Seth reclined in the co-pilot's seat, boots kicked up onto the edge of the console as the Ebon Hawk drifted smoothly through hyperspace. The deep blue swirl of the hyperlane filled the cockpit's viewport, but he wasn't really looking at it. His thoughts were too tangled in the past few days—the mission, the trial, and the strange pull he kept feeling in his chest every time he looked at Mission.

Carth was at the pilot's chair, hands loosely gripping the controls even though the ship was running fine on autopilot. He had that relaxed but focused look, the one that said he wasn't just flying—he was thinking. Probably about everything Seth had just finished telling him.

"You did good, kid," Carth said. His voice was calm, proud. "Manaan was a mess, and you handled it."

Seth let out a short laugh, rubbing at the faint soreness left in his shoulder from the blaster wound. "I don't know if handling it is the right word. I almost drowned."

"Yeah, but you didn't." Carth shot him a sideways look. "And more importantly, you made the right calls. You could've poisoned the kolto and taken the easy win, but you didn't. You fought for the harder answer." He smirked. "Sounds like Republic thinking to me."

Seth snorted, shifting in his seat. "You know, I was thinking about that. When I was standing in front of that console, holding that poison canister, all I could think about was the fleet. The soldiers. The war." He shook his head. "Even now, after all this Jedi business… I don't think I ever stopped being a soldier."

Carth nodded, letting the words hang in the air for a beat. Then, "Maybe that's not a bad thing."

Seth blinked. "You don't think the Jedi would argue otherwise?"

Carth huffed a small laugh. "The Jedi are at war. They can preach about peace all they want, but when push comes to shove, it's soldiers that get things done. You think Revan won the war because of some fancy Jedi philosophy?"

Seth stiffened. That name still sent a strange, unplaceable chill down his spine. Carth didn't notice—he was still talking.

"I saw it happen firsthand. Revan, Malak, the Jedi who joined us… they won because they knew how to think like a soldier. Like a leader. And so do you."

Seth wasn't sure how to respond to that.

He leaned forward instead, resting his forearms on his knees. "I just keep thinking… what if I screw this all up? Not just the war, but—" He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "—what if I miss something? Something important."

Carth arched an eyebrow. "You're talking about Mission."

Seth winced. "Was it that obvious?"

"Like a slap to the face, kid."

Seth let out a weak laugh, shaking his head. "I don't know, Carth. I feel like I'm in freefall. I know I like her. I know I really like her. But I keep waiting for that one moment. That big, grand, all-knowing moment where everything just clicks. Like—like in the holovids, where everything slows down and you just know."

Carth smiled, but there was something distant in it. "It's not always like that."

Seth glanced at him. "Was it like that with your wife?"

Carth's fingers tightened slightly on the console.

The moment shifted. The easy camaraderie in the cockpit dimmed, replaced by something quieter. He hesitated.

Then, "I remember the moment I realized I loved Morgana. But it wasn't dramatic. I wasn't fighting a war, or standing on the edge of a battlefield. I wasn't thinking about life or death or fate." He exhaled, a small, nostalgic breath. "She was just… planting flowers. I was watching her work in her parents' garden back on Telos, and she was pressing the dirt around the base of a bright red bloom. That's it. That's the moment it hit me."

Seth sat back, thoughtful. "Why then?"

Carth's jaw tightened. "I don't know. Maybe because, in that moment, I could see our future. I could see her hands holding our son. I could see what life with her would be."

Seth opened his mouth to reply—

Then he froze.

Son.

The word hit him like a punch to the gut. He barely had time to process it before Carth was already moving, straightening up and closing himself off in the way Seth had come to recognize.

"Anyway," Carth said, clearing his throat. "You'll figure it out."

Seth's stomach twisted. He wanted to say something—to ask—but the wall was already up.

So he let it go.

Carth offered a small smirk, the weight of the moment fading back into easy camaraderie. "For what it's worth, I don't think you'll miss it. You and Mission? You're already halfway there."

Seth nodded, trying to push down the lingering ache in his chest.

"Thanks, Carth."

The older man clapped him on the shoulder, firm and steady. "Don't mention it. Now go check on your friend before she cheats Bastila out of a Pazaak game."

