The door sealed behind Obi-Wan with a soft hiss, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a spider droid who was definitely judging me.
Arachnae chirped, her optical sensors tracking the closed door for a moment before swiveling back to me.
Piing?
"Yeah, I know. I keep dropping bombshells on the guy." I leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "But there's no right time to bring up stuff like this, you know? What am I supposed to do, keep a running list of apocalyptic events and read it off to him over dinner? That would kill his appetite."
I paused, tilting my head.
"Actually... that might not be a bad idea."
Pi-pi-piing!
"No, not the galactic doom newsletter over mealtime. I mean the list thing." I rubbed my temples. "There's just so much going on that I forget about stuff. Even now, I feel like there's something I'm forgetting. Something important."
Arachnae's sensors dimmed slightly in what I'd come to recognize as concern.
Piing?
"No, I don't know what it is. That's the problem with forgetting things. You don't remember what you forgot."
She chirped again, this time with a hint of exasperation.
I closed my eyes and went over the recent events once again. Hard not to do so when I had nearly encountered my second actual death.
The fight with Hett was the part that mainly kept replaying in my head. Not the beating itself, but those moments where his lightsaber had swept past me by inches. Any one of those swings could have ended it. One wrong move, one slower dodge, and I'd have been bisected. Cut clean in half like a training dummy.
My armor didn't have cortosis. Didn't have beskar. Didn't have anything that would stop a lightsaber. Against blasters? Sure, it held up fine. Against vibro-blades and slugthrowers? Decent protection. Against a weapon that could slice through starship hulls?
Absolutely nothing.
I was woefully underprepared for a frontal fight with any Force user. And in canon, there had been what, a handful of Inquisitors? A dozen at most? But this world had Legends elements bleeding into it. God knows how many Inquisitors were actually running around out there. And it wasn't just them. Fallen Jedi, dark siders, ancient Force sensitives buried in tombs waiting to wake up, whatever the hell Abeloth was...
The galaxy was crawling with threats I couldn't just gadget my way through.
My thoughts drifted to the power surge. The new strength I'd felt when I crushed that canteen. On one hand, I should be happy. The one thing I'd always felt lacking in was raw Force potential. My broken soul had been throttling my connection since day one. But now? Something had changed. The power was there in a way it hadn't been before.
On the other hand, the control was shot to hell.
If it was just the "disturbed Force presence" Obi-Wan talked about, that was one thing. Something I could meditate through, work past, recalibrate. But if it wasn't? If this was permanent? Then god knows how much practice I'd need to bring it back under control. With the current state, doing anything delicate like the neural reconstruction I'd pulled on Herana was a pipe dream. I'd probably liquefy someone's brain instead of healing it.
And it wasn't just my telekinesis.
My Hyper Perception was acting up too. Each time I tried to activate it, I felt a heavy pressure building behind my eyes, nausea rising in my throat. The expanded awareness that had been my greatest tool was suddenly unreliable at best, actively hostile at worst.
I hoped to god it was temporary.
I started thinking about what I'd need to acquire. Better armor, obviously. Something with lightsaber resistance. Maybe I could track down some cortosis weave, or if I got really lucky, a beskar contact. There was also the question of—
Pi-pi-piing!
Arachnae's sharp chirp cut through my spiral. I blinked, realizing I'd been staring at the same spot on the ceiling for who knows how long.
"Right. Yeah." I shook my head, trying to clear the mental fog. "I'm doing it again, aren't I? The overthinking thing."
Piing.
"Okay, okay. You're right. Walk first. Existential crisis later."
I pushed myself up from the cot. My ribs protested immediately, a dull throb of pain that I shoved to the back of my mind. How long had I been cooped up in here anyway? The walls were close, the air was stale, and the ceiling felt like it was pressing down on me.
"Alright," I muttered, grabbing my helmet from where it sat on a nearby crate. "Screw this. I need to move."
I pulled the helmet on. The familiar weight settled over my head, the HUD flickering to life with a soft glow. Vitals, environmental readings, the usual. Everything looked stable enough.
"Come on, girl," I said, glancing down at Arachnae. "Let's take a walk outside. Get some actual fresh air. Because if I spend another minute in this crusty-ass tin can, I'm going to lose my mind."
She perked up immediately, her legs clicking against the floor as she scuttled toward me.
Pi-pi-piing!
"Yeah, yeah. Don't get too excited. It's just a walk."
I opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.
---
The cargo bay was dim, lit only by the emergency strips along the walls. The Scythe's interior had that particular Imperial aesthetic going for it: all hard angles and cold metal, designed to intimidate rather than comfort. Not exactly a luxury liner.
But right now, it was a refugee camp.
Bodies lay scattered across the floor, curled up on makeshift bedding or slumped against crates. The survivors from the Tusken camp. They'd been through hell, and it showed. Even in sleep, some of them twitched and murmured, trapped in dreams that probably weren't pleasant.
I moved carefully, stepping around outstretched limbs and trying not to make noise. Arachnae followed at my heels, her movements surprisingly quiet for something with eight metal legs.
Halfway across the bay, I spotted a half-open door to one of the side rooms. Dim light spilled out from the gap, and I could hear the soft sound of breathing inside.
I paused.
Wonder if there are any seriously injured ones in there, I thought. Should probably check the status. Make sure no one's condition deteriorated while I was busy having my existential meltdown.
I approached the door and pushed it open slowly.
The room was small, barely more than a storage closet that someone had converted into a makeshift medical bay. A single cot dominated the space, and lying on it was a Twi'lek girl, asleep. Bandages wrapped around her head where her lekku had been, the stumps still healing.
And sitting beside her, slumped forward with her head resting on the edge of the bed, was Lyra.
Her hand was clasped around the sleeping girl's, fingers intertwined even in sleep. A thin strand of drool trailed from the corner of her mouth onto the mattress, and her lekku had fallen across her face in a tangled mess.
I stood there for a moment, not sure if I should wake her or just leave.
Then her eyes fluttered open.
She blinked once, twice, her gaze unfocused and bleary. It took her a second to register my presence, and when she did, she jerked upright so fast she nearly fell off the cargo box she was sitting on.
"Wha—I wasn't—" She wiped frantically at her mouth, her cheeks flushing red as she realized she'd been drooling. "I was just—resting my eyes for a—"
"Relax," I said, holding up a hand. "I'm not here to judge your sleeping posture."
She stared at me, still flustered, her hand frozen halfway to her face. Then she seemed to remember who she was talking to, and the embarrassment shifted into something more composed.
"You're up," she said, straightening her back and trying to smooth down her clothes with limited success. "Are you... how are you feeling? Your injuries—"
"Still there," I said. "Ribs are being dramatic. Shoulder's sulking. But I'm mobile."
Lyra's brow furrowed with concern. "You shouldn't be walking around. You need rest. The wounds you had were—"
"I've been resting for hours. If I rest any more, I'm going to fossilize."
She opened her mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she glanced back at the sleeping Twi'lek.
I followed her gaze, studying the girl on the cot. Green skin, young, the bandages around her head hiding the worst of the damage.
"So," I said, "is this Herana? Or the other Twi'lek from the convoy? Because I just realized I never actually asked you for a picture or description. Been operating blind this whole time."
Lyra blinked, caught off guard by the question. Then a small, almost disbelieving laugh escaped her.
"This is Herana," she confirmed. "My sister. The other Twi'lek, Nessa, is out in the cargo bay with the others. She's... she's recovering, but her injuries were less severe."
"Good to finally put a face to the name." I stepped closer, looking at Herana. "How's she doing?"
"She's stable," Lyra said softly. "Hasn't woken up yet, but her breathing is steady. The... the damage is healing."
I nodded. Even in the dim light, I could see the color returning to her skin. Mostly it was bacta, doing its job on the external wounds.
The internal stuff was a different story. What I'd done to her brain, that improvised neural reconstruction, was so far outside the bounds of normal medicine that I had no idea what the long-term effects would be. She might wake up fine. She might wake up with gaps in her memory, or personality changes, or worse.
But she was alive. That was more than anyone had expected.
"She's a fighter," I said. "Takes after her sister, I'm guessing."
Lyra's flush deepened, but she didn't look away from Herana. "I don't know about that. I'm not... I'm not strong. Not like you."
"You survived," I said. "That takes strength."
She was quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of Herana's hand.
"You know...I actually didn't believe that I would see her again..atleast not alive. After being captured by Tuskans for just few days had left me nearly dead. And her..she had been gone for far longer," Lyra said softly. "But you actually found her."
There was wonder in her voice. Disbelief, maybe. Like she'd spent so long expecting the worst that the reality of her sister lying here, alive and breathing, hadn't fully sunk in yet.
"Said I'd keep an eye out," I replied. "Got lucky with the timing."
"Lucky." She let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "You call storming a Tusken war camp lucky?"
"I call it Tuesday, actually. But sure, lucky works too."
