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Chapter Text

Bolin watched as Korra’s ship disappeared into the vastness of the Coruscant skyline, its faint silhouette merging with the endless stream of traffic that weaved between towering skyscrapers. The ship wasn’t piloted by Korra — he knew that much. She still couldn’t navigate a starship to save her life, relying instead on the droid brain to take her where she needed to go. Yet, watching it leave stirred something deep within him, a pang of regret, a sense of absence that gnawed at him.

They had been a team — Korra and he — since the beginning, since they met in the – appropriately named, as it turned out – Vulptilla Youngling Clan. The dynamic duo of the Jedi Order. Always side by side, tackling missions, challenges, and sometimes chaos, together. They balanced each other out, his steadiness complementing her fire. More than once, whispers had floated around the Temple, suggesting that perhaps they were more than just comrades. Bolin had heard the rumours— had even entertained the idea himself a few times. He would’ve wanted it. Unlike Korra, however, he wouldn’t have been able to keep it casual, though — not with her.

But attachments were forbidden, and Bolin respected that, as much as it hurt.

It didn’t matter in the end. It had never gotten between them, never stopped them from being an incredible team. Which was why it hurt all the more to see Korra so broken, so… unlike herself. She was always vibrant, fiery — a force of nature. But after the mission on the Mega Awesome Space Station, after the loss of Jinora, something in her had dimmed.

She blamed herself. Of course, she did. Even though it wasn’t her fault. No one short of Master Zuko would’ve been able to stop Za Heer.

Of course, Korra, ever empathetic and caring, took the fact that she got away relatively unscathed while Bolin and Asami were wounded quite hard, even though that too wasn’t her fault.

Asami…

Korra took Asami losing her hand very hard. There was more at play here than just Korra’s good heart. At first Bolin thought that these two confident and headstrong women would keep butting their heads however it almost seemed as if… no, impossible. Or was it?

Of course there was also the other issue. The issue of Korra tapping into her anger and fury as Za Heer was flying away, using it to fuel her power, almost killing Jinora in the process.

That was the one thing about the mission Bolin hid from the Council and they either didn’t notice the lie of omission or let him decide on his own whether he wanted to share it. He knew the Jedi sagas and histories and knew that plenty of Jedi, usually Masters, made the mistake of ignoring the first signs of their comrades and students flirting with the dark side. Usually, it led to disastrous effects but…

…but this was Korra! Headstrong and energetic? Yes. Stubborn? Definitely! But she was no Dark Jedi! In the entire Jedi Order, you’d be hard pressed to find more than five Jedi with kinder hearts than hers!

Bolin exhaled heavily, realizing his thoughts had wandered as the last traces of Korra’s ship vanished from view. He wished he could’ve gone with her, wherever she was going. But she had been surprisingly vague about her destination, evading every question with a wave of her hand and that typical Korra grin that never reached her eyes. Besides, he had his own recovery to think about. His arm was still healing, and he wasn’t quite ready for another adventure. Not yet.

But there was something else. Something he had to do. Alone.

He checked the chrono on his wrist. He was supposed to meet Master Katara soon. He didn’t want to be late.

* * *

The small circular chamber in the Jedi Temple was serene, bathed in warm, ambient light. The high stone walls echoed with a sense of calm that had been cultivated for generations of Jedi meditations. It smelled faintly of incense and herbs, the delicate blend soothing Bolin’s senses as he sat cross-legged on the floor. He watched as Master Katara, prepared a steaming pot of hot chocolate, rich with the scent of strange but calming spices.

Bolin had offered to help, but Katara had waved him off with a soft chuckle. "Let an old master indulge herself," she had said with a wink.

He felt himself relaxing a bit. He hated to impose on her, especially now after her granddaughter had been abducted, but Katara was nothing than supportive.

“Helping others helps one forget about their own burden, if only for a moment,” she said, as if knowing what he was thinking.

“Thank you,” he responded, glad to be here.

He tasted the drink – sweet with just the right spicy note and a fresh minty aftertaste – and immediately became glad she was the one who’d prepared it.

“Ah, that’s so good,” he whispered, taking a deep breath of the rejuvenating smell.

Katara smiled at him from across the small table, her hands cupped around her own mug. "A perfect drink for discussing important matters, wouldn’t you agree?" she said softly, her voice as soothing as the drink. “Important personal matters.”

“What personal isn’t important,” Bolin said quickly. “As Jedi we are to serve the Force, the Galaxy and the Republic.”

Then he groaned inwardly and barely stopped himself from facepalming hard. Did he really just say to Master Katara, whose granddaughter got recently kidnapped by terrorists, that personal issues weren’t important? He opened his mouth to apologize but Katara raised her hand while her gentle smile never wavered.

“And yet we are people, not droids from an assembly line… and even those sometimes develop personalities,” she said softly. “Each one of us is different in their own way and that’s what makes us so interesting and unique. That’s the source of our strength. And this comes from our personal history and experiences.”

“I… I guess you’re right,” Bolin said.

Katara gave a soft chuckle. "That happens occasionally. It’s why they let me sit on the Council, you know." She winked at him, but her expression grew serious, though not unkind.

"Your request," she said, her voice softening, "came to my desk. I want to know why you're asking for these records. Why now?"

Bolin felt his chest tighten. He set his cup down, fingers tracing the rim. "I…" He paused, searching for the right words.

"Aren’t you happy here?" Katara asked, her brow furrowing. "In the Temple? In the Order? Haven’t you found your place?"

"I have!" Bolin blurted; his words rushed. "I love being a Jedi. I love the Order. But…" He hesitated again, taking a breath. "But you said our past shapes us. I don’t… I don’t know where I come from. I want to understand that part of me."

Katara watched him carefully, her eyes kind, but her expression thoughtful. "Ah," she said after a moment. "But if you don’t remember your past, does it still hold power over you?"

Bolin’s shoulders sagged slightly, disappointment settling in. "I guess not," he muttered, defeated. "Sorry for wasting your time, Master." He moved to stand.

"Sit," Katara’s voice was gentle but firm, and Bolin froze. Slowly, he lowered himself back down. "If it’s important to you, then there is a reason. Be honest with me. More importantly, be honest with yourself." Her eyes bore into him, not unkindly, but deeply, searching. "What’s really driving you to seek this out? Is it about the Twi’lek on the space station?"

Bolin’s heart thudded in his chest. He hadn’t said much about the strange red-skinned Twi’lek—the Dark Jedi who had shown up during the final battle against the Red Lotus. The one who, inexplicably, had helped Korra save him and Asami before disappearing in the chaos.

But it wasn’t just the encounter itself. It was the feeling — the strange, gnawing familiarity that had settled deep within him the moment their eyes met. A sensation that felt like something precious had been lost, something that had been missing for longer than he could remember.

"He knew my name," Bolin said quietly, staring at the floor. "And when I saw him… it felt like… like he was someone I should’ve known. Someone who should’ve been important to me." His voice was strained, as if the words themselves weighed too much. "I don’t know why. But I feel like the answers are somewhere in my past."

Katara nodded slowly, as if considering something. Then, without a word, she pulled out a datacard and held it out to him. "The past can be like a treacherous quicksand," she warned, her voice gentle but serious. "It can pull you in if you’re not careful. Don’t let it consume you, Bolin. Don’t lose sight of the present or the future."

Bolin’s hands trembled slightly as he took the datacard, his heart thudding in his chest.

"Thank you, Master," he said, bowing his head in respect before taking his leave.

* * *

Later, alone in his quarters, the silence of the Jedi Temple surrounded him. PA-BU, his droid companion, chirped softly, sensing his master’s unease. Bolin’s hand absentmindedly brushed the droid’s sleek metal chassis as he stared at the datacard resting in his palm.

Master Katara’s warning echoed in his mind.

The past can be like a treacherous quicksand

Then he recalled something else – the way the Dark Jedi shouted Bolin’s name. In warning and in fear as if any hurt that would happen to Bolin was more than the strange Twi’lek could take.

Probably sensing his elevated stress levels, his droid chirped in a familiar, reassuring whistle. Bolin sighed, put the datacard into the datapad and started reading, his eyes finding the most important fragments.

Bolin, Twi’lek.

Parents: Aayla and Lenar, deceased.

Planet of origin: Ryloth.

Force Sensitive.

Age: 4.

So he was, most likely, an orphan. That wasn’t surprising. He’d always felt that, always known that and all the thought brought was a dull sense of loss. The Jedi were his family. But…

Wait!

Taken into the temple at age of four? That wasn’t exactly unheard of, but was very rare as it was on the verge of being too old to be accepted.

But then his eyes fell on another line and felt his mouth go dry and his heart beat faster. He barely even heard another reassuring chirp from PA-BU.

Mako, Twi’lek.

Parents: Aayla and Lenar, deceased.

Planet of origin: Ryloth.

Force Sensitive.

Age: 9.

Mako…

No images came to mind, no concrete memories, but there was a feeling. A warmth. A deep sense of safety.

Unconditional love.

Bolin’s breath hitched, realization hitting him in an instant. He knew that the conclusion that came to him could’ve been premature. There were many other explanations. But he was absolutely certain he was right.

He had a brother.

He read the next line.

Jedi Recruiter: Toza.

He had a brother.

And he had a lead.

Chapter Text

Crystal Diver, Tatooine’s orbit

Korra’s blue eyes locked on to the dusty brown marble that floated in space in front of her, her hands gripped tightly around the control yoke of the ship. This was where Za Heer had told her to face him? It didn’t look like much, just a desert backwater on the fringes of civilised space, and she wondered why Za Heer had chosen this planet, of all places. She had been so surprised when her comlink had activated and she had heard his unmistakable voice, as synthesized as it was through his breath mask.

“Come to Mos Osnoe on Tatooine. Come alone, I will do so likewise. I’ll be waiting for you.”

And that had been it, that had been the extent of his message. She had replayed it over and over again, her teeth clenched in anger as she heard his voice. After what his Rattataki partner had done to Asami, every time she thought of Za Heer, she saw red and clenched her fists. And the thought of poor Jinora and that Devaronian boy, helpless in his clutches only added fuel to the fire. She knew it was a trap; how could it be anything else? But, if she had the chance to stop Za Heer and hopefully rescue his hostages, she had to take it, no matter how dangerous the risk.

“If you think you can defeat me in combat, Za Heer, you’re in for a shock,” she muttered, her fingers tracing the edge of her lightsaber.

 Behind her, Naga whined and prodded Korra’s shoulder with her snout, shaking her out of her musings. She looked up at Korra with wide, wet eyes, as she always seemed to do when Korra let her anger get carried away, and Korra felt her rage slip away and she smiled sadly at her closest companion, scratching behind the vulptilla’s massive ears.

“I’m sorry, girl, I guess I got a little lost in thought there….” Korra trailed off and tried to banish the memory of Asami being hurt from her mind. Instead, a new memory floated to the surface of her brain.

The kiss.

Korra’s breath hitched at the thought, she could practically taste Asami’s lips on hers, how sweet she tasted. It had been unexpected, Asami had been more than a little out of it after all the painkillers she had been given to stave off the pain from the loss of her hand. Korra blushed as she recalled what had happened, Asami probably wouldn’t have done it if she were in her right mind, surely?

Surely?

Korra shook her head, trying to dislodge the new memory away. Focus, Korra, focus! She chided herself as she returned her gaze to Tatooine as it lay before her. You have a job to do and you’re going to do it. You *can* do it. She hoped she could do it at least, she had been training constantly on the entire flight from Coruscant to Tatooine, and that had given her plenty of time. 4 days’ worth of sparring with the ship’s onboard training droids, of lifting heavier and heavier equipment with the Force, and even just good old physical exercise, whatever she could to prepare herself. 

She just hoped it would be enough.

Taking a deep breath, she began her descent into Tatooine’s atmosphere, the thin, wispy clouds parting, revealing perhaps the driest, harshest landscape Korra had ever seen. She frowned at the sight; she had never seen so much sand in her life. Back home was…similar, in a way, endless wastes of ice and snow, but there was a stark beauty to that, when the aurora would light up the night sky in a wash of colours. Or how each snowflake would slowly dance through the cold air, almost lazily, like they were careless and free.

Force, how she missed home, and this endless expanse of sand wasn’t doing much to change that.

Naga whined again, sensing Korra’s emotions as they radiated off of her, and Korra shot the vulptilla an apologetic smile.  “You miss it too, huh, girl? Maybe when this is all over, we can go visit? See mum and dad…” She trailed off, it had been a while since she had last seen them, and she knew the Jedi Council didn’t exactly approve of such a strong attachment, but…

 The voice of the Mos Osnoe spaceport’s control tower crackling through the ship’s coms roused her from her musings, and Korra quickly made an acknowledgement as she set the Crystal Diver down in the circular docking port, the ship landing with a gentle thump.

“Well, time to face destiny, I guess,” Korra muttered as she made sure her lightsaber was secured to her belt, before strolling out of the cockpit.

Korra winched as she strode down the ramp of the ship, a sudden, intense blast of hot air greeting her as she stepped into the oppressive twin suns of Tatooine. Almost immediately, sweat began to bead down her forehead and she tugged at the collar of her tunic to try and cool off. Force, how did the natives endure this? She thought, quickly reaching for the canteen clipped to her belt and taking a deep gulp of icy water. It had been one thing to see the planet, but experiencing it was another thing altogether! Korra groaned, suddenly wondering if Za Heer had chosen Tatooine because its climate would put her at a disadvantage and winced, wondering if perhaps rushing here with no backup had been a mistake, Za Heer’s demands or not. Korra heard Naga whine again as she was likewise hit by the extreme heat of the world, she was panting, her tongue lolling in her mouth and Korra felt a pang of sympathy for the poor girl. Vulptilla’s weren’t built for this kind of environment.

“Sorry, Naga,” Korra shot her friend an apologetic smile. “I know you want to come, but maybe it’d be better if you waited aboard the ship. I don’t want you getting heatstroke or anything out here!” Naga whimpered, lowering her head and looking up at Korra with big, pleading, wet eyes. Korra just shook her head and pointed back to the Crystal Diver’s ramp. “Go on, girl! I promise I’ll be back for you soon.”

With one last whimper, Naga turned her tail and slunk off back to the ship, the crystals that lined her body glinting almost blindingly in the harsh sunlight. Korra shielded her eyes as she watched Naga hesitantly leave her, then took a deep breath and turned back, ready as she could be to get on with her mission.

Korra strolled down the hot streets of Mos Osnoe, keeping vigilant, her eyes scanning from left to right as she walked. So far, there was no sight of Za Heer, or any other Kel Dor for that matter. What she saw were plenty of square buildings with domed roofs in neat rows, made of a white stone to keep them cool. Flocking down the roads were a number of sun-kissed people wearing loose, voluminous robes who seemed to be in no hurry to go about their business, but then, in this kind of warmth, she could hardly blame them. As she walked, Korra frowned to herself as a thought occurred to her, Za Heer had never specified in his message exactly where in Mos Osnoe he had wanted to meet. Mos Osnoe was far from the biggest town that existed on Tatooine, but it was big enough, with plenty of people from all kinds of species calling it home. Was she just expected to wander around blindly until she ran into him? Find the local cantina and ask the patrons if they had seen a suspicious looking Kel Dor with a lightsaber, maybe?

“Fat chance of that,” Korra muttered under her breath, stopping mid-stride to get her bearings. She found herself in what seemed to be a marketplace, stalls lined the dusty road, the closest one to her had a number of small, dried animal carcasses strung up, and Korra wrinkled her nose as she saw a swarm of insects buzz about the bodies. “Note to self, don’t try the local food…”

She sighed and closed her eyes. Well, there was one way of finding Za Heer in such a bustling town, but it was hardly her strong point. She reached out with the Force, hoping it would help guide her to Za Heer, wherever he might be. Surely someone as strong in the Force as the enigmatic Kel Dor would shine brightly like a beacon? Korra doubted there were too many other people with such strong Force sensitivity hanging around a place like Mos Osnoe. However, she found it difficult, the sounds of the market made it hard to concentrate, the way the crowd seemed to talk over everyone until their voices were all an indistinct roar. Guess I’ll just really have to try then, Korra thought as she scrunched her eyes tightly shut and really focused her efforts into sensing Za Heer through the Force.

What she found was not Za Heer at all. Korra faintly heard herself gasp in shock and distress, but the noise barely registered to her. Instead, what felt like a wave of despair crashed over her, and despite the unbearable desert heat, Korra began to shiver as an intense feeling of hopelessness enveloped her. She couldn’t breathe, the light from Tatooine’s suns seemed to race away from her until all was black. There was…there was so much suffering, and it was coming from all around her! After a moment, Korra came back to her senses to find herself on her hands and knees on the ground, sucking in lungfuls of air and sweating. No one around her seemed to notice, or rather more accurately, no one seemed to care, they simply walked past her with barely a glance in her direction, if that.

Korra felt an intense urge to curl up into a ball and it was only with some effort that she managed to break out of that notion and get to her shaky and unsteady feet instead, still panting. She felt a wetness on her cheek and found that she was crying, hurriedly wiping the tears away as she braced herself against a nearby building. Force, what was that? She thought to herself as she tried to steady her breathing, which was coming out as ragged, almost sobbing gasps. Korra slowly raised her head and looked around.

It was at that point that she realised that there was more than just food for sale at this market.

As the shoppers moved to and fro, Korra could see further down the street that there was an especially large building at the end of it, and there was a sizeable crowd in front of it. Korra grimaced as she felt another swell of that terrible despair shoot through her, on a much smaller scale this time, as she stepped closer to that building. She pushed her way through the people, not hearing their exclamations of annoyance, she was too driven to see exactly what the structure was, it was as if her feet were moving under their own power. She had a strong feeling she knew exactly what it was.

A second later, her suspicions were confirmed, and Korra scowled. Slaves, perhaps a dozen of them, all shackled together at the arms and legs, all lined up next to each other, their heads bowed low. They were mostly Twi’leks, but there were a few Humans mixed in, a Zabrak, some strange, hulking, white-furred creature with four eyes, large claws and a tiny, trumpetlike mouth. Looming over them were three Hutts, each perched atop a hoversled of their own, and surrounding them in a loose throng were a mix of Nikto, Klatooinians and Weequay, the typical muscle of a Hutt and they were all heavily armed.  

Slaves, Korra thought, a pit forming in her stomach as she stood and stared, Kriff, that explains it. But to feel that strongly about it…there must be so many more, all through the city! She felt a tension in the fingers of her right hand, and she only then realised that she had her lightsaber clutched in a death grip, the knuckles white. Her eyes went from her lightsaber to the poor, chained beings before her and back to her lightsaber. She scrunched her face up in thought, could she really take on all those enforcers and win? She was a damn good fighter, she knew that, but all-in-all, there looked to be roughly two-dozen of them, give or take a few. An unpleasant thought crossed her mind as she sized up her opponents, even if you do get these slaves free and fight your way clear, what then? Korra bit her lip as it hit her. There were plenty more slaves in this city alone, Force only knew how many more were scattered throughout the other settlements on Tatooine. To complicate matters, Hutt Space was outside of the Republic’s jurisdiction, they were practically a galactic superpower themselves. How would they react to a Jedi coming into their territory and freeing slaves? Korra grimaced as she tried to work out what to do, finding herself unable to look away from the Hutts as they examined the lineup of slaves. One of them, a redheaded girl maybe around her age, whimpered as the largest of the Hutts grabbed her by the chin and turned her to face him, licking his lips as he did so.

Kriff, nope, that does it! Korra thought as she ran forwards, jostling people aside as she dashed towards the Hutts. Their guards were startled to see her move with such speed, most of them not even raising their weapons as she passed them. The Hutts let out startled gasps as Korra leapt over them, twisted around in mid-air and activated her lightsaber with a snap-hiss, the cerulean blade springing from the emitter. With a quick flourish of her wrists, Korra sliced through the shackles of the nearest slave as the stunned Hutts and their enforcers watched on, their mouths gaping open at the most unexpected sight.

“Go! Go!” Korra barked, turning to face the thugs, her lightsaber raised to shield them from any incoming blaster bolts. “You’re free! Run!” Korra spared a quick glance over her shoulder and was disheartened to see them all huddling together, but unmoving, looking at her with the same stunned expressions as their captors. “Didn’t you hear me? I said go!” Korra snapped.

“W-we can’t…” the girl cried. “Our slave implants, they’ll blow if we try to escape!”

By now the Hutts had roused themselves from their astonishment and were snarling and barking orders at their guards. <<Seize her, you idiots! What are you doing standing there like brainless mynocks when I’m paying you to protect me! Grab her!>> One of them snarled in Huttese.

And at that, the Weequays, Niktos and Klatooinians surged forward with speed and discipline that Korra had to be impressed by, they were amazingly coordinated for a pack of Hutt thugs. Korra eyed them warily, not moving from her position, her lightsaber still in a defensive stance, waiting for them to make the first move.

“You’re surrounded, stupa Jeedai!” The apparent lead enforcer, a towering, heavily scarred Nikto growled, a pair of blasters levelled straight at Korra. “Even a freak like you couldn’t fight yer way clear of all these blastohs!” His eyes flicked to Korra’s sides, towards the cowering slaves. “Besides, you can’t protect all them bodies, can ya?”

