Scene: Dr. Velran’s Plea
Dr. Velran pushed his way through the dimly lit alleys of Nar Shaddaa’s lower levels, his pace quickening as he neared the location he’d been told about. The flickering neon signs and acrid air did little to calm his nerves, but his determination overpowered the discomfort.
Finally, he spotted the speeder repair shop. Its neon sign buzzed faintly, barely illuminating the cracked pavement in front. Velran hesitated for a moment, then steeled himself and stepped inside.
The shop was quiet, the faint smell of grease and machinery lingering in the air. At the far end, a man sat cross-legged on a mat, his robes plain and well-worn, a lightsaber hilt resting casually on the floor beside him. His eyes opened as Velran approached, sharp and focused.
“You must be the one looking for me,” the man said calmly, his voice steady. “I’m Kavach.”
Velran nodded quickly, his urgency evident. “Yes. I’m Dr. Velran. I run a clinic nearby. I… I need your help.”
Kavach tilted his head slightly, studying him. “You don’t look like the type to seek out a Jedi. What’s troubling you?”
Velran hesitated, his mind racing to find the right words. “It’s a patient. A woman. She’s… not from here. I don’t know where she’s from, actually. But she’s not like anyone I’ve ever seen.”
Kavach’s gaze didn’t waver. “Go on.”
“She calls herself Perfectia,” Velran continued. “She’s—well, she looks human, sort of, but with long ears and amber eyes. Her biology doesn’t match any species I’ve treated before. But that’s not what’s strange. It’s what she can do.”
“What can she do?” Kavach asked, his tone measured.
Velran rubbed the back of his neck, his unease growing. “She can heal people. Not like a doctor or with technology. She… she uses something else. I don’t know what it is. I’ve seen her reattach severed limbs, close wounds in seconds. And it’s not just physical. It’s like she’s drawing on something… beyond explanation. Beyond logic.”
Kavach leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. “The Force?”
“I don’t know,” Velran admitted. “Maybe. All I know is, whatever it is, it’s killing her. She passed out after healing someone recently, and her vitals have been declining ever since. We’ve tried everything—nutrients, fluids, rest—but nothing’s working.”
Kavach’s brow furrowed, his expression contemplative. “And you think I can help?”
Velran nodded, desperation creeping into his voice. “This is a shot in the dark, I know. But you’re a Jedi. You deal with things that go beyond science and reason. If anyone can figure out what’s happening to her, it’s you.”
Kavach was silent for a moment, his gaze distant as he processed the information. Finally, he nodded. “Take me to her.”
Velran exhaled in relief, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Thank you. I don’t know what else to do.”
“You did the right thing by coming to me,” Kavach said as he stood, clipping his lightsaber to his belt. “But I need you to be honest. If she’s as unique as you say, helping her may bring attention you don’t want. Are you prepared for that?”
Velran hesitated, then nodded firmly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her alive.”
Kavach gave a faint smile, his calm demeanor reassuring. “Then let’s not waste any more time.”
The two of them left the repair shop, Velran leading the way back to the clinic. The doctor’s mind raced with a mix of hope and apprehension. This was a gamble, but it was a gamble he had to take. Perfectia’s life—and perhaps more than that—depended on it.
Scene: Kavach’s Presence
Dr. Velran led Kavach into the recovery room, the quiet hum of medical equipment filling the space. Perfectia lay motionless on the bed, her skin pale, her breathing shallow. The monitors continued their steady beeping, but their readings showed little improvement.
Kavach stepped closer, his calm demeanor unchanged as he studied her. “She’s been like this since the incident?” he asked.
Velran nodded. “She hasn’t woken up in days. Her vitals are dropping, and nothing we’ve done has helped.”
Kavach moved to Perfectia’s bedside, his expression thoughtful. As he reached out, intending to gauge her condition through the Force, he hesitated. A strange sensation rippled through him—a sudden dampening of his connection to the energy that had always been second nature to him. His brow furrowed as he drew his hand back.
“What is it?” Velran asked, noting the Jedi’s pause.
Kavach remained silent for a moment, focusing on the faint feeling. “It’s… her,” he said finally, his voice tinged with curiosity. “She’s drawing on something. Her presence is… suppressing the Force around her.”
Velran’s eyes widened. “Suppressing it? What does that mean?”
Kavach took a slow breath, his gaze fixed on Perfectia. “The Force flows through all living things. But she… she’s absorbing it. Not intentionally, but as though her body is starved for energy.”
As he spoke, the monitors let out a soft beep. Velran glanced at the readings and noticed a slight but noticeable uptick in Perfectia’s vitals.
“Her vitals just improved,” Velran said, his tone cautious. “That hasn’t happened since she collapsed.”
Kavach nodded, stepping back slightly. The dampened sensation around him faded as he moved farther from her. “It’s temporary. Whatever she’s doing, it’s stabilizing her—but only while she’s close to a source of energy like the Force.”
Velran rubbed his temples, his mind racing. “That explains why she collapsed. She burned through whatever reserves she had left while healing. If she doesn’t replenish it…”
“She’ll die,” Kavach finished. “Her abilities seem to rely on something similar to the Force, but it’s not the same. It’s… separate, yet connected.”
Velran frowned. “Can you do anything to help her?”
Kavach tilted his head, considering. “I can try. But I’ll need to be careful. If I overextend myself, I risk destabilizing her further—or worse, losing my own connection entirely.”
Velran stepped aside, his expression grim. “Do whatever you can. She’s running out of time.”
Kavach’s Attempt
Kavach approached Perfectia again, this time moving slowly and deliberately. As he placed his hand lightly over her forehead, he focused his thoughts, letting the Force flow as naturally as it could. The dampening sensation returned, stronger now, as though her body instinctively reached out to absorb the energy.
Perfectia stirred faintly, her breathing deepening. The monitors beeped again, showing a slow but steady improvement in her vitals.
Velran leaned closer, his eyes scanning the readings. “It’s working. She’s stabilizing.”
Kavach nodded, his voice calm but strained. “Her body is drawing energy, replenishing itself. But she needs more than this. She needs to regain control of whatever power she’s connected to.”
As the glow around Kavach’s hands faded, he stepped back, his own breathing heavier than before. Perfectia’s vitals held steady, though she remained unconscious.
“She’s out of immediate danger,” Kavach said, his tone firm. “But this is only a temporary solution. If she keeps draining herself like this, it’ll happen again—and next time, she might not survive.”
Velran placed a hand on Kavach’s shoulder, his voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you. I didn’t think anyone could help her.”
Kavach shook his head. “I only bought her time. She needs to understand what she’s capable of—and how to control it.”
Velran nodded, his expression serious. “Then we’ll make sure she does.”
Scene: Perfectia’s Awakening
The soft glow of the clinic’s monitors illuminated the dim room as Kavach sat in quiet meditation nearby, his lightsaber resting on the table beside him. Dr. Velran leaned against the far wall, keeping a watchful eye on Perfectia, whose breathing had steadied since Kavach’s intervention.
A faint groan broke the silence. Perfectia’s amber eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dim light. She turned her head slowly, taking in her surroundings. Her gaze landed on the Jedi seated nearby and the lightsaber gleaming faintly beside him.
“What…?” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “What is that?”
Before anyone could respond, the lightsaber flickered faintly, as though responding to her presence. Perfectia’s eyes widened as a faint tendril of golden energy seemed to flow from the weapon to her hand. She sat up abruptly, feeling a rush of vitality.
Kavach’s brow furrowed, sensing the shift. “Wait—”
He reached out to the lightsaber, attempting to pull it back with the Force, but nothing happened. The weapon remained inert, its connection severed. Kavach frowned, his calm demeanor flickering into surprise.
Perfectia, now holding the lightsaber, inspected it curiously. “This is yours, right?” she asked, tilting her head. “Weird little device.”
“Give that back,” Kavach said, his tone still measured but firm. He reached out again, attempting another Force pull. Still, the lightsaber didn’t budge.
Perfectia blinked, glancing between him and the weapon. “Oh. Sorry about that.” She held it out casually, her smirk returning. “Okay, I’m good now.”
Kavach hesitated, then stepped forward to take the lightsaber from her. As soon as it was back in his hand, the faint connection to the Force returned, the weapon humming softly with energy once more.
“What did you do?” Kavach asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and caution.
Perfectia shrugged, stretching her arms. “I guess… I borrowed something. Energy or whatever. Didn’t mean to, but hey—it worked. I feel great now.”
Velran stepped closer, his expression filled with a mix of relief and concern. “You’re awake. That’s the important thing. But Perfectia, whatever you just did—it’s not something you can do lightly.”
“Noted,” she said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “So, what’s next? More weird rules and lectures about how this galaxy works?”
Kavach studied her carefully, his grip tightening slightly on his lightsaber. “You don’t understand what you’re capable of. That wasn’t just energy—you disrupted the Force itself. You’re… unlike anything I’ve encountered.”
