The hum of clashing lightsabers echoed through the sparring chamber, the deep crimson glow bathing Darth Bandon's bare chest in flickering light. He barely paid attention to the fight itself—his opponent was inconsequential. Another faceless acolyte plucked from Korriban, sent to the Leviathan to prove his worth.

Or die trying.

Bandon could see it in his opponent's eyes—the grim understanding that he wasn't here to win. He was here to be broken, to survive if he was lucky, and to serve as nothing more than a living practice dummy for Malak's apprentice.

Bandon almost pitied him.

Almost.

Instead, he sneered. The boy had already failed the test of the Sith. No ambition. No hunger. No desire. If he had any real potential, he would have fought like a rabid animal rather than resigning himself to mediocrity.

Bandon exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. He let the anger take hold—the raw, searing rage that lived within him like an open wound. His mother's hand striking his face. His father's lifeless body hitting the floor. The electric agony of Malak's Force lightning, burning him for every minor failure.

It all fueled him.

His eyes snapped open, golden with intensity, and he lunged.

The acolyte barely raised his blade in time, parrying as Bandon struck in a blinding flurry. The first few blocks were decent—surprisingly competent, even—but it didn't matter. Bandon could already see the cracks forming, the slight delay in reaction, the doubt.

He pressed harder. A sharp downward strike. Another. Then—a feint.

The acolyte's blade dropped low to intercept the expected attack, leaving him exposed. Perfect.

Bandon released a brutal Force blast to his opponent's gut. The acolyte flew backward, skidding across the floor, gasping for air. He barely had time to throw up a hand, sending a desperate arc of lightning toward his attacker.

Bandon didn't even flinch. He caught the energy mid-air, twisting it in his palm before hurling it back with twice the power.

The acolyte's scream barely lasted a second before his body collapsed, unconscious, smoking where the lightning had torn through him.

Bandon deactivated his lightsaber with a sharp hiss. He stalked forward, already reaching for the acolyte's collar, ready to finish what he started—

"Leave him."

Bandon froze. His grip tightened, but he didn't look up.

Malak.

The dark lord stood in the shadows, arms crossed over his broad chest, his massive frame motionless—except for the faint mechanical twitch of his jaw. His voice, distorted and cold, filled the chamber.

"Am I not to finish the fight, Master?"

"You know as well as I do that the battle was over before it began."

Bandon exhaled through his nose, finally standing to face his master. His golden eyes burned with restrained defiance, but he bowed his head slightly—just enough to acknowledge Malak's authority.

"You have orders for me."

Malak studied him, expression unreadable beneath his durasteel jaw. When he finally spoke, it was absolute. "Your training has paid off. Gather your things. I'm sending you to track down the Jedi and the Republic fugitives from Taris."

Bandon's lips curled into a smirk. The boy and the Jedi.

"They won't escape me."

Malak took a step forward, his shadow dwarfing Bandon's. A warning.

"Come back with Bastila and the boy alive..." He paused, letting the weight of the command settle.

"...or not at all."

Bandon's smirk didn't falter. He dropped to one knee, fist to chest.

"I won't fail you, my Master."

This hunt would be different.

This time, the Jedi wouldn't escape.

It felt real.

Cold, dry, dark—wrong.

Seth couldn't shake the sense of unease as he saw through eyes that weren't his own, watching the blurred edges of an opening Star Map flicker in the dim glow of a subterranean cavern. The weight of ancient stone pressed down from all sides, a suffocating silence stretching beyond the vision itself.

Then—a touch. Gentle fingers on his shoulder.

Seth gasped awake, breath coming in shallow bursts as reality snapped back into focus. Sweat slicked his skin, his chest rising and falling rapidly. But the first thing he saw was Mission, her soft hazel gaze watching him, steadying him.

His fingers found hers instinctively, lacing them together like an anchor before his mind could catch up. She didn't pull away—didn't question. Just ran her free hand through his hair, tucking the longer strands behind his ear. "We're about to land on Tatooine," she murmured. "Bad dream?"