Korra’s heart froze at his words, her eyes wide at the threat. What kind of sleemo would fire on a bunch of terrified, trembling, defenceless slaves?! Korra thought, her grip tightening around her lightsaber.

<<Jedi!>> The same Hutt who had spoke before exclaimed, leering at Korra. <<Throw down your weapon and surrender yourself to us, and I give you my word, neither you nor the slaves shall be harmed! But attack us, and I promise you; my men will cut these pathetic wretches down!>>

The slaves cried out in alarm at the Hutt’s words, doing their best to shrink back even further, huddling against the wall of the building they had been lined up against. Korra’s heart broke at the sound, and she quickly looked away, unwilling to look at them in their desperation. The Hutt had given her his word? What good was the word of a slaver, a criminal, a Hutt? Korra trusted him about as far as she could throw him, but…she sighed, scrunching her eyes tightly shut.

What other choice did she have?

The Nikto had been right, she was surrounded by more men then even she could take on, they stood a frighteningly real chance of cutting her down with their numbers. And even if she could fight them all, she knew there was zero chance the slaves would get away unscathed, she couldn’t block the withering hail of blaster bolts that would come her way the second she made a move. There was no other choice, she had to surrender. Stupid, she had been so stupid!

Korra grimaced in disgust as she deactivated her lightsaber and tossed it at the Nikto’s feet, glowering at him as she did so. “You win.”

The Nikto gave her a grin that made Korra sick to her stomach as he strode up to her, examining her closely. “Yum-Yum like you might make good slave yerself…”

Korra promptly spat in his face.

The Nikto scowled as his men laughed at Korra’s defiance, wiping the dripping spittle off and shaking his hand. “Big mistake, schutta, very big mistake!”

And with that, he slammed the butt of one of his blasters into the back of Korra’s head, and she knew no more.

Chapter Text

A part of Asami wished that she had lost her entire arm, instead of just her hand.

An artificial hand, that was a tragedy. A disability. A source of sympathy and awkward questions.

A metal arm, however, could be considered nothing but badass. It could be a shield. It could be a weapon.

It could mean that she could finally do one armed pullups and pushups.

But that wasn’t what she had.

She had a golden atrocity attached to her arm, that not only looked terrible, it did not even act as a hand should. Her new “fingers” twitched, constantly, and no matter what she did, and what adjustments she made, she could not seem to get the damn thing working properly.

“The hardware is in one hundred percent working order,” the medic droid stated with preprogrammed authority.

“To adjust to an artificial body replacement of any type is a long process,” the droid went on, not for the first time. “I have over a thousand years of medical history contained within my databanks, with billions of surgeries, from limb replacement, to organ cloning, to gender assignment surgery, to the study of Force healing, to everything in between, and I can say without any hesitation, it takes time and effort to adjust to a new body part.”

Korra watched silently from the side, her face closed and upset, as the droid poked and prodded at the join between Asami’s arm and her new equipment.

Asami was already annoyed. Annoyed with the hand, or lack thereof. Annoyed at the droid.

And now she was annoyed at the stubborn (beautiful) Jedi, as well.

They had all made their choices, and she would take none of them back.

It was not Korra’s place or responsibility to feel guilty! Asami had made her choice, and she would do the same again.

Damn the consequences!

Asami blinked as she made her way back into consciousness.

Stupid dream. Korra had not even been there.

She had dozed off in the pilot’s seat of her ship. It wasn’t surprising, really. It was easy to get lulled by the false serenity of hyperspace travel, and she had not slept well over the course of her trip home, for a variety of reasons.

The thoughts of the final battle that went through her head, over and over. The phantom pain coming from the hand that did not exist anymore.

Thoughts of blue eyes and glorious muscles, rippling across Korra’s back, as Korra had made the water of the in-ship pool ripple.

Which, of course, was another reason to be aggravated with the new equipment – it not only did not work correctly, for whatever reason, but it did not feel correct, either.

Of all the issues she expected to have from being in combat with Dark Jedi, having to relearn the best way to masturbate had been literally nowhere on the list.

Multiple lights on the left side of her console lit up and an alarm started blaring.

“Kriff, now what?” she muttered to herself. At least with the new emergency, whatever it was, her melancholy, but somehow also horny, thoughts were now forgotten.

“Emergency shutdown of the hyperdrive?”

What?

Why?

She had calculated the jump, and there had been nothing in the course that should have caused her to get dropped from lightspeed.

She would figure out the error later. For now, she had to pilot.

Asami got her hands on the controls as the hypnotic patterns of hyperspace disappeared, and normal three dimensional reality replaced it. Stars were briefly elongated, then snapped back into their normal distant points.

A planet was directly in front of her.

Sithspit!

This was no near miss, this was a direct collision course. She fired emergency retrorockets and pulled the PrimProp up so that her ship was not pointing directly at the planet, but instead settled into orbit around it.

And then she crested the horizon around the supposed planet, and saw that it was actually a moon. A gas giant rose into her view, as well as multiple other moons orbiting around it.

She shuddered.

There were so many things I could have hit. Where in the galaxy am I?

She reset the alarms, and most of them quieted down, easing both her nerves and her rapidly growing headache. She looked at one of the remaining alarms, repetitively flashing off to the side of her console.

Unsurprisingly, after the crash stop, the hyperdrive would need repairs.

Asami flipped the PrimProp upside down in relation to the moon below (artificial gravity made up and down largely meaningless, after all), and gazed at it contemplatively. She had all the equipment she needed to be able to repair the hyperdrive, and the skills to do it, but landing would mean that she wouldn’t have to wear a spacesuit.

There was no indication that the atmosphere of the moon was toxic, but best to be sure. A flip of a switch launched a probe into the mostly clear atmosphere. It only took a few minutes to confirm that the moon’s “air” was, in fact, breathable.

She stopped looking at the moon, and looked down at her artificial hand. It was another reason she would prefer not to have to do the repairs on the float.

Gold and gaudy, it only stopped twitching if she held onto something with it.

This is all your fault, isn’t it?

-------

The landing had gone smoothly. Thankfully. She had to admit she was getting a bit nervous about it all. Between losing her hand and losing her way, Asami did not think it was unreasonable of her to be anxious about more calamities coming in her direction.

So she had drained the pool water into the ship’s reservoir, and then left orbit to enter the moon’s atmosphere. Now, with the ship down and safe, she could set the ship’s computer to mapping the local space in an attempt to figure out where she was. She lowered the ramp out of Ms PrimProp.

Then she squinted, as the light was bright, and harsh.

She lowered her goggles over her eyes, and headed out of the ship. The hyperdrive access was underneath, and to the rear. Little puffs of dust rose into the air with each step she took on the dry ground as she made her way to the rear of her ship.

As much as she was annoyed with her hand and with the navigation error, it was pleasant to be doing some mechanical work again. Asami hummed softly to herself as she removed the magnetic seals and detached the correct plating from the PrimProp’s hull.

She grabbed a light off of her tool belt, and stuck her head inside the now open compartment. A first inspection of the hyperdrive revealed no issues, so she grabbed her hydrospanner and cracked open the drive’s shielding.

This time, the problem was obvious.

Dammit.

A cracked channelling ring.

It was not a difficult fix, not for Asami at least, even with her less than optimized artificial hand, but it was also a spare part that she was sure the PrimProp did not have in storage.

Asami removed the cracked ring, then sighed, and backed out of the hyperdrive compartment. Then she went back into the ship.

The reason that she did not carry a spare channelling ring on the PrimProp was simple – the PrimProp had an entire section dedicated to replicating the parts that she needed, as she needed them. Basically, she had a machine shop on the ship, and could easily recreate the channelling ring from the raw materials she had in storage.

Recreating the ring was precision work, however. Precision work that she was not sure that her new hand could handle.

Dammit, she swore softly to herself once again.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

She frowned, and fired up the PrimProp’s scanners, at the same time she powered up the machine shop. The probe she had launched to test the atmosphere was still in the air, so the ship could use the probe to scan the moon for settlements that might have the part she needed, should she not be able to make it herself.

Then, she went down to the shop and got to work.

She fed the materials into the crafter, overlaid the design onto the raw materials, and spent the next half hour painstakingly matching the new part to the old one.

The result was... close.

“Kriff!” Asami yelled as she threw the new part at the wall. When it came to hyperdrive parts, close was not nearly close enough.

She powered down the machine, settled herself down, then cleaned up the mess she had made – loose, forgotten debris was never a good idea where space travel was concerned, or anywhere else for that matter. Then she went back to the cockpit.

The scan was still going, but it had picked up some preliminary results, so that was something. It seemed like there was a settlement fairly nearby, and it was likely big enough to have a good supply store. Her only decision now was whether to fly the short distance, or to pull the PrimProp’s speeder out of storage.

Asami thought about the hassle of putting the ship back together, versus going for a half-hour speeder ride. While all she could see out of her cockpit was sky, rocks, and sand, there was more happening on this moon than just moisture farming, she supposed.

And even moisture farmers needed parts repaired and replaced, on occasion.

She smiled as she thought about pulling her speeder out of storage. It had been too long.

And if anything could make her forget about her various frustrations, getting max speed out of her speeder would be that thing.

Chapter Text

Bolin found Toza in one of the Temple’s quieter training halls, a space with high, vaulted ceilings and walls lined with ancient murals of Jedi battles long past. The air was thick with the hum of sparring droids and the occasional crackle of training sabers. Toza, a figure more akin to a hulking Wookiee or a burly Trandoshan than the average human Jedi, stood in the middle of the chamber, blocking and parrying bolts from four training remotes. His lightsaber danced in precise arcs, reflecting the shots with a grace that belied his massive frame.

Despite his advanced age, visible through the deep creases on his face and the snow-white streaks running through his thick sideburns, Toza was still remarkably quick, his movements fluid. But even Bolin could see that time had taken its toll. A bolt slipped through Toza's defence, striking him in the thigh. He grunted, more annoyed than injured, and with a wave of his hand, he sent the remotes flying to the far side of the room, deactivating them mid-air.

“You’re staring, young Jedi,” Toza growled, turning slightly to give Bolin a side-eye that could’ve cut durasteel.

“I’m sorry,” Bolin stammered, feeling a sudden rush of awkwardness, though he didn’t look away. “I’m Bolin.”

Just watching Toza brought a strange sensation. Not images, no, but a feeling as if he’d seen the man before.

As if he’d trusted him before.

"Hmpff, so?" Toza shrugged, seemingly indifferent, though something in his posture told Bolin his name had sparked recognition.

“You were the one who recruited me into the Temple, right?” Bolin pressed, his voice wavering with hope.

“It was years ago,” Toza muttered, turning his back to the Twi'lek. “Kinda late for second thoughts, don’t you think?”

“So, you do remember me!” Bolin’s voice brightened, a flicker of optimism flaring in his chest.

“Hmpff,” Toza grunted, his broad shoulders stiffening. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, boy. You all come as babies, so it’s easy for me to say it was years ago.” He paused, and Bolin’s heart sank slightly, but then Toza sighed, his tone softening just a fraction. “But yeah… I remember you.”

“You do?” Bolin asked, his voice filled with hope.

“Not easy to forget something like that...” Toza muttered, turning his gaze to the floor, a shadow passing over his face.

"Something like what?" Bolin stepped closer, feeling the weight of anticipation settling in his stomach. “What do you mean?”

Toza didn’t respond at first. His back was still turned, his silence heavy and unsettling.

“There was a brother too, wasn’t there?” Bolin’s voice trembled, the question hanging in the air like a sharp blade, ready to cut through whatever remained of the calm.

Toza’s shoulders slumped. He let out a long, tired breath before slowly turning to face Bolin. The look in his eyes was weary, haunted even, as if the very mention of the past brought back memories he’d tried hard to bury.

"Do you really need to dredge all this up?" he asked in a low, worn-out voice. "The past is a treacherous—"

"—quicksand, yeah, I know," Bolin interrupted, his patience fraying. "Master Katara told me the same thing."

“Maybe you should listen to her then, huh?” Toza snapped, though there was no real anger behind it, only resignation. “She’s in the Council for a reason, you know?”

“Yes, she said that as well.” Bolin said and then shook his head, his lekku twitching with agitation, a clear sign to any Twi’lek that he was growing impatient. “But I can’t. There were two of us, weren’t there? I have a brother?”

Toza let out another sigh, this one filled with the weight of a man who had seen too much, carried too much. With surprising speed, considering his age, he turned and summoned two training lightsabers from a nearby rack. He tossed one to Bolin.

“What…?” Bolin barely caught the weapon, blinking in confusion.

“You want answers, boy?” Toza said, igniting his training saber, its pale blue blade humming softly. “Then defeat me, and we’ll talk.”

“What?” Bolin repeated, staring at the pale blue light of the older Jedi’s training lightsaber. “I don’t want to fight with you! I want to talk to you!”

Toza’s expression didn’t change. His eyes remained hard, unyielding. “Defeat me, and we’ll talk,” he repeated, his stance unwavering.

Frustration surged through Bolin like a tidal wave, his fists clenching around the hilt of the training saber. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising anger in his chest. “I’m not here to play games. Master Katara gave me permission to look into this. If you refuse to talk, I can go back to her.”

Toza shrugged. “Go ahead. Tell her I refused, and we’ll have ourselves a nice little debate about it for a few weeks. Or… you can fight me now and get your answers today.”

Bolin looked at the man carefully. Would he really delay him getting the information he so desperately wanted and needed? And why? Out of pure pettiness? Or did he need a sparring partner so much? But Toza was right on one thing – as a retired Jedi Recruiter, he was part of the Jedi Investigator Corps and as such was under Master Lin. The definitely unsentimental Master Lin, who would’ve argued with Master Katara that Bolin really doesn’t need to know his past, delaying the whole procedure even more.

Yes, beating Toza was definitely a faster way. After all, the Jedi was old, retired and it’d probably been years since he took part in a real duel… while Bolin was fresh after facing Za Heer. Besides, he saw Toza get zapped by a training remote, so he was pretty sure he was faster than the old Jedi.

Fine, Bolin thought. He ignited his lightsaber, the blue blade casting a faint glow against his face. “Let’s do this, then.”

Toza grunted in approval, shifting into a defensive stance. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Fuelled by determination, Bolin lunged forward, trying a quick feint before aiming a thrust at Toza’s side. The clash of sabers rang through the chamber as Toza easily parried the blow, the force of his counter sending Bolin stumbling back. Before he could recover, another powerful strike from Toza’s blade knocked him flat on his back, his weapon clattering to the floor.

“Was that it?” Toza scoffed, standing over him. “I guess you don’t want to know that badly after all…”

Bolin immediately got back, summoning the training weapon to his hand and launched another attack. This time he didn’t underestimate his opponent, relying on a series of fast attacks to keep Toza on his toes, stopping him from launching any offense of his own.

And yet, it quickly became obvious that while the days of blocking shots from four remotes were long over for the old Jedi, his duelling skills haven’t diminished at all, and his weapon was always there to block Bolin’s attack. And soon, he began going on the offensive. Bolin was no weakling. Maybe he didn’t have Korra’s crazy, Force-fuelled strength but he was a powerhouse of his own… but Toza’s attacks were still too strong, too powerful and whenever he parried one, he had to do his best not to drop his weapon or not to lose balance.

His muscles ached; his breath came faster. Every strike he made felt like it was being met with an immovable object. Toza’s blade met his again and again, each parry rattling Bolin’s bones, each step back a reminder that he was losing ground. He was moving back, barely managing to defend himself, looking for the tiniest opening which he could seize and…

“Aaagh!” Bolin shouted as Toza’s saber grazed his side, the training weapon delivering a stinging burn. Bolin staggered, clutching his side as the pain coursed through him.

“Get back to me when you really want to talk, boy,” Toza muttered, turning his lightsaber off.

“We talk NOW!” Bolin shouted, lunging for an attack.

The old Jedi activated his weapon just in time to block Bolin’s strike, but didn’t strike back, just moving slightly away. Bolin followed, trying to land one two-handed blow after another, but Toza was too fast, too skilled, either blocking all attacks or just moving out of the way.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Toza taunted. “Your form’s sloppy! Your strikes are all over the place! Focus!”

But Bolin wasn’t listening. He was hammering down with as much strength as he could muster, his frustrations boiling over with every failed attack. One strike. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six…

And then, in one smooth motion, Toza knocked Bolin’s lightsaber from his hand and pressed the tip of his blade to Bolin’s throat.

“Enough,” Toza said calmly, deactivating his weapon. “You want to talk? Fine. Let’s talk.”

Bolin blinked, breathless, his chest heaving with exertion. “But… I lost.”

Toza gave a gruff chuckle, spitting off to the side as a cleaning droid beeped in disapproval. “Yeah, you fought like shavit,” Toza muttered. “I’ve seen younglings with better focus.”

“You’re too kind,” Bolin muttered, rubbing his sore side.

“I’ve followed your career, Bolin,” Toza said, his voice softening slightly. “I know what a good Jedi you are. If you fought like this, it means whatever mystery your past holds is eating at you. It’s in your head. You’re not focused. You’re letting it consume you.” He paused, looking Bolin in the eyes. “If knowing the truth will help you find peace, then we’ll figure it out.”

Bolin stood in silence, his heart still racing. He’d lost the duel, but in a strange way, he’d won the answers he sought.

"Thank you," Bolin said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Toza just grunted, giving him a curt nod.

* * *

"The Jedi Temple has a dining hall, you know?" Bolin remarked as they stepped into the diner. The walls were adorned with what looked like Selonian yellow marble, though Bolin suspected it was a cheap replica. The soft hum of background conversations filled the room, but it was the slightly garish decor that caught his eye. “More than one, actually.”

“Really?” Toza said with mock surprise, raising an eyebrow. “Thank you for enlightening me. I’ve only been a Jedi for sixty years and somehow managed to miss that little detail.”

Bolin flushed. "Uh… sorry. So, why come here?"

He was doing his best to keep calm, to not let his impatience show. The ride here had been torture, his mind racing with a thousand questions. Every fibre of his being wanted to shake the answers out of Toza, but after the thorough ass-kicking in the training hall, Bolin was in no hurry to push the old man too hard. If it meant humouring him, so be it.

“Because I’m in the mood for some Chandrilan cuisine,” Toza said simply.

Bolin glanced around the diner, his brow furrowing. “This is supposed to look like Selonian marble, right? We’re nowhere near Chandrila…”

“So?” Toza shrugged, unbothered.

“And, I mean, you could probably get good Chandrilan food at the Temple…”

“Listen, boy,” Toza interrupted him. “One rule of being a Jedi that apparently no one had told you: if you want good Chandrilian food, you come to the “Call of Dantooine”.

“But… Chandrila has nothing to do with Dantooine!” Bolin protested, bewildered.

“So?” Toza shrugged again, dismissing the incongruity. Without missing a beat, he waved down the droid server and placed his order.

Bolin ordered the same, still eyeing the old Jedi. Something in Toza’s demeanour told him that the serious conversation—what he had been waiting for—was finally close. The playful banter was over, and there was a sombre, almost regretful weight in the air as Toza settled back into his seat, his sharp gaze locking onto Bolin’s.

“So… you followed my career?” Bolin asked, trying to steer the conversation toward the answers he desperately sought.

Toza nodded, his expression unreadable. “Oh yes. Not very closely, but enough. Heard about the business with the Red Lotus and Jinora. You really went after those bastards, huh? Pity you didn’t beat the living shavit out of them.”

Bolin blinked at the sudden, casual use of profanity. Toza, it seemed, had an even looser tongue than Lin, which was saying something. It made sense though. Toza had once served under her — her methods must have rubbed off on him.

“If Korra hadn’t been there…” Bolin began, but Toza cut him off again, this time with a heavy sigh.

“There was a brother,” he said, the weight of the words hanging in the air like a blade about to fall.

Bolin’s breath hitched in his throat, his pulse quickening. The older Jedi took a deep breath, staring at Bolin with something akin to pity before continuing.

“I don’t remember all the details, not after all these years,” Toza began, his voice unusually soft. “But your family was moving from the Ryloth to the Zaofu Space Station. On one of the transit stations… well, there’s no easy way to say it. Your parents were killed. Mugging gone wrong.”

Bolin’s heart sank. A heavy, sinking feeling twisted in his gut as the pieces started to fall into place. "I… I always felt they were dead," he whispered, the words barely audible.

Toza nodded slowly. “If it wasn’t for Mako — your brother — you wouldn’t have made it either. Smartest damn kid I ever saw, resourceful too. Only nine years old, but somehow, he kept you both alive. You scraped by on the space station for who knows how long. I was impressed.”

“Mako…” Bolin repeated the name, the same name that was on the datacard from Master Katara.

“I actually didn’t think you were really related,” Toza continued. “He was a lethan Twi’lek, you know, the red-skinned one. Quite rare for one of you to be of one skin colour and the other from a different one, but Mako insisted you really were full siblings and later I’ve checked the archives and, while rare, it was possible.”

“He was lethan?” Bolin asked, tensing, remembering that the Twi’lek who’d saved him had red skin as well.

Now, he was more certain than ever that he was on the right trail.

“Yeah,” Toza nodded again and then kept talking. “You didn’t have the money to finish your trip, and I doubt Mako even knew where you were supposed to go. We only pieced that later. But Mako knew one thing — you were both Force-sensitive.”

