Author's Note: Just wanna give a quick irl update, certain difficulties have arisen but I am pushing through them as best as I can, in the meantime this story is still important to me as are all of its readers. Enjoy!
A terrible turn of events! After a daring assault on the First Order, Jedi Outcast Kyle Katarn has been captured, his fate uncertain. As the First Order tightens its grip, Jedi Grandmaster Rey Skywalker considers her next move…
Rey sat cross-legged in the center of her meditation pod, her eyes closed, her breathing paced. The chamber was silent, save for the faint hum of nature outside the pod, a sound that faded into the background as she fell deeper into meditation. Her mind, however, was anything but calm.
The image of Kyle and Ragnar's departure lingered, a bold, reckless mission that was well beyond the scope of anything she had anticipated. Kyle had insisted on taking the risk, and she has stayed behind, by her own choice. It had felt wrong to let him go alone, but in her current state, she would be more of a liability, slowing him down when he needed to move fast.
Rey let out a slow breath, trying to center herself. Given who Kyle was, he would pull through. He had proven to be resilient and resourceful, traits that had allowed him to survive against overwhelming odds. She wanted to believe he could succeed, but doubts still lingered.
The more she tried to reach the truth of it, the more another thought rose to the surface, a growing suspicion that had shadowed her since she first heard of him. Who was Kyle Katarn, really? His skills, his determination, his very presence in the Force felt like a contradiction to everything she understood about the Jedi of the past. As she'd gotten to know him, suspicion had evolved into something else, something undefined. Trust? Curiosity? Perhaps fascination.
Rey shook her head slightly, trying to refocus. Her breath steadied as she embraced the Force once more, the weight of her doubts falling away. The objects around her, small chairs, data pads, and her lightsaber hilt began to float gently, suspended by her presence. The Force rippled through the chamber, echoing the stillness she sought.
She closed her eyes tighter, determined to push past the uncertainty and let the Force guide her once more. Kyle was still out there—alive, fighting. She had to believe that. And when the time came, she would be ready to act.
Rey's breathing deepened, her focus intensifying. She stretched out with her mind, letting the Force flow freely, its currents guiding her senses far beyond the confines of the meditation pod. The hum of nature outside faded further, replaced by a vast, ethereal expanse—an almost tangible void where emotions, whispers, and distant echoes mingled.
She sought clarity, a glimmer of Kyle's presence among the haze of the Force. Her mind strained, elevated to a higher state, senses stretching thin in search of some sign, some pulse that would confirm he was still there. But the darkness of the unknown remained. The farther she reached, the more her surroundings seemed to blur.
Then, faintly, a voice. It was distant, almost indistinguishable—a mere whisper cutting through the void. Rey's brow furrowed, her heart quickening as she tried to grasp it.
"Who…?" she murmured, focusing harder.
But the voice grew fainter, slipping further away, like an echo in a canyon. Her frustration rose, but she forced it down, trying to maintain calm. She couldn't let the emotions cloud her focus. The Force was calling to her, and she needed to listen.
Suddenly, the whisper became a desperate cry, a sharp shout that pierced through her trance, breaking past her mental barriers:
"Rey!"
She gasped, her eyes snapping open wide, heart racing. The voice was unmistakable, even if long thought lost.
"Ben…" she breathed, the name escaping her lips before she could stop it. The shock and confusion of the moment disoriented her, and she tried to reach out again, hoping to grasp onto the thread of that voice.
But before she could focus further, a rough, jarring shake wrenched her back to reality. Rey felt herself pulled harshly from the trance, the physical world snapping back into clarity as she tumbled forward, disoriented and hitting the ground.
Her senses spun, and her vision blurred for a moment. When it cleared, she found herself face-to-face with Hexa, a female Mandalorian whose scarred helmet hovered inches from Rey's face, visor dark and unreadable. The urgency in Hexa's voice was palpable.
"Rey!" Hexa shouted, her tone sharp, her hands still gripping Rey's shoulders, "Ragnar's returned!"
Rey's eyes widened, still trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the last few moments. Her voice was hoarse with urgency, "What about Kyle? Is he with him? Is he-"
Hexa's silence was telling. The Mandalorian's grip loosened, her head lowering slightly.
"Ragnar's alone," Hexa finally said, her voice heavy.
Rey's heart sank, her uncertainty returning with force.
Kyle's world was a swirl of disjointed sensations. The pain from the earlier battle was still fresh, but the specifics of it seemed distant, blurred. His surroundings were nothing but a haze of dark metal walls and dim lighting, broken only by the faint glow of neon panels passing by in a blur. His body felt heavy, bound and barely responsive, as muffled voices echoed around him.
"Subjects… protocol must be followed."
"Activate the serum. Immediate results are necessary."
The words floated in and out of Kyle's consciousness, half-formed thoughts struggling to make sense of the disjointed phrases. The voices seemed to be speaking directly over him, yet they felt miles away.
He tried to focus, but everything was hazy. In the midst of it all, the imposing silhouette of Tempest loomed above him, the commander's grey armor a menacing presence even in the murkiness of Kyle's vision. There was no speaking between them, only the steady rhythm of Tempest's heavy footsteps as they moved through the dim corridors.
Then, there was nothing.
Darkness enveloped Kyle again, and he felt the grip of unconsciousness tightening. When he awoke moments later, or maybe hours, he couldn't tell, the surroundings had changed. It was colder now, the hum of machinery louder. The sounds were clearer, sharper: the clink of restraints, the hiss of hydraulics, murmured discussions he couldn't quite make out. Kyle tried to open his eyes wider, but they felt impossibly heavy. He only managed brief glimpses of shadowed figures moving about, their intentions unclear.
He faded again, the world dissolving into a black void.
When Kyle's awareness returned, he found himself somewhere else entirely—an empty void above what seemed to be a vast, transparent walkway suspended in space. Stars surrounded him, twinkling in the endless black like a sea of distant flames. He was standing now, his body unbound and unharmed. The battle-worn exhaustion was gone, replaced by a strange clarity, a weightless calm.
Kyle looked down, his reflection clear on the glassy surface beneath his feet. His clothes were intact, as if untouched by the events that had led to his capture. He stared at his hands, flexing them and feeling the surreal realness of the place, though he remained unfazed. He had seen visions like this before.
