Mission's heart stopped.
Carth's hands balled into fists.
Zaalbar let out a deep, guttural growl.
The entire stadium went silent.
Did he—?
Had he—?
Then, the announcement blared over the speakers as Seth stumbled to his feet beyond the finish line.
"THE WINNER—
Mission didn't even hear the rest. She was screaming, throwing her arms around Carth, jumping up and down. Carth, despite himself, let out a breath of relief, a small, disbelieving laugh shaking his shoulders. Zaalbar let out a roar that rattled the stands. The Beks flooded onto the track.
The stadium shook with the loudest cheer of the day.
Seth had done it.
Seth barely registered the noise. The celebration. The hands grabbing at him, lifting him.
His body felt weightless. His mind felt distant.
He had won.
Right?
His vision swam, black creeping at the edges.
Everything tilted.
And then—
Darkness.
The world was a blur.
Sound came first—distant, muffled, like hearing through water. Then, sensation—dull pain, the ache of overworked muscles, the burning sting of bruises forming.
His body felt heavy. He was lying on something solid—cold duracrete. His head lolled slightly as a familiar voice broke through the fog.
"—Seth? Seth, come on, Hotshot, wake up!"
Mission.
Something pressed against his shoulder—shaking him gently.
Then, not so gently.
"Seth, wake up, come on!"
A sharp groan escaped his lips before he even realized he was awake. His limbs felt like durasteel weights. He barely managed to blink his eyes open. The world was bright, blurry.
A face hovered above him—Mission, her brows furrowed, eyes wide with worry.
Behind her, Carth and Zaalbar.
His head throbbed.
His body screamed.
He had the vague, unsettling feeling that he shouldn't be breathing right now.
Why was he still breathing?
And then—
The race.
The bike failing.
The final push.
The finish line.
Seth inhaled sharply. "Did I…?"
Mission barked out a relieved laugh. "You won, dumbass."
Seth let his head rest back against the ground. He won. It didn't feel real.
It didn't feel like he should have survived, let alone won.
The crowd was still screaming. The grandstands felt like they were shaking from the noise.
Mission was still gripping his jacket. "You're never allowed on a swoop bike again," she muttered, voice thick.
Carth exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "Kid, you sure know how to make an entrance."
Seth chuckled—or tried to. It came out more like a strained cough.
Zaalbar let out a low, approving rumble.
The reality was slowly catching up.
He'd won.
He was still alive.
And then—
A new sound.
A voice—sharp, cold, furious.
"This race was a FRAUD!"
Seth's body reacted before his mind did.
His soldier's training kicked in instantly. Adrenaline pushed aside exhaustion.
His eyes snapped toward the voice.
Brejik.
The leader of the Vulkars was storming onto the platform, flanked by his thugs.
Seth pushed himself up—slow, stiff, but controlled. The weight of exhaustion was still there, but it didn't matter.
This wasn't over. Not yet.
Brejik gestured furiously to Seth. "Your swoop was using a prototype accelerator!" he spat. "A clear, unfair advantage! This race was rigged—a pathetic Bek trick!"
The crowd murmured, uncertainty rippling through the spectators.
Gadon Thek, still seated near the Bek pit, stood sharply. "The race was fair!" he shouted. "Everyone knew about the accelerator—it was part of the wager! You're just bitter because a rookie humiliated your best rider!"
Brejik's nostrils flared. "The Vulkars will not accept this!"
Seth felt it coming.
The second where words stopped mattering.
Brejik's hand twitched toward his blaster.
A single blaster bolt lanced through the air.
The announcer droid exploded into sparks, its robotic voice cutting off in a garbled shriek. Screams ripped through the stadium. The Vulkars opened fire.
Seth dived left, rolling behind a swoop bike just as blaster bolts chewed through the duracrete.
Mission yanked out her blaster, firing wildly into the fray.
Carth, already crouched for cover, whipped out both pistols and started laying down precise return fire.
Zaalbar let out a thunderous roar and charged straight into the melee, a vibroblade gleaming in his massive hands.
The Beks in the pit area scrambled for weapons, some fleeing, others fighting back.
Seth's mind was clear.
No more exhaustion. No more pain. This was a battlefield. His body moved before his thoughts caught up. He grabbed a fallen Vulkar's blaster, snapping off three rapid shots.
One thug dropped. Another stumbled back, armor sizzling. The third—too slow.
Zaalbar's blade cleaved through him with a sickening crunch.
Seth was already on the move, weaving through the chaos.
He wasn't thinking.
He was surviving.
Through the haze of battle, Seth spotted Brejik—still standing on the platform, barking orders.
Their eyes locked.
"You little bastard," Brejik spat, tossing aside his blaster. He unsheathed a vibrosword from his belt. The blade hissed in the arena lights, vibrating with lethal energy.
"You think you can walk away from this?" he snarled. "You think you can just take everything from me and LIVE?"
Seth braced himself, gripping his own sword. His muscles screamed from exhaustion. His body was running on fumes.
But he stood his ground.
Brejik charged.
The first clash of blades sent a jolt through Seth's arms. He barely had time to parry the next strike—
Then another.
And another.
No technique. No strategy.
Just brutal, savage strength.
Brejik was a storm of rage, swinging with raw fury, trying to overpower Seth completely. Seth ducked one blow, twisted out of the way of another, barely staying ahead. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in his ribs—a glancing hit.
His breath hitched.
He could feel his legs slowing.
Brejik snarled and swung again—
Seth blocked, barely holding his own, sweat dripping into his eyes.
Brejik was winning.
Until—
A golden blur.
A sudden, sharp snap-hiss.
The fight was over before Seth even processed what happened.
Brejik froze, eyes widening.
His body collapsed, lifeless.
And Bastila stood behind him, saber still humming.
The war around them didn't stop.
But for Seth—
Everything else vanished as his mind was once again clouded by the bridge of a warship. The clash of red against gold. A Jedi—young, fierce, burning like the sun.
Surrounded. Outnumbered. Unshaken.
Seth had watched her fight before.
Not in reality.
But in his dreams.