Chapter Text
Nine Months Later
Sabine blows a strand of faded scarlet hair out of her eyes as she pushes the crate up the loading ramp of the Ghost. Zeb meets her at the top, the Lasat taking the crate from her with a grunt.
“Ask AP how many more o’ those we got, will ya?”
“Yeah,” she tosses over her shoulder, walking halfway down the ramp before moving to the side and hopping the last half down.
“Vod.” She glances up at Tristan’s call, shielding her eyes with a hand even as she continues walking to where the crates and the former Imperial inventory droid stand, several meters from the ship.
“Brother.” Tristan arrives and stops in front of her, glancing down, and—not for the first time—she wishes she were taller than him. “Do you need something?”
“Tactical Support. Mother wants you.” She nods.
“Can I finish with these crates first?”
“She said it was urgent,” Tristan says, expression unreadable. She hesitates for a moment, expecting him to challenge her—even months later, that’s still her first instinct, to defend herself and her work—but he doesn’t. Finally she gives in with another nod and a sigh.
“Okay, I’ll let Zeb know.” She turns to head back up the ramp. “Big guy, Tristan says I’m needed at Tactical Support. Can you and AP manage the rest of these on your own?”
His ears flatten momentarily but he nods. “‘Guess so. Good luck with yer mom.”
She snorts. “I’ll need it.”
Nine months in the Rebellion, and she’s still wondering if this is where she’s meant to be.
“Remind me again whose idea it was to sneak into the Empire dressed as kriffing Inquisitors?”
Tano shoots a glance at him, sighing and shaking her head in defeat. “And you had a better idea?”
“Yeah! Sneak in as pilots!”
She points to her montrals. “Alien, remember? How were you going to hide that?”
Han glares. “You just don’t have any creativity.”
Tano offers him a rare smile, though he gets the feeling the fact it puts her fangs on full display isn’t accidental.
“Just remember the plan.”
Han waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah, you’re an Inquisitor, I’m an Inquisitor, and Chewie’s the newest Force-sensitive we’ve found.”
“Exactly,” Tano nods. “And what are we doing with him?”
“We’re taking him to the detention levels for…‘Preliminary Training,’” Han sneers, the words making his skin crawl. Tano nods again.
Did...did Dev go through this?
The thought comes into his mind unbidden and he remembers the frantic shouts the boy cried as he was dragged away.
All your fault.
He suppresses the thought, resettling his hands on the steering yoke of the transport and taking a deep breath in.
You can fix this. Just play it safe, and you can fix this.
As they draw nearer to the scarlet surface of Mustafar, he sure hopes he can.
Kanan tramps through the vegetation, wrinkling his nose at the stench. “Smells like something died,” he mutters to himself.
“It’ll be you if you don’t have us turn around within the next klick,” Seven bites out acidly, hissing a curse as a branch whacks her in the mouthpiece of her helmet. Kanan can’t help but suppress his smile. Sometimes, the other Inquisitors, despite how good they claim to be, really are blind in the Force.
“We have a mission, and we’re gonna do it. And we’re not gonna do it halfway, either,” Kanan growls. He ducks under a low-hanging vine.
“And why did we have to come all the way to kriffing Alistan Nor to do it?”
“You know exactly why.” He’s getting fed-up with her, and is half-tempted to shove his lightsaber into her face once they’re out of the thicker part of the jungle.
“Because you sensed your precious apprentice all the way out here? Let me tell you, Brother. If you think that impudent child will be returning with us to Mustafar, you are sorely mistaken. He will be executed before we ever hit atmo—”
Kanan whirls, lightsaber out and ignited in his hand. “What else do you have to say about him?” he asks, voice dangerously soft.
She scoffs, moving her hand slightly and shoving the ‘saber away with the Force. “I think you already know.”
Kanan sets his jaw and glares at her for a long, long moment before turning away. “Let’s keep going, then.”
Ezra pushes through the undergrowth behind Maul, keeping up as well as he can. “Why are we out here again, Master? I thought we—”
“Quiet,” Maul orders. Ezra closes his mouth with an audible clack.
As they walk, Ezra focuses on the now-familiar weight of his ‘saber on his belt. Building it this time was a much different experience. Maul’s teachings on the matter were significantly better than the Inquisitorius’s had been, and even though it resulted in a single-bladed weapon—which he only had some degree of experience at the time with—he’s satisfied. The blade feels a part of him now, just as much as his training with the Inquisitorius and his master—
“Apprentice,” Maul says, stopping without warning. Ezra nearly stumbles into him, managing to stop just in time and swallow back his comment. “Please do keep in mind that I can sense your thoughts, no matter how well-shielded you may believe yourself to be.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything—”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t just refer to someone else as your master in your mind, Ezra,” Maul says quietly.
“I didn’t—”
Maul draws his ‘saber and whirls toward him, calling Ezra’s lightsaber to his hand in the same moment. His blade is up against Ezra’s throat, making him stumble back against a tree as he gasps for breath and tries not to move.
“Would you like to try to lie to me again, Apprentice?” he hisses.
“Step away from my apprentice,” says a cold, familiar voice.
Ezra glances at the clump of trees directly over Maul’s shoulder.
And sees his master.