The chapter is a bit shorter than usual. Barely got it finished on time because it's been an awful week. Cat that's almost 18 years old has pancreatitis and was down to under half his normal body weight until the meds started working. He's doing better now thankfully.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  I made my way back to the Wyrm's carcass, each step deliberate, measured, my newly forged saber constantly in hand because I couldn't stand to not have it in my hand. The weight of it was perfect, the grip settling into my palm like it had always belonged there, and the sight of the dark hilt with its silver bands filled me with a satisfaction that bordered on euphoric. It was a lightsaber, my own, forged by my own will and determination, tempered in volcanic fire and shaped by the Dark Side's cold fury.

  The jungle closed in around me as I descended from Nicolo Peak's slopes, the rocky terrain giving way to dense vegetation, vines hanging like curtains, and roots snaking across the path. My ribs still ached with each breath, a dull throb that the Force kept manageable, and my arm protested every movement, but the pain felt distant now, secondary to the triumph burning in my chest. The saber hummed softly in my grip, its energy a constant vibration that resonated up my arm, a living extension of myself.

  I thumbed the ignition as I walked, the blade springing to life with a sharp hiss. Black, orange, and red light spilled forth, casting flickering shadows across the trees, the colors swirling together like the volcanic core from which its crystal had been torn. The hum was deeper than I'd expected, a low growl that spoke of power barely contained. I grinned beneath my helmet, the expression feral, triumphant.

  A smaller tree blocked my path ahead, its trunk maybe a foot thick, bark rough and gnarled. I didn't slow. The saber swept down in a casual arc, the blade slicing clean through the wood like it was nothing more than air. The cut was perfect, scorched black instantly, and steam erupted from the severed trunk where water within the tree boiled away from the blade's heat. The top half crashed to the jungle floor with a heavy thud, leaves rustling as smaller creatures scattered from the disturbance.

  I stood there for a moment, staring at the clean cut, the saber still hummed in my hand. The power was intoxicating, the ease with which it parted the tree, the way the Force flowed through it, amplified by the crystal's attunement. This was what I had worked for, what I had suffered for. This was mine.

  Mine.

  But something wasn't quite right. The saber's hilt was warm in my grip, noticeably so even through my glove. I frowned, adjusting my hold, feeling the heat seep through the durasteel and into my palm. The lava crystal burned hotter than I'd anticipated, the weapon radiating warmth like a coal fresh from the fire. I'd need to insulate it, add some kind of heat sink or thermal barrier to the hilt's interior. A miscalculation, but one I could fix. For now, it was manageable, and the warmth was almost comforting, a reminder of the forge where it had been born.

  I pressed on through the jungle, the saber still ignited, its glow lighting my path. Hours passed, the sun climbing higher, then beginning its descent as I retraced my steps. The terrain was familiar now, the blown-out section of jungle unmistakable, trees reduced to splintered stumps, the ground torn and blackened from the Wyrm's death throes. The corpse loomed ahead, massive and still, its dark form sprawled across the torn earth like a monument to violence.

  I arrived as the light began to fade, the sky turning amber and violet, the jungle's sounds shifting to the nocturnal chorus of insects and distant calls of predators. I stood before the Wyrm's carcass, staring at it with a grin that wouldn't leave my face. The beast was enormous, its scaled hide still gleaming faintly despite the charring.of the explosion, its jaw frozen still in that death snarl, teeth like daggers jutting from blackened gums. The hole in its gut was a mess of purple and black, the edges burned and ragged, and the eye socket where my beskad had been lodged was a dark, empty pit.

  If it had changed at all, I would have been worried.

  I deactivated the saber, the blade retracting with a sharp hiss, and clipped it to my belt. My hand lingered on the hilt for a moment, feeling its warmth through the glove, then I moved forward, drawing my beskad instead. The Mandalorian blade felt almost crude in comparison, but it had served me well and it was just as much a part of me as my saber. I approached the Wyrm's head, kneeling beside the massive jaw, and brought the beskad down on one of the tooth's roots. The blade bit into the base, and I levered it, grunting as the tooth cracked free with a wet snap. It was as long as my forearm, wickedly curved, black as midnight. I set it aside and went for another.

  Hours passed as I worked, prying teeth loose one by one, the pile growing beside me. My ribs flared with each movement, my arm protesting every twist, but I gritted through it, the Force bolstering my strength. Sweat soaked my face, the helmet's interior fogging slightly, but I didn't stop. Fifteen teeth in total, each one a trophy, each one a reminder of what I'd killed.

