. If you want to be in the know with story updates just ask to join the tag list! Anywho... without further ado: Vol. 1

Summary: On a day meant to showcase order, Captain Howzer can feel the cracks forming. Irritated by a discovery in the barracks, he walks toward the looming speech with a storm quietly building behind his eyes. The crowd gathers, the tension thickens, and somewhere in the distance, a familiar glint catches the light.

Word Count: 4,600

Warnings: General angst/brimming anxiety; briefest mention of order 66, Imperial Crosshair (Granted it's Ryloth but still, know he's not everyone's cup of caf)

The HUB | Masterlist | Next Chapter (coming soon!)

▄︻デ══━一

There was never any question about the quality of the artwork. The craftsmanship was evident—the allure, the realism—it was all there, and Howzer couldn’t deny it. But that didn’t make it acceptable. Had the subject been someone anonymous, someone more abstract, he might’ve brushed it off with nothing more than a sigh. After all, he was no stranger to the pinups his men frequently tacked onto the barrack walls. It was the kind of low-level contraband he typically overlooked. A quiet indulgence, tolerated in the name of morale.

But this was different.

The moment he saw the familiar curves of teal armor—his armor—adorning a Twi’lek figure even more familiar, something in him snapped. The drawing wasn’t just suggestive; it was personal. There she was: Victory Val. Posed as if she had modeled for the piece herself, body angled to exaggerate every flattering line, with the stylized armor sliced and sculpted to show more skin than protection. It wasn’t just distasteful. It was a mockery. A cruel, disrespectful joke at the expense of a woman he deeply respected.

With a sharp breath and clenched jaw, he tore the image from the wall.

His voice followed swiftly, rising in volume and urgency as he reprimanded the men. Not just for the lack of decorum, but for forgetting what their presence on Ryloth meant. They were here to support, not desecrate. To protect, not objectify. The Twi’lek people had suffered enough. Their mission now was one of restoration: peacekeeping, respect, cooperation. Not ogling their own allies like characters from some tawdry wartime fantasy.

Punishments were handed down accordingly. Disciplinary reports, temporary suspensions of privilege. He made it clear that behavior like this wouldn't be tolerated under his command.

Afterward, at the request of his superiors—and likely for his own composure—he stepped away for a moment.

The war was technically over. Peace, however, remained fragile. And in these volatile times, disrespecting one of Cham Syndulla’s leading fighters wasn’t just foolish, it was dangerous. Victory Val wasn’t just a soldier. She was a symbol of Ryloth’s resistance, of its hope. Of its bright future.

And to Howzer, she was more than that. A comrade. A leader. A woman who had earned every ounce of his respect.

Not to mention, she was someone he’d felt an undeniable pull toward from the moment they met. The sharp edge of attraction striking him like a live current the first time he locked eyes with Valérie, Gobi Glie’s younger sister. Her teasing smile, the mischievous glint in her eye, the way she carried herself with both confidence and defiance—it had all thrown him off balance in a way he hadn’t expected, and certainly hadn’t prepared for. And if he thought he’d kept those feelings under wraps, he was sorely mistaken.

It wasn’t exactly a well-guarded secret.

Everyone seemed to know that she flustered him to no end. His men noticed it immediately: the sudden stiff posture, the half-second delays in his replies when she was around. Cham’s soldiers caught on just as fast, exchanging knowing looks whenever Val strolled into the room. Even Val herself seemed perfectly aware, though she rarely said anything outright. Instead, she wielded that knowledge with playful precision, tossing casual remarks his way that always hovered just on the edge of flirtation.

She had a way of getting under his skin without even trying, and he hated how obvious it had become.

Or maybe… he didn’t.

And the artwork had no place in the barracks. It was crass, disrespectful, and offensive in every way that mattered. Howzer had no doubt about where it belonged: shredded and dumped in the nearest waste bin. He shook his head sharply, trying to dispel the lingering frustration as he quickened his pace down the corridor. The address to the citizens was about to begin, and the last thing he needed was to arrive late.

The Vice Admiral would be there. So would a full squad of special forces, stiff-backed and watching everything with too much interest. With the new Imperial refinery operational and the Empire pushing harder than ever to dismantle Cham Syndulla’s resistance fighters, making the mood across Ryloth volatile. Tense didn’t even begin to cover it. One misstep—even one word out of place—and the entire illusion of peace could come crashing down. His men pulling a stunt like that, mocking one of Ryloth’s heroes, one of Cham’s own, only added fuel to a fire already threatening to consume them all. But Howzer forced himself to set the anger aside. There wasn’t time to dwell on it, not now.

