Braze braced one hand against the sewer wall and let Silas' words settle through the ringing in his skull.
Deep breaths…?
That sounded easier when the air didn't taste of metal, rot, chemical runoff, and terror. It sounded easier when his bones weren't weary and hollowed out with strain from holding up half a market district by sheer will and refusal alone. His fingers curled into a tight fist against the slick stone, and for a few lingering moments, the small Jedi let his head dip.
Silas Westgard
's encouragement came to him like a second wind. The gentle words caught him somewhere beneath the pain and exhaustion and dragged him back from the edge of delirium, where his senses had begun to blur and fray. The light encouraging pat steadied him, sharpening his senses, and pulled his awareness back into place from the precipice of comfort and rest offered by the darkened void.
The Force did not come to him cleanly down here. It was as if the Living Force were a somber distant psalm being drowned out by the darkness.
Dromund Kaas pressed through every pipe, wet brick, and black-laden seam between duracrete slabs, bearing down on him as if the planet itself remembered every harrowing chain ever dragged across its skin.
Braze swallowed hard, then opened his eyes.
"There is no map," he murmured, voice rough beneath the mask and carried through the comms.
"That's fine… on me."
It was indeed not fine. This whole situation was karked up because some upstart wanted eternal daddy's attention for being a good boy and 'snitching' on them. They were blind, cramped, filthy, and one wrong turn could dump them into a lower sewer channel or seal them inside a filtration chamber with Sith patrols closing in from above.
But Braze knew that panic was a luxury for people who had already failed their mission, and Braze still drew breath. There was more expected of a Jedi Shadow then that.
He lifted his head and listened past the shuffling feet, past frightened breathing, past the distant groan of the city tearing itself apart overhead. His senses caught motion before meaning wove its way through what his mind's eye was sensing up ahead: boots over metal walkways, bare feet dragging through runoff, and the uneven rhythm of children being carried....
But there was more... beneath it all, another pattern moved through the Living Force as he pushed his presence outward, stretching his awareness as far as it would go searching.... for
something...
There it was…
Water. Fresh clean water...
It wasn't the same as the sluggish black channel at their boots, but something cold far beneath it. Clean and moving with natural purpose. A steady pull through the buried arteries of New Kaas City.
Braze reached farther, jaw tightening as the strain crawled behind his eyes with a dull ache. The current tugged eastward, down a narrowing service run where the air tasted less dead and the sulfur thinned by degrees.
"There," he said, pointing two fingers toward a low maintenance passage half-hidden behind a curtain of runoff.
"That line goes outward."
His comm clicked open to the secured rescue channel. When he spoke again, his voice was rough and steadier than before, laced with confidence.
"Extraction team, adjust pickup. We are abandoning the surface lane. Watch for a drainage outfall beneath the east industrial shelf, below the old market power conduits. Track friendly IFF and short-range pings only."
The tunnel shuddered overhead as dust sifted from the seams, settling into Braze's white hair and across the torn shoulders of his cloak. Somewhere behind and above them, metal groaned under the weight of the city's collapsing buildings.
He cut the channel and turned, putting himself near the rear again though his legs protested the choice. His lightsaber stayed unlit at his side and holstered on his belt. Saram was right about the gases; one careless spark could turn the sewer into a fiery grave.
Braze pressed his palm to the wall as they moved and sent a careful pulse through the stone.
Just enough to make old pipes shift, grates sag in bent, crooked ways, and loose debris slump into awkward angles behind them. A trail made ugly for anyone following too quickly in an effort to delay any persistent pursuers. A narrowing throat between the fleeing civilians and whatever hunted them from the dark.
Then he moved forwards, every step betraying the tremor running through his exhausted body. He looked as though a strong gust might finally knock him down, yet somehow he remained upright, stubbornly forcing himself onward.
Flashes of precognition struck in broken pieces as he darted ahead guiding the group beyond the dangers that threatened to trap them there: a left turn that smelled of rust, a ladder too weak to trust, a pocket of gas near the ceiling, a child stumbling before a hand caught them. Braze adjusted without explaining, cutting a sharper path through the service tunnels, forcing his body to keep pace with what his senses showed him.
Ahead, a thin line of light waited at the end of the passage.
As they drew closer, the stale darkness of the sewer began to give way. The foul stench that had clung to every breath weakened, replaced by the scent of rain-soaked stone and fresh water. The distant roar grew louder with every step until it filled the tunnel ahead like a living thing.
The passage finally opened into a massive drainage outlet carved into the rocky shelf beneath the city. Beyond it, a curtain of fresh water cascaded from the cliffs above, fed by the endless storms of Dromund Kaas. White mist drifted through the air, catching the pale light filtering down from the overcast sky.
The refugees emerged from the sewer one by one, blinking against the brightness. Then the waterfall's spray washed over them.
Cool droplets swept across grime-caked faces, rinsing away streaks of sewage, dust, and blood. Children laughed weakly as the fresh water splashed against them. Adults closed their eyes for a moment, simply breathing. After hours spent choking on decay and fear, the clean mist felt almost...
unreal.
Braze stepped through last....
The spray struck his face and soaked his white hair, washing dark filth from his skin and cloak. For a brief moment, he simply stood there beneath the drifting mist, letting the fresh water cool the feverish ache in his body. The sensation was refreshing beyond words... despite everything they had endured beneath the city, they had made it out.
Waiting beyond the outfall were the transports as needed.
Their engines hummed steadily as crews moved into position. Friendly signals flashed across Braze's HUD. Personnel and security teams were already preparing to receive the civilians. And beyond them stood the covert flight of Draconis forces, ready and waiting to guard the transports.
Their presence formed a reassuring line between the exhausted refugees and the dangers they had escaped. Crew members waved the survivors onward toward safety.