The light side of the Moon

by Caboose66

Summary:

A poor continuation of the dark side of the moon.
With eventual sabezra. And kanera much later in the story.
The original story for this was orphaned as well as the account that wrote it. I will be continuing it here. I have the original posted in the comments of the first chapter and will be working on moving the original story to my account as well. All credit to the dark side of the moon belong to Orphan_Account. But everything after is written by me.

The original story premise was about Sabine and Ezra meeting sooner in the story, however Ezra was trained as an Inquisitor instead of living on the streets. His parents were actually dead, and from what I understood he was about a year older than in the show.

Hope you enjoy reading this.

Notes:

This is just a tweak to the last posted chapter. In an attempt to give me something to run with.

Chapter 1

Mando'a translations: Narudar = temporary ally, your enemies enemy. Di'kut = idiot.

Chapter Text He stares into the swirling tunnel of hyperspace for Force knows how long, thinking about everything and nothing at all. The ship is quiet, save for a few errant beeps, a low, near-constant hum, and Sabine’s snores. The Mandalorian had fallen asleep not long after scouring their stolen ship for any supplies, which resulted in a few, small bacta patches and a handful of ration bars as well as water pouches. It wasn’t a lot, but if they were careful, it would last them the six-day trip to Takodana. Ezra sighs, leaning back in his seat and watching Sabine. Even in sleep, she keeps a firm grip on her blasters, ready to attack at a moment's notice. His fingers tighten around his lightsaber. Yellow eyes rimmed with red flash in the darkness of the ship. Ezra stands, his chair creaking loudly with the movement. The eyes follow him into the cargo hold, staring back at him, loud and menacing. Challenging him to make this chase interesting. Warning him to be cautious. Promising him a gruesome punishment in the end. Ezra doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to outrun the Grand Inquisitor. He’s been stupidly lucky, but how far will that get him now

Seven comes to mind, her vicious gaze and cold touch. A Jedi would have spared her, but Ezra isn’t a Jedi, and he never will be, which is fine. If she had lived, she would have been killed anyway by the Grand Inquisitor himself--painfully slow. In a way, Ezra did her a favor by taking away her option to return in failure.

It was a favor he promised himself he would never repeat, but no matter what, he always did. Because in the end, he is a product of Nur, of the Inquisitorius, of Seven . He could run as far as possible or drown himself in the Force, but part of him would always be an Inquisitor, unable to ever truly escape Nurs dark waves.

“Are you...alright?” Sabine is suddenly sitting next to him, a hesitant spark of concern in her eyes. She runs a hand through her hair, frowning at the washed-out blonde strands.

“Of course,” Ezra answers, immediately on the defensive.

Sabine scoffs. “If we’re gonna be stuck together for the indefinite future, the least you can do is not lie to my face.”.shooting a slight glare his way.

glaring right back at her. He’s tired, agitated, and the scar tissue around his prosthetic is beginning to ache. The last thing he needs right now is a pushy Mandolorian. Relenting slightly opting to answer her indirectly."even if I weren't, there is little that can be done about it.", Ezra intentionally putting some venom in his voice to back up his half answer.

With a huff, Sabine stands, grumbling under her breath as she marches out of the cargo hold.

Perhaps, if they were still on Lothal, in a forgotten tower living on a timer, he would have offered her bits and pieces of the truth. Enough to satisfy her, but nothing that could backfire on him. Now that they're partners, Ezra knows he should at least try to match the effort Sabine is putting in--it was his idea, after all--but his fear of this fragile attachment outweighs whatever honesty he owes her.

Seven was right about him growing weak since he deserted. The Thirteenth Brother wouldn’t have hesitated to let Sabine die. The Thirteenth Brother would have left Lothal the minute it stopped feeling safe. It was Ezra who stayed, and now he has a name to tie all his traitorous emotions to. Now he has a name for someone who was supposed to be a means to an end. Someone who was supposed to be another blurry ghost in his head.

“...insufferable di’kut… ” Sabine mutters from the cockpit, just loud enough to reach his ears.

“My sincerest apologies.” Ezra deadpans. Maybe one day, when there's less at stake, he could share some of the truth. Today was not that day.

 

Sure, Sabine knows she’s pushy, but she also knows a losing battle when she sees one. Does it stop her from charging in anyways? No, not really.

She’s given him time and space to bounce back and shift out of his protective bubble, but all he’s done is retreat further into it. She’s sick of dancing around Ezra, she’d be lying to herself if she said she expected the full truth from him all the time, but dammit! Sabine gave up any hope of staying off the Empire’s radar by taking her chances with him, and he can’t even be honest with her about the simplest things!

He hasn’t been eating or sleeping, and he spends most of his time obsessively tracking their steady progress--three days in hyperspace, three more to go--rifling through their meager supplies, or pacing around the small cargo hold. In that order specifically. Sabine isn’t worried , not necessarily, but she’s...cautiously concerned. This is her partner for the indefinite future, after all.

So Sabine, reasonable as she is, takes matters into her own hands and tosses a ration bar at Ezra as he paces around the cargo hold. He catches it easily, holding it up to her with a raised brow.

“What? Never seen a ration bar before?” Sabine quips. Ignoring Ezra’s glare, she turns on her heel and strides back into the cockpit, patting the co-pilot chair next to her.

For a moment, Ezra stays put, flesh fingers tightly squeezing the bar in his hand, then he sighs, loosens his grip, and shuffles towards her. Sabine grins as he slumps into his seat.

“So. How’s the arm?” She asks, forcing herself to be patient. Ezra’s glare only deepens, his shoulders tense.

“Okay.” He shrugs, evasive. Sabine pretends not to see him wince, and instead ticks off the seconds until he relents, her hand open and expectant.

She smiles when he does, twenty-four seconds later. Ezra dramatically hands her a tool and his left arm. He doesn’t take it off as she repairs it, enduring the discomfort. Sabine takes her time, recalibrating the sensors and reconnecting the dislodged circuits. Nothing major, all the things considered, but she wants to make sure she hasn’t missed anything.

Ezra quietly watches her work, muttering an apology when his metal fingers suddenly twitch and startle her. “It’s fine,” She says with a wave, then she nods at the unopened ration bar in his lap and adds, “eat.”

“Alright, alright,” Ezra grumbles, tearing open the packaging with his teeth and taking exaggerated bites. Sabine nods in approval.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, even after Sabine finishes her repairs. Ezra rests his elbows on his knees and lays his head in his hands, content to stare listlessly into space. He sends a vaguely disapproving glance her way when Sabine props her feet up on the console, which she ignores with a light grin. The tension around them seems to lift, the last of their adrenaline since fleeing Lothal melts away, leaving them both bone-tired.

“We’re partners now,” Sabine says, her voice barely a whisper. Faded golden eyes meet her own warm brown, and a quiet agreement is made. For better or for worse, they’re stuck together. It’s too late to turn back, so they must keep going, for themselves as much as each other.

 

Colorful , is Sabine’s first thought when they arrive at Takodana.

Ezra takes over and flies them along a large river before landing in a secluded clearing, then all but shoves Sabine out of their commandeered shuttle, when she stumbles into the grass and looks up, he’s already two steps ahead of her.

“What’s got you so excited?” Sabine huffs, jogging after her partner. She knows they’re here to meet an “old friend” of his, but Ezra is practically skipping through the forest like he’s a child running home to his parents after a long day. Sabine’s never seen him so positively enthused by something.

“My friend has connections all over the galaxy, and she also knows a thing or two about staying off the Empire's radar,” Ezra says, turning around to face her without breaking stride. “I haven't seen her since she helped me when I first escaped the Inquisitorius, so I figured it’s about time for a check-in.”

Sabine nods, storing this information away. Ezra speeds up, stumbling over tree roots in his haste. She rolls her eyes but moves to keep pace, taking in more of their surroundings as they go. However, the smells and sounds of the forest planet pale in comparison to the noticeable shift in her partner's demeanor.

It’s a good shift, even if it is a small one. He’s sleeping better--only a few hours, but it's a start--and he’s more...open, in a way. He’s not bluntly lying to her anymore, but he’s also not as talkative as he used to be. Instead, he stays quiet when there’s nothing more to say, a few sarcastic comments here and there, but otherwise, he stays with his thoughts. Sabine’s okay with that, she prefers his reserved genuineness as opposed to the flamboyant act. It's obvious that whatever had been bothering him since fleeing Lothal seems to have given him a much-needed break, and she’s perfectly content to wait until he’s able to sort it all out.

Suddenly, Ezra pauses right in front of her, obscuring her view. Sabine stops short of running into him, a question in her eyes instead of on her tongue.

“Just pausing for effect,” Ezra explains, before stepping aside with a flourish. Sabine rolls her eyes at her partner's theatrics, then turns to gape at the absolutely enormous castle towering over them.

“Your friend is in there? ” Sabine asks, incredulous as she gestures towards the castle resting on a peninsula. Its spires reach for the clouds and the stone gleans across the water surrounding it.

“Yep! She likes to live large.” Ezra grins, continuing towards the castle.

“Aren’t you worried about...drawing unwanted attention?” Sabine nods at his lightsaber.

“Oh, uh, not really.” Ezra goes on, still, he clips his lightsaber to his belt and hides it under his shirt. “Takodana is neutral territory, but I see your point.”

They make short work of the rest of the walk, and within no time, they’re standing in front of the castle gates. Sabine expects them to swing open on well-oiled hinges. She expects guards to file out and escort them inside. What she doesn’t expect is for Ezra to stare hard at the gates, then turn on his heel and wander off in a different direction.

“Uh, the entrance is that way.” Sabine points back at the gates even as she follows her partner.

“No one really uses the gates.” Ezra chuckles like it’s common knowledge, he runs his right hand along the walls, feeling around the stone before pausing and pressing down on one. The wall rumbles as the stone rolls back, revealing a dimly lit passage. Loud voices and the bitter smell of alcohol float up to greet them. “Besides, the parties down here anyways.”

Ezra descends into the dark without a care in the world, his hand never once straying to the lightsaber hidden in his cloak. Sabine hesitates, casting a longing glance at the gates before begrudgingly following her partner. She reminds herself to trust Ezra, reminds herself that he wouldn’t bring them here if it wasn’t safe. It does little to ease the pit in her stomach.

Each footstep echoes, light from torches dances across the walls, the ruckus from whatever lies at the bottom of the stairwell steadily grows louder. Sabine’s fingers itch towards her blasters while Ezra excitedly takes the steps two at a time.

When they finally reach the bottom, the shouts reach a peak as a glass flies right by them, shattering against the wall inches from Ezra’s face. The cantina that the two emerged into goes hilariously quiet as everyone turns to face a small orange woman idly wiping down a counter, she barely looks up as she jerks her thumb at the wall behind her.

In dozens of languages in many different colors, are the words: ‘All are welcome. No fighting.’

The patron who threw the glass–a green-skinned Trandoshan–gulps. “He started it!” The Trandoshan shouts, pointing at a gray Sullustan.

“Hey!”

“Out, both of you.” The woman behind the counter says sternly as she sets down two fresh cups. Immediately after the words leave her thin lips, the two rowdy patrons are whisked away by a bronze protocol droid.

“Right this way, please.” The droid instructs, escorting them out of the bar. The Sullustan and Trandoshan follow with nothing more than a few growls and grumbles.

Ezra nods and steps out of the droid's way, tsking as they shuffle by. The rest of the bar’s occupants wisely go back to their drinks, and Sabine wearily follows her partner as he crosses the distance between him and the small orange woman.

“Bridger! Never thought I’d see you around here again.” She beams, filling the two cups with a golden liquid then pushes them across the counter. Sabine eyes the offered drink, noting the way Ezra pushes his own glass away.

“Just trying to keep you on your toes, Maz.” He grins.

“Maz? Pirate Queen Maz? ” Sabine gapes, starstruck. She's heard stories of the infamous pirate queen. Her influence exceeds even the farthest reaches of space, and she's respected by thousands in the criminal underworld. So much so that nobody takes crossing her lightly, even the Empire.

“Who else,” Maz says flippantly, tossing a towel over her shoulder. “And you are?”

“...Sabine.” The Mandalorian offers, squaring her shoulders.

The old pirate queen hums, taking Ezra’s discarded drink and downing half of it. “You’ve changed much since I last saw you, boy.” She remarks, inspecting the glass, watching its contents swirl and gleam in the dim lighting of the bar. “But you're not here to share a drink, no, you're here for advice."

"And a ship," Ezra quickly adds.

" Stars , Bridger--"

"Nothing big, just enough for me and Sabine.”

“ No– ”

“Please, Maz? I promise we’ll bring it back….eventually.”

Before the pirate queen can answer, her protocol droid steps back into the bar, hands clasped behind its back. “The Sullustan and Trandoshan have been taken care of.”

Maz holds Ezra’s imploring gaze for a moment longer before turning to face the droid. “Good work, Emmie. Now if you don’t mind getting rid of this glass…”

“Of course,” The droid nods, bending down to clean up the shattered glass from the rowdy patrons. Ezra huffs, turning on his heel, but Maz grabs his wrist before he can walk away.

“Stop by after closing. I’ll see what I can find.”

Ezra pauses, a thankful grin pulling at his lips. “Thanks, Maz.”

 

True to her word, when Sabine and Ezra make their way back to Maz’s cantina a few hours later, there’s an MC-18 light freighter waiting for them.

“See? Told you Maz would come through!” Ezra boasts.

Sabine rolls her eyes and slips on her helmet to better inspect the ship while her partner chats with Maz’s droid. The ship is–admittedly–very nice. A good size for her and Ezra, functioning cannons, navigation, and shielding that could be reconfigured to work underwater.

“I take it you like the ship, little Mandolorian?”

Sabine yelps, instinctively reaching for her blasters and whirling around to face Maz. The small orange woman remains unphased, she even smirks, nudging the blasters away from her face. Sabine glares.

“Don’t do that.” She grumbles, holstering her blasters and continuing her inspection, keeping an eye on Ezra as she makes her way around the ship. Maz smirks and follows her, nimble hands clasped behind her back, waiting expectantly.

“...I do, thank you.” Sabine finally relents, turning to face the pirate queen as she sarcastically adds, “how will we ever repay you?”

Maz shakes her head, adjusting her large goggles. “You can repay me by keeping an eye on that one.” She says, gesturing towards Ezra, still talking with the protocol droid not too far from them.

“I try.” Sabine huffs, momentarily taken off guard by the request. “He sure as hell doesn’t make it easy, though.”

“Oh, I’m sure. He’s a trouble magnet, that one.” Maz agrees, something akin to fondness in her beady eyes. The two of them watch Ezra for a moment, in the darkness, he could be anybody and nobody at all. Sabine knows better, and so does Maz.

“Remember who your enemy is, little Mandolorian,” Maz instructs, drawing Sabine’s attention back to her, to the firmness in her voice.

Slowly, she nods, unable to respond, her expression hidden behind her helmet. Maz studies her for a moment longer before stepping away, seemingly satisfied.

After a quick round of ‘goodbyes’ and last-minute ‘thank yous', Sabine and Ezra board their new ship, relishing the feeling of safety. Maz waves as they soar off into the night, a sad smile on her face, the future in her eyes.

“May the Force be with you.” She sighs, heading back to her castle, leaving her words to the winds and the stars.

 

​The MC-18 light freighter, which Ezra had affectionately dubbed the Azure Wanderer—Sabine had just rolled her eyes—flew smoothly through the void. It was an upgrade from the repurposed scrap they’d stolen on Lothal, feeling sturdy and reliable.

Sabine, now in the co-pilot seat, had already spent a precious hour optimizing its sensor array and rerouting power to the shields, much to Ezra’s exasperation at her meticulousness.

​“We’re clear of Takodana’s neutral zone,” Sabine reported, the Mando'a word Narudar flashing in her mind. Maz Kanata was a perfect example of a temporary ally, a friend of a friend whose help came with unspoken but heavy caveats. She glanced at Ezra, who was staring out the main viewport, the stars reflected in his faded eyes. Maz’s parting words echoed: Remember who your enemy is.

​“You know, Maz gave me a hard time about this ship,” Ezra murmured, not turning around. “Said I was asking for too much. Said the cost was too high.”

​Sabine scoffed lightly. “She gave it to you. Clearly, the cost wasn't too high for her.”

​“She didn't mean credits, Sabine,” Ezra said, his voice flat. He finally looked at her, and the playful enthusiasm he’d worn since landing on Takodana was gone, replaced by a familiar, guarded bleakness. “She meant... what I have to give up to keep outrunning him.”

​Sabine felt a familiar, protective tightening in her chest. She didn't want to pry, but she also couldn't abide by his self-pitying mystique. "Then don't run," she challenged. "Or at least, run with a plan. We have a ship, we have some food, and we have each other, whether you like it or not, di'kut."

​He didn’t flinch at the Mando'a insult, only offered a tired, humorless smile. “The Thirteenth Brother wouldn’t have a plan. He would just… vanish. Leave no trail. Leave no one behind.”

​“Well, you're not the Thirteenth Brother anymore, are you?” Sabine countered, her tone sharp. "You're Ezra. And you dragged me into this, remember? The moment you did that, you accepted the risk of being found. That's the cost of having a partner, Bridger. You get someone to watch your back, but you also give the enemy another target."

​She let the silence hang, watching him process the blunt reality. Ezra had always been an extreme runner—all or nothing. He either embraced the connection or pushed it away completely. There was no middle ground for him.

​He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Maz didn’t give me much advice, either. Just that same line she gave you. And a vague warning about a crossroads.”

​“Crossroads?”

​“Yeah. Said I'd have to choose between the path of the Jedi and the path of the Inquisitor. Said they both lead to the same end if you walk them alone.” He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Guess she was telling me to pick a side.”

​Sabine frowned. She was no philosopher, but she understood the concept. "Maybe she was just telling you to stop walking alone."

​Ezra averted his gaze, focusing back on the hyperspace tunnel. "Maybe."

​The next few days settled into a tense, but productive, routine. Ezra spent less time pacing and more time in the pilot’s seat, meticulously plotting their next jump—a winding, circuitous route to nowhere in particular. Sabine, meanwhile, took to the Azure Wanderer's small workbench, stripping and cleaning their blasters and tinkering with the ship's comms, trying to find a secure frequency for their inevitable future contacts.

​The atmosphere was still heavy with unspoken fears, but it was now laced with a thread of acceptance. They were partners. They were on the run. The Grand Inquisitor was still out there, searching for the failed apprentice who had dared to escape, but for now, they were safe.

​One evening, Sabine was welding a circuit board onto a custom-built signal scrambler when Ezra walked in. He wasn't wearing his prosthetic arm—a rare occurrence—and the scar tissue around the stump was an angry red. He paused near the entryway, clutching a half-eaten ration bar.

​"I need to know," he said abruptly, his voice low.

