The tunnel echoed with screams and blaster fire. Rebels and slaves pushed forward in a storm of chaos and smoke, winding through Kessel's maze of rock and pain.
Grarrukk ran at the front, his fur matted with ash and sweat. In his grip crackled a shock baton — once used to punish his kind, now turned against its masters.
The mines had taught him how to endure.
The Force had taught him how to move.
But the fire in his chest? That belonged to him.
A pair of stormtroopers rounded the corner. One raised a blaster, but Grarrukk was faster. He let out a roar that shook the walls.
"RRRAWWRRRHHHGH!"("For the fallen!")
He drove the baton into the first soldier's chest — a flash of blue lightning burst on contact. The second tried to flee, but Grarrukk hurled the baton like a spear, cracking through plastoid armor and dropping the trooper instantly.
Behind him, the slaves hesitated, stunned.
"Grrrahhh... wrahhhgghh..."("Move! You want to die here?")
The rebels advanced. Seyra, the Twi'lek with the scar over her left eye, sprinted to his side.
"They blocked the main lift!" she shouted. "We'll have to reroute through the fuel shaft—if it hasn't collapsed!"
Grarrukk growled low, then nodded.
"Hrrrgh... Wrrohgghhrr... gghrrahrr."("Then we clear it. Or die trying.")
The group surged down a side passage — a maintenance corridor lined with crumbling durasteel and scorch marks. Lights flickered overhead, casting long, shaking shadows. Every few meters, they passed a fallen body — slaver, rebel, Wookiee. Kessel was bleeding.
And then the floor above them exploded.
Boom.
Black-armored Kessel Enforcers dropped from the catwalks, repelling down on lines like shadows with rifles. Blasters roared.
Seyra screamed, "Ambush!"
A young Wookiee, barely more than a cub, cried out and hit the floor, leg seared by a bolt. He tried to crawl.
Grarrukk turned back. He saw the fear in the child's eyes — the same fear that once lived in him.
"RRAAGGHHH!"("Not today!")
He lifted the boy into one arm. With the other, he retrieved his shock baton from a corpse. His grip tightened. The Force whispered.
He charged.
Bolts missed him, barely. Time slowed. Every movement was instinct. His baton snapped upward into an enforcer's chin. Then across another's helmet. A third tried to aim — too slow.
Grarrukk spun, letting out a howl that echoed like thunder in the narrow corridor.
"HRRRAWWWGGGHHHHH!"
Enforcers fell.
When it was done, Grarrukk stood surrounded by broken bodies, the young Wookiee in his arm, breathing.
The rebels stared.
Seyra stepped forward slowly, mouth open.
"You're not just a Wookiee," she whispered. "You're something else."
Grarrukk lowered the child gently and looked back the way they came — toward the tunnels, the chains, the screams.
Then to Seyra, he said in a low, rumbling tone:
"Grarrukk. Last of the broken. First of the free."
She nodded.
"Then let's finish this."
They pressed on. The hangar was just beyond the next shaft. One more push. One more fight.
And for the first time in his life, Grarrukk could see the stars ahead — waiting.