The passage of time felt both slow and fast.

The first few days after learning about his "parents" were an unbearable blur. Seth had thrown himself into his training, trying to lose himself in the repetition of drills, the hum of a practice saber, and the rhythm of controlled breathing. Anything to drown out the anger still simmering under his skin.

And for a while, it worked.

Weeks passed. His routine became structured: wake up, train, meditate (or try to), spar with Bastila, study Jedi philosophy, meditate again, spar some more, collapse into bed. Repeat.

At first, the training had felt like a prison sentence. But something shifted—slowly, subtly, without him realizing it.

The Ebon Hawk became home.

Carth had settled into his role as a mentor, gruff but steady, always there when Seth needed to talk—though he never pushed.

Canderous treated him like a younger warrior in training, occasionally sparring with him in the evenings, grumbling about his "Jedi nonsense" but clearly enjoying the challenge.

Mission… Mission had stayed by his side, even after everything. Their relationship had taken a hit after his outburst, but she never truly pulled away. He caught her watching him sometimes, eyes full of something unreadable, something complicated.

They hadn't talked about it yet. But they would.

And through it all, the Jedi training—his training—continued.

Seth learned how to reach out through the Force with more precision, how to control his emotions instead of being controlled by them. His sparring sessions with Bastila grew more competitive. His body adjusted to the demands of training. The anger from before hadn't disappeared, but it no longer consumed him.

One afternoon, Zhar tested him in a duel and had actually nodded in approval afterward.

That was the moment Seth realized something strange—he was enjoying this.

The training, the challenge, the discipline—it wasn't just an obligation anymore. It felt good.

Like maybe, for the first time in weeks, he wasn't lost.

He exhaled slowly, stepping out of the training chamber with the weight in his chest lighter than before. Finally, he felt like himself again.

"You nearly done in there, princess?"

Canderous' booming voice was accompanied by three resounding thumps on the Ebon Hawk's refresher door.

Seth rolled his eyes, swiping at the fogged-up mirror and dragging a razor blade carefully along his chin. "I'll be out in a second!" he growled.

"Can't seem to understand how your showers average ten minutes longer than Mission's. Maybe I'm a little confused as to which one of you is the teenage girl on this ship."

Seth scowled at his reflection. "Not rising to it," he muttered to himself, refocusing on his shave.

A new voice joined in—Carth's, calling out from the hallway with far too much amusement. "I was under the impression that Mandalorians don't exactly do hygiene well. Or is that just a stereotype?"

Canderous barely missed a beat. "I'd be careful about throwing stones in that glass house, Republic. If I had to guess, pretty boy in there learned to take his time primping back at basic training—since it's not like Republic combat tactics take long to pick up."

"Oh, you are full of it," Carth laughed.

Seth groaned, sliding the door open to fix them both with a deadpan gare. "Are you guys seriously doing this right now?" He gestured down at the towel around his waist. "I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"Oh, you're right, kid." Canderous' tone was far too agreeable. "And now that you've so graciously opened the door for me…"

Before Seth could register what was happening, a massive Mandalorian gauntlet grabbed him by the forearm.

"Hey—!"

Canderous yanked Seth straight out of the refresher, then stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Seth stumbled, catching himself barefoot, damp, and wearing nothing but a towel.

The sudden silence was deafening.

Seth turned slowly.

Mission stood directly across the room.

She was staring.

Her expression was priceless—eyebrows raised, lips twitching, somewhere between speechless and delighted.

Seth clutched his towel tighter. His face went up in flames.

"…Not gonna lie," Mission finally said, voice full of restrained laughter. "It's not your best look."

Seth scrambled for words. "I—can we just—pretend this never happened?"

Mission crossed her arms, lips quirking at the corners. "As much as I'd love to spare your dignity, this moment is permanently burned into my memory."

Seth exhaled sharply, trying to shake it off. "Force, this is worse than—"

Too late.

Mission picked up on it instantly.

Her smirk widened. "Worse than what, Hotshot?"

Seth froze.

"I mean—" BACKPEDAL. BACKPEDAL.

She arched a brow. "Oh, this is good. Worse than what?"

"…Than the last time a girl walked in on me half-naked."

You absolute dumbass.

Mission's expression shifted completely.

The humor drained away as her eyes narrowed.

"The last time what happened?"

Seth swallowed hard. "Mission, it's not like that—"

"Who was she?"

Seth floundered. His mouth worked for an answer that wouldn't make this worse.

"…Drea."

Mission stilled.

Seth winced. That name meant nothing to her— but the fact that there was a name? That it mattered enough to have a name?

Mission's voice dropped. "And Drea was…?"

Seth rubbed the back of his neck. "We were together. Back at basic training. Before I got deployed."

Mission's jaw tightened.

Her arms dropped to her sides, fingers curling into fists. "And by 'together,' you mean—"

Seth hesitated. "We didn't, like—go all the way—"

Mission scoffed, disbelieving. "Oh, great. Good to know she got most of you, then."

He flinched. "Mission, that's not—" He groaned in frustration, searching for words. "She's nobody now."

"So what happens when you're done with someone?" Her voice was quiet, but sharp. "They become nobody?"

Seth winced. "No, I didn't mean—"

"What happens when you're done with me?"

Seth froze.

Mission shook her head, backing away. "Forget it. I don't wanna hear whatever excuse is about to fall out of your mouth."

"Mission, wait—"

But she was already storming off. The dormitory doors slid shut behind her.

Seth stood there, stunned, towel-clutching, and absolutely wrecked.

A hissing noise sounded behind him.

The refresher door slid back open, and Canderous strolled out, completely unbothered.

"That," the Mandalorian remarked, "was impressive." He smirked, shouldering past him. "Never seen anyone talk himself into a hole that fast."

Seth didn't answer. He just slumped against the wall, towel still clenched in his fist, heart pounding.

How in the blazes was he supposed to fix this?

Seth's mind was elsewhere during training that day.

The stone before him remained motionless.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, stretching out with the Force, urging the small rock to move.

Nothing.

Seth's fingers tightened into fists against his knees. He could feel Master Zhar's gaze on him, but the Twi'lek hadn't spoken for a while, simply watching as Seth sat cross-legged in the middle of the meditation chamber, failing spectacularly.

He had faced Sith war droids, swoop bike death races, a rancor, and one very unhinged Jedi dropout. And yet, here he was—losing a fight to a rock.

Zhar finally sighed. "You're troubled, young Avery."

Seth kept his gaze fixed on the stone. "I'm fine, Master."

Zhar's silence was pointed.

Seth sighed. "I just need to focus harder."

A soft chuckle. "Yes, because forcing the Force to bend to your will has worked so well for you."

Seth's brow furrowed, and he glanced up. Zhar was watching him with his usual patient expression, hands folded within his robes.

"I don't think trying harder is much of a solution," Zhar continued. "Why don't we take a break?"

Seth hesitated, then shook his head. "I need to get this right."

Zhar tilted his head slightly. "Tell me, how long has it been since you last blinked?"

Seth opened his mouth—then realized he had no idea.

Zhar nodded as if proving a point. "Your lying is nearly as bad as your Soresu form."

Seth groaned, shoulders slumping. "Didn't have to make it that personal, Master."

"Then sit," Zhar instructed, motioning for him to settle into a more relaxed position.

Seth obeyed reluctantly, exhaling as he ran a hand through hair that had long since grown past Republic military regulations.

Zhar studied him for a long moment.

"What's on your mind?"

Seth shifted. "Nothing that matters."

Zhar arched a brow. "And yet, it has distracted you enough that you have spent twenty minutes failing to move an object the size of a credit chip."

Seth let out a slow breath. "I… got into an argument with a crewmate."

Zhar made a hum of acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue.

"It's not even a big deal, really," Seth muttered. "I just—kept digging myself deeper, I guess. A stupid mistake from my past came up, and I… handled it badly."

Zhar remained quiet, letting the words settle between them.

Seth scoffed, shaking his head. "I know this has nothing to do with my training."