​Sabine paused her work, lifting her goggles. "Need to know what?"

​"Why are you here?" He stepped closer, leaning against a support beam, his gaze intense. "I gave you the option to bail. I gave you the shuttle, the coordinates, everything. Why didn't you take it?"

​Sabine set her tool down, meeting his eyes evenly. "Selfishness, mostly," she admitted honestly. "I needed to get off Lothal. The Empire was closing in, and I wasn't going to stick around for the purge. You were the only viable ticket out."

​Ezra nodded slowly. "And now?"

​"Now," Sabine stated, crossing her arms, "you're still the fastest way for me to find my clan and get back in the fight. You have the skills, the knowledge of the enemy, and... the Grand Inquisitor's attention. That makes you a very valuable, albeit infuriating, Narudar."

​She watched his jaw clench, waiting for the defensive retort, the self-pitying retreat, but it never came.

​"And what if I don't go with you?" Ezra asked quietly. "What if I drop you off and vanish? Go back to that solitary path Maz warned me about?"

​Sabine just tilted her head, a challenge in her eyes. "Then I'll just have to hunt you down, won't I? Because you owe me, Bridger. You owe me for the Azure Wanderer. You owe me for the ration bars. And you owe me for dragging my name onto the Imperial Most Wanted list. You don't get to just walk away from a debt with a Mandolorian."

​It was a lie, half of it, anyway. She could have left him, but somewhere between the frantic escape from Lothal and the tense silence in Maz's castle, the alliance had solidified. It wasn't just about utility anymore.

​Ezra stared at her, then a genuine, faint smile tugged at his lips. It was the first time she'd seen it—not the flashy, arrogant grin of the Thirteenth Brother, but a soft, human expression.

​"Alright, Wren," he conceded. "Debt accepted. Now, how about you fix this thing?" He gestured with his chin at the stump of his left arm. "It's throbbing."

​Sabine returned his smile with a small, private one of her own. "That's what partners are for."
​
​The shift in their dynamic—the acceptance of their fraught partnership—didn't make the next few days easy, but it made them bearable. When Ezra finally admitted the persistent ache in the tissue surrounding his prosthetic, Sabine didn't wait for him to retract the offer.

​"Alright, let's get this over with," she said, pulling a compact toolbox onto the workbench in the cargo hold. The Azure Wanderer hummed around them, the constant low vibration a strange comfort in the emptiness of space.

​Ezra sat on the edge of the workbench, looking strangely vulnerable without the metal casing of his left forearm. He had placed the prosthetic on the table—a complex assembly of black metal, synth-muscle, and exposed circuitry. He watched Sabine's hands, which were already examining the angry, inflamed skin near the connection point on his elbow.

​"It's just the nerve interface getting snagged," Ezra explained, his voice rougher than usual. "It happens. It'll settle."

​"No, it won't, di'kut," Sabine countered gently, using a small, specialized tool to apply a numbing agent to the sensitive tissue. "You've been tensing up every time you reach for something with it. The Thirteenth Brother mightve been willing to ignore the pain, but Ezra Bridger won't. "

​He didn't argue the point, merely watched her work. Sabine leaned closer, her brow furrowed in concentration. The proximity was startling. She was focused, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth, her warm breath ghosting over the cool skin of his arm. Her hands, usually covered in armor weave, were bare, deft, and surprisingly soft as they manipulated the fragile electronics.

​"Okay," Sabine muttered, picking up a set of fine-tipped tweezers. "I need to reset this primary sensor bundle. It requires a steady hand, and you need to hold completely still. Can you do that?"

​Ezra stilled himself, nodding. "Yeah. Just try not to trigger any sudden movements."

​"I know," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I built my first blaster when I was ten. I understand precision."

​She began to work on the detached arm first, delicately adjusting the wiring that fed into the nerve sensors. The dim lighting of the cargo bay was cut by the focused beam of her work lamp, casting sharp shadows and highlighting the fine lines of tension around Ezra's eyes. When she finished the external unit, she paused, picking up a small, sterile patch.

​"This is going to seal and soothe the area," she explained, lifting his real arm again. She pressed the cool gel patch directly onto the most sensitive spot where flesh met metal. Ezra winced, a sharp intake of breath, but didn't pull away.

​Sabine's fingers lingered, tracing the edge of the scar tissue with a gentle, proprietary touch. She wasn't treating a weapon; she was treating a wound.

​"Now for the tricky part," she murmured, picking up the prosthetic. She aligned the connectors carefully. "Deep breath."

​Ezra did as she commanded, inhaling slowly.

​Sabine pressed the prosthetic into place. The nerve connection was instantaneous and jarring. A wave of sensation—half phantom pain, half static electricity—raced up Ezra's arm and shoulder. His muscles seized, and for a terrifying moment, the metal fingers of his newly reconnected hand twitched violently.

​She braced herself, putting one hand firmly on his bicep to anchor his arm and the other on the back of his neck, her touch sending an unexpected jolt through him. This was necessary physical contact, the kind mechanics often used with their pilots, but in the close, quiet confines of the ship, it felt intensely personal.

​"It's going to calibrate now," she whispered, her face inches from his. He could see the intricate pattern of her eyeliner, the way her hair fell around her helmet-less head. "Just breathe through it. Let it settle."

​The pressure on his neck was grounding, demanding his attention away from the discomfort in his arm. He found himself focusing on her scent—paint thinner, metallic dust, and something uniquely her, perhaps a faint hint of spiced ration bar. He felt the rapid beat of her pulse beneath his skin where her hand gripped his bicep.

​Slowly, the static subsided. The frantic twitching in the metal fingers quieted, replaced by a dull thrum of power and control. He flexed the fingers tentatively. They obeyed.
​Sabine sighed, a small, relieved sound, and finally pulled her hand away from his neck, though her grip on his bicep remained for a second longer than necessary.

​"There," she said, stepping back and gathering her tools. "It should be responsive and pain-free now. Don't be an idiot and let it get this bad again."

​"I won't," Ezra promised, flexing his hand again. The movement was fluid, effortless. He looked at her, his expression a mixture of gratitude and lingering tension.

"Thanks, Sabine."

​"It's fine," she repeated, but her eyes held his for a beat longer than usual. They had crossed a boundary—not a romantic one, perhaps, but one of deep, physical trust. She had seen him raw and vulnerable, and she had fixed him.

​"You look tired," Ezra observed, nodding toward her face.
​Sabine immediately turned away, scooping up her equipment. "No more than usual. I need to get back to the comms. We're getting close to our jump-off point, and I want to make sure the hyperdrive is fully shielded before we—"

​A warning klaxon suddenly blared from the cockpit, cutting her off. It wasn't the sound of an internal system failure; it was a proximity alert, screaming a high-frequency warning.
​Ezra and Sabine froze, all traces of weariness and intimacy stripped away, replaced by ice-cold adrenaline.

​"What is that?" Sabine demanded, already sprinting toward the cockpit, Ezra close behind her, his newly repaired metal arm feeling heavy and ready for action.

​

Chapter 2: The Aftermath

Notes:

So first real chapter to be produced entirely by my hands.

This will be focusing on short term relationship development. Because im bad at slow burn, and am a die hard sabezra shipper. I will be trying to make this as close to in character as I can get it.

Idk kinda grasping at straws for this next one.

​"What is that?" Sabine demanded, already sprinting toward the cockpit, Ezra close behind her, his newly repaired metal arm feeling heavy and ready for action.

​"It's a shadow," Ezra said, his voice flat with dread as he reviewed the limited sensor data. The display showed a faint, distorted energy signature closing in on them rapidly. "It's using some kind of cloaking or jamming field, but... I know that frequency. It's an old Imperial tracking beacon, configured to target our engine's unique output."

​He stared at the display, a cluster of yellow-and-red warnings blinking across the small screen.

​"They're on us," Ezra whispered, his teeth gritted. "They found the trail."
​Sabine slammed into the co-pilot seat, her mind racing through the limited capabilities of the Azure Wanderer. "They shouldn't have been able to track us this fast! Maz's neutral zone should have scrubbed any transponder data."

​"It's not transponder data," Ezra snapped, his calm control taking over the pilot's chair. "It's a specialized scanner array. They're not looking for a call sign; they're looking for our energy signature. The only thing that shielded us was the dense atmosphere of Takodana. Out here..." He cut himself off, wrenching the controls hard to port as a brief flicker of black and red warped into existence less than a kilometer off their starboard side.
​A single green laser bolt lanced past their viewport, singing the shields.

​"They're testing us," Ezra muttered, his eyes glued to the enemy ship’s movements. "They want us to run. That's their game."

​"Well, I'm not playing," Sabine growled, already moving to the secondary console. "I'm rerouting all non-essential power to the rear shields and charging the cannons. Give me a target."

​"No!" Ezra barked, startling her. "You don't fight them, Sabine. Not yet. Their ship is faster, more maneuverable, and they're not alone."

​"What?"

​As if on cue, two more pursuit craft broke formation from the lead ship, banking hard to cut off the Azure Wanderer's escape route. Their movements were clean, precise—Imperial precision.

​"They're a Prototype Imperial pursuit wing(PIPW)," Ezra explained, his knuckles white on the yoke. "We don't have the ordnance to take them all on, and even if we did, they'd still catch us. We have to make a jump."

​"We're not ready for a jump! I haven't calculated the final vector, and the hyperdrive is still cycling!" Sabine protested.

​"It doesn't matter," Ezra said, already smashing the button to input a manual vector. "We need separation. A blind jump into a random sector. It’s the only way they’ll lose the signature."

​The lead Imperial ship surged forward, its engine glow turning from red to a furious orange as it closed the distance.

​"They're closing! Sabine, charge the forward cannons! We need a feint!" Ezra commanded, his voice tight.

​Sabine’s hands flew over the controls, her movements born of Mandalorian training. Ezra was the shield, and she was the sword. She armed the twin laser cannons, waiting for Ezra to line up the shot.

​"do it!" she yelled.

​Ezra banked the Azure Wanderer into a tight spin, momentarily presenting their vulnerable underbelly to the oncoming pursuers. He pushed the throttle to maximum, kicking the ship into a wild, unpredictable spiral toward a completely arbitrary set of coordinates.

​"Now!" Ezra shouted.

​Sabine triggered the cannons, sending a precise, rapid burst of fire away from the enemy, instead targeting the black void in the opposite direction. It was a visual trick, a lie of intent.

​The lead pursuer hesitated, anticipating an aggressive defense. That moment of doubt was all Ezra needed. He slammed the hyperdrive lever forward.

​The cockpit was plunged into an alarming red as the ship shrieked a warning. The hyperdrive wasn't fully charged, but Ezra didn't care.
​The stars outside didn't become streaks; they became a kaleidoscope of tearing light. The ship bucked violently, throwing both Ezra and Sabine against their restraints. The jump was rough, painful, and the ship's lights momentarily flickered out, plunging them into absolute darkness.
​Then, with a sickening lurch, the blue tunnel of hyperspace enveloped them.
​

​Silence.

 

​The only sound was the low, whining thrum of the struggling hyperdrive and the frantic panting of two people. Sabine immediately checked the diagnostics.

​"That was stupidly reckless, Bridger! We jumped before the full cycle! The matrix is fried!" she snapped, but her voice was subdued with relief.

​Ezra didn't look at her. He just slumped back in his seat, his head resting against the headrest, staring into the swirling blue light. The cold control had broken, replaced by sheer, exhausted relief.

​"We lost them," Ezra whispered, his voice barely audible. "They won't know where we went. Not even the beacon will pick up this jump."

​"You risked catastrophic failure for a blind jump," Sabine countered, trying to pull her focus away from the adrenaline that was still surging through her veins. She turned in her seat to face him fully, noticing the sweat slicking his hair and the frantic rhythm of his breathing.

​"That's the point," Ezra said, his eyes finally meeting hers. They were unfocused, and tinged with a dark fleeting desperation. "I didn't want them to catch a scent. If they lock onto the Azure Wanderer's drive signature, they'll find us anywhere. This jump... it's a cold trail. No calculation. No logic."

​Sabine leaned forward, resting her hand lightly on his newly repaired prosthetic arm. This time, he didn't tense up.

​"It was a necessary move, then," she conceded, "It was smart. But now we're stranded somewhere deep in unknown space, and our hyperdrive is burning out."

​"I have the skills to fix it," Ezra replied, pulling himself upright. "You have the tools and the engineering know-how. We'll fix it together. It'll just take time."

​Sabine nodded, the tension easing slightly from her shoulders. They were still alive, they were still together, and they had just survived their first direct encounter with a proper Imperial Pursuit.

​"Fine," she said, managing a tired grin. "But if we get pulled out of hyperspace and into a black hole, I'm blaming you."

​Ezra returned a slight smile, a glimmer of light in his faded eyes. "Deal. But you have to start rationing your paint supplies, Wren. We might be here a while."
​

 

​The moment they dropped out of hyperspace was jarring, not with a bang, but with a groan. The Azure Wanderer didn't slow; it simply stopped moving forward, the blue tunnel replaced by the terrifying stillness of a region of space Sabine immediately recognized as wildly unstable. The emergency lights cast a sickly orange glow over the cramped engineering bay.

​"We need to get the secondary stabilizers online before we start drifting into that," Sabine muttered, pointing at a nebulous cluster of dark matter that shimmered faintly on the main viewscreen.

​Ezra was already halfway into the hyperdrive conduit, a space barely large enough for one person to comfortably squat, let alone two. The air in the engine room was thick with the smell of scorched metal and ozone.

​"The matrix junction is fused," Ezra called out from the depths of the compartment, his voice muffled. "I need you to run the manual bypass sequence on the control panel, but you’ll have to reach over me. Watch your head on the primary capacitor."

​Sabine sighed, pulling her tool kit closer. Her repairs were usually broad-strokes and high-velocity; Ezra's were intricate and based on his innate understanding of mechanics. It was a mismatch that had always forced proximity.

​She squeezed into the small access bay behind him. Even with Ezra leaning as far forward as he could, their shoulders were touching, and she had to brace her knee against his back to get leverage. Her breath hitched slightly. The shared crisis had burned off the adrenaline, leaving a residue of acute awareness. His jacket smelled faintly of dust and something metallic.

​"Okay, the bypass sequence," Sabine prompted, trying to sound purely professional.

​"Third conduit from the bottom," Ezra directed, his voice closer now, low and steady in her ear. "The blue-and-yellow wire. You need to use the magnetic induction probe and hold the current steady at 0.7 amps for exactly ten seconds. If you go over, we fry the stabilizer. If you go under, the junction snaps."

​"A tight window, thanks for the pressure," she replied dryly, but her hands were steady. The induction probe was a slender, delicate tool that required absolute focus.

​As she stretched her arm across his torso to reach the wire, her forearm brushed the soft skin just below the elbow of his organic arm. Ezra gave a small, involuntary twitch, then froze.

​The air felt suddenly warmer in the cramped space.

​"Sorry," Sabine mumbled, focusing intently on the wire. "Hard to maneuver."

​"No, it's—it's fine," Ezra said quickly, his cheek pressed against the cold metal of the conduit wall. He shifted slightly, inadvertently pressing his back more firmly against her knee. "Just... stay steady. I'm going to brace the power core."

​He reached out his own metal arm, which now looked seamlessly integrated into the ship’s guts, holding a heavy insulator clamp in place. This movement pulled his frame back, forcing Sabine to lean in even tighter. She could feel the rhythmic tension of his breathing against her side. And the stiffness of the hard earned muscle that lined his back.

​Focus, Wren. Hyperdrive. Stranded. Priorities.

​"Probe is touching," she announced, the tool giving a faint electronic hum.

"Power on. Counting... one... two..."

​Ezra remained perfectly still, a necessary sacrifice. The concentration required to hold the current steady was intense, yet the involuntary awareness of their close physical contact kept tugging at the edges of Sabine's focus. It was the same shared, unspoken embarrassment they'd felt earlier, only amplified by the confined, dark space. They were partners, strategists, mechanics—but they were also two young adults crammed into a storage closet trying to hold a starship together. Neither blind to the extreme proximity to the other.

​"...seven... eight..."

​"Almost there," Ezra whispered, the heat of his breath tickling her ear.

"You've got it."

​"...ten. Power off," she finished, releasing the tool with a relieved sigh.
​A faint green light blinked on the diagnostic panel.

​"Stabilizers online," Ezra reported, his voice tinged with satisfaction. He then relaxed his posture, pulling away from the control panel.
​He tried to turn around in the small space, intending to exit, but only managed to get halfway before he was stuck, his chest pressed against hers.

​"Oh," he said, a faint blush rising on his neck.

​"Yeah," Sabine managed, staring at the faint reflection of the engine in his wide eyes. "Tight fit."

​He quickly adjusted, ducking beneath her arm and scrambling out into the main engine bay, standing up with a slight shake, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

​"Okay," Ezra said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Phase two. Now that we aren't going to drift into a stellar nursery, we can focus on the hyperdrive relay. I need to get to the core housing—it's under the floor panel right here. You might want to grab the fusion welder."

​The awkward moment was already retreating behind the technical necessity of the next task. They had a job to do.

​Sabine grabbed the welding unit. "Lead the way,."

 

​"I need to run a full diagnostic on the power grid before we hit the main relay with a fusion weld," Sabine announced, her voice low. She carefully peeled off her heavy work gloves and placed them neatly in her kit. "Ten minutes. My stomach is demanding a tribute."

​Ezra, still focused on the task ahead, was organizing their tools, ensuring the high-tension wire and particle filters were accessible. He nodded without looking up. The exhaustion was a heavy weight on his shoulders.

​"Yeah. Agreed. Ten minutes," he murmured. "I'll grab the rations."

​He disappeared into the galley and returned moments later with two nutrient bars and a package of dried fruit, which he divided evenly between them. They sat on upturned supply crates in the slightly cooler cargo hold, the loud drone of the engines muffled by the bulkhead.

​The silence between them was thick, filled with the recent memory of the near-disaster.

​Sabine was the first to break the silence, speaking around a mouthful of the nutrient bar. "You look completely spent. That jump took a lot out of you."

​Ezra took a slow sip of his water, carefully avoiding her gaze. He focused instead on peeling the wrapping from his bar. "The blind jump required absolute focus. It’s hard on the systems—both the ship’s and mine."

​Sabine put her food down and watched him. The emergency lights cast a sickly orange glow, but even that couldn't hide the truth. His eyes that had been a sharp, unforgiving gold-yellow—the signature of the influence he’d been under. Now, were duller, but she noticed a distinct change. Deep in the gold, A tinge of blue seemed to be fighting its way to the surface, like a deep-sea color finally reaching light.

​Sabine observed quietly, gesturing toward his eyes. "The color is shifting. It’s less... oppressive than it was."

