Kai'el Brat "Guardian of the Light"
Located deep in the Unknown Regions, high within the upper atmosphere of a massive gas giant, drifted a port that had no allegiance, no flag, and no law beyond its own survival. The storms below boiled endlessly, casting bands of gold and violet light through the steel underbelly of the station.
It had once been a sanctuary for refugees and wanderers fleeing wars that swallowed whole sectors. Built from what they could carry and what they could salvage, the station grew into a tenuous network of decks and corridors suspended above the storms.
Asylum endured through neutrality, where balance was maintained by mutual understanding rather than force. No one brought their wars here. Everyone who came through its docks abided by that rule, because everyone knew what happened to those who didn't.
Braze was here to follow a rumor, nothing more, at least on paper. His role here was to play the part of a traveler stopping by for some supplies. In truth, he was tracing the edges of something much larger. No one could say what it was, only that those who asked too loudly tended to vanish.
He had picked up the thread from a salvager outside the Mid Rim, a half-mad drunk who's claims to have seen the name buried in a Republic data breach before his ship's drive fried itself clean. Whether it was a place, a weapon, or a ghost of history didn't matter; someone was willing to pay well for information, and Braze intended to find out who.
The Mud Duck descended through the clouds, static crawling across the hull as docking beacons flickered to life and guided it into the hangar. When the ramp lowered, the air that met them was thick with oil and ozone. The hum of machinery and distant chatter folded together into the typical hustle and bustle of a place that survived by looking the other way.
Braze stepped down the ramp, cloak drawn close about his lithe frame, Pale white hair catching the gold light that bled through the vents above. His student Leos followed in tow. The tangle of life before them was comprised of smugglers unloading crates, droids trundling along rail tracks, and the constant hiss of vapor vents expelling the planet's breath.
"Remember," Braze murmured keeping his tone hushed to his student, "We're not here to pry. We're here to listen and observe. Questions make people nervous."
The rumor concerned a mysterious client known only as the Broker, a figure who dealt in secrets the way others dealt in spice. No one had ever seen their face, just encrypted transfers and clipped transmissions promising rewards so high they sounded like bait.
Payment, it was said, wasn't in credits at all, but in pure aurodium; polished ingots stamped with no seal or serial, their weight alone worth more than most freighters. For that kind of payment, even the careful stopped asking questions.
The pair made their way toward the docks and salvager's market, following the scent of heated coolant and burned synth-oil that clung to the air like smoke. The main concourse opened into a sprawling grid of stalls built from scavenged hull plates and half-lit signage in languages long dead.
Merchants shouted above the roar of generators, their voices competing with the whine of repulsor lifts and the clang of cargo clamps. Crates of starship plating, cracked astromech shells, and ion-burned thruster cones were stacked shoulder high in narrow aisles. Somewhere, a street musician played an out-of-tune chord set on an old holoboard.
Braze's eyes scanned the crowd, smugglers, prospectors, traders, the occasional soldier of fortune trying to look unarmed. Everyone here had the same expression: survive, profit, vanish.
He adjusted the fall of his cloak and spoke just loud enough for Leos to hear.
"Keep your eyes open. Everyone here sells something. Sometimes it's not what you expect."
