I kept my steps even as I walked beside Pre Vizsla, my head angled downward just enough to make it look like I was simply focused ahead. In reality, I was trying to keep my breathing measured, my emotions in check. It was harder than it should have been.

The streets leading to the hangar were packed with people. It was mostly randoms, some slaves, a few mercenaries based on their equipment, and those who thrived in the underbelly of the Outer Rim. The air was thick with smoke and metal from it being an industrial district, and the distant hum of speeders cutting through the smog-choked sky acted as further background noise.

People moved aside at the sight of Pre, some casting wary glances at his armor, others keeping their heads low and stepping out of our path without hesitation. They knew better than to cross a Mandalorian, especially one who carried himself with the certainty of a warrior who had nothing to prove but everything to enforce.

And yet, none of them knew what he meant to me.

Because Pre Vizsla shouldn't exist.

I could feel it, that nagging, twisting sense of wrongness in my gut. My memories told me one thing, but reality was showing me another. In the Legends EU, Mandalore had been a thriving world, scarred by wars but still strong; still a place of jungles and clans, with warriors forging themselves after the conflicts that had nearly destroyed them. The Republic had never reduced it to a wasteland, and Death Watch had never truly risen in the way they did in this reality after the Mandalorian Civil War between Tor Vizsla and the True Mandalorians.

And yet, here was Pre Vizsla.

Armored in blue and black. Just as real as I was.

And beside me, walking as if it was the most natural thing in the world that I was now part of his life.

I had spent so much time understanding what galaxy I had been thrown into. I thought I had pieced together what was real and what wasn't. But now? Now I wasn't sure.

I shoved the thoughts down, locking them away for later. It didn't matter. What mattered was adapting. The galaxy was what it was, and I would move forward.

Ahead, the entrance to the hangar loomed, the path clearing even more as we neared it. I tightened my grip on the holocron at my side, its edges pressing into my palm like an anchor.

As we stepped into the hangar, the noise of the city dimmed behind us, replaced by the low hum of power generators and the distant hiss of pressurized systems.

The ship came into view as we stepped into the hangar. It was a squat, disk-like freighter with a forward cockpit and two pronged mandibles jutting from the front. The design was familiar and I could quite easily place where I'd seen something like it before. Everyone who knew anything of Star Wars could. The closest comparison that came to mind was the Millennium Falcon, though there were enough differences to make it distinct.

Pre led the way up the boarding ramp without hesitation, and I followed, my boots clanking against the durasteel as we entered the main hold. The interior was clean but lived-in, perfectly Spartan in having no decorations and with storage crates secured along the walls and a few signs of recent maintenance work. As the ramp sealed shut behind us, the faint hum of the ship's systems came to life and the lights brightened.

The moment the hatch sealed shut behind us, locking out the world beyond, Pre reached up and unclasped his helmet. With a slight hiss of decompressing air, he pulled it free, revealing a face that was both younger and harder than I had expected. Sharp features, short blond hair, piercing blue eyes that assessed me the same way he had in the arena; calculating, searching for something.

"You need your wounds treated," He said, his tone even but carrying the weight of an order.

I exhaled through my nose, rolling my shoulders slightly. The adrenaline from earlier was starting to wear off, and I could feel the deep aches settling in. My ribs throbbed, my arms felt leaden, and beneath my armor, I could feel the sting of fresh bruises forming. The fight had taken its toll, even if I had forced myself to move past it.

I glanced down at myself, then back up at him. "Where do I need to sit?"

Pre gestured to behind me to the section behind the cockpit on the right where there was a booth bolted into the wall with a table between the booths. "Sit over there and I will grab a medical kit."

There was no room for argument in his voice, though I didn't see a reason to fight it anyway. With a small nod, I moved toward one of the seats, already preparing myself for the sharp sting of disinfectant and the slow process of getting patched up.

Pre disappeared into a different section of the ship, his boots echoing against the metal flooring. I leaned back slightly in the booth, my body protesting the movement, the aches growing more noticeable now that I had stopped pushing forward. But I held onto the Holocron all the while. A minute later, he returned, a compact medkit in hand and set it down on the table before looking at me expectantly.

"Armour off."

I hesitated for half a second before nodding and started unclasping the pieces I had on, including forearm guards, the shoulder plates, and the durasteel chest plate, before setting them to the side. Pre watched without comment, his expression unreadable as he popped open the medkit and pulled out a disinfectant cloth. He didn't hesitate, taking my arm in a firm grip.

"This will likely sting." He gave me forewarning, even though I didn't need it. He then swiped the cloth across one of the deeper cuts.