"They're all bad when you're seeing the galaxy through Revan and Malak's eyes." Seth exhaled hard, pressing their joined hands to his chest, letting them both feel the erratic thud of his heartbeat slow.

Mission's lips pressed together in a frown. "It shouldn't have to be your new normal," she muttered. "We'll find the Star Forge. Then this'll all be over. We're halfway there."

Seth let out a small, dry chuckle. "Then I suppose I should get up and help us get to it." But he didn't move—not yet. His fingers flexed against hers, reluctant to let go. "Not gonna lie, part of me just wants to stay here. With you."

Mission froze—just for a second. Then she forced a smirk, playing it off. "And if we hadn't decided to just be friends, I might let you."

Seth's eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn't push. He let her slip her hand from his, though her fingers lingered against his chest for a beat longer than necessary before she pulled away entirely.

"Bastila's waiting for you in the main hold," she said, stepping back. "She wants to go over your vision, figure out the best place to land."

Seth sat up, raking a hand through his hair. He paused for half a beat, taking her in—really looking at her, until her eyes flicked up to meet his.

"What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head, a little too quickly.

She rolled her eyes playfully. "Get moving, Hotshot."

He smirked—almost reached for her hand again—then thought better of it, instead clapping her lightly on the shoulder as he slid past her into the corridor.

Bastila didn't look up when Seth entered the main hold, her focus locked on the planetary projection of Tatooine hovering above the holotable. The blue light cast eerie shadows across her sharp features.

"I don't suppose your vision gave you anything specific?" she asked, tone clipped, as though already anticipating disappointment. "Any remarkable landmarks to narrow down our search?"

Seth exhaled, bracing his forearms on the table's edge as he studied the holo-display. "Not really. Looked like it was underground. A cavern of some kind."

Bastila nodded, tapping a finger against her chin. "Which likely bodes well for us. If it's tucked away, it should be protected from the elements. The real issue is where—caves aren't exactly rare on this planet."

"We're gonna need supplies before we go anywhere," Canderous cut in, folding his arms across his broad chest. "Unless you're all prepared to wander the desert in this heat without extra canteens or proper gear."

Seth arched an eyebrow. "You volunteering to go first, big guy?"

The Mandalorian grunted. "Not a chance. But our best bet is Anchorhead—biggest settlement out here. Czerka runs the place."

Bastila scowled. "Because we haven't had enough of them meddling in our affairs."

"If Czerka's out here, odds are they've been mapping the desert," Seth pointed out. "Mining, excavating—probably getting into places they shouldn't be. If they found anything remotely valuable, they wouldn't be able to shut up about it."

Canderous smirked. "Can't argue with that."

Bastila hesitated—then sighed. "Fine. Anchorhead it is." She turned to Seth. "Go tell Carth where we're headed."

"On it."

Seth pushed away from the table, heading for the cockpit, but his mind lingered on the vision. On the cave. On the feeling of Revan and Malak's presence seeping into his bones.

The cockpit of the Ebon Hawk hummed with the steady pulse of hyperspace, the vast stretch of blue and white streaking across the viewport. Seth hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, only to find Jolee Bindo comfortably reclined in the co-pilot's chair, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Across from him, Carth sat stiffly in the pilot's seat, hands gripping the control yoke in a silent plea for patience.

"—And so Hortath gets his lekku all tangled up in the damn power couplings, right?" Jolee said, grinning as if his own words were the most amusing thing in the galaxy. "And there he is, flailing around like a gutted shaak, screaming bloody murder—"

"By the Force, Jolee," Carth muttered, rubbing his temples. "Does this story have an end, or am I supposed to suffer through it indefinitely?"

Jolee harrumphed. "You young folk have no appreciation for a good anecdote."

"No, no, please continue," Seth said, barely biting back his smirk. "I'm dying to know how Hortath got out of this one."

Carth shot him a look that could have curdled blue milk.

"You know, finally, someone with taste," Jolee said with an approving nod toward Seth. "See, this is why I like you, kid."

Seth chuckled but decided to put Carth out of his misery. "I actually came to let you know we're docking in Anchorhead," he said, watching as relief visibly washed over the pilot's features.

"Thanks, Seth," Carth replied. The way he said it wasn't just about the destination update—it was a subtle thank you for the well-timed rescue.

Jolee sighed dramatically as he hoisted himself up. "Guess I'll take my stories elsewhere," he grumbled, trudging toward the exit. He turned at the last second, fixing Carth with a smug grin. "You could have learned something from it, you know."

"Oh, I definitely learned something," Carth called after him. "I learned that my patience is at an all-time low."

As soon as Jolee was gone, Carth exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How long was he at it before I showed up?" Seth asked, settling into the co-pilot's chair.

"Long enough to question all my life choices," Carth deadpanned.

Seth chuckled as he adjusted his seat. The Ebon Hawk shuddered slightly as the hyperspace tunnel collapsed around them, spitting them back into real space. Before them, the sand-blasted planet of Tatooine stretched wide, a dull, scorched wasteland of endless dunes and rock formations.

"Back to Czerka territory," Carth muttered, adjusting the flight path for entry. "Can't say I've missed it."

"Not exactly by choice," Seth admitted. "Bastila and I just… both had a gut feeling. The Force led us here."

Carth scoffed softly, shaking his head. "Funny," he mused. "If you'd told me months ago I'd be navigating based on the gut instincts of Jedi, I'd have laughed you out of the cockpit." He paused, then added with an offhanded shrug, "Not that I don't believe it now. I do. I've seen the things you and Bastila can do—hell, even Juhani and Jolee. I just… I don't get it."

Seth tilted his head slightly, considering that. "Honestly?" he admitted. "Neither do I."

Carth glanced at him, eyebrows raised.

"The Force isn't something I was raised to understand," Seth continued, watching the planet loom closer in the viewport. "I can't break it down into logic like you do with starship systems or Republic tactics. It just is. I don't need to understand it—I just need to trust it."

Carth smirked. "Sounds a lot like love, huh?"

The words hit Seth like a blaster bolt to the chest. He snapped his gaze toward Carth, his face suddenly feeling ten degrees hotter. "What?"

The pilot just chuckled knowingly. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I know that look."

Seth shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly hyper-aware of his own body language. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right, and I'm a Twi'lek dancer," Carth said dryly, adjusting a control switch without missing a beat. "I've been there, kid. You love her."

Seth opened his mouth, then closed it again, heat creeping up his neck. "How do you—?"

"It's written all over your face," Carth said simply. "Every time you look at her."

Seth exhaled sharply, slumping against the seat. "Well… I guess there's no use denying it now."

Carth shot him a sidelong glance. "Mission know?"

Seth shook his head. "No. And I don't want her to. Not yet, anyway."

Carth didn't respond right away, just studying him. "Why not?"

Seth hesitated. "I don't want to mess things up. We just got comfortable being friends again, and I don't want to drop something like this on her. It'd put pressure on her to feel the same way, and if she doesn't…" He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just—I don't want to know. Not yet."

Carth exhaled, nodding slowly. "I'm not gonna tell you love isn't risky, Seth. It is. Hell, it's probably why the Jedi avoid it." His expression softened, something almost wistful behind his eyes. "But I'll say this—loving someone, really loving them? It's worth the risk."

Seth swallowed hard. He didn't respond right away, his fingers fidgeting over the edge of the control panel. "I'll think about it," he finally said. "It's just… a lot."

"I know," Carth said quietly. "For now, just feel it, Seth. Don't shut it out. Love's not something you can just switch off."

Seth sighed, offering a small, lopsided smile. "Bastila sure seems to think I should."

Carth huffed. "Well, she hasn't exactly had the best track record with emotions, has she?" He motioned toward the glowing instrument panels. "Think of it this way—emotions are like these indicator lights. They tell you how the ship's doing, keep you aware of any problems. But they don't fly the ship. You do."

Seth stared at the dashboard, his fingertips grazing the blinking lights. He let the analogy sink in, the weight of it settling in a way he hadn't expected.

