Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Technoblade stalked down the hallway with a snarl and a murderous glare, muttering fiercely under his breath. Senate aides and assistants scrambled to get out of his way, and even with his longer legs, Ranboo was struggling to keep up. 

“Um, Master Technoblade?” he asked cautiously, almost stumbling on the thick carpet. “Is there something wrong?”

Ranboo knew how much he hated government, especially the corruption and dishonesty of the Senate. He’d heard all of his anarchist rants, whether he wanted to listen to them or not, but this was something new, and honestly, it was kind of terrifying. Frustration and mocking snark, he expected, but full-on fury? What was so bad about the Senator they were assigned to protect?

“Nope. No. It’s all fine, actually.” Techno’s voice came out as a low growl that didn’t match his words in the slightest. His clawed hand began fiddling with the hilt of his lightsaber, and Ranboo had to swallow a nervous gulp.

“Are you sure? You... don’t seem all that fine.” Ranboo didn’t know why he was pushing for an answer when everything about Techno’s body language screamed ‘I am going to hurt someone’, but there was a twisting feeling in his gut that told him that this was important. He couldn’t tell if it was the Force or his own curiosity, but either way, he wanted to know.

“I’m not a huge fan of this assignment is all. Let’s leave it at that,” he said, biting out the words like they had personally wronged him.

Ranboo left it at that. The saying ‘Curiosity killed the Loth-cat’ existed for a reason, after all. 

The pair continued down the gently curving halls of the Senate building, bright midday light streaming through the windows, and it took Ranboo a surprisingly long time to realize that Techno hadn’t looked at the holomap they’d been given at all. Either he wasn’t leading them to the office of their new Senatorial charge, which he doubted, or… he’d been there before. Been there a lot , based on how confidently he navigated the maze of unmarked turns and intersections. There was history here, and Ranboo had a dreadful feeling that he’d be finding it out far too soon. He hunched his shoulders inwards, a shiver curling down his spine at the thought of what exactly they would be facing.

The Padawan twirled his braid around his finger nervously, his mismatched eyes fixed on the rhythmic pad of his feet against the floor. He was so lost in thought that Techno had to pull him to a stop by his hood when they reached their destination, a seamless metal door labelled ‘Corinth’ in curling script. Techno slammed a slim passkey against a panel on the wall, and Ranboo jumped in surprise as the door slid open with a chime.

Unlike the rest of the Senate building, which was made up of uniform curves and blank, neutral colors that seemed to leach the joy from everyone who entered, the Senator’s office was teeming with life. A stone fountain bubbled lazily in the corner, and lush vines hung from the ceiling, budding with vibrant flowers in every possible shade. Potted plants and trees made the room feel like a jungle in the depths of Dagobah, and Ranboo even swore he could hear a bird cawing in the distance. The fact that a place like this could exist in the grimy, bustling city of Coruscant was a miniature miracle.

The sole occupant of the office was facing the wide picture window, chattering softly away at a holoprojector. At the sound of the door’s chime, they held up a single finger. One minute. Ranboo craned his neck to try and get a look at their face, but his view was blocked by a wide-brimmed hat with small red blossoms tucked in the band and glittering gems pinned to the fabric. In front of him, he could feel Techno tense up and clench his fists, but Ranboo knew that for all his bluster, he wouldn’t interrupt a meeting. Techno’s attitude towards initiating social interaction was nothing if not predictable. 

“...yep. Alright, same time next week, yeah? See you then, mate.”

The Senator ended the call, rose from their seat, and turned to face the pair of Jedi. Behind the hat was a blond man with sparkling blue eyes and a kind smile, his hands tucked into the sleeves of robes embroidered with little woven hearts. Ranboo could feel a calm warmth emanating from the man in waves, sending gentle ripples through the Force, and he felt guilty that he and Techno had arrived to muddy up this spot of peace with their emotions. So distracted was he by the Force and his own feelings, twin snakes twining together under his skin, it took him a second to notice the pair of gray wings that were tucked behind the man’s back. When the man’s gaze landed on Techno, Ranboo winced, preparing for the worst, but his presence flared up with joy and the room lit up like a firework.

“Tech! What are you doing here? Don’t get me wrong, it's great to see you, but we aren’t supposed to go for lunch ‘til Wednesday,” he said cheerfully, slipping out from behind his desk and trotting over to wrap the Jedi Master in a hug. 

To Ranboo’s surprise, Techno just stood there stiffly, making no effort to break free of the hug, and the burning rage that had consumed his expression dimmed to a scowl. Once he was released, however, his anger returned.

“I can’t believe you, Phil,” he spat, backing up and crossing his arms over his chest. “The moment I’m gone, you make yourself the target of another assassination attempt? And I had to find out from the Council of all people? And they figured it was so serious, you needed me on your protection detail? This is a whole new level of stupid, and that’s a lot, comin’ from you.”

Someone lesser would have crumbled under the force of Techno’s fierce glower, but the man—Phil, Ranboo noted—simply laughed. 

“You’re here on business, then. Ah, well, at least I finally get to meet your Padawan!” He turned his face up to Ranboo, sticking out a hand for him to shake.

“The name’s Phil. Trust me, you don’t want the whole Senatorial title, it’s a mouthful,” he said with a grin. Ranboo ducked down and shook his hand in return, his grip as unsure as his cautious smile. Jedi didn’t tend to be very fond of handshakes, preferring stilted bows to skin-to-skin contact, but Ranboo decided that he liked them. When greeting other Jedi, he never knew exactly how low to bow, how long, who should go first, and the end result was almost always painfully awkward. The whole ritual was rather exhausting, and the handshake seemed a lot simpler. 

“My name’s Ranboo,” he replied politely. “It’s very nice to meet you, Phil.”

Phil shot a glance back at Techno. “Are you sure this is your Padawan? You could do with some of his manners, you know,” he quipped.

Techno rolled his eyes with a snort. “You don’t deserve my manners, old man,” he said, his voice drained of venom. His anger from earlier seemed to have dissolved, which Ranboo understood. From the few minutes he had spent with Phil, it seemed virtually impossible to hold a grudge against him. 

“You know, Ranboo, Techno’s told me a lot about you,” Phil commented casually, a mischievous smile on his face. “He says you spend way too much time in the library and you’re progressing really well in your lightsaber studies. Actually, he said you reminded him a lot of himse—“

“And we’re done here,” Techno said brusquely, and even though he turned away, Ranboo caught a glimpse of a flush creeping across his face. “No need to bring up anything I may or may not have said.” He refused to look at either of the two occupants of the room, instead studying a particularly lush fern like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Ranboo felt a blush beginning to dust itself across his cheeks as well. Techno though he was important enough to talk about with his friend? And it sounded like he had some pretty nice things to say, if Phil’s tone of bemusement was any indication. He sent a rush of gratitude through their Force bond before he had time to overthink it, and while Techno continued to stare blankly at the plant, Ranboo could feel a quiet pride wash over their bond in return, warming him from the inside out.

“Welp,” Techno said abruptly, completely abandoning the previous thread of conversation, “We need to check your security perimeter, vet your staff, sweep your ship, all that. Plus, we need to review all of the evidence from the attack. Those idiots the Senate calls guards couldn’t protect a Nevonian lungworm, and you should be more aware of what’s standing between you and a slow, painful death.” With that, he pivoted on his heel and strode out the door, his pink braid fluttering behind him.

“Cheery guy, isn’t he,” Phil said dryly, and Ranboo had to stifle a chuckle. 

He gestured for Ranboo to fall into step with him, and the two of them began to follow Techno, albeit at a much slower pace. Ranboo couldn’t help but ask the question that had been burning a hole in his tongue since they had arrived.

“May I ask how you and Master Techno know each other?” he asked, curiosity threading through his voice. “I mean, it’s weird that he’s friends with a—you know. No offense.”

“None taken,” Phil replied, a knowing glint in his eye. “Tech and I go way back, before I was elected to the Senate. A couple of years ago, I was one of the only people on Corinth, since the previous civilization was just a bunch of ruins, and I was trying to figure out what happened to them. Mate, you should have seen what they left behind! Huge floating palaces, ancient monuments covered in coral, entire kingdoms completely drowned—” He stopped himself with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Not the point of the story.”

“Anyways, a massive dragon moved in and started messing with the ecosystem, killing off the majority of the prey populations and starving out the predators. The forests and plains were getting choked to death by weeds because there weren’t any animals to eat them, and the oceans were filling up with these mats of algae that blocked out the sun. The whole planet was dying. I was trying to fight the dragon off, but every time I managed to get a hit in, the bloody thing came back totally fine the next day.” Phil shook his head, his brow furrowing at the recollection. 

“I was pretty much days away from giving up and getting the hell out of there, but that’s when Techno showed up. Apparently, the dragon was some sort of ancient Force experiment gone wrong, and when the Jedi Council found out about it, they sent Techno over to kill it. It was awkward at first, since no one bothered to tell him the planet was inhabited and no one told me that a guy was gonna show up with a laser-sword, but we ended up getting along like a house on fire, thank the Maker. After a few weeks, we were able to defeat the dragon together, and when he went back to Coruscant, we stayed in touch. I got elected and moved out the Core, so now Techno and I get to see each other in person—as much as my schedule lets me.” He added the last bit on with a sigh of frustration.

As Phil spoke, Ranboo furiously scribbled in a little notebook he had tucked away in a hidden pocket of his robes, his long fingers barely able to hold the stub of a pencil.

“You don’t need to take notes, I’m not giving you a test,” Phil said lightly, and Ranboo jumped in surprise. 

“Oh! Um, I write most stuff down actually. My memory isn’t very good, so I use my notebook to keep track of things,” he explained, ending the last word with a little flourish and snapping the book shut, returning it and the tiny pencil to his pocket. “And, well, there’s a lot that just happened that I don’t want to forget.”

Phil nodded slowly, like he was storing the information in some kind of mental filing cabinet. Ranboo got caught up for a minute on what exactly one of those would look like, anyway. He pictured a massive wall of metal drawers that almost seemed to curl over from their own weight, each one carefully labelled with an inked tag describing its contents. The tags for childhood memories, shelved at the very top of the looming structure, would be lightened with age, and the newest ones would still be wet to the touch, liable to smudge and distort as they dried. Wryly, he mused that most of his drawers must be empty, the information inside torn to unreadable ribbons in some kind of brain shredder thingy… this metaphor was really getting away from him. 

Speaking of getting away from him, Phil had already caught up with Techno near the end of the hall, and the two were huddled together over some kind of device, deep in conversation. Ranboo sped his pace up from his distracted shuffle to reach them, hopefully catching up with whatever he’d missed. They were standing next to a large window with huge, jagged cracks spiraling from the corner that had been hastily covered up with a sheet of plastisteel. Thick shards of glass still littered the floor beneath, their edges bubbled and warped with intense heat. 

“—can’t believe you would be so careless, it’s obvious—”

“—never walk next to a window again? That’s not practical and you—”

As Ranboo approached, Techno and Phil’s voices layered over each other, filling the hall with the sounds of their bickering. Techno was gesturing wildly, the small metal object in his hand flashing as it caught the light, and Phil had his arms crossed in return. It was clear that they weren’t listening to a word the other was saying, both forging stubbornly onwards in the effort to make their point. 

“—you pig-headed idiot, I can take care of myself—”

“—stick you in a retirement home and keep you there—”

He stood awkwardly behind the pair, his fangs pricking skin as he bit his lip. This wasn’t his conversation to witness, let alone interrupt, and he could feel the rising tide of anxiety lapping against the edges of his mind. Should he just go and wait for their conversation to finish? Would that be rude? Does he need to block his ears? What—

“Oh, there you are, Ranboo!” Phil called, cutting off Techno’s latest retort. “Tech, we can continue this later, right ?”

Techno gave a grunt of agreement. 

“Alrighty. So, Techno, you were telling me about this… whatever it is. Mind explaining it again for us?”

Techno nodded, holding out the object so Ranboo could see it fully. It was made out of some sort of dull gray metal, shaped like a cylinder with rounded ends and painted yellow lines running down the barrel, and when Techno rolled it over, it revealed a tinted window showing some sort of thick liquid inside. 

“This is the weapon found at the scene of the attack, and it’s a specialized kind of slug, not your run-of-the-mill scrap,” he explained. “Usually, this design is used by bounty hunters to punch through the hulls of ships and release their atmo into space, killing the people inside in minutes. Makes sense that an assassin would use it to break through a blast-resistant window, and most people would call it a day after that. Not this guy, though. That sludge? Is a neurotoxin that’s supposed to vaporize on impact, releasing a gas to take care of anyone the slug doesn’t get. Whoever did this wanted to make sure they got the job done. But, they somehow both missed him with their shot and bought a broken product. The release chamber on this thing is fused shut.” Spinning it around, he pointed to a latch on its underside that seemed to have melted, oddly shiny bands of metal oozing over the opening. 

Ranboo released a breath slowly, now that the threat of poisonous gas eating through his brain seemed to have disappeared. 

“Someone got incredibly lucky, and they shouldn’t count on that luck next time, Phil,” Techno said pointedly. Phil just scoffed in reply.

“Anyways, these things have been banned on basically every civilized planet for obvious reasons, right? So there are only a few places someone can get slugs like these, and a slugthrower than can shoot ‘em. Including—”

Phil interrupted, a dark look in his eyes. “Let me guess. The Undercity.”

The Undercity. The dark, dingy lower levels of Coruscant, populated by vicious criminals and those unlucky enough to have to live alongside them. Ranboo had never been there himself, as Techno preferred to take them on missions that involved a lot of wide-open land and very few people, which was something that he felt no need to complain about. The lower levels were the exact opposite: cramped and polluted with all kinds of filth. 

Techno’s grimace was enough of an agreement.

 “Most likely, yeah. If they bought the equipment before they arrived on Coruscant, we’d be able to track their path, so it was probably purchased recently and on-planet.”

Ranboo ducked his head down closer to the slug, carefully running his gaze over every inch of it, when a strange mark near its tail caught his eye. He thought it was a scratch at first, but the rest of the slug’s body was pristine, even after breaking through multiple layers of thick glass.

“Master Techno, could I hold it for a second?” he asked softly. Techno tilted his head in curiosity, but he obliged, rolling the slug into his waiting palm. Ranboo held it up to his face, squinting until the mark resolved itself into… an initial.

“There’s a letter stamped into the slug!” he chirped in excitement. “There’s an S with some kind of squares around it—see?”

