BELLEMILY

THE PATH -- Cal Kestis x Reader

This is the first fanfiction I has ever written, her debut novel! The reader in this novel has few physical descriptions. It is insinuated that the reader has hair and is shorter/smaller than Cal. Actual slow burn here, no smut randomly appearing in chapter 4. Reader is the same age as Cal.

Prologue

Chapter 1 -- Kimiin

Chapter 2 -- Fire and Hope

Chapter 3 -- Monster

Chapter 4 -- The Stinger Mantis

Chapter 5 -- Come and Get Me

Chapter 6 -- Sorry

Chapter 7 -- Thank You

Chapter 8 -- Hallikset for Life

Chapter 9 -- Damned Attenuator

Chapter 10 -- Good Luck

Chapter 11 -- Stay Still

Chapter 12 -- Don't Let Go

Chapter 13 -- May the Force Be With You

When Cal came back to the Mantis with you slung over his shoulder he was met by Cere and Greez vehemently refusing to accept you as a passenger. Cal had to explain multiple times that you were the only one who knew of the astrium’s location and that he would take full responsibility should anything happen. That wasn’t enough to convince either one of them, but the Empire's forces closing in left them with no choice but to delay discussions. Cal placed you carefully on the L-shaped sofa, laying you on your back. He hoped you wouldn’t fall during take-off, especially that you wouldn’t go flying across the common room when they entered hyperspace. 

When you woke up you were laying on the ground. Your head pounded and your eyes itched which overshadowed your confusion with discomfort. The harsh fluorescent overhead lights were painful to look at, and the material of the ship further reflected the harshness brutalizing your corneas. 

Wait. 

Ship? 

You took a moment to take in your surroundings. The quiet hum of the hyperdrive settled in your bones; the stale recycled air filled your lungs. You inhaled shakily, forcing your lungs to function properly in a haze of anxiety, studying the metallic surface you laid on. You noticed the kaf-table and sofa next to you, orange and black in colour, and made of potolli-weave fabric. As you slowly rose your feet, using the sofa as leverage, a galley kitchen came into view. On the opposite end of the common room was – to your surprise – more sofas, this time surrounding a holotable. The ship’s cockpit was just ahead, two mysterious figures present in the seats. You made sure they didn’t hear you get up, monitoring their body language, before making your way to the galley kitchen. You were still dizzy, stumbling over your feet a few times, but managed your way into the kitchen – however painstaking the process was. Surely there had to be knives, or worst-case scenario a heavy pot, you could use for protection. Gripping the stools around the kitchen island for balance and clutching at your aching head, you examined the various kitchen appliances in front of you. Dispensers, fruitbowls, cabinets. Silent vindication filled your mind as you tried, and failed, to pry open any cabinets possibly containing cooking hardware; everything was locked. You frowned. Kriffing bastards. They were quite meticulous. No wonder they managed to evade the Empire for so long – damn rats. 

Giving up on the galley kitchen you continued to delve into the more inconspicuous section of the ship: the sleeping quarters. You sneaked into the hallway, careful not to flounder, and planned to investigate whatever was behind the two doors appearing as you turned left. The first door led to the ship’s refresher, equipped with: a compact standard water-shower – standard for an XL luxury yacht like the Mantis, –  a surprisingly clean vacc-tube, and a shiny metallic sink. The layout was quite efficient with the shower farther back, and the vacc-tube and sink parallel to each other near the entrance. Built-in cabinets surrounded the sink and stored underneath it was back-up toiletries, but nothing in the refresher was worth pocketing. You exited the refresher with disappointment, convinced of the second door containing something more useful. You turned to glance at the second door, but stilled as your vision was blocked by a certain tall and red-headed Jedi leaning against a wall with his arms crossed.

“You’re up,” he stated. Cal tilted his head to glance behind you, looking into the refresher, and deadpanned. “And thoroughly checking out the Mantis, huh?”

“The Mantis?” You refused to break eye-contact, raising your chin in pride and disguising your initial shock. He pursed his lips and beckoned with his eyes in the direction you had initially entered the hallway. You rolled your eyes and complied, letting him lead you back into the common room. The clanking of the metallic material underfoot matched every beat of your heart as you stepped back into the lion’s den, this time catching the eyes of the very beasts. Sitting on the L-shaped sofa was a dark-skinned woman with protruding eyes and a grey-haired Latero – male, this one. The moment you stepped into their purview the atmosphere around the kaf-table soured. Flittering glances were exchanged by the crew members and you could sense the dissatisfaction your presence had caused. You opted to peer at the plant at the threshold of the galley kitchen and the living space. The plant sprouted green leaves of great size compared to the measly stem, barely bearing the weight of its mass. You were so focused on the plant that the chatter directed towards you went in one ear and out the other. A recognizable touch coming from the Jedi landed on your shoulder, not quite grounding as much as reprimanding this time around. You turned your head to face Cal with a scrutinizing look. 

“Are you even listening? Who am I kidding – of course you’re not!” 

A manly voice reached your ears, however Cal’s lips remained unmoving. You turned to leer at the Latero male, the only other one who could inhabit such a voice, and gave him a challenging look. 

“Oh wow, yeah. Look– look at her..! She looks as clueless as a happabore on spice!” He exclaimed loudly, gesturing to your face with two arms and throwing the rest in the air.

You glared at him until he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, signaling his distress to Cere and Cal with his darting eyes. 

“You,” Cere intervened and gazed into your eyes with a serious and composed temperament. “Where is the astrium? Speak now unless you want us to pursue a different course of action – one involving much less talking.”

Cal looked at Cere nervously and removed his hand from your person. You moved away from him to some degree before straightening your posture and placing your hands behind your back. You were not going to let these seditious fiends believe their meager threats were going to have any effect on you. With the prideful tilt to your face back and a scornful expression plastered on your face, you observed the crew before you – and next to you. 

“You are truly pathetic if you think, even for a moment, that your pitiful attempt at intimidation will unnerve me. The Empire will have undoubtedly sent out numerous probe droids in search of me, and if not them: my father.” You stated plainly. Your importance to the Empire would not be questioned, even if your claims were slightly exaggerated.

The Mantis’ crew shared a collective glance of uncertainty before settling on having a discussion without you present. Cal approached you and put his hands, palms up, in front of you. You stared in confusion at his antics and ignored his gesture. His strong hands engulfed yours as he gripped them, placing both of your smaller ones in one hand, despite your squirming and struggling. From his utility belt he pulled out a pair of stuncuffs he had swiped from a stormtrooper and placed it around your wrists, ensuring they were securely tightened by tugging on it twice. You protested and vocalized your displeasure, practically growling and throwing – what your dearly departed mentor would call – a hissy fit. Screaming:

“I swear on the stars; you won’t get away with this!”

You tried kicking Cal to see if it would force him to let go, but his grip only tightened as he remained unphased by your tantrum. When he was certain you would not break loose from the restraints, his broad palm landed on your back, acting as a guide and pushing you towards the back of the ship. His casual attitude over putting you in cuffs left you absolutely peeved. You managed to pass the galley kitchen by a centimeter before you exploded.

“Let go of me you disgusting son of a– a gundark!” You screeched. “You should have died among the rest of your kind like the vermin you are;” you dug your heels in and spun around to push him away with restrained hands, “among the traitors and cowards!”

The latter sentence seemed to get a reaction out of him. 

“Just stop!” He seethed, roughly grabbing the stuncuffs attached to your wrists and dragging you into his quarters.

You freezed when he raised his voice, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, and let him manhandle you into his room. He was genuinely intimidating when angered, which was unexpected. You thought you had a good read on him. Thought that he was of a cowardly and meek nature, as taught to you – maker were you wrong. He pulled you closer, close enough that you caught a hint of his warm scent, and gestured to a duralloy ladder leading to the hold with his head.

“Get in,” he demanded abruptly. You were stunned by his audacity. 

“..No!” You refused his preposterous command after a moment of disbelief. 

This criminal did not have any right to dictate your actions. He was definitely not superior to you in any way, so giving you orders was a no-go in your hierarchical mind. You wet your lips in preparation for another bout of curses, your nose scrunching in distaste, when his grip tightened impossibly. You winced and felt the joints in your hands ache under the pressure. He asserted his – and your – position clear as transapristeel: 

“Don’t utter another word.” You caught his meaning. You couldn’t help your eyes from watering to some extent, whether it was from fear or pain or humiliation: you didn’t know. To prevent Cal from noticing your glossed over eyes you forced yourself to comply by starting your ungraceful descent down the ladder and into the hold, but Cal was – well – Cal. As intuitive as ever. Durable metal alloy was spread everywhere, pipes leading to the engine room lining the hold. It was a strange environment where cold pipes were combined with hot ones, leading to some areas reaching extremely hot temperatures while others gave off bone-chillingly cold air. You walked deeper into the secluded hold and wiped away would-be tears along your waterline moments before you heard boots thudding on the floor below the ladder. Cal had entered with you. You had your back turned to him, refusing to meet his eyes and allow him to bear witness to your short-lived moment of weakness. His hand reached out to comfort you; to console you. Right as the tips of his fingers were about to brush against your stiff arm he stopped himself –  more like controlled himself – and withdrew his touch. He collected his thoughts for a beat, then walked in front of you and gently grabbed your wrists. He guided you, never meeting your eyes, to a durasteel pole and re-cuffed you around it. Silence followed him on his ascent out of the awkward tension, and when he was out of the hold, standing beside his cot, a sigh slipped out of both of you. 

The following night was brutal on your body, and especially harsh on your legs and neck. You were unable to sleep comfortably since you were basically forced to kneel all night long. Not only were your legs numbed, but you mind as well. You were borderline delirious. You failed to focus on a single thought and could barely form a coherent string of words, not that anyone was there to listen in that inclement duralloy compartment. You must’ve been stuck in the hold for more than 24 hours seeing as you were feeling this horrible. It was wholly possible as there was no way for you to tell the time. All you knew was that the crew was currently sleeping, or so you assumed as you could hear the calm, steady breathing of the resting Jedi mere centimeters above you. Restless hours on end had made you understandably testy. Not only were you sleep-deprived: your hair was greasy, your clothes filthy, and your face grimy. You were truly miserable – looked the part too. If the Mantis’ crew invented this torture method you were certain that the ISB would indoctrinate them as it was unbelievably effective; potent methods of torture were highly respected within the ISB after all. All you wanted right now was a hot shower and sudsy soap to cleanse you of all this muck, and despite your unyielding loyalty to the Empire you would gladly relinquish the Astrium’s location in exchange – a jest, of course. 

The humming of the Mantis never seemed to cease. It was engraved in its passengers’ minds forever, oscillating among their nerves and bones, and never changing its infrequent frequency. Cal woke up to the familiar whirring he had grown to love – not for the noise, but for the safety it meant – but today, it felt off. Safety – something Cal had always yearned for since the start of the Clone Wars – was precious to him, but now someone had invaded it. 

You. 

The Empire had taken so much from him, made him a victim of their expanding cruelty, and yet here you were; the very picture of a victim. Cal’s victim. Kidnapped and extorted for information. Incarcerated and bound. Cal did not know how to treat you. On one hand you were indoctrinated by the fascist and totalitarian Empire to exert absolute undeniable loyalty, and honestly hated his guts, but on the other hand you were just a kid like him – trying your best to survive in this galaxy of unrest and despair. 

Cal roused from his sleeping state after he promised himself just five more minutes for the fourth time. When he finally got up, he stretched for a while before kneeling on the duralloy floor for his routine morning meditation session. He lasted about thirty minutes before his stomach was screaming at him to feed himself. Cal stood up slowly, getting used to the increasing pressure on his knees, before making his way to the galley kitchen on board. Greez greeted him heartily and Cere nodded politely in his direction. Filling his plate, Cal thought of you. Thought of you as he sat down with his plate full and started eating with his crewmates, happily chattering away while you were filling your stomach with nothing but dry recycled air. Guilt always came to Cal easily, even when it concerned a thief and – well – asshole like you. 

No one had bothered to bring you anything to eat, so for hours your body had been running on nothing but fumes and spite – vengeance your only thought. You wondered what their plan was – if they were going to let you starve to death or reach terminal levels of dehydration first. 

After finishing his breakfast Cal prepared a plate of mush, kudos to Greez and his cooking, for you. He filled the plate to the brim, assuming you had to be starving, and made his way to the hold. Every step felt like an eternity, approaching a bleak future of incessant cursing and enduring harsh remarks regarding his past and his people. He blinked slowly and sighed heavily, mentally preparing himself for another round of screeching. When starting his descent down the ladder to the hold, he fully expected to be bombarded by your demeaning words – but no sounds escaped your lips; no sounds except for soft breathing. You were slumped over, arms raised and cradling your head, still handcuffed. Your sleeping form had no choice but to endure the restraints, settling into – what had to be – an uncomfortable position; unfortunately it was the only option available to you. Cal wasn’t aware of his staring issue until you shifted. He whipped his head around and focused on his goals instead: climb down the rest of the ladder, place the plate in front of you, and escape from the hold just as swiftly. When his boots finally reached the cold floor, you had already stirred awake and were staring at him in dismay. He really, really knew how to be cruel, rousing you from your divine slumber and audaciously entering your space! When he faced your direction once more you had your eyes on him. He maintained eye-contact with an unreadable expression and unattached himself from the ladder. 

“Mornin’,” he muttered curtly.

You quirked a mocking eyebrow at him in annoyance and said nothing. “Mornin’?” What a joke. You kept your eyes on the floor in front of him and waited for him to make the first move. Cal sighed at your lack of response and approached you, plate in hand. He carefully set down the plate right next to you and undid your stuncuffs. The immediate relief which followed the release of your wrists was euphoric. You rubbed your wrists in an attempt to soothe the stinging from your skin being rubbed raw, noticing the blooming red and bruises. You’re sure Cal noticed as well. After calming the irritation slightly, you paid attention to the plate adjacent to you. The mushy food looked as unappealing as can be, but to your starving eyes it was a god-send. You licked your lips in anticipation, but something was off.

“Where are the utensils?” You inquired hoarsely and glared at him. You desperately needed to re-hydrate your sandy throat.

Cal let a quick ‘oh’ slip before hurrying back up to the galley kitchen to grab a spoon for you. While you eagerly awaited his return, you were finally able to process the pain assaulting your wrists, neck, and legs. You stretched carefully and winced every once in a while. You whined as you tried to get feeling back into your hips and ankles. You didn’t want to try standing up, knowing full well that you were guaranteed to collapse in a flash. Your stiff joints made it a pain to even move! You ceased all movement when you heard Cal’s steps echoing above you. When his boots hit the metal steps of the ladder you begged the stars that he also brought a cup of water, or a jug. You wouldn’t mind either way. Cal made his way toward you, carrying a spoon in one hand and – wow – no water in the other. Great. You huffed and snatched the spoon away from him the moment his hand came into range. He stared at you, baffled by your boorish crudeness, and scoffed amusedly. From his utility belt he unlatched a fluid-filled flask and handed it to you. You held it in front of you and gazed into his eyes, traces of guilt invading your heart.

“You’re welcome,” he mumbled with fake enthusiasm before turning away.

You glared at his back, unaware of where to direct your guilt, and scooped some mush onto your spoon. When he finally left your field of view, you shoved a spoonful of it into your mouth and gulped down the remaining water from his flask. The beige mush didn’t taste half bad, and you definitely wouldn’t mind it had it been warm. The taste was at the bottom of your list of concerns, though. Filling your ravenous stomach was more important than reviewing the food. You managed to polish off the entire portion in your famished state – by some gluttenous miracle – and abandoned the plate and spoon to finally rest while laying down. You forgot what a luxury laying down was when you laid your aching head on your sore arm and curled into a fetal position to conserve some heat. As far as you were aware, you had two choices: either lay by the scorching hot pipes, heating the metal flooring to unbearable temperatures, or lay where the heat didn’t truly reach, nor the cold. A middle ground of sorts, although the metal flooring did cool down to a degree making it hard not to shiver ever so slightly. You eventually fell asleep on the duralloy floor in that – considerably more comfortable – position, snoozing another day away. 

When Cal exited the hold, he breathed out a sigh of relief. The tension in the hold between him and the Imperial agent was unbearably awkward. He shrugged off the jittery unease and made his way back towards the galley kitchen. Cere was standing by the kitchen island, chewing on one of  the exotic fruits Greez had insisted on buying. She looked at Cal with a curious disposition, urging him to sit down with her large eyes. 

“How’d it go?” She asked calmly, handing Cal a slice of the fruit.

“Well,” he took the slice into his mouth, “she didn’t try to kick me to death this time.” He shrugged casually.

“Great. We’ll take that as a victory. Perseverance will win in the end, Cal.” Cere tried her best to guide him as his honorary mentor, but Cal was still upset with her for lying to him.

A lot was left unsaid between the two force-sensitives, what with so much going on. Before they could sit down and have a proper talk, Cal was kidnapped, forced to battle the Ninth Sister, took back Kashyyyk with Saw’s partisans, and kidnapped an ISB agent – who was now sleeping in the Mantis’ hold. Cere was vehemently apprehensive to talk about abandoning her padawan, Trilla, or how she tapped into the dark side – Cal wouldn’t force her. Instead he rose from his seat to settle on the L-shaped sofa, lost in his own thoughts. The Mantis was flying with no particular destination in mind, burning fuel; it had to be on the move constantly to avoid capture by the Empire, after all. The kidnapped ISB agent in their basement and her tight-lipped loyalty to the Empire was costing them a great deal of credits. Greez was about to burst with impatience and Cere was growing increasingly anxious, as was Cal. They had to re-fuel soon, but finding a spaceport with minimal Imperial presence was easier said than done. Greez was currently piloting the Mantis to Lantillies, a promising planet with fewer stormtroopers than the rest of the Kashyyyk region – something his contact promised. Lantillies was about 6.000 lightyears away from Kashyyyk, and with a class 1 hyperdrive like the Mantis was equipped with the estimated time to traverse that distance was 11 hours, but to conserve fuel the Mantis would get there in 30 hours. 

In preparation of exiting hyperspace, Cal checked on you. He wanted to strap you in for the bumpy ride, but you were in such deep sleep he didn’t dare wake you. While deep in your peaceful slumber, you looked tranquil; something Cal thought he’d never see on your face. That, and a genuine smile. He hooked one of his arms under your knees and the other under your arms, carrying your relaxed form in his steady arms. He threw you over his shoulders momentarily in order to start his ascent up the ladder, but once he was back on the main floor of the Mantis he returned you to his enduring embrace. He placed you gently on his firm cot and strapped you in, pulling the safety belt across your horizontal body and tightening it. When he was certain you weren’t going to go flying across the ship while they exited hyperspace, he left for the cockpit. As he approached his designated seat his ears were greeted with the sounds of Cere and Greez, happily chattering away about some kaf-machine Greez had been eyeing. Apparently it was available for commercial purchase on Lantillies, and Greez was adamant about procuring it. Cere finally gave in before Greez had the chance to involve Cal in the debate.

“Oh, kid! Ready to go yet?” Greez asked spiritedly after spotting Cal in his peripheral.

Cal’s body was aching all over. He had been on one hell of an adventure these last 30 hours or so, going from being kidnapped on Zeffo and brought to some fight pit, then travelling almost half way across the galaxy to Kasyyyk only to encounter the Ninth Sister gunning for his head. The soreness persisting in his muscles was only made worse by his running around in the imperial refinery, taking down any stormtroopers along the way. Exhaustion was creeping up on him, making both his actions and decisions more reckless. Sloppy, as his master would say. His mind was clouded by uncertainty. He knew of the Astrium’s existence, but the location of said Zeffo artifact was still foreign. His boots hit the durasteel flooring hard with every step. The repetitive clanking was starting to agitate him, every sound slicing at the strings keeping him tethered to his sanity. His distracted and spaced-out brain was oblivious to the BD-1 unit’s distressed beeping on his shoulder. It was only when Beedee let out a deafening squeal that Cal stopped running. He panted and wiped the beads of sweat off the sides of his face. His eyes looked at Beedee questioningly, urging him to speak -- beep, really. The chain of quickly beeped Binary caught Cal off guard, and he was forced to focus regardless of his drained mind.

“Wait- Wait Beedee! Slow down.” Cal put his hands up. “Who is here?” He furrowed his brows slightly.

Beedee beeped unstoppably. 

“The Astrium!?” Cal swallowed. "The thief; they’re right down that corridor?” Cal pointed hastily toward a corridor within the sap refinery.

Beedee made a pleased trilling noise and stomped firmly on Cal’s shoulder, signaling him to hurry and confront the perpetrator.

Cal ran down the corridor adjacent to the one he was pointing to earlier. He hoped to cut off the assailant before they could exit the facility. He landed with a loud thump as he jumped down a flight of stairs. When he finally managed to exit the facility, he turned to the initial corridor and waited for the intel-thief to show their face. To his surprise, two thieves emerged. One was clearly experienced; she had fine lines tracing every facial feature, deepening along and around her eyes and eyebrows. Her dark hair was cut short and hidden beneath her officer’s hat. Cal noticed something moving behind her. Someone. She peered above the older one's left shoulder and observed Cal with discerningly sharp eyes. She was considerably younger than the woman shielding her presence. Almost too young to be any kind of officer. 

You quickly evaded your eyes when they met his. The young terrorist snapped out of whatever trance he was in and went back to eyeing your mentor suspiciously. A BD-1 explorer droid was perched on his shoulder, making a small beeping noise and zooming its lens into you. The young man looked at you after listening to -- understanding? -- the droid, harshly this time. 

“I know you have it. Hand it over and I won’t hurt you.” He spoke with confidence, but the anxious glint in his eyes proved he was currently in a rush.

“Have what?” Kimiin’s refined accent and arrogant tone reverberated in the metal corridor, carrying her voice far further than expected. It solidified her presence and grounded you. 

“Let’s not do that, okay?” He chagrined and sighed. “Look, I know she,” he pointed at you, “stole it from Beedee.” Cal gestured to Beedee on his shoulder with his thumb. “Just give it back and I’ll let you leave, no harm done.” 

Supervisor Kimiin scoffed. She spat out a quick ‘I don’t have time for this’ and turned her back to the red-head. Once again, she grabbed a hold of your wrist and rushed away from the Jedi. You did your best to follow her, but your nose crashed into her back yet again. She had stopped once more. You turned to face the Jedi, confusion evident in your eyes. He had not moved a centimeter toward you, but this time his arm was outstretched toward your mentor and his face relaxed in concentration. You made a quick note of her form, noticing her frame shaking from the intense pressure surrounding her. You rapidly deduced what was going on and reached for your blaster hanging just off your hip. The Force. You pointed your blaster at the Jedi’s feet, firing two warning shots.

“Back off, Jedi scum!” You spat with a haughty expression decorating your face, venom lacing every word.

Cal was caught off guard and quickly shifted backwards, releasing his hold of Kimiin. She slumped over for a moment before regaining control over her body. When she turned around to confront the Jedi she was brandishing her blaster.

“Withdraw, junior!” She commanded you.

You retreated a few meters before she fired bolts of laser towards the audacious Jedi, shooting to kill. The Jedi twisted his body, avoiding the initial blaster shots with ease, and brought out his weapon. You barely got to admire its ethereal blue glow before more shots were fired, and instantly deflected back at you. In a split second decision made in a frenzy you dove behind some hovercrates. You held your blaster close to your chest and heaved out a few heavy breaths. After what felt like an appropriate time you peeked over the hovercrate to aim your firearm at the terrorist, but something laying on the ground caught your eye, and suddenly you couldn’t breathe.