"Haven't had one of these in a while," Kyle muttered to himself, his tone casual despite the circumstances.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called out from behind him, carrying a warm, amused undertone, "You always seem to have a witty remark ready, don't you?"
Kyle's heart quickened slightly, but he kept his composure. He knew that voice.
Turning, he saw the figure of Luke Skywalker standing a few paces away. He looked different from the man Kyle had known in the past, his beard was fuller, his hair grayer, and his robes were different, white and exuding a serene, aged wisdom. There was a calmness in his eyes that spoke of someone who had come to peace with many things.
Kyle smiled faintly, a mix of warmth and disbelief crossing his features, "And you always seem to show up when you're least expected."
Luke chuckled, stepping closer, his presence both reassuring and surreal, "I suppose some things never change."
The two stood face-to-face, both silent for a moment. Kyle, though familiar with visions of Force apparitions, found this encounter stranger than most, even more so than the one he had had on Ahch-To.
Kyle broke the silence, his voice steady, "You're not the Luke I knew, are you?"
Luke's smile softened, his eyes carrying a mix of wisdom and mystery, "Perhaps not," he acknowledged, nodding gently.
"But I do know of you, Kyle Katarn."
Kyle took this in, a mix of curiosity and acceptance in his gaze.
"Where are we, exactly?" he asked, his voice edged with genuine confusion.
Luke's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief, "Asking that only leads to more questions, Kyle."
Kyle huffed slightly, amused despite himself. He began walking alongside Luke on the transparent walkway, his senses still trying to make sense of the surreal void surrounding them. Stars glittered in every direction, a cosmic ocean stretching into infinity.
"You could call this a galaxy of galaxies," Luke explained as they moved forward, "A place that exists separate from both your world and mine, but with pathways, windows you could say, that can lead to either."
The vastness around them pulsed with a quiet energy, the stars shifting subtly with each step they took. The reality of where they were began to settle in Kyle's mind, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe mixed with a strange sense of being overwhelmed. He had heard vague legends of realms that connected time and space, or that may have lived isolated from it but nothing like this.
"A world between worlds…" he muttered to himself, trying to piece it together.
Luke gave him a knowing smile, "You're not wrong, Kyle. But understanding this place isn't as simple as knowing its existence. It's a realm of possibilities, one that transcends both of our worlds."
Kyle stopped, looking around the vast, ethereal space, "I knew I wasn't in my own universe," he admitted, "Took me a while to accept that."
Luke nodded, a faint smile crossing his face, "It took you longer than I expected," he said warmly. "But I understand. When I first found myself here, I didn't know how to take it, either."
Kyle's brow furrowed, and he asked, "But how did I get here in the first place? I mean, to your world?"
Luke's expression shifted, a touch of uncertainty flashing in his eyes, "That's something I can't answer," he admitted. "There's so much that neither of us knows, Kyle. The Force works in ways that are beyond us, there are forces at play here far older and greater than you and me..."
Kyle nodded slowly, sensing the truth in Luke's words. It was a humbling realization, yet it didn't bring him any closer to understanding why he was here, in this unfamiliar galaxy, in this new reality.
"But there's one thing I do know," Luke continued, his voice taking on a quieter, more assured tone, "You have a purpose here, Kyle. I can feel it."
Kyle's gaze fell, uncertainty and weariness etched on his features. "I've only created chaos since I arrived," he confessed, a heaviness in his voice, "I don't know if I belong here, or if I even have the right to be here."
Placing a firm but gentle hand on Kyle's shoulder Luke's eyes held an empathetic understanding, his expression both gentle and earnest, "I once felt the same way," he said quietly, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and hard-earned wisdom, "Rey didn't tell you, but I failed in rebuilding the Jedi Order in my world. My choices led to suffering, darkness, and a deeper wound in the Force than I ever imagined possible."
Kyle listened attentively.
"But I also realized," Luke continued, his voice regaining its strength, "that the failures of the past don't define the future. I guided Rey toward a different path and now, Kyle, it's your turn to guide and help right the wrongs of this world."
Kyle felt a surge of resolve mixed with lingering doubt. He looked into Luke's eyes, finding a sincerity that cut through the uncertainties swirling within him.
"Maybe," Kyle replied quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "Maybe I can…"
Luke's smile grew warmer, a silent encouragement, "You already have, Kyle. You just need to see it for yourself."
Kyle gasped as he was ripped back to consciousness, the serene void vanishing instantly. Pain surged through his body, his mind struggling to adjust from the sudden jolt back to harsh reality. He was bound tightly to a cold metal chair, his face bruised and his clothes bloodied, evidence of a beating that had left him disoriented and weakened.
He looked around frantically, taking in his surroundings. Dim lights cast a sterile, metallic sheen over the small interrogation chamber, and the hum of machinery buzzed ominously in the background. The pain from his injuries seeped into every muscle, every nerve, grounding him in the moment. He closed his eyes briefly, steadying his breath as he tried to process his situation.
Then, a soft voice spoke behind him, low and composed, almost too calm, "Good. He's awake." Footsteps echoed as the speaker approached.
Struggling to focus, Kyle squinted, watching as a man dressed in dark attire and a flowing cape came into view, circling him like a predator sizing up its prey. His appearance immediately spoke of authority, his gaze sharp and calculating. Moving just behind him was a woman, clearly a scientist, her white and gray uniform pristine in stark contrast to the man's austere, intimidating attire.
The man's gaze bore into Kyle with cold intensity, studying him in silence before turning slightly toward the scientist, "Are they activated?"
The woman nodded briskly, "Yes, Governor Rylik. Detection mode is at 85%. The margin of error should subside momentarily."
Governor Rylik gave a single nod, satisfaction evident in his expression. He seemed almost pleased, as if each word she spoke was further validation of some private success. He cast his gaze back to Kyle, his eyes flickering with a glint of calculated malice.
Kyle held Rylik's gaze with a cold, unwavering stare, a flicker of contempt visible even through the fresh blood trickling from his brow.
Rylik noticed Kyle's silent defiance and let out a low chuckle, an amused smirk forming as he unfastened his cape, "You have quite the spirit, Jedi. I was almost hoping for more of a struggle." He spoke with a calm, unhurried demeanor as he removed the dark fabric, handing it to the woman beside him, "Thank you, Dr. Layna, you may leave…" he said, his tone shifting to one of formal acknowledgment.
