Kallus and Ezra moved through the dark, narrow corridors of the Imperial outpost, their steps carefully measured to avoid detection. The mission was simple—sabotage the Empire's supply line to a nearby sector. They had gone over the plan a dozen times, each member of the Ghost crew paired up for maximum efficiency. Kanan and Hera were taking care of the comms array, Sabine and Zeb were handling explosives, and Kallus had been partnered with Ezra. It had felt strange at first, going on an actual mission with the Rebels, but the crew had agreed: if Kallus was truly going to be one of them, he had to prove it in the field.
Ezra had been cautious at first, but the young Jedi had warmed up to him over time. They worked well together, despite their vastly different backgrounds. But as they approached their objective, Kallus sensed that something was wrong. The silence felt too heavy, the air too still.
And then he heard it—a distant clank, the unmistakable sound of stormtroopers.
"Ezra, we need to—" Before Kallus could finish, blaster fire erupted from both sides of the corridor.
"Stormtroopers!" Ezra shouted, igniting his lightsaber and deflecting bolts with swift, fluid motions. They were outnumbered, and the narrow space made it impossible to retreat.
Kallus' instincts kicked in. Years of Imperial training surged to the surface as he fired his blaster, taking out a few troopers. But they kept coming, relentless in their attack.
Ezra, despite his skill, was still young and vulnerable. Kallus knew it. And when he saw one of the stormtroopers aiming straight for Ezra, something inside him snapped.
"Ezra, run!" Kallus shouted, his voice hoarse with urgency. Without thinking, he lunged in front of the boy, making himself a shield. Blaster bolts seared through the air, one striking Ezra's arm, grazing him just enough to make him stumble back. But the rest hit Kallus directly—two shots, one to his side and another just below his ribs.
Ezra, his face twisted in pain and confusion, hadn't noticed the extent of the damage. "Kallus, we need to get out of here!"
Kallus gritted his teeth against the pain, his breath shallow as he fired back at the stormtroopers, managing to hold them off just long enough for them to make a run for it. He could feel the searing agony in his side, the warmth of his blood soaking into his uniform, but he couldn't stop. Not yet.
They made it back to the Ghost in a rush, the adrenaline pushing Kallus forward even as his vision blurred and his limbs felt heavy. The crew was already there, waiting for them at the entrance, their faces falling when they saw Ezra.
"Ezra!" Hera exclaimed, rushing to him as she saw the blood on his arm. "What happened?"
"I'm fine," Ezra said, wincing as Kanan and Sabine helped him toward the medbay. "Just a scrape."
Kallus stood off to the side, unnoticed, watching as they crowded around Ezra. His head spun, the world tilting as he fought to stay on his feet. His breath came in ragged gasps, but no one looked his way. No one asked if he was alright. All eyes were on Ezra.
Sabine turned to Kallus, her face hard and filled with anger. "How did this happen? You were supposed to protect him!"
The accusation hit Kallus like a punch to the gut, but he didn't respond. His hand pressed harder against his side, trying to stem the flow of blood, but it was no use. The pain was becoming unbearable, and the world around him was starting to blur at the edges.
Kanan's eyes narrowed. "You let him get hurt, Kallus. We trusted you."
"I—" Kallus' voice faltered. He could barely breathe, let alone speak. He wanted to tell them what had really happened, that he had shielded Ezra, that he had taken the brunt of the attack, but the words wouldn't come. He felt weak, vulnerable, and utterly useless in that moment.
Zeb, his face twisted in a rare expression of fury, stepped forward. "You're supposed to be better than this. What were you thinking?"
Kallus took a step back, his legs trembling beneath him. He could feel the blood pooling under his hand, soaking through his clothes. His vision was swimming, the edges of his world going dark, but no one noticed. They were too focused on their anger, their disappointment in him. And he—he couldn't blame them.
"I'm sorry," Kallus whispered, his voice barely audible.
Ezra, still being treated by Hera, tried to speak. "It wasn't his—" But before he could finish, Kallus' knees buckled beneath him.
The room spun, the faces of the crew fading in and out of focus. Kallus' body crumpled to the ground, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The last thing he saw was the crew turning toward him, shock and confusion in their eyes. And then, everything went black.
**
When Kallus awoke, the world around him was a blur of soft light and muffled voices. His body felt heavy, like it was made of lead, and the pain in his side was a dull, persistent throb. He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of where he was.
The medbay. He was in the medbay.
His throat was dry, and his head pounded, but as he turned his head, he saw Hera sitting nearby, her face etched with concern.
"You're awake," she said softly, her voice filled with a mix of relief and... regret?
Kallus tried to speak, but his voice was weak. "What... what happened?"
"You passed out," Hera explained, her expression softening. "You were bleeding out, Kallus. You didn't say anything."
Kallus closed his eyes, the weight of everything crashing down on him. Of course he hadn't. He didn't think they'd care—not after what had happened with Ezra. He had accepted their anger, taken it without protest, because in his mind, he deserved it.
"I didn't..." Kallus' voice cracked, the emotions he had been suppressing for so long rising to the surface. "I didn't want to fail him. I tried..."
"We know," Hera said gently. "We saw the injuries. You took the shots for Ezra, didn't you?"
Kallus didn't respond, his eyes staring at the ceiling, his body still too weak to move. He had never wanted them to know. He didn't need their sympathy. He didn't want it.
But now, lying there, vulnerable and exposed, he felt the weight of all the guilt, the remorse, the self-doubt, crashing down on him like a tidal wave.
"I should've done more," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I should've protected him better."
"Kallus," Hera said softly, placing a hand on his arm, "you saved Ezra's life. You took the hits for him. None of us noticed because we were too focused on him, but... we're sorry. We should've seen it sooner."
The door slid open, and the rest of the crew entered—Ezra, Kanan, Sabine, Zeb—all of them looking somber, the anger from earlier replaced by regret.
Ezra stepped forward, his face filled with guilt. "You took those shots for me. I should've realized sooner. I'm sorry, Kallus."
Kallus swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice. "It's not your fault. I... I'm just sorry I couldn't do more."
Zeb, standing at the back, finally spoke. "You did enough, Kallus. More than enough."
For the first time, Kallus allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he had done something right. But the vulnerability, the feeling of being so exposed—it left him shaken. He had always been strong, always in control. Now, he felt weak. Useless.
But as he looked around at the crew—at their concern, their quiet understanding—he realized that maybe he wasn't as alone as he had always believed.
And maybe... that was enough.
