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  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  I kept moving.

  The trees of the forest blurted by me and gave the illusion of them pressing in around me, dark and tight. Basically no lights tonight, just thick clouds overhead and the occasional glint of starlight through gaps in the canopy. My boots hit the damp earth in near silence, the sound swallowed by moss, leaves, and years of decay underfoot.

  She was out there.

  I could feel her.

  Not close, but not far either. The Force pulsed against the edge of my awareness like the smell of ozone before a storm. Vhonte wasn't the kind to give up. And she’d been given a hunting pass with my name on it.

  Branches whipped at my armor as I slipped between them, the Force winging my feet enough to keep myself agile.

  The timer on my wrist ticked in red digits. 02:48 local.

  A few more hours to go.

  My breath came slow and measured. No unstable bursts, just steady. I'd planted two false trails already and doubled back once. Every thirty minutes I shifted direction again.

  There was a sharp incline up ahead, a break in the terrain where stones jutted from the ground in scattered clusters. I angled toward them, slipping behind a line of some thicker trees near the top, their trunks wide enough to fully hide my body.

  I crouched beside a hollowed out stump to look over, my hand resting against the bark. I then closed my eyes to focus better.

  There it was again.

  A flicker.

  Vhonte.

  She was trailing the last path I’d laid down about half a kilometer to the southeast. Her presence brushed against mine, entirely focused and controlled. She was good at keeping her emotions leashed, but not perfect. The Force picked up the sliver of tension under her thoughts.

  She knew she was behind.

  I didn’t waste time.

  I moved again, keeping to the uneven rocks, hopping light over patches of mud and waterlogged earth to avoid leaving tracks where I could. I kept my pace fast but silent, using the Force only in subtle, controlled bursts to soften landings or vault a root too thick to step over.

  An hour passed.

  At 03:40, I stopped.

  Not from exhaustion, though the sweat cooling down my spine, the creeping soreness, and deeper breathing told me I wasn’t fresh anymore, but because something shifted.

  The pressure in the Force changed. Subtle, but sharp.

  She'd picked up my trail.

  No hesitation, and no circling.

  She was coming.

  I ducked into a shallow ditch behind a ridge of fallen logs, and lowered my breath to almost nothing, letting my heart rate slow. A light mist had begun to creep in under the trees, curling low around the roots and rocks. It helped.

  I waited.

  Maybe ten minutes passed.

  Then I heard it.

  A footfall. Soft.

  I didn't move. I didn't even dare to blink.

  Another. Closer.

  She was good. She didn’t even break a branch.

  But I knew that sound. I’d spent years learning it from patrolling out in the field, sitting in a foxhole at night.

  My hand rested against the hilt strapped across my back. Vhonte stopped maybe ten meters off.

  I felt her.

  Still.

  Listening.

  She wasn’t reckless. She wasn’t here to spook me or chase. She was waiting.

  I moved only when I sensed her shift again, starting to arc left around my position. Slowly.

  I could tell she was preparing to try to corral me.

  I exhaled and eased backward through the underbrush. Not too fast to maintain silence. The trick was not to vanish, just to seem like you were never there to begin with.

  Then I broke into motion again.

  Northwest this time. I doubled back on my previous vector and cut through a low ravine, the kind that had just enough water to soak your boots but not enough to splash.

  She’d follow. I wanted her to.

  This was about lasting till sunrise, but that didn’t mean I had to play it safe.

  I wasn’t going to run the whole time.

  No.

  Let her track.

  Let her think she’s catching up.

  Then I’d turn the hunt back on her.

  The ridge closed in and gave way to another steep decline, thick with tangled brush and roots that would've caught my ankles if I wasn't careful. I kept low, the ache in my thighs starting to build from the constant movement and tension. I'd looped my trail three times, made another fake track, and used the terrain to cut sound to a minimum.

  She shouldn’t have been able to keep up.

  But then I felt it.

  The current of the Force shifted again, hard and sharp. Not just an echo of a feeling, it was clear, focused, and moving fast.

  Too fast.

  She was right on me.

  I twisted around just in time to see a red glint of light catch on metal, her visor, and a half-second later, a stun bolt screamed past my head and cracked into a nearby tree, lighting up the bark in a spray of sparks and burning sap.

  I ducked and launched myself sideways, letting the Force shove through my legs like coiled springs. Another stun shot tore through the trees and shattered a branch inches from my ear.

