The deeper levels of the junker station were different—darker, quieter, and steeped in oil, rust, and the scent of things long forgotten. Pipes snaked along the ceilings like veins, and the hum of old engines echoed faintly through the walls like a sleeping beast.
Kai moved carefully, each step calculated. The last piece of his lightsaber—the power cell—wasn't the kind of thing just anyone could get. It needed to be compact, high-capacity, and stable under immense energy loads. That meant military-grade or older Jedi surplus. Neither came cheap. Neither came clean.
He'd traced rumors of one to a black market technician who used to repurpose old Clone Wars tech for outlawed mining gear. The shop—if it could be called that—was tucked behind a repulsorlift stall, masked by a curtain of clanging scrap droids and flickering holo-signs.
He waited in the shadows of a support beam, watching. The vendor, a sharp-eyed Devaronian with soot-stained horns, leaned on the counter, chatting with a gruff-looking Rodian in low tones. No sign of the power cell… yet.
Then the mood shifted.
The sound of armored boots echoed through the corridor.
Kai stepped back quickly, pressing into the gloom behind a stack of scrap. He didn't need the Force to feel the tension thicken like smoke.
A bounty hunter strode into view—tall, armored in dark beskar and carbon-fiber plates, helm shaped with narrow slits and jagged edges. Not Mandalorian by the look of the make, but the influence was clear. This wasn't some cheap gun-for-hire. This was precision. Professional.
The hunter walked straight up to the Devaronian vendor, helmet tilting slightly.
"Looking for someone," the modulated voice said. "Young. Human. Travelled in alone. Keen interest in energy components and rare salvage. You seen anything unusual?"
Kai's heartbeat thumped hard in his chest.
The Devaronian hesitated. "A lotta young scavvers come through. Specifics?"
"Not a scavver," the bounty hunter replied flatly. "He's careful. Cautious. Pays in clean credits. Too clean."
The Rodian took a slow step back, quietly slipping away.
Kai reached out with the Force, drawing calm around himself like a cloak. He kept his breath even, his body still, his mind focused on fading into the metal and dust around him. Just another shadow.
The vendor finally shrugged. "Haven't seen anyone like that. But I'll keep an eye out."
"You do that," the bounty hunter said, voice cold.
The armored figure turned, pausing for only a moment—as if sensing something—but then moved on, vanishing down a side corridor with mechanical efficiency.
Kai stayed still for a long minute, heart pounding, until the hum of the corridor returned to its usual rhythm.
He couldn't afford to linger.
When the way was clear, he slipped forward, catching the Devaronian's eye with a flicker of movement. The vendor gave a slight nod, and without a word, reached under the counter and slid a small black case onto the surface.
Kai opened it.
Inside sat a compact power cell, old and refined—possibly Clone Wars-era, perfectly suited to what he needed.
"Five hundred," the Devaronian muttered.
Kai didn't argue. He transferred the credits swiftly, took the case, and vanished back into the maze of corridors before anyone else could spot him.
The bounty hunter's presence was a warning.
Someone was looking for him.
And he was running out of time.
The station was on edge.
Since seeing the bounty hunter, Kai had stuck to the maintenance tunnels—tight, dark crawlways that bypassed the main corridors but were thick with heat and chemical residue. The further he moved, the more a weight pressed on him: not fear, but instinct. Urgency. Something was coming.
The power cell was secured, wrapped tightly and tucked into a side pouch. But he hadn't stayed to rest. He hadn't eaten. He hadn't even taken the time to think.
He just knew one thing.
He had to get off this station.
As he neared the docking sector—his X-wing hidden in one of the old hangar bays reserved for decommissioned or unpaid ships—his boots slowed, senses sharpening.
The silence was wrong.
The flickering overhead lights. The buzz of a broken terminal. The way a single oil can lay on its side, still spinning slightly.
Kai inhaled sharply. The Force whispered.
He reached out... and felt it.
Presence. Waiting.
His hand dropped near the pouch holding his unassembled lightsaber, fingers brushing the edge of the emitter casing. But it wasn't ready. Not yet.
And suddenly—
Flashback: The Night Before
The shadows of the small junker hostel danced across the walls, lit only by a single glowrod overhead. Kai sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by carefully arranged parts: hilt casing, energy conductors, focusing lens. The crystal rested at the center, held in a small repulsor cradle that hummed quietly.
The power cell was still missing.
He'd tried to bind it all together anyway—testing the alignment, running calibration simulations, attempting to coax the crystal into resonance. But the saber wouldn't stabilize. Without the power core, it was like building a heart without a pulse.
Still, the crystal reacted.
It pulsed softly in the Force. The blue and red had begun to blend—slowly, gently—into a deeper hue. Not violet. Not quite. But something close. A twilight shade, caught between dusk and dawn.
He had meditated with it for hours. Visions came. Fleeting, unclear—glimpses of Mandalorian armour, desert winds, a battle cry echoing across a canyon. Gar Saxon. Again.
Kai had opened his eyes in the dark, breath shallow. There was something deeply, irrevocably tied between himself, the crystal, and that long-dead warrior.
But the saber had refused to spark.
So he'd packed it all away, quietly, carefully. Told himself tomorrow would be different.
He hadn't known how right he was.
Now
Kai stepped into the hangar slowly, scanning the shadows.
His X-wing sat beneath its tarp of grime and dirt-stained plating—completely indistinguishable from any other junk heap ship. But he saw it. Saw the shift in air beside it.
Movement.
The bounty hunter stood casually against the nose of the starfighter, arms crossed, helmet glinting under the flickering bay light.
"You're good at hiding," the modulated voice said. "But not good enough."
Kai froze.
His hand shifted near his belt.
No saber.
Just words.
"You're tracking me," he said quietly.
The bounty hunter tilted their head. "You're more than a smuggler. More than a scavenger. The question is... what else are you?"
Kai didn't answer.
The air crackled—charged.
One wrong move, and this would end in fire.