It's the first battlefield of this war that he's actually seen.
His master's grand plan come to fruition without him.
The droids and soldiers throw themselves at each other across the open no man's land. Figures falling on either side. Neither understanding the great experiment they're participating in.
Maul watches the battle from a higher vantage point. Watching the pawns play their part.
The battle grows in intensity, the fleshy soldiers outwitting their inferior enemy but taking heavy casualties from the sheer number of droids against them.
There's a crescendo somewhere across the other side of the battle. Far from his vantage point buildings explode, tanks rip to shreds under blasts. Shields drop across the battle.
The droids fall.
The troopers may not count this as a win, however.
They drag themselves back across captured points to pop up camps. The kind used to treat the wounded and feed the starving. Even more temporary than the transportable barracks and tents arranged several miles away.
In the absence of the fury he felt at being left out of this phase of the grand plan, there's curiosity. He knows there much to be learned from this experiment.
He could see that from on high. And now he wants a closer look.
His new legs carry him swiftly down rocky slopes to the soggy wet terrain where the medics struggle to keep their cots from sinking.
Armored troops drag each other from place to place organizing themselves. Shoving dried food squares under their helmets as they repair their weapons.
There's a hush that travels quickly across the camp as he enters. His face isn't nearly as famous as it had been before his supposed death nearly a decade ago. But his stature and tattoos have never failed to communicate danger.
A trooper attempts to stop him. "This is a GAR military post, please exit the area."
He pays the man no mind, dodges the cautioning hand, and walks deeper into the crowd.
There's a feeling in the force. Something entirely too bright and vivid to not be a jedi.
He knows they must have felt him because there's the sound of soldiers' voices raising in alarm, the sound of many blasters being readied.
The light spot flares, probing him.
From the med tent emerges a child. A young girl. Togruta. Lean build. Two sabers on her hips. No jedi robes.
He weighs the capability of a barely trained padawan separated from her master with what he knows of togruta females. Excellent hunters, famed jaw strength and sharp teeth, high stamina and agility, excellent hearing.
She is injured, her arm wrapped in bandages. She's also standing like a soldier. Not a jedi. Arms resting on her sabers at her hips, shoulders back, feet spread in an at attention stance.
The troopers beside her have their blasters trained on him.
Her eyes are calculating. Sharp. They roam his face with the barest hint of familiarity in them.
"Who are you, Sith?" She asks plainly. Overtly so. No malice in her voice.
His gold eyes could have given him away to the rest of the camp. It was likely his force signature that had tipped her off though.
"Former Sith." He replies just as plainly.
She doesn't say anything else. Let's the silence stew between them for a moment.
Impressive social awareness for a padawan so young. No hints of youthful impatience in her.
He remembers the flashes of sabers from the battle as he had observed it from above. A lone jedi. Disabling tanks and shield arrays across this sector of the battlefield. Impressive battle prowess for a jedi. He expected to find a great dualist to challenge.
Instead, he stands before a padawan and wonders if this is the forces answer to another problem of his all together.
A jedi so well versed in saber combat wasn't the norm when he was still hunting them. Only dualists had any real skill with their weapons.
Then there was the matter of her signature. It was bright in the light side undoubtedly. He wondered if it could be just as intense in the dark. Burn as strong on his side. There was something very ancient about the way she felt in the force. Like old magic. Like something close to whatever great source the witches pulled from.
He was more than intrigued. So he decided to give in and break the silence between them.
"Who are you?"
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"I asked you first."
Another silence fell between them for several beats before she broke it.
"I am padawan learner and Commander Ahsoka Tano. I ask again, Who are you?"
"You're very good with a saber Lady Tano. How old are you?"
She did not respond to his question, her hand made a subtle shift into what was likely a signal.
No soldier shot at him however, so he suspected it wasn't an order to attack.
"Who is your master?" He asked her. "They must have taught you well. You're more disciplined than I'd expect from a padawan. More skilled than many knights I have fought. Even some masters."
There is no shift in her expression. No hint of fear in the force.
"I am looking for an apprentice you see, and you've impressed me today."
There's the creak of plastiod as soldiers grip their blasters too tightly. He ignored them.
"Your leadership skills are admiral, your control of the force more so. You fight with the vigor of one of my dear sisters."
Still no response from the girl.
"I am no sith you see. I was once, years ago, but I've since seen the errors of that order. I have plans for something new, better. An empire of the dark without the nonsense fallings of the Sith order and their never ending feud with the Jedi"
"I am not dark", the girl responds at last. "I won't fall."
"Have you not already?" He asked. It was a shot in the dark but there's was something so familiar about the way she felt in the force. Ancient, primordial. Like simthing he'd glimpsed in the fires of spell work with the concentrated darkness coursing through him.
There's a crack in her mask. Shock and fear, maybe even guilt filter through.
He tastes triumph on his tongue for a moment before he feels it, something else in the force. A burning presence, intense like a solar flair and speeding for them.
"Hmm, Skywalker. How unfortunate."
He inclines his head ever so slightly in ingrained habit, the way you always address a girl on his homeworld.
Then he backs away from the camp. No need to make a move on an apprentice now. Even if it was one he wanted. He was sure he'd get another chance.