Dr. Layna gave a quick nod, sparing only a brief glance at Kyle as she turned to leave, her eyes flickering with something indecipherable—perhaps curiosity, perhaps caution. She disappeared from sight, the door hissing shut behind her.
Rylik turned his attention to a nearby table, he unfastened his belt, the blaster holstered at his hip clinking softly as he set it on the table and turned over to a set of cabinets, opening them up, his back behind Kyle. Kyle's eyes traced the blaster, noting the slight tilt of its position and its proximity to him.
"Dr. Layna," Rylik continued, speaking almost to himself as he pulled something out from the cabinet, "young, like me, but sharp and efficient. And flexible." He smiled to himself, as if sharing an inside joke, "That's what the First Order lacked, you know, flexibility. They clung to old Imperial tactics, rigid, predictable, always seeking scapegoats."
Kyle kept his silence, his eyes subtly darting back to the holstered blaster on the table and to Rylik.
Rylik continued speaking, seemingly unperturbed by Kyle's lack of response, "I wasn't raised in the Empire. I grew up under the New Republic," he said, his tone reflective. "And while my older colleagues chased the ideals of an empire they once knew, I've seen both sides. I know the Republic's weaknesses as well as its strengths."
Kyle's fingers twitched imperceptibly, biding his time as Rylik adjusted something out of view, his movements growing slower, almost contemplative.
Rylik continued his monologue, his voice calm and almost detached as he recounted the First Order's past actions, "The attack on Hosnian Prime, the fall at Exegol... remnants of the old regime's arrogance. When the First Order crumbled, I was left to rebuild. No empire, no grand fleet, just fragments." He shook his head, almost as if lamenting the burden, but his tone suggested a hint of pride at what he had accomplished since.
But Kyle wasn't listening. His focus was entirely on the blaster resting on the table, his mind honing in on it, stretching his connection with the Force to subtly bring it closer. His breathing slowed, his mind steadying as he concentrated.
The blaster moved, just slightly.
Suddenly, a brutal surge of electricity coursed through him, seizing every muscle in his body. His teeth clenched as his body convulsed against the restraints, his skin burning with the relentless, searing pain. He tried to hold back a scream but couldn't; the shock tore through him with unrelenting pain, leaving him gasping when it finally ceased.
Kyle's head slumped forward, his breath ragged and labored. Every nerve felt raw, his vision spotted with pain. Through his blurred gaze, he saw Rylik approach, a smile creeping onto his face as he observed the Jedi's weakened state.
"Well, well," Rylik chuckled, circling closer, "it appears the nanites are doing their job. Impressive work, Dr. Layna. Her ingenuity never ceases to amaze me." His tone dripped with admiration, a cold satisfaction in his words.
Kyle struggled to lift his head, his voice a strained whisper as he forced out the words, "What… what the hell did you do to me?"
Rylik's smirk grew, his eyes gleaming with twisted pride, "Oh, just a little something to keep you in line, Jedi. A precaution, courtesy of the good doctor's work. Those nanites flowing through your bloodstream now? Let's just say they're designed to dampen... certain tendencies of yours." He leaned in, his voice a low, mocking drawl, "You may be strong in the Force, Katarn, but in here, you're just another subject. And soon enough, you'll learn that even Jedi can be controlled, just like any other thing..."
Polina sat huddled in the far corner of the room, her arms wrapped around her knees, tuning out the lively chatter of the other children around her. She could barely focus on anything but the chaos in her own mind, memories swirling—fragmented moments of her time with Kyle, his calm guidance, and the strange and powerful sensations that had emerged within her.
She thought of that moment with Saj-Tel, her heart pounding as she recalled the way the whole chamber had trembled. Her stomach twisted at the memory, uncertain whether it had even been the Force she'd tapped into or something else entirely. Whatever it was, she had felt a surge of raw power, a strength that was both exhilarating and terrifying. In that moment, she'd felt as though she could have torn the entire Star Destroyer apart with her bare hands if she had wanted to.
Her gaze fell to her own hand, fingers trembling slightly as she studied it, almost as if it belonged to someone else. Was that power truly inside her? And if so… what did it mean? She felt a creeping fear, an unease at the idea that something so unpredictable, so immense, could be lurking within her.
Silently, she closed her hand into a fist, trying to steady herself, hoping to bury the doubts that had taken root. But the fear lingered, an ever-present shadow that left her wondering just who she was becoming.
"Polina…"
Polina's thoughts were interrupted by a gentle voice, calling her name. She blinked, barely managing to look up and find Yuna standing nearby, her face soft with understanding. "Everything will be fine, Polina," Yuna murmured, a reassuring smile touching her lips.
Polina managed a small, wry smile back at Yuna, taking in the warmth of her friend's reassurance. But the moment was broken by a snicker from across the room.
"Well, look who's scared," Sin's voice cut through, his tone laced with a mocking edge. The older boy leaned back, smirking as he eyed Polina. "What's the matter, newbie? Missing your mommy and daddy already?"
He laughed, the sound sharp and cold, and a few of the other kids glanced over, a mix of curiosity and discomfort in their eyes. Yuna shot him a look of irritation, her gaze narrowing as she spoke, "Leave her alone, Sin. Not everyone's like you."
Sin just shrugged, still grinning, clearly unbothered. Polina looked down, trying to shake off his words, but the doubt lingered, like a shadow that refused to fade.
Yuna turned back to her, her voice steady. "It'll be fine, Polina. Just stick with me, okay?"
Polina met Yuna's gaze, trying to hold onto her friend's confidence, "I… I don't know, Yuna," she murmured, glancing down at her hands for a moment. She looked back up, her eyes trying to call for some resilience, "I guess we'll just have to try and make it."
Yuna nodded, a soft smile tugging at her lips, "That's the spirit."
Polina's expression remained uncertain. She opened her mouth, thoughts swirling as she considered confiding in Yuna, telling her about the strange power she had felt, the way she had nearly lost herself in it. But before she could gather the words, the ship gave a sudden, subtle lurch, followed by a distinct feeling of descent.
"We're… landing?" Polina murmured, glancing around as the other children exchanged nervous glances, clearly unsure of what was happening.
