Talan Owens jolted upright in bed, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Cold sweat clung to his skin, his heart hammering against his ribs as he struggled to steady himself. Disoriented, he scanned his surroundings, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through a cracked and grime-covered window. This was no starship's barracks, no command deck brimming with the hum of machinery, and certainly no Jedi enclave.
No Revan.
A dream. Just a dream.
But it had felt real. Too real. The echoes of it still clung to his mind, refusing to fade like dreams should. He shut his eyes, trying to center himself, but the images remained—flashes of war, of fire and destruction, of a presence both commanding and familiar.
Why the hell was he dreaming about Revan?
Shaking off the lingering haze, he pushed himself up, only for a wave of dizziness to crash over him. He clenched his jaw, forcing down the nausea threatening to rise. The room around him spun slightly before settling back into place.
Deep breath in. Hold. Slow exhale. Repeat.
When the vertigo finally subsided, he took a more measured look at his surroundings. The place was a mess—a dark, dust-laden apartment that looked long abandoned. The floor beneath him was coated in grime, disturbed only by the faint imprints of his own movement. A layer of dust swirled around his feet as he stood, catching the dim light in ghostly tendrils.
The furniture was ancient and decayed—cushions torn open by time or something worse, their stuffing spilling out like wounded flesh. Sinister stains marred the fabric, some too dark and ingrained to guess at their origins. A large, lopsided table sat in the middle of the room, its surface a battlefield of scratches, scorch marks, and deep gouges.
His eyes landed on his weapons. His vibroblades lay neatly beside his blasters on the table, meticulously arranged despite the chaos of the room. He frowned. He had no memory of putting them there.
Where the hell am I?
The sharp hiss of the apartment doors opening nearly sent his pulse through the roof. Instinct had his hand flying toward his blaster, but he stilled at the sight of the man who stepped inside.
Scruffy, weathered, and clad in a tattered orange jacket that had certainly seen better days, the stranger carried himself with the air of a man who had fought too many battles and lost more than he cared to speak of. His eyes—haunted yet sharp—held the weight of experience. But when he smiled, it was warm, surprisingly so.
"Good to see you up," the man said, closing the door behind him. "I was starting to think you'd never wake up with all that thrashing around you were doing."
Talan swallowed, his throat dry as sand. His voice came out hoarse when he managed, "Who… are you?"
The stranger tilted his head slightly, as if surprised. "Carth. Carth Onasi. We were in the escape pod together. Don't tell me you don't remember?"
Talan's mind reeled at the name, and suddenly, the dam broke. Memories came flooding in with dizzying clarity—the Endar Spire under siege, the chaos of alarms blaring through the halls, the scent of scorched metal and ozone filling the air. Trask. Fighting side by side through the cruiser's corridors. The dark Jedi. The way Trask had thrown himself into battle to buy him time to escape—
A cold weight settled in his stomach.
Trask was gone.
Talan exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus on the present. He had made it out. He was here.
"Right," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "I remember. Where are we?"
Carth crossed his arms, studying him for a beat before responding. "Taris. Been here for a few days now."
Talan's brows furrowed. "Days?"
"You took one hell of a hit when the pod crashed. I wasn't sure you'd make it in one piece."
Crashed. That explained the throbbing ache in his skull, the lingering disorientation.
"You were out cold when we landed," Carth continued, his tone more serious now. "I wasn't too banged up, so I managed to drag you out before the Sith showed up asking questions."
Talan tried to process it all, but the more he thought, the harder his head pounded. He let out a slow breath and mustered a wry, albeit weak, smile. "Guess I owe you one."
Carth shrugged, his expression softening. "No need for that. I don't leave people behind, and I'm not about to start now. Besides, I need your help if we want to get off this rock."
Talan frowned. "My help?"
"You've got a knack for languages, right? Your service records say you can understand a ton of alien dialects. That's rare, and it's going to be useful if we're going to track down Bastila and get out of here before the Sith lock this place down."
Bastila Shan.
The name alone was enough to twist his mood.
The Jedi in charge of the Endar Spire's mission. He had met her only once in passing, and even that had been enough. The memory of her thinly veiled hostility—her cold, scrutinizing gaze that seemed to find fault in his very existence—was still fresh.
A shame, really. She was strikingly beautiful, but that was completely wasted on someone with the warmth of an air-sick Wookiee.
"Right," Talan muttered, forcing himself back on track. "So, where do we start?"
Carth fastened his blasters to his belt with practiced ease. "Cantinas. If anyone's heard anything about Bastila, it'll be the more intoxicated locals. Plus, they won't remember much after a few drinks anyway." He shot Talan a smirk. "And, if I'm being honest, I could really use a drink."
Talan chuckled, the tension in his chest easing just a fraction. "Yeah. I could go for one too."
He grabbed his blasters, securing them at his waist, and reached for his vibroblades, fastening them to his back in a criss-crossed fashion.
Carth gave a low whistle, nodding at the weapons. "Not often you see someone who can handle two blades. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
Talan opened his mouth to respond—only to falter.
A gap. A blank space where an answer should have been.
His stomach twisted uncomfortably.
"I… don't know," he admitted, brow furrowing. The words felt foreign on his tongue.
Carth's expression remained neutral, but there was something thoughtful in his gaze. "Probably just a side effect of the crash," he said, waving it off. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll come back to you."
Talan wasn't so sure.
Still, he nodded stiffly and followed Carth out of the apartment, stepping into the unknown.
The moment they stepped into the hall, trouble found them.
Two Duros stood against the far wall, cornered by a Sith trooper flanked by a pair of security droids. The air was thick with tension. One of the Duros had made the mistake of grumbling about the Sith's heavy-handed rule—a mistake that had just cost his companion his life. The acrid scent of burned flesh still lingered as the first Duros crumpled to the floor, a smoking blaster wound in his chest.
The Sith trooper smirked, raising his blaster again, this time leveling it at the second Duros's head.
Talan didn't think. His blaster was drawn and fired before the Sith could squeeze the trigger. A single shot, clean and precise. The trooper's body jerked violently before collapsing in a lifeless heap.
The sharp hiss of burning circuits followed as one of the droids whirled, its photoreceptors flashing red—only to be met with another quick shot from Talan. The droid sparked and fell in a heap beside its master. Carth had already fired on the second droid before it could react, leaving only the stunned Duros standing amid the carnage.
Talan exhaled, holstering his weapon, and turned to Carth with a wry smirk.
"So much for keeping a low profile."
The Duros stared at them, wide-eyed, then glanced down at the bodies. His expression was unreadable for a moment, then he let out a shaky breath and gave a deep nod.
"I owe you my life, human. If you had not intervened, I would surely be dead."
Talan's gaze flickered back to the Sith's corpse, unease prickling at the back of his mind. "Won't the Sith come looking for the body?"
The Duros tilted his head, then scoffed and gave the lifeless soldier a firm kick. "Do not concern yourself. I will handle it. Nobody will ever find him."
Carth arched a brow. "That can't be a good omen," he muttered as they left the apartment complex and stepped onto the streets of Taris.
Talan adjusted the straps on his blasters. "Then we better figure out a way off this planet before we attract even more attention."
Their journey to the cantina was, surprisingly, uneventful—aside from a minor encounter with a group of drunken thugs. A few well-placed credits for a round of drinks spared them the trouble of a fight, and soon, they were stepping into the dimly lit establishment.
The cantina was a loud, suffocating blend of liquor, smoke, and sweat. The air was thick with the scent of stale alcohol, and the music blared at an almost unbearable volume. Conversations were reduced to shouted words and exaggerated gestures just to be heard over the din.
Well, at least we won't have to worry about being overheard.
Navigating through the crowd, Talan's gaze landed on a large holoscreen, where a cluster of spectators had gathered. The screen displayed a live dueling match taking place in the ring.
The fight was… unimpressive.
One contestant fumbled with his blaster as if he had never held one before, while his opponent looked equally unsure of how to even aim. A moment later, the latter dropped his weapon entirely. He barely had time to look down at it before his opponent shot him three times in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.
A mix of cheers and groans rippled through the crowd as the loser was dragged off the field on a stretcher. Moments later, the victorious duelist emerged from the arena, basking in the applause.
Talan, however, barely spared him a glance. His focus had shifted to the far end of the cantina, where a Hutt sat observing him with an unsettling amount of interest.
Nothing good ever comes from dealing with a Hutt.
Still, avoiding them wasn't always an option.
The Hutt—Ajuur—lifted a stubby arm and gestured for Talan to approach.
