Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Months had passed since the Mantis crew's intense battle with the Freedom Fighters on Ryloth. Since then, they had been lying low, taking on smaller missions, hitting the Empire where they could. But no matter how far they traveled, the Haxion Brood seemed to be a constant shadow. The criminal syndicate had been relentless, attempting to capture or kill the crew at every turn. The crew had finally decided to hit back. Cere, through careful gathering of intel, had uncovered the location of a hidden Haxion Brood base deep within an asteroid field. This was where they would strike.

Cal moved swiftly through the asteroid field, leaping from rock to rock with BD-1 perched on his shoulder. The droid chirped excitedly as it scanned ahead, helping him navigate the treacherous terrain. The two had disembarked from the Mantis, leaving the ship behind to avoid triggering the base’s alarms. The plan was to infiltrate the base unnoticed.

"Everything okay, BD?" Cal asked in a low voice. The droid responded with a series of upbeat beeps, assuring him that all was clear.

Cal jumped to the next asteroid, the jagged rocks giving way to the faint silhouette of the Haxion Brood compound in the distance. The dark, ominous structure sat hidden between the floating asteroids, a testament to the Brood’s secrecy.

"I'm almost in position," Merrin's voice came through the comms. She had taken a separate route to ensure they could strike from multiple angles. Her magick allowed her to navigate the asteroids with ease, her dark figure blending into the shadows as she neared the compound.

Cal nodded to himself, the tension building as the mission came into focus. With a few more agile jumps, he landed on a platform just beside the base's main entrance. The glow of the compound’s lights flickered against the dark sky of space.

"We’re ready to strike," Cal whispered into the comm, gripping his lightsaber as the door to the base loomed before him.

Cal and Merrin moved swiftly and silently toward the Haxion Brood base. Merrin, always more comfortable from a distance, took the high ground, while Cal maneuvered through the shadows below. As he darted between the rocks and debris, a Brood hunter suddenly appeared from around a corner, and they collided. The hunter’s eyes widened in recognition as he realized who he had bumped into.

"Don’t do anything stupid," Cal warned, already feeling the tension in the air.

The Brood hunter’s hand twitched toward his blaster, but before he could act, Cal’s lightsaber hummed to life, and the hunter fell to the ground in a silent heap. The encounter was over in a blink, but the comms crackled to life as Merrin’s voice cut through.

"Did you live, Jedi?" she asked, her tone dry with amusement, clearly aware of what had just gone down.

Cal smirked, unable to resist teasing her back. "Did you hear something, Beedee?" he asked his droid, who chirped curiously from his shoulder. "Sounded like someone was worried about us," he added, his voice playful.

"Must have been your imagination," Merrin responded smoothly, the smile evident in her tone. "I simply grow tired of always coming to your rescue."

Cal chuckled softly. The banter brought a moment of levity to the tense mission, but it didn’t last long.

"If we’re done here," Cere’s voice came through the comms, her usual calm yet commanding presence cutting through the conversation, "Cal, how long until you’re in position?"

"Almost there," Cal replied, his tone shifting back to focus.

Merrin stood on the roof of the Brood base and gnashed her teeth. The Brood was an annoyance, a pest that refused to politely die off or at the very least find more appealing prey. Missions like this were a necessary part of life on the Mantis; it was difficult to fight the bigger fights when droid bounty hunters called Blorp (Greez had said that was his name) kept trying to blow your head off at unexpected intervals. But to Merrin, they were a distraction from her larger, more important goal: destroying those responsible for destroying Merrin’s heart. At all costs. Still, the Blorps of the galaxy had caught up with them yet again, so here they were, on some dead rock in the Outer Rim, attempting to claim their own bounty from the hunters who hunted them. It was fair game. “Does no one else find it bizarre that the outer ring was deserted?” Merrin asked over comms. “They’re probably all drunk as skeezumps in the cantina.” Greez’s drawl was clear in her ear. Merrin could picture him back on the Mantis, his feet up on the dash, waiting for the rest of the team to finish their work. “What in the galaxy is a skeezump?” Cal sounded out of breath; he was likely hanging by his arms at that very moment from some rocky handhold with nothing but empty air for kilometers beneath him. “You know, a skeezump,” said Greez, as if that should answer all their questions. “You guys don’t have those where you’re from?” “They’re all over Lateron,” Greez explained with new enthusiasm. “Fuzzy-lookin’ things. Somethin’ about their digestion ferments everything they eat. Blitzed outta their minds all hours of the day and night. Not great pets.” While Merrin listened to the chatter of the crew, she walked across the base’s roof, scanning the ground for anything that looked like an entrance. Not long after they landed and rendezvoused with Cal, he’d raced across the single, spindly bridge separating the outer ring from the central base, then launched himself headfirst down the sheer cliff face supporting the building. He was now scrambling around the lower exterior of the base, searching for another way inside that would cause the least amount of disruption and potential death to the Mantis crew. Using her Nightsister magick, Merrin had made herself invisible and run, her powers augmenting her speed, to climb to the base’s roof, searching for the same thing. There was power in having more than one entrance and exit at any given moment; limiting yourself, on a stealth mission, to one escape route was a fool’s game. Far too risky. Cere, brilliant with technology, kept an eye on the mechanisms that kept the base running. One ask, and she could have any turbolift running, any door open in a flash—anything that BD-1 was too far away with Cal to handle, or was too complex. Greez kept the engine running, their getaway driver; and when all went to plan, they would be far, far away from this place before it surrendered to the vacuum. They had settled into a rhythm, this strange crew, over the years. They didn’t have the power of an army behind them; they were more of—what had Cere called them?—a strike team, able to get in and out of situations quickly and quietly, leaving as much destruction behind them as they possibly could. Greez, their weird little pilot, the best Merrin had ever known (though, admittedly, she hadn’t met that many since leaving Dathomir), always ready to fly them in and out of danger with an unending string of complaints that never stopped him from doing his best work. BD-1, the little droid who was so nauseatingly cute it made Merrin want to hug him until she crushed him to death (she settled for sassing him with regularity). Cere, impressively aligned with the Force, the most even-keeled of the group, the one who saw the big picture. The closest thing to an elder sister that Merrin had left in the universe.

And of course Cal, the Jedi, a fellow survivor who made an alliance with a Nightsister. Together they were the light and the dark. Cal was the star that illuminated Merrin’s shadow. His earnest face, pale for a human, dusted with darker spots. Scars crossing his nose and eyebrow that spoke of a hard life. Hair like burnished copper, always pushed up and back out of his green eyes in a way that seemed to defy gravity. His smiles came quick and easy, like his connection to the Force. Over the last few years, Merrin saw something different in Cal almost every time she looked at him. Sometimes he was the hardened warrior leader of their crew, bent on vengeance. Other times, though he tried his best to hide it, Cal was the scared and lonely Jedi on the run. He was dedicated, but equally dedicated to his cause and to his crew. He was so sweet. It was kind of annoying. Merrin had lived among only Dathomirians for most of her life; before her clan had been so brutally decimated during what Cal referred to as the Clone Wars, she had known mostly other Nightsisters. In the years before Cal had found her, she’d first been alone, and then subjected to the rantings of the fallen Jedi Taron Malicos and his cult of Nightbrothers. Merrin often found herself reflecting on the bond she had developed with Cal Kestis. From the moment they met, there had been something unspoken between them—a connection that only deepened over time. Cal was different from anyone else she had ever encountered. He always seemed to know when she needed someone, even if she wasn’t aware of it herself. Whether it was keeping her company during sleepless nights on the Mantis or offering a reassuring word when her past weighed heavily on her, Cal was there.

At first, his attention had been a nuisance, a disruption to her solitude. But as the nights passed, Merrin began to anticipate his quiet presence, finding comfort in their late-night conversations. His company became something she looked forward to, even when she knew he was pushing past his own exhaustion to be there for her.

She couldn't ignore the connection she felt with him, a bond that grew stronger with each shared moment. But there was always a barrier—a reminder of the Jedi teachings she overheard him and Cere discussing. Jedi were forbidden from forming attachments, and despite the undeniable tension between them, Cal seemed determined to uphold that code.

Every time she got too close, or when their hands brushed accidentally, Cal would turn awkward, his face flushing red as if caught doing something wrong. It was frustrating, and yet, it made her care for him even more. She understood why he held back, why he kept his distance, but that didn’t make it any easier for her to accept.

For now, Merrin resigned herself to burying these feelings, hiding them away in the recesses of her heart. She wasn’t sure if Cal felt the same or if he was simply too bound by his Jedi principles to admit it. Either way, she wasn’t ready to risk losing the closeness they shared, even if it meant keeping her growing affection hidden. Merrin sighed as she scanned the rest of the roof; she was simply having no luck here, either. “No entry from this zone,” she reported, interrupting the chatter of her crew for a crucial mission update. On this section of the roof, she could see no vents or other access channels; she’d have to keep up the search elsewhere. “Repositioning.” Merrin peered over the roof of the base, down onto the level below. The base had clearly been built up over time, new additions at all different heights. The roof below her wasn’t navigable by foot; too many hazards belching skin-meltingly hot steam, edges sharp as a knife, gaps too wide for even Cal to jump. But Merrin had other ways of traveling. She closed her eyes. She willed herself to become unseen. In the darkness, everything lit up green; the luminescent green of Dathomir’s core, of the magick that ran through Merrin’s veins. She felt the visible parts of herself dissolve like parchment fed to a fire. She appeared on the far end of the base roof now, surrounded by vents billowing steam. The edges of her long red tunic were immediately caught up in the air blasts, sending it flying upward toward her chest. Merrin threw an arm over her eyes to protect them from any debris that might also be flying up with it. “Found the central heat distribution,” reported Merrin. “Cere?” “On it,” came the response in seconds. Cal breathed heavily into his comms. Merrin imagined him running sideways across a vertical surface, leaping for the next one, making it. “Wish you could teach me how to do that,” he said in a tone Merrin recognized as only half joking. “All your fire would come from your hair,” Merrin answered as she waited for Cere to shut down one of the vents. “You would disappear from the top down, just consumed by—” “Where the hell did you come from?” a voice behind her interrupted. Merrin spun and found herself face-to-face with the dangerous end of a bounty hunter’s flamethrower. She wore one of those hideous bucket helmets, with a heavy jetpack strapped to her back. Merrin couldn’t tell how much of her was cells versus circuitry. Deremo. Damn. Foolish mistake. Cere— Thank the lords of Dathomir that Cere was so locked into the Force; it was like she knew exactly what Merrin wanted before she even got the words out of her mouth. A superheated jet of steam came exploding out of the vent immediately between Merrin and the mercenary, giving Merrin just enough time to burst into flame. Out of sight and back in, running and revealing herself behind the hunter before she’d finished regaining her balance from the backward impact of the steam vent. Merrin quickly eyed the hunter’s back; she had a fuel canister connected to both her jetpack and her weapon. Speaking of foolish mistakes. Moving quickly, Merrin lunged forward, yanking the connecting cable free from the fuel cell. Liquid accelerant splashed down across the hunter’s legs and the ground at the same moment the hunter came roaring around, finger on her flamethrower’s trigger. Merrin burned out of and into sight again, reappearing on a roof above just in time to see the flames ignite the accelerant by the hunter’s feet. Merrin didn’t look away as the hunter was consumed by the very flames that were meant to protect her. Once her screams had ceased, Merrin hopped back down from the ledge. The charred remains smelled…well. They reminded Merrin of home. She smiled. “Thank you,” she said over comms, knowing Cere would be listening. “I’m heading in.” The metal of the heat distribution vents was still warm under Merrin’s palms as she shimmied her way down the venting system toward the central core of the Brood’s headquarters. This wasn’t the worst pipe she’d ever had to crawl through in her time as part of the crew of the Mantis, but still. It didn’t make the shuffling-through-vents part of the job any more fun. But their goal was quick, quiet, and simple; there was no point in fighting through hordes of bounty hunters if they didn’t have to. This base had been terrorizing nearby systems in the Outer Rim for cycles, not to mention serving as the launching point for countless Haxion Brood members who had hunted the Mantis. Cere had described it as “very virtuous” of them to be stopping, but Merrin would just be happy to be rid of the annoyance of the Brood constantly catching up to them. There was meant to be a critical mass of Brood here today after finishing a raid. The sooner they returned this place to the hell it was before some fools decided to resettle a crushed planet, the better. And the easiest way to do that was to plant charges inside the base to ensure maximum destruction, set them, and run. Efficient. Just the way Merrin liked it. Especially on days she wanted to end. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of yanking herself forward on her stomach—it was going to take her an age to get the grease stains out of her tunic, its red hung on to everything—she spotted the end of the vent system, right where Greez had predicted it would be in their pre-mission planning session. Perfect. “I’m nearly in position,” she reported. “Same,” Cal’s voice came back just a moment later. “Coming in from below. Let’s scope the best locations for the charges, and—” Cal went silent. Merrin frowned. Cal was almost never silent. “And…?” she prompted, hoping her comm had merely dropped the signal for a second. There was another pause. Merrin kept pulling herself forward toward the slatted vent cover again. Cal’s voice came back, quieter this time. “I think I know why the outer ring was so deserted.” With a grunt, Merrin dragged herself forward the last of the way. “Oh?” She grabbed at the vent, pulling herself to peer through the slats. “And why is—” She didn’t have to finish her sentence. The center circle of the Brood base—the bull’s-eye, the most valuable location: the cantina—was full. Two groups, split down the middle by garb into dark and light, like two sides of a coin. Behind the bar, every Brood member currently on the base. Bounty hunters, commandos, bounty droids. Dark and oily and grimy and…Brood-y. Cautiously serving drinks. And on the other side of the bar, gleaming like the karking sun in this forsaken place: a legion of bright, white, shiny stormtroopers. Just…standing there. Like they were having a nice little chat. One of them was drinking, doing so through a little induction port in the front of their helmet. Just sucking away on a little straw. Stormtroopers. Right there in the Haxion Brood’s bar. “Oh,” Merrin said again, sounding like an absolute genius. “That’s new.”

Chapter Text

There wasn’t a lot out there that surprised Cal Kestis anymore, really. After so many years on the run from the Empire and the Brood and whoever Greez had managed to piss off in a bar that week, Cal felt like he was virtually unable to be surprised anymore. He was also so used to his Force sensitivity alerting him in advance when something was hinky—it was just hard to sneak up on a Jedi. Cal scanned the cantina quickly, feeling BD-1 craning over his shoulder for a better view. After a perilous and precarious journey clambering around the rocky spire holding the base aloft, Cal had found his way into the facility through a service entrance buried in the asteroid far below the base. After dispatching one Brood commando with a green helmet and a mouth that wouldn’t shut up for two seconds until it had to, it was easy to sneak into the lower supply room with a ladder and hatch that led up to the bar. Cal carefully pushed the hatch up slightly, just enough for him to peer through without drawing any unwanted attention. From his low vantage point, Cal could mostly just make out a lot of feet. On one side of the bar, the side with the bottles: a varied assortment of boots, cybernetic feet, and droid legs. On the other: a forest of sparkling white boot covers in that nice plastoid that smelled sugary sweet when it made contact with the burning tip of a lightsaber, a smell Cal wished he hadn’t had to get to know so well. He did a quick count: maybe ten bounty hunters, as many as they’d expected, and at least double that many troopers. Not great odds against a Jedi and a witch.

“What are they doing here?” said Merrin. “Did something happen?” Greez asked at the same time. “Stormtroopers.” Cal answered Greez first. “This changes nothing, we stick to the plan,” Cere quickly replied over comms. Greez blew air out through his mouth, lips flapping in a sigh. “ ’Cause why not, right? Why the hell not.” “Are they…talking?” Merrin sounded more curious than concerned. Cere was clearly uninterested. “It doesn’t matter. Set the charges and get back to the Mantis.” “You really don’t want to know what they’re doing here?” Cal responded, while attempting to figure out the next best move. He was good at changing plans on the fly; it was one of his better skills. From necessity. “There weren’t any Imperial ships in range; we’d have caught them on sensors.” “Ehhhh,” Greez countered. “There’re a lot of floating rocks to hide behind here. I’m just one guy.” “Of course I want to know.” Cere’s voice was calm, given the circumstances. “But what are we going to do, ask them? Set the charges and get out. Don’t be fancy. We’re not here for them.” Cal sighed. As usual, Cere was right. He did have a tendency to get carried away when he didn’t need to. Why waste energy on a fight he didn’t have to fight? “All right,” Cal agreed. “Let’s—” Just then the hatch was thrown wide open. One of the Haxion Brood stood over the opening, calling out to someone at the bar, “We got more Bantha Blasters in the deep freeze—” The bounty hunter looked down and froze, staring straight at the Jedi and droid clinging tight to the ladder that led down into the supply rooms. Cal stared up at the bounty hunter. Cal grinned. “Hi, there.” In a matter of seconds, the bar exploded. And not in the way Cal and the crew had originally planned. The bounty hunter roared “Jedi!,” followed by the sound of countless weapons being unholstered; a flurry of stomping feet at Cal’s eye level; a shouting of orders through the stormtroopers’ voice filtering units; the whirring of droid gears; glasses shattering on the ground. And through his comms, louder than all the growing din above him, Merrin’s voice: “Perfect.” For once, it was devoid of sarcasm. Pushing off the ladder, Cal launched into the air and, at the peak of his jump, reached out and shoved underneath him with the Force, propelling himself up and over the bewildered bounty hunter’s head before the mercenary could even grab his weapon. With a flip, Cal landed behind the hunter, his lightsaber already in his hand. When the blue blade flared to life, Cal could feel the heat of it radiating back onto his face. The only warmth this place had ever seen. Cal slashed his blade across in front of him, swung it back, and used the momentum to spin, cutting across the hunter’s back a second time in quick succession, his other hand hitting the ground in front of him to maintain his balance. The hunter fell forward down the open hatch like a sack of bricks—cybernetically enhanced bricks, but still—as Cal hopped back onto his feet, twirling his lightsaber back into a ready position to take on whoever was next. The answer: a room full of awestruck stormtroopers who were decidedly not expecting to run into a Jedi in a Haxion Brood base on a dead rock floating through the Outer Rim, alongside a number of said Haxion Brood bounty hunters all eager to be the one who brought Cal’s head in on a platter for the prize credits. A fight against both the Brood and stormtroopers? At the same time? The chance to get some real action in, to do more than just sneak around and set charges? To put a dent in the Empire at the same time as doing literally anything else? This was a good day. Cal wasted no time. He felt his brain unfurl, opening himself fully to the Force. With the energy flowing through and around and with him, Cal felt as unstoppable as ever. Ducking into a roll to avoid incoming blasterfire, Cal threw out one of his hands, establishing his focus on the Force just long enough for it to build up and then shoving the energy away from himself, sending a group of troopers flying backward and slamming into the wall behind them. A flash in his mind, a warning: Cal twisted up quickly to catch a bolt fired from a bounty hunter on the edge of his lightsaber. Enough of his senses remained on the wall of stormtroopers to notice that Merrin had dropped down from her vent above them to finish them off in her own special way. If Cal was unnerved by Merrin at the best of times, he kind of loved thinking about how the stormtroopers must feel staring her down in their final moments. The hunter who had shot at Cal reached back for the nozzle on their flamethrower, but Cal didn’t give them the chance. He leapt to his feet and lunged forward with a powerful overhead slash, ending the hunter for good. No time to celebrate; from Cal’s right, one of the Brood’s loadlifter droids came slamming into him, charging full speed with its blocky and incredibly heavy center bulk—it was basically just a massive brick with two arms and two legs. The hit sent Cal crashing through the cantina’s wall out into the open air. He landed hard on his back—briefly hoping BD had managed to get free—and as Cal oriented himself he looked to his left. To see nothing at all. He was on the edge of the sheer cliff face surrounding the base. The wind ruffled his hair out of place. Cal swallowed. But the loadlifter was charging again. Cal rolled out of the way just in time, and watched the droid hit the brakes just before rushing themself off the cliff edge. Well, nearly. Balancing on one knee, Cal threw out an arm and helped the droid the rest of the way off the cliff. He was pretty sure he could hear a slowly fading “Kaaaaaaaark…!” from the droid’s vocoder as it fell to its doom. Cal caught his breath for a second, looking back through the hole he’d created in the cantina wall. Merrin was holding her own against the troopers, as she always did, disappearing and reappearing around them so quickly that the troopers were just shooting at one another instead of her, taking themselves out methodically and foolishly. A beep and a trill from beside him—BD-1, who had indeed leapt off his back in the nick of time. The little droid flicked his head up, and a glowing green canister came flying out of one of his myriad compartments. Cal grabbed the stim canister from midair, jabbing it into his other arm. Cal felt the stim spread cool and soothing through his veins, like sinking into an ice bath after a hard workout. The bruises on his back begin to fade and his tired and injured muscles start to knit. His heart beats faster; the combination of stimulants and healing fluids was exactly what Cal needed to get back on his feet. “What would I do without you, buddy?” Cal asked his droid. Bwee beep, BD agreed. He clambered back onto Cal’s shoulders. “I know you’re having fun, but this is getting messy. Drop the charges and go.” Cere’s voice was loud over the comms, shouting over the sounds of battle. “Back to the Mantis, right now!” Cal got back to his feet. He could do that. But on his way out he could also take out a few more goons. “The troopers are mine,” Merrin responded. From where Cal stood, on the thin rock ledge just between the shattered outer cantina wall and the sheer cliff face down into the chasm, he could watch Merrin do her thing. She’d managed to take out a sizable chunk of troopers already. It was damn impressive. But then so were most things Merrin did. It was kind of inspiring, actually. As Cal let loose the charges from his belt, kicking them down the hatch from whence he came, Cal watched Merrin bolt through the now standing-sized gap that her vent entrance had become, cracked and shattered under the weight of the group of stormtroopers Cal had pushed, leading the remaining wave of troopers away behind her. She could take the rest of them out with ease. And Cal knew Cere could support Merrin should she get into a jam with the troopers just fine on her own; they weren’t even Purge Troopers. So it was just him and the Haxion Brood bounty hunters left. Dusting himself off, Cal walked back into the cantina, where a mess of bounty hunters still stood: the Brood’s hunter variety, augmented with droid parts, jetpacks, and flamethrowers; the Brood commandos, with their massive shields and flash-bang grenades; and the Brood’s bounty droids, recklessly strong and built for charging. All just waiting for Cal to make it a fair fight. He could do that, too. Cal winked at the hunters. He held his lightsaber out in front of him and ignited its second blade.

Chapter Text

The bounty hunters had been more of a challenge than Cal was willing to admit—not impossible, but certainly not easy. The Haxion Brood was relentless, and taking out this base had become a crucial mission. Cal stepped back into the cantina, both ends of his lightsaber igniting with a sharp hum, his heart pounding.

Without warning, a shielded Brood commando charged at him. Cal barely managed to dive and roll out of the way, the ground shaking beneath him as the commando’s heavy steps pounded the floor. Rising swiftly to his feet, Cal surged forward, lightsaber held high. In one fluid motion, he brought the blade down, cutting deep into the commando’s armor, sending sparks flying as the massive figure dropped to the ground.

Before the remaining Brood members could react, Cal let go of his saber and flung it forward with the Force. It spun through the air like a deadly whirlwind, cutting through the cantina, striking down one enemy after another. As the lightsaber made its return, Cal caught it by the hilt with practiced precision, his expression focused.

The cantina was now littered with bodies, but more Brood reinforcements stormed in, their blasters firing wildly. Cal didn’t hesitate. He moved swiftly, deflecting blaster bolts and cutting through each opponent that dared approach, one by one. Each strike was precise, calculated, a dance of deadly efficiency.

Suddenly, a distinct whooshing sound caught his attention—a rocket. Cal's instincts kicked in, and he barely dodged the projectile as it shot past him. The explosion that followed was deafening, the rocket slamming into the base wall with a violent force. The entire structure groaned and trembled under the impact, dust and debris raining down from the ceiling.

The base was beginning to collapse.

"Time to go," Cal thought, his eyes scanning the area quickly. The remaining Haxion Brood members had the same idea, abandoning the fight and fleeing in a panicked rush.

Without hesitation, Cal sprinted toward the exit, ready to leave the collapsing base behind.

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Merrin finished off the squadron of stormtroopers in the cantina with ease, each strike bringing her a deep satisfaction as the troopers fell one by one. The base was collapsing around her, but she barely noticed as she hurried toward the exit, her movements swift and fluid. Along the way, she dispatched any remaining stormtroopers, ensuring none would survive to follow her to the Mantis.

As she darted through the crumbling corridors, disappearing and reappearing in flashes of green magick, she became aware of someone following her—keeping pace even as she vanished and reemerged. Her lips curled into a smile. Finally, a worthy challenge, she thought. With every burst of green energy, her curiosity grew. How were they keeping up?

In her next disappearance, instead of continuing forward, Merrin doubled back. She materialized directly behind her pursuer, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. The stormtrooper, now only a step away, froze in place as she reappeared. Merrin's hands crackled with green flames, her eyes narrowing as she stared into the trooper’s black visor.

Just as she was about to strike, the stormtrooper raised its hands in surrender. "Wait! Wait!" The voice was panicked, shaky. It wasn’t the typical stoic tone of Imperial soldiers. Merrin hesitated, surprised by the fear she sensed.

She narrowed her eyes, inspecting the trooper more closely. Something about this one felt different—scared, yes, but... desperate. The flames at her fingertips flickered as she held her attack for just a moment longer.
"Please, don't!" the trooper pleaded, her voice trembling.

"I don’t like to play with my food," Merrin said coldly, her eyes narrowing.

"No, wait!" the trooper insisted, desperation evident in her tone. "You’re Merrin. Witch of Dathomir. Part of the crew of the Stinger Mantis. You’re working against the Empire!"

Merrin rolled her eyes, her hand already reaching for the trooper’s helmet. "Are you reading my arrest warrant?" she said with a bored tone. "I’ve heard this before."

"No!" the trooper's voice cracked. "I need your help."

Merrin paused for a moment, curiosity briefly flickering across her features. She scoffed and slid her hand around the back of the trooper’s helmet, feeling for the release mechanism. With a click, the helmet came off.

"You don’t know me," Merrin said sharply, cutting off the trooper’s next words. "And you will not speak my name again."

As the helmet came free, Merrin's brow furrowed in confusion. Violet skin, dark lips, red eyes, and short hair stared back at her. This was no ordinary stormtrooper. Not human. And a woman. Merrin had never seen a stormtrooper like this—most were human, and nearly all were men.

She snapped back to the moment, clamping her hand around the trooper’s throat in one swift motion. The trooper gasped, eyes wide in fear.

"Talk," Merrin hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "Your life depends on it."
The red-eyed stormtrooper looked at Merrin, desperation etched across her features. "Look, I want out. I've read about your crew—I know you help those in need. I can't do this anymore. You're my only chance at getting out."

Merrin narrowed her eyes but dropped her hand, taking a cautious step backward. She kept just enough distance to remain in control while studying the trooper. The trooper lifted her eyes and rubbed her neck, catching her breath.

“You’re a spy,” Merrin accused, her voice cold and skeptical. Why was she even considering this?

"I'm not," the trooper replied, her voice pleading. "But I have no way to prove it."

Before Merrin could respond, a loud crash echoed through the corridor. She whipped her head around just in time to see Cal tearing around the corner, stormtroopers hot on his heels.

"Time to go!" Cal shouted.

Merrin quickly glanced back, searching for the trooper, but she was gone—vanished into the chaos. Before she could dwell on it, Cal shot past her, grabbing her hand as he did.

"Move!" he urged, pulling her along as they sprinted down the narrow hallway, blaster fire ringing out behind them.

Merrin ran alongside Cal, feeling the tension in his grip. His determination surged through her, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he had even seen the trooper. There wasn’t time to ask.

As they neared the last stretch of hallway, Cal gave her hand a firm squeeze. "Go! I'll be right behind you."

Merrin smirked, her heart racing. "You better be, Jedi." She ducked her head and vanished in a swirl of green mist, disappearing toward the Mantis, leaving Cal to finish the fight.

As Merrin vanished, Cal’s mind raced, the conversation she’d had with the stormtrooper still fresh through the open comms. He couldn’t shake the stormtrooper’s desperate plea: "You're my only chance."

This was why they were fighting, wasn’t it? To liberate the oppressed—even those wearing the helmets of stormtroopers. Even bucketheads, he thought, a mix of frustration and empathy welling up inside him. The galaxy wasn’t as simple as it had seemed when he was a Padawan. Everyone had a story, even those forced to serve the Empire.

I believe her, Cal admitted to himself. He wanted to help, to give her the chance she was seeking. He would have... but now she was gone, slipping away into the chaos. There wasn’t time to dwell on it, not with the fight still raging around him.

For now, he pushed forward, lightsaber ignited in his grip, ready to deal with the enemies still closing in on him.

Merrin suddenly appeared in a flash of green aboard the Mantis. "Did you see a stormtrooper with their helmet off?" she yelled, her voice laced with urgency.

"Helmet off?" Cal asked, his brow furrowing. "Are they suicidal?"

Before she could respond, Greez's voice crackled over the comms. "We need to go now! I’ve got Imperial and Brood ships swarming us!"

Cal launched himself onto the ramp just as a blaster bolt whizzed by his head, narrowly missing him. Merrin let out a breath of relief at the close call. Cal, still in motion, quickly turned to deflect more blaster fire away from the ship, his lightsaber humming as it sent the bolts careening off into the distance.

Suddenly, Merrin’s eyes widened. "Wait!" she shouted, panic in her voice. "We’re missing Cere!"

The barrage of blaster fire momentarily stopped, leaving a tense quiet in the air. Cal turned toward her, stepping closer, his hand finding her shoulder and then her waist. He locked eyes with her, a calm smile spreading across his face. "She’ll be back," he reassured, his tone gentle but confident.

For a moment, Merrin felt her heart skip. The calm in his voice, the way he looked at her—it made everything else seem to fade. Damn this idiot's Jedi code, she thought, her emotions in turmoil, but she quickly shoved them aside. There were more pressing matters.

Suddenly, Cere rounded the corner, sprinting toward the Mantis, a platoon of stormtroopers hot on her heels. "Taxi!" she yelled, her voice breathless but determined.

Cal didn’t hesitate. He dashed down the ramp, sprinting toward her, his lightsaber ready. Merrin joined him, her hands crackling with green magick as she hurled blasts toward the stormtroopers, sending them flying and clearing a path for Cere.

Cal dropped to his stomach, extending his arms out toward Cere. She leapt, barely managing to grab his outstretched hand. With a grunt, Cal held tight, but Merrin's eyes widened in surprise as she saw a stormtrooper suddenly push Cere forward, assisting her onto the ramp.

Cere turned around, her brow furrowed in disbelief, and grabbed the stormtrooper’s hand, pulling them aboard just as the ramp sealed shut behind them. They all tumbled onto the Mantis as Greez hit the thrusters, sending the ship speeding away from the chaos.

Before Cal could even ignite his lightsaber, the stormtrooper quickly raised their hands in surrender, pulling off their helmet in one swift motion.

It was the girl Merrin had encountered earlier.

For a moment, the cabin fell silent as the crew exchanged glances. Merrin locked eyes with the trooper, her mind spinning with questions and suspicions. This was the same trooper who had pleaded for help—now standing aboard the Mantis, helmet in hand.

Chapter Text

"We brought her!?" Greez yelled from the cockpit. "We almost lost my ship for her!?"

"We'll discuss this later," Cere interjected firmly, sliding into the co-pilot's chair beside him, her focus now on getting the Mantis out of danger.

Cal holstered his lightsaber and moved over to the common area, taking a seat at the table. He gave a faint smile and gestured for the stormtrooper to sit beside him. Hesitantly, she pulled herself up and took a seat, her movements cautious. Cal noted the distinctive violet hue of her skin—she was a Keshiri, an unusual sight for a stormtrooper.

In a display of intimidation, Merrin slid into the seat on the opposite side of the Keshiri, her eyes fixed on their unexpected guest. The trooper now found herself squeezed between the Jedi and the Nightsister, an uncomfortable position if ever there was one. BD-1 perched between Cal’s legs, giving a curious and reassuring chirp.

"Cute droid," the trooper said, attempting to break the tension.

"Thanks, that’s BD-1," Cal responded with a small grin. "Beedee units are some of the best explorers in the galaxy, and you won’t find a better one than this little guy. Beeps in the face of danger."

"Yes, the droid is as foolhardy as its human," Merrin muttered, her tone sharp but laced with a hint of playfulness, though her eyes remained on the trooper, clearly not convinced of her intentions.

Cal reached behind the trooper, clapping his hand onto Merrin’s shoulder, giving her a friendly shake. “Right, so, this is Merrin. She’s a Nightsister of Dathomir, and exactly as scary as she sounds. But it’s part of her charm. Okay, all of her charm.” Cal gave Merrin a smile and squeezed her shoulder lightly, just until he caught her rolling her eyes. “And I’m Cal,” he continued, turning back to the woman. “Rigger. Swoopdueling enthusiast.And Jedi. One of…” Saying it never got easier. No matter how many times he did it. “One of the last of my kind.” “Yes,” Merrin said softly. “We have that in common.” Cal looked back at the Nightsister, to find her staring right at him. She looked like…it wasn’t pity in her eyes. It wasn’t even sympathy. It was just—acceptance. Acceptance, and…something else. Caring?

The stormtrooper began to open her mouth to introduce herself, but before she could say anything, everything was suddenly upside down. A violent shake rocked the Mantis as a blaster bolt slammed into the side of the ship’s hull. The world spun, and suddenly, they were all dangling from their seat straps, gravity shifting unpredictably.

Cal, gripping his seat straps, looked over to see the stormtrooper beside him yelling obscenities. Before anyone could react, her seat straps gave way, and she slipped through, plummeting toward the ground—or the ceiling, Cal couldn't tell in the chaos.

Without hesitation, Merrin undid her own seatbelt, diving toward the falling trooper. As she reached out, her fingers crackled with green magick. She caught the stormtrooper by the wrist mid-fall, and with a swift motion, flung a blast of green energy beneath them, creating a soft, ethereal cushion that stopped their rapid descent.

The stormtrooper stared wide-eyed at Merrin as they both hovered for a moment in the strange gravity, safely suspended by the magick. Merrin’s eyes flickered with amusement, though her voice was as cold as ever.

"You're welcome," she said flatly, letting them gently touch the ground—or, ceiling—once more as she steadied herself and the trooper.

Suddenly Cal’s attention was caught by a screech. Their ship’s resident stowaway, a little fuzzy bogling from Bogano, came tumbling out of her home vent, clutching desperately onto the first thing she came in contact with to stop herself from hitting the floor: the front of Cal’s shirt. The bogling’s tiny claws latching into the skin on Cal’s chest.

Cal fumbled with his seatbelt, trying to release it as Greez shouted from the cockpit, "We’ve got incoming! A TIE Brute is on our tail!"

The ship lurched forward violently, throwing Cal against the side. "They hit our Gravcore!" Greez yelled again. "I need—"

“I’m on it!” Cal interrupted, already moving. He pushed off his seat, dislodging the bogling that had taken to hiding under his chair, and made his way to the back of the ship where a secondary breaker panel was located. The ship groaned as it swerved violently to avoid more incoming fire.

As Cal approached the breaker panel, he noticed something—tension in the air, thick like a storm. His eyes darted toward the common area, and he froze.

Cere had her lightsaber ignited, the glowing blade inches away from the Keshiri stormtrooper’s neck. Merrin was holding the trooper in place with one hand, but there was something unusual in her stance—she wasn’t hostile, more...protective?

“Convince me you’re not here to sabotage us,” Cere said, her voice calm but edged with authority. Her lightsaber hummed menacingly as the stormtrooper remained still, eyes wide.

“We all heard your conversation with Merrin,” Cere continued, "and I want to believe you, but now we’ve got the Empire on our tail, and I can’t afford to have a liability on board."

"Stop," Merrin said, her voice firm but surprisingly gentle. “She should have a chance to explain herself.”

Cal blinked, caught off guard by Merrin’s words. Merrin, the one who had been so mistrustful, was now the one defending the stormtrooper?

Cal caught himself thinking, I must be rubbing off on her.

"Why are you threatening her?" Cal said, moving forward.

Cere's gaze remained locked on the Keshiri stormtrooper. "Why aren’t you?" she countered. "Only humans serve as stormtroopers. That means she must’ve done something extreme to prove her loyalty to the Empire. My job is to protect my crew. She is not my crew."

Cal squared his shoulders, his voice steady but insistent. "Neither was Greez before you pulled him from a gambling den. Neither was Merrin when we picked her up from Dathomir. And neither was I when you reached out your hand to me on Bracca." He locked eyes with Cere, a quiet challenge in his voice.

Cere’s grip on the lightsaber faltered for a moment, the blade lowering just a fraction. Doubt flickered across her face.

"Merrin sees something in her," Cal continued, motioning toward the Nightsister who was beside the Keshiri. "We have to trust her judgment."

Merrin gave the smallest nod, her gaze piercing, as if daring Cere to question her instincts.

Cere’s jaw tightened. Alright, but the first sign of funny business, and we dump Her." Cere said. Cere kept her attention on the Keshiri stormtrooper "Talk". Then Merrin chimed in "and make it fast, your life depends on it."

"Chellwinark Frethylrin," the Keshiri began, her voice steady but edged with urgency. "Or Fret, if that’s easier. You’re right, I’m not a stormtrooper. Also not an Imperial agent. I’m an analyst. I stole the outfit—it was my best chance to escape. You all, the Mantis crew, are my best chance to get out of here."

Cal glanced at Cere, her lightsaber still dangerously close to Fret’s neck. He could see the skepticism etched in her expression.

"Twenty seconds," Cere said, her voice tight with doubt.

"Less," came Greez’s voice over the comms. "I’m good, but I don’t know if anyone’s good enough to shake this ship off our tail for much longer—"

Fret swallowed, trying to gather her thoughts as quickly as possible. "Okay, right," she continued, her voice hurried but sincere. "
“Okay. Let’s try something else.” She paused for just a moment before turning toward the cockpit. “Arms!” Fret shouted, clearly taking on a new tactic. “If I get some space between you and the TIE Brute, can you hit hyperspace? You’re that good, right?” “Is she talking to me?” came Greez’s incredulous response. “I know she isn’t talking to me right now, because—” “Okay, good,” Fret cut in. “Distract them and then do some fancy flying—loud static on all channels and then put the ship in a full flip. Input your nav coordinates right before you make your move. Cal—” She flashed a look over at him. “Same time, activate the secondary grav generator. The Imperial systems will be confused, and the operator should be disoriented enough by the noise through their comms that we can immediately jump to hyperspace without anyone accurately capturing our trajectory. After a quick count of three, we’ll make it happen. Got it?”
Cal looked puzzled but nodded. "Alright, let’s do it," he said. They didn’t really have another option. Fret’s plan was their only chance.

The crew set the plan into motion, and suddenly, they were propelled into hyperspace, the Gravcore back online. The hum of the engines settled into a steady rhythm as the Mantis shot through the stars, safe and clear of Imperial pursuit.

Cal slowly got to his feet, steadying himself after the sudden burst of speed. He could hear Greez muttering something under his breath about how he could’ve done that himself without any help.

Cere was already on her feet, her attention fixed on Fret. Her suspicion hadn’t faded entirely. "Tell me, Frethylrin," she said, her tone still sharp, "what other intel do you have that we can use against the Empire?"

The crew gathered around the breakfast bar in the kitchen, half circled around Fret. The atmosphere was tense, the weight of their recent escape still lingering in the air. Cere walked up, her eyes locked on Fret. “Alright, it looks like we’ve escaped any trouble for now,” she said, her voice calm but firm. She directed her attention to Fret. “Talk.”

Fret looked around, her violet skin glinting under the ship’s dim lighting, clearly out of place in a room filled with seasoned rebels. “I want out. Really out,” she said, her voice steady but laced with desperation.

Greez, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, squinted at her. “How’d you get in to begin with?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “A bit weird to see a purple stormtrooper, is all I’m saying.”
Fret looked down into her caf cup. “I’m Keshiri. From a planet out in Wild Space not many people have heard of. Kesh never saw the appeal of joining the Republic, and we moved when I was young—came up during the Clone Wars. My folks were inspired by the Separatist cause, for a while there…” She looked up at Cal and Cere with a shrug. “And eventually the Empire needed bodies for their dirty work. Analysts, coders. Clones weren’t cutting it anymore, I guess. Never even bothered giving us much training before they set us to our jobs, supporting the Imperials. I had to leave my family. I never saw them again.” “I’m sorry,” Cal said softly.
Merrin stared at the table, her voice colder than usual as she spoke. "The Empire does not value life."

"No," Fret agreed, her voice softer, more reflective. "They don't. But I was young, and it was all I knew." She paused, glancing at the others before continuing. "They don’t show up and tell you that you're the bad guys. They tell you about the good you’re doing for the galaxy, about how hard it is for people outside Imperial control. And you believe it, for a while. Until you start to see the cracks, the way they treat people... how awful they truly are."

Merrin’s gaze remained fixed on the table, but she felt Fret’s words more acutely than she expected. It wasn’t just what Fret was saying—it was the way she said it. Sincerity and desperation mixed into every word. She wasn’t lying.

"I had no way out," Fret continued, her eyes now locking onto Merrin’s. "Not until I heard of you all, the Mantis crew."

Merrin felt Fret’s gaze on her, more intense than before. She shifted uncomfortably, the itch in her palms spreading, and something unfamiliar creeping up her neck—heat. A blush, faint but there, rising to her cheeks. She blinked, trying to focus, but it was getting harder to do. What was this? What was happening to her?

Fret kept talking, her voice barely above a whisper now, but every word seemed louder in Merrin's head. "I knew if I could find you, I’d have a chance at something different. A chance to get away from the Empire, to fight back. And now, I’m here."

Merrin clenched her hands into fists under the table, her thoughts a jumble of confusion. Why was she feeling like this? She didn’t know this woman, yet there was something about her presence that was unsettling. Sure, Fret was attractive, but Merrin had never been affected like this by anyone—let alone someone who had been their enemy just hours ago.

A crush? Was she dazed? Merrin bit the inside of her cheek, trying to force herself to focus. But it didn’t work. She could feel Fret’s eyes on her still, as if she was searching for something in Merrin, and it was getting harder to push away the emotions swirling inside her.

Merrin shook her head, glancing away quickly, hoping no one else had noticed the flush in her cheeks.

“And what, exactly,” Cere asked Fret with narrowed eyes, and breaking merrin from her trance. “had you heard about the Stinger Mantis?” Fret paused for a moment, long enough for Merrin to silently reprimand herself. Heart racing at the first sign of a woman with a blaster and a beguiling voice. Had she forgotten this Keshiri was an Imperial? That she very well could have been one of the minions responsible for the downfall of Dathomir? Or if not her, soldiers exactly like her? Not that Merrin exactly had the best taste in crushes, generally.
Merrin had spent years grappling with her feelings for a Jedi whose adherence to a forgotten code kept them apart. The fire-haired Jedi had consumed her thoughts, and now... there was something else, or rather, someone else. She forced herself to snap out of it, but her mind was still tangled in distractions when Cere's voice broke through.

“What are your thoughts, Merrin?” Cere asked, eyeing her.

Merrin blinked, realizing she hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation. “Could you go over it one more time?” she said, trying to recover.

Fret, sitting nearby, raised one purple eyebrow with a sly grin. “Distracted?”

Merrin straightened her posture. “Yes, lots to consider,” she replied quickly, trying to mask her internal chaos.

Fret leaned forward, her expression more serious now. “I owe you all a great debt. And I don’t like accruing interest, so let me pay you back now.” Her eyes flicked between the crew. "There's a job."

Greez crossed his arms, visibly impatient. “We’re waiting,” he said, gesturing for her to continue.

Fret didn’t flinch under the pressure. "It’s something your crew can take on—something that can really put a dent in the Empire. And I have information you need to pull it off… if you’re willing to give me a shot.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, the weight of them sinking in. The crew all spoke at once:

“Done—” Cal said, quick to agree. “Absolutely not—” Cere retorted, still on edge about trusting Fret. “Damn right—” Greez chimed in, already thinking about the credits. “We’ll take it under advisement—” Merrin added, her voice calm but noncommittal. “Bewoooop!” BD-1 beeped in excitement.

The crew stopped, realizing the chaos of their overlapping responses. They all exchanged glances, each one interpreting the situation differently.

Cal broke the silence, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, this is... more complicated than we thought.”

Merrin couldn’t help but glance at Fret again. The Keshiri woman met her gaze, a smirk playing on her lips, as if she knew exactly the kind of turmoil Merrin was in. But Merrin quickly looked away, burying whatever thoughts had been distracting her.

Everyone was staring each other down in a way that just didn't happen on the Mantis. Greez was shut off entirely, arms crossed, face turned up to the ceiling. Cere looked as impatient as Cal had ever seen her, trying to keep the situation under control, frustrated that people weren't listening. BD-1 was hopping from foot to foot, the way he did when he was stressed. And worst of all, Merrin couldn't seem to keep her eyes off Fret. Not that Cal protested her being into someone else. He was bound by his Jedi ways and determined to uphold them. She deserved to find someone who had no such restrictions. It would probably make things easier on himself as well. No, what was troubling was the fact they barely knew this woman. She was an enemy hours ago. It was a possible danger.

It’s not that Cal didn’t do well in moments of conflict. His entire life had been a series of conflict moments, tied together through threads of the Force. It was more that he didn’t like it when his crew disagreed. They were family, or as close to family as Cal was going to get. And his family didn’t fight. Not if he could help it.

“BD, can you show our guest to the crew quarters, please?” Cal asked. “We’re gonna need a second to talk.”

Fret raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She glanced around as if gauging her new surroundings. “Make yourself at home in... uh,” Cal started, looking for an empty space.

“She can use my cabin,” Merrin interrupted quickly.

Cal shot her a look, a mix of surprise and confusion flickering in his eyes. “Sure,” he said, clearing his throat. “Merrin’s cabin, then.”

“Take your time,” Fret said with a sly smile, “just not too long. We’ve got an Empire to crush.” She gave a little wave as BD-1 beeped and chirped, leading her down the hallway.

As the door closed behind her, Cal turned back to the others and motioned for everyone to gather around the holotable. He took a deep breath, centering himself before he finally spoke.

“What’s the problem here, team?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over each of them, searching for answers—or at least, a sense of where they stood.

“Is that a serious question you’re asking?” Greez leaned back on the bench. “We just picked up Stormtrooper Surprise over here and now we’re gonna, what—make her part of the crew?” “Yes, what a terrible idea, to pick up a woman who typically opposes the Jedi but now wants to fight for the same cause,” said Merrin drily. “Okay, c’mon.” Greez put his arms up in defense. “You were a totally different circumstance.” “Was I?” Greez started pacing around the galley. “Yeah! You were, you know—there was—with the magick, and—” He stopped, suddenly, stubbing his toe with a curse on a large pile of—junk?—in the corner of the galley that Cal hadn’t even noticed amid all the chaos.

“What the heck is that?” Cal asked, eyeing the clutter Greez had piled up in the corner of the ship.

“Ship scrap,” Greez replied, looking up proudly. “What? I thought I’d actually make us some money while you guys were off setting bombs on that Brood base. You know how much good cybernetic junk they had lying around that rock? It could go for some real credits. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Cal rolled his eyes, half-amused. “So we’re back to scrapping now?” he muttered. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter right now.” He refocused. “We need to decide if we’re going to go through with this job Fret’s offering. Sounds like it could really give us leverage against the Empire.”

Cere folded her arms, watching him closely. “Do you trust her, Cal?”

He thought it over, glancing toward Merrin, who looked uncharacteristically serious. “I think we should give Fret a chance to prove herself,” he said. “We’re a crew of misfits. It only seems fair.”

Merrin surprised him by speaking up next. “I don’t trust her,” she said, and Cal’s eyebrows shot up. “But I also don’t... not trust her. You know what I mean.” She hesitated, her gaze drifting to where Fret had gone. “I say we take the chance.”

Greez let out a long, weary sigh. “I’m just saying, why are we acting like the entire galaxy is our responsibility? Don’t we get to count our wins at some point?”

Cal opened his mouth to protest, but Greez cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, we’re good. We’ve been lucky these past few years, sure. But we really should be asking ourselves what the endgame is here, before we lose too much of ourselves to a fight we might not even be able to win.”

Cal stared at him, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. “What, so you just want to give up? Spend the rest of our lives hiding?”

“At least we’d have the rest of our lives, Cal,” Greez shot back. “This is a gamble. And you’re gambling on these fights every time. Chasing that win. And, hey, I get it—I really do.” Greez’s voice softened for a moment. “But you have to know that with any gamble, you could lose everything. Is this gonna be the one that doesn’t pay off?”

Silence filled the room. Cal hated that Greez had a point, hated the small, gnawing part of himself that wondered the same thing. But he also couldn’t shake the feeling that if they didn’t fight, no one would.

“Enough!” Cere’s voice cut through the room, commanding silence. “You’re all right—and wrong. There is a middle ground here. I get Greez’s concerns, and I agree that we have a responsibility to the galaxy. But I’d also prefer to not die in the process. There aren’t any easy answers here.”

“Sure there is,” Greez interjected, shrugging. “Drop the stormtrooper off on Batuu, give her a fruitcake, bing bang boom. Done.”

“And abandon our best—and only—current lead against the Empire?” Cere shot him a pointed look.

“I don’t trust her,” Greez countered.

“You don’t have to,” Cal replied.

“It’s too risky,” Greez argued back.

“We’re better than this,” Merrin interjected.

A sudden screech cut through the tension as BD-1 let out a loud, frustrated beep. Cal took a breath, grounding himself. “Beedee’s right. This isn’t getting us anywhere. We’re not going to turn our backs on a lead against the Empire, and we’re not going to turn our backs on someone in need. Let’s go get the details from Fret and plot a course.”

The crew exchanged glances, tension still lingering, but one by one, they nodded. They knew the stakes—and the risk—but they also knew why they were doing this.

Chapter Text

There was no reality in which Greez wanted to be on Hosnian Prime, and yet here he was, landing a ship full of fugitives on a Core planet based on a lead from a rogue stormtrooper. Great idea.

After a few blind hyperspace jumps to shake any Imperial tail, the Mantis finally set down outside Chikua City. Greez had picked the spot carefully—far enough out that he felt confident nobody would be lurking around for a quick bounty. As they disembarked, the crew moved cautiously toward the city, aiming to meet up with Fret’s contact.

Merrin and Fret walked together at the front of the group, casting sidelong glances and smirks at each other. Greez rolled his eyes. Merrin and Fret were practically making goo-goo eyes, and it made his stomach turn. Not because he didn’t want Merrin to be happy—she deserved that, and he’d known her long enough to see the guarded parts of herself relax. It was just… for years, he’d thought it would be her and Cal.

Greez had watched them dance around each other like awkward teenagers, each too afraid to make the first move. They had that kind of unspoken connection he’d always figured would get stronger over time. He’d even placed a bet with Cere on which one of them would make the first move. And now, here was Fret, a recent stormtrooper—practically an enemy. And yet, Merrin seemed so at ease with her.

Cere, walking beside him, gave him a knowing nudge. “We have bigger things to worry about than love lives,” she murmured, eyes fixed on the city ahead.

Greez sighed, grumbling under his breath, “Yeah, like making it off this rock alive.”
Greez felt an elbow nudge him. He glanced over to see Cal walking alongside, BD-1 perched on his back.

“You okay, Greez?” Cal asked, his voice low, but the concern clear.

Greez gave a half-hearted shrug, eyes rolling toward Merrin and Fret up ahead. “Eh. You know me, kid. I think this whole thing is a terrible idea. And those two?” He jerked a thumb in Merrin and Fret’s direction. “If they keep up this heart-eyes nonsense, I might actually scream.” He huffed. “Just a bunch of stuff I hate, basically. You?”

Cal winced, glancing toward Merrin and Fret as well. “Yeah, I’m glad we’re following up on this lead, but...” His words faded, and Greez caught the way Cal’s gaze lingered on Merrin, his expression shadowed.

Greez sighed. Sheesh, kids.

As much as he grumbled, Greez cared deeply about Cal, like family. In his mind, he’d always been the ruggedly handsome, wise uncle of the group—the one to look out for them when they got themselves tangled up in trouble. But lately, he’d been thinking more seriously about their endgame. About whether they’d ever get a real break.

For now, though, he’d be the steady hand, the protector. No matter how much he complained, he was here to see Cal through whatever shenanigans came next. And if that meant sticking by him, no matter how uncertain the road ahead was, so be it.

The crew finally arrived at a towering skytower and stepped into an elevator that seemed to stretch endlessly upward.

"Take us through it one more time," Cere said, eyeing Fret carefully.

"Right," Fret nodded. "Qeris Lar. One of the wealthiest men in the galaxy. Used to dabble in politics, but he didn’t have the patience for bureaucracy. So he used his money and connections to gather more money—and connections. Only, unlike most in his circle, he’s shockingly chosen to weaponize his resources for good.”

“If that’s true,” Greez said, frowning skeptically, “then why hasn’t the Empire just taken him down already?”

Fret shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because he’s only one of many rich guys in the galaxy, just another star in a constellation of credits. All I know is that when I reached out to him, he passed me information on your crew.” She grinned, almost mischievously. “That’s how I knew you’d be at that Brood base. Now, he has a big job lined up for you all.”

Greez rolled his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. “Rich people…”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Greez scanned the hallway ahead, immediately spotting several security agents stationed along the walls, their stances too disciplined to belong to any ordinary Hosnian Prime security forces. He’d eat his shoe if they weren’t privately hired muscle.

The crew moved forward cautiously, following Fret down the corridor. They soon stepped into a vast, blue-lit chamber that seemed to stretch into infinity, blurring the line between indoors and out. The room was bathed in an ethereal glow, and the sheer scale of it left the crew momentarily speechless.

Then, from behind, a voice drifted through the air, high and lilting, like the notes of an otherworldly flute. “Welcome, friends. As the wind is one with the air, so too are you one with me.”

Greez whipped around, coming face-to-face with the speaker. He was an Omwati—tall, slender, with skin the color of a dawn sky. His frame was delicate, almost birdlike, yet with the unmistakable presence of someone who knew power. The Omwati towered over Cal by at least half a meter, though he looked so fragile that Greez wondered if a stiff breeze might topple him.

“Qeris!” Fret blurted out, visibly relieved. She rushed over to him, wrapping him in a brief hug. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

Qeris nodded, gently stepping back from Fret. His intense, silvered gaze moved over the crew. “Crew of the Mantis,” he said softly, almost reverently, as though he were addressing legends brought to life.

“I am Qeris Lars,” the Omwati began, his voice serene but weighted. “And I have a very important job for you all. One that could benefit every single one of us here.”

“How?” Cal was the first to ask, his gaze steady.

Qeris’ silver eyes gleamed. “By dismantling the Empire as we know it.”

Cere’s instincts told her they should listen. Fret was right: Qeris’ reputation preceded him. She remembered rumors of a major operation he had quietly funded years ago, one that had freed a whole system from Imperial control. If Qeris was backing them, then they were in capable hands. As he gestured to a seating area with cloud-like chairs around a long, elegant table, she found herself cautiously optimistic.

As Cere settled into one of the seats, she spoke up. “You have a history with the Empire?”

Qeris inclined his head, choosing his words carefully. “You could say I have… a fundamental disagreement with their worldview. I don’t believe any system of government should revolve around the rule of one.”

“Totally fine with the murder and Force-choking, though, right?” Greez grumbled as he slumped into one of the soft chairs, his arms folded.

Qeris didn’t miss a beat, his gaze level as he replied, “Motives are one thing, Greez Dritus. But results? Results are what matter. And that’s why I brought you all here.”

“Which is why I contacted him,” Fret interjected, glancing around the table to make sure everyone understood. “The Empire is after something called the Shroud. It’s a personal cloaking device capable of rendering the wearer invisible to nearly all forms of detection. Difficult to build - requires access to mirkanite, a notoriously difficult ore to get one's hands on, very touchy in the presence of heat of any kind. But buildable. "

Cere’s eyes widened as she grasped the implications of what the Shroud could mean for the galaxy. In the right hands, it could be a shield for the vulnerable—Jedi on the run, families in hiding, rebel cells forming in secret. With the Shroud, there could be a way to rebuild the Jedi Order and protect those on the front lines of resistance. It was a tool that could give them a fighting chance, something that might even outlast her to guide the next generation.

But in the Empire’s hands… it would be devastating. Jedi and rebels would have no warning before their enemies struck, and any chance of rallying others would be crushed before it even began. It could turn hope itself into a trap.

She leaned forward, her expression resolute. They had to act. This could be the break they’d been waiting for.

“The inventor of the Shroud…” Fret began, her voice catching. She paused, struggling to steady herself before going on. “The inventor was hunted down by the Empire. They… they didn’t make it. But they were careful. The only schematics for the Shroud were stored on a data card—and it’s hidden.”

The crew absorbed her words, the weight of their mission settling over them.
"How did you know them?" Cal prodded, carefully, but still firm. Fret turned to look Cal in the eyes. "I worked with them" she said. Cere could see the strength it took to answer. "I've seen their other builds. I'm telling you, they're the best. " she paused and took a breath. " They were the only ones who wanted to get me out, initially. That... didn't end well for them."
Cere’s gaze softened as she glanced down, understanding the pain behind Fret’s words.

“Unfortunately,” Qeris continued, his voice gentle but firm, “the Shroud was never completed. Its schematics were seized by the Empire and are now held under heavy guard in a nearby Imperial garrison, awaiting transfer to their testing facility on Eadu.”

“So, you’re asking us to retrieve them,” Merrin stated, her tone unwavering.

“Yes,” Qeris confirmed, his eyes sharp. “All I ask is that you bring it back to me so I can manufacture it and ensure it reaches rebels across the galaxy.”

“What’s in it for you, feathers?” Greez interjected, raising a skeptical brow.

Qeris met Greez’s gaze coolly. “If the Empire takes possession of the Shroud, they’ll be able to track me and infiltrate my network before I have a chance to defend myself. Fret explained this—twice.” His expression softened into a faint smirk. “I’d hope that would be enough for you.”

Greez blinked once, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”

Cere allowed herself a small smile.

"Alright," Cere said, her voice steady. "We’re in. And Fret? Thanks for the tip. Now, where are these schematics located?"

Fret nodded, her eyes serious. Qeris continued “They’re being held in a prison on Murkhana, a planet in the Tion Cluster. We’ll need to move fast if we want any chance of retrieving it.”

Cal immediately responded, “Moving fast is the easy part.”

Qeris’s gaze turned sharp. “It’s not speed that’s the problem, Cal Kestis,” he said. “The schematics are under the protection of the Inquisitors.”

The room fell silent as the weight of those words sank in.

---------------------------------------------

The fifth brother hadn't been expecting such an interesting mission. There were no jedi involved; that usually displeased him. "This technology holds infinite potential." The grand inquisitor was imperious, even as a hologram. The fifth brother knelt in front of the projection. "Including helping us to eradicate the remaining jedi forever," the fifth brother added, completing the grand Inquisitors' thought. That was what mattered to the fifth brother. Whatever assignment he was given, that was his true purpose.
The day he killed his first jedi was the day the fifth brother truly knew he had made the right decision. The inquisitorious had already shown him so many things about the jedi that he'd never considered. He branded the Jedi’s misdeeds into his skin. The jedi had taken him from his family on Artemesium with promises of a better life. He saw now that the jedi had lied. Instead, they made him a servant to politicians, conveniently ignoring the fallibility of people easily corrupted by power and prestige. "Yes." The grand Inquisitors voice was booming, echoing around the room. "The remaining jedi will fall once the Shroud in our hands. Are you capable of this task, fifth brother?" The fifth brother bowed and kissed the holograms' feet. "I am capable," the fifth brother said. "I will find the shroud, and I will put an end to the last, pathetic vestiges of the jedi once and for all. I rededicate myself to the only path on which I see true balance. True enlightenment. I know my own truth. The Force speaks it to me through the stars above and the gravity beneath my feet." "Then go, I shall await your triumph," the inquisitor said with finality. His hologram disappeared.
The fifth brother rose, moving back toward the cockpit to enter the coordinates that would take him to Murkhana.

Chapter Text

Greez plopped down heavily on the couch surrounding the holotable, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Inquisitors,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “We’re not seriously thinking about doing this, right?”

“It’s that big,” Cal said calmly, leaning against the wall across from Greez. His arms were crossed, but his tone carried determination. “If the Shroud is as important as they say, it’s worth the risk.”

Greez stared at him in disbelief, his brows knitting together. “Inquisitors, Cal! Those lightsaber-twirling maniacs aren’t exactly pushovers. This is suicide.”

“In and out,” Cal replied evenly. “We’re small, fast, and agile. Plus, we have the best pilot in the galaxy.”

“Oh, flattery’s not gonna make me feel better about this one, kid,” Greez grumbled, though his lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile.

“I don’t trust Qeris,” Greez added, his voice more serious now.

“You don’t have to,” Fret interjected cheerfully from the corner. All eyes turned to her as she leaned casually against the doorframe. “If his information is good, we grab the plans for the Shroud. We can decide what to do with them after. But trust me, his information is always good.”

Greez scowled and waved a hand dismissively. “Awful lot of ‘we’ coming out of your mouth, trooper,” he grumbled.

“She has access codes to help us on Murkhana,” Merrin said, her voice sharp and to the point. She stepped closer to the holotable, her piercing gaze locking on Greez. “We need her.”

Greez threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine! But don’t say I didn’t warn you when everything goes sideways. Which it will, by the way.”

Cal pushed off the wall, his resolve as steady as ever. “Sideways or not, we’ll handle it. Like we always do.”

“We need to work on Qeris,” Cere said suddenly, her tone cutting through the murmur of conversation.

Greez immediately jumped in. “Work on him? How about we don’t work with him at all? I don’t trust that bird as far as I can throw him.”

Cere held up a hand to stop him. “No, Greez. Listen to me. Qeris may not be trustworthy, but he’s someone with influence and resources. He might actually be able to help us turn the tide of this war. He’s not coming out openly against the Empire, though—not unless we back him with something bigger.”

“What? Like the Jedi Order?” Greez scoffed, crossing his arms.

“Yes,” Cere said firmly. “But not as you’re imagining it. I have some connections, people who can locate important Jedi artifacts on Murkhana. Things that could—”

“No,” Cal interrupted, his voice sharp. “There won’t be anyone left to show artifacts to if we don’t stop people like Vader and Palpatine in their tracks now. The Shroud is our best chance.”

“Stop!” Fret shouted, surprising everyone into silence. She took a step forward, her hands clenched into fists. “You’re all getting sidetracked. The Shroud is the reward. That’s the whole point. It’s the tool that can help you stop the Empire, protect yourselves, and strike back. Figure out the Jedi artifacts, the Order, and everything else after we’ve succeeded in this mission.”

There was a moment of tense silence as everyone processed her words.

“She’s right,” Merrin finally said, her voice low but resolute. “The Shroud is our priority. Let’s not waste more time.”

Cere nodded reluctantly. “Alright. But after this… we plan for the long game.

“Then let’s get it done,” Cal said, his determination cutting through the lingering doubt.

-----------------------------------

“Guess I’m sticking around, Nightsister,” Fret teased, leaning in the doorway of the engine room.

Merrin, caught off guard, felt that familiar flush rise beneath her gray skin. A green-tinged blush she couldn’t will away. Fret was wearing one of Merrin’s red Dathomirian shirts—it clung to her in ways that were entirely too distracting.

“That was some fight out there,” Fret said, stepping inside.

“It wasn’t a fight,” Merrin replied quickly. “More like… a momentary disagreement.”

Fret wandered deeper into the room, her fingers casually toying with a half-finished droid component on the workbench. Merrin kept her eyes on her, alert, guarded—and something else she didn’t want to name.

“You’re not afraid I’ll betray you?” Fret asked, glancing up.

Merrin let out a short, amused laugh. “You should be more afraid of what I’ll do if you do.”

Fret tilted her head. “Fair.”

“You’re lucky,” Merrin continued, her voice low, dangerous. “You landed among people who still believe in second chances. But if you turn on us... I will burn you from the inside out and feed your bones to a rancor.”

“Romantic,” Fret smirked. “I’m into that.”

Merrin’s jaw clenched, and she looked away, trying to escape the pull in Fret’s red eyes. When she looked back, Fret was suddenly there—close. Too close.

“I like a good threat,” Fret whispered. “Love it, actually.”

Merrin’s mind reeled. She should push her away. Should warn her again. Instead, her hand found Fret’s throat, not in anger but restraint—one last thread of control.

“You better not let us down,” Merrin said, her voice low, full of something she couldn’t define.

“Then I hope I’m the right girl for the job,” Fret whispered—and then she kissed her.

The world stilled. Merrin didn’t resist. For a moment, she let herself fall into it—the warmth, the pull, the hunger she’d buried. But then, just as quickly, something twisted inside her. A surge of doubt. Guilt. Confusion.

With a flash of green magick, she gently, but firmly, pushed Fret backward across the room. She landed softly on her feet.

“I’m sorry,” Merrin muttered, retreating toward the refresher without another word.

Fret remained where she was, a crooked smile on her lips and the echo of the kiss still lingering in the air.

Merrin was finally alone in the refresher. The quiet hum of the ship muffled behind the sealed door, giving her the first moment of solitude she’d had since... the kiss.

She needed space. She needed clarity. She needed this.

Steam began to fill the room as she started the shower, stepping beneath the scalding stream without hesitation. The heat grounded her, ran rivulets down her back, but it couldn’t wash away the tangle inside her head.

Fret.

Beautiful, bold, relentless Fret. The way she looked at Merrin made it impossible to ignore—how she wanted her. And Merrin had wanted it, too. The kiss still lingered on her lips, like a flame that refused to go out.

But it felt too fast. Too soon. Too... easy?

And then there was Cal.

Merrin’s heart twisted. Cal Kestis—stubborn, reckless, noble to a fault. She had stood beside him in battle, shared moments of quiet that meant everything and yet somehow never enough. She had long since admitted to herself that she loved him. But what did that even mean to someone so entangled in Jedi dogma? To someone who had never dared to say the words aloud?

“Stupid Jedi,” she muttered under her breath, smirking despite herself as the water pounded against her skin.

Life was simpler on Dathomir. Lonelier, perhaps, but clearer. You didn’t have to wonder if your feelings were allowed.

Now... her heart felt like a battlefield—between longing and logic, between what she wanted and what she thought she deserved.

And neither Cal nor Fret made that any easier.

Merrin let out a slow breath, bracing her hands against the wall. The steam swirled around her like ghostly mist, and still, she felt no closer to peace.

-------

Cal and Greez sat in the cockpit of the Mantis, the soft hum of hyperspace the only sound between them—until Cal finally broke the silence.

“I don’t trust Fret.”

Greez scoffed without missing a beat. “Oh, now you say something?” he said, throwing Cal a side-eye. “That’s real helpful now that we’re halfway to Murkhana to tango with Inquisitors based on the intel she handed us. What tipped you off, kid? The armor? The blaster? The whole being a stormtrooper thing?”

“She wasn’t a stormtrooper,” Cal countered firmly. “Not really. You know just as well as I do—we’ve all done things we regret. Maybe this is her shot at redemption.”

Greez grumbled, slumping deeper into his seat. “You tryin’ to convince me... or yourself?”

Cal leaned forward slightly, watching the stars streak by. “I don’t know. Maybe both. I just believe people can change. I think she deserves that chance.”

Greez was quiet for a beat. “I don’t agree with it,” he finally said, “but I trust you, kid.”

The silence that followed was heavier. Cal’s gaze drifted down the hall, toward Merrin’s quarters. He couldn’t help it—his thoughts flickered to her. To Fret. To them. He told himself he was happy for her. That she deserved someone who could give her everything he couldn’t. Not with his oath. Not with the Jedi Code. But still…

“Ever wish you were born somewhere else?” Cal asked suddenly.

Greez raised a brow. “Me? Nah. The ladies wouldn’t dig me half as much anywhere but Lateron.”

Cal chuckled. “You are an acquired taste.”

“Don’t blame me ‘cause you’ve got no game,” Greez shot back, smirking. “I mean, you’re the most wanted Jedi in the galaxy and still too afraid to flirt with a girl.”

“It’s kinda hard when there’s an ancient code forbidding it,” Cal muttered.

“And yet…” Greez glanced toward Merrin’s door, not bothering to finish the sentence.

Cal didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The implication hung in the air like a starship on standby.

Sensing the weight of the moment, Greez steered the conversation back to business. “Alright, so Murkhana. We hit the garrison hard, in and out. We’ll need to move fast if those Inquisitors are sniffing around—”

But Cal only half-listened. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in memories. In Dathomir. In whispers shared between missions. In the way Merrin had always stood by him. In what could have been—if not for the burden of his vows.

He exhaled deeply, frustration flickering behind his eyes, then pushed it down and focused.

“Alright,” he said, finally tuning back in. “Let’s talk strategy.”

---

After a while, Cal quietly excused himself from the cockpit, leaving Greez rambling about their Murkhana approach. He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling—something about Fret still didn’t sit right with him. If she was hiding something, maybe her old armor could tell him what she wouldn’t.

He made his way to Merrin’s room—empty. Perfect. Both Merrin and Fret were gone. Cal stepped inside, careful not to disturb anything, though the weight of being there felt intrusive. His eyes settled on the neatly stacked stormtrooper armor in the corner. Hesitating for a moment, he reached out and touched the chestplate, bracing for what might come.

He didn’t have to wait long.

A blinding flash of light overtook him, and suddenly he wasn’t on the Mantis anymore. He was in a sunlit courtyard, the air warm and thick with distant chatter. A moment later, he stepped—no, she stepped—into a small shop, dimly lit and intimate. Through Fret’s eyes, he looked up.

“Irei,” she whispered.

The towering figure of a Kadas’sa’Nikto woman turned to her—elegant despite her harsh features. Her scaled green skin glistened slightly under the shop lights. A ring of bone-colored horns framed her face like a crown. She was striking, fierce, and beautiful.

“Irei,” Cal—Fret—said again.

The woman’s eyes lit up with something between relief and heartbreak. She crossed the room in two long strides, sweeping Fret into a passionate embrace and kissing her without hesitation. When they broke apart, Irei grabbed Fret’s arms, her voice urgent and trembling.

“Come with me,” she said. “You know I can’t stay. If I’m found here, they’ll kill me. Come with me, Chell. Please.”

The vision shattered. Cal stumbled backward, breath catching in his throat. He was back in Merrin’s quarters, heart racing, the stormtrooper armor still cold beneath his fingertips. His head throbbed. The force echo left a migraine pounding at his temples, but the ache in his chest felt worse.

He slipped out of the room before anyone could see him.

Back in the common area, Cal leaned against the wall, trying to piece together what he’d just seen. He rubbed his temples, forcing himself to breathe through the haze of lingering emotion. Fret’s pain, her love, her desperation—they weren’t just images. He felt them. And now, they were lodged somewhere deep inside him, too.

He thought about telling the others. About the woman. About the pain buried under Fret’s sarcastic charm. But instead, he said nothing.

Not yet.

All he knew was, whatever Fret had been running from, it had been real. And it had hurt.

Badly.

Chapter Text

---

“Grab a seat, we’re entering Murkhana,” Greez called through the intercom, his voice scratchy with nerves.

A second voice followed—Cere’s, calm and commanding. “Everyone to the common area.”

The crew gathered around the holotable, BD-1 chirping eagerly as he launched onto Cal’s shoulder. The room buzzed with quiet anticipation.

Something was different—Cal noticed it immediately. Fret stood near the table, posture relaxed, a smile tugging at her lips. Merrin lingered close but not too close, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders, eyes fixed on the glowing map like it was the only thing worth looking at.

Fret spoke first. “Empire presence here’s light, for now.” She zoomed in on a walled compound etched into Murkhana’s cracked surface. “The garrison’s tight though—stone perimeter, active patrols, and a prison facility. Word is they’ve got an ambassador stationed inside. Locals don’t love the Empire either. They might look the other way—or help.”

Cal nodded, arms folded. “Then we won’t have to worry about drawing attention when things go loud.”

Still, even as he focused on the plan, his gaze flicked to Merrin—who had now put real space between herself and Fret, arms folded tightly across her chest. She stared at the holomap like it held answers to questions she hadn’t asked out loud.

Fret, meanwhile, still had that half-smile. Cal couldn’t tell if it was real or armor.

“Alright,” Cere said, taking charge. “Tonight we recon. Tomorrow, in and out.”

“I can help with both,” Fret offered.

“What do you have?” Cere asked.

“Codes to bypass every door,” Fret said with a grin. “And an Imperial uniform that’ll walk you through the front gate.”

“Helpful already,” Merrin murmured, and the corners of her mouth twitched up—just barely.

“Right,” Cere continued, pulling up more schematics. “Merrin takes the rooftop perch. Cal—”

“—takes all the blaster fire?” Merrin cut in.

Cere arched a brow but said nothing.

Cal tilted his head. “It keeps you safe. I can take the heat.”

Merrin sighed. Missing the point again, Jedi.

“And Fret?” she asked flatly.

“She goes with you,” Cere answered. “For the codes. She’ll stay out of direct fire.”

“Wonderful,” Merrin muttered, with a trace of sarcasm Cal didn’t miss.

“You’ll move through the maintenance tunnels,” Cere told Cal, highlighting the dark, web-like crawlspaces beneath the facility. “This route leads to the main power grid. Disrupt the security systems and regroup.”

“No wonder I’m so pale,” Cal quipped. “Always stuck underground.”

Cere smiled dryly, then turned to another projection. “And Greez has uncovered something… interesting about the prison.”

“Oh c’mon,” Greez cut in from the cockpit, voice cheerful. “Don’t ruin the surprise.”

Fret’s brow furrowed. “Wait—what does that mean?”

Before anyone could answer, the ship jolted.

“Atmosphere in three… two…” Greez warned, and the Mantis rocked violently as it punched through Murkhana’s thick cloud layer.

The lights flickered out, plunging the room into shadow. Only the blue glow of the holotable remained.

In that haze, Cal’s eyes met Merrin’s. Her expression held something deeper than uncertainty—something that looked like ruin and confusion. Why didn’t I see that sooner? he wondered.

Then he shifted his gaze—and saw Fret staring at him, too.

The lights snapped back on with a mechanical thunk, and the familiar hum of the Mantis steadied.

There was no sunlight on Murkhana, no matter the time of day. Everything was shrouded in gray and gloom.

Cal exhaled slowly. The mission was only beginning.

---

Merrin moved fluidly through the shadows, her senses sharp. The darkness never hindered her—if anything, it felt like home. The streets of Murkhana were empty, save for the quiet hum of surveillance drones overhead. She and Cere slipped through the alleys like whispers.

When the Imperial compound came into view, Merrin narrowed her eyes. The structure loomed like a beast asleep with one eye open—cold, stone walls, high fencing, sharp lights cutting through the haze.

“A lot of troops for such a small compound,” Cere muttered, lowering her macrobinoculars.

“That just means fewer troops left for the rest of the galaxy once we’re done with them,” Merrin replied with a smirk.

They moved into position on a nearby rooftop. Merrin crouched low beside Cere, scanning the patrol routes. She was supposed to focus. This was recon—watch, note, escape. But her thoughts drifted.

Fret.

Just the name made her pulse quicken.

It wasn’t like what she had with Cal—what she still felt for Cal. That bond had started from friendship, forged slowly through trust, shared trauma, and stolen glances. Something tender that never quite took root. Not because she didn’t want it to—but because Cal couldn’t allow it.

Fret was something else. Instant. Physical. Unrelenting.

It thrilled Merrin.

It nauseated her.

She clenched her jaw and forced herself back to the task. Now wasn’t the time.

“I can’t get these things to focus right,” Cere muttered, adjusting her binoculars.

Merrin took a look herself. The compound matched the schematics Fret had provided—every corridor, every tower. Her eyes landed on a side entrance, guarded by only two troopers and a single panel for access.

“There,” Merrin said quietly.

Cere nodded. “Between shift changes. That’s our opening.”

They marked a few more key positions and pulled back, ghosting through the ruined city’s veins. Halfway to the Mantis, the silence broke.

“So… you and Fret?” Cere said casually.

Merrin’s heart skipped. “Me and Fret?” she echoed flatly.

“There’s something there,” Cere said. “It’s not subtle.”

Merrin didn’t respond.

“We’ve been friends a long time,” Cere continued. “And I know what it’s like to carry loneliness. The kind that gnaws at you in the quiet. If Fret gives you something real—peace, joy, even just distraction—then I’m happy for you.”

Merrin blinked. Of all people, Cere saying that… a Jedi, bound to the same code that kept Cal at arm’s length. And yet, here she was, offering understanding without judgment. Support, not rules.

Merrin didn’t know what to say. She just nodded, cheeks warming, the green flush unmistakable.

She’d always thought of Cere as something of a sister—a guide, steady and composed. Someone who might’ve made a powerful Nightsister in another life.

When the Mantis finally came into view, glowing faintly in the gloom, Merrin felt something inside her settle. Not clarity, exactly.

But maybe the beginning of it.

---

When Cere and Merrin returned, the Mantis had gone quiet for the night. Greez was already snoring softly in his bunk. Fret had retreated to Merrin’s cabin, the door sealed behind her.

After a brief, quiet debrief between Cere, Cal, and Merrin, the ship settled down. Cere turned in, Merrin soon after—leaving Cal alone at the holotable with BD-1 curled up at his feet.

Cal stared at the closed door to Merrin’s room. He imagined them inside, maybe talking, maybe not talking. Maybe just… together. The thought twisted in his chest, and he hated himself for it.

Fret had been kind. Clever. Her intel had been flawless. She made Merrin smile in a way Cal hadn't seen in a long time. And maybe that should’ve been enough for him.

But the echo still burned in the back of his mind. The passion Fret had for that woman—Irei—was seared into him. She hadn’t left the Empire because of Merrin. She left because of Irei. Because of what she'd lost.

And Merrin didn’t know.

He sighed and leaned back, letting the silence of the ship settle over him. For now, it wasn’t his place. Merrin was happy. Or trying to be. And that should be enough.

For now.

---

The next morning, the crew suited up. Armor, cloaks, weapons. BD-1 bounced with energy as Cal clipped his saber to his belt.

They made their way to the outer wall of the Imperial compound. Just as expected, the guards were rotating out on schedule. Cal, Merrin, BD-1, and Fret—now in full stormtrooper armor—moved into position near the entry gate.

Cal waited by the panel. BD chirped, eyes locked on the scanner. “Three, two, one—now,” Cere said over comms.

Fret stepped forward and input the code. The gate beeped—then slid open. Cal and BD slipped through. Merrin materialized beside them from a shimmer of green. Clean. Easy.

Too easy.

Cal was just starting to think they might pull it off when Cere’s voice crackled through the comms again—urgent, alarmed.
“Wait. Something’s wrong. You shouldn't have gotten through. The entry codes—they were changed this morning. All of them. The logs were wiped.”

Cal’s heart dropped into his stomach. Ahead of him, Fret’s stride hesitated—just for a heartbeat. But Cal saw it.

Without thinking, he grabbed her. In one motion he slammed her against the stone wall, forearm pressing into her neck. Her helmet clattered against the stone.

“How?” he growled, the word sharp and deadly.

Fret froze.

Merrin stepped forward, eyes wide. “Cal—”

“Stay back,” Cal said, eyes locked on Fret. His mind was already racing—Greez was right. The Force echo. Irei. He should’ve seen this coming. His refusal to accept the worst had cost them before. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

“You heard Cere,” Cal said through clenched teeth. “The codes were changed. So how the hell did you get us in?”

Fret didn’t fight him. She let out a breath.

“Because…” she said, voice small behind the helmet. “Because I never actually left the Empire.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest.

Merrin stepped in then, calm but firm. “Cal. Let her explain.”

He didn’t move at first. His knuckles whitened against the wall.

Then—slowly—he stepped back, lowering his arm.

The trust was gone. The danger had just begun.

And Cal knew whatever came next... would change everything.
---

Cal wanted answers. He needed answers.

But the shift rotation was ending, and the Inquisitors would be arriving soon. Timing was everything, and fury wouldn’t keep them alive.

He released Fret with a shove, stepping back as she and Merrin vanished in a whisper of green flame, materializing atop the prison rooftop. Cal clenched his fists, jaw tight. Every instinct screamed that this was a trap.

But they had no choice.

He spotted an exhaust port, barely wide enough, and scrambled through it. BD-1 chirped tensely as he clung to Cal’s back. They dropped into the subterranean tunnels, darkness lit only by occasional sparking wires. The walls were cracked, humming with unstable energy.

And still, their voices came through the comms.

“I never actually left the Empire,” Fret admitted again, “but I wasn’t lying. I stayed in their system to get access—to give your crew what it needed to win. Codes. Schematics. Movements. I’m not one of them.”

“That would’ve been good to say before sneaking us into an Inquisitor compound,” Cal shot back, ducking a hanging conduit as he moved through the narrow passage. “That’s not a small detail, Fret.”

“I knew you wouldn’t take it well,” Merrin said crisply. “You’re proving me right.”

Cal nearly tripped over loose metal. “She could be lying. She could be leading us straight into—”

“How can you be sure she isn’t?” Merrin snapped.

“I’m right here,” Fret snapped back. “And maybe you both want to cool it before this argument gets someone killed.”

“I can’t,” Merrin said suddenly, her voice cracking just enough for Cal to notice. “I can’t just sit with this. I’m not naive, Cal. I know something isn’t right. But I made a choice to see it through.”

Cal hesitated, voice low. “Then why?”

“Did I always act how you expected when I came aboard the Mantis?” Merrin demanded. “Did I not lash out? Make mistakes? Dathomir, Malicos… I was a mess, Cal. And still, you gave me time. You gave me space.”

“That was different.”

“How?” she fired back, breath heavy.

Cal didn’t have an answer. Just more static in his chest.

Merrin lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m not defending her. I’m trying to understand her. Just like you once tried to understand me.”

BD-1 chirped suddenly. A sharp warning. Cal snapped back to the present just in time to duck a sparking conduit and leap to another platform.

“The electrical room’s close. Do you have the jammer?” Cere asked calmly through comms.

“Yep,” Cal grunted mid-jump.

“What jammer?” Fret interjected, suspicious.

Greez’s voice crackled in next, dry as dust. “Please. Now I’m really not spoilin’ the surprise. Just do your part, stormtrooper.”

Cal dove off a ledge into a pool of murky water. BD-1 clung tightly as Cal pulled out the rebreather and submerged.

“Guess we’re swimming, buddy,” Cal murmured.

As they glided through the waterlogged tunnels, Merrin’s voice returned over comms—soft, but persistent.

“I didn’t expect silence from you, Cal. I thought you were better than that.”

A beat. BD-1 cut through a metal grate as Cal rose up for air. He pulled off the rebreather, gasping.

“I was underwater,” he replied flatly.

“I understand. This feels emotionally drowning—”

“I meant literally swimming,” Cal cut in.

A pause.

“Can we please finish the mission before we get ourselves killed?” he said, gripping the jammer tighter. “We’ll talk. When we’re back on the Mantis. With the schematics. Alive.”

No one responded.

And that silence, for now, was enough.

---

Cal shimmied through a half submerged hallway and found himself right where he needed to be; the prisons electrical room. It was as shabby as the rest of the facility but it was evident that someone visited this room semi frequently. BD-1 hopped off Cal’s shoulder and ran to the nearest input while Cal examined the crawl spaces in front of him. "Cere" Cal said on a private channel with her. "Fret’s lying, no time to explain how I know, but I do. The one person who could have actually gotten her to leave the Empire- Irei- couldn't manage it. I can't imagine why things have changed now. It's possible she never plans on leaving the Empire and we have to prepare for that."
"Alright" Cere reponded. "We all have our suspicions, Greez has her exact location on the holomap. But even if this is a trap, we have to take this risk. The Shroud is to valuable and would be devastating in the Empire's hands."
"I know you're right" Cal huffed back. He pulled the jammer out that Cere had given her before the mission and waited for BD-1 signal. He connected the Jammer and switched his comms back to public. "Alright Cere, you're in" Cal said. There was a pause then Cere said "we're a go".
Suddenly Cal heard an Alarm blaring through the compound. Cere had unlocked and opened every prisoners cell door. Everything was going to plan.

Chapter Text

---

The stormtrooper’s neck gave a satisfying crunch under the cold green fire of Merrin’s magick.

She clicked on her comms. “Fret, what’s your location?”

“On my way to you now,” came Fret’s reply, slightly winded.

Merrin exhaled sharply, still stung by how Cal had reacted earlier. It hadn’t been her place to share Fret’s secret—not yet. She had trusted Merrin with it. Cal didn’t get to act like he was the only one allowed to keep secrets from the crew.

She turned just as Fret came barreling around the corner. Without a word, Fret grabbed her hand, leading them into a narrow alcove shadowed from the chaos around them. Merrin followed willingly, though an uneasy feeling prickled at her spine. Alone with Fret, hand in hand, she should’ve felt comforted… and part of her did. But another part whispered to keep her guard up.

Still, she liked the way Fret made her feel—reckless, alive, and seen.

The prison roared around them. Shouts of fury and freedom echoed through stone and steel. The heavy thuds of collapsing guards, electric staves cracking through armor, a chorus of clashing metal and fire.

Merrin and Fret chuckled.

“So, the big surprise was a prison break?” Fret said, smirking. “You folks really don’t do half-measures, huh?”

Merrin returned the grin. “We do sometimes enjoy a little chaos.”

That’s when Cal came skidding around the corner, nearly barreling into them.

“Time to go,” he said breathlessly.

Merrin was relieved to see him—relieved he was safe, despite everything still simmering between them.

“I’ve got the location of the schematics,” came Cere’s voice through the comms. “But it doesn’t make sense. It’s showing them in a… cell block?”

Cal frowned. “Why would the Empire stash a data card that important in a prison?”

“Why do Imperials do anything they do?” Merrin replied dryly.

Cal led the way. Merrin grabbed Fret’s hand again and followed.

“This is it,” Cal said, gesturing to a nondescript hallway lined with cells. Nothing about it stood out—same stone, same iron bars, same stale air. Hardly a vault for something that could turn the tide of a war.

“Cal, I’ve got—” Cere’s voice crackled.

“Hang on, Cere,” Cal whispered, cutting her off. “Need to go quiet.”

He crept down the hallway, peering into open cell after cell, the silence growing more and more unnerving. Merrin stayed back, something tugging at her gut.

What if someone else had already taken the schematics?

Then: “Wait… what?”

Cal’s voice echoed faintly down the corridor.

Merrin glanced at Fret, frowning. Together, they moved toward him.

“Cal, I really think you need to—” Cere started again.

“Cere. Not now,” Cal hissed.

He stood outside the final cell, frozen in place. Merrin peered past him, expecting some kind of weapon cache or tech hidden in plain sight.

Instead, the door stood wide open… and someone was inside. Not leaving. Just… watching.

The figure was tall, elegant—reptilian in shape, covered in fine scales that shimmered faintly in the low light. Their form was striking, oddly graceful. Merrin blinked.

A lizard. A beautiful lizard?

Then she noticed Fret.

She had dropped Merrin’s hand and backed away, her expression taut, breath caught in her throat.

“Irei…” Fret whispered.

The figure in the cell stood slowly. “Chell.”

And in that fragile silence, Cere’s voice broke through, urgent now:

“Cal. The Inquisitors. They’re here.”

---

So the schematics came with a person, Cal thought grimly. Figures.

The Mantis crew had made a name for themselves helping people in desperate situations, but this—this was different. Not because someone needed rescuing, but because the Inquisitors were already en route. Time was running out.

Cal stared at the Nikto woman in the cell—the same woman from the Force echo. Irei. Fret’s lover. "Chell" finally made sense.

And now she was here. Alive. And possibly the key to everything.

For one brief moment, Cal had believed Fret had betrayed them, led them into a trap. But then he saw her face—part joy, part devastation—and he knew. She hadn’t known. Neither of them had.

Three things were certain: Fret hadn’t expected this. Irei hadn’t expected Fret. And Merrin... Merrin was unraveling.

Her expression was a storm of pain, betrayal, and confusion. And Cal hated it. He wanted to fix it. Wanted to protect her. But all he could do was reach out and squeeze her shoulder—firm, steady. A promise. You’re not alone.

Merrin didn’t look at him, but her posture eased just enough. It was enough for now.

“Impossible,” Fret breathed, stepping toward the cell. “You’re not real. You’re a hologram.”

Irei chuckled. “You think the Empire can fabricate something this good?”

“You can’t be alive,” Fret said, trembling.

“I can. I am.” Irei’s smile was sharp, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Merrin’s voice broke through, quiet and unsure. “Who is she?”

Fret answered without looking away. “She’s the inventor of the Shroud. And she’s dead.”

“Not dead,” Irei said again, folding her arms.

Merrin’s gaze flicked to Cal—wide-eyed, searching. Her world was shifting beneath her feet. “What do you need us to do?” she asked tightly, masking emotion behind mission.

Cal stepped forward—he didn’t even know what he meant to do. Hug her? Reassure her? His hand stayed on her shoulder. Solid. Present.

Fret finally looked at him, eyes glassy. “We need to get her out.”

“No.” Irei’s voice was sharp. “I’m not leaving this cell.”

Cal raised a brow. “No problem. If you’d just hand over the schematics, we’ll be on our—”

“New friends, Chell?” Irei interrupted, eyeing the crew. “Interesting taste.”

Fret gave a shaky smile. “Thought you’d like them better than the last ones.”

“I do,” Irei said with a shrug. “But that’s not saying much.”

Fret was still stuck in her own emotional whirlpool, so Cal took the lead. “I’m Cal Kestis. This is BD-1.”

BD beeped in greeting.

Merrin stepped forward, arms crossed. “Merrin. Nightsister of Dathomir.” Her tone was cold and sharp. The same as when she’d first met Cal.

He swore he saw the faintest shimmer of green rage dancing around her fingers. Irei took a cautious step back.

Good, Cal thought. Attagirl.

“We’re—” he paused. How did you explain them? “We’re working against the Empire. Fret—Chell—brought us here because someone believes the Shroud could change the fight. But if the Empire gets it...”

“Qeris Lar,” Irei finished, nodding. “Chell, I’m surprised he let you in the door.”

“I’ve been busy,” Fret muttered.

“Well, he’s right. The Shroud is too dangerous. If the Empire finishes it, the galaxy burns. I won’t let that happen.”

“Glad we agree,” Cal said, moving toward the cell.

But Irei stepped back again. “Oh, Cal Kestis... I don’t think we do.”

Before Cal could reply, the prison shook violently. A passing ship. The Inquisitors were close.

Time was up.

“Okay,” Cal said. “This has been... great. But we need to leave. Now. Irei, we’re getting you out. If you’ve got the schematics, hold onto them.”

“I do,” Irei nodded. “They stay with me.”

Merrin’s voice cut in, brittle and low. “Why didn’t they just kill you?”

Irei looked at her, voice steady. “Because I told them the schematics only exist in my head. I’m the only one who can build it. And I wasn’t lying. That’s also why you can’t let them catch me. If they do, everything ends.”

-----------------------------------------

The Nikto was still speaking, but Merrin could barely hear her.

Fret—her Fret, as she'd foolishly started to think—stood a breath away, entirely lost in the woman before her. Irei. Alive. Real. And clearly still wrapped around Fret’s heart.

Merrin’s stomach twisted. First Illyana, back on Dathomir, stolen by Separatist fire. Then Cal—was it still Cal? Had it ever not been? A Jedi so tangled in ancient codes he couldn’t see someone standing in front of him, loving him with everything she had. And now... Fret. A firestorm of a woman who matched Merrin's chaos with her own, who made her feel seen. Wanted.

And now she had to watch that woman stare at someone else like they were the center of the galaxy.

She cursed herself. For opening up. For hoping. For letting herself feel again.

And then, her gaze met Cal’s. Somehow, impossibly, he knew. Of course he did. She could see it on his face—soft, sad understanding. He must’ve seen the memory in one of his Force echoes. Typical.

“Talk,” Cal said firmly, voice sharp in the chaos. “But you’re doing it on the move.”

He removed his hand from Merrin’s shoulder.

She felt the absence immediately.

That hand—the quiet steadiness it always offered—was gone. She missed it more than she cared to admit. Fret’s fire had thrilled her, but Cal’s calm had steadied her. She hadn't realized how much she needed him until now.

Irei refused to move. “One condition. You don’t let them take me. No matter what.”

Cal didn’t even flinch. “We’re not leaving you. Not today, not ever. I don’t know what they did to you, but I swear, we’ll get you out. You’re safe with us.”

Irei looked between him and Fret, searching for the lie. “Deal, Jedi,” she finally said. “You get me to safety, and we’ll talk.”

They moved. Cal took the lead, BD chirping on his shoulder. Irei followed closely, Fret just behind, and Merrin took up the rear. She hated the way her chest ached, how fire coiled behind her ribs like a living thing.

“Right turn,” Cere said over comms. “Then a left. There’s a mess hall ahead—emergency hatch on the roof. Go!”

They ducked through the corridor into chaos. Stormtroopers and prisoners clashed in a storm of blasterfire and electrostaffs. Merrin’s lips twitched. Perfect distraction.

“Start talking,” Cal snapped, shoving Irei behind cover.

“I’m an engineer,” she said, crouched behind a table. “And Force-sensitive. When I realized I’d be hunted for it, I made something that could hide me.”

“The Shroud,” Cal muttered, cutting down two troopers. “You made it to disappear.”

“Not just me,” Irei called out. “I wanted to take someone with me. Someone too scared to run.”

He glanced at Fret. “Someone like her.”

“Yes, Jedi,” Irei confirmed. “Someone like her.”

That was enough. Merrin felt it all boil over. She smelled smoke and thought, absurdly, is that me? Her rage was a furnace.

Then a blaster bolt cracked through the air.

Cal jerked, stumbling forward. Fret went down next, armor taking most of the hit. But Cal—Cal had twisted just in time, the bolt burning across his back. Not fatal. But close.

Merrin snapped. The green blaze of her magic tore through the room like a vengeful storm.

“Stop trying to get yourself killed!” Fret barked at Irei.

“I’m not trying to!” Irei yelled back, trembling.

“I can’t do this,” she gasped, staggering. “I don’t know if I can.”

Cal reached her. His palm pressed lightly to her back, his voice soft but steady. “You can. You will. We’ve got you.”

Merrin saw the wince in his shoulders as he moved. The burn must’ve hurt. She clenched her fists, guilt pressing down like weight on her spine.

“End of the hall, up the ladder,” Cere’s voice came through again.

Cal turned to Merrin. “We’ll talk later,” he said softly. Then louder: “Everyone up. Now.”

They shoved Irei and Fret between them, forming a barrier of blades and fury.

“Were you ever going to tell us?” Cal shouted at Fret, swinging his saber at two more troopers.

“If you gave back my blaster, maybe I could help!” she snapped.

“You’re not getting your blaster!” he snapped back.

“I would have told you! I thought she was dead!”

“I’m not dead!” Irei shouted. “And this is deeply complicated!”

The doors burst open.

Purge Troopers.

More than they could count.

“We’re not gonna make it,” Merrin breathed.

“You don’t know what it’s like!” Irei shouted. “To lose everything—”

“I do!” Cal shouted back, his voice cracking like a whip. The Force pulsed out from him in a shockwave, knocking troopers flat.

Even Merrin froze.

Cal Kestis—calm, composed, infuriatingly hopeful Cal—angry. Not out of control. But close.

His chest heaved as he stared Irei down. “I do know. I know what it’s like to feel so helpless you’d do anything to stop the pain. I know what it’s like to want to disappear just to keep the people you love from dying.”

He turned to Merrin, locking eyes with her. She swallowed. Hard.

“You built something that could protect everyone,” he told Irei. “And you should be proud of that. We’re going to protect you, too.”

Fret stepped forward. “The galaxy needs you. I need you. We’ll keep you safe.”

The absurdity hit Merrin—pouring their hearts out while enemies groaned on the ground around them.

“I never wanted it to fall into the wrong hands,” Irei whispered.

“You have my word as a Jedi,” Cal said. “That it won’t.”

She nodded.

“Good,” he said. Then turned to Merrin. “Can I talk to you?”

She nodded silently and let him pull her aside.

“Are you with me?” he asked gently.

“I’m always with you, Jedi.”

“No,” he said, voice lower. “I know that. But are you with me right now?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I’m here. I’m with you.”

“Good,” he said with a sigh. “Because you’re not going to like what I have to say. I don’t trust Qeris to handle the Shroud. He doesn’t understand what it could do if misused.”

Merrin bit her lip. “We need to take her with us.”

Cal blinked. “Wait—really?”

“Yes,” Merrin said with certainty. “We get her to the Mantis. We figure out the rest.”

Cal’s smile was small. Grateful. Familiar. “Alright then. Ladies—”

He stopped. Merrin did too.

Fret and Irei were gone.

---

Fret was given a choice—stay with Merrin or leave with Irei.
She chose Irei.

“Cal!” came Cere’s panicked voice over the comms, sharp and grim. “We have a problem.”

Cal’s stomach dropped at the tone in her voice. “It’s the Inquisitor himself,” she continued. “He’s in the prison—he’s heading for your position.”

“Back to the Mantis!” Cal said without hesitation. Fret and Irei could be anywhere, but they weren’t equipped for this—not in their current state. Of course, he thought bitterly, nothing can ever just go to plan.

Merrin materialized at the exit in a flash of green flame, and Cal sprinted toward her. As he reached for her, he felt a sharp burn across his arm. It was her—Merrin. Her skin radiated heat, not from injury, but from raw, seething emotion and magic.

“Cal,” she said lowly, “if we find them… leave Fret to me.”

There was something final in her voice. Cold and cutting. Cal recognized it immediately.

“You got it.” He clapped his hand atop hers for reassurance. She was burning through her own skin, and yet, so steady. So controlled.

Then, together, Cal ignited his lightsaber, and Merrin’s hands sparked with green ichor. Their combined presence was awe-inspiring.

“Time to go,” Cal said.

---

Merrin loved killing Purge Troopers. It was far more satisfying than slicing through standard stormtroopers. One by one, she ripped through their ranks, unleashing tendrils of green fire that slithered into their helmets and fried them from the inside out.

Cal lunged beside her, catching a glimpse of her spellwork. “Did I know you could do that?” he asked, breathless.

“I am full of secrets, Jedi,” she replied with mock seriousness, wiggling her fingers with a grin.

Cal chuckled. “That’s not much of a secret, Merrin.”

Before she could respond, an electrostaff buzzed to life—mere inches from her face. Cal yanked her backward with the Force and flung the trooper away.

“I would have had it,” Merrin hissed.

“I know,” Cal said, smiling.

They advanced through the mess hall like a two-person wrecking crew, cutting down troopers until they reached the escape hatch—blocked by five Purge Troopers. Two of them bore commander stripes.

They moved as one. Blades, fire, and Force, working together in perfect, wordless rhythm.

Only two commanders remained. They were fast. Trained. Deadly.

But Merrin was faster.

She teleported in a burst of green flame and grabbed the closest one—ready to drain the life from his bones.

That’s when she heard the thud.

A shock grenade hit the floor beside her, releasing a pulse of paralyzing energy.

Pain engulfed her as the electric field locked her in place.

Careless. She’d been careless.

The commander laughed—a deep, mocking chuckle muffled by his red visor. “You aren’t even a Jedi,” he said smugly. “What makes you think you stand a chance?”

Merrin’s breath caught as the commander aimed his blaster directly at her chest.

The shot rang out—and struck.

But not where he aimed.

The bolt glanced off the thick golden teeth of the Nightsister necklace she wore. It ricocheted, slamming into her shoulder instead of her heart.

The pain was blinding.

But what came next… was worse.

Merrin let out a sound that didn’t seem human. A howl of fury and pain that echoed across the chamber.

Green mist erupted around her.

The commander suddenly found himself bound by writhing, flaming chains—Merrin’s ichor magic burning into his skin.

She stalked toward him as he screamed, unable to move.

“You’re right,” she growled, face inches from his as his visor began to crack from the heat. “I’m not a Jedi.”

She smiled then, cold and terrible.

“I am so much worse.”

And then, she consumed him—slowly, methodically—until there was nothing left but scorched armor and ash.

---

Once Merrin snapped out of her fury, the silence hit her like a cold wave. She glanced around the mess hall—bodies strewn in mangled heaps, smoke curling from blaster scorches, and the choking stench of death hanging thick in the air. The aftermath was carnage. Her carnage.

She looked up just as Cal vanquished the last of the Purge Troopers with a final, sweeping strike. He was sweaty, bruised, his breaths ragged and shallow. The fight had drained him—but he was still standing. Still Cal.

Merrin braced herself for judgment. For that Jedi guilt, that soft-spoken reprimand about mercy and restraint. But instead, Cal—ever full of surprises—grinned faintly as he jabbed a stim into his arm from BD-1.

“Like old times,” he said between breaths.

Merrin gave a breathy laugh, a real one. “Yes, Jedi. Like old times.”

But the moment was shattered by the echoing thunder of boots. They turned in unison. Dozens of stormtroopers flooded the mess hall, pouring in from every exit. Blasters drawn. Trained. Ready.

There was no escape. Not this time. Not at these odds.

She felt Cal’s hand grab her arm. When she met his gaze, she already knew what he was going to say. Go. Get back to the Mantis. Protect Cere and Greez.

But Merrin slid his hand off her arm and met him with a grin of her own. “Like old times, Jedi… They will see just how much of a monster I can be.”

And then she lit up.

Cal’s saber blazed to life again as he stepped forward to deflect the incoming volley. Blaster bolts ricocheted like angry stars. Merrin, meanwhile, dug deep—deeper than she ever had before. The rage, the pain, the heartbreak—it fueled her.

She didn’t have her seeing glass, but she would try. She had to.

Merrin closed her eyes, took a breath, and began the chant.

The air grew thick with energy. Her body ignited with green flames, her voice echoing with power. Mist rolled across the floor like a living thing. The temperature dropped.

The troopers hesitated. Frozen. Terrified.

Green ichor poured from her fingertips, her eyes, her mouth. Every part of her shone with ancient, raw magick. Her voice rang out like a war cry.

“Rise… and avenge… Dathomir.”

Bodies twitched.

Then they rose.

The corpses littering the mess hall reanimated with groaning cries, limbs jerking to life, ichor dripping from their mouths. They turned—not toward Merrin, but toward the stormtroopers.

The room became chaos.

Cal wasted no time. He was in motion, weaving between the chaos, his lightsaber carving through distracted soldiers. The reanimated dead clawed and gnashed, their shrieks shaking the durasteel walls. Screams of terror filled the air as the troopers were overrun by nightmares made flesh.

When it was done—when the last scream faded and only silence remained—Merrin opened her eyes.

She clenched her fists. The ichor corpses collapsed all at once, lifeless again.

Cal was watching her.

But the look on his face wasn’t one she could name. Not fear, not awe—something deeper. Something more complicated.

It broke her heart.

“Go,” he said softly.

And that was all she needed.

Merrin turned, sprinted toward the exit, and vanished into green mist—materializing back on the Mantis, her mind still spinning, her heart still burning.

But just before she left…

She heard something.

A voice. One she didn’t recognize—high, sharp, almost… gleeful.

“Jedi!”

And then she was gone.

But the way that voice rang in her bones, the chill it left behind—that stayed with her.

---

Chapter Text

---

Before the Inquisitor entered the room, Cal made sure Merrin had vanished in a flicker of green. He felt the aftershock of her power still echoing in the walls—the pulse of ancient magick and ferocious love. It had left him in awe.

He wished he'd had the time to tell her. To thank her for always being there, for holding the line when no one else could. For being his fire when his own light faltered. But she was gone now—and safe.

That was enough.

Cal let his lightsaber dim and lower to his side. No need to provoke. Not yet.

“Jedi,” the Inquisitor spat, like the word tasted sour on his tongue—but a little too eagerly for Cal’s liking.

Cal raised an eyebrow. “What gave it away?” he quipped dryly.

The Inquisitor stepped into full view—tall, broad, and armored in polished obsidian black. His shoulder pauldrons were exaggerated, making him look wider than he was, like someone trying too hard to take up space.

“Nice hat,” Cal added, nodding toward the awkward dome perched atop the Inquisitor’s head. “What is that? A repurposed R2 unit? Spray-painted and slapped on top? Keeps the rain off on Kamino, does it?”

“I’m afraid,” the Inquisitor said with forced calm, “your words do not annoy me nearly as much as your existence does.”

Cal clicked his tongue, glancing pointedly at the four red lights glowing on the Inquisitor’s chest plate. “Bit much, don’t you think? You walk into a nightclub with those on, or just use them to find your way in the dark?”

The Inquisitor didn’t rise to the bait, but Cal saw the twitch of his jaw. Swallow-gray-green skin, upturned mint eyes—pupil and all—cold and oddly lifeless. The Inquisitor finally ignited his double-bladed saber, red humming to life in a menacing swirl.

“I am the Fifth Brother,” he said, each word grinding through the air like a weight.

Cal tilted his head, already inching his way toward an exit without making it obvious. “You got a name, or just a number like a broken protocol droid?”

The Inquisitor’s face remained stone. “Not anymore.”

Cal’s fingers curled around his hilt. With a snap-hiss, his blue saber flared to life. BD-1 chirped from his back—sharp, rallying, like a battle cry.

The Fifth Brother advanced, blade raised. Slow. Relentless.

Cal didn’t flinch, though he was pressed now against the edge of the doorway. He had two choices. Run—and risk leading this monster back to the Mantis. Back to the people he loved.

Or fight.

Cal breathed once. Felt the weight of the moment settle around him like mist. He’d faced worse. He’d survived worse. And if this was the hill he had to make his stand on, he’d make damn sure it gave his crew enough time to get away.

He smiled, grim and determined.

“Alright,” Cal muttered to himself, tightening his grip. “Let’s dance.”

---

The Fifth Brother roared as he lunged through the air, his twin crimson blades spinning like a windmill of death. Cal met him mid-leap, blue saber crashing against red with a shriek of energy and a violent flash of sparks.

Cal landed hard, boots skidding against stone as he staggered back, absorbing the shock of the strike through gritted teeth. The Inquisitor was slower than Cal expected—but it didn’t matter. Every strike was a hammer. Every swing a tidal wave.

“You're quick, Jedi,” the Fifth Brother growled, heavy footsteps pounding forward as he swung low. “But you're tired.”

Cal ducked, the red blade narrowly missing his neck. He rolled under the second swing, only to catch the tail end of the saber’s spin across his left side. He cried out, the heat searing through his tunic, burning into skin.

“Guess that makes two of us,” Cal bit out, leaping up and slashing low. The Inquisitor blocked it with ease.

The Fifth Brother slammed his saber down like a war axe. Cal caught the blow with both hands, blade locked in a clash that lit their snarling faces in blue and red. Cal’s arms shook with the effort.

“You’re out of your depth,” the Inquisitor said, pressing harder. “And out of time.”

I just need a little more, Cal thought. He needed to buy some time for his crew to escape.
"Merrin, status?" Cal said into comms.
"Im here Cal, back at the ship, the engines are starting up but there's an issue-". The fifth brother cut the transmission short as he charged Cal.

Cal kicked the Inquisitor square in the gut.
The brute stumbled back—but only for a breath.

Cal charged forward, spinning, dancing around the bigger man, scoring a shallow hit on his arm.

The Fifth Brother roared and flung a Force push. Cal was launched backward, slamming into a pillar with a sickening crack.

BD-1 shrieked from the shadows. Cal groaned, his body screaming in pain. His saber flickered but stayed lit. He pushed himself to his feet, barely. BD-1 was popping canister after canister of stims for Cal to stay upright.

“Still standing?” the Fifth Brother sneered, marching forward. “Brave. Stupid. Pointless.”

Cal exhaled and stepped into the next attack, blade up, ducking under a wide arc. The Fifth Brother brought the opposite blade around and seared Cal’s shoulder. He screamed, staggering backward, saber trembling in his grip.

“You should’ve run,” the Inquisitor said coldly. “You could’ve lived.”

Cal spit blood, raising his blade again. They’re worth dying for. He thought to himself.

The Fifth Brother’s saber spun one last time. "You will die, here and now, alone." Five said.

The fifth brother lunged again.

Time slowed.

The red blades whirled toward Cal’s neck. His body wouldn’t move fast enough. This was it. His last breath would be here, in this place, alone.

But then—

“He’s not alone.”

The voice was a blast of calm through the chaos.

A blue saber lit the space with a snap-hiss.

Cere Junda stormed from the shadows, catching the Fifth Brother’s blade mid-swing. Sparks flared where their sabers met.

Cal collapsed to one knee, gasping, wide-eyed as Cere held her ground.

“you should know a padawan is never far from their master” she said, eyes locked with the Inquisitor. “You want a Jedi? Well, you just found one.”

---

The second Cere's blade met the Fifth Brother’s, she knew exactly what he was.

Strong. Brutally strong. But clumsy.

Every strike he threw down was with the fury of a hammer — raw power with no precision, no grace. His emotions ruled him completely.

That would be his downfall.

Cere pressed forward, boots grinding against scorched stone as she met his strength with cold, perfect balance. Her blue saber hissed and crashed against red.
she remained calm even as she stepped aside from a wide, reckless swing.

The Fifth Brother snarled, twirling his double-bladed saber above his head like a savage.

Cere ducked, her saber slicing across his thigh. Not deep — but enough. He roared in frustration.

Cal was back on his feet beside her, blood running down his brow, burns on his shoulder, but his stance was solid.

Cere caught his glance — steady, focused — and nodded once.

Together.

Cal moved like wind. Fast. Nimble. He baited the Inquisitor into turning toward him with a quick jab at the legs. The Fifth Brother fell for it, swinging wide.

Cere stepped in on his blind side and sliced across his armor-plated ribs.

The Fifth Brother staggered, rage twisting his face.

“You Jedi think you’ve won?” he seethed, reaching out with the Force. The ground beneath them cracked and buckled under the weight of his fury.

Cere felt the tremor in the Force — like standing on the edge of a storm.

She met Cal’s eyes again.

Now.

Both Jedi lunged.

They drove him back, strike after strike, working in perfect sync — Cal fast and relentless, Cere calculating and measured. Their sabers were a whirlwind of blue, wearing him down, step by brutal step.

But then —

Sweat stung Cere's eye. Just for a blink.

In battle, a blink was everything.

She misread the angle of his spin.

The Fifth Brother roared and raked his saber across her shoulder. White-hot pain exploded through her body, the smell of burned fabric and flesh filling her nostrils.

“CERE!” Cal yelled.

He was already moving, throwing himself between them.

But the Fifth Brother turned, extended his hand — and Cal was ripped from his feet like a ragdoll. He slammed against the concrete wall with a bone-shattering crack, the entire structure shuddering from the impact.

Cere’s heart stopped.

Cal slumped, motionless, blood trailing down the wall as cracks spiderwebbed around him.

Something ancient and terrible stirred in Cere’s chest.

No.

Not again.

Not another loss. Not another person taken.

Cere reached deep — deeper into the Force than she had in years. Into the calm beneath the rage. Into the clarity beneath the pain.

Her saber hummed low and dangerous.

She advanced — one step, two — parrying a furious swing from the Fifth Brother, then locking his blade with hers. Her hand shot forward, snapping the emitter casing of his saber clean in two with the Force.

CRACK.

The weapon sparked, sputtered, and died in his hands.

Silence.

The Fifth Brother stared down at the ruined hilt, disbelief in his pale eyes.

But then — awe.

Cere saw it — raw and childlike beneath all the anger and hate.

Awe.

For a heartbeat, she saw not a monster, but a man.

A lost man.

He can be saved.

They all could.

Even him.

Even now.

---

Greez Dritus had lived a long life. Long enough to know better. Long enough to know exactly how this was gonna go the moment his dumb, beautiful, disaster of a crew decided to tangle with Inquisitors on Murkhana.

And now? Now he was pacing the Mantis, commlink in hand, barking into the void.

"Cal? Cere? Anybody wanna answer me before my heart gives out?" Static.

Figures.

He'd told them. Told them plenty of times — take the win. Live to fight another day. But nooo. Jedi and Nightsisters, stubborn as durasteel plating.

Greez stomped out of the cockpit toward the holotable where Merrin was pacing like a damn caged rancor.

"Merrin!" Greez shouted, throwing his hands up. "Where in the hell are they?!"

Merrin whirled on him, her face tight — that look in her eyes that Greez hated most of all: panic.

"I don't know," she said, her voice barely a whisper above the pounding in Greez's chest. "I was supposed to come back to protect you both, but she was adamant about going back. That she needed to be the one to go back. What was I gonna do tell her no? I never should have left him there-" tears welled in her eyes.
"I left Cal. I left him."

Aw, c'mon.

That hit Greez right in the gut.

He moved without thinking, grabbing her by the arms, steady but firm — like he used to when Cal was shaking from a nightmare.

"Hey. Hey!" His voice dropped, softer. "Knock that out right now. You did what you knew was right. That's all any of us ever do out here."

Merrin's brown eyes locked on his. He saw it then — that flicker of control, of the witch he knew she was.

She breathed deep. Straightened.

"You're right," she said.

Greez snorted, patting her arm. "Yeah, yeah — I usually am."

Back in the cockpit, the Mantis was prepped and waiting, sitting as close to the mess hall roof as he could manage without practically parking in the Empire’s lap. Ramp down, blasters ready.

He peeked out the hatch, squinting into the gloom. The compound was too quiet.

Too quiet always meant very bad things.

Greez's four arms twitched. He could hold this ramp down for a while — had enough firepower stashed in this old bucket of bolts to keep himself breathing long enough for Merrin to blink in, grab Cere and the kid, and blink out.

But before he could even say it — before he could even open his mouth to order Merrin to go — she cut him off with a sharp shake of her head.

"Absolutely not, Greez. I am not leaving you alone here."

"Stars above, witch — I survived four wives and seven bad gambling debts. I can handle a couple bucketheads for ten minutes." He sighed, shoulders sagging. "Go."

But then — a shout from the edge of the landing pad.

"MEDBAY!"

Greez's head snapped up.

Limping like a drunken gundark, armor scorched and hauling a whole damn lizard on her back — was Fret.

The damn stormtrooper herself.

Greez stared, blinking once. Twice.

"Oh for kriff's sake," he muttered.

This day just kept getting better.

Most of Fret’s stormtrooper armor was either half-melted, slagged, or clinging to her like burnt noodles. The big lizard — Irei, the Nikto genius or whatever — was draped across her back like a dead gundark. Smoke curling up from more than a couple places that, yeah, probably weren’t supposed to have holes.

“Stars above,” Greez muttered, scurrying down the ramp like his fur was on fire.

Before he could even curse properly, whump — Merrin appeared right beside Fret like some vengeful Dathomir ghost. A blink later, gone — all three of them materialized on the Mantis ramp in a swirl of green flame.

Greez hustled over, giving Irei a once-over — and whew, it wasn’t pretty. Blaster burns, deep scoring, blackened scales, blood oozing in places that made his stomach turn.

"You gotta do something," Fret barked, barely keeping upright, wild panic in her voice.

"Do something?!" Greez squawked, throwing his arms wide. "Kid, I don’t exactly got a fully loaded MedCenter hidden under the floorboards! We’ve got stim packs, a roll of bandage tape, and whatever prayers Cal hasn’t burned through yet."

"No," Merrin said, her voice sharp — cool, dangerous, certain. "Move."

Greez staggered back as green fire licked around Merrin’s fingertips, falling like slow-burning ash onto the deck. The flames curled around Irei, lifting her gently — not like how Merrin fought with rage — no, this was... careful. Controlled.

Magic.

And Greez didn’t miss it. Not one bit. That look on Fret’s face?

It wasn’t fear.

It was awe.

Fret was looking at Merrin like she’d just cracked the galaxy in half and offered to put it back together again.

Merrin turned, gaze locked onto Fret. "I can do this," she said, voice soft but fierce. "But I’m going to need your help."

Without hesitation, Fret was already nodding — already following as Merrin floated Irei down the corridor toward the engine room. The door slid shut behind them, glowing with that eerie green seal of Nightsister magick.

Locked tight.

"Kriffin' hell..." Greez grumbled under his breath, raking a hand down his face. "One of these days, I swear... I’m gonna retire for real."

He didn’t waste another second.

Blasters strapped tight, datapad in hand, pulse pounding like a drum in his ears — Greez Dritus bolted down the Mantis ramp.

Toward Cal.

Toward Cere.

Toward the fight.

Because no matter how stupid or suicidal his crew might be... they were his stupid, suicidal crew.

And he wasn’t about to lose a single one of them today.

---

Irei was in bad shape — worse than bad. The kind of bad that even Merrin, who had seen death more times than she could count, knew didn’t leave much time.

This wasn’t what Merrin was best at. Taking life? That had always come easy. But giving it back? Holding it together when everything screamed to let go?

That was harder.

Still... she wouldn’t let Irei die.

Not like this. Not here.

Not when she mattered this much to the galaxy.

Merrin’s hands glowed with that familiar green fire, but this time it was different — softer, controlled, more delicate than any battle-scorched magick she had ever conjured. Mist uncurled from her palms like drifting spirit-smoke, coiling around Irei’s battered body. Every wound it touched felt like resistance — like the galaxy itself didn’t want to give Irei back.

But Merrin pushed harder.

Nightsister healing was never meant to be done like this — not without oils, potions, brews — all the old tools her Clan once used in their rituals. All Merrin had was her will... her fury... and her grief.

And she poured it all into Irei.

She didn’t ask how Irei got like this.

Fret hadn’t told her. Maybe couldn’t. Maybe wouldn’t. Merrin suspected guilt was clogging up Fret’s throat worse than any injury could.

If they had stayed — stayed with them — Merrin thought bitterly... Irei wouldn’t be on the brink of death now.

Still... they had come back. Back to the Mantis. Back to safety.

Whatever that meant.

The ritual dragged on longer than Merrin liked. Her body screamed at her to stop — that she was burning too much of herself away. That this was never what Dathomir magick was meant for.

But she didn’t care.

She would give every last piece of herself before letting slip away.

Finally — finally — Irei's breathing slowed. The pained twist of her face eased. She was far from healed, but she was stable... for now.

Merrin let the mist retract, staggered back a step, skin slick with sweat, heart pounding in her throat. The room spun.

She vaguely heard Fret's voice — soft words of thanks, or maybe prayer — as she tended to Irei with what little supplies the Mantis had left.

But Merrin barely registered it.

Her vision blurred.

Her knees buckled.

And then... darkness.

The last thing she thought before the world slipped away was bitter and sharp:

Stupid feelings.

Stupid Jedi.

Stupid heart.

---

The good thing about being small and weird-looking was that nobody ever really thought you were a threat. Greez Dritus had learned that a long time ago — in card games, in cantinas, and now apparently, in a kriffin’ war zone.

Stormtroopers were everywhere, but they barely spared him a glance. He wasn't on any wanted posters. He wasn't a Jedi. He wasn't some big bad Nightsister igniting in green fire. He was just Greez.

Perfect.

He stuck to the shadows, eyes glued to the holomap BD-1 had uploaded before they left the Mantis. Little pings showed him Cal and Cere’s location — still stuck in the damn mess hall.

Of course they were.

He dipped and weaved past trooper patrols, ducking under pipes, slipping through side passages — heart pounding like it used to when he was in a heated game of sabacc. Only there were no credits on the line here. Just his idiot family.

Rounding a corner, he paused — stormtroopers storming by him without a second look.

“Kriffin' bucketheads,” he muttered.

Another turn. Then another.

He was there.

The mess hall.

And immediately regretted it.

His stomach dropped.

Cal was down — hard — slumped against a wall like a discarded ragdoll, BD-1 desperately chirping, nudging at him, trying to get him to wake up.

But that wasn’t even the worst part.

Cere.

Cere was standing in the middle of the room — saber lit — inches from the throat of an Inquisitor.

Big. Ugly. Helmet like an upside-down cooking pot. Pale gray skin. Looked like someone forgot to finish building him.

But it wasn’t the Inquisitor that made Greez’s stomach twist.

It was Cere’s face.

She wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t vengeful.

She looked... desperate.

Desperate to save this monster.

Of course she was.

That was the Mantis crew, wasn’t it? Always reaching a damn hand out to every lost soul in the galaxy. Even when they didn’t deserve it.

Damn this crew...

He took a step forward.

And without even turning, Cere said quietly — too calmly — "Not now, Greez."

That made his skin crawl worse than a whole room full of spiders.

The Inquisitor twitched — reaching.

Cere caught it. Forced him back into the wall, metal folding around him like armor turned prison.

"Please," she said, like this was some kinda negotiation. "We can help you. You don't have to do this."

Greez rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.

"Cere, c'mon," he grumbled, stepping closer. "He’s stuck. Cal’s dyin' over here. Merrin’s losin' her mind back at the ship. I am two seconds away from a heart attack. We gotta go."

She turned, real slow, giving him that look — the one he hadn’t seen since Bracca... since Trilla.

His gut twisted.

"You wanna save him? Fine. Save him later," Greez said, softer now. "But right now? Your family needs savin’."

He stepped forward. Right in reach of her now.

And that's when it all fell apart.

"You've failed!" the Inquisitor snarled — the metal groaning, shrieking as he ripped free.

It happened so fast.

Cere went flying — slammed into the wall like a rag doll, her saber ripped clean from her hand and into his.

And Greez?

Instinct. Pure, stupid instinct.

He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

He ran.

Straight for Cal.

Straight for his kid.

Right as the Inquisitor brought that red saber down — aimed to finish what he started.

Greez Dritus threw himself over Cal Kestis like a shield.

Like family.

He felt the heat of the saber.

And he screamed.

Chapter Text

---

When Merrin awoke, the world felt distant — muted, like she was underwater. Her body was heavy, her limbs aching, her well of magick bone dry. Every part of her screamed for rest.

But then… she heard it.

The rattle of the Mantis’s ramp.

Too soon.

Far too soon.

Panic cut through the fog in her mind like a blade.

"Greez!" she gasped, scrambling to her feet faster than she should’ve been able to. Her body protested, weak from healing Irei, but none of that mattered now.

She ran.

Ran on instinct alone.

All she could picture — all she wanted — was to see that little Latero stomp his way back up the ramp, grumbling curses, flanked by Cal and Cere batting away blaster fire.

That’s what she needed to see.

Instead…

Her heart clenched.

It was Greez.

But not all of him.

Cere and Cal were hauling him up the ramp — not so much running as dragging — both of them soaked in blood, dust, and ash. Greez hung limp between them, unconscious.

And missing one of his arms.

Merrin’s heart dropped straight into her stomach.

"Fret!" she barked, without even thinking. "Get us in the air!"

She didn’t even look to see if Fret obeyed — the Mantis was already rumbling beneath her feet, rising fast, thrusters screaming.

Merrin darted forward, catching Greez under the remaining arm as Cere peeled away, sprinting for the cockpit. Cal was barely standing, but his hands stayed steady, guiding Greez to the couches near the holotable.

Merrin cast a glance at Cal — really looked at him — and what she saw chilled her.

He looked awful.

His face was bruised, skin torn and burned through a blood-soaked shirt, and his stance… his stance was wrong. Off-balance. Sluggish.

Not her Jedi.

Not her Cal.

Their eyes met for half a second.

They didn’t need words.

He was just as terrified for Greez as she was.

Working together, they strapped Greez down, careful but quick. Merrin’s hands hovered over the stump of his severed arm — cauterized, jagged. A lightsaber wound.

Her jaw clenched.

Fury flared in her chest, twisting into protective grief.

She reached down, taking Greez’s remaining hand in hers — small, rough, familiar.

"You will be alright, Greez," she whispered, her voice low but unshakable. "You’ve got enough of us around to hold the rest of your hands through all of this."

Through pain-clouded eyes, Greez blinked — slow, dazed.

"Did we get 'im?" he rasped, like the stubborn fool he was.

Merrin froze.

She didn’t know the truth.

But Cal — Cal didn’t even hesitate.

"We got 'em, Greez," he said, overly reassuring, a softness in his voice that told Merrin everything.

A lie.

She cut a look toward Cal — sharp, questioning.

But he just shook his head.

Not now.

Not here.

Merrin squeezed Greez’s hand tighter.

Soon.

They would have to talk soon.

---

Safe — for now.

The Mantis was deep in hyperspace, the stars stretched into calming lines beyond the viewport, but Merrin felt no peace.

Not after this.

Cere approached, calm but weary, and gently unbuckled Greez from his seat. Even unconscious, even half-ruined, he still mumbled something about the straps being too tight.

Merrin felt her throat close.

Cere shot a look toward her and Cal — a quiet order in her eyes.

"I'm going to see what I can do for him," Cere said softly, guiding Greez toward the med corner at the back of the ship. "You two... look after yourselves."

BD-1 scrambled after her, stim canisters already clicking and ready.

Merrin stayed frozen.

She should have moved. She should have said something. But instead, her eyes stayed locked — fixed on Cal.

Maker, look at him.

His face was a mess — bruised and bloodied, his reddish hair darkened and matted with dried blood. His shirt was torn to shreds, half soaked in red and half in dirt and ash. He sat with his arms braced on his knees like it was taking all his strength just to sit upright.

And yet somehow — somehow — the first words out of his mouth were for someone else.

"Is there anything you can do?" he asked quietly. "Your magick... for Greez?"

Merrin's heart twisted.

She wished there was. She wished with everything in her being that there was.

But slowly, she shook her head.

"No," she whispered, the word burning like failure on her tongue.

Her hands, still stained faintly green from her earlier ritual with Irei, curled into trembling fists in her lap.

"I had to..." she faltered, eyes dropping to the floor. Her voice was barely above breath. "Fret brought Irei back. She was dying. It took everything I had just to keep her alive. Every drop of power. Every ounce of focus."

She looked up — found Cal's tired, understanding eyes on her.

"I am no healer, Cal. You know this. And after using the resurrection spell at the compound... I have nothing left."

Nothing but empty hands and too many ghosts.

Cal didn’t hesitate.

Despite his battered state, despite the sharp hiss of pain that left him as he moved, his hand came to rest on her shoulder — steady. Comforting. Real.

"You did the right thing," he told her.

Simple. Solid. Absolute.

Merrin closed her eyes — just for a heartbeat — and let that be enough. Let herself believe him.

But it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm brewing inside her.

She couldn’t sit here in silence. Not with what she'd seen. Not after the choices made. Not after what they all lost — and nearly lost.

"Cal..." she said, voice raw now. "What happened?"

She needed to know.

Needed to understand.

Needed to prepare for whatever storm was coming next.

But when Cal shook his head — slow, tired, distant — something in Merrin’s chest went cold.

"I don't know," he whispered.

And Merrin believed him.

That was the worst part.

----------------------------------------

It had been a long night aboard the Stinger Mantis.

Too long.

Cere sat quietly in the master quarters, Greez laid out before her on the cot — pale, sweating, his leather jacked covered with blood and the acrid stink of burnt flesh. His arm… or what was left of it… was carefully wrapped in what little bacta patches they had left.

Cere’s hands moved automatically — efficient, calm — but her mind was anything but.

She couldn’t stop seeing it.

Couldn’t stop replaying it.

When she’d righted herself from where the Fifth Brother had thrown her into the wall of the mess hall… the first thing she saw — felt — was the horror of her own lightsaber slicing through Greez’s arm.

Her Greez.

He’d thrown himself in front of Cal like a damn fool — like family — like all of them were, whether they said it out loud or not.

That was what hurt the most.

She’d screamed. Not in fear — not even in rage.

In failure.

The Force had answered her like a wave crashing through stone. Wrenching every shard of metal, every broken piece of the Imperial mess hall into a twisted cage — snapping shut around the Inquisitor. Pinning him — if only long enough to pull her saber back into her hands and save Cal from the same grisly fate.

If not something far worse.

But now… here she sat. Back on the Mantis. The hum of hyperspace was quiet comfort beneath her boots, but it wasn’t enough to settle the war raging in her mind.

Greez’s labored breathing grounded her in the moment.

Kriff, he looked bad.

Cere paused, hands curling tightly on her knees.

This is my fault.

The thought crept in, unwelcome but undeniable.

She had let herself hesitate. She had reached out — again — to someone beyond saving. Some part of her still believed that even the worst among them, even a twisted Inquisitor, could be brought back from the edge.

Maybe that was her curse.

Once, she had stood on the very brink of the dark — her rage against Trilla, her battle with Vader. The pain of that path was still carved into her bones.

But now… was she standing too far on the other side?

Too far into the light?

So desperate to save everyone… that she was losing the people who mattered most.

Her family.

Her crew.

Cal… Merrin… Greez…

Cere closed her eyes, letting out a long, shaking breath.

"I'm sorry, old friend," she whispered quietly to Greez, barely above a breath. "You shouldn't have had to pay for my mistake."

But tomorrow — tomorrow there would be no hesitation.

Tomorrow, she'd remember exactly who she was fighting for.

Not the galaxy.

Not fallen Jedi.

Not the Inquisitors.

But them.

---------------------------------------

---

Merrin was still weak — unsteady on her feet from the toll of healing Irei. Her body ached, hollowed out by exhaustion, by the drain of magick she hadn't even known she still possessed. What she needed was food. Rest. Silence.

But none of that mattered.

Not when Cal needed her.

In the quiet of hyperspace, in the small, familiar confines of the Mantis galley, Merrin stood by him. As she always had. As she always would.

She helped him peel away his ruined shirt, the fabric shredded, stiff with dried blood. His pants were barely holding together. Over the years, she'd patched him up more times than she could count — but still… still he blushed faintly under her gaze, the same old Cal.

Stubborn. Selfless. Infuriating.

"You’re worse than last time," Merrin murmured as she dipped cloth into disinfectant, dabbing at a nasty scrape along his ribs.

Cal winced. "Feels worse too."

There was a pause — not uncomfortable, but thick. Charged.

"Fair’s fair," Cal said finally, voice rough, but honest. "What’s going on with Fret?"

Merrin sighed, setting her jaw. "I would love to know," she said truthfully. "But we haven’t exactly had a moment to talk about it ourselves."

Cal shifted, a pained grunt slipping from him as she worked. "So you really didn’t know?"

"No," Merrin said firmly.

And this time, the disinfectant hit just a little harder than necessary. Cal hissed through his teeth.

"I really did not."

It wasn't bitterness, exactly. But it was raw. Fresh.

Merrin realized she hadn't said more than a few words to Fret since returning to the Mantis. She wasn’t sure she could. Not yet.

"I didn’t know about Irei, Cal," Merrin repeated, more gently this time, trailing the cloth over a long cut on his shoulder. "But you did."

Cal swallowed thickly. "I didn’t know her connection to the Shroud," he deflected. "I still don’t know what we do about Qeris."

Merrin arched a brow, unimpressed.

"But about Fret and Irei…" Cal sighed, defeated. "Yeah. I did. I went to your bunk… and I—"

"I guessed that too," Merrin cut in smoothly, pressing a little too firmly over a scrape on his side.

He winced again but didn’t pull away.

"I know you look after us. After me. But, Cal…" Merrin’s voice softened, edged with something aching. "You should have told me."

Cal nodded slowly. Regret plain on his face. "I didn’t put it together — not until they were face to face. But… you’re right. I should’ve told you."

For a while, they sat like that — the quiet hum of hyperspace around them.

"It feels like all we’re doing lately is hurting each other," Merrin whispered. "And apologizing for it."

She paused. "Why do you think that is?"

Silence stretched between them. Heavy. Honest.

Without thinking, Merrin shifted, her hands light on Cal’s shoulders, guiding him to face her fully. She cleaned the blood from his brow, working over the gash at his temple. Closer now. Closer than maybe they should’ve been.

His breath brushed against her collarbone.

"The ship’s quiet right now," she said, moving the cloth to his split lip, carefully wiping it clean.

"It’s not gonna stay that way," Merrin said.

"No," Cal agreed with a sigh. "It’s not."

She hesitated — staring at him, but not quite meeting his eyes. Her gaze kept drifting to his lips, battered but familiar.

"You went real far there earlier," Cal said softly. "You worried me."

Merrin’s throat felt tight. "You’re right. I did." She breathed out slowly. "It scares me sometimes. How easy it is… to lose control."

But Cal — ever patient, ever him — smiled faintly, despite everything.

"Okay," he said. "Although, raising the dead was pretty helpful."

Merrin huffed a quiet laugh.

Still… she couldn’t bring herself to look him fully in the eye. Not yet.

"Are we going to be okay?" she asked instead — low, vulnerable, real.

Without hesitation, Cal reached up — his hand finding hers, warm and solid. He squeezed, just enough that she had to meet his gaze.

"We," he said, firmly, steadily, "are always going to be okay. Okay?"

Something in Merrin’s chest loosened. Softened.

"Okay," she whispered back.

---

Cal had lost track of how long they'd been drifting through hyperspace.

A full day. Maybe two. Time blurred together on the Mantis in moments like this — the aftermath. The quiet after the storm.

Most of it had been spent the same way — Cal and Merrin barely straying from the couches around the holotable. They slept there, ate there, licking their wounds, both physical and emotional. Hobbling over to the galley only when hunger finally overpowered exhaustion.

Fret kept to herself, tucked away in the cockpit, occasionally checking on Irei. But mostly? She kept away from them.

And Cere... Cere hadn't left Greez's side.

Then, on that second day — when Cal thought they'd all grown used to the silence, the stillness — he heard it.

"Don't everyone get up at once," came that gravel-filled voice from the crew quarters.

Greez.

Cal sat upright faster than he should have, ignoring the sharp pull of his sore muscles.

Merrin was already moving. "Let me help," she offered, genuine and soft, holding out a steadying hand as Greez stumbled his way into the galley.

But Greez recoiled like she'd burned him.

"Don't you dare."

The words landed hard. Not just for Merrin — though Cal saw the flicker of hurt flash across her face — but for everyone.

This wasn't Greez just being grumpy.

No, this was different.

Cal studied him as he limped forward, slower than usual, more careful, balancing awkwardly with only three arms now. But that wasn't what stopped Cal cold.

It was his face.

Blank. Hollow. The kind of fury that had boiled so deep it left behind only quiet, dangerous stillness. Cal had seen that look before — in Jedi Masters disciplining Padawans after catastrophic mistakes. When disappointment hurt worse than any words.

Greez's voice cut through the galley like a blade.

"Where is she?"

Not a question. A demand.

Cere stepped into view like she was ready to take responsibility — to shield them all, like she always did. "Greez, I—"

"Not you." His glare never shifted.

"The stormtrooper."

Cal barely had time to register it before Fret emerged from the engine room, looking like she'd gotten even less sleep than him — which was saying something.

"I have a name," she bit out.

But Greez didn’t care.

He was on her in an instant — faster than Cal thought the Latero could move right now — jabbing a thick finger up at the taller woman like he was ten feet tall.

"You think that matters to me?" Greez barked. "You left me. You left my crew to die. And now you’re just here — sitting pretty on my ship like nothing happened?"

He shoved that finger closer.

"News flash, stormtrooper — something happened."

Fret’s eyes dropped, just for a fraction of a second — to the gauze-wrapped stump where Greez’s fourth arm used to be.

And then she went on the defensive. Of course she did.

"If you’re going to put that on me, instead of the people who actually cut off your arm—"

Cal felt the temperature in the room spike. This was spiraling.

He stepped in. Quietly. Carefully. Placing a steady hand on Greez’s shoulder.

"Greez..." Cal said low, just enough to cut through the red haze building in the room.

Then he turned his eyes — sharp and cold — to Fret.

And for once... he didn’t soften.

"He’s right," Cal said firmly.

"You left. You disappeared with Irei — your Irei — while we were fighting for our lives. We're not in the habit of leaving people behind. We're not in the habit of abandoning family."

Fret bristled.

But Cal wasn’t finished.

"You lied," Cal continued. "Or at the very least, you omitted a whole lot of truth. About the Shroud being a person, about Irei, about your past, about the Empire."

He took a step closer.

"And then you left us — when an Inquisitor was bearing down on us."

There it was. No anger in his voice.

Just truth.

"You want to be part of this crew? You want us to trust you?"

He pointed straight at her.

"You explain. Everything. Right now."

"And if you can’t?"

His voice dropped.

"Then when we hit the next planet — you're off this ship."

"And we’re not looking back."

---

"You really want to blame me for what happened?" Fret snapped, the hurt plain in her voice — but not loud enough to cover the defensiveness underneath.

"You really think things would have gone differently with the walking target back there?" She tipped her head toward the engine room — toward Irei, barely clinging to life.

Cal’s jaw tensed.

"There wasn't a thing I could have done that would have made things better if I'd kept her close to you two. The Inquisitor would have had his hands on her — or she'd be dead. Either way... we'd be worse off."

Greez snorted. "Easy for you to say."

Cal didn’t miss the bite in Greez's words — or the look of absolute disgust painted across his tired face.

And honestly? He didn’t blame him.

Cal staggered slightly on his feet as he moved toward the couches circling the holotable, bracing his weight against it.

"Fret," Cal sighed — tired, hurting, and knowing none of that mattered right now. "You gotta tell us what's going on. What's really going on."

He leveled her with a steady look.

"It’s the only way we’re going to be able to help you."

"If we can help you," Cere added from beside him, her arms crossed, her stare sharp.

"Fat chance," Greez muttered, eyes down, words like iron scraping the floor.

The energy between them all was… poisoned.

Thick. Bitter.

Merrin hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t looked at Fret once.

Cere and Greez barely acknowledged each other.

This crew — his family — felt more fractured in this moment than Cal had ever seen.

And it gutted him.

"Fine," Fret exhaled heavily. She stepped up to the holotable, posture tight like someone walking toward their own execution.

Merrin followed — a step behind. But it wasn’t protective.

It was deliberate.

It was distance.

And then... Merrin’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"Then talk," she spat — venom dripping from every syllable.

Merrin didn’t yell.

She never yelled.

But Cal had known her long enough to know when her words were sharp enough to wound.

"Talk," Merrin repeated again, quieter, but deadlier — locking eyes with Fret now, as if daring her to flinch. Daring her to lie.

Cal caught the look in Merrin's eyes.

Pain.

Real pain.

Not anger masking something deeper.

Not jealousy.

But betrayal.

And Force, he would do anything to take that away from her.

Anything.

"Talk..." Merrin whispered once more, like a curse. "Or get off my ship for good."

The words hit harder than any lightsaber.

Fret finally broke the silence.

"I thought she was dead."

Cal felt his stomach turn.

Fret's voice softened — distant, remembering.

"We met when I was training to be an analyst. Irei worked at her parents' droid repair shop — apprenticing there."

Her eyes — unconsciously, painfully — flicked toward Merrin.

"I..." Fret's breath hitched. "I fell in love with her. We fell in love with each other."

Out of the corner of his eye, Cal saw Merrin stiffen — barely, but enough for him to notice.

Enough for it to hurt.

"We had to keep it secret, obviously," Fret continued. "Free time was scarce. Connections were discouraged. Relationships like ours?" She gave a bitter laugh. "Forget it."

"But then... Irei told me something. Something I never expected."

Fret’s voice turned hollow.

"She was Force-sensitive. Not enough to be trained. But enough to stand out."

Cal’s heart sank. The rest practically wrote itself.

Empire. Fear. Control.

Dominate or destroy.

"Through her eyes... through her fear..." Fret trailed off. "That's how I saw the Empire for what it really was. That what they told us was a lie. That what I was doing mattered. That I mattered."

Fret exhaled slowly — like the words alone were heavier than her armor.

"And for a year... she built a way out. A way for us to disappear. Irei is brilliant with tech — smarter than anyone I’ve ever known."

"And the Shroud..." she whispered, shaking her head. "I didn’t even know she finished it. I didn’t know she got that far."

"But she did."

Fret’s eyes were distant.

Cal wasn’t sure if she was looking at the table or through it.

"The Shroud," Fret said again, a small, almost broken smile tugging at her lips.

"A good name for it."

---

"She asked me to leave," Fret continued, her voice quieter now, weighed down by memory. "To run away with her. Irei didn’t want me anywhere near the Empire. She was willing to hide us for as long as it took... until they stopped looking."

Cal watched Merrin — the sharpness in her jaw, the way her arms folded over herself like armor.

"So why didn’t you?" Merrin asked, voice like ice, flat and cold.

Fret didn’t flinch. "I was scared," she admitted. Honest. Raw.

That caught Cal's attention.

Scared. He understood that.

"The consequences for deserters..." Fret shook her head, staring through the floor. "They don't send you a warning. They erase you."

She sighed, long and bitter. "And I was foolish. I thought maybe I could change things from the inside. Use my position to help people, to warn them. To keep her safe while staying close enough to be useful."

She hesitated.

"But in the end... I thought I'd do Irei more harm than good on the run with her."

Cal hated how familiar that sounded. Sacrificing love for duty. For safety.

It never worked.

"I stayed. And I convinced her to stay too."

He didn’t need her to finish the thought — but she did.

"But it was only a matter of time. The Empire found her. Burned her family's shop to the ground. Everything she loved... everything she was... gone."

Cal could see the guilt strangling her. The regret clawing at her throat.

"I thought they killed her. Or took her for good. And I knew..." Her voice broke. "It was my fault. I put her in danger."

"How?" Cal asked, his voice low. "Just by loving her?"

Fret's eyes lifted, bloodshot and glassy. "No," she said, shaking her head. "By trying to erase her."

She swallowed.

"I deleted her from records. Images, data logs, transit reports. I thought... if she didn’t exist on paper, they couldn’t find her." She laughed bitterly. "But that's what drew them in. The gaps. The missing pieces. The Empire notices everything."

Cere's voice cut through gently, but firm. "And they still found her."

Fret nodded. "Because of me."

"But she still escaped," Cal said, offering the smallest thread of hope.

"I don't know how," Fret whispered. "I still can’t believe she's alive."

She paused, visibly struggling.

"That's when I knew I had to leave. I started intercepting communications, tracking any whisper of the Shroud. That's what led me to Qeris. He gave me the last piece of information — that Irei finished the schematics."

Cal understood now.

"That’s why you came after us."

Fret nodded slowly.

"I thought the Shroud was just a data card. A blueprint. The only thing left of her."

"And for the record," Greez cut in, sharp as a blade, "you didn’t save her life's work."

Fret's head snapped toward him, guilt flashing hard across her face.

"I had to stay active. To keep my cover. To survive long enough to get to that point." She shook her head. "It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean. But I thought... it was my only way."

"And that's when you heard about us," Cal said.

Fret flushed faintly. "Through Qeris. He gave me information about the Mantis."

Her next words made Cal's stomach twist.

"I lied about that too. Said you were well-known to the Empire. Some heroic rebels causing real damage."

She laughed bitterly.

"You’re not. Not to them. But you were to me."

The words hung there — sincere... but not enough.

Cal watched Merrin — still silent, still glaring — standing stock still behind Fret. The betrayal hadn't budged from her expression.

Fret exhaled. "I tracked you. Put myself in your path. Made sure I'd cross your route."

"And when were you planning to leave the Empire?" Greez asked, scowling so hard Cal thought the fur on his chin might catch fire.

"After Murkhana," Fret answered, quieter. "Once I had everything I needed to burn my cover forever."

"Ohhh," Greez said mockingly, slamming himself down onto the seat. "So we were just expendable along the way. Real nice."

"No!" Fret snapped.

"And now here I am," Greez growled, waving his cauterized stump, "short an entire arm because of it."

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was suffocating.

Cal hated this.

Hated the truth of it.

But... as angry as he was, as hurt as Merrin clearly was... he knew what his Echo had shown him.

Fret had loved Irei.

Loved her still.

And any Force-sensitive running from the Empire?

They deserved a chance.

Even the broken ones.

Especially them.

---

"They were never going to stop looking, Fret."

Cal could feel the weight of his words as they left him — heavier than the air in the Mantis galley, heavier than the silence stretching between the crew.

He understood her. Maybe more than anyone here wanted to admit.

He thought about Bracca. About hiding beneath rusted starship hulks, waiting for the other boot to drop. Waiting to die or be found.

"You'd have been on the run with her forever," Cal continued, his voice low but steady. "You never would’ve been safe. No hiding place lasts forever."

He looked her in the eye — really looked — so she would understand this wasn’t condemnation. It was empathy.

"You made decisions based on fear, Fret. And fear... fear makes us do things we regret."

He let that sit for a beat.

"But you're on the run now anyway. So..." He exhaled slowly. "What are we gonna do about that?"

"Oh absolutely not!" Greez barked, practically leaping from his chair, his stump rising where his arm used to be. "Did you all miss the part where these two love-sick bantha brains nearly got us all killed?"

Greez jabbed the empty space where his arm should've been.

"I told you!" Greez raged. "Told all of you, over and over again — one day these idiotic missions were gonna cost us everything. Look at me now!"

Fret's tone cut in sharp. "From how I understood it... that was her fault." She nodded toward Cere.

Cere’s head snapped up like a whip. "You don't understand anything."

"Doesn't she?" Greez wheeled around, fury blazing in his eyes — not just anger, but heartbreak.

"Because when I walked into that room with the Inquisitor, Jedi..." Greez’s voice broke slightly, and it hit Cal harder than any lightsaber ever had, "... it sure looked like Cere Junda wasn't gonna make the hard call. Looked like maybe I had to pay the price for her hesitation."

Cal’s heart dropped. His stomach twisted like it had on Bracca when the Empire finally came.

"You did what?" Cal's voice was barely a whisper, but it cut sharper than any saber.

Cere wouldn't look at him.

"Cere..." Cal felt like the floor of the ship had fallen away. "Tell me he doesn't know what he's talking about."

Silence.

Her silence killed him.

And that silence spoke more truth than words ever could.

"No." Greez was steady now, deadly calm. "The Inquisitor's the reason this happened to me."

But then — finally — Merrin spoke, her voice like cracked ice.

"No." She stared hard at Fret. "Fret is the reason this happened to Greez."

Cal winced.

"And I haven't forgotten either," Merrin snapped, rounding on him now, pain like fire behind her words. "You sent me away, Cal. Again. Like I can't make my own choices about my life or my safety."

Her voice shook, raw and real.

"I was supposed to be there. I was supposed to have your back." Her voice broke. "Me and you — we could have handled anyone."

She turned on Fret next, fury turning her brown eyes turning a shade of molten green.

"And with two extra bodies—"

Fret snapped back. "Two extra? Irei isn't a soldier. Neither am I. She would’ve gone down first and then we'd have lost her and the Shroud."

"Oh," Merrin hissed. "That's why you did it? Out of the kindness of your heart for the poor little Jedi of the galaxy? Not because you found your—"

"YES!" Fret exploded, no hesitation. "Yes, alright? Because I found her. My dead girlfriend wasn't dead."
Fret continued.
"And now we must get Irei to Qeris. keep her safe. Finish the mission."

"We haven't agreed to that," Cere added firmly.

"And we don't gotta!" Greez snapped. "We drop them both off on the next mudball with a breathable atmosphere and that's it!"

Fret stepped forward, but Cal saw the cracks. The regret. The desperation.

"We can't just abandon them," Cere said.

And then Greez — weary, broken, missing a piece of himself — turned on them all.

"And what has all this fighting gotten us? Closer to winning? Closer to taking down the Empire? Or just... closer to losing everything that matters?"

It hurt because it wasn’t wrong.

The arguing, the blame, the pain — it circled around them all like stormclouds.

Until —

"Enough!"

Soft.

Sibilant.

But final.

Everyone froze.

Cal turned.

And there — standing in the doorway to the engine room, her body wrapped in bandages, scorched but unbowed — stood Irei.

Eyes sharp.

Voice steel wrapped in silk.

"Enough," she said again, her lizard-like features calm but commanding.

From Cal's perspective — here's your rewritten scene:

---

Fret was on her feet before anyone could even think to move, rushing to Irei's side, carefully guiding her toward the benches around the holotable like she was made of glass.

"Enough," Irei said again — softer this time, but with that same unshakable calm that immediately quieted the room.

Cal studied her through tired, wary eyes. There was something about her presence — not loud, not forceful — but commanding in its own right. A survivor's presence.

"I owe you all more than I can say," Irei continued, settling onto the bench with a wince. Her sharp, reptilian features were worn, exhausted. But her words came measured, even. "I'm sorry for the trouble I have brought to your crew. I truly am grateful — for what you've done for me... for Fret."

She paused, her eyes moving across each of them in turn.

"But I know what I am. What I carry. And I know the Empire will never stop coming for me — for the Shroud — for as long as I draw breath."

Then she looked right at Cal.

"And from what little I’ve seen... I’m not alone in that predicament, am I?"

Cal actually felt his mouth twitch into the faintest smile despite it all. The exhaustion. The injuries. The burned-up mess of a mission.

"Unfortunately," Cal exhaled slowly, "you’re in the best possible company for that."

That broke the tension — if only for a second.

"She’s right," Cere spoke next, voice level but firm. That old teacher’s calm she wore like armor. "And Greez is right too."

Cal turned toward her — surprised but relieved at her words.

"We need to hide," she continued. "Greez needs real medical attention. Merrin needs time to recover. We all do. Right now, we’re not in any shape to make decisions about anything except staying alive."

She turned to the pilot’s chair where Greez stood arms crossed — his stub bound tight with gauze and makeshift wrappings.

"You think you can fly?" Cere asked gently.

Greez rolled his eyes so hard Cal thought they might pop out of his head.

"Please," Greez huffed. "Flying’s the one thing about this whole nightmare that still makes sense."

But Cal didn’t miss it — the hesitation in his step... the weariness that clung to him like an extra shadow.

Cere nodded once. No more arguments. No more debate.

"Alright," she said, stepping back. "Then set a course for these coordinates." She uploaded them into the nav console.

"Somewhere quiet. Somewhere nobody’s looking."

Cal shifted his weight, wincing as the aches and burns made themselves known again.

He watched as Greez eased into the pilot's chair.

The Mantis finally had a destination.

Not to fight.

Not to chase.

But just to breathe.

Chapter Text

---

The Mantis finally broke through the quiet, dusky atmosphere of Zimara.

A small, overlooked moon on the outer rim, Zimara was a border-world village in every sense — where the locals kept their heads down and didn't ask questions about the ships that came and went It's just the kind of place the crew needed.

As they gathered at the top of the ramp, Cere turned to them with the finality of a mission order. “Forty-eight hours. You’ve got forty-eight hours to get your heads on straight.”

Cal nodded, but his eyes flicked toward Merrin.

She didn’t say a word, but her silence was louder than anything she could’ve spoken. There was something haunted in her face — not quite fear, but something close. Uncertainty. Like she wasn’t sure if anyone would be back on the Mantis in two days. Or maybe… maybe Cal was just projecting.

Because he was thinking the same thing.

He forced himself to tear his gaze away, clenching his jaw and descending the ramp.

Zimara was tidally locked — always bright on one side, always dark on the other. The settlers lived mostly in the night, where the sky was cool and blue-tinted, and the sun stayed below the horizon. The Mantis had landed right on the edge of that divide, where sunlight met shadow.

As soon as their boots hit the dirt, the crew splintered.

Cere headed straight for the local library — or whatever passed for one out here. Likely to dig through reports, records, and anything that could help them make sense of the next steps.

Fret and Irei went toward the village circle, where they'd find a clinic and better medical attention.

Merrin, without so much as a backward glance, made her way into the merchant square.

Greez said nothing, just turned and headed toward the warm light side of the border.

And Cal… Cal stood for a moment.

The wind kicked up dust across the ground. He watched everyone drift further and further away. For a second, it felt like the Mantis had fallen apart entirely, like this might be it — the final fraying of their already strained threads.

He sighed, then shoved his hands into his belt and took the first step.

He walked toward the sunlit side of the moon toward the quieter market square.

He needed space. Solitude. Time to think.

Greez had promised he’d find a medical center. Cal believed him — mostly. But just in case, he sent BD-1 trailing after him. BD chirped once before bounding off, leaving Cal alone with his thoughts.

On his third slow lap around the square, Cal finally found the rhythm of the place — slow, sleepy, disinterested in galactic conflict. Nobody here knew who he was or what he carried. That was a gift.

He found a dusty little repair shop with old droids half-taken apart in the windows. It felt quiet. Familiar. So he walked in, bartered for a workbench, and spent an hour tinkering with a busted saber emitter and patching scorched plating on BD's spare parts. The repetition calmed him.

Eventually, when the weight in his chest began to loosen just slightly, he left the shop and found a small hotel tucked behind an herbalist’s stall. He paid for the room in quiet credits.

He didn’t unpack. He didn’t even look around.

He just collapsed onto the bed, closed his eyes, and let the stars turn without him for a while.

he’d face all of it later.

But for now, he just needed sleep.

---

When Cal awoke, something was off.

The quiet hum of the hotel’s outdated power system still buzzed faintly through the walls, but the air had shifted. The kind of shift that pulled a Jedi straight out of sleep, even after days of exhaustion. Cal sat up slowly, his fingers brushing the hilt of his lightsaber beneath his pillow—just in case.

And then he felt it.

Not danger. Not darkness. Something familiar.

Cere.

His hand relaxed.

She was sitting quietly in the corner of the room, back against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable in the shadows.

“Are you going to be mad at me,” she asked softly, “or are we able to talk?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Cal said, swinging his legs off the bed, still groggy. “Okay—maybe a little mad. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk.”

Cere gave a curt nod, accepting that much.

“We need to get ourselves in order,” she said. “The others—they look to us. They follow our lead, whether we mean for them to or not. We can’t afford to unravel.”

Cal smirked faintly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Funny. I didn’t think there were any adults on the Mantis.”

Cere actually smiled at that. “You might not be wrong. But we have to act like it, at least for a little while.”

She stood and walked closer, stopping just short of the bed. Her voice dropped into something firmer—something almost like a plea.

“Cal, I know how you feel. I do. We both want to hurt the Empire. To strike back. But we have to be honest about who we are. We’re not an army—we’re a strike team at best. We need something longer-lasting. Something people can believe in.”

Cal exhaled slowly. He knew where this was going.

“The Jedi,” he said.

Cere nodded. “The Jedi are hope, Cal. Not just lightsabers and battles. It’s the idea of them—of us—that still means something. That’s what we need to protect. Force-sensitives, families under Imperial rule, people like Irei... people like us.”

He didn’t fully agree. Not yet. But she wasn’t wrong either.

“But what about now?” he asked. “What about the pain they’re causing right now? How do we ignore that and think about building something later?”

“We don’t ignore it,” she said. “But we stop rushing headfirst into every fight. We focus on what we can build, not just what we can break. Not just for the future, Cal, but for right now too.”

He nodded, staring down at the cracked tile floor.

He didn’t have to say it aloud. She knew. Fighting was only half of it. The other half—the harder half—was giving people something to believe in.

Cere stepped forward again, more gently now.

“We’re going to get ourselves killed if we keep throwing ourselves at the Empire. And I’m worried about you, Cal. When a Jedi focuses too hard on a single thing, it can... consume them. Even good intentions can twist you.”

Cal didn’t answer right away.

He knew the feeling she was describing. The pull he sometimes felt when he fought too hard. The voice in the dark that promised power if he just let go. He’d never told her about it. He wasn’t sure he ever would.

He swallowed, and nodded.

The tension shifted again, and Cere sat beside him on the edge of the bed, folding her arms, resting her chin on her knees.

After a beat, she asked, “You knew about Fret and Irei, didn’t you? And you didn’t tell anyone.”

Cal nodded slowly. “I did.”

“Why?” she asked gently.

He sighed. “Because it didn’t feel like my story to tell. We all have secrets in our hearts. Things we’re not ready to let go of. Don’t we?”

Cere didn’t answer.

She only looked down, her silence saying more than words ever could.

---

Cal sat with his back against the wall, arms draped over his knees. The quiet in the room felt heavier after everything that had been said. He turned his head toward Cere, still sitting nearby, and finally asked the question she had to know was coming.

“Why didn’t you eliminate the Inquisitor? The Fifth Brother. You had the chance.”

Cere let out a slow breath, her eyes dropping to her hands. “Cal… the dark side isn’t just a switch you flip. It’s a path, one that’s hard to get off once you step on it. I came close with Vader. I didn’t want to go back to that place.”

She paused, meeting his eyes. “Whatever the Fifth Brother is now… he was once a Jedi. Someone good. Someone who cared. I felt that. I had to believe there was still something left. That he deserved a chance to come back. We have to try and do what’s right, even when it’s hard.”

Cal nodded slowly. “Thank you, Cere. For being honest.”

He leaned back again, staring at the ceiling. “You know… back when I was a padawan, I used to shut down during lessons. When I got overwhelmed or frustrated, I’d just… freeze. Useless, honestly.”

Cere raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

Cal chuckled. “Yeah, Master Jaro saw right through it. So one day he gave me this ridiculous assignment. Disassemble and catalog every single component in a lightsaber—sketch them, label them, understand how to fix them. Do you realize how many parts are in a lightsaber?”

Cere actually laughed. “I do.”

“I waited until the night before it was due. Total padawan move. I went to him, admitted I hadn’t even started. You know what he said?”

She tilted her head.

“One piece at a time.”

Cal smiled faintly. “And he was right. I didn’t finish it, not by a long shot, but I tried. And I learned the lesson he was really teaching.”

Cere nodded. “It applies now.”

Cal looked over at her. “So what are we going to do about Fret and Irei?”

“We do what your master said,” Cere replied. “Piece by piece. We make a plan that works for everyone.”

She paused. Then, more pointedly, “And what about Merrin?”

Cal shifted uncomfortably. “She’s… off balance with the whole Fret and Irei situation, but she’s tough. We’ll lift her back up.”

Cere gave him a dry look. “I wasn’t talking about Fret or Irei.”

Cal swallowed. Of course she wasn’t. His feelings for Merrin had always lingered just below the surface. They fought beside each other like they were made to. Balanced in their duality—light and dark, Jedi and Nightsister. He’d always told himself it couldn’t happen, because of the Jedi code. Because of what attachment could do. He had been happy when Merrin found Fret because it meant that he was able to distance himself a bit emotionally.

But he knew how she looked at him sometimes. How she used to reach for him during the quiet nights on Nal Hutta, or the fleeting closeness on Ryloth. She’d pulled away when he wouldn’t step forward.

He remembered a conversation with Cere years ago—how she explained the Jedi philosophy on love and attachment like a pyramid. At the base: friendships. Harmless. Above that: family. Still manageable. But near the top—spouses. Children. That was where Jedi lost their clarity. That was where they risked everything. It was why it was forbidden.

And yet… it had never stopped him from loving Merrin.

Cal said nothing.

Cere stood and walked to the door. Her silence was loud.

“You know I’m not going to end up like Trilla, right?” Cal asked, voice sharper than he meant it to be.

Cere didn’t turn. Just kept walking.

“Right?” he pressed.

She paused at the doorway. “Sure, Cal.”

And then she was gone.

The door slid shut behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts—and the silence that weighed heavier than before.

---

It had been a full day since Merrin had seen any of the Mantis crew.

She had slipped away to the sulfur baths of Zimara—legendary among Outer Rim settlers for their restorative qualities—hoping the thick yellow steam and mineral heat would soothe her aching body and untangle the storm in her head. But solitude hadn’t brought clarity. If anything, it made the loneliness louder.

The vapor curled around her as she sank deeper into the water. She still didn’t know if she was going to return to the Mantis. Maybe she didn’t need them anymore. She could survive on her own. Wreak havoc on the Empire. Take back her vengeance one dead trooper at a time. She’d probably die doing it, but she would burn so many of them before she went.

And yet...

As empty and as furious as she felt, Merrin couldn’t help but admit that she craved company. Not just anyone. Not Greez, Cere, or even BD—though she loved them all. No, what she wanted was someone who understood her in that quiet, soul-deep way. For so long that person had been Cal.

She sighed. Cal, with his honesty, his calm steadiness. But his path was still locked in a code that didn’t have room for her. Then there had been Fret. Fret, who’d come in fast and flamed just as bright. And now... now Merrin didn’t know how to feel. Hurt, betrayed, stupid. And yet, she wanted—needed—to clear the air. She hated that she wanted to see Fret.

As if summoned by the smoke of her own longing, a voice called out from the steam.

“Want some company, weirdo?”

Merrin blinked, thinking for a moment she was hallucinating.

But no—Fret stepped into view, steam clinging to her hair and armorless frame. Merrin didn’t speak. She just raised her hand and gestured silently to the empty space beside her in the circular pool.

Fret slipped into the water, a few feet away.

The silence stretched. Merrin closed her eyes, listening to the slow drip of condensation and the distant churn of geothermal vents. She didn’t know what to say.

Fret broke the quiet first. “Okay if we talk?”

Merrin exhaled and looked up at the night sky hanging over the shadow side of Zimara. “Okay.”

“She’s resting,” Fret said. “Irei. After the treatment. She’s in town, staying at an inn. I told her I needed to talk to you. Clear the air.”

Merrin said nothing.

“I didn’t know she was alive, Merrin. I swear it. I would never have gotten close to you if I had. It had been years. I thought she was gone.”

Merrin surprised herself with her own honesty. “I don’t begrudge you for loving her.” She paused. “I was just… surprised. But I’m happy for you.”

Fret blinked. “Yeah… same here, my fiery gal.”

The nickname drew a small smile from Merrin, though she wouldn’t admit it. She swallowed hard. “Do you love her? Still?”

Fret nodded, her voice soft. “Yes. And yes. I probably always will. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel something for you too.”

Merrin’s cheeks warmed with a telltale green hue.

“I’m sorry this hurt you,” Fret added, voice sincere.

“I’m still glad we met,” Merrin said quietly. “Glad we got close. Even if it turned out messy. Honestly, with how much turmoil I’ve got to deal with from that crew of mine…” She rolled her eyes with a smirk. “We never would’ve worked out.”

Fret laughed. “You’re probably right. Besides…” Her tone softened. “I see the way you and Cal look at each other.”

Merrin’s eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“I’m happy for you. If it’s him.”

Merrin tried to brush it off. “Cal’s like that with everyone. Protective. Noble. It’s nothing unique.”

“Sure,” Fret said, though Merrin caught the amused glint in her eye. “Still… I think you two would be good for each other.”

Fret stood, water dripping from her frame as she stepped out of the pool. She offered her hand. “Friends, then?”

Merrin looked up at her, something in her chest loosening. “I would like that very much.”

Fret gave her a soft smile, then turned and disappeared into the mist, heading back toward Irei.

Merrin stayed in the water a little longer, listening to the quiet and feeling—finally—a little lighter.

---

Cere walked the final stretch back toward the Mantis, boots crunching over Zimara’s gritty soil. Forty-eight hours. That’s what she’d given them—time to think, to heal, to decide if this crew was worth holding together. She wasn’t sure who—if anyone—would actually show.

The Mantis came into view, perched right on the line between light and dark. Of course, it didn’t surprise her to find Cal already there, BD-1 perched alert on his back, the Jedi standing like a statue beside the ship. After their talk, she knew he wouldn’t be walking away. Not now. Not when people needed him.

She nodded to him in greeting, but they both fell quiet as they waited. The waiting was always the hardest part.

Then, surprisingly, the first figures to appear through the heat haze weren’t who Cere expected. Fret and Irei.

They approached without hesitation, a quiet calm between them, like they’d already made peace with their decision. They didn’t speak much—just offered a respectful nod and leaned up against the hull, eyes squinting at the horizon.

Cere glanced at Cal. He was pretending to be relaxed, arms crossed, posture loose… but she saw the shift the second Merrin appeared in the distance. He straightened like a wire was pulled tight through his spine, and for a heartbeat she thought he might actually sprint toward her. He didn’t—but only because he stopped himself just in time, awkwardly smoothing his jacket and standing still like it was part of the plan.

Then, in a flash of green, Merrin appeared beside them, arms crossed and expression unimpressed.

“Smooth, Jedi,” she said dryly.

“Late,” Fret teased, clicking her tongue.

“Only by a couple minutes,” Cal replied too cheerfully, clearly relieved.

“Well,” Fret smirked, “is she really late if it was obvious you were waiting for her?”

Cal blushed, and Merrin gave a small, smug smirk. Irei elbowed Fret gently, murmuring, “You’re ridiculous.”

Cere chuckled, tension easing from her shoulders. Just like that, the crew began to feel like a crew again.

Cal lowered the ramp, and one by one they stepped onto the ship, exchanging casual conversation—what they’d done the last two days, what they didn’t do. Fret and Cere started running pre-flight diagnostics while Cal excitedly launched into a long-winded explanation of lightsaber mods. Merrin, to her credit, nodded patiently. Cere had no idea how she hadn’t passed out from boredom.

They waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen.

Still no Greez.

Conversation began to taper off. The pre-flight checks were finished. Merrin stood quietly near the cockpit door. Fret had settled into the co-pilot’s chair beside Cere. Cal was pacing now.

Cere stared at the control panel, her hands hovering over the launch sequence. Her throat tightened. Greez should’ve been here by now. What if he’d made a different choice? What if he’d walked away?

What if he blamed her?

“Prepare for takeoff,” she said into the comms, her voice thinner than usual. She fought to keep her hand steady over the ignition. “Hit the—”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going with my ship?”

Cere whipped around. There he was.

Striding up the ramp like he’d never left, Greez Dritus looked like something out of a holo-drama. Jacket sleeve altered to fit the new reality of his arm. Chin up. He looked older. Tired. But solid. Whole.

And alive.

Cere didn’t even register moving—she was already on her feet. Merrin beat her there by a second. Cal was close behind. They enveloped him in one massive group hug.

“Okay, okay,” Greez grumbled, only halfheartedly trying to shove them off. “You’d think I died or something.”

There were tears in everyone’s eyes.

Cere wiped hers quickly before anyone could say anything. “You took your sweet time.”

“Had to get my jacket tailored,” Greez sniffed, tugging on the shortened sleeve. “Can’t exactly take on the Empire lookin’ like a scrub.”

“Well,” Fret said with a grin, “looks like the crew’s all here.”

Greez looked around at them, something unreadable in his expression. “We gonna figure out a plan or what?”

Cere smiled, relief flooding through her. The team wasn’t just back together.

They were ready.

Chapter Text

---

Greez Dritus sat quietly, hands—well, three of them—resting on the edge of the holotable. The familiar hum of the Mantis beneath him used to bring him comfort. Now it just reminded him of what was missing. The ache in his arm, or lack thereof, had dulled, but the strangeness hadn’t. He kept trying to reach for things that weren’t there, like muscle memory was trying to catch up to reality.

Losing an arm… it did something to you. Greez never thought he'd have to relearn how to live with one less. Everything was harder. Slower. The simplest things—flying, cooking, balancing a stim in one hand while rerouting power with the other two—it all had to be refigured. He wasn’t whole anymore. At least, that’s how it felt.

What worried him more than the missing limb was what the fear had done. The idea of flying headfirst into another Imperial mess made his stomach turn. He wasn’t used to that. Greez Dritus didn’t freak out.

But he still hadn’t walked away. Never really planned to. For all his grumbling, these people were his crew. His family. And he’d be damned if he let a little thing like trauma—or a big thing like an Inquisitor—take that away from him.

He cleared his throat as the crew gathered around the holotable, voices quiet, eyes tired but determined.

“So,” Greez said, mustering a version of his usual sass, “what’s the plan, kids?”

Cere looked at Irei, then back at the crew. “We help her first.”

“We’re not just going to deliver you to Qeris,” Cal added. His voice was calm, measured. “It’s your life. Your invention. What do you want, Irei?”

She nodded at Cal, her posture still stiff from the healing. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“I don’t fully trust Qeris,” she admitted. “He funded the shroud’s development, yes, but that was it. I went to him for materials and resources. Nothing more.”

Greez scoffed, crossing his arms. “A big, glowy-eyed birdman who talks like a walking proverb? Untrustworthy? No way—who could’ve called that?”

Irei didn’t flinch. “I want to believe he’s still on the right side. But…”

Ah. There it was.

“But,” she continued, “we should be prepared for all circumstances.”

“We can’t just drop you off,” Cere said. “Not with the Empire and Qeris both likely after you now. Qeris is smart. Dangerous.”

“Agreed,” Cal said. “Let’s at least get you away from him for now. We can figure the rest out after.”

“Kid’s right,” Greez chimed in. “Qeris has credits and connections. He can buy loyalty from just about anyone who isn’t nailed down. We can’t let that feathered skeleton call the shots.”

“But what do we do?” Merrin asked. Her voice had that edge to it—sharp, focused. “He has every advantage. And he’s expecting us to deliver the shroud.”

Cere leaned forward, a spark in her eye. “Exactly. So we give him the shroud. A fake one.”

Merrin raised a brow. “You think that’ll work?”

“Has anyone seen a real prototype?” Cere turned to Irei.

Irei shook her head. “No. It’s still in the theoretical stage.”

Cere smiled. “Then we use that to our advantage. We give him a decoy. We buy ourselves time. By the time he realizes it’s a fake, we’ll be long gone.”

Now Greez was smiling too. This—this was the crew he knew. The scheming, scrappy, devil-may-care band of rebels that always somehow pulled off the impossible.

“I’ll send word to Qeris,” Greez said, turning to the cockpit with a grin. “Let the overgrown peacock know his prize is on the way.”

This was why he stayed. Why he always would.

---

The Mantis drifted quietly through hyperspace, days away from Hosnian Prime. The plan was simple: deliver a decoy shroud to Qeris Lars and pray he bought the lie long enough for them to disappear. But simple plans were never so simple.

Merrin had tried to sleep—curled into the couch in the common area, her legs tucked beneath her. She’d insisted on giving Irei and Fret the private quarters, though she didn’t say why. Perhaps it was to be kind. Perhaps she just didn’t want to share space with the two of them right now. She couldn't tell anymore.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

The soft hum of the Mantis's systems filled the silence. Eventually, she gave in and slipped to the galley, lighting the burner to brew herself a cup of tea.

“You’re up too?” came Fret’s voice from behind her. Merrin turned, startled to see her leaning casually in the doorway.

“It appears sleep eludes us all,” Merrin said, nodding toward the engine room. The faint sound of clinking tools and Cal’s voice murmuring instructions drifted down the corridor. He and Irei were hard at work constructing a shroud decoy.

“You don’t want to help them?” Fret asked, following Merrin’s gaze.

Merrin shook her head. “Tinkering with scraps is not how I prefer to pass the hours.”

Fret smirked. “Oh? And yet you sat through an entire conversation about lightsaber hilts and emitter mods. For what, a half hour?”

Merrin narrowed her eyes. She could feel where this was going.

“I know what you’re getting at,” she said flatly.

Fret’s smirk softened. “I think you two would be good for each other. You don’t have to pretend with me. Even Irei sees it.”

Merrin’s cheeks flushed with a faint green hue. “Nightsisters and Jedi do not mix,” she muttered.

Fret chuckled. “Right. And Nightsisters and mouthy Keshiri stormtroopers make a perfect match?” She leaned on the counter. “You don’t have to hide it, Merrin. I want you to be able to talk to me about this kind of thing.”

She paused, then added with a mischievous grin, “Also… BD-1 may have shared a few stories. Missions. Cozy alleyways. Something about a certain Jedi refusing to let you sleep without someone keeping watch?”

Merrin’s head snapped toward the corner of the couch where BD-1 peeked out. She glared. “Traitor.”

Fret laughed softly as Merrin’s blush deepened. There was something grounding about Fret’s presence—enough to make Merrin exhale slowly and let the words spill out.

“Maybe I do feel something for Cal,” she admitted. “But it doesn’t matter. He’s bound by his Jedi code. It was… frustrating. Now I’ve come to peace with being his friend.”

Fret seemed ready to respond, but Merrin went on, her voice lower, distant.

“When I first met Cal, I tried to kill him. I thought he was responsible for the massacre of my sisters.” She looked at the steam curling from her tea. “He should have been terrified. But he wasn’t. He was… calm. Even amused.”

Fret leaned in, intrigued.

“I watched him defeat a Gorgara,” Merrin said. “A beast that hunted Nightbrothers for sport. A winged terror. Cal fought it. Beat it. Rode it like a speeder. It should have terrified me. But it didn’t. It infuriated me.”

Fret raised her brows. “Sounds like him.”

“He had every reason to kill that creature, to end the threat. But he hesitated. He tried to reason with it. To spare it. That’s when I realized… there was more to him. And I wanted to know what that was.”

Fret smiled. “So he’s still that same infuriating Jedi?”

Merrin smirked, a tired but warm look in her eyes. “Yes. Just… different circumstances now.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the smell of tea mingling with the quiet thrum of the ship.

“Friends, then?” Fret offered, her voice gentle.

“I would like that,” Merrin replied, and for once, she meant it.

Fret gave a small nod and drifted quietly back toward her quarters. Merrin stayed behind, sipping her tea slowly, watching the stars streak past the viewport—green still faint on her cheeks.

---

The Mantis soared into Hosnian Prime's upper atmosphere like it owned the place. Greez didn’t even pretend to be subtle this time. No circling the outskirts, no hidden landing spots. He brought them in bold and loud, right up to the gaudy tower Qeris Lars called home. With a hiss of hydraulics, the ship landed on a floating pad practically in Qeris's living room.

The ramp slammed down with a satisfying thud. No more games. They were armed, ready, and very much done being polite.

As Cal strapped his lightsaber to his belt, Greez muttered from the cockpit, eyes glued to the scanners. "Noticed a lot of Brood ships hanging out in orbit."

Cal shot him a glance. "We need to worry?"

Greez waved a hand dismissively. "Nah. You let me and Cere worry about that."

Cal frowned. His gaze flicked, unbidden, to Greez's missing arm, now replaced by a sleek, unfinished prosthetic stump wrapped in clean bandages. "You sure you're up for it?"

Greez caught the look and smiled wide, flashing a few of his sharp Latero teeth. "Kid, never been more sure in my life."

Cal gave a half-smile, nodding once. He wasn't sure Greez believed it, but he appreciated it anyway.

The boarding party gathered: Cal, Merrin, Fret, and Irei, all looking far more battered and cautious than when they had first stormed into this mess. No more playing by Lars’ rules. This time, they were bringing the fight to him.

As they moved toward the ramp, Cere lingered a second by Greez’s side.

"You think this is going to work?" she asked quietly, watching the team disappear into the bright skyline of the tower.

Greez exhaled through his nose, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Oh yeah. For sure. When was the last time something went wrong?"

They shared a dry, exhausted laugh as they made their way to the cockpit together. Greez brought the Mantis up into low orbit, engines humming steady, ready for whatever chaos the ground team was about to unleash.

And knowing their crew — chaos was inevitable.

-----------------------------------------------

---

Cal was hunched over the workbench in the engine room, adjusting the calibration nodes on his lightsaber when he heard his name, soft and uncertain, from the doorway.

"Is now a good time?" Merrin asked.

Cal glanced up, setting the tool aside and strapping his lightsaber to his belt. "Good as ever."

Merrin stood there, shifting slightly — uncharacteristically hesitant. That alone made Cal straighten, his attention sharpening.

"You okay?" he asked.

Merrin hesitated a beat longer before crossing the room. Cal gestured to the cot, and they sat down, close but not quite touching, a magnetic pull between them both too aware of.

"While we're in Chikua City," Merrin said carefully, her voice low, "whatever happens in Qeris' tower... don’t ask me to leave. Not this time."

Cal frowned. His first instinct was to argue, to protect her the way he always did, but he bit it down.

"I've only ever done that to protect you," he said after a moment, struggling for words. "I couldn't..." His voice cracked slightly under the weight of what he couldn’t say — couldn’t admit even to himself.

Merrin reached out and placed a hand over his, steady and grounding. Cal flushed, but he didn’t move.

"I want to protect people too, Cal," Merrin said firmly. "This is my crew too. You do not have to carry the weight of all of us alone."

Cal stared at her, heart hammering. He understood what she was saying — truly, he did — but even knowing her strength, the thought of losing her was something he couldn't bear.

"It's not that I don't believe in you," Cal said. His voice was rougher than he intended. "I know exactly what you're capable of, Merrin. But if something happened to you... I wouldn't forgive myself."

"And do you think I would forgive myself if something happened to you?" she shot back, fierce. "I care for you, Cal Kestis. More than I ever thought I could care for anyone again."

She shifted, placing both hands over his now, the touch burning into him. He wanted to promise her. He wanted to give her what she asked for.

But he couldn't. Not truthfully.

Merrin studied him — she saw the hesitation even if he didn't voice it. Her brown eyes softened slightly, accepting the answer he couldn't say aloud.

"Good enough for now, Jedi," she murmured.

They sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder, the hum of the ship around them, until the Mantis shuddered with the first warning jolt of their landing sequence.

And Cal silently vowed, as he always did, that he would protect her — even if it cost him everything.

---

The Mantis's holotable used to be a one-trick pony — basic maps, coordinates, some janky schematics at best. But Greez had to hand it to Irei. She was a real mechanical wiz. Thanks to her upgrades, the old girl could now project live footage, fed from tiny cameras clipped to their shirts — even BD-1 was rigged with one.

Greez and Cere stood side-by-side, eyes glued to the shifting blue hologram of Qeris’s ridiculous cloud lounge.

"She lives!" Qeris's voice whistled through the speakers, high and sharp, rattling the already tense air around them.

He didn’t even sound surprised.

"He knew," Cere muttered, arms folded tightly across her chest.

Greez hummed, mouth full of popcorn, not even looking away from the holoprojection. "Yeah, no kriffin' kidding."

The feed showed Cal and Merrin entering first, moving like shadows, weapons hidden but ready. Behind them, Fret and Irei followed — right into Qeris’s open arms.

"Please, sit, sit," Qeris whistled, gesturing to the thick, cloud-like couches that surrounded the glassy lounge.

Greez stuffed another handful of popcorn into his mouth as the tension curled tighter.

"Irei," Qeris said silkily, "you have the schematics for the Shroud with you, then?"

"I have better than that," Irei replied, her voice steady. She pulled a disc from a pouch at her hip — the replica she and Cal had slaved over for days. "I built a prototype myself."

Greez watched Qeris’s expression flicker — hunger, pure and simple — as the Omwati leaned forward, hands trembling slightly.

"Beautiful," Qeris breathed. "May I?"

Irei's fingers snapped closed around the disc before he could touch it.

"I wanted you to see proof that I could produce," Irei said coolly. "And I am grateful for your help... but I have to ask: Can you guarantee my safety? And Fret's?"

"Of course," Qeris murmured, voice like poisoned silk.

Greez leaned toward the holotable, whispering around a mouthful of food, "This is it. He’s gonna show his hand."

"I dunno," Cere said, tense. "He likes to toy with people."

Suddenly, Cal and Merrin’s heads whipped around toward something off-camera. Even BD-1 trilled uneasily.

Greez sat up straighter, the popcorn bowl slipping off his knee.

"Something wrong with your doors?" Fret asked, voice too casual.

"Just taking precautions," Qeris said, smiling thinly. "You can't be too careful when plotting against the Empire. Don’t want anyone walking in who shouldn't."

"Naturally," Merrin replied, voice a razor blade wrapped in velvet.

Qeris turned back toward Irei, his eyes gleaming. "Your safety and Fret’s were not part of the original deal. We’ll have to renegotiate."

"I figured," Fret said, crossing her arms.

"You will leave the plans and the Shroud prototype here with me," Qeris continued, "and you’ll work under me to perfect it. After that... I'll hide you."

"Out of the question," Cal said, his voice cutting through the feed like a vibroblade. "The Shroud’s too dangerous. The plans and Irei stay with us."

Qeris clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "That's unfortunate. I’m sure the Empire would love to know the exact whereabouts of four highly wanted fugitives. Especially an Imperial traitor like Frethylrin."

Greez snorted bitterly. "Kriffin' called it."

Fret stood straighter, defiant. "I always knew you were a me-first kind of guy, Qeris. But never at the cost of people’s lives. What the hell happened to you?"

"Perhaps," Qeris said with a sigh, "you didn’t know me at all."

He leaned back casually, like he had all the time in the world. "Last chance. Accept my offer. It’s in everybody’s best interests."

"Now," Greez muttered, pointing at the holotable. "Watch."

Merrin stepped forward, her body poised like a striking blade, voice colder than deep space.

"We will not be changing our minds," she said.

Qeris smiled at her then — a thin, wolfish thing.

"A real shame," he said.

And then the holofeed exploded into static.

The holotable flickered violently, bathing Greez and Cere in stuttering blue light. Greez’s hand slammed onto the control panel, trying to recover the signal.

Cere's mouth was a grim line. "It’s started."

Chapter Text

---

This was not part of the plan, Cal thought grimly.

The plan was simple: deliver the fake shroud to Qeris Lars, make nice, and get the hell out of Chikua City without setting off any alarms.

The plan was not: maybe we’ll have to kill Qeris.

And yet, here they were.

It happened so fast, even Cal, trained as he was, reacted a hair too slow.
One second Qeris was buttering them up, slinging veiled threats like candy... and the next, the Omwati pulled the tiniest blaster Cal had ever seen — practically the size of a stim injector.

A flash.
A bang.

Fret cried out, the impact slamming her backward, flipping her clean off her feet and sending her skidding across the glossy lounge floor.

Cal’s lightsaber was in his hand before he even consciously registered it.
Merrin's fists ignited in a bloom of green flame, her whole body humming with raw Nightsister fury.
Irei and BD-1 bolted toward Fret, BD already armed with stims, working fast.
Thank the stars, Cal saw the armor under Fret’s shirt had absorbed most of the blast — otherwise, she'd be dead already.

Cal lunged at Qeris — but the bastard was faster than he looked, darting backward just out of reach, graceful as a feather in a strong breeze.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open.

Perfect, Cal thought acidly.

A flood of armored mercenaries spilled out — dozens of them — weapons raised, red dots crawling up Cal’s chest and Merrin’s.
Haxion Brood.
Same scumbag outfits they'd spotted the day they met Qeris.
Greez was going to lose his damn mind when he found out.

Qeris didn’t shoot again.
He just watched, smug and serene, as the warriors encircled them.

Cal glanced sideways at Merrin.
What he saw wasn't just terrifying — it was breathtaking.

Merrin wasn't backing down.
Smoke curled from her hair, her fingertips, her very mouth. Her eyes burned, white-hot and wild.

“Don't tell me to leave this time,” Merrin hissed low, a green shimmer dancing over her skin.
"Because I won't."

Then — poof — she vanished.

In a blink, she reappeared right at the elevator, her hands exploding in a wave of burning ichor.
Three Brood soldiers lit up like paper, screaming, collapsing.

Okay.
Merrin had the Haxion Brood under control.
That left Cal with the backstabbing, cowardly, blaster-happy Omwati.

Cal turned back just as Qeris leveled the tiny blaster square at his chest, his hands trembling.

"This your grand plan?" Cal sneered, sliding toward him slowly. "Blackmail us or kill us?"

Qeris's hands shook harder.
"I've been watching galactic politics a long time," Qeris said, voice thin, crumbling.
"I've seen what happens to people... to whole planets that resist the Empire."

Cal took another step closer.
Qeris retreated, step-for-step, until his back nearly brushed one of the floating cloud sofas.

"So you just decided to sell your soul for credits," Cal said, disgust heavy in his voice.
"And here I thought the free market was supposed to mean something."

Qeris shrugged helplessly.
"Dead men don't spend credits," he said, eyes darting to the sides where Merrin’s slaughter continued. "And the Empire pays well."

"You pivoted," Cal said, dripping sarcasm.

"I adapted," Qeris snapped, face flushing with anger now.
"You think this galaxy is about heroes and villains? It's about who survives. That's it."

"What about the Shroud?" Cal asked, circling slightly, keeping the pressure on.

Qeris's nostrils flared. "It needs Mirkanite to work. Rare. Deadly. Only a handful of mines in the galaxy can even extract it. And guess what?"
He smiled sharply.
"I control most of them. Enough that the Empire can't mass-produce their little toy without me."

Cal rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension start to coil in his legs.
"You’re planning to make yourself indispensable. A galactic kingpin of invisible tech."

"Maybe they’ll even hand me Alderaan," Qeris mused, almost to himself, starry-eyed with his own fantasy.

Cal twirled his lightsaber in a lazy circle, the hum low and menacing.
"Wow," he said flatly. "You really think you're gonna live long enough to see that."

Behind him, another Brood grunt screamed — short, sharp — then was cut off.

Qeris’s eyes flicked toward the elevator.
Wrong move.

"I still have tricks up my sleeve," he hissed.

And then the little bastard rushed him — gun blazing — firing desperate, wild shots straight at Cal’s head and chest.

---

Of course! Here's a grittier, intense rewrite from Cal’s perspective, keeping all your beats but sharpening the energy, urgency, and emotional grit:

---

He was so, so fast, Cal thought bitterly, teeth clenched tight.

Qeris whirled around him, loose and unpredictable, spitting blaster fire like a malfunctioning turret.
Cal was getting dizzy — exactly what Qeris wanted. He wasn't trying to kill Cal outright.
No — he was trying to wear him down.

And damn it — it was working.

Cal pivoted and surged forward, slamming a blaster bolt back into Qeris’s arm with a sharp flick of his saber.
The Omwati shrieked — a piercing, inhuman sound — and tumbled sideways.
Before Cal could capitalize, Qeris fired up a jetpack strapped under his robes and launched himself into the upper levels of the cloud lounge, too high for Cal’s saber or a Force pull to reach.

Cal dropped behind one of those useless floating chairs to catch his breath.
He thumbed the commlink.

"You catching all of this?"

"We got him," came Greez’s rough voice through the static.
"We recorded everything — the threats, the blackmail. If he doesn't croak today, his face’ll be on every underworld screen from the Outer Rim to Corellia. Whole galaxy’s gonna come hunting."

"Good," Cal growled.

He peeked over the couch — Merrin was mopping up the last of the Brood scum, her fists wreathed in furious green fire, moving like a ghost between enemies.
Cal swallowed and keyed the comm again.

"How’s it going up there?" Cal huffed.

"There’s a lot more than we planned for," Cere answered coolly over the line.
"Greez is pulling some fancy flying. We’ve knocked out five Brood reinforcement ships, but it’s getting ugly."

"Oh shut up," Greez grunted. "You're just butterin' me up because you feel bad about me losing my arm."

"I did not—" Cere started — and then promptly muted herself.

Cal smirked despite himself.

A soft tap on his shoulder — BD-1, stim canister in his tiny claw.
"Thanks, buddy," Cal said, jamming it into his thigh and feeling the sweet rush of energy.
"You good?"

BD chirped uncertainly, glancing toward where Fret lay sprawled, unmoving.
He’s worried.

"Me too, pal," Cal muttered.

BD scampered back toward Fret as Cal forced himself to his feet.

Two heavy thuds — Merrin dealt the killing blows to the last two Brood warriors.
Cal turned — saw her standing there, smoke rising off her hands, eyes locked onto Fret.

Then — whump! —
Qeris swooped down like a black vulture, landing between them.

"You’ve done much better than anticipated," he sneered, voice thick with mock admiration.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cal caught Merrin moving — low, slow, stalking him like a hunter about to take her prey.
She wasn’t going to make it quick — not this time.

"You’re going to die, Kestis," Qeris hissed.
"And the Shroud — it’ll be mine, either way."

Before Cal could respond, his body moved — driven by sheer instinct.
He leapt upward, saber slashing — but Qeris was already rocketing back up, out of reach, to the upper struts of the cloud tower.

Coward.

Cal landed hard, sliding back across the marble floor, and let out a frustrated roar.

A hand on his shoulder — Merrin.

"You okay?" she asked, voice tight.

"Yeah," he panted, scanning her quickly. "You?"

"I'm fine." She hesitated. "But Fret’s not getting up. I don't know if the armor was enough. I'm afraid she's—"

"Cal!"

Irei’s panicked shout cut through the chaos, brittle and high.

He snapped his head toward her — saw her crouched by Fret, tears streaking her dirt-stained face.

"Are your comms working?" Irei screamed.

Cal pressed his comm — only static.

"Cere didn’t mute the line after all," he realized with a sinking gut.

"The Mantis isn’t responding!" Irei shouted again.
"And— there’s a jammer! Someone set up jamming tech, I can hear it!"

Ding.

The elevator at the far end of the lounge slid open.

The figure tilted his head and called out, smug and cruel:

"Cal Kestis... are you ready to lose — one last time?"

----------------------------------------

Fret was likely dead.
Irei was panicked, frozen in terror.
Cal — Cal looked exhausted, his face tight with anguish and guilt.

But Merrin?

Merrin was ready.
Ready to kill.
Ready to burn.

The elevator doors groaned open — and out of its shadowy depths he emerged.

The Fifth Brother.

He stalked forward, helmet broad and heavy, sickly gray-green skin glinting under the flickering lounge lights. His double-bladed saber buzzed and spat, a hellish red.

She was going to kill him.
And then she was going to kill Qeris.

"Did you really think," the Fifth Brother said, voice rumbling low and amused, "that the Empire would lose track of its precious cargo?"
He glanced once, like a wolf scenting a wounded animal, to where Irei stood trembling.

Merrin’s stomach twisted.
She flicked a glance at Cal — saw the way his shoulders hunched, his breath caught.
He was blaming himself already.
Of course he was.

They hadn't thought to check for a tracker.
Too busy fighting.
Too busy surviving.

The Inquisitor’s eyes — those cruel, mint-green eyes — fixed on Cal, ignoring everyone else like they were nothing but debris.

"You cannot avoid your destiny, Kestis," he said, his voice smooth and heavy like oil.
"You will not deny me the honor of delivering you to your fate."

He spun his saber lazily, almost bored, as he walked right past Merrin.

Merrin moved to raise her hand — to scorch him, tear him apart from the inside out —

But she couldn’t move.

It was like her muscles had turned to stone.
No, it was worse — it was him.
He was pinning her in place with the Force, something dark and twisted, nothing like the magic she knew.
It was like an invisible iron hand clamping her spirit down, holding her helpless.

She could only watch — furious, horrified — as the Fifth Brother stalked toward Cal like a cat cornering its prey.

Across the room, Qeris’s shrill voice cut through the air:

"What are you doing? Who are you? You can't— you can't interfere! I have a deal!"

He launched himself forward on his sputtering jetpack, scrambling toward them like a drunk bird.

The Inquisitor never even turned his head.
He simply raised one hand backward.

Merrin watched — helpless — as Qeris jerked midair, seized like a rag doll in the Fifth Brother’s invisible grip.
The Omwati twisted, shrieked —
— and was ripped forward like a bolt from a bow —

— straight onto the Inquisitor’s blade.

Qeris gave a hideous, wet scream —
— and went limp instantly, sliding lifeless off the saber.

The Fifth Brother barely reacted.
With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, he hurled the corpse aside like trash.

The thud of Qeris’s body against the marble wall echoed through the smoking lounge.

The Fifth Brother took another slow step toward Cal, red blade humming in the heavy, choking air.

"You are mine now, Jedi," he said.

And Merrin, still frozen, could do nothing but watch.

The Fifth Brother roared and charged at Cal, his saber blazing through the smoky air.

Cal braced himself, sidestepped —
Blades clashed.

Again.
Again.
Again.

The room blurred with motion and color, blue and red flashing so fast Merrin could barely track them, locked as she was, helpless, frozen by the Inquisitor’s grip on her body and spirit.

The battle raged —
The Fifth Brother was stronger. Heavier.
Every blow forced Cal to retreat, foot by foot. Cal was fast, brilliant, but always on the defensive — like trying to fend off a charging rancor with a stick.

Then Cal hesitated — just for a second —
he jumped back to jam a stim into his side.

And that’s when it happened.

Merrin watched, horror clawing up her throat, as the Fifth Brother snared Cal in the same invisible, crushing stasis he'd used on her.
Cal froze mid-injection, his face twisted with effort.

The Inquisitor sneered, stepping forward, lightsaber raised high over his head to cleave him apart.

No!

Merrin wrenched herself free, shattering the bonds with every ounce of her fury and magic.

She hurled green fire across the room — a torrent so furious it shoved against the Fifth Brother’s blade just as it came down.
Instead of cutting Cal in two, the saber grazed his arm with a sickening sizzle of flesh and blood.

Cal remained frozen, a silent scream etched on his face.

The Fifth Brother snarled and raised his saber again — this time to finish it.

Merrin didn’t hesitate.

She materialized in a flash of green smoke, right between the Inquisitor’s strike and Cal’s helpless body.

She caught the crimson blade in her bare hand, her magic exploding outward in a hurricane of green flame.
The Force of it seared the air, the blade bending for a heartbeat under her wrath.

The Fifth Brother stumbled back — startled for the first time — and narrowed his mint-colored eyes at her.

"I sense your strength," he hissed, voice dripping with cruel admiration.

Behind her, Cal screamed as the stasis finally shattered — pain ripping through his body as he collapsed beside her.

The Fifth Brother struck, sensing weakness.

He drove his weight forward, breaking through Merrin’s barrier this time, shattering her defensive magick like glass underfoot.

Merrin barely had time to brace before Cal, still thinking faster than he should have been able to, grabbed her by the waist and threw her aside.
He spun with her momentum, trying to dodge the incoming blade —
— but not fast enough.

The saber bit deep into his arm, tearing through muscle and cloth.
Cal collapsed at Merrin’s feet, clutching his now useless saber arm, blood pouring freely from the burn.

Merrin froze.

This was it.
This was Dathomir all over again.

Helpless.
Overwhelmed.
About to lose everything.

She stared at the Inquisitor — saw death coming for them.

But then — her gaze shifted.

The fake shroud.
Still clutched by Irei’s trembling hands.
Still intact.

And like a jolt of electricity through her bones, an idea struck her.

No, Merrin thought. Not today.

---

Cal had been frozen — infuriatingly still — when Merrin had materialized in front of him, throwing herself between him and the Fifth Brother, risking her life to shield him.

That was his job.
Not hers.

He had watched the lightsaber come down — red death streaking through the air — and seen Merrin catch it in her bare hands, green magick blazing from her fingertips to stop it cold.

In that moment, as the pain from his injuries flared and his muscles locked with fresh agony, Cal made himself a promise:

Never again.

He would get her out of this gods-forsaken sky tower — whatever it cost. Whatever it took.

He would not lose her.

As Merrin hurled the Fifth Brother back with a roar of magick, the invisible cage around Cal finally broke. His body ignited with white-hot pain, and a scream tore free from his throat — but there was no time for that.

Merrin.
Merrin was the only thing he could see.

He flung his seared arm around her waist and dragged her aside just as the Inquisitor's blade slashed down again, burning through his pant leg and scorching flesh.

Using the last of his strength, Cal shoved the Fifth Brother backward with a Force push so violent it rattled the cloud lounge walls.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Merrin’s gaze — a flicker, a flash — her eyes darting to the fake shroud lying where Irei had dropped it.

Cal knew exactly what it was.
A disguised explosive, rigged just enough to fake a blast — to fool, to frighten, but not to kill.

Merrin seemed to reach the same conclusion — she crouched, ready to move — but Cal was faster.
He Force-pulled the disk to him.

The Inquisitor stalked forward, laughing, blade twirling lazily as if he already smelled victory.

No.

Not like this.

Merrin kicked out her leg — a vicious, furious strike — sending the disk skittering across the floor before Cal could grab it.

"Don't do anything foolish, Cal," she hissed, rolling to her side, her body already smoking from the magick burning under her skin.

The Fifth Brother bore down on him again.

"You get everyone out!" Cal shouted, deflecting a blow with his good arm. "Let me deal with him! It's the only way!"

Merrin streaked after the disk, fast as a ghost.

"And then what?" she called back, fury and fear blending into something wild. "You blow yourself up? You die alone?"

"I don't know!" Cal growled. He saw the Inquisitor pivot, trying to track them both. "It's the only plan I have to keep you safe!"

"You can't run from me!" the Fifth Brother bellowed, his voice cracking the air.

"Shut up!" Cal and Merrin snapped together without thinking, their voices an unbreakable cord.

They collided at the center of the room, racing for the shroud.
At the last instant, Cal yanked it into his palm, stealing it away from Merrin’s reach.

Merrin screamed, frustration exploding out of her in a green shockwave that rocked the Fifth Brother back, staggering him briefly in a cyclone of magickal fire.

They had seconds, maybe less.

Cal turned toward Merrin — and froze.

Her eyes —
Gods.
Her eyes burned green, an unnatural, eerie flame blazing out of her soul.

"Do not tell me to leave, Cal," Merrin said, her voice low and trembling with power. "We are a team. Let me help you. You have to trust me. You have to let me."

Cal shook his head, almost frantic. "No! Every time someone puts their life on the line for me, they get hurt — or they die! I can't lose you. I won't."

Merrin stepped closer, close enough he could feel the heat rolling off her body.
She pushed her hair back off her face, her gaze never wavering.

"If you don't let me help," she said, voice rough, "we’re all going to die. And not just us. Everyone the Empire is hunting."

Her words landed like hammer blows.
And deep down — Cal knew she was right.

He swallowed, his throat raw, his heart burning.
"I know," he whispered, barely audible. "I know... I just can't—"
"I can't lose you," he choked.

Merrin closed the last bit of space between them, her hands finding his — burning hot against his trembling fingers.
She lifted his ruined hand to her lips — kissed it once, twice — and stared into his eyes, unyielding.

"If you truly care for me, Cal Kestis," she said softly, fiercely, "then you have to understand... you don't have to do this alone."

She drew a ragged breath, her forehead resting lightly against his.

"Together, Cal."

Cal heard the storm behind him as the Fifth Brother broke free of the cyclone, roaring toward them.

And still, he only saw her.

Only Merrin.

Cal tightened his grip on her hands and whispered:

"Together."

As the fire of Merrin’s magick and the blinding light of Cal’s saber reignited between them.

The battle was not over yet.

---

Merrin shoved Cal out of her way, sending him stumbling toward Irei and the fake shroud clutched in his seared hand. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.
Her job was here.

She turned and faced the Fifth Brother head-on.

He had ignored her before, focusing solely on Cal, but now — now — Merrin had earned his full attention. His hulking form shifted toward her, his lightsaber thrumming with deadly promise.

Good. She needed it.

She had to keep him busy, no matter what it cost, while Cal executed their desperate plan.

Merrin inhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a heartbeat. There was only one thing she could think of that might tip the odds back in their favor.

The reanimation spell.

It was dangerous. Reckless. And she wasn’t even sure she had the strength left to pull it off.
But if she didn’t try, they were all dead anyway.

She focused, drawing deep into the pit of her magick, deeper than she had ever dared. She felt the green ichor flare under her skin, coil through her veins, rippling outward from her core.

She opened her eyes — glowing now, like twin suns.

Her gaze locked on the broken body of Qeris, crumpled and cooling across the room.

Merrin reached.

The corpse twitched.
Jerked.
A grotesque gasp rattled out of his dead throat.

Qeris’s corpse heaved upright in a series of violent, shuddering spasms, his head lolling to the side, his hollow chest rising and falling with stolen, unnatural breath.

The Fifth Brother faltered.

For the first time since he had arrived, the Inquisitor actually hesitated, taking a half-step back, his lightsaber tilting uncertainly in his grasp.

Merrin smiled grimly.

Two to one, monster.
And she liked those odds just fine.

She raised her smoking hands and whispered, almost lovingly, to the corpse of Qeris:

"Attack."

As Qeris lunged at the Inquisitor in a tangle of twitching limbs, Merrin wiped the blood off the corner of her mouth and muttered under her breath:

"Your move, Cal."

---------------------------------------------

Cal could feel the crackle of Merrin’s magick behind him as he sprinted across the scorched floor, the fake shroud clutched tight in his one good hand. He slid into a crouch beside Irei, who was still hunched protectively over Fret’s limp body. Her hands were shaking, eyes bloodshot and wild as they met his.

“I— I can’t help her, Cal. I don’t know how—”

“Irei,” Cal snapped, voice firm, “I need you to focus.”

He shoved the shroud into her hands. “Can you make this into a bomb? A big one?”

“What?” She blinked at him like he was speaking a different language.

“A big bomb, Irei. Can you do that?”

She looked down at the prototype in her hands, then up at him—then back at the shroud again. “Yes,” she said, voice hardening. “Yes. Give it to me.”

She was already tearing it apart before it fully left his fingers.

Cal exhaled shakily. “Is it going to blow the whole room up?”

Irei didn’t answer.

“Irei—”

“I need a stimpack,” she said suddenly, snapping her fingers. “Beedee, one of those stims—now.”

BD-1 chirped obediently, placing a stim into her palm before bounding off again at her next command. “Do you see that tiny blaster? The one Qeris had? Bring it.”

The little droid zipped across the floor and scooped up the comically small weapon, delivering it back to her feet.

“Irei—listen to me—”

“You said you wanted a big bomb,” she cut him off, hands now moving with frantic precision. “So let me do my thing. Just give me time.”

Cal stared at the tangle of wires she was working with, then cast a glance over his shoulder. He could hear Merrin and the Fifth Brother going at it — snarled threats and the savage crackle of magick and saber colliding. He didn’t know how long she could hold out.

“Time, right,” he muttered. “And I’ll just redirect the blast with the Force?”

“Sure,” Irei said dryly. “Or we all die in a spectacular, fiery burst. Just wing it.”

Cal blinked. “That’s the plan?”

She didn’t look up. “Fret told me that’s what you guys are best at.”

He smiled despite himself, tapping her shoulder once. “She wasn’t wrong.”

Cal turned and sprinted back toward the chaos, BD-1 leaping onto his shoulder with a metallic chirp of determination.

---

Cal’s chest flooded with relief the second he spotted Merrin still standing, alive and fighting — but his heart nearly stopped at the sight of who was fighting with her.

“Where the hell did he come from?!” Cal shouted, jerking a hand toward Qeris’s grotesquely twitching, reanimated corpse, which was swinging wild, staggering blows at the Fifth Brother.

Merrin grinned wickedly through the haze of smoke and green magick. “He was just lying around. Figured we could use the help!”

Cal barely ducked a sweep of the Inquisitor’s crimson blade, feeling the heat graze over his scalp. “Irei needs more time!” he barked, rolling to avoid another wild strike. “So let’s do what we do best!”

“Wing it?” Merrin called back, flinging Qeris’s corpse into the Fifth Brother to give Cal breathing room.

Cal let out a breathless laugh, deflecting a bolt with a flick of his saber. “I was gonna say work together, but yeah — let’s wing it!”

They fell into an unspoken rhythm instantly, just like old times. Magick, lightsaber, corpse — the three-pronged assault kept the Fifth Brother stumbling, snarling, unable to gain a foothold. For every brutal overhead strike he tried to land, Merrin’s fire caught his gauntlets. For every sharp stab, Qeris’s dead fists swung clumsily but effectively into his ribs. Cal weaved through it all, his blade darting like a viper, carving shallow, bloody lines across the Inquisitor’s armor.

Still, Cal knew this couldn’t last.

His injured arm throbbed relentlessly. BD’s stim supply was running dangerously low. Merrin’s magic was flickering; Qeris was stumbling more like a puppet than a weapon now. They were running out of time.

A slice from the Fifth Brother’s saber grazed Cal’s nose — searing, brutal. That’s gonna leave a mark, he thought grimly, tasting blood.

Then, cutting through the chaos:

“Kestis!” Irei’s voice tore across the battlefield. “Ready!”

Cal’s heart punched his ribs. He turned toward Merrin — she already knew. Their eyes locked. Her nod was tight, grim, but certain.

She’ll keep him busy.

Cal sprinted back toward Irei, barely dodging another slash. He scooped the modified shroud device from her hands, feeling the faint pulse of unstable energy humming inside it.

Then he froze.

His plan... it had a fatal flaw.

Merrin was still too close to the Inquisitor. Her magick was weakening. She wouldn't be able to blink away fast enough if the blast went off.

Cal’s chest squeezed painfully. He remembered her face at the engine room.
Promise me

He clenched his jaw.
Cal closed his eyes, breathed deep into the Force. His fingers unfurled, and he levitated the shroud into the air. His focus narrowed to a blade’s edge as he propelled it forward — faster, sharper, guiding it with everything he had.

The Fifth Brother turned at the last second, sensing the danger. His grey eyes widened as he slashed upward with his saber to deflect the oncoming device—

And that was the moment it detonated.

The explosion was a roar that tore the sky apart. Cal’s ears filled with a high-pitched ringing. The entire room shuddered, beams cracking, debris raining from above. The shockwave threw him backwards, smashing him into the far wall. Dust and fire clouded his vision.

He struggled to his knees, blinking through the haze.

The whole tower was coming down.

And Merrin — where was Merrin?

---

Cal saw her—crumpled at the base of a shattered pillar, limbs splayed unnaturally. Merrin. He forced his broken body forward, dragging himself through smoke and rubble. Every fiber in him screamed to stop, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not until he reached her.

He collapsed at her side and pulled her halfway into his lap, his fingers brushing her hair from her face. Her skin was warm. Her chest—he couldn’t tell. His vision flickered, his breath staggered.

And then everything went dark.

---

He didn’t expect to wake up. Not here. Not now.

A crackle ripped through the black. The warble of a comm. “Cal? Merrin? Anyone, come in!” It was Cere’s voice—tired, strained, desperate.

He groaned, the sound raw and hollow. That was all he could manage.

BD-1 tapped furiously at his shoulder. He blinked hard, willing the darkness back as pain surged through his body. His arm was on fire. His lungs felt full of ash. But he had to move.

Merrin.

He turned his head and found her beside him. Still. Too still. His heart stuttered.

No Inquisitor. No Qeris. Just smoke, ruin—and her.

Ding.

The elevator.

Not now, Cal thought bitterly. Please, not again. He couldn’t fight another thing. He could barely breathe.

But then the doors parted and blessed light spilled in—followed by two figures.

“What the hell happened to you two?!” Greez’s voice cracked the silence as he dropped to his knees. He gently touched Cal’s wounded arm. “You trying to one-up me, kid? 'Cause I gotta say, losing an arm isn’t as glamorous as it looks.”

“Greez—” Cal tried to speak, but the pilot was already in full rant.

“You should’ve seen me and Cere out there. We were pulling Brood ships into each other, real fireworks show. I even looped one into a damn comm tower—”

“Merrin,” Cal rasped, cutting him off.

Cere was already moving. She dropped to Merrin’s side, hands trembling as she leaned over her.

“Merrin,” she whispered, brushing soot from her face. “Wake up.” No answer. “Please…”

Cal turned his face away, jaw clenched, tears stinging his swollen eyes.

“Ugh.”

Everyone froze.

“Somebody kill that guy?” It was Fret, sitting up slowly, propped against Irei. Her voice was hoarse, but unmistakable.

“Oh stars—” Irei pulled her into a fierce hug.

But Fret’s eyes scanned the wreckage. “Where’s Merr—” She froze. Her gaze locked on the unmoving Nightsister.

Cal leaned over Merrin again, gently cupping her cheek. “Come on,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Hey witch,” Greez called softly, trying to stay light, “it’s not fair you get to nap while the rest of us are stuck with the cleanup.”

Cal pressed his lips to her forehead.

And then—

Gasp.

Her whole body jolted, sucking in air. Cal’s hands tightened around her, and his breath finally returned with hers. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it.

Tears were already streaming down his face.

She was alive.

She made it.

His terrifying, brilliant, impossible Nightsister—his Merrin.

He didn’t hesitate. He wrapped her in the strongest hug he could manage, pulling her tight against him. Her warmth radiated into his chest like a miracle.

Merrin stirred, voice dry as cracked stone. “Last I saw the Inquisitor, he was on fire and flying out the window.” She looked around and groaned. “This tower’s cozy, but as much as I enjoy being crushed under your relief, Jedi… can we please go back to the Mantis?”

Cal pulled back, still holding her hand. “That,” he whispered with a tear-streaked smile, “is the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

---

Back on the Mantis

The crew had gathered in the common area, the hum of the medkit the only consistent sound as wounds were patched, burns treated, and bacta applied like war paint.

Merrin sat off to the side, cradling a stim against her ribs as she glanced toward Fret and Irei. The two sat close, Irei carefully dabbing bacta over Fret’s bruised chest plate.

“When are you leaving?” Merrin asked, the words more reluctant than she meant them to be. “Where will you go?”

Fret paused, glancing to Irei before answering. “Greez is dropping us on Zimara.”

“I’ll have to take a few detours first,” Greez called from the cockpit, where he was fiddling with the navicomputer. “Gotta toss any tails we picked up. Empire likes to linger.”

“We’ll be in hiding a long time,” Irei said quietly. “But with my tech and Fret’s network... we’ll manage. They probably think we all burned up in that tower.”

A murmur of tired agreement passed through the crew. One by one, they filtered out. Cal disappeared to the engine room. Cere retired to the cockpit. BD-1 curled beside the holo-table.

Later that night, Merrin was brushing ash from her cloak when a soft knock came at her door. It creaked open.

“Busy?” Fret asked, her voice lighter than usual.

Merrin gestured to the empty chair across from her. “Come in.”

Fret stepped inside and leaned against the wall. “How are you holding up, my fiery sister?”

“I’m... okay,” Merrin replied, though her tone said otherwise. “I thought we lost you.”

“I don’t die easy,” Fret said with a lopsided grin. “Turns out none of us do.”

Merrin smiled faintly, but her eyes were distant.

Fret studied her a moment, then said slyly, “Cal seemed very... relieved that you made it out.”

Merrin sighed and stared at the wall for a beat. “I do,” she said softly.

Fret tilted her head. “Do?”

“I do... care for him. Cal.” Merrin finally looked up, the admission burning behind her eyes. “It’s more than crew. More than friendship. I think... I think it always was.”

Fret’s grin softened into something warmer, something true. “You should tell him. What you two have—I've felt it since the moment I met you all. It’s rare. You deserve happiness, Merrin.”

“I will,” Merrin said. “One day. When he’s ready. And when I am too.”

She looked down at her hands. “These last few weeks have changed me. There’s still more I need to learn—about myself, about what I want.”

“I get that,” Fret said. She hesitated, then added, “If you ever need time away, you could come with me and Irei. Just for a while.”

Merrin gave a half-smile. “Thank you. But this ship... it’s hard to explain. I never expected to find a home. And yet, here it is. With all of them. My strange, stubborn family.”

Fret nodded. “You’ll always have a place in my heart, Nightsister.”

“And you in mine,” Merrin said gently.

Fret gave her one last smile, then turned and slipped quietly out of the room.

Merrin sat alone for a while longer, the silence no longer heavy—just honest. She looked to the stars beyond the viewport and whispered to herself:

“One day.”

---

A few quiet days passed. The Mantis landed once again on the shadowed side of Zimara, this time not for rest, but for farewell.

The crew stood just outside the ship—scarred, bruised, but whole. Fret and Irei stood at the foot of the ramp, bags slung over their shoulders, ready for whatever exile would bring them.

Cal shifted on his feet, eyes on the dusty horizon. Then he spoke, voice steady but heavy with the weight of too many battles.

“I have to say something.”

Everyone turned to him—the fire-haired Jedi who never asked for attention, now holding it without effort.

“For years now, we’ve been chasing the next miracle,” he said. “The holocron, the Haxion Brood, the Shroud… Irei. Every time, we thought this would be the thing that ends the Empire. The silver bullet. But it’s not. None of it is.”

Cere gave a soft nod. “It never was.”

Cal continued. “The truth is... it’s just waking up and choosing to fight again. Choosing to survive. Choosing to protect something. Someone. And surrounding yourself with people who help you do that.”

Greez sniffed and folded his arms. “And sometimes those people chop off your arm,” he muttered, deadpan.

Cere let out a dramatic groan. “You’re going to hold that over me forever, aren’t you?”

“Only until I grow it back,” Greez shot back, smirking.

That broke the tension. Even Irei smiled.

“Are you two gonna be alright?” Greez asked, looking between Fret and Irei.

“We will be,” Irei said with quiet certainty.

“You’re more than capable,” Cere added. “And whether you know it or not, you’re part of the resistance now. The galaxy needs people like you.”

“We’ll be there if you ever call,” Irei promised.

“You’ve got a way to reach us?” Fret asked, hesitating.

Greez grinned. “This ship might look old, but she’s wired to the teeth. You’ll know how to find us.”

“I owe you all so much,” Irei said, glancing at each of them. “More than I’ll ever be able to repay.”

They went down the line saying goodbye. Fret pulled Cal into a tight, almost brotherly hug. Before pulling away, she whispered in his ear, “I know she can handle herself, but... look out for her anyway.”

Cal smiled faintly and nodded. “Always.”

As Fret and Irei turned to walk into the haze of Zimara’s horizon, Merrin moved silently to Cal’s side. She didn’t speak—just slipped her fingers into his. Her touch was warm, steady.

Cal looked down at their joined hands. “We’re probably never going to see them again.”

“No,” Merrin murmured. “We won’t.”

“But you stayed.”

“I did.” She looked up at him, brown eyes fierce and soft at once. “The elders used to say that foolishness runs in my bloodline.”

He turned to her with a crooked grin. “I think I’m starting to believe them.”

Merrin smirked, the edge of it sharp, but the feeling behind it soft. Cal squeezed her hand.

She squeezed back.

And for now, that was enough.