I exhaled sharply through my teeth at the sharp sting, the wound flaring with pain before settling into a dull burn. The next wipe was just as methodical, clearing away the grime and dried blood from my skin. He moved to the slash across my forearm, and the moment the cloth pressed against the raw flesh, I winced, fingers twitching involuntarily.

Pre didn't react beyond holding my arm steady, finishing his work before setting the cloth aside and grabbing a small spray canister. I recognized it instantly as bacta. He applied it without warning, the cooling sensation spreading across my arm as the sting began to dull. Then came the bandages, wrapped tight and secure.

Satisfied with his work, he moved to my other arm, repeating the process with the same efficiency. When that was done, he turned his attention to my bruised shoulder, giving it a once-over before reaching for the bacta again. The mist settled over my skin, easing the soreness somewhat, though the deep ache remained.

He then let go of my arms and looked at the scar on my face closely, eyes squinting just slightly before shrugging.

He sat back slightly, glancing over his work before finally meeting my gaze. "That should be enough for now before I have you checked over by a proper doctor in a few days."

"Thanks." I replied, sighing and leaning back into the seat and shutting my eyes for a moment at the relief.

Pre took that moment to stand up from his kneeling position.

"Before we leave," He started to say, his tone relaxed, "I need to finish one other thing. Stay here on the ship and I will be back shortly."

I cracked open my left eye, thinking for a second.

"See you then." I settled on saying.

Pre gave a short nod, then without another word, turned and strode toward the ship's exit. The ramp lowered with a soft hiss, letting in the muffled noise of the outside world before sealing shut again once he stepped through. I then heard a loud click from the hatch and a soft voice from speakers in the back room saying the ship was now locked.

I remained where I was, still leaning back in the seat, letting exhaustion settle in properly now that I wasn't forced to stay alert. The dull ache of my body was a reminder of the last year, of the fights, the training, the narrow victories. It should have felt like something was finally ending, but instead, all I could focus on was what came next.

The next few weeks.

I needed to figure out my footing, what being adopted into a Mandalorian clan actually meant, what it would demand of me. I had seen how they fought, how they moved—warriors to their core. But their ways, their structure, their beliefs, were still things I would need to learn, and I couldn't afford to be caught unaware.

And then there was the Holocron.

My gaze dropped to where it sat beside me, its gold and black casing catching the dim lighting of the ship's interior. The red triangles in its center glowed with a pulsing rhythm, thrumming ever so faintly as if waiting for something. The touch I had felt from it earlier was still there, distant but steady, a cold whisper at the edges of my mind.

I exhaled through my nose, letting my fingers hover over its surface without touching it.

I needed to open it. Not immediately, not without preparation, but soon. If I could unlock it, I could gain proper knowledge, something structured rather than the half-learned instincts and trial-and-error that had carried me this far.

But when?

I closed my eyes again, running through my options, trying to decide whether to wait until I was alone or take the risk sooner. I had no idea how Pre would react to it, whether he even knew what it was. That unknown kept me from acting just yet.

Time passed, though I didn't bother keeping track. The ship remained quiet, save for the hum of its systems.

Then, the sound of the hatch opening again.

I sat up slightly, glancing toward the entrance just as Pre stepped back inside. A sword was in his grip, but his face was frozen in a deep scowl.

It took me only a second to recognize the sword.

At my questioning look, his scowl faded and he walked towards me, setting the blade on the table in front of me.

"This was the sword you earned your freedom with, so I bought it." He explained.

I looked up at him, then to the sword, then back at him. It was rather touching, and I found myself appreciative of the gesture.

"Thank you." I said, gently reaching towards the durasteel arming sword and sliding it into the sheath that was still attached to my belt.

Pre gave a curt nod before stepping back. "We're leaving now." His tone was as even as before, but there was an edge to it, something still simmering beneath his composed exterior. "I'll show you around the ship and speak with you once we're in hyperspace."

With that, he turned and made his way to the cockpit.

I remained seated, feeling the subtle shift in the ship's atmosphere as the engines powered up. The familiar hum of repulsorlifts filled the cabin, followed by a faint vibration beneath my feet as the ship lifted off the landing pad. My fingers briefly curled around the hilt of my newly reclaimed sword, grounding myself in the moment as I felt the steady rise of altitude.

Then, the subtle shift as we broke through the atmosphere, the artificial gravity compensating for the change.

A few minutes passed in silence before the familiar pull of acceleration hit, followed by the sudden and almost imperceptible weightlessness that came with jumping to hyperspace. The view beyond the cockpit glass turned into streaks of blue and white as we left the planet behind.

