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Chapter Text

The Thaloran Vale was a rough terrain of forested, high- altitude valleys filled with ancient trees and low, swirling mist. The Force was quiet here, nothing like the raging storm that hovered over the wave beaten cliffs and the winding cave networks that ran from the Ashen Expanse, a cracked highland plateau filled with mostly dormant volcanic chimneys and geothermal vents, to the sea.

You came here whenever you needed to think, the Force, a friend as it concealed your Force signature and your emotions. The weaved basket in your hand remained empty as you walked along the narrow path hidden by brush and mist. The moist soil sucked in the sound of your footsteps. It was Red-belly mushroom season, yet your basket remained uncharacteristically empty.

Your Master has been fidgeting all week. It started with a slight discomfort at the trading post, someone briefly mentioning an Imperial census of the planet. You weren’t a fool to take that piece of information lightly, but the anxiousness that followed your master made you think that there was more to it than it seemed. Eredeen Prime was never much use to the Empire, so they mostly ignored it, writing it off as a geological hazard zone with no strategic value. You supposed that was why you were here, there was no imperial interference, aside from the occasional pit stop for fuel and rations by troops.

The oldest tree of the forest stood looming a few feet away, flanked by shallow ponds and weeds that swayed peacefully with the mist. You weaved your way through the small clearing, your boots sinking into the mud. The alcove at the foot of the tree was the perfect place to hide when you didn’t want to do your chores or practice, and your Master was kind enough to never seek you out when your signature blended in with that of the forest. You’ve been on Eredeen Prime for as long as you remembered. Your life consisted mostly of harvesting mushrooms, fishing when the sea was calm and studying old Jedi Texts that survived Order 66.

You crossed your legs and breathed out as your back rested on the bark of the tree. It’s been hours since unease and dread settled at the bottom of your stomach. The Force felt strange, like a rope waiting to snap. You breathed out slowly, reaching out with your senses. You felt the sway of the leaves in the breeze, ash swirling in a whirlpool of air before landing on the fertile soil at the foot of a volcano, and then, rough waves of seawater crashing against the ragged cliffs off the coast. A ripple of fear washed over you. You tightened your grip on the feeling, following until it was too overwhelming to go any closer.

Through the window of a hut, you saw him. Your Master, hunched over a thick dusty book, fingers brushing the edge. It wasn’t one you’d ever seen before. Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes followed the beads of sweat sliding down his pale skin from his temple. His lips moved slowly under his breath and you strained against the Force to hear the words. Your head started throbbing, seeing white under your eyelids. You pulled back slightly, enough to calm your beating heart and your heavy breaths as you caught the last words.

Visions and the Premonitions.

Your eyes snapped open and your hands fell to the ground, fingers gripping the cold moss covered soil as you panted. You pulled your legs to your chest, your forehead, slick with sweat, dropping against your knee. He had been dismissive when you first told him about the nightmare plaguing your sleep, insisting that it was nothing but the effect of the Empire tightening its noose around the Galaxy. You had taken his words for it, until it started feeling too real even in your dreams. It was always the same thing. A memory, or something like it. You knew every detail before it happened, but it never felt like it was truly yours. A premonition maybe, the Force warning you about the looming danger of the Inquisitors and the Sith Lords hunting down rogue Jedi.

A chill breezed through with the wind, sweeping the mist away from the surface of the pond. It was black and unmoving— like a mirror in the dead of night. Your breath steadied slowly as you stared, the pond bringing your mind into an anchored calmness. Your shoulders dropped against the bark. The sensation of fear had dwindled down to a slight tingle in your fingertips, not strong enough to overcome your senses again, but enough to know it was there.

Your eyes remained on the water— unmoving and calm. The quiet whistling of the wind and chirp of the insects casting a peacefulness over you. You sighed, closing your eyes.

Then, you felt it again.

That flash of dread.

The mist thickened around you and you stood up abruptly. You looked down at your feet, eyes searching for your empty basket, only for your vision to be wholly overcome by the fog. It embraced everything in its wake, the taller brush, the trees, the dangling leaves and the alcove until all you could see was the faint outline of a man with golden eyes standing at the edge of the clearing. The ends of his dark brown Jedi robes remained still, even as the wind picked up harshly.

The stench of the dark side filled the once peaceful forest. You felt the hate, the suffering and the pain burst through every inch of your being.

You backed away slowly, holding your breath in fear of being spotted. A heaviness settled over you, smothering down the light of the Force. You fought against it, mind and soul pushing through the dark for a ray of sunlight, but you couldn’t, not when the sensations running through you threatened to drown you in an endless void. The Force had slipped from your grasp, and you could barely feel the weed inches from your feet or the basket sitting on the moss. Being cut off from the Force felt like being blindfolded, gagged and deafened all at once.

Your hands trembled without permission. The silence around you wasn’t quiet anymore; it buzzed, loud and sharp. Blood rushed to your ears and tears swelled in your eyes as you felt the emptiness of the Force. The pressure of the unseen tightened around you with every breath you held too long. You felt trapped, unable to do anything but feel the weight of pure anger rolling off in waves. The figure shifted in the haze and you stumbled back, feet knocking over the basket and sending you down harshly.

The cold seeped through your clothes as the pond wrapped its arms tightly around you. The smooth surface broke into ripples and splashes, The dim sunlight shining through the canopy shied away as a long sinister shadow fell onto the surface. You struggled against the invisible hold keeping you down, hands reaching for your lightsaber in panic, only to realise you had left it back home, tucked safely away under your pillow. You’d never needed it out, until now.

Black spots blinded your vision, and in a last attempt to save yourself, you reached out, hand stretching towards the surface, fingertips peeking out of the water.

The figure moved again.

A bright blue hue filled your vision.

You closed your eyes, peace surging through you before you took your last breath weakly.

You came to slowly, as if rising through layers of thick fog. The first thing you felt was cold— water clinging to your skin, your soaked clothes weighing you down, heavy and still. The surface above you rippled light, white, nothing like the blue that haunted you instants ago. For a moment you weren’t sure which way was up, then instinct took over. You kicked, breaking through the surface with a gasp that burned your lungs.

The pond was quiet. No sound but your own ragged breath and the distant rustle of trees.

No buzz of a lightsaber or squelch of heavy steps on the mud.

The heavy mist had gone, covering only inches above the ground. Limbs trembling, you clawed your way toward the bank. Your hands sank into the soft earth as you dragged yourself out, coughing, spitting water, the chill sinking deep into your bones. You laid there for a moment, half in, half out of the water, chest heaving— trying to remember how you had gotten here. Your eyes stung from the water and you blinked, tears running down your blood drained cheeks.

It wasn’t real, you forced yourself to say.

Just a fragment of your imagination playing a cruel trick on you.

A sob racked your chest before you could pull yourself fully out of the pond.

It was him, the same man with the golden eyes.

Except you were no longer in there.

There was no arched granite ceiling of a medbay or the sterile scent of a bacta tank.

He had come to you this time. In the forest. In Eredeen Prime. In your home.

Something was coming, you felt it. Something dark and inevitable.

You walked back home, arms crossed against your chest as you tried warming yourself up. The ends of your cloak dragged heavily across the ground, catching rocks and dust and mud as it dripped water all over. You followed the only path across the field, worn out by your boots from years of cutting through the tall grass instead of going around. You didn’t stay long after you finally had the strength to pull yourself out of the pond with trembling limbs and swollen eyes. The forest hadn’t changed, it still radiated calmness, but something in you had. Your hidden spot was now tainted with the memory of terror, and your conscience diseased with the fact that the Empire wouldn’t have to look too far to find you hiding in plain sight.

A biting cold whispered by, yet you didn’t shiver or pull your cloak tighter around you. The thought of your Master ending up in the hands of the Empire was chilling enough for the breeze to go unnoticed. He had given everything to protect you for as long as he could, ever since the day you were born, the day the old Jedi Order fell into the darkness. You knew he wasn’t the only one to have survived the Jedi Purge, you’ve heard whispers of others, mostly ones aiding the rebel cells to wreck havoc on the Empire. You remember asking him once, where was it you stood in all of this.

Our path leads us elsewhere, he had said.

You thought it cowardly of him to let others sacrifice everything and do nothing in return.

But now, you understood partly. Perhaps what you were meant to do was preserve the ways of the Jedi, passing them along so that they never died out despite all the efforts of the Empire.
Sometimes, less was more.

But that didn’t change the fact that danger was looming too close for your comfort.

The hut was only a few feet away by the time the sun had set. The sky had darkened quickly and the mountains shielded the path from the starlight. You took your wet clothes off, leaving only your inner tunic and pants as you hung them from the clothing line to dry. The smoke swirling from the chimney had you silently cursing under your breath.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you chirped, as you entered the threshold.

Your Master looked up from the cauldron hanging above the fire, eyes dropping from your form to the empty basket by your side. He nodded in greeting as he got up from beside the fireplace.

“Something happened?” He raised an eyebrow and you shrugged.

“Just clumsy. The fog was thicker than usual.” He didn’t say anything. Just nodded again and told you to set the table.

Dinner was a quiet affair. You stirred your stew around, stomach turning at the reflection of the fire burning on the surface. Your Master, if he noticed your quietness, didn’t say anything.

“Why would the Empire want a census here?” you mumbled, peeking through your lashes to observe your Master. He stilled, fingers tightening around his spoon.