“Wait, he was too?” Bolin’s mind raced, the image of the Twi’lek Dark Jedi from the Mega-Awesome Space Station flashing in his thoughts. Could it really be him?

Toza ignored his question, continuing his tale.

“I’m sure Mako had heard about the Jedi Order, but not enough to know we’ve got posts all over the Galaxy. He tried to get you two to Coruscant. You stowed away on a ship and managed to stay hidden for a damn long time. Good thing though that when you got found, I was around. I intervened before the captain could decide whether to throw you out of the airlock or sell you as slaves. Mako was the most cynical and suspicious child I’ve ever seen, but I’ve I convinced him that I’d bring you both to Coruscant and after I’d run tests I was sure I could get you accepted to the Order.”

“But what about him?” Bolin asked.

Toza sighed heavily.

“You were four,” Toza said, his voice quieter now, almost distant. “You were almost too old to be accepted. And you had a strong attachment to your brother. Too strong. I… may have neglected to mention that to the Order. And I had to pull all the strings I could.”

Bolin’s lekku twitched again in agitation. “And what about Mako?”

Toza’s face hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “He was nine. Too old for the Order.”

“So… he just gave me away?” Bolin asked, his voice trembling with disbelief.

“He thought he was giving you a better life. The best possible life,” Toza said, his voice laced with sympathy. “And I believe he was right.”

Bolin shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “So, what? You just told him, ‘thanks for the recruit, now kriff off’?”

“Of course, not!” Toza snapped, loud enough to have a couple of patrons look at their direction. “There are… procedures. We contacted CCPS and told them about the whole situation.”

“CCPS?”

“Coruscant Child Protective Services,” Toza said. “We cooperate with them regularly. Mako got assigned a case worker and would have the chance to get education, make a life for himself.”

“Except he couldn’t ever contact me again, right?” Bolin asked, his voice barely restrained, the betrayal swelling in his chest.

Toza’s face softened again. “It was decided that it would pull you away from your training. From your path as a Jedi.”

Bolin’s fists clenched under the table, knuckles white. “And that’s not what happened, is it? Mako didn’t make it.”

Toza looked away, guilt flashing briefly across his face before he met Bolin’s gaze again. “Mako got in with the wrong crowd. He was killed in the lower levels.”

Bolin froze, his breath catching in his throat. “No. That’s not true.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, kid,” Toza muttered. “Maybe it’s better to close the book on this part of your life. Remember that he wanted what was best for you and…”

“No, he’s not dead!” Bolin protested.

Toza sighed.

“I know it’s hard to accept but…”

Something in the way Bolin shook his head stopped the old Jedi from talking. No, Bolin knew, he felt in his heart that Mako was alive. That the Dark Jedi from the space station was his brother. Whether it was the Force telling him that or just some form of a half-forgotten brotherly bond, it didn’t matter.

He knew he was right.

“Who told you that Mako died?” he asked.

“The case officer at CCPS,” Toza answered reluctantly.

The droid server brought them food, some kind of a bird with pasta in a spicy-smelling sauce. Bolin looked Toza in the eyes over the plates.

“Do you still remember their name?” he asked.

Chapter Text

The kiss played back in Korra’s head, so vivid she was sure it was real. The softness of Asami’s lips, the feel of her silky hair tickling Korra’s face, the sweet taste that was Asami as her tongue moved against hers. In all her years in the Jedi Order, she had never felt that way, known such pure bliss or happiness. She had certainly known excitement, when she had duelled with one of her fellow Padawans or gone on missions, but that thrill, that rush of adrenaline, it couldn’t compete with the bliss she felt during that kiss. Not even close.

Korra groaned as the dream slowly faded and she found herself slipping back into consciousness. A dull ache throbbed in the back of her head, and Korra reached back to touch the source of the pain, hissing as she touched the tender skin and quickly pulled her hand back. The hurt jarred her into full wakefulness, and she slowly sat up as she tried to remember what had happened, her last memories being something of a blur.

The first thing she noticed was the stone walls that surrounded her, dry, dusty and in a few places, there appeared to be splotches of blood. The room was small, with only a small, wooden bunk for comfort, but whoever had thrown her into the room hadn’t bothered leaving her there, they had evidently just tossed her inside. The only entrance to the room was a durasteel gate, latticed with holes. Korra’s heart sunk as she recognised the room for what it was, a cell, so she was likely in some form of dungeon.

The second thing that Korra noticed was her clothing, or rather, the lack of it. Her blue eyes widened as she looked down and saw her attire. Her usual robes were gone, and in their place were a set of metal cups that seemed a size too small, a short, blue loincloth that would mean she’d need to walk very carefully to avoid shifting it too much, and a heavy, golden collar around her neck. Korra frowned as she looked down at her near-naked visage, her hands clenching into fists and she wished she still had her lightsaber. Someone is gonna pay for this, she promised herself as she looked around the cell, hoping there might be some way for her to jury rig an escape.

There was no access panel inside her cell, so she walked over to the latticed door and peered through. She could see a long, dimly lit corridor that stretched out on either side of her, with more cells lining the walls. Pressing her head to the grate and tilting it at an uncomfortable angle, Korra could just make out the panel that would open the door, and she reached out to it, her fingers not quite reaching it. She grunted as she strained to stretch further, but she couldn’t quite get to it. With a huff, she pulled back and frowned.

“Not like I know the code anyway,” she muttered, turning away from the door, leaning against it and folding her arms.

“Oh, awake are we, yum-yum?” A voice from behind Korra asked, one that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She whirled around to see the Nikto who had struck her standing there, his eyes roaming up and down her body, a smug grin across his face. His blaster pistols were holstered now, but he seemed no less threatening than he was earlier, the look in his orange-red eyes was much too hungry for Korra’s liking.

“You better let me outta here before I really get angry!” Korra scowled, lacing her fingers around the bars and leaning in close as she glowered up into the Nikto’s leering eyes.

The thug just threw back his head and laughed, showing off his stained, yellowed teeth. “Oh, that’s a good one, yum-yum! ‘Let you out!’ and what you think my lorda will do to ol’ Mok if I do that?”

“Better than what the Jedi Order will do to you when they realise I’ve been kidnapped by Hutt sleemos!” Korra shot back, her grip tightening around the bars, her knuckles turning white.

The Nikto, Mok, wagged his finger at her and tutted. “Maybe if they knew you were here, they might do something.”

Korra’s blood ran cold at that, and she pulled away from the bars. “What do you mean by that?”

“Found your comlink when we got you out of those stuffy Jedi robes,” Mok paused to lick his lips, and Korra shuddered. “Some message from some Kel Dor told you to be here all by yaself. Truth be told, we was wonderin’ what to do with ya until we found that. Lorda Boorka was fixin’ on killin’ you and dumping your body out in the Jundland Wastes, leave you fer the womp rats. How lucky fer you I found that com of yours, eh?”

“Yeah, lucky,” Korra muttered, goosebumps breaking out over her skin, despite Tatooine’s oppressive warmth, even in the depths of the dungeon.

“Also, lucky fer you that Dragga was more interested in addin’ you to his harem than killin’ you. He talked Lorda Boorka around to his way of thinkin’. I reckon you out to be grateful to him for that,” Mok chuckled, now pressing himself up against the cell door. “You’ll get the chance to thank him for his mercy soon. Come on, I’m taking you ta meet yer new master, yum-yum!”

Korra’s face turned hot at the thought of anyone else seeing her in the humiliating getup she had on, especially a slimy group of perverted Hutts. Still, if this blaster-brained, son of a murglak thought he could handle her, she would be more than happy to prove him wrong! Keeping an eye on Korra, Mok keyed the code into the keypad and drew his blaster pistol, motioning to Korra to exit her cell. She kept her eyes locked firmly on the blaster pistol as she slowly stepped out, each footstep leaving trails in the dusty, grime covered ground. As soon as she was out, her arm shot up and with a strong pull of the Force, his blaster was yanked out of his hand and into Korra’s. She allowed herself a smirk as she pointed the Nikto’s own weapon at him.

“You still feeling cocky, sleemo?” Korra asked.

To her surprise, that smug, sleazy grin was still on the man’s face. Slowly, he raised one hand and jabbed a clawed finger down the corridor, and Korra turned to see what he was motioning at, the blaster still aimed squarely at his chest.

Oh, Korra thought, grimacing.

Clustered together in a loose group were perhaps seven more men, the standard Hutt gangster mix of Nikto, Gamorrean, Weequays and Klatooinians, all snickering as they had their own blasters raised at Korra and ready to fire.

“Kriff,” Korra muttered, letting the blaster clatter to the ground and raising her hands.

“Gotta give it to ya, schutta,” Mok said as he bent down to pick up his discarded blaster. “Most of you slaves ain’t nearly so fiery when we grab ‘em. Usually, they just cower and beg and cry.” He raised his free hand up to cup Korra’s face. “Oh, I think it’ll be fun breakin’ you in, yum-yum!”

Korra spat in his face again, and the surrounding guards let out jeers of amusement at her defiance.

“Oughta smack you fer that,” Mok said, letting the spittle drip down his face. “But I reckon Lorda Boorka won’t be too happy if I mess up yer pretty little face before he gets a good look at you. But don’t worry, sweetling, I’ll be sure to make it up to you later, don’t you worry!” He hissed into her ear, his hand gripping down tightly onto her arm, and Korra winced at how much force he was using. “Come on, your new master awaits!”

Korra found herself being half-dragged, half-led down the corridors of the dungeon by Mok, his guards trailing closely behind them, blasters still trained on her the whole time. The palace proper seemed to be less dingy and dank than the dungeons, but only somewhat. Great heaps of sand coated the floor, no doubt blown into the building during the frequent dust storms, no amount of sealing could prevent them. Korra studied the layout as closely as she could, in case she needed to memorise the building, but there were so many winding corridors and passageways, she had no idea how anyone could avoid getting lost inside the labyrinthine structure. After a few minutes of walking, they emerged into what appeared to be a throne room, a cavernous chamber with a raised dais on the far end. Seated upon it was one of the Hutts she had seen at the market, with a scantily clad Twi’lek sitting close by and wearing a collar and leash, shooting Korra a mournful look. Beside him were the other two Hutts, perched atop hoversleds and leering at Korra, their slitted eyes roaming her almost naked body hungrily. Korra wrinkled her nose and raised her arms to try and cover herself, but Mok quickly slapped them away.

“Cut that out! You belong to them now, no use trying to hide yourself from your masters, schutta! They’ll expect to see more of you soon!” Mok snapped, grabbing her wrist and pinning it to her side, before turning and bowing to the Hutt on the dais. “Lorda Boorka, I present you with your latest slave!” He slapped Korra’s read to get her to move closer, causing the indignant Jedi to yelp and shoot him a dirty glare.   

<<Oh my, she is a ravishing sight, isn’t she, Dragga? I must admit, you were right to stop me from just killing her on the spot!>> The Hutt on the platform, Boorka, apparently, said, licking his lips as Korra stepped closer.

The largest of the three Hutts chuckled, a deep, rumbling noise that came from the deepest part of his gut and made his flabby, wrinkled skin jiggle repulsively. <<What can I say, Boorka? I have an eye for flesh, and this female has plenty of that!>> His eyes lingered on Korra’s chest, and she had to fight hard to stop from trying to cover herself again, her face burning hot as she shot a scowl at the Hutt.

<<She would make a fine addition to your harem, Father>> The smallest of the Hutts said, unable to tear his gaze away from the indignant Korra, who found herself feeling more and more like a piece of meat. The youngest Hutt leaned in close to his father and whispered something into his ear, cupping one thick hand around his mouth.

The elder Hutt, Dragga, chuckled that booming laugh of his, throwing his head back at whatever his son had said. <<Oh, ma bukee, I don’t blame you in the slightest, she is quite the catch! Alas, I fear she would be too much for you, better that you allow more seasoned Hutts appreciate her instead!>> Dragga and Boorka both began chortling, while beside them, the youngest Hutt scowled at them, his pudgy hands clenching into trembling fists.

   <<And there is much to appreciate indeed! This one may just be the crown jewel of my harem!>> Boorka said as Korra stood before him, Mok keeping one firm grip around her arm, his blaster digging into the soft skin of her back.

Dragga cast a sidelong, covetous look at Boorka. <<Ah, but do you really need another girl for your harem, Boorka? Yours is already so full up, I do not think you need another female for your collection! Mine, on the other hand, is still growing and has more space for her!>>

Boorka’s eyes narrowed as he turned to face Dragga, seeming reluctant to stop staring at Korra. <<But it was my men who captured the Jeedai, Dragga, therefore, she is rightfully mine to claim!>>

Korra gaped at the two Hutts as they ignored her, arguing over who had property rights to her. She clenched her teeth and glowered at them, treating her as if she were some kind of object and not a person. Kriff, Hutts are disgusting! Korra thought, incredulous that anyone could be so cold, so twisted towards another person.

“How can you treat beings this way?!” Korra spat, and both Hutts stopped their bickering to turn at her, amused glints in their catlike eyes. “What kinda sick sleemos think they can own another person? I am not your plaything!”   

The Hutts regarded her for a moment, before they laughed at her, their stubby hands clutching at their bloated bellies, the sound of their hideous cackling echoing across the room. Even the younger Hutt momentarily forgot his sulking to join in, Korra’s words apparently buoying his spirits. Korra could only stand there and desperately wish she had her lightsaber while she waited for them to regain their composure. After a minute, the laughter died down and Boorka wiped a tear from his eye as he regarded Korra again.

<<’How can we treat beings this way’?>> He repeated, looking down at her imperiously. <<Simple, because we can. Because we want to. Because you’re too weak to stop us. It’s the natural order of the galaxy!>>

<<This one needs a lesson about Hutts I think, Boorka>> Dragga was still clutching at his gut as he got the last of his laughter out. <<Have you ever heard the term ‘Kajidic’, before?>> Korra just glowered at him. <<No? Well, it’s a Huttese word, and it means ‘someone’s got to have it, why not us?’ So indeed, why not us?>>

“You Hutts are backwards psychos!” Korra snarled, straining in Mok’s grip, and he soon wrapped his other hand around her waist to stop her from lunging at the Hutts. “In the Republic we don’t-!”

<<Ah, but we’re not in the Republic, now are we, pateesa?>> Boorka broke in, and Korra felt her skin crawl at the term of endearment he used. <<We’re in Hutt Space, a far more enlightened and civilised part of the galaxy!>>

<<Even if this specific part pales in beauty to radiant Sleheyron>> Dragga muttered, and Boorka snorted and rolled his eyes at the interjection.

<<Besides>> Boorka continued <<It’s not as if your high and mighty Republic is as clean as you seem to think it is. They still allow slavery on Ryloth, don’t they? After all, where do you think we get the bulk of our slaves if not from the Twi’leks? They’ve made it part of their culture!>>

<<I keep a manor there for when I feel like getting away from the hustle and bustle>> Dragga chuckled.

“Well, Ryloth…the Twi’leks…” Korra stammered, not sure how to counter that, her brow furrowed in thought. The culture and the slaving practices of Ryloth had always made her stomach churn, but she had never said anything out of fear of upsetting Bolin.

The Hutts burst out laughing again at Korra’s inability to come up with a good defence. <<You see? Perhaps your self-righteous and moralising Republic isn’t as virtuous as you claim, Jeedai! Who are you to look down on us for enjoying some of life’s simple pleasures?>> Boorka sneered as he yanked at the collar around the slavegirl’s neck, making her yelp as she was half-choked and pulled against Boorka’s flabby, slimy bulk.

Korra found her face growing hotter at the Hutt openly flaunting his power in front of her like that. “The Republic might not be perfect, but at least we’re not a bunch of jumped-up criminals pretending we’re civilized," Korra spat, her eyes blazing with defiance. "You think your power comes from owning others? All I see are a pack of fat slugs!”

Dragga’s rumbling laughter returned, shaking the throne room like an earthquake. <<This one has spirit, Boorka. I think she’ll prove to be highly entertaining!>>

Boorka, however, looked less amused, his yellow eyes narrowing dangerously. <<Careful, little Jeedai. Spirit is a fine thing, but not when it challenges the natural order. In this place, you will learn your place, whether you wish to or not.>>

Mok, still gripping Korra's arm tightly, leered down at her as he pulled her body closer to his. “Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll learn quick, yum-yum. But if not, I don’t mind teachin’ you the hard way.”

Korra clenched her jaw, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but she forced herself to stay quiet. Fighting back now, surrounded by guards and with no weapon, would only make things worse. Her mind raced, analysing the room, the guards, and any possible escape routes.

<<Take her to the harem quarters, she’ll entertain us later>> Boorka ordered with a dismissive wave of his stubby arm. <<In the meantime, she’ll need to be prepared for her new role. And Mok…>>

Mok straightened, untangling his arm from around Korra’s waist and saluting clumsily. “Yes, Lorda?”

<<Do not damage her further. She may yet prove a valuable investment.>> His eyes flicked briefly to Dragga, apparently undecided on whether he wished to keep her or let the other Hutt have her.

Mok scowled but nodded reluctantly, shoving Korra forward. "You heard the Lorda. Move."

Korra stumbled, her bare feet scuffing against the gritty floor, but she kept her head high. As they moved through the labyrinthine corridors, she began to concentrate, reaching out with the Force. She could feel the despair of the other captives, the greed and malice of her captors, but she focused past that, searching for something, anything, that could give her an edge. However, the waves of hopelessness from the slaves, the feelings of lust and envy coming from Mok and the other guards made it difficult, it felt like she was drowning in a sea of darkness, with not a glimmer of light in sight. And then there was the collar, weighing heavily around her neck and feeling heavier with each step, a constant reminder of her sudden loss of agency.  

No one’s coming to save me, the realization hit her like a shockwave. The Order, Bolin had no idea she was out here, poor Naga was stuck aboard the ship and Za Heer’s setup left her isolated. But Korra had faced overwhelming odds before and found ways to prevail. The fire inside her was far from extinguished.

The corridor stretched endlessly, every step a battle against the humiliation and helplessness threatening to crush her. Mok and the guards exchanged crude jokes in Huttese, their voices grating in Korra’s ears, but she tuned them out, focusing inward.

She was a Jedi. A survivor.

Chapter Text

“You’re useless, and I hate you,” Asami declared to her artificial hand as she slowly pushed the remains of her speeder through the desert.

At least she had gotten close to her destination before her hand had misfired and she had plowed into the sand, and then gone flying through the air as the speeder had violently tipped forward. And she still had water, and her sword, so she was not defenceless.

But still – she was supposed to be there by now, and hopefully on her way back, not being injured and worrying about another thing to fix.

She wondered which looked worse – her broken speeder bike, or her. Face planting in sand was not good for one’s complexion, after all, though at least her goggles had somehow survived the impact.

“I used to race speeders competitively, you know,” she continued her one-sided conversation. “Used my mother’s name, so my father wouldn’t know.”

She stopped, and took a swig of water, before resuming on her limping way.

“As pseudonyms go, however, that attempt at hiding was almost as useless as you are,” she said. “Since he quickly found me and had me banned from racing.”

She grimaced. “Too dangerous, Asami. Not befitting one of your station, Asami,” she said in a poor attempt to imitate how her father spoke.

She grunted with the effort as she started up a rise, but it wasn’t big, and the gorgeous sight of the settlement she had been heading towards greeted her as she topped the rise. Light coloured buildings, stripped of any variation or individualization by time and weather, drew her attention.

As settlements went, it was not much to look at, but still, it was gorgeous.

“About kriffing time.”

First her hand, then her ship, and then her speeder. No wonder she was talking to herself!

And the other thing.

The thing that had been haunting her dreams and her thoughts, until her hyperdrive had decided to break, at least.

The kiss.

The Jedi.

The kiss with the Jedi.

She frowned.

It sounded almost like the title of a bodice ripper.

Dammit, Korra.

She shook her head, and started paying more attention to the scenery, what there was of it, as she hit the edge of the settlement.

It seemed like a quiet, dusty little place, but hopefully not too little. She could rent a skiff and haul the speeder back to the ship, and then fix it later, but she needed that channelling ring.

There were few people about at the moment, which was good, since every single person who was out seemed to be staring at Asami. Farmers, wearing dirt-covered overalls and wide-brimmed hats. Traders, perhaps legitimate, perhaps not, wearing slightly more colourful and clean outfits.

Local “government,” with blasters and a noticeable absence of uniform.

On a moon this seemingly isolated, government probably meant gangs, not official representatives of the Republic. She wondered if there would be a “tax.” Hopefully not, but she was prepared to pay, if necessary.

She kept walking, pushing her broken speeder ahead of her as she did so.

First, she passed some sort of eating establishment – it was tempting, oh so tempting, to stop and buy some food, but she had ration bars in her pack, and she had her priorities. Her stomach could wait. She passed a couple of boarded up businesses next. Then some sort of general store.

Then, finally, what looked like a parts and repairs shop.

She let go the speeder and wandered into the open garage and workshop. “Hello, the shop!” Asami called out as she let her eyes adjust to the dimmer light. “Anybody here?”

“In here!” a deep voice called out from the other side of an open window.

Asami walked over, and stuck her head through the open window, leaning over the counter as she did so.

