I woke to a pounding headache that felt like someone had taken a hammer to the inside of my skull. There was weight on top of me, something warm and soft, and a scent I couldn't quite place filled my nose. It was floral, maybe, mixed with something earthy. I blinked slowly, my thoughts sluggish, trying to piece together where I was and why everything hurt.

  Then I opened my eyes fully and saw a sea of tangled crimson hair spread across my chest.

  Everything snapped into focus.

  Vhonte.

  Last night came flooding back in fragmented images. Her following me to my quarters, the way her face had looked in the glow of my lightsaber, her wonder as she held the weapon. The kiss. My hands in her hair, pulling her closer. The stumble back to my bunk, armor clattering to the floor as we stripped it away. Her skin warm beneath my touch, the thin fabric of her undersuit the only barrier between us. The intensity of it, feeling her emotions through the Force, every spark of want and nervous desire amplifying my own until I thought I might burn alive from it.

  We hadn't gone all the way. She'd dozed off before that, exhaustion and alcohol pulling her under mid-kiss, and I'd held her as she fell asleep against me. But God, even that had been intense. Overwhelming. If we'd actually finished what we started, if I'd felt her emotions crest and shatter through the Force while we moved together, I wasn't sure I would've survived it. The thought alone made my pulse quicken.

  I lay there now, staring at the ceiling, acutely aware of every point where her body pressed against mine. Despite her toned build, all hard muscle and sculpted by training and exercise, she was so damn soft where it mattered, and warm. Her breathing was slow and even, her face turned slightly toward my shoulder, features completely relaxed in sleep. Vulnerable in a way she never was when awake.

  I didn't want to move, because I didn't want to risk waking her.

  Thinking smartly, I reached out with the Force, feeling for the bottle on my table. It was some kind of electrolyte drink, the Mandalorian equivalent of sports hydration, and I needed it desperately. I pulled it toward me with a gentle tug, the bottle lifting silently through the air and dropping into my waiting hand with a soft thud. I twisted the cap off with my mind, the motion so practiced now it barely required thought, and brought the bottle to my lips. The liquid was cold and sweet, washing away some of the dryness in my throat.

  I summoned the bacta pill bottle next, the small container floating over and settling in my palm. I shook out two pills, swallowing them with another gulp of the drink, and felt the familiar chalky bitterness coat my tongue. The bacta would help with the headache and the lingering ache in my ribs. Not a cure, but enough to take the edge off.

  With that done, I set the bottle aside and lay back again, my hand settling lightly on Vhonte's back. Her undersuit was still on from the waist up, the thin black fabric hugging her frame, and I could feel the warmth of her skin beneath it. She shifted slightly in her sleep, her breath ghosting across my collarbone, and I closed my eyes, just feeling her there.

  I brushed against her mind with the Force, a light, tentative touch. Her mental shields, usually so tight and controlled during training, were pliant now, soft around the edges. I didn't intrude further. That would've been rude, an invasion of her privacy, and I still respected her privacy a great deal as she was a friend… a friend who I had made out with. I just pressed gently against the surface, feeling the calm, unguarded rhythm of her sleeping thoughts, and let my hands rest on her back, her head still pillowed against my chest.

  A thought crossed my mind then, cutting through the haze of contentment. This was probably stupid, Vhonte was my commanding officer. There were probably rules about this kind of thing, even in Mandalorian culture where such relationships weren't exactly forbidden but probably frowned upon in certain contexts. Getting tangled up with her could complicate things, make squad dynamics messy.

  I considered whether I cared.

  The answer came quickly.

  I didn't.

  Not even a little.

  I lay there for what felt like another half hour, maybe longer, time slipping away in the quiet of my quarters. I kept my senses tuned to Vhonte, feeling her relaxed state through the Force, the steady pulse of her presence like a warm beacon. Eventually, I felt her stir, both mentally and physically. Her breath shifted, becoming less even, and her head tilted slightly, lifting from my chest. Her eyes opened, bleary and unfocused, blinking against the dim light of the room.

  Our gazes met.

  "Morning," I said quietly, my voice rougher than I'd intended.

  "G'morning," she mumbled back, her voice thick with sleep.

