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The Sith Buzzard broke into Lehon’s atmosphere and plummeted down through the clear blue sky. At the controls Kas’im made slight alterations to keep his vessel on its course, a direct line for the homing beacon of the Valcyn.

He’d half expected Bane to have disabled the beacon, or at least changed its frequency. But despite being aware of it—the beacon was standard on virtually all craft—he had left it alone. Almost as if he wasn’t afraid of anyone coming after him. As if he welcomed it.

Within a few minutes Kas’im got a visual on his target. The ship that had once—briefly—belonged to Qordis before Bane had taken it for his own was resting on a beach of white sand, the azure waters of the Unknown World’s vast oceans on one side and the impenetrable jungle on the other. Scans showed no signs of life in the immediate vicinity, but Kas’im was wary as he brought his own craft in to touch down beside it.

He powered down the Buzzard and climbed out of the hatch. He felt the energy of the world, and the unmistakable presence of Darth Bane, seemingly emanating from the jungle’s dark heart. Leaping to the ground, he landed with a dull thud on the soft-packed sand, his feet sinking in ever so slightly. A cursory examination of the Valcyn confirmed what he’d already suspected: his prey wasn’t here.

Any tracks Bane might have left in the sand had been washed away by the tides or carried away on the breeze. Yet he knew where he was going. Before him, the jungle loomed lush and vibrant, thick and forbidding: an almost impenetrable wall of vegetation, except for a wide swath carved through it.

Someone or something of massive size and strength had torn that path through the trees and undergrowth. Already the jungle was trying to reclaim it. Moss grew thick across the ground, and a vast network of creeping vines wound their way over the surface. But it was clear enough for the Twi’lek to follow.

Hidden eyes were watching him from the jungle: even without the Force he would have felt their gaze studying him, evaluating him, following his every move in an effort to determine if this newcomer to the ecosystem was hunter or prey. To help clarify his role, he drew out his great double lightsaber and ignited the twin blades, then began to jog slowly down the path.

As he ran, he probed the surrounding foliage with the Force. Most of the creatures he sensed posed little threat. Still, he was wary. Something had blazed the trail he was following. Something big.

Almost ten kilometers in—he’d been jogging for nearly an hour—the Blademaster finally encountered his first rancor. The trail took a sharp turn to the east, and as he wound around the corner the creature burst from the surrounding trees, snarling and howling.

Kas’im wasn’t surprised in the least by the ambush. He’d sensed the rancor’s presence from several hundred meters away, just as it had surely caught his scent and stalked him from some great distance. He met the creature’s charge with calm, ruthless efficiency.

Ducking under the first swiping claw, he carved a deep gash along the beast’s left foreleg. When it reared back to bellow in pain, he sliced another deep groove in its soft underbelly. The rancor didn’t fall right away; it was far too massive to be felled by a pair of wounds from a lightsaber. Instead the pain drove it into a berserk rage. It flailed about with its teeth and talons, spinning, snapping, and slashing at everything around it.

Kas’im twisted and dodged, leaping over one attack, then dropping to the ground to roll beneath another. He moved so fast he would have been nothing but a blur had the rancor not been blinded by rage. And with each evasion he struck another blow, whittling away at the mountain of sinew and flesh like a master sculptor working a lump of lommite.

The rancor floundered, lumbering and stumbling as if it were performing some drunken spacer’s dance. In contrast, Kas’im was quick and precise. With each passing second his opponent slowed,