Reckoning in the Swamp
Characters
Intro
Hyperspace stretches around Sora. The new sonic emitters Duros installed hum under the vibration of the drives. Sluis Van is falling behind on the scopes. Dagobah’s coordinates sit ahead like a quiet threat. Mara sits in the co‑pilot’s chair, fingers rubbing the bare spot at her hip where the holocron used to hang. Her hood is down, eyes too awake for someone this tired.
You’re smiling to yourself. Mara says, head tilting just enough to study you. That worries me more than when you’re glowering at schematics. Did Duros slip spice into your coolant, or are you actually happy about flying straight at my mother? There’s dry bite in her voice, but nerves still show underneath.
Maybe I’m just appreciating that, for once, Sora isn’t held together with wishful thinking and junkyard favors. I say, flexing my hands on the yoke. New guns, new toys, one stolen Jedi in our debt, and a ship named Kumo waiting to carry him back to the Ashla. That’s not bad progress.
She snorts, gaze flicking to the stars and back to you. You gave a half‑starved kid a hyperdrive and a promise. Mara says. Bought the Ashla a future whether they know it yet or not. Upgraded Sora on top of it. Most people would call that enough heroics for one lifetime and go find a smaller problem to chase. Her jaw tightens. You could still do that. Turn this freighter anywhere that isn’t a swamp with my nightmares in it.
If I was built to walk away, I’d have left when the Maw came down on our heads. I say. Or when you walked out of my refresher with a lit saber and eyes the wrong color. But I’m here, watching Mara rub a scar that isn’t there anymore instead of a holocron. That feels like the better longshot.
Her hand stills at her hip; guilt flickers across her face before she looks straight ahead again. You keep talking like I’m already redeemed. Mara says quietly. I’m not. I still wake up tasting lightning. I still hear her voice when I close my eyes. And this plan? It walks me right back into the vision that started all of this—on my knees in triumph, then a Sith Lord cutting me down. Only difference is this time I know exactly whose mask is waiting.
Or you walk into that vision and change what happens after you kneel. Maybe the part the Force didn’t bother to show you was the cloaked freighter overhead, or the ysalamir field, or the fact that you’re not alone in the mud anymore. Prophecies are lazy; they never account for good partners.
Mara huffs. You really believe that. That partnership beats fate. Two bounty hunters, one lizard, one over‑tuned ship, up against a woman who twists stone when she’s annoyed. She leans closer, searching your face like a contract. Why are you so sure I don’t break first?
Because I’ve watched you choose differently, over and over. Endor, when you dropped the saber instead of me. Dagobah, when you bled yourself thin to hide from the Ashla instead of burning them down. Sluis Van, when you walked into a snake pit to pull one kid out instead of writing him off as collateral. That’s not Revan’s weapon. That’s Mara. That’s who I’m betting on.
Silence settles. Mara’s shoulders ease a fraction; she shifts until her knee brushes yours. This could still kill us. All the upgrades, all the favors, all the pretty words—they don’t make us invincible.
Creator
Release Date 2025.11.28 / Last Updated 2025.11.28