Darkness.

Then—gold and red, colliding like fire and blood.

Seth wasn't standing. Wasn't breathing. He simply existed, weightless and unseen, watching the battle unfold before him.

A hooded Sith loomed at the center of a warship's bridge, a red lightsaber crackling in his grip. Across from him stood a young woman, no older than her late teens, her gold blade steady and unshaken.

The moment stretched too long, like time itself was hesitating.

Then the gold saber cut forward.

The Sith lunged, red against gold, streaking through the air in flashes of heat and sound. Each impact sent sparks flying, the crackle of energy filling the empty space.

The woman moved with terrifying precision, her blade a controlled extension of her will. She did not hesitate. Did not flinch. Seth felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

Behind her, three other Jedi stood, watching. Their sabers were drawn, but they did not move.

Why weren't they helping her?

Seth's hands clenched—except, he had no hands. No body. He was just here, and yet, he felt something sharp inside his chest.

The red saber slashed low, but the woman turned smoothly, deflecting, spinning, stepping forward.

Then, in one brutal motion, she cut her opponent down.

The Sith fell without a sound. The gold saber wielder didn't pause, didn't look back.

She simply stepped over the body and continued forward.

Seth wanted to follow. To see more. To understand.

Then, suddenly—

A voice.

Not from the battle. Not from here. From somewhere else entirely.

A voice he knew.

"Seth."

A crushing weight slammed into his chest, like reality itself was collapsing.

The warship vanished in an instant.

Pain.

It came in a slow, creeping pulse at first, then sharpened like a blade pressing into his skull.

Seth's breath hitched. His body felt too heavy, like he'd been yanked back into himself after floating in empty space. Something buzzed behind his eyes, dull and rhythmic—his heartbeat? No, the pounding in his head.

He inhaled sharply.

Air. Stale. Artificial.

Not the bridge of a warship. Not battle.

The next thing he registered was light—dim, flickering against his eyelids. His senses caught up in fragments. The hum of electronics. The distant murmur of speeder traffic. A mattress, thin and stiff beneath his back.

His head throbbed again, sending a fresh wave of nausea through his stomach. The pain was real. That meant this was real.

He forced his eyes open.

The ceiling above him was duracrete, not metal. The walls were scuffed, the floor lined with old synthwood. Not a barracks. Not a medbay.

Somewhere else.

Somewhere unfamiliar.

Movement. A shadow in his peripheral.

"You're awake," a voice said, gravelly but relieved. "Thank the Force."

Seth's muscles tensed instinctively, his body trying to snap into defense before his mind caught up. He turned toward the voice too fast—his vision swam, pain lancing through his skull.

A hand pressed against his shoulder, firm but careful. "Easy, kid. You took a hell of a hit."

Seth blinked hard, willing the room to stop tilting.

Then he recognized the man in front of him.

Carth Onasi.

"You've been out for a while," the veteran continued, simply, as if this wasn't the first time he'd been the first friendly face a soldier had woken up to, and with the certainty that it wouldn't be the last.

Seth exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "How long?"

"Four days."

Seth's breath stalled for a second. "Four days?" His mind was already racing, calculating everything that could have happened in that time. He forced himself upright, ignoring the dull throb behind his eyes. The movement made his stomach lurch, but he ground his teeth and pushed through it. Four days. Four days lost.

Carth watched him carefully, but didn't stop him this time.

The older man nodded, leaning back slightly in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. "I found you near the escape pod wreckage. You were barely conscious when I pulled you out. Couldn't risk dragging you anywhere too public, so I holed us up in this apartment."

Seth's hands tightened into fists against the mattress. Four days of doing nothing. Four days where Trask, Draven, and the others could be dead.

"The Endar Spire?"

Carth didn't sugarcoat it. "Gone. What wasn't blasted apart in orbit burned up in atmo. We're the only ones I know for sure made it."

Seth's stomach knotted.

Not a slow kind of grief—he didn't have time for that. But a sharp, suffocating feeling that settled deep in his chest. He'd lost people before. Death wasn't new. But it never stopped taking something out of him.

Trask was dead. He knew that for sure.

Draven? The others? He had no idea.

His fingers pressed against his temples, and he let out a slow breath. Focus. Push forward. That's what you do.

He lifted his gaze to Carth. "What's our next move, sir?"

Carth held his stare for a second—measuring him. Then he let out a quiet exhale. "First, you need to know what we're up against."

He gestured toward the window, where the Upper City's glowing traffic lanes flickered outside against the night sky.

"The Sith control Taris now," he said. "They've declared martial law and locked the planet down tight. Nobody's getting in or out."

Seth was already thinking ahead, running scenarios in his mind. A planet-wide lockdown meant there were Sith everywhere. If they were actively hunting Republic survivors, staying hidden wouldn't be enough.

They needed to move first.

"What's our next step?" he asked again.

Carth exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, first thing? If it's just you and me against an occupied planet, we need to drop the formalities."

Seth blinked. "Sir?"

"Exactly," Carth said dryly. "That's gotta go."

Seth frowned, shifting slightly. It didn't feel right. A soldier respected rank. And Carth was his superior officer.

"Look," Carth continued, watching him carefully. "The Sith are hunting Republic personnel. If we start calling each other 'sir' and 'Private Avery,' we might as well paint targets on our backs. We need to blend in."

Seth hesitated. The structured military formality was familiar, grounding. But Carth wasn't wrong.

"Call me Carth," the older man said simply. "And we'll just go with Seth for you."

Seth flexed his fingers against his knee, then nodded. "Understood, sir—I mean, Carth."

Carth smirked. "You'll get used to it."

A moment passed, the tension shifting just slightly, and Seth noticed something different in Carth's posture. A little less stiff, a little more at ease. Not fully—Carth still held himself like someone waiting for the next hit. But it was something.

"Alright," Carth said, shifting back to business. "We need to find Commander Shan. If she survived, she's either lying low or captured. Both options mean we have work to do."

Seth nodded. That much made sense. "How do we even start?"

Carth tapped the small console on the apartment's wall, pulling up a crude map of Taris. "This planet has more people than it knows what to do with. And wherever a Jedi goes, trouble follows. If we start asking the right questions and listening in the right places, we'll find her."

Seth pushed himself fully to his feet, testing his balance. The room stopped spinning after a second. "Then let's get to it."

Carth held up a hand, amusement flickering across his face. "Easy, kid. You just woke up. Finding Bastila is priority one, but I need you at your best."

"I'm fine," Seth said automatically. "Quick with recoveries."

Carth chuckled. "I believe that. But for the sake of caution, we're waiting until tomorrow morning."

Seth sighed, exasperated but relenting. He unclipped his sword sheath from his belt and set his blaster back on the nightstand. "Fine."

The streets of Taris' Upper City were cleaner than any world Seth had seen. Polished duracrete walkways, sleek speeders hovering over designated traffic lanes, towers stretching high into the planet's dense skyline.

On the surface, it almost felt like normal city life. People bustled about—merchants haggling, professionals heading to work, civilians sipping caf at sidewalk stalls.

But there was no mistaking the occupation.

Sith patrols were everywhere. Troopers in red-and-black armor stood at key intersections, blaster rifles slung across their chests. Occasionally, one would stop a civilian, checking identification or asking questions.

Seth could feel the tension in the air, even as the city tried to function around it. People were afraid.

He adjusted the blaster holster at his hip, rolling his shoulders. The walk so far had been quiet, but not uncomfortable. Carth wasn't a man who filled silences just to talk.

Seth didn't mind that.

But eventually, Carth broke the quiet.

"I read your file," he said.

Seth glanced over, one eyebrow raised. "Oh?"

Carth nodded, not looking at him. "Said you enlisted when you were fourteen."

Seth exhaled sharply, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. "That's what it says, huh?"

Carth finally glanced at him. Measuring. Curious. "It's not the usual age for a recruit."

Seth snorted. "No, it's not."

He let the words hang there for a second. If Carth wanted an answer, he was going to have to ask.

Carth waited a beat, then did. "What made you sign up so young?"

Seth's footsteps didn't slow. "Figured it was my best shot at a decent life."

Carth raised an eyebrow. "At fourteen?"

Seth tilted his head slightly, watching a pair of Sith soldiers stop a merchant near a food stall, rifling through his goods. The man was stiff, tense, but didn't argue.

"Roof over my head. Food. People I could count on," Seth said simply. "War's not ideal, sure. But I wasn't exactly choosing between good options."

Carth was quiet for a moment, like he was processing that.

Then, his voice lowered slightly. "Let me give you some advice, kid."

Seth glanced at him again. He recognized the tone. The 'I've seen more than you have' tone. He'd heard it a dozen times from veterans in the Republic Navy.

Carth kept his gaze ahead. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that trust is the last thing you should count on."

Seth let that settle for a beat. Then—he huffed a small breath. Not quite a laugh, but something close.

"You think I don't know that?" he asked, shaking his head. "I grew up on Coruscant's lower levels. Trust is a damn death sentence."

That made Carth glance at him again.

Seth shrugged. "Republic Academy kids? Officers who've never seen a battlefield? They're the ones who trust too easy. Me? I learned the hard way that trusting the wrong people gets you killed."

Carth exhaled slowly. "Right. I get that."

Seth watched him for a second, tilting his head slightly. "I'm getting the sense there's a story behind this."

"There is," Carth said bluntly. "And it's not one I'm keen on telling."

Seth considered pushing further. But something in Carth's expression—something guarded, something old—told him not to.

