The makeshift tent sterile silence felt incredibly heavier than any bombardment Peter could have had seen through his father's memories. Through the shattered windows, he could see the smoking remains of their father's carefully constructed empire of steel. Now reduced into smithereens and filth.
Droids working overtime, moving back and forth, cleaning locations and eventually crashing into the ground due to the lack of maintenance. Overhead, twisted metal, and cascading concrete where order and alignment once reigned.
He held his breath, as his hands clenched involuntarily. Throughout his mind images kept replaying the moment they have emerged from the cloning facility, where uncertainty but also the same place where they felt the most safe of. He could not bear to see the world before him had now transformed into a battlefield graveyard.