The hum of engines lowered, and an air of tension settled over the group. Then, with a hiss, the door to the side of the bay slid open, revealing two armored Mandalorians who moved to stand at attention, forming a rigid guard. They were soon followed by Protector Saj-Tel and Jexton, their stride determined as they entered the cargo hold. The children quieted, their expressions ranging from curious to puzzled as they watched the figures enter.
Yuna offered a steadying hand to Polina, helping her to her feet. They joined the rest of the children in a loose line, eyes focused on the two Mandalorian as they now stood before them. Polina could feel her heart quicken slightly, unsure of what was to come.
Saj-Tel's visor swept over the gathered children, her stance still and contemplative, as if appraising each of them. Her posture was calm, unreadable, a silent scrutiny that seemed to weigh each child without a word. Beside her, Jexton stood with his arms crossed, his gaze flicking toward the still shut ramp door every so often, his body language revealed a clear impatience to leave the confines of the ship. But he remained respectfully silent, letting Saj-Tel lead the proceedings.
After a moment, Saj-Tel finally spoke, "Congratulations," she began, her tone solemn, "You've all made it here, against the odds." She paused, letting her words sink in, before continuing with a bluntness that sent a chill through Polina, "But understand this: it was fate that brought you to this point, nothing more. From here on out, it will be your own iron will that determines if you survive, if you thrive… or if you fall."
A few children shifted nervously, and Saj-Tel's helmet tilted, catching their reactions, "Some of you will make it," she continued, "Others will not. And some, possibly, will die. That is the reality of the path you've been given."
A murmur rippled through the group, but Saj-Tel's tone remained as unyielding as the armor she wore. "But know this: you are all serving an honorable cause, something greater than any of us. And with time, you'll come to see that for yourselves."
The ship's ramp began to lower with a mechanical hiss, and the blinding light of the sun poured in, forcing Polina and the others to squint against the sudden brightness. Saj-Tel's voice echoed in the hold, firm and unwavering. "Welcome to Bastion."
With that, Saj-Tel turned and stepped down the ramp, Jexton following, his impatience now giving way to a purposeful stride. The other two armored guards gestured for the children to follow, herding them toward the exit and out into the sunlight. Polina blinked, her eyes adjusting to the harsh light as she stepped forward, her heart pounding with fear and a small glimmer of resolve.
Kyle's muscles still spasmed from the residual sting of the shock, his breaths coming in ragged gulps as he tried to steady himself. Governor Rylik's thin smile only widened, a gleam of twisted satisfaction in his eyes as he removed his jacket, setting it meticulously on the nearby table, then slipped on a clinical gown with an almost ritualistic precision.
"The Jedi…" Rylik began, his tone thoughtful, as though he were delivering a lecture rather than interrogating a prisoner. "They've always fascinated me. Every time they're nearly wiped from existence, they find a way to rise again. Like a fire that refuses to be quenched."
He paused, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, then continued with a hint of admiration in his voice, "Many find that persistence frustrating. But me? I've always seen it as admirable. Resilience in the face of eradication, a spirit that refuses to die." He smiled briefly, as if enjoying a private thought, "Take the Battle of Morrow's Respite, for instance. The Jedi turned the tide against the Mandalorians when the Republic was certain to fail. They saved the galaxy from yet another calamity."
Kyle's narrowed gaze followed every movement, his lips pressed in a thin line. He didn't care for the ostentatious monologue, and he was sure Rylik knew it.
Noticing Kyle's expression, Rylik chuckled, "Ah, forgive me. Here I am, boring you with history and… myself."
Kyle's expression didn't waver, "Trust me, Governor. I've heard enough self-indulgent talk from Imperial pricks to last me a lifetime and then some."
Rylik laughed, the sound echoing in the stark room, "Well, I can't say I didn't expect that," he said with a nod, as if Kyle's retort had somehow pleased him. "But I think it's important for you to know certain things, Katarn. After all…" He leaned in closer, his tone dropping, "You're not even from this world, are you?"
Kyle's stomach tightened, but he kept his face impassive. So this man knew or thought he knew where Kyle truly came from. But if Rylik wanted him rattled, he'd be disappointed.
"Congratulations," Kyle drawled, his voice laced with sarcasm, "At least you got one thing right. I'm from Sulon."
Rylik pressed a button on his gauntlet, and another jolt of electricity surged through Kyle's body. The pain tore through him, and he couldn't suppress a groan as his muscles seized up, his vision briefly flashing white. The shock passed quickly, but the agony lingered, leaving him gasping for air.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Katarn," Rylik scolded, wagging a finger mockingly, "Playing coy will only make this harder. I know plenty about you and I'd suggest you drop the act."
Kyle swallowed hard, steeling himself, but he wasn't about to give Rylik the satisfaction. He managed a tight smile, his voice hoarse but defiant. "So you know about me. Congratulations again, Governor. Half the galaxy does by now. Am I supposed to be impressed?"
Rylik raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Kyle's continued defiance, "Oh, believe me, Katarn, I find your act entertaining. But I know far more about you than you think, information far beyond what the Republic's bounty boards or Jedi records say."
Kyle gritted his teeth, his breathing labored, "Surprise me, then," he spat.
Rylik's expression softened into an almost fatherly smile, as though he were humoring a stubborn child, "Very well. You knew Luke Skywalker. You were a close confidant of his, weren't you?"
Kyle snorted, "I told that to the Jedi when I got to them," he replied dismissively, "Nice try."
Rylik's smile remained unperturbed, "Yes, you did tell them that much," he conceded, "but you never told them about the Yuuzhan Vong. You never told them you served as a stormtrooper… or that your memories of this galaxy don't match reality, or rather your reality."
Kyle's face began to lose its defiance, replaced with a flicker of uncertainty. Rylik's eyes glinted with satisfaction as he continued.
"Even the people you knew… your lover, 'Jan,' wasn't it? She didn't recognize you, did she?"
At the mention of Jan's name, something snapped in Kyle. He strained violently against his restraints, muscles taut and veins bulging as he fought against the chair. His eyes blazed with fury as he tried to free himself, every inch of him alive with rage and frustration.
Rylik took a step back, unfazed by the outburst, "Yes, Katarn. I know you. I know you don't belong in this reality." He then leaned in, his voice barely more than a whisper but filled with insidious intent, "And I know you hold the key to the one thing I want more than anything: the power of time itself."
