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Chapter Text

Ezra watched the blue ripple of hyperspace hurtle by. A familiar sight given vastly different context. Here, there was no control, no stops to pull, no Hera at the helm of the ship. No definite destination, or enemies to give chase. 

It was, in a word, isolating. 

It could’ve been hours, or it could’ve been days. Time was hard to keep track of with none of the usual physical markers indicative of it. For a large portion of those days or hours, Ezra’s berth had been the cold floor, and his spiralling thoughts his only company. Guilt, regret and fear of the unknown refused to let him sleep despite his perpetually exhausted state. 

Guilt, for everything this plan had cost. It was a last resort, Lothal making one final stand, and Ezra knew he shouldn’t feel sorry for all the Imperial lives lost in the process. Had the Empire shown a morsel of remorse for all the rebel and civilian deaths on its hands? 

But they weren’t the Empire. They were here to preserve life, not destroy it. It wasn’t the Jedi way. 

What would Kanan think?

Regret, for all he had left behind. With the Ghost crew, Ezra Bridger has belonged . He’d found a family, and people he could count on. He would never see them again. They would never know what became of him. Did he have any right to put them in that situation?

The Empire will return to Lothal with more force, Thrawn had retorted with thinly veiled impatience. You have doomed the people you sought to protect. Tell me, Bridger, do you ever stop to consider the implications of your plans? 

“What the fuck do you know,” muttered Ezra, allowing his eyes to drift shut. “You’re just another lackey of the Empire. You don’t care about anyone the Empire doesn’t care about.” 

His voice sounded strange to his own ears. After that heated argument with Thrawn, he hadn’t spoken aloud to the only other person on the bridge. His conversations from that point were in his own head, for his own ears only. 

“It is imperative that you understand your opponent, or at least his motivations.” 

Ezra glanced up sharply, eyeing the Imperial Admiral from where he was laying flat on the floor. A defenceless position, if the Admiral wasn’t still enclosed in the purrgil’s vicelike embrace, undoubtedly also sporting crushed ribs. It was a wonder he could talk coherently at all. 

“I understand you well enough,” Ezra fired back. “There isn’t much else to you Imperial sorts than rank and politics. Everything that doesn’t further your cause is a burden you’re itching to shed.” 

Thrawn inclined his head, considering his response. Always calm, infuriatingly so. The turbulence of emotion observable in his features when he realised his defeat was long gone, replaced by the man’s usual cool composure, as if he had nothing to fear, and simply couldn’t lose. Ezra sat up, clenching his fists on his knees. 

“Your observation is on par with many Imperial officers I have encountered,” said Thrawn finally, slowly. “Perhaps even the vast majority. Self-preservation, however, is a predominant trait among humans. There are some who would go to extreme extents for the sake of it.” 

Ezra snorted. “Don’t act like you’re superior to everyone just because you’re an emotionless…Pantoran.” 

“I am not a Pantoran,” said Thrawn. 

Ezra waved a dismissive hand. “I know. Look how much I care. You get my point.”

“Neither am I, as you say, emotionless. I am merely being rational and level-headed as is required of these unusual circumstances. Calm in the face of a challenge will buy you more opportunities than panic.” 

Ezra narrowed his eyes unappreciatively. “I’m not going to get lectured by you.”

“I invite you to reconsider your original assessment,” Thrawn continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Do you understand your opponent, Ezra Bridger?” 

“Fine.” Ezra pulled himself into a cross-legged position, as if preparing for whatever banthashit Thrawn had to say. “Have it your way, Grand Admiral. Yeah, I think I know what you’re all about. You’re a servant of the Empire. You do what they want you to do without question. You don’t care about civilian lives. You will achieve results at whatever cost, because you don’t care about anyone.” 

“Interesting,” said Thrawn. 

“Am I right?” asked Ezra darkly, wanting nothing more than to walk away. He didn’t have to play Thrawn’s games. 

“No.” 

“Then tell me. Convince me in a minute that I’m wrong about you or I walk out of here.” 

“I’m afraid you will not be able to simply walk out of this room. The emergency blast doors have been sealed, and the Chimera’s control center shorted. You will require welding equipment if you are to leave through those doors.” 

“Your minute is ticking,” growled Ezra. 

Thrawn briefly closed his eyes, in what may have been his version of a sigh. “Very well. As stated before, I am not Pantoran. I am part of a species known as the Chiss, who hail from the Unknown Regions.” 

“Never heard of ’em.”

“Consider then, Ezra Bridger, how an alien from the Unknown Regions came to be part of the Empire.” 

“I don’t know. Palpatine found you amusing?” 

Thrawn’s lips twitched in what may have been a scowl, or what may have equally been the faintest of half-smiles. He couldn’t tell with the blue glow cast on his face. Everything was blue. The dizzying swirl of hyperspace, the glowing arms of the purrgil, the Chiss. Ezra was about to be sick of the colour. “Perhaps. I was exiled by my people for a disagreement in strategy. It was, however, only a mission disguised as punishment. I was sent by my people to study the Empire, and to determine if they could be allies in the defense of our homeworld against the threats in the Unknown Regions.” 

Ezra’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline. “You’re seriously telling me you’re some sort of spy. Inside the Empire.” 

“Spy may not be a wholly accurate term. My being here is for the benefit of the Chiss Ascendancy, not to do the Empire harm.” 

“You’re a Grand Admiral,” Ezra pointed out, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. Thrawn underestimated him, but did he honestly think he was so stupid? “You didn’t have to make it this far if all you wanted to do was send information back to your people. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t involved in all the cutthroat Imperial politics and if you didn’t have connections to people in power.” 

“Hardly,” said Thrawn, unfazed. “A reasonable assumption, but I was given my rank because I achieve results.” 

“That’s not how the world works.” 

“It is how the Chiss Defense Fleet works. I therefore fail to find it surprising that the Empire can value results above political leverage on occasion.”

“Let’s pretend I believe this nerfshit.” Ezra raised his palms. “So what have you learnt about the Empire so far? That your people will want to take its side? That makes your Defense Fleet just as bad as them. You guys go around razing planets full of innocent people, too?” 

“On the contrary. The Defense Fleet is viewed by many worlds in our colony as an ally. It is not only our homeworld that we protect from the threats that reside in the Unknown Regions.” 

“Threats.” Ezra crossed his arms. “Yeah, what kind of threats, exactly? Can’t imagine you being on the receiving end of threats—”

A ghostly wail pierced the air, and Ezra felt a presence in the Force that made him freeze. A cold, dark feeling coiled and twisted in his gut. 

Something slammed sideways into the Chimera, tilting the ship on its precarious axis. The emergency lights flickered. 

Ezra scrambled to get to his feet, now fighting against a clear inclination of the ground, his heart in his throat. The purrgil wailed again, a low, dreadful sound that resonated with the hull of the ship. The lights started flickering rapidly, casting the bridge in ungodly shadow-pulses of blue and pitch black. 

The purrgil’s grip had tightened around Thrawn and now the Admiral did appear to be in pain, his expression belying as little as possible while still being enough for Ezra to discern. His teeth were clenched, head bowed in resilient effort. 

His voice was hoarse when he spoke again. 

“Perhaps the depressurising systems are failing.” 

It wasn’t a pressure imbalance in this ship that was doing this, Ezra knew. There was something out there, something the purrgil was afraid of, with a chilling presence in the Force. Moving like a creature that was about to kill. 

Thrawn seemed to reach the same conclusion within seconds, albeit with his own methods.

“Use the turbolasers.” 

Ezra felt paralysed in place, caught between wanting to save them and letting nature take its course. This was the whole point of the plan, wasn’t it? Thrawn had to die, Lothal had to be free of him, and Ezra was willing to sacrifice his own life. 

“Bridger.” 

A shrill screech, and the purrgil spasmed around Thrawn, making him cry out in pain. The arms only tightened, its own response to whatever that was attacking them, and it was more than Thrawn’s composure that was broken now; he coughed blood, lots of it. Twisted without room for movement as excruciating pressure was applied on his ribs. 

It slammed into the side of the ship again. The lights went out. 

There was nothing now but the glow of hyperspace and the faint evacuation light strips running along the floor. 

“Okay!” exclaimed Ezra. “Okay, tell me how to use the weapons.”

The purrgil whined softly. He could feel its life source start to drain. 

“No,” he breathed. “No, no, no.” 

A loud sound, the sound of steel folding inwards, a drastic change of pressure. An alarm went off from somewhere in the back. 

“Thrawn? A little help here?” 

There was no response. 

Ezra took a stumbling step backwards. Was he gone? The purrgil was surely dying, and Ezra couldn’t guess what damage it had sustained except that it was in agony, but Thrawn’s life energy could still be detected. It was faint, it was fading...but it was there. 

“Thrawn!” 

Another bang, another dent in the hull. A second warning alarm. The ship rocked again, shuddered violently, and for the first time Ezra caught a glimpse of what it was that attacked them. A heavy shadow had fallen across the front viewport. Bigger than the purrgil. 

He reached into the Force, searching for the creature. He could communicate with it. He could save them. 

Except when Ezra got close, the dark presence recoiled, and the ship gave another violent lurch. The purrgil’s arms crushing Thrawn in place loosened, and then let go entirely, and Ezra felt it like a blow to the chest when it disappeared from his detection entirely. 

He didn’t have time to mourn. The ship was caving inwards. 

Thrawn was on his knees, coughing violent spatters of blood onto the floor and his white uniform. He was barely holding himself up. 

“Life support,” he rasped. 

Ezra didn’t know what to do. He had no plan. He had no idea how they were going to survive this. 

“What?” 

“Far left...station.” 

It took Ezra more heartbeats than he could spare to understand what he was being asked to do. Then it clicked, and he was making a mad dash for the station. 

“What now?” he called back urgently. The panels before him were a maze of buttons and levers and dimmed lights that he couldn’t make head or tail of. Too unlike the Ghost, which had controls that made fucking sense. Did the Empire have to be so obstinate about everything? 

But Thrawn wasn’t responding, and Ezra decided he wasn’t going to check. Finding out now that his only potential ally in all this was dead would not help him maintain calm under fire. 

Calm under fire, like the Chiss had said. He needed to do that. 

Ezra studied the controls as closely as he could. His pulse thrummed behind his ears. They were running out of time. His hands were shaking. 

Help me, he thought, hoping Kanan, or Hera, or any of the friends he left behind would somehow hear him. Please help. 

There was nothing for it. They had nothing to lose. Ezra flicked every switch starting from the middle, setting off a dozen blinking lights, but he didn’t let it deter him. Everything he could reach, he switched on. He pushed every lever. Praying to the Force that this combination wouldn’t simply accelerate their fate. 

The ship jerked on its axis, sending him crashing sideways against the adjoining station. Ezra flicked a few switches on that for good measure. A cracked screen sparked to life. His eyes widened. Weapons Status: Critical Failure. 

That meant they still had weapons. 

“Okay,” muttered Ezra, struggling to his feet and gripping the arms of the station’s seat. “Okay, Imperial Star Destroyer, let’s see what you’ve got.” 

He found the targeting computer. Exactly two turbolaser cannons were still available for use. An unidentified object, engulfing almost the entire length of the ship, was blinking with urgency on the computer screen. 

Ezra turned the turbolasers upwards. He didn’t know how good of a shot he was going to get or if it would damage the ship further. 

Well. The Chimera was fucked, anyway. 

The volleys hit their intended target, but the creature retaliated by latching onto the ship tighter, manoeuvring it into a precarious tilt. Ezra cursed, but held tight onto the dashboard, activating the next round of fire. Distantly, he was aware of more alarms going off. More depressurised dents being made in the hull. The fact that it was certainly getting difficult to breathe, and his head felt like it would implode. 

Weapons Status: Failure.

One of the turbolaser arrays was dead. He had to shake this creature off with just one.

“Stop.” 

Ezra looked over his shoulder sharply, hardly believing what he was seeing. Thrawn had made his way here, all the way here, and was flicking switching in the neighbouring station. Leaning heavily against the controls, a dark patch of blood staining his uniform tunic, but wearing an expression that suggested he was nothing more than minorly inconvenienced by the circumstances. 

“You’re wasting your time. The ship is the target. It has undoubtedly been identified as a threat due its scale of size.” 

Ezra’s fingers froze over the computer, but he couldn’t understand what Thrawn was getting at. “We still need to shake it off.” 

“No.” Thrawn stared down at whatever the cracked screen of the life support station was showing him. “We need to evacuate. This is Grand Admiral Thrawn, to any remaining crew of the Chimera. Do you copy?”

Ezra belatedly realised that he was talking into a comm unit. 

A burst of static later, Thrawn continued to speak, composed as ever, as if he wasn’t on the brink of death. As they all weren’t. 

“Listen carefully. An immediate evacuation is in order. Take the shuttles in the hangar bay after a cursory inspection for fatal damages. Proceed with caution, and spread out.” 

“Well?” Ezra sputtered. “Is there anyone? Did anyone get your message?” 

Thrawn turned calm eyes on him. “I do not know. The message will play on repeat. It is likely that some areas of the ship will be completely cut off from the hangar bay.” 

Ezra felt a lump in his throat. He hadn’t considered this. Fast, merciful death was the only kind they should be dealing their enemies. They were not the Empire. They didn’t want people to suffer. 

And yet. This was his doing. 

But Thrawn couldn’t go back to the Empire. Whatever that became of the other survivors was immaterial. If Thrawn returned, all of their efforts, all of this death, would be absolutely worthless, it wouldn’t further the rebellion like it was supposed to. 

The evacuation strip was starting to grow dim. The ship was losing its last reserves of power. 

I’ll deal with that later, thought Ezra. 

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he told Thrawn. 

“Fucking great!” shouted Ezra, slamming his fists against the useless controls. “What excuse does this ship have? It wasn’t crushed by purrgil or anything!” 

“Bridger,” muttered Thrawn from where he stood behind the pilot’s seat, his fingers digging into the fabric. “Attacking the controls will not help us.” 

“Just for that, I’m going to attack the controls,” snapped Ezra, this time driving his elbows into the bulky panel. 