​Ezra stiffened slightly, his hand tightening around his cup. His eyes were a bit of a sore spot for him, never particularly fond of the distasteful color they had become whilest fighting for his life in the Inquisitorius. "It's probably the poor lighting back here," he said, his voice flat, trying to dismiss the observation immediately.

​"It’s not the lighting," Sabine insisted, her tone patient and genuinely curious, not judgmental. "I know color. The gold looks faded out, around the iris. It almost looks blue."

​She paused, letting him process the observation before continuing.

​"It's... better," she said simply. Her hand rested on the crate beside her, not reaching out, just present. "The yellow, it didnt really suite you. That blue... it's looks... good."

​He stared at her, caught completely off guard. He had been preparing for an assessment of weakness, or some poor Mandalorian joke. What he qwasnt expecing, was a compliment to land a solid blow to his face. The tension bled out of his posture almost instantly, his shoulders relaxing from their rigid defense, almost out of shear shock.

​He managed a small genuine smile," Thanks, I guess.". Having been caught off guard by the compliment, he found himself lacking better words. Deciding to move on, he cleared his throat and picked up a piece of dried fruit, finally meeting her gaze, the sliver of blue in his eyes seeming a tiny bit wider now, a small, weary victory.
​

"Now, we have six minutes left to figure out which fuse we are going to sacrifice to power the fusion welder."

 

​The brief rest had provided both a much-needed physical break and a subtle emotional recalibration. The time for reflection was over; the time for dangerous, precise work had begun.

​They returned to the humming, sparking core of the engine bay. The hyperdrive unit was a massive, scarred assembly taking up most of the aft space, currently shrouded in thick, heat-resistant insulation.

​"The hyperdrive relay is fused to the main engine housing," Ezra explained, pointing to a dark, slagged section near the floor. "We can't just replace the relay; we have to sever it from the housing without shorting out the gravity compensators. If we lose grav-comp in this cluster, we’re dust."

​Sabine nodded, already positioning herself. "I'll do the cutting. I need to keep the fusion flame precise, around 3000{ K}, and avoid penetrating the second-layer shielding by more than three millimeters." She secured the heavy welding mask over her face. "You need to be ready to cool the housing instantly. If the temperature exceeds 500{ K}, the phase conduits will rupture."

​This was going to require coordination tighter than their cramped repair in the access tunnel.

​"I’m using the cryo-gel hose," Ezra confirmed, pulling on thick, heat-proof gloves. "It’s high-pressure. I’ll be sitting right here."

​He situated himself on his knees, directly facing the damaged relay. This position put him immediately opposite Sabine, who was hunched over the workspace with the bulky fusion welder in her hands. Their faces, shielded by dark masks, were mere inches apart across the small panel they were cutting.

​"Ready?" Sabine asked, her voice slightly tinny behind the mask.

​"Ready," Ezra replied.

​Sabine ignited the fusion welder. The engine bay, already bathed in the orange emergency light, was violently overwhelmed by a brilliant, white-hot lance of energy. The smell of superheated metal and ozone immediately intensified.

​The work was painstaking. Sabine moved the welder in minute, controlled bursts, tracing the line of the severed relay. Sparks flew in sheets, illuminating the interior of the engine housing, briefly reflecting off Ezra’s gold-and-blue eyes behind his visor. The noise was deafening, a high-pitched, tearing shriek.

​As the cut deepened, the heat transfer became intense.

​"Temperature spiking!" Ezra shouted, his voice barely audible over the welder’s scream. "Housing integrity at 70%!"

​Sabine cut the power instantly, plunging the bay back into dim orange light.

​Ezra immediately sprayed the affected area with a stream of dense cryo-gel. The substance hit the red-hot metal with a hiss of escaping steam, lowering the temperature dramatically. He worked quickly, his metal hand steadying the hose, his organic hand deftly checking the housing integrity readings on a small handheld sensor.

​"Okay, Sabine," he panted, his chest rising and falling quickly from the exertion. "Temperature is stable. But you're getting too close to the grav-comp housing on the lower right. You need to adjust the angle of the arc by at least three degrees."

​Sabine pulled her mask up, sweat dripping from her forehead. She hated how close the margin for error was. "I know. The angle is awkward."

​She repositioned herself, leaning further over the cut. This time, as she adjusted the heavy welder, her elbow accidentally bumped Ezra’s chest as he was reaching for a small magnetic clamp.

​"careful." Ezra gasped, momentarily thrown off balance.

​"My bad" Sabine muttered through clenched teeth, her eyes fixed on the target. She pulled the mask down. "Stand still, or this is going to get exponentially worse."

​Ezra took a deep, steadying breath, pressing his back against the cool metal of the Azure Wanderer's hull. He was forced to lean into the work area, his thigh pressed against Sabine’s side. He could feel the fine tremble in her arm as she held the bulky welder steady. The forced intimacy was almost unbearable, yet the sheer terror of messing up the grav-comp kept their focus laser-sharp.

​Sabine reignited the welder. The white-hot light filled the bay again, the sound tearing through the air. This time, her movement was smoother, the arc perfectly controlled. She traced the final, delicate segment of the relay. Ezra was ready, monitoring the temperature readings, his finger hovering over the cryo-gel trigger.

​Just a little more...

​With a final, clean cut, the fused relay detached.

​Sabine instantly killed the welder. A heartbeat later, Ezra sprayed the cryo-gel, flash-cooling the remaining housing. The smell of burnt metal quickly turned to the clean scent of frozen coolant.

​Silence. Only the low thrum of the emergency power remained.

​Sabine pulled her mask up, a wide, triumphant grin stretching across her sweat-stained face. "We are separated," she whispered, her voice rough.
​Ezra slumped back against the hull, utterly exhausted. He stared at the cleanly severed component. "Good work. Now for the hard part: wiring in the replacement."

​He looked at Sabine, and despite the grime and the exhaustion, she felt an unmistakable surge of camaraderie. They had faced a deadly problem in a confined space, relying only on each other's skill and presence.

​"Grab the soldering iron," Sabine said, pulling a new relay from her toolkit. "This ship isn't fixing itself."
​

 

​The hardest and loudest part of the repair was over, but what remained was the most delicate: connecting the new hyperdrive relay. The replacement unit was pristine and complex, bristling with fine optical cables and power conduits that had to be soldered perfectly to the ship's main power matrix.

​"The phase conduits are paper-thin," Ezra explained, holding up the dense wiring loom they were about to install. "They have to connect to the stabilizer nodes in order. The slightest short, and we lose power to the nav-computer and the shields."

​Sabine nodded, already positioning a pair of powerful, magnetic lights to illuminate the cramped workspace. They were still hunched over the main floor access panel, but now the tension was one of surgical precision rather than raw, kinetic force.

​"You handle the fine soldering," Sabine instructed, knowing Ezra's inherent fine motor control surpassed hers. "I'll manage the power shunt and keep the regulator steady. We need 50 micro-amps running through the matrix to keep the thermal signature low."

​Ezra took the soldering iron. Its tip glowed a soft, focused orange. He was working almost entirely by feel, his hands navigating the dense cluster of wires. Sabine leaned over his shoulder, her left hand braced on the floor near his head, her right hand manipulating the tiny controls of the shunt regulator.

​"Ready for the primary shunt," Sabine murmured, her voice close to his ear. "I'm sending the current."

​A faint thrum echoed through the bay as the current flowed.

​"Temperature is stable," Ezra confirmed. He brought the soldering iron down.

​He worked in deep concentration, his posture unnaturally still. The silence, broken only by the faint hiss of the soldering iron and the rhythmic beeping of the regulator, stretched on. Sabine had to lean in tight, her hair brushing the back of his neck as she monitored the tiny digital display of the shunt regulator.

​The proximity, though necessary for the work, felt inescapable. Every time Ezra moved his shoulder to adjust his grip, he brushed against her chest. When Sabine had to adjust the regulator's output, she had to thread her arm tightly between his side and the wall of the housing.

​The heat from the soldering iron, combined with the forced closeness, was making the air stuffy and electric.

​"Regulator dropping," Ezra suddenly reported, his voice tight with concentration. "Sabine, push it back up to 50. Quickly."

​"On it," she replied, her hand moving rapidly to the dial. She had to shift her weight, which pressed her hip against his back for a moment. She immediately pulled back, but Ezra didn't acknowledge the contact; his entire focus was on the fine wire he was connecting.

​"Stable now," Sabine whispered, focusing on the numbers.

​Ezra sighed, a release of tension. "Okay. Primary power lead is secured. That's the riskiest one."

​He lifted his mask, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes, in the sudden focused light, clearly showed the mix of gold and blue, the blue struggling to gain dominance. He took a brief, sharp breath of the stale air.

​"Five more connections," he said, turning his head slightly to look at her. He was so close that their noses were barely an inch apart.

​Sabine’s focus immediately fractured. She could smell the ozone on his hair and the faint, sweet scent of the dried fruit they had shared. She held his gaze for a moment—a moment where they were just two people trapped together, exhausted, and acutely aware of the warmth between them.

​She broke the stare first, pulling back slightly to give him room to turn, even though the space was too small to allow it.

​"I can take the regulator off manual for the next three," she suggested, trying to regain the professional tone. "It will free up some space, and we won't be quite so... intertwined."

​Ezra gave a small, weary nod, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Sounds like a plan. Anything that prevents us from accidentally fusing each other to the main power bus is a good thing."

​He waited for her to adjust the shunt, giving her a cautious amount of space.
​

​With the manual regulator set, Sabine was able to step back slightly, giving Ezra the necessary room to complete the final, intricate connections. She still monitored the power flow, but the worst of the close-quarters contact was over.

​Ezra worked with the focus of a clockmaker. He used his organic hand to guide the microscopic wires and the metal prosthetic to hold the heavier components steady, a perfect marriage of precision and strength. Wire by wire, he soldered the new hyperdrive relay to the main matrix, checking the continuity with a tiny sensor after each successful connection.

​"Final connection," Ezra announced ten minutes later, his voice heavy with fatigue. He lifted the soldering iron one last time, making a clean, brief join. He quickly hit the area with a small burst of coolant spray. "Phase lock achieved."

​Sabine leaned forward, scanning the console's main diagnostics. The red warning light over the hyperdrive conduit had vanished, replaced by a solid amber signal—cautious optimism.

​"All systems showing green on my end," she confirmed, a genuine note of triumph in her voice. " Now, let’s get this thing back online."

​They sealed the access panel, and Ezra headed to the cockpit while Sabine remained in the engine bay for the initial boot sequence.

​"Engaging pre-flight diagnostics," Ezra called over the comms. "System cycling... all systems check. We have power."

​A low, familiar thrum resonated through the Azure Wanderer—the deep, resonant song of a fully charged hyperdrive core. The amber light on the console turned a celebratory, steady green.

​"Hyperdrive is stable and fully cycled," Sabine reported, leaning against the warm casing.

​
​Sabine quickly joined Ezra in the cockpit. He was already hunched over the main navigational console, attempting to chart a course that avoided the known Imperial shipping lanes while still providing enough stable gravity wells for a successful jump.

​"The blind jump worked too well," Ezra muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "We're in deep uncharted territory, a solid week's jump from the nearest friendly refueling station. The hyperdrive is fixed, but it's volatile—it can handle one stable jump, maybe two, but pushing it for a long-distance haul is a risk."

​He pointed to the main star map. A large cluster of yellow warnings flashed around their current position, designating high-gravitational anomalies.

​"Our best bet is the Delta-7 System," he said, tapping a nearby cluster of blue stars about eighteen hours away at sub-light speed. "It's a small, unpopulated system—a perfect place to refuel and run more extensive diagnostics without being bothered. It's close enough for a safe jump, even with the residual heat."

​Sabine peered closer at the map. "Looks clear. Set the coordinates, and let's get out of here."

​Ezra entered the vector. The Azure Wanderer tilted, its bow aiming for the distant, stabilizing star.

​"Initiating hyperjump," Ezra announced, his hand on the lever.
​He slammed the lever forward.

​The stars began to stretch into streaks, the familiar blue light of hyperspace rushing to envelop them—and then the ship jolted violently. The deep, powerful blue tunnel vanished, replaced instantly by the stark blackness of real space. The hyperdrive console erupted in a cacophony of sirens.

​"What now?!" Sabine yelled, grabbing the controls.

​"Emergency cutout!" Ezra shouted, frantically rerouting power. "The hyperdrive stabilized, but the initial burst overloaded the main inertial dampener. We took too much strain during the blind jump—the matrix is fine, but the support systems are failing. We can't jump again until that's fixed."

​Sabine slammed her fist on the console. "We're eighteen hours from a star system at standard cruising speed, Ezra! We don't have enough fuel or supplies to coast that long!"

​Ezra quickly checked the local system data. They had been thrown out of the jump right on the edge of the nearest stellar system—a small, red dwarf orbited by three planets.

​"We were lucky," Ezra said, his voice grim. "We're in the gravity well of the closest planet, Delta-7 Gamma. It's got an atmosphere, thermal signature indicates water, and no discernible cities or advanced signals. We have enough fuel for a soft landing, but that’s it."

​Sabine looked at the looming green-and-brown globe filling their viewport. The planet was covered in thick, unbroken jungle and massive, cloud-shrouded mountain peaks.

​"A forced landing on an unknown jungle world," Sabine sighed, already preparing the landing sequence. "Of course. My paint supplies are going to hate this."

​"Welcome to the middle of nowherer." Ezra replied, guiding the ship into the atmosphere. "Let's hope this place doesn't have anything that eats starships."

Chapter 3

Summary:

Alright, little skeptical of this one, feels like it may have moved a little fast.

Hopefully, however, it fits with the main idea.

Gonna be honest there is little less distrust between them than I was going for. But it should still be a good chapter nonetheless

As always please let me know in the comments if I kept these two on the correct track.

And if u see typos let me know, been doing these on my phone.

Notes:

Without further ado, the third chapter, a little longer and a bit faster than originally planned.

Please let me know if you guys think they are moving to fast for where they are at character wise.

​The landing on Delta-7 Gamma was less 'soft' and more 'controlled crash.'

The Azure Wanderer shuddered violently as it punched through the humid, thick atmosphere, finally skidding through a dense canopy of alien flora before settling in a small, muddy clearing deep within the jungle.

​After running a quick damage assessment—mostly cosmetic hull scrapes and a few jammed access hatches—Sabine and Ezra spent an hour securing the ship. They set up basic perimeter scanners and thermal alarms, then retreated back to the relatively cool, cramped confines of the Azure Wanderer's main cabin.

​"We'll need to go out for local water and power cells by midday," Sabine declared, stripping off her heavy flight jacket. "But first, we eat something hot and get a few hours of sleep. My brain is fried."

​Ezra was already rummaging through a supply locker, pulling out a couple of military field rations that required heating. "Agreed. We need a clear head to repair the inertial dampener. It's not a quick fix."

​He placed the small heating unit on the table between them. The gentle hiss of the food warming was the only sound besides the distant, deep croaking of large jungle creatures outside.

​They ate silently for a few minutes, the tension of the last several hours finally beginning to dissolve into exhaustion and the quiet comfort of mutual survival.

​"This is weird," Sabine finally admitted, staring into the dark, reflective surface of the cabin viewport.

​"The jungle? Or the forced landing?" Ezra asked, stirring his meal with a plastic spoon.

​"All of it. Us," she clarified, gesturing between them. "I spent years tracking your movements, hoping to intercept you, and now... we're stranded in some random system, relying on each other not to mess up a reactor. It’s the definition of a strange alliance."

​"A necessary one," Ezra countered, his voice soft. He kept his gaze on his food. "We both have targets in the Empire. You want to see the hierarchy destabilized; I need distance and resources to pursue my own path away from them."

​He finally looked at her. The blue fighting its way through the yellow in his eyes seemed slightly stronger, calmer under the softer cabin light.

​"You mentioned pursuing your own path," Sabine prompted gently. "When we were on Takodana, you never talked about your training."

​Ezra slowly set down his spoon. She was asking about the years that had made him her bounty. He took a long moment before answering.

​"My training was rigid," he said, the words measured and flat. "Control was everything. Orders were... absolute. I was efficient. That was the only thing that mattered." He briefly touched the metal plate of his arm, then quickly withdrew his hand. "That efficiency is why I needed the jump to be chaotic. The Empire built me to be predictable. They hate randomness, they hate improvisation. They thrive on control."

​Sabine watched him, realizing that his technical skill wasn't just competence; it was a deeply internalized discipline, and his reliance on her, the artist and the Mandalorian, was a forced break from that rigidity.
​"So, the random jump was a way to break their lingering hold over your methods," she summarized, her gaze thoughtful.

​"Something like that," he conceded. "It put us in danger, but it severed the umbilical cord of their pursuit strategy."

​"And speaking of things that break control... did you really think the blue was better?" Ezra asked, the question delivered with careful neutrality.
​Sabine didn't flinch this time. She considered the change in his eyes—the blue fighting to reclaim the territory seized by the gold.

​"Yes," she confirmed, meeting his gaze. "The yellow was a warning sign. A brand. It told me exactly who I was hunting. The blue," she paused, trying to articulate the psychological weight of the colors, "the blue is... less defined. It’s just a person. It means you get to choose what I see next."

​He accepted that with a slow nod, the faint lines of tension around his mouth easing. "A chance to choose. I can work with that."

​"And you, Ezra," Sabine asked, shifting the focus. "What about you? What were your interests before... service?"

​Ezra blinked, the question seemingly pulling him back across a vast distance. "I don't remember much before my training. Just routine. But after a mission, I’d sometimes find myself sketching the engine layouts, or sometimes just... patterns. Complex spirals. Things that made sense in a way people don't."

​"You found order in mechanics," Sabine realized, contrasting his quiet hobby with her explosive, vibrant need for expression. "I find order in color. I break their uniformity with a splash of orange on their gray walls."

​They sat there, two individuals bound by necessity, both fighting the Empire’s oppressive control through their own highly specialized forms of art. The small space felt less like a broken ship and more like a necessary shelter.

​"We should get some sleep," Sabine said, pulling a thin blanket over her knees. "We have to be up early to face whatever is making that terrifying deep-throated noise outside."

​Ezra nodded, gathering their empty ration packets. "Good night, Sabine, and... thanks."
"What are partners for?." Sabine replied with a mock salute.

"Partners." Ezra echoed.

​Sabine set her alarm for dawn and settled into the co-pilot seat, pulling the thin blanket over her shoulders. Ezra had taken the pilot seat, using his jacket as a makeshift pillow. The emergency lights were set to their dimmest setting, casting long, wavering shadows across the cabin.

​Despite the exhaustion, sleep refused to come. The rhythmic sound of the jungle outside—a chorus of clicks, croaks, and the distant, heavy thump of something large moving—kept her senses on high alert.

​She shifted in her seat, wincing slightly as her metal pauldron dug into the seat cushion. Her thoughts kept returning to the hyperdrive bay, to the sweat and the heat and the forced proximity that had been both necessary and strangely intimate. She looked over at Ezra. He was lying completely still, his breathing shallow and quick, suggesting he wasn't truly asleep, either.

​"Can't sleep?" she asked quietly, the sound barely rising above the ambient noise of the jungle.

​Ezra shifted his head slightly, opening his eyes. They caught the faint light, the dual colors flickering in the darkness. "It's too quiet," he admitted. "Or the wrong kind of noise. When you're constantly running, your mind expects the sound of an engine or a blaster. This… this is unfamiliar."

​"I get that," Sabine said, pulling the blanket tighter. "It's the same for me. The silence feels like the quiet right before an ambush."

​A heavier silence fell. It wasn’t a silence of conflict, but one of mutual tension.

​"The arm," Sabine finally ventured, nodding towards his metal prosthetic, which was resting stiffly on the console. "Does it hurt?"

​Ezra followed her gaze, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Not anymore. Not physically. It was a punishment, initially. A way to bind me to the machine, to remind me I wasn't... whole."

​He paused, then added, "It was a forced upgrade. I needed the mechanical strength for some of the work I was doing. After a while, I didn't think about it. It just became another tool."

​"It's impressive work," Sabine said, the artist in her appreciating the engineering. "Seamless integration."

​"It’s not seamless, not really, anyway." Ezra countered, his voice raw. He slowly sat up, turning to face her. "It’s cold. Always. It never feels like part of me."

​Sabine reached out slowly, tentatively, and rested the back of her fingers on the metal casing near his elbow. The material was cold, even in the humid cabin.

​"I have scars," she murmured, looking down at her own hand. "We all do, from fighting the Empire. Some you can see, some you can't. This one," she tapped his arm lightly, "is just more visible than most."

​She withdrew her hand, allowing him his space. "When you're constantly fighting, it's easy to forget that the person under the armor—or under the circuitry—is just trying to survive."

​Ezra stared at the spot where her hand had rested. He hadn't flinched, hadn't recoiled. He looked at her, and the facade of the cold, efficient former hunter finally cracked.

​"When I was first taken in, they offered me an out," he confessed, the words low and hesitant, as if the air itself might betray him. "A chance to leave. I chose to stay. Not because I believed in them, but because I was afraid of being alone again. Afraid of having to choose."

​It was the most honest, vulnerable thing she had heard him say. He hadn't served out of loyalty to their cause, but out of fear of isolation—a feeling Sabine, who had spent years as a fugitive, understood deeply.

​Sabine didn't offer comfort or judgment. She just nodded slowly. "I chose to leave Mandalore because staying meant being complicit. It meant choosing to belong to something ugly. Leaving meant being hunted. Being alone is a choice, too."

​He finally offered a weary smile, a flicker of true connection passing between them. "I guess we both chose the hard path, Wren."

​"It's the only path that makes sense," she replied. "Now, we get a few hours of uneasy quiet, and then we face the hungry jungle."

​The low-throated noises of the night were replaced by the piercing, high-pitched squawks of Delta-7 Gamma’s avifauna at dawn. Sabine and Ezra were up immediately, the conversation from the night before establishing a quiet, businesslike efficiency between them.

​"Perimeter sensors are quiet," Ezra reported, checking the console.

"Thermal readings show large life forms, but nothing interested in breaching the ship's hull. Yet."

​Sabine was already gearing up. She strapped a vibroblade to her hip, checked the charge on a lightweight blaster pistol, and pulled on rugged, water-resistant boots. Ezra matched her preparedness, holstering his own sidearm and slinging a coil of synthetic climbing rope over his shoulder.

​"We need water—at least three liters—and whatever localized power cells we can find for a field repair on the dampener," Sabine summarized, opening the main hatch.

​A wave of hot, damp air immediately hit them, carrying the rich, earthy scent of dense vegetation and decaying matter.

​Ezra peered out into the green tunnel carved by the ship's landing. Sunlight barely penetrated the thick, layered canopy. "Visibility is maybe five meters. We stay tethered and we don't go far. Stick to the high ground if we can find it."

​He carried a collapsible filtration kit and a ruggedized survival pack. Sabine carried the blasters and the engineering tools—a division of labor that felt natural. Ezra, the former Imperial agent, was the technician and navigator; Sabine, the Mandalorian warrior, was the immediate security.

​"Don't lose the magnetic harness," Sabine warned, adjusting the strap of her pack. "We might need to climb out of this mess."

​"Wouldn't dream of it," Ezra replied, securing a magnetic tether around his waist. "Lead the way. And try not to paint anything too garish on the local mega-fauna."

​Sabine gave a tired, small grin under the brim of her helmet. "No promises."

​She stepped out of the Azure Wanderer's shadows and into the vibrant, alien chaos of the jungle, Ezra right behind her, ready to face the unpredictable terrain of Delta-7 Gamma.

​The humid air immediately pressed in on them. Sabine took the lead, using her vibroblade to carefully hack away at thick vines that crisscrossed the deep, muddy trail left by the Azure Wanderer. Ezra followed closely, the magnetic tether line keeping them just meters apart.

​"The air quality is surprisingly clean," Ezra observed, checking a reading on his wrist-mounted sensor. "And highly oxygenated. We should be able to rely on a local water source, but we need to find moving water to use the filtration unit."

​"Keep an eye on the thermal signature," Sabine instructed. "The ship's landing disturbed this area; anything large that heard us crash is probably still circling."

​They moved slowly, their attention divided between navigating the slippery, rooted terrain and scanning for threats. The jungle was a bewildering tapestry of emerald green and deep crimson flora.

​"I still don't understand how you manage to carry all that paint and still have room for vital equipment," Ezra commented, trying to keep the heavy coil of rope from snagging on a massive, fluted mushroom stalk.

​Sabine smirked under her breath. "Art is vital equipment, Ezra. It tells a story. It lets people know you were here, that you matter, even if the Empire tries to erase you."

​"A story for who?"

​"For me, sometimes. For anyone who needs to be reminded that the galaxy isn't just gray Imperial metal." Sabine paused, cutting through a particularly stubborn, rope-like vine. "I need color. If I only saw the galaxy in Imperial white and gray, I’d lose my mind."

​"I can respect the function," Ezra admitted, stepping around the severed vine. "I just don't see the need to broadcast it. Efficiency suggests you should remain hidden."

​"And efficiency gets you caught in a trap," she shot back lightly. "A splash of bright color is distracting. It’s chaotic. It makes the Imperials look like di'kuts."

​As they spoke, they reached a patch of clear, shallow water—a small, rocky stream flowing over smooth, moss-covered stones.

​"Bingo," Sabine said, kneeling down immediately to deploy the filtration unit.

​While the unit hummed, slowly drawing water, Sabine pulled a small, multi-compartment case from her pack—not tools, but a selection of spray paint canisters.

​"Hold still for a minute," she commanded.

​Ezra raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

​"Maintenance," she replied. She opened the case and pulled out a small, metallic silver canister and a detail brush. "Your armor and the ship have taken some hits, but your arm is a mess. It’s got scratches and scoring from the hyperdrive repairs."

​Ezra hesitated, then sighed, accepting the inevitable. The metal of his prosthetic was indeed scored, exposing the darker chassis beneath. "It doesn't need to be aesthetically pleasing, Sabine."

​"Everything needs to be aesthetically pleasing," she countered, focusing. "It’s about respecting the work. And if you’re trying to move away from the Empire's rigid template, the least we can do is give it a Mandalorian polish."

​She quickly sprayed a light, fine mist of metallic silver over the scoring, then used the fine brush to detail the edges, ensuring the silver looked perfectly seamless. The work was quick, precise, and surprisingly professional.

​When she finished, she tapped the newly finished surface. "There. Now it looks intentional, not damaged."

​Ezra flexed the fingers, watching the light catch the new, gleaming surface. It felt strangely... better. Less like a damaged tool and more like a necessary extension. "Thank you, Sabine. That was... efficient."

​"Don't thank me," she said, giving him a wry smile from underneath her helmet. "Just try not to scratch it up before we get back."

​Just as Sabine was repacking her paint kit and Ezra was gathering the purified water, a soft chittering sound came from the dense foliage nearby.

​Three small creatures hesitantly stepped into the clearing. They looked like terrestrial lynxes, but their fur was a pale, pearlescent blue, and they had large, luminous yellow eyes and delicate, fringed ears. They were undeniably cute, and clearly curious.

​"Thermal signature reading... benign," Ezra reported quietly, holding his hand up to warn Sabine to freeze. "They seem non-aggressive. But stay alert."

​The three 'Lume-Lynxes' crept closer, their large eyes fixed not on Sabine, but entirely on Ezra. They seemed drawn to him, their fringed ears twitching nervously. One of the smallest lynxes took a hesitant hop and settled right at Ezra’s boot.

​"Well, this is new," Sabine whispered, lowering her blaster. "They seem interested in you."

​Ezra was mystified. He was used to animals fleeing his presence, especially given the latent energy that often pulsed around him. He slowly reached down with his metal hand.

​The little Lume-Lynx didn't flinch. In fact, it stretched up and nuzzled its luminous yellow face against the cold, freshly painted silver of his prosthetic arm. The other two quickly followed suit, gathering around his knees, emitting soft, purring chirps. They looked oddly comforted by his presence.

​"They're not reacting to me at all," Sabine observed, slightly jealous of the furry attention. "It’s something about you."

​Ezra looked from the lynxes nuzzling his metal arm to Sabine. His expression was a mix of confusion and something almost like gentle wonder.

​"I think," Ezra whispered, his voice soft, "they are reacting to the lack of fear. They don't see the threat in the metal; they just see something solid and... cool, maybe."

​He slowly reached up with his organic hand and gently stroked the back of the largest Lume-Lynx's head. It purred louder, closing its big yellow eyes in contentment. Ezra’s own eyes—the gold fading, the blue growing—softened with a look of genuine peace Sabine hadn't seen before.

​"The Empire made me a monster," Ezra murmured to Sabine, his voice thick with emotion. "But maybe the jungle sees something else."
​
​The water purification was complete, and the unexpected, silent approval of the Lume-Lynxes had left Ezra feeling oddly centered. He gently withdrew his organic hand from the largest creature's head.

​"We need to find localized power cells," Sabine stated, snapping the water filter shut and replacing it in the pack. "The dampener needs a stable power source for the repair. We can't draw anything from the ship until the main grid is isolated, and our field cells are nearly depleted."

​Ezra nodded, pulling his attention away from the purring creatures. The three Lume-Lynxes, however, were not ready to leave. They simply followed at his heels, their large, luminous yellow eyes tracking his movements.

​"They're not leaving," Ezra noted, a faint, perplexed smile touching his lips. "Any idea what they want?"

​"Probably just the cold metal," Sabine speculated, though she looked slightly charmed by the little animals. "Or maybe they sense you're not a threat. Most things out here are either prey or predator. You’re neither."

​"We need to head uphill," Ezra decided, checking his handheld scanner.

"Power cells—even primitive, non-Imperial ones—often utilize mineral deposits near volcanic activity. If this system has geothermal vents, we might find a natural battery source."

​They began moving slowly up the incline, picking their way through thick, thorny vines and enormous, umbrella-like fungi. The three Lume-Lynxes trotted along faithfully behind Ezra, their movements surprisingly quiet.
​"So, these patterns you used to sketch," Sabine prompted, continuing their quiet conversation as they worked. "Were they always spirals? Or did you ever try to, you know, sketch a face?"

​Ezra gave a short, humorless laugh. "Faces change. People change. A spiral, or an engine schematic—those are constants. They obey physics. They don't... betray you." He caught himself, realizing the bitterness in his tone. "Sorry. I drew the mechanics. That's all."

​"I get it," Sabine said softly. "My art changes constantly. It has to. It has to reflect the fight right now. But that’s why I need the color. It proves that change can be intentional, not just imposed on you."

​As they spoke, one of the Lume-Lynxes darted forward, suddenly stopping and pawing insistently at a massive, lichen-covered boulder. It looked back at Ezra and let out a series of demanding, high-pitched mewls.

​"Hold up," Ezra said, stopping. "Why is it reacting to this rock?"

​He approached the boulder cautiously, kneeling down. The surface was cold and surprisingly slick. He ran his metal hand over the lichen.

​"This is unusual," Ezra murmured. He brought his scanner closer. "The rock isn't metallic, but there's a faint, consistent electromagnetic field coming from inside it."

​Sabine knelt beside him, her brow furrowed. "A natural battery? Some kind of bioluminescent mineral?"

​Ezra quickly used the toolkit to chip away a section of the lichen-covered rock. Underneath, a seam of dull, crystalline structure glowed faintly with a warm, reddish light.

​"It’s an organic energy crystal," Ezra confirmed, his voice excited.

"Primitive, but stable. If we can extract a decent chunk, we can wire it directly to the dampener's power shunt."

​He looked at the Lume-Lynx, which was now purring contentedly, nuzzling the crystal seam. "It led us right to it. These little guys are sensitive to ambient energy fields."

​"Looks like your new friends are proving useful " Sabine observed, handing him a specialized thermal cutter designed for crystals.

​Accepting the tool. He carefully began cutting the crystal from the boulder, the tiny Lume-Lynxes remaining huddled around his metal arm, drawn to the energy field he was now manipulating.

With a sizable chunk of the organic energy crystal secured and wrapped in a thermal blanket, they began the cautious trek back toward the Azure Wanderer. The crystal, though primitive, hummed softly with enough power to stabilize the inertial dampener for the critical repair phase.

​Ezra took the lead, his pace measured, his focus split between the terrain and the unusual escort he had acquired. The three Lume-Lynxes—whom Sabine had quietly dubbed Hue, Chroma, and Pigment—trotted silently at his feet, occasionally rubbing their luminous heads against the cold surface of his metallic arm.

​"It's remarkable how attached they are," Sabine commented from behind him, her voice muffled slightly by the humidity. She checked the readings on her external sensor. "They seem to be creating a small, low-intensity energy field around you. It's almost... protective."

​"I think they just know I'm a giant, warm tree root that dispenses pets," Ezra replied, carefully stepping over a root network. He gently nudged Hue, the smallest lynx, out of the way of his boot. "But I have to admit, it’s nice. I haven’t had a quiet, non-judgmental fan club in a long time."

​"Well, enjoy it while it lasts," Sabine shot back, a hint of playful envy in her tone. "I spent two weeks on a high-speed chase through the Outer Rim, and my armor still doesn't get that kind of attention. Maybe I should paint it chrome, you know, for better static electricity and cuddling."

​"They might judge your color palette, Wren," Ezra teased softly. "They seem like creatures of subtle taste. They clearly appreciate metallic silver, not fiery orange."

​"My colors are revolutionary, Bridger. Your silver is just... reflective. It lets them see themselves."

​Ezra stopped, pausing to allow the lynxes to catch up. "And what if they like what they see? Maybe that's the point.".
​
​Their lighthearted discussion was interrupted by a distinct, sharp rattling sound coming from a dense cluster of low-lying brush ahead.
​"Hold up," Sabine whispered, raising her hand. "Thermal signatures. Low to the ground. Fast."

​Ezra quickly consulted his sensor. "Four signatures. Too small, too warm. Likely some form of highly aggressive pack hunters native to this latitude.

​"Safe Bet they probably heard us talking.," Sabine deduced, pulling her blaster up. "We can't outrun them, and we definitely can't stop to fight the pack."

​The Lume-Lynxes, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere, immediately bunched up close to Ezra’s legs, their purring replaced by anxious, high-frequency clicks.

​"We should be able to scare them off, if the majority of creatures on this planet are similar to the lynxes, there is a good chance there sensitive to sound." Ezra stated, his mind already calculating trajectories. "I can use the mag-arm—not to pulse, but to emit a continuous, low-level sonic interference. If nothing else, it should throw them off slightly."

​"Worth a shot." Sabine urged, peering into the brush. "I'll create a visible distraction."

​Sabine grabbed a handful of brilliant orange paint canisters and activated the safety seals. Just as the first two creaturs darted out of the brush, she threw the canisters with a practiced, sweeping motion. The paint cans exploded on the ground in a dazzling, blinding cloud of orange mist and pressurized gas.

​The Creatures were momentarily disoriented by the unexpected visual and chemical assault.

​"Interference activated!" Ezra announced, the casing of his arm vibrating faintly. He began walking again, maintaining a rapid, steady pace.
​They quickly shook off the initial visual shock and began slinking rapidly through the jungle, relying on their ability to sense the vibrations of their prey.

​However, Ezra's faint magnetic interference, combined with the confusing terrain, was enough to throw them off their coordinated attack. They moved in erratic loops, snapping at the air, unable to triangulate the source of the vibrations.

​The Lume-Lynxes, meanwhile, seemed to treat Ezra's sonic interference as a pleasant, protective bubble. They continued their rapid, silent trot alongside him, acting as a strange, luminous, biological shield.

​"The orange worked beautifully," Ezra noted as they cleared the immediate area.

"But your small friends are doing most of the work now. It's like they're shielding you from their hunting frequency." Sabine said with a hint of humor.

​"They just think your arm is their mother ship," Sabine laughed, wiping a speck of orange paint from her cheek. "I'm still taking credit for the distraction."

​They didn't stop to fully recover their breath until the distant, agitated rattling of the pack had completely faded behind them. They finally reached the clearing where the Azure Wanderer rested, the ship a reassuring sight against the relentless green.

​"We're home," Ezra said, leaning against the ramp. "We have water and power. Now we deal with that dampener."

 

​The process of integrating the organic energy crystal was delicate and draining. Sabine and Ezra were hunched over the exposed wiring of the inertial dampener, the small space beneath the floor panels glowing with the reddish light of the crystal.

​"This is going to be delicate," Ezra murmured, running his gloved fingers over the crystal’s surface. "We're bypassing the conventional power intake and shunting the energy directly into the dampener coil. If the frequency is off, or the current surges, we could melt the entire unit."

​Sabine pulled on her welding mask. "And if we melt the unit, we die in the next jump. I get it. I'm ready to fuse the leads, but you have to manually tune the dampener coil as I fuse them."

​They were once again operating in extreme proximity, the three Lume-Lynxes—Hue, Chroma, and Pigment—clustered near the crystal, emitting a low, synchronous purr that helped stabilize the crystal's output.

​"Final connection... wait," Ezra suddenly hissed, his metal arm snapping back from the coil. "The crystal's impedance is spiking! It's reacting to residual heat in the sub-circuit!"

​"I haven't even fused it yet!" Sabine protested, pulling her soldering iron away just in time.

​CRACK-THWUMP.

​The entire ship shuddered violently. It wasn't an external hit; it was an internal surge. The lights in the engineering bay flashed once, then plunged into absolute darkness, leaving only the dim, emergency red glow and the soft, pulsing red light of the crystal. The low, comforting hum of the ship's environmental controls died entirely.

