Varan's first encounter with COM-X2—better known as "Comet"—was in the utilitarian confines of Marshal Korr's office. The aging communication droid, which also doubled as a mobile database, was critical to keeping Aurora's Reach connected to outposts and settlements across Batuu. However, Comet had been on the fritz for weeks, emitting garbled transmissions and shutting down unexpectedly.
Marshal Korr was adamant about getting the droid repaired.
"I can't afford to lose Comet," Korr said as he gestured to the droid slumped against the wall, its once-shiny plating dulled by years of wear. "Not out here, not with everything going on."
Varan nodded silently, setting down his tool bag on the workbench. He methodically examined the droid, his green eyes narrowing as he pinpointed the source of the issues: a combination of outdated processors and a loose power coupling.
"You can fix it?" Korr asked, watching him with interest.
"Yes," Varan said curtly, already focused on unscrewing the droid's access panel.
The quiet of the office was shattered when the door slammed open, and Deputy Skal barged in, dragging a furious human man in with him.
"Marshal!" Skal called out, struggling to keep his grip on the writhing figure. "Caught this one snooping near the Spirewood border. Could be tied to the smugglers we've been hearing about."
The prisoner, a wiry man with wild eyes, spat a string of curses. "You've got no proof! I was just passing through!"
Korr sighed, his expression tightening. "Put him in the holding cell. We'll question him after we finish here."
Skal nodded and yanked the man toward the back of the office. But as they passed the workbench, the prisoner twisted violently, pulling Skal off balance.
The man lunged for a hydrospanner on Varan's workbench, grabbing the tool and swinging it wildly. Skal ducked, but the sudden movement knocked over a tray of tools, sending wrenches and circuit boards clattering to the floor.
Marshal Korr stepped forward, ready to intervene, but before he could act, Varan moved.
In one fluid motion, Varan closed the distance between himself and the attacker. His movements were sharp and efficient, almost mechanical in their precision. He ducked under the wild swing of the hydrospanner, his body twisting as he delivered a swift strike to the man's wrist. The tool clattered to the ground.
The prisoner stumbled, disoriented, but Varan didn't let up. He drove his shoulder into the man's chest, knocking him backward into the wall. With one final sweep of his leg, Varan sent the man sprawling to the floor, groaning in defeat.
The room fell silent. Skal stared, wide-eyed, while Korr raised an eyebrow in quiet approval.
Varan stepped back, flexing his hand slightly where he'd grazed it on the prisoner's belt buckle during the scuffle.
"You alright?" Korr asked, breaking the silence.
Varan gave a terse nod, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Fine."
Skal quickly cuffed the now-subdued prisoner and hauled him off to the holding cell.
Varan sat stiffly on the stool, his hand resting awkwardly on the counter as Alara examined the scrape. He didn't think that he needed to go to the clinic but Marshal Korr insisted. The antiseptic's cold sting brought a faint twitch to his face, but he remained silent. The dim light of the clinic softened the harsh lines of his angular features, but his expression was as guarded as ever.
Alara worked methodically, her touch gentle as she cleaned the wound. Though she kept her focus on his hand, she couldn't help but notice the tension radiating off him. His posture was rigid, his jaw set, and his green eyes—framed by the diagonal Kiffar lines on his cheek—were fixed on some far-off point, as if he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze.
But it wasn't just his demeanor that caught her attention. There was something else, a faint ripple she felt through the Force. It was subtle, almost buried beneath layers of repression and pain, but it was there. Alara kept her expression neutral, careful not to betray the sudden curiosity that stirred within her. "You're lucky it's just a scrape," she said softly, her voice breaking the silence. "A few inches to the left, and you could've fractured a bone."
Varan's lips tightened briefly into something that might've been a smirk. "Wouldn't be the first time."
The response was clipped, but there was a hint of dry humor beneath it. Alara glanced up briefly, trying to gauge him, but his face revealed little. "Does this sort of thing happen to you often?" she asked, wrapping a clean bandage around his hand.
"Only when people swing tools at me," Varan replied, the faintest edge of sarcasm coloring his tone.
Alara chuckled lightly, though her mind remained on the sensation she'd felt earlier. As she secured the bandage, she couldn't shake the sense that there was more to this man than he let on. "You moved fast back there," she said casually, tying off the bandage. "Seemed like you knew exactly what to do."
Varan tensed, his eyes flicking to hers for the briefest moment before darting away. "Had some practice."
"Practice, huh?" Alara pressed gently, her tone light but probing.
"Something like that," he muttered, shifting in his seat.
Alara let the conversation drop, sensing his discomfort. But as she stepped back, the ripple in the Force brushed against her again, faint but insistent. It was like standing near a muted current, powerful but carefully restrained. "Should heal up fine," she said, keeping her tone neutral. "Just try not to punch any more rowdy criminals."
A ghost of a smirk tugged at Varan's lips. "I'll keep that in mind." As he stood to leave, Alara hesitated. She wanted to say something—ask him about the feeling she'd sensed or reassure him that he didn't need to be so guarded—but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she watched him walk to the door, his movements quick and deliberate, like someone who didn't want to linger too long in one place.
