A lone individual stared out of the rear viewport of the massive warship’s bridge, disconsolately surveying the receding scene. Despite commanding all the firepower and majesty of a powerful, relatively new Star Destroyer, itself surrounded by dozens of other warships also under his flag, he felt vulnerable, wounded, drained. The Mon Mothma’s bridge was no comfort to him, not when he considered what had been lost, what had been left behind. Though to the rest of the crew, he kept his features appropriately heavy, yet schooled behind rigid emotional restraint, that mask now slipped. His brows were knitted together in anguish as he gazed back at the location of the New Republic’s latest defeat. Age and stress had made their mark on his face, and he bore the strain on every battle, every tens