She shook her head slowly, still staring at Herana. "When you told me you'd look for her, I didn't... I wanted to believe you. But part of me thought you were just saying what I needed to hear. That you'd leave and I'd never see you again."
"Wouldn't have blamed you for thinking that."
"But you came back." She looked up at me, something raw in her expression. "You came back with her. After everything with those... those monsters, after whatever happened in that camp that left you half-dead, you still..."
She trailed off, searching for words.
"I know I already thanked you," she said. "But I don't think you understand what you gave back to me. She's all I have left. Our parents are gone. The farm is gone. Everything we had..." She trailed off, then shook her head. "But she's here. That's what matters."
I didn't know what to say to that. The weight of it sat heavy in the air between us.
Arachnae chose that moment to scuttle forward, her sensors flickering as she examined Herana's monitors. She chirped approvingly.
Piing!
Lyra jumped slightly, then relaxed when she saw the little droid. "That's your companion droid? I still don't know what to make of her."
"Neither do I, most days."
Arachnae turned her sensors toward Lyra and chirped again, this time in a tone I could only describe as smug.
Pi-pi-piing.
"She says your vitals look good," I translated. "And that you should probably eat something. Low blood sugar."
Lyra blinked. "She can tell that?"
"She can tell a lot of things." I reached down and scratched Arachnae's head. "She's nosy like that."
Piing!
"That wasn't a compliment."
Pi-piing.
"It wasn't."
Lyra watched the exchange with a bemused expression, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.
"She's right," Lyra said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I should eat something. And sleep. You should too, actually. You look like you're about to fall over."
"I'm fine."
"You're not." She stood up, careful not to disturb Herana. "At least let me make you something. I've been cooking for the crew since we left the wastes. It's the least I can do."
"You don't owe me anything."
"I know." She met my eyes. "But I want to. So humor me, Fulcrum."
I paused, considering. The codename thing was getting old. She'd been with me through the worst of it, had seen me at my lowest, helped tend to my injuries. Keeping the wall up felt pointless now.
"You can call me Ezra," I said. "Just... not around the refugees. Or Nari. At least for now."
Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her face. Then that small smile returned, warmer this time.
"Ezra," she repeated, testing it out. "Alright."
"As for food," I continued, "I've got some energy bars that'll do for now. You can cook something proper after we drop the refugees at Anchorhead and head back to the Scythe. This transport's kitchen is probably about as functional as a rusted protocol droid anyway."
"Energy bars," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Those awful military ration things?"
"They're not that bad."
"They taste like compressed sadness."
"Compressed calories," I corrected. "Sadness is just a bonus flavor."
She laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to surprise her as much as it did me.
"You're strange," she said. "You know that?"
"I get that a lot."
Arachnae chirped softly, a sound that might have been approval.
Piing.
There was a moment of comfortable silence. Then Lyra's expression shifted back to concern.
"The others," she said. "The ones from the convoy. Some of them are asking about you. They want to thank you, but they don't know who you are. Where you came from. Why you helped."
"Good," I said. "Keep it that way."
She frowned. "But—"
"The less they know about me, the safer they are. And the safer I am." I glanced toward the door. "When we reach Anchorhead, they'll get dropped off with the local authorities. From there, they can find their way home. But they can't connect me to any of it. Remember, I'm Fulcrum to them. Not anything else."
Lyra nodded slowly, accepting that. Then her voice dropped quieter.
"What about us?" she asked. "Me and Herana?"
I looked at her, then at the sleeping girl on the cot.
"That depends on what you want," I said. "Once she's stable enough to travel, you can go with the others. Start over somewhere. Or..."
I trailed off, not entirely sure how to finish that sentence.
Lyra's eyes met mine. "Or?"
"Or you stick around until we figure out what comes next."
She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze drifting back to Herana.
"I think," she said slowly, "I'd like to stick around. If that's alright."
I nodded. "It's alright."
Arachnae chirped softly, a sound that might have been approval.
Piing.
"Yeah," I said, turning toward the door. "We'll figure it out."
I paused at the threshold, glancing back over my shoulder.
"Get some real sleep," I told Lyra. "In an actual bed. Herana's not going anywhere, and you won't be any good to her if you collapse from exhaustion."
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. A small, tired smile tugged at her lips.
"Yes, Ezra."
I snorted. "Now you're just being cheeky."
"Maybe a little."
And then I walked out, Arachnae clicking along at my heels, leaving Lyra alone with her sister and whatever thoughts were running through her head.
___
A/N: thanks for the patience.
next chap gonna get give some surprises. most likely gonna update tomorrow too as gotta give some motivation to you guys as ranking gonna reset.