  I hit the ground hard, rolled, and scrambled upright just as her next bolt sizzled through the underbrush where I'd just been crouched.

  She was faster than before.

  More aggressive.

  She wasn’t playing cautious anymore. She knew it was near dawn. She’d picked up my real trail and wasn’t letting it go.

  I took off.

  The terrain blurred past in the dark. The low brush whipped at the armour covering my shins, thorns dragging across my gauntlets with a faint metallic sound. I hit a rise and vaulted over it, landing heavy but I kept myself balanced and didn't stop. My foot caught a patch of loose gravel, and I slid for a second before correcting, using the Force to dig down and keep my footing.

  Another bolt whizzed past.

  Then another.

  She wasn’t even trying to flank anymore. She was driving directly towards me.

  I let out a growl and curved right, away from where the slope dipped toward the old riverbed. Too exposed there. Instead, I aimed for the cluster of boulders along the ridge that broke up sightlines. I hit the first one and planted my hand against the stone, using the leverage to whip my body around the rock and cut hard left again, zig-zagging through the dense undergrowth.

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  It bought me maybe ten seconds.

  Another bolt slammed into the trunk of a massive pine to my left and exploded in white flash and static, the aftershock loud even through my helmet. I cursed under my breath, ducked behind the trunk, and dropped low.

  She was nearly on me.

  I could feel her, the low heat of her focus her movements with purpose. Every step flowed like she already knew where I'd be next.

  This wasn’t training or fun for her anymore.

  It was a hunt.

  I pulled the Force in tight around me, letting it push deeper than before, past the fatigue, past the throb in my calves and the growing tightness in my shoulders. I leaned into that inner core of coiled tension and let it flow.

  Then I moved.

  I bolted out from behind the tree, planted one foot hard, and flung myself up the slope with a leap that carried me five meters in a single burst. A bolt snapped past just beneath me. I landed in a crouch, using the momentum to roll and come up in a sprint.

  The Force surged.

  Another bolt grazed my thigh armor. I hissed as I felt the surge chase up my leg, my vision swimming for a fraction of a second before I forced myself through it…

  For all of a few seconds before my sprint faltered.

  The pain in my thigh wasn't sharp, but it bit deep. The muscle didn’t want to cooperate. I tried to keep the pace, but the step dragged.

  Too slow.

  Another stun bolt snapped past my left shoulder. Close enough to make me flinch and shift my trajectory.

  I cut hard left, ducking under a branch, and pushed toward the next slope. My foot caught on a root, but I caught myself, breath catching.

  Then I saw it.

  A gap in the trees with a clear line of sight.

  Wide. Open. Straight.

  I cursed.

  The roar of her jetpack hit a second later.

  I turned, far too late.

  She slammed into my side, full speed. My feet left the ground and I barely caught a glimpse of red armor before I hit the tree.

  The impact knocked the air from my chest and my back lit up with a dull crack. I dropped hard, rolling once, dirt and leaves sticking to my gloves.

  The stun bolt came before I could get up.

  It hit center mass.

  The shock ran through my whole body. My arms jerked, my legs buckled. Then everything stopped.

  I hit the ground flat, unable to move and a sudden surge of fear struck me as my limbs refused to cooperate, just like before... on Tatooine.

  It wasn't the productive kind, it was the ice cold dread of helplessness mixed with the flaring of the still only somewhat healed scar of a Force bond and I tried to scream out in rage, maybe fear, anything.

  But I couldn’t speak.

  I tasted metal.

  Boots crunched on the soil behind me.

  Then everything went dark.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  Consciousness came back slow. Like dragging myself out from under a slab of duracrete.

  Everything ached.

  My chest throbbed where the stun bolt hit, nerves twitching just under the skin. I blinked hard. My helmet was gone, and the world above me was dim, shapes outlined by the soft shimmer of moonlight through the trees.

  Then her face filled my vision.

  Vhonte crouched over me with her helmet off and grinning, blue eyes glinting even in the dark.

  “I win,” she said.

  Her voice had that smug, self-satisfied tilt to it. The kind that made me want to punch something. Preferably her.

  I groaned and turned my head away from her smirk, jaw tightening as I stared at the moss-covered ground. My limbs still felt like they were swimming in syrup, the last remnants of the stun bolt lingering in my arms and legs. My ribs felt bruised from where she smashed into me, and they probably were.

  “Couldn’t let me have one,” I muttered.

  “Not when I could win instead,” she said, casually shifting her weight so she was sitting on her heels. “Besides, I warned you. Tracking’s my thing.”

  I didn’t reply. My throat felt dry, and it took a few more seconds before I could sit up. I gritted my teeth and forced it, pushing myself up on stiff elbows. She didn’t offer to help.

  Of course she didn’t.

  I looked around. We were still in the woods where I'd been hit.

  My breath came a little easier now, though my pride wasn’t recovering nearly as fast.

  “Was that really necessary?” I asked.

  “The jetpack or the stun bolt?” she shot back.

  I glared at her. “The jetpack.”

  She shrugged. “You made it too easy. I just waited for you to stumble.”

  “Figured you’d want the challenge,” I said.

  “I wanted the win.”

  I rubbed a hand down my face. She really was the worst.

  “You were cocky,” she said after a pause. “You kept thinking I’d lose the trail. You thought you could wear me down.”

  I didn’t argue.

  Because she was right.

  I stood slowly, brushing dirt off my flight suit. My limbs still felt shaky, but they worked.

  “I didn’t expect you to go full jetpack tackle,” I muttered.

  “That’s because you’re predictable.” Her voice held that grin again.

  I looked over at her. She was still crouched, forearms resting on her knees, one hand absently spinning her helmet by the chin. Her braid had come loose, dark red strands sticking to the side of her face from sweat and the rain.

  “You actually waited for a clean line of sight,” I said. “Set it up.”

  She nodded. “Tracked you long enough. Knew where you’d be.”

  I let the silence stretch out. My pride was licking its wounds somewhere deep inside my chest.

  Then I pointed at her. “You’re suicidal.”

  She blinked. “How?”

  “You had your guy throw a stun grenade at both of us last time. And now you just flung yourself at me.”

  “That’s not suicidal, di'kut. That was strategy.”

  “You blew yourself up.”

  “And won,” she said, standing and strapping her helmet back to her hip. “A win’s a win.”

  I scowled. “You know there’s something deeply wrong with you, right?”

  “I’ve been told.”

  I shook my head and started walking, helmet in my hand now from where I picked it up next to me. My body ached for a bacta patch and sleep, but mostly for vengeance.

  “You did better this time,” she said, matching my pace.

  I didn’t respond.

  “Seriously,” she added. “You almost got away. If I hadn’t caught that line through the trees, you probably would’ve made it.”

  I sighed. “Don’t pat me on the back while you’re standing on my corpse.”

  “You’re not dead.”

  “Feels like it.”

  She snorted.

  We made it through a dense patch of underbrush, branches scraping at our clothes. I pushed them aside without comment, focusing on the rhythm of my steps. It helped clear my head.

  “You gonna want a rematch?” she asked after a while.

  I glanced at her. “Do you even need to ask?”

  If my legs didn't feel like jelly, I'd go for it right now.

  “Even if you keep losing?”

  “I don’t plan to keep losing.”

  That earned a satisfied hum from her. We kept walking. The forest slowly started to thin, patches of open ground between the trees, and we eventually saw the base’s perimeter lights glowing faintly in the distance.

  “I didn’t hate it,” I said eventually.

  “What, losing?”

  “No, and piss off. The hunt.”

  She gave me a sidelong look. “You mean getting slammed into a tree and shot?”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t go hand to hand with you again.” I emphasized my point by tapping the hilt of my sword slung across my shoulder.

  “Oh, that was cute. You really think that’d work.”

  “It did before.”

  “Before doesn’t count now, ad’ika.”

  … This bitch, man.

  We crested a ridge and I caught sight of the old mining compound below. A few lights flickered and. It was quiet. Most were asleep aside from a few guards and whoever was working a graveyard shift in the armory.

  “You buying drinks?” I asked.

  “I beat you,” she said. “You’re buying.”

  “You tackled me out of the air.”

  “Like I said.”

  I groaned. “Fine.”

  We walked the rest of the way in silence, boots crunching through wet gravel. My legs ached. My back still felt like it had been used for shock absorption. But I couldn’t lie to myself.

  Even with the loss… I felt good. That was absolutely thrilling despite me losing, but I'd never share just how much fun that was with Vhonte. I didn't need her thinking she was the number one, that was me and she can be my underling.

  We reached the Southwest entrance into the base, a guard or two giving us a look and recognizing us from when we left earlier, the auto turret up on one of the towers still looking at the treeline and above.

  I didn't take long until we walked through the top levels of the base, got to a repulsor lift, and headed down to the bar.

  Open all night, like always.

  I pushed open the heavy door, holding it just long enough for Vhonte to step in behind me, then stomped straight to one of the empty tables by the wall and sat down hard enough the seat complained.

  My legs were still sore. The bruise on my ribs pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

  She sat across from me like she hadn’t spent the last hour hunting me through the woods like a predator.

  I flagged the bartender.

  “Bottle of ale,” I said. “Two glasses.”

  The bartender looked up. Older guy. Human. Scar along the brow. He looked me over, as in really looked. The way someone does when they’re trying to decide whether or not they want to be responsible for whatever comes next.

  I kept my expression flat.

  He didn’t move.

  I frowned. “It’s fine, I've drunk before.”

  Fuck this body, too young and too short.

  Still, he didn’t grab the bottle.

  Then she spoke.

  “It’s fine,” Vhonte said, leaning over slightly in her chair, voice calm but she actually looked old enough to have done her Verd'goten.

  And just like that, the guy turned to get the bottle.

  My eye twitched.

  I sat back, jaw flexing. Irritation buzzed along the edges of my skull. I didn’t need her to vouch for me. I wasn’t some kid out past curfew. I could order a damn drink.

  She leaned forward again, elbows on the table, all casual. “You got credits on you?”

  I dug into a belt pouch, pulled out a chit, and slapped it onto the table without looking at her. She picked it up and nodded.

  Then she ruffled my hair.

  Like I was a dog.

  “Good ad’ika,” she said with the sweetest fake smile imaginable.

  I stared at her. Long. Slow. Murderous.

  Inside, I was already visualizing it. The angle, the force output, the way I could fling her across the room with a good Force push. There was a table near the far wall. I could probably smash her into it hard enough to send glasses flying.

  She sat back, still smug.

  The bottle thunked down in front of us. Two glasses followed, clean enough.

  I grabbed the neck of the bottle, popped the seal, and poured into both. As I reached for mine—

  She snatched it.

  Downed it in one go, the rim of the glass clinking against her teeth.

  I blinked.

  Her lips curved up into a grin as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Can’t let a minor drink, ad’ika.”

  My jaw twitched.

  “I’ve killed before,” I said, voice low. “A little alcohol won’t break me.”

  She tilted her head. “You look like you’re ten.”

  “I’m—” I stopped. Blinked once. “Thirteen.”

  That raised a brow. “Why’d you sound unsure?”

  I didn’t respond at first. My pulse thudded in my ears. The irritation flared in my gut, but I kept it steady.

  “Because I’ll need to be drunk to share any of that,” I muttered, forcing my tone down, jaw clenched.

  She stared at me a second longer, then leaned back into her seat, stretching her arms behind her head like she’d just won another sparring match.

  She grinned.

  “I’ll pay,” she said simply, then opened her palm and began flicking my own damn credit chit across her knuckles, back and forth in an infuriatingly fluid motion. “Good ad'ika like you deserves something stronger.”

  “Give me the glass,” I muttered, holding out a hand.

  She poured again, set the new glass down in front of me, this time letting me take it. I drank. Didn’t savor it. Didn’t care what the vintage was. Just let the burn do its work.

  She poured another for herself. More relaxed now, legs kicked out under the table like she hadn’t chased me for half the night.

  The hum of the old fans above kept a rhythm, steady and quiet.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t punch me for taking your drink,” she said after a bit.

  “I considered it.”

  “You still could.”

  I gave her a look. “Rather not get thrown out of here for causing a fight.”

  She shrugged. “Not the first fight to break out here. Though I'd win.”

  I took another drink. Slower this time.

  “You always been this much of a sore winner?” I asked.

  “You always been this much of a sore loser?”

  I rolled the glass in my hand, watching the last of the ale swirl around the bottom. “Losing doesn’t bother me. It’s the smugness that does.”

  She smirked. “Then you better stop losing.”

  We sat there for a while, not saying much else. The pub had thinned out even more, only a few stragglers left. I let myself ease into the seat a bit more, the edge of my headache finally dulled down to a manageable throb.

  Vhonte finished her glass, then tapped the bottle again. “So… you gonna share a bit or what?”

  I stared at her.

  “About what?”

  “How old you really are.”

  I leaned forward. “You first.”

  Her eyes narrowed in amusement. “I’m not the one who paused like they forgot.”

