Seth's return walk felt endless.
Every step was a struggle against the heavy resistance of the ocean. He forced himself to breathe slow, move steady, the weight of the Star Map data sitting like a victory in his pocket.
The mission was done. The Selkath were safe. The firaxa were left in peace. For once, he could call this a win. The Hrakrt Station loomed ahead, its airlock glowing faintly in the deep. Almost there.
And then—the first sign something was wrong.
Not a blaring alarm. Not a catastrophic failure.
Just… a feeling.
A wrongness in the weight of his suit.
Seth frowned, instinctively flexing his fingers. Something felt off—too much drag when he moved, a slight pull at his right side.
He stopped walking.
Glanced down.
His breath hitched.
A jagged piece of metal was lodged in his suit just below his ribs. Shrapnel.
His stomach plummeted.
He didn't feel any pain—but that didn't mean anything. The kolto harvester had exploded. Had this been stuck in him the whole time?
His HUD suddenly blinked red.
PRESSURE ALERT: OUTSIDE ANOMALY DETECTED
Seth froze. He barely had time to process what that meant before the next alert flashed.
DECREASING PRESSURE—SUIT INTEGRITY COMPROMISED
A thin stream of bubbles slipped from the wound in his suit, curling upward toward the dark ceiling of the ocean. His heart slammed into his ribs.
No, no, no—not now.
Seth pressed a hand to the breach instinctively, feeling the vibration of escaping air beneath his glove.
It's fine. It's small. Keep moving.
He forced himself forward, pushing off the ocean floor as fast as the suit allowed. The airlock was close.
Fifty yards. I can make it.
The HUD flashed again.
PRESSURE FAILING—20% REMAINING
Seth moved faster.
Forty yards.
Thirty.
The suit was getting heavier. His limbs felt slower. His chest tighter. He reached for the Force, trying to propel himself forward in the water.
Nothing happened.
Panic curled up his spine like a fist.
The Force had carried him through impossible situations before. He had been able to pull himself forward through the water before.
Why wasn't it working now?
Twenty yards.
Fifteen.
PRESSURE FAILING—5% REMAINING
Seth threw himself forward with everything he had. The airlock was right there—ten feet away.
Then, a current slammed into him.
The same one he had created—his own damn wake.
It hit him sideways, knocking him off balance—and with it, he felt the metal shard dislodge.
For half a second, everything was fine.
Then the HUD flashed red one final time.
SUIT BREACH—PRESSURE CRITICAL
A roaring rush of bubbles exploded outward. Seth gasped—and immediately regretted it.
The air in his helmet vanished in an instant. The pressure slammed into him like a freight speeder, crushing his chest, pressing against his ribs. He stumbled, weightless, reaching blindly. The world was darkening at the edges.
No, no, no. I'm right there.
His fingers brushed the airlock control panel. The metal groaned. The airlock slid open.
Seth fell inside. His knees hit the ground hard. His vision tilted. With one final burst of strength, he reached for the Force—not to push himself, not to propel—but to pull the damn door shut.
He clawed for the control panel to start the sequence. Nothing.
His breath hitched. His helmet cracked.
The HUD flickered out.
Then, with a sharp, splintering snap—
—the visor shattered.
Water rushed in.
Bastila's Pazaak cards hit the floor.
One second, she had been calculating her next move. The next, her entire body locked up.
A sharp, jarring pulse of panic slammed into her chest—not her own, but Seth's. And then, in the next instant—nothing.
The connection severed.
Bastila's breath hitched. That had never happened before.
Mission stood beside her, stretching her arms over her head, completely unaware. "Looks like you got the hang of it," she was saying. "Good game, Bas—"
"Shh." The way Bastila's voice cut through the room made Mission freeze.
The Twi'lek's brow furrowed. "What?"
Bastila barely heard her. Her fingers clutched at her chest instinctively, her heart hammering. The emptiness where Seth's presence had been left an echo, like a void where something vital had just been ripped away.
She tried to reach for him—to push through the bond, to find anything—
Nothing.
A flash of pure terror struck through her like lightning. Not hers. His.
"Is it Seth?" Mission's voice broke.
Bastila snapped out of it. She turned, eyes sharp. "I sense incredible fear," she murmured. "And then… I felt nothing."
Mission paled.
"That doesn't happen," Bastila continued, barely aware of her own voice. "Not with a bond this strong. It only cuts off like that when—"
She didn't finish.
She didn't have to.
Mission's Pazaak deck flew from her hands as she spun toward the airlock. "Dammit!" she shouted. "We shouldn't have let him go out there alone!"
Bastila's focus honed in. There was no time to waste. Her lightsaber ignited with a snap-hiss, and before Mission could process what was happening, Bastila was already moving.
Canderous barely had time to react.
One second, everything was quiet. The next, the Jedi was slicing through the airlock's panel like a woman possessed.
"Are you crazy, Princess?" he barked. "You could drown us all!"
Mission threw herself in front of him, hands outstretched. "Seth's in trouble, Canderous! I don't know what's going on either, but you have to trust her!"
"Trust her? How do we know the airlock ain't wide open on the other side?"
Mission's chest heaved. "Please," she whispered. Tears burned at the edges of her eyes. "Let her help him."
Canderous' jaw clenched. He looked down at her—really looked. Then, with a muttered curse, he stepped back. "Fine. But if this kills us, I'm haunting the lot of you."
Bastila's blade carved the final latch loose.
The door sprang open—and a rush of cold water flooded in, carrying Seth inside along with it.
Bright yellow suit. Helmet shattered.
Not moving.
Mission forgot how to breathe. Then Bastila was there, pushing past her, hands grabbing under his arms. "Canderous!" Bastila snapped. "Help me!"
The Mandalorian was already moving. He grabbed Seth's legs, hauling him onto the nearest crate.
Mission couldn't move.
She could only watch as Bastila ripped his helmet free and shoved it aside with the Force. The Jedi pulled open the hardened chest piece of the suit, revealing the soaked red fabric of his jacket beneath.
Seth's chest wasn't rising.
Mission's breath caught.
Bastila's hands curled into fists.
Then, without hesitation, she pressed both palms over his sternum and started compressions. "Canderous, take over!" Bastila's voice snapped like a whip.
The Mandalorian barely hesitated. He climbed onto the crate, waited just long enough to match her rhythm, and took over.
Bastila moved to Seth's head, tilting his chin up, pinching his nose closed.
"Hold compressions," she ordered.
Canderous stilled.
Bastila pressed her mouth to Seth's and breathed.
Mission felt her whole world tilt. She should do something—should say something—but she couldn't move.
Bastila pulled back, inhaling sharply. "Four more," she commanded.
Canderous complied, his brow furrowed in rare, silent concentration.
Bastila breathed into Seth's lungs again.
Again.
Again.
Nothing.
Mission's knees hit the floor.
One more breath.
Then—a sharp, wet gasp. Seth jerked violently, coughing up a lungful of water.
His chest rose sharply, then fell. Then rose again.
He was breathing.
He was alive.
Canderous exhaled and sat back. "Dammit, kid. Don't make us do that again."
Seth let out a shaky, broken laugh. "Didn't… exactly plan it."
Then Bastila hugged him. Mission's brain short-circuited. Seth blinked in pure shock, but—for once—he didn't make a joke.
He just… let her.
And Bastila, trembling slightly, whispered just loud enough for them all to hear: "I thought we lost you."
Seth swallowed hard. "Yeah," he murmured. "Me too."
Mission pressed her hands to her face, wiping away the last of her tears.
She was so angry at him.
And she had never been so relieved in her life.
"Just tell me you got the Star Map before nearly drowning out there," Canderous grunted, and Seth held up a small data disc with a smirk.
"Of course I did." He whipped out a data disk with a smirk. "Did you ever doubt me?" Every breath burned like he'd inhaled fire instead of water. His muscles felt heavy, sore, drained.
But he was alive.
And if the glare Mission was sending his way was anything to go by, he might not be for long.
Seth barely had time to brace himself before Mission stormed forward, water sloshing around her boots. "Oh, no you don't!"
Her finger jabbed hard into his chest, making him wince. "You don't get to make jokes minutes after you fall through that damn airlock half-dead and scare the living—"
She didn't get to finish.
Because Seth grabbed either side of her face and kissed her.
It was unlike any other they'd shared. Not impulsive, not a mistake, not a moment stolen out of uncertainty. This was something else.
Something sure.
For half a second, Mission didn't move—too shocked to react. Then, before she could stop herself, she melted into it. Her hands threaded through his damp hair, fingers pressing into his scalp, and Seth shivered under her touch. He tilted his head, deepening it just slightly, and Mission let out a small, surprised hum against his lips.
Then she remembered where they were.
Who they were in front of.
And she shoved him away.
Seth stumbled back, blinking. Mission pointed at him, breathing hard.
"You—" Her voice wobbled. "You don't—just do that—"
Seth's grin was utterly shameless. Mission smacked him on the arm. Hard.
Behind them, Canderous rolled his eyes. "I swear, if you two are gonna keep doing this, at least warn the rest of us so I can leave the damn room."
Bastila folded her arms, but—Force help her—she actually looked amused.
Mission was going to die.
"I swear to the Force," she muttered, turning on her heel and rubbing at her face, "you are going to send me into cardiac arrest one of these days, Seth Avery."
Seth, still grinning like an idiot, just shrugged. "I promised you I'd come back so we could talk."
Mission stilled. His voice was softer now. Not teasing, not cocky. Just… honest.
"And when I was stuck on the other side of that airlock," he continued, quieter now, "all I could think about was making good on that promise."
Mission's chest tightened.
She forced herself to step back. Right. The conversation.
She wasn't ready. Not here. Not now.
Not when she was still shaken from almost losing him.
So she forced a half-smile, nudging his shoulder. "Well, you better start keeping your promises, Hotshot."
Seth chuckled, rubbing the spot where she nudged him.
Canderous groaned. "Alright, before I get any more second-hand embarrassment from this disaster— we should get back up to the surface."
Mission nodded a little too fast. "Right. Good plan. And analyze the data from the Star Map. And get the hell off this planet."
"For once, Canderous," Bastila said, shaking her head with a sigh, "I agree with you. Who would have thought I'd actually be looking forward to traveling to Kashyyyk, of all places, after this?"
Seth exhaled.
His body still ached, his mind still reeled, but he was alive.
The submersible surfaced with a hiss, water sloshing off its exterior as it docked back inside the Republic Embassy's submarine bay. Seth barely had time to register how much he wanted a dry set of clothes before his gut dropped.
A line of Selkath authorities stood at the edge of the platform, waiting for them. Arms folded. Faces unreadable. Weapons holstered but not out of reach.
That was never a good sign.
Seth climbed out second, right behind Bastila, and as soon as his boots hit the platform, his eyes locked on Drea. She was standing near the Selkath, wringing her hands, her face tight with concern. Seth frowned. That was an even worse sign.
"Drea?" he called. "What's going on?"
She opened her mouth, hesitated, then blurted, "Seth, they detected explosions down there."
Seth felt Mission tense at his side.
Drea continued, her voice wavering. "They think you did something to the kolto."
A murmur ran through the Selkath officers. Their leader—a tall, imposing figure with dark, glassy eyes—took a step forward. "[Lay down your weapons]" he commanded in Selkatha.
Seth immediately complied, slipping his lightsaber from his belt and placing it carefully on the ground. Non-threatening. Cooperative.
Behind him, Mission and Canderous hesitated.
"You're gonna put us through a Force-damned trial?!" Mission blurted, gripping her blaster like she was about to argue her way out of this.
Canderous snorted. "Cowardly little—" he muttered under his breath.
"Weapons down." Bastila's voice was low but firm.
Mission ground her teeth. But after a beat, she huffed and tossed her blaster to the ground. Canderous followed, grumbling something in Mando'a under his breath. The Selkath moved forward, their webbed hands reaching for restraints.
"Whoa, whoa," Seth started, taking a step back as one grabbed his wrist. "We didn't do anything to the kolto down there. In fact, not to seem all high and mighty about it, but I think we actually—"
The Selkath leader yanked his arms behind his back and snapped the binders shut. "[Silence.]"
The cold metal bit into his wrists.
Seth exhaled sharply. Okay, so negotiating was out.
Bastila barely flinched as her own arms were pulled behind her. "We need to alert the Ebon Hawk," she said quietly, voice calm despite the situation. "The rest of the crew needs to know what's going on."
Seth nodded. His mind was already there. His eyes flicked to Drea.
"Drea," he called as they were being pulled toward the exit.
She hurried to keep up, falling into step beside him. "Yeah?"
"I need you to do me a favor." His voice was lower now. Urgent.
She nodded immediately. "Yeah, anything."
"Find the Ebon Hawk's docking bay," he said. "Ask for Carth Onasi. Tell him what's going on."
Drea's eyes flickered with hesitation. "I—Seth, I don't know if—"
He grabbed her hand—just for a second, just enough to ground her.
"Please."
Drea stilled. Then, finally, she nodded. "Okay. I'll find him."
The blast doors opened.
Seth barely had time to glance back at her before he was being shoved forward, marching out into Ahto City.
Drea didn't move right away. But before the doors closed behind them, she stepped forward, pressing her lips gently against his cheek.
"Good luck," she whispered.
Then she was gone.