Seth had assumed that when Bastila said they were heading to a Jedi Academy, she meant Coruscant. He had spent the hyperspace journey bracing himself for it—returning to the planet of his childhood, seeing the spires of the Senate District from above, walking streets that had shaped him into the man he was today. It would have been surreal.

But as the Ebon Hawk dropped out of hyperspace, the view through the cockpit viewport was anything but the familiar ecumenopolis of Coruscant.

A lush, green world sprawled before them, its surface unmarred by kilometer-high skyscrapers or endless streams of speeder traffic. Seth stared, his mind struggling to recalibrate.

"Wait," he said slowly, turning to Bastila. "I thought we were going to see the Jedi Council."

Bastila didn't look away from the viewport, but there was the smallest smirk in her voice when she responded, "We are."

Seth shot a look at Carth, who was preoccupied with the ship's controls. "Ma'am, isn't the Jedi Council on Coruscant?"

"The High Council is, yes," Bastila confirmed. "But the Council that assigned me to the Endar Spire is based here, on Dantooine."

"Huh." Seth studied the planet again, a little thrown. He had spent so much of his life fighting to leave Coruscant, and now the thought of going back had been so firmly set in his mind that he didn't know how to feel about this new development.

Still, he had to admit—Dantooine looked peaceful.

"I guess I've seen more than enough of Coruscant in my lifetime," he muttered, shrugging off the moment of disorientation. "What's the plan, ma'am? You deliver your debrief, and we all go our separate ways? Or is there more to this?"

Bastila turned to face him fully. "That is a matter for the Jedi Council to decide."

"Which means you already have an idea," Seth countered, folding his arms. "You just won't tell me."

Bastila tilted her head slightly, as if assessing how much to say. "I do sense that our adventures together have not yet concluded, Private Avery."

Seth gave a lopsided grin. "Well, if that's the case, ma'am, I look forward to continuing our work together."

Bastila's expression softened just slightly. "As do I."

Carth cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Alright, kids, let's focus up. We're coming in for landing."

Seth clapped his hands together and stood. "Well, let's go meet some Jedi, then."

The Jedi Academy was nothing like what Seth had imagined. He had expected a towering structure, grand and imposing, filled with stoic warriors and wise sages. Instead, the enclave blended into the landscape, its architecture mirroring the sloping hills and vast fields of Dantooine. It felt… calm.

The calm was what unnerved him most.

His boots echoed lightly against the stone flooring as he followed Bastila into the Council Chamber. Four Jedi sat before them—each one observing him with sharp, appraising eyes. Seth suddenly felt very aware of himself, of his posture, of the weapons at his hip. His training kicked in, and he fell into parade rest, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Padawan Shan," the green-skinned Master Vandar Tokare greeted. His voice was aged, but steady. "You have done well to bring these Republic soldiers here."

"I am honored to serve, Master Vandar," Bastila responded with a respectful bow.

The Twi'lek Master, Zhar Lestin, studied Seth closely. "This is the young man you spoke of?"

"Yes, Masters," Bastila confirmed. "Private Avery has proven himself invaluable. His skills, instincts, and resilience have been crucial to our survival."

Seth felt their scrutiny settle on him fully now. He forced himself to hold their gazes, resisting the urge to fidget.

"Interesting," Vandar murmured. "Very interesting."

Seth shifted his weight slightly. He had spent years being evaluated by instructors, commanding officers, and fellow soldiers—but this was different. Their gazes weren't just seeing him. They were measuring him. And he wasn't sure he liked it.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, keeping his tone polite but firm. "But what exactly is so interesting?"

Master Zhar leaned forward slightly. "You. The Force presses heavily upon your future, young Avery." He let the words hang in the air before adding, "Heavily enough to consider you a candidate for training as a Jedi."

Seth blinked. Of all the things he had expected to hear today, that was… nowhere on the list.

"I—" he started, then stopped, his mind scrambling. "I'm sorry, sir. You think I should be a Jedi?"

"You do not sense it?" Master Dorak, the Academy's historian, asked. "The way the Force flows around you?"

Seth hesitated. He thought about the swoop race on Taris, the fight with Xayalith, the moments when instinct had taken over before his brain could even catch up. He thought about the way he had felt Mission's presence before he'd seen her when she had come looking for him after Draven's death.

But Jedi? No. That wasn't him.

"Perhaps Master Zhar is jumping to conclusions," Master Vrook Lamar, a human Jedi, cut in, his gaze sharp and skeptical. "We need proof of his Force sensitivity before even considering such a thing."

Seth wasn't sure whether to be relieved or offended.

"Master, I have already relayed to you the events that occurred on Taris in full detail," Bastila interjected, her tone respectful but firm. "Seth not only became the first human to survive the Taris Season Opener swoop race but won. He obtained the Ebon Hawk and managed to get us all off-world under heavy fire. He defeated a warrior trained in the dark side of the Force—an adept even I could not stand against."

"We can clearly feel the power within the boy," Zhar agreed.

Dorak nodded. "Between his raw talent and his heritage, we cannot ignore the fact that the Force itself has led him here."

Seth's stomach dropped. "My… heritage?"

Vrook stiffened. "Master Dorak, that is enough."

Seth turned fully toward the Jedi historian, pulse quickening. "What are you talking about?"

Dorak hesitated just a fraction too long before speaking. "Your lineage is… complicated. But that is a discussion for another time."

Seth's heart pounded in his chest. They knew something. And they weren't telling him.

Master Vandar spoke again, his voice measured. "For now, we have much to deliberate. Padawan Shan, Private Avery, please allow us time to discuss this matter."

Bastila bowed. "As you wish, Master Vandar."

Seth, however, did not move. He was not done here.

Bastila's hand clamped onto his arm, fingers tight. "Seth," she murmured under her breath, her tone a warning. "Come on."

His jaw clenched, but he forced himself to take a step back. The doors hissed shut behind them, and Seth exhaled sharply, his mind spinning.

They knew something.

And they weren't telling him.

Seth barely felt his feet as he walked out of the Council Chambers. His mind was still inside, trapped in that suffocating room, replaying every word. Every half-truth. Every evasive glance.

Heritage.

They knew. They knew who he was—where he came from. And they weren't telling him.

His boots scuffed against the courtyard's stone flooring as he stopped outside, dragging a hand through his hair. He inhaled deeply, trying to settle the tightness in his chest. The air was crisp, clean—so different from the durasteel-and-smog mix he'd grown up with on Coruscant. It should have been calming.

It wasn't.

He braced himself against the low courtyard wall, exhaling sharply. Calm down. Think. You're a soldier. Soldiers don't lose their heads. But for the first time in his life, it wasn't some battlefield throwing him off. It was this—a truth dangled just out of reach, locked behind the lips of the very people who claimed to uphold wisdom and justice.

"Seth?"

Mission's voice from behind him was light, uncertain. It cut through the whirlwind in his head like a lifeline, and he turned just as she hopped up onto the ledge beside him, swinging her legs casually.

Except—it wasn't casual. He saw it in her eyes.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," Seth muttered.

She snorted. "Try again."

He exhaled, shaking his head. "It's nothing."

Mission's stare bored into him. "Right. And I'm Queen of Naboo."

Seth let out a small, humorless laugh. She sees right through me. But he still hesitated.

She waited.

He clenched his jaw. "The Jedi… they know something about my parents."

Mission stiffened. "…What?"

"They mentioned my heritage—but the second I tried to press them on it, they shut me out." He shook his head, frustration rolling off him in waves. "They're hiding something. And I don't know why."

Silence. Then—

"Oh, HELL no."

Mission jumped off the ledge, pivoting directly toward the Council doors. Her lekku twitched, her hands curled into fists. "Those sons of schuttas! They have NO right to keep that from you—"

Seth grabbed her wrist. "Mission—"

"No, Seth! You can't just let them get away with that! You deserve answers! I swear to the Force, I'll march in there right now—"

"—And what?" he cut in, voice low. "Demand they tell me? Yell at them? That'll only make them less likely to talk." His grip loosened, but he didn't let go. "I have to be patient."

Mission narrowed her eyes. "You? Patient?"

"Yeah, I know," Seth muttered. "Miracle of the Force."

Mission huffed, still bristling, but some of the fire in her eyes dimmed. She's still pissed on my behalf, though. It made something warm settle in his chest.

A quiet moment passed between them.

"…You really wanna know that bad, huh?" Mission asked, voice softer now.

Seth swallowed, staring ahead. "Wouldn't you?"

She hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I would."

There was something heavy in her voice. Seth glanced at her, frowning.

"You ever… wonder?" he asked carefully. "About Griff?"

Mission exhaled slowly. She leaned against the ledge, shoulders dropping. "All the time."

Seth turned toward her fully now, listening.

She shook her head, gaze distant. "I mean, I know he's alive. I don't have a missing family mystery like you do. But…" Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't know where he is. What he's doing. If he ever thinks about me." Her voice grew quieter. "If he even cares."

Seth said nothing. He just let her be in that moment.

After a pause, she sighed, rolling her shoulders back. "Guess we're both chasing ghosts, huh?"

He considered that. "Yeah," he admitted. "Guess we are."

Mission turned to him then, eyes searching his. "Seth. If you find out the truth… what if you don't like what you hear?"

His stomach twisted at the thought. Because the answer was obvious—he wasn't going to like it. He already knew that.

But.

"I'd rather know than keep wondering."

Mission studied him for a long moment. Then nodded. "Yeah. I get that."

Seth exhaled. "Look. If the Jedi send me with Bastila again—and if you come with…" He turned to her fully. "We'll both find our answers."

Mission blinked. "Both of us?"

"Yeah." His voice was firm. "I'll help you find Griff. I swear."

Mission searched his face, lips parting slightly. Something shifted in her expression—something unspoken, but real.

Then, suddenly, she reached forward, fingers curling around the front of his jacket.

Seth barely had time to register it before she pulled him down into a kiss.

It was brief—a press of warmth, a stolen moment. But damn if it didn't knock the wind out of him.

She pulled away just as quickly, offering him a small, almost-shy smile. "Thanks, Hotshot." Then, before he could even react, she turned and started walking toward the Ebon Hawk.

Seth blinked. Okay. That just happened.

It took him a solid three seconds to gather his thoughts, then he jogged after her, grinning despite himself. "Y'know, I'm really liking this thing where you randomly decide to kiss me."

Mission shot him a playful look over her shoulder. "Oh, don't get used to it."

"I think I should definitely get used to it."

She snorted, shaking her head. "C'mon, Hotshot. Let's get some sleep."

Seth fell into step beside her, that warm feeling still lingering.

They had a long road ahead of them.

But at least they weren't walking it alone.

The darkness stretched before him, vast and endless.

Seth was no stranger to nightmares. He had lived enough of them wide awake to know when his mind was merely dredging up memories he wished it wouldn't. But this… this was something else.

The air in his vision felt thick, oppressive, tinged with power. And ahead of him—two figures, walking side by side through an ancient corridor of stone. Their heavy boots echoed against the obsidian floor, each step deliberate. Seth didn't recognize the place, but he recognized them.

Revan and Malak.

Malak—before the prosthetic, before the permanent scowl of durasteel where his jaw should have been—spoke first. "We shouldn't be doing this."

Revan did not slow. "We already made our choice."

"This is different," Malak pressed, his tone quieter now, uncertain. "The ancient Jedi sealed this gateway. Once we pass, we can never go back. The Council will expel us from the Order."

Revan continued walking, shoulders squared, posture poised with the same chilling confidence Seth had felt when he fought Xayalith. "We stepped off that path long ago," the Dark Lord said. "The Order would have let the Republic burn. The Jedi refused to act. That is not who we are."

Malak hesitated, then fell into step beside his Master. "And the Star Forge? You truly believe it holds the key to winning the war?"

Revan turned to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know it does." There was something almost… gentle in the gesture. And yet, beneath it, a quiet control. "Remember why we're doing this, Malak. We can't allow the galaxy to forever be trapped in a cycle of war. The Mandalorians were only the beginning. If we falter now, there will always be another war, another enemy. We must be strong enough to end it."

Malak was silent.

Then—slowly—he nodded.

They faced the great stone doorway ahead. A monolithic construct, pulsing with strange, alien energy. It loomed over them, a threshold not just in the physical sense—but in the grander scheme of their fates.

Together, they reached out. The Force responded instantly.

The doorway opened.

And with it, a darkness unlike anything Seth had ever felt before.

Seth lurched upright, a sharp inhale tearing through his lungs as if he'd just surfaced from drowning.

His heart slammed against his ribs. Sweat clung to his skin, cold and clammy, even as heat prickled the back of his neck. He wasn't in the Star Forge's shadow, nor on the battlefield, nor anywhere near Malak and Revan.

He was in the Ebon Hawk. The quiet hum of the ship was the only sound breaking through the frantic pounding in his skull. He dragged a shaky hand down his face, forcing himself to breathe.

A dream. No. A vision. A memory that wasn't his, yet felt like it had carved itself into his very bones.

He needed air. Needed to move.

Shoving the thin blanket off his legs, he stood and staggered into the main hold, rubbing at his temples. Maybe if he focused on the familiar walls, the hum of the engines, the fact that he was here, he could push the vision—the Star Forge, Malak, Revan—out of his mind.

He barely noticed the second presence in the hold until a voice cut through the quiet.

"You saw something."

Seth flinched. His eyes snapped up to find Bastila standing near the central holotable, arms folded, face illuminated by the faint blue glow of the nav-display. Her posture was stiff, her brow furrowed—not annoyed. Alarmed.

"I—" Seth's voice cracked. He swallowed, trying again. "You—how did you—"

Her gaze sharpened. "Because I saw it, too."

Seth froze.

The words didn't make sense at first. He stared at her, half-expecting her to clarify. Saw it too? He knew Jedi were capable of all sorts of things, but this—this felt different.

"You were in my dream?" His voice was hoarse, disbelief tightening his throat.

Bastila inhaled sharply, as if steadying herself. "Not just a dream. A vision." She hesitated, then admitted, "I woke up the same moment you did. I thought—" she shook her head, like she was still making sense of it herself. "I felt it, as if I were there myself."

Seth took a step back, running a hand through his hair. "That—" He exhaled sharply. "That's not normal."

"No," Bastila agreed quietly. "It is not."

He turned away, bracing himself against the back of one of the chairs, gripping it like an anchor. The images still burned behind his eyes. The door opening. The Star Forge's glow. The calm in Revan's voice.

"They believed they were saving the galaxy." His voice was barely above a whisper, but Bastila heard it.

She folded her arms tighter, lips pressing into a thin line. "Revan was a master of manipulation. They must have believed whatever it took to justify their fall."

Seth wasn't so sure.

His grip tightened on the chair. "Malak—he hesitated. He doubted it. But Revan…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Revan knew what they both were doing. Revan was calm. Confident. It wasn't power-hungry madness. It was—"

"Purposeful," Bastila finished, voice grim.

Seth swallowed hard. "You've seen something like this before?"

Bastila hesitated, then nodded. "I have shared Force bonds before." She exhaled. "But nothing—nothing—like this."

Seth turned to her, eyes sharp. "What the hell does that mean?"

She held his gaze, serious. "It means our minds are connected in ways even I do not fully understand."

Seth's stomach churned. "How?"

"The Force," she said simply. "Something in the way it flows through us both. It isn't random."

Seth ran a hand down his face. "I didn't ask for this."

Bastila's lips twitched—somewhere between wry amusement and shared exhaustion. "Neither did I."

Silence settled between them. The quiet hum of the Ebon Hawk filled the space, but Seth could still feel the weight of what they'd seen pressing down on his chest.

Bastila straightened, steeling herself. "The Council must hear about this."

Seth exhaled, still trying to catch up to the fact that this was real. "Of course they do."

"We will speak to them first thing in the morning," she said. "Try to get some rest."

He huffed out a weak, humorless laugh. "Yeah. Not sure that's happening."

Bastila studied him for a long moment, then—surprisingly—her tone softened. "Regardless, you should try. We'll need clarity for what's to come."

Seth let out a slow breath. He had no idea what was coming, but he had a sinking feeling he wasn't going to like it.

"Yeah," he muttered. "Sure."

Bastila nodded, then turned toward the dormitory hall, leaving him alone in the dim glow of the nav-display.

Seth remained where he was for a long time.

He did not go back to sleep.

Later that morning, Seth found himself in the Ebon Hawk's main hold, turning a hydrospanner over in his hands. He wasn't really fixing anything—just needed to move, to do something while his mind spun itself in circles.

Mission, naturally, found him first.

"Alright, Hotshot," she said, hopping up onto a crate across from him. "Something's up. Spill."

Seth sighed. "The Jedi are considering training me."

Mission blinked. "You just now decided to tell me this?"

"I didn't know how to bring it up," Seth admitted. "I didn't even know what to think about it myself."

"Well, do you want to be a Jedi?" she asked.

Seth hesitated. Then—finally, quietly—he said, "No."

Mission frowned, tilting her head. "Then don't."

Seth scoffed. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" she pressed. "If you don't want this—why go through with it?"

"Because they expect me to," Seth muttered. "Because Bastila expects me to. Because the Republic needs me to. Because, apparently, the Force decided to throw me into the middle of this mess."

Mission's expression softened. "Seth, if you actually want to do this, I think you'd be incredible at it. But if you don't… who you are matters more than what the Jedi expect from you."

His chest ached at that. Because she meant it. Because Mission didn't care about the Republic, or the Jedi, or the Force. She just cared about him.

And he didn't know how to put into words how much that meant.

So instead, he just nudged her knee with his and smirked. "You're pretty good at talking me into thinking I can do something I'm not cut out for."

Mission rolled her eyes, nudging his knee with hers. "Oh, please. If you can survive Taris, beat Redros in a death race, and sweet-talk me into sticking around, you can handle a bunch of laser-sword monks."

Hours later, he found himself outside the Council chambers again.

Carth stood beside him, arms crossed, brow furrowed. "You sure about this?"

"No," Seth admitted. "But I need answers."

Carth nodded, understanding. "Just… be careful, alright? You might not like what you find."

Seth swallowed hard. "I need to know the truth."

Carth studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Yeah. That's always the hardest part."

Before Seth could respond, the chamber doors slid open.

Bastila emerged first, her expression unreadable. She locked eyes with Seth. "Come," she said simply.

Vandar spoke first. "The Council has made its decision."

Seth braced himself.

"We will train you," Zhar said. "Your connection to the Force is undeniable. And your role in this war is too important to ignore."

Seth squared his shoulders, standing a little straighter. "If you believe this is where I'm needed, then I won't refuse." His voice was steady, but inside, a storm brewed. He'd spent his life following orders, doing what was expected of him. This was no different.

Except—it was.

He wasn't just taking commands from a superior officer. The Jedi wanted his decision. They wanted him to step into something that would reshape his entire life. And despite everything, despite his gut screaming at him that this wasn't what he'd signed up for, Seth chose it. Because if this war needed him, if this was where he could do the most good—then how could he walk away?

Vrook studied him, as if weighing his resolve. "Then you must understand that a Jedi's path is one of discipline and focus. Attachment leads to recklessness. Distraction. I trust you will avoid such temptation—especially with those you have grown close to on your journey."

Seth didn't move. Didn't blink.

He knew exactly what Vrook meant.

The words settled like durasteel plating in his chest, crushing and suffocating. Avoid attachments. That wasn't just some broad, hypothetical statement. It was a direct warning.

His mind reeled. He and Mission weren't even together—not really, not in a way that should make this feel like a death sentence—but Force, it still felt like one.

Because he already knew.

He wasn't giving her up.

He nodded, the picture of obedience, but deep down, a quiet defiance had already taken root.

They could teach him to wield a blade, to control the Force, to quiet his emotions.

But they would not take her from him.