  Then her eyes widened as realization hit. She sat up abruptly, groaning loudly as the movement jarred her headache, and I felt the spike of discomfort through the Force. She pressed a hand to her forehead, wincing, and I fought back the urge to ask her to lay back down. She'd been warm, and I'd been comfortable, but that wasn't what she needed right now.

  I reached for the half-finished bottle of electrolyte drink, barely lifting it before she snatched it from my grasp. She guzzled it down in seconds, her throat working as she drained the entire thing. Her teeth almost chattered as she shivered, the cold liquid hitting her system, and I could sense the undercurrent of discomfort radiating from her, the headache pounding behind her eyes. It killed the content, happy mood I'd been in, replacing it with concern.

  I sat up some, leaning against the wall behind my bunk, and watched her.

  "Kane, I'm..." Vhonte started to say, her voice uncertain. She looked nervous, her shoulders tense, and I could feel the guilt building in her like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon. "I'm your superior. I shouldn't hav—"

  I cut her off before she could finish. "I regret nothing," I said firmly, my tone leaving no room for argument. "I know it might make things a bit awkward, but don't feel bad or anything, alright?"

  I'd sensed that impending buildup of guilt, the streaks of it threading through her emotions, and I'd headed it off before it could take root. She didn't need to carry that weight, not when I'd been a willing participant in everything that had happened.

  "I'm your superior," she mumbled again, looking away from me, her gaze fixed on the far wall. "I shouldn't—"

  I leaned forward, my hand reaching up to cup her cheek, turning her face back toward mine. All the confidence she'd shown in training, in every sparring match and tactical drill, every conversation we'd had in private, was gone. She looked young, uncertain, and vulnerable. God, she really was inexperienced with this.

  "You are Vhonte," I said, my voice low but steady. "You're not the lieutenant right now, and I'm not your subordinate."

  I leaned in and kissed her again, pressing my lips to hers with the same intensity as the night before. She startled, her breath catching, and I felt her emotions spike and cycle between surprise, confusion, anf flicker of want, before she pulled away, breathing heavily.

  "I... shab... Oh Kriff it all," she muttered, then returned the kiss with a fiercer urgency.

  I felt immediately once again how inexperienced she was, her movements uncertain, hesitant, and I took control, guiding her. My hands moved to her back, pulling her closer, practically pinning her to me, and she responded, her own hands gripping my shoulders as the kiss deepened. Her emotions blazed through the Force, a jumbled mess of nervousness and desire, and I drank it in, letting it fuel my own.

  After a minute, she pulled away again, panting softly, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her thoughts were a chaotic swirl, emotions tangled together in a way she clearly wasn't used to handling.

  "I need... we," she tried to say, then stopped, taking a breath to compose herself. "I need to get to my quarters."

  I let go of her, my hands falling away, and she immediately started moving, grabbing at the pieces of her armor that were strewn across the floor. Her chest plate was near the foot of the bunk, her gauntlets by the door, her greaves scattered near the table. She bent down to pick them up, and I stared at her form, unable to help myself. The way the thin undersuit clung to her, the curve of her back, the line of her legs. She was beautiful, and I wasn't about to apologize for noticing.

  She glanced over her shoulder and caught me staring. Her face flushed slightly, a faint pink spreading across her cheeks. "Stop staring."

  I didn't say anything, just kept staring.

  She rolled her eyes and continued dressing, snapping each piece of armor into place with practiced efficiency. The chest plate locked with a soft click, the gauntlets slid on, the greaves settled around her legs. Within moments, she looked like the composed warrior she always was, all traces of vulnerability hidden beneath Mandalorian steel.

  And yet I could still sense how adorably vulnerable she was.

  She paused, glancing around the room, her brow furrowing. "Hey, where's my hair tie?"

  I grabbed one of mine from the table and tossed it at her. She caught it easily, reflexes sharp despite the hangover.

  "Not mine," she said, holding it up.

  "And?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "I've got plenty."

  Vhonte rolled her eyes again but used it, her hands moving quickly to braid her hair. The crimson strands twisted together in a complex pattern, the braid falling neatly over her shoulder, and within seconds she looked perfectly presentable, every inch the lieutenant once more.

  "We can... talk this evening, alright?" Vhonte said, and I caught the wince in her expression, the way she hated how uncertain she sounded.

  "No problem," I replied, keeping my tone easy, casual.

  A sliver of annoyance streaked across her thoughts, sharp and brief, and I almost smiled. Was she annoyed at how at ease I seemed? Probably. She was the one overthinking this, tying herself in knots, while I was perfectly content with what had happened.

  She turned and walked to the door, her steps steady now, and it hissed open at her approach. She paused for a fraction of a second, glancing back at me, then stepped through. The door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss, leaving me alone in my quarters.

  I sat there for a moment, appraising the situation. My armor was scattered across the floor. The empty bottle of electrolyte drink sat on the table next to my lightsaber. The faint scent of her hair still lingered in the air.

  I leaned back against the wall, a slow grin spreading across my face.

  Yeah. I didn't regret a damn thing.

  But it was late now, so I probably needed to wake up fully and get the day started. There was bound to be something that needed done today and I was on a rather tight schedule.

  So I swung my leg out and stood up from the bed, the victorious smirk making its way on my face in spite of myself.

  Such a wonderful evening and morning.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  I stood in the training yard, the lava blade of my lightsaber humming in my grip, casting flickering shadows of red and orange across the duracrete floor. The weapon felt alive in my hand, the heat from the hilt seeping through my gloves, a constant reminder of the crystal burning at its core. I moved through the first kata slowly, deliberately, letting the blade cut through the air in controlled arcs. The sizzling whine it made with each movement was different from a traditional lightsaber, deeper, more guttural, like the weapon itself was growling.

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  I adjusted my grip, feeling the balance. The beskad had more weight to it, something that was more predictable. The lightsaber was different. It had mass in the hilt mostly, but the blade itself, despite likely being heavier than other sabers, was still different in weight distribution, and that threw off my muscle memory. I had to relearn just about every strike, every parry, and trusting the weapon to do the work rather than forcing it.

  I swept the blade down in a vertical cut, then reversed into a rising slash. The movements were clean and precise, the blade leaving trails of light in its wake. I pivoted, bringing the saber around in a horizontal arc at shoulder height, and felt the Force hum through me, guiding the motion. The blade sang, its energy crackling faintly, and I grinned beneath my helmet.

  This was what I'd needed. A weapon that could match a Jedi's, something that wouldn't shatter the first time it met a lightsaber in combat.

  I continued through the kata, my body falling into the rhythm. Step, strike, pivot, guard. Each motion flowed into the next, the Force amplifying my speed, making the transitions seamless. Sweat beaded on my forehead inside the helmet, the exertion building despite the armor's cooling systems, but I didn't stop. I pushed through another hour, then another, my muscles burning, my ribs protesting with each sharp twist.

  I was mindful of the danger. The lightsaber was lethal in a way the beskad wasn't. One misstep, one slip of control, and I'd lose a limb or worse. That was why I'd worn my full Beskar armor for this. I wasn't an idiot. The plates would stop the blade if I made a mistake, or at least I hoped they would. Beskar was resistant to lightsabers, but I wasn't eager to test just how resistant.

  After two hours of drilling, my arms ached and my breath came hard. I deactivated the lightsaber, the blade retracting with a sharp hiss, and clipped it to my belt. I rolled my shoulders, feeling the tension ease slightly, then turned toward the far side of the yard.

  "Talos!" I barked, my voice sharp through the helmet's vocoder.

  The combat droid's optics flared red, its skeletal frame straightening as it acknowledged the command. It had been standing idle near the weapon rack, waiting, and now it moved with mechanical precision, joints whirring softly as it approached.

  I unsheathed my beskad and tossed it to the droid. The blade spun through the air, and Talos caught it smoothly, its grip adjusting to the weapon's weight. The droid shifted into a combat stance, the beskad held low and ready.

  "Come at me," I ordered. "Full speed. Don't hold back."

  Talos didn't hesitate. It surged forward, the beskad slashing in a diagonal arc aimed at my shoulder. I reignited my lightsaber, the blade snapping to life, and brought it up to parry. The two blades met with a sharp clang, the beskad scraping against the lightsaber's edge, sparks from the lava blade flying. The impact jarred my arm, but I held firm, redirecting the strike and stepping back.

  Talos pressed the attack, its movements faster than any normal organic opponent, the beskad a blur as it struck high, then low, then high again. I defended, each parry precise, the lightsaber humming as it met the beskad over and over. The heat from the blade was intense this close, the air shimmering around it, but I didn't let it distract me.

  The droid swung horizontally at my midsection. I backpedaled, activating my jetpack with a sharp burst of thrust. The repulsors flared, lifting me off the ground and sending me shooting backward several meters. I landed in a crouch, boots scraping the duracrete, and raised my left wrist.

  The sonic emitter mounted there whirred to life, and I fired. A low-intensity pulse shot out, invisible but for the faint distortion in the air. It struck Talos square in the chest, the shockwave rattling its frame. The droid staggered, its balance faltering, but it recovered quickly, charging again.

  I darted forward, the Force surging through my legs, propelling me into a blur of motion. The distance closed in an instant, and I slashed upward with the lightsaber. Talos blocked with the beskad, the blades clashing, and we locked there for a heartbeat, the lightsaber's whine rising in pitch as it pressed against the Beskar steel.

  I twisted, disengaging, and struck again. The fight tipped in my favor now, my speed overwhelming the droid's processing. Talos tried to keep up, its attacks growing more desperate, less precise. I parried a thrust aimed at my chest, then twisted, bringing the lightsaber around in a vicious arc that scored a shallow cut across the droid's shoulder joint. Sparks flew, wires exposed, but it didn't stop.

  Talos swung the beskad in a wide horizontal slash at my head. I braced myself, every muscle coiling, and brought my lightsaber up to intercept. The blades met, and I redirected the strike, letting the beskad skirt to my left. As it passed, I reached out with my free hand, my Beskar mesh gloves closing around the beskad's blade. The edge slid across my palm and I yanked it toward me, pulling Talos off balance. The droid stumbled, its frame lurching forward, and I stepped into its guard, closing the distance until we were almost chest to chest. I barked out a command that set off the trigger on my helmet's internal system, the one I'd spent weeks installing and calibrating, and I activated it.

  Flame roared from the emitter built into my helmet's mouthpiece, a concentrated jet of fire erupting directly into Talos's faceplate. The droid's optics flared bright for a split second before the heat overwhelmed its sensors, and it jerked back, servos whining in protest. I held the flame for a full three seconds, the heat washing back against my visor, before cutting it off and triggering my jetpack.

  The thrusters launched me backward, and I released my grip on the beskad as I shot through the air. I sailed twenty yards across the training yard, landing with a heavy thud that jarred me a bit and I deactivated my jetpack. The beskad clattered to the ground where Talos had dropped it, and the droid stood motionless, its faceplate scorched black, optics flickering weakly.

  I straightened, breathing hard, and allowed myself a grin. The move had been perfect. Exactly as I'd envisioned it. Deflect, grab, close, burn. Against a lightsaber-wielding opponent like Kenobi, it would be riskier, but the principle was sound. Get inside their guard, overwhelm them with something unexpected, and press the advantage before they could recover.

  I deactivated my lightsaber, the blade retracting with a sharp hiss, and clipped it back to my belt. Talos remained frozen, its systems rebooting from the thermal overload, and I walked over to retrieve my beskad, and I sheathed it on my back with a satisfying click.

  "Good work, Talos," I muttered, patting the droid's scorched faceplate. "We'll run it again tomorrow."

  The droid didn't respond, its optics still dark, but I didn't need acknowledgment. I'd gotten what I needed from the session. The lightsaber felt more natural now, less like an alien weapon and more like an extension of myself. The plans were coming together, piece by piece, and every drill brought me closer to being ready.

  Ready for Kenobi.

  Ready for the war.

  I turned and walked toward the exit, my boots echoing on the stone, and let the satisfaction of a successful training session settle over me like a warm cloak. Tomorrow I'd push harder. Tonight, I'd rest.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  I walked beside Pre as we made our way through Concordia's corridors toward the landing platform, my armor fully sealed, every plate locked into place. The weight of my lightsaber on my hip was a constant presence, warm still as I hadn't adjusted it to have better heat insulation. Around us moved the best warriors Clan Vizsla and our allied clans could muster. Hezek Tervho, his personal guards barring Vhonte this time, Gar Saxon and one of his most trusted soldiers, and a carefully selected group of veterans whose presence alone spoke volumes.

