tellan never heard the chancellor hit the ground. He couldn’t hear anything. His ears were ringing and one of his eyes had swollen shut. All he knew was that the Trandoshan was on top of him, punching down with his remaining fist, each strike loosening more of Stellan’s teeth. Stellan had no idea where his lightsaber had fallen or even how to summon it. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t function.

That’s when he saw his Master’s face. Not physically, of course, Stellan could be blind for all he knew, but Rana Kant was there all the same, her features creased with age but kind, gentle, and so, so strong.

Stellan wanted to go to the old woman, to throw his arms around her in a way he had never done when his Master was alive. He wanted to be at peace in the way the old Jedi was at peace, one with the Force in a place beyond pain, beyond duty.

No, her voice seemed to say. A Jedi is never beyond duty. A Jedi should always feel pain; the pain of those who are oppressed, the pain of the powerless. It is not your time, Stellan, but I am with you. Always.

Stellan’s hand slipped beneath his robes, not to his empty holster, but to the hilt clipped to his belt. Grazed fingers wrapped around the cylinder, finding grooves molded into the leather grip by another hand, a metal stud beneath his thumb. Stellan pulled Kant’s lightsaber from its clip, angled the emitter, and pressed hard. He barely heard the green blade ignite, barely smelled the flesh burning as the plasma punched through the Trandoshan’s torso and out of his back.

The hits stopped coming, and the reptilian slumped to the side, breathing his last beneath his respirator.


Star Wars The High Republic The Rising Storm Chapter 43