Chapter 122 · Departure

Kallus rummaged through one last crate—deep, searching, as though hunting for something he hadn’t planned on giving away. His movements were brisk at first, then slowed, deliberate, until he finally pulled out a small, palm-sized transmitter.

Old. Worn smooth at the edges. Paint scratched off in places where fingers had gripped too tightly in past emergencies.He turned it over once in his hand, then pressed it into Eli’s.

“Keep this.”

Eli blinked. “What is it?”

“A frequency key,” Kallus said. “Encrypted on a dead protocol. Buried in old Imperial channels the Empire no longer monitors because they think no one remembers how to access them.”

Eli weighed the device in his palm. It was heavier than it looked.

Kallus continued, voice quieter: “If you ever need allies again… whisper this into the void.”

Stent’s gaze flicked to the transmitter, then to Kallus, measuring. But Kallus wasn’t finished.

He stepped closer to Eli—close enough that Eli smelled dust, metal, the faint burn of singed wires caught in his coat—and clasped Eli’s arm once, firm and brief, the gesture of a soldier acknowledging another soldier’s path. “You’re not the only one looking for ghosts,” he said. “When you find them, bring Ezra back home.”

Eli felt the truth of it settle through him: not comfort, exactly, but kinship.

Kallus released his arm and took a small step back.

Stent regarded the exchange with his usual stillness, but Eli saw the faintest shift in his posture—a subtle, formal incline of his head. A rare respect.

Kallus returned it, equally quiet.No farewell. No sentimental weight. Just a mutual recognition that all three of them were chasing something larger than their own stories.

Something that had already begun changing the shape of the galaxy.

The walk back to the Faded Glory felt longer than it had earlier, though neither of them carried anything more than a small bundle of supplies Kallus had insisted they take. The corridors were emptier now—crates gone, consoles stripped, doors left open to echo their hollow abandonment. The last traces of the rebel cell moved like ghosts through the hallways, gathering what little could be carried and leaving the rest to be swallowed by the dust.

When they finally stepped onto the tarmac again, the air smelled of cold metal and the faint sting of smoke drifting from somewhere distant. The sky pressed low overhead, dim with evening haze. The Faded Glory waited in the center of the pad, her hull catching the light in muted blue-grey streaks.

Eli keyed the ramp.

The hum of the engines warming on standby greeted them like a heartbeat returning after too long a silence.

Inside, neither man spoke immediately.

They moved through the familiar ritual of departure—checking seals, clearing the galley, securing the loose equipment, supplies inventory, fuel levels—each task performed with an ease that came from months of travel together. The ship’s cramped corridors echoed softly with their footfalls, the quiet settling around them like a blanket stretched too thin.

In the common room, Eli paused with a rag in hand, wiping down the table with more care than the surface required. He wasn’t really cleaning. Just… moving.

Stent worked silently across from him, reseating a panel Tee had left ajar earlier in the day. His movements were precise as always, but slower—measured not by efficiency, but by thought.

Tee rolled into the room and emitted a soft, low chirr, the kind he used when trying to be unobtrusive. His photoreceptor dimmed to a warm hue, swiveling between them as if checking for fractures.

Eli set the rag down. “We’ll be fine, Tee. Eventually.”

The droid beeped a doubtful note.

Later, in the cockpit, the dim cabin lights cast a subdued glow across the flight panels. Eli lowered himself into the co-pilot’s seat and watched the gauges quietly settle—pressure levels stabilizing, fuel lines equalizing, reactor core ticking through its warm-up cycle.

Stent sat beside him, datapad in hand.

The purrgil recordings were open.

The pulse played faintly through the device’s tiny speaker—a soft, rhythmic thrum that felt like the echo of something alive far beyond reach. Not loud. Not insistent. Just steady.

It washed through the cockpit like a heartbeat muffled beneath layers of steel.

Eli watched Stent’s face—calm, unreadable, but not untouched. The glow from the datapad softened the sharp lines of his features, catching briefly on the faint tension around his eyes.

“You’re still listening to it,” Eli said quietly.

Stent didn’t look up. “It persists,” he answered. “I cannot erase it while it persists.”

Eli nodded. “Does it… bother you?”

Stent considered the question for a long moment. Then, with a rare, almost imperceptible honesty: “I do not know what it does.”

The datapad pulsed again. Soft. Steady. Alive.

Eli rested his head lightly against the chair. “We’ve crossed a line,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Stent said.

“And there’s no going back.”

“No,” Stent agreed softly. “There is not.”

They sat in the dim cockpit together, surrounded by the hum of systems preparing for flight, with a living signal beating faintly from a datapad between them—
a reminder of the creature that had vanished into the impossible
and the Admiral who had vanished with a fleet.

Outside, night settled over Lothal. Inside, the Faded Glory breathed quietly.

Tomorrow, the trail would continue.