The fires of Geonosis did not go out quickly. For days after the primary retreat of the Separatist Core Ships, the red canyons remained a graveyard of smoldering iron and cooling plastoid. The "victory" was a somber one; the Jedi sat among the wreckage of the arena, mourning the nearly one hundred of their kin who had fallen in the opening hours of the conflict. It was a staggering loss for an Order that had not seen open warfare in a millennium, and the silence in the Petranaki Arena was heavy with the weight of names that would now only exist in the Archives.
But for Sky Lynx, "mourning" was a concept best left to those with shorter lifespans and smaller engines. To him, the fallen were a reason to move faster, to strike harder, and to ensure that such "inefficiency of life" never occurred again under his watch.
While the Republic's search-and-rescue teams combed the spire-cities for survivors and hidden droid pockets, Sky Lynx was busy. He had refused to return to the Resolute immediately, claiming that a creature of his magnitude was required to "properly supervise" the reclamation of the planet. In reality, he simply enjoyed the way the red dust didn't stick to his new, self-cleaning Cybertronian-alloy plating.
The Cleanup of the Flats:
On the western plains, a battalion of clone engineers was struggling to move the massive, scorched wreckage of a downed Homing Spider Droid that blocked a primary supply route. Their cranes were straining, and the heat rising from the sand made the air shimmer with exhaustion. The clones were tired, their white armor stained a dull orange by the relentless Geonosian grit.
Then, the sky darkened, and a shadow shaped like a titan swept over them.
With a rhythmic, metallic thrumming, the Vulture form of Sky Lynx descended from the clouds. His golden-trimmed wings banked sharply, and he landed with a heavy thump fifty yards from the site. Without a word, he performed a fluid transformation into his Combined Dragon Form, his joints hissing with pressurized steam.
"You move like glaciers in a winter cycle," Sky Lynx rumbled, his voice echoing through the canyon and rattling the clones' helmets. "Step aside, little ones, before you strain your primitive hydraulics and require a manual override."
The clones scrambled back as Sky Lynx leaned forward. His massive talons, forged from the reinforced landing gear of an LAAT/c, bit into the spider droid's chassis like hot needles into wax. With a single, effortless heave of his neck servos, he ripped the ten-ton wreckage from the sand and tossed it casually into a nearby ravine, where it landed with a satisfying, distant crunch.
"There," Sky Lynx noted, shaking the red dust from his wings with a theatrical flourish. "I expect a formal thank-you in the daily logs. In triplicate. With a mention of my impeccable timing."
"Sir, yes sir," a clone sergeant stammered, staring up at the twenty-meter tall mechanical god.
For the next forty-eight hours, Sky Lynx became a one-beast reclamation crew. He used his Panther form to scout the deep, dark tunnels of the Geonosian hives, flushing out the remaining insurgent warriors with terrifying roars and precision shoulder-cannon fire. When the Republic needed to transport heavy artillery to the high ridges of the Stalgasin hive, Sky Lynx simply latched onto the walkers in his attached vehicle mode and carried them up four at a time, complaining the entire way about how the extra weight was "scuffing his magnificent underbelly."
The Hero's Welcome on Coruscant:
By the time the Resolute finally broke orbit and headed for the galactic capital, the legend of the "Golden Dragon of Geonosis" had already outpaced the ship. HoloNet news feeds were flooded with grainy footage of a giant, winged walker crushing droid tanks and breathing blue fire. The public, terrified by the sudden outbreak of war, was desperate for a hero. They didn't want a faceless army of clones; they wanted a miracle they could look up to.
As the Resolute entered Coruscant's atmosphere, the skyline was crowded. Thousands of civilian air-speeders and news droids hovered near the military landing platforms. The city-planet's endless layers of lights seemed to dim in comparison to the anticipation of the crowd.
"Master Yoda," Sky Lynx's voice crackled over the ship's internal comms, dripping with smug satisfaction. "I trust the landing platform has been reinforced? I would hate to collapse a piece of the capital on my first day. It would be a touch dramatic, even for me."
"Reinforced, it is," Yoda replied from the bridge, a weary but amused smile on his face. "Ready for you, Coruscant is. Expecting a show, they are."
The hangar doors of the Resolute slid open. Usually, the Jedi and clones would disembark via standard ramps, but Sky Lynx had no interest in being "standard." He leaped from the hangar while the ship was still three hundred feet above the platform.
He shifted mid-air—the Vulture and Panther components separating for a brief, terrifying moment of mechanical ballet before recombining into the Dragon—and slammed onto the landing pad of the Republic Executive Building with a shockwave that rattled the windows of the Senate.
The crowd went silent.
Standing there, his blue and grey armor gleaming under the late afternoon sun of Coruscant, Sky Lynx flexed his wings. The gold trim caught the light, casting a brilliant radiance over the gathered senators and citizens.
"Citizens of the Republic!" Sky Lynx announced, his voice amplified by his internal speakers to reach every hovering news droid. "Your anxieties are at an end! The Magnificent Sky Lynx has arrived to ensure that this 'Separatist' nonsense is handled with the grace, power, and—most importantly—the style that only I can provide!"
A roar of cheers erupted from the lower levels, a tidal wave of sound that seemed to shake the very spires of the city.
The Jedi Temple:
Later that evening, Sky Lynx was invited to the Jedi Temple. Because of his size, he couldn't enter the internal chambers, so the Council met him on the grand High Council balcony.
Sky Lynx sat on the edge of the massive stone structure, his tail-cannon hanging over the edge of the Coruscant depths. He looked at the towering spires of the Temple with a critical eye, his sensors picking up the ancient, humming energy of the place.
"It's a bit... austere, isn't it?" Sky Lynx remarked to Obi-Wan Kenobi, who was standing on the balcony looking up at the dragon's snout. "A few gold leaf accents and perhaps some better lighting would do wonders for the morale of your 'younglings.' It currently smells of ancient dust and repressed emotions. I could recommend a few Cybertronian architects who specialize in 'Grandeur.'"
"We prefer to focus on the Force, Sky Lynx," Obi-Wan replied with a dry smile. "Not interior design. Though I suspect you and Master Windu might have a long discussion about 'repressed emotions' later."
"The Force," Sky Lynx mused, his optics dimming slightly as he looked out at the city lights. "A fascinating energy. I can feel it humming through my new circuits. It's almost as persistent as my own ego, though far less articulate."
"An achievement, that would be," Mace Windu noted, stepping forward. "The Senate is already debating your status. Some see you as a weapon. Others see you as a sentient citizen. What do you see yourself as, Sky Lynx?"
The dragon turned his head, the "Wampa" nose art looking particularly fierce in the moonlight.
"I am the Magnificent Sky Lynx," he stated, as if it were the only fact that mattered in the universe. "I am the bridge between the machine and the soul. And as long as this galaxy provides me with a stage worthy of my talents, I shall be its protector. But do tell the Chancellor that if he expects me to sit in a garage, he is going to be very, very disappointed."
As the Jedi watched him, they realized that while they had gained a powerful ally, they had also invited a variable into their world that followed no Master, no Sith, and no Jedi. Sky Lynx was his own North Star, and the Clone Wars had just become significantly more complicated.