"…That's actually really helpful," he admitted.

Carth smirked. "Glad to be of service. Guess I do have some good fatherly wisdom left in me."

The words were spoken lightly, but something about them hit deep. Seth felt a lump rise in his throat before he could stop it. A warmth that was foreign—unexpected. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep it together.

"…Thanks, Carth."

Carth glanced at him, then seemed to notice something in Seth's expression. He didn't pry, didn't push. He just nodded.

"Anytime, kid."

Seth inhaled deeply, steadying himself. Then he forced an easy grin. "So… we landing this thing or what?"

Carth chuckled, flipping a few switches as the ship rumbled toward the atmosphere. "Strap in, kid. It's about to get real hot down there."

Seth secured his restraints just as the Ebon Hawk plunged toward the sands of Tatooine, and for the first time in a long time, he felt anchored.

Seth had never put much stock in the phrase "It's a dry heat", but after less than five minutes outside the Ebon Hawk, he was ready to track down whoever had said it and shove them headfirst into a Tatooine sandstorm.

Heat radiated off the duracrete landing pads in shimmering waves, and what little breeze did exist felt like it had been blasted through a starship engine. As they walked, the crew peeled off whatever layers they could spare, stripping down to vests, tank tops, and lighter gear to escape the worst of it. Not that it helped much.

Seth adjusted the collar of his undershirt and ran a hand through his damp hair before catching sight of Mission doing the same—rolling her shoulders as she shed her long-sleeved outerwear, the muscles in her back flexing beneath the racerback cut of her tank top.

His brain short-circuited. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen that much of her skin before, but suddenly, it was sweltering. He had no idea if the heat burning through his body was from the suns or from that, but either way, he decided it was safer not to dwell on it.

"Focus, Avery. There's enough heat out here without making it worse."

"Welcome to Anchorhead!"

The voice startled him out of his spiraling thoughts. A Czerka representative—middle-aged, smug, and entirely too clean for someone living on a dustball like this—strode toward them, the sales pitch already in full swing.

"Aaaand here comes the cash grab, right on schedule," Jolee muttered beside him.

The Czerka rep's gaze swept over their ragtag group, clearly assessing who was in charge. His eyes flickered between Canderous and Carth before settling on the Republic officer. Yeah, figures.

"It's clear you're new here," the man continued, addressing Carth directly. "But not to worry—Czerka offers high-quality protective clothing, perfect for Tatooine's extreme climate, at a very affordable price. Of course, before we discuss outfitting, there's the small matter of your docking fee…"

Carth sighed, already digging through his pockets for credits.

Jolee stepped forward. "We don't need to pay a docking fee."

Seth immediately felt the gentle nudge in the Force, like a hand smoothing over the edges of the dock worker's mind.

The man's eyes glazed over for half a second. "You… don't need to pay a docking fee."

Jolee's lips twitched. "And in fact, you want to clothe my companions and I out of the kindness of your heart."

The worker blinked rapidly, the Force suggestion slipping through the cracks of whatever greed was deeply embedded in his mind. "Well, hm," he murmured, shaking his head as he returned to full awareness. "I wish I could clothe you and your companions out of the kindness of my heart, but—ahem—we're strapped for profit out here. Best of luck to you, however, and enjoy your stay in Anchorhead!"

With that, the Czerka rep turned and strolled off.

"Worth a shot," Jolee said with a shrug.

Seth grinned. "I respect the effort."

"So, what now?" Juhani asked, arms crossed as she took in the sprawling settlement before them. "We know the Star Map is beyond these city walls, but we may find useful information within them first."

"Not to mention," Canderous added, "we need to re-stock and re-fuel while we're here. Korriban's next, and it's not exactly a tourist destination. This might be our last good chance to load up on medpacs, ammo, and rations."

Bastila nodded. "Which means we need credits. And given Czerka's stranglehold here, nothing is going to come cheap."

Seth rubbed his chin in thought before glancing at Mission. "Well… we could hit the cantina. Get the lay of the land, ask around, and maybe earn a few quick credits in the Pazaak den."

