Luke left Yavin IV just after sunrise, the sleek diplomatic yacht with New Republic crest ascending through the morning mist, its silver hull slicing a path above the jungle canopy. He took two of the older trainees I've never had the chance to properly meet with him. I was envious, in a way - who wouldn't want to see distant worlds with the Grandmaster by their side. But I stood with half the Praxeum on the temple steps, watching the ship angle upward until it disappeared into the clouds. The jungle swallowed the sound like it always does—like it’s embarrassed to be caught listening.

  “Three days,” Kam said beside us, shading his eyes. “Maybe four, depending on Ithorian customs.”

  “Three days is optimistic,” Tionne murmured. “Ithorians negotiate harmonics with their environment before they negotiate with guests. Luke finds that fascinating. Cray and Nichos will pretend it all makes sense. It’ll take a while.”

  I grinned. “Are you saying Master Skywalker is going to get distracted by plants again?”

  Kam made a face like he wanted to be stern but couldn’t quite get there. “Respect, Kae’rin. He’s the Grand Master.”

  “So you are saying it.”

  He sighed. “Go pack. You’re leaving with Tionne in an hour.”

  “We are?”

  ? ? ?

  Tionne chose us—me and Meral—because, as she said, “you two already ask too many questions; you might as well ask them someplace useful.”

  That ‘someplace’ lay to the south, far enough that the walk wasn’t trivial and close enough that the air still tasted like Yavin IV. Humid, green, mineral-rich. We have been walking for hours, following a broken path of stone that snaked between the silent ziggurats and rustling trees. I saw the plateau from above just before I arrived, and I could see it mostly hidden behind thick waves of treetops from my window. Walking it was different.

  The scale defied all expectations. There were not a handful but dozens of ziggurats. Tall and small, elongated and round, some with many regular-sized floors and others that wasted their entire height on a single one. I think the part my brain abhorred was the apparent lack of reason. It wasn’t a city, yet it wasn’t not one.

  Tionne must have seen it many times before, but Meral and I felt the gravity of ages. We both walked in unspoken discomfort, shoulders tight and hunched over. If I could, I would have broken into a run to escape this field of madness.

  A relieved sigh escaped me when we finally crossed the plateau and started descending towards a distant river, leaving the silent testaments of a species too distant and foreign to understand behind us.

  Ahead of us, a massive viaduct of dark stone arched over the river like and old beast’s spine. Meral stopped halfway across and leaned against the broken railing.

  “Never thought about there being people down here,” she said. “Living normal lives, I mean. Kids who… I don’t know. Go to school. Complain about chores. Kick dirt.”

  “You kick dirt all the time.”

  “Yes, but I do it for spiritual balance.”

  I snorted, and Tionne pretended not to hear us.

  ? ? ?

  Once the viaduct ended, the jungle thinned fast, replaced by neat rows of skyroot terraces and irrigation ditches cut clean as knife lines. The town appeared like something sketched into the world instead of built—clusters of white-washed houses with slanted roofs, wooden stalls, the glitter of a waterwheel turning lazily in the river current in stark contrast with a row of power generators in the distance. The air smelled like wet soil, caffa moss, and something sweet and sharp I couldn’t place.

  “Wetyin’s Colony,” Tionne said. “The largest…and pretty much the only settlement on Yavin IV. Originally a farming colony, then a lifeline for the Rebellion, now our lifeline. And a whole load of reasons for a headache every three months.”

  “It’s governed by a body of stewards, each responsible for something else. And a liaison with the Jedi Order which—for now—happens to be me,” she added in response to our confused stares.

  From my understanding of what a ‘colony’ meant, I had imagined maybe a handful of houses and a bored watch-tower operator. I hadn’t imagined a small but proper town with people who waved to each other, who argued over fruit prices, who didn’t bow when they saw a lightsaber.

  It felt shockingly normal.

  The Council Hall stood in the center, open on three sides, shaded by a woven canopy of local vine-branches. Seven chairs for the stewards. One for Tionne. One battered podium someone clearly repaired too many times. A convection fan hummed in the rafters, working twice as hard as it needed to.

  “Try not to look bored,” Tionne whispered as we went inside. “Even if you are.”

  ? ? ?

  I was, in fact, bored.

  Almost impressively so.

  Setori farmers spoke in their slow, measured cadence about soil exhaustion and yield percentages. Charts were flipped. The trade steward—a Mon Calamari woman with a voice that vibrated in her throat sac—argued that freight costs were rising again and that they needed to renegotiate landing fees at the starport. Tables with numbers like prisoners in neat cells made an appearance. The infrastructure steward, a human man shaped like a brick wall, complained about failing moisture pumps.

  “This entire section needs a replacement grid,” he said, pounding his fist on the table. “If one more relay shorts out, the hydroponics will collapse.”

  “And we’ll do that with what money?” the trade steward shot back.

  “Maybe if you didn’t keep lowering tariffs to attract traffic—”

  “People won’t come here if they pay the same as on Chandrila!”

  “We’re far off Chandrila price range!”

  “Everyone, breathe,” Tionne said, her voice soft but impossibly firm. “Remember our aim: stability first, growth second.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  She squinted and rubbed the bridge of her nose when they stopped looking. But the debate calmed down and they started talking numbers instead of emotions. For a while.

  Meral leaned toward me and muttered, “At what point do we get to see something explode?”

  “Hopefully never.”

  “Hopefully soon.”

  I kicked her under the table but laughed inside.

  ? ? ?

  On the third day of exquisite boredom, the meeting dragged long past sunset. Some of the stewards had left for the day already, their cases closed. Only the stewards for infrastructure, trade, and security were deep in negotiations about expanding the power grid when the door swung open violently, pushed by the steward of agriculture. One I remembered as one of the most calm and composed at the table. He was panting hard enough that he couldn’t speak; his tunic was half-buttoned, one sleeve torn, face flushed red and slick from sweat.

  “Steward Haron,” Tionne said, standing immediately. “What’s wrong?”

  He stared at her, then at us, as if deciding whether to speak in front of children. But I think the panic won out.

  “It’s Varlo,” he managed. “He—he’s gone into the jungle. He hasn’t come back.”

  “Your oldest? How long?” the steward of security —Jonas— asked.

  “Three hours past dusk.” Haron’s voice cracked. “He took his dog. And—Force help me—he said something about woolamanders.”

  Meral and I exchanged a look.

  Woolamanders were harmless, curious, thieving little things. But the jungle around them wasn’t.

  Tionne turned to us. “Go gather what you need. Now.”

  ? ? ?

  Night falls fast on Yavin IV, like someone dropping a heavy curtain. By the time we jogged outside, the lamps along the riverfront cast long strokes of gold across the dark water.

  Steward Haron’s home was already a storm of frantic activity—neighbors searching cupboards, someone calling the dog’s name into the darkness, Haron’s wife sobbing quietly as she sat on the steps.

  A girl maybe eight years old stood beside her with her small fists balled at her sides. “Varlo said woolamanders knew where his rock came from,” she sniffed. “Said he had to find out.”

  “What kind of rock?” Meral asked.

  The girl pointed toward a low table outside the house. On it lay a dull greenish-gray stone shot through with pale veins—like moss frozen inside it. Something about it prickled at my skin, but only faintly.

  “That’s not just a rock,” Meral murmured.

  Tionne knelt beside Haron, speaking in low tones. “We need everything you know.”

  “He was last seen heading south,” Haron said, voice shaking. “Into the jungle. No one goes there. The floor there is too unstable.”

  “Did he take a lamp? Tools?”

  “A lamp, yes. And his field satchel.” The steward swallowed thickly. “Please—please bring him home.”

  Tionne squeezed his shoulder. “We will. I already called the Temple, and Jonas is organizing search parties at the market.”

  She turned to us. “Kae’rin, Meral—you’re with me. We find the trail first. Then we call the search parties.”

  I nodded, nerves crawling up my spine like ants.

  ? ? ?

  Tracking someone through a humid jungle at night is like chasing ghosts. Every shadow looks like a footprint, every broken branch a disaster waiting to happen. We had to split when we arrived at a ridge that cut the jungle in two. Tionne headed west towards the deeper jungle, Meral and I took the eastern side.

  We were looking for a needle in a haystack, especially now that the sun has set. Our lamps could carve out a slice of the darkness at a time, and progress was slow.

  But the luck was on our side.

  Varlo was eleven, not trained, and not careful. His tracks were a breadcrumb trail of clumsy boot prints, crushed undergrowth, and more broken branches than anything alive should reasonably produce. We followed the trail, ignoring the sounds of an upset jungle with focused determination.

  “He’s not subtle,” Meral whispered.

  “He’s scared,” I said.

  The dog’s tracks helped. Its paws had torn through the mud, veering left and right as if trying to steer the boy away from something. And then—suddenly—they ended.

  Not tapered off. Not faded.

  Just gone.

  Meral crouched at the edge of a natural slope where the ground dipped suddenly. The moonlight caught on the drop and revealed a small cliff face ten meters high, swallowed by tangled vines.

  “Kae’rin,” she said softly. “I think there’s a ravine.”

  I knelt beside her. The foliage was thick, but the earth was disturbed—loose dirt, broken roots, and a slanted slide of crushed leaves where someone had fallen or slid through.

  The air rising from below was colder than the jungle air, almost unnaturally so.

  “Varlo could be down there,” Meral said.

  “Or something else could.”

  She gave me a look that was half fear, half dare. “We’re going down, right?”

  ? ? ?

  Tionne answered the comm instantly.

  “Only go down if it’s safe,” her voice cut through the crackling. “You said there were trees around the edge. Test the roots. Check for any natural holds. I’ve got your position and am heading your way.”

  I tugged on the vines nearest me. Some held, thick as wrists. Others peeled away like rotted paper. The soil beneath had sunk inward, forming a funnel that led directly into darkness.

  “I think the whole edge is compromised. One wrong step and the ground will go with us.”

  I heard her purse her lips on the other end.

  “We don’t have the luxury of waiting for machinery. If it could even get there. Use the ropes. Descend slowly. And you two stay anchored at all times.”

  “We can handle it,” Meral said with far more confidence than I felt. Glancing over, I saw her wedge her lantern against a root, illuminating the area and clearly marking it for those who would arrive after us.

  Tionne’s voice betrayed her concerns. “If anything collapses, you prioritize escape over heroics. Understood?”

  “Yes, Master,” we said in unison.

  Somewhere out there, the search party was forming and marching slowly through the jungle—half a dozen townsfolk with ropes and lanterns. Tionne raced towards us, but the jungle was dense and hard to navigate in full daylight. We didn’t have much time to lose.

  Meral exhaled slowly. “Well. At least they trust us.”

  “They trust her,” I said. “We’re just the extra hands.”

  She grinned. “Then let’s make those extra hands useful.”

  ? ? ?

  The first step over the edge was the hardest. The vines felt alive under my fingers, damp and rough like an animal’s hide. Meral moved beside me, quicker and lighter, finding footholds with the ease of someone who grew up climbing things she wasn’t supposed to.

  We descended the outer slope first—more a slide than a wall—until the undergrowth gave way to bare stone. The ravine narrowed, funneling us deeper. Above us the night sky shrank into a sliver of silver light.

  “Think this is where he fell?” Meral whispered.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But if he fell from here, he’d be hurt badly.”

  “Unless something broke his fall.”

  We moved lower. The stone gave way to an overhanging lip—beneath it, only darkness.

  My stomach dropped.

  Because beneath that lip, at least ten meters below, the ravine opened into… nothing.

  A vast hollow space, so big I couldn’t see the far walls, only the faint glimmer of mineral veins catching the lamplight.

  A cave system.

  Huge.

  Ancient.

  My breath fogged in the sudden cold.

  Meral swallowed. “Kae’rin. We’re not in a ravine anymore.”

  “No,” I whispered. “We’re in something much bigger.”

  We climbed down onto the inner wall, finding anchors where the stone bulged or cracked. My hands stung from the cold. The air smelled like damp dust and something faintly metallic.

  Below, a dim scattering of crushed brush formed a messy landing. Maybe where Varlo had fallen. Maybe where he had scrambled into the cave.

  I tapped the comm’s button.

  “It’s not a ravine. It’s a cave or something like it. Big one. We might lose signal.”

  Tionne’s response came immediately, “You have rope markers?”

  “Yes,”

  “Good. Leave a trail. Do not stray too far. If you find him—try to signal immediately.”

  “Understood.”

  Meral nudged me. “Ready?”

  “No.”

  “Same.”

  We exchanged a look—fear, determination, stubbornness—and began our descent.

  Down into the cave.

  Down into the dark.

  Down toward whatever waited in the hollowed-out belly of Yavin IV.

  And that was the moment I realized something simple and practical:

  We should’ve brought bigger lights.