  Then I turned my attention to the hide. I reignited the saber, its blade casting that eerie red and black glow across the carcass, and pressed it to the Wyrm's scaled skin. The blade hissed, smoke rising as it bit into the flesh, but the hide resisted, the scales thick and dense, designed to withstand punishment. The saber cut slowly, the flesh charring and splitting reluctantly, the smell of burned meat filling the air. I worked methodically, tracing lines across the beast's flank, peeling back sections of hide, the work painstaking and exhausting on top of my arm still hurting.

  Hours bled into more hours, the night deepening around me, the jungle's sounds a constant backdrop. My arms burned, my shoulders aching from the repetitive motion, and the saber's hilt grew uncomfortably hot in my grip, forcing me to switch hands periodically to let the other cool. The hide fought me every inch, the saber's blade slicing through in agonizing increments, the smell almost thick enough to taste even through my helmet's filters.

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  Finally, as the first hints of dawn began to lighten the sky, I stepped back, surveying my work. Several yards of hide lay folded beside me, dark and scaled, still warm from the saber's cuts. The pile of teeth sat nearby, gleaming faintly in the pre-dawn gloom. I was exhausted, my body screaming for rest, every muscle trembling from the effort. I deactivated the saber, the sudden absence of its hum leaving the jungle eerily quiet, and clipped it back to my belt.

  I sat down heavily against the Wyrm's corpse, the massive body a surprisingly solid backrest, and pulled off my helmet. The cool morning air hit my face like a blessing, and I gulped it down, breathing deep despite the ache in my ribs. I reached for my water supply, fumbling with the canteen on my belt, and found it almost empty. I drained the last bit, the liquid warm and stale, but welcome. My throat was parched, my lips cracked, and the water did little to ease the dehydration, but it was something.

  I leaned my head back against the Wyrm's hide, staring up at the canopy above, the leaves filtering the growing light into dappled patterns. I still needed to survive another several days before firing off the signal beacon for Pre to come pick me up from orbit. The trial wasn't over yet. My injuries were still a problem, the bacta and meditation having done what they could, but my ribs remained fractured, my arm still weak. I'd need to ration what little supplies I had left, find more water, and stay alert for predators.

  But for now, I allowed myself a moment of rest. My hand drifted to the saber on my belt, fingers brushing the warm hilt. I'd done it. Forged my weapon, slain the beast. The Verd'goten was almost complete. I closed my eyes, the Force flowing through me, and let the exhaustion pull me down into a light doze, my back pressed against the corpse of my kill, my trophies beside me, and my saber at my side.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  The days that followed blurred together, a monotonous cycle of survival. I moved carefully through the jungle, rationing my energy, scavenging what water I could from plants and streams, eating sparingly from the few rations I had left. My injuries healed slowly, the bacta's effects tapering at a certain point, leaving me reliant on meditation and sheer stubbornness to keep moving.

  I returned to the Wyrm's corpse every night, harvesting more hide when I had the strength, adding to my collection of trophies. The jungle reclaimed the area around it quickly, but the smell of decay growing stronger each day had kept the predators at bay and they circled at a much greater distance, their presence felt in the Force, but none dared approach the massive corpse. It was mine, and they knew it.

  On the seventh day, I made my way back to about a hundred yards from the corpse in the impromptu LZ that I had made from the explosions, the signal beacon in hand.

  I activated the beacon, the small device chirping softly as it transmitted its signal into orbit, a pulse of light cutting through the atmosphere, calling Pre Vizsla to retrieve me.

  I sat down to wait, the bundle of hide and bones beside me, the teeth wrapped carefully in one of my satchels. My armour was as unbattered as my body was battered, looking immaculate aside from the blood and debris stains. My body ached, every movement a reminder of the trial, but I felt stronger for it, tempered by the experience. The Force hummed around me, and I reached out, sensing the jungle's life, the predators in the shadows, the prey scurrying through the underbrush. This place had tested me, and I had survived.

  Hours passed, the sun climbing higher, then the familiar rumble of engines echoed through the sky. I looked up, shielding my eyes from the glare, and saw the ship descending, its hull gleaming silver against the blue. Pre's ship, right on time. The vessel settled into the clearing with a hiss of repulsors, landing gear extending, and the ramp lowered with a metallic clank.

  Pre Vizsla descended, his armour as immaculate as always, his clan insignia stark on his chestplate. He stopped halfway down the ramp, his helmeted gaze sweeping over me, then the pile of hide and bones, and I saw him stiffen. He moved closer, his steps deliberate, and I pushed myself to my feet, wincing as my ribs protested.

  "Kane," Pre said, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "What in all the hells did you kill?"

  I gestured at the massive corpse behind us, then met his visor with my own. "A Sith Wyrm."

  Pre was silent for a long moment, his posture rigid, and I could feel the shock radiating from him even through the armour. "A Sith Wyrm," he repeated slowly, as if testing the words. "Those are..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "You killed a Sith Wyrm."

  "I did." My voice was hoarse, my throat dry, but the pride was unmistakable.

  Pre stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the hide, the teeth, then back to me. "How badly are you hurt?"

  "Ribs, arm, lung," I said, rattling them off like a list. "Bacta helped, but—"

  I didn't finish. The adrenaline that had kept me upright drained away all at once, my legs buckling, and I collapsed forward. Pre caught me, his grip firm, lowering me to the ground with surprising gentleness. My vision swam, the edges darkening, and I heard him cursing under his breath, his hands already moving, checking my injuries.

  "Stay with me, Kane," he said, his voice sharp, commanding. I felt him pull my helmet off, the cool air hitting my face, and then he was pressing something to my lips. "Swallow."

  I obeyed, the bacta pill bitter on my tongue, and I choked it down.

  "You're a damned fool," Pre muttered, but there was no anger in his tone, only concern. "But a brave one."

  I managed a weak grin, my eyes fluttering open to meet his. "Had to make it count."

  Pre shook his head, then sat back on his heels, his hand resting on my shoulder. "You did more than that. You killed a Sith Wyrm, Kane. That's... that's something most seasoned warriors wouldn't attempt." He paused, his grip tightening slightly. "I'm proud of you."

  The words hit harder than I expected, a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with the bacta. Pre Vizsla, the leader of Death Watch, proud of me. I nodded, unable to speak, and he helped me to my feet, supporting my weight as we made our way to the ship. The bundle of hide and bones were left for the moment but Pre said he would get them, and he guided me inside, settling me into the quarters with surprising care.

  "We'll head back to Mandalore," Pre said, his tone firm. "There will be a proper celebration. You've earned it."

  He left me then, heading outside to grab my stuff and then I heard the ramp shut. He presumably got back to the cockpit to pilot the ship off-planet. I lay back on the bunk, the soft padding a sharp contrast to the jungle floor, and let out a long breath. The engines thrummed to life, the ship lifting off, the gravity shifting as we ascended through the atmosphere. I stared at the ceiling, the exhaustion pulling at me, but I felt triumphant, the weight of the Verd'goten lifting just slightly.

  My hand drifted to my belt, fingers brushing the saber's hilt. It was still warm, the heat having barely dissipated despite the hours since I'd last used it. I sat up slowly, wincing as my ribs protested, and unclipped the weapon. The dark durasteel gleamed in the dim light, the silver bands catching the glow from the overhead panels. I turned it over in my hands, feeling its weight, the balance perfect, the craftsmanship mine.

  I thumbed the ignition, pressing the button, and the blade sprang to life with that familiar hiss. The room was bathed in deep red and black-tinted light, the lava crystal's glow casting flickering shadows on the walls, the colors swirling together like molten fire frozen in time. The hum filled the small space, a low, resonant growl that vibrated through the deck plating, and I stared at the blade, mesmerized.

  This was mine. Forged by my will, tempered by pain, a weapon born of the Dark Side and volcanic fury. I swung it lightly, the air crackling, the blade's edge a perfect line of controlled destruction. The light danced across my face, and I grinned, the expression wild, victorious.

  My Verd'goten was complete. I had my saber, my trophies, my survival. All that remained was the celebration, the recognition of my passage into adulthood. But for now, alone in my quarters, the blade ignited, I allowed myself this moment of pure, unfiltered triumph.

  I deactivated the saber, the room plunging back into dim light, and laid back on the bunk, the weapon resting in my hand. The exhaustion pulled me under, and I let it, my last thought before sleep claimed me a simple, satisfied murmur.

  I had done it.