Mission's eyes gleamed mischievously. "You just want me to embarrass a bunch of locals, don't you?"

He smirked. "I mean… you're the one who said you could outplay anyone."

Bastila, meanwhile, hesitated. She'd had a very clear conversation with Seth about Mission back on Kashyyyk, and sending them off together didn't seem like the wisest idea. But after a moment of deliberation, she sighed. "That's… not a bad plan. Keep us updated on anything useful."

"Got it," Seth confirmed.

"Juhani, take Carth and T3-M4 and check for ship repairs and supplies," Bastila continued. "Anything we might need for the Hawk or for our next destination."

"You got it," Carth said, glancing down as T3 beeped in confirmation.

"And what about us, Princess?" Canderous asked, arms crossed.

Bastila barely withheld an eye-roll. "You, Jolee, and I are going to pay a visit to the local Czerka offices. We'll see if we can acquire any of their survey data."

Jolee smirked. "Ah, acquire."

"Jedi mind trick, if possible. Mandalorian intimidation, if necessary," Bastila clarified.

Canderous's smirk widened. "Careful, Jedi. You really don't want to give me free rein on negotiation tactics."

Bastila leveled him with a look. "That being said," she added, pointedly turning back to Mission, "please do your best to win us some credits."

Mission saluted. "I'll do my best, boss."

Seth leaned in with a grin. "So, sweetheart, you ready to make some credits?"

Mission shoved him. "For the last time, do not call me that."

Seth laughed as the group split off into the bustling streets of Anchorhead, the suns burning bright overhead.

Dim lighting did little to mask the grime clinging to every surface, and the air was thick with the tang of cheap liquor and desperation. The bass-heavy music thrummed through the walls, a constant undercurrent to the low murmur of patrons bartering, bragging, and brooding over their drinks.

Seth had seen plenty of seedy bars growing up on Coruscant, but something about this place made his skin crawl. Maybe it was the way men of all species leaned back in their seats, eyes glassy as they watched the Twi'lek women dance atop the bar. Maybe it was how the bartenders barely glanced up as credits exchanged hands, as if whatever deals were being made weren't their problem. Or maybe it was the way certain eyes drifted from the stage to Mission, their gazes lingering a little too long on her as she navigated through the crowd.

Seth clenched his fists, an unease curling in his gut.

Zaalbar must have sensed the shift in his demeanor because the Wookiee let out a low, guttural growl, deep enough to vibrate through the floorboards. The message was received immediately—several men quickly turned their attention back to their drinks.

Still, Seth wasn't taking any chances. He shrugged off his spacer's jacket and nudged Mission's shoulder with it.

She glanced at him, then at the jacket, and without a word, pulled it around herself.

She didn't say thank you, but she didn't have to.

They found a booth in a corner where they could keep their backs to the wall and their eyes on the room. Mission shuffled her deck of Pazaak cards, the familiar routine giving her something to focus on as she prepped for the first challenger. She smirked up at Seth. "I know you're probably really uncomfortable right now, but it's honestly kinda refreshing that you're not like every other guy in this place, drooling over the dancers."

He shrugged, keeping his voice casual. "They're not you."

Mission dropped her gaze, pretending to focus on the cards as a smile tugged at her lips.

She barely had time to recover before a figure slid up to their booth. Expecting a potential Pazaak opponent, she looked up—only to freeze.

The Twi'lek woman in front of her wasn't some drunk gambler or over-eager patron. She was older, maybe late twenties, her lekku draped gracefully over her shoulders, dressed in the unmistakable garb of the off-duty dancers Mission had seen earlier. But it wasn't the outfit that made Mission's stomach flip. It was the way the woman's violet eyes widened in shock.

"Mission?"

The deck of cards slipped from her hands, scattering across the table.

"Lena?" Mission's voice jumped an octave, caught somewhere between disbelief and disgust. "What are you doing here?"

Lena blinked before giving a small, half-hearted laugh. "I could ask you the same thing."