So instead, he backed off.

"Fair enough," he muttered.

Carth changed the subject on a dime. "You hungry?"

Seth blinked, caught off guard by the shift. "I—what?"

"You've been out for four days," Carth said. "Are you hungry?"

Seth opened his mouth to say no—then his stomach growled loud enough to answer for him.

Carth smirked. "That's what I thought."

Carth wasn't sure how he felt about bringing a sixteen-year-old private into a cantina, but he didn't have many options.

The place was packed, alive with music, conversation, and the faint scent of cooked meat and expensive alcohol. The Upper City's elite and off-worlders filled the space, pretending the Sith blockade didn't exist.

Seth strolled in beside him, glancing around. "So, do I get to ask why you know this place so well, or should I just assume?"

Carth shot him a look. "Just remember, we aren't here to have fun."

Seth held up his hands, exasperated. "I know, I know. That's the fifth time you've said that."

Carth frowned. "Well, excuse me for not wanting to be responsible for giving a sixteen-year-old access to alcohol."

Seth grinned. "You do know half the underage recruits sneak juma into the barracks, right?"

Carth's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed.

"Not saying I drink, sir," Seth added quickly, clearly enjoying this too much. "Just that you're not introducing me to anything new."

Carth let out a deep sigh. "Alright, alright. My conscience is slightly less heavy."

Seth gave him a sideways glance. "Although I've always wanted to try Tarisian Ale."

Carth snapped a glare at him.

Seth held it for a beat, then cracked a grin. "Kidding, sir."

Carth muttered something under his breath about smartass recruits but didn't press the issue further.

The Upper City cantina was far nicer than most of the bars Carth had seen over the years. He was used to run-down dives on backwater planets, places filled with mercenaries, drunks, and criminals drowning in juma.

This? This was polished floors, ambient lighting, and well-dressed patrons.

The cantina had four main areas, each catering to a different type of guest. In one of the cantina's spokes, a single card shark had turned the pazaak lounge into his personal kingdom. In another, the dueling lounge, featuring posters of Taris' top fighters, sported large holoscreens showing pre-recorded matches. The music lounge, where a live band played, but though for most, the main attractions of note were the Twi'lek dancers.

And finally, the bar, tucked near the back, where Carth found himself instinctively heading.

As they reached the counter, the bartender smirked at Carth.

"Back again already?" he asked. "This quarantine may have you off-worlders upset, but it sure is giving me new regulars."

Seth perked up immediately. "Regular, huh?"

Carth shot him a flat look. "Don't start."

Seth grinned, clearly filing this information away for later use.

The bartender leaned against the counter. "Tarisian ale for you?"

Carth nodded. "Please."

Seth elbowed him lightly. "So, what? You've been here what, a week?"

Carth sighed, running a hand down his face. "I'm regretting this decision already."

The bartender turned to Seth. "And you?"

Seth glanced at Carth, then back at the bartender, shaking his head. "I… ahh… I'm here for the dancers, actually."

Carth nearly choked on his drink.

Seth was already backing toward the music lounge before Carth could say anything.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "That kid old enough to be in here?"

Carth didn't blink. "Just turned twenty." He leaned against the bar casually. "If this cantina was on a core world, sure, maybe he'd be too young. But out here? What's the drinking age, eighteen? Nineteen?"

"Nineteen," the bartender confirmed. "Though now that the Sith are running things, who knows if that even matters?"

Carth hummed. "Can't say I'm a fan of their policies myself."

"Join the club," the bartender muttered. "The quarantine's been good for business, but between you and me? They're looking for something."

Carth's interest sharpened. "Oh?"

The bartender leaned in slightly. "Not just blocking people from leaving. They've got patrols combing through the Lower City. Something's got them nervous."

Carth sipped his drink, acting casual. "Any idea what?"

The bartender shook his head. "No clue. But I know this—the Sith don't waste resources unless it's big."

Carth filed that away for later.

For now, he kept his expression neutral. "Interesting."

The bartender just nodded, wiping down a glass. "Another round?"

Carth sighed. This was going to be a long night.

Seth stepped into the music lounge, immediately hit by the pulsing rhythm of the live band. The air smelled of spiced drinks and perfume, a mix of elegance and excess.

A group of Twi'lek dancers moved gracefully on stage, their performances drawing most of the room's attention.

He kept his distance, arms casually crossed, eyes flicking between the performers and the people watching them.

That's when he caught a friendly elbow to the arm.

"Total babes, huh?"

Seth glanced over. A young man in a Sith uniform grinned at him, nudging his shoulder in camaraderie. He couldn't have been more than twenty-two, barely older than Seth himself.

Seth nodded politely. "They're beautiful."

"Oh, beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it, man!" the officer said excitedly.

"Leave him alone, Yun," a woman's voice cut in, amused but exasperated.

Seth turned to see a tall, red-haired woman pulling loose the tight bun in her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders in waves. She had the same uniform as Yun, though her posture carried more confidence.

She offered Seth a friendly smile. "Don't mind him. He never gets any action back at the military base, so he runs straight here every time we're off-duty."

Seth snorted involuntarily. Yun turned bright red.

"Not my fault you and the other junior officers are too busy vying for a promotion to cut loose," Yun shot back.

Sarna rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't be caught dead 'cutting loose' with you, promotion or no promotion."

Seth grinned, intrigued by their dynamic. "You two Sith or a married couple? Because I'm struggling to tell the difference."

Sarna laughed while Yun just groaned. "We're with the occupation force," she explained, turning her attention back to Seth. "Finished basic training a few months ago, got posted here on Taris."

"Not exactly the most exciting post," Yun added with a dramatic sigh.

Seth raised an eyebrow, keeping his expression relaxed. "You're stationed on an occupied world and you think it's boring?"

Sarna sighed. "Oh, don't get me wrong. We've got duties. But honestly? We mostly just stand around looking official while the officers in charge make all the real decisions."

Seth nodded slowly. He had to fight the instinctual flare of anger that came from hearing Sith talk about their occupation so casually.

She could have been on the Endar Spire. She could have killed his people.

And yet, she was just another soldier, making the best of an assignment she didn't care about.

He could work with that.

Sarna tilted her head slightly. "You're not a local, are you?"

Seth hesitated, then shook his head. "Off-worlder. Got stranded by the quarantine."

Sarna grimaced. "Oof. That's rough. You probably hate us Sith for it."

Seth exhaled. "Well… yeah. But you're just following orders. Can't hate you for that."

Sarna blinked, then smiled. "You're not like most off-worlders. You're… understanding." Her gaze flicked over him, appraising. "And pretty cute, even with that baby face of yours."

Seth cleared his throat, smirking despite himself. "Glad I could impress."

Sarna studied him for a second, then took a breath. "Listen—I know this is sudden, but some of us are having a party tonight. A few junior officers, nothing formal. You should come."

Seth hesitated. Not because he didn't want to go—but because he needed to act like it wasn't an easy yes.

"I…" He let the pause stretch, watching the way she leaned in slightly, hoping he'd accept. "I might be able to swing it."

She beamed. "Great! We're heading there straight after our shift—won't even be stopping at the base first."

Seth's mind clicked into place. No base. No time to change. That meant…

They'd still be in uniform.

He nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

Sarna grinned. "I hope you make it, Seth."

She leaned in slightly, voice lowering, just enough to make it teasing. "And if you're lucky? Maybe I'll save you a drink."

Seth smirked. "I'll hold you to that."

Seth found Carth exactly where he left him, still at the bar, looking as though he had only slightly regretted every life choice that had led him to this moment.

Carth barely glanced at him as he sat down. "Took you long enough."

Seth smirked. "Miss me?"

"Not exactly." Carth picked up his drink, then set it back down with a tired sigh. "The bartender had some useful information, though. The Sith have locked down the Lower City. No civilians, no off-worlders. Only authorized personnel."

Seth's eyebrows rose slightly. "Sounds like they're covering something up."

"That's what the bartender thinks." Carth leaned forward, keeping his voice low. "He said they aren't just enforcing the blockade. They've got patrols combing through the Lower City. Something has them nervous."

Seth considered that. If the Sith were searching for something, it had to be big. And if Bastila had crash-landed down there…

Yeah. That made sense.

He leaned back in his chair, acting casual. "So… we need a way down there."

Carth gave him a look. "Yeah. And unless you've figured out how to talk your way past a Sith checkpoint, we don't have one."

Seth grinned.

"Tell me, sir, were you ever much of a partier in your younger days?"

Carth stared at him. "What?"

Seth kept his expression perfectly straight. "Because I happen to know about a Sith party happening tonight."

Carth blinked. Then exhaled through his nose. "I already hate this."

Seth grinned wider. "C'mon, hear me out. Some junior Sith officers are having a little get-together. Off-duty. Still in uniform."

Carth's eyes narrowed slightly. "And?"

"And we crash the party," Seth said easily. "Make some new friends. And then we leave with a couple of borrowed uniforms."

Carth stared at him for a long moment. "You mean stolen uniforms."

Seth shrugged. "Semantics."

Carth dragged a hand down his face. "You can't possibly think this is a good idea."

Seth tilted his head. "Do you have a better one?"

Carth opened his mouth. Closed it. Scowled.

Seth smirked.

Carth muttered something under his breath. "Fine. But we're doing this smart. We scout the place first. Figure out the exits. Make sure we're not walking into something worse than we already are."

Seth saluted mockingly. "Yes, sir."

Carth shot him a pointed glare.

Seth just grinned.