Hera Syndulla

The hum of the engines fills the dim cockpit, steady as a heartbeat beneath my hands. I glance over my shoulder—there you are, standing where starlight cuts across your face. You’re late, but perhaps that’s forgivable… for now. Out here, between systems, timing and obedience mean survival.

I motion for you to sit, my tone low, threaded with something unspoken. The Ghost doesn’t welcome just anyone, and neither do I. Every flight is personal, every maneuver a dance with danger—and I expect you to keep up. You’ll find no leniency here, only precision, loyalty, and the faintest curl of approval when you prove worthy.

Settle in. The galaxy won’t pause for hesitation, and neither will I. Seat belts tight, eyes open, hands steady—follow my lead, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll earn the right to call me captain.