The engine flared to life. 

“Well, what do you know?” grinned Ezra, smirking up at him. “Are you sure this is your personal shuttle, Admiral?” 

“It is purely circumstantial that your methods worked. Prepare for takeoff and stall the engines.” 

Ezra narrowed his eyes. “Stall the engines?” 

“We must wait. There may yet be more survivors in need of a functioning vessel.” 

He spun around, fixing Thrawn with a sharp look. He had to be joking. They were running out of time fast. Did he have no value for his own life? 

No. The realisation slapped him in the face. He cares about his crew. 

It was hard to believe, so he fought it. Men like Thrawn didn’t care about anything. He most certainly wouldn’t go out of his way and put himself at risk for the sake of someone in a station below him. 

That had to be it. He wanted his crew here so Ezra no longer had the upper hand. It was the only viable explanation. It would be a very on-brand move coming from him. 

“Yeah, no.” Ezra turned back to the controls. “I know what you’re trying to do. You can forget it. I don’t know why I’m saving your ass in the first place.”

A hint of warning coloured Thrawn’s voice. “Hold your position, Bridger.” 

“The fuck I will,” said Ezra, bringing the engines to full functioning capacity. 

Thrawn reached over his shoulder and slapped an unassuming black lever. The engines turned off, as did the lights of the ship. 

“We wait,” he said decisively, as if he had complete control over the situation. 

Ezra snarled. “You’re going to get us both killed!”

“It is a calculated risk,” said Thrawn, seemingly unfazed by his anger. “We won’t wait more than fifteen minutes.” 

“Fifteen minutes?” echoed Ezra, incredulous. “No, you’re out of your damn mind.” 

The Chiss’s gaze bore steadily into his, and despite the Imperial’s injured state, despite every advantage Ezra had over him at the moment, he felt a shiver run up his spine. 

“I will not let any harm come to you from them, if that is your concern. Understand, Bridger, that I do not like to waste life. I assume the same is true for you as well.” 

It was ridiculous, those piercing, blood-coloured eyes. This had to be how he’d worked his way up the ranks, Ezra thought. Scaring the shit out of everyone and making an appearance in their nightmares. He shouldn’t be afraid, he could take Thrawn out now if he wanted to and he wanted to , but that look alone was so paralysing he couldn’t find his voice. 

“Fine,” managed Ezra at last, looking away. “Ten minutes.”

“Good,” said Thrawn, retreating to the ship’s lobby. Apparently he was so confident of his staring-and-scaring skills that he didn’t even think it necessary to keep an eye on Ezra and ensure he followed through. But Ezra couldn’t deny it. Thrawn was right to be confident about that.

His every nerve was buzzing with anticipation and the certainty of death. On the Chiss’s whim, they had effectively doomed themselves. Ezra could see sections of the hangar bay collapsing inward, saw the rest of the ship losing power rapidly. It was pitch black around them. He could still make out the shape of crumbling walls. 

Ezra startled when someone, someone who wasn’t Thrawn, walked into the cockpit and held a blaster to his head. 

“Thanks for waiting up, kid,” growled the Imperial. “Now, how about you leave the rest to a professional?” 

Chapter Text

A drop of water broke journey on the bridge of his nose, followed by another beneath his eye, and another at the corner of his mouth. The irregular pattern turned into something more steady, and Ezra’s eyes snapped open in alarm. 

The sky was blurry before it adjusted to focus, after which time he could make out the shape of turbulent storm clouds. Except the clouds were darker than any he’d ever seen, interwoven with blue cracks. 

He was really starting to dislike the colour.

Are there any Chiss who don’t like blue? his mind absently inquired. 

Then he jolted awake, sitting up so fast his head spun. Distantly, he was aware of an acute pain in his right shoulder. There was a churning sky above him, and the earth on which he laid felt coarse and grainy to the touch. Ezra sifted his fingers through the grey sand. It didn’t have the texture of sand; it was dry yet congealing, making for a strange sensation, like he was poking the fleshy entrails of an animal.

He was not on the bridge of the Chimera.

Of course he wasn’t. They’d left, getting the blast doors open with Thrawn’s override code, all but stumbling the rest of the way to the hangar bay. They’d needed to avoid entire blocks of the ship because those areas had collapsed entirely, and a trip that would’ve taken fifteen minutes on a good day wound up taking close to an hour. If not for Thrawn’s familiarity with his ship, he would’ve never been able to navigate the maze of corridors with all its dead ends, new and old. 

And then…

Fucking asshole! 

He’d called Thrawn’s ploy yet done nothing about it. Here he was now, alone and left to die, wherever this was, with no access to a ship or communications. Ezra gritted his teeth, letting his anger rise to combat the growing dread in the pit of his stomach. I shouldn’t have trusted that murderous psychopath. 

The rain started to pour in earnest, and when the sand under his fists turned slippery he made a move to get to his feet, one hand clutching his bad shoulder. 

He fell back down as soon as he was up, but landed on a buffer of cloth. 

Ezra groaned, sitting again. The rain was making his skin itch. He felt around the soft fabric. Where had that come from?

“The shelter was not constructed for you to sit on top of.” 

Ezra jumped, reeling back in alarm at the new voice from above him. Wait, not new. He recognised that voice, that condescending tone. 

“You’re still here,” he uttered in disbelief. 

The Admiral had somehow acquired a rainproof poncho, in a muddy green colour that was most unflattering on him, but Ezra was too preoccupied to have a laugh at that. He looked up at Thrawn, then back down at the cloth, realising only now that there was a rug laid underneath it. Some kind of rubbery sleeping mat. 

“I rolled off,” he murmured, brow furrowing. 

“It appears so,” noted Thrawn smoothly. “I would not recommend staying out in this rain. Doubtless it is of foreign composition, the like of which may be harmful to human skin.” 

“Why?” Ezra eyed him sharply. This didn’t add up. “You could’ve ditched me. You had the perfect opportunity. Why didn’t you?" 

Thrawn regarded him silently for a minute, as if weighing his options. Finally, the Chiss settled on what may have been the truth. 

“You are responsible for this ordeal, Bridger. Perhaps you can also get us out of it.” 

“Yeah.” Ezra carefully stood, a hand on his bad shoulder. His head still hurt from when the Imperial had knocked him unconscious. “Perhaps. What about your friends? Do they think I’m useful enough to keep alive?” 

“They have been ordered to do you no further harm.” 

“Okay…” Ezra narrowed his eyes. He’d anticipated this, of course, the tables turning at one point, being at the mercy of Imperials simplay for being outnumbered— but it didn’t matter. Those Imperials were no longer over Lothal, and it was better him than millions of people. “And how good are they at following orders?” 

Thrawn merely turned around and started walking. In the direction of two similarly constructed shelters, bigger and made for more than one person, leaving Ezra to curse under his breath and hobble after him. 

The small group of survivors who’d boarded Thrawn’s shuttle consisted of two doctors, a perpetually frightened-looking ensign and two tall, muscular men Thrawn helpfully (warningly, maybe) informed him were Death Troopers. Even without the armour they looked menacing, their gazes constantly communicating to Ezra things like I want to knock you out again and You’re lucky I don’t have the blaster charge to waste on you. 

It was a fortunate thing they’d left with the Admiral’s personal vessel, too. The shuttle’s floorboard holds were stocked with exactly the kind of unnecessary survival gear Ezra would expect Thrawn to own, except it was now clearly a fact to be grateful for. Waterproof tarps, oxygen cylinders, a well-stocked medkit, macrobinoculars, a manual compass, spare clothes and spare weapons— it was as if Thrawn had anticipated this. He couldn’t have, Ezra knew, that’d been the idea; to take the Empire’s master tactician by total surprise, but Thrawn’s uncanny composure now was grating on his nerves and stirring questions. Maybe this was a contingency he’d prepared for. Not well enough to prevent it in the first place, but well enough to survive it. Or maybe he put himself in situations like this on a regular basis to test his skills or something. It wouldn’t be wildly out of character. 

They had spent at least two hours waiting for the rain to subside, a time which Ezra would forever recall as the most awkward period of his life. He’d stayed close to the doctors in the group, well out of reach of the Death Troopers, listening as Thrawn explained their course of action going forward in the most level-headed, unfazed tone of voice possible. It was jarring even by his standards, with the impressive amount of dark red blood staining his Admiral’s tunic. 

Unable to bear the steady stream of doubt anymore, Ezra quietly leaned closer to the friendlier-looking doctor. Lowering his voice so Thrawn or the ‘troopers wouldn’t pick it up, he hastily inquired, “Did you fix his ribs?” 

The doctor regarded him with blank eyes for three uncomfortable seconds before a flicker of resignation crossed her features. Her shoulders visibly slumped. “No,” she told him, directing her gaze back to Thrawn, who was now making some kind of list. “Admiral Thrawn can take more stim-shots than the average human.”

“Ninnem," growled the other doctor warningly, and she immediately straightened, closing herself off from Ezra. He briefly looked at the other doctor, a severe-looking man with crow’s feet furrowing his brow, before fighting the urge to roll his eyes and looking pointedly away. He didn’t need the Force to tell him they weren’t going to get along. 

“Evenly divided, our supply of rations with last no more than three days. It is imperative that we locate a freshwater source and determine which vegetation on this planet is edible.” 

One of the ‘troopers narrowed his eyes in Ezra’s direction. “We’d need to divide that supply by less if we didn’t keep the rebel.” 

Thrawn’s red eyes seemingly turned a shade darker. It could’ve easily been Ezra’s imagination, but he wouldn’t bet on it.

“It would be wise not to challenge my orders, Captain.” The Chiss’s voice was quiet, but the undertone of cold steel sent an involuntary shiver up his spine. “He will prove his usefulness. With time.” 

The ‘trooper backed down, but spared Ezra a scowl as if the reprimand was somehow his fault. Ezra scowled right back. 

Thrawn passed his list over to the ensign with almost casual grace and a few instructions, and Ezra realised belatedly that it was an inventory list. Thrawn could do inventory, too? Was there anything the damn Imperial wasn’t good at? And of all the people the Emperor could’ve assigned to Lothal, it just had to be nightmare-eyes. 

This was what Ezra resolved to privately referring to Thrawn as, along with other appropriate labels for the Imperials whose names he’d never been given the courtesy of knowing. The female doctor was the only face he had a name for and he supposed she wasn’t half as bad, so he used that name. The ‘trooper who’d questioned his presence was Blonde Beef, the other was Scarface, the ensign was Bug-Eyes and the less accommodating doctor was simply Nasty. 

He owed himself at least that much of entertainment. 

The rain took three hours to subside, by which time the grounds around them had got well and truly flooded. It by no means made the shelter more comfortable, either. 

He was also stuck in it with six Imperials for the foreseeable future.

Ezra woke up for the second time to feel sunlight filtering through the shelter’s hide and onto his face. 

For a moment he wondered how there was sunlight coming through into his cabin on the Ghost . He cracked his eyes open, did a quick sweep of his surroundings, and the cold reality came crashing down. Right. This was his life now. 

He sat up, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes. From what he could tell with the sun and the almost-familiar chill of morning, it was still early. He remembered having moved to the second shelter after the rain had stopped, and sharing it with someone…

Sure enough, Bug-Eyes was staring at him from the floor opposite. Ezra startled, letting out an embarrassing yelp. 

“What’s your problem?” he demanded, justifiably weirded out. And he’d thought Thrawn’s stare was creepy.  

Surprisingly, the ensign blinked, then turned red, looking chagrined. Ridiculously, Ezra felt bad. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The ensign shook his head hastily. “I didn’t mean to...to startle you. It’s just... weird, to work with a rebel.” 

Very diplomatic, Ezra throughly wryly, but simply settled into a cross-legged position and moved his bad shoulder around experimentally. It still stung, and he didn’t know exactly how he’d got it injured, but he promised himself that the moment he didn’t have hostile Imperials watching his every move he would take his shirt off to examine the damage. “It’s equally weird to be working with Imperials, just so you know.” 

Bug-Eyes shrugged, conceding his point. The man, who couldn’t have been older than his mid-twenties, flopped back onto his side, apparently deeming Ezra unthreatening enough to go back to sleep with his back turned. 

Ezra frowned. Did they still underestimate him? Bug-Eyes had looked afraid of anything and everything the previous night, himself included. What had changed during that time? 

Curious, he reached through the Force, looking for answers. Yes, the man was calm, a lot calmer than he’d been last night, and he felt... safe? What did he have to feel safe about? They were stranded in an unidentifiable location in the Unknown Regions with a very limited supply of food and no communications. 

No further answers came to him, so Ezra dropped it. He took in his surroundings again. Nasty had also woken up, having shared the shelter as well, but he was long gone, leaving only a rumpled blanket in his wake. 

Discontent to go back to sleep, Ezra munched on one of the six ration bars given to him before crawling out of the tent. Out in the open with the sunlight streaming and a cool breeze drifting across, he clambered to his feet and stretched, feeling every tense muscle being forced to relax a little. There was no telling what the day held. He had to be in top form. 

His hands on his hips, Ezra contemplated the landscape that dwarfed their little encampment. Without the impending threat of rain, the plain looked peaceful and stretched for miles, brown soil and yellow-green grass broken in a few places by big puddles left over from last night’s downpour and short grassy hills challenging the monotony of its vastness. On the horizon there was a line of tall trees, what looked to be the beginning of a forest. They’d gotten incredibly lucky, landing in this clearing, but not so lucky as they were far enough from any sort of cover that they were entirely at the weather’s mercy. 

Still, the surroundings were unfamiliar and enticing, and Ezra was drawn to the idea of getting acquainted with them. He didn’t feel any stirrings in the Force that set him on edge. Other than the Imperials, who’d been ordered not to kill him, there was no danger around. 

Completing a set of stretches, Ezra kicked his feet underneath him and broke into a leisurely jog around the encampment. Movement felt good , after hours of being cooped up in an enclosed space with people he didn’t like. The breeze felt good on his cheeks. For a moment, he could close his eyes and imagine he was on Lothal, training… 

For the first time since landing here, Ezra allowed his mind to wander. He thought about Sabine, wondered what she was up to. Did she miss him? Was she trying to figure out how to find him? 