A large, four-armed person greeted her, from behind a desk. He was a Besalisk, if she was not mistaken.

“Hello!” she said. “Are you the proprietor of this shop?”

“Indeed I am, young miss!” was the response. “A new, somewhat banged up face! How exciting.”

The Besalisk stood up, and made his way to the counter. Big and grey-skinned, his voice matched his size. He wore oversized, grease stained overalls, that had a faded logo on them for “Heshi’s Parts and Repairs.”

“Are you a courier? A licensed smuggler?” He squinted at Asami. “Or perhaps, and more daring, an independent operator? There is a local gang that does not like competition, I should tell you now.”

“A licensed smuggler?” Asami shook her head. Her ignorance in the ways of criminal entrepreneurship was unimportant at present.

“I am just a woman in need of a channelling ring,” she said in response. She felt her scratched up face. “And some bacta gel. Do you have any?”

“Ah, straight to business, I see! The need for the bacta gel is obvious, though the cause unknown. However... a woman in need of a channelling ring, but not part of any business. Very mysterious!”

“Not... really?” Asami shrugged, and held up her new, shiny hand. “I just have hyperdrive problems, that’s all. And my fine motor skills don’t seem to be what they used to be.”

“Fine motor skills?” he questioned, peering closely at her hand. His head was as big or bigger than her chest, but Asami discerned no threat, merely genuine curiosity. He smelled of grease and dust, obvious now that he was up close.

“Why,” he continued, “that is a quality cybernetic job. No slap-and-tape, like you would get in these parts. You should be able to do everything you were able to do before, only better, with a hand like that.”

Asami grimaced.

“Are you Heshi?” she asked, as she avoided the implications of what the Besalisk had said.

“Indeed, I am! Owner of this fine establishment, in all its glory!” He looked from her hand to her face. “Right. Bacta gel.” He rummaged through one of the drawers of his large desk, then passed her a jar of the ointment. “And who might you be?”

She went still for a moment, then started applying the gel to her cut up face. “You can call me Yas,” Asami finally answered. The gel felt stingy and cool for a brief moment, and then her face started itching, as the healing process began.

Heshi squinted for a brief second, then nodded. “Well, if Yas is what I can call you, then Yas is what I shall call you. Do you have the broken channelling ring with you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Asami pulled the broken ring from her pack.

“Ah,” Heshi said. “Oversized.”

He shook his head.

“No, I don’t have that, I’m afraid. That’s more the size one might find on a warship, not a private vessel.”

Asami frowned. “I just always liked having more power.”

Heshi laughed. It was a loud, long guffaw that fit him perfectly, as he slapped one large hand on one knee, raising dust from his overalls as he did so.

“Don’t we all,” he agreed once he had stopped laughing.

“I have the machine tools,” he went on, “but I don’t have the fine skills for that type of piece. Never have.”

Asami looked at her hand once more. “I did up until a week ago.”

“Sometimes,” Heshi said with a nod, “you need time, and to really use a new tool, before you feel totally comfortable with it.”

Was that all it was? She just needed to give herself more time, and more practice?

She hadn’t been born with the skills she had now. She had had to learn them, with time and practice and repetition. She had done it all once.

She could do it again.

“Ah, now there’s a look of determination. Very nice!”

She looked up and smiled at Heshi. “Do you have materials? I can pay you for them, and for the use of your tools. Maybe with some practice I could machine it myself.”

The way I used to be able to do.

“That’s what keeps my business afloat,” Heshi responded cheerfully. “Smugglers will pay extra for speedy repairs.”

“I bet.”

Heshi moved away from the counter, and walked to a side door that opened up into the main shop, where Asami was. He opened it, then waved Asami forward.

“Machine tools are back here, young Yas,” he said. “Follow me.”

Asami looked around, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and fought the urge to scratch her itchy face, as she followed Heshi towards the back. The shop contained an assortment of tools and junk, and in some places it was difficult to tell which was which.

“Like my collection, do you?”

“Collection?” Asami asked as they got to the machine tools. “A collection of what?”

“Whatever comes my way!” Heshi answered, cheerfully once again. “You never know what people will need or want, or will have in exchange for the things that they do want.”

Asami nodded. She preferred to just pay for things, but if the system worked for Heshi, who was she to complain?

The machining tools were no better than what she had on the PrimProp, a little worse, perhaps, but what Heshi had that she did not was an abundance of extra materials. Asami looked at her hand, once again. Perhaps, with time and repetition, the new appendage would become as useful as the old.

Perhaps.

There was only one way to find out.

Heshi pulled down on a chain, and a back door into the shop raised and opened. “You can push your machine around back and in here.” Heshi laughed, deep and loud, once again. “You don’t want to leave it outside for too long, not unless you wish it stripped for parts!”

Asami nodded. “I’ll go get it.”

She lowered her goggles back over her eyes, and headed through the door Heshi had just opened, back into the bright light. It was a straightforward task to walk around the shop, grab her bike, which was fortunately all still there, and push it around back.

“Oh ho! The need for bacta gel is now more obvious!” Meshi exclaimed as he waited for her to get fully inside before pulling the door down and closed again. He peered closely at the handle sticking out of her saddlebags. “And is that a lightfoil you have stored there?”

“Yes,” Asami acknowledged. “Good eye.”

“Are you some sort of Jedi, young Yas?” Heshi asked.

Asami shook her head. “No. I just like the fighting style.”

“A lightfoil? A speeder that looks like it costs more than most people’s spaceships, when it is undamaged? An oversized channelling ring, designed for something far more powerful than a pleasure craft? I do not how who you are, young Yas, but suffice to say, I think my standard rates might be a little low compared to what you are used to.”

Asami snorted. “I’m just a simple girl, making her way through the galaxy.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Heshi guffawed again. “Well, carry on, young simple girl Yas, carry on. My shop is yours.”

-------

To Asami’s great relief, Heshi had plenty of the required materials for a channelling ring.

To her great dismay, however, she could no more create one with the correct precision here than she could back on the PrimProp.

After a frustrating third attempt, which she threw in disgust against the nearest wall (eliciting a noise of censure from Heshi), she stood up, and walked around the shop to clear her head, examining the various piles of treasure and trash as she did so.

Most of the trash was just that – trash.

There were, however, a few exceptions. Blaster packs. Repulsor tech. Even a large number of the parts required to build yourself a translator droid.

And one other thing.

She picked up that last thing and looked at it, her green eyes wide.

Then she looked down at her hand.

Cortosis.

Maybe she should work on a different project than the channelling ring, just for a bit.

“I found some interesting materials in one of your piles!” she called to Heshi.

“Bring it here!” he called back.

Heshi’s eyes narrowed as he saw what Asami was carrying.

“I forgot about that,” he finally grunted. “Not something your average smuggler wants or needs.”

“How?” she asked.

“How did I get it?” Heshi asked back with a chuckle. “Why, I cannot tell all my secrets, young Yas.” His face grew serious again. “What would you use it for?”

She looked at her hand once more. “A few weeks ago, this was flesh and blood,” Asami said. “If I had had some cortosis protection, perhaps I would still have my hand.”

“You were fighting a Jedi?” Heshi asked.

For the first time, Asami thought that she heard anger in the shop owner’s voice.

“No,” she said, glad that she could answer honestly. “Side by side with one.”

She thought about blue eyes, and feelings that could not be repressed, no matter how much they should be repressed. “But that has a cost, as well.”

“Look at me, young Yas,” Heshi commanded.

Asami looked up at the tall Besalisk, and stared him in the eyes. Heshi looked back for a moment, then nodded.

“Give me that,” he said, gesturing to the cortosis.

Asami hesitated, then handed it over.

“Today, I charge by weight,” Heshi declared as he put the cortosis on a scale. It did not weigh much. Then he handed it back to her. “I shall add it to your bill, young Yas.”

She looked at Heshi, and her eyes blurred. “Thank you,” she said simply, as she took the cortosis and headed back into the shop.

She could feel his eyes upon her as she walked.

Chapter Text

Just the fact that he was a Jedi was enough for Bolin to get a hearing with the CCPS. Toza’s support, as both a former Jedi investigator’s as well as recruiter’s, on the other hand helped in Bolin getting the name he needed. The name of the case officer that watched over Mako.

The man – a Weequay by the name of Joor Hari – left CCPS some time ago. Normally, the CCPS wouldn’t have given his address to those asking, but here again Toza’s support helped a great deal and soon Bolin found himself flying his speeder into one of the better levels of Coruscant.

He shook off the feeling, letting out a slow, steady breath as he parked his speeder on a platform at the edge of one of the more prosperous districts. These levels weren’t quite the glittering luxury of the upper city, but they weren’t the neglected depths of the lower levels either. Here, buildings were sleek and polished, their facades glimmering under both the artificial lights embedded in the metal plating of the walkways as well as a bit of actual sun. There was even greenery here and there which he noticed during his flight. The sounds of speeders hummed from the airways above, layered with the murmur of voices from passersby dressed in well-tailored clothing, moving with a purpose that marked them as comfortable, at least financially, in the vast machine of the city.

The city itself…

He was still overwhelmed by it. It was strange, but in his last (and first) mission he actually visited an outlying sector, took part in a firefight, led brave men to their deaths, faced the lightsabers of Dark Jedi… and yet, Coruscant still overwhelmed him.

It wasn’t as if he had never left the Temple. After all, some of his Master’s missions took them into proper city and to even some pretty shady levels. There was also this one time when, back before they got knighted, he escaped the Temple grounds with Korra and they went sightseeing into the city… but with how mind-bogglingly enormous Coruscant was, they also managed to see only the part nearest to the Jedi complex, full of mostly businesses whose entire reason for existence was performing services and providing goods for the Jedi Temple.

Now he was in a completely different part of the city – in fact, without Pabu’s navigational help he’d never manage to even get here – and he was alone.

Normally he’d expect in such a situation to be giddy with the sense of adventure, but instead, he only felt his heart pounding. It wasn’t only the fact that the last mission showed him all too well what ‘adventures’ were really like…

Him deflecting the incoming blaster bolts while Future Industries employees behind him were fighting and dying.

A lightsaber blade blocked way too close to comfort, the dread of ‘one mistake and I’m dead’ settling in his bones.

Asami who risked so much helping them, paying for her good heart by having the Rattataki’s lightsaber cut off her hand.

The turret of the Red Lotus ship taking aim at Korra, him jumping forward to block the first shot, hoping he’d be fast enough.

The sight of the ship flying away with Jinora, showing him that they lost.

No, it was more than him having the romantic notions of what adventures were like purged from his mind. This wasn’t an adventure because it was personal. It concerned him and him alone.

Focus, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath to centre himself.

He reached the apartment complex, a sleek, high-rise structure with a polished durasteel exterior, softened only slightly by a handful of planter boxes with meticulously pruned shrubs. It was a far cry from the spartan simplicity of the Jedi Temple, and Bolin found himself studying the facade, wondering at the kind of life a former CCPS officer could afford here. Inside, the lobby gleamed, lit by ambient floor lights that cast a soft glow against the walls, giving the place an almost sterile beauty.

After a moment, he reached Joor Hari’s door. Steeling himself, he pressed the buzzer and waited, shifting his weight and thinking through what he’d say. A mechanical eye appeared above the door, scanning him from head to toe.

“Unverified guest,” it intoned in a neutral, metallic voice. “Please provide your name and reason for visiting.”

“Bolin,” he said without hesitation before correcting himself. “Jedi Bolin from the Temple in order to… to discuss something.”

Very vague, yes, but the fact that he was a Jedi proved to be enough, as a blinking red light below the mechanical eye turned green and the door opened.

“Jedi Bolin?” spoke a rail thin Weequay, dressed in what looked like training clothes for a gym.

“Yes,” Bolin said suddenly feeling his throat go dry. “Mr. Joor Hari?”

“Yes, how can I help you?” the man responded.

Bolin swallowed… and then for a second froze when he realized something. He could never match Korra when it came to the physical use of the Force nor to using the more spectacular powers. Nor was he as good a healer as she was. But what he had always been better at was hearing and understanding the little hints and clues that the Force sometimes whispered to those who listen. He was always better at feeling and understanding the emotions of others, even as he always did his best not to pry too much.

Now he realized that while yes, he was nervous… part of the anxiety he was feeling wasn’t his own. It was radiating from the Weequay, flooding Bolin’s mind. Joor Hari was afraid of Bolin… and that made the Jedi cautious.

“Can I come it?” he asked. “It will only take a moment.”

Joor hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s this about?” he asked, deflecting the request, his voice growing more guarded.

“Just some doubts I need to clear,” Bolin said, before deciding to probe a bit further. “About your work as a CCPS officer.”

The effect was immediate, as Bolin felt the fear coming from the man grow stronger, darker. Then they became more muted as if Joor Hari suddenly realized that when speaking with a Jedi you should guard your emotions and tried to get them under control.

“Can I come it?” Bolin said, offering his most pleasant smile.

With just the slightest of hesitation, Joor moved aside letting Bolin enter a spacious apartment. Having lived his entire life in the Jedi Temple, the rooms of which varied from showing elaborate, traditional architecture and very minimalistic interior decorations, Bolin was no expert on living standards, but the holopaintings and sculptures placed on small rotating repulsor platforms made him think that this was quite an expensive setup.

A part of him was happy that Child Protective Services officers earned so well. They did provide an important service to the public, after all.

A different part of him, brought to the surface by the man’s fear he was feeling, wondered if they really earned that well.

“Can I offer you a drink?” Joor asked.

“No, thank you,” Bolin shook his head.

“Would you mind if I do?”

“Of course not.”

Drinking alcohol was another thing he wasn’t an expert at but that day he and Korra decided to escape the Jedi Temple they did get a bit drunk – which almost led to him kissing her – and he was now sure that the smell coming from the bottle Joor opened meant it was alcohol. Did he need to calm down his nerves before a conversation with Bolin? If so, that was also suspicious.

“So how can I help?” the Weequay asked.

“I want to speak about a child you were looking after,” he said. “Another Twi’lek. Mako was his name.”

“Mako, you say?” Joor said. “Hmm… I must say I don’t remember that name. I’ve been looking over so many children over the years, you understand.”

“I do,” Bolin assured him.

What Joor said sounded reasonable, however there was one problem. Bolin had felt how the man tensed when Mako’s name was mentioned, and he was completely and absolutely certain that Joor was lying.

He remembered Mako very well.

“Mako was a Force sensitive, whose brother had been given to the Jedi Temple for training,” Bolin continued. “Mako himself was too old for that.”

The Weequay shot Bolin a quick look and the Jedi couldn’t help but wonder if Joor began to connect the dots. Mako – Twi’lek – brother given to Jedi Temple – Twi’lek Jedi asking questions now.

“I think I remember now,” Joor said. “I must ask… why is the Jedi Order interested in this child?”

“We were supposed to be watching over him,” Bolin said, feeling strangely empty. “We didn’t, but it’s never too late, is it?”

Joor hesitated once more.

“Except when it is,” Bolin continued. “Is it true that this Mako died?”

Immediately he felt the Weequay relax, grabbing the lifeline Bolin – in his mind – had thrown him.

“Sadly, yes,” he said, sighing. “Unfortunately, we can’t watch over these kids all the time. He got in with a bad crowd and…”

“STOP LYING!” Bolin shouted and was rewarded in the Weequay screaming and jumping in place, dropping his glass, letting it shatter against the tiles of the living room.

“I… I…” he stuttered, but Bolin wasn’t going to give him a time to collect his thoughts.

“I know Mako is alive!” he snapped. “I need to know how and why! And you will tell me right now!”

Being the ‘bad cop’ was another thing that Korra was much better than he was. He didn’t like threatening others, always thinking it a bit too close to the dark side for his liking. But now… now it came easy. He was angry at the lie, he was angry that he never got to meet his brother.

“I… I…”

“Answer me!” Bolin said… and pushed the command with the Force as well.

“I…” Joor said… and then broke. Words started spilling from his mouth, one after another. “Listen… it was for his own good! No… No use being him one of many… one of many kids in the system… they’re all lost causes in the end… nothing can be done for them… but he was special… he had the Force… the Jedi didn’t want him… but others did…”

Bolin could barely concentrate on what Joor was saying, his heart was beating so fast and loud.

“What others?!” he shouted… or rather wanted to as all that came out was a gasp. “What did you do to him?!”

“Listen… there was this group… the Triple Threats…”

“Triple Threats,” Bolin repeated, recalling what was said about them during the debrief following his mission. They were a gang once led by ‘Lightning Bolt Zolt’, whose release Mako gave as a condition for him releasing Jinora. “You gave him to a… a gang?!” This time he really looked at the apartment he was in, at the surprisingly good district in which this former CCPS officer could afford to live. “You sold him to gang?!”

Suddenly Bolin understood how Korra felt when she grabbed the escaping Red Lotus ship and almost crushed it to pieces. When she used to Force to grab Zhu Li by the throat. Anger boiled in him as well, threatening – wanting! – to spill out, to strike at this pathetic Weequay and…

“It’s not as if I sold him into slavery!” the Weequay squealed. “He… he would have it good there! With talents like his… he rose quickly in the ranks… I think!”

“You think?” Bolin asked taking a step closer, making Joor take two steps back. “You didn’t even care enough to check?!”

“I… I…”

Bolin clenched his fists. Oh, he understood how Korra felt. But because he was a witness to that, because he saw how close she was to completely losing control, he realized that he too was on the verge of succumbing to anger.

He closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths.

“You will tell me who did you give him to and how I might reach out to them,” Bolin said. “And then we will call the police and tell them everything. Force only knows how many other children you sold like this!”

For a moment the Weequay looked as if he was going to protest but then slumped.

“Yes! Yes!” he shouted. “I have it all… in my desk!”

“Then get there!” Bolin barked, his whole concentration on not losing control.

So focused was he on that, that he realized too late what a terrible mistake he’d made. At the last moment he heard the warning of the Force, as Joor turned around from the desk with a blaster in his hands.

“No, don’t...!” Bolin began, even as his instincts – trained in the halls of the Jedi Temple but tested in the last fights against the Red Lotus – kicked in.

But it was almost too late for Joor pulled the trigger again and again.

If Bolin had time, he’d dodge out of the way and used the Force to pull the blaster out of the Weequay’s hand. But he let the man surprise him and now – barely! – he managed to activate his lightsaber, blocking the first shot, then the second…

Joor Hari stopped shooting.

“Drop the…” Bolin began but went silent when his eyes fell into a hole burnt in the Weequay’s chest by one of the deflected blaster bolts.

The blaster hit the floor, followed closely by Joor’s body.

Chapter Text

“Welcome to your new home!” Mok sneered as he shoved Korra through the door and into the harem chamber. She let out a grunt as she went stumbling into the room, whirling around with one fist raised, but Mok and two Klatooinians with him had their blasters trained on her, forcing her to slowly lower it. “Better make yourself comfortable while yer here, schutta, you won’t get too long to rest. Soon, Boorka will be calling you back to entertain us!” He licked his chapped lips, his eyes going down to Korra’s form.

Korra’s clenched fist twitched, and she had to summon a heroic amount of willpower to still it. “When I get out of this mess, you better believe you’ll be the first one I take down, Mok!”

The Nikto smiled tauntingly at her, his cruel, lecherous eyes taking one long look at her before he jammed the door panel and sealed her inside the room. Korra grumbled under her breath as she turned to examine her new surroundings. Her temporary surroundings, she was quick to reassure herself, she knew she’d come up with some way to bust out of there and bring justice to Boorka and his lackeys. The room, adorned with silks and cushions in muted tones, was meant to convey luxury, but the bars on the windows only screamed of captivity. Lounging on the pillows and staring at her were perhaps a dozen young women of various species, mostly Twi’leks and Humans. Korra felt her heart sink as she recognised the girl who was being pawed by the Hutt back at the market, now dressed in similar revealing attire to her own. She was sitting with her knees pressed tightly against her chest and her arms wrapped around them, her head hanging low. Korra walked across the room, aware of all those eyes following her intently as she plopped down beside the girl she had failed to save.

“Hey,” Korra said gently, the girl not acknowledging her in the slightest. “I…I’m sorry I…” she trailed off, unsure of what to say next. Sorry I didn’t rescue you? Sorry you’re enslaved to a repulsive, perverted Hutt? Nothing came to mind, and nothing seemed like it would actually help the situation or make her feel better.

The girl Korra had attempted to save still refused to meet her gaze, her thin frame trembling as she clung to herself. Korra clenched her fists, frustration boiling within her. Every fibre of her being wanted to promise that things would change, that they could escape, but after the crushing events of the day, her words felt hollow.

“Hey,” Korra said again, softer this time. “What’s your name?”

There was a long pause, and for a moment Korra wasn’t sure the girl would answer her, before a soft, quavering voice finally spoke up. “…Myla.”

“I’m Korra,” she replied. “And I’m not staying here. Neither should you.”

Myla finally glanced at her, her pale green eyes wide and glassy with fear. “There’s no escaping them,” she murmured. “If you try, they’ll hunt you down. Or worse… they’ll hurt everyone else.”

The weight of Myla’s despair hit Korra like a sandstorm. She could sense it radiating from the others in the room, too, the resignation, the hopelessness that years of slavery had carved into their souls. It was unbearable. Still, Korra knew that she had to power through their despair, their fearfulness, she could not let it deter her from rescuing them. She would get them all to safety.

“Not I if bust all of us out of here!” Korra promised, her tone firm as she reached over to squeeze Myla’s shoulder, trying to project as much confidence as she could towards the girl.

Myla looked up and held Korra’s gaze. She seemed uncertain, but Korra thought she detected a faint glimmer of hope in her expression. Perhaps she was just imagining it.

“…Other people have said that before, back in Mos Osnoe and they never kept that promise,” Myla said quietly, her eyes sinking down again.

“Yeah, but I have something I bet those other guys didn’t, the Force!” Korra replied, punching her fists together and grinning at Myla.

“Fat lot of good that did you if you wound up a slave like the rest of us,” Someone from nearby muttered, her voice venomous.

Korra frowned and turned to see a gloomy looking Togruta girl, perhaps a few years older, not looking at Korra, just staring almost glassily at the pillows she was propped up on.

“Hey, I’ve gotten myself out of worse scrapes over the years! Some two-bit thugs and their fat slug masters should be a piece of cake compared to the scum I’ve fought just over the past week!” Korra shot back, thinking back to her duels with Ghazan, the Rattataki woman who could create Force explosions and Za Heer.

The Togruta just sighed, still not bothering to even glance at the Pyn’gani Jedi. “Save your talk for the Hutts, they’ll at least find it funny. Stop trying to get everyone’s hopes up, it’s just cruel.” Her voice was weary, far more so than a young woman her age should ever have to sound, and Korra was split between being angry at her defeatism or pitying how beaten down she was.

In the end, the anger won out. 

Korra leapt up to her feet and jabbed a finger at the Togruta. “Just you wait, I’ll show you! I’ll have you out in less than week!” She turned to see the other slaves all looking at her, a mixture of hope, gloom and apathy across their faces. “I’ll get you all out! A Jedi’s vow is unbreakable, and I’m the best damn Jedi there is!”

Her words were fiery, passionate and for the most part, she believed in them. But at the corners of her mind, there was a gnawing doubt, six words that repeated themselves in her brain. What if I can’t save them? It was just a whisper at the back of her brain, but it was persistent, and Korra found the thought hard to dislodge. Korra shook her head, No! She knew she couldn’t think like that, she had to remain strong, not just for her own sake, but for the sakes of all these helpless young women at the mercy of their Hutt masters. She would not fail them, she promised that to herself as well.

The Togruta, however, seemed less than convinced, she just snorted and flopped down onto her side, turning her back to Korra and curling up into a ball. Korra’s eyes widened as she saw the criss-cross pattern of old scars, white and faded with time, but still very much apparent across her red skin. From the corner of her eye, Korra saw another slave inch her way up to her, a blue-skinned Nautolan, her big black eyes wide as she regarded Korra.

“I’m sorry about Sheran, she’s been here the longest. She used to be different, but…Master Boorka, he…he liked hurting her every time she showed her defiance.” She cast a sad glance towards Sheran, but kept her tone hushed before she turned back to Korra. “I’m Raychi.”  

“Korra,” the young Jedi replied, her eyes still locked onto the scars on Sheran’s back, suddenly feeling very guilty for her outburst.

Raychi opened her mouth to speak, closed it, bit her lip and seemed to be having an internal debate with herself over whether or not she should speak or not, before she finally opened her mouth again and asked in a small, trembling voice: “Do you really think you can get us out of here?”

Beside Raychi, Myla had huddled closer and the Nautolan absently reached out to hold the Human girl’s dainty hand in hers, squeezing it gently. Korra’s blue eyes burned with determination as she took a steadying breath. She couldn’t afford to show weakness, not now. Not when these girls were looking at her with even the tiniest sliver of hope. They had been crushed under the weight of despair for so long that even the idea of escape seemed impossible to them. She had to change that. She would change that.

“I don’t just think I can get us out of here,” Korra said firmly, clenching her fists. “I know I can.”

Raychi’s black eyes widened, reflecting the dim glow-lamp light that cast long shadows across the chamber. “You really are a Jedi, huh?” Raychi murmured. “I’ve never met one before. I don’t think they come to the Outer Rim much, definitely not a place like Tatooine.”

“Well, you got one here now!” Korra replied, pleased to note that even Myla seemed to be less curled up into herself, she was now less hunched over as she peered at Korra through the red hair that partially hid her face, a similar expression to Raychi.

Another huff of annoyance came from Sheran, and Korra crawled over to the Togruta, placing a hand on her shoulder which Sharen quickly jerked free, propping herself up on one arm to glower at Korra, her razor-sharp teeth peeking out from behind her lips.

Korra knelt beside her, meeting her tired, hardened eyes with a look of pure steel. “You don’t have to believe me, but I will prove you wrong. I did the same for every Master who never thought I’d pass my trials and wash out of the Jedi Order before now.”

Sheran held her gaze for a moment before scoffing again and rolling back over. But Korra saw something shift, ever so slightly, in the way her shoulders tensed. A tiny crack in the wall of her cynicism. Good. That was a start.

It was perhaps an hour when the heavy doors to the harem chamber slid open, and Mok swaggered in with that same infuriating smirk plastered across his scarred face, accompanied by a pair of Klatooinians and a Gamorrean. He scanned the room lazily, drinking in the sight of Boorka’s harem cowering at his presence, before his beady eyes locking onto Korra with amusement.

“Well, well. Looks like our newest little pet is already making friends,” he drawled, seeing how close Myla and Raychi were sitting next to Korra. “But it’s time to cut the chit-chat. Lorda Boorka wants to see you.”

Korra stiffened at the thought of being dragged back before that trio of repulsive Hutts again, wondering what they’d ask of her. The other girls shrank back, their expressions ranging from pity to silent terror. Myla’s fingers tightened around Raychi’s hand, and Sheran turned her head just enough to shoot Korra a dark, knowing look.

Korra forced herself to relax, holding her head high, her face a mask of defiance. “Fine,” she said coolly, rising to her feet. “Lead the way.”

Mok’s grin widened. “That’s more like it, yum-yum. Let’s hope you can keep that fire when you meet yer new master.” He jerked his head in the direction of Sheran. “She didn’t, not for long.”

Still curled up into a ball, Sheran flinched.

Mok reached for her arm, but Korra yanked it away before he could grab her, glaring vibrodaggers at the sadistic Nikto. Mok’s smirk only deepened as he turned on his heel and strutted out of the chamber, clearly expecting her to follow. The guards behind him kept their blasters trained on her just in case.

Korra glanced back at the other women, taking in their frightened but curious faces. She nodded once, a silent promise, before turning and following Mok into the dimly lit corridors of the palace. The halls twisted and turned in a chaotic maze of sand-swept stone, the air thick with the scent of marcan herbs and unwashed bodies, stinking of sweat from the ever-oppressive heat of Tatooine’s twin suns, even indoors. The deeper they went, the louder the sounds of revelry became, laughter, drunken shouts, the twanging notes of a jatz band playing some bawdy tune. It wasn’t hard to guess what kind of entertainment Boorka had prepared for the evening and Korra swallowed.

Korra gritted her teeth, she knew had to be smart about this (not my strongest point, she thought, bitterly). Recklessness had gotten her captured in the first place, if she wanted to free herself and the other slaves, she needed to play along, at least for now. They reached a massive set of double doors flanked by two heavily armed Gamorreans. Mok gestured lazily, and the porcine guards heaved the doors open, revealing the grand throne room within.

Boorka lounged on his dais, surrounded by sycophants and entertainers, Dragga and his son kept the closest to him. The same scantily clad Twi’lek dancer Korra saw earlier swayed before them, though her vacant eyes suggested she had long since resigned herself to her fate. The youngest Hutt was eyeing her almost hungrily, licking his lips lasciviously at the show. Platters of disgusting, still squirming food, fit only for a Hutt and goblets of deep red liquid were scattered across low tables, and the air was thick with the smoky scent of marcan herb filled hookahs.

As soon as Korra stepped into the room, all eyes turned to her.

Boorka’s slitted yellow gaze combed over her form, and a slow, greedy smile spread across his massive face. He let out a deep, rumbling chuckle and spread his stubby arms wide in mock welcome. <<Welcome, little Jeedai>> he purred in Huttese. <<I trust you’re finding your accommodations… comfortable?>>

Korra forced herself to remain still, meeting his gaze with unwavering defiance. “Oh, very comfortable, thanks for the hospitality!” She spat, glaring vibrodaggers at her captor.

Boorka chuckled, amused by her sarcasm. <<Good, good. I do so hate ungrateful pets>>

<<Although punishing them is fun, they tend to be less ungrateful afterwards>> Dragga said, taking a long drag on the hookah that was propped up beside him, blowing out a thick cloud of grey smoke.

Korra’s jaw clenched, but she forced herself to remain calm, there was no way she would show fear in front of these disgusting Hutts or their goons.

Boorka leaned forward, his slimy bulk shifting on the dais. <<Tell me, little Jeedai… have you ever danced for an audience before>>

Korra felt her skin crawl at the idea and for a moment she felt bile rise up in her throat. She forced herself to smirk, cocking an eyebrow. “Sorry, not much of a dancer. But if you want a demonstration of my fighting skills, I’d be happy to oblige.” She looked over her shoulder to stare intently at Mok. First opportunity, he goes down hard, Korra swore to herself.

Mocking laughter rippled through the room, but Boorka’s eyes gleamed with dangerous amusement. <<Oh, I have no doubt of your skills, my dear. But you will learn in time that a Jedi without her lightsaber is just another slave. Helpless>>

Korra’s fists clenched, nails biting into her palms. They surged with power, the Force beginning to flow through them. It would be so easy to just send those overweight, greasy slugs flying, Korra thought, but a quick glance over her shoulder reminded her that there were plenty of heavily armed guards all around her, Mok included. She supressed an angry sigh, no, of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. So, she was left with the terrible predicament: swallow her pride and dance or refuse and likely be punished severely for it. While she deliberated, the Hutts were watching her with wide, expectant, hungry and increasingly impatient eyes, the youngest Hutt frowning at the wait, drumming his chubby fingers against his folds of fat.

Korra closed her eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled, making her choice.

“Forget it! I’m not dancing for you or your twisted, depraved Hutt buddies! You can torture me all you want, but there is no way in hell that I’m going to humiliate myself for you!”

Boorka narrowed his slitted, catlike eyes at Korra. <<I see that some time in my harem, seeing what becomes of undisciplined slaves was not enough to break that strong will. A pity…for you, that is. It seems that perhaps a more hands-on lesson will be required. Perhaps then you will be more accommodating of my modest requests after my corrector is done with you?>>

Korra scowled, “corrector”, it was such a nondescript word for torturer, so clean. She held no illusions about what was in store for her, she knew about the Hutts reputation for brutality and seeing poor Sheran only confirmed it.

“I think you’ll just be disappointed!” Korra spat as Mok came behind her, gripping on to her arm with a durasteel grip.

<<We shall see, little Jeedai, we shall see>> Boorka said, a grin splitting his toadlike face. Beside him, Dragga and his son burst into hideous, Hutt chortles, and even Mok joined in as he and his companions led Korra away.

“I gotta say, yum-yum, I’m real glad ya chose this! Its always so much fun watchin’ girls like you who think they’re strong and proving them wrong!” Mok sneered as a Gamorrean sidled up on Korra’s other side and took her other arm. It seemed they were taking no chances.

“I’ll break you!” Korra snarled, trying to jerk her arm, testing the strength of Mok and the Gamorrean, but as she suspected, they were as solid as rock.

Another round of contemptuous laughter from the guards, the Nikto loudest of all. “Oh, you will be fun!”

Korra made a show of keeping up her struggles, not wanting the Hutt thugs to think she was meekly giving up, but she knew she had little chance of fighting free. She was strong, she knew, she spent so much of her spare time working out in the exercise halls of the Jedi Temple, but against a Gamorrean and a Nikto, even her strength was inadequate. She made a mental note to double her training regimen when she got free, whenever that was (Soon, she reassured herself). Korra made no threats or promises as she was half-carried, half-dragged through the sand-streaked halls of the palace, only letting out a few grunts as she resisted. Inside her head, her thoughts were racing, she had an idea, but one she knew was risky. She had never been especially skilled in mind tricks, her style was always more direct, but given the circumstances, it was perhaps her only chance. Still, she needed at least one hand free for that, and it would be better with less guards. She could only hope that at some point, her captors would let their guards down enough so that she could enact this last, desperate plan.

Soon, the hallway came to an end at an especially wide set of doors, and one of the Klatooinians pressed a button on a wall-panel, causing them to slide open. Korra’s eyes widened at the sight, it was some horrific mix between a medbay and a torture chamber. Korra’s bare feet scraped against the cold stone floor as Mok and the Gamorrean dragged her into the chamber. The room reeked of antiseptic and blood, the harsh lighting forcing Korra to narrow her eyes, it was as bright as the midday suns of Tatooine. The centrepiece was a large, angled table with adjustable restraints, stained with old fluids Korra didn’t want to think too hard about. Just beneath the chair, the floor sloped downward slightly to accommodate for a large drain.

Standing beside the chair waiting for her was a short, gaunt looking alien with a neck that was so long it might have been comical in other circumstances. His snout was long, and he sniffed the air as Korra was brought before him, his beady little eyes examining her form closely, eagerly almost. His body was covered in short brown fur, with an especially long patch acting as a goatee on his chin. Korra’s brow furrowed in surprise, she recognised this species, he was a Carosite. But they had a reputation as being healers, some of the best doctors in the galaxy, pioneers in advancing medical droid programming. What was one doing here, in the employ of a Hutt?

“I see Lord Boorka needs my services again, Mok? Another unruly slave who needs to learn her place, I take it?” The Carosite asked as walked over to the group, reaching for a medical apron that hung from a hook.

“Ya got that right, Doc, Lorda Boorka wants her spirit broken! But this one’s special, y’see? Get this, she’s a Jeedai!” Mok said with a sneer.

The Carosite had been in the midst of tying on the apron when Mok spoke, but he froze and whipped his snouted head around at that information. “A Jedi? Well, so the rumours buzzing about the castle were true!” Idly, he began to tug at his beard as he examined Korra more closely, and she turned her head as his snout pushed disturbingly close to her face. “I must admit, I’m curious about the pain threshold of a Jedi, but…well, does Boorka think holding a Jedi is worth the risk?”

“Not to worry, Doc! This little Jeedai strayed far from Coruscant, no one knows she’s here!” Mok reassured him, pushing Korra towards the chair in the centre of the room, before turning to his men. “You lot can go, I think I can handle the big bad Jeedai from here.”

“You’re…quite sure of that?” The Carosite asked, casting a nervous glance towards the other guards, who seemed unsure themselves.

“Oh, relax, Doc! She’s not goin’ anywhere now. Let’s have some fun, huh?”

The guards hesitated for a moment, before they slowly exited the room, one of the Klatooinians throwing a very uncertain look over his shoulder before he too left, closing the door behind him. Korra’s heart leapt; this could be her chance! She grunted as Mok shoved her again, hissing as her knees banged against the side of the chair. She sat on the edge of it and turned to face her captors, focusing as best she could, trying to draw from the Force, hoping it could aid her in a technique she wasn’t well versed in.

“You don’t want to do this,” she said, her voice low and firm. She raised her hand slightly, fingers splayed in what she hoped was a confident gesture. “You want to hand over your weapons and let me go.”

Mok and the doctor traded confused glances for a moment, before Mok burst out laughing. “That’s a tall order, little Jeedai! One that I don’t think I’m terribly interested in granting, sorry!”

Korra bit her lip, trying to hold back the bubbling frustration that was building up inside of her. She took a deep breath as she tried to centre herself, trying to get herself into the right mindset as she repeated the hand gesture. “You will give me your weapons!” She said again, trying to project more willpower into her words.

Mok’s scaly, spike-lined brow furrowed, before his eyes widened. It seemed as if he had caught on to exactly what it was that she was attempting, and one strong arm shot upwards to slap Korra’s face. She let out a cry that was more caused by indignation than it was by pain (although, she had to begrudgingly admit, the blow did sting), the hand that was out now going to cover her face, rubbing at the red handprint that had formed there. Her attempt at calm was broken now, her frustration replaced by anger that this sleemo had dared to strike her!

“You little sneak!” Mok hissed, baring his teeth at her.

Korra shrugged, a scowl crossing her face. “Well, can’t blame a girl for trying, right?”

She whipped her free hand toward Mok’s blaster, reaching out with the Force in a desperate bid to yank it into his grasp. The weapon shuddered in its holster, but Mok caught her intention just in time. With a snarl, he slammed his fist into her stomach, knocking the wind from her lungs.

“Nice try, schutta,” Mok growled, grabbing her wrist and slamming it down onto the table. The restraint clicked into place, sealing her fate.

On her other side, the Carosite was grabbing at her other hand, although his skinny frame was proving problematic for him as Korra strained to pull her hand out of his grip. The Carosite let out a strangled squawk of alarm as Korra succeeded, punching the man in one beady little eye.

“Not of that, Jeedai! And here ol’ Mok thought that you lot were supposed to be abnormally even tempered!” Mok exclaimed as he rushed forward to help the Doctor, his much stronger hand forcing Korra’s wrist into the other restraint.

“Yeah, well, I always had trouble with that part!” Korra snarled, tugging at the wristlocks, but they were holding firm.

“So I see!” The Carosite muttered as he rubbed at his rapidly swelling and blackening eye, a scowl on his snout as he turned to his tray full of instruments. “I think we’ll jump straight ahead to the big guns. You seem like you’ll need plenty of attitude adjustment!”

Mok chuckled darkly as the Carosite raised a particularly large syringe filled with a bubbling orange liquid. “Oh, I was right, this will be fun!”

Korra closed her eyes, summoning every ounce of her inner strength. This was far from over.

Chapter Text

Funny enough, adding a cortosis weave to her hand was far easier than creating a proper channelling ring. Her hand was top of the line, as Heshi had said. And that included room for combat upgrades. All she had to do was get the material to the proper temperature, then slowly drip the melt into the proper channels.

A vice was more than sufficient to hold her hand completely still, so that the drip happened without incident. Not a drop was wasted.

What had been a solid gold artificial hand was now predominantly black, with the occasional gold vein appearing and disappearing. It almost looked like a glove now.

And despite the fact that it was a metal hand, it somehow even felt stronger now.

Almost like it was her real hand, rather than an artificed replacement.

Noise from outside the shop distracted Asami from her assessment.

Speeder bikes. Multiple.

Was it customers? Or perhaps one of the gangs that Heshi had warned her about. As long as their attempts at extortion were not too egregious, she would pay up. She wanted to be on her way, not risking her life fighting local small time criminals.

“Heshi! Hey, Heshi!” a loud voice called out from in front of the shop. “I hear you have a new customer, Heshi!”

“Coming!” Heshi roared back at the voice. He exited his office, and looked over at Asami. “Nothing to worry yourself over, young Yas,” he assured her. “Nothing at all. Carry on, without a care in the world.”

With that, he headed towards the front. “Young hoodlums,” he muttered under his breath as he went. “No respect these days.”

Asami followed his lumbering progress with her eyes, as she absentmindedly peeled the dried bacta gel off her face – it had worked well and quickly. She suspected he had protested too much, and that there was something to worry about.

She looked down at her hand again, then grabbed a ration bar from her pack and chewed it methodically. Finishing it quickly, she tossed the wrapper in the garbage.

Then she reached for her lightfoil.

-------

Four young gang members turned to look at Asami as she stepped outside. She had listened to Heshi’s entreaties fall on deaf ears for longer than she had cared to – it seemed as if the gang members were looking for an excuse to start something, whether due to orders or a desire to be seen as big shots, she did not know.

Nor, she realized, did she care.

A part of her wanted things to escalate, so that she could work out her frustration and give her new upgrades a proper test. Plus, she owed Heshi for his generosity – he could have easily have made things difficult enough and expensive enough that even she would have had trouble paying.

Breathe, Sato, she scolded herself as she recognized that she was getting herself worked up. Just breathe.

“Oh, I see,” one of the gang members said as he looked over at Asami. “You were holding out on us, Heshi.”

“I informed you that I had a customer,” Heshi objected, “and that I would make sure she paid all required fees.”

Asami’s eyes narrowed as the tough looked her up and down. “Oh no, keeping a piece of work like this to yourself, Heshi? That’s holding out. The boss will want to, hmmmm, inspect this one personally. She’s coming with us.”

Heshi frowned worriedly. “Young Yas, I told you to stay inside.”

Asami’s mind went still and clear. She had fought alongside a Jedi, against a Dark Jedi, in her blasted underwear. Street toughs should be no problem, even if there were four of them.

She had no intention of going to be inspected.

There was a humming sound, and the hand she had kept hidden behind her back came into view as she brought her lightfoil up.

“If you want me,” she said to the toughs as she stared them down, “come and claim me.”

One of the toughs looked hesitant, as if he would rather be somewhere else, bothering someone who could not fight back. The rest, however, showed no such hesitation. Two drew shocksticks, while the one who had been talking drew a blaster.

Their actions bolstered the hesitant one, unfortunately, so he drew his shockstick, as well.