We were gone.

I leaned back into my seat, exhaling slowly, my gaze drifting back down to the Holocron resting beside me. Now, away from prying eyes, with the next steps of my life already set in motion, the question remained.

When would I open it?

(LINE BREAK)

The room was small, but it was mine.

Pre had repurposed an old storage compartment, clearing out whatever crates and junk had been inside to make space for a cot and some basic necessities. It wasn't much, but compared to the cramped, dirty quarters I had known before, it was practically luxury.

The past couple of hours had been… unexpected. Pre had actually sat down and spoken with me, asking questions, sharing details about Mandalorian culture, and even giving me a better idea of what his clan was. It had been a strange experience, not just because I was getting to know him, but because he seemed to actually want to know me in return.

And then, there had been the food.

Fresh food. Not nutrient paste or ration bars, not half-spoiled leftovers that I had to scrape together. Actual, real food. It had been a simple meal, nothing extravagant, but it had been made fresh, and I had eaten every bite. It was nostalgic, reminding me of when we'd been in the field and gotten back after nearly two months and getting something other than the abysmal rations we had. Made us feel human again.

But now, I sat cross-legged on the cot, the Holocron resting in my hands, my focus shifting entirely.

I had taken time to recover, to center myself, and now I was ready for the next step. I had no illusions about what would happen when I opened this thing. The whispers I had heard when I first touched it had been faint, distant. That would change the moment I unlocked it.

Sith Holocrons were not like Jedi Holocrons. They didn't simply impart knowledge; they tested, they probed, they sought to break down the weak and unworthy. If I was going to claim what was inside, I had to be ready.

So I steadied my breathing, reaching into the currents of the Force, pulling them inward as I focused my will.

This would be a battle, not just of skill, but of the mind. And I would not allow myself to falter.

My breath was steady, controlled. Each inhale and exhale sharpened my focus to a razor's edge. The Holocron rested in my hands, cool and unassuming, an artifact of ancient knowledge and buried power. Waiting.

I reached out with the Force, my will coiling around it like a vice. Cold fury surged through me, sharpened into something precise, something unbreakable. I held onto it, honed it into a spike of ice, and drove it forward.

The Holocron reacted instantly.

A deep crimson glow pulsed from its core, the intricate geometric patterns shifting, unlocking. The center twisted, realigning with a smooth, precise movement before it lifted from my hands, hovering weightlessly in the air.

Then it hit me.

A presence, vast and overwhelming, slammed into my mind with the force of a crashing wave. It was ancient, immense, and ruthless. It didn't ask permission as it surged. It took, surging through my thoughts with a crushing weight.

Pain flared white-hot in my skull, but that was nothing compared to what followed.

A wound I had buried long ago was ripped open.

The scarred-over remnants of my bond with Anakin, still just as torn and severed, flared to life with searing agony. My teeth snapped together, biting down so hard I tasted blood.

And then I saw it.

Flashes. Memories I hadn't allowed myself to relive.

Anakin on my shoulders, laughing, his small hands gripping my hair as he leaned forward, telling me to run faster. His voice, bright and unburdened, ringing through the air. A moment so real I almost reached for it—

Then fire.

The explosion. The shockwave that sent me sprawling, the searing heat, agony splitting my face in half, and the burning agony of a soul deep absence.

And Anakin's lifeless body.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my fingers twitching. My pulse pounded in my ears, but I didn't let myself break. I couldn't.

And then the voice came.

Cold. Harsh. Mechanical.

"Kneel before your betters."

The command rang through my skull like the toll of a funeral bell, laced with a presence that had bent countless wills before mine. It didn't ask. It expected.

My hands clenched into fists. My nails dug into my palms, my teeth bared.

I did not kneel.

The Holocron's presence pressed harder, shoving against my mind with the weight of centuries of dominance. It sought to grind me down, to carve obedience into my very bones.

I met it head-on.

All of my will surged, a tidal wave crashing against the storm, unyielding, unyielded.

One thought burned through the pain, cutting through the darkness like the edge of a blade.

I am the master of my fate.

The voice slammed into me again, a pressure so immense it felt like the weight of a collapsing star, like the universe itself was trying to force me to my knees.

"Kneel."

The Holocron's presence dug its claws into my mind, ice-cold tendrils seeking purchase, trying to tear me apart piece by piece. I could feel it scraping against the walls of my thoughts, probing, searching for weakness. It wanted control. It wanted submission.

I refused.

A tremor ran through my body as I fought back, every muscle tensing, every fiber of my being resisting. My breaths came sharp and shallow, and I could feel a deep, primal cold seeping into the room. The temperature had dropped, but my mind burned.