As much as he hated the way the Empire operated, as much as Senator Orn Free Taa’s presence made his skin crawl, Howzer still believed in what he was doing… at least, to a degree. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he believed in the people he was doing it for. Cham. Eleni. Ryloth. They were the ones who mattered. And if enduring the hypocrisy and heavy-handed control of the Empire meant he could help shield those people from worse? Then he would. He’d suck it up for their sake.

He adjusted his posture, squared his shoulders, and stepped through the archway into the balcony suite. Below, a crowd had already gathered, their faces a mix of hope, wariness, and quiet skepticism. He braced himself for the speech he knew was coming. A polished string of reassurances, shallow promises dressed up in Imperial rhetoric. He’d heard them before. They were always the same.

His eyes drifted to Cham, standing nearby.

The man looked older than he had months ago. Not necessarily in age, but in weariness. The kind of exhaustion that came from fighting too long and losing too much. The fire that had once burned so brightly in Cham’s eyes had dulled, flickering low and uneven. Howzer hated seeing it. Hated knowing how much Cham had given, how much he still carried on his shoulders.

But Cham wasn’t the only one to contend with.

Gobi Glie hadn’t surrendered the fight, nor had Eleni. Both still held the line, firm in their resistance. But the inclusion of young Hera into these dangerous conversations... it didn’t sit right with him. She was a child—brilliant, yes, and brave beyond her years—but still a child. She shouldn’t have to carry the weight of revolution on her back.

And then there was Valérie.

Unlike the others, she seemed, if not eager then at least ready, to step away from the past. To let go of the endless struggle and try to build something real. Something peaceful. She’d fought, bled, and sacrificed like the rest of them, but now she walked with a quiet kind of resolve, the look of someone who had made peace with leaving the battlefield behind.

He didn’t blame her. In fact, he admired it.

They were all tired. Some of them just hid it better than others.

And some small part of him, buried beneath years of discipline and duty, wondered what came next. What would happen if this “service” of his actually ended? If he was ever given a choice about where to go, who to be?

He already knew the answer. He would stay.

Ryloth had become something more than a post. More than a mission. He had come to respect its people, its resilience, it's quiet beauty. He had learned to appreciate its sunrises, its traditions, its fierce sense of identity. And, perhaps, he had come to feel a certain affection for a sharp-eyed sniper who always seemed to be watching his six—often with a smirk that made his heart beat a little too fast.

He wasn’t sure what kind of future was waiting for him, or if he’d even be lucky enough to claim it. But if freedom ever came, real freedom, he knew exactly where he wanted to spend it.

"I have a visual. Gobi Glie and his fighters are here," came the voice of Crosshair, sharp and biting.

That snake-like tone was becoming increasingly unsettling. Ever since the war had ended, the steadfast Imperial presence had continued to erode his command day by day. At first, the Imperial arrival had been explained away as "extra security" meant to protect the senator, a flimsy excuse that only grew more transparent with time. His position as Captain, once so pivotal overseeing a legion of soldiers, now seemed less and less significant. As the special forces—led by that infuriatingly insufferable defected clone—made their mark, Howzer’s sense of purpose only grew more frayed. The worst part? Hearing that same clone utter the Glie name with such unmistakable distaste made Howzer’s jaw tighten.

Howzer’s gaze swept over the crowd from his position on the balcony. He didn’t need to search too hard—he knew Gobi would be there. It was where he always was. Cham, the idealist, was the face of the movement, the dreamer who believed in a better future. He wasn't unfamiliar with the fight, but he remained the symbol of hope. Gobi, however, was the military leader, the one who understood the cost of war in a way few could comprehend. But where was Val? Wasn’t she with her brother? Howzer’s eyes darted desperately over the sea of Twi'lek faces. Teal, her striking color, wasn’t hard to pick out in the crowd—it was more of a rare shade—but despite his efforts, he found nothing. A growing sense of unease settled over him.

He shook it off, pushing the thought from his mind as he returned to his post near Cham. At least Syndulla seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. He might not always agree with Cham's approach, but there was a certain clarity in his vision of what the future should look like. Gobi and the others, however, weren’t accustomed to peace. How could they be? Peace had been an impossible dream for so long, a luxury they hadn’t been afforded. Howzer couldn't blame them for struggling to adjust. He understood better than most, that survival had been their only focus for too long. Cham was ready to lay down his arms. Even Val, despite her absence, had seemed ready. But now, with so much still unresolved, peace felt more like an illusion than a reality.

"The crowd appears restless, Howzer," Cham muttered, his eyes narrowing as they shifted to where his wife was speaking with the Vice Admiral and the Senator. "I do not like it."

"Adjustments are difficult, Cham," Howzer replied, his voice steady but laced with a quiet understanding. "The people have been on the edge for so long. They've lost loved ones, seen too much destruction. It’s only natural for them to remain skeptical about change. After all, peace was a dream we thought was impossible. And now..." Howzer faltered, unsure how to articulate the unease that gnawed at him. "Now, it feels like the transition is too sudden. The execution of the Jedi, the consolidation of power, this insistence that security means sacrificing more and more..." He trailed off, shaking his head. There was too much he couldn’t make sense of—too much about the past few months that didn’t sit right. The locals’ unease was contagious, and he found himself questioning the very nature of what they were supposed to be building.

As he attempted to offer some semblance of comfort to Cham, the crowd’s restlessness seemed to grow. That was when he heard the most ridiculous and revolting statement.

"I speak for the people when I say this partnership is most welcome," came the pompous voice of Orn Free Taa. Howzer's stomach turned at the sound. The man was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with the Senate: gluttonous, arrogant, out of touch. A man who served only his own interests, constantly living in a self-made bubble of privilege. Howzer couldn't fathom how anyone could take him seriously. His very presence was an insult to everything they were trying to rebuild. It was clear that Orn Free Taa had no understanding of the sacrifices made by people like Gobi, Cham, or the countless others who had fought for a better future.

At Rampart’s call, Cham slowly turned away from him, as if giving voice to the bitter truth he had long carried but never quite spoken aloud. "After years spent fighting, peace is what is needed," he said, his voice heavy, as if the weight of the words themselves were more than he could bear. Howzer watched him closely. He had no doubt that Cham wanted to believe in the ideal he was voicing, and in many ways, Howzer could feel it in the man’s demeanor. The weariness of battle, the longing for something more, something better. But the smaller, more cynical part of Howzer knew the truth: Cham was a rebel at his core. A soldier who had fought for freedom, who had lived for resistance. And it was hard to imagine that someone like him could truly embrace peace in a way that didn’t still leave room for conflict. Rebels didn’t just stop fighting—they adapted, they evolved, but they rarely laid down arms entirely.

"And with peace comes prosperity," came the booming voice of Orn Free Taa, interrupting his thoughts. Howzer’s lip curled in disdain, his thoughts immediately turning bitter. Leave it to the bloated, self-serving bureaucrat to see the only upside to peace as a financial opportunity. Howzer almost felt sorry for the man, but that was quickly replaced with a sharp pang of disgust. "This is a new era for Ryloth," Taa continued, his hands sweeping the air as though he were offering some grand vision of hope.

A new era for Ryloth, indeed. But for who? Howzer couldn’t shake the feeling that what was being promised was little more than an illusion, a false hope laced with political opportunism. Ryloth had known war for so long, it was hard to believe it could ever really know peace. They had fought for survival, for identity, for a future free from the oppression of the Separatists, and now it felt like they were exchanging one form of subjugation for another. But the worst part was how quickly the promise of prosperity was tied to the same forces that had enslaved them before.

Part of Howzer—just a small part—wanted to believe that this was just the growing pains of a new world, that change could come, that freedom was within their reach. He wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, the new Empire, however flawed, could forge a path that led to something better, something stable. The idea of conscripting soldiers across the galaxy, of building something strong and enduring—perhaps even a place where he could lay down roots, find honest work, a home—was an appealing thought. It could be a chance to give back to the people of Ryloth, to those who had supported him and his men through thick and thin.

But every instinct in him screamed that it was a dream too far-fetched to be real. Unstable. Unlikely. The weight of the galaxy’s history pressed on him, the shadow of the Empire still hanging thick in the air. Could it truly be different this time? Could peace truly come from all of this? Or were they simply spinning the same wheels that had led them into endless conflict for generations?

And what would be left when all the dust settled?

Cham might have wanted to believe in the dream of peace, but Howzer could feel the unease creeping up his spine. He wasn’t sure if it was the ghosts of the past or the uncertainty of the present, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the road ahead would be far more complicated, and far more dangerous, than anyone was willing to admit.

Howzer watched as the Vice Admiral stalked off to join the Senator, leaving Cham standing there, the weariness of the moment visibly heavy on him. The burden of leadership, the weight of what had been won and what still remained uncertain, seemed to settle in his shoulders. Howzer couldn’t help himself. He approached the man. "Everything alright, General?" The title slipped from his lips without thought, a habit ingrained from years of military service. Even though they were no longer soldiers at war, the respect he felt for the man across from him remained, unwavering.

Cham looked at him, his eyes tired but thoughtful. "I should be content that the war is over. But as you said, change is never easy." He paused, the faintest flicker of doubt crossing his face before he spoke again. "I hope my people will embrace this peace."

Howzer took a breath, unsure of what to say. The words they’d just exchanged lingered between them, both carrying the weight of reality and hope, but neither feeling truly secure. Still, he gave it a try. "Ryloth is safe, Cham. This is what you fought for." He tried to muster a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was what they fought for, wasn’t it?

The truth was, Howzer didn’t have all the answers. The Separatists were defeated, but the victory felt hollow at times. For now, things could be better. He repeated that mantra to himself like a prayer, every morning in the fresher before strapping on his stiff armor and heading out for his rounds. Each day, it felt like the chain of command and all its promises had come in, disrupting the life he had tried to build with the locals. He had come to appreciate the rhythm of this place, the simplicity, the connection to the land and its people. But the empire had changed everything. Every day, it felt more like something else was being taken from him.

Howzer could feel it: the creeping softness in him, the erosion of the old military protocols he had once followed without question. He’d let himself slip into the traditions of the locals, wear their coverings, their clothes. At first, it was just a way for him and his men to connect with the Twi'lek militia—an unspoken gesture of respect. Trust was vital between the Twi’lek and his men when they arrived.

The command that had come before his legion had failed in its duty to the people of Ryloth. They had gotten the Twi'lek to safety, yes, but the planet itself had been lost to the Separatists. And in that loss, Cham had been left behind, abandoned. Howzer could still feel the sting of that betrayal in the air, and it drove him to work tirelessly to rebuild the trust between Cham and the clones. It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t happen overnight, but he believed until it became reality.

He encouraged his men to respect the Twi’lek traditions, to honor their culture. There were things they had to let go of. Old habits, old phrases that had once been the norm but were now offensive. He had worked hard to stamp out the use of “tail heads” after Val had informed him how deeply disrespectful it was to the Twi'lek people. The idea of earning back their respect, of showing that they were allies and not oppressors, was something Howzer took seriously. The cultural divide wasn’t easy to bridge, but it was the only way forward.

And then, of course, there was Val.

Her name lingered in his thoughts like an unspoken truth, a shadow in the corner of his mind that he couldn’t quite banish. The sudden absence of her in the crowd, that feeling of not knowing where she was, gnawed at him more than he cared to admit. She had become a symbol for the delicate balance between duty and desire, between the past and whatever they were trying to build. She was part of this world now, a part of Ryloth's future, and yet she remained an enigma, elusive in a way that was both maddening and strangely comforting.

She was young, but not in the way that most people assumed. There was a quiet wisdom in her, an idealism that wasn’t naïve, but deeply rooted in reality. She didn’t dismiss concerns, didn’t bury her head in the sand, but neither did she let anxiety take over or spiral out of control. She had this rare ability to face the hard truths of the world while still keeping her feet firmly planted. And in doing so, she had a way of lifting his spirits, of giving him a space where he could breathe—somewhere between the weight of Cham’s expectations and the guarded distance of her older brother.

She was the reason he had earned their trust back in the first place. Despite her teasing, her challenges, her refusal to let him off easy, she had always seen through to the heart of things. Her candidness had cut through the layers of suspicion, and her unwillingness to simply follow orders had forced him to prove himself time and again. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.

It was just her nature to know how much she meant to him, to understand the effect she had on him, even when she didn’t speak it aloud. And yet, she never let it show. Instead, she’d simply flash him one of those mischievous smiles, the kind that reached her eyes and made the world seem a little less heavy. With a gentle tug on his arm, she’d pull him out of his thoughts, grounding him in the present moment, as if reminding him that in spite of everything, life could still have moments of lightness.

Those moments were rare, of course. They only came when the dust of their work and struggle settled, when the weight of their responsibilities momentarily lifted, and they could simply be. Together.

In those fleeting moments, he allowed himself to indulge in something softer, something more hopeful. A quiet dream for the future, one that wasn’t weighed down by the uncertainties of the past or the pressure of what was to come. And in that, she gave him something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing: a glimpse of what could be, even in a world that felt so fractured.