Kyle kept struggling, teeth clenched, attempted through sheer strength to rip himself off the restraints. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't break free.
Rylik's amusement didn't wane as he took a step back, watching Kyle's fury with something close to admiration. "Don't be so angry with me, Katarn," he said mockingly "You should be thanking your partner in crime."
With that, Rylik moved to the table, where an object lay covered in a drape. Slowly, he removed the cloth, revealing the charred remains of AD-10. The droid's casing was damaged, wires frayed, and the photoreceptors dark and hollow.
Kyle's fury turned to horror as he stared at the wreckage of his once-loyal companion. The sight cut deeper than any taunt or torment Rylik could have inflicted. The governor's smirk grew wider, clearly relishing Kyle's reaction.
"AD-10 was more than helpful," Rylik said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction, "After all, the droid knew things even you had forgotten."
With a sudden jolt, Kyle's chair began to shift, tilting backward as metal clasps around his neck snapped shut with a loud clank, pinning him into place. He was now immobilized, forced into a prone position. Instinctively, he tried to summon the Force, to reach for anything to free himself, but then another surge of electricity, his muscles contracted painfully as the current tore through him.
Breathless and battered, he glared up at Rylik, his fury only barely contained beneath the pain.
The governor's smile had faded, replaced by a cold empty gaze. He stepped closer, his fingers brushing the controls on his gauntlet, "Enough of child's play, Katarn," he said, his voice devoid of any earlier amusement. "Now we play the game of ask and tell. I ask, and you tell."
"Let's start simple," he continued, his tone icy, "How did you access this dimension?"
Kyle's jaw clenched, a seething fire in his eyes. Without missing a beat, he responded with a low, venomous murmur, "Go to hell."
Rylik's eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smile ghosted across his face. Without a word, he pressed down on his gauntlet's button.
Agony tore through Kyle's body as another wave of electricity coursed through him. His muscles twisted, his back arched against the restraints, and he let out an involuntary scream, the pain searing into every fiber of his being. The shock persisted for several agonizing moments before it finally subsided, leaving him gasping for breath, his limbs quivering with the aftershocks.
Rylik leaned in once more, his face now devoid of any trace of amusement, "I can do this as long as it takes, Katarn. Shall we continue?"
Rey sat cross-legged near the fire circle, the flickering flames casting long shadows over the gathered Mandalorians. The scent of smoke mixed with the faint tang of blood from Ragnar, who sat a short distance away, his armor scorched and dented. Apax, the Mandalorian healer, worked diligently, cleaning and dressing Ragnar's wounds with swift efficiency. The steady murmur of Mandalorian voices filled the night air, their tones serious.
The conversation ebbed and flowed, mostly centered on the raid, Kyle's capture, and the mysterious container Ragnar had brought back.
"Was it worth it?" one of the younger Mandalorians muttered, his tone skeptical, "All this for a box that we don't even understand?"
Another replied with a sharp edge to their voice, "We got what we came for, didn't we? And that Jedi knew the risks."
Rey, seated slightly apart, listened in silence, her mind weighed down by Kyle's absence. The loss stung more than she expected, and she found herself replaying his confident departure over and over in her mind. She had trusted him to pull through, to succeed where others might falter. Now, all she could do was wonder where he was and if he was even alive.
Hexa, seated across the circle, spoke up, her voice cutting through the chatter with the authority of a leader, "We need to hunker down," she said firmly, "Keep out of sight. We wait until we know more before making our next move."
Rey's eyes lifted, her brow furrowing. The practicality of the statement was undeniable, but the implications weighed heavily on her, "And what about Kyle?" she asked, her voice breaking through the low hum of conversation.
Hexa's helmet turned toward Rey, the firelight glinting off its worn surface. When she spoke, her tone was blunt, even detached, "He's not Mandalorian," she said flatly. "We will leave in the morning for a new covert, our deal is settled."
The words felt like a blow. Rey's stomach churned, and for a moment, she couldn't find her voice. She looked around the circle, searching for any sign of dissent, but the Mandalorians remained silent. To them, it was simple, they had settled their side of the deal and any further risk would be a choice, not an obligation.
Rey's jaw tightened as she spoke, her voice firm, "He risked everything to help you. He didn't have to, but he did."
Hexa tilted her head slightly, her tone neutral, "And we brought back Ragnar and the cargo. The deal was help us and we've get you the information you sought, that's it."
Rey's frustration simmered beneath the surface. She wasn't sure if it was their pragmatism, their unwillingness to see beyond their immediate goals, or simply the weight of her own guilt gnawing at her.
Rey rose to her feet, having taken enough of the Mandalorians' apathy. "This is pointless," she said, her voice sharp but steady. She dusted herself off and adjusted her lightsaber hilt on her belt. Her gaze was resolute as she declared, "I'll go. I'll find Kyle and bring him back."
Hexa looked up from the circle, the firelight dancing off her helmet, "You'll die if you do," she said plainly. "The First Order facility is impenetrable, and you don't even know if he's still alive."
Rey didn't flinch. She turned her head slightly, echoing what Kyle had told her, "Doing the right thing is rarely easy, Hexa. If you won't help, I'll go alone."
Hexa rose to her feet and slowly she stepped into Rey's path, her armored figure blocking the Jedi's way. "I can't let you leave," she said firmly, her hand hovering near her holstered blaster. "If you're captured, you'll lead the First Order straight to us. I won't allow that risk."
Rey's hand instinctively moved to her lightsaber hilt, her eyes narrowing as she stared Hexa down, "Move, Hexa," she warned, her tone cold, "You don't want to do this."
As the tension around the fire grew, the other Mandalorians exchanged uneasy glances, hands twitching toward weapons as they watched the standoff. The flames crackled, but no one spoke, their focus glued to the two women poised on the brink of violence.
Hexa's fingers tightened near her blaster, her stance shifting into a defensive posture, "Don't make me stop you, Skywalker," she said evenly, her voice showing no fear.
The air was electric, bloodshed seeming imminent.
"Enough," a gravelly voice broke the tension.
All eyes turned to Ragnar, who grunted as he shifted against Apax's grip, pushing himself to stand despite the healer's protests. Slowly, he reached up and removed his blue helmet, revealing a sharp, weathered face. His features bore the marks of a life of battle with small scars etched across his forehead, and a faint stubble lining his jaw, messy hair dangling around his face. But most striking was the sorrow in his eyes, a vulnerability rarely seen in a Mandalorian.
"Stop this," Ragnar said, his voice low but showing conviction. He looked between Rey and Hexa, "Kyle saved my life."
Hexa hesitated, her hand freezing mid-motion as Ragnar took a step forward. The Mandalorians around the fire watched in stunned silence, their leader unmasked for the first time in years.
"He's a strong warrior," Ragnar continued, his voice cracking slightly. "And he's a good man. He didn't owe us anything, but he risked everything for me, for all of us." His eyes shifted to Rey, the sorrow in his expression deepening, "If Skywalker will go to rescue him…" Ragnar's jaw tightened, and he straightened his posture, ignoring the pain in his side, "Then so will I."
For a moment, silence lingered after Ragnar's words, the weight of his declaration settling over the gathered Mandalorians. Then, slowly, one of the warriors stood, a younger man with a defiant edge to his voice, "If Ragnar goes, I go."
"As will I…" another one rose.
Then another, "So will I."
Soon, the entire tribe was on their feet, their armor catching the firelight as they silently pledged their support. The circle of warriors stood resolute, a unified front ready to follow their leader.
Rey glanced around, her initial surprise giving way to a feeling of relief. These Mandalorians were a hardened people, but their loyalty to one another ran deeper than she had realized. Her gaze shifted to Hexa, whose face remained unreadable behind her helmet. For a long moment, Hexa didn't move, her posture rigid as she took in the scene.
Finally, Hexa exhaled, a subtle but noticeable shift in her stance. As a loyal follower of Ragnar, her choice was inevitable, "If we're going to do this," she said, her voice had a resigned but also pragmatic tone, "we'll need a plan. The First Order facility is a fortress. Getting in would take more than just guts," she paused, her tone hardening, "We'd need a miracle."
Ragnar reached for his helmet, sliding it back on, his voice emerging steady, "We don't need a miracle," he said plainly, almost with certainty.
Hexa and Rey exchanged perplexed glances, their confusion evident. Ragnar stepped closer to the fire, the light casting dramatic shadows across his blue and gray armor.
"We just need someone they'd let in," Ragnar said simply, as if he knew something they didn't.
Rey's brows furrowed as she tried to piece together his meaning, her mind racing through possibilities. Hexa, too, seemed caught off guard, her head tilting slightly as she considered his words.
Ragnar didn't elaborate, turning instead toward the assembled tribe, "We move at dawn. Be ready."
Rey watched him, still uncertain but feeling a flicker of hope rekindle in her chest.
Polina sat stiffly at the long, metallic table, her hands resting on either side of the untouched bowl in front of her. The meal, an unidentifiable stew-like substance, gave off a savory aroma that filled the air of the dining hall. Around her, the other children, dozens of them now, were busily eating, their chatter and scraping spoons creating a steady hum of noise. Some seemed nervous, others simply ravenous, digging into their food without a second thought.
The dining hall itself was vast, with high ceilings and an industrial design that matched the rest of Bastion. Overhead, the windowed ceiling allowed a view of the outside world. Polina's gaze drifted upward to the triangular silhouette of a massive Star Destroyer looming in the sky, its sheer scale both awe-inspiring and oppressive. It hung like a sentinel over the city.
She couldn't ignore the strange dichotomy of this place. Beyond the cold, oppressive walls and the constant hum of machinery, the wide blue skies held a semblance of beauty. She had glimpsed birds flying freely above as they arrived, their wings glinting in the sunlight. Those moments of natural life seemed fleeting, overshadowed by the towering structures, defensive walls, and the constant presence of ships bearing the First Order's design and now modified with the Mandalorian Mythosaur insignia.
Polina's eyes darted around the room, scanning the faces of the other children. Many were around her age, and several were older. Unlike her small group, who still wore the same clothes they'd arrived in, the other children had uniforms in various colors, indicating some kind of rank or role. Some wore green suits with white armbands, others navy blue with silver insignias, and a few older ones in red seemed to project a certain level of deference from the others. They ate their meals in a much more orderly fashion, without excitement or visibly signs of any kind of emotion, it was strange.
A pair of Mandalorian guards stood at the entrances, their helmeted gaze empty as they stood. Droids moved efficiently between tables, serving meals and collecting empty bowls with mechanical precision.
The children's voices drifted from Polina's thoughts, her mind wasn't on the food or the other kids. It was on the layout of the city, the placement of guards, the ships coming and going. She was piecing together fragments of information, observing everything with quiet determination.
Her fingers toyed idly with the edge of the table, her gaze fixed on the Star Destroyer above. It was a symbol of power, an imposing weapon of war, but it was also a vulnerability. She thought of Kyle, of the stories he had told her about his past and how he had faced impossible odds. She thought of her own unpredictable abilities, the force she had felt inside her. Could she even begin to imagine a way out of this place, or was it hopeless?
"We're safe, Polina," Yuna whispered with a faint smile, her voice cutting into Polina's inner thoughts, "You should eat something. You'll need your strength."
Polina's eyes flicked to her friend, her expression hesitant. Her hand drifted to the spoon but didn't pick it up. "Yuna… don't you think it's weird?" she asked, her voice low but filled with urgency, "Look around. There are so many kids here. Why? And what's with the uniforms?"
Yuna followed Polina's gaze, her expression softening as she took in the sight of the other children, particularly the older ones in their neatly pressed green, blue, and red uniforms. It was clear that there was some kind of hierarchy.
Polina pressed on, her voice growing a touch louder, "And the droids… the guards… Doesn't any of this bother you? This isn't normal."
Several of the kids from her small group turned to listen, their own curiosity piqued by her words. However, before Yuna could respond, Sin rolled his eyes and leaned forward, his voice dripping with annoyance.
"Shut up and eat," he snapped, gesturing at her untouched bowl with his spoon, "They've given us good food, a roof over our heads, and no one's yelling at us to work. I'm loving it here. You should too, don't ruin it for the rest of us."
Polina bristled at Sin's dismissal but held her tongue. She turned back to Yuna, who gave her a measured look.
"I get it," Yuna said, her voice quieter this time, "It's… weird. But what choice do we have? If this is where we are now, we have to make it work. For all of us."
Polina wanted to argue, but before she could say anything else, the sound of the hall's doors opening drew her attention.
A loud, modulated voice cut through the room, commanding instant attention.
"Stand."
The children in uniforms immediately obeyed, rising to their feet in perfect unison. The movement was so synchronized, so automatic, that it made Polina's group hesitate.
Polina looked around, confused, as did the others from her group. "What's going on?" she whispered, but no one had an answer.
Yuna nudged her arm, her own expression tense, "We should stand too."
Polina hesitated, her instincts screaming against blindly following orders, but she nodded reluctantly and stood. Her group followed suit, their movements slow and unsure compared to the rigid discipline of the uniformed children.
Suddenly a Mandalorian dressed in black armor entered first, his helmet tucked under his arm. His face, square and stern, carried the wear of years, faint lines of gray in his short facial hair adding to his air of authority. He surveyed the room briefly, his gaze cutting through the children with a sharpness that demanded obedience.
"All of you," he barked, his deep voice echoing off the metal walls, "Attention for your Mand'alor."
The uniformed children snapped even straighter, their movements so precise it seemed rehearsed. Polina's group fumbled to mimic them, glancing nervously at one another before standing rigid. Polina, however, couldn't help but let her curiosity take over as her eyes darted to the figure emerging from the open doors.
The figure that stepped into the hall was a sight to behold, towering and commanding in a way that made even the black-armored Mandalorian seem ordinary by comparison. His armor, a mix of gleaming silver and gold plating, caught the dim light, making him seem larger than life. Each plate bore intricate etchings, ancient Mandalorian designs that gave the impression of heritage and power. Draped over his shoulders was a furred cape, dark and rich, flowing just slightly above his boots as he walked.
Behind him trailed an entourage of Mandalorians, their armor varying in design but uniform in their disciplined demeanor. Saj-Tel was among them, her own bronze armor standing out within the formidable group.
Polina's heart pounded as she took in the sight of the Mand'alor. There was an undeniable gravity to him, a presence that seemed to fill every corner of the hall. For all her skepticism, for all her questioning of this place and its purpose, she couldn't deny the sheer magnetism of the figure before her.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to discern something, anything, from his movements, his posture, his armor. What kind of person could command this kind of respect, this kind of fear?
Polina barely caught snippets of murmured voices as the Mand'alor conferred with his entourage. She couldn't make out the words, but Saj-Tel's sharp tone stood out among the deeper voices. Resolute himself didn't speak loudly; his commands, if they were commands, came in measured and without question.
And then, as abruptly as he had entered, the Mand'alor turned and exited the hall, the entourage followed without hesitation, leaving only the black-armored Mandalorian who had first announced his presence. He stayed behind, his stern expression unchanging as he surveyed the room once more.
"Verd'goten!" the Mandalorian barked, his rough voice carrying through the hall. The children in red uniforms, at the front of the rows, immediately snapped into formation. Polina frowned, her mind parsing the unfamiliar word. She didn't understand it fully, but its effect was clear: it was a command.
The red-uniformed children marched out in perfect unison, their boots echoing against the metallic floor. Once they were gone, the Mandalorian called out again, this time directing the green-uniformed group to move. Row by row, the children followed his orders with eerie precision, leaving the hall quieter and emptier with each departure.
Polina's small group remained alone, confused and unsure of what to do. When the last row of uniformed children had left, the black-armored Mandalorian stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the remaining stragglers.
His eyes locked on them, cold and unyielding, before he spoke, his voice sharp and blunt, "I am Guild Leader Soseron. You are all foundlings now. That means one thing: you follow my command, or you face consequences. I will not repeat myself."
The room fell into a tense silence, Polina's eyes narrowed at Soseron. His tone left no room for argument, and the piercing gaze from his steel-gray eyes warned against defiance.
Soseron gestured sharply, "Stand. Form a line."
The children hesitated, exchanging nervous glances. Polina's fingers curled into fists as her mind raced. Yuna, however, was the first to move, without waiting she walked to the center of the room and stood in place, becoming the first in line.
Sin followed her lead, though he moved with a casual swagger that didn't quite hide the nervous dart of his eyes. He joined the line without a word, and one by one, the others shuffled after him.
Polina remained standing as more and more children fell in line, her body tensed as her gaze stayed fixed on Soseron. She didn't trust him. Something about his rigid, controlled demeanor made her feel trapped. But Soseron didn't flinch under her scrutiny. He met her stare squarely, his expression unchanging but his eyes firm, sending an unspoken warning: don't test me.
Finally, Polina exhaled sharply and rose from her seat. She moved to the end of the line, her steps slow, as though dragging her feet might buy her more time to figure out what was happening.
Soseron waited until she was in place before stepping to the side. "Walk," he commanded, his voice cold but calm.
The group began moving, their footsteps hesitant and uneven at first. Polina cast one last glance at the dining hall before the doors slid shut behind them.
The desert night on Jabiim was cool and breezy, the kind of chill that crept up unexpectedly after a day of relative warmth. The landscape was a stark expanse of earth and jagged rock formations, the faint outlines of the terrain illuminated by a crescent moon. In one such cluster of rocks, three figures sat huddled around a modest fire, the flames casting flickering shadows across their tired faces. They had made a small shelter of the natural formations, barely enough to keep the wind off, but it was sufficient for now.
The three stared into the fire, their expressions pensive, as though each flame held memories they were reluctant to revisit. A small lizard-like creature, now skewered on a makeshift spit, turned slowly over the fire. The scent of its roasting flesh mingled with the smoky air, a meager meal but the best they could manage. None of them seemed particularly interested in eating, though their eyes occasionally flicked to the spit as it turned.
The woman among them, Elle, was the first to break the silence, shifting uncomfortably on the rocky ground. Her complexion was fair, though dirt and grime had dulled her features. Her blonde hair was tied back in a tight bun, a habit born from years in uniform. Her voice, when it came, was quiet but sharp, "You think this place will hold? The nights here are calm, but the days… they don't feel right."
One of the men, Jabs, shrugged, his dark complexion made even more pronounced by the firelight. His expression was impassive, his shoulders broad and his frame tense, "Doesn't matter if it doesn't," he said flatly, his voice tinged with resignation, "Not like we've got anywhere else to go."
The third figure, Rider, sighed heavily. He was thinner than the other two, his face pale and angular, with a faint scar running along his jawline. His brown eyes flickered toward the fire, his voice weary, "Everywhere feels wrong nowadays. We just got the bad luck to end up here."
Elle snorted, pulling her knees to her chest. "Bad luck doesn't cover it," she muttered. "We're alive, aren't we?"
"Barely," Rider replied, shaking his head, "Alive and sitting in the middle of nowhere, no supplies, no orders, and no clue what's next."
Jabs leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he poked a stick at the fire. The lizard on the spit rotated slightly under his prodding. "You're acting like orders ever did us any good," he said, his tone cutting "Orders got our units scrapped and shoved into this mess. Orders got us into this damn war."
The three lapsed into silence again, each of them came from different corners of the First Order's once-sprawling holdings around the corners of the galaxy, brought together not by choice but by circumstance. Elle had once served in a security detachment on a fringe world, Rider had been a mechanic before being pulled into frontline service and Jabs, the most experienced of the three, had been a shock trooper, though he rarely spoke of it.
The spit turned slightly again, the lizard's skin blistering as the fat hissed in the flames. Elle's eyes flicked to it briefly before returning to the fire. "You ever think about what it'd be like if none of this happened?" she asked, her voice softer, "If we'd just stayed where we were?"
Rider shrugged, his gaze distant. "Does it matter? We didn't. We're here now."
Jabs was silent, his eyes fixed on the fire as its light danced across his face. He remained silent, his gaze focused on the flames in front of him. For a moment, it seemed as though Elle and Rider's words had fallen into the void, lost amid the crackling flames.
Then Jabs spoke, his voice low, "I think I would've liked to be a farmer."
Both Elle and Rider glanced at him, caught off guard. Jabs leaned back slightly, his posture relaxing as he continued, "Growing things. Planting seeds. Watching them take root. Making something live for a change… instead of, you know." He gestured vaguely toward the fire, the lizard roasting over it.
Elle blinked, surprised by the unexpected vulnerability. A small smile crept onto her face, "A farmer, huh? I could see that," she said softly, her tone almost teasing but carrying a genuine warmth. "You know, I think I'd like to be a sculptor. Back on Taimera, there were these natives who used to carve these beautiful figures out of stone. Animals, people, even entire stories, all in the rock. I always thought they were amazing."
Jabs chuckled lightly, his expression softening, "Sculptor, huh? Guess you've got more patience than me."
Elle grinned, resting her chin on her knees, "Not really. But I always wanted to try."
Rider, however, seemed more withdrawn, his gaze fixed on the fire as though he were trying to block out the conversation. After a long pause, he broke in abruptly, his voice curt, "Doesn't matter what we want to be. We're soldiers. That's all we know how to be. We should just go back to the base. At least there, we had some kind of purpose."
Jabs shook his head, a dry laugh escaping his lips, "Go back? And what? Get labeled deserters? Traitors for surviving when the rest of the unit didn't? You think they'd welcome us back with open arms, Rider?"
Elle nodded, "He's right. You know how they work. If we're not dead in the dirt, we're enemies. And besides…" She hesitated for a moment before continuing, "That Jedi, he gave us a chance. A chance to do something different. Be something different. We should use it."
Rider's jaw tightened, his discomfort evident, "Different? Like what? Wandering the desert until we starve? Or get picked off by scavengers? Or worse, those Mandalorians? You think they'd care we're not with the First Order anymore?"
Elle opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, glancing toward Jabs. Jabs leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his gaze steady on Rider.
"Look," Jabs said evenly, "I get it. It's terrifying, not having orders. Not having someone telling you what to do next. But we've been given a chance most people never get. A chance to figure out who we are without the armor, the ranks, the damn orders. It's not gonna be easy, but it's a hell of a lot better than fighting for a lost cause."
Rider sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, "I don't know, Jabs," he muttered, "I just don't know."
Rider's hesitant words stretched uncomfortably into silence as the fire crackled softly, the lizard still turning on its spit. The desert's breeze whistled through the rocks.
Then, a sound.
It was subtle, just the faint crunch of gravel underfoot, but Jabs caught it immediately. His hand instinctively moved toward the SE-44C blaster pistol holstered at his side, his body tense.
"I wouldn't recommend that," came a soft, calm voice from the shadows.
All three turned sharply toward the source of the voice. Emerging from the shadows between two stones at the edge of their makeshift camp, a hooded figure in white garments stepped forward. She stopped just short of the firelight, her face partially obscured beneath the hood.
The woman reached up and lowered her hood, revealing her face. It was Rey.
Rider visibly stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. Elle's eyes widened, darting between the woman and Jabs, who still hadn't removed his hand from his blaster.
"You…" Rider stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, "You're-"
Rey stepped further into the camp, her gaze calm but firm as she regarded the three of them, "Rey," she said simply, "And you're the stormtroopers Kyle spared."
Jabs' hand lingered on his pistol, his muscles coiled like a spring. His expression hardened, but his thoughts were a myriad of confusion and calculation. Before he could make a move, another voice cut through the tension, this one carrying the distinct modulation of a Mandalorian helmet.
"I'd listen to her," the voice said, cool and direct, "Don't do anything stupid."
Jabs froze, his sharp eyes darting to the source of the voice. Out from the shadows on the opposite side of the camp he could see a Mandalorian, their helmet gleaming faintly in the firelight. The T-shaped visor angled toward Jabs as was a blaster rifle aimed straight at him, the suggestion of imminent action unmistakable.
Elle's gaze snapped to Jabs, and she gave him a cautious look, her body language practically screaming, Don't even think about it.
After a moment, Jabs exhaled sharply and let his hand drop from the blaster. He sat back slowly, his glare shifting between Rey and the Mandalorian.
"Smart choice," the Mandalorian said, stepping fully into the light. The fire's glow reflected off their blue armor as they stood beside Rey.
Rey glanced at Jabs before turning her attention to the group as a whole, "We don't mean you any harm," she said, her voice steady. "But I need your help."
Rider's unease was obvious as he shifted in his seat, his gaze flicking nervously between Rey and the Mandalorian, "Help? With what?" he asked cautiously.
Rey's eyes softened slightly, though her resolve was clear, "To save Kyle Katarn…"