  “I didn’t forget.” That was a lie, at least in spirit. I don't actually know exactly how old I am, just that I'm around the cusp of being 13.

  “Then what was it?”

  I gave a thin smile, not one that reached my eyes. But I said nothing.

  She snorted and poured another round for both of us. We drank in silence.

  The burn helped.

  So did the fact that, for once, we weren’t competing. Just… there.

  I could get used to this.

  But I wouldn’t tell her that either.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  The holocron pulsed red again. I received the same question I had weeks prior. This time, with far less subtlety.

  “What do you believe your role is in this galaxy?”

  I didn’t answer at first.

  My beskad rested across my lap. Full Beskar. Forged by Pre’s preferred smith. The words Semper Fidelis were etched into the blade at my request along where it connected into the hilt, which got a raised brow as the language wasn't recognized aside from perhaps the similarity to the word fidelity.

  I adjusted my grip. Held it one-handed, point up.

  The holocron was seated in front of me, casting its faint glow against the floor of my quarters. Even in the silence after he spoke, I could feel his focus pressing against me.

  I spoke without looking at it.

  “The galaxy’s gone stagnant. The Republic is a fat and helpless shadow of what it was in your era.”

  The hilt fit snug in my palm, the grip a bit larger relative to my still not fully matured hand size.

  “The Jedi can't even muster the will to decouple themselves from the stagnation, and sit while the morals they hold to get violated without a care out in the Outer Rim.”

  I turned my eyes toward the holocron.

  “So I’m going to change that. Either I break them… or I put enough pressure on them that they’re forced to evolve.”

  The light inside the pyramid shifted slightly. Brighter. Listening.

  “Rebellion?” Malgus asked, voice even.

  “Rebellion implies I want to take their place,” I said. “I don’t.”

  I let that sit for a second. Then lowered the blade, setting it on my thighs again. The edge caught the red glow as it passed.

  “They don’t need a new ruler and I don't want to be their ruler. I'll become Mand'alor and carve out my own faction, let the Republic drown or change.”

  I knew I would never be able to conquer the Republic with how the Jedi would be arrayed against me as well as the Banite Sith not wishing me to poach their territory. Secondly, they just have too much of an industrial base for me to contend with without having one of my own, but I had no intention of joining the Confederacy either.

  Silence.

  Then. “You speak of destruction like it is a tool.”

  “It is,” I said. “Same as a fire clears dead brush. You don’t get new growth without burning out what came before.”

  The holocron hovered there a moment longer. No reply. But I could feel it.

  Approval, somewhere beneath the surface.

  Or curiosity.

  That was fine.

  Let him try to mold me. I'd decide what shape I came out.

  With that said, I stood and stepped out to the center of the room. I needed to train with my Beskad some more.

  The beskar blade came with me, heavier than I was accustomed. I just let it hang in my right hand as I found the space I needed, two steps forward, one step back. Enough to move and work.

  I shifted my stance. Left foot forward, knees slightly bent, weight balanced between both legs.

  Then I raised the blade.

  The first strike came slow. A downward cut, arms aligned with the shoulders, the beskad angled clean through the imaginary line in front of me. I stepped forward as I did it, keeping the footwork tight with no overreach.

  I brought the blade back up, reversed the angle, and swept it low across my body. Another step followed. Back foot pulled in and reset. I was mindful my feet as much as my hands. The bladework didn’t matter if the stance collapsed under pressure.

  Everything had to stay grounded.

  Another cut, shoulder-height. Horizontal. Then a quick reset, pivot on the ball of my lead foot, turn the hips, shift the back foot out to catch balance before driving into the next strike.

  It wasn’t fast, at least by a Force adept’s standards. That wasn’t the point.

  Each motion drilled into the one before it. Blade, step, pivot, reset. The weight of the beskad demanded control. No flourishes. Just discipline.

  I didn’t rush.

  I tracked the movement of the blade in my peripheral. I felt the floor through my boots, heel shifting seamlessly as I brought the blade up in a guard, before reversing and slashing downward to end the movement. I then rest and continued.

  Cut. Step. Guard. Back. Down. Reset.

  Again.

  Then again.

  Not once did I look at the holocron. Not once did I speak, merely letting the Force flow throughout my limbs and propelling me into movement after movement in a blur of thrilling exhilaration spurred on by the burning liquid sunfire sizzling in my veins.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  End chapter: