I made my way back through the ship's corridors as we descended toward Concordia, each step still measured despite the bacta working through my system, my newly forged saber a constant, reassuring weight at my hip. The hum of the engines shifted as Pre adjusted our approach vector, and I steadied myself against the bulkhead, feeling the slight pull of deceleration. Through the viewport in the corridor, I could see Concordia growing larger.

  I made my way to the cockpit, sliding into the co-pilot's seat with a grimace my helmet hid. The saber rested across my lap, and my fingers traced the warm durasteel hilt absently. The heat hadn't diminished during the journey back from Yavin IV at all, the lava crystal burning at its core.

  Pre broke the comfortable silence, his voice casual but carrying genuine interest. "So, Kane. The celebration at the Oyu'baat, do you want this to be a small affair? Just the two of us and maybe a few of the clan elders?" He glanced over, his helmet reflecting the amber glow of Concordia's surface below. "Or are you thinking something bigger?"

  I scoffed, the sound rough through my helmet's vocoder, and shook my head. "Small affair? After killing a Sith Wyrm?" I shifted in my seat, wincing as my ribs protested. "I want my entire squad there. All of them. They're not just my unit, they're my friends, my battle vode. They've earned the right to celebrate this with me."

  Pre nodded slowly, a gesture of approval. “A warrior who remembers his vode is a warrior worth following." He returned his attention to the controls, adjusting our descent vector. "I'll make sure they're all notified. The Oyu'baat will be reserved for us tonight."

  I watched as Concordia grew larger in the viewport. The ship shuddered slightly as we entered final approach, and I could make out the landing platforms extending from the facility's main structure, durasteel and stone melded together in utilitarian Mandalorian fashion.

  During the journey back, I'd spent hours working on the saber, unable to simply let it rest. I'd taken one of the Wyrm's teeth, a smaller one around a foot long, and hollowed it out with painstaking care, using a Beskar chisel set Pre thankfully had, to carefully carve away the interior. My plan was to use it as additional insulation for the hilt, slimming down or replacing portions of the durasteel. The work was far from complete, but the tooth now hung from my belt alongside the saber, a project for the coming days.

  The ship settled onto the landing platform with a gentle thud, repulsors whining down, and the familiar clank of landing gear locking into place echoed through the hull. Pre rose from the pilot's seat, and I followed, slower, my body protesting every movement. We made our way to the ramp, and as it lowered with a hydraulic hiss, the recycled air of Concordia's interior rushed in to meet us—cooler than Yavin IV's humid atmosphere, carrying the faint metallic tang of processed oxygen and stone dust.

  We descended the ramp side by side, my hand resting on the saber's hilt, the weapon displayed proudly on my belt. The platform was busy with activity, other Mandalorians moving about their duties, cargo being loaded and unloaded, the constant hum of machines that never truly ceased in the base. Several warriors paused in their work to watch Pre and me pass, their visors tracking me and the unmistakable shape of the lightsaber at my hip.

  We entered the main facility through a heavy blast door, the entrance carved directly into Concordia's rock face, reinforced with durasteel plating and defensive emplacements. The main corridor beyond was the wide one lit by overhead panels that cast everything in stark white light. Our boots echoed on the stone floor as we made our way deeper into the base, passing intersection after intersection.

  The old mine's layout was familiar to me now, after months of living and training here.

  We reached a repulsor-lift, and Pre keyed in the code. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the circular platform within. We stepped inside, and Pre selected the 3rd level, medical. The lift descended smoothly, the only indication of movement the faint change in pressure and the level indicators flashing past on the display panel.

  The doors opened onto the 3rd level, and immediately the atmosphere shifted. The air here was cleaner, tinged with the sharp scent of antiseptic and bacta, the walls pristine white durasteel rather than exposed stone. The medical bay of Clan Vizsla was extensive, a necessity given the dangerous nature of our operations. We passed through a reception area, empty at this hour, and Pre led me down a side corridor to one of the examination rooms.

  "Haus should be expecting us," Pre said, his tone matter-of-fact. "He's the best we've got. Listen to what he tells you." The fact that I hadn't been severely injured enough to warrant this was noted, as it was unfamiliar to me here.

  I nodded in reply, my ribs aching with each step, a dull throb that had become background noise over the past days thankfully. The door to the examination room slid open at Pre's approach, and we entered to find, presumably, Grego Haus already waiting, reviewing something on a datapad.

  Haus looked up as we entered, and I took in the physician with a quick assessment. The man was in his fifties, his face narrow and weathered, the kind of features that spoke to a life lived hard before finding a steadier path. His hair, once dark, had turned mostly gray, cropped short in a practical style. Blue eyes, sharp and assessing, met my visor without flinching. There was a slight limp to his walk as he approached, his right leg moving with the telltale stiffness of cybernetic assistance. I noticed the brace visible beneath the man's dark pants, running from mid-thigh to knee, the faint hum of servos audible in the quiet room.

  "Kane Vizsla," Haus said, his voice flat but not quite unkind. "Pre told me you had an eventful Verd'goten. Let's see what damage you've done to yourself."

  Pre nodded to me, then stepped back toward the door. "I'll leave you to it. Find me when Haus clears you." He exited, the door sliding shut behind him, leaving me alone with the physician.

  "Strip down," Haus said, gesturing to a privacy screen in the corner. "Armour off, down to your underclothes. Then we'll get a full scan."

  I moved behind the screen, my movements slow and deliberate. Each piece of armor came off quickly despite the pain; pauldrons first, then chest and back plates, gauntlets, greaves, all of it placed carefully on the bench provided. My bodysuit followed, leaving me in just the thin underclothes worn beneath. The cool air of the medical bay raised goosebumps on my skin, and I realized just how much I'd been relying on the armor to hold myself together.

  I reached up and untied my hair, pulling the cord free, and the black mass cascaded down my back, falling to the middle of my back. I hadn't cut it in months, letting it grow out, and the weight of it was almost comforting as it settled against my bare skin.

  I stepped out from behind the screen, and Haus gestured to a raised examination table in the center of the room, surrounded by scanning equipment. "Up you go. Lie flat."

  I complied, settling onto the table with a grimace. The surface was cold against my back, and I stared up at the ceiling as Haus moved around me, activating the scanner. A ring of machinery descended from above, humming to life, and blue light washed over my body in slow, methodical passes. The scan took several minutes, the light moving from my head down to my toes, and Haus watched the readouts on a nearby monitor, his expression neutral.

  Finally, the scanner powered down, retracting back toward the ceiling, and Haus tapped at the monitor, pulling up images of my skeletal structure and internal organs. I sat up slowly, swinging my legs over the side of the table, and watched as the physician studied the results.

  "Well," Haus said after a long moment, "you're a damn sight luckier than you have any right to be." He pointed to the monitor. "Fractured left ulna here, partially healed already thanks to the bacta you took in the field I assume. Cracked scaphoid fracture in your wrist, same story probably. Four cracked ribs on your left side, and here..." He tapped the screen, highlighting my spine. "Cracked T7 and T3 thoracic vertebrae. How you're walking around right now without collapsing is beyond me."

  I shrugged, the motion pulling at my ribs. "Stubbornness?"

  Haus snorted. "That, and whatever Jetii sorcery you do, I'd wager." He stepped back from the monitor, crossing his arms. "You're prescribed no training, no strenuous activity until these heal properly. Daily bacta pills to speed up the process." He moved to a cabinet on the wall, pulling it open and rummaging inside. A small bottle flew through the air, and I caught it reflexively, wincing at the motion. "Take one every morning with food. You'll be fit for action in two weeks, maybe less if you're lucky. No permanent damage, but push yourself before then and you'll risk making it worse."

  I nodded, turning the bottle over in my hand. Standard bacta pills, thirty count. Enough to last through my recovery.

  Haus gave me a long look, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Now, if you need to maintain function without pain, say, for something involving copious amounts of booze tonight, take two of these." He tossed another small container, and I caught it one-handed this time, opening it to find six pills inside, each one stamped with a medical code I didn't recognize. "Do try to be sparing with them. They'll kill the pain and keep you upright, but they're not a substitute for actual healing. Alcohol safe by the way."