"Oh, but it has everything to do with your training," Zhar said with a chuckle. "A Jedi isn't simply a battering ram on the battlefield with a lightsaber and the Force at their back. We are ambassadors, peacekeepers, and mediators. The more problems you learn to solve that can't be fixed with a weapon, the better Jedi you will become."

Seth exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Perfect. Jedi wisdom on conflict resolution." He scoffed. "Not like I have a lightsaber to solve problems with anyway."

Zhar hummed thoughtfully.

Seth froze.

Something about that hum sounded loaded.

Zhar's lekku twitched in amusement as he reached into his robes, withdrawing something small, shimmering, and powerful.

Seth felt it immediately.

A pulse in the Force, vibrating through the air.

A kyber crystal.

His.

His lightsaber.

"You are ready," Zhar said, holding it out to him.

Seth stared.

"...Master," he said slowly. "Is this what I think it is?"

Zhar smirked. "That depends. What do you think it is?"

Seth swallowed, reaching out. The moment his fingers touched the stone, a surge of warmth pulsed through him. The Force buzzed in his blood, as if the crystal had been waiting for him.

His own.

He curled his fingers around it, grip tight with reverence.

"Thank you, Master," he said, voice steadier than he felt.

Zhar's expression turned serious. "Do not thank me just yet," he said. "You still have to build it."

Twenty minutes later, the pieces of his lightsaber lay scattered across the workbench in front of him. Wires, diodes, focusing lenses—components that, individually, meant nothing. But together…

Together, they would make something that mattered.

Seth exhaled slowly.

He picked up the kyber crystal first, rolling it between his fingers. The blue stone pulsed, alive with energy, as if waiting.

Zhar's words echoed in his mind. Trust your instincts, apprentice. There's no better guide than the Force.

Seth closed his eyes and reached out.

The Force surged through him—stronger, clearer than before. The components on the workbench shifted, trembling in place. One by one, the pieces lifted into the air.

Seth opened his eyes.

Wires threaded through the hilt, clicking into place. The focusing crystal slotted neatly within the chamber, aligning perfectly as the metal casing sealed itself shut with a quiet hiss.

The final piece settled into place, and the saber snapped together.

A moment of perfect stillness.

Then, Seth reached out—and ignited it.

A blue blade burst to life, casting a soft glow over his face.

Seth stared.

The hum vibrated through his bones, steady and controlled. It felt like an extension of himself.

He grinned.

Then, without thinking, he gave the saber a quick flourish. A smooth, clean arc. The weight was perfect. The balance flawless.

Laughter bubbled up before he could stop it.

He turned to Zhar, beaming. "That was the coolest thing I've ever done."

Zhar's mouth twitched. "I am glad to see you took the moment with the reverence it deserved."

Seth cleared his throat. "Right. Very sacred moment. Obviously."

Zhar sighed. "Well, you now hold the weapon of a Jedi." His voice grew serious. "And soon, you will hold the title of a Jedi as well."

Seth straightened, expression sobering.

"Soon?"

Zhar nodded. "There is but one final test."

Seth's pulse quickened.

"You are to journey to the ancient grove," Zhar continued. "The land has been tainted by the dark side—a presence that is corrupting the creatures who dwell there."

"What's causing the taint?"

"That is something you must discover for yourself."

Seth inhaled sharply, gripping the hilt of his saber.

Zhar studied him. "Remember, something lost doesn't have to stay lost."

The words struck a chord deep within Seth's chest. He wasn't sure why, but they did.

He gave a firm nod. "I'll take care of it, Master."

Zhar's expression softened. "I know you will."

Seth stood at the edge of the enclave's walls, staring out across the vast plains of Dantooine. Rolling fields, golden under the setting sun. It looked peaceful. But he knew better.

Out there, something was wrong.

He gripped the hilt of his newly built lightsaber and exhaled. This is it.

A metallic whistle beside him broke his focus.

T3-M4 beeped insistently, his dome-like head swiveling toward the horizon as if he could already sense the trouble ahead.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Seth muttered. "No backing out now."

Mission crossed her arms as she stepped up beside him. "C'mon, then. Let's go see what's so special about this ancient grove."

The air between them was thick with unspoken words.

Seth and Mission had been walking for nearly an hour, yet neither had said a word. The plains of Dantooine stretched endlessly before them, the rolling hills bathed in golden sunlight, but all Seth could feel was the weight of her silence.

T3-M4 beeped uncertainly from behind them, sensing the tension.

Seth finally snapped.

"Are we just gonna keep this awkward silence going for the rest of our lives," he muttered, "or are we actually gonna talk about what happened yesterday?"

His voice carried an edge—not at her, but at himself.

Mission stiffened.

"I don't know," she said coolly. "I think I like it better when you're silent. Less likely to hurt me if you can't speak."

Seth clenched his jaw.

He had known this was coming.

Deep down, he knew he should just let her vent. He should just listen. He should let her be mad.

But instead—

"Hurt you?! You gotta be joking." The words left him before he could stop them.

Mission whirled on him, eyes blazing. "Are you kidding me?"

Seth sighed, exasperated—at her, at himself, at the entire situation. "Mission, I don't even know what I did! You're upset over something that happened before I even met you. I had sixteen years of life before we met! It's not my fault you're overreacting!"

Mission's breath hitched—like he had physically shoved her.

A heartbeat of silence passed.

Then, her voice trembled with anger.

"Overreacting?" she echoed. "You seriously think I'm overreacting?"

Seth winced.

He had said the wrong thing.

"You—" Mission let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. "You completely trivialized something that meant something to me. If kissing a girl—*or doing Force-knows-what else with her—*meant nothing to you, then how am I supposed to think it means anything to you when you kiss me?"

Seth froze.

For the first time since this conversation started, he finally understood.

Her anger wasn't just anger. It was hurt.

Mission shook her head, stepping back. "And maybe it's not fair for me to assume you mean anything by it when you kiss me. But it means something to me. And whatever this is between us, it's not some casual fling for me."

Seth felt guilt settle over him like a lead weight.

He had never meant to hurt her.

He had never meant to belittle what she felt.

And he hated that he had.

"Mission," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

She folded her arms tightly, looking away.

Seth swallowed hard. "I got so caught up in defending myself that I didn't stop to think about how what I said might have sounded to you. And maybe I… maybe I lied a little. Because I was scared of how you'd react if you found out."

Mission's gaze snapped back to his.

Seth took a deep breath and forced himself to be honest.

"What I had with Drea back at the Academy—it wasn't nothing." He let out a humorless laugh. "And I guess I panicked because… because this isn't nothing either."

Mission blinked.

"And that scares the hell out of me," Seth admitted, his voice raw. "Because what I feel for you is new, and it's exciting, and it's bigger and stronger than anything I've ever felt before."

Mission's lips pressed into a thin line.

"Seth," she said finally. "If you want to see where this goes, you have to be honest with me. I can't… I can't be some girl you talk about in the past tense to someone else years from now."

"You won't be."

Mission just studied him.

Then, she took a step closer.

"So how do we move forward?" Seth asked. His voice was quiet—tentative.

She exhaled, looking at him for a long moment before answering.

"Time," she said. "I need time. Because I want to see where this goes too. But it means too much to me to rush into it."

Seth nodded.

"That's fair."

Mission gave a small, sad smile. "You don't usually agree with me this fast."

"Yeah, well," Seth chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "I've been trying to get better at not being an idiot."

Mission snorted. "Not sure if I'd go that far."

Seth opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp, frantic beep from T3-M4 cut him off.

Mission, still standing close to Seth, stiffened.

The air felt wrong.

Seth felt them before he saw them.

Three Kath hounds—their amber eyes gleaming in the late-afternoon sun—emerged from the tall grass. Their hackles were raised, saliva dripping from their bared teeth.

The largest of the pack let out a deep, guttural snarl.

Seth's hand was already at his belt before he even registered the movement.

Snap-hiss.

The blue glow of his lightsaber cast a sharp light across the grass as he slid into a defensive stance.

The lead hound's ears flattened.

It howled, and the other two lunged.

T3 blurted out a rapid stream of alarmed beeps, rolling back for cover as Mission pivoted, already firing.

The first blaster bolt struck a Kath hound square in the chest—it yelped, skidding to the ground. The second hound dodged, snarling as it bounded forward.

Mission fired again—missed.

It was too fast.

Seth didn't think.

He moved on instinct.

A quick sidestep—a *smooth pivot of his saber—*a flash of blue light.

The second Kath hound collapsed mid-stride.

Seth barely had time to exhale before he heard the snapping of jaws.

The third was already airborne.

Jaws gaping, teeth flashing, hurtling straight for Seth's throat.

Mission shouted his name.

He had a split second to react.

His blade arced up—

A sudden impact.

A yelp.

Then a body crashed into him, knocking him flat onto his back.

Seth hit the dirt hard, the wind knocked from his lungs as the Kath hound's lifeless weight pinned him down.

For a beat, he just stared up at the sky, blinking.

Then—

Laughter.

Mission's laughter.

He tilted his head to the side just in time to see her doubling over, hands on her knees, her face lit up with pure amusement.

"I'm never letting you live that down," she wheezed, struggling to catch her breath.

Seth groaned, shoving the dead hound off his chest. "I just saved our asses, and that's your reaction?"

Mission grinned, extending a hand to help him up. "I mean, you did look pretty cool for a second there. Until you got absolutely wrecked by a corpse."

Seth took her hand, letting her haul him to his feet.

His face was already flushed, but he blamed that on the adrenaline.

"Great," he muttered, brushing dirt from his jacket. "Now I have two embarrassing stories to pretend never happened."

Mission smirked. "Oh, I'm telling everyone."

In the absence of both Seth and Mission, Ebon Hawk felt quieter than usual. Too quiet.

Carth paced the length of the hold, boots scuffing lightly against the metal flooring. Back and forth. Over and over.

Canderous, lounging at the holo-table, cleaned his blaster with practiced ease. He hadn't looked up once, but Carth knew he was watching.

He could feel the Mandalorian's amusement radiating off him.

"Would you quit it?" Canderous grunted, finally looking up. "You're gonna wear a damn hole in the floor."

Carth shot him a look but didn't stop moving. "They've been gone too long."

Canderous snorted. "It's been an hour."

"That's too long," Carth snapped, finally stopping. He folded his arms across his chest. "You've heard the farmers. Those plains are dangerous—Kath hounds, Mandalorians, feuding families—"

Bastila, meditating nearby, didn't even open her eyes. "This is a Jedi tradition, Carth. He must face this trial without our guidance. We're lucky they even let him bring Mission and T3."

"Yeah?" Carth turned to her, voice sharp. "Well, Seth isn't just some Jedi-in-training, is he? He's still a kid. A soldier, sure, but not a Jedi."

Bastila finally opened her eyes, cool and composed as always. "And yet, he's proven himself time and time again."

Canderous smirked. "For once, I agree with the Jedi." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "They don't need babysitting, Republic. They've been through hell and back, and they're still standing."

Carth exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "It's not just about them handling themselves. It's about the things they don't see coming."

Canderous tilted his head, the amusement fading slightly. He understood what Carth really meant.

Carth wasn't worried because he thought Seth was incompetent.

He was worried because he had already lost one son.

And now, he was trying to fix the past through Seth.

Canderous leaned back, crossing his arms. "You can't fight the war that already happened, Onasi."

Carth froze.

The words hit deeper than he wanted to admit.

Silence stretched between them.

Then, finally—

Canderous picked up his blaster, returning to his work. "Like I said, they'll be fine."

Carth didn't respond.

But he never resumed his pacing.

"We're getting closer," Seth said, deactivating his lightsaber as he stepped over a Kath hound's corpse. "Keep your guard up."

Mission wiped sweat from her brow. The Dantooine heat was relentless, and the last thing she needed was another battle leaving her drenched in sweat. "How do you know?"

"For one thing," Seth muttered, nodding toward another set of fresh bodies—dead Mandalorians, their armor torn apart by something fast and merciless. "And on another note, I can feel it. Like a big, ominous pit in my stomach."

"Well, that's comforting." Mission deadpanned. "And what exactly are we looking for again?"