The heat in Mission's expression only burned hotter. "Where's Griff?"

The older Twi'lek sighed, as if she had expected this question and had no good answer for it. "Probably out in the mines somewhere. We… broke up not long after he got us stranded here and lost all our credits." Her tone was flat, void of bitterness—just exhausted. "I've been working as many shifts as I can to scrape together enough for a ticket off this rock." She gave a dry chuckle. "Your brother's got his charm, Mission, but he's bad news."

Mission shot up from her seat, hands slamming down on the table. "Don't you dare start trashing my brother, you cantina rat!"

Lena's expression flickered—surprise, hurt, and then something softer.

"Mission, what's wrong with you?" she asked, genuinely confused. "Why are you acting like this?"

Seth leaned in before Mission could snap back. "You ran off with her brother and left her behind in the Lower City when she was just a kid. That doesn't exactly put you on her list of favorite people."

Lena's gaze flicked between Seth and Mission, anger flashing in her violet eyes before giving way to something sadder. "Is that what Griff told you, Mission?" she murmured. "No wonder you wouldn't look me in the eye when we left."

Mission bristled, her voice rising. "You can't go acting all sad about it now, Lena! You wrecked my life!"

"You really think I wanted to leave you behind?" Lena shot back, a rare edge to her voice. "I begged Griff to bring you with us. I offered to pay for your ticket."

"You liar!" Mission's voice cracked, her certainty faltering. "Griff told me you didn't want his little sister tagging along—that you were the reason I had to stay behind!"

Lena let out a sharp breath, pressing a hand to her forehead. "That self-centered son of a—" She cut herself off, nostrils flaring as she reined herself back in. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, but firmer. "He told me you didn't want to leave Taris. I told him we shouldn't go without you, but he swore we'd come back for you as soon as we struck it rich."

She huffed out a bitter laugh. "So, like an idiot, I followed him across the galaxy—running from one scam to the next—until we got stuck here, and I finally had enough."

Mission stood there, frozen.

The fight was still there, lingering in the way her fists clenched at her sides, but Seth could see the cracks forming.

"You're probably better off without him too," Mission spat, deflecting her hurt into something meaner, sharper. "You table-dancing, brother-stealing, home-wrecking—"

But she didn't finish.

Instead, she shoved past Lena and stormed out of the cantina, Zaalbar hurrying after her.

Seth exhaled through his nose and rubbed a hand over his face.

His eyes drifted to the Pazaak cards scattered across the table, then up to Lena. She hadn't moved, her arms wrapped loosely around herself. She looked… tired.

"Hey," he said, voice softer now. "I'm sorry about that. I think, once she cools off, she'll be sorry too. Griff's just… complicated for her."

Lena gave a slow nod, her gaze far away. "I get it," she murmured. "She didn't have a choice but to see Griff as her hero. And I… I wanted to be someone she could look up to, too. But he never let me. He always made sure I was kept at arm's length, and I never knew why. Now I guess I do."

She fell quiet for a moment, then tilted her head at Seth, studying him. "You her boyfriend?"

Seth blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… no. Not really."

A small smirk played at Lena's lips. "Well, that's your jacket she's wearing, right? That's a galaxy-wide universal boyfriend move."

His face went a little pink, but he dodged the subject with a chuckle. "We're just close."

Lena exhaled through her nose, amused. "She's lucky to have you."

Seth's grin faded into something more serious. "She deserves people in her life who show up for her."

Lena's smile turned sad. "Yeah," she murmured. "She does."

Seth stuffed the scattered Pazaak cards into his pocket, then paused. "I'll talk to her," he promised. "She'll come around."

Lena nodded, but didn't look convinced. "Just… tell her I didn't mean to upset her. That's the last thing I wanted."

"I will." He hesitated, then added, "And… for what it's worth? I think she turned out exactly the way you hoped she would."

Lena's throat bobbed, her expression unreadable.

"Take care of her," she said finally.

"Oh, she can take care of herself well enough," Seth chuckled. "But I'll do my best," he promised before ducking out into the blinding Tatooine sunlight.