​"What was that?" Sabine demanded, already scrambling for her emergency light stick.

​"Not the dampener," Ezra confirmed, his voice strained. "The surge overloaded the main thermal regulator. It’s disconnected from the life support grid. The crystal is fine, but... we just lost all auxiliary power."

​Sabine slapped the wall panel, confirming the sickening reality. "We're running on basic battery reserves. No lights, no shields, and critically—no cabin heat."

​The dense, humid heat of the jungle outside was quickly leaching away through the hull, and the air inside the cabin was rapidly growing cold and damp. The Lume-Lynxes immediately pressed themselves closer to the still-warm crystal.

​"We can fix the thermal regulator," Ezra said, shivering slightly, "but it’s a manual override, and it’s buried under the primary power conduit. It’ll take hours, and we can’t work efficiently while freezing."

​"Great," Sabine grumbled, rubbing her arms vigorously. "Stranded, cold, and still surrounded by jungle. This is not how I pictured fixing a starship."

​"We need to conserve our thermal energy," Ezra said practically, though his teeth were starting to chatter. "We have to abandon the engineering bay. The main living area is smaller, easier to insulate. Grab the blankets and the crystal—we can use its residual warmth."

​They quickly gathered what little thermal material they had—two thin blankets, a few thick jackets, and the warm, pulsing crystal—and retreated to the Azure Wanderer's main living area. This small space contained the galley, a small bench seat, and the main console.

​The cold was pervasive, clinging to the metal bulkheads. They spread the thin blankets on the small bench seat, creating a meager thermal nest.
​Sabine settled first, pulling her jacket tightly around her. "This is ridiculous. We have enough technology to jump across the galaxy, but we're freezing like we're in a snow cave."

​Ezra gingerly placed the wrapped crystal on the floor between them. It pulsed gently, providing a faint, localized warmth. He then slid onto the narrow bench beside Sabine.

​"It's thermodynamics," Ezra said, though his voice lacked its usual academic certainty. "A ship of this size is designed to vent heat, not retain it. We need external heat sources."

​He pulled his thick pilot's jacket over their shared space, trying to create a rudimentary hood over their heads.

​The three Lume-Lynxes, sensing the cold and the concentration of heat, wasted no time. Hue, Chroma, and Pigment quickly scrambled onto the bench, maneuvering themselves until they were nestled directly against Ezra and Sabine, their purring starting up again.

​Hue, the smallest, wedged itself between Sabine's shoulder and the back of the seat, radiating a surprisingly pleasant warmth. Chroma draped itself across Ezra's lap, its luminous eyes half-closed in sleepy contentment. Pigment, the largest, settled between them, its body pressed firmly against both their hips.

​The initial awkwardness was immediate and profound. They were strangers, now forced into absolute physical intimacy by a surge protector and three demanding, fuzzy aliens.

​"I feel like we're violating every regulation in the Imperial Service Manual," Ezra murmured, acutely aware of Sabine's hair brushing his cheek and the weight of the blanket pressing her firmly against his side.
​Sabine shifted her arm, finding her hand resting naturally on Ezra's newly polished metal arm, which was now blessedly cold. "Good. That's a point in our favor, then."

​She didn't move her hand. Instead, she found herself leaning into the shared warmth, using Ezra's broad shoulder as a cushion. The cold was outside; inside their small huddle, there was surprising comfort.

​"They really like your arm," Sabine whispered, nudging the sleeping Chroma with her chin. "It’s their favorite space heater."

​Ezra smiled in the darkness, the faint blue of his eyes visible in the dim light. "Maybe I'm just grateful for the company. We both are."

​With the intense cold pressing in and the soft, vibrating purr of the Lume-Lynxes enveloping them, both their physical and emotional barriers finally succumbed to exhaustion and necessity. They were a single, messy, warm thermal unit—a former bounty hunter, a former Imperial agent, and three alien creatures—all sleeping huddled together against the cold void. For the night, they were not adversaries or strategists, but simply survivors sharing a small, safe pocket of warmth.

​The cold was the first thing Sabine registered, sharp and persistent, penetrating the thin blanket and the layers of shared jackets. The second thing she registered was the distinct, heavy warmth pressing against her side and the smooth, cold metal of Ezra’s arm resting securely against her back.

​She opened her eyes slowly, the dim emergency light confirming their situation: they were still jammed into the co-pilot bench, forming a single, complicated mass of blankets and limbs. Ezra’s head was tilted against hers, his breathing deep and even.

​The comforting, synchronous purring that had lulled her to sleep, however, was gone.

​Sabine carefully shifted, easing her weight off Ezra just enough to look around. Hue, Chroma, and Pigment were gone. Only a few stray, luminous hairs remained on the blanket. They had slipped away silently into the deep jungle night.

​She glanced at the main console. The cold was clearly affecting the Azure Wanderer's minimal power. The faint status lights flickered, casting the cockpit in an intermittent orange glow.

​"Ezra," she whispered, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. "Wake up."

​Ezra groaned, shifting slightly, his arm tightening around her for a moment before he slowly blinked awake. His gaze was unfocused, his eyes struggling to adjust.

​He quickly registered their close proximity, and the usual tension briefly flared in his face, immediately replaced by weariness. "The lynxes are gone," he noted, his voice rough with sleep.

​" hunting, probably. " Sabine replied, already disentangling herself and fighting the urge to shiver. "we need to get some heat back into this ship before our battery dies completely."

​Ezra stretched, wincing as he activated his stiff metal arm. "Right. The thermal regulator. I remember where the surge happened—it’s usually a simple fix in the maintenance access."

​He slid out of the narrow bench, the abrupt withdrawal of his warmth leaving Sabine feeling instantly colder.

​They quickly moved back to the engine bay, their breath misting in the frigid air. Ezra pulled back the access panel to the main power conduit, revealing a maze of intricate, blackened wires.

​Sabine handed him a magnetic lamp. "Lead the way."

​Ezra peered into the mass of circuitry, tracing the path from the thermal regulator back to the main power source. He pulled out a small, specialized diagnostic tool and carefully touched a connection point.
​A bright green light flashed on the tool, accompanied by a loud, irritating BEEEP.

​Ezra frowned, staring at the circuit board. He then reached out, pinched a single, tiny, blackened component—a small, ceramic cylinder—and held it up to the light.

​"You’ve got to be kidding me," Ezra muttered, rubbing the cold out of his eyes.

​"What is it?" Sabine asked, leaning in.

​"It's the primary fuse for the temperature regulator," Ezra said, turning the tiny cylinder in his fingers. "The initial surge was so minor, it didn't even damage the wiring. It just blew the cheapest, most basic safety component in the whole ship."

​Sabine stared at the tiny component, then at the massive, complex engine bay, then at Ezra. "You're telling me we almost froze to death, and had an mostly accidental cuddle pile with three alien animals, all because of a ten-credit ceramic fuse?"

​Ezra gave a long, slow sigh, a sudden rush of humor finally breaking through his exhaustion. He let out a loud, genuine laugh that echoed off the metal bulkheads.

​"Yes, Wren," he admitted, shaking his head. "We risked catastrophic systems failure for a common safety component. It appears the greatest danger to this ship was a lack of preventative maintenance."

​Sabine couldn't help but laugh, too—a sharp, relieved sound. "Well, that’s certainly less dramatic than a deep-space fracture."

​Ezra quickly popped a replacement fuse into the socket, and with a soft whirr, the main power kicked back on. The emergency lights snapped back to full brightness, and the low, comforting sound of the environmental regulator cycling heat back into the cabin began immediately.

​"Auxiliary power restored," Ezra confirmed, rubbing his hands together gratefully.

​Sabine walked back to the cockpit and checked the primary comms. "Still nothing. We are completely isolated, Ezra. No Imperial sweeps, no trade chatter, nothing."

​"A perfect hiding spot, then," Ezra replied, joining her. "But not a great refueling station. We need to find something, fast, before the Empire manages to stumble upon us.".

​As Ezra began running the long-range sensor array to scan for any anomalies that might signal a safe jump route, the ship’s internal alarms suddenly chirped—not a warning, but a proximity alert near the ramp.

​"They're back," Sabine said, looking out at The three Lume-Lynxes stood patiently on the wet soil, bathed in the ship's work lights. They had clearly just returned from a successful hunt.

​Hue and Chroma were presenting their catch: a small, furry, rabbit-like creature, its fur a dappled brown and white. They dropped it reverently at the base of the ramp, purring proudly.

​"They brought us breakfast," Ezra observed, staring at the fresh kill."They're presenting the spoils of the hunt to us."

​"They're presenting the spoils of the hunt to the guy with the warm metallic arm," Sabine corrected, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We need to analyze the surrounding mineral deposits. We can't afford to get distracted by being adopted by the local wildlife."

​Ezra ran the last of his deep scans, hoping to find a stable jump route. He instead found something else.

​"Forget breakfast, Sabine," Ezra said, his voice suddenly taut with focus. He pointed to a small cluster of readings flashing green on the far edge of the sensor map. "The geological scanner is picking up high concentrations of an unusual ferrous alloy on a series of ridges, roughly three kilometers from here."

​Sabine leaned in, studying the distinctive, layered crystalline structure that the scanner's spectral analysis was highlighting. Her breath hitched.
​"That's not just ferrous alloy," she breathed, her hand flying to the visor of her helmet, which bore the telltale signs of her lineage. "That's Beskar. A pure vein. I’ve never seen a natural deposit register that cleanly outside of the ancient Mandalore sector."

​Beskar, the legendary Mandalorian iron, was the most valuable metal in the galaxy, nearly impervious to blaster fire and lightsaber strikes. A cluster that size was priceless.

​"A pure vein of Beskar?" Ezra repeated, the gravity of the find settling in.

"That explains why the Empire hasn't found us yet—And it explains the lack of available hyperspace lanes; this region must be designated too volatile or too remote for detailed surveys."

​Ezra quickly checked the navigational map again. "This entire system is a dead zone. We can't plot a stable course for another twenty-four hours while the matrix adjusts. We have the time to check this out."

​"A Beskar cluster that size could buy us an entire fleet," Sabine confirmed, an almost predatory, determined grin spreading across her face. "It’s worth the risk."

​He looked at Sabine, his partner, who was already prepping the cutting equipment, used mostly for dislodging debris from ships. The proximity readings showed the vein was located high on a sheer rock face, adjacent to a massive, dark opening on the ridge—the entrance to a large natural cave system.
​
​Sabine and Ezra left the Azure Wanderer with the Lume-Lynxes diligentlyin tow. They followed the coordinates, traversing the difficult, uphill terrain with a quick, practiced silence.

​The three-kilometer hike was brutal, a combination of slick mud, razor-edged ferns, and steep inclines. Ezra used his technical knowledge to navigate around the most geologically unstable areas, while Sabine used her Mandalorian athleticism and vibroblade to clear their path. They reached the base of the ridge an hour later, sweat pouring from them in the humid air.

​The ridge was breathtaking—a sheer cliff face of dark, volcanic rock, towering hundreds of meters above the jungle floor. Near the top, easily visible even from the base, was the telltale seam of Beskar, glowing faintly green under the filtered sunlight. Next to the vein, a yawning black mouth marked the entrance to the vast cave system.

​Sabine’s focus, however, was immediately drawn to the logistics. She set down her pack and pulled out the thermal cutter they had used to slice the energy crystal.

​"This is a problem," Sabine stated, running a gloved hand over the small, handheld cutter. "This crystal cutter even at peak thermal efficiency, is designed for precision work, not bulk extraction. And even its raw alloy state beskar is still difficult to mine, even with the proper equipment.The best we can do isn't going to yield much."

​Ezra checked the rest of their supplies. They had emergency welding torches, vibroblades, and heavy-duty industrial clamps—tools for repair and defense, not for mining the toughest metal in the galaxy.

​"Beskar requires industrial-grade plasma drills and specialized sonic extractors," Ezra confirmed, running the ship's geological scanner over the massive vein. "Even the Empire uses bespoke mining charges for this. We'd burn out the entire ship's power supply trying to drill through that vein with our current equipment."

​He sighed, disappointment heavy in his voice. "We can see a year's worth of funding right there, and we have nothing but glorified soldering irons to get it out."

​Sabine walked closer to the base of the cliff, frustration radiating from her posture. She tapped the massive rock face. "We need something capable of delivering a high-yield, focused, kinetic energy burst to fracture the surrounding rock, not just melt the metal."

​Ezra walked toward the dark opening of the cave system, his mind already churning over alternative solutions. "Mining charges are out. We don't have the stabilizers or the fuses. But we do have energy—the Azure Wanderer's main power core could work.".

​"We can't disconnect the core," Sabine warned. "That's a death sentence."

​"No, but maybe we can build a remote energy conduit," Ezra mused, tapping his metallic arm. "I know how to regulate high-frequency energy. If we can run a temporary, shielded cable three kilometers back here and convert the ship's massive energy output into a controlled sonic cutter..."
​He stopped, seeing the skepticism on Sabine's face.

​"A temporary, shielded cable long enough to run three kilometers? That's custom work," Sabine said flatly. "And we don't have the materials, Ezra."

​"We don't," Ezra conceded, turning his gaze from the impossible task of wiring to the massive, dark cave entrance beside him. "But maybe somewhere on this planet someone left something behind. they might have been scouting this area for other resources. And that cave..."
​He pointed to the yawning, pitch-black opening, from which a continuous stream of surprisingly cold air flowed. "That cave system has been undisturbed for millennia. It could be a treasure trove of salvage—or a trap."

​Sabine looked from the unmineable Beskar vein to the ominous cave. The solution to their fortune—or their immediate demise—lay somewhere inside the darkness.

​"Fine," Sabine said, pulling her blaster. "Let's see what gifts await us in the dark."

​The cave air was immediately colder and cleaner than the humid jungle air, providing a welcome respite from the oppressive heat outside. Sabine and Ezra cautiously entered the massive opening, their flashlights cutting twin beams through the absolute darkness.

​"I expected more resistance," Sabine murmured, her blaster held ready.

"No traps, no guard posts. Just… cold air."

​"This place is ancient," Ezra replied, running his gloved hand over the damp, smooth walls. "Imperial protocol demands rigid order. This environment is pure geological chaos. They wouldn't bother building a forward operating base here unless there was a simple, quantifiable resource."

​They moved through the vast, echoing tunnels for twenty minutes, following the cold draft deeper into the mountain. The cave system was colossal, a subterranean labyrinth of smooth rock and calcite formations, but mercifully empty of aggressive fauna.

​Finally, they reached a chamber that showed signs of brief, historical habitation. There was no Imperial equipment, but the scattered debris was just as telling.

​"Well, this explains the lack of Imperial interest," Sabine said, kicking a piece of rusted, stylized metal. "Separatist-era salvage."

​The chamber held the skeletal remains of a forgotten camp: a few collapsed emergency cots, brittle with age; a small cache of ancient, non-standard spare energy cabling—the thick, insulated kind used for heavy infrastructure; and a few discarded pieces of stylized, lightweight metal chassis from old separatist drones.

​The most significant find sat in the center of the room, dust-covered but intact: a sleek, olive-drab Separatist speeder. It was archaic, utilizing a different power cell system than modern craft, but its frame was sound.

​"This is better than nothing," Ezra admitted, running a diagnostic on the cabling. "These spare cables are rated for heavy power transfer. They're not three kilometers long, but they're incredibly tough and shielded. If we can fuse enough of them together, we might get the range we need."

​"And the speeder?" Sabine asked, brushing dust from its seat.

​"The engine housing is dead, but the anti-gravity repulsors are intact," Ezra noted. "We can cannibalize the repulsors and attach them to a makeshift sled to haul the Beskar down the slope, assuming we can mine it."

​The energy cable find was a small, vital step forward. They began the tedious process of stripping the heavy insulation and fusing the separate strands together, the quiet work leading to a conversation that focused on the prize awaiting them outside.

​"Once we get enough of this Beskar out, what's the plan?" Sabine asked, carefully splicing the heavy insulation on a connection. "Do we sell it for credits, or do we use it?"

​Ezra hesitated, if only for a moment. "Well, we could sell enough to disappear. To buy a new ship, buy hyperdrive parts, and get a solid, untraceable banking account on a core world."

​"And the rest?" Sabine asked, watching him.

​Ezra looked at the gleaming metallic cables he was fusing together. "The rest is yours, Sabine. Besides, I doubt your cousins would be too thrilled seeing a non-Mandaloreon with anything so much as resembling beskar."

​Sabine paused her work, genuinely surprised. "You wouldn't want to forge a new arm? Or trade it for something... personal?"

​Ezra considered this. "The arm is fine. It serves its purpose. I don't need reminders of the past, and I certainly don't need shiny new burdens. But you... You can use Beskar to forge better armor, better weapons. You can trade it for the political power amongst your people.".

​A soft, high-pitched mewl broke the quiet sincerity of the moment.

​They both looked up. Hue, Chroma, and Pigment had apparently tracked them deep into the cave. They stood at the entrance to the chamber, their luminous yellow eyes reflecting the beam of Sabine's headlamp. They walked right past the antique speeder and the Separatist scrap, settling immediately near the pile of thick, newly fused power cables.

​Chroma, the middle one, hopped right onto Sabine's lap, settling down immediately with a deep, rumbling purr. Pigment rubbed its head against the cold metal of Ezra's leg, and Hue sat on the spare cot, watching them with a regal intensity.

​Sabine laughed softly, surprised by the directness of the creature. She scratched Chroma behind its delicate, fringed ears. "Well, looks like we have our security detail back. And you chose the Mandalorian this time, huh?"

​Ezra smiled, a genuine, relaxed expression. He resumed his work on the cable splice. "Perhaps they've realized you're the source of the superior warmth and the better scratches, Wren. Or perhaps they simply appreciate the craftsmanship of that newly fused cable."

​"Or maybe," Sabine replied, resting her head briefly on the cold wall, "they just understand that im better.".

​With the small creatures purring contentedly around them, the daunting task ahead of them seemed less burdensome.

​With the necessary materials secured, the rhythm of work shifted from cautious exploration to intense engineering. They established a pattern: Sabine would take the lead on fusing the heavy cables, ensuring the thick shielding was perfectly aligned, while Ezra handled the delicate internal wiring and the conversion unit—the mechanism that would take the Azure Wanderer's massive energy output and regulate it into a focused sonic cutting beam.

​They spent the entire day inside the cold, stable environment of the cave, the light of their work lamps and the soft glow of the energy crystal the only illumination. The Lume-Lynxes remained their constant, quiet companions, napping on the piles of insulation or occasionally giving a curious nudge to the rapidly growing coil of custom cable.

​"The structural integrity of this Separatist wiring is phenomenal," Ezra noted, his fingers flying over the internal conduits. "They engineered this for durability, not just efficiency. It’s overkill, but perfect for what we need."