Perfectia smirked, though her eyes held a glimmer of unease. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
Velran sighed, rubbing his temples. “Let’s take it one step at a time. For now, let’s focus on keeping you stable—and maybe figuring out what’s happening to you.”
Perfectia nodded, though her gaze lingered on Kavach. “Sure. But next time, maybe don’t leave shiny, energy-filled toys lying around.”
Kavach raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. Instead, he clipped the lightsaber to his belt, his thoughts racing as he tried to process what he’d just witnessed. Whatever Perfectia was, she was far more than she appeared—and far more dangerous.
Scene: Recovery and Resolve
Perfectia sat on the edge of her hospital bed, the faint glow of the clinic’s lights illuminating her arms. Her amber eyes scanned the faint traces of blackened marks that once spiraled along her skin, now reduced to faint shadows. She rubbed her fingers over them thoughtfully, the sensation grounding her.
“They’re almost gone,” she murmured to herself. “Guess that means I’m good to go.”
The door slid open, and Mira stepped inside, carrying a small datapad. “How are you feeling today?” she asked, her tone warm.
Perfectia smirked faintly. “Like I don’t belong here anymore. If I’m better, I shouldn’t be taking up space someone else might need.”
Mira raised an eyebrow. “You’re recovering, sure, but you’re not fully out of the woods. What’s the rush?”
Perfectia stood, stretching her arms. “The rush is that I don’t think I can afford this place. Pretty sure I don’t have ‘public insurance’ or whatever it is you people have around here. And I’m not going to stick you with the bill.”
Mira sighed, leaning against the doorway. “Velran isn’t going to kick you out for not paying. He’s not like that.”
“Maybe not,” Perfectia replied, her tone firm. “But I still owe you for saving my life. I’m not going to walk away without settling things.”
Mira crossed her arms, studying her. “And how do you plan to do that?”
Perfectia’s smirk widened. “Simple. I’ll make some money. I just need to figure out how.”
Stepping Into the Streets
A short time later, Perfectia found herself back on the bustling streets of Nar Shaddaa, the city’s cacophony enveloping her. Kel had agreed to accompany her, his curiosity piqued by her plan.
“So,” he began, walking beside her, “what’s the grand idea? You don’t exactly have a résumé for Nar Shaddaa’s job market.”
“I don’t need one,” Perfectia said confidently. “There’s got to be something I can do. People in this place need help, right?”
Kel chuckled. “Help? Sure. But most of the help they want involves smuggling, bounty hunting, or fixing speeder engines. You know how to do any of that?”
Scene: Kel Explains Limmie and Huttball
Kel rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around at the chaotic streets of Nar Shaddaa. “If you’re really interested in fast money, there’s… well, there’s Limmie.”
Perfectia tilted her head. “Limmie? Sounds like a drink.”
Kel chuckled. “It’s not. Limmie’s a team sport—kind of like your old-school soccer or rugby, but with a lot more contact and a ton more strategy. The players make good money, but you’ve gotta be scouted first.”
“Scouted?” Perfectia asked, her curiosity piqued. “You mean, like someone watches you play and decides you’re good enough?”
“Exactly,” Kel replied. “It’s professional, organized, and pretty competitive. Teams play for the Galactic Cup of Limmie—it’s a big deal in some systems.”
Perfectia frowned. “Sounds like a long road to make any credits. What’s the catch?”
Kel hesitated, then smirked. “The catch is you don’t start with Limmie unless you’ve got connections or someone notices your skills. Most people who want to break into it… they start with Huttball.”
“Huttball?” Perfectia raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
Kel gestured vaguely toward a nearby holo-display showing a replay of a chaotic match. The screen showed players in mismatched gear running across a booby-trapped arena, dodging explosions and hurling a glowing ball toward a goal.
“It’s like Limmie’s deranged older sibling,” Kel explained. “No rules, except getting the ball into the other team’s side. Oh, and try not to kill your teammates. Opponents, though? Fair game.”
Perfectia’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was,” Kel said, shaking his head. “It’s brutal. Traps, weapons, dirty tricks—all allowed. But if you survive and manage to build a reputation, some Limmie scouts will give you a second look. It’s happened before.”
Perfectia folded her arms, smirking faintly. “Sounds like a good way to get myself killed.”
“It’s a good way to make credits fast,” Kel countered. “The Hutt sponsors pay big for popular matches, especially if you stand out. People who’ve made it in Huttball don’t stick around long—they either retire rich or get out to play Limmie, where the risks are way lower.”
Perfectia watched the holo-display for a moment, her smirk fading slightly. “So, I just throw myself into a death match for a glowing ball?”
“Pretty much,” Kel said, shrugging. “But hey, you’re a fast learner, right?”
Scene: Choosing the Path
Perfectia folded her arms, smirking faintly. “Sounds like a good way to get myself killed.”
“It’s a good way to make credits fast,” Kel countered. “The Hutt sponsors pay big for popular matches, especially if you stand out. People who’ve made it in Huttball don’t stick around long—they either retire rich or get out to play Limmie, where the risks are way lower.”
Perfectia watched the holo-display for a moment, her smirk fading slightly. Images flashed in her mind—fragmented dreams of intense battles in chaotic arenas, warriors clashing in fierce competitions. It felt oddly familiar, as if she’d been through worse.
“I get this strange feeling I’ve been through worse,” she said thoughtfully. “So, Huttball it is.”
Kel’s eyes widened with concern. “Wait, hold on. Maybe we should pump the brakes a bit. Huttball is no joke. It’s deadly, unpredictable, and the players are ruthless.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You have a better suggestion?”
He nodded. “Actually, yes. Why not start by playing a few games of Limmie first? It’s competitive but far less lethal. You can always find people playing at the gymnasium nearby. I can teach you the rules, run some drills, and maybe someone will let you join a game.”
Perfectia considered this, her gaze drifting back to the holo-display. “And there’s money in it?”
“Not as much as Huttball, but you can make some credits, especially if you win. Plus, if you show real talent, you might get scouted for professional teams. Some players even make the jump from Limmie to Huttball with a solid reputation, and it’s a lot safer to start that way.”
She smirked. “Alright, Kel. You make a good point. Let’s give Limmie a shot.”
He grinned, relief evident on his face. “Great! Trust me, you’ll pick it up in no time.”
Scene: Hitting the Gymnasium
Kel led Perfectia to a bustling gymnasium nestled between towering buildings. The sounds of shouting players and thudding balls echoed from within. As they entered, the scent of sweat and determination filled the air.
“First things first,” Kel said, tossing her a Limmie ball. It was slightly oval-shaped with a textured grip. “Let’s go over the basics.”
They spent the next hour on an empty practice court. Kel demonstrated dribbling techniques, passing drills, and shooting forms. Perfectia mimicked his movements with surprising ease, her natural agility and quick reflexes shining through.
“You’re a natural,” Kel remarked, slightly out of breath after a sprinting drill.
She shrugged modestly. “I guess it just feels… familiar.”
“Good. Let’s see how you handle some opposition.”
He waved over a few players taking a break nearby. “Hey, think we could borrow you guys for a quick scrimmage?”
A stout human named Jax wiped his forehead. “Depends. Who’s the newbie?”
“This is Perfectia. She’s got some serious potential,” Kel replied.
Jax sized her up skeptically. “Alright, but don’t expect us to go easy.”
Perfectia smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Scene: First Taste of Competition
The impromptu game began, and Perfectia stood awkwardly near the center of the court, her amber eyes darting between the players. The ball moved swiftly, passing between teammates in a blur of motion she struggled to follow.
“Get in there!” Kel called from the sidelines, waving his arms.
Perfectia nodded, her determination outweighing her confusion. She stepped forward, only to be jostled by a passing player. The impact sent her stumbling, and the ball sailed past her.
Jax, dribbling the ball toward the goal, glanced back with a smirk. “Gotta keep up, newbie!”
Perfectia gritted her teeth, brushing herself off. She jogged back into the action, this time keeping a sharper eye on the flow of the game. A pass came her way, and she reached out, fumbling the ball before it bounced away. An opposing player snatched it and bolted down the court.
“Nice try!” Kel shouted, though his voice held a hint of sympathy.
Learning the Tone
As the game continued, Perfectia began to find her footing. She intercepted a pass, but before she could pass it on, a burly opponent slammed into her, sending her sprawling to the ground. The impact rattled her, and her pride stung as she heard a few chuckles from the sidelines.
“Welcome to Limmie!” Jax called, laughing as he jogged past.
Perfectia pushed herself up, her ears burning. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to focus. “Alright,” she muttered. “So that’s how it’s gonna be.”
The next time the ball came her way, she was ready. She caught it cleanly and made a break for the goal, weaving between players. But her inexperience showed as she hesitated too long, allowing an opponent to close in and knock the ball from her grip.
“You’ve got the moves,” Kel called, “but you’ve gotta think faster!”