Howzer’s mind snapped back to the present when Cham began speaking to the crowd, his voice rising above the murmur of unrest. The general was attempting to calm the brewing disturbance, his words carefully chosen to settle the growing tension before things got out of hand. As Cham gestured toward him, Howzer found himself unexpectedly thrust into the spotlight, the General using him as an example of how the clones had done right by Ryloth.

A part of him wanted to square his shoulders, lift his chin, and stand tall. When Howzer had first arrived on Ryloth, speeches like this—full of gratitude and reverence for the sacrifices of the clones—had been exactly the kind of recognition he fought for. The kind of acknowledgment he believed was deserved after years of battle. But that was before he had met someone who had completely shifted his perspective.

Now, the words felt bitter. He wasn’t the model of selflessness. He wasn’t the embodiment of the heroic clone soldier fighting for the greater good. He wasn’t even sure if he could call himself a soldier anymore.

This mission—this entire period of his life—had become far too personal. He had crossed the line between duty and connection long ago, and now, there was no going back. His loyalty had shifted, his focus had changed. His last few years on Ryloth, the ones spent fighting beside the locals, were no longer about the broader war or some grand idea of serving the Empire or the Republic. They were about the citizens he had come to care for—people who had become more than just comrades in arms.

Hera. Eleni. Gobi. Cham. And… Val.

Each of them had left an imprint on him, some more deeply than others, but all of them had tugged him away from the rigid, cold doctrine of a soldier’s life. He had fought for them—with them. They had shown him a new way of seeing the world, one where duty and compassion could coexist, where there was room for hope amid the ruins of a war-torn galaxy. But in doing so, they had also made him question everything he once believed.

As he stood there, Cham’s voice a low hum in the background, confirming that his people should respect his brother-in-arms, Howzer’s gaze sharpened. He didn’t need to hear the words; his instincts were already on edge. That’s when he saw it: a glint. The solar flare of a reflection, sharp and unmistakable, bouncing off the lens of a scope.

He knew his men had set up parameters around the walls of the city, but this—this was outside the established bounds. A flash of movement atop a distant cliffside to the right, just beyond the edges of their perimeter. Brown eyes narrowing, he shifted his focus. Then, a flicker of color. Teal. The smallest, almost imperceptible flash of it, just behind the ridge.

He should’ve known. She should’ve been the first thing on his mind. Always within earshot, always close, always ready to assist if the situation called for it. But this time it was different.

The Empire had confiscated every weapon the locals had. Every last one, except for the few who had managed to keep theirs hidden, and she was one of them. He’d always known she’d find a way to keep it. But seeing the glint of her scope trained at the city, pointed at their heads, sent a cold jolt of panic through him. It wasn’t for his safety: he didn’t care about that. It wasn’t even for the Senator’s safety. It was for hers.

If the Empire found out, if they discovered she was holding a weapon, it wouldn’t just be a reprimand. She’d be in serious trouble—immediate, deadly trouble—for defying Imperial orders. Worse still, he’d be the one tasked with handing down the punishment. The weight of that responsibility, the gut-wrenching knowledge that it could fall to him to turn her in, to sentence her, gnawed at him with a bitter sense of inevitability.

He scanned the cliffside again, his heart rate picking up as his mind raced. There. Just a shift in the air. He could sense her presence even if she wasn’t visible. With a subtle shake of his head, he gave the smallest of gestures, just a hint of movement. A silent order for her to put the weapon down. It wasn’t just reckless; it was dangerous.

With Crosshair, the special forces sniper, roaming nearby—his every movement designed for precision, his defect almost tailor-made for tasks like this—Howzer knew the risk was amplified. He would be scoping their surroundings, looking for threats, looking for any sign of movement. The thought of her on that cliff, exposed, risking her life for nothing, made his blood run cold.

For a moment, he didn’t see the flash of the scope again, nor did he hear Crosshair’s usual cold, detached commentary about spotting targets. But that didn’t mean it was over. He couldn’t let it go. Once this gods-forsaken speech ended, once the crowd had been dealt with, he’d find her. He’d get to her before anyone else did. And then, he’d make sure that rifle was stashed away, hidden out of sight, out of reach. Her safety depended on it.

The thought of what might happen if anyone discovered her, if she were caught with the weapon, sent a chill down his spine. He couldn’t afford to lose her. Not like this.

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