​"Separatists understood that sometimes, you just need a bigger hammer," Sabine said, securing the insulation on the latest fusion point. "Unlike the Empire, which designs everything to be disposable and replaceable."

​"And easily tracked," Ezra added, nodding. "This cable is going to be virtually invisible to Imperial scanners."

​As the afternoon waned, the challenge of the power conversion unit emerged. Ezra had salvaged a complex resonating chamber from the old speeder's repulsor engine. He intended to repurpose it as a sonic modulator, creating the high-frequency vibration needed to fracture the Beskar's surrounding rock without damaging the precious metal itself.

​"The formula requires precise calibration," Ezra explained, meticulously soldering tiny platinum filaments inside the chamber. "The frequency must be stable at 25 kilohertz—just enough to induce structural resonance in the surrounding rock, but low enough not to vibrate the Beskar itself. We are building a giant, focused tuning fork."

​Sabine leaned over his work, providing him with a stream of tools and materials. "If this fails, we don't just lose the Beskar; we risk causing a catastrophic collapse of the ridge. That cave system is huge; the resonance could bring the mountain down."

​"I know," Ezra whispered, the stakes clear in his voice. He took a deep breath, flexing his metal fingers before resuming the soldering. He wasn't just performing a repair; he was demonstrating a level of mechanical mastery that surpassed simple Imperial training.

​"Tell me about the armor," Ezra asked quietly, trying to distract himself from the intense focus needed for the micro-connections. "The Beskar. What would you do with it?"

​Sabine paused her work, her eyes drifting toward the unseen vein outside. "If I took all of it... I wouldn't just use it for myself. I would find the remaining foundries—the true foundries—and forge armor for my people. For those who still fight. Every piece of Beskar is a symbol of resilience. It's proof that Mandalore still exists."

​She looked at him, her expression fiercely determined. "But first, I'd forge a new set of pauldrons for my own armor. Not just for protection, but because I want every Imperial patrol I see to know they're looking at pure, unadulterated defiance."

​Ezra smiled. "A functional, defiant work of art. I expected nothing less."

​By nightfall, the work was complete. They had fused almost all of the available cable, forming a heavy, shielded conduit. Ezra had successfully installed the repulsor-turned-sonic-modulator and attached the entire assembly to the heavy tripod salvaged from the Separatist scrap pile.

​"It's ready," Ezra declared, wiping grease from his forehead. "The conduit is stable. Now we just need to drag all this back up the ridge and anchor the modulator next to the vein."

​Dragging the heavy cable and the tripod out of the cave was slow, back-breaking work. When they finally reached the entrance, the jungle was pitch black, and the enormous Beskar vein gleamed faintly green under the light of Delta-7 Gamma's binary moon.

​"We anchor the tripod directly onto the rock face," Sabine directed, pointing to a secure ledge just beneath the vein. "I'll handle the repulsors and secure the frame. You handle the power coupling—it's your baby."

​They worked quickly, their movements coordinated and practiced. Sabine used magnetic clamps to secure the heavy tripod to the sheer rock face. Ezra ran the final connection, attaching the end of the long conduit to the modulator on the tripod.

​"Connection secure," Ezra announced, stepping back from the potentially volatile array. "We have to operate it remotely. We'll run the last section of the cable back to a secure position."

​They retreated about fifty meters down the ridge, taking cover behind a thick cluster of boulders. Ezra set up the remote activation switch, its display showing the readiness of the entire system.

​The sheer scale of the operation was daunting. They were about to siphon off nearly the entire energy reserve of their ship and unleash a highly unstable sonic frequency against a mountain, all for a massive payoff.

​"Ready?" Ezra asked, his finger hovering over the activation switch.

​Sabine checked her surroundings one last time, making sure the area was clear. She looked at the Beskar vein, then at the man beside her.
​"Ready to break some Imperial rules and get rich," Sabine confirmed. "Let's mine some metal, Bridger."

​Ezra took a final, steadying breath and pressed the activation switch.
​For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a low, unnerving hum emanated from the sonic modulator anchored to the rock face, escalating quickly into a high-pitched, focused whine. The massive cliff face began to vibrate. It wasn't the violent shaking of a seismic event, but a deep, resonant tremor designed to find the fault lines in the rock.

​The Beskar vein, highly resistant to vibration, remained solid, but the surrounding volcanic rock began to visibly fracture.

​K-CHUNK!

​A massive slab of rock peeled away from the vein, crashing down the cliff face with a roar that echoed through the jungle. The sonic modulator whined higher, focusing its energy until the Beskar vein stood exposed, surrounded by broken, fractured rock.

​"It worked!" Sabine shouted, scrambling out from behind the boulders.

​"And we still have power!" Ezra confirmed, checking the power meter. The draw had been massive, but the improvised conduit had held. "Let's see the payoff."

​They rushed up the ridge. The exposed Beskar was magnificent—a sheet of pure, gleaming green-silver metal set into the rock. It looked like solidified moonlight. However, as they inspected the full exposure, their elation faded.

​"It's shallow," Sabine noted, tapping the seam with her gauntlet. "The vein is barely half a meter deep here. It looks like a long, thin surface layer that terminates just below this ridge."

​Ezra ran the geological scanner over the remaining exposed Beskar. The core of the deposit was still hundreds of meters deep, unreachable without heavy industrial drilling rigs. The sonic cutter had successfully fractured the surface rock, but without the power of the ship’s main cannon or a specialized drilling platform, the deeper vein was inaccessible.

​"We maximized our yield with the tools we have," Ezra concluded, disappointment heavy in his voice. "We can use the thermal cutters to slice out what's exposed, but there won't be much."

​They spent the next two hours slicing, prying, and straining, using the repulsor sled to haul the extracted chunks. When they finally wrapped the haul in reinforced magnetic sheeting and pulled it back toward the Azure Wanderer, the result was modest.

​"Well, should be able to get at least 12 proper and pure ingots out of it.," Sabine said, weighing a sizable chunk in her hand. "Enough for a few pauldrons and a helmet, perhaps. Definitely enough to sell for critical parts, maybe even a ship."

​"We sell this on a deep-core black market, and we can buy the components we need to return here with the right equipment, assumeing we can." Ezra wagered.

​Back in the ship, the main console was bathed in red warning lights. The massive power draw needed to run the sonic modulator had crippled the Azure Wanderer's meager power reserves.

​"We're almost dry," Ezra reported, checking the battery gauges with a grim expression. "The last emergency battery charge We burned on the sonic pulse. The last reserve cell we had in storage was cracked in the landing . We have just enough power left for life support and a minimal sensor sweep, but nothing more."

​"No jump, no shields, no propulsion," Sabine summarized. "We are effectively a large, stranded metal hut."

​"Exactly," Ezra said. "We can't rely on the remaining power to plot or sustain a jump, even if the hyperdrive is fixed. We need to charge our primary cells before we attempt anything else."

​Sabine looked at the chronometer. "We have to wait until the matrix is fully cool anyway, which is another thirty-six hours. We’re still isolated, and now we're low on power."

​Ezra leaned against the console, rubbing the exhaustion from his face. "Hmm, in theory we could use the same energy crystal to charge the cells manually. But the specifics of how to do that are beyond me."

"Well, I could probably use some of the scrap from that Separatist speeder to jury rig something. But with the amount of power we'd need, it would require a crystal with more charge than the one we have on hand." Sabine pondered, mostly to herself.

He checked the hyperdrive status one last time. "Best-case scenario, if we get a crystal tomorrow morning and charge the ship slowly, we might be able to make a jump in four to five days."

​"Four to five days, minimum," Sabine corrected, looking at the low power levels. "We're stranded here for almost a week, Ezra. We need more food, more water, and more power. And we need to assume the Empire is getting closer every hour."

​They had the prize—the gleaming Beskar, wrapped and secured—but the cost was complete vulnerability. The massive potential payoff had bought them nothing but a longer stay in the middle of nowhere.

​"Time for another hike," Ezra sighed, looking at the power gauge. "The crystal fields are due east, toward those warm thermal vents we spotted earlier.

​"Four kilometers to the thermal vents," Ezra summarized, checking his minimal-power datapad one last time. "Four kilometers through terrain we haven't charted. We are critically exposed. If anything large comes upon us, we can only fire a handful of full-power shots before the blasters die."

​Sabine meticulously checked the seals on their water rations and minimal survival gear. "The good news is the Empire has nothing concrete to follow. We are truly off the map. They'll search the general sector, but this system is a ghost. We have time, but we can't afford any more mistakes."

​"No mistakes, no shortcuts," Ezra agreed, slinging a climbing harness over his shoulder. "This is not a repair job; it's a lifeline. We need to be slow, quiet, and hyper-aware."

​They lowered the ramp. The jungle was already heating up under the twin binary moons. The Lume-Lynxes—Hue, Chroma, and Pigment—were waiting, their luminous eyes blinking slowly in the dim light. They immediately fell into their familiar formation, Pigment sticking close to Sabine, the other two trailing Ezra.

​The four-kilometer journey felt like twenty. They had to navigate crumbling shale slopes, deep trenches filled with stagnant, oily water, and groves of towering, razor-leafed flora. The urgency of their mission, combined with the lack of reliable energy for their tools, lent a constant, grinding tension to their conversation.

​As they navigated a particularly treacherous, rocky stream bed, Sabine brought up their long-term prospects.

​"We have the Beskar secured, which is a massive win," Sabine said, testing the stream bed for solid footing. "But we are looking at a week stranded here. What is the plan after the jump? We have enough credits to hide, but we both know we won't stay hidden."

​Ezra carefully placed a stepping stone to assist Sabine across a slick patch. "Running is only a temporary fix. We established that on Takodana. The Empire won't stop hunting me, and they won't stop expanding into your territory."

​"So we stop running from them and start running into them," Sabine said, reiterating their earlier agreement, but with new focus. "We use the Beskar funds to become professional saboteurs. We buy a ship with better cloaking, better armaments, and untraceable transponders. We dedicate ourselves to high-impact raids against Imperial infrastructure—the kind of chaos they can't easily paper over."

​"Yes. We turn their logistic chains against them," Ezra confirmed. "We steal what they value—fuel, schematics, high-value components. The more we disrupt their flow, the more cracks appear in their control. It's a long game, Sabine, but it's the only one that makes sense."

​He paused, looking back at the dense, concealing foliage. "It means we will never stop fighting. Are you ready for that kind of dedication? It's not just a rebellion; it's a way of life."

​Sabine met his gaze, her expression sharp and resolute. "I already forfeited my right to peace when I chose my path. The Empire broke my family, Ezra. Making them pay for every single resource they acquire is the only path that leads to anything resembling justice for me. I'm ready to steal their entire operation piece by piece."

​The Lume-Lynxes began clicking and purring urgently, their movements becoming agitated. The smell of sulfur and acid was overwhelming. They had reached the cluster of thermal vents.

​The sight was hellish: a series of geysers sputtering superheated steam, and pools of boiling, viscous liquid that steamed violently. The heat was immense, even at a distance. Near the edge of the deadliest pool—a small caldera filled with thick, churning, green-yellow acid—sat the largest energy crystal they had found yet. It pulsed with a brilliant, intense red.
​"That's the one," Ezra whispered, shielding his face from the heat. "Full charge capacity. No question."

​"And it's sitting in a concentrated sulfuric bath," Sabine noted, pulling her filtered mask over her face. "We can't get close. That acid vapor alone would strip the paint off the Azure Wanderer."

​Ezra stepped forward, preparing to plunge his metallic arm into the pool.

​"Wait," Sabine said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. Her voice was stern. "Don't be rash. That arm is our best and really our only effective tool for complex repairs. You know the magnetic plating is slightly resistant, but the internal actuators are exposed. If you fry the joints, you could lock the arm in an unusable position, rendering it a liability, or worse—you could short-circuit your neural interface. It's too high a risk for a two-second retrieval."

​"If we can't get this crystal, we are stuck here until the Empire arrives," Ezra countered, his jaw set. "We don't have enough rope to create a pulley system without getting too close, and the thermal cutter will melt before it can sever the crystal's root. This is the fastest, lowest-risk retrieval method, if I can keep the exposure under two seconds."

​Ezra didn't give her time to argue. He positioned himself at the very lip of the boiling pool, the three Lume-Lynxes huddled fearfully behind his legs. He focused his will, steeling himself against the inevitable pain and damage.

​He plunged his metallic arm into the bubbling acid. A deafening hiss of steam erupted, accompanied by the smell of burning metal and a sharp, internal mechanical scream. He gritted his teeth, focused his grip, and wrenched the massive crystal free in a single, agonizing pull.

​He ripped his arm out instantly. The beautiful silver polish was gone, the plating blistered and blackened. The wrist joint was leaking viscous, acidic fluid, and the fingers were slow and trembling, responding only with a pronounced, unnerving shake. The arm was damaged but, luckily, functional.

​"Got it," Ezra gasped, dropping the glowing crystal into Sabine’s waiting container.

​The massive crystal was cooling rapidly in the container, but Ezra’s arm was not. They quickly retreated from the toxic vent area, Ezra cradling the damaged prosthetic against his chest.

​"The external sheath held... mostly," Ezra reported, his voice tight. "But the motor housing seized, and the micro-actuators are compromised. I have limited fine motor control and high tremor. It's a tool, but it's unreliable now."

​"Then We're going to fix it," Sabine declared, her tone non-negotiable. "We use the Beskar. We forge new plating for the external shell and we use the remainder to repair and stabilize the internal joints. Beskar absorbs and dissipates energy; it might even make the arm more durable against electrical or heat damage."

​Ezra immediately tensed. "I appreciate the offer, Sabine, but I told you—I'm not Mandalorian. Beskar is not for me. It's too sacred. It draws unnecessary attention that could jeopardize our safety.".

​"Sacred to whom, Ezra?" Sabine challenged, her gaze locking with his as they began the long, slow return journey. "To the Houses who cast me out? To the tradition that you and I are actively subverting? That Beskar didn't belong to a clan. It was a gift from a dead world, claimed by two people who had to nearly destroy themselves to get it. You were the one who risked permanent injury to power our escape. I'd say You have earned the right to use that metal."

​She continued, fiercely. "We are about to be in the process of building a new operational infrastructure based on stealing from the Empire. Your arm is crucial equipment. It needs to be functioning properly. If using Beskar makes your arm function flawlessly during a raid, then it ceases to be a cultural artifact and becomes a necessary piece of defiance. You have as much right to use that metal as I do."

​Ezra looked down at the slow, trembling hand—a stark reminder of his fragility and the severity of their circumstances. He looked at Sabine, who was walking beside him, carrying the raw, immense power of the crystal. The three small, loyal Lume-Lynxes padded silently beside them, the only witnesses to this new, radical partnership.

​"A necessary piece of defiance," Ezra repeated, the phrase settling over him. He finally nodded, a profound sense of acceptance passing over his features. "Alright, Sabine. We forge new rules, and we forge new metal. Let's get this power back to the ship."

​The journey back was long, but they were no longer simply surviving; they were planning a future, their path forward illuminated by the glowing crystal and the promise of the Mandalorian iron they would soon shape together.

​The Lume-Lynxes, however, were acutely aware of the damage. They clicked worriedly, no longer focused on navigation or hunting, but entirely fixed on Ezra's injured limb. Hue and Pigment took to walking directly beside his left side, occasionally nudging the blackened, leaking joints with their luminous noses, as if trying to offer comforting warmth. Pigment, in particular, kept trying to lick the acidic residue off the metal.

​"Stop that, little guy," Ezra murmured gently, carefully pulling his arm away from the creature's tongue. "I don't need you tasting acid. It's fine. It just needs a tune-up."

​"They know it’s not fine," Sabine observed, walking ahead and scanning the trees. "They react to energy flux, remember? That whole limb is currently a giant short circuit, leaking power and heat. They’re stressed."
​She looked back at him, her expression softening briefly. "We need to get that arm stabilized before we attempt anything else. It's a miracle it didn't seize completely."

​The stark reality of their situation—Beskar secured but unusable, power depleted, and Ezra’s critical prosthetic compromised—demanded immediate and meticulous action. The massive energy crystal was a solution, but first, the damaged tool that would handle it needed repair.

​"We cannot risk wiring this crystal with a malfunctioning arm," Sabine stated, examining the blackened joints of Ezra’s prosthetic under a work lamp. "The tremor is too erratic. If you short the contacts, we could lose the crystal, the charging matrix, and the ship's last vestige of power."

​"Then we focus on the beginnings of a forge," Ezra conceded, flexing the trembling fingers. He had set up a specialized diagnostic program on his datapad, analyzing the remaining functionality. "The thermal damage primarily affects the micro-actuators in the wrist and the elbow stabilizer. We don't need to rebuild the entire arm, just stabilize and shield the damaged components. This is less about brute force and more about precise plating."

​They had selected the largest, thickest piece of Separatist scrap—a heavy, concave section of battleship armor—to act as their refractory crucible.
​"The goal is not to melt the Beskar into liquid form," Sabine explained, pointing to the raw metal. "We need to bring it to its plastic state—the temperature where it can be worked, shaped, and hammered thin, which is still incredibly high, around 1500\text{ K}. The welding torch won't generate that alone."

​Sabine carefully lined the inner surfaces of the scrap with layers of heat-resistant compound salvaged from the Separatist speeder. "We will use the crystal as our core heat source, but we need to control the thermal radiation."

​Ezra took command of the power regulation. He stripped sections of the heavy Separatist energy cabling and meticulously wound them around the base of the massive energy crystal. His objective was not to drain the crystal, but to induce a controlled thermal spike.

​"I will pulse the crystal's output into a closed circuit, forcing the energy to become self-heating," Ezra explained, beads of sweat already forming on his brow despite the cool cabin temperature. "It's highly precise energy manipulation. Sabine, you will monitor the crystal’s heat output. When it hits the transition point—the moment the red light shifts toward a stable yellow—that means the Beskar is workable. If we push it into white, the crystal will destabilize."

​The work was methodical and demanding, requiring absolute focus. Sabine secured the crystal inside the makeshift crucible and carefully placed the raw Beskar atop it, sealing the chamber with a heavy maintenance hatch.

​"Ready for the pulse sequence," Sabine confirmed, her eyes fixed on a specialized thermal sensor she'd jury-rigged from the speeder's components.

​Ezra took a deep breath, his organic hand hovering over the activation array he had constructed from the cabling. He had to use his damaged metallic arm to steady his position against the workbench, relying on the sheer strength of the frozen joints rather than any finesse.

​He initiated the sequence. A low, grinding hum emanated from the crystal. The small cargo bay lights flickered violently. The air immediately filled with a smell of ozone and superheated minerals.

​The Lume-Lynxes, sensing the massive energy concentration, crowded around the crucible. They purred louder than ever, their luminous eyes wide, watching the terrifying display of controlled power. Pigment and Hue pressed themselves against Ezra's legs, their anxious clicking a rhythmic counterpoint to the crystal's accelerating thrum.

​"Crystal temperature climbing," Sabine reported, her voice tight. "800\{K}... 1000\{ K}..."

​Ezra watched the readout, his mind running complex regulation calculations. He made minute adjustments to the power flux. "Stabilizing flux oscillations. We need to hold the rise."

​When the temperature reached 1450\{ K}, the Beskar began to glow a dull, workable orange. The crystal's light shifted, hovering precisely on the stable yellow point.

​"Hold it there, Ezra," Sabine commanded.

​Ezra cut the power sequence, allowing the latent heat to stabilize. The silence was profound.
​Sabine quickly donned heavy thermal gloves and used makeshift tongs to pull the glowing Beskar from the crucible. The metal was plastic and malleable, perfect for shaping.

​"We have exactly two minutes before the Beskar cools below the working temperature," Sabine stated, placing the metal on a small, heavy workbench.

​Using a specialized, magnetized Mandalorian hammer she carried --for the better part of her life-- and the high heat of the emergency welding torch for spot treatments, Sabine began to meticulously shape the Beskar. She hammered it thin, cutting small, reinforced plates designed to fit over the exterior housing of Ezra's elbow and wrist, forging two tiny, dense rods for the internal stabilizing mechanism, and a few replacement casings for the snall joints of his fingers and wrist.

​Ezra watched, fascinated by the intensity and precision of the Mandalorian forging process. It was brutal and beautiful, turning cold ore into functional art.

​Within the two-minute window, Sabine had produced three perfect pieces. "They need to cool slowly," she said, submerging them in a cooling gel. "But we have the parts.".

​With the precious Beskar plates submerged in the cooling gel, a sense of weary satisfaction settled over the cargo bay. The intense heat of the improvised forge was fading, leaving behind a lingering warmth and the smell of ozone. Outside, the jungle was transitioning into its quiet, deep-night phase. The oppressive heat had given way to a pleasant coolness that seeped through the ship's hull.

​"They'll need about thirty minutes to cool completely," Sabine announced, stripping off her heavy thermal gloves. She grabbed a small, precise energy screwdriver and a tray of micro-tools. "Now, for the invasive part. We need to open up the joints before the plates are ready."

​Ezra sat on the workbench, resting his damaged arm on a sterile pad. He watched Sabine's hands—hands accustomed to wielding paint canisters and blasters, now exhibiting the incredible dexterity of a master craftswoman as she began to carefully remove the scarred plating from his wrist and fingers.

​The three Lume-Lynxes watched the procedure with intense curiosity. Hue and Pigment perched on the edge of the workbench, their luminous eyes fixed on the fine wires and delicate mechanisms Sabine was exposing. Chroma settled onto Ezra's knee, its purring a continuous, low-frequency hum that vibrated through his clothes.

​"I need you to hold perfectly still," Sabine instructed, her concentration absolute as she disconnected a thin bundle of fiber-optic relay cables.
​"I'll try," Ezra replied, focusing his mind to override the tremors. "The primary issue is the elbow’s stabilizing joint, specifically the 1.5 centimeter titanium rod that runs through it. The acid corroded the sleeve, causing the whole joint to float. We'll be using one of those Beskar rods to lock it back down.". Sabine nodded, inspecting the exposed component.

​While Sabine set about carefully cleaning the burnt residue from the exposed wiring, Ezra began sketching on his datapad, outlining the plan for their next hurdle—wiring the massive energy crystal.

​"Once we stabilize the arm, we move to the charging matrix," Ezra continued, talking through the process to keep his mind steady. "The crystal is stable, but its raw output is too volatile for the ship's capacitor bank. We need a buffer—a Regulator and Transfer Coil—to convert the raw organic energy into a usable, steady flow."

​"I have good grasp of transfer dynamics," Sabine interjected, not looking up from her work. "We can cannibalize the power converters from the Separatist speeder—they're designed to handle high, unregulated input. The key will be tuning the coil to the crystal's harmonic frequency. My design for the regulator should compensate for the thermal fluctuations if you can execute the mechanical fusing."

​"Agreed," Ezra confirmed. "My precision for the fusing; your mind is for the flux calculations." They were building a shared operational language—a system based entirely on acknowledging and leveraging their distinct, hard-won expertise.

​Sabine finally finished the deconstruction, leaving the intricate machinery of Ezra's prosthetic completely exposed. She cleaned the delicate wires and micro-actuators, revealing the core damage. The air grew still, the only sounds the faint, anxious clicks of the Lume-Lynxes and the distant, low thrum of the cooling jungle.

​Sabine leaned back, stretching her neck, and looked out the small viewport above the workbench. The midnight sky of Delta-7 Gamma was a magnificent, alien canvas, dense with stars unobscured by planetary light pollution. A large, crimson nebula hung low on the horizon, painting the blackness with strokes of deep violet.

​"It's beautiful," Sabine murmured. "Quiet, too. The jungle is sleeping now. Nothing is moving."

​Ezra followed her gaze, his expression reflective. "I haven't seen a sky this clear since... since I left the Academy."

​The shared silence grew heavy with memory. Sabine turned back to the workbench, her attention settling on the exposed, vulnerable machinery of his arm.

​"I know how difficult it can be to forget." Sabine said softly, her voice low. "That place. The control."

​Ezra watched the exposed circuits flicker in the dim light. "Control was the only safety they offered. It’s what they sell, isn't it? Order over freedom. I convinced myself I was doing the right thing, that the Empire offered a future that wasn't starvation or chaos." He paused, a deep, difficult truth surfacing. "But mostly, I was afraid of being insignificant. I was afraid of being alone."

​"You weren't alone," Sabine countered, not as a challenge, but as an undeniable fact. She carefully placed her tools down. "You were surrounded by people who used you, who designed you to be exactly what they needed. That's a different kind of loneliness."

​She leaned in, her gaze direct. "I was terrified of being alone after I realized what my family was complicit in. I ran, thinking I could paint the galaxy clean of their influence, but I realized running only isolates you. The only way to stop feeling alone is to choose to fight with someone who truly chooses you back."

​She picked up the first Beskar plate, now cool and hard, and weighed it in her palm. "That's why we're partners, Ezra. Not because we have to be, but because we choose to stand here, right now, with these ridiculous Lume-Lynxes, and fix the thing that broke. That's a hell of a better start than anything the Empire ever offered."

​Ezra looked at the Beskar plate, then at Sabine. In the quiet solitude of the midnight jungle, under the watch of his furry protectors, he felt a profound shift. This wasn't just a repair; it was the foundation of their new, chosen alliance.

​With the power crystal safely wired and charging the ship, all external pressure was momentarily lifted, allowing them to turn their full attention back to the second half of the Beskar upgrade: the internal installation. The work moved from heavy forging to micro-surgery.

The small cargo bay became a surgical theater. With the Beskar plates cooled, Sabine and Ezra began the painstaking process of integrating the new metal into the damaged prosthetic. Sabine, the one superior in micro-assembly, took the lead on the intricate internal work.

​Ezra sat rigidly on the workbench, his damaged arm resting on the padded repair tray. The prosthetic was already open, revealing the intricate landscape of scorched wiring, miniature hydraulic lines, and fine sensor filaments that Sabine had exposed earlier.

​Sabine pulled on thin, static-resistant gloves and selected her tools—tiny magnetic tweezers, fiber-optic welders, and jeweler’s screwdrivers. Her breath was steady, her concentration absolute, transforming the cargo bay into a sterile operating room.

​"We start with the elbow," Sabine instructed softly, her voice low and focused. "The main stabilizer rod. We need to replace that corroded sleeve with the Beskar piece and ensure the rotation matrix is perfect. Even a fraction of a millimeter off, and you'll have a permanent hitch in your gait."

​Ezra focused on dissociating, but it was impossible. Sabine’s proximity, the delicate brush of her fingers, and the intrusive nature of the repair held his attention captive. She began by cleaning the elbow socket, her gloved fingers—surprisingly warm against the cold titanium—working with surgical precision, meticulously wiping away acid residue and microscopic shards of burned titanium.

​Ezra felt a strange, unnerving sensation. Normally, the arm was a sterile extension, a tool. But the deliberate, concentrated contact of Sabine’s hands, tracing the damage and preparing the repair, made the prosthetic feel acutely present—like a limb under careful, focused examination.

​Sabine then took the first Beskar stabilizing rod. It was a minuscule, polished cylinder. She aligned it carefully, using the magnetic tweezers to guide it into the elbow socket. Click. It slid perfectly into place.

​"Test rotation," Sabine commanded.

​Ezra slowly rotated his forearm. It moved smoothly, silently, the new Beskar locking the joint into a perfect, fluid arc. A faint, internal wave of relief washed over him.

​The work moved down the forearm to the wrist—the most complex and damaged section. This area housed the actuators for fine motor control, all of which were sensitive to temperature and impact.

​"Now for the actuators," Sabine murmured, peering through a magnifying lens. "We need to fuse the two Beskar support rods into the joint housing. This will prevent lateral movement and stabilize the tremor."

​She began the fusing process, using the tiny fiber-optic welder. Ezra felt a series of minute, focused vibrations as the Beskar was seamlessly integrated into the housing. The faint, metallic smell of the weld was strangely comforting, a smell of construction and repair rather than damage.

​As Sabine finished the structural work, her attention shifted to the external plating and the wiring leading to his fingertips.

​"The sensor leads in your fingers are heavily compromised by the acid. They are what allow you to feel texture and pressure," Sabine explained. "We need to replace the outermost layer of conductive wiring with a new micro-mesh, and then seal it with the external Beskar plate."

​This was the strangest part. Sabine's fine, nimble fingers meticulously worked beneath the surface of the fingertip. She used her tweezers to pull out the corroded wires, replacing them with new conductive filaments. Ezra felt a faint, phantom tingling in the metal as the new wires connected. Her touch, despite the gloves, was unbelievably light, focused entirely on the delicate task of restoring sensation.

​He realized he was holding his breath again, not from pain, but from the intensity of the prolonged, deliberate contact. The sterile barrier he normally maintained between himself and his prosthetic was dissolving under her focused care. He felt a deep, almost embarrassing comfort from the strange, intimate labor she was performing. This wasn't just a partner fixing a tool; it was an artist giving a broken piece of machinery its soul back.

​Finally, Sabine took the last, small piece of Beskar plating—a thin, curved piece designed to cap the wrist joint—and secured it over the newly repaired section.

​She stepped back, pulling off her gloves and leaning her hands on her hips, admiring her work. The Beskar gleamed dull silver against the rest of the matte titanium, a bold sign of resilience.

​"Try the sensors," Sabine commanded.

​Ezra slowly lifted his newly repaired arm. He reached out and gently touched the smooth surface of the wooden workbench. He felt the cold, hard wood through the Beskar plating. The sensation was clean, immediate, and perfect. The tremor was entirely gone.

​"It's flawless," Ezra said, flexing his fingers repeatedly, a genuine, astonished relief flooding his features. "I have full sensitivity, and the stabilization is better than the original factory standard."

​Sabine smiled, the exhaustion momentarily replaced by the pride of a successful crafter. "Good. Now, you have a hand strong enough to break the Empire."

​"It's... perfect," Ezra murmured, clenching his fist, then relaxing it.

​"Beskar usually is," Sabine replied, packing away her tools. She looked incredibly tired, her usual sharp energy dulled by the intense focus.

​"We should run diagnostics on the Regulator and Transfer Coil," Ezra suggested, though his voice lacked conviction.

​Sabine walked over to the main console and glanced at the time. The sun was still hours away from rising. "We can barely see the schematics, Ezra. The most crucial part of this entire sequence—the final calibration of the crystal's harmonic frequency—requires both of us to be running on full capacity. Not whatever this is." She gestured to their exhausted bodies.

​She walked over to the small bench seat—the site of their previous accidental huddle—and sank onto it. "The lab benches and pilot chairs are designed for efficiency and rigidity. They're stiff and uncomfortable. This small bench, however," she sighed, sinking into the soft cushion, "is the only thing resembling actual furniture on this entire ship."

​Ezra walked over to the co-pilot seat and gently touched the cold, unyielding leather. He then looked at the bench where Sabine was already pulling a blanket over her legs. He remembered the simple, non-threatening warmth of their previous huddle.

​"The pilot seats," Ezra agreed, his tone light but weary, "are designed for vigilance, not rest. They're terrible for sleeping."

​He didn't hesitate this time. He walked over and sat beside her on the bench. The space was immediately small, forcing them close, their shoulders touching. The three Lume-Lynxes, sensing the cessation of work and the renewed concentration of warmth, slowly walked from the cargo bay and nestled themselves around them. Pigment climbed directly onto Sabine's lap, and Hue and Chroma settled against Ezra's legs.

​"Four hours, then," Sabine whispered, leaning her head back against the cool bulkhead.

​"Four hours," Ezra confirmed, allowing his head to rest against hers. The Beskar plating on his arm felt solid and cool against the blanket.
​In the dead quiet of the midnight jungle, surrounded by their small, comforting security detail, they finally allowed themselves the luxury of complete, necessary rest.

Chapter 4: The Blue Hour

Summary:

A bit on the shorter side today. Tried to focus on slowing down a bit. Being alone bit more focused.

Let me know how I did.

Im hopeing I didn't over do the details.

Two hours later, the silence in the Azure Wanderer's small living space was absolute, broken only by the faint, high-frequency hum of the massive energy crystal charging in the cargo bay—a sound only barely audible through the bulkhead.

Outside the viewport, Delta-7 Gamma’s perpetual Blue Hour was beginning. It was the breathtaking, compressed period between the planet’s twin suns setting and their slow, binary ascent. The world was saturated in ethereal, indigo light, a light so deep it seemed to come from the air itself.

The jungle outside was transformed. The thick, tiered canopy, usually an oppressive wall of chlorophyl green, was softened into endless, layered shadows of violet and slate. The air was perfectly still, cool, and thick with the mineral scent of ozone and the damp earth of a thousand ancient tree roots. A profound mist—ground fog, thick and luminous from the planet's high water table—curled around the base of the ship like a vast, silent, slow-moving ocean. Above the fog, the massive, dark silhouettes of the ancient trees rose like colossal, sleeping sentinels, their highest branches just catching the first, faint promise of solar gold.
Inside the cramped cabin, Sabine and Ezra were deep in the exhausted sleep of those who have survived extreme stress. They were curled tightly together on the narrow bench, bundled beneath the thin blanket, a shared knot of unconscious survival.

The Lume-Lynxes, however, were creatures of instinct, and the night was far from over. Pigment, nestled on Sabine's chest, stirred first. It lifted its luminous head, its gaze fixed on the quiet darkness outside the viewport. Hunting time had arrived.

With remarkable synchronization, Pigment, Hue, and Chroma slowly, carefully extricated themselves from the warm cocoon of the blanket. They moved like silent ghosts, their soft paws making no sound on the floor plating. Pigment paused for a final moment, nuzzling its face against the cool, unyielding Beskar on Ezra's arm—a gesture of thanks for the temporary thermal shelter—before hopping silently off the bench.
The moment the three Lume-Lynxes vanished out the cargo bay hatch, the warmth they had provided dissipated rapidly. The biting cold, generated by the low-power environment, immediately rushed into the space where they had been.

Ezra shifted first, his body unconsciously seeking the lost heat. His Beskar-reinforced arm slid around Sabine's back, pulling her closer. Sabine, deep in sleep, responded by pressing her cold feet against Ezra's legs, tucking her head more securely beneath his chin. They shifted into a tight, single knot of unconscious survival, their shared breath creating a small, meager pocket of warmth against the invasive chill.

Three hours later, the soft glow of the rising binary suns filtered through the viewport, slicing through the Blue Hour and painting the cramped cabin in faint stripes of brilliant gold and harsh red. The regulated ship systems were now humming, but the bench was still bitterly cold.
Sabine was the first to stir. She woke slowly, the deep sense of restful quiet utterly alien to her usual state of vigilance. Her face was pressed firmly against something warm, solid, and smelling faintly of ozone and engine grease—the metallic scent of Ezra Bridger, intimately familiar from the forge and the forced closeness.

She blinked open her eyes, her gaze falling immediately on the polished, cool metal of the Beskar-plated arm draped across her shoulder. The metal, freshly coated in the unique silver and deep blue lacquer, felt dense and heavy—a stark contrast to the thin, warm blanket pooled around them. Her own arm was firmly wrapped around Ezra's waist, tucked beneath the bulky sleeve of his tunic. Their legs were tangled beneath the blanket, creating a single, comfortable entanglement that left virtually no space between them.

The shock was immediate and thorough, sending a flush of heat to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the environment regulator. Her mind, usually operating at the rapid, tactical pace of an artist in a firefight, seized up. This was probably a bit on the excessive side, even if they were just "conserving heat." The intimacy of the position was overwhelming; it was not merely proximity, but a complete, unconscious trust reflected in the way their bodies had merged for warmth.

She gently tried to pull back, but Ezra was a heavy, dead weight against her, his breathing slow and deep, still soundly asleep.

Ezra woke a moment later, disturbed by the subtle movement—the minor shift of weight was enough to pull him from sleep. He blinked, his deep, new blue eyes unfocused, before registering the distinct shape and warmth of the person he was holding. The soft texture of her hair beneath his chin, the tension in the space between her shoulder blades, the smallness of the bench, and the utterly compromising position they had fallen into flooded his awareness.

He froze completely, his newly repaired Beskar arm suddenly feeling like an impossibly heavy anchor, the polished blue enamel cool against her clothes. He could feel the rapid pulse in his throat begin to beat against the metal plating of his collarbone.

Sabine’s focus immediately shifted from their intertwined state to his face. In the harsh, rising light of the binary suns, a subtle change was amplified: his eyes. The lingering corruption of his Imperial past—the haunting, sickly yellow she had occasionally glimpsed—was gone. The internal struggle seemed resolved. His eyes were now a complete, deep, striking blue, like polished sapphires—the color they had been before the Empire, only more intense. The purity and startling clarity of the color were the first things she registered. It was a final, undeniable visual record that the corruption had been burned out.

"Wren," he managed, his voice barely a rough whisper, his chest vibrating with the sound. The single word was strained, a tight mix of relief, panic, and an acknowledgment of the shared, silent memory of the night.
Sabine didn't acknowledge the greeting immediately. She simply stared, mesmerized by the deep, crystalline blue of his gaze. It was a complete, final repair, far more significant than the Beskar on his arm.

"Bridger," Sabine replied, her voice equally low, devoid of either anger or humor—just utter, mortifying realization and a lingering trace of profound relief at the clarity of his eyes. She slowly unwound her leg from his, the motion agonizingly slow as she tried to restore some semblance of personal space, a difficult task on the narrow bench. The movement was a physical breaking of the connection.