He passed it back to Techno, who stared at the slug for several very long moments before pulling a pair of half-moon spectacles from his pocket and slipping them over his nose, refocusing his gaze.

“...yep. You’re right. Not bad, Ranboo,” he murmured. Ranboo grinned, little sparklers of satisfaction fizzing in the sea of the Force. 

Phil gave Techno’s shoulder a nudge. “Glasses? Seriously? You’re such a nerd.”

“Just... shut up,” Techno said with a sigh, putting his glasses back in his pocket. “This right here is a solid lead. Stamps like these are usually maker’s marks, and finding the guy who designed this thing brings us one step closer to finding the assassin. Ranboo and I will do some research on engineers who cater to a criminal clientele when we get back to the Temple, see what we can find. For now, though, we’ve gotta make sure your security is up to snuff.”

The three of them continued to traipse through the halls surrounding Phil’s office, Techno peppering him with all sorts of questions about guard rotations and security cameras. Ranboo turned back to his notebook, flipping to a blank page and creating a messy sketch of the slug and the symbol imprinted on it. He could still feel burning embers of pride that he had actually managed to find something useful to the investigation. Him! Next to a Jedi Master whose reputation spiralled across the galaxy and a Senator who spoke for an entire planet, Ranboo was able to be helpful, not a clumsy obstacle or an inconvenience. And to be honest, that was a streak he wanted to keep going. Feeling like he was doing something truly important was rare for Ranboo, as more often than not, he ended up a bystander in his own life. He spent a lot of time looming awkwardly in corners and watching other people take the lead, which he was usually content with. 

But something about Phil and Techno’s obvious fondness for him made it… different, somehow, gave him an inexplicable spark to do something more. Even after knowing him for a short time, Ranboo was certain that he wanted to do everything he could to protect Phil from whoever was out to get him. Gradually, a plan began to crystallize in his head, like static from a hologram resolving into a crisp blue image. If he really was determined to do something helpful, there was one clear path forward.

To enter the Undercity.

If Ranboo was able to track down the slug’s maker in person, they could put a face or even a name to the assassin. Adrenaline tingled in his fingertips at the thought. Heck, if he went by himself, he could spare Techno from having to descend to the lower levels and deal with the crushing crowds of people. Sure, Techno may not be very on board with letting his Padawan wander through a nest of criminals alone, but… well, look. If he went through with his plan without telling anyone and snuck out of the Temple at night, he’d have hours to find the engineer. If he failed, he could sneak right back into his room without anyone being any the wiser, and if he succeeded, Techno couldn’t be too mad when he came to him with the new evidence.

After all, he’d be making major progress in the investigation, right?

As he and Techno strolled out of the wide front doors of the Senate building after saying goodbye to Phil, Ranboo took a moment to admire the cityscape. Coruscant looked as if it had been dipped in gold by the setting sun, glass and metal gleaming in the twilight. The massive skyscrapers were silhouetted against the flaming orange sky, skyspeeders flitting around them like sparks, and Ranboo let a little smile settle on his face. Even after living on Coruscant for as long as he could remember, the way that light played around the city never ceased to fascinate him. 

It stood in stark contrast to what Ranboo knew of the Undercity. But if descending meant finding information that could save Phil’s life?

He was more than willing to endure it.

Chapter Text

After arriving back at the Temple, Ranboo had waited in his quarters for hours, sitting silently on his bed in the dead of night until Techno’s Force signature had faded into the restless hum of sleep. Springing to his feet and padding over to the wardrobe, he creaked the door open and grabbed a dark cloak. He tried to swing it around his shoulders in a single, smooth motion, but he ended up throwing it halfway across the room and banging his elbow into the wall, sending a splitting pain up his arm. Ranboo clapped a hand over his mouth to stop a cry from escaping, immediately regretting it when his arm shrieked in protest.

This was fine.

After pausing for a minute while the pain died down, he picked up the cloak and fastened it properly this time, shaking off his embarrassment as he adjusted the fabric. He swiped his lightsaber from his bed and clipped it to his belt with a satisfying click, the familiar weight at his side already calming him. 

Turning around, he took a second to check his appearance in the mirror. In the dim light, he supposed he could pass as a dangerous criminal. With a hood obscuring most of his face, his hair swooped low over his eyes, and his horns poking out threateningly, Ranboo thought he looked dangerous, like someone that shouldn’t be messed with even in the crime-ridden streets of the Undercity. But something was missing. His gaze flickered around his room in search of the accessory that would pull it all together before catching on a pair of dark sunglasses. Techno had bought them for him as a joke on one of their missions a few months ago, saying that he’d never have to make eye contact with anyone ever again while wearing them, and they’d been gathering dust on his shelf ever since.

Perfect.

Tugging them on, he gave his reflection an approving nod. Now he was ready.

Anxiety and excitement writhed around in his stomach as he slid open the window with shaking hands. He grabbed the edge of the window frame and peeked downwards, the wind buffeting his face as he attempted to plan out his route. Outside, a series of thin stone ledges traced the outside of the Temple, with nothing below but a sheer drop into blackness. Ranboo gulped at the sight. He would have to be as careful as he’d ever been to get down to the ground in one piece.

“Well, no time like the present,” he muttered unsteadily. “I am going to jump out a window.”

He stepped up onto the sill, bracing himself to avoid a rogue gust shoving him forwards, and with a deep breath, he jumped.

The bitter air whipped his cloak around him as he fell. A roar filled his ears and he could feel his pulse pounding wildly in his throat, making it impossible to tell if he was screaming or not. Lights flashed through his blurry vision as he plummeted past row after row of glossy windows. 

The ledge grew larger and larger below him, and with a thrill of panic, he twisted to face the wall and sank his claws into the stone. His teeth clashed together from the sudden jerk upwards, sending a gritty rumble through his bones. Ranboo kept falling, but he could feel himself slowing down with every bump and shake that rattled his claws. The ledge came rushing upwards and he landed with a harsh thud, biting his tongue with the force of the impact. 

The world seemed to hold itself still, keeping him frozen in place with his hand still stuck halfway into the wall. The moment was shattered when he broke down into hysterical giggles fueled by the chill of fear still thrumming through his veins.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” he managed breathlessly. “Holy cow.”

Glancing upwards, he was able to see the window of his room, looking like a faint, distant thumbprint against the uniform gray of the Temple. About halfway between the window and the ledge, a set of wide gouges were torn into the stone, pointing straight towards him like accusing arrows. Ranboo winced.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered, yanking his hand out of the wall as shame flooded through him. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go now.” 

He broke into a sprint, eager to leave the evidence of his wrongdoing behind. His boots thumped rhythmically against the ledge and he followed its path until he reached the Temple hanger, the wide, sloping metal roof spreading out below him. 

Leaping off the ledge, his arms windmilling behind him, he tucked his head in and landed in a roll. However, the slickness of the surface caused him to start sliding across the roof with no sign of stopping. Ranboo scrabbled desperately for any sort of purchase, but found none. The edge of the roof was fast approaching, and just as he began to slip off, his hand caught the corner of a drainpipe, his momentum swinging him around until his feet were dangling over open air. His heart felt like it was about to beat itself out of his chest, his every instinct screaming at him to hold on for dear life. Looking down, a wave of relief swept over him as he saw the ground was only a short ways below. He pried his hand free from its death grip around the pipe and dropped softly to the ground, leaning into a crouch with his fingers brushing the rough concrete. Okay, maybe not quite as cool as his last landing. 

Ranboo took a moment to breathe, squeezing his eyes shut behind the dark lenses. He had made it out of the Temple, sure, but he still had a long way to go before he was anywhere close to his goal. He slowly rose to his feet, attempted to fix his dishevelled hair, and stepped out from behind the hanger, joining the rush of pedestrians hurrying to the subway station nearby.

There was something freeing about walking through the city by himself, some weight that had been lifted off of his shoulders. When Ranboo was in the Temple, he felt as if he was being constantly judged by some unseen watcher, his every movement observed and criticized as ‘not Jedi enough’. There were thousands of years of legacy echoing through those ancient halls that were his to bear, and most days, he was far from being up to the task. Here, though, everyone was too absorbed in their own business to bother looking at him, much less judge him. He didn’t have to try and fail to be the flawless, impeccable Jedi because nobody even knew he was one. Ranboo felt a cautious excitement at the idea of that sort of freedom, even if it was only for a few hours.

Turning his attention outwards, he could feel the Force threading through the air, singing with a whole rainbow of emotions from the crowd around him. The moment he noticed them, they weaved their way into his head, humming discordant, vibrant melodies in every key. The cacophony of colors blasted through his thoughts, making it difficult for Ranboo to focus on anything else. He shook his head to regain some semblance of clarity, trying to practice the meditation techniques that Techno has taught him. Slow, deep breaths. In for four, out for four, in for four-

“Hey, you’re holding up the line here!”

“Huh? Oh- sorry!"

Pulling himself back to reality, Ranboo realized that he had stopped in front of a turnstile, which was instructing him to insert two credits in a shrill robotic voice. He dug around in his pocket for the money—thank goodness he had come prepared—and slipped it into the slot, with a cheerful beep telling him that he was good to go. 

The subway ride was less than eventful, the train hurtling down the track with nothing but a gentle hiss to indicate its speed. Admittedly, the ceiling was a little low, and Ranboo had to curl in on himself to fit within the car and leave room for the other passengers, but that wasn’t too abnormal for him. Most facilities weren’t built with someone of his height in mind, after all. 

As the train descended lower and lower, a calm female voice calling out each stop, the car grew emptier until he was the only one remaining. The train continued on, whispering through a dark tunnel until it suddenly screeched to a stop, almost flinging Ranboo to the floor.

“Level 478. End of the line,” the voice intoned. 

The doors folded open, revealing a narrow opening that looked like a pitch black slash in the wall, with something dripping slowly from the slimy brown stone. He threw himself through the doors just before they slammed shut, the train speeding back the way it came without a sound. There was no way for him to continue but forwards. 

So, forwards he went, cringing as his foot splashed through some unidentifiable substance before he stepped into the tunnel. The moment he passed through the dingy brick archway, he was immediately plunged into featureless darkness, the train’s headlights having long faded. His hand drifted to his lightsaber with the intention of flicking it on to provide some sort of light, but he stopped himself before he could flip the activation switch. Ranboo had no way of knowing who—or what—was watching him, and announcing to anyone in the criminal underworld that he was in possession of a rare and valuable weapon seemed more like a death sentence than anything. He couldn’t risk it. With a regretful sigh, he let his hand fall back to his side, the darkness enveloping him in its silent embrace as he walked. 

The air around him hung heavy with a strange dampness, the thick scent of mildew and mold almost suffocating him. His footsteps seemed to be muffled by—well, forgive him if he didn’t want to find out. He felt as if the tunnel was constricting around him, slowly squeezing the life from his body like he was in the belly of a massive snake. He had to dig his claws into his palms to get rid of that thought. When his eyes caught a speck of brightness on the horizon, he broke into a jog, then a sprint, his cloak flapping behind him as he ran towards the light. 

Finally, he stumbled out into a cramped plaza, people of all species and sizes milling about. Along the walls, stands with canopies of bright fabric sold everything from datachips to deadly weapons, the merchants behind them hawking their wares to indifferent customers. In a way, the rows of dilapidated buildings did the same thing, with neon signs advertising their less-than-legal contents in eye-straining color. The thing that struck Ranboo the most was that he couldn’t see the sky, only rusty metal disappearing into smog far above him. 

This place was… different than what he was used to, to say the least. Every harsh shout or snarled threat made him flinch, the dirt and grime plastering every surface made him wish desperately he had brought hand sanitizer, and a pit of dread was slowly festering in his stomach at the sight of so many people in such a small space. But he had a mission to complete, regardless of the fear churning through him. 

His eyes darted around warily as he began to make his way through the square, his hand patting his lightsaber under his cloak to make sure it wouldn’t be stolen by some thief. 

After a few minutes of walking aimlessly, Ranboo realized he didn’t actually know where he was going. How did one track down a weapons maker, anyways? Did they have, like, conventions for criminal engineers? With a bunch of little booths and panels for guest speakers? He shook his head, as if trying to physically dislodge the image from his mind. That was stupid. 

He spun in a slow circle, trying to gauge his surroundings, and his gaze landed on a fizzing, obnoxiously bright sign above a store across the street, which looked like it was made of dozens of scraps of sheet metal poorly welded together. “Marty’s Murder Emporium”, screamed the looping orange script, buzzing like a horde of insects. A little voice in the back of his head chittered at him to run away, to get out , but he pushed it down, dismissing it as a product of his own paranoia. This place seemed like the best shot he had at finding the person behind the maker’s mark—at least, the best shot he could find at the moment—and he couldn’t let the opportunity slip by out of cowardice. So, he looked both ways, crossed over to the opposite side of the street, and pushed open the rotting wooden door that crumbled underneath his touch. 

A blast of hot air smacked him in the face as he stepped inside the dimly lit shop, the only light coming from the flickering display cases crammed into every square inch of space, filled with every kind of weapon he could imagine. Long, gleaming knives, stubby pistols with an oily sheen, and little red knobs that he recognized as detonators stared down at him threateningly, and he had to resist the urge to turn tail and flee. He even saw a few cylinders that looked oddly like lightsabers, but his attention was torn to the center of the room before he had time to investigate any further.

“Un- fucking -believable! You know, when they told me to hire my niece, I thought it was gonna be a good idea. Keep the business in the family and shit. But you haven’t done a single fucking thing right since the moment you got here, no matter how many times I try to drill it through your goddamn skull ,” a man yelled, slamming his fist on one of the cases and rattling the glass violently. The veins around his bloodshot eyes bulged with rage, and Ranboo scrunched up his nose in disgust as he saw spittle fly from the man’s mouth.

The target of his tirade seemed almost bored, fiddling with the end of her beaded ponytail as if she hadn’t a care in the world. 

“If you don’t start fixing your shit up, there are gonna be consequences, do you hear me?” he spat, poking his finger in her face. “Real consequences.”

“Yes, Uncle Marty,” she replied listlessly. With a haughty scoff, he stomped off to a door on the other side of the shop and ripped it open, not bothering to shut it behind him.

“..Ugh. Sorry about that,” the employee sighed distractedly, yanking a threadbare cloth from her apron and beginning to clean a particularly dingy display case. “How can I help you, valued customer?”

Ranboo cleared his throat, dropping his voice as low as he could. “Um, I’m trying to kill somebody.”

Internally, he screamed at his own unbearable awkwardness. Who said that?

She glanced up at him for the first time, eyes widening slightly in apparent surprise before she resumed her task, rubbing the cloth over the same area she had already cleaned. “No shit, kid. That’s what we do here. Care to be more specific?”

Ranboo swallowed nervously, his eyes darting around the shop in an attempt to stall for time. Why had he left coming up with a cover story until now, for Force’s sake? 

“I… saw the attack on the Corinthian senator,” he began cautiously. Suddenly, the sound of the shop’s owner shouting angrily trailed out from the back room, and he was hit by a burst of inspiration.

“My employer saw the weapon that the assassin used, and he thinks I’d be able to make use of it on one of our jobs. So, he sent me out to go find the weaponsmith, but he didn’t bother to get a location or even a name, so I’ve been running around between a dozen different levels for hours trying to find any hint of the guy. Nothing’s turned up yet, and it’s starting to get close to the deadline. And he’s a real jerk about deadlines.” He pulled the slug from his pocket. “The only thing I have to go off of is this weird symbol, and I would be really grateful if you could take a look at it and see if you know anything? Please?” It didn’t take too much work for him to sound desperate, and he prayed to the Force that it would be enough.

She tilted her head, giving both him and the slug a once-over, before climbing up to her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but that’s the mark of Golden Gears, a custom metalworking facility run by some pretty, well, not great people. They’re kinda infamous in our circle,” she muttered hurriedly.

“Thank you for telling me, but can I ask why we’re whispering?” he asked at a similar volume. His fingers itched to grab his notebook and write down the name before he forgot it, but he felt it would be rude in the middle of a conversation. So, he stuck to repeating the words in his head, turning them over like a ball of clay between his hands. Golden Gears. Golden Gears.

“The boss doesn’t like any talk about our rivals on the shop floor,” she replied in a conspiratorial tone. “Says it’s bad for business.”

Without another word, she shoved him sharply back towards the door and resumed her work as if he was never there. Ranboo stumbled back on the squeaking floorboards and opened his mouth to question what exactly was going on here, but just as quickly shut it. It would be impolite to look a gift fathier in the mouth, especially when she’d given him more information than he needed for the next step of his plan. So, with an awkward wave, he left Marty’s Murder Emporium without looking back.

Ranboo walked out of the shop and tucked the slug away with a new skip in his step, unable to help the smile spreading across his face. He had actually done it! All by himself, he had been able to navigate the criminal underworld and track down where the assassin had purchased the slug. He was so caught up in his happiness, it took him a solid second to process when a cargo speeder almost ran over his toes. Okay, maybe the middle of a busy street wasn’t the best place to celebrate. Besides, he still had to write down the name of the shop. Golden… Gears! That was it!

 He trotted down the narrow sidewalk, dodging pedestrians with apologetic nods, and when he noticed an empty—and reasonably clean—alleyway, he slipped inside before he could be hit by anymore oncoming traffic. The stained brick rose high above his head, pasted with dozens of faded posters that had long since become illegible. Ranboo yanked his notebook from his pocket, quickly scribbling down what he had learned on a clean page when a prick of alertness at the edge of his mind made him look up. A trio of figures blocked the light pouring in from the street, features indistinguishable in silhouette.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?” Ranboo asked carefully, slipping the notebook and pencil away and subtly shifting his weight into a fighting stance. 

One of the figures laughed lowly, sending a chill down his spine. “You know, I can’t believe you did our work for us. I thought it would actually be a little tricky to get hold of a Jedi—yeah, we know you’re a Jedi—but willingly walking into a dark alley with one entrance and no witnesses? I don’t think I could be that stupid if I tried.” They flicked out a vibro-knife, the blade crackling with purple energy. “Now, I think it’d be best if you came quietly.”

Ranboo glanced behind him with a pang of panic, only confirming what the figure had said. Well, this was bad. Really bad. He had no idea how they had figured out his identity, but he had bigger problems to worry about. From the look of it, he wasn’t getting out of the alley without a fight, one he wasn’t sure he could win. But what other choice did he have? If there was even a small chance he could escape with the information he carried—and his life, he had to try. 

The other two figures drew similar weapons to the first, and Ranboo unhooked his lightsaber from his belt, igniting it with trembling hands. The yellow light pouring out from his saber seemed to give the attackers a moment of pause, allowing Ranboo his first clear look at them. Along with their knives, they carried enough blasters for a small army, the barrels dull and singed with use. The figure in the lead had their teeth sharpened to brutal points, and scars trailed up their arms and across their face, matching those of their… coworkers? Friends? Crime buddies? 

He didn’t have much time to ponder it before the three of them charged, blades first.

Ranboo ducked under a sweeping strike from the first goon, feeling electricity sizzle above his head. He slashed upwards, but caught only fabric as they sidestepped the blow. The second jabbed for his shoulder and he twisted sharply, desperately batting the knife away before it could make contact. He swung his lightsaber in a wide arc to force the attackers back, scrambling for some sort of plan.

Suddenly, a vicious, shrieking pain cracked through his head like a lightning bolt. He crumpled to the ground, lightsaber clattering out of his grip as waves of hurt battered his skull, a chorus of screams tearing through his thoughts like wet tissue paper. Voices howled darkly in every octave, pleading and crying and hissing and roaring. It felt like someone was smashing a red-hot hammer into his head, tinting his vision a hazy crimson of agony. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as he clutched his head in his hands. 

“Must be our lucky day,” he heard one of the attackers say distantly, barely able to process the words. “Might as well make the most of it, huh?”

Something slammed into his stomach and he was thrown backwards with the force of the impact, the sound of bones breaking echoing dimly in his ears. Pain erupted through him as he realized those were his bones, the splinters of his ribs ripping through his insides. He could hear faint laughter as he was rolled over onto his back, a blurry, wide grin dancing through his field of view. 

“Sleep well!” a voice floated by, dripping with rotten cheerfulness. 

He tried to protest, to say anything that might stop the onslaught, but only managed a weak, wordless mumble before the grin was replaced with the treads of a boot screaming towards his face. His vision went black as it made contact, his sunglasses shattering and the jagged edges of plastic carving deep cuts into his skin. But Ranboo wasn’t allowed the bliss of unconsciousness just yet. He felt his nose break with a sickening wet snap, blood pouring down his face with the stinging taste of copper. With his last shred of awareness, he sent a desperate cry into the Force, letting his fear and pain tear through its currents like a riptide, coalescing into a single strained phrase.

Help me.

And then there was nothing.

Chapter Text

A man sat in the pilot’s seat of a starfighter, gripping the controls like a lifeline and shoving them forwards with every ounce of his strength. The engines whined as they slingshotted him into hyperspace, the vast expanse of the galaxy warping and stretching like taffy. Streams of stars spiralled through his periphery and stained the ship’s cockpit an ethereal blue. A faint light glowed red on the dashboard in front of him, blinking, blinking…

“No!”

A harsh cry was torn from his throat as the red, humming blade plunged through his friend’s chest. Behind his dark goggles, his eyes grew wide with silent agony. The blade was yanked back and he collapsed to the floor, clutching weakly at the sizzling wound. 

He ripped himself free from his invisible bonds and ran over to his friend, dropping to his knees beside him.

“George, I’m—“

“Don’t do that. Don’t say sorry. Just tell me it’s gonna be okay,” his friend whispered, staring past him at some invisible point in the sky. 

“Okay. Okay,” he repeated shakily, like he had forgotten what the word meant. He grabbed George’s hand tight in his own before he continued. “You’re gonna be okay, alright? We’re gonna fix you up, make it all better. After that we can go anywhere you want—there was that forest, right? On Alderaan?”

His friend nodded, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Yeah. All green and flowery and shit. Was real nice.”

“It was. We can go back there, a-and it’ll be…” It took him too long to realize that he was crying. “I love you. I didn’t get to say it enough, and I’m sorry, and I love you.”

George gave his hand a light squeeze. “Can’t say sorry, ‘member? And you didn’t have to say it ‘cause I knew it. I always did.”

With one last, shaking breath, the life slipped from his body. 

A chilling laugh echoed in his ears as his… friend’s hand went limp in his grasp.

He violently jerked himself free of the memory, the metal of the controls biting into his palms. After he realigned the thrusters, the red light stopped flashing, and he could feel his breaths coming slightly easier. There wasn’t any time to focus on what had happened. He had a goal to complete, and he couldn’t afford any distractions.

The man flinched. Even thinking about them as distractions felt wrong, and a trail of sour bile crept up his throat in agreement. They were the reason he had to do this, after all. What kind of person would he be if he didn’t fight to the ends of the universe to bring them home?

“I’ll fucking kill you!” he roared, his voice raw with anguish. A crimson lightsaber hissed to life in his hands, and with a guttural scream, he charged at the hooded figure in front of him. She brushed him aside with nothing more than a flick of her wrist, sending him flying across the room.

That same laugh echoed through the chamber, mocking him as he crashed into a blackstone pillar, knocking the breath from his lungs.

“If you’re so broken up about him dying, I can’t wait to see your reaction when you hear about the other two,” she drawled casually. “A shame, really. They actually had some promise.”

He slowly rose to his feet, dread tying a heavy knot in his stomach. 

“What the hell did you do?” he growled, uselessly. He knew. Stars, he already knew. The Force stormed around him, crying out to be heard like a wounded animal. 

The hooded lady shrugged, a smile stretching across her face. “Well, you failed, didn’t you? You couldn’t do what needed to be done to reach your full potential. They paid the price.”

“What did you do,” he repeated, almost unable to speak through the lump in his throat.

The grin dropped clean off her face like an avalanche. “Denial isn’t a good look for you, Apprentice.” She stepped closer. “They fought to the end, you know. I’ll give them that. Bad died first, trying to give Sapnap time to run. It was futile, of course, because he died not a moment later.”

“You’re a fucking liar,” he hissed weakly, but she continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

“They didn’t stand a chance. Either you were going to kill them, or I would finish the job. I didn’t have the chance to ask them which they would prefer before I separated their heads from their shoulders, but I’m sure it was easier this way.” She bared her teeth in a victorious snarl. “Aren’t I merciful?”

Mercy.

The word tasted bitter in his mouth. Was it mercy to expect him to slaughter his best friends where they stood? Mercy to try and forge him like a blade in a bath of pain, not caring if he emerged whole? Mercy to—

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the dull metal, where he noticed a startling dark slash against the pale smudge of his face.

Oh. That.

Yeah, he should probably treat that, huh?

He rose up gingerly from his seat and headed to the ‘fresher, the dented metal shuddering under his feet as he slipped inside the small room. Once inside, he grabbed a tube of bacta gel and a roll of bandages from a cabinet before settling himself in front of the sink. He released a heavy breath, his gaze focused on the chipped tiles beneath his feet.

Stop hiding, you coward.

He looked in the mirror fully for the first time, forcing himself to trace his eyes across his new scar. It tore from just below his right eye to the line of his jaw on the left, and the skin itself was a jagged charcoal black, fading to bright crimson splotches at the edges. It looked… angry, for lack of a better word, like a canyon carved by a river of fire or a violent crack rent by an earthquake. He couldn’t really believe that it was his face anymore, and in a way, it wasn’t. The corner of his mouth was now twisted in a permanent grimace, an expression he couldn’t correct no matter how hard he tried. He resorted to jabbing his finger into the wound and pushing upwards to form the curve of a smile himself, but his lips remained stubbornly downturned. The man let out a hoarse bark of laughter. It was fitting, he supposed. Why should he be allowed to smile now that they never could?

Strangely, as he poked and prodded at the scar, he realized couldn’t feel his own touch, much less any pain. It was just… numb. His medical knowledge mostly boiled down to ‘slap a bacta patch on it and you’re good to go’, so he had no way to tell if that was healthy or not. If Bad were there, he was certain his friend would be able to rattle off exactly how best to treat the wound and produce some ointment or poultice that would do exactly that. But Bad wasn’t there, and he never would be again, so the most the man could do was smear a palmful of blue gel across the cracked, seared skin and pray that would be enough. 

It had to be enough.

He suddenly stalked out of the ‘fresher, slamming the door behind him and settling himself back in the pilot’s seat. The navicomputer gave a questioning trill, and there was no hesitation in his movements as he typed in the coordinates. Zero comma zero. Coruscant.

He was going to bring them back, whatever it took.

Chapter Text

Waking up was not the most pleasant of experiences.

Ranboo blinked his eyes open, catching a fuzzy glimpse of the bars of a holding cell before slamming them shut when his wounds cried out for attention. The pain pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and he let out a slow hiss. Everything hurt, from his broken ribs to the slashes across his cheeks to his pounding skull, and for a moment, he was tempted to curl up and slip back into the murky black of unconsciousness. If not to avoid the pain, then to avoid the guilt.

After all, he had failed.

Hot tears leaked down his face, stabbing needles into the still-weeping cuts, and he swiped harshly at them with his sleeve. Idiot. He was an idiot, thinking he was strong enough to complete a mission on his own, thinking he could actually do something useful for once . Apparently, the only thing he could handle was getting himself captured, stuck in some stupid cell all by his stupid self. Fantastic job by Padawan Ranboo right there! What a great representative of the Order! And that was without even mentioning what had happened before he was knocked out. Was he so sensitive that he couldn’t handle people being mean to him without having a total Force meltdown? What a joke. He didn’t deserve the title of Jedi, not by a long shot. Now he was going to end up dead or worse thanks to his own incompetence. 

And what was Techno going to think? Ranboo hadn’t even bothered to leave a note before he’d left, and when he tried to access their bond, it felt like running headfirst into a solid wall. An ocean of darkness bloomed in his mind like ink in water, tangling him up in its tendrils and stopping him from reaching any further. The throbbing in his head grew the longer he scrabbled for any sort of signal, reaching a painful crescendo before he tore himself from the bond. 

I’ve even managed to mess up the Force , he thought with bitter mirth. 

Without a way to contact his Master, everything would point to Ranboo fleeing the Order, running away from everything the Jedi had been kind enough to give him the moment that the going got tough. He could imagine the look on Techno’s face once he found Ranboo’s bed empty —a cold disappointment, his red eyes narrowed and a thin frown carving a slash across his face, that his apprentice had ended up the failure everyone else had predicted he would be. 

But if something happened to Phil and Ranboo just… gave up while he had information that could save his life, he would never forgive himself. A nagging voice in his head reminded him that by then, he most likely wouldn’t be around to do any forgiving, but he shoved that thought away. Even if it was pointless in the end, he couldn’t just lay down and die. He couldn’t afford to disappoint Techno any more than he already had, even if he never saw his Master again. So, he pushed himself up while his ribs screamed in protest, pried open his eyes, and forced himself into awareness. 

First, did he even still have the information he travelled here for in the first place? Ranboo wracked his brain, but already, the memories were growing fuzzy. He couldn’t recall the subway ride he must have taken to arrive in the lower levels, and while he knew he had learned something important to the investigation, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was. He gingerly reached into the pocket where he kept his notebook, hoping against hope he had recorded his discovery on paper, but that thought didn’t matter once his fingers met empty air. 

His notebook was gone.

Ranboo felt as if someone had carved a gaping hole in his stomach. For all intents and purposes, that notebook was him — everyone and everything that was important enough to remember was written in its pages, mooring his scattered thoughts to tangibility, to something real. Without it, who was he? How long would it take before he forgot everything and had to start over, in the same way he had when he’d arrived at the Temple a year ago with nothing but a name? He had already lost himself once, rebuilding every facet of who he was from the ground up in a world he barely understood. It was like putting together a puzzle where half of the pieces were missing and he didn’t know the picture he was supposed to complete, like trying to weave a tapestry from loose, frayed threads that dissolved at his touch. His notebook was his only constant when everything else seemed to change in the blink of an eye, and now he didn’t even have that.

But if he escaped this place alive, before too much of his mind had eroded, there were people who remembered him, who could remind him of the pieces of himself that had melted away like fragile snowflakes. They could help him recover what he’d lost, including whatever he’d discovered on his doomed mission. He clung on to that flimsy hope desperately, wrapping it over and under and around himself until it was a tangled mess keeping him together, keeping him whole. He forced himself to take a deep breath, in and out. Alright. One step at a time.

The cell he was in was a box of steel walls, marred with deep, desperate scratches that criss-crossed each other in wild patterns. A shudder ripped through his body, and he had to tear his gaze away before he could ponder who exactly had carved those marks. There was a grate in the corner, and he considered trying to rip it off the wall and escape that way, but he quickly dismissed it as far too small —and far too risky given his current state—so he moved on . The rest of the cell was bare and unfurnished, and he felt a jolt of fear as he realized his captors must not plan on holding him here for long. Okay. Okay, that told him something. He ticked off what he had learned on his fingers, movements small in order to avoid setting off one of his injuries. This wasn’t a makeshift cell, so the people who had taken him prisoner knew what they were doing, and he was likely going to be transferred somewhere else soon, so he would have limited time to escape before the situation changed entirely. Both facts weren’t ideal, but information was information, and that he could use.

In front of him, a row of bars stood like a marching army, blocking the way into the hallway beyond in brutal profile. Through them, he could see that the cell across from him was identical to his own, with a flashing blue control panel a few inches left of the entrance. If logic held, there should be a similar panel to the right of his cell, one he should be able to reach with a little maneuvering, and if he could figure out which buttons slid open the bars, he would be in business. He decided that for the time being, he was going to ignore all of the “hopefully’s” and “maybe’s” that came with that approach. 

To even attempt the first step of his plan, Ranboo had to dig the tips of his fingers into the slashes in the wall to pull himself forwards, one arm still wrapped around his abdomen. Every cell in his body felt like it had been set aflame with the effort, but he commanded his aching muscles to continue even as he fought the urge to cry out. When he finally reached the bars, he slumped against the cool metal with a grimace, twisting cramps racing up and down his arms. He craned his neck, and a little spark of hope flared to life in him as he caught sight of the panel, easily within his reach if he just —

Okay, he definitely couldn’t reach it. His fingers were wiggling helplessly inches away from the buttons, and no matter how far he stretched, he couldn’t make up the missing distance. He let his hand fall to the ground limply. Well, shoot. That plan was firmly out the window.

Before he could come up with another hopeless wisp of an escape attempt, the hum of a lightsaber pierced through his hearing like an arrow. One of his captors must have snatched it up after he was knocked out and decided that it would be a fun toy to play with, just another gimmicky tool to wave around and then toss aside once they got bored. 

He fervently hoped he wasn’t to serve the same purpose.

But as the sound grew closer, along with the echo of footsteps, and a wave of light from the weapon crept into sight, he realized something was off. Last he remembered, his saber was yellow, not green, right? Surely he hadn’t been hit so hard that he couldn’t recognize colors anymore. It was impossible, unless… 

“Techno?” he mumbled, wincing at the rawness in his throat. 

“Ranboo? That you?” a familiar voice called in return, and he could have sobbed in relief. He didn’t know how or why his Master was here, but all he could do was pray that this wasn’t some sort of messed-up dream as the emerald wash brightened.

“It’s me,” he managed through the lump in his throat, and it suddenly felt as if all of the energy had drained from his body, leaving him nothing more than a battered husk. Force, he was tired.

The footsteps grew louder and faster before they slammed to a stop in front of his cell. Ranboo forced his head to tilt upwards, and sure enough, there was Technoblade. The Jedi’s usually immaculate braid was disheveled and undone, his robes rumpled and stress evident in every line of his body, but it was him all right. His eyes widened with indiscernible emotion.

“What the hell did they do to you?” he whispered haltingly, knuckles going white around the hilt of his saber. 

Ranboo couldn’t muster a response, the guilt beginning to pool up in his stomach. He was pathetic, wasn’t he, curled up in a bloodstained ball in the depths of some criminal den. His Master shouldn’t have to see him like this—so broken and helpless. But at the same time, he was so relieved he could almost choke on it. Techno was here, so he was safe.

A second figure laid a gentle hand on Techno’s shoulder, and with a jolt, Ranboo realized they had company. Phil stood alongside him, ceremonial robes swapped out for a more practical shirt and trousers and a sword sheathed at his hip. He almost didn’t recognize the Senator without the elaborate attire, but the silvery-gray wings at his back reassured him he had the right man. 

“Techno.” It almost sounded like a warning.

“I’m going kill them. I swear, I’m gonna kill them all,” Techno said darkly.

“I know. But we have to help Ranboo right now, ‘kay? We have to focus,” he replied. He dropped down to a crouch, his cool blue eyes meeting Ranboo’s unfocused gaze.

“Hey mate, we’re gonna get you out of here, alright? Just sit tight for one moment. You won’t be here for much longer,” he soothed, though there was an underlying strain in his voice. “Tech, you got the door?”

At Phil’s request, Techno shook himself out of whatever state he was in. Wordlessly, he plunged his lightsaber into the control panel, red-hot metal erupting with a bubbling hiss. The bars groaned, then dropped down into the floor, leaving Ranboo to fumble for something to hold onto. Phil caught him before he hit the ground.

“Can you walk?” he asked kindly, his grip feather-light on Ranboo’s forearms. After a moment of hesitation, Ranboo nodded. He didn’t actually know if that was the case, but he would do just about anything if it meant he could get home.

“Good. I don’t think we have much time until they realize we’re here, so we should get moving.”

As if on cue, an alarm blared three shrill tones and the lights in the hallway dimmed to an ominous red. Phil sighed in annoyance as he hoisted Ranboo to his feet. 

“Every fucking time,” he grumbled. “They always know.”

“I’ll scout ahead,” Techno said shortly, twirling his blade in his hand. 

Phil and Ranboo crept forward behind him, the Padawan gritting his teeth to concentrate on keeping his limited balance. His legs shook with the strain, even with help from Phil. Already, he could hear shouts and barked orders getting louder, the whine of charging blasters and the dull click of safeties being switched off. 

Instead of running, turning around, or making any attempt to hide, Techno steadied himself in the center of the hall, stance wide and certain. The pack of criminals turned the corner, bristling with spitting rage and weaponry, and Ranboo froze. There were at least a dozen of them, all armed to the teeth and raring for a fight, if their taunts were any indication, and the figure in the lead was a painfully familiar sight. Ranboo didn’t think he would ever forget their face, swimming over him like a twisted nightmare as he was unable to fight back. Techno raised his saber as the warring tide approached, an island of green in a sea of crimson, and in the split second before collision, Ranboo felt a nauseating plunge in his stomach.

In a flash, Phil spun in front of him and flung out his wings like a shield, protecting Ranboo from the carnage that he knew was coming. The scent of burned flesh was one he was all-too familiar with, thanks to more than a few lightsaber accidents, but in seconds, it permeated the air so thickly it made him want to gag. Clangs of metal against bone, strangled screams, and the wet thump of separated limbs hitting the floor, all punctuated with the constant hum of a lightsaber, echoed painfully loud in his ears. Some poor sod managed to get off a few shots, the sound of blaster fire ricocheting against steel, before the noise suddenly ceased. It must have been half a minute since the fight had started, but once again, the thrum of Techno’s blade was the only sound that remained.

The wall of gray feathers slowly lowered, allowing Ranboo a glimpse at the hallway beyond. He only managed to catch a quick impression of scorch marks and mangled bodies, his Master standing silently with his head bowed over the scene he had painted, before Phil carefully turned his head away. 

“Let’s not,” he murmured, tucking his wings behind his back. 

Ranboo obeyed dumbly, not fully registering anything other than the massacre that was now burned into his retinas. Techno , who could spend hours nerding out over strategical guides, who inevitably got sucked into the plots of cheesy holodramas, who had painstakingly shown him how to put in his Padawan braid when he was too nervous to ask for help, had done this ? He had seen Techno fight before, both in the training rings and on missions, and he knew there was a reason why he was one of the most revered Jedi of his generation, but this… This was vicious, violent brutality, a style of bloodshed that went far beyond the Code they had both been taught to follow.

Before he could sink too deep into his thoughts, a goon suddenly charged at them from around the corner, waving a blaster pistol far too close for comfort. Just as quickly, Phil stepped forward, whipped out his sword, and bashed them in the skull with the hilt, sending them crashing to the floor. The blade was back in its sheath before Ranboo could blink, and Phil had already returned to his side to keep him upright. Techno hadn’t even had the time to slash at them before they were already dispatched with practiced efficiency.

“We have to go, now,” Phil said loudly, and after a moment, Techno jerked his chin in acknowledgement, falling into step with them. 

They continued onwards through the wreckage they had left behind, Ranboo purposefully keeping his mind fixed on putting one foot in front of the other, nothing else. He was now leaning the majority of his weight onto Phil’s shoulder, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel embarrassed, not when pain laced through his chest with every breath. Tangled corridors began to blur around him, the world smearing into a flurry of reds and pitch-black shadows stretching their greedy fingers, and it seemed like only a moment before he blinked and he was somewhere else entirely.

They were outside, now, or what passed for outside in the lower levels, the oppressive ceiling of steel still hovering somewhere in the smog. A gleaming starship was parked in front of them, and its smooth curves and highlights stood in stark contrast to their surroundings. Phil reached up to tap on the hull, and at his touch, the ship sprang to life. A steep ramp unfolded from the ship’s belly, and a cacophony of lights and sensors began to chitter, flashing rapidly and spilling out their stories in bright colors and tones. Ranboo squeezed his eyes shut at the rush of overwhelming sensation. It was all so much so fast, and after his struggles walking in a straight line on even ground, he wasn’t sure if he could manage the climb.

“We’re so close,” he heard Phil say distantly. “We’re almost out of here, Wil- Ranboo.”

“I- I don’t think I can-“

He was interrupted when a set of strong arms scooped him up and began to carry him up into the ship without another word. Techno’s robes were scratchy against his skin, but in that moment, he couldn’t care less, the tension dissipating from his strained muscles as he finally— finally —let himself relax. Leather boots clicked against the floor, with a second pair following close behind, and Techno set him down on one of the ship’s bunks with a care and gentleness that belied his actions only a few minutes earlier, tugging a blanket over his apprentice with a touch lighter than air.

Ranboo let his eyes flutter shut, the whirl of the engine and the soft pillow beneath his head luring him to sleep despite his ever-present aches. The Force plucked out a quiet lullaby that sang through the air around him, and by it’s final notes, he was no longer awake.

Chapter Text

The world didn’t exist, and then, it did. There was no gradual adjustment, no action on his part. Just nothing and then everything.

Ranboo was seated on a bench in the middle of a white void, like a stray pencil mark on an otherwise blank page. He didn’t remember how he got there, but that was okay. There were no seams in the walls, and he couldn’t see any sign of an exit or a horizon, but that was okay too. In fact, everything was okay. His injuries were gone, his robes were pristine, and a slight breeze ruffled his hair, carrying a sense of expectation. 

There was someone sitting next to him, now. He wasn’t surprised, even though he hadn’t seen or heard anyone approach, because everything was fine. Ranboo didn’t have anything to fear.

“Hello, Ranboo,” the figure next to him said. For a moment, he was angry at the stranger for disturbing the perfect silence, but the moment passed, brushed away by the breeze. There was no reason to be angry here.

“Hello,” he replied politely.

“Turn to me, please.”

Ranboo obeyed. The stranger’s face was obscured by a circular mask, seemingly made of the same material as the void. There were no divots to indicate the peaks and valleys of eyes, a mouth. Just featureless white. A mess of brown hair curled around the mask’s edge, a sign that there was in fact someone underneath, and they were dressed in simple white clothing that blurred the lines between the shape of their silhouette and the world beyond. He decided that he liked them, simply because there was no reason not to. They ghosted a hand down Ranboo’s arm, as if brushing some invisible dust from his robes.

“I didn’t want you to be alone during your recovery, so I decided to keep you company,” the stranger explained matter-of-factly.

“Recovery?” he asked.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” they said. “Everything is okay. We can relax here for a little while.”

The tension left Ranboo’s shoulders suddenly, and he smiled at them. He was more than ready to relax.

“Thank you,” he said warmly. “This place is nice.”

He couldn’t see the stranger’s face, but he knew they were smiling behind the mask. How could they not be? 

“It really is, isn’t it? I made this place, you know,” they confided in him with a casual whisper, slinging an arm over the back of the bench. “It took a lot of work, but I built it from the ground up. Do you wanna see what I can do here?”

Ranboo was confused.

 “You mean, this isn’t it?” 

The stranger hopped to their feet and took a few steps back, the floor rising up to meet them. There was a cocky tilt to their chin as they spoke: “Well, since I made this place, I can sort of… pull some strings, if you catch my meaning.”  

Then, they were floating, hovering several meters above the ground with a practiced grace. Their tanned hands were held out, palms down, like they were somehow balanced on the air beneath them.

“Pretty cool, right?” they said, and Ranboo could hear the grin in their voice. “I don’t have to listen to anyone here, let alone gravity. Neither do you, if you’d like.”

“Can I…?” Ranboo didn’t want to ask for too much, after the stranger was already kind enough to let him stay here, but flying looked—well, it looked really fun. The stranger was already attempting some sort of acrobatics, twisting and weaving through the air like they were born to it.

After they settled back in place, the stranger nodded. “Of course.”

He was up there too, now, though decidedly less steady than the stranger. His legs wobbled with uncertainty, and a breath pulled itself tight in his chest. 

“Breathe. You’re not going to fall,” the stranger reassured him, and Ranboo found that they were right. He wasn’t going to fall, so there was nothing to worry about. 

His flight stabilized, and he took a moment to feel the woosh of air beneath his fingertips, to marvel at the feeling of control. Up here, there were no distractions, just the perfectly temperate breeze and himself, and he decided to experiment a little, dipping left, then right, then letting himself fall into a somersault. When he returned upright, there was a giddy smile on his face. He looked over to his side, to see if the stranger had something to say about his new accomplishment, but they were gone. 

Before he could call out for them, the stranger’s voice echoed from all around him, as if it made up the very fabric of the void itself.

“Now, you’re going to be leaving very soon, so I’d like to ask something of you before you go. I hope that’s okay with you?”

Ranboo nodded. It was only fair, after all.

“I shared this place with you and kept you company here, so in return, you owe me a favor. Just a little thing, don’t worry. I’ll be calling on you soon,” the stranger said, their voice beginning to fade away. Before he could ask any questions… 

Ranboo woke up.

The soft beeping and clicking of various monitors, the sharp scent of antiseptic, and a cold, bright light greeted his gentle return to consciousness. There were thick bandages criss-crossed over his nose, and the chilly weight of a bacta patch wrapped around his abdomen grounded him in reality, along with a dull ache in his skull. He had been dreaming about something, he was sure, but the last shreds of remembrance darted away as the fragile calm broke like a fracture in springtime ice.

A blur, and then someone was hugging him, tightly enough that his various injuries began to complain with vigor. 

“Ouch,” he managed, and his mysterious hug-attacker immediately backed off, revealing none other than-

“Techno?” he asked with a dizzy bemusement. Maybe he hadn’t really woken up after all.

“That didn’t happen, and you’re hallucinating,” his Master said without skipping a beat, plopping down into a chair at his bedside. “It’s the medication.” 

Ranboo nodded, a slight smile on his face. “Of course.” If this was a dream, he didn’t mind if he stayed asleep a little longer.

Despite Techno’s light tone, he looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week, and he was knotting his fingers in the tail of his braid over and over again. Ranboo felt a sudden twist of guilt at the sight, a little voice in the back of his head reminding him that all of this was his fault.

Suddenly unable to meet his Master’s gaze, he took the moment to look around. He recognized the familiar scents and sounds of the Temple medbay, doctors and nurses puttering around with carts of equipment and swapping medical jargon through rows of white cots. A ray of midday sunlight cast streaking patterns across his cot, which sparked his curiosity.

“How long was I gone?” he asked, balling the sheets up in his hand. It had been the dead of night when he’d left—glittering windows flashing by—and he couldn’t imagine it had been more than a few hours.

It shouldn’t have been, if I had stuck to the plan, he reminded himself. At the question, Techno’s expression soured. 

“It took us two days to find you. You were out for another three while they patched you up,” he muttered, scuffing his feet on the tile. “‘Medically-induced coma’, they said.”

The blood drained from Ranboo’s face. “Oh,” he said simply. Five days. That was a lot. 

“Yeah. Oh,” Techno echoed. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” Techno cringed. “That came out wrong. I meant-”

“You’re right. I was reckless and stupid, and I shouldn’t have gone to the lower levels on my own. It was very irresponsible of me, and I’m really, really sorry for the trouble I caused you,” Ranboo blurted, squeezing his eyes shut in shame. The air felt heavy, like the oppressive weight of humid summer pressing down on his shoulders.

“Well, you’re really taking the wind out of my whole ‘Stern Jedi Master’ routine,” Techno said after a moment. “You pretty much covered it. I had a whole speech planned and everything.”

Ranboo couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“Look, if I said that I wasn’t angry, I’d be lying. I’m furious. Not at you, though.” He paused, tapped his chin. “Maybe a little bit at you. You left the Temple to enter the criminal underworld, alone, and were this close to- well, you didn’t get out of there without a few scrapes. You barely got out at all.” Techno glanced up at him. “You went for the investigation, didn’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Ranboo nodded anyway. He wished he could burrow down into the blankets and hide, cocooning himself away from Techno’s disappointment like a child seeking comfort during a thunderstorm.

“I, um, I think I found something while I was down there,” Ranboo said sheepishly. There were residual flashes of exhilaration, satisfaction, then—he didn’t want to remember what happened next. “But whatever it was…” He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Techno knew well enough about his memory difficulties to put the pieces together. “They took my notebook.”

Techno sat up straighter in his seat, reaching into his pocket before placing something at the edge of the cot, obscured by the folds of the blankets.

“Well, I wasn’t going to let them get away with that.”

Ignoring his bandages, Ranboo leaned forwards and snatched up his notebook, flipping through the pages with the side of his thumb. The edges of the paper were tattered and stained, and he was pretty sure there were some tears in the cover that hadn’t been there before, but it was intact. It was his.

“Thank you, Techno,” he said softly, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. “Thank you so, so much.”

Techno gave a little shrug, though his smile wasn’t completely concealed. “Like I said. Couldn’t just let them get away with that.”

Before things got any more emotional, Ranboo cleared his throat loudly.

“I should, you know, try to find the information I recovered,” he said, attempting to keep the tremor from his voice. He didn’t want to totally break down in front of his Master again, after all. 

Techno nodded, an unspoken understanding in the gesture. “Of course.”

Ranboo returned his gaze to the battered book in his lap, flipping until he found his most recent entry. There it was, in his own neat script: 

Golden Gears- custom weapons, mean people 

He had actually done it. With a silent apology to the notebook, he tore the page from its binding and passed it to Techno. He took it, read over its contents, and folded it up carefully.

“I’ll look into this as soon as possible,” Techno said, not without the tiniest hint of pride. “Even if you didn’t go about it in the safest, most logical, or most intelligent way, you did good.”

Ranboo ducked his head, unsure what to make of the cocktail of praise and rebuke. But Techno wasn’t finished.

“Don’t go getting a big head about it though—or start thinking you're off the hook. The moment you’re up and at ‘em again, we’re spending the next month in the training ring, got it?”

He winced at the thought of sore muscles, burns littering his sleeves, and stumbling around in the ring of sand at the crack of dawn while Techno ruthlessly critiqued his technique, but it wasn’t like he had any room to argue. After all, he knew he was getting off easier than he deserved.

Suddenly, a man strode into the room in a whirl of fine wool, feathers, and satin.

“I came as soon as I could,” Phil said, a visitor’s badge jingling cheerfully at his lapel. He was back in his Senatorial garb, all bright colors and rich fabrics, with his hat perched jauntily on his head.

He turned to Ranboo, leaning on the railing at the end of the bed. “Techno’s been keeping me updated on your condition,” he explained. “I wanted to be here when you woke up, but-“ He waved his hand vaguely, like he was swatting at some invisible pest. “-work. I swear, the moment I really don’t want to be there, there’s suddenly a thousand new problems only I can solve. Don’t ever get involved in politics, Ranboo. They’ll steal your soul and feed it to lobbyists.” 

He sat down in a chair next to Techno, tugging and releasing the badge so the elastic snapped into place with a metallic click.

“I could’ve told you that,” Techno said pompously, as he adjusted his chair to give Phil’s wings more room.

“And you have. Very often, in fact,” Phil retorted, leaning over and closing the blinds so the sun was no longer in Techno’s eyes.

“Serves you right then, for not heeding my boundless Jedi wisdom.” Techno was really channeling that mystical warrior of the Force thing, enfolding his fingers and propping his elbows on the armrests as if he could see the whole spread of the universe reflected back at him in the cracked tile. It was a pretty convincing act—for those who didn’t know him.

“Fuck off,” Phil replied eloquently, not a hint of real anger in his tone. “Now, enough about us. Ranboo, how are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you,” Ranboo said with a smile. He was surprised to find it true—Phil’s energy was infectious, and whatever the Temple doctors had done to him had worked its magic, dimming his injuries to no more than an unpleasant tug at the back of his mind.

“Glad to hear it.” Phil mirrored his smile with one of his own, but it didn’t last for long. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. From what Techno told me, it can’t be easy for you.”

Ranboo tilted his head in confusion. “What loss?” 

Phil turned to Techno, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“I didn’t get the chance yet,” Techno explained defensively, matching his posture. “Plus, I didn’t want to immediately drop that on him the moment he woke up. Seemed kinda cruel.”

“Fair enough,” Phil relented. “You’re going to have to break the news sooner or later, though.”

“Excuse me, but could you please tell me what’s going on?” Ranboo asked anxiously, the fabric of the sheets slowly ripping under his raking claws. 

Phil gave Techno a nudge, and Techno began, blunt as ever: “When we found you, they had smashed your saber. This was all that was left.”

He pulled out a small pouch, and Ranboo numbly held out his hand as Techno poured the remains of his lightsaber into his palm. A teaspoon or two of glittery, yellow-tinged dust. That was it. 

Even in this state, he could still feel the familiar Force signature humming through the crystalline shards, but it was weak, shattered. Hours spent blindly navigating the labyrinthine caves of Ilum, weeks of poring over blueprints and every facet of the flawless Kyber, painstakingly assembling each component by hand, reduced to this.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say, eyes glassy and unfocused. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know who he was apologizing to, but it needed to be said.

He cupped his hands around the pile of dust, hoping uselessly that if he stared at it for long enough, some hint of how to make this right would emerge and a path to reassembly would make itself clear. But he knew in his heart that all he was doing was clinging to fragments of something long gone. When Techno offered him the pouch, he took it, and let the remains sift from his palm like grains of sand, like falling stars. Mechanically, he pulled the cord of the bag tight and placed it on the small table at his bedside. It sat there, lonely and desolate, and he felt a little bit like the dust inside—unmoored and hollow, like he could be completely dissolved at the slightest touch.

“You okay, mate?”

He shook his head. 

“I’m gonna talk for a minute. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, I promise. You can just listen—or not. Whatever you want,” Phil said quietly. “First, I’m gonna ask Techno to go get some sleep.”

The aforementioned Jedi Master gave Phil a look, but he stood firm. “You’ve barely slept since we brought Ranboo back, and don’t try to deny it. I don’t want you to end up in the medbay too, alright? He’s not gonna die if you go take a nap and get something to eat, and I’ll be here the whole time.”

Techno stayed seated for another moment, but reluctantly, he got to his feet and made for the door.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said in a low rumble, and then he was gone. Ranboo couldn’t fully muffle the pang in his heart as he watched Techno leave, even though he knew it was for the best.

“He was really worried about you—refused to leave your side for anything,” Phil told him. “If I’m being honest, I’m surprised that actually worked.”

“Second. While your mission was reckless and ill-advised and all that stuff I’m sure you already heard, you were trying to help me, and you lost something very important to you in the process. I’m grateful you were willing to risk so much on my account, even if there’s no way you’re doing that again. Techno and I are old, our hearts can’t take the stress.” He raised his eyebrows in assurance that he was joking. It didn’t soothe Ranboo all that much, but some of the stiffness in his muscles began to loosen.

“I don’t know the full extent of what your lightsaber meant to you, and I doubt I can really understand, so I won’t pry,” he continued. “But I do know Kyber crystals. Corinth is packed full of the little shits. And I may not understand them in the same way you do, but you do learn a thing or two after you’ve been tripping over them for half a decade.”

He reached up to the brim of his hat, unhooking one of the myriad of crystals that dangled from delicate chains. It popped free from its clasp with a ting, and  like the bell tone of a tuning fork. He held it out to Ranboo, a colorless gem of perfect clarity.

“I can’t replace what you’ve lost, but this is the least I can do,” Phil said.

Not trusting his own hands, Ranboo reached out with the Force, letting the crystal hang in the air, a droplet of rain frozen in time. He closed his eyes and listened. 

Its harmony was different from the one he had grown accustomed to—an unfamiliar melody with leaps and falls he couldn’t predict, a river with hidden depths—but it wasn’t unpleasant. Rather, it invited him in to learn the notes until he could play along effortlessly, to weave his song together with its own until it was as natural as any instinct. To create something new.

When he opened his eyes again, the crystal had begun to glow a pure, fiery orange.

“Thank you, Phil,” he said hoarsely, allowing his new crystal to fall into his waiting hands. Even if he didn’t know exactly what it held, he knew this was his way forward.

The Senator smiled. “I have no fucking clue what just happened, but I’m guessing it was a good thing.”

Chapter Text

Pacing up and down the hallway outside of his room, which was too small for his current train of thought, Ranboo had a distinct feeling that he was being watched. The feeling had started the moment he regained consciousness in the medbay, and had only continued to grow over the next week, long fingers of dread poking and prodding at his insides under the weight of the invisible gaze. It had to be a result of his own ridiculous paranoia, but that didn’t stop him from flicking his gaze around corners and straining his ears listening for footsteps whenever no one else was around.

Those circumstances were far more common now that he’d been released from the medbay, which of course, he appreciated, but-

Well-

Once it was clear that he was alright to be on his own, Techno and Phil no longer had an excuse to stay in the Temple. Along with Techno, Phil had spent a lot of time visiting Ranboo, teaching him card games, recommending ridiculous holovids, and just keeping him company, but his Senatorial work had been piling up in the time he’d been away from his office, and now, there was an important summit coming up that he couldn’t afford to miss. And where Phil went, Techno was going to follow, a sharp-tongued and swift-acting protector. After all, the assassins were still out there, probably prepping for a second shot at that very moment.

Ranboo had been told to stay behind to finish up his recovery, and while he understood the decision, as he was nowhere near fighting shape, that didn’t mean he had to like it. He must’ve had a life before becoming Techno’s apprentice—and even he could remember a time before he knew Phil—but something inside of him was a little dimmer without them. It hadn’t taken him long at all to become reliant on their presence, and he wasn’t certain if that was a good or a bad thing.

He had waved the two of them goodbye with a smile on his face, painfully stretching the new scars scattered across his cheeks, but without Techno or Phil by his side, he felt small, scared, and lonely—but not alone. Force, he knew he was being ridiculous. Hadn’t the Temple kept him safe for a whole year, with layers of guards and locked doors and thick stone walls? He would be fine on his own for a few days until he had healed up and they’d returned from their trip. Everything would be okay. He just had to keep his chin up and all of his silly thoughts tamped down. There were no eyes on him that didn’t belong to his fellow Jedi, he didn’t need to be constantly watched over like a fragile piece of Corellian plateware, and he really needed to start practicing his form with his new lightsaber. With his mind made up, Ranboo dipped into his room, snatched his saber from the hook by his door, and set off for the nearest training ring. 

The orange blade cut smoothly through the air, twirling and sweeping in careful, flowing arcs. A breath, and a downwards stroke, another, and a reverse parry. The movement was almost hypnotic, a fluid extension of his form, leaving bright comet-tails streaking in its wake—

But it wasn’t good enough.

Ranboo sighed, deactivated his saber, and sat down right in the middle of the training ring. The hot sand warmed his palms as he stretched out his sore limbs, face upturned towards the skylight and brow furrowed in thought. The katas were as familiar to him as breathing—his muscle memory was always reliable, even when his recollections of the past failed him—but something about this new saber was throwing him off his rhythm, stopping him from fully sinking into the sea of the Force. It could have been anything: the weight, the balance, the spacing of the hand grips or the position of the crystal, but really, it didn’t matter. The fact was, he wasn’t good enough to run through his training exercises without tripping up, much less to be ready for a real fight. 

“Excuse me, are you using this space?” a calm voice asked, shocking him out of his reverie. A deep flush washed over him and he clambered to his feet as fast as he could, eyes pointed firmly to the floor in embarrassment. 

“I- I’m sorry. I was, but-“ he stuttered. Idiot. That was a jerk move of him, plopping himself down in the ring so that no one else could use it, and now he couldn’t even apologize coherently. He started to back up towards the door, head bowed. “You can use it, I’ll be going now. I’m sorry.”

A clear, melodious laugh chimed in response. “No worries! I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t intruding. And to be honest, I’m a little bit lost. I have absolutely no clue where the other training areas are.”

Ranboo looked up in curiosity, his eyes landing on this new figure. He was dressed in darkly-colored traveler’s clothes, the fabric fine enough that he had to have some social standing, and a cloth mask covered the lower half of his face, revealing a pair of piercing green eyes. Most importantly, he looked completely and utterly out of place, and Ranboo was certain he had never seen him before, which lined up with his apparent lack of knowledge of the Temple’s layout.

“I don’t mean to pry, but are you new here?” he asked gingerly. Newcomers—especially adult newcomers—were a rarity, and there was no visitor’s badge clipped to his attire.

“That seems a pretty reasonable question to me!” he said politely, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile. 

For some reason, it sent a chill down Ranboo’s spine, which he quickly shook off. Just because he wore a mask didn’t mean that the newcomer was up to anything suspicious, and in fact, it was rather rude to think that way. He gave himself a mental slap on the wrist as the man continued. 

“I recently figured out I have a connection to the Force, and when I heard that the Jedi started this new program where they allow Force-sensitive beings to stay at the Temple for a few weeks to learn the basics, I decided to take a road trip! You know, so I don’t do any accidental evil space magic or anything.” 

The newcomer paused, and for a moment, Ranboo was struck with a bone-deep fear that he’d done something wrong or offended him somehow, but he continued in the same bright tone as before: “I’m a total moron. I haven’t even introduced myself!” He ducked his head in a slight bow. “You can call me Dream.”

Ranboo returned the gesture with a relieved grin. “My name is Ranboo. A pleasure to meet you, Dream.”

“Seriously, Ranboo, the pleasure is all mine. You’re like, the fourth Jedi I’ve ever met! And so far, the least stuck-up,” he added in a joking whisper. “Am I allowed to say that?”

Ranboo took a breath, grappling for an answer. “I- well, some Jedi can be a little… yeah, yeah you are,” he said with a slight giggle, loosely tugging his Padawan braid. “I really hope I’m not nearly as stuck-up as the worst of them, is all I’ll say.”

“As far as I can tell, you’re all good!” Dream replied with a wink. “Say, Ranboo, would you be up for a sparring match? I was sitting in one place for hours on that ship, and now my legs feel like needabug jelly. I could use some exercise, you know?”

“Um, sure! I don’t see why not,” Ranboo replied, only a little hesitant at the sudden change in conversation.

“Great! So, I’m assuming most regular weapons don’t cut it against a lightsaber, correct? Is there something I can use for now, or is that like, not allowed?” he asked, tying his dusty blond hair up into a short ponytail.

Ranboo pointed over to the other side of the ring at a set of cubbies. “That’s where they keep the practice sabers. They’re set automatically to a lower intensity so that we don’t cut anybody’s arm off, but they can still leave a nasty burn. You can definitely borrow one!” It felt nice to be the knowledgeable one for once, and he felt a little swell of pride as Dream nodded and stepped over the short wall bounding the sand in place to grab a saber for himself. 

After a moment’s examination, Dream successfully found the power switch and flipped it on, giving the bright blue blade a few practice twirls. The lightsaber fit well in his hands, and he looked far more confident in his skills than Ranboo had ever felt as he tossed it up into the air to catch it smoothly in a reverse grip.

“Have you used a lightsaber before?” he asked, switching on his own saber and reducing the intensity before he forgot. 

“Nope! But I’ve had plenty of experience with other swords, and it’s sort of like riding a speederbike—once you get the feel for it, you’re able to adapt to pretty much anything. But I’m sure you already know that.” As he spoke, Dream continued to flourish the blade in a series of tight spins until it was nothing more than a blur, and then, with a flick of his wrist, he returned the saber to his side, stationary. “Ready to start?”

“Ready,” Ranboo parroted, finger twitching over the ignition. He was about to get his butt kicked, wasn’t he?

As he assumed his opening stance, saber held low in front of him with both hands, he figured it would be good practice. Learning the techniques of those trained outside of the Temple would be useful knowledge to have, and Techno might be proud of him for taking initiative with his training, so the trade-off was worth it. A few bruises and burns wouldn’t be too bad in the face of learning, right?

But when Dream charged without warning, swept his leg low, and knocked Ranboo flat on his back, slamming the air from his lungs, he thought that maybe he should have taken a bit more time to consider. Dream’s blade hummed uncomfortably close to his throat as he fought for breath, mismatched eyes meeting green. There was something heavy pressing down on his chest he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t-

“First thing: a fight is rarely going to start when you want it to. Your opponent isn’t going to wait for you to prepare yourself, so you need to be ready to go at a moment’s notice,” Dream said suddenly, backing up and waiting for Ranboo to stagger back to his feet. 

“Your understanding of yourself and your weapon has to be instinct, because thinking it all through takes more time than you’re ever gonna have,” he continued. “You got all that?”

“Yeah,” Ranboo wheezed out once he regained his breath. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Good.”

There was an uneasy moment of silence, and Ranboo shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet, unable to keep his gaze fixed on any one surface. Dream broke first.

“Shit, am I being too mean? I only just met you, and this is kinda not a great first impression,” he said with a nervous chuckle, wrapping a loose curl around his finger. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No, no, you’re fine!” Ranboo blurted, while his recently-healed ribs were feeling a little less than fine. “I, uh, was just surprised is all. You’re fine.”

Dream tilted his head, clearly not buying it.

“I’m gonna be nicer anyways,” he decided. “I don’t want to scare you off just yet!”

Ranboo smiled cautiously as the tension dissipated from between them, settling into a playful calm. “I enjoy not being scared, actually.”

“See, it’s perfect! Ready for round two?” Dream replied.

But Ranboo had learned from his previous mistake. He lunged forward and swept his blade up towards Dream’s shoulder, the other man managing to block it with inhuman speed.

“Nice!” he crowed, ducking out of the reach of Ranboo’s saber and swiping back at him. “You learn fast!”

Ranboo didn’t have time to reply as he fell back into a defensive stance, quickly learning it was better to try and avoid Dream’s strikes than to parry them. When he had blocked a particularly powerful hit, his bones had rattled under the force of the impact, and if Dream hadn’t launched into another attack when he did, his arms might have crumpled under the weight. So instead, he twisted and dodged, the sky-blue blade coming a lot closer to singeing his skin than he would have liked. Dream’s blows were relentless, battering against his defenses like a storm against the shore, and as he struggled to keep his balance under the assault, he realized that his opponent was forcing him closer and closer to the wall of the training ring. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up tripping over the wall and knocking himself over. Not the most impressive way to lose a fight.

But it could also be an opportunity.

He allowed Dream to push him closer and closer to the edge—allowed was a strong word, as even if he tried, he wouldn’t have been able to push back—and he waited. His back foot tapped the stone of the wall, and just as Dream committed himself to a vicious swipe at his sword arm, he sidestepped and dropped into a roll. Before he could pop up behind him and launch a counterattack, a boot stomped down on his sleeve, pinning him in place.

“Not bad at all, Ranboo!” Dream said cheerfully, the point of his saber less than an inch from Ranboo’s nose. “You did way better than the first go-around. For such a tall guy, you’re surprisingly difficult to hit!” 

Despite the sword in his face, Ranboo blushed at the compliment. Dream turned his lightsaber off and held out his hand, and gratefully, Ranboo grabbed it and pulled himself to his feet, switching his saber off and shaking the sand from his hair like a wet dog. 

He could feel the beginning of a grin creep onto his face. Even though he had lost, he had been able to put up some sort of a defense, and he was going to count that as a win for now. A little voice in the back of his head taunted that in a real fight, he’d be dead—like back in the lower levels with something crashing towards his face he couldn’t breathe — but he gritted his teeth and shoved the voice away for the moment. He didn’t want to be a wet blanket in front of Dream, who was currently saying something about Ranboo’s technique. With a jolt of shock, the Padawan hurriedly tuned back in to the other man’s voice.

“You were able to figure out my objective, and created a plan to use the environment to your advantage and catch me by surprise. That’s not easy, you know,” he was saying.

“May I ask how you figured out I was gonna try that?” Ranboo asked shyly, tucking his arms behind his back. “I thought I was being stealthy about it, but it was like you knew what I was going to do before I did it.”

“You tensed up your shoulders and you kept glancing over to the right like there was something important there. I didn’t know exactly what your plan was, but I had an idea,” he explained, mimicking Ranboo’s prior stance. “So that can be something you could work on! Smoothing out your tells so it’s harder for your opponent to predict your movements.”

Ranboo nodded. “I never thought about that before,” he admitted, scuffing his feet in the sand. “Thank you for taking time out of your day to train with me and give me advice, by the way. You’re probably really tired after traveling, and you didn’t have to-“

Dream cut him off. “Don’t even worry about it!” he said, shaking his head in dismissal. “You’ve already helped me out more than I can say.” He glanced down at the thin watch around his wrist, and his eyes widened comically. “Look at the time! Would you be able to tell me how to get to the library? I’m about to be late for my first lesson!”

“If you go out those main doors, go left down the hallway until you hit a pair of massive stained-glass windows. Then, there’s gonna be this tiny and weirdly dark hallway on your right, which will eventually open up into the Archives. The hallway changes length depending on how it’s feeling that day, so just keep going until it lights up again!” Ranboo explained cheerfully. Finally, he could be helpful again.

“You are a lifesaver, Ranboo,” Dream said, pressing the practice saber into Ranboo’s palm with a relieved sigh. “See you around!”

With that, he turned around and sprinted out of the training room, disappearing around the corner before Ranboo could get out a goodbye. 

“That… definitely happened,” he said to himself, looking down at the two lightsabers in his hands. He had negotiated an interaction with a stranger all by himself—albeit messily—and it hadn’t ended in disgust or disaster. Not bad by his standards, he mused as he tucked the practice saber away and headed back to his room.

Not too bad at all.

Chapter Text

“-and we’re going to be attending in two days. Got it, Ranboo?” Techno said, looking sternly up at his apprentice as the two of them strolled down a hallway.

“Yep!” Ranboo replied, with absolutely no clue what Techno was talking about. 

Look, it wasn’t exactly his fault. Ever since he’d returned to guarding Phil alongside his Master, he hadn’t been sleeping very much, or at all. As a result, reality had been a little far away for the last… amount of time. Time was slippery at the moment. Ranboo would spend the evening lying awake under the blankets, staring blankly up at the ceiling, then he’d blink and he’d be walking through the Senate halls with Techno and Phil beside him. It seemed reasonable to assume he’d been asleep during the missing time, as there were no new entries in his notebook, but the exhaustion dogging his every step and the deep purple stains under his eyes said otherwise. Plus, it was different from the regular gaps in his memory—normally, he at least had fuzzy impressions and blurred sensations to draw from, but this was like someone had taken a pair of scissors to his mind and completely cut out chunks of time, leaving nothing behind. Odd, but not out of the realm of possibility, given that he had successfully forgotten the first decade-and-change of his life.

He’d done his best to continue functioning as normal, sure it was just his brain’s strange method of recovery, but the lack of sleep was starting to catch up to him. He kept nodding off at various inconvenient times only to jerk awake seconds later when his head began to droop down or a noise startled him out of his slumber. It was a miracle neither of his near-constant companions had noticed it, not to mention his utter lack of focus or even a consistent train of thought. He would say that they were too busy to notice, but he didn’t actually know if that was the case.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Techno asked, taking hold of Ranboo’s arm to stop them both in the middle of the hallway and looking him firmly in the eyes. 

Ranboo couldn’t tell if he had been talking beforehand, but he nodded anyway.

“Great. What was I talking about?”

Ranboo froze. “Uh… there’s something important we’re doing in two days?” he said, his voice lilting upwards as if he was asking a question. Techno frowned, and he knew his answer wasn’t sufficient.

“...I can rebrief you when we get to Phil’s office. But you’re going to need to pay better attention in the future, alright? We can’t risk anything going awry on this mission,” Techno said gruffly, releasing his grip on his arm. 

So we’re going on a mission, then, he thought, trying to ignore the writhing pit of guilt in his stomach. Maybe he wasn’t quite as good at hiding it as he thought. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Won’t happen again.”

“Better not. I have plenty of other wisdom you should pay very close attention to,” Techno replied, letting him know with a flippant tone and a nudge that he wasn’t really mad. “C’mon, we’re losing daylight already.”

The pair arrived at Phil’s office, opening the door to find that the man was talking to a bird perched on his arm, claws digging into dark green silk.

“I know! I can’t believe it either. Absolutely ridiculous, isn’t it?” he said in a hushed whisper, as if swapping gossip with an old friend. Ranboo half-expected it to respond in Basic, but the bird simply let out a loud squawk and fluttered away. 