Talan sighed but complied, stepping closer with cautious ease.
"Greetings, human," Ajuur drawled, his deep voice slick with amusement. "I have not seen you around before, and I can tell you are no ordinary traveler." His beady eyes glinted as he appraised Talan's physique. "I have a proposition for you, if you are interested."
This should be interesting.
"What kind of proposition?"
Ajuur made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a phlegmy cough. "I run the dueling ring here on Taris. Always looking for fresh blood to keep the crowds entertained. And you…" He gestured vaguely toward Talan's weaponry. "You have the look of a fighter. If you enter the ring, I can arrange matches for you. Not to the death, unfortunately—those were outlawed some time ago. But you will be paid, if you win."
Talan glanced at Carth, who nodded slightly. "Might be a good idea. We could use the credits later on."
Turning back to Ajuur, Talan gave a curt nod. "I'm in."
Ajuur let out another guttural chuckle. "Excellent. My duelists have been clamoring for new competition. Now, we must think of a name for you—something that will draw the crowd. Good names mean bigger bets, which means more credits for me."
He rubbed his slimy hands together. "Since nobody knows you here, I shall call you… The Mysterious Stranger."
Carth let out a barely restrained snicker. Talan sighed.
No point in arguing with a Hutt.
"I'll take it."
Ajuur's grin widened. "Good. If you're ready, I will set up your first match against Ice. Normally, I'd start you off with someone weaker, but Deadeye Duncan is nursing his wounds, and Gerlon is off celebrating with the dancers. Ice, however, is always eager for a challenge."
Talan smirked slightly. "Let's do it."
The crowd roared as Talan stepped into the ring.
He wasn't sure how he felt about fighting a woman, but Ice's reputation spoke for itself—she was no pushover. And he needed the credits.
His first impression of her shifted as soon as she walked in. She was young, maybe twenty at most, but carried herself with the confidence of someone who had spent years perfecting her craft.
A kid?
He sighed. Well, that doesn't mean she isn't dangerous.
They met in the center of the ring and shook hands. Her grip was surprisingly strong.
"Don't go easy on me, Stranger," she said, her voice cool and unyielding. "Gentlemen aren't my type. Besides, I've been dying for a real fight. The others get so boring after a while."
Talan grinned. "Shame. I do like a woman with some fire."
"You'd have better luck wooing Ajuur."
The buzzer sounded, and Ice struck first.
Her Echani blade flashed up with speed that surprised him, and he barely managed to block in time. The impact sent a sharp sting up his wrists, and he grimaced. She was fast.
They circled each other, testing the waters, before Ice abruptly lunged forward. He moved to counter, but she feinted, using her momentum to shove him back. In one smooth motion, she pulled a small knife from her belt and flicked it toward him.
Pain flared in his shoulder as the blade buried itself in flesh.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Talan yanked the knife free, letting it clatter to the floor. He met Ice's smirk with one of his own.
"So you do play dirty," he muttered.
She only grinned.
Fine. He could play dirty too.
The fight escalated, shifting into unarmed combat after they disarmed each other. Ice moved with deadly grace, her Echani training on full display. But Talan wasn't a stranger to the style either. He couldn't remember where he had learned it—but his body knew the moves.
The crowd ate it up.
After a brutal exchange, Ice finally began to falter. Seeing his opening, Talan sidestepped her next strike, drew his blaster, and fired twice into her gut.
She dropped to her knees, eyes locking onto his before she exhaled sharply and gave the signal for surrender.
The buzzer sounded.
The Mysterious Stranger had won his first fight. Talan stepped forward, offering his hand to Ice. She looked at it for a moment before scoffing and brushing it aside.
"I told you, Stranger—gentlemen aren't my type."
He smirked. "Consider it showing mercy to a worthy opponent."
Ice pushed herself to her feet, wincing slightly as she straightened. "I don't need anyone's mercy." Her voice was edged with stubborn pride, but after a brief pause, her expression softened—just a fraction. "But I have to admit, Stranger, that was the best duel I've had since Twitch snatched the title of champion away from me. I guess Ajuur knew what he was doing when he roped you into this mess."
With that, she turned on her heel and left the ring, disappearing into the cheering crowd as the announcer hyped up the next match. The applause was thunderous, but Talan hardly heard it. His mind was already elsewhere.
An hour later, Talan finally managed to push his way back into the cantina. The path had been slow—too many people stopping him to praise his victory, offering drinks, or trying to size him up for future bets.
After collecting his winnings from Ajuur, he was about to leave when he noticed Ice sitting alone in the far corner of the room, nursing a drink.
She didn't look up as he approached, but the slight tension in her shoulders told him she was aware of his presence. He slid into the seat across from her, and she let out an audible sigh.
"Did you come to gloat, Stranger? Or maybe you think buying me a drink will charm me into your bed?" She finally lifted her gaze to him, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "I told you before, you'd have better luck with Ajuur."
Talan chuckled and shook his head. "Not here to gloat. And as tempting as you make it sound, I'm not here to seduce you, either."
She arched a brow, her interest piqued. "Then why are you here?"
"I need information. About the Undercity."
Ice swirled the liquid in her glass, considering. "An odd request." She leaned back against the booth. "Most people ask me for a rematch or a favor, not directions to the most wretched part of Taris. But I'm feeling generous. I'll humor you—for the moment."
Talan leaned forward. "I need to know about the escape pods that crashed there a few days ago."
Her smirk faded slightly. "Escape pods? From that Republic ship that got torn apart in orbit?" Her eyes flickered with something unreadable. "I'm no fan of the Sith, but that doesn't mean I'm eager to get involved in someone else's war. So forgive me if I hesitate to share anything."
Talan nodded, choosing his words carefully. "I was on that ship. We barely made it off before the Sith blew it to hell. Our commanding officer was in one of those escape pods, and if we don't find her soon, we're all as good as dead."
Ice studied him, silent for a long moment. Then, her lips curved into a knowing smirk. "So you are a fugitive. Not so mysterious after all, Stranger."
Carth tensed beside him, but Talan kept his expression neutral. "If you figured it out that quickly, it won't be long before the Sith do, too." His voice held a quiet edge, the unspoken reality hanging between them—if the Sith found them first, there wouldn't be much left of them to find.
Ice exhaled through her nose, setting her drink down. "There were two escape pods that crashed in the Undercity a few days ago. The Black Vulkars got to them first—those gutter rats snatch up anything that falls into their territory. Whoever was inside? They're prisoners now."
Talan's jaw tightened. That wasn't the worst-case scenario—but it wasn't far off.
"Do you know how to get to the Lower City?"
Ice tilted her head, eyeing him with something between amusement and disbelief. "You actually want to go down there? You're either brave or stupid, Stranger. I'm not sure which."
Talan glanced at Carth, then back at Ice. "We don't have a choice."
For a moment, something flickered behind her gaze—an emotion she masked almost immediately. He didn't know why, but instinct told him she could be trusted, despite her sharp exterior. She wasn't loyal to the Sith. That was enough.
Talan leaned forward, his tone unwavering. "The person we're looking for was our commanding officer. If we don't get to her soon, she's as good as dead."
Ice arched a brow, swirling her drink idly. "An officer?" She scoffed, shaking her head. "I don't get it. You're risking your necks, drawing all this attention—just to save one officer? I've fought with plenty of soldiers, and trust me, most of them wouldn't do the same for you."
Talan met her gaze, steady and unflinching. "She's not just any officer." He hesitated for only a second before deciding it didn't matter anymore. If Ice was going to turn them in, she would have done it already. "She's a Jedi."
Ice's fingers froze against the rim of her glass. Something flickered in her expression—something unreadable. Slowly, she set her drink down.
"Even if she's a Jedi, what makes her so important?"
Talan exhaled, choosing his words carefully. "She has a rare ability—Battle Meditation. It's the key to the Republic's war effort. With it, she can turn the tide of entire battles. Without her, we don't stand a chance against the Sith."
Ice's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something sharp and knowing crossing her face. She studied him for a moment before leaning forward. "This Jedi… her name wouldn't happen to be Bastila, would it?"
Carth stiffened beside him, and Talan hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. "Yeah. Bastila Shan."
Ice let out a slow breath, her fingers tightening around her glass. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, almost unreadable.
"You know her?" Carth asked, wary.
Ice's expression darkened, her features tightening in a way that Talan hadn't seen before. Her fingers curled slightly against the table. "Figures," she muttered.
"You could say that," she muttered. Then, after a pause—
"She's my sister."