Ezra, a tad reluctantly, released her, pulling his arm back with a sudden, jerky movement that betrayed his deep embarrassment. The warmth immediately vanished, replaced by the vacuum of the unspoken tension. The sudden cold of the cabin rushed into the space between them, emphasizing the gap.

They sat bolt upright, backs straight, perfectly parallel, staring ahead at the main console, both pretending the intense five-hour proximity had not happened. Their shared breath hitched and regulated, returning to a purely mechanical function.

"The Lynxes left," Ezra noted stiffly, clearing his throat, the sound rough and loud in the sudden silence. He needed to talk about anything but the blanket.

"Yeah. They must've took the warmth with them," Sabine said, her own voice regaining its usual sharp edge. She snatched the blanket off her legs, bundling it quickly as if to erase the evidence of their closeness.
She turned toward the console, forcing her mind back to the mission. "We wasted three hours. We need to be moving. The regulator needs calibration, and that crystal needs to be wired within the hour. No more delays. The Empire isn't going to wait politely for us to finish snuggling."

The word "snuggling" hung heavily in the air, a barbed reminder of their vulnerability. Ezra ignored it, grabbing the regulator schematics from the floor with his newly functional, Beskar-reinforced arm. He slammed the datapad onto the console.

"Agreed," Ezra said, his voice clipped and entirely professional, the embarrassment contained and buried deep. "We focus on the transfer coil."

The shared, awkward realization of their unconscious intimacy vanished beneath the immediate, urgent pressure of the task at hand. They retreated to the cargo bay, transforming the emotional tension into sharp, focused energy. The glowing energy crystal, humming steadily in its crucible, was now the singular priority.

Outside the Azure Wanderer, the blue hour was now fully eclipsed by the twin sunrise. The light filtering through the canopy was a brilliant, harsh gold, but the air remained cool and still. The colossal leaves of the jungle trees were heavy with a fine, sparkling dew, reflecting the sunlight in a million tiny flashes. The thick ground fog, which had earlier been like a silent, indigo ocean, was now beginning to burn off, revealing the damp, rich earth beneath. A profound, almost meditative stillness surrounded the ship, broken only by the rhythmic, low-frequency hum of the charging crystal in the cargo bay. Despite the volatility of the task before them, this surrounding natural peace felt like a temporary, beautiful shield.
Inside, the cargo bay was a mix of chaos and precision. The Beskar forge was cool and dormant, but the crystal’s crucible radiated a pure, contained heat. Ezra and Sabine stood over the Separatist power regulator, the interface that needed to be wired to the raw energy source.

"We start with the regulator's heat sync," Ezra commanded, his voice crisp and professional, the embarrassment contained. His deep blue eyes, now clear of all lingering corruption, were entirely focused on the mechanics. His Beskar arm moved with flawless precision, gripping the Separatist power converter without a tremor. The movement was almost constant—a subtle, continuous flexing of the fingers and wrist, a quiet acknowledgment of the arm’s perfect function, but also a nervous tic he now carried with this new, heavy limb. This meticulous, almost calm energy was new, a stark contrast to his past impulsiveness. "The initial surge is going to be massive; we need to dissipate that kinetic energy instantly before it hits the capacitor bank."

Sabine was already stripping the wires on the crystal conduit. This was work she excelled at, a deep proficiency honed by years of advanced technical training. "Your schematics for the coil look sound, but the final tuning has to be done live while the crystal is spiking. The frequency needs to perfectly match the capacitor's acceptance rate—if we're off by even 0.1hertz, we vaporize the ship's entire power relay."

She approached the power dynamics with a comfortable, innate confidence, born from her time in the Imperial Academy where she specialized in power conversion and weapon systems. For Sabine, translating raw, chaotic energy into controlled, filtered output was a matter of elegant physics and mathematics—a puzzle with a definite solution.

"That's where your transfer dynamics come in," Ezra replied, passing her a micro-sensor designed to measure energy resonance. "I'll do the physical wiring; you'll monitor the coil and regulate the frequency."

The process was infinitely more delicate than the Beskar forging, yet, for experts like them, it was also relatively straightforward. They were connecting pure, raw, volatile organic energy to the fragile, geriatric electronics of a Separatist-era starship.

Ezra began the physical connection, his Beskar-plated arm moving with the confidence of its newfound strength. He secured the heavy-gauge conduit to the regulator, his movements smooth and unflinching. The new limb gave him the perfect leverage and steadiness required for such heavy-duty, precise work.

"Physical connection established," Ezra reported, stepping back, his subtle, consistent hand movements continuing. "Transfer coil is armed. Your turn, Sabine."

Sabine approached the complex regulator, now connected to the glowing crystal. She activated her datapad, which displayed a dizzying array of energy waveforms and frequency parameters. The elegance of the math on the screen was a comfort.

"Initiating low-level draw," Sabine muttered, her fingers dancing over the controls with an ease that betrayed her deep understanding of energy flow. "We need the crystal to hit 1.2 gigajoules before I can get a clean resonance reading."

The crystal's humming intensified, vibrating through the metal deck. The air in the cargo bay grew thick with ozone. The datapad flashed a sudden, violent warning: CRITICAL FLUX.

"Spike imminent!" Ezra warned, bracing against the workbench, his steady blue gaze locked on her face.

"I see it!" Sabine yelled back, her eyes narrowed in fierce concentration. Applying years of deep knowledge in Imperial power conversion principles, she adjusted the regulator, manipulating the magnetic fields of the transfer coil to precisely filter the raw energy surge.

The regulator whined violently, protesting the massive power influx. On the datapad, the red warning light blinked rapidly as the frequency spiked, threatening to break out of the safe zone.

Sweat beaded on Sabine's brow. She made a final, tiny adjustment to the coil's induction rate. The regulator let out a final, shuddering thrum, and the red light on the datapad stabilized, turning a solid green.

"Resonance achieved," Sabine breathed, leaning against the workbench, utterly spent, but a slight, satisfied curve touched her lips. "We're converting the crystal's output at a stable 0.98 efficiency. The ship is charging."

Ezra checked the main power gauges. The ship's capacity was climbing, the numbers ticking upward with reassuring speed. They had done it.

"We are no longer dead in the water," Ezra confirmed, the relief evident in his voice. "However," he paused, running a diagnostic on the Separatist dampener’s acceptance rate, "due to the age and the inherent inefficiency of the dampener we're running this through, the original estimates are... optimistic."

He glanced up at Sabine, his face regaining its professional reserve. "Full charge is no longer five days. It will take two full weeks to safely top off the power cells at this conversion rate. The old Separatist equipment just can't handle the sustained kinetic draw."

The news hung heavily in the air. Two weeks, stranded on a volatile, uncharted world, rather than five days. It was a complete overhaul of their timeline.

"Two weeks," Sabine repeated, her expression hardening with renewed purpose. "Then two weeks it is, Bridger. We focus on securing the supplies and refining the campaign plan. The Empire can wait a little longer."

With fourteen days now stretching before them, the urgency of immediate repair was replaced by the protracted necessity of survival and meticulous preparation. The period of waiting became a crucible for their partnership, forcing them to settle into a rhythm of maintenance and strategy on the volatile, uncharted world.

Their days were a repetitive cycle of maintenance and resource gathering. They utilized the extended charging period to secure their long-term supply, relying heavily on the native intelligence of their companions. The Lume-Lynxes proved indispensable, leading them away from the highly toxic acid pools and towards secluded thickets abundant with safe, blue jungle fruits and reservoirs of fresh, filtered water.
Ezra would deploy the compact filtration unit near the reservoirs, ensuring their water supply was clean and potable, while Sabine kept a vigilant watch, her eyes constantly scanning the high canopy for any sign of larger, predatory fauna or aerial threats.

The Lynxes’ attachment grew deeper and more segmented. Pigment and Hue consistently shadowed Ezra, their small, luminous bodies often touching his legs, clicking worriedly whenever he attempted a sudden movement, perhaps sensing the vulnerability beneath the Beskar.

Chroma, having cemented its preference for Sabine, would perch on her shoulder during long stretches of stationary watch, its rhythmic purr a low, soothing, almost meditative presence that helped her maintain focus. This consistent, non-judgemental companionship created pockets of strange, quiet peace within their high-stress existence.

The evenings were reserved for strategic planning, held in the main living cabin where the residual heat from the fully charged power cells offered comfortable warmth.

Sabine, recognizing the destructive nature of their past solo habits, insisted on establishing a concrete operational code. She laid out the rules on her datapad, the display illuminating their serious, tired faces.

"We cannot go into this as two individual actors," Sabine stated, her tone measured and analytical, adopting the language of technical planning. "My biggest weakness is I trust my own abilities implicitly, often to the exclusion of necessary external aid. That gets people killed, or, in this case, gets our entire operation compromised."

Ezra, seated across from her, slowly and continuously flexed the fingers of his Beskar-plated arm, watching the newly polished blue-and-silver metal catch the dim cabin light. His new, quiet energy gave him an almost unnerving sense of stillness. "And mine is impulsive action—a reliance on gut instinct and immediate deployments, like I did with the acid pool and the sonic cutter. That causes collateral damage and burns through resources we need."

They formalized their pact, a contract etched in cold, hard necessity:
* Rule One: Shared Assessment. Before any major engagement (boarding, infiltration, or extraction), the plan must be verbally outlined and confirmed by both partners. No one acts on impulse without approval.
* Rule Two: Redundancy Protocol. Danger is to be managed jointly. If one partner has a clear path to the objective, the other must assume the counter-security position. Neither is permitted to take on a challenge that the other can safely support.
* Rule Three: The Mission Over the Memory. Personal history with the Empire—vengeance, trauma, or emotional reactions—will not dictate an operational decision. They are thieves, not crusaders, and their primary goal is disruption and profit, not personal satisfaction.

"Rule Three will be the crucible for both of us," Ezra noted, his intense, deep blue gaze distant for a moment. "The Empire runs deep in my past. Letting go of that immediate, emotional need for justice..."

"It’s what keeps us effective," Sabine finished firmly. "We hurt them by hitting their pocketbook, not by chasing ghosts. This list is non-negotiable, Ezra, for either of us."

As the lights were dimmed on the fourth night, the discussion deepened, moving away from logistics and towards the strange, fragile intimacy of their forced partnership.

Ezra sat on the edge of the bench, continuously toying with his Beskar arm. The metal, fresh from Sabine's forge and cooling gel, possessed a high, almost mirror-like sheen that was catching the faint green pilot light. The compulsive flexing and movement had an almost calming effect on him.

"You did good work," Ezra said, his voice quiet, still trying to keep the conversation light and technical. "I can't feel the difference between the Beskar and the original plating. It's solid."

Sabine watched him, noting the way his hands moved. "The metal is sound. But the Beskar finish is... raw. It lacks character."
Ezra stopped flexing his arm and looked at her, confused. "Raw? It’s military-grade plating. It’s meant to be functional, not decorative.".

"Exactly," Sabine replied, a familiar spark of artistic energy igniting in her eyes. "It's the ultimate canvas, and it looks like a spare part from a maintenance drone. It has no personality. It needs color."

Ezra gave a hesitant, low laugh. "Paint? Sabine, this is Beskar. It's meant to take a lightsaber hit, not a vibrant color palette."

"My paints are durable," she countered, a challenge in her voice. "And we are past the point of hiding what we are. We are building something new. Your arm is now the symbol of our operational capability. It should look like it."

Sabine leaned forward slightly, her eyes examining the perfect curve of the Beskar plating. "I see silver, but the sheen reminds me of the Lynxes’ coats—that deep, glossy, polished finish. We can use a combination of metallic silver and deep, electric blue. It will catch the light beautifully, and it will be subtle enough not to scream 'Mandalorian,' but deliberate enough to be striking."

Ezra considered this. It was reckless, aesthetic, and completely against the cold, practical nature of Imperial technology. It was entirely Sabine.

"If you scratch my neural interface," Ezra warned softly, a hint of genuine worry in his voice, "I will be very irritated."

Sabine smiled, a rare, relaxed look that transformed her tired features. "You have my guarantee, Bridger. You’ll barely feel it."

She retrieved a small kit containing specialized metallic lacquers and brushes. She instructed Ezra to lay his arm flat on the bench. He complied, watching as Sabine began to work.

The work required close contact. Sabine knelt beside him, her face close to his arm, her breathing soft and rhythmic. Her fingers, no longer wielding heavy tongs or fine wires, now held a delicate brush, applying the metallic blue paint with meticulous care to the seams and housing, contrasting it with the polished silver.

Ezra, forced into prolonged proximity and passive stillness, took mental note of how relaxed Sabine looked. Her brows were unfurrowed, the tension lines around her eyes smoothed out. In this moment of artistic creation, she seemed completely at ease, far more comfortable than she ever was wielding a blaster. It was a private moment of genuine calm for her.

Sabine, meanwhile, was entirely focused on the perfect blending of the gloss. She took mental note of how relaxed Ezra seemed—despite the continuous, close contact. There was no flinching, no stiffness, none of the cold Imperial rigidity he usually defaulted to under scrutiny. He was open, trusting her implicitly with the appearance and integrity of his most personal tool.

After nearly an hour, Sabine set down the brush. The Beskar arm was transformed. The plating now featured sweeping lines of vibrant, deep blue enamel over the metallic silver, sealed with a glossy topcoat that gave it an almost liquid shine, echoing the coats of the Lume-Lynxes.

"There," Sabine breathed, admiring her work. "Now it's not just a tool. It's ours."

Ezra slowly lifted his newly painted arm, tilting it to catch the light. The colors were stunning—a deliberate, beautiful act of defiance. The new coating felt cool and smooth.

"It's perfect, Wren," Ezra said, the sincerity clear in his voice. "Absolutely perfect."

 

The afternoon on Delta-7 Gamma was a different beast from the cool, ethereal blue hour. The twin suns beat down relentlessly, turning the jungle into a sweltering, humid greenhouse. Outside the Azure Wanderer, the air hung thick and heavy, a palpable weight pressing against the hull. The vibrant golden light of midday filtered through the dense, multi-layered canopy, creating dappled patterns of oppressive heat and deep, shadowy emerald. The ground, still damp from the morning fog, now steamed faintly, releasing the earthy, mineral scent of rich soil and decaying vegetation, mingling with the sweet, cloying fragrance of exotic, unseen jungle blossoms. The air was alive with the unseen hum of insects and the distant, throaty calls of indigenous fauna, a constant, low thrum beneath the ship's steady, low-power hum. A fine sheen of condensation clung to every surface, both inside and out.

Inside the cargo bay, the air was still warm, but mercifully drier thanks to the ship’s struggling environmental controls. The main bay was currently a makeshift studio. Sabine was kneeling before a blank section of the ship's interior wall, a smooth, durasteel panel that had previously been a drab, utilitarian grey. With a confident stroke, she applied a rich, deep blue paint, the color vibrant against the dull metal. Her brushes moved with a fluid grace, utterly absorbed in the evolving mural.

Across the bay, Ezra sat cross-legged on a duraplate crate, bathed in a sliver of golden light that penetrated a high viewport. His deep blue eyes were half-lidded in concentration, reflecting the light like polished gems. His newly painted Beskar arm rested lightly on his knee, the sweeping lines of deep blue enamel gleaming. With deliberate, almost meditative slowness, he was disassembling his lightsaber. Small, intricate components—kyber crystal, power conduits, emitter matrix—floated precisely around him, held aloft by the Force. He separated them, rotated them, examined them, then, just as slowly, began to guide them back into their intricate assembly. It was a practice in control, a quiet reclaiming of his focus amidst the waiting.

The three Lume-Lynxes, drawn by the stillness and the ambient warmth, had settled nearby. Pigment and Hue lay curled at Ezra’s feet, occasionally lifting their luminous heads to admire the new blue-and-silver patterns on his arm, a soft, approving click emanating from their throats. Chroma, ever loyal to Sabine, perched on a stack of storage containers near her, watching her brushstrokes with intense, unblinking eyes, its tail giving a slow, languid swish.

Ezra, mid-assembly, subtly shifted his gaze from a floating power cell to Sabine's work. The blue paint shimmered, echoing the color of his own arm.

"You've taken a liking to that blue, Wren," Ezra murmured, his voice low, breaking the comfortable silence. The parts of his lightsaber continued their slow, orbital dance around him, undisturbed by his words. "Is it the only color you have left in your kit?"

Sabine paused, holding her brush aloft, a fine line of dark blue pigment poised at the tip. She glanced over her shoulder, a faint smile playing on her lips. The humidity had tousled strands of her hair around her face, clinging slightly to her brow.

"Not at all, Bridger," she replied, her voice soft, almost melodic in the quiet hum of the ship. "I've actually got a rather vibrant teal, a rich violet, and a surprisingly muted ochre left in this particular batch. But this deep blue… I've simply found myself drawn to it lately." She turned back to her mural, adding another precise curve of the color. "It has a certain depth, doesn't it? A kind of quiet strength. And it blends well with the ship's natural palette."

Ezra considered this, guiding a miniature lens into its housing with a flicker of the Force. "It does. It’s… less jarring than the stark reds and yellows you sometimes favor. Almost calming." He thought of the planet outside, now shimmering with a heat haze, but still carrying the memory of the blue hour. "Like the light outside in the mornings. Before the heat sets in."

"Exactly," Sabine agreed, her brush moving with renewed focus. "It’s a color of possibility, I think. Of potential. It's not a color of war, not really. More a color of transition." She paused, her eyes sweeping over the nascent mural, then flickered to his arm. "Like your arm. It's not just a repair. It's a statement."

The Lynxes at Ezra’s feet clicked again, as if in agreement, their luminous eyes fixed on the Beskar.

Ezra chuckled softly, a rare, relaxed sound. He carefully guided the kyber crystal back into its chamber, watching it settle with a faint, internal hum. "A very durable statement, if your paints hold up."

"They'll hold," Sabine assured him, not looking away from her art. "They always do. My father used to say that true art isn't just about beauty, it's about endurance. About lasting through the elements, through time." She leaned back, admiring a section of the blue she had just completed, a swirl that seemed to mimic the distant nebulae they would soon be traversing. "What about the teal, though? That could be interesting. A good contrast. Perhaps for the next panel."

Ezra nodded slowly, his lightsaber now fully reassembled, resting inertly on his palm. His deep blue eyes, no longer reflecting the yellow corruption of his past, simply absorbed the hues. "Teal would be a good complement. Like the bioluminescent moss we saw near the acid pools. A stark beauty in a dangerous place."

The conversation drifted, a slow, unhurried current beneath the heavy afternoon heat. It was a moment of quiet creation, of introspection, of two individuals finding a temporary, fragile peace in their respective crafts, surrounded by the wild beauty and oppressive heat of Delta-7 Gamma, awaiting the next phase of their desperate plan.

Notes:

Let me know your thoughts.

Hope I've accurately kept to the original feel of the story.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The dark side of the moon