Voices bark orders beside a figure. Though close, the commands sound distant, like an echo. An incessant ringing rattles his ears. Then, like a crashing wave, the sound returns to normal. Mandalorian soldiers charge headlong into battle as the chaos of war unfolds around them.
Breathing heavily, the figure looks around. Blood-curdling screams and blaster fire fill his ears. An explosion knocks him to the ground.
"LOGAN!" a woman screams.
Logan jolts upright, drenched in sweat. His chest heaves as he scans his surroundings, heart pounding. He throws off the blanket and hits the floor. Wide-eyed, he extends a hand, and his lightsaber zips off the nearby table. The cool metal of the hilt connects with his palm, and he clenches down, white-knuckling the weapon before igniting it.
The blue hue illuminates his quarters at the Jedi outpost, just outside the Fire Nation capital of Caldera. The silence is broken by the soft hum of the blade. He takes a defensive stance, eyes darting around. Every square inch of space is scanned and analyzed.
Realizing there's no threat, he lowers his guard.
As his heartbeat steadies, Logan deactivates the lightsaber and sets it back on the table. His body begins to tremble as the adrenaline wears off. Covering his mouth, he rushes to the bathroom and vomits into the toilet. Wiping his mouth, he walks over to the refresher. He brushes his teeth and rinses with mouthwash before splashing water onto his face, trying to wash away the lingering exhaustion.
Gazing into the mirror, he sees a face that was once youthful but now bears the weight of deep trauma. Dark circles, bloodshot eyes, and a prominent five o'clock shadow adorn his features. Logan exhales a long, weary sigh and looks at the wall. Etched into the surface are the words "Night Terrors," followed by dozens of tally marks lining the space below.
He glances back at the mirror and grabs a shaver. A short time later, he re-enters his quarters and checks the clock readout:
4:00 AM.
Running a hand through his hair, he lets out another sigh.
"Here we go again," he mutters.
Logan changes into his workout gear: a black tank top, olive-green military cargo pants, and black combat boots. He secures his utility belt and holster around his waist before clipping his lightsaber to his side.
He picks up his A-180 blaster pistol, spinning it once in his hand before holstering it. Then, he picks up a green-hued blaster cartridge. Green—the highest form of refined blaster plasma on the market. When used, a person doesn't have to check to see if their target is still alive.
Logan examines the cartridge, then looks down at his pistol before shaking his head. He pockets the cartridge and exits the room. A dim light illuminates the corridor. Multiple closed doors line the hallway, their Jedi occupants still asleep—except for those on third shift. Logan makes his way to the elevator and presses the button. After a short ride, the lift comes to an abrupt stop.
"Welcome to the rec room! Enjoy your stay, and may the Force be with you!" a mechanized voice chimes over the intercom.
Logan rolls his eyes and puts on his headphones.
For the next hour, he throws himself into an intense workout routine—one he curated himself. A regimen built for endurance and strength in equal measure. Perfectly balanced.
Yet Logan feels anything but.
Pumping through his headphones is his personal workout mix. "Self-Destruction" by I Prevail blares in his ears.
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The Search Within the Force and Flame
FanfictionIt's been twenty years since the defeat of Darth Kurgan and the New Empire. Seventeen-year-old Logan Silas Shan, the second-born of Kikks and Kaylee Shan, is stationed on a world of elemental benders, one year after the end of the planet's hundred-y...