  I closed the container, slipping both bottles into the pocket of my underclothes. "Understood. Thanks, Doc."

  The physician waved me off. "Just doing my job. Now get dressed and get out of here. I've got other patients to see." His tone was gruff, but there was no real irritation in it, and I caught the faintest hint of approval in the man's expression before Haus turned back to his monitor.

  I returned to the privacy screen, pulling my bodysuit and armor back on piece by piece. The armor felt heavier now, each plate settling onto my battered frame like an unwelcome reminder of my injuries. I tied my hair back into its usual style, the cord pulling the black mass into a tight knot at the base of my skull, and emerged fully armored once more.

  Haus didn't look up from his work as I headed for the door. "Two weeks, Vizsla. Don't make me come looking for you because you've collapsed in a training hall."

  I paused at the door, glancing back. "Wouldn't dream of it." I exited, the door sliding shut behind me, and found Pre waiting in the corridor.

  Pre fell into step beside me as we made our way back to the repulsor-lift, his stride measured and unhurried. "Haus give you a clean bill of health?"

  "Two weeks of no training or strenuous activity," I replied, my voice tired. "Daily bacta pills. He says I'll be fine."

  Pre nodded. "Good. You've earned rest, Kane. Take the day. Recuperate. I'll handle notifying your squad about tomorrow."

  I shook my head as we reached the lift, the doors opening at Pre's approach. We stepped inside, and I leaned against the wall, letting it support some of my weight. "I'll do it. They're my vode. I should be the one to invite them."

  Pre considered this for a moment, then inclined his head. "As you wish." He keyed in the code for the residential levels, and the lift began its ascent. We rode in silence for a moment, the only sound the faint hum of the repulsor mechanism, before Pre spoke again. "You did well, Kane. Not just surviving, anyone can survive with enough luck. But thriving. Turning that trial into something more. That takes a warrior's spirit."

  I didn't respond immediately, the words settling over me like a mantle. Praise from Pre Vizsla wasn't given lightly, and I felt the weight of it, the sincerity. When I did speak, my voice was quieter, more thoughtful. "I had a good teacher."

  The lift slowed as it approached the residential level, and the doors opened with their customary hiss. Pre stepped out first, and I followed, my quarters just down the corridor. We walked in silence until we reached my door, and I keyed in the access code, the panel blinking green. The door slid open, revealing the small, spartan room beyond; bunk, desk, locker, a tiny refresher alcove.

  Before I could step inside, Pre set his hand on my shoulder, the grip firm through the armor plating. I turned to face him, and for a long moment, we simply stood there, two warriors in full armour.

  "I'm proud of you, Kan'ika," Pre said, his voice low, the Mando'a diminutive turning my name into something paternal, something only he had the right of.

  I felt something tighten in my chest, that same emotion I didn't quite have words for. There was only one other person who had ever compared to Pre in my estimation, someone who commanded the same level of respect; my martial arts teacher from my previous life, back before I'd enlisted. A hard man, disciplined, who had seen something in a troubled kid and beaten it into shape through rigorous training and unwavering expectations. If not for that teacher, I knew I'd have ended up dead or in prison, another statistic lost to violence and poor choices.

  Though I can't say I did all that better, but that was on me.

  But without Pre, I would be dead or still fighting as a gladiator, consumed as a near-gibbering beast, chasing another corpse to wet my blade with, the Dark Side riding me like a storm with no outlet, no purpose. Pre had given me direction, structure, a reason to be more than just a weapon pointed at the nearest target.

  "I know, buir," I said, the Mando'a word for father slipping out naturally, honestly. "Thank you for preparing me."

  Pre's grip tightened briefly on my shoulder, a silent acknowledgment, then he released me and stepped back. "Rest. I'll see you tomorrow at the Oyu'baat." He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, and I watched him go for a moment before stepping into my quarters.

  The door slid shut behind me with a soft hiss, sealing me into the quiet sanctuary of my room. I stood there for a moment, just breathing, the need that had kept me upright during the examination finally draining away. My body felt like it weighed twice what it should, every muscle trembling with exhaustion, and I moved slowly toward the small refrigeration unit tucked into the corner near my bunk.

