The evening air was sharp with pine and damp earth as I stood in a clearing deep in the woods. My armor hugged my frame and I gripped my beskad, its edge catching the faint sunlight filtering through the trees. Across from me stood my combat sparring droid, Talos, its skeletal durasteel frame gleaming faintly, joints humming as it clutched a blunted sparring sword in a low guard. I’d built it myself, late nights in the base’s workshop, tuning its servos for speed and gutting the safety protocols to make it dangerous, not lethal, but enough to push me.

  Somewhere in the distance, Vhonte was positioned, her sniper rifle trained on Talos. This was a teamwork exercise, her shots meant to force the droid to split its attention, keep it off balance while I pressed the attack.

  And so she wouldn't fucking hit me accidentally like the first few times.

  “Testing, testing,” I muttered, voice muffled in my helmet. “Talos Mark 1. Begin sparring.”

  The droid’s optics flared red, and it lunged, sword snapping up in a diagonal cut at my left shoulder. The Force hummed through me, sharpening my senses, mapping the attack’s arc before it fully formed. I pivoted right, a near blur of motion, my beskad rising to parry. The blades clashed, the impact reverberating through my arms and rattling Talos’s joints with a metallic groan. A blaster bolt screamed from the trees, Vhonte’s shot grazing Talos’s side, sparking against its frame. The droid twitched, its programming forced to recalibrate, and I pressed forward, channeling the Force to move faster, my thrust at its chest plate a streak of steel.

  Talos twisted left, its sword arcing down at my thigh in a counterstrike, but another bolt from Vhonte hit its leg, throwing its balance. I felt the attack coming, the Force whispering its trajectory. I dropped my blade to block, redirecting its momentum, and snapped a high cut at its head, my movements so swift an onlooker would’ve seen only a flicker. The droid ducked, its frame agile but straining under my pace and Vhonte’s relentless shots. It countered with a thrust to my midsection, the blade’s tip slicing through the air. A third bolt struck its shoulder, forcing it to stutter, and I sidestepped, the Force guiding my step, angling my beskad to deflect the strike past my hip, slashing at its right arm joint. The blow landed hard, jarring its servos with a grinding clank.

  Talos backstepped, its sword whipping up to meet mine, steel ringing as our blades locked. Vhonte fired again, the bolt clipping its hip, making its frame jerk. I channeled the Force, my muscles surging with unnatural strength, and shoved its blade aside, lunging with a low thrust at its knee servos. The droid pivoted, its sword slicing down in a vertical cut at my helmet. I sensed it coming, leaning back in a blur, the blade grazing the air inches from my visor. Another bolt from Vhonte hit Talos’s back, sparking, and my counter was immediate, a rising diagonal strike to its torso, the impact shuddering through its frame, loosening a shoulder joint with a faint screech.

  The droid leaped back, landing lightly on the forest floor, leaves crunching. Vhonte’s next shot missed, sizzling into a tree, but it forced Talos to hesitate, its optics flickering as it recalculated. It charged again, its sword slashing in rapid arcs, left, right, left, targeting my shoulders and arms. The Force pulsed through me, mapping each strike before it landed. I parried high, low, high again, my beskad a streak of motion, each block sending tremors through Talos’s frame, its joints creaking. Another bolt from Vhonte struck its chest, staggering it, and I stepped into its advance, slamming my leg into its knee joint to throw it off balance. Its frame stumbled, and I slashed at its neck, the blow rattling its head joint.

  A kill shot flashed in my mind, but Vhonte’s next bolt hit Talos’s arm, forcing it to disengage, pulling back to avoid her fire. I backed up for a second, the Force still humming, and lunged again, aiming another blow at its head. Talos ducked, its sword thrusting upward at my ribs. I felt the attack in the Force, spinning left in a blur, the blade missing by a hair. Vhonte fired, the bolt grazing its side, and I countered with a downward cut at its shoulder. It blocked, stepping into my guard, its sword thrusting at my chest. Another bolt from Vhonte hit its leg, sparking, and I twisted right, the Force guiding my reflexes, deflecting the strike with a flick of my wrist, slashing at its back. Talos pivoted, parrying, its joints groaning as my beskad hammered its frame.

  The fight was a storm of steel and speed, my movements a near-invisible blur, amplified by the Force. Vhonte’s shots kept Talos on edge, forcing it to split its focus, disengaging to dodge or taking hits that sparked and stuttered its systems. I pressed the offensive, my beskad slashing in tight arcs. Each strike landed with bone-rattling force, Talos’s joints shuddering under the onslaught.

  The droid countered with thrusts to my ribs, cuts to my arms, a sweeping slash at my legs, but I saw them all coming, the Force mapping their paths. Vhonte’s bolts punctuated every other exchange, one hitting its arm, another its torso, each forcing Talos to falter. I dodged, parried, struck back, my boots shifting on the uneven ground.

  I slashed at its right arm, feinted high, and thrust low at its knee, the Force guiding my blade’s path. The thrust grazed its leg, sparking against the durasteel, jarring its balance. Vhonte’s shot hit its shoulder, making it lurch, and Talos countered with rapid slashes, forcing me to backstep as I parried, each block sending a jolt through its frame. I ducked under a horizontal cut, lunging with a thrust at its chest, aiming for the central processor. It twisted away, its sword snapping down at my arm, but Vhonte’s bolt struck its back, forcing it to disengage again. I rose; exploding up as I drove a hanging guard up to redirect Talos’s blade to the side; a quick wrist flick bringing my blade around to cut at its neck; it's arm rose in a blue my beskar clanging against it's arm; I dashed back as it's blade came around in a reverse edge strike at my temple.

  An opening appeared. Talos overextended, its sword thrusting too far at my chest as Vhonte’s shot clipped its hip, staggering it. I sidestepped, the Force guiding my feet, and took a single step back, my boots crunching on the forest floor. I reached out with the Force, a pulse of raw energy surging up from my core, and shoved. Talos flew backward, crashing into a pine tree with a splintering crack, needles raining down.

  I darted forward, a blur of motion, my beskad raised high. The Force fueled my speed, my muscles coiling as I brought the blade down in a wrath strike. Vhonte fired, her bolt hitting Talos’s chest, sparking brightly, and my blade slammed into its right shoulder joint, shearing through servos with a grinding screech. Sparks flew, and the droid’s arm went limp, its sparring sword clattering to the ground, deactivated.

  “Stop!” I barked, my voice sharp through my helmet.

  Talos froze, its optics dimming to a dull red as the combat sim shut down. Its frame slumped against the tree, one arm dangling uselessly, the other still gripping its sword. I stood over it, chest heaving, the Force still humming in my veins, my beskad steady in my hand. I glanced toward the trees where Vhonte was hidden, her presence a faint ripple in the Force, steady and focused. The teamwork of the last few weeks had been paying off, her shots had kept Talos off balance, letting me press the attack harder, faster.

  I clicked my tongue, crouching to inspect the droid’s busted arm. The shoulder joint was a wreck; twisted durasteel, severed wires sparking faintly. Nothing a replacement set and a couple of spot welds couldn’t fix. I patted Talos’s chest plate, the metal cool under my glove.

  “Not bad,” I muttered, my mind already turning to the next challenge. If I was going to face Kenobi and survive, I’d need more than a droid and a sniper. Explosives, maybe some grenades, det-packs, something to throw him off. I’d have to start training with them soon.

  That unfortunately meant going to the resident expert on explosives, and I knew Averill was going to be annoying to talk about this, but he was also smart about this and I needed miniature explosives.

  So, I needed to poke a sperg.

  Straightening up, I keyed the comms in my helmet and turned to where I could sense Vhonte.

  “Thanks for not actually hitting me this time.” I said, hearing a muttered scowl on the other end.

  “Wait, I was supposed to hit the droid?” She asked sarcastically, and I saw the faint red and gray blur that was her stand up.

  “Yes, and I'm so proud of you learning a new trick.” I replied immediately, feeling a wave of annoyance from her and a muttered ‘di'kut’ under her breath. “Hand to hand now, cause I'm game still.”

  “On the coattails of sparring with that tin can on and off for the last couple of hours and you're still wanting to spar?” She asked, closing the distance and her rifle was slung across her back.

  I just grinned under my helmet. The Force had a habit of making sleep not really an issue until, well, it put you in a 24 hour coma that results in 30 missed messages from your commanding officer and you wake with her straddling you and striking you in the face to wake up after slicing through the security locks on the door.

  Yeah, that was a rather awkward explanation. But it worked out, I didn't sleep one bit in 6 days and got in more training, and then I did it again a couple more times… just with Vhonte getting forewarning.

  “I don't need rest, remember?” I laughed, locking my Beskad back onto the maglock over my shoulder and acting like I was cracking my neck and I hopped on the balls of my feet. “What, scared to fight the Mando jetii?”

  I could almost taste the acrid feeling of indignation from her and I laughed again.

  “Well, let's dance.” I gestured for her to, and she adopted a loose combat stance in front of me.”

  She lunged first, a blur of motion, her right fist snapping toward my helmet. The Force sharpened my senses, mapping her attack, and I sidestepped left, my arm rising to deflect her wrist with my vambrace before her strike could land. Her left boot followed, a kick aimed at my knee, but I saw it coming, the Force whispering its path, and shifted right, her boot grazing the air. I countered with a quick jab at her visor, the Force fueling my speed, making my fist a streak. She leaned back, her reflexes sharp, but I pressed forward, slamming a front kick at her hip, the blow landing hard and she staggered back a step before resetting.

  Vhonte snapped a kick at my shin, but I felt it through the Force and stepped back, her boot missing. I lunged, aiming a fist at her helmet, the strike rattling her visor with a metallic thud. She pivoted, her arm hooking mine, trying to lock my elbow. I twisted free, the Force making me a blur, and aimed a low kick at her knee, catching her greave, forcing her to shift her weight. She yanked her arm back, her other boot driving a front kick at my midsection, but I sidestepped and stepped inside her guard, the Force guiding me, and countered with a sharp elbow at her visor, the impact jarring her head back.

  She ducked my next strike, her fist arcing toward my helmet, but I saw it in the Force, blocking with my vambrace, the clash ringing out. I pressed the attack, my fists flying in tight arcs, left at her visor, right at her jaw, left again at her helmet. Each strike was Force-driven, fast enough to blur, and Vhonte struggled to keep up, her blocks slower, her armor groaning under a front kick I landed on her thigh, pushing her back another step. She took a few steps back, trying to reorient herself before then darting forward again.

  Vhonte snapped a jab at my helmet, but I leaned back, her fist grazing the air, and countered with a front kick at her hip, the impact slamming into her armor with a metallic screech, forcing her back again. She hopped back, her boots digging into the dirt, and charged, her fists hammering with each aimed at my helmet. The Force mapped her attacks, and I parried, my arms a blur, each block precise, keeping her strikes from landing. Her kicks came next, targeting my thighs, but I sidestepped each one, the Force guiding my movements, and countered with a fist to her jaw, the strike rattling her helmet, pushing her back further.

  She grabbed my arm before I could pull it back, twisting it in a lock, her strength forcing me to adjust, but I broke free, the Force making me a blur, and aimed a high kick at her helmet. She blocked with her forearm, the impact echoing and her arm trembling from the force. She snapped a punch at my visor, but I sidestepped, the Force guiding my feet, and landed a quick jab at her helmet, then another at her jaw, each blow jarring her, her balance wavering. Vhonte countered with a front kick at my hip, but I saw it coming, stepping aside, and slammed a double-palm strike at her chest, the impact shoving her back another step, her boots scraping the dirt.

  The fight was a storm of motion, my strikes a rapid blur, too fast for any onlooker to track. I pressed forward, the Force surging, my fists and elbows slashing in tight arcs aimed at her visor, jaw, and side of her helmet. Vhonte met each one, her counters fast, but she was losing ground, her blocks sluggish, her armor creaking under my relentless kicks and strikes, each hit forcing her back. She wasn’t making it easy. Her strikes were still heavy, each punch to my helmet still rattling my vision and making my ears ring, but the Force gave me the edge, letting me dodge or deflect her attacks while my blows landed harder, pushing her steadily onto the back foot.

  I feinted a punch at her visor, then dropped low, aiming a kick at her knee. She jumped back, clearing the strike, but her landing was unsteady, and I sprang up, slamming a fist at her visor. Her arm dropped, blocking, but the blow hit hard and her stance faltered.

  The fight raged on, a blur of motion in the clearing, the air thick with pine and damp earth. My fists and kicks hammered at Vhonte, the Force fueling my speed, each strike a streak too fast for any onlooker to follow. She was losing ground, her blocks sluggish, her armor creaking under my front kicks to her hips and thighs, each hit pushing her back.

  Vhonte lunged desperately, her right fist snapping at my visor. I sidestepped, the Force mapping her attack, and countered with a jab to her helmet, the blow rattling her. She grabbed my arm, twisting it in a grapple, her strength clamping down like a vise. I felt the lock tighten, but the Force surged through me, and I broke free, spinning out of her grip in a blur. Her left fist arced toward my helmet, but I slipped it, the Force guiding my dodge, and drove my elbow upward into her chin. The impact cracked through her armor, a sharp jolt echoing in the clearing.

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  Vhonte dropped, her body going slack, her presence in the Force vanishing like a snuffed flame. She hit the ground with a thud, limbs limp, armor clattering on the dirt. I stood over her, chest heaving, and let out a laugh of triumph, the sound sharp in the quiet forest. I waited, the Force still humming in my veins, watching for any twitch.

  Five seconds passed, then ten. Her presence flickered back, a jumbled mess of surface thoughts; disoriented, hazy. She stirred, her movements unsteady, and pushed herself to her knees, her helmet tilting as she swayed. I stepped back, easing my stance.

  “Let’s call it,” I said, voice calm through my helmet. “You’re done.”

  She growled, low and annoyed, and lunged to her feet, wobbling but defiant. Her high kick snapped toward my face, a streak of red and gray. I slipped it, the Force guiding me under the strike, and grabbed her extended leg, yanking hard. I flung her over me, pivoting in the same motion, and jumped as she hit the ground, landing on her back. I locked her in a rear naked chokehold, my arm tightening around her neck, the Force steadying my grip. She thrashed, elbows jabbing, legs kicking, but I held firm, squeezing until her movements slowed. Her hand slapped the dirt, tapping out.

  I rolled off, springing to a light combat stance, and offered my hand. She waved it off, muttering, “No. Dizzy.” Her voice was rough, strained. She popped off her helmet, tossing it aside, and dropped her head into her hands, her crimson braids spilling loose.

  I laughed, sitting beside her on the forest floor, and pulled off my own helmet, the cool air hitting my face. Vhonte groaned into her hands, her shoulders hunched. “I can feel my pulse in my teeth,” she muttered, glaring at me through her fingers.

  I patted her knee, grinning.

  “You’ll live.” Her glare sharpened, but I shrugged. “Not like my ears aren’t ringing. You hit harder than anyone I’ve fought. Even the Zabrak I killed.”

  I paused, the words hanging between us, and tilted my head. “How the hell do you hit that hard?”

  Vhonte went quiet, her thoughts churning, a faint ripple in the Force. She lifted her head, wincing, and met my eyes. “My brother taught me a martial art. Ter?s K?si. It's a…” She paused as she looked at me closer.

  I had frozen for a moment, the name hitting like a blaster bolt. Ter?s K?si. It made so much damn sense. Her presence in the Force during fights, sharper, more distinct, like metal half-forged on an anvil. No wonder she hit like a hammer. I kept my face neutral, but my mind raced, memories from my old life on Earth flooding back; texts, vids, scraps of lore about Ter?s K?si, a martial art that could let non-Force users dent durasteel, react fast enough to challenge Jedi.

  Vhonte squinted at me, her head still tilted, pain etching her features. “You recognize it,” she said, not a question. “Don’t you?”

  I shrugged, leaning back on my hands, keeping my tone casual. “Yeah. Basic stuff. Heard it lets masters of it dent durasteel, react fast enough to hurt Jedi. That’s about it.”

  I was lying through my teeth. I knew more, way more, from my old life, but she didn’t need to know that. She nodded, wincing again, and rubbed her jaw. “That’s basically it. I’m just a beginner. My brother though, he can crack plastoid armour with a punch.”

  I raised an eyebrow, letting out a low whistle. “Crack plastoid? Damn.” I kept my voice light, but inside, I was recalculating. A beginner with her kind of power was trouble enough. Her brother, that burly ass clan head, would be a nightmare.

  She groaned again, dropping her head back into her hands, and I chuckled, the tension easing. The forest was quiet around us, the stars pricking through the darkening sky. My ears still rang from her punches, but the Force kept me steady, cutting down on the brain fog you get after taking a little too many hits too quickly.

  After a minute or so of silence, Vhonte looked at me. “What do I feel like when we fight? You said you can feel different moods.”

  I let out a single huff of a laugh. “I was just thinking how different you feel to others. It's, shab, I still don't have good words for this because it's like explaining the difference between the colour of your eyes and hair to a species that can't see colour.”

  She glanced down at the bottom of her right braid at that, then her eyes flicked back to mine. “That difficult?”

  “More… distinct.” I settled on going with what I had thought before. Then, to help illustrate, I pulled out my beskad, then let go of it, the blade held vertical and about two inches above my palm as I held it with the Force. “I can feel every inch of this blade as I keep it hovering with my mind. I can feel the spine of it, the flat of it, its weight, how cold it is, the rough etching of the words in it, and the edge. Because I'm so used to thinking of it in the context of what I know it feels like with my hand, it filters as such in my head.”

  “So, that feels like a beskad to you?” She asked, probably to clarify she understood.

  “Yes.” I nodded, letting it drop and set it horizontally across my lap. “Same goes for armour and other material stuff.”

  “And people?”

  “Emotions or the touch of 'people' are different, and those who are like me in using the Force are a lot more touchable so to speak.”

  “You've met others like you?” She asked, already intrigued but she leaned closer now. “Who?”

  I felt the icy claws always at the edge of my mind close tighter, encasing me in a very loose but noticeable cage, my left eye twitching and the phantom sensation of the Force bond snapping making my fists clench.

  “A 5 year old slave.” I said, trying as hard as I could to wrestle the beast's claws back and veered the subject away from that. “But fighting you is when you actually feel somewhere in between. You stand out a lot more compared to most others I feel.”

  “Heh,” She grinned, teeth flashing. “If I didn't know better, I'd think Kan'ika has a crush.”

  “Don't call me that.” I said immediately. “Only one person gets to.”

  Her smile didn't quite disappear, but she got the message loud and clear. “Gotcha, Kane.”

  “So, back to Ter?s K?si. What actually is involved with the training?”

  “Meditation and a proper mindset.” Vhonte said, shifting her legs where they were now crossed. “Hezi can do it a lot better than me, and he's not even a master. Masters of it can even heal injuries and stop poisons from what he said.”

  There was my opening.

  “That… sounds exactly like the meditation practices Jetii do.” I said slowly, and I could almost taste the emotion behind her scowl. “Hey, those are the techniques I use and that's why I can smack you into the ground.”

  “Ter?s K?si is definitely not a jetii school of thought.” Vhonte shot back, looking genuinely a bit annoyed at the comparison. “And you did not smack me into the ground. That was a solid fight and I'm 16 going up against basically a jetii, so pardon me for losing.”

  “You dropped like I flipped a light switch in your head and I'm like 13.” I pointed out, smirking as her face flushed. “And sure, I can fight like a jetii, but you're still losing to someone a head shorter than you.”

  Yeah, I could feel an undercurrent of embarrassment mixed with frustration. That seemed to touch a bit of a nerve, so best not be a full ass.

  “Mockery aside, there's only one person I've sparred with that's better than you and that's Pre.”

  She looked full on skeptical at that, so I sighed.

  “Reminder again that I killed a Zabrack, Vhonte.” I deadpanned. “A male Zabrack. Probably your brother's size. And I tore someone's face off by punching them repeatedly. If I were to bet, I've probably killed more people up close than you.”

  That also didn't include my previous experience as a marine. From a perspective of pure experience and how I was in for the better part of half a decade, I had more combat experience than anyone that wasn't a full Mando'ad above 25 years old or so.

  “What does it say that you are a human and maybe, hmmm, 60 or 70 kilos? And you are hitting harder than a Zabrack your brother's size.”

  She couldn't help but grin at that in spite of herself.

  “We got sidetracked.” I said, veering back to the previous subject. “Back to Ter?s K?si. It almost sounds to me like some of the meditation exercises done to tap into the Force, which makes sense because technically everybody is connected.”

  “Wait, what?” She raised a brow, probably not understanding. “I'm not sure I follow.”

  “You and everybody and every thing is connected to the Force.” I explained, flicking my hand and pulling up a clump of grass and dirt that I then compressed into a ball with another flex of my fingers, the clump hovering between us. “Including this clump of grass. You don't have a strong enough connection to do what I can, but everybody has at least some connection to it. And Ter?s K?si seems to exploit that so you channel the Force and can move faster and hit harder. Make sense?”

  Vhonte stared at me for a second, then nodded.

  “Good,” I nodded in return, dropping the dirt back to the ground, “So I'm guessing you're going to ask your brother for more lessons so you can keep up with me?” I asked with a grin.

  Vhonte's foot kicked out lightly at mine, but she was smiling. “Careful, I'm still your commanding officer.”

  I just gave a knowing grin.

  For now.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  The evening sky hung low, bruised with streaks of purple and gold as the sun dipped below the treeline. Pre and I trekked through the woods, our boots crunching on a carpet of pine needles and damp earth. The air was cool, sharp with the scent of sap, moss, and the faint tang of decaying leaves. Each of us carried a slug thrower, hand-crafted by Pre and his brother Tor years prior. Which, yeah, Tor Vizsla, fanatical leader of Death Watch and who was killed by Jango Fett, was Pre's elder brother.

  But as for Pre, he’d finally carved out an evening away from the endless meetings, strategy sessions, and the constant grind of preparing for what was coming. Moments like this, him and me, out here, away from the base and the weight of our duties and responsibilities, were rare, and I wasn’t about to waste it. The forest felt alive around us, its quiet hum a stark contrast to the clamor of the base. I could feel it through the Force, a steady pulse of life weaving through the trees. Small creatures darted through the underbrush and I could hear the distant rustle of something larger moving in the shadows.

  Pre led the way, his stride easy but deliberate, navigating a narrow path between the trees. His presence was a constant, like the ground beneath my feet, and I matched his pace, the slug thrower resting easy in my hands. The weapon was a little heavier than usual, but it felt familiar like my M27, almost. I sighed, still distinctly remembering when it got destroyed by a round clean through the lower and I got killed.

  A deeply drawn breath and exhale by Pre pulled me from those thoughts.

  He sighed loudly after exhaling, looking around as we continued walking. “This reminds me of when I would go hunting with my father and brother, Kan'ika. Nothing but our rifles and armour, guided by the sun and stars.”

  This was one of the few times Pre was totally relaxed, and it was a bit jarring. But I would never complain, because I had grown to have a deep and strong respect for him over the last year that I had trained under him and been freed from the arena. He had fed, clothed, and trained me, tutoring me as a son.

  And as such, I would respect him as a son would respect their father.

  “Sounds like it was a good time.” I replied.

  “Best of times.” Pre continued, blue eyes flicking across the treeline and then I felt his mood darken. “Unfortunate that Tor was a fool in fighting Mereel.”

  That piqued my interest. There is a difference between reading about such events in lore books in a past life compared to hearing it from the brother of one of the chief participants of the last round of Mandalorian civil conflicts.

  “What would you have done instead?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “Exactly what is being done now,” Pre said firmly. “Discard Death Watch as the unnecessary relic it is and direct our attention at the existential threat our division has allowed on our doorstep. I would have done as Mereel did, but I don't have his luxury of fighting a hated enemy. Adonai was once Mando'ad, a man I shed blood beside, but he has let himself forget what makes us who we are. And now vode will kill vode once again.”

  As much as I enjoyed conflict, it was only towards an actual enemy. A war among kin and comrades was never pleasant, and this was one of them.

  And that raised a question. “When do you expect the conflict to happen?”

  “6 months if we are fortunate.” Pre said flatly, tone going cold as we kept walking. “But we are far more prepared and equipped for this conflict than they are. You will have passed your Verd'goten by then.”

  We kept moving, the forest growing denser, branches brushing against our armor with soft whispers. The ground was uneven, roots and rocks half-hidden under a layer of pine needles, forcing me to watch my steps. I felt the world through the Force, its currents flowing around me, small animals skittering in the undergrowth, the slow pulse of trees, the faint stir of something larger deeper in the woods. Pre slowed, his head tilting slightly as he scanned the trees, his slug thrower still slung but his hand resting near it, ready.

  “How’s the squad treating you?” he asked, his eyes flicking toward me before returning to the forest.

  “Swimmingly,” I said, stepping over a fallen branch, the slug thrower’s strap catching briefly on my vambrace. I adjusted it, the motion automatic. “They’re solid, no issues since they learned of my abilities. Though the other platoons aren't exactly understanding the difference between me and a jetii.”

  That was an annoyance and a half lately. My platoon knew me, had trained with me, and watched me save Zeke's life. The others though, that had caused complications when outside of training when they'd see me and could potentially lead to problem in the chain of command. But as of now, it wasn't too bad.

  Pre nodded, his expression unreadable but attentive. “And Tervho?” he asked, his tone shifting, probing, like he was testing the waters. “How’s it feel serving under her?”

  I shrugged, my boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. “She’s a good leader. Skilled warrior. Doesn’t mess around, but she’s fair. I respect that. She keeps us tight, focused.”

  Pre cracked a slight grin, his eyes glinting in the fading light, the gold of the sunset catching the edges of his armor. “Skill’s no surprise. She was trained by Hezek. Good man.”

  “And don't I know it.” I muttered, remembering again the sparring we'd been doing together for the last couple of weeks. It was genuinely fun and I'd consider her an actual friend at this point. She was fun to spar with and actually hang out with.

  “Oh?”

  “We've been sparring more often and training together.” I clarified, still keeping pace with his longer stride. “Best person to serve under.”

  Pre hummed at that, and we continued walking.

  My mind then shifted to other matters, back to all my preparations. The training with Malgus had escalated massively, my body still carrying the low-level aches from getting constantly struck with lightning and also further training throughout the night. It had thankfully been beneficial, but stripping the flesh off people or ripping through them was still a long time away. It unfortunately would not be helpful for use by the time conflict probably arrives in the form of the Jedi.

  “You’re thinking hard,” Pre said, glancing at me, his voice low but carrying. “What’s on your mind?”

  I shrugged, stepping over a rock half-buried in the dirt. “The war you keep talking about.”

  He nodded, his eyes scanning the trees again. “War’s not just talk. It’s coming. You’ll need to be ready, Verd’goten or not.”

  “I know,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant. The Verd’goten was supposed to be my proving ground, but war was something else. I’d faced it before, bathed in it, nearly drowned in it at times, but this would be bigger. Messier. I pushed the thought down, focusing on the weight of the slug thrower and the feel of the forest under my feet.

  Pre slowed, his head tilting left. I noticed it too, a pulse of life, strong and steady, just beyond a cluster of pines. My eyes followed his, catching movement in a small clearing. A massive creature grazed there, its shaggy hide dappled gray, four curved horns jutting from a broad skull. It looked like a cow crossed with a bison, heavy and solid, oblivious to us. A krelvox, Pre called it.

  “Docile, mostly,” he said, unshouldering his slug thrower with a smooth motion. “Good eating. Take the shot.”

  I lifted my slug thrower, the stock settling against my shoulder. The weight was familiar, too familiar, like the M27 I’d used. I aligned the sights, the krelvox’s flank steady in my view. The Force sharpened my focus, steadying my hands. I exhaled and squeezed the trigger. The slug fired with a sharp crack, the recoil jolting my arm. The krelvox dropped, legs buckling, a clean hit through the chest.

  We waited, counting a minute in silence, watching for any twitch or sudden bolt. The creature stayed down, its breathing gone. “Good shot,” Pre said, handing me a vibroknife from his belt. “Your kill, your job. Start gutting.”

  I rolled my eyes, taking the knife. “Yes, buir.”

  I knelt beside the krelvox, its hide warm under my gloves. The blade sliced cleanly, parting fur and flesh, and I worked methodically, carving out the entrails by starting at severing the trachea. Blood stained my hands, the smell sharp and metallic, but I kept my focus, the task second nature from years in the arena. As I cut, my mind drifted back to when I had first done this, when we had been cut off after an ambush and had to kill some of the local wildlife for food until we linked back up.

  I finished up the gutting and then we dragged the krelvox to the edge of the clearing, tying it to a sled Pre had rigged from branches and cord. The slug throwers stayed slung across our backs.

  We then started the long trek back to base, Pre and I both pulling on the sled albeit with me using the Force to bolster my body. The area was thankfully somewhat flat where we had put the sled and got back to the small speeder we parked at the forest clearing to haul any kill we got. With a quick count to 3, we lifted it and put it in the back, then hopped into the speeder.

  Before he started it, Pre patted me on the shoulder.

  “A fine shot.” He said with a subdued but proud smile. “Learning as well as any Mando'ad out there.”

  I couldn't help but feel warm and fuzzy at that. Compliments from a mentor, and Pre was that and more, never got old and were always good to hear.

  Then I felt a shift in his emotions, very faint as he was always difficult to read. And his expression shifted.

  “I do have something to ask of you, Kan'ika.” He said, and my attention focused fully on him. “Adonai Kryze’s heir, Torin, came to me with his youngest sister. Neither support Adonai's goal, but no son would ever wish to go against their father.”

  That… had my attention. Youngest daughter that didn't support her dad. I could already guess who that daughter was.

  “And what did he want?” I asked.

  “For his sister to be protected.” Pre replied, starting the speeder but remaining idle. “Her name is Bo-Katan. She's around your age, intelligent, and driven. I trust that if your platoon does not have problems with your… abilities, there will be minimal tension with her circumstances.”

  So, I was correct. Bo-Katan. Around my age, so yeah I could work with that.

  “So you're wanting me to watch out for her in my platoon and I assume Vhonte will also not have a problem with it.” I stated, not as a question.

  Pre nodded. “I trust that you hold to what a Mando should, to not judge one by their blood.”

  I would be terribly hypocritical and have to condemn myself otherwise. I didn't inherit my black hair or narrow face from exactly a good source, and that source was far worse than a misguided Alor wanting to look out for his family and clan.

  “I will judge her only on her own abilities and herself, not the mistakes of her father.”

  It was only a slight shift in his expression, but it was more than enough to see that Pre was proud of that. He then pressed forward and accelerated back towards the base, leaving behind the woods.

  We reached the base’s perimeter as the stars burned brighter, the floodlights casting shadows across the duracrete. The gate guard scanned our ident-chips, the barrier sliding open with a low hum. We hauled the krelvox to the processing shed, leaving it for the night crew. Pre clapped my shoulder as we parted, his grip firm. “Get some rest, Kan’ika. Big days ahead.”

  “Elek, buir.” I nodded, sticking to Mando'a for that as a matter of deferment. His hand then fell from my shoulder and I took the repulsor-lift to my quarters, made my way down the hall, keyed in the code, then entered.

  Unfortunately for Pre, my concept of rest was different than what he or most intended.

  Taking a deep breath, both physical and mental, I drank from the Force like a man in desperate need of water. The world around me sharpened, everything cast into a shimmering clarity as I went to ground, crossing my legs and reaching out with my hand, summoning the holocron to me. With a flex of my will, it opened and the towering form of my teacher flickered into existence, gazing down upon me, cloaked in the frigid and inky black power of the Dark Side.

  “Again, apprentice?”

  I nodded.

  “Again, master.”

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  End chapter: