Last Circle on Kesh

 

The storm-lashed ruins of the ancient Sith temple on Kesh had become an open grave. Eighty-three combatants had been dropped from orbit in escape pods exactly seven hours earlier. The orbital platform above had already narrowed the allowable zone three times. Now only a single shrinking circle of violet lightning remained—barely two kilometers across.Vana Torm, former Imperial Shadow Guard, crouched behind a toppled obsidian pillar. Her electrostaff hummed at the lowest setting, just enough to keep the rainwater from shorting the weapon. Across the broken plaza she could see three others still alive:

• A Mandalorian in scorched silver-and-black beskar, rocket boots smoking from overuse.
• A Mirialan Nightsister whose green tattoos glowed faintly whenever she moved her fingers through the air, weaving something dark and patient.
• A young human scavenger boy—no older than seventeen—clutching a cracked purple lightsaber that clearly did not belong to him.

The boy was shaking. Not from cold.Vana’s comm bead crackled once. A synthetic voice from the platform overhead:“Final perimeter established. Ninety seconds until lethal-zone contraction. The last combatant receives freedom and two million Republic credits. Begin.”No fanfare. No music. Just the sudden scream of wind as the lightning wall tightened another fifty meters.The Mandalorian moved first—predictable. A whipcord launcher snapped toward the Nightsister. She didn’t dodge. Instead she raised one hand and the durasteel cable simply stopped mid-flight, writhing like a living thing before snapping back at double speed. It wrapped the Mandalorian’s throat. He triggered his flamethrower in panic; orange fire painted the rain in hissing steam.The Nightsister smiled thinly and yanked.Beskar met obsidian at speed. The helmet cracked like an egg. The body didn’t get up.Now two remained who mattered.The boy looked at Vana across thirty meters of broken statues. His knuckles were white around the stolen saber hilt. The blade flickered erratically—unstable crystal, poor kyber alignment. He was going to die holding someone else’s destiny.Vana stood slowly, letting him see her. No sudden moves. She thumbed her electrostaff off completely.“You’re not a killer,” she called over the storm. “And that blade is already killing you. Feel it? The feedback tremor in your elbows?”The boy’s lip trembled. “I didn’t ask for this.”“None of us did.” Vana took one deliberate step forward. “But only one walks off this rock.”Lightning flashed. For a heartbeat the entire ruined plaza turned violet-white.The boy lunged.He was fast—faster than she expected. The purple blade hissed toward her chest in a sloppy but powerful overhand strike. Vana didn’t ignite her weapon. Instead she stepped inside the arc, left palm slapping the boy’s wrist upward while her right drove a precise knuckle strike into the soft place beneath his sternum.He folded like cheap flimsi. The lightsaber spun out of his hand and skittered across wet stone, still burning.Vana caught him before he hit the ground. She lowered him gently, one knee in the pooling rainwater.“I’m sorry,” the boy gasped. Blood flecked his lips. The stolen saber had bitten him somewhere deep on the way down.“I know,” Vana said.She reached across him and picked up the fallen lightsaber. The moment her fingers closed around the hilt the blade steadied—violet turning clean, angry crimson.Of course. It had been waiting for someone who understood how to carry guilt.Above them the lightning wall hissed inward, now only steps away.Vana pressed two fingers to the boy’s throat. Pulse gone.She stood. Looked up at the invisible judges orbiting far overhead.“I claim the bounty,” she said, voice flat. “And I’m keeping the saber.”Silence for three heartbeats.Then the synthetic voice returned:“Combatant Vana Torm. Victor. Transponder beacon activated. Extraction shuttle inbound. Congratulations.”The lightning wall froze—then reversed, peeling back like burning film.Vana clipped the crimson blade to her belt beside the silent electrostaff. She looked down at the boy one last time.“You lasted longer than most,” she told the body. “That’s something.”Rain continued to fall on the dead temple as the extraction lights finally broke through the storm clouds—cold, white, and indifferent.She walked toward them without looking back.Eighty-three had fallen.
One walked away.
And the galaxy, as always, didn’t care which name was attached to the statistic.