  The unit hummed softly as I pulled it open, the cool air washing over my face as I surveyed the contents. Most of it was standard fare; protein packs, hydration supplements, a few meal bars. But there, on the top shelf, sat a glass bottle of chilled chocolate milk, condensation beading on its surface. I grabbed it, ignoring the voice in the back of my head that sounded suspiciously like some of the more uptight squadies who'd given me grief about my choice of beverage. Fuck them. I'd just killed a Sith Wyrm. I'd earned the right to drink whatever the hell I wanted.

  I twisted the cap off with a satisfying pop, the seal breaking, and pulled one of the bacta pill bottles from my belt pouch. The instructions on the label were simple, two pills daily with food or liquid. I shook two into my palm, the small capsules gleaming faintly in the room's dim lighting, and popped them into my mouth. The chocolate milk followed, cold and sweet, washing the pills down with the kind of simple pleasure that felt almost decadent after days of warm, stale water and survival rations.

  I drank deeply, gulping down half the bottle in one go, the sweetness coating my throat, the cold settling into my stomach. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. I allowed myself a moment to just savor it, standing there in my armor, the lightsaber still clipped to my belt, the bottle of chocolate milk in my hand.

  I moved to my bunk, settling onto the edge with a groan. My ribs screamed in protest, my arm aching from the motion, and I had to pause, breathing through the pain, letting the Force dull the worst of it. I finished the chocolate milk in a few more swallows, setting the empty bottle on the small table beside my bunk, and then began the process of removing my armor once more.

  Piece by piece, it came off, each item placed carefully on the floor beside the bunk. Pauldrons, chest plate, gauntlets, greaves; all of it was set aside with the kind of care that had been drilled into me through months of training. The armor was sacred, an extension of the warrior, and even exhausted, I wouldn't dishonor it by treating it carelessly.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Finally, down to just my bodysuit, I unclipped the lightsaber from my belt and held it in my hands, staring at the dark durasteel hilt, the silver bands catching the light. The weight of it was comforting, the warmth seeping through even now, and I shook my head at that. I set it on the table beside the empty bottle, within easy reach, and then collapsed back onto the bunk.

  The mattress was thin, military standard, but after days of sleeping on jungle floors and volcanic rock, it felt like the height of luxury. I let out a long, shuddering breath, my body sinking into the surface, and I stared up at the ceiling. The room was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the base's life support systems and the distant clang of metal on metal from somewhere deeper in the facility.

  For the first time in over weeks, I allowed myself to feel truly safe. Not alert, not scanning for threats, not braced for the next predator or environmental hazard. Just... safe. The weight of the Verd'goten lifted slightly, the knowledge that I'd not only survived but triumphed settling over me like a warm blanket once again now that I was on my own bunk.

  I thought about tonight, about the celebration at the Oyu'baat, about seeing my squad again and sharing this moment with them. They'd trained with me, bled with me, and now I'd celebrate with them as a full adult in Mandalorian culture. The thought brought a faint smile to my lips.

  But for now, I let the exhaustion take me. My eyes drifted closed, my breathing evening out, and within moments, I was asleep, my body finally claiming the rest it so desperately needed. The lightsaber rested on the table beside me, its warm hilt glowing faintly in the dim light, a silent guardian over its creator's slumber.

  I'd earned this peace, this moment of respite. And for now, that was enough.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  I knocked back the entire glass of ne'tra gal, the Mandalorian black ale burning down my throat, sweet and bitter all at once. The alcohol hit my system like a warm wave, dulling the persistent ache in my ribs and adding to the pleasant haze that had settled over the evening. Without pausing, I reached for one of the throwing knives laid out on the table beside me and flung it at the target board mounted on the far wall of the Oyu'baat.

  The blade spun through the air, end over end, and thunked into the wood almost dead center, the handle quivering slightly from the impact. A cheer went up from my squad, scattered around the cantina in various states of armor and inebriation, their helmets long since discarded on tables and benches.