"I'm not sure." Seth's voice was distant, unfocused. "Some kind of dark side taint. But I have no idea what form that takes. The Force is screaming at me, but I don't know what it's trying to say."

Mission arched a brow. "The more you tell me about the Force, the harder it is to wrap my head around it."

They rounded the corner of a jagged rock outcropping, and whatever sarcastic remark Mission had on the tip of her tongue died instantly.

Ahead, the ruins of a small, ancient structure rose from the grass—stone carvings weathered by time, crumbling pillars half-consumed by nature. But none of that was what made her stomach turn.

It was the woman sitting at its center.

A Cathar, golden-eyed and rigid, knelt amid scattered corpses—more Mandalorians, blood still wet on their armor. Even from here, Mission could feel the weight of her gaze as she lifted her head toward them.

An ominous chill ran down Mission's spine.

"Is this what we're looking for?" she whispered.

Seth's response was the snap-hiss of his lightsaber igniting, its blue glow stark against the fading sunlight.

T3 let out an uneasy dwoooo, his gears whirring as his blasters primed for firing.

"Me too, little guy," Mission muttered, unholstering her blaster.

Seth held out a hand, motioning for them to wait. He took a careful step forward.

"My name is Seth Avery," he called, his voice steady. "The Jedi Council sent me to deal with the dark side presence here."

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in the woman's sharp, feline eyes—pain, hesitation, recognition.

Then her fingers tightened around the silver hilt at her hip.

"So," she murmured, rising fluidly to her feet. "They sent you to kill me. Finally decided it was time to get rid of a mistake named Juhani." Her lightsaber snapped to life, its cerulean glow matching Seth's. "I will do what I must to survive."

"Wait, I wasn't sent to kill any—"

Seth didn't even get the words out before she moved.

A blur of motion, she lunged, closing the distance in an instant. Seth barely had time to swing his saber up to catch the brutal overhead strike, the impact shuddering down his arms.

Mission and T3 opened fire.

The woman disengaged from Seth and spun, her blade whipping through the air as she deflected the bolts with frustrating ease. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she threw out her hand—and suddenly, Mission was airborne.

Her back slammed against the dirt so hard the breath rushed from her lungs.

Stars burst across her vision as she gasped, disoriented.

Seth roared in frustration.

He drove forward, pressing her with a flurry of precise strikes and counters, but the Cathar was too fast. Each of his movements was met with ruthless efficiency, and for the first time, Mission realized—

Seth was losing.

Badly.

Mission gritted her teeth, shoving herself upright. She had to help him.

Juhani was relentless. Where Bastila fought with precision, this woman fought with rage—like a cornered animal, a predator defending its last scrap of territory. Seth was on the back foot, forced into defense, and she wasn't letting up.

Mission dove for her dropped blaster pistol and squeezed off a shot.

The Cathar pivoted, twisting out of Seth's reach as she swatted the bolt aside with terrifying ease and throwing out a Force push that sent Mission sprawling once more. The distraction was enough, however, to give Seth a moment to take the upper hand.

Seth closed the distance between himself and their assailant again, this time clearly on the offensive instead of the defensive. As Mission fought to catch her breath, she couldn't help but admire the way the two combatants danced around one another, their blades tangling together in a magnificent display of blue light.

She hadn't had the opportunity to sit in on many of Seth and Bastila's sparring lessons, but in this moment she realized that as time had gone on and Seth had begun walking up the loading ramp with significantly less bruises decorating his lean body, it wasn't because Bastila had started going easy on him - it was because he'd developed the skill necessary to hang in there with the best of them.

"T3!" Seth barked. "We need an opening!"

The little astromech beeped affirmatively, his turret whirring as he lined up a shot.

Seth threw out his hand, and the Cathar staggered backward, heels digging into the dirt as she fought against the Force shove.

Mission grinned.

"Nice one, hotshot."

T3 fired.

The Cathar yelped as the bolt struck true, scorching her shoulder. Her lightsaber slipped from her grip, clattering to the ground.

Seth seized it with the Force, yanking it into his own hand as he leveled both blades at her. His chest rose and fell with exhaustion.

Juhani dropped to her knees.

"Do it," she whispered.

Seth hesitated.

Mission's grip tightened around her blaster. He couldn't be serious.

"I told you," Seth said, voice strained but firm. "I'm not here to kill you."

She scoffed bitterly. "Then why are you here? To taunt me? To mock my failure?"

Seth crouched before her, deactivating the stolen saber.

"No," he said simply.

She blinked, stunned.

"I was sent to cleanse this place of the dark side," Seth continued. "And I thought that meant fighting some… I don't know, some monstrous presence lurking out here. But when I look at you, I don't see the dark side." He studied her, tilting his head slightly. "I see someone who's been hurt. Maybe one too many times."

Juhani turned her face away sharply, as if ashamed.

"I killed my master." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I gave in to anger, and I struck her down. And the moment I did, I knew—I could never go back."

Seth exhaled. "Yeah," he said softly. "That sounds like something a Jedi would say."

Juhani's golden eyes snapped back to him in shock.

He smiled wryly. "You think a Sith would feel guilty about what they'd done?"

Silence.

Juhani's hands trembled in her lap.

Seth stood and offered her a hand.

"You have a choice," he said simply. "You can stay here. Alone. Or you can go back, own up to what you did, and try to be better."

She stared at him.

Then, after a long moment—she allowed him to haul her to her feet.

Juhani lingered at the entrance of the grove, her golden eyes scanning the ruins one last time. The weight of what she had done—of what she had almost become—was heavy in the air between them.

Seth handed her the deactivated lightsaber she had surrendered to him.

She hesitated before taking it, fingers curling over the hilt. "I will go back," she murmured, as if saying the words made them true. "But not yet. I need… time."

Seth studied her carefully, then nodded in understanding.

"I'll tell the Council you're coming," he said. "No weapons. No hiding."

Juhani exhaled sharply, then gave a deep, formal bow—not to the Jedi Apprentice before her, but to the boy who had given her another chance.

"I owe you my life, Seth Avery," she said, voice thick with emotion. "May the Force be with you."

And with that, she turned back toward the ruins.

Mission waited until they were far enough away from the grove before finally breaking the silence.

"That was… not what I expected," she admitted.

Seth let out a breath of exhaustion, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Me neither."

Mission smirked. "And yet somehow, you are."

He shot her a confused glance. "Huh?"

She shrugged. "You see people. Really see them. You don't just look at what they've done—you look at who they could be."

Seth frowned. "Isn't that the Jedi way?"

"Maybe," she said. "But I don't think that's why you do it."

He was quiet for a moment before replying. "I just know what it's like to be written off before you even get a chance to prove yourself."

Mission felt a pang in her chest. Yeah, she knew that feeling, too.

She nudged him with her elbow, forcing a grin. "You were so close to being cool back there, Hotshot. You just had to ruin it by being all sentimental."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Great. Next time, I'll just let her kill me. Way less embarrassing."

Mission snorted. "Glad you're learning."

The banter felt easy again—natural. Like they were back to normal.

Then, after a few beats, Seth said quietly, "We've all been through some pretty rough stuff."

Mission's smirk faded as she watched him—really watched him. He wasn't just talking about Juhani anymore.

He was talking about himself.

"The difference is, we've had each other," he continued, glancing at her. "Looks like she had no one. That would be enough to drive anyone into darkness. I can't imagine having to deal with everything the galaxy's thrown at us alone."

Mission's chest tightened.

She hesitated, then took his hand.

"You won't have to," she said softly.

Seth stopped walking. His green eyes flicked down to their joined hands, then back to her face.

"You may drive me up a wall sometimes, Seth," she added with a teasing grin. "But I'm not going anywhere. You'll never have to walk this galaxy alone. Not again, anyways."

A slow, genuine smile spread across his face.

"Neither will you."

Mission knew she should pull away—knew she should keep some distance between them until she figured out what all of this meant.

But his fingers were warm, and his grip was steady, and for once, she didn't feel lost.

So, she didn't let go.

They walked back hand in hand, the sunset stretching their shadows long against the fields—two figures side by side, no longer wandering the galaxy alone.