Four on one odds. Not good.

Her eyes narrowed.

She who hesitates is lost.

The one with the blaster opened his mouth to talk again.

Asami charged.

Her quick attack caused one of the toughs, a Rodian, to flinch, and Asami shifted her attack so that the Rodian was between her and the other gang members. Her lightfoil easily deflected the Rodian’s attempted strike.

The lead tough risked a shot, anyway, and missed them both, causing the Rodian to flinch again, so instead of disarming him, as she had been attempting to do, Asami’s strike ran him straight through the chest.

Dammit.

She twisted and pulled her lightfoil out of the Rodian’s chest, and jumped forward, landing in a roll, right into the midst of the other three gang members.

The lead tough’s blaster came down as Asami crouched after her roll, and her artificial hand came up. The blast rang out, its distinctive sound a signal to any around that this fight could get lethal, if it hadn’t already, as the tough shot at her.

Energy crackled as her hand stopped the bolt, dissipating it all around her hand, the cortosis doing exactly what it was advertised to do.

Well, that was better, she thought as the tough’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

Asami stood up, brought her lightfoil up with her, and stopped its point just short of the lead tough’s right eye.

“Enough!” she yelled. “Unless you want to join your friend.”

She held her body firm, her arm still and steady with the blade horizontal, and it was obvious that she was in position to lunge her lightfoil forward, should she desire.

The tip hung still in the air, mere millimetres from the lead tough’s eye, and she could actually see his eyes try to focus on the glowing, sharp tip of the foil.

Asami was calm, even with the fact that she had just killed a living creature. They had made their choice, and she had done her best. No more could be asked of her.

And with what the toughs had said about her, her sympathy for them was limited, anyway. At the best of times, she loathed the gender-based assessments that so many males thought their right to perform on any woman they happened to come across.

This was not exactly what she would call the best of times.

The tough stared cross-eyed at the lightfoil, and she looked at it, too. It glowed, red and fierce, a visual promise that often mercy was in as short supply as anything else in this large, dangerous galaxy in which they all resided. A thought came to her, but she put it aside for the present. She needed to concentrate on the moment.

“Live or die,” she said to the toughs.

The lead tough hesitated for the briefest of moments, then let his blaster drop to the ground. The other two followed suit, as they dropped their shocksticks.

“Go,” she commanded, “and take your friend with you. You can tell your boss that Heshi had nothing to do with this, and that I will pay whatever fees required, but that I am not an item up for sale.”

The lead tough looked like he was going to try to say something smart, so Asami forestalled him.

“Go!” she repeated.

With that, the two followers gathered up the Rodian’s corpse, and draped it over one of the speeder bikes. Then, the three remaining toughs took off on their bikes, towing the fourth speeder bike behind them.

Asami watched them until they had sped out of sight, then she turned to Heshi.

“Will this cause trouble for you?” she asked.

Heshi crossed one of his pairs of arms in front of his chest. “No, young Yas, it will not, as long as you are willing to pay the blood price.”

She raised her eyebrow at that. “How much?”

Heshi spoke a number. It was... negligible.

“Life is cheap around here, I suppose,” she responded. “I will pay it.”

He smiled. “I thought that would not be an issue for you. And your left hand did its part.”

She looked at her artificial hand, not for the first time. “Indeed it did.” Then she looked back up at Heshi, and recalled her earlier thought. “You don’t happen to have any crystals laying around in those piles, do you?”

Heshi beckoned back towards his shop. “There is only one way to find out, young Yas.”

Asami frowned, then made up her mind about something as she followed him. “Asami,” she said. “My name is Asami.”

Heshi looked back at her. “Ahhh. Asami.” He nodded. “Yes, that fits better. The name you gave was like a puzzle piece – so close to being the right fit, but not quite. Thank you for your trust. I will not betray it.”

Asami smiled. “You have been nothing but amazing so far, Heshi.”

Heshi smiled as he stopped in front of a junk pile, then started to dig into it. He quickly exclaimed, and pulled out a crystal. “Your eyes are green, Asami, but for some reason I feel a blue crystal might suit you better.”

Blue.

Yes.

“I carry a lightfoil,” Asami asked, “but are you sure that you are not a Jedi?”

Heshi smiled once more, and dropped the crystal into her hand. “I am just Heshi. And before you ask, yes, I am certain I will be fine.”

The words stopped in Asami’s throat before she could ask them.

“Thank you,” was all she said.

-------

The new channelling ring fit perfectly, Asami noted as she pushed it into place.

After the run in with the group of toughs, the rest of Asami’s stay at Heshi’s shop had been uneventful. She had changed the colour of her lightfoil, and noted that the new crystal seemed far better tuned than the previous one had been.

And if the blue of the blade reminded her of the eyes of a certain Jedi, well that was her business, wasn’t it?

She had had no issues machining the new ring, after only two more attempts. Her left hand now felt a lot more like her hand, and not like a foreign, invasive object. She even thought that she might be inclined to make a more intimate test of the hand when she went to bed that night.

The saddest part had been saying goodbye to Heshi. He had asked if she was good with hugs, and when she had nodded in the affirmative, after she had gotten over her initial surprise at the question, she had discovered that having four arms wrapped around her was even more comforting than two.

Not that she had a huge amount of experience with any arms wrapped around her.

Asami largely shook off her maudlin thoughts, closed up the hyperdrive and replaced the hull of the ship, then headed back onboard. Apparently, according to Heshi, she was on one of the moons of Bogden, so at least now she knew where she was. She triple-checked the Primprop’s overall integrity and system functionality, then lifted off.

The imprint of her landing gear and the brief cloud of dust that she raised were the only signs that the PrimProp had ever been there, she noted as she headed into orbit. She supposed that she herself had made more of an impact, what with the gang member’s death, but even that impact would probably fade quickly, considering the cheapness of life here.

It was a relief, though, to know where she was. And she had no issue acknowledging that her head was in far better shape now, and she was sure that she could get where she was going. It might have been her brain that was the problem before with the hyperspace calculations, and not her hand after all.

Sometimes it was difficult to accept the bad things that happened, but without acceptance, how could she ever move forward?

And now, finally, she felt that she was truly ready to accept and move forward.

So now, she sat in her pilot’s chair, and thought about home and her father.

She sat in her pilot’s chair, and thought about the station, New Frontier, damaged in the attack, but certainly salvageable.

She sat in her pilot’s chair, and thought about a blue-eyed Jedi.

The Primprop was ready to go. All she had to do was make the calculation and punch in the coordinates.

Asami sat in her pilot’s chair, and watched the gas giant and the stars go blurry as she thought about where to go.

Chapter Text

“So, see? This card lowers the value of the whole set, which keeps me under the threshold and since your value is too high, I win… again!” Shady Shin said, taking the credits. “Another round?”

Bolin sighed looking at the tall and well – if extravagantly dressed – Zeltron man. He looked so ridiculous in his pink suit, matching the complexion of his skin, but no one in the bar seemed to pay any attention to him.

“I’d love to, but I’ve got no more money left,” Bolin said. “You’ve robbed me blind.”

“Hey, that’s life!” Shin said. “There’s an important life lesson somewhere here… I guess! Plus, you didn’t do that bad, seeing how you said it was your first time playing pazaak. If you keep coming often, I’d make you into a pro-player!”

“I don’t think I can afford that,” Bolin chuckled nervously.

That was the problem – as Jedi he didn’t feel much need for money. Sure, the Temple had almost unlimited funds at its disposal and was generous with supplying the Jedi with them when they went on missions… but Bolin wasn’t on one now and that was a problem.

Bolin’s plan was simple.

With Joor Hari’s death he lost the most direct way of learning about Mako, so he needed to reach out to the Triple Threat Triad. Once again leveraging his position as a Jedi, together with Toza’s support, he managed to get some information on the gang, the identities of some lower-level members and their favourite watering holes.

One of such people was the Zeltron called Shady Shin, a lowly conman, gambler and swindler, that according to police records started his work with the Triple Threats a bit before Mako did. Finding him was easy. Then came step two of Bolin’s plan – using his Jedi instincts and Force to beat the guy at gambling so that he owed a debt to Bolin and collect on this debt by making Shin tell him all he knew about Mako.

About his brother.

Still thinking of Mako as his brother felt so… strange. Strange but natural, as if it was a piece of him that has been missing and that he needed to have to fully understand himself.

Unfortunately, the plan didn’t work. The Force may have been omnipotent, but it seemed it wasn’t enough to beat Shin’s experience and skills… nor his cheating. The distractions in this place also weren’t helping and soon it was Bolin who was out of the little money he managed to scrape, desperately trying to think of a plan B.

“Don’t worry, mate!” Shin said, patting Bolin on the shoulder. “Let’s grab a drink, okay?”

“But…”

“I said, you shouldn’t worry!” the Zeltron assured him. “It’s on me!”

Bolin glanced at Shin suspiciously. Sure, the guy was ‘shady’, it was in the name. It was quite obvious that he wanted to leave a good impression on Bolin, despite winning all his credits, probably in the hope Bolin would come back for a rematch one day. At least the Force wasn’t shouting any warnings about him wishing Bolin harm.

Perhaps that was the opening he needed?

“Sure!” he agreed.

“Yeah!” Shin laughed and snapped his fingers calling a waitress before placing an order that probably wasn’t some poison.

As the waitress left, it took Bolin a moment to avert his gaze from her… very much underdressed body.

“She’s a nice one, huh?” Shin asked. “I could set you up with her, you know?”

“Nah… I’m… I’m good…” Bolin said, quickly focusing on Shin.

That was the problem with the place. It was very much distracting, not only with the waitresses in their skimpy uniform but also with the five female exotic dancers performing pole dancing on levitating platforms, flying slowly through the bar room. A busty Zeltron wearing only what looked like a collection of leather straps, a tall Twi’lek with body covered only in luminous body paint, two Togruta performing together and Human woman…

She was the most distracting one, as with a blue glowrod in her hand and long transparent robes she probably was aiming for a Jedi look.

It wasn’t as if Bolin was completely unfamiliar with the pleasures of female companionship, having once hoped that it would cure him from the crush he had on Korra. It didn’t work and resulted in some awkward times between him and another Padawan. The experience also definitely didn’t make him immune to getting all flustered by the sight of scantily clad women around him. And while it definitely didn’t help his concentration during the game of pazaak, at least he was able to think of anything else other than forcing answers about Mako out of Shin’s mouth.

But yes, focusing his eyes on the Zeltron man was definitely the way to go.

Soon the drinks got delivered and Bolin took a small sip of his. Seemed like normal, rather cheap beer without any ‘funny’ additions that he hoped the Force would protect him from. It looked as if as friendly as Shin was, he wasn’t going to spend too much money on Bolin.

“Never seen you here before,” the Zeltron spoke. “You speak like someone from this part of Coruscant, so you’re not an off-worlder too. So, what brought you here?”

Bolin shrugged.

“You know, trying to see the real Coruscant,” he said.

“The real Coruscant can be dangerous, mate,” Shin said.

Seizing the opportunity, Bolin leaned forward.

“Dangerous?” he asked in a theatrical whisper. “You mean the gangs? The Triads? I’ve heard of them?”

Shady Shin narrowed his eyes, immediately becoming suspicious.

“Don’t bother the Triads and they won’t bother you, that’s my advice,” he said.

“Hey, I’m not looking for any trouble,” Bolin said, lifting his hands. “But I’d love to meet someone from a Triad, you know? Maybe the Triple Threats? I’ve heard so much about-”

“Sorry, mate,” Shin said. “I’m just an honest businessman who likes to play some pazaak! I don’t know no Triads!”

“Really?” Bolin asked. “Because I’ve heard-”

Shady Shin laughed.

“What’s up with you?” he asked. “Are you the dumbest undercover cop alive? Straight out from the Academy? Can you be any more obvious?”

“Listen, I’m not with the CSF”

“That’s great,” Shin said. “Because these guys are going to throw you out.”

He leaned back and Bolin suddenly felt an aura of danger radiating from behind him. It was faint, so it meant that they probably were only planning to rough him up and throw him away, but he couldn’t let his one lead go. He glanced behind and as he saw a Human, Rodian and Twi’lek bouncer approach, he reached out to the Force and pushed them back, just a bit, one step. At the same time, he slammed his lightsaber onto the table.

“Wow…” Shin immediately got up, lifting his hands and looking around for a way out. “Calm down, Jedi!”

“Right now, I’m not Jedi,” Bolin said. “Just a guy with a lightsaber and a couple of questions.”

Okay, that sounded badass!

Pity it didn’t work on these dudes.

They drew their blasters and made a big show of setting them to ‘stun’.

“So, if it’s not official Jedi business, then you better scram,” the Twi’lek said.

“Or do you want to explain to your bosses why you came into our bar and started a fight?” the Human added. “It would be a pity if you swinging that lightsaber around caused anyone to lose a hand.”

Bolin hesitated. A glance around told him that no one around had noticed the situation, all the patrons too focused on their drinks, on the dancers or just on each other. Bolin hated it, but the bouncers were right. He was already in hot water for Joor Hari’s death. Sure, it was a clear case of self-defence but the fact that he went there alone, with no backup, asking on personal business wasn’t looked on kindly by the Masters. Causing chaos and destruction in a crowded place? That would be even worse, especially if some of the patrons got hurt, either by his lightsaber or trampled by guests trying to escape the fight.

He turned to Shady Shin.

“Listen, I don’t want any trouble!” he said. “I just want to talk!”

“Get out!” the Twi’lek bouncer said.

“It’s about Mako! He was my brother!” Bolin shouted.

“Now! I won’t ask again!”

Bolin looked at Shady Shin once more, but the Zeltron was just staring at him with eyes wide open. Finally, he sighed and turned to leave.

* * *

As soon as he was outside the bar, however, he started planning. No way he was going to let Shady Shin disappear. Who knew if he’d find him again. Sure, there were probably other Triple Threat members, he could question but Shin seemed harmless enough – even if not for Bolin’s wallet – and from his eyes he read that he did know Mako.

No, he was going to wait for Shin to leave the bar and then he would carefully start following him until…

“So Mako was your brother, huh?” a voice spoke behind Bolin, making him jump in a very un-Jedi-like way.

Shin stood behind him, smoking a cigarra.

“Y-yes,” Bolin stuttered.

“Hmm…” Shin said, looking thoughtfully at Bolin. “You know? I kinda see the resemblance. He was taller than you, slenderer and well… his skin was red… but yes, I see the resemblance.”

Bolin watched Shin for a moment. He couldn’t let this chance go to waste.

“So, you knew him?” Bolin asked.

A short nod from Shin.

“What was he like?”

“Intense,” the Zeltron said. “Clever. Sneaky. Brave. Cold. Loyal. Brutal. Generous. Protective.”

As he went silent, Bolin repeated Shin’s words in his head over and over again, trying to compare how they fit the red-skinned Twi’lek Dark Jedi he saw for an instant on the Mega-Awesome Space Station.”

“How did he join the group?” he asked. When the Zeltron didn’t answer, Bolin tried once more: “I’ve heard he was… sold to you by a corrupt CCPS officer, right?”

Shin took a deep breath, before taking a long smoke of his cigarra and exhaling the smoke.

“See… Zolt was a Force-sensitive, you know,” he said. “I’m no expert but a powerful one, I think. He believed in putting others like him in positions of power. He had a couple of deals with CCPS officers, getting those who were rejected by the Jedi.”

“So, were there more?” Bolin asked.

“Once, yes,” Shin said. “But some of them went… well, really bad.”

“Well, Zolt was mobster himself, right?”

“Don’t get all judgy, Jedi,” Shin said sharply. “Zolt had rules. Had honour. These guys… went crazy with their power. And the rest…”

“Yes?” Bolin asked. “What happened?”

Shin sighed.

“Amon and the Equalists happened, that’s what,” he said. “A Triad with Force-sensitives? We were his first targets. He took the Force-sensitives one by one, equalised them… culminating with Zolt himself. That’s why Tokuga, the new boss, tries to keep as far away from the Force and Amon and all this shayvit.”

“And Mako? What about him?”

“He left when Zolt was equalised and delivered to the Jedi Investigators,” Shin said.

“So, he didn’t try to take over or anything like that?”

Shin took his head.

“Nope,” he said. “Being in power? That wasn’t Mako’s thing. He was an individualist, you see? He didn’t play the power game, just left.”

The two stood in silence for a moment, while Bolin was thinking of his next move. Revealing any secrets he learned from the Jedi to Shin was shaky at best but he felt that this was the correct thing to do.

“Mako… contacted the Jedi Order,” he finally said. “He… he had an offer. He wanted to do something for us in return for us arranging a release of Zolt from the prison he currently is in.”

The Zeltron chuckled.

“That sounds like him,” he muttered.

“It does?” Bolin asked.

“Zolt was tough and could be brutal, but he was fair. And he… he treated Mako as if he was his son. He treated all of these orphans like this. But out of them? Mako was the only one who reciprocated it and really loved him back.”

“He did...?” Bolin asked.

Shin nodded.

“He’d do anything for Zolt,” he said. “Then and now. Zolt was like a father to him, and he’d do anything to get him released.”

Chapter Text

Korra groaned weakly as Mok tossed her limp form back into the harem chamber. Her whole body ached all over from the treatment of the Carosite doctor, her skin felt like it was on fire and each little movement, no matter how small, sent a fresh wave of pain up her back. Her back, that had truly received the worst of it, Korra thought with a wince as she remembered how the chair had adjusted to the Carosite’s commands. It had stood upright, the rear of it folding apart to expose her back while Mok had unrolled an electrowhip and…Korra closed her eyes, trying to banish the memory, hoping it might take some of the pain with her if she stopped thinking about it.

No such luck.

The other slaves gasped in shock at the sight of Korra’s injured body, and she was dimly aware that they were now crowding around her. A pair of soft hands gingerly rested on Korra’s shoulder and she winced at the explosion of pain that radiated from the touch.

“Korra? Korra, can you hear me?” A voice asked, sounding as if it were far away, and it took Korra a second to recognise it as Raychi.

Korra’s eyes fluttered open and she saw the Nautolan girl leaning down to peer closely at her, her large, black eyes furrowed with concern. Korra tried to form words to reply, but all that came out was another weak, pained croak from her sore throat.

“They really hurt her bad,” Korra heard Raychi say to the others.

“I warned her,” Sheran muttered, her voice sounding flat before she sighed.

“Should…should we move her over to the cushions?” Myla asked.

“I don’t know if we should, she…I don’t know if moving her is such a good idea.”

Weakly, Korra raised one hand up to shoo the others away. Raychi was right, trying to move her in her condition was most certainly not a good idea, not with the way her body lanced with pain with each shallow breath. But it was more than that, she didn’t want the other girls around her, she didn’t want them to see her in such a pitiful state. Especially not after I was so kriffing confident I could rescue them, Korra thought bitterly, a few tears squeezing out of her eyes. She let them fall, wiping them away would just be using too much energy, would only add to her agony. So, she just lay there, hoping her body might slowly adjust. The Force might have been able to do something about her injuries, she knew, but in her current state, she didn't think she could muster up the strength to call upon the Force to heal herself. 

She was aware that the other girls were still standing around her, but one by one, they drifted off, with only Myla and Raychi remaining close by. Korra wasn’t sure why, maybe they were watching over her. After a while, Korra managed to settle into a thin, fitful sleep, her body twitching every so often.

***

A few days had passed, and Korra was surprised that aside from a few faded scars on her back, she had not been disfigured. With how bad her pain was, she had been certain that she might have suffered some kind of permanent damage, but that had turned out not to be the case. Even her pain had faded by the time she had woke up.

“Of course,” Sheran had explained, her head resting on her knees as she regarded Korra from her usual spot atop the cushions. “They don’t want to mess your body up too badly; you’re a harem slave after all. They just want to make you think twice about disobeying them again.” The Togruta had leaned in close at that, her black eyes narrowing. “And if you’re smart, the lesson will have stuck this time.”

Korra scowled at her. “Yeah, well, I was always a slow learner! My instructors were always telling me!” She muttered, wincing as a phantom pain rolled its way across her spine.

Boorka’s effort to curb her spirited defiance had not broken her spirit, far from it. If anything, she was now twice as determined to find a way out of Boorka’s palace, save her fellow slaves and bring that slimy Hutt to face some kind of justice!    

She just needed to rethink her strategy.

Korra huffed as she put her chin in her hand and closed her eyes in thought. Well, mind tricks are definitely out, she thought, crossing that idea off of her mental list. She wondered if she could perhaps use the Force to call out to Naga, get her loyal vulptilla to find her, but she quickly ruled that out too. They had a very strong bond, it was true, as strong as Masters had with their Padawans, but their mental range only stretched so far. Korra was glad at least that Naga had plenty of food and water aboard the Crystal Diver, enough to last for months in all likelihood, and Korra planned to be back to her good girl well before then. The first thing she would do when she got back would be to hold Naga close and scratch her behind her ears, no doubt she would have been very worried that Korra had been gone so long. Korra felt a pang of guilt about that, she would need to give Naga plenty of attention to make up for that.

Korra knew her lightsaber was somewhere in the palace, she could sense it, but she didn’t know where. Most likely in some kind of treasury room, a vault, a trophy case, something along those lines, she supposed. Korra supressed a groan, somewhere out of her reach anyway, and fighting her way past so many armed guards without it would be difficult. Difficult, but not impossible, she reminded herself. After all, she was in great physical condition, she could punch, kick and fight as well as most soldiers could with all the training she put in back at the Temple. Still, she decided to put that plan on the backburner for the moment, maybe use it if things came to that.

So, where did that leave her?

Korra sighed and thumped her fist against her leg in frustration. I got nothin’ she reluctantly admitted to herself, anger at her own helplessness building. She knew she should be mindful of her temper, but kriff, it got harder with each passing day! She hadn’t been called before Boorka and his court again, she suspected that he wanted to give her some time to mull things over, to consider his treatment of her, but she knew her grace period was rapidly fading. Very soon, she knew she would be forced to face that monstrous Hutt again. Korra bit her lip at the thought of it.

She wasn’t sure what she’d do in that situation again, and her fist trembled at that thought. It took a great amount of effort to stop it too.

Another sigh, and Korra leaned back to rest against the stone wall of the palace, her blue eyes drifting up to the ceiling. A moment later, she became aware of someone settling beside her, and she looked down to see that Myla was now next to hear, looking at Korra expectantly.

“Hey,” Korra greeted, trying to project some of that same confidence she had when she had promised to get the girl to safety.

Myla hesitated for a moment, then returned a small, wary nod. "Hey."

Korra studied the blonde girl, noticing how her thin fingers were gripping the fabric of her loincloth. Myla was scared, but she was also searching for something. Hope, reassurance, maybe even a plan.

"Look, Myla," Korra said, lowering her voice so the others, mostly Sheran, wouldn’t hear. "I meant what I said before. I'm getting out of here. And when I do, I'm taking all of you with me."

Myla's lips parted slightly, and she flicked her gaze around the room, as if checking to see if anyone else was listening. "But how?" she whispered. "You made them mad, and they-" She cut herself off herself, tilting her head to peer down Korra's back as though she could still see the wounds they had inflicted on her.

Korra sighed, rubbing her temples. "Yeah, I know, I know. I’m thinking things through now.”

"And?" Myla’s voice was filled with cautious hope as she leaned forward expectantly.

Korra winced as she continued to draw a blank. “My plan is…still in the development stages right now,” Korra mumbled, her heart breaking as she saw Myla’s face fall. “But I won’t stop trying! Something will come to me!”

“Yeah…” Myla mumbled, hugging her knees close to her body and her eyes going cloudy as she stared off at the opposite wall.

Korra stared at her with a frown, her frustration building that she couldn’t offer the poor girl anything ferrocrete in terms of comfort. She would get these girls to safety, Korra vowed that.

Even if it killed her.

***

As it turned out, it was the next day when Boorka decided that he was ready to test Korra’s resolve again. The doors to the harem chambers slid open and Korra felt her blood run cold as she saw Mok standing there, a cruel grin on his reptilian features. She had gulped as he beckoned to her, rising on unsteady feet, but shooting him a glare as she walked towards him, her head held high.

“Ready to dance for Lorda Boorka?” Mok asked, licking his lips as he stared shamelessly at Korra’s very nearly exposed chest.

“Not even in your dreams, sleemo!” Korra snapped, folding her arms across her chest to try and deprive the lecherous Nikto the sight.

Mok frowned briefly, before his smile returned, a cruel gleam in his eye. “Oh well, if that’s the way ya feel about it, maybe you’ll wind up back in the chair! That’d be almost as good!”

Korra had to suppress a shudder at that, the memories coming crashing back to her. Mok might be first on her list of people to take down when she finally broke free of this evil place, but the Carosite doctor might just be a very close second, with Boorka and the other Hutts coming very soon after.

Korra blinked, surprised at herself. She knew the thoughts she was having were becoming distinctly…dark. She had always been taught that those kinds of feelings, those kind of actions were of the dark side of the Force and would lead her down a path of ruin. But…the vile actions of Boorka, of Mok, of the doctor, they filled her with such anger, such loathing. Would it truly be an act of the dark side to stop such vile beings? She bit her lip in thought, pondering it. As she thought, Mok grabbed her by the arm and yanked her forward, Korra letting out a grunt as she stumbled, barely able to keep her footing.

“Move it, schutta! Don’t want to keep Lorda Boorka waiting, now do we?” Another lecherous grin, his eyes once again scanning her greedily.

Korra wondered, her hands clenching hard into fists, her nails digging into her palms, breaking the skin, a thin stream of blood dripping down her fingers and falling to the floor.

They made that increasingly familiar march to Boorka’s throne room, by now, Korra had familiarised the path fairly well, knowing which corridors to go down, which pathways to turn. She was confident she could backtrack her way from here to the harem at least, even if she wasn’t yet familiar with the layout of the rest of the palace. Soon, they arrived at the double doors to the throne room, and those same two Gamorrean guards slowly pushed them open, making piggish grunts from the effort. Boorka lounged on his dais, alone this time, no sign of Dragga or his son.

<<Well, good morning to you, little slave! I would hope you’re in a more cooperative mood today? I would hate to have to punish you again, I’m getting rather impatient to see you dance for me! And the more time I have to correct your behaviour, the longer I have to wait! Now, have you finally come to your senses?>> Boorka asked, his hand swirling lazily inside a glass bowl filled with paddy frogs who squirmed and tried their best to dart away from the Hutt’s thick fingers.

The other beings who had assembled in the large room looked on expectantly, waiting with bated breath for Korra’s response. Her eyes scanned around the room in disgust at so many sapients who would willingly associate with someone like Boorka. A slaver, a criminal, a monster. She could see a crowd of Jawas, their bright orange eyes gleaming as they stared at her, some leaning forward to get a better look at her. There was a Quarren who was constantly mopping at his dry, cracked skin with a damp rag, his long, pointed tongue out and panting at the heat, but that didn’t stop him from leering at Korra’s near-naked form. A Toydarian flitted up over the crowd, peeking out over the head of a yellow-skinned, beak-nosed, peg-toothed Skup with legs that were disproportionately long for his short body. Next to them was a hooded being in dark robes, his face shrouded in shadows, and Korra might have mistaken him for an especially tall Jawa with how he too was leaning forward so eagerly.

Korra’s lip curled at these people; little better than the Hutt gangster they associated with. Her stomach churned that so many people were waiting to see if she would debase herself for Boorka, like she was some kind of toy to be displayed.  

“Go to hell,” Korra spat, her tone full of venom, her eyes narrowed at Boorka, her lip narrowed into a thin line.

The Hutt abruptly froze, his hand stilling in the bowl of murky green liquid and his slitted, catlike eyes widening in surprise. It had not been the first time Korra had rebuffed his advances, true, but this time it seemed different, somehow, like there was now a dangerous edge to her. The beings of his court looked at Boorka, now awaiting what he would say, and the Hutt quickly composed himself, grabbing down tightly onto a squealing, writhing paddy frog, who was desperate to escape its fate.

Boorka gulped the creature down and glowered at Korra. <<Well, I see you are just as stubborn as ever, little slave. How disappointing, I would hope some time with Doctor Fos would be enough to correct you, but it seems I was wrong>> The Hutt gave a deep sigh and shook his mountainous head as he reached for another terrified paddy frog. <<Disappointing, but no matter. We have plenty of time to fix that attitude problem of yours. Its not like your precious Republic is coming to save you!>>

“Only because they don’t know I’m here!” Korra snarled, stepping forward, only to be yanked back by Mok, a clawed hand now digging into her shoulder.

<<Perhaps, although I doubt they would do much even if they did know where you were. You’re in the Outer Rim now, the Republic doesn’t give much of a shayvit what goes on outside its borders. After all, if your Republic were so just, why would they allow us to do as we like? Even your own Republic worlds benefit from slavery, just look at Ryloth, for instance! Funny what the Republic, what the Jedi allow to go on in their own borders, all while proclaiming themselves to be ‘civilised’!>> Another paddy frog went sliding down the Hutt’s gullet.

Korra scowled at the Hutt but struggled to find the proper words to rebuke him, to tell him why he was wrong. But nothing came to her, no suitable retort, no way to throw his own words back at him. Instead, Korra felt her anger rising, her vision turning red, her heart racing faster.

“The Republic might not be able to stop you, but maybe I can,” Korra whispered, one hand raised up and clenching into a fist. She thought of Myla cowering in the slave lineup of Mos Osnoe, of Sheran’s scarred back and her defeated, hopeless attitude. She thought of Mok’s lust and his grinning, sadistic face. She thought of all these people surrounding them who were complicit, who stood by and watched the suffering of others.

But most of all, she thought of Boorka.

Boorka’s eyes widened, and he clutched at his thick throat, his tongue sticking out of his cavernous maw, spittle flying. His tail began writhing frantically in the air, sweeping back and forth, knocking the stand that held his bowl to the ground with a clatter, paddy frogs wriggling on the ground. All around him, his guards and his guests watched on with shock and concern, wondering what was happening.

“Is he choking on his food?!”

“Someone do something!”

“It’s the Jeedai! She’s doing this! She’s using her magic on him!”  

Korra’s face was grim, but she had to admit, there was some satisfaction to what she was doing. To see this loathsome, monstrous creature so helpless, in pain as his throat was constricted…it pleased her. After all, didn’t he deserve it? He had caused an untold number of beings to suffer on his whims, now the tables had so deservedly turned.

She smiled at that, faintly, barely there, but she smiled nonetheless.

“Damn you, Jeedai witch!” Mok snarled from behind her. He had momentarily been too stunned to move, so shocked by the sight of his Master choking for air, but now he had regained his wits. He ripped his blaster from its holster and slammed the butt of it down onto the back of Korra’s head.

Korra let out a pained cry as she was sent sprawling to the filthy ground, her concentration lost. Faintly, she could hear Boorka let in several choking, wheezing gasps of air. She started to rise, desperate to finish the job, only for Mok to grip the back of her neck in a durasteel strong grip and jab his knee into her back, sending her back to the ground and she let out another snarl of pain.

<<Jeedai…Jeedai…>> Boorka wheezed out, massaging his throat and glaring hatefully at Korra, something else that brought her no small sense of satisfaction.

“Give the word, Lorda Boorka and I’ll slot her right here!” Mok snarled, his grip tightening further on Korra’s neck and suddenly, it was hard for her to breathe.

Boorka seemed to be considering it from the way he snarled down at Korra, still rubbing at his many chins. His tail slapped up and down on the dais, over and over again and Korra could see that cracks were beginning to form.

Just as Boorka opened his mouth to say something, someone else spoke up in a voice that was very familiar to Korra, and she felt her blood run cold. “You know, this Hutt is especially repulsive, even for one of his kind, but he’s not entirely wrong!”

From her position on the floor, Korra struggled to get a better look at where the voice was coming from. From the very corner of her eye, she could see the tall, hooded figure step forward and throw his hood back to reveal a hard, horned face, and Korra felt her breath catch in her throat.

Ghazan.

Boorka let out a roar of outrage at the Zabrak’s words. <<Who dares insult the mighty and powerful Boorka in his own palace?!>>

“Someone who has no reason to fear you, worm,” Ghazan replied coldly, reaching underneath his robes and pulling out his lightsaber, both orange blades activating with a snap-hiss from his double-bladed lightsaber.

At once, several yells of alarm rang out through the crowd and the noncombatants all rushed for cover as Boorka’s guards surged forward.

“Another Jeedai?!” Mok exclaimed in shock, his grip on Koora’s neck loosening.

“No, not a Jedi,” she murmured, eyes wide in alarm.

Blaster fire erupted across the chamber as Ghazan stepped forward, his expression one of calm, detached resolve even as chaos unfolded around him, deflecting the incoming blaster bolts effortlessly. Panicked guests screamed and tried to flee the room as the Hutt bellowed and his guards scrambled into position. Nikto enforcers rushed to flank Ghazan, weapons raised, while a Weequay attempted to get a clear shot from behind one of the room’s towering pillars.

<<Stop him, you fools!>> Boorka roared, slamming a fist against his dais. <<He is one man! Take him down!>>

Easier said than done, Korra thought, watching as a Gamorrean charged at Ghazan, squealing in rage as it raised a vibro-axe, holding it high above his head, ready to slam it down on the Zabrak. Ghazan merely sidestepped the descending blade and slashed his lightsaber across the Gamorrean’s ample stomach, the Gamorrean letting out one gurgling cry, before expiring. Ghazan stepped behind the brutish alien, one arm wrapped around his corpse and pulling it close, using the body as a shield from the incoming blaster fire, allowing it to soak up the fire. With his other hand, his lightsaber twirled gracefully, deflecting the rest of the bolts, redirecting them right back to their senders. One of the Klatooinian guards who had helped Mok escort Korra let out a pained scream as his own shot slammed into his chest and he writhed on the ground for a handful of seconds, before he let out one last groan and died.

“What the kriff?!” Mok breathed, and Korra could hear the alarm in his voice.

Korra couldn’t blame him, her own heart was thumping in her chest, her eyes wide as she saw Ghazan continue to tear his way through Boorka’s guards like they were flimsi.

The hulking Zabrak whirled around in an arc, and a Nikto who was in front of him and a Weequay behind him were both bisected at the waist, their separated halves crashing to the ground. Another Klatooinian tried to fire on the Dark Jedi while his back was turned, only for Ghazan to raise his arm and deflect the bolt without so much as looking over his shoulder.

“F-form up and fire on him! Do it now!” Mok ordered to the remaining guards.

They scrambled together, lining up into a formation and bringing their rifles to bare. Ghazan smirked as he raised his hand and at once, the guards were sent flying through the air, slamming hard into the wall behind them and Korra could hear several loud cracks. One Klatooinian shook his head and threw his rifle down, sprinting out of the door for his life. Ghazan seemed content to let that one go, but the man who stood beside him who was still desperately trying to fire on Ghazan was less fortunate. Ghazan hurled his lightsaber at the man, who raised his arms fruitlessly to defend himself. It only served to sever his arms from his body before the lightsaber found its mark and slashed across his chest, before Ghazan used the Force to pull his weapon back.

“W-w-what?” Mok stammered in horror as he surveyed the room.

The guards were all dead, their pieces laying scattered across the room and Korra was aware that it was now just the three of them. Boorka had apparently slithered out of the room in the confusion, as had most of the guests. Mok quickly leapt to his feet, hauling Korra with him and levelling his blaster at her head.

“Oh, I see I missed one,” Ghazan drawled as he lazily raised his lightsaber in Mok’s direction.

“Back! Stay back!” Mok snarled, jabbing the barrel of his blaster against Korra’s head. “I’ll kill your friend here if you come any closer!”

Ghazan chuckled at Mok’s mistake. “Believe me, we’re not friends.”

No kidding, Korra thought, wondering if she should try and escape from Mok’s grip. It seemed she might be destined to die, either at the hands of Mok’s blaster or at Ghazan’s lightsaber and she wondered which might be preferable. In truth, neither option seemed favourable to her, and she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

Mok seemed not to have heard Ghazan and he took a step back. “I mean it! Don’t-!”

Before he could say or do anything else, Ghazan raised a hand and instantly, Mok’s blaster went flying out of his grip as he let out a choked gasp of astonishment. A second later, Korra similarly felt herself yanked off of her feet and went crashing down to the ground, grunting in pain as she skinned her knees and her palms on the cold ground. Her head shot up and she saw Ghazan stride forward confidently, hand raised again and Mok was lifted off his feet and kicking helplessly in the air.

Ghazan tilted his head down at Korra as she quickly got to her feet, her fists raised, and her eyes narrowed. “I think it’s only fair that you get to take this one down yourself. I can sense how much you hate him, its radiating off of you.”

Korra’s eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard by Ghazan’s words. “What? You…you’re not going to fight me?”

Ghazan shook his head at her. “Afraid not, as fun as that would be.”

Korra frowned at Ghazan, not lowering her guard, despite his reassurances. “Then why are you here? Why isn’t Za Heer showing himself? He was supposed to be the one to meet me on Tatooine?”

Ghazan shrugged, focusing more on the struggling Mok than Korra. “To be honest? It was all just a setup; Za Heer didn’t have much interest in fighting you. He wanted to give you a taste of the Republic’s hypocrisy, to show you what life on the fringes is like.” He outstretched his arms to show off the palace. “Scum like Boorka run things out here, while your high and mighty senators live in their ivory towers, concerned only with themselves. Great system you Jedi help to prop up.”

Korra scowled at him, fists still raised and tempted to take a swing at him. “The Republic might be flawed, but it’s the best system we have! I don’t see you coming up with anything better!”

Ghazan smirked at her. “Oh, believe me, Za Heer has some ideas in mind, but he can explain them better than I ever could. But first, we should deal with him!” He motioned to Mok with his lightsaber.

“Please! Please, no! I was just followin’ Lorda Boorka’s orders! It was all him!” Mok pleaded, kicking more desperately in the air.

Korra stared at the pitiful Nikto thug, filled with loathing for the man. “That’s…that’s not the Jedi way. I’ll take him back with me and he can go to jail for everything he’s done,” Korra muttered.

Ghazan raised a tattooed eyebrow at her. “Oh? A couple of minutes ago, you were ready to strangle Boorka to death. That doesn’t seem very Jedi-like of you, now you want to claim you’re better than that?”

Korra’s face heated up and she stared down at her hands, now clenched into fists but trembling. “I…I was angry! I let my temper get the better of me! But that’s over now!”

Ghazan looked down at her, his gaze not unsympathetic. “You say that, but I sense the anger in you. Not very Jedi like of you. I don’t mean that as an insult either. You have potential, you could join us, truly help to make the galaxy a better place instead of helping a stagnant, corrupt system!”

Korra regarded him carefully. Was he truly offering her a position in the Red Lotus? She scowled at him as the memory of Asami losing her hand to the Rattataki woman came back to her instantly. Of all the dead Future Industries workers they had left in their wake on their space station. Even if she agreed with him, there was no way in hell she could ever join the Red Lotus, not after what they had done.

“Forget it,” Korra said, her voice even as she struggled to keep a grip on her anger, not sure if she was succeeding or not. “I will never join you.”

Ghazan stared at her for a moment, before sighing and shaking his head. “How disappointing, Za Heer had such hopes for you.” His gaze returned to Mok and hardened. “Well, I may as well finish what I started here, since I doubt you will.”

Mok’s eyes widened in panic, and he opened his mouth to start pleading again, only for a loud snap to fill the room and the Nikto’s head jerked sharply to one side. His eyes bulged out of their sockets and his jaw went slack, his tongue lolling. Ghazan swept his arm to the side and Mok’s corpse went flying, striking a pillar and rag-dolling to the ground in an undignified heap.

“The offer still stands of course. Za Heer thinks you might come around and see things our way. You could be very useful to the cause,” Ghazan said, deactivating his lightsaber and walking towards the exit.

Korra shook her head, still glowering at the Zabrak. “You can take your offer and shove it.”

Ghazan turned away from her and shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

And at that, he left, leaving Korra alone in a room full of corpses.

She stood there for a minute, adrenaline coursing through her body as she slowly willed her body to calm itself. She took a deep breath and lowered her arms, dropping them to her sides. She surveyed all the dead bodies, conflicting thoughts racing through her. They were criminals, the scum of the Outer Rim, henchmen to a truly vile gangster, but the brutality in which they had been slain…she shivered. But she knew some good had come from it, her mind going to the harem chamber.

“Looks like I kept my promise after all, Myla,” Korra murmured to herself as she sprinted from the room, ready to free the slaves.

She knew the Masters at the Temple would be upset for her absence, for rising to the bait and going after Za Heer on her own, but at least some good had come from this trip

Chapter Text

When Mako stepped off the shuttle and onto the streets of Ord Mantell, the familiar knot of tension formed in his gut. The planet’s spaceports were a chaotic maze of towering skyscrapers and rusted platforms, layered with grime and flickering neon lights that advertised everything from cheap entertainment to underworld dealings. Ord Mantell wasn’t so different from the lower levels of Coruscant, but it had an edge to it — a raw, lawless energy that kept everyone on their toes. Here, in this den of scum and villainy, Mako knew that he needed to stay sharp.

And yet, even with all his instincts trained on his surroundings, someone still managed to pickpocket him.

He cursed under his breath, realizing that he hadn’t been paying enough attention. The loss didn’t bother him much — credits were easy to come by. He could always steal what he needed, intimidate some local thug, or pick up a quick job for one of the small-time crime bosses that infested the planet. If all else failed, he could reach out to the remnants of the Triple Threat Triad. Despite the fact that their influence had dwindled after Zolt’s imprisonment, there were still enough of them around that Mako could call in a favour for shelter and resources.

But no, that wasn’t an option anymore. The Triple Threats had turned their backs on Zolt when things got tough, leaving their former leader to rot in a high-security prison. As far as Mako was concerned, the Triad had betrayed him too. And with Tokuga, the new leader, running things, contacting the group was a risk. Mako had made it clear he had no designs on taking control, but he doubted Tokuga believed him. Even if he did, Tokuga certainly wouldn’t lift a finger to help free Zolt from Desolation Alley.

Mako clenched his fists as he walked through the crowded streets. The loss of money didn’t hurt so much as it showed him clearly how off his game he was.

Never mind.

None of that mattered anymore. What mattered was that he had failed. His plan to free Zolt had crumbled to pieces, and the shame gnawed at him like a constant ache.

At first, he was sure that luck was on his side. The chaos brought by this “Red Lotus” group, the killing of Jinora’s Master and leaving her alone in the Belly of the Beast, was a gift from the Force. He didn’t plan on abducting her, in fact he was in the middle of planning an elaborate prison break from Desolation Alley, but he couldn’t let the opportunity pass him by.

And it almost worked!

He secured the help of a local urchin, Kai and with his assistance manage to capture the young Padawan. With Jinora in his hands, the Jedi Council was actually forced to negotiate and both they and the Red Lotus took steps to secure Zolt’s release.

Of course, later everything went to shavit. First, he’d almost lost Jinora in the chaos. Then P’li, one of the Red Lotus’ top enforcers, had recaptured the girl, undoing everything Mako had worked for. His desperate attempt to re-recapture her had failed, thanks to Zaheer’s intervention. He had no more cards to play.

It was Mako who kriffed up. He had Jinora in his hands but when he saw Bolin in danger, he revealed himself and now both Jinora and Kai were in Za Heer’s hands. Worse than that, Zolt was now in the hands of the Red Lotus. Mako’s unfinished prison break plan was useless. He couldn’t save Zolt anymore. Not on his own.

And yet, Mako knew that if faced with the same situation again, he’d make the same choices, he’d still rush to save Bolin.

Bolin. His brother.

Even when he was knee-deep in the criminal underworld, Mako had always kept tabs on Bolin among the Jedi. The staff of the Temple wasn’t easy – or cheap – to bribe but he always managed to find someone who could slip him a hint on how his little brother was doing. These bribes cost Mako most of his earnings – and Zolt was a generous boss – but he never regretted that.

He also never reached out to Bolin. What could he offer his brother instead of some loyalty conflict and internal turmoil? Mako didn’t hate his life among the gangs of Coruscant, but he wouldn’t wish it on his brother. All he wanted was for Bolin to have a better life and at least that seemed to be working.

But that didn’t stop him from taking pride in Bolin’s achievements. Every milestone, every success, Mako celebrated in his own quiet way. He’d even helped from the shadows a few times, like when Bolin let an informant slip away as a Padawan. Mako had used the Triad’s network to track the guy down and anonymously tip off his brother. That had earned Bolin some respect, and when Bolin was finally knighted, Mako had gotten drunk in celebration, despite being in the middle of planning Zolt’s break-out at the time.

But seeing Bolin in the flesh, on the Mega-Awesome Space Station, had shaken Mako to his core. He’d known Bolin would be sent on missions, of course, but to sense his brother’s presence and then see him, right there, on the same battlefield? It was too much. He hadn’t regained his composure since, and the memory haunted his dreams — visions of Bolin in danger, moments where Mako had to intervene.

Bolin exposed, P’li preparing to blast him with her power.

The turret of the Red Lotus ship aiming at Bolin, the dark-skinned Jedi too weak to push him away, to safety.

Both times, Mako had saved his brother. Both times, it had been too close for comfort. And the second time, he’d been forced to reveal himself. Now, the question that gnawed at him was whether Bolin had recognized him. Had he sensed the connection between them?

If so, what would Bolin do with that knowledge?

Mako was almost certain Bolin had no way of contacting him, but even if he did, Mako wouldn’t allow it. It was better this way. Bolin didn’t need to be burdened by a criminal brother, and Mako didn’t want to drag him into the mess of his life. Besides, weren’t Jedi big on the whole foregoing attachments thing?

No, Mako had to walk his own path, making sure it and Bolin’s never crossed, no matter how much he’d want that. For Bolin’s sake.

But for now, he had bigger problems.

Mako’s mind turned to Kai. He had no idea what the Red Lotus wanted with the Devaronian boy, but Mako felt responsible for getting him into this mess. It had been Mako who recruited him to help capture Jinora, and now Kai was a prisoner, too. Mako had to rescue him, and then… maybe he could still free Zolt. Good thing the same people who held Kai had also Mako’s former boss as there was a chance to kill two mynocks with a single blaster bolt.

Of course, first he’d need to find out where the Red Lotus was hiding its prisoners, figure out a way to get in (and out). He’d need to assess the opposition, perhaps gather allies. As much as he felt the need to strike now, he knew he’d have to take it slowly. Za Heer turned out to be a dangerous foe, one that shouldn’t be underestimated.

That became even clearer when one day Mako received a transmission from the Red Lotus. At first, he just stood there – how long, he didn’t know - staring at the blinking light of the console. How did that happen? What reach did the Red Lotus have that they had discovered his hideout so quickly?

For a moment, he considered slashing the console with his lightsaber, abandoning his hideout, and disappearing to one of his backup safehouses. But no… Zolt and Kai were still in Za Heer’s hands. Mako couldn’t run. He needed to know what they wanted from him.

Taking a deep breath, Mako activated the transmission. A shimmering holoprojection of Za Heer appeared in front of him, the Kel Dor’s face as inscrutable as ever.

“Mako,” Za Heer said, his voice calm. “It is good to see you.”

“Well, the last time we saw each other, you nearly killed me,” Mako replied, crossing his arms. “Twice.”

Za Heer nodded as though Mako had made a simple observation about the weather. “Indeed.”

Mako narrowed his eyes, cutting straight to the point. “What do you want from me? Where are Zolt and Kai?”

Za Heer tilted his head slightly. “Zolt and the child… yes. I must say, your plan to exchange Jinora for Zolt was a bold one.”

Mako’s jaw clenched. “Well, it wasn’t good enough, was it? Now you’ve got both Jinora and Zolt. Are you calling to gloat? Because if so, you can—”

“Bragging is for the vain,” Za Heer interrupted, his voice as smooth as ever. “I’m here to propose another deal.”

Mako hesitated. “Another deal?”
“Perhaps you’re wondering why I took Zolt, even though I already had Jinora,” Za Heer continued.

Mako shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. “I assumed your people didn’t get the memo that you had the young Jedi. Is she still alive, by the way?”

“Alive and well, though more resilient than I anticipated.”

“Funny, I thought you guys specialized in breaking people,” Mako muttered, barely holding back a sneer.

Za Heer’s expression remained unchanged. “Torture is not our goal. I do not wish to harm her, nor is her fate your concern. What I wish to discuss is releasing Zolt.”

Mako’s heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t let it show. “And Kai?”

“The boy is safe,” Za Heer replied. “For now. I need him as leverage against Jinora, so I cannot let him go. But Zolt… we can discuss his release.”

Mako swallowed his frustration, forcing himself to stay calm. “Fine. Let’s talk. What do you want in exchange for Zolt? I’m sure you won’t do it for free.”

“That is true,” Za Heer responded. “The Twi’lek Jedi I fought… I observed how strangely concerned you were about him not getting hurt.”

Mako felt his blood run cold, but he kept his face neutral. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We have people everywhere, even in the Jedi Temple,” Za Heer tilted his head as he kept talking. “It wasn’t difficult to learn who the two Jedi sent to this mission were. It also wasn’t difficult to learn that one of them had a brother. A brother who wasn’t accepted into the Temple.”

Mako didn’t answer, wondering if wherever Za Heer was – in a neighbouring building or on the other end of the Galaxy – the Kel Dor could hear the beating of his heart.

“It might interest you to learn that this Jedi by the name of Bolin has also recently been looking into his past, trying to learn what happened to said brother.”

For a second Mako forgot how to breathe. Despite his conviction that he’d best leave Bolin alone, learning that his brother was trying to find him or at least discover his face… it was almost more than Mako could handle and only the fact that he was facing Za Heer stopped tears from appearing in his eyes.

“I swear, if you lay a finger on him…” he hissed.

“It is not our intention to harm him,” Za Heer said. “In fact, I want to give you exactly what I know you want. I want you to come back into his life. I want you to reach out to him. I want you to arrange a discrete meeting. Do everything and Zolt will be released.”

Mako looked away, trying to calm himself down.

On some level the decision was simple. Zolt was like a father for him. A strict but fair father, who always believed in him, who always supported him. And Bolin? He was but a name. A sensation. A whisper of the past.

Or that was what Mako was desperately trying to tell himself.

“No,” he whispered. “If you think you can use me to get to my brother than you’re dumber than you look.”

The Kel Dor gently shook his head.

“Your brother is of no importance to us and as long as he stays out of our business, we do not wish him harm,” he said. “But he is friends with the Jedi named Korra. We need you to contact your brother so you can lead us to her..”

Mako’s heart hammered in his chest as he processed Za Heer’s words. His brother was a pawn in their game, nothing more. The Red Lotus didn’t care about Bolin — they wanted this Korra. And they would use Mako and Bolin to get to her.

“I’ll never betray him,” Mako whispered, his voice low and dangerous.

Za Heer’s holoprojection leaned in slightly. “You don’t have to betray him, Mako. Just lead us to her. Make contact with your brother, and Zolt will be free.”

"I... I don't know."

"Think of it this way: you'll be leaving him exposed if you don't do what we want," Za Heer said. "We've got people in the Jedi Temple too. It wouldn't be hard to slip poison into his food or arrange an accident with his speeder."

"I swear, if you hurt him..."

"If you help us, there won't be a need to hurt him. And besides... if he loses Korra... I'm sure he would appreciate his brother coming into his life to help him get through it."

“I’ll… I’ll need some proof of life,” Mako said, his voice trembling. “Of both Zolt and Kai!”

“This will be arranged,” Za Heer agreed.

Mako knew his demands weren’t fooling anyone, especially not Za Heer. He was stalling for time, trying to regain composure but this really was no dilemma at all.

They both knew perfectly well that he would agree.

Chapter Text

Opal stood looking through the illuminator. Once, her eyes would go towards the countless stars and nebulae, to the whole of the beautiful cosmos around her. Once, she would be imagining the various planets orbiting those stars, the people who lived there, the adventures she could have there.

Once, but not anymore. She’d long lost hope of travelling outside of the Zaofu Space Station anytime soon. She would stay here, protected by the nearly indestructible flower-like domes of the space station and by the ever-growing defence fleet.

She scoffed in sudden frustration.

The shipyards of Zaofu went all-in with manufacturing capital ships and she learned it by accident, by listening to some engineers talking! And when she asked her parents about it, her mother only said that ‘the Galaxy was a dangerous place but don’t worry, honey, you’re safe here’ while her father said that ‘your mother knows what she’s doing’ and went on to keep discussing some way to increase efficiency of tibanna gas with Baatar Junior.

Opal had always been close to Junior, despite him being quite a bit older than she was. But they, alone out of Suyin’s and Baatar’s two children, were born without the Force. That made them allies, friends and confidantes. But now, he was taking part in designing new warships, new defence measures while she… she… she…

Once, she would look at the stars around her and dream. Now her eyes were fixed lower, on the petal-like superstructure of the Zaofu Space Station, on the hundreds of ships coming and leaving, on the hundreds of thousands of people living here… and she had never felt more lonely.

The door behind her opened and Wing and Wei rushed in, laughing or arguing, not that there was much difference between those two when it came to her brothers.

“If I hadn’t saved you from that blaster shot-”

“I was taking care of that droid-”

“Well, maybe you should’ve taken care of the grenades first! If I hadn’t-”

“I couldn’t let him get away with the hostage-”

“She still preferred me-”

“Oh, so why didn’t she give you her number-”

“She didn’t give it to you either-”

“Hey,” Opal said, summoning a smile onto her face.

“Hey, Ope!” Wing shouted and crushed her in a hug, Wei following immediately after.

One year younger than her, they were of stockier build, a bit taller than her and much stronger… and of course able to use the Force.

“How are you, sis?” Wei asked.

“You know, same old, same old,” she replied, trying not to sound bitter.

They still caught that something was wrong. Either they knew her that well… or could somehow feel it through the Force. She hoped she managed to hide the resentment the last thought brought up in her.

“Hey, Opal,” Wing said. “What’s up?”

“You know you can talk to us, right?” Wei said.

She sighed.

“It’s just… I’m sick and tired of staying here while you’re having all those adventures,” she admitted. “I want to travel with you! I’m older it’s just…”

She didn’t need to say, ‘it’s just I don’t have the Force’. Her mind was shouting it.

“It’s just that mum is very protective of you,” Wing said.

“You’re the only girl in the family,” Wei added.

Opal rolled her eyes but managed to calm herself down.

“Okay, so tell me what mischief have you been up to?” she asked. “Let me at least experience a bit of your adventures.”

The twins exchanged looks, probably worried that telling their story would make her feel even worse… but after she insisted again, they started talking, telling everything about their wild fights with the pirates, crazy dogfights and chases through asteroid fields and so on and for a moment she could imagine herself doing all that.

* * *

“Wing and Wei left,” Opal said to Huan.

Her older brother opened his eyes and looked at her annoyed.

“I know, I’ve seen them,” he muttered.

“Did they tell you about they’re adventures?” Opal asked. “They fought the pirates on-”

Huan scoffed.

“Fighting! Adventures! That’s not what interests me!” Huan said. “That’s not what should interest any of us?”

“No?”

“No! Mother created Zaofu and the Metal Clan to make a place for those who want to achieve their fullest potential! A place for Force users who don’t want to be confined within the strict Jedi hierarchy or don’t want to be the Galaxy’s police! We should be reaching our potential in tune with the Universe, whether through dance, metallurgy, science or art! Not having some silly adventures like a bunch of stupid kids!”

Opal tried to protest, but Huan wasn’t listening to her anymore, turning his attention to a heated slab of metal in the middle of the room. Using the Force he began pushing in some places, pulling in others, shaping it into another one of his abstract sculptures, that filled – Opal would say littered – the whole of the space station.

She wondered what would be the name of this one?

The Symphony of Longing? The Road to Always? The Search for Understanding? The Scent of a Touch?

Most likely it would be something even more pretentious. Seeing how Huan already lost interest in her, completely focused on shaping the metal into something like two misshapen silhouettes being pulled away from each other, Opal got up and left his chamber. Of all her siblings, her relationship with Huan was the worst. She was envious of Wing and Wei’s adventures, yes, and she was a bit bitter that once she and Junior were so close but now he was taking part in building of Zaofu’s military might while she wasn’t even informed that such build-up was taking place… but with Huan it was different.

She was furious for how he was wasting his Force gift by using it only to reach out for various visions and then try to express them in the form of sculptures.

If only she had that gift, she would’ve put it into so much better use!

* * *

A green lightsaber blade clashed with a silver one. Kuvira pushed Su’s blade to the side and went for a strike with the other blade of her saberstaff. Opal’s mother dodged the blow in a dance-like motion, striking with just a tiny movement of her wrist in a movement that Jedi would find close to their Makashi Form.

Opal had read much about lightsaber combat, back when she believed that going through the motions of fighting like that could somehow make her start feeling the Force. She’d always loved how graceful such duel’s looked. She could get Wing and Wei to show her some moves – with training lightsabers of course – but watching her mum sparring with Kuvira was a whole different level.

Kuvira blocked Su’s strike and went for a kick that made Opal’s mum stumble. Quickly she followed with a strong and wide swipe, but her opponent jumped out of her reach, only to lunge in for another blow moments later, going with a bunch of light and quick attacks from both sides… all of which Kuvira managed to parry and dodge.

“Mother, I’ve checked the data and-” Baatar Junior walked into the training room and stopped, watching the duel… or perhaps only watching Kuvira’s slender, fit body.

They both, however, noticed his presence and turned off their weapons, bowing to one another.

“Yes, Junior?”

“So, I went through the data,” he said, approaching his mother with a datapad, “and it seems we can use the feedback from the turbolaser cannons using the modified tibanna gas to power up our energy shields in between shots. That could correspond to as much as a 17% increase in the efficiency of our shields while maintaining an 11% advantage over Republic turbolaser cannons!”

“That would definitely be a big improvement,” Kuvira said, nodding to him with respect. “When can we expect the tests to be finished?”

“The prototype cannons should be leaving the manufacturing plant as we speak,” Baatar Junior replied. “I’ll finish the design of the proper feedback loop for the energy shields tomorrow or the day after. I’d need a week to build a prototype, two weeks for tests and then we can mount it on one of the Dreadnoughts.”

“Wait, wait!” Opal approached them, feeling a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. “Advantage over Republic cannons?” she repeated. “Are we going to war with the Republic?!”

“No, of course not,” Baatar Junior scoffed. “It’s just their designs are terribly inefficient, and our father and I found a way to improve on them.”

“But why are we even building a bigger fleet?” Opal kept asking. “Aren’t we safe here?”

“Of course we are,” her mom said gently. “But the Galaxy is a dangerous place and it’s getting more and more dangerous each year. Some of the outlying systems are dissatisfied with the protection offered by the Republic.”

“And no surprise there,” Kuvira said. “Scuttling their fleets following Ruusan was a terrible mistake. Zaofu won’t make that mistake. We will not be helpless.”

“You know I would never let anything to happen to you,” Suyin said, touching Opal’s cheek. Then she turned to Kuvira and Junior, her voice hardening. “Let’s go and discuss it with Baatar,” she said and they all left the room… and Opal.

* * *

Step-step to the right, step forward, step-step back, step-step to the left, two quick turns…

Opal danced in her room, moving, like she did her whole life, to the tune that someone else wrote for her. But she let the music fill her, let it guide her movements just like Jedi let the Force guide them. When she was feeling that the music and she were one… she reached out with her mind to a songsteel tuning fork lying on a small table, hoping to make it vibrate.

Nothing.

Not a spark of Force potential.

She was boring. Mundane.

But perhaps she could still achieve a lot. There were plenty of people in the Galaxy who weren’t Force sensitive and did a lot of good. Just recently she had read about Asami Sato, a famous inventor and entrepreneur…

But she wouldn’t manage to do anything in Zaofu. Here, everything happened according to her mother’s wishes and there was no way of escaping her shadow, just clawing for the best spot under it. And she was certain her mum wouldn’t let her leave Zaofu for a couple of years more.

So, what was left for her? Escaping the space station?

This brought a thrill of excitement… but also a sudden pang of fear. She had always lived protected from the outside galaxy… could she even survive on her own? And she knew that no one, not Kuvira, not Wing and Wei would dare to oppose Suyin and take her with them.

She sighed and sat down. Then, with a sudden flare of anger, she grabbed the tuning fork and threw it across the room. At least this way she could make it vibrate!

Someone cleared their throat and Opal jumped up to see Aiwei, her mother’s advisor standing in the door.

“I am sorry, Lady Opal,” the Utapauan man said, bowing down. “I knocked but you weren’t responding, so when I heard some commotion…”

“Sorry, Aiwei,” Opal muttered. “Just got mad. Look… I’m not really in the mood for… well, anything today…”

“I am sorry to hear that, Lady Opal,” he said. “However, I think you will wish to hear me out.”

Something in his voice gave her pause.

“Yes?” she asked.

“An old friend of mine came to Zaofu,” Aiwei said. “I think you should meet him.”

Opal frowned. She wasn’t particularly ashamed that she didn’t know much about Aiwei despite him being a loyal retainer for longer than she was alive. No, she had tried getting close to him, but he wasn’t sharing anything about his life. All the more interesting that he wanted to meet his friend.

Besides, it was something new, something different than the everyday monotony of her life.

“Sure,” she said, getting up. “Lead the way.”

* * *

“Lady Opal,” the Kel Dor’s electronically modulated voice welcomed her. “I’m honoured to meet you. My name is Yorru.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Opal said, looking at the figure in grey robes. “Aiwei’s friends are our friends… though I’m not sure why you wanted to meet me.”

“I hope you will forgive me, but I’ve shared a bit about your situation with my friend,” Aiwei said.

“My… situation?” Opal asked, too stunned to say anything else.

The famously discrete Aiwei, confidante of the Beifong family, sharing anything with a third party? That was just… unthinkable.

“Indeed,” Yorru said. “I know you suffer for not having access to the Force. I-”

“You told him that!” Opal turned towards Aiwei. “You had no right!”

“Please don’t be angry at him-” Yorru began, but Opal would have none of that

“I can live without being Force-sensitive!” Opal almost shouted. “What I can’t deal with is it being discussed behind my back! I’m very disappointed in you, Aiwei! And please forgive me, Yorru, but this is none of your business! I’m going now and-”

“Please, don’t go.”

There was something in Yorru’s voice that somehow managed to make Opal go silent and stop her from leaving, calming her down.

“Perhaps… perhaps we can help each other,” Yorru said slowly.

* * *

“Mum, mum!” Opal ran into her mother’s study.

“Yes, dear?” her mum turned away from her desk.

“Watch this!” Opal shouted and lifted her hand…

For a moment, nothing happened… and then the datapad Opal’s mum was reading was slowly, shakily lifted into the air.

It wasn’t easy to surprise Suyin Beifong but this time Opal was watching her mother’s eyes open wide in astonishment.

She shrugged and gave her a small smile.

“Guess I’m just a late bloomer, huh?” she said.

But even as she spoke, she focused her mind just how Yorru and Aiwei taught her, on hiding the truth of how she received this gift.

She couldn’t let anyone know.

She couldn’t lose it.

She was finally now like her siblings, like her parents.

Special. Powerful.

And the Galaxy was going to see what she was capable of.