  Vhonte scowled at my throw, her blue eyes narrowing with competitive fire as she snatched up her own knife. Her crimson hair hung loose around her shoulders, freed from its usual braid, and she took a moment to line up her shot before whipping the blade forward. It struck the board nearly as close to center as mine, maybe a hair's width off, and she turned to me with a satisfied smirk.

  "Getting lucky, Kan'ika," she said, her words only slightly slurred.

  "Skill, not luck," I shot back, grinning. The nickname coming from her didn't bother me tonight, not with this much ale in my system and the warmth of celebration filling the air.

  The Oyu'baat was alive with energy, the ancient cantina's stone walls echoing with laughter and song. This place was sacred to Mandalorians, a gathering spot that had stood for generations, and tonight it belonged to us, reserved by Pre for our celebration. The lighting was warm, cast by overhead fixtures that gave everything a golden glow, and the smell of roasted meat and spilled ale permeated the space.

  From across the room, I heard the opening notes of a drinking song start up, Zeke and Trygg's voices rising in unison, Bo right next to Zeke and had been buds with him since their fight, quickly joined by Agor, Cynigh, and Harja. The Mando'a lyrics rolled out in a cadence that was as much chant as song, raw and primal:

  "Naasad'guur mhi,

  Naasad'guur mhi,

  Naasad'guur mhi,

  Mhi n'ulu."

  ‘Nobody likes us, nobody likes us, nobody likes us, we don't care.’ The defiant pride in those words sent a thrill through me, and I found myself laughing, the sound bubbling up from my chest despite the ache. I grabbed another tankard of ne'tra gal from the table, the glass cool and slick with condensation, and turned toward where Averill sat quietly nursing his own drink.

  The kid was doing his best to stay on the periphery of the chaos, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his expression caught somewhere between overwhelmed and content. I wasn't having any of that. I crossed the distance in a few strides, my boots heavy on the stone floor, and threw my arm around his shoulders, hauling him up from his seat.

  "Come on, Averill!" I shouted over the singing, my voice louder than I'd intended. "You're singing too!"

  "I can't sing!" he protested, his voice cracking slightly, but I was already dragging him toward the others, and he stumbled along, yelping as I pulled him into the circle.

  "Doesn't matter! Just do it!" I thrust my tankard into the air, ale sloshing over the rim, and joined in with the next verse:

  "Mhi Mando'ade,

  Kandosii'ade,

  Teh Manda'yaim,

  Mando'ade."

  ‘We are Mandalorians, ruthless, from Mandalore, Mandalorians.' The words were a declaration, a battle cry disguised as a song, and Averill's voice joined in, off-key and wavering but earnest. I grinned at him, squeezing his shoulder, and we belted out the final lines together with the rest of the squad, the volume rising to a shout that rattled the rafters:

  "MANDO'ADE!"

  We finished with a roar, and everyone raised their tankards high, the glass clinking together in a chaotic toast. I brought mine to my lips and chugged, the ale cold and sharp, washing away the hoarseness in my throat. Around me, my vode did the same, and for a moment, the Oyu'baat was filled with nothing but the sound of drinking and laughter.

  I slammed my empty tankard down on the nearest table, breathing hard, my chest heaving as I coughed. Shit, might have done that too fast. The world tilted slightly, the edges of my vision blurring, but I steadied myself with a hand on the table and grinned stupidly at no one in particular.

  "Kane!" Vhonte's voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding even when she was rather tipsy. I turned to see her standing on the other side of the room, one hand on her hip, the other pointing at me. "Regale us again with your harrowing tale!"

  The rest of the squad picked up the call immediately, their voices rising in a cheer that shook the walls. "Tell it again! Tell us how you killed the Wyrm!"

  I laughed, the sound half-disbelief, half-delight, and grabbed another tankard from a passing tray, sloshing ale as I raised it above my head. "Alright, alright! You want to hear how I survived?"

  "Yes!" they roared back, and I felt my face split into a wide grin.

  I took a long drink, the alcohol fueling my confidence, and began, my voice projecting across the cantina. "So there I was, alone in the jungle, no backup, no comms, just me and my beskad and blaster." I gestured dramatically with the tankard, nearly spilling more ale. "I spent days dodging predators, packs of things the size of gundarks, all teeth and claws, chasing me through the trees like I owed them credits. And I gave them a taste of good Mando steel pried from her beating heart."

  I was always an eloquent twat when drunk.

  That got a laugh, and I fed off it, my words flowing faster. "I thought I'd found a safe spot, a clearing near a mountain, figured I'd set up camp, catch my breath after searching for a quarry worthy of a kill. And then the ground started shaking. Not a tremor, not an earthquake, a full-on rumble that near knocked me off my feet."

  I paused for effect, taking another drink, and the squad leaned in, even those who'd already heard the story hanging on every word. "And that's when it came up. A Sith Wyrm, massive, easily forty meters long, scales like durasteel, teeth the size of my arm! It burst out of the ground like a kriffing missile, roaring loud enough to shake the very trees!”

  "What did you do?" Harja called out, her voice eager.

  "What any sane person would do," I said, deadpan. "I ran." That got another laugh, and I grinned. "But running doesn't work with a Wyrm, and running is for the hut'uun

  “They're fast, and they don't stop. So I turned around, pulled out every explosive I had, thermal detonators, det-packs, grenades, and started throwing. Boom, boom, boom!" I mimed the throws, my movements exaggerated. "I must've hit it a dozen times, and all it did was piss it off."

  "Did you shoot it?" Zeke asked, his brown eyes bright with alcohol and excitement.

  "Of course I shot it!" I said, laughing. "Unloaded a bolt into its face. Didn't even slow it down. So I did what any Mando worth their salt would do." I paused, letting the tension build, and then said with a perfectly straight face, "I poked it in the eye with my beskad."

  The room erupted in laughter, the sound loud and unrestrained, and I couldn't help but join in, my shoulders shaking. Harja wiped at her eyes, her face flushed with mirth. "Did that kill it?"

  "Kriff no!" I said, shaking my head. "That just pissed it off more! It came at me like a freight train, jaws open wide enough to swallow me whole. So I waited until it was right on top of me, and then..." I trailed off, setting down my tankard and gesturing at the nearest table. "Here, let me show you how I jumped."

  I reached out with the Force, feeling the familiar surge of energy through my limbs, and launched myself upward. My boots left the floor, and I soared through the air in a blur of motion, landing on top of the table with a heavy thud that rattled the glasses. I crouched low, miming gripping a blade with both hands, and drove my imaginary beskad downward into the table's surface.

  "Like that!" I shouted, grinning down at them. "Right into its skull, straight through bone and brain!"

  The squad roared their approval, fists pounding on tables, and I straightened, feeling the rush of adrenaline mix with the alcohol in my veins. I moved to dismount, stepping toward the edge of the table, but my boot caught on a plate someone had left behind. My balance wavered, the world tilting sharply, and I stumbled, my arms windmilling as I nearly flipped over the edge.

  "Whoa, whoa!" I managed to catch myself at the last second, landing hard on the floor with a grunt that sent a sharp jolt through my ribs. Pain flared, but the alcohol dulled it to a distant throb, and I straightened with a sheepish grin.

  "Hey!" The barkeep's voice rang out from behind the counter, sharp and disapproving. "Don't mess up my tables, Vizsla!"

  I snapped a sloppy salute in his direction, swaying slightly. "Yessir! Won't happen again, sir!"

  The barkeep shook his head, muttering something under his breath, but I caught the faint twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. I turned back to my squad, who were doubled over with laughter, and raised my tankard once more. "To the Wyrm! May it rest in pieces!"

  "To the Wyrm!" they echoed, and we drank again, the ale flowing freely.

  Off to the side, near the bar, I caught sight of Pre and his cousin Argus watching the spectacle. Pre's helmet was off, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, a glass of something darker in his hand. Argus said something I couldn't hear over the noise, and Pre laughed, the sound low. They raised their glasses to me in a silent toast, and I returned the gesture, feeling a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

  The night blurred after that, a haze of songs and toasts and laughter. At some point, we launched into a war chant, the words pounding out in rhythm, and Averill fumbled the lyrics halfway through, his voice cracking on a high note. As it was my sworn duty as a new Mando'ad, I punched him in the face, sending him spinning to the ground all while I was laughing so hard I could barely stand, and he glared at me until I gave my pet sperg a hug, sheepish and no longer bothered. We picked up the chant again, louder this time, our voices raw and hoarse but unrelenting.

  The Oyu'baat became a blur of motion and sound, faces blending together, the clinking of glasses and the stomp of boots on stone creating a symphony of chaos. I lost track of how many drinks I'd had, how many times I'd retold the story of the Wyrm, how many knives I'd thrown at the target board. All that mattered was this moment, this night, surrounded by my vode, celebrating not just my survival but what I'd become.

  Eventually, the energy began to wane, the songs growing quieter, the laughter softer. One by one, members of the squad started to peel off, heading back to their quarters in pairs or small groups, their steps unsteady but their spirits high. I found myself near the door, swaying slightly as I tried to remember which way led back to my room, when Vhonte appeared at my side.

  "Come on," she said, her voice slurred but firm as she looped an arm through mine. "Let's get you back before you pass out in the hallway."

  “I’m not some pathetic mortal like you.” I laughed at her, knowing I had probably guzzled down thrice as much booze as her and was still better off than her. “You're just saving face, heh.”

  I leaned against her more than I meant to though, her presence solid and grounding as we stumbled out into the corridor. The cool air of the base hit me like a wall, and I blinked, trying to clear my vision and I scowled once again when I looked up at her being almost a head taller. Vhonte was still taller than me, always had been, and in my current state, the height difference felt absurdly pronounced. I frowned up at her, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

  "You're tall."

  She snickered, the sound light and airy, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth. "You're just short, Kane."

  I grumbled something incoherent, and we continued down the corridor, our boots echoing on the stone floor. The base was quiet at this hour, most of the other Mandalorians either asleep, training, fucking, or engaged in their own celebrations elsewhere. We reached my quarters after what felt like an eternity, and I fumbled with the keypad, my fingers clumsy and uncoordinated.

  Vhonte leaned against the doorframe, watching me with an amused smile, her blue eyes bright despite the alcohol. "Need help?"

  "No," I muttered, squinting at the keypad. The numbers swam in my vision, but I managed to punch in the code after two failed attempts. The door slid open with a hiss, and I stumbled inside, Vhonte following close behind.

  She looked around my quarters, taking in the sparse furnishings with an expression I couldn't quite read. Her gaze landed on the table beside my bunk, where the empty chocolate milk bottle still sat, and she let out a soft giggle that made her seem younger, less like the hardened lieutenant and more like the sixteen-year-old girl she actually was.

  Then her eyes found the lightsaber resting beside the bottle, and her expression shifted, becoming focused despite the haze of alcohol. "Can I see it?" she asked, her voice eager. "Your saber?"

  She paused at the raising of my brow, her face reddening slightly, and I couldn't help but notice the way the flush spread across her cheeks. "Your lightsaber," she clarified quickly, her voice a touch higher.

  I laughed, the sound loud in the small room, and moved toward the wall where my small safe was bolted. I pointed at her with exaggerated seriousness, swaying slightly. "No peeking. Scout's promise."

  "I promise," Vhonte said, her tone solemn as she made a show of covering her eyes with her hands, though I could see her peeking through her fingers, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

  I punched in the code for the safe, the panel beeping softly as it disengaged, and pulled the door open. The lightsaber sat inside, its dark durasteel hilt gleaming faintly in the dim light. I reached in and wrapped my gloved hand around it, feeling the heat immediately even through the leather. The lava crystal at its core burned constantly, an eternal flame that never dimmed, and the warmth seeped through my glove like the saber was alive.

  I turned back to Vhonte, the saber in hand, and the sight of her stopped me for a moment. She'd lowered her hands, her blue eyes fixed on the weapon with an expression of wonder and curiosity. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, crimson strands catching the light, and her armor had been stripped down to just the basics, chest plate and greaves, leaving much of her undersuit visible. She looked relaxed, open, more vulnerable than I'd ever seen her.

  I approached her slowly, my steps measured despite the alcohol, and held out the saber. "Be very careful," I said, my voice more serious now as I fought to cut through the fog in my mind with the Force. It helped, but only marginally. "The hilt isn't safe without gloves. It's hot."

  The fogginess in her eyes cleared slightly, her focus sharpening as she looked at me. She nodded, her expression turning solemn, and reached out to take the saber. Her gloved hands closed around the hilt, and I saw her flinch slightly at the heat before adjusting her grip.

  She held it vertically, pointing the emitter away from both of us, and her thumb found the ignition switch. She pressed it, and the blade ignited with a sharp snap-hiss that filled the room.

  The saber's light bathed everything in shimmering red and orange, the blade churning like molten lava, constantly shifting and writhing. Faint sparks danced along the edges, tiny flares of energy that crackled and died, giving the weapon an almost living quality. The glow reflected off Vhonte's face, painting her features in warm, flickering light, and her eyes widened as she stared at the blade.

  "Wow," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze traveled up and down the length of the blade, mesmerized by the way the colors shifted and flowed. "It's beautiful."

  I looked at her, really looked at her, not just with my eyes but with the Force. Her presence was a radiant warmth, soft and inviting, drawing me in like a moth to flame. The alcohol in my system made everything sharper, more intense, and I couldn't tear my gaze away from her. Her hair, loose and flowing, caught the saber's light, shimmering like liquid fire. Her face, usually so composed and focused, was open now, radiating wonder and something else, something deeper that I couldn't quite name.

  Through the Force, she felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, warm and inviting, and I realized with a jolt that I'd never seen her look more beautiful than she did in this moment. Everything stood out, her eyes, her hair, how soft her face looked when she smiled, the splash of freckles across her nose and lightly dusted her cheeks. The thought hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath, and I stepped closer without thinking, my hand reaching out to wrap around hers where she held the saber.

  Her gaze snapped to mine, and we locked eyes. The world seemed to narrow, the room fading away until it was just the two of us and the glowing blade between us. I felt her emotions shift through the Force, surprise flickering into something warmer, something nervous, and it only made her more enticing.

  I used my free hand to reach up, my fingers threading through her hair, the strands soft and silky even through my gloves. I pulled her closer, closing the distance between us, and kissed her.

  She froze for a heartbeat, her surprise spiking sharply in the Force, but I held her there, my lips pressed against hers, firm and insistent. Then, slowly, she leaned into it, her mouth moving against mine, and her emotions sang through the Force, a symphony of warmth and want that fed my own desire.

  I deepened the kiss, my hand tightening in her hair, and the saber slipped from her grasp. I caught it with my other hand, still kissing her, and set it aside on the table without breaking contact. My hands were free now, and I pulled her closer, more fiercely, our bodies pressing together as the kiss intensified.

  We stumbled backward, our movements clumsy and uncoordinated, until the back of my knees hit the edge of my bunk. I sat down hard, the mattress giving beneath my weight, and Vhonte followed, her hands braced on my shoulders as she leaned over me. The Force thrummed between us, her emotions blazing bright and wild, and I fed on them, my own want growing sharper, more urgent.

  I flipped her over in a blur and grabbed at her chest plate, my fingers fumbling with the clasps, and she pulled back just enough to meet my gaze. Her pupils were blown wide, the blue of her eyes reduced to thin rings, and she looked shy, nervous, delightfully uncertain in a way that made my pulse race.

  The chest plate came free with a click, and I tossed it aside, hearing it clatter against the floor. She reached for mine, her hands shaking slightly as she undid the clasps, and then it was gone too, leaving us both in just our undershirts and remaining armor. The thin fabric did nothing to hide the heat between us, and I pulled her against me again, kissing her more fiercely now, my hands roaming over her back, feeling the taut muscles beneath the fabric.

  She responded in kind, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, and the Force surged around us, amplifying every touch, every sensation. The world outside my quarters ceased to exist, replaced by the warmth of her body, the taste of her lips, and the electric thrill of her emotions blazing through the Force, entwining with mine.

  We fell back onto the bunk together, a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter, and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I let myself simply feel, surrendering to the moment and the girl in my arms.