Finding Her Moment
Despite the rough start, Perfectia’s stubbornness kept her in the game. She studied the other players, noting their strategies and movements. When another pass came her way, she caught it, immediately dribbling down the court. An opponent charged at her, but this time, she anticipated the move. She sidestepped, her body moving instinctively, and sprinted toward the goal.
“Go, go, go!” Kel shouted.
A defender closed in, but Perfectia spun around them, her reflexes and agility shining. She reached the goal and launched the ball with all her strength. It soared through the air, slipping just past the goalkeeper’s outstretched hands.
The ball struck the back of the net with a satisfying thud.
The court fell silent for a moment, then erupted into cheers and shouts. Perfectia stood there, catching her breath, a mix of exhaustion and pride on her face.
“Nice shot!” Jax called, jogging over. He slapped her on the back with a grin. “Took you a while, but you got there.”
Perfectia smirked faintly, wiping sweat from her brow. “Beginner’s luck.”
“Maybe,” Jax said, offering a hand to shake. “But you’re tougher than I thought.”
After the Game
As the players gathered on the sidelines, Jax turned to Perfectia. “You’ve got potential. A little rough around the edges, but we can work with that. You ever think about joining a team?”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been playing for, what, an hour?”
“Exactly,” Jax said. “And you already scored. That says something.”
Kel stepped forward, beaming. “I told you she’d be good.”
Jax nodded thoughtfully. “We’ve got a tournament coming up. It’s not pro-level or anything, but it’s good experience. If you’re interested, we could use someone like you.”
Perfectia glanced at Kel, who gave her an encouraging nod. She looked back at Jax, her smirk returning. “Alright,” she said. “I’m in.”
Scene: Considering Huttball
The team gathered around after the game, sharing water bottles and towels as they cooled down. Perfectia, still catching her breath, wiped the sweat from her brow and turned to Jax.
“So, about Huttball,” she started, her tone casual.
Jax raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”
“Just curious,” Perfectia said. “I kind of want to see what it’s like.”
Kel groaned. “Please tell me you’re not thinking of playing.”
She smirked faintly. “I might be.”
One of the other players, a tall Twi’lek woman named Keela, sighed, shaking her head. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. You can’t play Limmie if you have any prosthetics. It’s against the rules.”
Perfectia tilted her head. “What does that have to do with Huttball?”
Keela leaned back, crossing her arms. “Because some Limmie players—usually the cocky ones—think they can jump into a Huttball game for easy money or to boost their egos. Then they lose an arm or a leg, and that’s it. No more Limmie for them. They’re stuck playing Huttball for the rest of their lives.”
Jax nodded grimly. “And that’s a death sentence. No rules, no safety nets, just carnage.”
Perfectia considered this, her smirk fading slightly. “Alright, but can I at least watch a game? Just to see what I’m up against?”
Kel immediately shook his head. “No way. Tickets cost a fortune. You don’t just walk into a Huttball arena unless you’re rich or insane.”
Jax glanced at Kel, frowning. “Kel, come on. Maybe she should see it. She’s clearly thinking about playing. Let her watch a match and decide if she’s ready for that.”
Kel opened his mouth to argue but hesitated when Jax turned to the rest of the team. “What do you say? Let’s chip in for a ticket. We can’t let her walk into this blind.”
The players exchanged glances before a few of them nodded. Keela pulled out a handful of credits. “Fine. I’d rather she see it than hear about it secondhand.”
Kel groaned but relented, pulling out some credits of his own. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow. “You’re all really that worried about me?”
Jax smirked. “We’ve seen what Huttball can do. If you’re going to play, you should know what you’re walking into.”
Perfectia nodded, a flicker of respect crossing her face. “Alright. Let’s see what this Huttball thing is all about.”
Scene: The Huttball Arena
Kel and Perfectia weaved through the crowded walkways of Nar Shaddaa’s entertainment district, the neon glow of advertisements casting colorful reflections on the polished floors. The buzz of excitement was palpable as they neared the Huttball arena, the massive structure looming like a metallic fortress. Crowds of spectators, a mix of species from across the galaxy, thronged the entrance, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of chatter, cheers, and shouts.
Kel glanced at Perfectia, who seemed more curious than overwhelmed. “So, what are you expecting?” he asked.
“Not sure,” she replied with a shrug. “Something bloody and chaotic, I guess.”
“Accurate,” Kel muttered, shaking his head. “Just… try not to look too excited. This isn’t a nice place.”
They passed through the security checkpoint, where a droid scanned their tickets and waved them in. The interior of the arena was even more imposing, with metal walls lined with screens broadcasting pre-game highlights. Perfectia’s eyes lit up as she caught glimpses of the previous matches—explosions, traps, and players brawling for the glowing ball.
“This is… intense,” she said, her voice laced with intrigue.
Kel sighed. “Yeah. And dangerous. Just remember, this is what you’d be walking into.”
The Game Begins
Their seats were in the upper midsection, offering a clear view of the field below. The arena floor was a maze of obstacles—spiked pits, flamethrowers, and platforms that shifted without warning. Perfectia leaned forward, her amber eyes scanning the chaotic layout.
“Is that… a flamethrower?” she asked, pointing.
“Yep,” Kel replied. “And over there are electric shock panels. Those platforms? They drop randomly into acid pits. Oh, and the traps reset after every round.”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a blast.”
Before Kel could respond, the announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, introducing the teams. The crowd erupted into cheers as the players emerged, their armor mismatched and scarred from countless battles. The ball, glowing faintly, was placed at the center of the field.
The match began with a deafening horn, and the chaos unfolded instantly. Players sprinted for the ball, colliding with brutal force. One was thrown into an electric panel, convulsing before falling unconscious. Another used a grappling hook to steal the ball mid-air, only to be tackled into a pit by an opponent.
Perfectia watched, her expression a mix of awe and unease. “This is… insane.”
Kel nodded grimly. “Welcome to Huttball. No rules, no mercy.”
As the game continued, Perfectia’s focus sharpened. She noted the players’ strategies, their quick thinking and adaptability. Despite the carnage, there was a rhythm to the chaos—a strange, brutal elegance.
Scene: The Power of the Force
As the match continued, the crowd’s energy surged. A player from one team stepped forward, their presence commanding immediate attention. Draped in a dark, flowing cloak with crimson highlights, the figure’s movements were precise and unnervingly calm amidst the chaos.
“Who’s that?” Perfectia asked, leaning closer to the edge of her seat.
Kel’s expression darkened. “That’s no ordinary player. That’s a Sith.”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow. “Sith?”
Before Kel could elaborate, the Sith extended a hand toward an opponent sprinting with the ball. The glowing orb froze midair, and the player skidded to a halt, confusion and terror written across their face. With a sharp motion, the Sith yanked the ball toward them, the Force pulling it effortlessly into their grasp. The crowd roared, equal parts awe and fear.
“That,” Kel said, pointing, “is the Force in action.”
Perfectia tilted her head, her amber eyes narrowing as she studied the scene. “The Force? Is that like… magic?”
Kel hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Kind of. It’s an energy field that connects everything in the galaxy. People who are Force-sensitive—like Jedi and Sith—can manipulate it. But you’re born with it. You can’t just learn it.”
Perfectia leaned back, processing the explanation. “So, it’s like magic you’re born with. That’s how it works here?”
“Pretty much,” Kel replied. “What about your world? Is it like that?”
Perfectia thought for a moment before answering. “Sort of. Except where I’m from, it’s the opposite. More people have magic than those who don’t. It’s everywhere—woven into the fabric of life. Anyone can learn it if they have the discipline.”
Kel blinked, clearly intrigued. “Everyone? That’s… hard to imagine.”
She smirked faintly, gesturing toward the Sith on the field. “And you think that is hard to imagine?”
Kel chuckled. “Fair point. But trust me, if you’re planning to stick around, the Force is something you’ll need to understand—whether you like it or not.”
Perfectia’s gaze returned to the Sith, who was now effortlessly deflecting attacks and navigating the arena’s deadly traps with precision. “Noted,” she said quietly, a mix of fascination and caution in her tone.
Perfectia’s eyes remained fixed on the Sith, her amber gaze sharp and calculating. The way the cloaked figure moved—confident, precise, and deadly—stirred something deep within her. The crowd’s cheers and jeers faded into the background as fragments of memory surfaced, unbidden.
She could almost feel the weight of a blade in her hand, the sharp chill of frost crackling around her. There had been battles like this before, chaotic and brutal. She remembered standing against powerful foes—mages cloaked in ice, their hands summoning destruction with ease. Her body tensed involuntarily as flashes of blue and white filled her mind: shards of ice flying through the air, the crushing force of magic bearing down on her, and the overwhelming will to survive.
Her breathing quickened as another memory slipped through the cracks. It was hazy but vivid enough to make her heart pound. She had faced someone once—someone cloaked in fire and shadow. Their magic wasn’t wild or unpredictable; it was precise, controlled, and devastating. Much like the Sith below.
“Perfectia?” Kel’s voice broke through her thoughts.
She blinked, shaking her head slightly. “What?”
“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She managed a faint smirk, though her eyes remained distant. “Just thinking.”
Kel studied her for a moment before nodding toward the Sith. “They’re impressive, sure. But don’t let it fool you—Force users like that are dangerous. They don’t care about rules or fairness. They do whatever it takes to win.”
Perfectia didn’t respond immediately, her gaze returning to the arena. The Sith had cornered an opponent against a spiked wall, the glowing ball hovering just out of the player’s reach. With a flick of their wrist, the ball hurtled forward, ricocheting off the wall and slamming into the goal. The crowd erupted, and the Sith turned, their dark cloak billowing behind them as they strode away from the carnage.
“I’ve seen people like that before,” Perfectia murmured, almost to herself. “The ones who fight like they’re invincible. They’re not.”
Kel tilted his head, curious. “What do you mean?”
She hesitated, searching for the right words. “They’re powerful, sure. But power like that… it always has a cost. You don’t get that strong without giving something up. And when you push too hard—” She gestured vaguely toward the field. “—eventually, it breaks.”
Kel frowned, his tone cautious. “You sound like you’ve dealt with this kind of thing before.”
Perfectia’s smirk returned, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe I have. Not sure. My memory’s still a bit patchy, remember?”
Kel chuckled lightly, though the unease in his expression remained. “Fair enough. But seriously, don’t get any ideas about going up against someone like that. They’d crush you without breaking a sweat.”
Perfectia didn’t answer, her gaze locked on the Sith as they left the field, their victory absolute. A faint flicker of determination sparked within her. Whatever memories she had buried, she knew one thing for sure—she wasn’t afraid of powerful opponents. She’d faced them before, and she’d survived.
The question was, who had she been to fight people like that—and why couldn’t she remember?
Post-Game Reflection
After the match ended with a decisive, violent goal, Kel and Perfectia exited the arena along with the roaring crowd. Perfectia was unusually quiet, her expression thoughtful.
“So,” Kel said, breaking the silence. “What’d you think?”
Perfectia smirked faintly. “I think I’ve been through worse.”
Kel groaned. “You’re seriously considering it, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. But I see what you mean now. This isn’t just a game—it’s survival. And if I’m going to play, I need to be ready for that.”
Kel stopped walking and turned to her, his expression serious. “Look, if you’re really thinking about it, promise me one thing. Don’t rush into this. Train, learn the game, and figure out how to survive it first.”
Perfectia nodded, her smirk softening. “Fair enough. Thanks for bringing me here, Kel. I needed to see this.”
“Let’s just hope you don’t regret it,” Kel muttered as they continued down the bustling streets.
Scene: Confrontation at the Clinic
Kel and Perfectia stepped into the clinic, their laughter fading as they noticed Dr. Velran standing near the reception desk, his arms crossed and his face a storm of worry and irritation. His gaze locked onto Perfectia, taking in the fresh cuts and bruises on her arms and legs.
“Where have you been?” Velran demanded, his voice taut with concern. “And what happened to you?”
Perfectia, unfazed, shrugged. “I played a little Limmie.”
Velran’s eyes widened. “Limmie? That’s what did this to you?”
Kel, sensing the growing tension, stepped forward. “It’s not as bad as it looks, Doc. She’s fine. Just a couple of scrapes.”
Velran’s frown deepened as he looked back at Perfectia. “And the bruises?”
Perfectia smirked faintly. “Limmie can get a little rough. You should’ve seen the other guy.”
Velran pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly trying to rein in his frustration. “Limmie. Fine. But where else did you go?”
Perfectia hesitated for a moment before admitting, “We also went to a Huttball game.”
Velran froze, his eyes narrowing. “You what?”
“I wanted to see what it was like,” Perfectia said simply. “I’m thinking about playing.”
Velran stared at her as if she’d just suggested jumping off a cliff. “Are you insane?”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow. “Probably. But I need to make money somehow, and both Limmie and Huttball seem like solid options.”
Velran threw his hands in the air, pacing in frustration. “Money? Credits? You’re risking your life for credits?”
Perfectia folded her arms, her gaze steady. “I have medical bills, Doc. Pretty sure I don’t have insurance here, and I’m not about to let you foot the bill.”
Velran turned back to her, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “Perfectia, listen to me. What you did with that man’s arm—your healing—it’s beyond anything we’ve ever seen. The potential discoveries in the medical field alone outweigh any brash currency you could earn from a game. Why would you think credits even matter?”
Perfectia hesitated, her smirk fading slightly. “Because that’s how the world works, isn’t it? You pay your way or you don’t survive.”
Velran shook his head, his voice softer now but no less firm. “Not here. Not with what you’re capable of. Your abilities could save lives, revolutionize medicine, and change everything we know about healing. That’s worth more than a few credits—or even a fortune.”
Kel, standing awkwardly nearby, finally spoke up. “He’s got a point, you know. You’re not exactly… normal.”
Perfectia sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m not saying I don’t want to help. But I’m not just some miracle worker you can study. I’m trying to figure out who I am and what I’m supposed to do here.”
Velran’s expression softened, though the worry in his eyes remained. “And you will. But throwing yourself into danger—into Huttball, of all things—isn’t the answer. If you’re determined to help, start here. Work with us. Let’s figure this out together.”
Perfectia met his gaze, her stubbornness fading under the weight of his words. “Fine,” she said eventually. “No Huttball. For now.”
“Good,” Velran said, relief evident in his tone. “Now, sit down. Let me take a look at those bruises.”
Perfectia smirked faintly. “You’re starting to sound like my dad.”
Velran gave her a dry look. “If I were your dad, you wouldn’t have gone anywhere near a Huttball arena.”
Kel chuckled softly as Perfectia rolled her eyes and sat down, letting Velran inspect her injuries. The tension in the room eased slightly, but the unspoken weight of the conversation lingered. Perfectia might have agreed to hold off on Huttball, but the question of what she was meant to do—and how far she was willing to go—remained unanswered.
Scene: Dr. Velran’s Experimentation
Dr. Velran stood at a counter in the clinic, meticulously preparing a tray of food with an almost scientific precision. Bowls and plates filled with carefully selected items crowded the surface: dark leafy greens, grilled fish, roasted nuts, and a small dish of vibrant, nutrient-dense fruit.
When Perfectia walked in, her sharp eyes immediately locked onto the array. “Planning a feast, Doc?” she asked, smirking.
Velran glanced up, his face a mix of determination and mild exasperation. “Not exactly. This is for you.”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow. “Me? What’s the occasion?”
He gestured for her to sit, sliding the tray onto the nearest table. “It’s not an occasion—it’s an experiment. After what happened last time, I’ve been thinking about what your body might need to sustain itself.”
She tilted her head, intrigued. “And what exactly is this?”
Velran picked up a datapad, scanning his notes. “It’s a high-iron, magnesium, phosphorus, and caloric diet. The iron is for electrical conductivity—if your body relies on energy flows, it needs a strong foundation. Magnesium helps with energy production at a cellular level, and phosphorus is critical for storing and releasing energy. The high-calorie component is for replenishment; using whatever it is you do seems to drain you faster than normal.”
Perfectia smirked faintly, poking at a slice of fish with her fork. “So, what’s this supposed to do? Turn me into a powerhouse?”
“It’s supposed to stop you from passing out,” Velran replied dryly. “If your body is pulling energy from external sources, you need internal reserves to stabilize. This,” he gestured to the tray, “is a starting point.”
She took a cautious bite of the fish and nodded approvingly. “Not bad, Doc. Maybe you missed your calling as a chef.”
Velran rolled his eyes. “Just eat. And let me know if you feel any different.”
Perfectia worked her way through the meal, her smirk softening as she realized how much effort Velran had put into it. “Thanks,” she said quietly after a moment. “For, you know, not letting me keel over.”
Velran gave a faint smile, his tone softer now. “You’re welcome. But this isn’t just for you—it’s for all of us. Whatever you are, whatever you can do, it’s… remarkable. If we can figure out how to support you, it might change everything.”
She met his gaze, her amber eyes steady. “I’ll try not to make it too hard on you.”
Velran chuckled. “That would be a first.”
Scene: Testing Perfectia’s Skills
The clinic buzzed with subdued activity as Dr. Velran and Perfectia stood side by side in the operating room. Velran worked methodically on a patient while Perfectia hovered nearby, handing him surgical tools as he called for them.
“Scalpel,” Velran said, his voice calm.
Perfectia picked up the thin blade and handed it over. “Here you go.”
“Good. Now the clamp.”
Perfectia hesitated for a split second, glancing at the tray before selecting the correct tool. “Clamp.”
Velran took it without looking, nodding faintly. “You’re getting the hang of it.”
Perfectia smirked. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner.”
He glanced at her briefly. “You’ll need to be. In an emergency, knowing these tools could save someone’s life.”
She swallowed a retort, nodding seriously instead. “Got it.”
Mira’s Guidance
Later in the day, Perfectia joined Mira in the recovery ward, where patients rested under soft lights and quiet monitors. Mira handed her a clipboard and motioned to a patient with a bandaged arm.
“Take this,” Mira said. “We’re doing rounds. Ask him how he’s feeling and check his vitals.”
Perfectia frowned slightly. “You sure I won’t mess it up?”
Mira grinned. “You’re doing fine. Besides, this is the only time you’re allowed to get hands-on with patients. Make it count.”
Perfectia smirked and walked over to the patient, mimicking Mira’s calm demeanor. “Alright,” she said, glancing at the clipboard. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”
The Limmie Concession
After their shift, Dr. Velran cornered Perfectia in the break room. “I’ve been thinking,” he began.
“That’s always dangerous,” she quipped, though her tone was light.
Velran rolled his eyes. “About your extracurricular activities. I can’t stop you from playing Limmie, but Huttball? That’s off the table.”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow. “Why the compromise?”
“Because Limmie is just rough,” he said, his tone firm. “Huttball is lethal. I’d rather not have to patch you up every other week—or worse.”
Perfectia nodded, smirking faintly. “Fair enough. No Huttball.”
Late-Night Observations
In her downtime, Perfectia sprawled out on a cot, a datapad balanced in her hands. She flipped through match highlights of Huttball games, her attention drawn to a Sith player who dominated every clip.
She frowned as she watched him prowl the field. His movements were calculated, predatory, yet he barely seemed interested in the ball. Instead, he stalked opponents, taking them down with terrifying precision. Sometimes he even lost matches because of it, his bloodlust overtaking any semblance of strategy.
When the heat turned against him, and players ganged up on him, he would ignite his lightsaber. The arena would erupt in chaos as he used the weapon to intimidate or fend off his attackers.
Perfectia stared at the screen, her brow furrowed. “He’s not playing the game,” she muttered. “He’s hunting.”
Her smirk returned, tinged with unease. “What kind of player needs a lightsaber to win?”
She let the video loop, studying his movements with a mix of fascination and wariness. This Sith wasn’t just a competitor—he was a bully, and Perfectia knew bullies all too well.
Scene: Limmie Practice
Perfectia jogged onto the Limmie field, her teammates already assembling for practice. Kel waved her over, a wide grin on his face. “You ready to dominate today?” he asked.
She smirked faintly. “Sure, let’s go with that.”
The coach clapped his hands, signaling the start of drills. Perfectia threw herself into the exercises, her movements fluid and precise. She mastered the passing drills and kept pace during the sprints, but something about her focus felt off. Her mind wandered, the spark of competitiveness missing.
During scrimmages, her hesitance became more apparent. She dodged tackles and passed the ball when pressured but made no attempt to push for a goal. Her movements lacked the fire her teammates displayed.
“Perfectia!” Jax called from the sidelines after a missed play. “You’ve gotta commit! You’re holding back!”
She nodded, though her expression remained distant. “Got it.”
Breaking for Questions
During a water break, Perfectia approached Jax, her curiosity evident. “So,” she began, “about Huttball…”
Jax groaned. “Seriously? We’re trying to get you into Limmie, and you’re still thinking about Huttball?”
“Humor me,” she replied with a smirk. “I want to know the rules.”
He sighed, gathering a few teammates around. “Alright, here’s a crash course. Guns? Totally legal. Armor? Also legal. Tanks? That’s a no-go. Illegal.”
“Figures,” Perfectia said. “What about destroying the ball?”
Jax raised an eyebrow. “Legal, but you’d better do it strategically. As soon as the ball’s destroyed, a new one drops at the center of the field. If you’re not ready for it, you lose your edge.”
Perfectia nodded thoughtfully. “What about leaving the field?”
“Illegal,” Keela chimed in. “You step out, you’re disqualified.”
“Sabotage?” Perfectia asked, her tone more curious than concerned.
Jax chuckled. “Before the game? Illegal—if you get caught. After the game? Still illegal, but players get creative. You’d be surprised how often it happens.”
Perfectia smirked. “And killing?”
The group fell silent for a moment before Jax spoke again, his tone serious. “If five players die, their team wins by default. It’s a rare rule, but it happens. That’s why Huttball teams are massive. A single team can have up to 50 players, rotating in and out between rounds.”
Perfectia’s expression turned contemplative. “Fifty players… That’s not a game—it’s a war.”
Jax shrugged. “That’s Huttball for you.”
After Practice
As the team returned to practice, Perfectia’s focus remained split. She ran the drills, passing and defending with precision, but her mind lingered on the chaotic, lawless world of Huttball. The rules—or lack thereof—fascinated her, and the raw intensity of it all called to something deep inside her.
By the end of the session, her teammates exchanged knowing glances. Kel approached her as they packed up. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked.
Perfectia smirked faintly. “Maybe. But first, I need to figure out how to actually score in this game.”
Kel chuckled. “Good plan. Let’s start there.”
Scene: Curious About a Blacksmith
Perfectia and Kel walked off the Limmie field as the sun dipped below Nar Shaddaa’s skyline, its artificial lights illuminating the endless cityscape. Perfectia turned to Kel, her curiosity piqued.
“Hey,” she began, “do you guys have something like a blacksmith around here?”
Kel frowned, clearly caught off guard. “A blacksmith? Like someone who works with metal? Not exactly. We don’t have forges or anvils lying around if that’s what you mean.”
“So, who makes weapons and tools?” she asked, folding her arms.
“Well,” Kel said, thinking it over, “there are shops and factories that produce just about everything. If you’re looking for custom work, though, there are places called armories or fabrication shops. Those are where people design and build weapons, armor, and gear. Most of it’s done with advanced machinery and droids.”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow. “So it’s all automated?”
“Not entirely,” Kel explained. “In smaller shops, there are artisans—engineers, technicians—who specialize in custom jobs. They’re kind of like blacksmiths but way more high-tech. If you want something forged or repaired, they’re the people to see.”
Perfectia smirked faintly. “Figures. No roaring fires or hammering steel, then?”
Kel chuckled. “Not unless you’re on some backwater planet. Here, it’s all welding tools, laser cutters, and plasma forges. Same results, just with less drama.”
Perfectia nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting. Might have to check one out sometime.”
As Perfectia and Kel continued their walk through the bustling streets of Nar Shaddaa, her curiosity got the better of her. She glanced at Kel, her amber eyes gleaming with interest.
“So,” she began, a playful edge in her voice, “these lightsabers… What’s the deal with them? Can I make one?”
Kel nearly stumbled over a stray droid part on the ground, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Make one? Uh, no. Not unless you’re a Jedi or Sith.”
Perfectia tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Why not? What’s so special about them?”
Kel let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair as if gearing up for a lengthy explanation. “Alright, lightsaber 101. They’re not just fancy swords. They’re powered by kyber crystals—super rare and incredibly powerful. The crystals channel energy into a blade of pure plasma. But the hilt? It’s a custom job, built with precision and skill. If it’s even a little off, the whole thing can explode in your face.”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow. “So it’s not impossible?”
Kel chuckled, shaking his head. “Technically, no. But first, you’d need a kyber crystal, and those aren’t exactly lying around. Second, you’d need to know how to build one, which—let’s face it—most people don’t.”
“Sounds like a fun challenge,” she said, her smirk turning mischievous.
Kel gave her a skeptical look. “You’re serious?”
“Maybe,” she teased. “So, what can they do?”
“Well,” Kel began, falling into lecture mode, “a lightsaber can cut through almost anything—metal, stone, you name it. They’re incredibly precise and ridiculously powerful. But they’re not indestructible. Energy shields, well-placed blaster shots, or even another lightsaber can stop them. And let’s not forget, they’re only as good as the person wielding them.”
Perfectia nodded thoughtfully. “A symbol of what?”
Kel shrugged, gesturing broadly. “Depends on who’s holding it. For Jedi, it’s a symbol of peace, justice, and all that. For Sith, it’s power and control. For everyone else? It’s a really expensive way to lose a limb.”
Perfectia laughed softly, shaking her head. “Fair enough. But if I ever get my hands on one, I’m definitely figuring out how to use it.”
Kel groaned dramatically. “Great. Just what the galaxy needs—another lunatic with a lightsaber.”
She grinned, an unmistakable twinkle in her eye. “Admit it, you’d love to see me try.”
Kel chuckled, giving her a sidelong glance. “Let’s just focus on keeping you out of trouble for now, alright?”
Perfectia smirked but didn’t reply, her thoughts already turning to the intriguing possibilities.
As they walked, Perfectia’s curiosity only grew. She glanced at Kel, her expression thoughtful. “So, these lightsabers… Is there anything they can’t cut through?”
Kel smirked faintly, clearly amused. “Not much, but yeah. Certain materials can resist a lightsaber. Mandalorian iron—beskar—is one of them. It’s pretty much lightsaber-proof. And high-energy shielding can block a blade too.”
Perfectia nodded, filing that information away. “Okay, so they’re not unstoppable. But they’re not exactly razor-sharp either, right? I mean, that guy whose arm I fixed—it was cauterized. Do people feel a weight when they swing one, or are they light?”
Kel chuckled. “You’re really into this, huh? Alright, here’s the thing: lightsabers don’t have physical weight like a regular sword. The hilt’s light, and the blade itself is just plasma, so there’s no mass there. But using one takes a ton of focus because the energy creates resistance. It feels… different. Almost like it pushes back if you’re not in sync with it.”
Perfectia tilted her head, intrigued. “Huh. Sounds like more than just a weapon.”
“It is,” Kel said seriously. “That’s why Jedi and Sith spend years mastering them. They’re as much a part of the wielder as their own arm.”
Perfectia opened her mouth to ask another question, but Kel held up a hand. “Alright, hold up. I’m not a lightsaber expert, okay? I know some stuff, but if you really want answers, you should talk to someone who’s actually trained with one.”
“Like who?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Kel hesitated, then sighed. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with Kavach—the Jedi I mentioned before. If anyone can answer your questions, it’s him. Just give me some time.”
Perfectia smirked faintly. “Fine. But when you find him, I’m asking everything.”
Kel chuckled. “I’d expect nothing less.”
As they walked, Perfectia’s curiosity shifted to another subject. She glanced at Kel, her amber eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Tungsten. Do you have that metal on this planet?”
Kel raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. “Tungsten? Yeah, we’ve got it. Why?”
Perfectia tilted her head. “It’s strong, durable, and can handle heat. Where I’m from—” she hesitated, catching herself, “—it’s useful for forging weapons or tools. Thought it might come in handy.”
Kel nodded slowly, considering. “We don’t use it for forging weapons the way you’re thinking. Here, it’s more of an industrial material. They use it in starship components, heavy-duty machinery, stuff like that. Why? Planning to make something?”
She smirked faintly. “Just curious. Seems like everything here is made out of alloys I’ve never heard of.”
Kel chuckled. “Yeah, welcome to the galaxy. Tungsten’s not exactly rare, but it’s not the go-to for personal gear. If you need something durable, you’d probably want durasteel. That’s what most armor and weapons are made of.”
“Durasteel, huh?” Perfectia repeated, rolling the unfamiliar word over her tongue. “Doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
Kel laughed. “I guess not. But it gets the job done.”
Perfectia nodded thoughtfully. “Good to know. I’ll stick with asking about lightsabers for now, but tungsten’s still got potential.”
Kel smirked. “Just don’t go melting anything down without checking first.”
She grinned. “No promises.”
Kel leaned casually against bench, his smirk softening. “So, Perfectia… what do you think about grabbing dinner sometime? Maybe catch a show?”
Perfectia let out a heavy sigh, her amber eyes dropping to the a towel in her bag. “No, thank you, Kel.”
Kel frowned, clearly caught off guard. “Why not? You’ve been flirting with me since we met.”
Perfectia straightened, her expression suddenly sharper. “Flirting? How exactly have I been flirting with you?”
Kel crossed his arms, his tone defensive. “You try so hard to be funny, and I’ve been laughing at your jokes—even the bad ones.”
Perfectia set her bag down with a dull clang, clearly offended. “Kel, I’m like that all the time. It’s just… me.”
His brows knit together, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “I’ve helped you a lot, you know? Is it so crazy to think we could hang out? Don’t you trust me?”
Perfectia met his gaze evenly. “I do trust you. But I also think you’d be wasting your money.”
Kel scoffed, his voice growing louder. “I wouldn’t consider it a waste! Fine, just as friends then.”
Perfectia’s shoulders sagged slightly, her tone soft but firm. “Kel, you’re bargaining now. And I was afraid this conversation was going to come up ever since the day we first met.” She paused, taking a steadying breath. “I think you think that if you’re nice to me, take me places, and answer my questions, I’ll give you something in return. But that’s not who I am. And honestly… I don’t even know who you are—not really. But I know this isn’t it.”
Kel flinched as if she’d struck him, his face clouding with hurt. “You think I’d—?”
“I’m saying a lot of others might feel obligated to give you intimacy for what you’ve done, but I’m not one of them. I just don’t feel that way about you.” Her words were calm but final, and they cut through the air like a blade.
He looked at her, his jaw tightening. “You just broke my heart, you know.”
“Depression,” Perfectia stated bluntly. “That’s the next stage. And hopefully, tomorrow, you’ll feel acceptance.”
Kel shook his head, his frustration bubbling over. “You just know everything about everything, don’t you?”
Perfectia’s amber eyes softened, and for the first time, her voice carried a weight of genuine empathy. “Those marks I had? They were going to kill me. So yeah, Kel… I know a little about grief.”
The tension between them lingered for a moment before Kel exhaled sharply, looking away. Perfectia turned back to her work, the faint clang of her hammer resuming as the conversation settled into an uneasy silence.
Scene: Searching for a Forge
The streets of the lower levels of Nar Shaddaa were a stark contrast to the bustling upper levels. Dimly lit and packed with the smell of oil, metal, and desperation, it felt like a different world altogether. Perfectia moved through the shadows, her steps quiet but purposeful, as she scanned the area for any sign of a blacksmith or forge.
She passed a row of cluttered shops, each one crammed with mechanical parts and tools. The hum of machinery filled the air, but nothing resembled the kind of forge she was used to. She paused at a corner, frustration building, when the click of a blaster broke the silence.
“Hold it right there,” a gruff voice called out.
Perfectia turned slowly to see a man standing a few feet away, a battered blaster pistol trained on her. His clothes were ragged, and his face was partially hidden by a scarf, but his eyes were sharp.
“Don’t make any sudden moves,” he warned. “Now, hand over your credits.”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “I don’t have any.”
The man’s expression hardened. “Don’t play games with me. Identification card?”
Perfectia shrugged. “Don’t have one of those either.”
“Wallet? Purse? Jewelry?” he asked, his voice tinged with impatience.
She shook her head, her smirk faintly mocking. “Nope.”
The man’s eyes darted over her, taking in her tall, striking form and unusual features. His grip on the blaster faltered slightly. “You’re serious?”
“Completely,” Perfectia replied, folding her arms. “And you’re wasting your time.”
The man sighed, lowering his weapon. “You know, you could run into a slave trader down here looking like that. They’d take someone like you in a heartbeat. You should go back to wherever you came from.”
Perfectia tilted her head, her voice steady. “I need a place that can forge metal. Know anywhere?”
The man blinked, caught off guard by the question. He scratched his neck, his expression shifting to one of curiosity. “A forge? You won’t find a real blacksmith around here, but… a speeder bike mechanic might have the equipment you need. They sometimes forge small parts.”
Perfectia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Where can I find one?”
He gestured toward a narrow alleyway a few blocks down. “There’s a shop there. Look for the neon sign shaped like a bike. They might let you use their tools—if you’ve got something to trade.”
As she turned to leave, the man called after her. “What are you trying to make, anyway?”
She glanced over her shoulder, her amber eyes glinting. “Armor.”
The man stared at her for a moment before shaking his head with a low chuckle. “You’re either crazy or determined. Good luck.”
Scene: The Speeder Bike Mechanic Shop
The mechanic shop buzzed with activity, its neon sign flickering faintly above the entrance. Perfectia stepped inside, her amber eyes scanning the cluttered space. The air smelled of grease, hot metal, and something faintly acidic. Workbenches were piled high with tools, speeder bike parts, and half-finished projects.
Then she saw it—a setup tucked in the back corner. A sturdy metal block that looked suspiciously like an anvil and a forge that glowed faintly with heat.
“Yes,” Perfectia said aloud, a rare note of satisfaction in her voice. “I knew there had to be at least one.”
A mechanic, an older human with a grizzled salt and pepper beard and oil-streaked hands, glanced up from his work on a bike’s engine. “And you are?”
Perfectia stepped closer, confidence radiating off her. “I’m looking for a job. I can forge anything you need.”
The mechanic raised an eyebrow, setting his tools down. “That so? And how much are you asking?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. I’ll work for free—for now. I just want someone to learn from.”
The mechanic leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms as he studied her. “Free, huh? That’s rare. You sure you don’t want anything?”
Perfectia nodded. “Just a chance to work. No strings.”
He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Well, it’d be good to have an extra pair of hands around here. But I’d feel obligated to give you something.”
Perfectia smirked faintly. “That’s fine. Just don’t ask me to get you coffee or bring you food.”
The mechanic chuckled, his laughter a low rumble. “That’s fair. Alright, you’re in. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He gestured toward the forge, and Perfectia’s smirk widened as she stepped forward, already rolling up her sleeves.
Scene: Perfectia Proves Her Worth
The mechanic, now introduced as Mac, wiped his hands on a grease-stained rag, looking at Perfectia with a mix of amusement and doubt. “Alright, kid. You want to impress me? Let’s see what you can do. I need some metal sheets for patching up this speeder, but I was planning to order them.”
Perfectia scanned the cluttered workshop, her sharp eyes darting over every corner. “You don’t need to order anything,” she said confidently.
Mac raised an eyebrow. “You got a stash of metal I don’t know about?”
She pointed toward the corner of the shop. “Right there.”
He followed her gesture and frowned. “That’s an oven. For cooking.”
Perfectia smirked. “Exactly. I can use it.”
Jax leaned against a workbench, crossing his arms. “You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
The skepticism on his face softened into curiosity. “Alright, kid. Don’t make me regret this.” He rummaged through a drawer and handed her welding gloves and a pair of dark glasses. “Here. Try not to blind yourself.”
Perfectia took the equipment, slipping on the gloves and adjusting the glasses over her face. “Thanks. Now, let’s see what we’ve got here.”
The Makeshift Forge
She gathered scrap metal from around the shop—busted panels, broken tools, and discarded bolts—and arranged them neatly near the oven. Opening the oven door, she examined the interior with a nod of approval.
“Heat’s good,” she muttered, mostly to herself. Using a nearby welding torch, she began preheating the scrap, carefully adjusting the temperature to avoid warping the material.
Mac watched, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “You really think this’ll work?”
Perfectia ignored him, fully immersed in her task. The metal began to glow, first a dull red, then bright orange. Using tongs, she moved the softened pieces onto a flat surface, grabbing a makeshift hammer from the workbench.
With precise, rhythmic strikes, she flattened and shaped the metal, melding the fragments into a cohesive sheet. Sparks flew as she worked, the glowing metal casting a warm, flickering light across her face.
Mac whistled softly. “You’ve done this before.”
Perfectia didn’t look up. “Something like this.”
She returned the sheet to the heat, refining the edges and smoothing imperfections. Once satisfied, she placed it into a bucket of water, steam hissing and rising into the air.
When she pulled it out, a gleaming sheet of metal lay in her hands. She turned to Mac, holding it up. “What do you think?”
Jax stepped closer, taking the sheet from her. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface, his expression shifting from surprise to genuine admiration. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
Perfectia smirked. “Told you.”
Mac chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, kid. You’ve got skills. Keep this up, and you might just make yourself indispensable around here.”
Perfectia adjusted the dark glasses on her face, a flicker of satisfaction in her amber eyes. “That’s the idea.”
Scene: A Soldier’s Path
The clinic was quiet when Perfectia returned, the soft hum of machines blending with the occasional murmur of patients. Dr. Velran sat at a desk in the corner, reviewing charts. He glanced up as she entered, his brow furrowing in mild surprise.
“You’re back,” he said, setting down his datapad. “Everything alright?”
Perfectia nodded, crossing her arms. “Yeah. I, uh… found a job.”
Velran raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Doing what?”
“Fixing speeders,” she replied simply.
Velran let out a long, disappointed sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I see. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. I could tell your heart wasn’t really in this.”
Perfectia frowned but didn’t interrupt.
Velran continued, his voice steady but tinged with regret. “You’re reluctant to let anyone know what you can really do, and I get that. But if you have a skill like healing—something that goes beyond explanation—you must’ve studied or trained for years. People don’t develop abilities like that without a deep desire to help others.”
Perfectia’s jaw tightened. “I’m a soldier, not a doctor,” she said quietly, her tone resolute.
Velran’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I see,” he said again, softer this time. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small communication device, holding it out to her. “Here. Take this.”
Perfectia hesitated before taking it, her amber eyes narrowing. “What’s this for?”
“I might call you in emergencies,” Velran said. “You’ve got something rare—something that can save lives when nothing else can. I won’t push you to use it, but if there’s no other choice…”
She nodded, slipping the device into her pocket. “Thanks, call and I’ll come running.”
Velran sighed again, standing and gesturing toward the rows of cots. “You can use a bed and the bathroom if they’re available, but don’t expect it to always be open. There will be nights when the clinic is overcrowded, and you’ll have to manage without.”
Perfectia smirked faintly. “I’ll take what I can get.”
Velran nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Just… take care of yourself out there. Even soldiers need rest.”
Perfectia’s smirk faded into a more serious expression. “I will.”
Scene: Crafting and Recognition
The hum of tools and the clatter of metal echoed through the speeder bike shop as Perfectia worked at her station. Scrap metal lay scattered across the table, transformed into pieces of equipment under her careful hands. Jax, or “Big Mac” as the other mechanics called him, leaned back against a wall, watching her with a mix of curiosity and appreciation.
“You’ve got a knack for this,” he said, gesturing to the neatly assembled parts she’d just finished. “Didn’t think I’d ever get quality equipment made from scrap. You’ve saved me a fortune on parts.”
Perfectia smirked faintly, not looking up from her work. “Glad I could help.”
In her downtime, she tinkered with something personal—a helmet. The shape was rough, the edges unpolished, but there was a certain artistry in the way she’d hammered the pieces together. She turned it over in her hands, examining it critically.
Mac approached, squinting at the object. “What’s that?”
“A helmet,” Perfectia replied simply. “But it’s rough. I’d need better materials to make anything that could actually protect someone from an arrow or sword.”
Mac raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Mind if I see it?”
Perfectia hesitated for a moment before handing it over. Jax took the helmet, turning it over in his hands. The craftsmanship, though imperfect, was striking. He nodded appreciatively.
“Not bad,” he said. Then, without warning, he grabbed a hammer and a nail, securing the helmet to the wall above the main workstation.
Perfectia frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Displaying it,” Mac said with a grin. “People are gonna like it—maybe not for what it does, but for how it looks. It’s got… character.”
Perfectia tilted her head, studying the helmet as it hung on the wall. She didn’t say anything, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Keep this up,” Mac said, stepping back to admire the display, “and you might just start your own trend. Scrap art’s a thing, you know.”
Perfectia chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Whatever you say, Big Mac.”
Scene: The Helmet Gains Attention
The next morning, the speeder bike shop was abuzz with customers dropping off repairs or picking up finished jobs. One by one, their eyes were drawn to the helmet mounted on the wall. Its rough yet striking design caught their attention.
“Hey,” one customer said, pointing at the helmet. “That’s pretty cool. Looks like something out of a fantasy game.”
Another customer chimed in. “Yeah, I’ve always liked swords and armor from fantasy movies. Did you make this?” he asked Perfectia.
Perfectia, who was busy sorting tools, glanced up. “Yeah, I made it.”
The first customer gave her a once-over, taking in her sharp features and pointed ears. “Are you cosplaying an elf from a fantasy game or something?”
Perfectia smirked faintly. “No, I’m actually an elf.”
The man laughed lightly. “Wow, you’re really committed to the role, huh?”
Perfectia tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
Another customer stepped forward, admiring the helmet. “Hey, could you make a sword?”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow, finding the question amusing. “Of course I can make a sword. But what kind are we talking about? For display, or are you planning to use it in battle?”
The customer hesitated, intrigued. “Both, if possible.”
Perfectia chuckled softly. “If it’s just for display, sure. That’s easy. But if you’re planning on using it in a fight? That’s a whole different story.”
The customers leaned in as she continued, her tone taking on a thoughtful edge. “A battle-ready sword isn’t just hammered out of any metal. A real sword that can remove a man’s head, for example. Those are made by layering steel—folding it over and over again. The process creates a blade that’s strong but flexible. The outer layers are harder to hold an edge, while the inner layers are softer to absorb impact. It takes hours of heating, hammering, and folding to get it right.”
One of the customers whistled. “That sounds intense.”
“It is,” Perfectia said with a nod. “You need high-quality steel and the right kind of forge. And right now?” She gestured around the shop. “I don’t have the materials or tools to make something like that.”
The customer looked impressed. “Still, that’s some serious knowledge. If you ever do get the materials, let me know. I’d love a sword like that.”
Perfectia smirked. “You’ll be the first to know.”
Jax, who had been quietly listening from his workstation, gave her an approving nod. “You’re making this place a lot more interesting, you know that?”
Perfectia shrugged, returning to her work. “Glad to help.”
Scene: The Sword Commission
The shop bustled with activity as customers filtered in and out. One man lingered near the helmet on the wall, his eyes gleaming with interest. “You know,” he said, turning to Perfectia, “you should make a sword for display. Something cool.”
Big Mac glanced up from his workbench, smirking. “How much are we talking about?”
The man shrugged, nonchalant. “I don’t know… a hundred credits if it looks cool.”
Big Mac raised an eyebrow and looked at Perfectia expectantly, clearly hinting at a deal split. Perfectia folded her arms, a sly grin forming. “For 1,000 credits, I can make you something that cuts through flesh like butter. Oiled blade, hilt, scabbard—the works.”
The man laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, no. I can’t throw away that many credits on a sword. Just make something that looks cool, and I’ll tell my friends about you.”
Perfectia glanced at Big Mac, who gave her an approving nod. “Alright,” she said to the customer. “I’ll get to work on that.”
The man smiled, tipping an imaginary hat. “Thanks. I’ll be back in a few days to see it.”
As the door closed behind him, Perfectia turned to Big Mac. “Got any of that chrome paint you use for speeders?”
Big Mac smirked, reaching under his workbench and pulling out a can. “You’re covered, kid. Knock ‘em dead.”
Perfectia grinned. “Thanks, Big Mac.”
Scene: Upgrading the Shop
The clamor of construction filled the shop as workers cleared out the cluttered corners and installed new equipment. Perfectia watched with a mix of excitement and curiosity as a proper forge and a set of precision tools were set up near her workstation. Shelves stocked with higher-quality metals and alloys gleamed under the fluorescent lights.
“You’re moving up in the world, kid,” Jax said, walking over to her as the last piece of equipment—a state-of-the-art metal press—was bolted into place.
Perfectia smirked. “About time. That oven wasn’t cutting it.”
Jax chuckled, clapping her on the back. “Well, now you’ve got no excuses. Let’s see what you can really do.”
Perfectia nodded, already rolling up her sleeves.
Crafting in Full Swing
With the upgraded tools, Perfectia’s process became smoother and more efficient. She could now work with more intricate designs and stronger materials, and her creations reflected the change. Each piece—whether it was a decorative blade or a functional weapon—was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, blending artistry and precision.
Customers flocked to the shop, placing commissions for custom swords, armor, and even decorative items. Word spread quickly, and the register overflowed with credits. Mac watched with pride as the once-modest speeder repair shop became a hub for both repairs and bespoke weaponry.
Celebrating Success
One evening, after closing up shop, Jax counted the credits in the register, a satisfied grin on his face. He glanced over at Perfectia, who was cleaning her tools, her hair tied back and a faint sheen of sweat on her brow.
“Hey, kid,” he said, his tone unusually warm.
Perfectia glanced up. “What?”
“We’ve been doing pretty damn good lately. How about we celebrate?” He tossed a credit chit onto the counter. “I know a place that serves real food—not that rehydrated crap.”
Perfectia raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to dinner, Big Mac?”
Jax shrugged, grinning. “Call it a business meeting. You in?”
Perfectia smirked, grabbing a clean rag to wipe her hands. “Sure. But don’t think I’m paying.”
Jax laughed, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Let’s go.”
Scene: Dinner with Mac
The small diner Mac had chosen was a cozy spot tucked away from the bustling streets of Nar Shaddaa. The lighting was soft, the booths well-worn but comfortable, and the smell of real, freshly cooked food filled the air. Perfectia slid into a booth across from Jax, glancing around with mild curiosity.
“Not bad,” she admitted as a droid waiter rolled up with menus.
Mac smirked, handing her one. “Told you. Only the best for my business partner.”
As they ordered their meals, the conversation drifted to work and the booming success of the shop. Once the food arrived, Perfectia leaned back, studying Mac thoughtfully.
“You know,” she began, a teasing edge to her voice, “I kind of thought you were asking me on a date.”
Mac nearly choked on his drink, shaking his head emphatically. “No, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Perfectia tilted her head, her amber eyes narrowing playfully. “Why not?”
Mac hesitated, caught off guard. “Well… we’re business partners. And I’m, what, twice your age?”
“Does my age bother you?”
“No,” he said quickly, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just… I figured you already had a boyfriend or something. I mean, business isn’t THAT successful that you’d want to use an old man for his money.”
Perfectia snorted softly, shaking her head. “I haven’t been here very long. Your shop feels like a piece of home. Everything else about this place… it just feels like I don’t belong. I just thought I’d tell you that I’m grateful for you taking a chance on me.”
Jax’s expression softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “Where are you from, anyway?”
Perfectia shrugged, stabbing at her food with a fork. “I wish I could tell you. I’m an amnesiac.”
Jax blinked. “You can’t remember anything?”
“I’m trying to…” She paused, her tone growing quieter. “Well, not when I’m with you.”
“Family? Friends? Favorite food?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “I have dreams, though. I think those feel like home, but most people tell me it’s something out of a video game.”
Jax chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “If you’re really an elf, wouldn’t that make you… I don’t know, over a thousand years old?”
Perfectia smirked faintly, leaning back in her seat. “I don’t know. Maybe. Would it make you feel better if I told you I was?”
“A little,” Jax admitted with a sheepish grin.
Perfectia raised her glass slightly, her smirk widening. “Alright then. I’m a 1000-year-old elf from a fantasy game.”
Jax laughed, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“Yeah,” Perfectia replied, her tone light but her eyes distant. “I get that a lot.”
Scene: Unraveling the Past
Jax leaned back in the booth, his arms crossed as he watched Perfectia with a curious glint in his eye. “So,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence between bites, “what’s the first thing you remember?”
Perfectia paused, her fork hovering over her plate. Her amber eyes flickered as though she were looking at something distant, something faint. “Waking up in the clinic,” she said slowly. “I was in bad shape—cold, confused, not sure where I was or how I got there.”
Jax nodded, urging her to continue. “That must’ve been… disorienting.”
“It was,” Perfectia admitted, her tone guarded. “They told me I had these ice shards stuck in me, and my body was shutting down. Hypothermia, they said. The first thing I really remember is trying to figure out why I wasn’t dead.”
Jax frowned, his brow furrowing. “That’s… rough. And no idea how you ended up like that?”
Perfectia shook her head. “Nothing solid. Just fragments. I think I was in a fight, but I don’t remember who or why. Everything before that is just… blank.”
Jax tapped the table lightly, his gaze thoughtful. “But you survived. Guess that’s what matters.”
Perfectia nodded, her expression unreadable. “Yeah. Guess so.”
For a moment, silence settled between them again. Then Jax leaned forward, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve been through a hell of a lot, huh?”
Perfectia smirked faintly, her walls rising again. “You could say that.”
Jax nodded, not pressing further. “Well, for what it’s worth, you’re doing alright now. Just don’t forget that.”
Perfectia’s smirk softened into something closer to genuine. “Thanks, Big Mac.”
Scene: Walking Back to the Clinic
The streets of Nar Shaddaa were quieter now, the chaotic energy settling into a low hum as the night deepened. Jax walked beside Perfectia, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. The occasional flicker of neon signs reflected off the damp pavement, casting colorful patterns around them.
“So, the clinic, huh?” Jax said as they neared the building. He glanced at her, a hint of surprise in his tone. “You’re really living here?”
Perfectia nodded, her stride steady. “When I first got here, all I had were my small clothes. The clinic gave me a place to stay. It’s not much, but it works.”
Jax shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re tougher than you look, you know that?”
Perfectia smirked faintly. “I get that a lot.”
As they reached the entrance, Jax turned to her, his usual casual demeanor softening slightly. “I had a really good time tonight. Thanks for… well, being you.”
He started to step back, but Perfectia tilted her head, a playful glint in her amber eyes. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
Jax froze, his eyes widening. “What?”
Perfectia grinned, leaning slightly closer. “You know, as a thank-you for a great night. Isn’t that how these things go?”
Jax chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re something else, kid. I think I’ll pass.”
Perfectia laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Suit yourself. But you’re missing out.”
Jax shook his head, his grin returning as he took a step back. “Good night, Perfectia.”
“Night, Big Mac,” she said, watching him go. Once he disappeared into the shadows of the city, her smirk softened, and she turned back toward the clinic, the faintest trace of amusement lingering in her expression.
Scene: A Quiet Moment of Reflection
Perfectia turned the shower knob, letting the hot water cascade over her. Steam filled the small bathroom, fogging up the mirror above the sink. She took her time, savoring the warmth as it eased the tension in her muscles. Once finished, she wrapped herself in a towel and wiped the mirror clear with her hand.
Her amber eyes studied her reflection, trailing over her frame. Her hips were wide—wider than most—and she knew they made her look bigger in the plain, utilitarian clothes she’d been given. Her upper body, muscular and toned, added to the impression of someone built for power, not grace.
Perfectia sighed, running a hand through her damp hair. “Maybe it’s because of how I look,” she muttered, her voice soft. “Wide hips, broad shoulders, square face… I look like a man.”
She turned slightly, examining herself from another angle before facing the mirror again. A faint, bitter smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t think anyone’s asked me to dinner back home either,” she said aloud, her tone tinged with resignation.
For a moment, she stood there, the steam swirling around her like a veil. Then she straightened, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter,” she said firmly, her voice stronger now. “I’ve got other things to focus on.”
Perfectia grabbed her clothes, her resolve returning as she dressed for another day of forging ahead—literally and figuratively.