Kimiin’s body laid there, limp and almost lifeless, as smoke rose from the three searing points of impact. You completely froze. Surely she was putting on an act. An accomplished woman as great as her couldn’t die here. Not in this filthy, forlorn, and uncivilized place. You mumbled her name quietly a few times, begging for any sign of life. Her weary eyes turned to gaze at you, unfocused and blank — a stark contrast to your glassy and flitting ones. Cal observed you awkwardly from a distance. He could sense the tension in the air as nobody spoke or made any effort to move. The silence didn’t last long, though. Using the last of her strength, Kimiin stretched out her trembling hand toward you. 

”Take it..!” Her strained voice barely reached your ears, but her desperation cut clear through you. 

She went limp a moment later, her hand slowly opening as her muscles went lax. All the tension she had built up in her body over the years, settling in every crease of her pinched face, was released, returning to the galaxy as her mind finally knew peace. You gazed into her eyes, devoid of life, and had to make a decision. Take the intel and run away, or perish like a coward by the filthy hands of this fire-headed traitor. 

You somersaulted to where her corpse laid and pried the intel from her cold palm as the rigor mortis set in. When your head rose to assess the situation your eyes met his. Your hair swayed in the wind, fluttering around you and framing your face. The light hit you in a way where he was finally able to catch all of your features. He stared at your eyes while they filled with resentment and burning ambition, studying the shade and shape of your them. He took in your face; the way some hairs stuck to your damp forehead. The way your lips parted and trembled out a breath. The way you huffed when you whipped your head in the opposite direction, and how you steadied yourself as you stood up and sprinted. 

Wait, what? 

He snapped out of his trance with the assistance of a particular BD-1 explorer unit beeping frantically in his ear and broke out into a hurried jog seconds after you. You ran with all your might, as fast as you could, but couldn’t outrun him. Your only chance was shaking him. Your legs could barely keep up, let alone your breath. You could feel the adrenaline pumping through your body, and the chilling fear crawling up your spine at the thought of being chased. His menacing footsteps on the solid metal floor a few meters behind you thundered in your ears. The thumping noise almost matched your erratic heartbeat. The corridors were starting to blend into a flurry of metallic greys and the occasional red flash, and at this point you could hear your blood rushing in your ears. Your eyes welled with tears and blurred your vision at the thought of your mentor’s corpse. How she died without ever attaining her dream of being recognized by the Empire. How you were going to die, alone and terrified on this shithole of a planet — young and unaccomplished. 

After many twists and turns you managed to shake him off your tail. At least so you thought. You entered one of the many offices lining a particular corridor, heaving heavily and slumped against the wall parallel to the pneumonic door you had entered through. When crouched against the wall, the conference table concealed you to a certain degree. You tried to calm your breathing to the best of your ability, but the tears were impossible to contain. Your throat hurt almost as much as your lungs, but didn’t compare to the ache in your legs. You winced and massaged your legs, but the majority of the pain was coming from your heart. Your shirt felt too tight. The collar constricted around your throat and tightened around your chest. You couldn’t breathe! You sniffled and gripped the front of your shirt, pulling it away from you — but to no avail, the luxurious fabric would not give. Your quiet sniffles and groans of frustration turned into cries of genuine pain. You gave up on trying to loosen your tunic and opted to wrap your arms around yourself instead, attempting to calm your breathing for the second time, but were interrupted by constant hiccups and sobs. 

Cal lost you somewhere in the corridors leading to the cargo pad. He silently cursed to himself, then promptly apologized to BD with a sheepish look. You could be anywhere at this point. He went to the tram to see whether you had escaped the imperial sap refinery. The tram was, luckily, still there. He searched the facility, checking on all the hiding places he could think of. 

”Come on, BD. We have to find that ISB agent.” He stressed.

After a few minutes of rigorous searching he sighed heavily. He had been searching for a while, and had honestly given you enough time to flee the facility and fly off-world. He grabbed his head frustratedly and groaned. BD tried to comfort him, beeping quietly and patting his shoulder softly. Cal cracked a small smile, but struggled to maintain it. He couldn’t fail. Not now. Cere, Greez, all of the force-sensitive children; they all counted on him. He walked dejectedly down a random corridor. He wanted to lay down. His body ached from the chaos of the day while his eyes drooped slightly. Putting out foot in front of the other, he thought about how he would break the news to the Mantis’ crew. He was shaken from his thoughts by the sounds of sniffling coming from an office nearby. He exchanged a hopeful look with BD before following the sound, tracking down the source. 

You had been crying your eyes out like a child for the past minutes. Your eyes were rubbed raw and your nose was uncomfortably stuffed. You struggled to breathe properly and tried your best to stifle your sniffling, but they kept slipping out. You were beyond frustrated by your pathetic state — slumped over yourself on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest. Panic and fear replaced your frustration when the pneumonic doors opened. You held your breath and listened after footsteps. The intruder took two steps into the room before stopping. You mentally prepared yourself for a fight. You reached slowly for your blaster, but felt nothing but your holster. Dank ferrik! You had dropped it earlier during your previous confrontation with the Jedi. You had no way to defend yourself. You were, however, not going down without a fight. If he took you out, you would make sure to at least leave a mark.

”Hey,” he spoke softly, not wanting to alarm you.

You stood up slowly, battling the stiffness of your joints. You tried to keep your face out of his view, refusing to show vulnerability. It didn’t exactly work. His brows furrowed in lenity as he let his guard down. Looking at your current state you seemed utterly harmless. Pitiful in a way, like a wounded animal. His lightsaber was hanging on his hip, swinging as he rounded the table between you. You tried to piece together a plan, but your mind was hopelessly frazzled. You were trained for this, yet you couldn’t even begin to form a coherent thought. He stopped two or three meters in front of you to give you some necessary space.

"Hey," he repeated in an impossibly gentle tone. ”Where’s the intel?” He asked. ”Please, just hand it over. I don’t want to hurt you.” He towered slightly over you as he searched your eyes for any response.

You scoffed and stared at him. 

”Fine.” You said after a beat, thoroughly staring him down despite your inferior height.

His expression softened slightly as relief washed over his tense form. He truly looked young like this. You pulled the datacard out of your pocket and held it out in front of you, practically dangling it, daring him to grab it. The moment he took a step towards you, attempting to grab the intel, you dropped it on the floor and crushed it under your heel. 

”No!” He stared at the broken datacard, crushed in utter disbelief. A sharp laugh escaped your lips. Whether it stemmed from pride or terror was beyond you.

"Good luck finding that astrium now, Jedi,” you sneered. You desperately hoped he merely picked up on your condescending tone, and not the misery your trembling lips carried.

Every nerve in your body was screaming at you to run when his sharp gaze snapped to yours, filled with acrimony. His lightsaber ignited with a thunderous reverberation – blinding blue tinting both your faces. The heroic shade of azure painting his face was in stark contrast to the red he was seeing. “This is it,” you thought. This is where you would breathe your last breath, following in your deceased mentor’s footsteps. The image of her laying there helplessly on the durasteel flooring, exhaling and never inhaling again, wouldn’t stop clawing at your mind. You battled the tears threatening to fall, trying your hardest not to break your prideful and conscientious façade. You’d like to think that you succeeded pretty well, but you’d be dead wrong.

Cal wanted to cut you down right where you stood. He gripped his lightsaber tightly to the point his knuckles went white. Just as he was about to raise his arms and strike you down, he snapped out of it; the force reached out to him, brushing against the edge of his senses and tucked into the back of his brain. It enveloped his body, and yours, and his lightsaber -- connecting you to each other. Cal thought about his master’s teachings – this wasn’t the way of the Jedi. He needed to calm down; clear his mind. He breathed out steadily and loosened his grip on the hilt slightly before looking at you. When he caught the trails of anguish left on your face – the dried tears, irritated eyes, and tremors – his anger eased into frustrating compassion, but his confrontational demeanor remained. The sudden change in his temper brought logic into play; the gears in his brain slowly turned.

“How do you know about the astrium?”

Not even the Inquisitors knew about the Astrium, and they only recently found out about the holocron. How did a low-ranking ISB agent like you – judging by the pitiful, lonesome blue brick attached to the front of your tunic – come across such crucial information? 

You knew.

You watched as realization dawned on him, his eyes shining with new-found hope. You messed up – for what seemed like the hundredth time this year. The corners of your mouth, which had previously been somewhat lifted, crumbled down. You gulped way too loudly for your liking, opting to back away slowly in anticipation of his next move. You were a fool to think you could escape the mess you got yourself into. Cal stepped forward quickly and grabbed your shoulders with his large hands. His warmth leaked through the fabric of your white tunic causing goose-skin to break out when it collided with your frigid skin. You felt a shiver crawl up your spine; electrifying. You suppressed a shudder from racking through your body as you fought against his overwhelming grip.

“Don’t touch me you-," you put your hands on his chest and pushed. "You monster!" 

After your embarrassing blunder on Rodia you were sent on some assignments with lower requirements. Aware of your crippling fear of loneliness, which she found out somehow, she made sure all of them were solo missions. Punishment, no doubt. It took three months before she felt you were ready for a proper assignment, sending you to Ordo Eris to extract some information out of a droid. During the chaos of the illegal pit fight, gamblers and thrill-seekers cheering at the top of their lungs, you snuck into the holding cells and took whatever information from a BD-1 explorer droid you could. You had to leave before managing to extract meaningful amounts, not wanting another Iskaayuma on your hands. After returning from your final solo mission, you were assigned to Kashyyyk alongside your mentor. 

The planet was covered with massive wroshyr trees, thankfully blocking out most of the sunrays, but trapping the sweltering heat inside. The tropical weather of this Mid Rim planet lasted all year since the planet had no axial tilt. You couldn’t imagine living with this unbearable heat year round, especially in the shadowlands. If it was this hot in the wroshyr canopies, just imagine the heat of the shadowlands. You hoped this mission would wrap up quickly. The white hot heat mixed with the high humidity made your uniform cling to the sweaty and sticky skin underneath it. You practically dragged your sore feet across the durasteel platform, begging for refuge. 

“Stay on course, junior. Do not dilly-dally.” 

Ruma Kimiin didn’t need to look at you to know you were struggling. You desperately wanted to complain. You wanted to rest your aching back and relax your throbbing feet. The swamp-like forest produced a distinct smell comparable to the pungent smell of Rodia. Your head pounded from the humidity and bitter smell attacking your olfactory system. As you approached the imperial refinery you could detect something different in the air. Something burnt. Kimiin had informed you earlier that a deplorable Jedi had collaborated with rebel scum and sabotaged an imperial refinery here on Kashyyyk, emancipating criminals in the process. When the Empire stepped in to establish justice and order they were viciously attacked by the partisans and forced out of their refinery.

“Animals!” You thought to yourself.

The rebels were in possession of the refinery for only a brief moment before the Empire stepped in, properly putting them in their place. The cowardly Jedi fled the moment he caught sight of the imperial crest and soon, after some conflict, the rebels capitulated. The facility was secured yet again, but something needed investigating. Something requiring you! Well, you and your mentor of course.

You stepped into the facility and covered your nose, the smell unbearable.Your headache worsened, a mulled ache nestled deep within your skull refusing to let up, when the corpse of an insurgent was hauled out of the facility in front of you. The smell of charred flesh and coagulated blood was enough to unsettle even your mentor, who shuddered slightly. The sight was beyond vile. Blood was crusted around the burn wound, scarring tissue so badly it had gone black with pus leaking out. The skin was peeling around the gaping wound, flaying the victim open. As you passed by the body, bile rose to the back of your throat. Kimiin’s face soured, pinching in a way you had never seen.

“Disgusting..! Absolute headache.” She said bitterly with a displeased furrow of her brows. She had to tear her gaze away from the repulsive scene. 

“We should proceed, dwelling on this matter would be inadvisable.” You straightened your back, hands behind it, and kept your attention on her. You tried your best not to show your disgust.

“Agreed. Come along now.” She sighed.

Supervisor Kimiin continued to advance into the refinery with you hot on her heels. Some parts of the facility were still on fire from the previous onslaught – terror attacks – the insurgents had launched. Kimiin turned to a small office to her right, activating the pneumatic doors and stepping inside. The stormtroopers inside turned to look at her, saluting and greeting her when they realized her status. Their respect was commendable, however she was not in the mood for pleasantries. She barked orders at them to clean up and immediately exit the office. 

When the last stormtrooper left she pulled out a small object, a datacard, from the pocket of her black pants before sliding it into a jack in the holotable. A hologram of an old man shot out. He talked about something to do with a key, a vault, and something called an astrium. The astrium was an artifact, a key, made by the Zeffo – whoever they were – and could open a vault on a planet – or a moon, you weren’t sure – called Bogano. This particular astrium was on Dathomir in a place called the Tomb of Kujet. 

“What the kriff is an astrium?” You thought to yourself before turning to supervisor Kimiin, searching her eyes for an answer. 

The transmission was removed from the jack and a moment of silence ensued. Kimiin looked pensive, stuck in her own mind mulling things over. After a moment she held it out in front of her, showing you it. Recognition replaced the confused look on your face as you regarded it with new-found understanding.

“Do you recall acquiring this item?” She asked calmly.

“Yes, Madam,” you cleared your throat, “I procured it yesterday whilst assigned to Ordo Eris.” You answered honestly. Your eyes were darting from the intel to her.

“Well,” she started, “the man in the hologram – his name is Eno Cordova. Do you have any recollection of this man?” She looked at you expectantly.

“Yes, Madam. I vaguely remember reading about him. He researched various subjects, gathering vast knowledge and providing it to the traitorous occultists.” You recited from memory. 

“Correct. Well done.” She grinned proudly. “Currently, only you and I are in possession of this knowledge. I allowed you to partake in this as you are a form of insurance, should anything befall me. It is incumbent upon us to notify the Inquisitorious of this matter as I believe it holds great importance.” 

Supervisor Kimiin grabbed your shoulder lightly and gazed into your eyes with a trusting visage. 

“None may know of this.” She said, “Understood, junior?”

“I-” 

You tried to respond, but was interrupted by the blaring alarms of the facility coming to life. Kimiin stepped outside the office to gather any context available. Stormtroopers were running up and down the halls armed with their blasters. She grabbed one of them and questioned him hastily, authority evident in every word. He responded with a series of unclear sentences, words strung together in a hurry and under the pressure of being questioned by a high-ranking supervisor as alarms shrieked around him. One word, though, was clear as glass. It shattered any semblance of calm in your mind. 

Jedi. 

Both you and Kimiin stilled for a moment before sharing a mutual anxious glance of agreement. She grabbed your wrist and walked briskly through the same corridor you entered through. When you reached the outside shots were fired across the platform, coming from both stormstroopers and partisans exchanging fire. A weakened durasteel platform gave out from under you. You yelped and frantically grabbed whatever you could to keep yourself from falling to your death. You dangled helplessly for a second above a body of pest-infested water before Kimiin swiftly pulled you back up to safety. Her eyes scanned you for any injuries, patting over your body lightly. Only when she was sure you were alright did she turn back from the fight and pursue another exit. The alarms kept on sounding and worsening your already splitting headache. You felt Kimiin’s hand grab your wrist and pull you along with her. The tremors coming from her hand sent vibrations through your body, mixing with the pumping adrenaline. She started jogging, which turned into a run. Her stiff hand never left your wrist as you made your way through the twists and turns of the uniform corridors. 

A sliver of sunlight passed through the velvet drapes of the stained glass window in the foyer, painting the marble floor with vivid hues. A warm and familiar hand wrapped itself around your shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. The affectionate woman beckoned you to regard the mirror parallel to a young girl. She had the softest and finest of fabrics hugging her tiny form, tailored to fit her like a satin glove. It was practically glowing, parading its gorgeous pink and purple hues to anyone willing to glimpse at it. The detailed fabric showed its status through the neat embroidery; clearly having been handcrafted by a master, each stitch and each gem perfectly complementing the other. The little girl smiled brightly with all of her teeth, some gone and some still there. The poised woman next to her told her she was beautiful. Stunning like a zeilla flower in full bloom.

That was one of your fondest memories of your mother. One of the only ones remaining. Your memories of her were disappearing. They had been for a while. You no longer remembered her voice. Her eyes. The warmth of her suffocating hugs. Nothing but fragments remained of faded memories you had slowly and unwittingly let go of. You wished she had stayed: wished you had the chance to ask meaningful questions your childish mind couldn’t. But, alas she didn’t. You only ever got to know your mother, never the person behind the title. Her hopes, dreams, and ideals – her identity – all followed her to the grave. When the bickering with your father overwhelmed you, hopes to return to simpler times always emerged. Times where you, your mother, and your father enjoyed sitting together in peace. Your father would sip on his kaf while reading a novel on his datapad, nodding off after a while. Your mother would sit on the couch while you sat on the mat in front of her. She would braid your hair for hours, creating intricate designs before rebraiding your hair over and over again until you fell asleep. She used to say that the end of something only meant the beginning of something else. A sort narrative paradox plaguing all phases of life.

Your home on Coruscant nearly touched the skies above, swallowed by sunlight, yet without your mothers warmth it grew cold and empty. When your father lost your mother nothing could soothe the pain. To deal with the loss he drowned himself in his work while you buried yourself in your studies. She always did claim your likeness to your father was astounding. Even when the Empire took over he kept his position as head analyst of interplanetary commerce, more often than not going off-planet to attend various meetings. Travel wasn’t necessary, but being away from the house meant less reminders of times past. Less suffering. Even at the quiet behest in his daughter’s eyes, he would not stay. Independence became your only chance at survival, a desperate escape from the clawing loneliness in your heart. You thought it gave you strength, but the detachment was isolating your soul.

The academy you attended specialized in the gathering of intelligence, preparing young aristocratic minds for their future careers at the ISB. Supervisors would occasionally come visit, often to speak at assemblies or to recruit talented seniors. Project Luaad allowed younger students to apply as a mentee. An ISB supervisor would pick a promising student to mentor and said juvenile would shadow their mentor on assignments. It was a project that promised future ISB supervisors of quality, cutting down on the number of inexperienced applicants while allowing the creation of well prepared agents with years of experience despite their young age. You had applied for the mentorship the year you turned fourteen to escape from the paralyzing silence plaguing your home, and by the time you turned fifteen you were chosen by ISB supervisor Ruma Kimiin; a human with deep-set eyes and a mean tilt to her eyebrows. Her age deepened the lines in her face and established her experience. She saw your potential. She saw how your pretty face, quick wit, and unyielding loyalty could be an important asset to the Empire. 

You were being moved to a dormitory on Nova Garron, a crystal-riddled asteroid, within the week. You went back to gather your belongings, hovercrates filling up quickly. You stood solemnly by the exit, admiring the stained glass window one last time. The penthouse was eerily quiet, however anything but peaceful. You were at war with yourself. You were going to leave behind the last reminder of your mother without informing your father. What a filial daughter you were. You looked around the house for anything to bring with you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way from the foyer to your fathers bedroom. Entering it, you saw nothing but a bed and a wardrobe. His absence was prevalent and showed in the minimal use of his room. You searched his wardrobe for anything belonging to your late mother. The guilt of searching through your fathers belongings faded quickly when you spotted a necklace made of chromium, and hanging on the chain was a clear gemstone depicting a Nabooan bird. You held the necklace and put it around your neck after observing it for a while longer, exiting the room and heading to the front door. Seeing as you had nothing keeping you at home anymore, everything material securely packed away in your hovercrates, you left the beautiful but desolate house with little to no reluctance. Your inner turmoil eased as the door slid shut, separating you from your old life. This marked the end of your loneliness. A new beginning. Right?

Supervisor Kimiin made sure you were ready before allowing you to accompany her on assignments. You were taught proper imperial protocol, how to spread malicious malware, and to detect sicknesses within the system. To protect the Empire from viruses, eliminating them before they could infect their host. Your first year under her tutelage was grueling. You were forced to prove your worth at every turn, answering her spontaneous questions flawlessly before she could even consider moving to the next chapter. If you made a mistake she would make you stay awake all night long, then evaluate your delirious state in the morning. Her reasoning was that if you were unaware of the answer, regardless of cognitive state, you didn’t truly know it. She would throw moral quandaries at you in the middle of the night, rousing you from your sleeping state, and expect a response befitting of a loyal supervisor. You grew increasingly articulate over the months in accordance with imperial standards. Your mentor duly noted your achievements and grew less draconian, growing into her role as a mentor and leaning away from her tyrannical methods. You were taught everything regarding hacking and information technology the year you turned sixteen, gunmanship and piloting at seventeen, then given the official title of junior supervisor the year you turned eighteen. You were provided with a standard issue white uniform with one bright blue brick attached to the front, displaying your limited authority. You were almost jealous of Madam Kimiin’s four blue bricks, but knowing your exceptional competence you expected to reach that amount within five years. 

Your first ever assignment was on a planet in the Outer Rim called Rodia. There had been rumours of radical ideas spreading within the domed capital city of Iskaayuma. You and Kimiin arrived on Rodia a few cycles after being assigned. After stepping out of your starfighter, a Rogue Shadow model, you were punched with the most pungent smell you had ever encountered. You slapped your hands over your lower face and turned swiftly to face your mentor, who stood there seemingly unphased, with an alarmed expression. 

“Will you continue to maintain this effort?” She asked, scrutinizing your childishness.

“..No, Madam." You lowered your arms and felt shame slightly burn the back of your neck.

She held back a smile and gestured to you to follow her with her hand. As you made your way through the hangar you almost grew used to the unpleasant smell. You glanced up towards the dome encapsulating the entire city. It was quite an impressive feat for a planet so backwatered, the Empire’s grace certainly must have had something to do with it. There should be commemorative statues of the Empire all throughout this city, but you were willing to bet that  ungratefulness comes hand-in-hand with the impertinents of this boorish planet. The mission continued for weeks, both you and your mentor scouting and compiling information and evidence of moderate value. The deadline was drawing nearer cycle by cycle, yet you had not produced any condemning evidence of a rebellion. Now was time for drastic measures. 

You managed to infiltrate the rebel forces on Rodia by tapping into hundreds of frequencies and following up on all the suspicious ones, which were the majority of them. It took you three sleepless nights to finally discover their hideout, and despite your crippling exhaustion your mentor still urged you to go. Hidden within an office space, you found blueprints and notes written in a hurry pertaining to planned attacks on the imperial troopers stationed within the city.

A rustling noise drew your attention while you were skimming through the synth-papers. The door leading into the office was askew, and the draft was disturbing the synth-papers. You had clearly remembered closing the door. Someone must have seen you. Shoving whatever incriminating evidence in your satchel, you sprinted out of the rebel hideout. Moments after you exited the building, blasters were aimed and fired at you. You let an undignified panicked yelp slip out in your sleep-deprived state, deciding to sprint into an alleyway in a move of desperation. Chased by an unruly mob of savage insurgents, you had sorely disappointed your mentor. 

“There goes all confidentiality. Wrecked by a moron..” You remember supervisor Kimiin grumbling under her breath during the flight back home while you were patching yourself up.

Hey!! We are two girls in our late-teens (18 and 19) writing fanfiction for different fandoms while studying at uni, so uploads may be infrequent. English is not our first language, so please have patience for any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors. I is in charge of writing and fact-checking while E will handle most comments, requests, and editing.

Nothing here is made using AI, as we are strictly against any usage of it within creative writing. I is not a professional writer, nor does she study anything related to literature -- please read with that in mind.

We are not experts on Star Wars, but we try our best to adhere to the current lore. If any inaccuracies should pop up, feel free to leave corrections in the comments! We are totally open to constructive criticism.

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