I forced my will into a solid, unyielding wall. The Holocron's presence clawed at it, raking against my defenses with relentless hunger. My fingers dug into the cot beneath me, my knuckles white, my entire body rigid from the strain.

I could feel it trying to pry into me, trying to unravel me thread by thread. But I wasn't some weak-willed acolyte. I wasn't a servant. I had already clawed my way out of the abyss once, and I would not be dragged down again.

A deep, shuddering breath.

My will sharpened.

I shoved back.

The Holocron trembled midair, its glow pulsing erratically, flickering like a dying star. The force pressing against my mind wavered for just a fraction of a second, just enough.

With a final, brutal push, I drove the presence back.

It recoiled with a sharp, jagged crack of energy. The air thrummed with something ancient, something resentful, but it retreated.

I gasped, my body shaking as the crushing weight lifted. The room was frigid, my breath visible in the air, but beneath my skin, I felt like I was burning. My mind was raw, frayed at the edges, but intact.

The Holocron, still hovering, pulsed once; slowly and deliberately, before settling back down into my open palms.

It had tried to break me.

It had failed.

The holocron then fully opened, and I saw the outline of a humanoid figure take shape, the details filling until I saw a disturbingly familiar sight just a second or so later.

The presence was no longer trying to attack my mind any longer, but I could still feel it poised and coiled like a serpent ready to strike, and the source was a pale man with not a shred of hair on his head, broad of stature, black armour covering him from head to toe, a breathing mask covering his lower face, and a pair of glittering amber and red eyes burning with malice and cunning.

The avatar of the Holocron, and without a shred of doubt who was the creator of it, was Darth Malgus.

The specter before me regarded me in silence for a long moment, his piercing eyes assessing, weighing. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he spoke, his voice deep and laced with something akin to disbelief.

"A child?"

There was no mockery in the tone, only surprise—surprise that I, of all people, had been the one to open his Holocron.

I took a breath, slow and steady, forcing my body to ease from the lingering strain of the mental battle. My hands curled into fists before I exhaled, unclenching them. My mind still throbbed, my limbs still felt like lead, but I ignored it. I had come too far to be seen as weak now.

"I know you're a Sith," I said evenly, my voice firm despite the exhaustion weighing on me. "Who are you?"

The figure's stance shifted, straightening slightly. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, as if his very presence demanded obedience.

"I am a Dark Lord of the Sith."

The title was spoken with cold, absolute certainty. He wanted the words to carry weight, to instill something in me; perhaps fear, awe, and reverence.

I gave nothing.

His eyes flickered, and then he continued, voice colder than before.

"I am Darth Malgus, Master of the Dark Side, Sacker of Coruscant, the Empire's Wrath, the Untethered, and Emperor of the Sith."

Malgus tilted his head slightly, his piercing gaze never wavering. The way he looked at me was unnerving, as though he could see beyond my flesh and into something deeper. His eyes burned with intensity, and when he next spoke, his voice carried something new—curiosity.

"The Force is strong in you."

His lips curled ever so slightly behind the breathing mask, the ghost of a smirk beneath the metal.

"Stronger than most I have encountered at your age… Skywalker."

My lip curled in disgust. Not at the name itself, but at the fact that he had pried it from my mind when he tried to break me earlier. He had taken a piece of me, however small, and I hated him for it.

Malgus did not acknowledge my reaction, nor did he need to. He had made his point.

"It has been some time since one worthy has opened my Holocron," he mused, voice shifting into something almost thoughtful. "And as I am feeling merciful, I will grant you an opportunity. A few lessons, perhaps."

Merciful. The word nearly made me laugh.

I met his gaze, my voice sharpened with disdain. "I did not fight, kill, and claw my way out of the slave pits just to be taught parlour tricks from a dead man."

As I spoke, I pushed my presence forward, letting my will press against the Holocron, driving my point home.

The air around Malgus' projection seemed to darken, his expression unreadable. Silence stretched between us, heavy and charged. Then, after a long moment, he let out a low, rumbling chuckle.

"You will be enjoyable to train."

My teeth flashed in a grin, with not an ounce of humour behind it.

"Then why wait?"

(LINE BREAK)

The two weeks after I had been freed had been filled with a great deal of education and discussion, both from Pre and from the holocron. Pre had spoken at length with me, the two of us getting to know each other and he had begun teaching me more than the basics I knew of Mando'a and Mandalorian culture. To say he was pleased with me taking it seriously was an understatement, but it was like second nature to me because it was like what my comrades and brothers in the Corps were like.

As for the holocron, well, the good news was that the two weeks of training with it had my progress in channeling the Force and using it improving more than what I managed in the last two years. I could sense things better, could more easily call upon it, and sink my will deeper into it while shielding my mind from being eaten at by the tumultuous storm that was the Dark Side.

But it was torture, and the holocron would attack my mind at the slightest hint of weakness and Malgus continued to exploit it whenever I began to tire.

But it was better to be in pain than be at another's mercy.

Though that was in the recent past. What was going on right now was Pre taking me to Christophsis as he had a trusted friend here that was a physician and would be doing a full medical check up on me to make sure I had no lingering chronic issues from my stint on Tatooine and Nar Shaddaa.

We'd been granted clearance to land and had just touched down a moment ago, and Pre was beside me in his usual armour and his helmet on.

The moment I stepped off the ship and onto solid ground, my breath caught for just a second. Christophsis was nothing like it had been in animation.

The city sprawled out before me, built directly into the massive crystalline formations that dominated the planet's surface. Towers of translucent blue and green rose high, catching the sunlight and refracting it into shifting, iridescent patterns that danced across the streets. The buildings themselves seemed almost like they had grown from the crystal rather than being constructed. It was surreal—almost unnatural in its beauty.

I had seen this place before, but not like this. The stylized, animated version didn't capture the sheer scale, the way the light played across every surface, or the sharp contrast between the unnatural structures and the very natural formation of the crystals themselves. It was stunning, but also alien in a way I hadn't expected.

Pre walked ahead, his presence commanding enough that people instinctively moved aside as we made our way through the streets. His armor drew more than a few glances, but no one approached. Mandalorians weren't an everyday sight, but they weren't unheard of either.

I kept pace beside him, scanning the streets as I adjusted to the steady hum of life here. It wasn't the chaos of Nar Shaddaa, nor the dryness of Tatooine.

We weren't here to admire the sights, though.

"A friend of yours lives here?" I asked, glancing at Pre.

"A trusted one," He nodded, not slowing his pace.

I didn't argue. My wounds had healed up for the most part, but the deeper bruises still ached, and I wasn't about to turn down a proper medical check-up. Pre had the means to actually ensure I wasn't walking around with any lingering damage, and I'd be a fool to refuse that.

So, I kept walking, my gaze shifting back to the crystalline cityscape. It was one thing to know a place existed. It was another to be here.

We moved through the streets purposely, the crystalline skyline stretching high above, refracting the late-day light into shifting bands of blue and green that climbed up the spires.

Before long, we reached a speeder rental business, its exterior marked with flickering holo-signs displaying rates and available models. Pre stepped forward to the front desk without hesitation, flashing some form of identification. The human male clerk barely looked up before nodding, processing the rental with only a few taps of the holokeys in front of him as Pre slid a credit chit across the counter. A moment later, authorization was granted, and a set of keys was handed over without question.

Pre turned and gestured toward the row of airspeeders. "Come on."

We found our rental, a sleek but standard civilian model. We climbed in, and took off into the airways.

The city was just as alive above the streets as it was below. Traffic lanes crisscrossed in orderly streams, ships of various sizes weaving through designated paths. Piloting here required precision, but Pre handled it with practiced ease, guiding the speeder into the flow as we ascended. The city stretched out before us, crystal spires reflecting light in ways that seemed almost unnatural, as though the entire place had been built from shards of a shattered kaleidoscope.

I leaned slightly against the door, watching as we cut through the air. Despite myself, I found the view... compelling. It was unique, and not even the crystal cave I'd been inside in my old life could hold even a flickering candle against this.

Before long, we descended toward a structure marked by a glowing aurebesh sign—medical clinic. Pre guided the speeder into a nearby lot, settling it down with a smooth ease before powering it off.

"Come on," he said simply, pushing the door open.

I exhaled through my nose, rolled my shoulders slightly, and followed.

We stepped through the clinic doors, the cool, sterile air contrasting sharply with the city's warmth outside. The waiting area was sparse but clean, a few scattered chairs and a small holoscreen playing some mindless entertainment. A few patients sat off to the side, some glancing up at our entrance before quickly looking away.

Pre walked ahead, his helmet now hooked to his belt, his posture relaxed but unmistakably still poised. We made our way straight to the front desk, where a young Mirialan nurse looked up from her terminal. Her eyes flickered to Pre, widening just slightly before she schooled her expression.

"Dr. Zedek is expecting me," Pre said evenly, his voice polite but leaving no room for doubt. "My name is Pre Vizsla."

The nurse hesitated, clearly unsettled by his presence, but gave a quick nod. "One moment."

She stood and disappeared through a door behind the desk, leaving us in brief silence. I exhaled through my nose, shifting my weight slightly as I took in the room. The faint hum of machinery and the occasional distant voice filtered through the walls, the place carrying the same clinical stillness I'd come to expect from medical centers.

A minute later, the nurse returned, looking between us before speaking. "Dr. Zedek is in room eleven. You can head on through."

Pre gave a small nod in thanks before turning, leading the way through the double doors into the clinic's interior. I followed without a word.

We stepped through the double-wide doors that hissed open, leaving the waiting area behind as we entered the clinic's main hall. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and cleaning fluid, a sharp but familiar scent that settled into the back of my nose. The lighting was bright but not harsh, strips of illumination embedded into the walls and ceiling in a way that was more advanced than anything I'd ever seen back home, or even Nar Shaddaa for that matter. It cast a sterile, almost artificial warmth over the white-and-gray walls, giving the place an eerily familiar feel.

Hospitals were hospitals, no matter the galaxy.

As we walked, the occasional medical droid hummed past, its mechanical limbs tucked in as it made its way to whatever task it had been assigned. A murmur of voices came from a nearby room, a conversation in an alien language I didn't recognize—fast, clipped words traded back and forth. The sound barely registered as I kept pace with Pre.

Despite the technology, despite the alien patients and the droids moving through the halls, the clinic wasn't all that different from what I knew. The same sense of quiet urgency hung in the air, the same structured efficiency in the way everything moved. It was strange, how something so foreign could feel so familiar.

Pre didn't spare any of it a glance, his pace steady as we neared the back of the clinic. I adjusted my stride slightly, rolling my shoulder as we continued toward room eleven.

We reached the door and Pre stepped into the room first, and I followed, my eyes immediately landing on the man standing inside.

I hadn't been sure what to expect from the doctor, but the figure before me wasn't what came to mind when I thought of a physician. He was tall, taller than even Pre, with broad shoulders and a frame that suggested he wasn't unfamiliar with hard labor. His graying red hair was cropped short, and there was a sharpness to his features that spoke of experience, though the faint smile he gave Pre softened it somewhat.

In the corner of the room, a medical droid stood idle, a collection of unfamiliar instruments laid out on a small tray beside it. I didn't know what half of them were, but I had a feeling I was about to find out.

Pre's demeanor relaxed slightly as he stepped forward, clasping the man's wrist firmly. "Zed."

"Vizsla," the doctor returned, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he squeezed Pre's wrist just as firmly. "Been some time."

"Too long," Pre agreed before turning slightly, gesturing toward me.

Zedek's gaze shifted to me, sharp blue eyes assessing as he took me in. Up close, I could hear the faint lilt to his voice, an accent I couldn't place and not quite like anything I'd heard before.

"And you are?"

"Kane," I answered, standing my ground under his scrutiny.

Zedek nodded, then offered a polite smile. "Dr. Zedek. A friend of Pre's, though I imagine he's already mentioned that."

I gave a small nod in return, still getting a read on the man. He had the air of someone who had seen plenty in his time, but there was no condescension in the way he looked at me, just the same sharp assessment he'd given Pre.

"Well, Kane," he continued, stepping toward the tray beside the droid, "I'll be running a series of tests to make sure you're in good health. Given the circumstances you came from, we need to be thorough." He glanced back at Pre. "I assume that's why you brought him to me?"

Pre inclined his head. "I want to be certain there aren't any lingering injuries."

Zedek made a thoughtful noise before looking back at me. "Let's get started, then. Sit flat on the table"

I eyed the examination table for a second before hopping up onto it, the surface cool against my palms as I settled in then laid down. The medical droid whirred quietly in the corner, its photoreceptors flickering as it scanned the room.

Zedek turned back to the tray, picking up one of the devices laid out. It was sleek, compact, and unfamiliar to me. He turned it over in his hand before glancing up.

"This'll be a quick blood sample," he explained, stepping closer. "It allows us to check for any infections, deficiencies, or anything else that might need addressing."

I stiffened, my mind racing ahead of his words. Blood sample. That meant records. That meant the possibility of a midichlorian count being flagged somewhere.

And that meant attention—attention from the Jedi, or worse, from people with far fewer scruples.

My jaw clenched as I kept my expression neutral, but I felt my hands instinctively curl into fists at my sides.

Zedek didn't miss it. He arched an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "Something wrong?"

I kept my expression carefully neutral as I asked, "Will any records be kept?"

Pre shot me a glance, not quite sharp but certainly considering. I wasn't sure if he fully understood my concern, but he didn't say anything.

Zedek, however, just let out a short chuckle. "No records," he assured me, shaking his head. "This is a favor for Pre. I'm not reporting anything to a central database."

I felt my shoulders loosen slightly at that, some of the tension bleeding away.

Zedek stepped closer, lifting the device in his hand. "Hold still."

There was a small sting, but I didn't flinch as the device pulled a sample from my skin. He worked quickly, extracting a small capsule of blood and slotting it into the wall-mounted console. The screen flickered to life as he turned toward the medical droid.

"Run a full analysis," Zedek instructed.

The droid beeped in confirmation, beginning its work as Zedek walked over to another console to the right and started tapping at it. Above me, a scanner started up

"Now, let's see what else we're dealing with," he murmured, stepping in front of me again.

He started at my feet, the scanner humming quietly as it passed over them, slowly moving up to my knees. The holoscreen displayed internal imagery as he worked, showing cross-sections of my bones and muscle structure.

I stayed still as he continued, sweeping the scanner up to my hips, then higher, toward my midsection.

The scanner then reached my ribs, and the scanner stopped. He narrowed his eyes at the holoscreen, then glanced at me.

"Have you broken any ribs before?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Probably."

Zedek's brow furrowed at that, but I kept my face neutral. "I've taken beatings before."

There was a shift in the air. Brief, but noticeable. A flicker of something unbidden from Zedek—anger. Not directed at me, but at the knowledge itself. Pre, standing just behind him, radiated a quieter, more controlled anger.

Zedek exhaled sharply through his nose, returning his focus to the scan. "I see signs of decently healed fractures on your right side. Ribs seven and eight."

I knew exactly when that had happened.

The memory surfaced instantly—the sharp crack of a foot slamming into my ribs, the explosion of pain as I hit the ground. The expression and sensation of dread on the slave girl when the overseer I'd attacked had run his hand up and down her body. She couldn't have been older than thirteen.

I clenched my jaw, pushing the memory aside before I could dwell on it. I wouldn't feed on it, no matter how the Dark Side whispered, urging me to let the anger in.

Not now, not out of combat.

The scanner continued its slow ascent, sweeping over my chest and shoulders. Zedek's eyes flicked over the readings, and he let out a knowing hum.

"Healed clavicle," he noted, glancing at me. "I can guess where that came from."

I said nothing. There was no point. Another beating, another injury, another thing I had pushed through.

He moved on, his expression shifting slightly as he examined something deeper. "Your body structure shows signs of at least some degree of malnutrition," he remarked, his tone professional but edged with something else.

Pre made a quiet noise, his presence shifting beside me.

Zedek looked at him. "You should make sure he's getting more nutrient-dense rations and proper food. That'll help offset the damage and he shouldn't have any permanent problems."

Pre nodded, expression unreadable, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on me.

The scanner moved up to my arms, and Zedek hummed under his breath as he read the results. His eyes flicked across the screen while checking, his expression thoughtful.

"You've taken a lot of hits here," he remarked. "More scarring than on your chest, but nothing serious for the bones or deep tissue."

I glanced down at my arms, at the faint marks that criss crossed my skin. Some were thin, barely noticeable, while others were more pronounced. Blades, blunt force, burns; I remembered them all, but none had been enough to cripple me.

Zedek didn't say anything further, just made a few quick notes on his scanner before shifting the device higher.

Zedek adjusted the scanner and brought it up to my face, zooming in on the one side. The holoscreen projected a reversed image, giving me a clear look at my own skull, the stark outline of my teeth, and the shape of my head when I looked over at Zedek.

His gaze focused on the scar running beside and beneath my eye, the scanner highlighting the affected area. He studied it for a moment before nodding slightly.

"I can see an indention here," he said, tapping a spot on the holoscreen. "Whatever gave you that scar took a notch out of the bone on your lower orbital socket. But it's long since healed, and there's no lasting issue."

I resisted the urge to touch the scar, keeping my hands in my lap. I already knew it wasn't a concern—I still had both eyes, and the pain had faded long ago. Still, hearing it confirmed felt strangely final, like acknowledging the mark made it more real.

A soft chime echoed through the room and I turned to look at the source, and the medical droid's monotone voice followed immediately after.

"Blood analysis complete."

I blinked. That was fast, maybe five or ten minutes at most. A hell of a lot quicker than what it would've taken back on Earth. Convenient.

Zedek turned toward the console, tapping a few keys. "What are the results?"

