The cave felt even bigger once the howlers were gone—like an emptied lung, still echoing with the memory of a snarl. The silence pressed in on us. The faint strip of daylight pouring through the ceiling crack looked impossibly small and impossibly far.

  “Okay,” Meral said, hands on her hips. “We’ve solved the part where we don’t die in the next five minutes. Now we solve the part where we get out of this kriffing hole.”

  Varlo didn’t laugh. To his credit, he tried. The sound came out wet and scared. His dog pressed closer, whining softly.

  I clapped my hands together once. “Improvisation time.”

  ? ? ?

  It’s funny how much debris you notice only when you need it. Suddenly, the world was full of potential equipment.

  Roots dangled from the ceiling crack like natural ropes, some had fallen down and didn’t completely shatter. Some thick enough to hold weight and some thin enough to braid. On the ground lay fallen branches stripped to pale sinew by moisture and time. And the bushes we’d crashed into earlier had left a carpet of leafy twigs.

  “Seat first,” I said. “We need something stable enough that Varlo and the dog can both sit on it without tipping.”

  “And we need to make sure we don’t drop them,” Meral added, eyeing the hundred-meter climb with clear disapproval.

  We gathered everything into a pile.

  Then we began the engineering.

  And by “engineering” I mean: two half-trained Jedi teenagers, exhausted, bruised, and covered in cave dust, attempting carpentry with unyielding rope made for climbing but not fine crafts and with branches that looked like they’d lost a fight with a herd of dewbacks.

  But it worked.

  We crossed two thick branches into an X-shape, bound them tight with rope at the center, framed them with four more, then wove leafy stems between them until we formed something like a primitive seat. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t stable. It definitely wasn’t approved by any Republic safety standards.

  But when Varlo’s dog tested it by climbing on top and sitting proud as a war general, the structure only sagged slightly.

  “See?” I said. “Perfect.”

  “Perfectly likely to kill us,” Meral muttered—but she smiled when she said it.

  We tied four ropes, one to each corner. Then tied those four to a single knot high above the seat. From that knot, two ropes branched off toward me and two toward Meral—leading back to improvised shoulder harnesses made from the rest of our rope.

  “When we climb,” I explained, looping my arms through the rough rope harness, “the pressure should stay balanced.”

  “Should,” Meral said. She tugged the knot, testing. “If this whole thing tilts, I’m going to blame you personally.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “What if it spins?” Varlo asked nervously.

  “Well,” Meral said, “then I scream, Kae’rin screams, the dog screams, and we all die very dramatically.”

  Varlo’s eyes went wide.

  “Meral,” I hissed.

  “Kidding!” She squeezed his shoulder. “Totally kidding. This will work.”

  Truthfully, it was the best chance we had.

  We were checking the last knots when the first flash of blue-white light streaked down into the cave.

  All three of us flinched. Even the dog growled.

  Then someone screamed in excitement—not fear. Joy. A long, drawn-out whoop that ricocheted around the cave like drunken thunder.

  “Oh no,” I muttered.

  Because I recognized that voice.

  ? ? ?

  Toran Vennar was impossible to miss even on days when sanity prevailed—which, for him, were statistical anomalies. He was all sharp lines and restless movement: tall for his age, shoulders just beginning to hint at adult breadth, hair in a perpetual state of near-explosion as if he lived inside a malfunctioning repulsorlift. He walked like every hallway was a launch ramp, talked like words were racing each other out of his mouth, and laughed with the bright, reckless joy of someone who’d never once considered the concept of consequences. Even the sound of him arriving somewhere—the thump of a boot against a wall, the metallic clatter of something he absolutely shouldn’t have been fixing, the triumphant aha! right before a small explosion—was unmistakable.

  And yet, for reasons I cannot fathom and absolutely refuse to examine too closely, he was also unforgettable in ways that were… inconvenient. Toran had the annoying habit of being both infuriating and charming: the sort of boy who’d grin at you like the sunrise was a private joke you shared, then immediately ruin it by juggling hydrospanners over an active power coupling. He called danger “educational,” boredom “an act of violence,” and rules “suggestions.” I had known him only a few months, but somehow the sight of him dropping into a bottomless chasm with a blinding flash of light and adrenaline-powered scream made perfect, inevitable sense. Of course it would be Toran. And of course my first thought would be exactly what it always was around him: Oh no. Not this guy.

  A blur dropped through the ceiling crack—then arrested itself in midair with a roar of thrusters.

  Toran burst into sight, lit from below by haze of a glowrod and from above by the waterfall of light pouring down from the jungle ceiling.

  Four astromech-style micro-thrusters were welded to a metal harness strapped across his back and hips. A fuel pack glowed dimly at his spine. His boots still smoked from entry.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  He looked, in short, like a half-finished droid someone had thrown a person into.

  He hit the air brakes mid-descent, tipped sideways, windmilled, corrected, overcorrected, spun twice—then managed to land on one knee with a flourish that would’ve made any theater troupe applaud.

  “My ladies,” he announced, sweeping into a bow. “Fear not. Your heroic rescuer has arrived.”

  He finished the flourish, looked up, saw the huge battle-scuffed scars in the far rock wall, and paled.

  “Oh. I am… late, aren’t I.”

  “Yes,” Meral said.

  “Very,” I added.

  “And you missed us almost dying,” Meral said cheerfully.

  Toran put his hands on his hips. “Kam always says the universe rewards initiative. I believe this proves otherwise.”

  Despite myself, I grinned.

  “We got the call from Tionne,” he said quickly, all the bravado suddenly dropping into earnestness. “Kyle and Kam went to find and round up the search parties, but I figured you two would get somewhere hard to reach fast, so I—well—borrowed a few things from the workshop.”

  “Borrowed,” Meral repeated.

  “Yes,” Toran said, puffing up. “Borrowed. Intentionally. Purposefully. Entirely without asking.”

  “Looks like a bomb strapped to a spine,” I said.

  He shrugged. “All the best inventions begin like bombs. Ask any other Corellian.”

  He turned to Varlo, eyes softening. “You’re the missing kid, right? Legs still attached? Dog adorable? Good.”

  The dog barked once in greeting. Toran nearly melted on the spot.

  “Okay,” he said to us. “Give me the seat. We attach it to the lift harness, then I ascend. Easy.”

  “Easy,” Meral echoed in disbelief.

  But it was the best option we had.

  ? ? ?

  We triple-checked the knots as fast as we could. Toran stabilized himself while I wrapped the seat’s ropes around the lower crossbar of his harness, threading them through a pair of repulsor clamps.

  Then we lifted Varlo onto the sling. The dog hopped into his lap, curling protectively around his legs.

  “Ready?” Toran asked.

  “No,” Varlo said.

  “Same,” Toran replied. “Up we go!”

  He hit the thrusters.

  The jets fired with a loud fwoosh that reverberated up the walls. Toran staggered, adjusting for the sudden load. The seat swung slightly. Varlo squeaked. The dog braced its paws on his knees.

  Slowly—so slowly it hurt to watch—Toran rose.

  Ten meters.

  Twenty.

  Thirty.

  The strain showed immediately.

  Sweat beaded on Toran’s forehead. His arms shook as he gripped the harness stabilizers. His boots kicked to adjust his balance.

  “You’re doing great!” Meral shouted.

  “I—am—not—doing—great!” Toran yelled back through clenched teeth. The jets coughed once. “This… thing… was not… calibrated for passengers!”

  Then he made the mistake of looking down.

  “OH F—”

  “Toran!” I shouted. “Eyes up!”

  He obeyed, but his breathing grew ragged. The weight was dragging on him hard. The jets flickered.

  Meral looked at me. “He isn’t going to make it.”

  I swallowed. “He has to.”

  Forty meters.

  Fifty.

  Sixty.

  He was almost to the verge of the ceiling crack. I could see faint silhouettes above—Tionne’s white robes among them.

  She must have sensed us. Because she leaned over the edge.

  “Kae’rin!” she shouted down. “We see him! We’ve got them!”

  “Tionne!” I yelled back. “His thrusters aren’t—”

  That was when one of them exploded.

  ? ? ?

  It wasn’t a dramatic fireball, but a spark-snapping, smoke-belching cough that shut half the lift power off.

  Toran dropped five meters in a blink.

  Varlo screamed. The dog barked madly. Toran cursed with a creativity born only of imminent death.

  “Nononononono—!”

  “TORAN!” I screamed.

  He managed to steady the fall just enough to slow it—but not enough to stop it. The harness fought him, dragging sideways. Varlo’s seat swung and tilted, only held upright by his white-knuckled grip.

  Toran’s boots kicked against the air. “I CAN’T—I CAN’T HOLD—”

  “Toran, listen to me!” a voice boomed above.

  Tionne.

  Calm. Commanding. Cutting through panic like a clean blade.

  “I’m here. I’m with you. Let go of the panic. Breathe. I have you.”

  Toran gasped, sucked in a breath, obeyed her instantly. His limbs locked rigid, bracing the seat’s weight with the last of the thruster output.

  Then the entire trio plunged another five meters—

  —before stopping with a jolt.

  Not physically.

  Through the Force.

  Tionne held them, suspended in the empty air like insects caught in amber.

  The jets flickered and died completely. Toran dangled, panting. Varlo sobbed. The dog whimpered, pressing its snout into Varlo’s chest.

  “You’re safe,” Tionne said, her voice echoing downward as steady as bedrock. “I’ve got all three of you.”

  She pulled upward with invisible strength.

  The trio rose. Slowly. Smoothly. No swinging. No danger now.

  When they passed through the crack and vanished onto the surface, the breath I’d been holding finally released.

  Meral let out a shaky laugh. “I’m going to kiss him. Then kill him. Then kiss him again for trying.”

  “I’ll hold him down for you.”

  ? ? ?

  I hated heights. Absolutely despised them. The cave wall stretched upward in jagged, uneven scars, and the shadows clung to the stone like things that resented us for still being alive.

  Meral looked at me. “Race you?”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Yes. That’s why we’re friends.”

  We climbed.

  The improvised rope harnesses dug into our shoulders. Sweat slicked my palms. My arms trembled, not from fear but from exhaustion swallowing whatever reserves I had left.

  Every foothold was a gamble.

  Every grip felt like someone else’s fingers.

  My breath rasped in the dark.

  Meral grunted steadily beside me.

  Halfway up, the cave seemed to tilt under my feet—not literally, just the sensation you get when you’ve been fighting gravity so long you’re sure it’s personal.

  Don’t look down.

  Don’t look.

  Don’t—

  I looked down.

  And regretted it instantly.

  “Hey,” Meral said, breathless but steady. “Eyes on the rock, Kae’rin.”

  “I hate everything,” I muttered.

  “You can hate it later. Keep climbing.”

  We continued.

  Seventy meters.

  Eighty.

  Ninety.

  At ninety-five meters, my fingers slipped. Only for a fraction of a second. But long enough to send a shock up my spine.

  Meral reached over, bracing the rope that connected us. “Got you.”

  “I know,” I said. And I did. Completely.

  When my hand finally closed over the broken edge of the ceiling crack, Tionne’s hand reached down and clasped mine. She pulled me up into the humid air of Yavin IV’s jungle night. Fireflies drifted near the ground. The canopy rustled softly.

  Toran sat nearby, legs sprawled, hair singed, eyebrows half missing. Varlo’s dog licked his face enthusiastically while Varlo clung to his arm like a limb he wasn’t willing to lose again.

  Toran looked up as Meral and I crawled out of the crack. His face split into a grin.

  “Took you long enough.”

  “You almost died,” I said flatly.

  “Yes,” he said proudly. “Heroically.”

  “Stupidly,” I said at the same time.

  I stared at him.

  He stared back.

  My lips twitched first. “Show-off.”

  He beamed. “Was it impressive?”

  “Annoying,” I said. “But… brave.”

  A blush crept up his ears. “Don’t tell Kam. He’ll make me rewrite the safety manual a hundred times.”

  Tionne gathered us all, her expression equal parts relief and stern reprimand. “Let’s get back to Wetyin’s Colony before dawn. There will be questions.”

  There were always questions.

  But for now, as I walked beside my friends through the jungle paths, bruised and aching and exhausted beyond thought, all I felt was the simple, stubborn truth:

  We had made it.

  We had done something hard.

  And stupid.

  And brave.

  And we were going home.