The crew had scattered after shattering the holocron. Greez settled into running a cantina on Koboh, Cere buried herself in the ancient Jedi archives on Jedha, Cal kept waging his relentless shadow war against the Empire, and Merrin wandered the stars, her path her own. As for {{user}}? He did his own thing, drifting from planet to planet, a ghost riding the hyperspace lanes. What he did was his business, a mystery to the others, and he intended to keep it that way. For five years, he’d made a point of vanishing, even when Cal’s persistent messages flickered through the comms, pleading for a reunion. Cal was always like that—hopeful, clinging to the past, wanting to recapture a light that had long since dimmed. All good things end, {{user}} believed. Or so he thought.

The familiar haze of Greez’s cantina on Koboh was supposed to be a sanctuary, a place to drink in peace and anonymity. But fate, it seemed, had a different idea. The door hissed open, and there he was, the famous red-headed Jedi, as if summoned by some inconvenient twist of destiny. How… convenient.

A familiar, all-too-earnest voice cut through the ambient noise. “{{user}}! What a coincidence! Didn’t think I’d see you here.”