A series of data points appeared on the screen, and Zedek's frown deepened as he skimmed through them. "Low ferritin levels… zinc is low… iron is too."

I wasn't surprised. My diet had never exactly been balanced and my meat intake was… spotty to say the least.

Zedek exhaled through his nose, then gestured to the droid. "Copy the results onto a data chit for Pre, along with dietary recommendations. Plenty of meat, and a multivitamin supplement."

The droid beeped in acknowledgment, turning toward the console to process the request.

Zedek turned back to me, his expression settling into something more neutral. "Well, aside from the malnutrition, you've got a mostly clean bill of health. Any injuries you've had are mostly healed, but you need to eat more. Stick to the diet, and you'll be fine."

I gave a small nod. That was about what I expected.

The droid beeped again, turning away from the console as it extended a small data chit. "Nutritional plan and blood analysis results prepared."

Pre stepped forward, taking the chit without a word and slipping it into one of the storage slots on his hip. His expression didn't change, but I could tell he'd be making sure I followed through with it.

Zedek then crossed his arms, glancing at Pre. "That's about it for the physical. Only thing left is the recommended vaccinations."

I sat up on the examination table as the medical droid moved with mechanical efficiency, drawing up a set of see-through tubes from the tray beside the console. It selected one and slotted it into an injector with a soft click, the transparent liquid inside catching the light.

I kept my expression neutral, watching as it prepared the next step.

The droid moved up to me, its motions precise as it readied the injector.

"This might sting," Zedek warned.

I barely spared him a glance. "I've had worse."

The droid rolled up my sleeve with cool, mechanical efficiency, then swiped a disinfectant pad over my skin. A second later, the injector pressed against my arm and fired.

I flinched, a sharp sting lancing through my arm, and hissed under my breath. It burned more than I expected.

Zedek snorted in amusement while Pre, standing off to the side, cracked a faint smile.

The droid, unfazed, withdrew and turned back to the tray, loading a new tube into the injector.

The droid pressed the injector to the same spot again, another sharp sting shooting through my arm. I clenched my jaw, breathing steadily through it. A third injection followed just as quickly, the burn lingering beneath my skin.

Then, the droid produced a small bacta patch and pressed it over the injection site. The cool relief spread almost instantly.

Zedek nodded in approval. "You might feel a bit feverish for a day or two, but it'll pass." He stepped back, setting the scanner aside. "That's it. Pre, if you want a follow-up, bring him back in a year."

Pre gave a small nod. "I'll keep it in mind."

Zedek glanced at me. "You're clear to go."

I pushed off the examination table and gave a small nod. "Thanks."

Pre stepped forward, pulling a credit chit from his belt and offering it to Zedek. The doctor raised a brow, his expression flat. "That better not be more than at cost. I don't take payment from friends."

"It's at cost," Pre assured him.

Zedek studied him for a moment, then sighed before clasping Pre's wrist in a firm shake.

With that, Pre turned and exited the room, and I followed without another word.

Pre led the way out of the examination room, his pace steady but unhurried. I fell in step beside him, flexing my arm as we moved through the clinic's halls. The faint sting from the injections still lingered, but it was already fading to a dull ache.

The hallway was much the same as before—medical droids gliding past, the occasional murmur of conversation from behind closed doors. The bright, sterile lighting cast sharp reflections against the sleek floors as we made our way toward the exit.

As the doors slid open, the city's vibrant hum greeted us once more. The crystalline structures towered overhead, catching the light in shifting hues. Pre walked ahead, and I followed, weaving through the flow of foot traffic with practiced ease.

Our airspeeder sat where we left it, and we climbed in without a word. Pre took the controls, guiding us smoothly into the chaotic layers of traffic above. The city blurred past as we maneuvered through the airways, descending toward the rental dealership.

Landing neatly in the designated drop-off zone, Pre shut down the engines and stepped out. I followed, and we walked inside. The attendant barely looked up as Pre tossed the keys onto the counter and slid an identification card over. A quick scan, a curt nod, and that was it.

We stepped back onto the streets, the hum of speeders overhead a constant backdrop. The walk back to the ship was entirely uneventful.

As the familiar silhouette of the ship came into view, I exhaled slowly. The check-up was done, the city behind us, and soon enough, we'd be back in the stars again. Though the sight was very beautiful, it was a pity that the planet was likely to still be heavily bombed by whatever rendition of the Clone Wars occurred.

(End chapter)

Not a long chapter, mostly a transitory one and building up through to the Mandalore arc. Plenty of training to be had and delightful little Jarhead getting training from everyone's favorite Baldy. (Sorry, Elisha)

Anyway, enjoy the chapter..