“Well, fuck you too!” Phil called after it. He turned to meet them with a wide grin. “Hello there! Sorry, that meeting ran a bit longer than expected. Tech, you said you had some good news?”

“As good as we’re gonna get when there’s someone out to kill you,” Techno said easily, slipping into a chair across from Phil. Ranboo almost fell into the seat beside him, grateful for a chance to get off his feet. “I was going through the guest list of that gala you’re attending when I noticed a name that was definitely an alias. The rest of the guy’s profile was spotless, but-“

“Hang on,” Phil said, raising his hand. “How did you know it was an alias immediately when it got by Senate Security? That could be a pretty big hole in our background checks, and- oh. The alias was from one of your holonovels, wasn’t it?”

“It wouldn’t sound very believable if I said no, would it?” Techno replied, deadpan.

“It wouldn’t,” Phil confirmed. “Your self-awareness is appreciated.”

“Anyways, returning to the incredibly important life-or-death stuff,” Techno said suddenly, pushing himself up in his chair. “I knew that guy could not be who he said he was, even if all of the other documents lined up, so I did a little digging. I had some help from Ranboo, actually.”

Ranboo jolted up at the mention of his name and nodded furiously. “Mhmm. Yep. Sure did,” he affirmed. He didn’t remember it, but if Techno said he had, then it was probably true.

Techno gave him a bit of a weird look, but continued. “Turns out that this guy swaps between a whole bunch of fake names, but he’s most commonly known as ‘The Engineer’, and he owns dozens properties in the lower levels under those names, including a custom weaponry shop named Golden Gears. Also known as our mysterious manufacturer.” Techno had a vicious glimmer in his eye. “And he’ll be coming right to us in a matter of days, probably to sell his wares to a higher-class sort of criminal.”

“That is some pretty fucking good news,” Phil said, matching his expression. “Catch him off guard, get his receipts, and we’ll have our assassin.”

“Exactly. We’ve got two days to prepare, which should be more than enough, and then it’ll be showtime.” The Jedi Master settled back in his seat, satisfied.

So that’s what Techno had been talking about on the walk over. The slight swell of pride Ranboo felt hearing that his mission to the lower levels had been of help didn’t overwhelm the sour taste in his mouth. He should have known all of this already, but for some reason he couldn’t figure out, his mind just wasn’t there when it was supposed to be, and he was starting to slip because of it. As he took notes on the details of the mission, the tip of his pencil began to wobble and drift, giving shaky tails to each letter. He couldn’t find the energy to fix it.

“There is something else we have to consider, though,” Phil mused, tapping a finger against his chin. “If I bring you two with me—Don’t worry, Tech, I’ll be able to scrounge up some invitations for you—you’ll be very conspicuous as a pair of Jedi among high-class socialites, and that might be enough to scare off our target. Which means…”

“Are we going to be dressing up as high-class socialites, Phil?” Techno asked in a way that told Ranboo he already knew the answer. Phil’s suddenly terrifying smile gave him the same impression.

“Why, yes you are, Techno,” he said with poorly restrained excitement. “And of course, for that, we’ll have to go shopping. To ensure the best possible outcome of this mission.”

“I guess if it’s for the mission, we kinda have to,” Techno said, conceding the point with a shrug.

Ranboo didn’t think he sounded too disappointed. He himself wasn’t all too broken up about it either. The life he could remember had been spent in the plain robes of the Jedi, and it did sound exciting to try something a little more sophisticated, to go undercover as one of the rich and powerful. Terrifying, sure, but exciting all the same. 

The three of them took a trip to the nearby shopping district, all clean white marble and soaring ceilings, with Techno and Phil swapping dense talk of fabric and cuts and color palettes. After noting Ranboo's confused (and slightly dazed) look, Phil explained that to be anyone important on Coruscant, you had to look the part, so he was forced to learn a thing or two about the latest trends.

“I had to study all this stuff like my life depended on it, and it may have rubbed off on Techno a little bit,” he explained sheepishly. 

“I know far more about fashion than I ever intended to, and it is my perpetual curse,” Techno grumbled as he stopped to admire a window display filled with glittering jewelry. 

“You don’t seem cursed,” Ranboo commented with a giggle. “I don’t think cursed people have as much fun as you’re having.” He had quickly figured out that his lack of sleep had removed any filter he might have had, but at the moment it didn’t seem like a big enough problem to correct.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Techno said, straight-faced. “Now, Phil, is burgundy in this season?”

They had spent the next hour popping in and out of stores, Phil chatting easily with the salespeople and Techno hanging back, poring over price tags and pamphlets. Ranboo found himself wandering around the edges of each store, squinting until his vision resolved to let him read labels and tripping over the automated racks that hurtled around faster than he could comprehend. It was sort of like stumbling into an entire new universe he had never known existed, a dreamlike haze filled with every hue and shape reality had to offer. When Phil and Techno had decided they were finished in a particular outlet, one of them would call his name until he followed them back into the main plaza, and the whole process would start again.

Once his companions seemed satisfied with the array of bags they had assembled in Techno’s grip, they turned their attention to Ranboo. He couldn’t decide if this development was very fun or an absolute disaster.

“So, I know you’re kinda new to all this, but do you have any ideas in mind? Something cool you might have seen on a billboard or while we were looking at stuff for Tech? It’s okay if it’s not very specific,” Phil said.

Ranboo shook his head helplessly. “Nope. I got nothing.”

Really, he didn’t. Even if he could properly ponder it, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to scrounge up any sort of clothing inspiration from the pages of his notebook. He’d never had any cause to think about it before, so it wasn’t something he’d feel compelled to record.

“What about a favorite color?” Phil offered.

“His favorite color is purple,” Techno said before Ranboo could respond, shifting a couple of bags on his arm. To his surprise, Ranboo found that his Master was right. He didn’t know why or how, but saying that purple was his favorite color felt familiar in a way he couldn’t place. Dim flashes of a pale fruit dripping with violet juice flickered in his vision before evaporating completely.

“You’re correct,” Ranboo said slowly, turning to face him. “How are you correct? I don’t think I knew that until you said it, but it’s true.”

“When you first showed up at the Temple, you were scared of everything. Literally everything. It took days for you to eat anything from the cafeteria, and when you did, you wouldn’t eat anything that wasn’t purple. Even now, you’re pretty much a purple-ivore. I made an educated guess,” Techno answered, looking off into the distance pensively. Ranboo followed his gaze, but there was only a column identical to the dozens of they had passed.

“Yeah, that’s something you’d notice,” Phil said with a fond smile. “Also, what the fuck, mate.”

“I second that,” Ranboo added, and Techno burst into a squeaky laugh.

And so they entered the hunt for purple. Phil remembered a store a few blocks back that he thought would be promising, with Techno agreeing, so Ranboo followed them dutifully, the tile blurring beneath his feet. Then he was rifling through racks filled with suit jackets, the fine fabric soft beneath his fingertips. They all looked about the same to him, with rows of shiny buttons and crisply pressed collars in shades of lavender and plum. He chose one at random and turned to Phil and Techno.

“Would this one work?” he asked, holding the hanger out in front of him. 

He felt a tap on his shoulder and whirled around to find… Phil and Techno? Again? 

Glancing back, he found what he previously thought to be them was merely a pair of mannequins, draped in shimmering scarves and heavy robes. Huh.

“Did you find something?” Phil asked, pulling his attention away from the mannequins. Ranboo nodded and held out the jacket again. 

While Phil considered it, Techno picked up one of the sleeves, and for one delirious moment, Ranboo thought he was about to take a bite out of it. Techno did not, in fact, do that, merely giving the weave of the fabric a closer look before letting it drop back down. He dipped his head in approval, and after a few seconds, Phil gave him a thumbs up.

“Looks good to me! The sizing should fit you pretty well, and I like the stripes,” he said cheerfully. 

After an additional examination, Ranboo confirmed that the jacket did in fact have stripes, lines of silver thread that glittered in the low light. 

“Me too,” he decided. “Stripes are good.”

Then they were outside of the shopping complex, Ranboo holding a cluster of bags in his hand. 

He hoped they had paid for whatever was in them. 

The sun had descended below the horizon long before, and the cityscape was now dominated by impossibly bright pinpricks of light that darted around like fish in a stream. 

A sharp whistle sounded, and he was inside of a skyspeeder, Phil and Techno conversing in rapid whispers about various strategies as the world whipped by through the windows. Ranboo didn’t really care to eavesdrop, lulled into a half-awake haze by the rumble of the engines and the warmth of the seats. He was wearing a seatbelt. Did he put that on?

“Could you please drop me off at the Temple?” he asked suddenly, his mouth almost moving on its own. “I’m really tired, and I won’t be much help in any planning you guys have to do. I’m super sorry.”

Techno gave him an odd look from the passenger seat, Phil keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon behind the controls.

“Are you feeling alright? You’ve been weird all day,” Techno said bluntly, narrowing his eyes.

Ranboo felt his hand ghost up to his ribs and a wince twist his lips, and Techno’s expression softened just a bit in understanding.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll drop you off,” he said gruffly. “Long day and all.”

“The Temple’s on the way to my place anyway,” Phil added, veering into another lane. “No worries, Ranboo.”

They were at the Temple, and Ranboo undid his seatbelt, slithering out onto the concrete with all of the coordination of a Gungan. He gave them a clumsy wave, and they were gone.

He must have made it to his quarters, and when he next blinked awake, he wasn’t in the midst of some activity, but curled up in his bed with his face smushed into a pillow. For the first time in recent days, he felt well-rested, and he took a moment just to revel in it, a small smile on his face as he let himself lie there for just a little while longer. But when he eventually checked the clock on his nightstand, he understood why with an embarrassing clarity. It wasn’t morning at all, but mid-afternoon. And when he replayed what he could remember of the previous day, he realized he must have been asleep for quite a long time. Too long.

Well, crap.

Ranboo leapt to his feet, straightened out his wrinkled robes—he had fallen asleep in his robes?—and lunged to check his com for the dozens of missed calls he was sure had piled up in his inbox. There was only one message waiting for him, though.

Sleep. Don’t argue. You need it. 

So, he obeyed, spending the rest of the afternoon and into the evening drifting in and out of peaceful slumber. His Master had ordered it, after all. As the sun cast long shadows across his walls that melted into the dark, he fell asleep one more time, determined to be in tip-top shape for the gala the next evening.

Once, he opened his eyes and found himself standing in front of a round steel door with the Jedi emblem emblazoned in the center, saber in hand. The blue-stained glow told him that he was in the Archives, with its stacks upon stacks of ever-looping security holograms, but it was faint, meaning he was somewhere in the library’s depths. Without thinking, he reached out a hand and placed it on the door, the cool metal chilling him to the bone instantly. 

“ C’mon, open already!” he heard himself hiss. A beat, then nothing.

“ Shit. ”

The next time he woke, there were rays of sun filtering through his window, and with a glance at his clock, he confirmed it was actually dawn with a sigh of relief. He sat up, snagging his notebook from the nightstand with the intent of writing down something important, but by the time he put pencil to paper, it was gone.

Probably for the best. After all, he didn’t have time to think about anything other than the mission tonight.

A buzz from his com alerted him that Techno and Phil would be at the Temple in a minute or two, so he grabbed his things and got ready to leave--properly this time, not through the window. After how quick it was the last time, though, he at least considered it, but with a shake of his head, he trotted out the door towards the elevators.

Time to get to work.

Chapter Text

The random spats of static from the miniature com in Ranboo’s ear sent shivers down his spine, and he instinctively started to shake his head to the side, as if trying to drain water from his ears. He was able to stop himself, though, and he sheepishly looked at Phil, who offered an understanding expression.

“I know it’s uncomfortable, mate, but it’s a necessary precaution,” Phil explained to him as he tucked in an earpiece of his own. “You and Techno have your Force-thing, but if I need to reach you guys fast, this will be our best bet.”

“So uncivilized,” Techno muttered, but he accepted the com anyway, and the small device was hidden by the multitude of piercings that sparkled in his pig-like ears.

The three of them were in Phil’s apartment at 500 Republica, a sprawling place with intricate mosaics on the walls and more guest rooms than Ranboo could count. They had camped out in the living room for most of the day, and holoprojectors with three-dimensional maps of the gala hall spun slowly around them as they went over each entrance and exit, where the security guards and cameras were posted, and how the schedule would run throughout the evening. It was a lot of information to handle at once, but tying events and ideas to a picture in his mind helped Ranboo remember just enough that he didn’t feel completely terrified, even as he rocked back and forth with nervous energy. Just, you know, mildly terrified, and that was good enough for him.

After hours spent discussing tactics on the sofa, it seemed to take far too little time to split off and get dressed up. When Ranboo returned to the central area of the apartment, he found that he wasn’t the first one to have finished.

Despite his supposed disdain for dressing up, Techno had put more care into his appearance than Ranboo expected, his hair carefully twisted up into an elaborate bun dripping with fake flowers and a vibrant crimson cape draped over his shoulders. The faded lightning scars that slashed his face and neck only added to Techno’s air of sophistication, and most importantly, he seemed to enjoy the way he looked, as he was having trouble keeping the smile off his face when he glanced at the mirror. Behind him, Ranboo grinned at the sight, but when Techno noticed his presence, he quickly whirled around and cleared his throat, the expression gone.

“I- you, uh. You need help with your tie. Let me fix that,” Techno muttered hurriedly, reaching upwards to cross and knot the fabric in practiced motions. Before Ranboo could speak, he had finished. “There. Better.” He stepped backwards to approve of his work with a sharp nod. “Definitely better.”

“Thanks, Techno,” Ranboo said softly, and as Techno walked back past him, he bumped his Master’s shoulder gently with his elbow. Wordlessly, Techno returned the gesture, adjusted for his height, and while Ranboo couldn’t see Techno’s returning smile, he could feel it through their bond.

When Ranboo checked himself in the mirror, he found that his tie looked far less like the crumpled lump it had been before and was now smoothed into a symmetrical bow. He really had tried his best, but after twenty minutes of fumbling with the shiny material, twisting it helplessly through his claws over and over again, he had given up. If Techno wasn’t there to help, he probably would have been laughed out of the gala like some sort of fashion peasant. Thank the Force for his Master’s many talents.

And hey, the rest of his outfit wasn’t too bad either! The suit fit him like a glove, and he liked the way the silver stripes blinked in and out of existence depending on how he faced the light, like rows of shimmering mirages. In addition, Phil had offered him a few of his many rings to accessorize, and when they found that Ranboo’s fingers were too thin to wear them without them falling off, he had figured out that they served quite well to decorate his horns. He had to admit that he was a little proud of that sudden flash of inspiration, and he kept having to resist the urge to reach up and touch the shiny metal bands.

Ranboo knew he probably wouldn’t get a chance to wear something like this again—the Jedi had strict rules about keeping to a simple lifestyle whenever possible—and so he decided he would try to savor every moment of it. While he wasn’t filled with fear about messing up the mission, of course. His resolve set, he turned back to join his companions.

Phil, as expected, wore up in a slightly fancier version of his normal attire, with a few more necklaces and bracelets to complete the look of a wealthy Senator. He looked like the interior of a crystal geode with all of his jewelry, but it seemed that no piece glittered brighter than the golden ring on the brim of his hat.

“Ready to go?” he asked, inclining his head in Ranboo’s direction.

Ranboo tried to still the butterflies in his stomach, failed, and nodded anyway.

“Yep!” he said with forced confidence. It was clear neither of them believed him, but both chose not to say anything. He appreciated that.

The gala hall was the brightest room he had ever seen, so bright that he couldn’t make out a single detail in the expanse of white.

“Should’ve brought my sunglasses,” he murmured in awe, his half-closed eyes turning the hall into a sliver of blinding light.

Techno let out a hmph of a laugh beside him. “I told you they’d be useful.”

Ranboo didn’t have the heart to tell him what had happened to said sunglasses. Instead, he focused on letting his eyes adjust, and when they did, he found that the hall was even more impressive than he had first thought.

From his view by the entrance, strings of glowing crystals hung from the soaring ceilings like frozen waterfalls, and at the end of the hall, which seemed to stretch in an optical illusion, an imperial staircase dominated the room in a flowing curve. Waiters holding flutes of champagnes darted in and out of a bustling crowd that pulsed with thousands of conversations, an ocean of feelings that were almost tangible in the Force. It was a song he had heard a few times before when accompanying Phil to meetings, but only in scattered phrases and snatches of melody. This was a full orchestra, a rich, layered symphony of veiled intentions and carefully chosen words that demanded perfection in tempo and tune.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so horribly overwhelming.

Now that Ranboo had tuned into it, his mind wouldn’t let him tune out, and it felt sort of like the com in his ear—a persistent buzz that filled up every corner of his thoughts, amplified by a thousand. The com, though, he could turn off, and he could feel his breaths growing shallow and his hands starting to tremble.

After Phil handed three slips of clear glass to an attendant, they entered the main floor. Shooting them a jaunty salute, Phil fluttered away to make chit-chat with a few armed security guards, leaving Techno and Ranboo to loiter awkwardly by the entrance.

“You alright?” Techno asked in a low rumble.

It took Ranboo a few seconds to register that Techno was talking to him. “Yeah. Just… just a lot. Of everything,” he replied, clasping his hands together to try to calm down.

“Makes sense,” Techno said. “We should be working more on your shielding for times like this.”

Ranboo flushed even as he dipped his head in agreement. As far as he could remember, he wasn't always this sensitive to- well, everything, and it was proving to be quite the inconvenience. He needed to do better if he was going to pull his weight on this mission, if he was going to measure up to even half the Jedi his Master was. Glancing over to his side, Techno looked uncomfortable in the presence of so many people, sure, but his presence was a smooth, still pond, unaffected by the ripples and splashes in the Force around him.

Just then, Phil returned, the gems hanging from his hat swinging back and forth like miniature pendulums.

“Security has the Engineer’s invitation, so he's already in the building,” he said. “They told me they’d be on the lookout for him, but their priority is the Chancellor, so we’ll probably be on our own.”

“Aren’t we always?” Techno asked wryly.

Phil gave him a bitter smile. “That sounds about right.” His expression hardened. “We should split off to cover our sections of the room before the Chancellor’s speech begins. Everyone knows where to go, so let’s kick this guy’s ass.”

Ranboo took a deep breath before pushing into the fray after Phil and Techno, weaving around clusters of partygoers with fake smiles plastered across their faces and outfits so bizarre he had to do a few double takes. Was that person really wearing a sea squid on their head? How could someone even stand upright in a dress made of plastisteel? What were they thinking, wearing-

Distracted by the extravagant finery that surrounded him, Ranboo tripped right into an aristocrat, spilling their glass of champagne all over the floor.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” he said, curling his hands to his chest as the sparkling liquid bubbled around their shoes. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, and-“

“No worries, young one,” the aristocrat said in a lilting voice, face hidden by an elegant lace-trimmed hood. “It happens to the best of us. Would you mind getting me another glass, though? The drinks here are wonderful by Coruscanti standards.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Ranboo replied with a nervous laugh. “Could I grab you a napkin, or-”

“Just a drink is fine,” she confirmed with a flash of a smile. “Luckily, you didn’t get anything on my robes, and the staff should be around to clean this up shortly. The smallest miracles are sometimes the most fortunate, wouldn’t you say?”

He bobbed his head as if he knew what she meant. “I’ll be right back!”

He turned around as fast as was polite and shook his head as he headed for the refreshments table. Idiot. Force, if that lady hadn’t been so nice about the whole thing, he could’ve gotten himself kicked out of the party and jeopardized the mission!

Ranboo was able to snag one of the last few glasses that remained on the table and made his way back over to where the aristocrat was standing. True to her word, the puddle of champagne had already vanished, leaving only spotless marble beneath her heels.

“Thank you kindly,” she said, accepting the drink with a dip of her head.

In the changing light, he caught a glimpse of pale yellow in the shadows of her face, and his heart leapt up into his throat. Everything around him dimmed to a low hum and fear pricked into his skin like a clump of needles.

“You’re welcome,” he tried to say, but he didn’t think any sound made it past his lips.

If she said anything in return, he couldn’t hear it over the roar in his ears. He stumbled past her, desperately searching for an escape route, and when a gap in the crowd opened, he pushed himself through and made a beeline for his position by the left wall. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply, in and out.

There was nothing wrong. His senses were just going haywire because of the sheer number of Force presences crammed into one place, and he was seeing things that didn’t exist because of it. Even now, it felt like someone had icy fingers wrapped around his neck, but there was nothing wrong. Everything was fine. He just needed to work on his shielding, like Techno had said.

Nothing was wrong. Ranboo opened his eyes. He was calm. He had a job to do.

As he scanned the room, he ran over the plan in his mind, ruts that were well-worn by hours of repetition. Their goal was to make the Engineer think his cover was still secure, because if they apprehended him while he was committing a crime, they’d have a solid reason to detain him for questioning. Otherwise, he might be able to slip out of custody before they learned who had commissioned him.

Of course, they had to actually find the guy first.

“We don’t know what he looks like for certain,” Techno had explained, “but the Engineer wears a golden rebreather. Shouldn’t be hard to miss.”

Ranboo scoffed quietly at the memory. A bright metal mask would stand out a lot less than he had expected in this crowd, meaning he would have to keep a very close eye on the shiny smears that hovered around his vision. None of them quite matched the description, though, so he kept looking.

A sharp crackle sounded from his com, and he winced at the noise. Phil’s voice sputtered into clarity and Ranboo felt each word vibrate through his jaw and the tips of his horns.

“Whoever spots our guy first should contact the others before we surround him in a secluded area. From there…” He trailed off, and Ranboo could hear the smile on his face. “Whatever you do, do it quietly.”

“Yes, sir,” Techno drawled. Fabric rustled, and Ranboo was sure Phil had rolled his eyes. “The moment I find him, you’ll know.”

“Ranboo, you got that?” Phil asked, and the Padawan almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of his name.

“I got it,” he echoed. “I’ll do the same if I see him.”

“Alright, then. Over and out.”

The next several minutes passed similarly. Ranboo tried to make himself look casual as he observed the passing guests, initially leaning back with one foot propped up against the wall before he quickly put it down. Maybe too casual. He folded his arms, but that looked too aggressive, and leaving them hanging by his sides felt just as awkward. Eventually, he settled on clasping his hands together in front of him as he shifted restlessly from foot to foot. All the while, he didn’t spot a single partygoer in a golden mask in the ebb and flow of the crowd.

Something cold and circular pressed into his side, and a voice began to whisper in his ear.

“Hi. I’m threatening you right now. Please don’t scream.”

Ranboo froze. They continued, even and light as if they were just ordering a cup of caf.

“This isn’t anything personal or whatever. I just want to have a talk with your friends. So, you’re going to turn on your communicator and say what I tell you to say, alright? Nod if you understand.”

Ranboo obeyed, his mind racing.

He tried to reach out into the Force for Techno, for Phil, for anything that could help him, but the song of the crowd grew to a deafening forte, and he couldn’t think couldn’t think couldn’t think-

He was shaking now, and the blaster was shoved further into his side. The safety clicked off, and his heart tried to tear itself out of his chest.

“This will be over real quick if you just cooperate,” they said, still horribly calm. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t have all the time in the world either. Turn on your com, and call your friends.”

Ranboo didn’t reach this time. He pulled, clawing frantically at the threads of the Force, and instead of weaving them together, he tore them apart. The barrel of the blaster crumpled inwards, twisting into a useless lump against his side, and without thinking twice, he ran.

He hurtled through the first doorway he saw, and his footsteps echoed deafeningly against the tile, the lights and chatter of the gala hall fading away behind him. His eyes darted across the hallway in a panic, and when an alcove opened up to his right, he flung himself into it. It was only a few feet deep and barely tall enough for him to stand upright, but it was better than being out in the open.

Already, he could hear heavy footsteps growing closer, and the same voice began to call out.

“Look, I don’t have time for this. I’m going to find you either way, so just make it easier for both of us, ‘kay?”

After a few tries, he was able to switch on his com and he began to speak, low and fast.

“Techno, Phil. Someone is after me, and they’re looking for you. If Techno can’t tell where I am, I’m in a service hallway on the left side of the main hall, and-”

He cut himself off as the footsteps stopped, then started again. Ranboo pressed himself back against the wall, looking for somewhere, anywhere to run. Nothing. He scrabbled at the pouch on his waist and grabbed his lightsaber, the metal growing red-hot in his hand. There was no way Phil and Techno were going to get there in time. He took a deep breath, flipped the ignition switch, and stepped out into the hallway.

The figure standing there to greet him wore a golden mask, hooked up to an armored oxygen canister on their back.

The Engineer.

When he saw Ranboo, he pulled a thin rod from a holster at his hip, and with a sharp click, it extended into a sparking, hissing trident, gleaming a dangerous blue. At the sight of the lightsaber, he tilted his head and twirled the trident in his grip.

“I’ll have to take that apart later. I’ve always wanted to get my hands on one of those things,” he mused thoughtfully. Ranboo’s blood ran cold, and his hold on his saber tightened reflexively. The crystal inside sang with worry.

“I’m gonna have to reject that offer,” he replied, voice cracking only a little.

The Engineer laughed.

“You owe me one, remember?” he said, dark green eyes narrowed in amusement. “You wrecked my blaster, so it’s only fair we trade. After that, though, I can’t let you go before your friends show up. Every good negotiation requires leverage. Again, nothing personal.”

A fire bloomed to life within him, burning hot and angry in spite of his fear. This guy had picked him out as a weakness and saw him as a liability he could exploit to get what he wanted. There was a part of Ranboo that wanted to curl up in shame at the thought, but it wasn’t nearly as powerful as the part that was just plain-old pissed. The Engineer expected him to be an easy target that wouldn’t put up a fight, one that would allow him to get the upper hand over Phil and Techno, but Ranboo wasn't going to let himself be a liability, much less a tool. Not again. The goosebumps racing up his arms and empty chill down his spine didn’t matter, because he wasn’t going to let them matter.

If the Engineer thought Ranboo was just going to roll over and play dead, he had another thing coming.

If he wanted leverage so bad, he was going to have to earn it, because Ranboo sure as anything wasn’t going down without a fight.

His lightsaber hummed defiantly at the ready.

“Fine,” the Engineer eventually sighed, with what seemed like genuine disappointment. “It didn’t have to go this way, you know.”

Instead of replying, Ranboo charged.

He slashed his saber at the Engineer before he could raise his trident, but it only glanced off of his golden chestplate in a shower of sparks. He had to twist away before the trident’s prongs impaled the air where he’d been standing.

Despite the heavy tank at his back, the Engineer was fast, and he was already going on the offensive. He used his trident like a staff, which forced Ranboo to parry strikes from both sides, and once he found his rhythm, it was like fighting two enemies at once. Their weapons would clash in a flurry of orange and blue, plasma meeting lightning, before the Engineer would continue to push his advantage. Ranboo snuck in a handful of attacks, but they only served to slow his opponent down for a split second. For some reason, the man’s armor couldn’t be damaged by his lightsaber, and Ranboo hadn’t left a single mark on the flawless metal throughout their fight. If he kept to the same strategy, he was going to exhaust himself without accomplishing anything. He needed another plan.

As he hastily blocked yet another swipe, ozone burning his nose as the lightning snapped a little too close for comfort, a dark thought eased its way to the front of his mind.

He can’t fight if he can’t breathe.

It was sick to even consider it, but he couldn’t deny the truth. The ribbed tubes that connected the Engineer’s mask to the oxygen tank weren’t armored, and if Ranboo could sever just one of them, his chances would be that much better.

That was the beginning of the end. While he was distracted, the Engineer slipped past his guard and rammed the end of the trident into his stomach. The wind was knocked from his lungs, and he stumbled backwards, electricity stabbing and burning just under his skin. Ranboo fell to his knees, and his lightsaber skittered out of his hand as he gasped for breath. The air just above his neck sizzled thickly with lightning.

“It’s over. Stay down, please,” the Engineer said briskly.

No. No, it wasn’t. Ranboo squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed for the shape of the breathing tubes in his mind’s eye. For a moment, the Engineer’s emotions threatened to overpower his intent, a steady pulse of satisfaction tinged with frustration, but he pushed through and cast them aside. His hands curled into fists against the tile, and he yanked on the tubes with the tangled net of the Force. Not enough to fully disconnect them, but enough to make his presence felt. He heard the Engineer’s breath catch, and the buzz of electricity grew even louder in his ears.

They were at a stalemate, like two scorpions in a bottle. Either of them could strike at any moment, but not without risking their own life. Both of them refused to move, and the seconds stretched out grotesquely around them. Ranboo’s mind was starting to grow fuzzy from the strain, and he knew it was only a matter of time before one of them broke.

Somewhere behind him, a door slammed open.