  This was a show of force disguised as diplomacy.

  I knew it wouldn't work. Pre knew it. Every warrior walking with us knew it. The negotiation we were heading toward was theater, a final gesture to satisfy the more neutral factions who tentatively supported our cause. Those clans wanted security above all else, and they'd side with whoever seemed both stable and likely to win. By making this attempt, we proved we weren't the unhinged warmongers the New Mandalorians painted us as.

  But I knew how this would end.

  The ship waiting on the platform was a modified Kyr'galaar-class transport, its hull painted in Vizsla blue and gray, with enough firepower to make any pirate think twice. I climbed the ramp behind Pre, taking my position near the rear of the passenger compartment with the other guards. Hezek settled his massive frame into one of the reinforced seats, his presence filling the space like a mountain taking up residence. Saxon sat across from him, helmet on, radiating cold calculation through the Force.

  The engines hummed to life, and we lifted off, Concordia's rocky surface falling away beneath us as we climbed toward orbit. The jump to Mandalore was short, barely enough time to settle before we were decelerating again, the planet's rust-colored surface filling the viewport.

  Keldabe grew larger as we descended, the ancient ‘city’ being wrapped around the Kelita River's banks like a natural moat. Durasteel and stone mingled with structures that had stood for millennia, and it still didn't look any better, but I didn't care for prettiness.

  We touched down on a public landing platform near the city's western district, the repulsors hissing as the ship settled. The ramp lowered with a metallic clank, and cool air rushed in.

  I stepped out behind Pre, my boots hitting the platform's duracrete surface, and immediately felt it.

  Two presences in the Force.

  They hit my awareness like a hammer blow, condensed and bright, trained minds that blazed with clarity and purpose. Not like Anakin's presence had been, raw and untamed and vast. These were honed, sharpened, weapons forged through years of discipline. And they were aware of me. I felt the streaks of surprise first, sharp and sudden, followed immediately by guardedness as their mental shields tightened.

  Force sensitives. Jedi.

  My own barriers slammed up instinctively, every technique Malgus had drilled into me snapping into place. I layered my thoughts behind walls of ice and fury, making my surface thoughts hostile and chaotic enough to discourage probing while hiding my true intentions deeper. The Dark Side coiled around me like armor, cold and protective.

  I stepped closer to Pre, my voice low through the helmet's internal comm. "I sense two Jedi. Probably a Master and Padawan."

  Pre's helmeted head jerked toward me, the motion sharp. Around us, I felt the other warriors tense, unease and wariness bursting through their emotional control like cracks in ice. Hezek's presence became sharper, more focused. Saxon's hand drifted fractionally closer to his blaster.

  "Unfortunate," Pre said, his voice even despite the tension radiating from everyone else. His mind was like a blank sheet of ice in the Force, just the faintest hint of heat radiating from underneath, controlled and deliberate. "That we were correct that Adonai would sell himself to the Republic." He paused, then added, his tone flat, "This will be a waste of time, but best to get it over with."

  We walked in silence through Keldabe's streets, our formation tight and purposeful. The civilians who were out and about stopped to stare, their expressions ranging from curiosity to concern. They knew something was happening. You didn't move through the city like this, armed and armored like you were walking into a firefight, unless the stakes were high.

  The Oyu'baat was ahead, its ancient stone walls and durasteel reinforcements with blaster marks and other damage showing its age. We entered through the main doors, bypassing the ground floor cantina and heading directly for the stairs. Our boots echoed on the stone steps as we climbed to the second floor, where the larger private rooms were reserved for important meetings.

  Pre pushed open the heavy door to the reserved chamber, and we filed inside.

  The room was spacious, with a long table dominating the center and chairs arranged on both sides. Standing at the far end were multiple Mandalorians, their armor bearing the sigils of Clan Kryze and their allies. The man at the front was nearly Hezek's height and almost as broad, his armor painted in the blue and silver of Kryze, his presence commanding even without seeing his face.

  Adonai Kryze.

  Behind him stood what I assumed were guards and allied clan heads, their postures tense but controlled. And then there were the two who made every instinct I had scream danger.

  The taller of the two looked exactly like Liam Neeson, his long hair slightly graying at the temples, wearing a cream-colored tunic and breeches with dark brown boots. Brown robes were draped over the tunic, and I caught the faint metallic glint of a lightsaber hilt clipped to his belt.

  The other was shorter, younger, with auburn hair and blue eyes. He wore the same style of clothing as the taller man, his lightsaber visible at his side.

  Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

  The fools who hadn't saved Shmi. The bastard who'd left my brother to burn.

  Rage surged through me like molten metal, white-hot and all-consuming. I wanted to tear Kenobi's throat out with my bare hands. I wanted to rip his still-beating heart from his chest and watch the light fade from his eyes as I crushed it. The Dark Side responded to my fury, coiling tighter around me, feeding on the hatred.

  Kenobi radiated terror.

  It wasn't just fear. The younger Jedi was wide-eyed, his gaze locked on me, raking over my armor and saber like he was trying to reconcile what he was seeing with something he'd expected. His right hand trembled, fingers twitching toward his lightsaber, and his emotions were a churning pit of dread and panic. You'd think I was a Dark Lord of the Sith from the way he looked at me.

  Good.

  Jinn was subtle in his attempts to calm his apprentice, his presence in the Force reaching out to soothe the younger man. It worked somewhat. Kenobi's breathing evened out, his emotions flooding away into the Force in that irritating Jedi way, but I could still feel the undercurrent of fear. Both of them were postured to lunge forward, ready to ignite their blades if I so much as twitched wrong.

  "Jetii, Adonai?" Pre's voice cut through the tension like a blade, cold and sharp. "You bring Jetii and the Republic into a matter meant for the Mando'ade?"

  "They are here to oversee negotiations and to prevent needless bloodshed, nothing more," Adonai replied smoothly, his voice carrying a deep baritone. "Though I see that you seem to have a curiosity of your own." His helmet tilted down, and I could feel his gaze settle on my lightsaber.

  I ignored him and spoke directly to Jinn, my voice flat and cold through my vocoder. "Tell your Padawan to control himself, Jedi. He reeks of fear."

  "A dar'jetii?" Adonai asked, looking from Pre back to me.

  "Close enough," I said with a shrug, keeping my gaze fixed on Jinn. "Did you think it the wisest choice to bring the student of the Butcher of Galidraan to a diplomatic meeting, Kryze?"

  The reaction was immediate. Several of the Mandalorians on both sides stiffened, their emotions flaring with anger and shock. The Butcher of Galidraan. The title hung in the air like a curse, and I felt satisfaction curl through me at the discomfort it caused. Adonai, however, didn't seem surprised, just annoyed.

  So he'd known and been banking on no one putting two and two together just yet.

  His loss.

  "I have no control over who the Republic sent to help supervise as a neutral party," Adonai said, his tone clipped. "They are here to observe."

  That was a lie, and I knew it. They'd been sent to protect the "legitimate" Mandalorian government, and in a civil war, that would include actively engaging in armed hostilities. But I said nothing, just let the tension simmer.

  "Then let them observe," Pre said, stepping forward slightly. His voice carried the weight of command, measured and deliberate. "You know you can't win this conflict, Adonai. Even with the Republic funding you, we will eventually win."

  "You see things as your brother did, Pre," Adonai replied, his powerful arms crossing over his chest. "And I will not have our people fall further into the barbarity that has stripped us of our pride."

  "Fools, the both of you," Pre said, his tone sharpening. "My brother was a mad dog, and you are a mongrel pup hiding away after being kicked. The Republic will feed you every delicacy you could want, but they will eventually demand things of you. And I know you, Adonai. You will offer a finger, and they will take your hand. If we worked together, our goals could both be met."

  It was a fool's dream. I knew it. Pre knew it. Everyone in the room knew it.

  "I will not speak as a politician," Adonai said, his voice hard, "so let us be clear. You have only your capacity for fighting as a resource to preserve the Mando'ade. I pursue what has made the Republic the strongest."

  The words would have stung if I'd been born Mandalorian, if I didn't know better. As it was, they just annoyed me. Mandalore could be ascendant again, but it would take work. More work than either of these men were willing to do.

  The conversation continued for a few more minutes, going nowhere. Pre and Adonai traded barbs disguised as diplomacy, their words polite but their meanings sharp. I barely paid attention, my focus split between Kenobi's trembling presence and Jinn's calm watchfulness. The older Jedi was good. His shields were impeccable, his emotions controlled. But even he couldn't completely hide the wariness, the calculation as he assessed the threat I represented.

  Finally, Pre straightened. "It is a shame we could not see eye to eye, Adonai."

  Adonai gave a grunt of agreement, his helmet dipping slightly. "Indeed."

  Pre turned, gesturing for us to follow. I moved with the others, my steps measured, and I made a point not to turn my back on the Jedi. I kept my gaze locked on them as I backed toward the door, feeling their attention on me like a physical weight. Kenobi's fear spiked again as I moved, his hand twitching toward his saber, but Jinn placed a hand on his shoulder, stilling him.

  The door hissed shut behind us, and I finally allowed myself to turn, falling into step beside Pre as we descended the stairs.

  "That went as expected," Pre said quietly, his voice for my ears only. “How did you know the identity of the one?”

  “Researched Galidraan and everything to do with Dooku, and that included his students.” I muttered back. "The younger one is terrified of me. That makes him unpredictable."

  Pre glanced at me, his helmet tilting slightly. "Good. Fear is a weapon.

  I didn't respond. My mind was already turning over the encounter, analyzing every detail, every flicker of emotion I'd felt from the Jedi. Kenobi was afraid. Jinn was wary. And both of them now knew I existed.

  The war was coming. And when it did, I'd be ready.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  Obi-Wan Kenobi stood frozen as the door hissed shut, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. His hands trembled at his sides, and he clenched them into fists to still the shaking. The air in the room felt heavy, oppressive, as though the young Mandalorian's presence had left a stain that refused to dissipate.

  It was him.

  The one from his nightmares.

  The visions had plagued Obi-Wan since he was a youngling, fragmentary and disjointed but always ending the same way. Golden armor streaked with crimson. A blade crashing through his defenses. And pain. Always pain, followed by darkness.

  He'd dared to hope they were just dreams. But standing here now, having felt that presence, that furnace of rage and focus directed almost entirely at him, he knew the truth.

  The visions had been real.

  ‘Obi-Wan.’ Qui-Gon's voice in his mind was calm, steady, the tone he used when trying to ground his apprentice. 'Breathe.’

  Obi-Wan sucked in a breath, forcing his lungs to expand, and released it slowly. His master's hand rested on his shoulder, a grounding presence, and he focused on that, letting it anchor him. The trembling eased, his heartbeat slowing, but the fear remained, coiled tight in his chest.

  ‘He's dangerous, Master,’ Obi-Wan internally replied back. ‘More dangerous than anyone realizes.’

  ‘I know,’ Qui-Gon agreed, his gaze distant, thoughtful. ‘I felt it too.’

  Obi-Wan's eyes flicked toward the door, half-expecting the Mandalorian to burst back through it, lightsaber ignited. ‘Did you sense the Dark Side in him?’

  Qui-Gon was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Yes. But it's... unrefined. He's not a Sith, not in the traditional sense. But he's touched the Dark Side, wielded it, and that makes him unpredictable.’

  Obi-Wan swallowed hard. ‘He has a lightsaber.’

  ‘So I saw.’ Qui-Gon's tone was grim. ‘Either he took it from a Jedi, or he built it himself. Neither option is comforting.’

  Adonai Kryze stepped forward, his helmet still on, interrupting the internal conversation between the two Jedi. "I apologize for the ... complications. I did not anticipate that Vizsla would bring a dar'jetii to the table."

  "It changes nothing," Qui-Gon said, his voice firm. "Our mission remains the same. We are here to observe and, if necessary, protect the legitimate government of Mandalore."

  Adonai nodded, but Obi-Wan could feel the doubt radiating from the man. The negotiation had been a failure, and everyone knew it. War was coming. And when it did, Obi-Wan would have to face the young Mandalorian in golden armor.

  The thought made his hands tremble again.

  He clenched them tighter and forced himself to breathe.

  End chapter: