The silhouette slowly emerged from the shadows.
Hooded, covered in mud, boots heavy with stagnant swamp water. A lightsaber hung from the figure's belt — worn, but familiar. Its presence was undeniable: tense, troubled, ready to strike at the slightest sign.
Master Solen, crouched low, remained still, calm, imposing despite his relaxed posture. His gaze was fixed on the stranger. Talren, on the other hand, already felt his blood burn in his veins. He had never seen another saber besides his master's.
The man now wore a black shoretrooper mask, hastily salvaged from a still-warm corpse. With his hood pulled low over his face, he radiated a dark, unreadable aura.
"You're not with the Imperials," Solen stated firmly, though without menace.
The man said nothing.
"You arrived before us? What happened here? Where's the child?"
Silence.
"Those who took him left no trace," the man finally replied, his voice muffled by the mask.
"We noticed," Talren replied, acid in his tone.
He took another step forward, challenging. His eyes locked on the stranger with a feverish intensity.
"You're hiding something," he snapped. "You're a Sith, aren't you?"
The man didn't flinch. The scorched black mask revealed nothing. No emotion could be read.
"Who are you?" Solen asked more directly.
No answer.
Talren stepped even closer, fingers clenched around the hilt of his saber.
"Answer, dammit."
Nothing.
"You know what happened here. You know who took the child," Talren growled, his voice trembling with anger.
Still silence.
Solen turned slightly toward his Padawan, his tone a warning:
"Talren…"
"I've had enough!" he cut in, a cruel smile on his lips.
He laughed.
"Maybe you'll talk once I cut off your arms."
The man lifted his head. A brief pause. Then a voice, calm and laced with irony, came through the helmet:
"A real Jedi… all diplomacy."
"Talren, don't!" Solen's voice echoed in the darkness – but it was already too late.
Deaf to his master's warning, Talren lunged at Yun, lightsaber raised high above his head. The young apprentice brought his blade down with fury, aiming to land a crushing first blow. Yun parried without hesitation. The clash of blades lit their faces with flickers of blue and white, casting fleeting sparks across the dark, wet surroundings.
With a fluid motion, Yun deflected Talren's attack to the side and struck back immediately. The measured strength of Djem So, which Yun once practiced, had given way to the frenzy of Vaapad, fueled by growing aggression. His blue saber became a whirlwind of unpredictable, lightning-fast strikes that crashed down on Talren with brutal force.
Talren tried to hold his ground. Gritting his teeth, he launched a series of desperate strikes to push Yun back — but each was blocked with elegant precision. Yun seemed to be everywhere at once — every dodge followed instantly by a punishing counter. Within seconds, Talren was overwhelmed; his arm weakened under repeated impacts, his form began to fall apart.
Step by step, he was forced back, breathing hard, crushed by the sheer pressure of the duel. A low growl accompanied Yun's next attack. The blue blade whistled through the air and struck Talren's saber with such force that the weapon flew from his hands.
Talren's saber clattered across the metal ground in a shower of sparks. Disarmed and unbalanced, he stumbled and fell flat on his back. Before he could recover, Yun descended on him like a hawk on prey — his blazing saber tip stopping just beneath Talren's throat.
Time froze.
Yun, chest heaving with exertion, held Talren at saber-point, the blue blade humming mere inches from his neck. One move, and it could've ended. But he stopped. Just like that.
Neither moved during the unbearable moment that followed. Only the electric hum of the still-lit saber filled the silence. Talren, wide-eyed, barely breathed, the heat of the blade licking at his skin.
Solen had remained on the sidelines, silent spectator from start to finish. The Jedi Master, motionless in the shadows, now watched the scene with a mixture of shock and relief.
But one detail troubled him deeply: despite the rage driving Yun, the saber he wielded still shone a pure, unwavering blue — not red.
The azure light danced across the frozen faces of both fighters, as Solen, wordless, began to walk forward, eyes locked on the duel.
Talren sprang to his feet, ready to leap back into battle, consumed by fury.
"Enough!" shouted Solen.
"But…" Talren began to protest.
Then, more calmly, with a glacial tone, his master said:
"Shut up"
Talren stepped back immediately, wordless.
Solen finally stepped in, slowly, until he stood between Yun and Talren. He didn't ignite his saber right away.
He stood tall, his cloak drenched by the swamp's mist, the air of a master who had survived too many wars to be fazed by a raised blade.
"You're fast," he admitted, observing Yun.
Yun gave no answer. His saber still hummed, but his eyes — invisible behind the mask — were locked. He stepped back, perhaps to reposition. But Solen was already moving.
A breath. A flash. Solen's green blade sprang to life in a burst of emerald light.
The duel exploded like a storm.
Yun reacted on instinct, but Solen had the experience of a hundred battles. Every flick of his wrist told a story of war. Every step anticipated a weakness. Their sabers collided in a furious rhythm, plasma lighting up the black waters around them.
Yun struck back with fierce grace, his style a volatile blend of Soresu's fluid defense and Vaapad's brutal precision. But Solen didn't fight to kill.
He studied. He tested. He read each of Yun's movements like an ancient book. And what he read… unsettled him.
"You're hiding behind that mask," he muttered mid-exchange.
"You wouldn't understand," Yun replied, barely audible.
With a cry, Yun unleashed a renewed onslaught. Their duel escalated. The ground beneath them cracked; mud and steam erupted with every move. Sabers clashed, recoiled, sparked with bursts of fury. A surge of Force sent a tree trunk flying. Another flattened the tall grass in a wave.
Solen feinted high, then swept his blade downward in a sudden arc. It scraped across Yun's helmet, sending a spray of sparks. A scorched line was seared into the metal. The blow didn't shatter the mask — but it left a deep, visible crack. A clean fissure now split the left lens, barely exposing a sliver of skin beneath.
Yun leapt back, breathing hard, saber still humming. He raised a hand to the side of his helmet, checking its integrity.
Talren, still at a distance, gritted his teeth.
"I know that style…" he muttered. "Tonor's Padawan!"
He stepped forward, lowering his guard slightly.
"Yun? Is that you?"
Silence. Then the voice behind the helmet returned, cold and distant:
"You shouldn't be here, Solen. Go back to your Padawan."
"What are you doing here?"
Yun didn't answer. His saber pulsed, like a warning. And then — footsteps in the brush. Sloshing boots. Voices. A flickering blue light cutting through the mist.
"Master Solen! someone shouted in the distance. Is that you?"
The group — four soldiers — had clearly come down from the ship. A detachment of New Order troopers, hastily trained to support Jedi operations.
"Captain! Solen called out."
But the soldiers raised their blasters directly at Yun, whose outfit made him look more like an enemy than an ally.
"Freeze!" ordered a voice. "On your knees! Hands where I can see them!"
But Yun didn't wait. He sprang backward, saber vanishing with a quick hiss. Then he disappeared into the trees — as silent and sudden as a ghost. A surge of the Force propelled him upward, and he melted into the fog.
Talren, still tense, stared toward the forest.
"Who was that?" asked the captain, his finger still tight on the trigger.
Solen slowly lowered his saber, now deactivated. He was silent for a moment, eyes lingering on the shadows where Yun had vanished.
"A former Jedi," he said at last.
"Was he an enemy?" the captain pressed.
Talren turned sharply toward him.
"He wasn't Imperial. Not a Sith either. He held back. He could've killed me. He chose not to."
"And he was wearing a shoretrooper helmet," added one of the soldiers, stepping closer. "If he hadn't shut off that saber, I would've fired."
The captain frowned.
"You know him, Master Jedi?"
Solen nodded slowly.
"I do. That was Yun Sedaya. Master Tonor's last Padawan… before his fall."
A stunned silence followed.
"He's all over the holos lately," muttered a soldier. "Killed a bunch of people, stole forbidden artifacts, infiltrated bases… That kind of thing. I didn't expect to run into him here. He's got a really creepy vibe."
Talren smirked.
"Creepy, sure. But what a presence. Shoretrooper mask, hyper-aggressive, fast as lightning… Definitely not your average Jedi."
He crossed his arms, thoughtful. Something about that man still lingered in his mind.
"I'm calling him Specter. Fits him."
Solen rolled his eyes, exasperated by his Padawan's dramatics, but said nothing.
"And the child?" Talren asked the captain.
The captain looked down, his gaze hardening.
"He's dead. We found his body further out, among the reeds. Abandoned."
"Damn…," Talren muttered, throat tight.
Solen's expression darkened. His voice grew heavier.
"You know what this means, Captain..."
The captain nodded slowly.
"Yeah. The Senate's going to erupt when they hear. The next session's gonna be... memorable."
Solen turned on his heel and walked away without another word.
"Secure the area. We're heading back to the ship."
"And the Specter?" Talren called after him.
Solen didn't stop. His voice echoed through the mist, dry and cutting:
"And stop calling him that, you idiot."