Bastila barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Carth stormed ahead of her, boots crushing fallen leaves as he paced, arms crossed over his chest. She could feel his frustration radiating off him, a steady thrum of emotion that, if she weren't so disciplined, might have pulled her into the spiral of it.
"I can't believe you let him run off like that," Carth finally snapped, spinning on his heel to face her.
Bastila exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her lightsaber at her hip. There is no emotion, there is peace. She reminded herself of the Jedi Code, even as her own frustration flared. "He didn't run off anywhere, Carth," she said evenly. "He made a choice."
"He's sixteen," Carth shot back. "You're supposed to be his—his mentor, his—Jedi partner, whatever you want to call it! And you just let him go?"
She arched an eyebrow. "And how would you have stopped him?"
Carth's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "He shouldn't need to be stopped! Because the adults in the room should've never let it be an option!"
That was it. That was the root of it. Not just his frustration, but his fear. Bastila could feel it curling around his words, pressing against his conscience. He was afraid for Seth.
And Bastila understood.
But she also understood that Seth Avery was not a boy to be caged.
"And when he took up a rifle in the Republic Navy, was he just a boy then?" Bastila countered, crossing her arms. "Was he a child when he fought and bled for your Republic? What about then, Carth? Was he just a boy?"
Carth flinched, just slightly. "Sixteen is the navy-wide activation age for active duty," he muttered, his voice quieter. "But that doesn't mean we send them off on their own to lead missions. To start wars."
"No," Bastila agreed, her voice softening. "Instead, the Republic sends them to the front lines. You don't let them lead; you let them die."
The words landed like a blow. Carth inhaled sharply, his expression crumbling for half a second before he pulled himself back together.
Bastila's irritation ebbed as she studied him. He was haunted—not just by war, but by loss. He wasn't afraid of Seth making a mistake. He was afraid of watching another kid die.
Her stance softened. "That boy looks up to you more than anyone, Carth," she said gently. "And what he needs from you right now isn't for you to protect him. He needs you to believe in him."
Carth's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "And if he does make a mistake? If he gets himself killed?"
"Then it will be because he chose to put himself in danger, same as all of us." Bastila searched his face, willed him to understand. "We put our lives on the line every day for this mission. Because we must. Because the Jedi Council saw something in us, in him, that made them believe we had the best chance to succeed."
Carth didn't speak right away. He ran a hand down his face, sighing, staring at the dirt beneath his boots as if the answers were buried there.
Then, finally—"Okay."
Bastila tilted her head. "Okay?"
He looked up, met her gaze. "Yeah," he said, quieter this time. "Okay."
Bastila gave him a small nod, withdrawing her hand from where she hadn't even realized she'd placed it on his forearm. "Then let's move. The sooner we find the Star Map, the sooner we can return to Rwookrrorro to help Seth."
As Jolee started leading the way again, Bastila cast a final glance over her shoulder at Carth.
"And Carth?" she said. "Don't think for a moment that Seth is just a pawn in this war. I'd protect him from anything, if I could. More than any of you."
Carth blinked, startled by the honesty in her tone.
"But unfortunately," she murmured, "beyond me, beyond the Jedi, beyond the Republic—he is our only hope."
The sound of splintering wood was the only warning before something massive crashed through the clearing.
A deafening roar split the air.
Canderous dove left. Tal dove right. The terentatek landed where they'd stood not a moment before, its massive claws digging furrows into the dirt. It let out a low, rumbling snarl—hungry, violent, predatory.
Tal's gaze snapped to Canderous. "Did you lead this thing here to kill us?!"
Canderous couldn't have rolled his eyes harder if he tried. "I'm clever on the battlefield, not crazy!" he shouted over the din of crashing trees. He fired off a round of blaster bolts. They bounced harmlessly off the creature's thick hide.
Tal aimed his pistols, ready to fire—
"Wait!" Canderous barked.
Tal turned to him, furious. "Do not assume that the honor of this kill is yours to claim, besom."
Canderous bristled. "Ori'buyce, kih'kovid," he muttered under his breath before speaking louder. "Straight shots won't work. We need to think."
Tal barely seemed to be listening. He popped out from cover and fired—again, the bolts ricocheted harmlessly off the beast's armored hide.
"Damn it, or'dinii, we have to work together!" Canderous snapped.
Tal opened his mouth to retort—
The terentatek lunged.
Tal's man, Bolen, barely had time to scream before the beast snatched him up, massive claws closing around his body like a toy. The sickening crunch of bones snapping was drowned out by the terentatek's next roar. Then, like tossing aside a ragdoll, the creature hurled Bolen across the clearing. He hit the thick trunk of a wroshyr tree with a thud—and crumpled, unmoving.
Canderous barely spared a glance at the body. He already knew the man was dead.
Tal, though—Tal went rigid. His breath came sharp, shoulders stiff. Canderous recognized it—shock. The moment when a warrior realized just how real the fight had become.
Canderous clicked his tongue. Damn.
"I hope you have a plan," Tal said, voice shaking with fury.
Canderous peeked from behind cover. The terentatek's jaw hung open as it roared again, its fury now turned toward the rest of Clan Vizsla's ranks.
And suddenly—Canderous did have a plan.
A stupid one. A reckless one.
And a damn good one.
He grinned, looking back at Tal. "Yeah," he said. "I've got a plan."
The air thinned as they climbed.
Seth felt the shift with every breath—how the thick, humid air of the Shadowlands gave way to something crisper, lighter, as Freyyr pulled them ever upward. The higher they went, the more the dense tangle of wroshyr branches parted, revealing slivers of Kashyyyk's sky—an inky blue, speckled with starlight.
His muscles ached from clinging to the elder Wookiee's shoulders, but Freyyr barely slowed, hauling himself and Seth toward the village above with relentless determination.
Seth exhaled sharply, shifting his grip.
Wookiees don't mess around.
He knew that already, of course. But Freyyr? He was old. Not ancient, but certainly past his prime. And yet, he climbed like a warrior in his youth, barely faltering despite the weight of an extra hundred kilos strapped to his back.
Seth clenched his jaw, a strange feeling creeping up his spine.
He wanted to be like that one day.
Not just strong—but capable. Resilient.
A father who'd go to any lengths for his son.
The thought came out of nowhere, striking his chest like a solid punch.
What the hell?
Most sixteen-year-olds didn't think about fatherhood. Most didn't have to. But Seth—Seth had spent his whole life without one. He'd never had an example of what it meant to be a dad.
And yet…
Watching Freyyr fight for his family, for his son, for the future of his people—Seth felt something settle deep in his bones.
If I ever have kids, he thought, I want to be like that.
Then reality hit him just as hard.
He wouldn't.
Because there was no future like that for him. Not for a Jedi. Not for a soldier. Not for someone who'd built his life in the middle of a war.
Seth clenched his fists against Freyyr's fur, forcing himself to push the thought away. It didn't matter. It wasn't relevant. It was just some stupid, fleeting fantasy—something that had no place in the world he actually lived in.
He had a job to do.
Freyyr reached the top of the climb, gripping the edge of a wooden walkway and hauling himself over. Seth let go and dropped lightly to the platform, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted to solid ground again.
The village loomed ahead, torchlight flickering in the night, Wookiee sentries patrolling the walkways.
"[Are you ready?]" Freyyr asked, his voice steady.
Seth let out a slow breath. His hand went to his belt, fingers curling around the hilt of his lightsaber. The weight was comforting. Grounding.
He met Freyyr's gaze.
"I'm ready."
The Shadowlands had a way of swallowing sound.
Even with the distant howls of katarns and the rustling of unseen creatures in the underbrush, Bastila swore she could hear her own heartbeat as she followed Jolee through the winding paths of Kashyyyk's depths.
"It was… well, it was somewhere around here," Jolee mumbled, ducking under a gnarled wroshyr root that arched over the path like a crooked bridge before curling back into the earth.
Bastila exchanged a wary glance with Carth. "Jolee," Carth started, his voice edged with suspicion, "when was the last time you saw the Star Map, exactly?"
Jolee waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, some years ago."
"Years?" Bastila repeated, incredulous. "Are you sure we're close?"
The old man glanced over his shoulder, fixing her with an indignant glare. "Are you questioning my memory, girl? 'Oh, the old man's half senile, he likely doesn't even remember what he ate for breakfast this morning!'"
"That's not what I—"
"I'll have you know," Jolee continued, "the number of Wookiee hunters I've encountered who have made contact with the Star Map is more than I can count. I remember where I meet them, and where they're going, and yes, I remember where the Star Map is from the last time I visited the damn thing. And I had wasaka berry pudding this morning, by the way."
Carth stifled a laugh while Bastila pinched the bridge of her nose. "We don't have much of a choice but to follow the guy," Carth reminded her as they followed Jolee beneath the root.
Jolee came to an abrupt halt.
"What now?" Bastila asked, irritation creeping into her voice.
"Shh!"
Her hand was on her hip quicker than Carth could blink. "Don't you—"
"Shh!" Jolee hushed again, lifting a hand. His brow furrowed. "Do you feel that?"
Bastila was about to snap that the only thing she felt was aggravation—but then, her instincts shifted.
She closed her eyes, reaching out through the Force. There—just beneath the hum of Kashyyyk's wild, untamed life, something else vibrated. Subtle, nearly imperceptible, but unmistakably foreign.
"Machinery," she realized aloud.
Jolee hummed in approval. "See? You are good for something."
Bastila ignored him, stepping forward as her eyes locked onto a patch of moss-covered stone. The energy pulsing beneath it resonated deep in her bones, the same sensation she'd felt on Dantooine, and Seth had described on Manaan.
Her lightsaber hissed to life, casting golden light across the clearing. With a single precise stroke, she cut through the thick moss. Tiny leaves scattered to the ground, revealing the smooth, unnatural surface beneath.
Durasteel.
Carth stepped up beside her, pulling away the remaining plant life with gloved hands, revealing an ancient, pyramidal structure embedded in the ground. The hum beneath her feet grew stronger.
The Star Map.
The system began to hum, the vibrations intensifying as though awakening from a long slumber. The metallic surface warmed beneath her fingertips.
"So," Carth muttered, rubbing his hands together. "Does this thing open up by itself, or do I need to answer more of your philosophical questions about gardening?"
Bastila let out a breathless laugh—brief, but genuine.
Then she frowned.
"I'm not sure, actually," she admitted. "When Seth retrieved the Star Map from Manaan, he didn't mention any security measures like the ones we encountered on Dantooine, but that doesn't mean this one doesn't have its own… obstacles."
"It does," Jolee warned. "But good luck getting it to work."
As if in response, a holographic interface materialized before them, casting a soft blue glow into the clearing. Carth took a reflexive step back, hand hovering near his blaster.
"Primary neural and biological scan complete," a monotonous voice droned.
A pause.
Then—
"Match found."
Jolee sputtered. "What?! Match found?!" He gestured wildly at the interface. "It always mentioned something about rejected patterns for me!"
Bastila felt her stomach tighten.
She stepped closer, cautiously examining the glyphs that flickered across the holographic display. "I'm not entirely sure why that would be, Jolee," she murmured, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them.
The system had recognized her.
Not as a Jedi. Not as a random seeker. As something else.
Jolee's expression turned faraway, lost deep in thought. "Very interesting," he muttered.
Carth narrowed his eyes, glancing between them. He wasn't Force-sensitive, but he wasn't blind. There was something neither of them were saying. But Seth was about to jump into a revolution alone, and they were running out of time.
He coughed loudly, cracking his knuckles. "Well, this Star Map isn't gonna open itself," he said, flashing them both a pointed look. "So let's get to it."
"He's giving up hope," Mission murmured, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stared across the great hall. Zaalbar stood motionless, his shoulders slumped under the crushing weight of his brother's words. He hadn't spoken in what felt like an eternity.
Mission knew that silence too well. She'd felt it when Griff left. When Taris burned. When she realized no one was coming to save her.
That silence was resignation.
T3 let out a quiet, sorrowful dwoooo and rolled forward just enough to nudge against Zaalbar's leg. He didn't react. Mission sighed, reaching over to pat the droid's dome. "I know, buddy. I know."
Juhani, sitting beside her with a solemn expression, spoke just loud enough to be heard over the low hum of conversation in the hall. "I do not know if my attempts to plant seeds of doubt in Chuundar's followers worked, Mission. If they did, it was not enough to break their fear."
Mission had no response. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting—a riot? A full-scale rebellion? Maybe she'd just hoped that someone, anyone, would stand up and tell Chuundar exactly what he deserved to hear.
The doors to the throne room slammed open.
Every Czerka mercenary in the hall snapped their weapons up, the sound of blasters being drawn hissing through the air like a snake preparing to strike.
Mission froze.
Then, she saw the Wookiees—angry Wookiees.
And at their head, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the graying warrior who led them, was a boy she had not expected to see again so soon.
Seth Avery, alive and grinning like he'd just pulled off the heist of the century.
Her heart lodged itself somewhere between her ribs. "I think it…" she breathed, eyes locking onto his unmistakable green ones, "…worked." For a moment, she forgot the hall. Forgot the guards. Forgot that minutes ago, she'd felt as hopeless as Zaalbar looked now.
Because Seth was here.
And of course, he was here with the full force of a revolution behind him.
She had about fifty questions sitting on the tip of her tongue, but as Seth and the elder Wookiee stepped forward to face Chuundar, she realized none of them mattered. Not yet. Seth caught her staring and gave her the most insufferable little wink, like this was all just some elaborate joke they were both in on.
She should have been used to him pulling off the impossible by now.
And yet.
Zaalbar's sharp intake of breath broke the moment. His eyes had gone wide, locked onto the older Wookiee standing beside Seth, disbelief rippling across his face. "[Father?]"
Mission turned her head so fast her lekku almost slapped Juhani. What?
Even Chuundar looked momentarily stunned before his lip curled in disdain. "[Now, human, I help you make your way down to the Shadowlands to retrieve the artifact you came here for and ask for one simple task to be completed in return… and yet the Wookiee I sent you to kill stands before me, in my throne room, very much alive.]" His voice oozed smug condescension.
Seth's smirk was razor-sharp. "Yeah, I figured any respectable leader wouldn't send someone to kill his own father, so I assumed this must have been a mistake." He spread his hands like he was explaining something simple, something obvious. "So I brought Freyyr here to clear things up. Thought maybe you two needed a little family bonding time."
Zaalbar took a slow, deliberate step forward, his claws flexing. "[Chuundar, is what he says true? Did you send my friends to murder our father?]"
"[Father went mad long ago]" Chuundar dismissed with a wave of his hand, tone dripping with false pity. "[This is but a shell of who he was.]"
"[Hush, Chuundar!]" Freyyr's voice boomed, echoing off the walls. "[I think my son knows madness when he sees it, and the true madness is in your alliance with these slavers!]"
Chuundar scoffed. "[Why would Zaalbar accept your word as truth, Father? After all, it was you who wrongly judged him mad and exiled him years ago!]"
That did it.
Zaalbar let out a thunderous growl, stepping directly between them. His whole body was taut, trembling, barely holding back a rage Mission had never seen in him before. "[I can speak for myself.]"
The entire hall seemed to hold its breath.
Seth's fingers drifted toward his belt, his hand hovering just inches from his lightsaber. T3 let out a soft, warning beep, and Mission could hear the faint click of the droid's internal blaster coming online.
Zaalbar turned, looking between his father and his brother. The weight of the past, of betrayal and regret, pressed heavily on his shoulders. His voice, when he spoke, was raw. "[You both had a hand in my exile.]" His burning gaze landed on Freyyr. "[Father, you abandoned your faith in me when I needed it most.]"
Freyyr's head dipped, shame evident in every line of his massive frame.
Then Zaalbar turned to Chuundar, and Mission swore she felt the temperature in the room drop. "[And you]" he growled. "[It was your lies and deception that led to my exile in the first place.]"
Finally, his eyes landed on Seth. "[And it seems as if the only one I trust here is an outsider.]" His voice wavered. "[What do you make of this, Seth?]"
Mission held her breath.
Seth exhaled, slow and measured. "I think you've already made up your mind, Big Z."
Zaalbar didn't look away.
Seth's voice was even, but firm. "Chuundar is the same brother you left behind years ago. He told you your father was dead. That was a lie. He told you he wasn't personally benefiting from these slave trade deals. That was a lie too. And you already know that."
Silence stretched.
Then Seth added, quieter now, "The question isn't who you side with. It's whether or not you can forgive your father for what happened in the past."
Zaalbar stood there for what felt like an eternity.
Then, finally, his shoulders slumped. "[I do]" he said, voice heavy but resolute. "[I forgive you, Father.]"
Mission felt a lump rise in her throat as Freyyr stepped forward, placing a massive hand on Zaalbar's shoulder before pulling him into an embrace.
Seth turned to look at her then, something soft in his expression. She met his gaze, heart hammering.
For a moment, everything felt right.
Then—
"[Enough!]"
Chuundar's furious roar shattered the moment.
Mission's stomach dropped as he unsheathed a massive double-bladed sword, brandishing it with wild fury. "[My orders were clear—kill the Wookiee, or Zaalbar doesn't return with you!]" His grip tightened. "[And the only way this mad-claw leaves Kashyyyk is in a body bag.]"
Then he lunged.