The streets of Anchorhead hummed with the low murmur of merchants and travelers haggling under the twin suns. The familiar scent of grilled ronto meat and engine grease clung to the dry air, mixing with the occasional whiff of sweat and unwashed bodies.

Mission barely noticed any of it.

She sat on a stone ledge outside a small cantina, her fingers idly tracing the edge of Seth's dog tags where they hung beneath her shirt. She should have been thrilled right now. She should have been flooded with relief. She found her brother. He was alive.

She told herself that over and over as she sat across from Griff, gripping the edge of the bench so tightly her knuckles ached.

This was what she'd wanted, right? To find him, to see him again, to prove to herself that she still had family out there?

And here he was. Alive. Smiling at her like he'd never been gone at all.

So why did it feel like her chest was caving in?

She shifted on the bench, trying to convince herself that the sinking feeling in her stomach was just nerves. That the way Griff was talking – casual, a little dismissive – was just him trying to lighten the mood.

That the fact he hadn't asked about her yet was just… because he figured she was fine.

She was fine.

"Man, it's good to see you, kid," Griff said with a broad grin, stretching his arms out along the back of the bench like he hadn't just spent who knows how long locked up in a Sand People cage. "I mean, of all the people I expected to see today? My little sis busting me out of trouble wasn't exactly high on the list."

Mission let out a short laugh, but it felt forced, unnatural. "Yeah, well. You always did have a knack for getting in trouble."

Griff snorted like that was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. "Ain't that the truth."

Mission should be happy right now.

She tried to ignore the way that thought felt more like a demand than a fact.

Griff hadn't hugged her. Hadn't asked if she was okay. Hadn't even seemed surprised to see her, really – just pleased, like she was some kind of lucky break rather than his long-lost baby sister.

But that was just Griff, right?

He wasn't great at emotions. She'd always known that. He'd never been the sentimental type – always cracking jokes, always brushing past the heavy stuff.

It didn't mean he didn't care.

He just… didn't show it the way she did.

That was fine. That had to be fine.

Griff sighed, tilting his head back like he was mulling something over. "So. What's the plan?"

Mission blinked. "Plan?"

"Yeah." He sat up a little straighter, gesturing vaguely toward the open marketplace. "You came all this way to find me, didn't you? So I figure you got some kinda plan to get me outta here, right?"

Her breath hitched.

Something about the way he said it – so confident, so casual – made her stomach twist.

He expected this.

Not in the way she had – not in the way she'd hoped for years that she'd see him again, that he'd come back for her like he'd promised.

Griff expected her to fix this.

Like she was still that scrappy little kid following him around the Lower City, tugging at his sleeve, hanging onto every word.

Like she was still waiting for his approval.

Mission opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again.

No. No, this was Griff.

She was reading too much into it. She was tired, still shaken up from everything that had happened today. She just… needed a minute.

She could hear Seth's voice in her head, quiet but certain.
Don't get your hopes up. He's not who you remember.

She forced her jaw to unclench.

Griff wouldn't abandon her. He wouldn't use her.

He was just stressed. Trying to play it cool.

That was fine.

That had to be fine.

She forced a smile, even as her stomach churned. "Griff, I – I didn't come here on some kind of rescue mission. I just found out you were alive yesterday."

Griff laughed, shaking his head like she'd just said something ridiculous. "C'mon, Mission, you don't have to act tough with me. I know you – you wouldn't leave me hanging, right?"

He said it like it was so obvious.

Like he wasn't the one who had left her behind.

Like he hadn't chosen someone else over her and never looked back.

A tiny crack splintered open in her chest, but she shoved it down, gritted her teeth against it.

Because this was Griff.

Because she'd missed him.

Because she had to believe this would work out.

"Right now, Griff, you could probably use a drink," she said, and her voice barely wavered.

Griff's smirk widened as he pushed himself up off the bench, clueless to the hurricane brewing inside her.

"Now you're talking."

Seth adjusted his grip on the swoop bike's handlebars, eyes narrowing against the stinging gusts of sand whipping past his face. The ride had been silent for a while – longer than usual.

Bastila was never this quiet. She was focused, he could tell. Her shoulders squared, her posture straight even as the bike rattled over uneven dunes. She looked every bit the disciplined Jedi Knight she was trained to be.

But Seth knew her too well now.

He could see the tension in her jaw. The way her fingers curled just a little too tightly around the edge of the bike's seat behind him. The Force-bond between them hummed softly, unspoken but present, like the pressure of a storm building just over the horizon.

Seth exhaled, voice light, teasing, just enough to break the tension. "You're brooding, Bastila."

"I do not brood," she said immediately, her tone clipped.

Seth huffed out a quiet laugh. "Alright, my mistake. You're… contemplating deeply. And it's making you look really serious."

Bastila sighed. "I was simply… observing."

"Observing what?"

Bastila hesitated.

Seth caught it – that tiny beat of uncertainty – before she carefully masked it again.

"The way you handled that situation with the Sand People," she admitted. "It was well done."

That wasn't what she'd wanted to say. Seth could feel it.

But he let it slide, offering a half-smile instead. "I don't think HK would agree."

"I'd be more concerned if he did."

A gust of hot wind sent sand skidding across the open dunes. Bastila didn't continue, but Seth could feel her still weighing something in her mind.

There was something else she wasn't saying.

So he asked.

"What's on your mind?"

Bastila exhaled sharply, as if annoyed at being read so easily, but after a moment, she answered. "You're different now than you were on Taris."

Seth's grip on the handlebars tightened slightly. "Yeah?"

"You were always quick-witted, of course," she continued. "Clever. Capable. But…"

She hesitated again.

Seth's chest felt tight.

But what?

But he was just a soldier back then? A street rat playing Jedi? Was that what she was getting at?

But then she said, "You weren't this sure of yourself."

That wasn't what he'd expected her to say.

And, worse, she wasn't wrong.

He wasn't the same. He felt different. More certain. And that certainty had crept up on him so slowly, so naturally, that he hadn't even realized it was happening.

Bastila wasn't watching him because she was questioning him. She was watching him because she was noticing.

"Guess that's what happens when you have no choice but to step up," Seth said, voice lighter than he felt. "Survival's a great motivator."

Bastila didn't look convinced. "This is more than just survival."

The words settled between them, heavy as the dunes beneath their feet.

The hum of the swoop bike filled the space where neither of them spoke, kicking up sand as they crested another hill.

Seth didn't respond.

Because Bastila was right. It wasn't just survival anymore. He wasn't just doing what needed to be done to get through the next battle. He was making decisions. He was choosing things – his own path, his own beliefs.

And maybe…

Maybe for the first time, he was starting to believe that the choices he made actually mattered.

The sandstorm in his chest didn't settle.

But for now, he let the silence ride with them.

The cave felt wrong.

Seth couldn't put it into words – there was no obvious darkness, no lurking presence in the Force – but something about the air inside the cavern made his skin prickle beneath his jacket. The deeper they went, the more the silence pressed in. It wasn't a natural quiet. It was hollow. Lifeless.

Bastila must have felt it too because she shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, though she said nothing.

Juhani, on the other hand, was visibly on edge. She moved with slow, deliberate steps, like an animal stalking unseen danger, her feline eyes flickering over every shadow. Jolee, ever the opposite, walked with his hands behind his back, humming under his breath like he was on a casual evening stroll.

Seth sighed. Of course Jolee wasn't bothered.

The cavern stretched deep into the rock, the stone walls narrowing around them the farther they went. The hum of the Star Map's machinery whispered just beneath the surface of the Force, ancient and waiting. Seth wasn't sure why, but something about this place made him uneasy in a way the other Star Maps hadn't.

He exhaled through his nose. Not the time to overthink it.

"Anyone else feel that?" he muttered, more to himself than to the group.

Jolee let out a low chuckle. "Well, look at that. The kid's got instincts. That's a good sign."

"What is?" Seth asked.

Jolee gestured vaguely at the walls. "That feeling you can't shake. It means you're paying attention. Not just looking, but seeing."

"Not all instincts should be trusted," Juhani countered stiffly. "I have learned that lesson firsthand."

Jolee snorted. "Ah, here we go."

Seth glanced at Juhani, sensing the tension in her words. She hadn't spoken much about her fall to the dark side – just vague mentions, cryptic regrets. Even now, she held herself so tightly wound, like she was afraid of letting herself slip.

"You're saying instincts led you down the wrong path?" Seth asked.

"Yes," Juhani said simply. "It was emotion – my emotions – that drove me to anger, to hatred. It was anger that made me lash out at Master Quatra. I nearly killed her." She took a sharp breath, clearly hating the memory. "I see those same emotions in you, Seth."

Seth blinked. "Okay. Ouch."

Juhani's ears flattened, but she didn't take back her words.

Jolee gave her a sideways glance. "I think what our lovely Cathar friend is trying to say," he said, "is that she learned to fear emotions, and now she expects everyone else to do the same."

Juhani's golden eyes snapped to him. "That is not what I – "

"Oh, it absolutely is," Jolee interrupted. "The Council forgave you, but you haven't forgiven yourself. You think if you don't keep yourself on a tight leash, you'll slip again. And you're scared Seth's going to do the same."

Juhani stiffened. "I – "

She stopped, her throat working as if she wanted to argue, but the words wouldn't come.

Seth wasn't sure whether he wanted to defend himself or reassure her. He knew what it was like to doubt yourself, to wonder if you could really be better than what the galaxy had made you into.

But he also knew he wasn't like Juhani.

"I get why you're worried," he said, softer now. "But we're not the same. You lost yourself to anger, yeah – but I know my limits. I've seen evil. I grew up surrounded by it. If I was gonna fall, I would've done it a long time ago."

Juhani studied him, unreadable.

Bastila, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke. "That's a dangerous assumption to make, Seth."

He turned to her, raising a brow. "Oh?"

"The dark side is not something you can simply avoid because you think you're strong enough," she said firmly. "Countless Jedi have thought the same, and they all fell. Even Revan and Malak."

Seth stilled at the names.

Revan.

Malak.

Their names were a blade. The ghost of a memory.

He had seen through Revan and Malak's eyes in his visions – had felt what They felt, lived the moments they lived. He didn't understand it. But every time someone spoke their names, it felt like a part of him reacted to it, like a long-forgotten muscle memory trying to surface.

Jolee, ever the disruptor, rolled his eyes at Bastila. "Stars above, girl, lighten up."

Bastila's gaze snapped to him, her expression darkening.

"You think the dark side is a joke?"

Jolee lifted a brow. "I think you put way too much faith in rules over reality. Tell me, do you believe emotions are inherently dangerous? That love, joy, attachment – things that make people human – are some kind of poison?"

Bastila hesitated.

Seth could almost see the moment of doubt cross her face.

Jolee smirked. "Ah, there's that crack in the foundation."

"I believe in the Jedi Code," Bastila said, but there was uncertainty in her voice now.

Seth wasn't sure what to say. Bastila's faith in the Code was who she was. It was what made her Bastila.

But Jolee's words struck something deep.

Seth had spent most of his life surviving by trusting his instincts, his gut, his emotions. If he had followed the Code the way Bastila did – if he had ignored everything that made him him – he'd be dead by now.

And yet, he wasn't a Sith.

Jolee glanced between the two of them, clearly pleased with himself. "You two are some of the most powerful Jedi I've met in a long time, and neither of you actually believe what you're told to believe. Interesting."

Bastila scowled. "And what about you, Jolee? What do you believe?"

Jolee's smirk faded. "I believe that the Force doesn't decide who we are. We do."

His tone was uncharacteristically serious, and for a moment, the cave was silent.

Then –

The Star Map hummed to life.

A surge of energy pulsed through the cavern, and the walls vibrated as machinery hidden beneath layers of time and rock began to wake.

Seth and Bastila turned toward the structure at the same time. They had felt it, both of them – the unmistakable pull of the Force, drawing them forward.

The platform at the center of the cave lit up, casting an eerie blue glow across the walls.

"Looks like we're done talking," Seth muttered.

Bastila exhaled slowly. "Let's open it."

They stepped forward together.

For the first time since their journey began, they reached for the Force in unison – two halves of the same power, intertwined through their bond.

The Star Map responded immediately.

A bright pulse of energy shot through the cavern, illuminating the walls with a web of ancient symbols. The projection flickered, then stabilized, revealing a three-dimensional image of the galaxy.

Seth felt the connection between him and Bastila lock into place as the Star Map registered them.

On Manaan, Seth had reached the Star Map alone. On Kashyyyk, it had been Bastila. Here, on Tatooine, they stood before their first Star Map unlocked together. And the tremors they both felt in the Force were palpable.

Juhani and Jolee watched in silence. And perhaps a bit of awe.

Seth quickly hooked up his datapad, downloading the information from the ancient map for safekeeping. Bastila exhaled, stepping back as the projection faded. Her voice was even, but Seth could feel the emotion behind it. "We should return to Anchorhead."

He nodded, his thoughts already shifting.

Something about this felt different.

The cave, the visions, the power inside the Star Map – it felt like a door had been opened.

And like it could never be closed again.

Mission had always imagined this moment.

For years, she had dreamed of the day she and Griff would reunite. She pictured it as this grand, emotional moment, the two of them throwing their arms around each other, laughing through their tears, swapping stories about the years they'd lost. Griff would ruffle her lekku like he always did, calling her little sis and teasing her about how much she'd grown. She'd tell him about all the crazy adventures she'd been on, about the people she'd met, about the family she'd found along the way.

And then, together, they'd leave Tatooine behind.

It was supposed to be different than this.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected when she walked into that cantina, but it wasn't this. It wasn't Griff lounging back in his seat like he owned the place, smirking at her like she was some kind of sucker who'd just walked straight into his latest scam.

And it definitely wasn't him asking for credits before he even asked if she was okay.

"Look, sis," he was saying, leaning forward over the table with that charming, slimy grin that had probably worked on a thousand people before her. "I know this reunion is a lot to process, and we'll get to the whole catching-up thing. I want to, really. But I've got a bit of a situation here, and you and your friends – you guys look like you've done well for yourselves. You look like you've done well for yourself."

He gestured vaguely at her, like he was proud of her, like she wasn't just another means to an end.

Mission swallowed hard. "Griff…"

"Just listen, okay?" he continued smoothly. "This planet's been rough on me, kid. I've been stuck here for months, and the whole Czerka thing didn't really pan out, obviously. But you – you, little sis – you can help me out of this mess."

Mission clenched her fists beneath the table. She knew this tone.

It was the same one he used to con his way out of trouble back on Taris. The same one he used when he swore up and down that his next big idea was gonna make them rich. The same one that never ended in anything but disappointment.

"What are you asking for, Griff?" she asked, voice tight.

"Just a little loan," he said casually, like it was nothing. "Couple thousand credits, enough to grease the right palms, get myself a transport off this rock." He spread his hands like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We could leave together, just like we always talked about."

Mission just stared at him.

"We?"

That lump in her throat was getting harder to swallow. "You want me to buy your way out?" she whispered.

Griff winced at the wording, but didn't deny it. Instead, he forced a chuckle. "Come on, don't say it like that. It's not a big deal. We're family, right? That's what family does."

A part of her – the part that was still a little girl in the Lower City – wanted to believe him.

But the rest of her was already breaking apart at the seams.

"Griff," she said, quieter now, "you never even asked how I got off Taris. You never even asked if I was okay."

For the first time, he hesitated.

Then he waved a hand, dismissive. "I figured you'd be fine. You were always tough, Mish'. You didn't need me looking over your shoulder. But me? I could really use your help right now."

Something inside of her snapped.

I could really use your help right now.

He was using her. He'd always been using her.

Mission felt her whole body go cold. She sat back in her chair, hands trembling. "You know," she said, "I spent years believing in you."

Griff raised a brow, still smirking like this was some kind of game.

"I spent years thinking that if I could just find you, everything would make sense again. That it would be like it was before. That you were out there thinking about me, missing me, looking for me too."

Griff's grin faltered slightly. "Mish – "

She shook her head. "But you weren't, were you?" she said, voice steady now. "You were just drifting from one scam to the next, looking out for yourself, just like always. You didn't even think about me. And now, the first thing you do when you see me again is ask for credits like I'm just some mark you're trying to cheat."

Griff rolled his eyes, frustrated now. "Don't be dramatic, kid – "

She didn't let him finish.

"You never planned to take me with you," she said quietly.

Griff froze.

And that was all the confirmation she needed.

Mission let out a shaky breath, but she wasn't sad anymore. She wasn't angry, either.

She was just done.

She stood up, pushing the chair back behind her. Griff blinked in surprise. "Mish'? Where are you – ?"

She didn't even wait to hear the rest. She turned, walking away, leaving him exactly as he'd left her all those years ago.

The storm came from nowhere.

One moment, Anchorhead was its usual dusty, sunbaked sprawl – lazy and slow in the waning heat of day.

The next, a shadow tore through the sky.

A Sith warship descended too fast, too heavy, too aggressive – not a landing, a statement. The streets quaked beneath its weight, a thunderous boom rolling through the city as the ship slammed into the earth with calculated violence.

The impact sent a shockwave of sand and debris spiraling into the air.

Vendors scattered, shields clattering to the ground. The awnings of nearby stalls snapped against their bindings, fabric whipping in the wind kicked up by the ship's thrusters.

And then – stillness.

The sand settled. The city held its breath.

The hiss of hydraulics broke the silence.

The ship's ramp lowered.

And from within its darkened threshold, a lone figure emerged. Even without seeing his face, they felt him. A weight settled over the space, something unseen but suffocating. The heat of the desert was oppressive enough, but this – this was something else. It clung to the air, thick and stifling, a chill where no cold belonged.

The Dark Side bled from him.

And where the air trembled at his presence, so did the people.

Darth Bandon moved like a blade through still water – controlled, deliberate, unhurried. The Dark Lord's apprentice did not rush. He did not need to. His cloak barely stirred in the restless wind. The lightsaber at his belt remained untouched – not out of caution, but out of certainty.

He paused at the edge of the ramp, his piercing gaze sweeping across the space before him.

And then – he smiled.

It wasn't amusement. It wasn't arrogance.

It was hunger.

The moment the warship touched down, Mission lost her footing.

One second, she was standing outside the cantina, still trying to breathe, to think, to process. The next – a deafening roar split the sky, and something inside her snapped to attention, a deep, primal instinct that screamed danger.

A heavy gust of scorching wind and sand slammed into her, nearly knocking her flat. She barely had time to react before Zaalbar's massive arm hooked around her waist, yanking her back just as a heavy crate came crashing down where she had been standing.

She coughed hard, shaking grit from her lekku, blinking through the dust. "What the hell is – "

Then she saw it.

The warship. Sith.

Her stomach turned to ice.

The loading ramp had already begun to lower, and from within its darkened threshold, a figure emerged. Tall. Cloaked in black. Moving slow, deliberate, assured – like he had all the time in the galaxy, because nothing here was a threat to him.

She didn't know Darth Bandon.

But the Force knew him.

The air knew him.

The very ground beneath her boots seemed to recoil from him.

A sickening, gut-deep dread curled around her spine. She had felt fear before – but this was different. This was suffocating. She should run. Every rational thought screamed at her to run.

But her feet wouldn't move.

And then – footsteps.

Someone was running toward her.

Through the chaos, through the confusion, they came fast – pushing past scattering civilians, weapons drawn, expressions carved from stone.

Canderous. Carth. HK-47.

Zaalbar let out a low, lethal growl, stepping forward to put himself between her and the thing standing at the base of the Sith ship.

They weren't running.

They weren't backing down.

They were closing ranks.

Mission exhaled sharply, steadying herself. Zaalbar's presence at her side, the sharp-eyed tension in Carth's stance, the hum of HK's blasters spooling to life – it all sent a clear message.

They weren't alone.

Across from them, Darth Bandon stood unmoving, his face blank and unreadable. He let his gaze pass over them slowly, taking his time, studying them like a scientist observing an inconsequential specimen under glass.

Then, almost lazily, he tilted his head. "This is the best Anchorhead has to offer?"

The words weren't a question.

At his back, Sith troopers fell into formation – twelve strong, weapons snapping to ready.

Canderous cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders like he was warming up for something inevitable. HK-47 gave a mechanical hum of anticipation. If droids could grin, he'd be grinning. Carth's jaw locked, his fingers flexing over his blasters. Zaalbar's growl deepened to a low rumble, the kind that usually preceded something getting torn apart.

Mission's heart slammed against her ribs – but she wasn't shaking. Not anymore.

Bandon stood before them, calm as the void of space, his cloak still and undisturbed despite the heat, the wind, the thick, electric tension pressing in from all sides.

And he never reached for his weapon.

He didn't have to.

Then, just before the stillness snapped – he smiled.

"Kill them."