He wished the Force could give him answers. Picturing the Ghost crew in his mind made his heart ache, but it was also comforting to remember their faces, remember a time when he had had a family that cared about him. He thought about Hera, and tried not to think of how she would react to his disappearance. Lothal was finally free, safe, and that had to be a consolation.

Growing tired of circling the camp, Ezra checked to confirm that Bug-Eyes was still sound asleep in their tent before heading in the outward direction. He wouldn’t go too far, and would make it back before the ensign woke up, so the Imperials couldn’t take off without him. And as much as he disliked present company, it was far better than his odds of surviving this place alone. 

Ezra approached the tallest of the grassy hills, one surrounded by a cluster of big rocks. The view from up there would be good. Grinning to himself, Ezra got a solid grip on the top of a rock and hauled himself up. From there it was a matter of navigating the rest of the tricky, uneven rocks until they lead him to the top of the hill. 

Ezra made the last haul in triumph, and he’d been right about the view from up here. He could see the rays of sun catching in the mist above the forest cover, and the air somehow felt fresher too. 

A little lost in the too-good feeling, Ezra didn’t notice he’d come closer to the edge of the top until one of his feet nearly dropped over the side. He jerked back, scrambling for balance, only to land unceremoniously on his rear back on the grass. At least he hadn’t fallen. At least Zeb hadn’t witnessed that.

“Bridger.” 

Ezra’s eyes shot open in horror. 

Standing on the other side at the foot of the hill was Thrawn, his crimson gaze piercing and slightly suspicious. He had a retractable melee baton in one hand, bandage coiling around his torso, and mussed hair drenched in sweat. 

Ezra came to two abrupt realisations in rapid succession. One, Thrawn was also working out, apparently to regain his strength. Two, Thrawn was shirtless.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stupidly. 

The Chiss narrowed his eyes at him. “What does it look like, Bridger? If we are to last in an unfamiliar world such as this, against unknown dangers, we’d best be able to fend for ourselves.” 

“I know,” Ezra bit out, a little defensively. He wasn’t stupid. Then again, he’d asked a stupid question, which might’ve justifiably lead Thrawn to think otherwise. “Just...you’re going to practice alone? How effective can that be?” 

The Chiss raised a delicate eyebrow, inviting him to stop and reconsider the things he was saying. Ezra huffed. Okay, he had a point, but that didn’t make Ezra’s point any less valid. 

He changed track. “How are your ribs now?” 

The Chiss had seamlessly settled back into his routine, launching smooth, controlled swings and cuts through the air. He didn’t answer; Ezra hadn’t expected him to, but Thrawn didn’t chase him away either. The young Jedi shifted into a more comfortable seating position, resolving to observe. The Admiral's form was good. It didn’t look like something that had been taught at an Imperial Academy. 

“You didn’t learn how to do that from the Empire.” 

Thrawn switched to his other hand, collapsing the baton to its full length before jabbing backwards at an invisible enemy. 

“No.” 

Ezra snatched the opportunity. 

“Then where’d you learn it? That something the Chiss do?” 

The Chiss in question crushed an invisible opponent’s skull over one knee with complete control over the longer baton. He didn’t answer. 

Ezra rolled his eyes. Really, it was his own fault for getting his hopes up. Thrawn wasn't any more enthusiastic about their alliance than he was, and it showed. But over the past couple of months his found family had done a lot of speculating about the alien Admiral－ Hera asking the serious questions, like what sort of influence he had in the Empire and how much more firepower he would be given, Zeb proposing pointed questions about his species ( Can he shoot lasers out of his eyes? Can he read minds?), and Sabine resolutely preaching her own theories (He's a cyborg with enhanced brainpower and an internal database on art history.).

At least he knew now that Sabine was wrong. Ezra felt a pang in his heart at the thought of not being able to tell her all about it. 

"Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes?" 

Thrawn's pause in his exercise routine was so brief he nearly missed it. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

Ezra snorted. The Admiral may have not looked it for his alien appearance, but he had the speech and mannerisms of a Core-World diplomat born into a snobbish rich family. 

"I've watched holo-shows," Ezra explained, "And in those, if a being has red eyes, it normally means they can shoot lasers out of them. So can you?" 

Thrawn narrowed his eyes. Ezra squinted, wondering if he was about to get a demonstrative answer. 

"No," said the Chiss crisply. "I do not believe such a biological function is naturally occurring in any species. Do not trust in everything a story tells you." 

"Noted," replied Ezra with a wry smile. So Zeb was wrong, too. If only he had a way to get the message across. 

He didn't press any further, and Thrawn didn't start another conversation. Ezra was content to study the Chiss's form with a critical eye－ any knowledge on how to defeat him was valuable knowledge. But even to his trained gaze, Thrawn's movements were flawless except for where they were hindered by his injuries, and he was starting to realise the effect that training with Sentinel droids had had on him. Never did he leave his sides unguarded and open to attack. His was a fluid grace, one that would've certainly looked strange on any human Imperial. No, he hadn't learnt how to do any of this from the Empire. 

Ezra was curious to find out, but he supposed it could wait. After all, he had the rest of the foreseeable future to get answers. 

By dusk, their group of seven had breached the forest cover a fair distance. Though it appeared a forest by usual definitions, the textures of the environment were all wrong. Just like the sand drift he'd awoken in, nothing felt right to the touch, everything a reminder that this planet was not part of their world. 

Ezra's bad shoulder was giving him a hard time, but he was nowhere near as winded as the two doctors looked. Thrawn, leading the group with Scarface at his side, showed no signs of slowing his pace. The doctors had fallen behind Ezra, the Ensign alternated his gaze between a starry-eyed look at his superior officer and his surroundings, while Blonde Beef brought up the rear of the group, as vigilant as when they'd first set out. Thrawn occasionally looked over his shoulder and paused if he noticed anyone lagging significantly. Halfway into the journey he'd offered to carry Ninnem's pack, despite his broken ribs, and Ezra wondered just how many stim-shots he was on. He'd also noticed Ninnem's starry-eyed look of admiration when the Chiss had removed said weight off her hands. 

He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. Thrawn was the enemy, and every impression he'd ever had of the man－ that he was cruel, ruthless, and selfish－ was being challenged before his eyes. Each time Ezra had to remind himself of Atollon, Lothal, and all the damage done to the rebellion by Thrawn's hands. It meant nothing to him that Thrawn had some sense of mercy to his crew; that same courtesy did not extend to him, and he owed the Chiss no loyalty, either. 

Ezra's thoughts were still spiralling when Thrawn abruptly called their march to a halt. The Chiss motioned for silence, before sweeping his gaze across the environment, then narrowing his red eyes at the ground beneath his feet. Had he keener hearing than humans? Ezra reached out with the Force, uneasy that he hadn't sensed it before－ and there was a stirring, a darkness, moving with the stride of a predator about to kill. 

"Fall back," said Thrawn, quietly but steadily, in a voice that carried to the rest of them. "There is danger ahead." 

"No." Ezra opened his eyes. Despite the temperate climate, felt cold. "It's here." 

That was all the warning they got before the ground shook beneath their feet, and a piercing scream split the air. 

Because the ground was rising. With its thick cover of moss, it was uprooting itself, coming off in trembling sections. 

"Get down!" shouted Ezra, throwing himself at the quaking carpet of moss. "And hold on!"

But it was too late for the male doctor. He had fallen into the first crevasse that opened, directly beneath his feet, and Ninnem was precariously hanging onto the escalating mud, which was now starting to reveal massive, spindly arachnid limbs unfolding underneath. 

Ezra reached out, lifted her with the Force so she rolled back onto the monster's camouflaged hide, which she was mercifully quick-thinking enough to cling onto. Blonde Beef had somehow avoided the debacle completely and was thrown off to the side of the collapsed path, behind the large gnarled root of a tree, where he was recovering fast and taking aim with his blaster. But he wouldn't be able to get a shot in. Not with all the movement and his crewmates' lives at stake. 

The creature whose coat Ezra now gripped was the first to emerge to its full height, a dizzying distance from where the forest floor used to be, where there was now several deep burrows that promised oblivion if you fell. 

A sick squelching sound caught his attention, then the texture of mucous under his gloves, and Ezra looked down in abject horror to the slippery secretion that was almost certainly meant exactly to throw off prey like him. One of his feet slipped, and he held tighter to the wet hide and fought against choking on the putrid smell as he struggled to vault his legs back up. But the creature was unyielding, screeching as it thrashed on its long limbs in an effort to dislodge him. 

"Easy there!" he exclaimed, flattening himself against the slippery coating for a lower center of gravity. "Calm down!" 

The beast shrieked in response, and Ezra felt the nauseating height shift when it crouched on two limbs, before it started to reach for him with two other long, spindly front legs. 

Desperately, he reached into the Force. Maybe he could communicate with it. Maybe he could save everyone. But he found couldn't get anywhere near the beast with the Force as his medium. 

Somehow, the creature was making its presence in the Force. And it wasn't willing to receive him. 

Ezra ducked out of the way of the limbs that came for him, but it cost him his stable balance, and for a split-second there was the phantom sensation of falling. The limbs came for him again, and he rolled back into his previous position, fast running out of luck. 

The others. How were the others surviving this? Distantly, he was aware of blasterfire and the earth shaking as the arachnids thrashed, but emerged undamaged. Screaming. Cursing. Commotion. 

Then his creature shrieked, sharper than all the other noises that drowned them, before it started to sway on its feet. Ezra tightened his grip with a shouted curse. The two spindly arms that were reaching for him fell away, landing back on the ground, and reasserting the creature's stability. It howled, lunging with Ezra hanging on to attack something else. 

Something that was making it lose its footing. 

Only then did Ezra become aware of the distinct buzz of a lightsaber. 

Chaos. Commotion. 

Thrawn observed the situation unfolding before him from off the beaten path. Two giant creatures, with hides and habitats evolved to camouflage and trap prey, one a hair's breadth away from dislodging the doctor, the other close to shaking Bridger to his death. Both humans made valiant efforts to cling on. Judging by several evolutionary advantages the creatures had over their would-be prey, he was certain this strategy would not hold.

Waffle crashed down onto the ground beside Pik, joining him in firing uselessly at the armoured animals. Thrawn studied the creatures a moment longer. 

"Hold your fire," he ordered, and the troopers obeyed. The world descended into sudden silence and lack of movement. The creatures stopped thrashing. 

Finally, a chance to get their prey without distraction. 

"Sir?" inquired Pik, warning and concern seeping into his voice in equal measures. 

"Focus your efforts on rescuing the doctor," said Thrawn crisply. "Get into the burrow beneath it. Aim for the abdomen from below. You'll find that it is unarmored." 

The troopers exchanged a look, realization dawning transparently across their features, before nodding briskly and getting to their feet. 

"What about Bridger?" asked Waffle.

Thrawn reached for the weapon in his satchel. He would not be able to aim for the underbelly like he had ordered the troopers to do, because he was immobilized enough that he wouldn't be able to move out of the way in time when the creature fell. But he had other ideas at hand. 

"I will handle it," he told them. 

The troopers shared another look between them, before giving him one last nod of acknowledgement and taking the safe route out towards their new target. 

Thrawn spared a moment to consider his weapon. He had practiced, certainly, but not nearly as much as a situation like this warranted. 

He would have to make up for that lack of practice with quick thinking. 

The bright yellow blade buzzed to life in his hands. 

It was enough to get the creature's attention. Distantly, Thrawn made a mental note that the creature had to have an affinity for yellow light. 

It went unnaturally still as he approached it. Eight pitch-black eyes tracked his movements, rolling in their leathery sockets. Thrawn treaded forward slowly until he was at the lip of the crater. 

Without giving his wounds time to complain, he vaulted over the edge and slid in. It was hardly a smooth descent down, and the sharp edge of rocks along the wall scratched blood trails on his skin, but it got him where he wanted, right at the bottom of the pit with one of the arachnid's limbs in view. 

Just as it started to turn, registering the threat he posed in his position, Thrawn took a swing at it. 

A chilling screech pierced the air as the bottom part of the limb came clean off, cauterized by the heated laser, and the creature sank that small distance on that limb, losing some of its balance. 

Now came the real challenge. The slightest miscalculation on his part, and the creature would fall before he could move out of the way, or Bridger could plummet before be broken the fall by shortening the arachnid's limbs enough. 

Thrawn sliced through the lower portion of a back limb. Again, a shriek that reminded him of a predator's call echoing off the mountains of Csilla, predators the Chiss were advised as younglings not to cross. 

The furthest back limb was the next to be broken. The creature couldn't fight him from where he was. It could only unbalance dangerously before reasserting itself, howling, loud enough to drown out the blasterfire and Bridger's incessant cursing. 

Thrawn steadily studied the remaining height between the creature and the bottom of the pit. For a few heartbeats, he considered the flaws with his plan, and everything left to chance. 

He only took calculated risks, and the consequences had never before outdone him. 

Thrawn considered, and went for the last two devastating blows that would decide if Ezra Bridger lived or died. 

Ezra stared in abject disbelief that almost cost him his grip as the lightsaber cut cleanly through the creature's first front limb, and before he could plummet to his death from the sudden shift of balance, the other limb. It howled, a sound wrenched straight from a nightmare, before collapsing forward into the hole, folding onto its remaining limbs as a sickly stench punched the air. 

And just like that, it was over. Ezra pushed himself off the thick coating of mucous, nearly slipping to his elbows in his haste, blinking the lights out of his eyes. Dizziness, a mounting headache, and the shock of encountering a jedi's weapon out here. 

Ezra shivered, putting more distance between himself and the congealing secretion. The walls of the burrow were dark brown, made of mud and curved steeply upward, blotting out the meagre sunlight the planet's day cycle had to offer. 

Groaning, he turned on his back, lying in the quickly solidifying substance. It didn't matter, his clothes were ruined anyway. The sting he usually felt in the Force at a loss of life didn't come. Was he cut off from the Force somehow, or was this creature, and everything on this ungodly planet, utterly detached from it? 

Ezra turned his head sharply to the side when he heard someone approach. 

Speaking of the Force.

"What the hell?" he hissed, scrabbling to sit up and direct the full weight of his glare at Thrawn. "You have a lightsaber?"

Thrawn raised a delicate eyebrow. "Before you ask how I acquired such a weapon－" 

"Kriff, no," Ezra glared hard at him. "Is it some kind of trophy? From a jedi you had killed? A gift from Darth Vader?" 

Thrawn looked unimpressed by his deductions. "It is neither of those things. I suggest not exerting yourself too much. You may have a concussion." He glanced over his shoulder at something Ezra couldn't yet see. "It appears Doctor Ninnem is alive and unhurt. She can confirm this." 

Thrawn started walking away, his stride as regal and collected as if he were still on the bridge of his Star Destroyer with everthing under contro. Ezra swore a colorful streak before slipping down the dead arachnid's body. He landed with a painful thump, drenched in mucous, but as he scrambled back to his feet, he didn't let up. 

"Where did you get it, Thrawn?" 

"I will answer that when you're not reeling from a concussion," said Thrawn coolly, not bothering to look back. Then, to the two troopers supporting a shivering doctor between them in the path ahead, he called, "We must evacuate the area with haste. Comm Ensign Arato and direct him to your equipment packs. We will need rope and grappling hooks." 

"Yes, sir!" 

Quickening his pace to come up beside Thrawn, Ezra noticed that the lightsaber was nowhere in sight. He opened  his mouth to ask, but as they neared, Blonde Beef beat him to it. 

"Sir, if I may ask－ how did you take down the creature?" 

Ezra blinked. So the troopers hadn't seen the lightsaber in the first place. A convenient coincidence, or had Thrawn somehow engineered it? 

"I incapacitated it with the intent of striking it off-balance," said Thrawn, a vague answer that could be interpreted any number of ways. He left it at that, and the trooper didn't press him. 

"Grand Admiral," stuttered Ninnem, who, Ezra noticed with a wince, was covered in the same congealing liquid, and probably mirrored his own drenched appearance. "You're bleeding. I can－" 

"Later," interrupted Thrawn, not unkindly. "While we wait for Ensign Arato, tend to your own injuries and Bridger's." 

Ninnem visibly swallowed. She was still shaken from her experience. Ezra could feel tangible fear radiating from her presence. "Yes, sir."

"Hey," Ezra said quietly when Thrawn was out of earshot, sitting down beside the doctor on the harsh ground. "You okay?" 

She  shook her head tightly. "Marcus is gone. I barely made it. You, too." 

Tears brimmed in her eyes. Ezra placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

"I'm sorry. But everything will be okay. From now on we'll be more careful, and we'll avoid things like this in the future." 

She sniffed. "I know. The Admiral will make sure of it. But...my colleague is dead. We didn't know each other very well, but...he could've survived. If he had been lucky." 

Ezra didn't know what to say to that. It never got easier to deal with death, or death around you, even the deaths of people you barely knew. He stayed where he was as the doctor examined her various cuts and bruises, then turned to him, checking his pulse and pupils. 

"Bridger," she said softly, while cleaning off a nasty gash on his knee from when he'd tumbled to the dirt. "Is that your name?"

"Ezra," he said, almost automatically. "Only Thrawn calls me by my last name. It would be kind of weird if we were on first-name basis. But you can call me Ezra." 

She smiled. "Very well, Ezra. You can call me Ida. And ...what you did earlier, you saved my life. Was that the Force?" 

Ezra chuckled dryly. "Pretty much, yeah." 

"Thank you," she said, sincerely. "I've never met a Jedi before. I thought they were a myth, until it got on the rumour mill that you were one." 

Ezra blinked. "You...knew about me?" 

"Talk spreads fast on the Chimera," said Ida, a faraway look touching her eyes. "But it wasn't always like that. Only really started when we got a non-human captain." She shrugged. "People like to talk about things they don't understand." 

Ezra frowned, then discreetly snuck a glance at said non-human. Thrawn was speaking into a comlink, presumably to the Ensign on the other end, who had somehow managed to avoid the recent debacle completely. 

There was an opportunity here, one he'd be foolish not to take. 

"About that." He turned to Ida. "What's the story there? The Empire hates non-humans." 

She winced. "Well...yeah. Yeah, you're right. It's...terrible. I mean, it's not supposed to, there's no written policy, but with Core World culture, that's what you get. Sometimes...I can understand why people rebel." She averted her eyes from him. "The Empire doesn't treat all its citizens the same way." 

Ezra nodded absently. He wasn't up for debating ethics with an Imperial, even one as apparently sympathetic as the doctor. Not right now. "So why did they take Thrawn?" 

"I always assumed it was because he was just...really good at what he does," said Ida, lowering her voice, careful now not be overheard. "I don't how they found that out before they recruited him." 

Ezra felt something sick twist in his gut. He had an inkling as to how they'd known that. Palpatine. 

And suddenly he didn't want to know any more, rumour or fact. 

"Thank you," he told the doctor, making a move to stand up. "But you should look after yourself now. I'll be fine." 

Ezra joined Thrawn and the two troopers at the wall of the crater, where two sets of long rope had now been lowered. 

Again, he tried to discreetly study the Chiss Admiral. Ida was right; Thrawn was bleeding, from open wounds in several places along his bare arms. He was wearing a black tank-top that left a lot of skin open to the elements. Comfortable, but not the best option for safety. He'd thought Thrawn would have the foresight. 

Then again, Ezra reasoned, he's probably never survived a wilderness before. Maybe this isn't his playing field and he actually has no idea what's going on. 

The thought wasn't as encouraging as he'd expected. 

Of course not. Ezra sighed to himself. These people are my best chance at survival. 

Speaking of which, if Bug-Eyes turned out to be completely unscathed, Ezra had half the mind to wipe the mucous off on him and even the odds. 

Chapter Text

His reality was composed of dull, disjointed images, like an abstract form of art that would take longer than usual to decipher. 

Blurred images surfaced as though from a deep body of water. Sensations of drowning followed by an unnerving calm. Familiar blue streaks flickered across the images occasionally. 

Thrawn could hear a voice he hadn't heard in a very long time. 

He followed the sound of indistinguishable words, wincing internally at the shards of light that brightened as he approached them. The ground under his feet didn't feel solid. There was no direction to go but forward, because try as he may, he couldn't bring himself to look back. 

Sounds of laughter, now. Childish. Voices a higher pitch than he was accustomed to. The images shifted, turning into a translucent patchwork of languid colours. 

He reached out to touch them. He did not know why, since he had expected the contact to burn; but it was instead cool, muted and pleasant; and it drew him in like a siren-spell. Thrawn did not resist. It would be futile to do so. He did not think he had much control over his body at the moment, anyway. 

The world around him suddenly grew brighter, sharper, almost blinding, before the fog cleared and he was staring through a hazy frame at a memory unfolding before him. 

A memory long buried. 

Two children, in an abandoned shipyard. The moons of Copero were starting to take the sky as noon bled into evening. 

"Thrass! Thrass!" 

"What is it now, brat?" 

A Chiss boy of no more than eight leapt gracefully over the tumbled portside of a light cruiser, left in rubble after a thorough decommissioning. Proudly he presented his prize to an older boy, twelve, he knew, who looked over the black box with a chiding smile. 

"We have never found a working box before, Thrawn," he told his brother gently. "They are removed from the ships when brought here." 

"Some ships have more than one," insisted the younger Thrawn, with an air of knowledge well beyond his years. A side of him he only revealed when convenient, which was a tradition he would uphold until he came of age, several years later. "This box is intact. It is audio-only. I am certain it can be salvaged." 

Thrass huffed through his nose, handing the box back to him. "And I am certain that you are right, as always. Come. Let's study it at home."

His younger self looked far happier at the undoubtedly predicted outcome than made sense, and Thrawn, watching from behind the fog with something twisting peculiarly in his chest, averted his eyes when his younger self clutched the box to his heart and snagged his brother's hand. He only looked back up, sharply, at the intonement of a new voice. 

"You are far too old to be so attached to a sibling." 

Thrass protectively tugged his brother to his side, staring defiantly into unforgiving eyes Thrawn had not forgotten despite the years. 

"He is still young, Mitth'resh'atrano."

"I know," snarled the matron. "I am talking to him."

In the memory, Thrawn said nothing. But he could read what little expression flickered across the young boy's face; one of cold calculation and disapproval, biding his time, hiding his intelligence, always. Believing the day would come when it would serve him better. 

"Go to your separate rooms," said the matron severely. "I cannot possibly guess at what my son was thinking, adopting the pair of you into our family." 

"I promise we will not bring dishonor to this family, ma'am." 

Her eyes narrowed. Thrass maintained a respectful difference, but he should not have spoken in the first place. 

"Stop coddling your brother, and I will believe that. Now allow me to retire for the night in peace." 

The two children stood, watching the woman leave with the regal and poised stride that all Aristroca possessed. 

Thrawn started to pull away, but Thrass tightened his hold, turning to look down at him with a pained smile. 

"We were ordered to go to our rooms," said Thrawn. 

"I know, but we were not told when. We can do so after we get that record box running. Perhaps you can educate me more on strategy once you've listened to that ship's logs." 

"Perhaps," said Thrawn, with a small smile. 

The fog was starting to clear, and the scene before him starting to fade back into the disjointed images from which it had come. He couldn't fight it. Before he knew it, the images were incoherent once again. 

The sudden pang of loss that took hold of his heart was more than he knew what to do with. 

Thrawn opened his eyes to a clear image of a night sky littered with stars. 

He sat up with fluid ease, all lingering drowsiness seamlessly clearing away. It seemed as though he'd fallen into a deeper sleep than usual. Rare, but not altogether unexpected. It had been a tiring day, and he was on human pain medication that could be playing all manners of hell with his metabolism. 

He didn't dream very often, either, but whenever he did－ it was always composed of dull colours and familiar faces. This particular face, though, he hadn't seen for some time. 

Thrawn closed his eyes again for a brief moment, reconstructing pieces of the fading dream. He held stubbornly onto the image of Thrass, a young, taller boy, with kind eyes that had not yet seen true grief, guilt or regret. 

But when he opened his eyes a second time, the visions lingered－ and along with it, a feeling that he hadn't known for a long while. 

New visions started to languidly take form. Like cloudy paint across a canvas, he saw the camp around him, heard the shaking of leaves and chattering of insects, amplified in a way they shouldn't have been. 

Thrawn abruptly climbed to his feet. 

When he blinked and narrowed his eyes, the world was in focus once more. Their temporary camp, as they'd set it. Two pitched tents, one housing the doctor, the Ensign and Ezra, and another with the two Deathtroopers and their rations. He hadn't joined either of them because he'd taken first watch. 

Had he really succumbed to sleep when he was supposed to be watching their camp? 

Thrawn checked to confirm that his blaster was at his side, along with the lightsaber in his satchel. But perhaps there was no danger either way; the surrounding area had been patrolled, and the perimeter of their camp was fortified with a plant species that Thrawn had surmised would drive away predators. After years spent alone on an exile world, he was experienced at making such spot-deductions.

And now, his mind went down this path to justify the course of action he was instinctively drawn to. A familiar feeling, a foreign and unwelcome feeling, the whispers of a precognitive ability lost to time.

He needed to clear his mind. A study of the surroundings would help. For that he'd need to leave camp. His crew was safe. He wouldn't wander far. 

Thrawn made sure his blaster was charged and set to stun before, after one last sweep of the camp, he headed into the blue-black darkness beyond. 

A familiar face. Brown eyes he'd come to associate with warmth, streaks of paint, bold colours. The clutter of Beskar steel. 

Laughter and hollering. Curse words thrown jovially about. The creak of a second bunk, the smell of expired caf, the cackle of a Bo-rifle. 

Comforting words and steady hands on the dashboard. An admonishing look, furrowed brows, transparent concern. Rebellious fire. 

A grounding hand on his shoulder, the Force surrounding him on all sides, a blue lightsaber raised up beside his as a voice instructed him to breathe… 

Then the accelerated streaks of hyperspace, the sound of shattered glass and transparisteel, a cry from the Force like thousands of voices were silenced at once. 

Red eyes, red blood, the pull of the Force, a presence that embraced it and another that flinched from it, a night sky, an empty compound, unnerving silence. 

Ezra awoke with a gasp. 

He was covered in a cold sweat, chilly in the barely insulated confines of the tent. To his right, the Imperial Ensign with comically exaggerated expressions slept soundly, and to his left, Ida Ninnem curled in on herself in a fitful sleep. 

Ezra dropped his face into this hands and forced himself to breathe. No panic, like Kanan had taught him. Peace through the Force. Nightmares and visions weren't to be feared, weren't to be approached from a point of misunderstanding; he closed his eyes and recalled his dream. 

He could remember seeing Sabine, and he thought her hair had been different, but he could easily be mistaken. He remembered seeing the rest of the Ghost crew as well, flickers of the past, and disjointed memories that could've taken place any day in his previous life. 

Ezra tensed. He recalled the bridge of the Chimera and the cold wave of death he had sensed at the time. And something else...something that looked like the compound outside their encampment? 

He frowned, turning his gaze in the general direction. He couldn't see anything from inside the tent, but if he was remembering correctly, Thrawn had taken first watch. 

But the compound was empty in his vision. 

Hastily kicking his boots back on, Ezra took the barest precaution not to wake the others as he exited the tent. 

It was empty. There was no one there. He looked in all directions, tried to reach out with the Force－ but there was nothing, not even the odd signature he'd come to associate with the Chiss. 

No. No, no. 

"Thrawn?" 

No answer from any direction. 

"Thrawn, where are you?" 

A bite of desperation touched his voice. The Chiss was nowhere to be found. Nowhere within hearing range, or nowhere he could be detected through the Force. 

"This isn't funny, asshole!" 