Seth chuckled, pushing himself up from his seat. "Cheating implies that Bastila has a chance."

Carth laughed. "Get outta here, kid."

Seth grinned—but as he walked out of the cockpit, his mind was still stuck on the word son.

Seth barely made it out of the cockpit before he heard Mission's voice ringing through the Ebon Hawk's hold.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

He raised an eyebrow, stepping into the room—only to find himself in the middle of an all-out Pazaak war.

Mission and Bastila were seated at the holotable, cards spread between them like a battlefield. Bastila's expression was calm, composed—her usual Jedi mask firmly in place—but there was a glint in her eye. Mission, on the other hand, looked like she was about to have an aneurysm.

Juhani was leaning in so close she was practically on the table. Canderous? Arms crossed, scowling at the board.

Seth looked between them. "Okay. What's happening?"

"Bastila just played a plus-six card," Juhani whispered, her tone both reverent and horrified.

"That's illegal," Mission hissed, jabbing a finger at the Jedi.

Bastila lifted a delicate brow. "I assure you, Mission, it is entirely within the rules."

"Yeah, well, morally, it's illegal," Mission grumbled, arms crossed.

Seth fought back a smirk. It wasn't often someone could actually rattle Mission during a game.

Canderous sighed, rubbing his temples. "Damn it. There go my credits."

Seth blinked. "Wait. You bet against Mission?"

Juhani folded her arms proudly. "I bet on Bastila."

Seth's mouth fell open. "Mission's been destroying people at Pazaak for years—why would you bet against her?"

"Because," Juhani said smugly, "Bastila is a Jedi. She has patience. She calculates every move. She has discipline."

Mission threw up her hands. "She also has no soul!"

Bastila tilted her head. "I fail to see how that's relevant."

Mission pointed at her, glaring. "Exactly."

Seth couldn't stop grinning. "Alright, alright. Who's winning?"

"Tied," Juhani said. "Two sets each."

Seth let out a low whistle. "Damn." He plopped down next to Juhani, resting his elbows on the table. "So what's the bet?"

"No bet," Mission muttered, still salty.

"Boring," Seth teased, smirking. "I thought you liked high stakes, Mish."

Mission narrowed her eyes. "You stay out of this, Hotshot. I can't afford distractions right now."

"Distractions?" Seth blinked. "Mish, are you saying I throw off your game?"

"You wish," Mission shot back. But she was fidgeting.

Seth grinned. "Oh, I know I do."

Her lekku twitched. "You are so lucky we're not in the cargo hold right now."

Bastila cleared her throat. "If we could focus, perhaps?"

Mission let out a slow breath. "Fine. One last round. Winner takes all."

Bastila nodded, serene. "Agreed."

The final match began.

Mission drew first. A ten. Solid start.

Bastila drew a six.

The game went on, each drawing cards—Mission pushing aggressive, Bastila measured and patient. Seth could see Mission's tension—her competitive streak was taking over. She kept glancing at her side deck, calculating.

Then, finally, she pulled a card—

And froze.

Seth knew that look. That was a bad draw. His smirk widened. "Everything okay, Mish?"

Her eye twitched. "I swear to the Force, Avery—"

"You look a little nervous."

"Seth—"

"Need me to help you with strategy?"

"IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP—"

Canderous groaned. "By the Manda, just play the damn card, kid."

Mission exhaled sharply. Then—dramatically, painfully, she placed her card down.

A seven.

BUST.

Seth could not contain his laughter.

"Damn it!" Mission groaned, throwing her hands in the air. "No, you know what? I demand a rematch. Best of five!"

Bastila smiled, folding her hands primly. "That was five, Mission."

Mission froze.

Then, slowly, she turned to Juhani.

Juhani, smug beyond belief, held out a hand. "My credits, please."

Canderous grumbled and slapped a stack of credits into her palm. "I hate this game."

Bastila, meanwhile, was very visibly fighting back a smirk. "It was an excellent match, Mission. I understand now why you enjoy the game so much."

Mission buried her face in her hands. "I cannot believe I lost to a Jedi."

Seth was still laughing. "Hey, you put up a good fight."

She jabbed a finger in his direction. "I will hold this against you."

Seth just grinned. "You love me."

Mission huffed, crossing her arms.

Then, grumbling under her breath, she shoved her deck at Bastila.

"Keep it."

Bastila blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You won fair and square," Mission muttered, still pouting. "So keep the deck. Consider it your reward for kicking my ass."

Seth wasn't sure whose expression was funnier—Mission's petulant grumbling or Bastila's mild, stunned horror at being handed a gift.

The older Jedi hesitated, then took the deck gently. "…Thank you, Mission."

The Twi'lek waved her off, like it wasn't a big deal. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't get too cocky about it, Jedi Princess."

Seth watched Bastila turn the cards over in her hands, thoughtful.

He smirked as the others vacated the hold, leaving Mission pouting at the holotable.

Yeah. That had been the funniest thing he'd seen all week.

He chanced a glance at Mission. She had barely said a word since handing Bastila her Pazaak deck, her arms crossed so tightly Seth was afraid she'd cut off her own circulation.

Seth, being the kind, compassionate, supportive friend that he was, decided to fix it. He moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, thumbs pressing gently against the tension knots. "Mish, c'mon. You put up a hell of a fight—"

The second his fingers applied pressure, she slapped his hands away. Seth retracted his them immediately.

Mission turned, eyes narrowed. "We talked about this, Hotshot."

Seth held up both hands in surrender. "Right, right. Boundaries."

Mission's glare softened—slightly. "You suck at boundaries."

"I don't suck," Seth countered, but the way she arched a brow made him amend, "I'm learning."

"Learning very slowly," Mission muttered, shaking her head.

Seth sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Look, I'm trying, okay?" He waved vaguely at himself. "This isn't exactly my strong suit. But I don't wanna mess this up, Mish. So just… keep calling me out on it."

Mission blinked.

Then, finally, her lips curved into a small smile. "Don't worry. I will."

Seth huffed a dramatic sigh of defeat. "Great. Can't wait."

Mission laughed under her breath, but then her eyes flickered toward the doorway, her smile dimming slightly.

Zaalbar ambled through, looking… lost? Aimless? Seth couldn't put a finger on it, but something about the Wookiee's demeanor was just… off.

"Hey, Big Z," Seth greeted, keeping his tone casual. "You good?"

Zaalbar grunted, his response low, noncommittal.

Mission tilted her head. "You haven't said much since we left Manaan," she tried, her tone gentler than usual.

The Wookiee let out a long, slow exhale. "[I have been… thinking.]"

That was never a good sign.

Seth and Mission exchanged a look.

Zaalbar pushed off the bulkhead and turned away. "[We are nearly there. I should prepare.]"

And just like that, he was gone.

Seth sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That's the third time he's bailed on a conversation since we left Manaan."

Mission chewed on her lip. "He's got a lot on his mind, Seth."

"I know," Seth admitted. "I just… I dunno. You've known him longer. You think he's gonna be okay?"

Mission's fingers tapped restlessly against the holotable. "Big Z doesn't talk about his past much, but I do know that something really bad happened to him on Kashyyyk." She exhaled. "I don't think we should push him. If he wants to talk, he'll talk."

Seth nodded, still watching the doorway Zaalbar had disappeared through.

"Yeah," he said, though his gut was telling him otherwise.

Something was wrong.

And they were about to walk right into it.

Kashyyyk Was Like Nothing They'd Ever Seen.

Seth stepped off the Ebon Hawk's loading ramp and took a slow, deep breath. The air was cooler than he expected—fresh and untainted, crisp with the scent of damp earth and vegetation.

It was so quiet.

No hover traffic. No roaring engines. No shouting vendors or blaring security sirens. Just… the wind moving through the endless canopy above them, the faint rustling of creatures hidden in the wroshyr trees.

He tilted his head back, eyes tracing upward. The trees were massive. Towering pillars of life, stretching higher than the tallest Coruscanti skyscrapers, their thick trunks carved with generations of Wookiee craftsmanship.

Coruscant with the lights off.

That was the only way he could describe it.

"I don't think I've ever seen this much green in my life," Mission murmured beside him.

"Same," Seth admitted, still staring upward. "I feel like the whole planet is alive."

"[It is]" Zaalbar said grimly.

And just like that, the wonder faded.

Because the Wookiee wasn't in awe. He was tense.

His massive frame stood rigid, his jaw clenched as his dark eyes flicked across the landing bay, taking in everything.

The Czerka officer standing near the supply crates barely gave them a glance before scoffing. "First time seeing a real forest, huh?" His eyes flicked to Zaalbar. "Surprised he's not on a leash."

Mission froze. Seth felt her shoulders coil like a spring.

Zaalbar's breath rumbled in his chest. His claws twitched at his sides. Seth saw it coming a second too late.

The Wookiee lunged.

Seth barely threw an arm out in time, stopping Zaalbar's advance.

"Big Z, don't!" Mission's voice was sharp with panic.

Zaalbar was shaking.

"[I will not be spoken to like a beast!]" His deep, guttural growl reverberated through the platform.

The Czerka officer stumbled back, alarm flashing in his face before twisting into smug arrogance. "Hah. Feisty, aren't you?" He spat on the ground. "No wonder your kind always ends up in chains. You don't know your place."

Mission snapped. "You think you're so damn tough?" she barked, marching straight up to the Czerka officer. "Like selling people makes you a man?"

The officer just rolled his eyes. "Get your pet under control, or security will do it for you."

Mission's hands curled into fists.

Seth stepped in fast. "Alright, alright," he cut in, forcing his tone to stay neutral. "We don't want any trouble."

The officer smirked as if he'd won something. "Hmph. Keep it that way." He turned, walking off.

Seth let out a slow breath.

That had been close.

Zaalbar's claws were still half-unsheathed. He stood rigid, staring at the spot where the Czerka officer had been, his breathing heavy and uneven.

Mission touched his arm gently. "Big Z…"

Zaalbar didn't answer.

Not at first.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"[I had hoped things would change.]" His voice was low. Bitter. "[But it is just as I left it. Slavery. Corruption. My people in chains.]"

Seth frowned. "You were here when it started?"

Zaalbar's hands curled into fists. "[I was exiled for standing against it.]"

They all stilled.

Even Bastila's usual detached Jedi composure faltered.

"I thought you said you were exiled for… attacking someone," Mission said carefully.

Zaalbar nodded.

"[I did. I attacked my own brother, Chuundar.]"

A heavy silence.

Seth's chest tightened. "Why?"

Zaalbar's gaze darkened.

"[Because he sold our people into slavery.]"

The bridge of the Leviathan was silent, save for the faint hum of distant machinery.

Darth Bandon strode forward, his heavy boots clicking against the durasteel floors, his posture proud, confident. The air in the command deck was thick with an almost suffocating presence of the Dark Side—Malak's presence.

The Dark Lord of the Sith stood at the helm, his hands clasped behind his back, staring out into the abyss of hyperspace. He did not turn when Bandon approached.

Bandon dropped to one knee behind him. "My lord."

A long pause. Then, Malak finally spoke—his voice a deep, mechanical rumble beneath his metal jaw. "Calo Nord is dead."

Bandon's lip curled slightly. "No surprise there. I told you hiring a mercenary was a mistake. If you had sent me from the beginning—"

"You are mistaken if you believe yourself above failure, Bandon."

Malak turned now, his piercing golden gaze locking onto his apprentice. Bandon felt the weight of it like a durasteel slab on his chest.

"I gave Nord a chance to succeed because his failure would not be a loss. But you?" Malak's voice dropped into something dangerous. "You are not afforded that luxury."

Bandon stiffened but nodded. "Understood, my lord."

Malak studied him for a long moment. Then, he turned back toward the stars.

"The Jedi survived Manaan," Malak continued, his tone devoid of emotion. "I trust you recall your last encounter with them."

Bandon swallowed hard. The air in the bridge suddenly felt colder.

Because Malak was baiting him. The last time he had the chance, his failure was that he didn't encounter them.

Aboard the Endar Spire.

That Republic fool, Trask Ulgo, had been nothing more than a footnote in the battle—a minor nuisance before Bandon cut him down. The real target had been Bastila Shan, but she had escaped, slipping through his grasp in the chaos of the battle.