"Varan," she called out just as he reached the threshold.
He paused, glancing back at her with a flicker of surprise.
"If you ever need more than just a bandage," she said, her voice soft but weighted, "you know where to find me."
For a moment, Varan looked as though he might say something, but then he gave a short nod and slipped out into the damp streets. Alara stood in the quiet clinic, her thoughts lingering on the strange, guarded man. She couldn't shake the feeling that their paths had crossed for a reason—and that there was a story buried beneath his silence, waiting to be uncovered.
Varan's hand still ached from the fight with the criminal, but the dull throb didn't matter. He had more pressing things to focus on. The last thing he wanted to do was stick around where trouble might find him again, and the wet season was only making the atmosphere heavier. The weight of uncertainty settled on him like the constant drizzle, but he had a job to finish.
He turned down the street, making his way back to the familiar stone building. The sounds of the wet season muffled everything—the distant chatter of the marketplace, the occasional hoot of a creature in the mist—but the staccato rhythm of his footsteps was grounding. The fact that he still had a place to return to, a job to do, felt like a luxury. He could feel the eyes of those who saw him, but he kept his head down. The past had a way of following, and Varan was trying not to let it.
As he approached the Marshal's office, the silhouette of Marshal Daran Korr stood out in the doorway. The Marshal was leaning against the frame, his arms crossed, watching the streets with a far-off look in his eyes. When he saw Varan, his expression softened.
"You're back," Korr remarked, but his tone wasn't as surprised as it was matter of fact. It was the same measured calm that had become characteristic of him.
Varan nodded but said nothing. His fingers brushed against the doorframe, still stiff from the fight. "I need to finish the droid," he muttered. He wasn't ready to talk about it, not yet. The last thing he wanted was to open up more than necessary.
Korr gave him a look—one that Varan had come to know. It was a silent acknowledgment of something unspoken. The Marshal had seen enough of people running from their pasts to recognize the signs. Varan didn't need to explain further. "You've got work to do. I'll leave you to it," Korr said, pushing off from the door and stepping aside to let Varan through.
The office was quieter now, with only the steady hum of the fan in the corner and the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. Varan moved past Korr to the workbench, his movements fluid, but guarded. His fingers flexed as he reached for the tools, his attention focused on the task ahead. He wasn't in the mood for idle conversation, but Korr stood near the back of the room, watching him as if waiting for something. Varan felt the Marshal's gaze like a weight on his back but didn't acknowledge it. He kept his focus on the droid, it would take a few hours, but Varan was good at what he did. The work helped numb his mind.
"Varan," Korr's voice broke through the quiet, the tone soft but insistent. "We could use your help. There's been some talk of shipments coming through. Medical supplies, unmarked, unsanctioned by the Empire."
Varan didn't look up from the droid. He knew where this was headed. He had been avoiding it, but the truth was, he didn't want to be dragged into anything that might expose him. The Empire had been hunting him for six years. He couldn't afford to get involved with anything that might draw their attention. "Not interested," Varan said, his voice flat. His hands worked with precision, disconnecting wires and reattaching parts.
Korr let out a quiet sigh, but his words were measured. "I get it, Varan. You're not the only one with a past here. But when the Empire starts pulling strings, it gets harder to hide. You might think you're safe, but we both know that's not true. Everyone here is trying to survive, just like you."
Varan paused, his fingers stilling on the broken droid. His mind raced. He knew Korr was right. He wasn't the only one who had come here to escape, but he also wasn't ready to face the consequences of getting involved. Not yet. "I'm not getting involved," he repeated, his voice low and cold.
Korr didn't press him further. Instead, he nodded, understanding the unspoken decision. "Just know that if you change your mind, we'll be here."
Varan didn't respond. He wasn't ready for that yet. He knew the Marshal's offer came with the understanding that Varan had his reasons, his demons. And maybe one day, when the time came, he'd be able to make a choice. But not today. Not now. With a grunt, Varan got back to work, disconnecting and reconnecting wires with a practiced hand, forcing his thoughts back into the mechanical task at hand. The simple rhythm of the work was grounding. It kept the darkness at bay, if only for a little while.
Skal, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up, his voice rough but not without a touch of concern. "I wish you would help. It's not just about the shipments, Varan. It's about everyone here. We can't keep running forever."
Varan stiffened, the words hitting harder than expected. He could feel Skal's gaze on him, the unspoken plea hanging in the air. But Varan didn't respond. He didn't have an answer for them, not yet. Instead, he worked on the droid, his focus narrowing. He wasn't ready to be anyone's hero.
Not today.
He glanced up at the clock, then back at Korr, who had already turned to leave. Varan wasn't the hero they wanted, and he wasn't sure he ever would be. But as long as he could keep his head down, do his work, and stay out of trouble, that would have to be enough. For now, it had to be enough.
As Korr stepped out of the office, leaving him alone once more, Varan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The quiet of the room settled over him like a blanket, and for a moment, he allowed himself to focus solely on the droid, the work that kept the world from closing in around him.
The Empire could wait. The past could wait. But somewhere deep inside, Varan knew it wouldn't be forever.