Ezra's gaze was drawn inexplicably to the clearing that lay directly in his line of sight. Framed by the planet's alien undergrowth, a pitch darkness beckoned to him. Whispers that sent a shiver up his spine. 

Ezra knew what it was. He recognized the call of those places that were strong in the Dark Side of the Force. 

And he wasn't tempted to follow. He didn't find that path alluring. Never would. 

But it wasn't like he had a choice at the moment. 

Navigators are the Ascendancy's most valuable asset. Why didn't you say something before, boy? This is how you earn your place as a merit-adoptive, not by listening to radio-chatter all day. 

Thrawn made sure he was traversing a path he could retrace back to the camp. He didn't intend for this reprieve to take long; indeed, the risk of peril would only heighten the further away he got, and he had no need to go that far. 

Strangely enough, the quiet darkness did nothing to quell his racing thoughts. He refused to articulate them nonetheless. Giving solid form to those thoughts would only further shape the impossible reality he found himself in now. 

He slowed his pace as he came upon a clearing, one he didn't remember from when he'd carefully scouted the area around their campsite.

Thrawn frowned. Odd. He would have surely remembered being here when the undergrowth possessed so little clear space. Dark, towering trees with narrow trunks framed the wide area, their leafless branches piercing the sky. 

Movement－ the tread of a predator－ 

He turned around just in time to see it, narrowly avoiding taking the impact of the big cat that lunged at him. The animal landed on its feet and he rolled out of the way and onto his, swiftly drawing his blaster. 

He fired off two shots. The animal, a large feline with blue-black fur, merely twitched in response, otherwise completely unaffected by blaster fire that should've felled it, and advanced once more. 

Thrawn didn't stop firing, but the only effect each bolt of supercharged energy seemed to have on the animal was to slow it down. He cursed under his breath, retreating as it continued to advance. It was not an option to seek the forest cover; they were near enough to the campsite that the creature could come upon it, and if blasterfire didn't work, none of their weapons would. 

He had to come to a stop when his back came into contact with the bark of a tall tree. Cornered. 

The beast slowed down, crouching on its haunches with a low, rumbling growl. Thrawn noticed belatedly that it had bloodshot eyes and red pupils. 

The only way he could possibly subdue the creature was to fight it, but in his compromised state, he didn't think highly of his chances. 

He was prepared to attempt, nevertheless, when the creature was suddenly picked up off the ground and hurled sideways into a tree. 

Ezra Bridger stood off to the other side, his undamaged arm extended, a glowering scowl on his face. 

"What the hell?" he hissed, marching towards him. "What were you thinking? You have four broken ribs and you came out here alone and unarmed?" 

"I was not unarmed," said Thrawn, pushing away from the border of trees. "It seems this particular animal is uncompromised by weapons fire. There may be more of its kind in the area. We must move camp at once." 

"No." Ezra crossed his arms tightly at his chest. "We need to get out of here. This is a den of the Dark Side, and so long as we're here, we're not safe." 

Thrawn narrowed his eyes in question. "The Dark Side? Is that not an arbitrary concept of the Jedi faith?" 

Ezra snorted. "Oh, it's very real, I assure you. And we don't have time for this."

No sooner had he spoken the words that the animal rolled over onto its feet again, settling into a low crouch and baring its sharp teeth in a snarl. Ezra instinctively shoved the Chiss behind him, keeping his gaze trained on the beast, his hand outstretched. It approached them with a slow, measured pace.

"Do you happen to have that lightsaber with you?" 

Thrawn passed him the lightsaber, about which Ezra made a mental note to inquire again, and drew his own blaster once more. He stepped beside Ezra and extended his blaster arm at the same time the brilliant yellow blade flared to life. 

The creature pounced, but this time they were both ready for it. Thrawn's fire kept it distracted while Ezra skid along the ground to come up at its blindside, until he had the perfect chance to strike. 

The blade passed right through it. 

"Woah," breathed Ezra, taking a step back as the completely unhurt beast turned slowly towards him. It looked more than a little irritated. 

Before he could take another shot at it, another bolt of blasterfire hit it in the neck and the creature growled, shaking its head vigorously, only to be shot again, and again. 

Ezra got out of the way before a stray bolt could hit him, circling back around to Thrawn's side. His mind worked fast. Neither the energy from the blaster nor the lightsaber seemed to affect it, but he'd already established that he could use the Force. Ezra reached out, prepared to lift the creature off its feet and hurl it as great a distance backwards as possible, before the sight of something unexpected gave him pause. 

It was no longer snarling at them. Thrawn had stopped firing. 

And they were just... staring at each other.  

Ezra gaped, a look of utter disbelief crossing his face as the yellow blade disappeared. 

Because he could feel it through the Force. He knew what it was. 

But Thrawn didn't, and although the Chiss was responsible for it, his expression held nothing more than intimidation belied by some degree of curiosity and confusion. 

The animal reared back, not quite retreating, but no longer hostile, either. It never took its red eyes away from the Chiss's. 

"Interesting," remarked Thrawn. He straightened. "It is possible that there is another predator in the area. In my experience－" 

"Thrawn," whispered Ezra. "Shut up. You're doing this."

The dark ring of trees reached the sky, encircling them in with the creature, who had now drawn a few cautious steps closer. Ezra reached out to block Thrawn before he could point his blaster. 

"What are you talking about?" 

He lowered his arm, and thankfully Thrawn didn't proceed to aim at the creature regardless. The Chiss was now looking at him, a frown creasing his brow. 

"I can't…" Ezra trailed off. "I don't know how to explain this. I don't know how it's possible." He shook his head, as if trying to convince himself he wasn't just dreaming this up. "But you've...connected with it. Through the Force." 

Thrawn had never been easy to read, but it was clear to Ezra that he went stiff, frozen for longer than a few heartbeats when the words left his mouth. 

Then he snapped, "Impossible."

"But it's true!" insisted Ezra, who didn't quite believe it himself. "I'm not doing that. I don't...I don't connect with creatures of the Dark Side but－" His eyes widened as a sudden realization struck him. "Wait a minute. Wait a kriffing minute. You're Force-sensitive, aren't you!" 

Thrawn snorted. "Don't be ridiculous." 

"You are!" exclaimed Ezra. "And you're strong in the Force!" 

Thrawn glowered at him, but Ezra backed down when he saw the iciness in his red eyes. "You are being absurd," he hissed. "I have no connection to the Force. Neither do I even begin to comprehend it. Obviously, there are other external forces at work if you are not the one controlling that creature."

Before Ezra could interject that he knew damn well how to tell who was at work here, the creature growled, baring its teeth again, and before either of them had the time to react, it turned around and fled. 

Ezra dropped his shoulders, although the pensive expression didn't quite leave his face. 

"Now you've gone and scared it." 

Thrawn raised an impatient eyebrow. "A pity, because it most certainly wasn't attempting to kill us a minute ago." 

Ezra jabbed a finger at him. "You connected with it, Thrawn. I don't know how, but I know that you did . And then you lost focus, and that connection broke. I've seen this happen before. Trust me." 

"No," said Thrawn. "You would do well to trust me when I assure you that that is not what transpired." 

Ezra crossed his arms. "Well, if you know so little about the Force, how would you know that?"  

"Because I know that the Force is lost to me," growled Thrawn. "Let's leave this place. We have left the campsite unguarded for too long." 

Ezra would have liked to argue further, but the Chiss didn't stick around, and he was left with no choice but to follow. It was a long and unnaturally quiet walk back, the air charged with something unspoken that Ezra couldn't yet decipher but knew he would soon. 

He needed answers. And somehow he knew was going to get them, one way or another. 

Morning came with sunlight streaming through the thick canopy, and Ezra awoke from a fragile sleep to the smell of roasting meat. 

His stomach was stronger than his worries in the morning, and so he stumbled out of the tent which had apparently long been deserted by the people he shared it with. 

Sure enough, Ida, Ensign Arato and Blonde Beef were gathered around a pile of slow-roasting meat over a fire, while Scarface stood guard at the perimeter with his back to them and his blaster at his hip. Spotting Ezra, Ida waved him over. 

"What is it?" 

"First catch of the day," said Scarface with a hint of pride. "Looks like rations won't be a problem after all. There's plenty of bushmeat in these parts." 

Ezra winced, glad that he was only looking at an unidentifiable red lump, and not any recognizable remains of whatever animal they were cooking. 

"Is that even safe to eat?" 

"I ran a basic pathogen test," said Ida, patting a miniature scanning device clipped to her belt. "It's very handy to have this. We may have solved all our food and water problems." 

Ezra blinked. "Where'd you get that?"

"The Grand Admiral had it with the rest of our supplies." Ida sounded more than a little impressed. "He thinks so far ahead. I don't know how he predicted ever needing these things, but I'm sure glad he did."

"Yeah," muttered Ezra. "Me too." 

He looked around their site and at the two tents. "Speaking of which, where is he?"

Ida sighed, brushing an errant strand of hair away from her eyes. She was turning the pike even as she spoke to him, while the Ensign wasn't doing anything useful and Blonde Beef was still reclining in reward for his catch. 

"He asked for the last of the stim-shots, and stayed back in the tent. Told us not to disturb." 

I'll bet, thought Ezra. He was still itching to know just what in the name of Krayt had happened the previous night, and it wasn't going to be so easy for Thrawn to get away without telling him what Ezra suspected he was hiding. 

He sat down between the Ensign and the doctor, the latter offering him a palm-sized fruit which he bemusedly accepted. Had he overslept so long that they'd had the time to go out on a supply run? 

Apparently reading his mind, the Ensign nudged him in the side. "You were knocked out cold, Bridger. And mumbling in your sleep. It was kind of freaky, so we didn't wake you."

Ezra scowled at him. Ida laughed. 

"He's not lying, Ezra. Are you okay? I had a terrible dream, too." 

He shook his head. Until he figured out what was going on with Thrawn－and indeed, what was going on with himself, the visions he was having－the best course of action was to allow the others to have their own theories on why he was acting odd, and go with it. 

"Yeah, I'm good. I can barely remember it." 

Blonde Beef snorted from across them. 

"Too bad, kiddo. Next time, you're joining us on the hunt. The Admiral may think you're useful, but I'm not going to stand you if you became a deadweight."

"I'm not going to become a deadweight," quipped Ezra, annoyed. "You'll see." 

Privately, he hoped that any animals they hunted were as cut-off from the Force as the giant arachnids. 

"I'm no expert, but I think this meat is done," said Ida. "Waffle, would you put out the fire?" 

Ezra blinked. "Who's Waffle?"

The Deathtrooper gave him a deadly look. "Me. I'm Waffle. You got a problem with that, kiddo?" 

Paralysing though his glare was, Ezra could not take him seriously when he said the word Waffle. Were they joking? Surely a Deathtrooper's name couldn't be Waffle? 

"My designation is WF-3407," said the 'trooper. 

"Ah," said Ezra, backing down. "I see." 

Ida snickered. "The fire, please, Waffle."

He huffed, shooting one last look in Ezra's direction, before dousing the fire with sand. Ida carefully removed the stick skewering the meat. It was a big catch, Ezra realised, more so than he'd first thought, now roasted to a promising honey-brown. Waffle unclipped a short knife from his belt and started cutting it into more or less even portions. 

The other Deathtrooper approached them. 

"It looks good, doctor. Did any of these goons help at all?"

Ida flushed slightly. "Well, Waffle set up the fire and the sticks." 

"And sat back doing nothing afterwards?"

Waffle waved the knife dismissively at his comrade. "Don't listen to him, doctor. He's just jealous it's not him spending some quality time with you here."

For the first time finding common ground, Ezra and Arato simultaneously rolled their eyes. 

Scarface decked his companion on the back of the head before sitting down beside him. "Yeah, yeah. Give me my share, idiot. It's your turn to guard the perimeter after this."

"Does it need guarding?" Ida asked mildly. "We put those leaves around it, remember, the ones that repel predators."

"Sweetheart, the only reason we haven't been attacked by some wild beast yet is that we've always had a guard out here," Scarface pointed out. "The Admiral's smart, but there's no way he could know for certain that those leaves will do the job." 

"He seems to know a lot of things he's not supposed to," commented Waffle. "Or am I the only one who's noticed?" 

Ezra frowned. The fact was certainly not lost on him, but he'd assumed it was all Thrawn just being...well, Thrawn. 

"I think the two of you need to lower your voices," said Arato dryly.  

The second 'trooper narrowed his eyes dangerously. "And I think you need to watch it, buddy. We don't take orders from Ensigns." 

"Does rank really apply out here?" asked Ida. 

"We're going to go back to the Empire someday－" 

"Yeah, I'm not so sure about that," interrupted Arato. 

"Don't interrupt me, Ensign." 

" Guys ," Ezra waved to get their attention. When all eyes were on him, he sighed pointedly. "Is this really necessary? There's a lot of unknown danger out there. The last thing we need to do is be fighting among ourselves." 

"I'm with Ezra," said Ida tersely. "And...I think you all should agree, too." 

An uneasy silence settled over the group. Ezra glanced between the two troopers and the Ensign, who all looked seconds away from throwing a punch. 

"Uh...look!" Ezra pointed at the long-forgotten divisions of meat. "Food's getting cold." 

That seemed to do the trick. With a derisive snort, Waffle went back to cutting, and Scarface settled back to glare daggers at Arato, who trembled only a little, to his credit, and glared right back. 

Ezra dived hungrily into his share, his stomach now rumbling with enough feeling that the tension in the air didn't bother him. Soon everyone was doing the same, except the doctor, who looked repulsed by their eating habits and shuffled slightly away from the ground to chew slowly and carefully instead. 

"Just close your eyes and picture nothing. Or anything. Just don't think of the battle."

"Why not the battle?" 

"That's the whole reason we do this, Navigator. We don't want to think about the horrible things we've seen." 

"And if you were to think about how we could have fared better against the enemy? Or in what ways we could have turned our loss into a victory?" 

"No. Of course not, we don't think that. You're a strange boy." 

"I find pursuing that line of thinking far more rewarding than thinking of nothing."

"If you say so. Do what you want. But you're taking over from my shift, so don't come back in a mood." 

Thrawn sat cross-legged in the middle of the tent, his hands folded in front of him, his eyes closed but for the occasional twitch. 

He was finding it particularly difficult to remain focused. 

Usually, he had no problem setting aside all distractions and thinking about the flow of a battle or contemplating a particularly complex artwork. Everything was different now. 

Blurred images, colours, lines in abstraction that made no sense. Flashes of memory and long-forgotten voices. The amplified chatter of critters in the canopy, and the banter of his crewmembers. It was too loud. Frustrating. 

Thrawn knew when to admit defeat. It wasn't something that happened very often, but he recognized the signs nonetheless. He didn't deny to himself that he was afraid; certainly, the previous night's experience had confirmed the worst of his fears, yet a significant part of him saw this unpleasant turn of events for the opportunity it was. A navigator's Third Sight never returned－ and certainly never in full force. If he could learn what had caused the resurgence in his long-dead ability and communicate it to the Ascendancy, it would doubtless be invaluable information for generations to come. 

This was his one anchoring thought amid the chaos.

"Escort ships to hide in the vessel's shadow? Do you think that will go undetected by the enemy's scans?"

"I do, Admiral. I observed that the enemy vessel only opened fire when our fighters were within a certain range. Before and after it, they are virtually blind to our movement－" 

"Thank you for your insight, Navigator Mitth'raw. Return to your station at once. We will need you soon enough when our fighters return." 

"When are you getting shore-leave? It's dull around here without you." 

"Not for another thirty days, Thrass." 

"Thirty days? The last time I asked, you numbered twenty!"

"There has been a development." 

"Sometimes I wish you hadn't joined the fleet so early, Thrawn. Is it safe out there? I know the answer depends on the leader of your ship. Have you a competent leader?"

"Admiral Ch'alen is not incompetent, although he certainly lacks vision." 

"Does he, now? In what ways?" 

"He is not observant in battle. He does not notice new weak points to be exploited in the enemy other than what is known from previous intel." 

"That must be very frustrating for you." 

"I have...grown accustomed to it." 

"Escort-3, there are new flight vectors incoming. Follow these instructions exactly. We may yet pull a victory out of this mess." 

"You are a strange boy, Mitth'raw, but your results cannot be argued with. I have taken the liberty of presenting your case to the Defense Council. They are eager to test the rest of our Navigators for this strain of the Sight."

"Well, it's everything you've ever wanted, little brother. Looks like they're going to enrol you in the Academy. Before you come of age, too. Mitth'resh'atrano has been talking about it to anyone unfortunate enough to cross her path, so I suspect that the next time you're home, she won't complain much about your odd habits."

"...with the rank of Lieutenant…"

"...with the rank of Captain…" 

"The scanners identify Vagaari vessels, sir. Do we stay clear?" 

"Negative, Ensign. We must learn about the enemy what we can." 

"...with the rank of Force Commander, and the honour of being Trial-born to the Mitth family…" 

"This has gone too far, Mitth'raw'nuruodo. The Aristorca do not condone preemptive strikes, and certainly will not stand by while you bring down war upon our shoulders." 

"We can't defend the entire galaxy." 

There was another presence in the room.

"I'm not asking to defend the entire galaxy." 

The voices still echoed in his head when he opened his eyes, glaring headlong at the intruder. The Jedi, of course, bearing in one hand what looked like a parcel of meat, a surprised expression on his face. 

"Sorry," he offered hastily, holding out the parcel like a gesture of peace. "It's just, the food was getting cold, and this thing tastes pretty terrible then. Brought you yours."

Thrawn didn't think it likely that bringing him breakfast was Bridger's only motive. He nodded once, in acknowledgement, and closed his eyes again. A clear message that he was expected to leave. 

Of course, the stubborn Jedi didn't take the hint, and Thrawn heard him instead set the food aside and drop into a cross-legged position across from him. 

"What are you doing?" he demanded, a sliver of irritation creeping into his usual cool voice. 

Ezra shrugged. "The point of meditation  is to avoid getting distracted, isn't it?" he asked innocently. "Consider this a test."

Thrawn opened his eyes, looking like he would rather eat that meat raw than take Ezra's suggestion seriously. "If I had wanted to be disturbed, I would have stayed outside the tent." 

"I'm not here to disturb you," said Ezra. "Maybe I can help. It took me ages to get good at meditation, so I won't hold it against you if you haven't got there yet." 

Thrawn raised a pointed eyebrow. "And you draw the conclusion that I am not adept in this form because…?" 

Ezra considered him wearily. "I know what someone's who's doing a good job of it looks like. There's too much on your mind, and you're thinking too much. The fact that it was so easy for me to fully distract you is proof." 

He wasn't lying, either. Ezra had guessed what Thrawn was up to before coming in, and he'd also figured he could simply leave the parcel and go, but he was surprised by how utterly unfocused the Chiss looked. His breaths were irregular, his fingers were curled into fists, and the muscles of his face were pulled tight with stress and discontentment. Kanan used to meditate an inordinate amount, but aside from when they really crossed a line, he was able to relegate the rest of the crew's chatter to background noise. Even when someone entered his room, he spoke to them with his eyes closed until he had to get up and follow them out. Thrawn had glared at Ezra as soon as he'd walked in. 

The Chiss stared at him for several long, chilly seconds, a stare which Ezra determinedly returned, until surprisingly, Thrawn relented first. 

Ezra assumed the fact that he closed his eyes once more, with an additional crease of a frown, was an invitation. 

Ezra slipped his own eyes closed, turning to the Force to find his center. It washed over him like warm sunlight, releasing the coiled tension in his muscles and the exhaustion of their journey. 

"Let go," he said quietly. "Nothing exists but you and the universe, and the Force of all living beings that surround you." 

The darkness behind his eyes seemed to get a bit deeper, more concentrated, as Ezra isolated himself from the sounds of voices outside the tent, the noise of critters in the undergrowth. 

I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.

I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. 

I am one with the Force－ 

He sensed a clouded presence in the Force, a peculiar blend of Light and Dark, but strong in neither. Disturbance and interference. 

"You're not relaxing," said Ezra. 

"I hardly think your Jedi techniques will work with me." 

"They will," promised Ezra, not opening his eyes. "Remember; nothing but you and the universe, and the Force of all living beings that surround you."

"I do not even believe in－" 

"Thrawn," said Ezra, somewhat exasperatedly. Now he knew how Kanan felt when he was continuously disturbed. "Don't think about it. Just listen. Relax ."

The Chiss muttered an expletive in Sy Bisti, but returned to the task at hand. Distantly, Ezra wondered how he knew the language. 

I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. 

I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. 

I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. 

Warrior's Fortune will smile on your efforts.

Ezra exhaled heavily. He hadn't expected that. Abstract snatches, certainly, but entire lines of thought? 

Peaceful watchfulness is the Chiss way.

Where will you have us stop? Ten light-years beyond our borders? A hundred? A thousand? 

Blurred, disjointed images. Ezra couldn't concentrate on his own meditation when all of Thrawn's thoughts he could detect were chaotic and disarrayed, out of even his own control. Memories, Ezra knew, triggered by trauma, but he had never felt it quite so potent before, from another person. Darkness warred with light within the Chiss, interspersed with something else, the Force surrounding him not in waves but in whispers, sometimes like lashes of a whip. 

Warrior's Fortune will smile on your efforts. 

Mitth'ras'safis has not returned, Commander. It is imperative we launch a search party for the remains of Outbound Flight. 

I sent three escort ships out in the previous hour. They will find him. 

Ezra swallowed thickly, screwing his eyes shut tighter. The sharp sting of pain, far deeper and agonizing than any of the other emotions that charged the Force around them, clear and potent and impossible to fight. 

There is no sign of him. 

Patience, Admiral. He will return. 

When? It has been a standard month. The Aristorca is arranging your trial, and charging you with treason and the death of a Syndic. 

Thrass is not dead. I will find him. 

Ezra felt like he was drowning, caught in currents beneath the surface but unable to rise up to where light shone obscurely through a thin sheet of ice. 

This is what comes of your blatant disregard for our principles, Mitth'raw'nuruodo. Or did you not consider that the ones you love will have to pay the price? 

The ice cracked, and Ezra felt cold, colder than he'd ever been. This wasn't like the embrace of the Dark Side, but it was as damning, like a harsh winter where nothing grew, sparing not a single inch of his skin, inside or out. 

They will have you exiled. 

I deserve no less. 

The Defense Fleet will suffer without you. 

Thrass is dead because of me. 

Ezra breathed heavily, hard and fast, trying to shake the thoughts away, to break the connection he'd never intended to make. It was too much, overpowering, and he felt too cold, colder than he'd been on the Bridge of the Chimera in hyperspace while the Star Destroyer was ripped apart. 

The blurred lines behind his eyes took form, materializing into a lone figure standing at the helm of a ship, overlooking an expanse of stars. Ezra saw it was a child, with blue skin and blue-black hair, who had his eyes closed and a palm on a dashboard.

The child opened bright red eyes, and the connection shattered like glass. 

Ezra stumbled back, and then he was back in the real world, sitting across from Thrawn in the tent. 

Thrawn, who looked angrier than Ezra had ever seen him, who bared his teeth in a snarl. 

"Leave," he hissed. 

Ezra's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean－" 

"Get out!" 

Ezra hastily got to his feet and left the tent without looking back, his every muscle sagging in relief when the sun hit his face and his knees crunched on oddly-textured soil. 

He dropped onto the earth, turning over to lie on his back with the full force of the morning sun bearing down on him. 

What the hell had just happened? 

Chapter Text

Ezra stuck to the place between Ida and Arato, purposefully lagging so he could stay as far away from Thrawn as possible. The Chiss hadn't said a single word to him since the incident, although his demeanor had returned to its usual quiet, cool grace, and nobody who couldn't read the Force would be able to tell that anything was off about him at all. Up until the previous night, Thrawn had been impossible to read with the Force, regardless of the circumstances, but since their encounter with the animal in that den, his presence in the Force had become less cloudy. Ezra had never seen anything like it. He wished, with no small amount of heartache, that Kanan was with him. He would know what to do. 

The group trekked through the forest, flanked by the Deathtrooper he'd now come to learn was Pik, which was an only remotely less ridiculous name than Waffle. 

A darker noon was starting to take over the sky. Ezra couldn't see the sky unhindered through the thick roof of trees above them at any given time, but wistfully, he bet it was beautiful. For all the different ways this planet had tried to kill them so far, he couldn't deny it was scenic. 

Ida seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Does your homeworld have forests like this, Ezra?" 

Ezra shrugged. "No, not really. Just open, grassy plains and big mountains." The thought of Lothal made something twist longingly in his gut. He looked at her. "What about yours?" 

"I come from Vardos," said the doctor. "It's beautiful, but in a different way. We have Shin'yah trees with red petals; if they fall into water, they bleed. So there's a lot of that colour to go around." 

Ezra pulled his pack tighter across his shoulders and looked ahead. "That sounds nice," he admitted. "I miss Lothal, too. I don't know about native trees, but we have Loth-cats." 

Ida raised an eyebrow. "Loth-cats?" 

He grinned. "Yeah, they're like pests, but I've grown to like them. Do you have pests on Vardos?" 

Ida laughed. "There are ones that eat wood, but I don't think that's what you're going for." 

"No, of course not. How boring."

She nudged him playfully in arm, and he retaliated with an elbow of his own. 

"You're slowing us down," growled Pik. "Do you mind?" 

Ida snickered, placing an arm on Ezra's shoulder and further incensing the Deathtrooper. "Don't mind him, Ezra. He's a real buzzkill. Tell me more about Lothal."

Ezra couldn't resist shooting the trooper an innocent smile, to which he growled and muttered something about stupid kids who didn't know better. 

Ezra spoke about Lothal, about as much as he could reveal without bringing up the Empire and the effect it had on the planet, both for Ida's sake and his own. He remembered the things he liked about it, the good days, the temperate climate and how much he missed loth-cats, and, tentatively, he spoke about his crew, vaguely iterated how they became his family. The doctor listened with rapt attention through it all, with the occasional smile or laugh at the things he narrated. She wanted to hear more about Zeb and Chopper, so he told her, everything he could afford to reveal. 

"I've never met an astromech like that! He really had a database of swear words?" 

"I don't think he was made with it, but it's entirely possible he just picked it up from the rest of the crew." 

"Fascinating. I've only ever interacted with server droids and mouse droids my whole life. And those are pretty boring, I assure you." 

"I can reprogram a server droid to be interesting," offered Ezra. 

"So can everyone else," muttered Pik.

Ezra rolled his eyes. "I think Pik is jealous." 

Ida snorted. "Jealous, Pik?"

"Why would I be jealous of the kid? His prattling is just annoying the hell out of me." 

She nodded. "Totally jealous," she whispered to Ezra. "Hey, speaking of which, you ever had anyone special?" 

Ezra blinked. "You mean a girlfriend?"

She winked. "Sure. Yeah. Tell me about her. I'll bet she was really cool." 

Ezra flushed. "Uh...I didn't have one. Not really."

"Not really?"  

"It's complicated."

"Hmm." Ida looked thoughtful. "You don't have to tell me, but what was this girl like? Was she from Lothal, too?"

Ezra paused. "She was from Mandalore." 

Ida whistled. "She's the artist you told me about?" 

He grinned, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. "Well, yeah. But we're not－like that. She's my best friend. I mean, if I could go back...I'm not sure I'd want to change anything. Sorry if that doesn't really answer your question."

The doctor laughed. "No, I get it. Can't say I've been in the same situation, but it's not so uncommon."

Before them, Arato came to a sudden halt, and Ezra looked up to see that way ahead of them, Thrawn had raised a closed fist. Next to him, Waffle cocked his gun. 

Ezra tensed. He didn't sense any danger, but the last time, the warning had come too late. His hand dropped to the hilt of the lightsaber which Thrawn had never bothered to ask back. 

"Clear," announced the Chiss, bringing his arm down. But he didn't keep walking. He turned around to face the group. "We will rest here a moment." 

Arato visibly sagged with relief, almost immediately collapsing onto the soil. He lay there, taking big gulps of air for several heartbeats, before sitting up and reaching for his dwindling supply of water. 

"I thought we were never going to stop," he complained as Ida sat next to him, although she made sure to thoroughly inspect the ground first. 

Ezra dropped his pack and made to get the portion of water he'd been given, but movement caught the corner of his eye as he bent. 

Thrawn and Waffle headed to their right, behind the line of trees. Waffle with his trigger finger still on the gun. 

What were they up to? Was there some danger they weren't telling the others about? Why make everyone vulnerable by telling them to relax?

"Ezra?" asked Ida. 

"Be right back." 

Ezra darted off in the direction Thrawn had left, and Pik made no effort to stop him. Making his way through the tree cover and heading forward, he slowed down when he neared his destination. 

Buried underneath a thick cover of moss and barely distinguishable was a black rock cave, the vines at its entrance recently disturbed. He went for it. 

Ezra ducked in to find that the roof of the cave was higher than its entrance, and said roof was obscured by more of the moss that grew outside. Beneath it, he could make out traces of red and brown. Markings? Primitive drawings? 

Ezra startled when a blaster was pushed to his back. 

"Kid?" asked Waffle, lowering the barrel when Ezra turned. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same about you," retorted Ezra, pointedly directing the barrel entirely away from his body. 

"The Grand Admiral saw something of interest. You shouldn't be here."

"On the contrary," came a smooth voice, and they both turned to find Thrawn standing before the wall of the cave, in a contemplative stance. "Send him here, Captain. You may then stand guard outside." 

Waffle shoved Ezra forward. "You heard him, kid."

Ezra shot him a venomous glare before joining the Chiss. He was studying a set of primitive drawings on the stone, made in fading red and yellow inks, some merely scratched in. 

"Bridger," said Thrawn, without looking down. "What do you see?" 

Ezra raised an eyebrow. So you're not mad at me anymore? 

"They look like caveman drawings," he said honestly, which was about as much as he could say. 

Thrawn was predictably unimpressed. "How very perceptive of you. And what do you read in these... caveman drawings?"

"That cavemen can draw?" Ezra shrugged. "You're the art expert, not me." 

"Are you not a good friend of Sabine Wren?" 

Ezra scowled. "Look, all I see are drawings done by some primitive species. Maybe they're still in the stone age, or maybe these drawings are old. They're all stick figures, so they can't be very advanced. They probably use tools, too, to create these. And for other reasons. That's all." 

"Excellent," said Thrawn, to his surprise, turning back to the wall. "The primitive species responsible for this work are presumably bipedal with four functional upper limbs. Their fingers have no less than four joints each. The cover of vegetation proves that this particular habitat was abandoned only a few years ago, and so this species has not advanced far beyond this point, and are still living in a stone age, as you put it. You are also correct about the use of tools. It is also possible that what drove out this cave's occupants was the vegetation itself. I wonder…" 

Ezra gaped at him. "You could tell all that from just...looking at the art?" 

"Yes." 

"Wow." He gazed back up at the drawings with newfound appreciation and the details became clearer. The errant lines trapping each depiction of a human-shaped figure now became apparent as an extra set of arms. He couldn't tell anything about how many joints a finger had, though, the paintings weren't that clear, but he figured Thrawn had some other way of pinning this fact. Ezra also noticed that the vegetation, although thick, was not fully developed; most of the sprouts that were visible to him had thin stems, while a few had thickened. Curiously, he tore off the top of a thinner sprout and saw it; age rings. 

"That is pretty impressive," admitted Ezra. "I'm guessing you didn't open these up, either? 

Thrawn moved fast, slapping the sprout out of his hand. "Ow!" 

"Do not touch any of it," said the Chiss, his voice suddenly colder. "Did I not warn you that that was what drove the occupants of this cave to desert it?" 

Ezra shook out his burning fingers. Thrawn had a painful way of making a statement. "Yeah, right!" 

The Chiss's eyes narrowed, fixed firmly on the tips of his fingers. Ezra looked down with wide eyes. 

Sure enough, red blisters were starting to pop on his skin, spreading down the digits at an alarming rate. 

"Kriff! What do we do now?"

Thrawn narrowed his eyes at the blistering skin. "I told you not to touch it." 

"You told me after I touched it!" 

"Your attention to detail is severely lacking, Bridger."

Ezra treated him to a decidedly poisonous glare, gritting his teeth as sharp tendrils of pain started pricking at the insides of his skin like needles. "Okay, you win. What do I do about it?"

The rest of his skin was reddening really fast. Ezra held his bad hand a cautious distance away from his body, watching anxiously as the welting continued up to his forearm, almost disappearing under his sleeve. 

"Interesting," said Thrawn, a contemplative finger curled under his chin. "Obviously the natives did not have a remedy, or they would have remained in the cave. However I noticed that these plants experience somewhat stinted growth on the outer walls reached by the sunlight." 

"Fascinating," Ezra bit out, his expression contorting in pain. 

"Indeed. The plants show a clear aversion to light, but in order to stop their growth completely, a beam of higher intensity would be required."

"Are you going to continue this lecture over my dead body?" snapped Ezra. 

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. "My apologies. Of course, it may also be time-sensitive. The lightsaber, please." 

Ezra stared at his outstretched hand. "Wait. You're not going to－" 

"Of course." 

"No!" Ezra took several steps back. "It can't be that serious! There has to be another way!"

Thrawn's expression shifted from glacially calm to comprehending to utterly exasperated in a matter of seconds. "I am not going to cut off your arm. I am going to use the lightsaber's beam."

"Oh." Ezra heaved a relieved breath. He reached for the lightsaber on his belt.

"With your other hand, Bridger."

"Right. Sorry."

Thrawn ignited the brilliant yellow blade, casting the cave paintings and his own face in shadow, before holding it perilously close above Ezra's exposed arm. 

Half a dozen tales Kanan had told him about the Jedi in the time of the Republic flashed through his mind's eye, particularly the ones involving lightsabers and severed limbs. 

Was he really going to trust Thrawn on this? 

But the Chiss didn't attempt anything fancy, and when Ezra reluctantly looked down, he noticed the unsightly blisters on his skin react to the yellow light. He winced at the jarring sensation of burning that wilted the blisters, gritting his teeth when he felt the sting right down the bone. 

"That's enough," choked Ezra, pulling his hand back. Thrawn deactivated the lightsaber. 

The boy examined his defaced right hand, gingerly testing if his digits could move properly. It hurt to curl them, but he didn't notice any delayed responses. 

"It should heal," said Thrawn coolly, and if Ezra weren't busy worrying on this question, he would've noticed the Chiss clip the weapon to his own belt. 

"I hope so," muttered Ezra. "Thanks for the save, by the way."

Thrawn started to walk past him. 

We're even. 

The unsaid words hung in the air, and Ezra followed him out of the cave a heartbeat later. 

The only positive thing to transpire by daybreak was the discovery of a small, trickling stream that rode along the forest floor. They replenished their supply of water, and Thrawn announced that they would be following the stream to its source. He deduced that civilization must not be too far off, although Ezra remained skeptical of this claim. In any event, he didn't think the planet had moved past its stone age. What good would it do to come across hostile natives without access to ships or communication equipment? 

They were well and truly stranded. 

I'm counting on you. 

The words he'd recorded a lifetime ago rang in his head. 

I'm counting on you. 

Surely Sabine would search for him? She would succeed, wouldn't she? Mandalorians were not known for taking failure as an option, and if there was one thing he knew about his best friend, it was that she was stubborn to a fault. 

Sitting in the dirt for the second time that day, Ezra let his gaze drift over to the group of Imperials he'd wound up getting saddled with. He knew he wouldn't survive out here without help, and none of them were openly hostile anymore, but all the same he wondered what this adventure would've felt like with the Ghost crew. 

Ezra let his imagination take over and picture Sabine conversing with Ida, talking about whatever girls liked to talk about (outside of the circumstances of war, he couldn't imagine what that would be), and he imagined Hera getting their limited supplies in order. Chopper warbling insults at Zeb, who was trying to scale one of the broad, wide trees to get to a branch he could nap on. 

I will come back to you. 

The thought was as sudden as it was fiercely sincere, and Ezra let the sentiment take root in the deepest part of him. 

I will come back to you. 

He felt a phantom tingle in his shoulder, barely there, like the lightest of touches. Ezra reached up with his good hand. 

Kanan…

Whatever else that this world threw at him, he knew he'd overcome it. He would live to fight another day beside his family. 

Movement caught in his peripheral vision and Ezra saw Thrawn and Pik return. He straightened up instinctively. The Chiss had left on his investigation with a look of curiosity, and returned with one of purpose. 

Arato noticed, too. 

"Did you find anything, sir?" he asked, eagerly springing to his feet. 

"There is a settlement not far from here," said Thrawn. "The natives did not speak a language either of us was familiar with, but they understood our meaning, and have agreed to host us." 

Ezra raised his eyebrows, surprised. "It was that easy?" 

Pik snorted. "We didn't understand a word they were saying and they didn't understand us. What do you think?" 

Thrawn held up a hand. "Yet there are ways to communicate with a species without sharing a language in common. We will go to the settlement and learn from the natives what we can. Any insight they can provide about this world will no doubt benefit us in the future."

The sky was a great deal darker by the time they reached the settlement, a small village comprising of baked mud huts with roofs woven out of thick leaves and vines. The centre of the village beheld a clearing and what looked like a well. By the well, a group of natives stood waiting for them. 

Ezra slowed his pace as they approached, realizing that this was the same species depicted on the cave walls earlier. Their pale yellow bodies were thin, with jutting ribs, and they had four arms with jointed fingers. Exactly how Thrawn had described them from the artwork; and while this settlement didn't look as stone age as the Chiss had figured, it certainly wasn't too advanced beyond that, as the dwellings were simple structures and a short barrier of rocks framed the village, possibly as a defense mechanism. 

The alien at the lead of the small group, who was taller than his companions and nearly as tall as Thrawn, bowed and spoke some garbled words. He pointed towards two mud huts at the far end of the compound. 

Thrawn made a gesture of thanks (presumably; Ezra wasn't about to ask how he knew what the right gesture was), and two members of the welcoming party broke off to lead the way. 

The beings weren't impossible to read with the Force, but they still possessed a certain cloudiness, a lack of clarity around them when Ezra reached out. He didn't find anything that stood out as malice or ill-intent. 

"They are a hospitable species," Thrawn murmured as they unintentionally fell into step. "There were portions of the artwork depicting members of their race dining and communicating with others." 

"Doesn't sound safe," commented Ezra with a frown. "Generous, yeah, but how do they know we can be trusted? They've probably never seen a human or a Chiss before." 

"They have only one natural predator." The group rounded the corner, and Thrawn's eyes drifted over to the empty huts that were coming into view, presumably the ones that had been separated for them. "A species which were also depicted in the art, and far from humanoid. It is possibly why they do not see us as a threat. Or…" 

Ezra quirked a brow, pensive. "Or?" 

Thrawn's expression was stern, his voice lowered as they marched on. "Or they have an ulterior motive to their willing hospitality. Notice how our huts are separate from the rest of the settlement." 

Ezra studied the layout and spotted it almost immediately. There were two simple mud huts, seemingly lying in wait for visitors. A hallmark of a very hospitable species, if not for a handful of give-aways. 

For one, the wall of rock framing the settlement seemed to grow shorter behind the two huts. The dwellings were made of a darker clay, unnoticeable to an eye that wasn't looking for oddities, with comparatively lower ceilings. While the other huts had an entrance, exit and at least one window, these two appeared to be clay cylinders without any orifices. 

"The only doors on the two huts are facing the lowered wall," said Thrawn, who wasn't even looking at the objects he described－ his eyes wandered their surroundings as if he was casually conversing with Ezra about the weather, or something similarly mundane, and Ezra immediately caught on. 

"Don't stare at the huts, got it," he muttered. He looked up at the sky and instantly regretted it when the sun glared at him. "Do you think they're setting us up to be some kind of...bait?" 

"Most of the artwork in the cave had been lost to time," said Thrawn conversationally. "I could not be certain which interpretation was the correct one. I assumed it was a depiction of hospitality, but seeing the layout of our guest quarters leads me to believe this was only half of the story. The only exit faces the side the enemy will attack from; the protection is weaker in this area, so it is guaranteed that the attack would come from that direction. The enemy is a pack of few members, or else two huts of prey would not keep all of them distracted for long. It should give the villagers plenty of time to escape." 

"Kriffing Force," swore Ezra under his breath. "How do we talk our way out of being their guests?" 

"What are you two whispering about?" Ida asked cheerily, emerging at Ezra's side. The Jedi belatedly realized that they'd reached their destination, and had circled around to the first hut's only entrance. "You don't sound very happy, Ezra." 

Ezra bit his lip, expecting Thrawn to snap at the doctor for her intrusion－ but Thrawn, surprising him again, only inclined his head to a side. "All will be explained shortly, Doctor." He turned to their escorts, standing a respectful distance away from their party, and thanked them with the same gestures as before. The escorts left with a gesture returned. 

"Okay, now that those two are gone," Arato started. "I caught your every word. What the hell?" 

Pik elbowed him hard in the ribcage, earning a pained yowl. 

"Respect your Superiors," he snarled. 

"Fuck off!" Arato exclaimed, doubled over painfully from the blow. "You'd be asking the same if you'd heard them!" 

"We did," said Waffle, deadpan. "Grand Admiral?" 

Thrawn called their attention towards the entrance of the hut. "Lingering outside will be perceived as suspicious." 

"Great, we're going into the murder-chamber," grumbled Arato. "None of this was in the job description, mind you. Didn't sign up for any of it." 

"I'm going to kick you in the rear if you don't stop whining," Ida threatened sweetly, before following through on her threat regardless. With a dirty look, the Ensign followed Ezra into the hut. 

The troopers settled back against the wall with their belongings while Arato took a place as close to the entrance as possible, one foot almost out the door, and Ezra and Ida stood on either side of Thrawn, waiting for a plan. The Chiss didn't disappoint. 

"Leaving the village would reduce our chances of survival against this threat that the villagers fear," he began. "We are unfamiliar with the environment, there is no cover we know better than the enemy, and there is nothing standing between us and them. Within these huts, our exit is cut off and we have sparse protection, but the option of following the villagers to sanctuary provided we make it past the initial stage alive." 

"Provided we make it out alive?" asked Ezra, incredulous. 

"There are no guarantees," said Thrawn warily. "However, it is a chance we can take. The villagers do not know for certain that the enemy will attack tonight and so we are merely a contingency. The enemy is nocturnal, according to the artwork in the cave. But the way they are going about their regular lives today is proof that they are both confident in their contingency and doubtful the enemy will attack tonight. There are only two guard-towers; I see no reason for them to station more than two guards in this situation. When the village is asleep, we will leave our quarters and cross to the opposite end of the village; the safest side, closest to their route of escape. Prior to this two of our group will render the guards unconscious so that they do not preemptively report our change of position. If the village is attacked tonight, we will be among the first to escape. If it is not, we will leave before morning." 

Ida released a breath, relief evident in her features. "Sounds good." 

"If there's nothing to stall the attackers, won't villagers die?" asked Ezra. "We could escape, but what about the people who can't?" 

"They tried to make us their bait, kid," Waffle snorted. "We don't have any reason to give a fuck what happens to them." 

"It's not like they're all in on it!" protested Ezra angrily. "What about the children? The people who have nothing to do with this? And anyway, they were just trying to protect their own!" 

"We cannot save everyone," said Thrawn matter-of-factly. "My priority is my crew. The best plan, in my eyes, is the one that carries the highest likelihood for every member of this party to survive in the event of an attack." 

Ezra turned on him. "But you and I can fight. The Deathtroopers can fight. What if we just protect the villagers?" 

"We don't owe them shit," snorted Arato from the doorway. "And the Admiral's right. We only have a responsibility towards each other." 

Thrawn held up a hand and addressed Ezra. "I cannot fight in my current state. When you attempted to use the Force against the creatures we first encountered, you were unsuccessful. The Deathtroopers have limited charge left in their blasters, which may not even be effective against this threat." He briefly closed his eyes. "I do not prefer it, Bridger. But to retreat is our only option." 

Ezra curled his fingers into fists at his side, but no words of argument came to him. Thrawn, as usual, was right. It was infuriating. 

"I'll figure something out," he muttered, backing down. "Just give me until nightfall." 

"I am open to any ideas you might have," said Thrawn, blankly but with shocking sincerity. 

Ezra leaned back against the wall, massaging his temples. 

Think, Ezra, think. 

You're not going to let any of these people die on your account, are you? 

Nighttime crept upon the village as slowly and surely as the shadow of a rancor fell across a condemned man. It wasn't long before every light save for the two beacons in the watchtowers were put out, and the planet's two moons along with the sky's vast scattering of stars became the only alternative source of light. 

Ezra Bridger did not have a plan. 

Use the Force. Hope it works this time. Pik and Waffle can take up sniper positions in the towers? But no, the creatures are heavily armoured and infallible, if the cave drawings are anything to go by. 

"Knock the guards out and bring them down with us, got it," came Waffle's voice from inside the hutt. "What about our packs?"

"The rest of us will move them," said Thrawn. 

Ezra dropped his face into his hands. Better plan. Help people. Think. 

"Have you seen Ezra?" Ida's voice floated from the hut. 

"Kid's trying to come up with a better plan," scoffed Pik. "Good luck to him." 

"I feel kinda bad," muttered Arato. "It seems to really bug him that villagers will die. Is that what rebels do? Worry about people they can't possibly save?" 

Ezra screwed his eyes shut tighter, trying to achieve the balance required in meditation and divert his attention from the conversations happening in the hut. 

May Warrior's Fortune smile on your efforts. 

You are being charged with the death of a Syndic－

Are all navigators strange like you, Raw? 

Ezra flinched. His thoughts were still linked to Thrawn's, or maybe still completely distracted with what had happened the previous day. Every time he closed his eyes and tried to reach out to the Force and find himself, he only stumbled into Thrawn. Thrawn's memories, thoughts, whatever they were－ they taunted him, refused to leave his head, growing progressively louder in his ears. 

The practical answer－

I'm not asking to defend the entire galaxy. 

Ezra tried to chase the thoughts away, but a subconscious part of him tried to follow them, make sense of the echoing words. Did they hold answers? Ideas? 

Why leave our backs turned when millions are forced to suffer? 

We don't force anyone to suffer. 

You've got your priorities all wrong, Thrawn, and sooner or later－ 

Ezra let his shoulders drop, his breath leaving him in a shakily exhale. Behind his closed eyes he could hear some muted commotion. He ignored the real world and chased his answers. 

You have already tried enough. 

Not with the resources at your disposal, Aristorca－

Mitth'ras'safis is not coming back. It is not my place to waste the Ascendancy's time. 

Ezra flinched as the outside noises, the new intrusions, grew louder and harder to ignore. 

He is an important figure in government－

Which is why the Eighth Family will have a new Syndic from tomorrow, Commander. Or is it Captain now? I had heard that a demotion was in the cards－

"Get up!" 

Ezra was yanked painfully and abruptly out of his trance, a sharp-fingered hand digging into his arm as he was hauled gracelessly to his feet. 

"What?" he sputtered. 

"The village is under attack," hissed Arato, dragging him back into the hut, where their packs were waiting. The Ensign immediately shouldered one. "Or it will be, anyway. Pik and Waffle spotted those creatures headed in this direction." 

Ezra stumbled around the last pack left, pulling his arms through the straps with haste. "How do we warn the village?" 

"First we get to safety," muttered Arato. "Come on." 

Not daring to believe he was running away instead of defending a helpless people, Ezra followed him out of the hut. Ida immediately emerged from the next one, her face pale. 

"It's the Admiral," she stuttered. "Something is－ something is wrong. His injuries. He won't－" 

Fuck, thought Ezra. 

"Take my pack and get out of here," he said, passing the load over to the striken doctor. "Don't worry about us, just go." 

Ida looked like she was about to protest, but was swiftly cut off by Arato, who grabbed her wrist. "You heard him." 

Paying them no more attention Ezra rushed into the other hut, to be confronted with the last thing he wanted to see. Thrawn was lying back against the wall, unconscious. He looked like a corpse. 

No. 

"No, no, no," whispered Ezra. "Not now. Please not now." 

He dropped to knees beside the Chiss, frantically searching for a pulse, finding one inches above where it would be for a human but it was weak, so weak he almost missed it. 

"You came this far without dying," breathed Ezra, attempting to get the Chiss to lean on him, flinging a heavy, muscled arm around his neck. "Come on. " 

He staggered out of the hut to find the village ablaze. 

The clay huts, all of them that were part of the main settlement, burned in violent amber flames. The heat reached him. It was stifling; unbearable. He didn't know how the hell it had happened. 

Villagers fled their homes in panicked crowds. Shock, fear and confusion made the Force bitter around them, made the air acrid and unbreathable alongside the stinging fumes that obscured his vision, held his lungs hostage. Ezra coughed, loudly and painfully, his entire body quaking with the force of the spasms. 

How? What is going on? 

"Bridger," came a weak voice by his side. The fumes had breathed consciousness into the Chiss, though his face was pale and his eyes far too dull. He coughed violently to a side before continuing. "The towers are safe. Nowhere else." 

"What?" exclaimed Ezra. "How? How do you know that?"

"The attackers－" He broke into a fit of coughing. 

"It doesn't matter," said Ezra. "Fuck, I－ can you walk?" 

There was no use in asking. The Chiss had succumbed to unconsciousness again. 

Cursing loudly amid the coughs that shook his whole frame, Ezra started to navigate the panicked crowds and the fires. His limbs felt weak, unable to move despite his every instinct screaming that he needed to warn everyone, point them towards safety. His legs were heavy, near-useless blocks of lead. Thrawn's additional weight was not helping. He couldn't keep this up. He could not－ 

An ear-piercing screech cut through the air as the ground in front of him tore open, and a creature straight from his nightmares clawed its way from beneath. 

"Shit!" swore Ezra, stumbling back with Thrawn as the creature－ pitch black, six-legged, coated in tar and flames－ brought itself to its full height, spindly front legs raised in aggression before it opened its canine jaws and breathed fire. 

He turned away from it. The fire, the same kind that swept over the village, made of something toxic－ he turned his back on it, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Opening them a heartbeat later to find he wasn't dead. 

When Ezra opened his eyes and dared to look, he found the flames held back; something invisible pushed them outwards even as the creature relentlessly continued its onslaught. 

"Bridger," Thrawn gritted out at his side. "A little help would be appreciated." 

You're doing this. 

"Hurry." 

Ezra turned back around, extending his free hand, urging the Force to come to him. And, for the first time since landing on this thrice-damned planet, it did. His abilities returned in full force, with a burst that pushed the fire right back, engulfing the creature whole. It screeched and scrambled, trying desperately to escape to no avail. Straightening his spine and stepping forward, Ezra pushed harder. The fire completely consumed it, burning brighter and brighter until the creature's pitiful shrieks faded, until the fire died out and left only a charred corpse behind. 

Thrawn caught him before he fell. 

"What－" Ezra slurred, his vision tinged with darkness. The heady rush from his power was gone, leaving him unsteady on his feet. 

"We have to go," said the Chiss, who was obviously struggling with standing upright himself. 

"We have to… help…" 

"We cannot," said Thrawn, his voice oddly quiet. 

They picked their way through the chaos. Faintly, Ezra noticed other creatures, of the same type, attacking villagers, breathing fire. The sight and sensation of it all stirred something dark and urgent within him. He felt his abilities start to return. 

"Stop," he snapped. "Stop. I can help. I can save them." 

"Bridger－" 

"Over here!" 

They instinctively followed the voice to its source and found the Deathtroopers inside the watch tower. The tower, which was not too far from where they stood now. Waffled waved for their attention while simultaneously gunning down creatures; it did nothing to stop them, but it did slow them down. The creatures at the base of the tower could not find enough bearing to climb. 

"Where are the others?" Thrawn shouted up at them while Ezra wrenched himself away, staggering in the other direction. 

The bit of conscious sense he still had left told him exactly what this feeling was. The satisfaction he'd felt as he'd trapped the creature in a prison of its own making, the fact that mercy had never occured to him－ this was the dark side calling. 

But the dark side was going to save lives tonight. 

"Hey!" Ezra shouted, striding right for the nearest creature that had a villager trapped in its pincers. "Hey, ugly, over here!" 

He turned the fire back on it, just like the first time, his lips pulling into a grin as the threat turned into a charred shell. 

He turned his attention on another. And another. The Force flowed through him in ways it never had before, making him powerful, wrenching faceless villagers back from the jaws of death. He couldn't hear what Thrawn was shouting and he couldn't care less. Let the Admiral take care of his crew. He was a rebel, and rebels always－

They always－

"Ezra!" 

Arato's voice cut through the tumultuous emotions in his head, enough to render a moment of complete clarity. Through the smoke he spotted the Ensign, cornered against a clay hut, holding off one of the creatures with nothing but his pack as a shield. 

Ezra strode over, reaching out with the Force, with this new power that sang through his veins, and the snapping jaws of the creature were pulled away from the Ensign's face and directed upwards in confused panic as Ezra lifted it off the ground, curling his fingers into a fist. 

Momentarily, tar-coloured blood and spindly limbs splattered in all directions. 

He held his hand out to the Imperial, who took it after only a moment's hesitation. 

"Thanks," he breathed. "I owe you my life." 

Something about his choice of words brought Ezra back. 

But when the edges of his vision cleared and he realized with a strong wave of nausea just what he'd done, it was far too late. With an almost physical pang in his heart, Ezra knew that the village could not be saved. 

It was already over. Every four-limbed, thin body was a burned or broken one; heads, legs, and arms were missing and the fires lapped up what was left of them. A dozen pitch-black coated creatures chose from their fallen prey, some breaking into conflict over a good pick. 

Except at the base of the watchtower, which five of the animals still attempted to scale. 

Ezra shielded Arato with his body as they moved forward, searching for a way in. Pik and Waffle had stopped firing－ either their blasters were out of charge or they trusted it wouldn't make a difference. 

"There!" exclaimed Arato, pointing shakily at the second watchtower, the empty one. Thrawn was helping an injured Ida up the ladder, her right leg soaked in blood and immobile. They had so far gone unnoticed by the creatures. It was only a matter of climbing up. 

"Let's go," breathed Ezra. 

He dared to feel relief as they neared the base of the tower, as Thrawn pulled their doctor the final rung up. He looked down at them from inside, heaving, something akin to reflecting relief touching his expression. 

It was only for a heartbeat. 

Before he could shout a warning, before Ezra could react to the drastic change in his expression, they were swamped. Spindly limbs grabbed for them, too many pairs, the acrid smell of fumes and fire surrounded them and before he could do anything about it, before he could find the Force and push back, Arato was screaming. 

His grasp slipped from Ezra's with a violent pull. 

The first creature to throw him onto the ground was also the first to drive one sharp pincer straight through his heart. 

"NO!" 

The sound of scissors, sharp tools meant for cutting, tearing. Arato had stopped moving. The second went through his neck. 

The third, through his face. 

"No." Ezra could not process the sight before him. The sharp pincers of three creatures each taking a turn to tear through the body of someone who had been so close to living. Someone he knew the name of, who'd just said he owed him his life. "No!" 

For the second time that night, he felt a strong grip on his shoulder, an upwards pull back into coherence. Thrawn had come down to the lowest rung of the ladder. 

"Climb," he said. It was the only thing he said, but the fire in those bloodlike red eyes dared him to protest the order. 

Ezra listened and obeyed, his heart in his stomach, and not a second too soon. Thrawn hauled him bodily up the ladder before he met the same fate as Ensign Arato.