The cargo ship landed in Felucia's humid atmosphere like a drop of oil in water.
During the journey, he hadn't even found time to write in his journal.
Through the dirty viewport, Yun caught sight of a sea of bioluminescent lights, giant mushrooms, and moving plants of impossible colors.
The entire planet seemed alive, as if every root breathed, every breeze observed.
When he finally stepped down the ramp, the dense, spore-filled air hit him in the face. Heavy heat. Suffocating humidity.
Nothing like the dryness of Serenno.
Felucia.
A world where fauna and flora reigned supreme. Where every creature, every plant, could be as dangerous as a lightsaber.
The ship's captain, a gruff Rodian chewing on an electronic cigar, nodded at him without really looking.
"You're here, Jedi. Enjoy paradise," he said with a sarcastic grin as he headed back up the ramp.
Yun barely nodded, then walked away from the makeshift spaceport. A few smugglers lingered near crates, watched by rusted security droids.
He knew what he was looking for here: to disappear for a while. Earn a few credits. Rebuild.
And maybe, in this vegetal chaos, find some silence.
Yun's first contact on Felucia was a green-skinned Twi'lek named Selraa, the unofficial manager of a small trade outpost at the jungle's edge.
Not exactly a criminal. More of a survivor. The kind of person who knew how to trade favors better than anyone.
When Yun asked her for shelter for a few days, she raised an eyebrow, wary.
"I don't offer free cabins."
"I can work," he replied simply.
She stared at him for a few seconds, as if weighing whether he could survive what she'd propose.
"There's an abandoned listening post, three clicks from here, buried in spores and roots. Old Republic relay. I don't send anyone there anymore—nexu pack roams nearby."
"Nexu?"
"Fierce predators. Nearly invisible in the jungle. If you come back alive with the relay's data beacon, you get your cabin."
Yun didn't hesitate.
The jungle swallowed him whole.
Every step was a battle. Carnivorous plants twitched at his approach. Thick vines hung like traps.
The spongy, unstable ground tried to swallow his boots.
The Force helped him stay focused, sensing danger before it struck.
He eventually found the relay, hidden under giant ferns, its structures half-consumed by vegetation. He entered cautiously, hand resting on his saber hilt.
The beacon was still there, covered in mold.
He detached it, then… felt a shiver in the Force.
The nexu was already there.
A pale blur lunged from the shadows. He drew just in time — the blue lightsaber flashed through the air. The beast's fangs passed inches from his face.
It recoiled, growling, then leapt again.
He dodged, rolled aside, used the Force to hurl a dead branch into the predator's path.
It backed off again, wounded, then vanished into the foliage.
Yun didn't wait. He ran.
Selraa was waiting, surprised to see him alive — and even more, uninjured.
He dropped the beacon on her counter.
The Twi'lek gave him a thin smile.
"A promise is a promise. You've got a cabin north of the swamp. Nothing fancy… but it's safe from beasts, and it's quiet. No one goes there."
Yun took the keys in silence.
He didn't need comfort.
Just a roof. And time.
The silence of the cabin was broken only by Felucia's fauna and the jungle's slow breath.
For two weeks, Yun did only two things: survive and study.
He had found a rhythm. In the mornings, he left the cabin briefly to hunt small creatures, gather fruits, or refill his canteens at a hidden water source.
He never hunted more than needed. Spoke to no one. Avoided the outposts.
The rest of the time, he remained inside, hunched over a bundle of old documents carefully sealed in oiled cloth.
Copies, fragments, incomplete translations from another age. Writings attributed to Darth Revan.
They weren't organized. Not structured.
Scattered paragraphs. Thoughts cast into the void. Some in Basic, others in partially translated Ancient Sith.
But through the chaos, a voice emerged:
"Power is not in obedience. It lies in choice."
"I was Jedi. Then Sith. Then nothing. I was soldier, strategist, slave to war. I was free only when I gave up belonging."
"What you think is the Force is only one facet. Those who claim to master it are lying."
The days passed. And the more Yun read, the more he understood.
Revan hadn't just defied the Council. He had torn through the very structure of good and evil.
He had seen a greater world — a truth neither Jedi nor Sith had wanted to admit.
Sometimes Yun would stop. Stare at nothing for hours.
He saw himself on Serenno again. In the ruins of the Temple.
He had thought the fall began with a mistake.
But maybe the true fall… was staying blind out of loyalty.
At night, he dreamed of Revan.
Not as a clear vision, but a silhouette in shadow — between two worlds, two voices, two sabers locked in eternal duel.
And in those dreams, Revan said nothing.
He only watched.
As if waiting.
Three weeks.
Yun had lost track of exact days, but he knew it had been too long.
Too long without news. From Mad. From Kael. From the Book.
He had waited. Studied. Endured the silence, the doubt, the creeping shadow of abandonment.
But nothing had come. No signal.
He could have left. Tried to find them.
But without direction, without resources, it would be suicide.
And Felucia, wild as it was, offered a semblance of stability.
In time, he'd grown closer to Selraa.
A kind of unspoken trust formed between them.
She never asked questions about his saber, or his solitude.
She knew the jungle, the hidden camps, illegal trade routes, the pilots avoiding the main lanes.
One morning, as he returned from the jungle, she was waiting outside his shack.
"I've got people looking for a quiet hand. Not a soldier. Not a killer. Someone competent. And silent."
Yun froze.
"You want me to become a mercenary?"
"I want you to stay alive. And stop sulking, waiting for people who may never come back."
He didn't reply for a long time. Then sighed. And nodded.
So without desire, but with clarity, Yun accepted his first job.
Aggressive beasts threatening a small farming village.
Quick op. Low risk. Especially for him.
But when he returned that night, covered in dust and dried blood, he understood something:
To act — even without cause — was better than waiting.
Felucia, with its glowing forests and lurking predators, didn't lack work. Convoy escort. Ruin surveillance.
Investigations into strange disappearances in the northern swamps.
Selraa provided contacts. He chose what to accept.
He never took more than he could handle.
And always, after the mission, he returned to his readings.
To Revan's words. To that extinguished voice that, sometimes, felt more alive than the shadows around him.
Another week passed.
Seven more days spent studying Revan's writings, seeking meaning in contradictions, fragments of thoughts, the reflections of a man who was at once strategist, warrior, and prophet.
But by the end of it, Yun was more lost than ever.
He had hoped to find answers. Instead, only reflections of his own doubts.
He closed the journal slowly, set it on the rickety table of his hut, and stood.
Outside, Felucia breathed — muffled sounds of invisible insects, the rustle of carnivorous plants, fluorescent spores in the air.
He wandered aimlessly, until he came across Selraa, crouched near a dying fire, gazing at the twisted treetops.
"You look thoughtful," she said.
"Always," he replied, stoic.
She gave a slight smile, then stood and handed him a datapad.
"Got a request this morning. Not the usual kind. A kid went missing in the marsh zone of Itarrek. Son of some diplomat or Republic official, I forget.
They didn't give many details, but it pays well… and it's urgent."
Yun read the data silently.
"Not a merc job," he murmured.
"Not a soldier's job either. But they specifically asked for someone like you.
Someone who can navigate hostile terrain. And act… quietly."
He looked up at her.
"Who's 'they'?"
"Middlemen. Nothing official."
Yun squinted, wary.
"And you don't think it's strange?"
"Everything's strange here. But a child is in danger.
Don't you want to play the hero? Just to see?"
He stood silent for a long moment. Then nodded.
"Give me the coordinates."
"I knew you'd say yes."
Yun turned away.
His heart was still heavy, but something about this mission — maybe that it involved a child — resonated with a part of him he hadn't yet let die.
The sun was setting over the jungles of Felucia, bathing the foliage in a strange, almost unreal golden light. Yun moved quickly but quietly, his coat smeared with mud and bluish spores. He had accepted the mission reluctantly — to rescue a young boy kidnapped by local raiders. Simple. Quick. Efficient. Or at least, that's what he had thought.
The trail had led him through swamps, to a series of caves hidden beneath massive fungal formations. Yun felt a strange shiver crawl up the back of his neck even before entering. The air was thick. Electric.
And silent.
Too silent.
He slipped into the cave, lightsaber unlit in his hand. No sounds. No cries. Nothing.
Then, the smell.
The first body was slumped against the wall, eyes wide open, frozen in shock. Another lay a few meters away, cleanly sliced across the chest.
"Lightsaber strikes..."
Yun crouched down and inspected the wound. Charred. Clean. Precise. This wasn't the work of pirates or bounty hunters.
There were at least six of them. All dead. No blaster burns. No signs of a firefight. Just… the blade.
Someone trained had passed through. And they knew how to use it.
Yun clenched his jaw. There was something else — a faint feeling in the Force. A residual imprint. Voices. Fear. And… discipline.
He moved on, guided more by instinct than any physical trail.
The trees parted ahead of him as if holding their breath. The songs of jungle creatures had ceased. Even the light seemed hesitant to filter through the leaves.
Then he saw them.
Two silhouettes, about a hundred meters away, standing atop a rocky ledge.
One tall, straight-backed — a figure of authority. The other smaller, beside them, holding something in their arms.
Yun froze. His heart pounded.
And in the Force, Yun suddenly sensed a familiar and yet distant clarity.
The Light.
He stood still, eyes wide, hand gripping the hilt of his saber.
Jedi.