And the boy? He hadn't even been on Bandon's radar at the time. Just another Republic grunt, insignificant.

Yet here they were. Still standing.

Still breathing.

Bandon forced himself to keep his composure. "I will not fail again, my lord. I should leave at once—"

"No."

The single word was like a vice around Bandon's throat. He froze.

Malak turned slowly, his gaze settling on him—cold, piercing, calculated.

"You are going to be facing two of the most powerful Force-users in the galaxy," Malak said. "They may still be learning how to control such power, but nonetheless, they are dangerous."

Bandon's lip curled slightly. "They're children, my lord," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. The idea that his fate rested on two Jedi, one early into her adulthood and the other a mere teenager, was absurd.

"They are savants," Malak corrected. His words carried the weight of certainty, like a master who had seen a game unfold before it had even begun. "Do you question my judgment?"

Bandon hesitated. That moment of hesitation was a mistake.

Malak stepped forward. The air seemed to grow thicker, heavier. The Dark Lord did not need to raise his voice to crush Bandon under the full weight of his presence. "You will not track them down."

Bandon blinked, caught off guard. "But my lord—"

"You are not ready."

It was not an insult. It was a fact.

"Increase your training regimen." Malak's tone remained measured, controlled, final. "I want you primed and dangerous when you face them. For what they may have on you in terms of power, you will have on them in terms of discipline."

Bandon bowed his head, jaw clenched. "I will make myself ready, my lord."

"See that you do."

Malak turned away again, dismissing him. The conversation was over.

Bandon exhaled slowly. His hands curled into fists, but he forced himself to still them before standing.

He had no choice but to obey.

For now.

Seth couldn't keep his eyes off of Mission, despite his best efforts.

It was just that… she did things. Small things. Things he hadn't noticed before.

Like the way her lekku twitched when she was deep in thought. The way she clicked the safety on her blaster absentmindedly when she was irritated. The way she crossed her arms tightly when she was trying to hold back a reaction—like she was physically keeping herself from swinging at someone.

Like now.

Her fists were clenched. Her jaw set. She was still fuming about the Czerka exchange.

And honestly? She had every right to be.

Czerka was filth. Seth had seen plenty of corporations use credits to rule the weak, but slavery? It made his stomach turn.

And Mission—who had spent her whole life as a street rat clawing for survival, who had spent years calling a Wookiee her best friend—was never going to let it slide.

She was furious.

And Seth kinda loved that about her.

He caught up to her, matching her marching pace. "You alright?"

Mission scoffed. "What do you think?"

"That I should probably be standing between you and the next Czerka guy we run into."

"You're damn right, you should," she muttered. "I swear, if they try to say one more thing about Zaalbar—"

"Yeah," Seth said quietly. "I know."

And he did.

Because he wasn't just backing Zaalbar.

He was backing her.

Seth turned to the others, squaring his shoulders. "According to Bastila and I's shared visions, the Star Map's on the forest floor. We're gonna need the help of the Wookiees in Zaalbar's village to get down there. So I say we head down there and help Big Z out when he faces his brother."

Bastila pursed her lips, already calculating the risk. She didn't like detours. But after a beat, she sighed. "We're not stopping any longer than necessary," she said firmly. Then, her gaze softened slightly. "Zaalbar, you know these forests. Lead the way."

Zaalbar nodded once, his shoulders straightening.

Mission exhaled slowly. "Thank you," she whispered.

Seth smiled. "You don't need to thank me. Zaalbar's a member of our crew. We help one another out."

Mission's eyes flicked over his face. Something shifted. And then—just like that—her smirk was back.

"Oh, Seth." She stood up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his jawline—featherlight.

Seth froze.

His heart slammed into his ribs.

Before he could react, she pulled away, slipping her fingers from his grasp. Then, she tossed a glance over her shoulder, coy and knowing, as she sauntered ahead.

"We both know you didn't do that for just Zaalbar."

Seth stood there, rooted in place.

He could still feel the ghost of her lips against his skin.

And somewhere deep inside him, something clicked.

He was falling for Mission Vao.

And she knew it.