“Could be the Watchtower or nothing at all. You don’t have to worry about that, just your studies.” The Watchtower was last used by the Galactic Republic during the Clone Wars. Almost a decade earlier, it was used by some rebel cells before they were wiped out when the now abandoned Kyril Spur trade route was still in use. But now it was just the mating and nesting ground of the giant Fish-catching birds unique to the mid-rim planet.

“I know, it just doesn’t make sense. I thought they already laid it off as a waste of resources.” The patient man exhaled lightly through his nose. Your anxiety bled into his signature, and he softened his gaze.

“We’re going to be fine.” He reached his hand across the table, and you obeyed, clasping your hand in his. He smiled, strained but comforting as he gently stroked your fingers in reassurance.

“What if they’re checking visas?”

“They won’t,” he whispered confidently. The look in his eyes conflicted with the tone of his voice. You swallowed, nodding before returning your gaze to your bowl. Movement in the corner of your eyes broke you out of your stupor.

He gently twisted your padawan braid between his fingers.

“You will be ready soon,” he said, dropping the braid back to where it sat against your neck. You looked back, surprise and shock painting your face, “I’m lucky to have such a dedicated student as my first. All my years as a Jedi have only been as a scholar or a temple guard but I suppose, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“ I'm lucky to have you as my Master. I wouldn’t be here without you,” you said, eyes stinging.

“Your mother would be proud.” Your heart clenched but you smiled weakly, grateful for the people who had sacrificed everything so you escaped alive and unscathed.

Chapter Text

The sky above Eredeen Prime was silent. Too silent. Below, wind howled across cliffs, scraping against ancient stone buildings long buried in ash. The air buzzed faintly with warning, a vibration in the Force, like a storm pressuring against a sealed door.

In orbit, an Imperial Arquitens-class cruiser hovered in quiet standby. Its commander, the Seventh Sister, stood on its bridge with lips pulled into a subtle smirk. Behind her the crew were silent, precise and terrified of the woman standing before the viewport, clad completely in black, her double-bladed saber hanging horizontally at her back like a crescent moon, still and quiet but menacing, as if challenging someone to speak up against her authority. Her posture reeked of determination as she gazed at the planet with the look of someone who’d just received the best present anyone could ask for.

She did, she mused.

Vayden Kelriss wasn’t an easy man to find. The last fifteen years was a flash of tearing through outer-rim planets for him. They had come close to caging him like a rat for the first few before he disappeared like a wisp of perfume in the wind. He was a slimy little Jedi that one, but there won’t be any escape for him this time.

She relished in the thought of finally killing someone worthy of her skills. Cutting down poorly trained padawans and younglings would only get her so far.

Or perhaps she would deliver the Jedi scum to the Grand Inquisitor instead, as a token of good favour.

Wouldn’t that be a lovely reunion between old colleagues?

She suppressed a laugh at the thought until a faint memory crossed her mind. Her lips twisted into a frown and she tightened her fist around the datapad in her hand.

Her last mission in Lothal had ended with a crushing retreat. Her troops were dead before they could even fire their blasters, the handiwork traced back to a bunch of rebel misfits. A wave of anger flashed through her eyes and the officer on the control deck stiffened beside her. The bridge had quietened at the shift in her posture. There was no shuffling and murmurs, only the silence that preceded an outburst. Her nose flared, tasting the fear that spread contagiously around her. Her shoulders dropped inch by inch, relaxed by the high the tension provided her with. The officers were sheep, weak creatures that went cowering at any sign of power display, and she found out soon enough that she liked it. She liked control just as she liked seeing the light disappear from a Jedi’s eyes. She might not have caught those rebels on Lothal but she was ready to take on Kelriss, someone she knew the Grand Inquisitor had certainly lost sleep over. The temple guard was simply too valuable to the growing rebellion to be left alive.

Flickering on a red-lit console, was the hologram of the Planet, red dots littering the surface where unconfirmed Force anomalies were last recorded. But she didn’t need it. The intel about the sightings of the Jedi were vetted twice, both by the imperial spy they had planted in the city and the ISB.

She raised a hand.

A quiet officer spoke nervously, his eyes downcast, “The dropship is prepped. Tactical ground sweep will begin on your mark, Inquisitor.”

“No sweep. Fire will have ants scattering to the shadows. None of that. We’re just here for a census, after all,” Seventh Sister spoke, low and cold. She turned from the viewport just as the mutter picked up again. Of course, the census was just a poor excuse to explain the sudden rise of imperial presence on the planet. Eredeen Prime was as useful to the Empire as a vibroblade in a blaster fight. It made sense why he’d pick here off all places. The Force was strong enough to ward off tracking tech in the northern hemisphere and the winding cave systems a headache to comb through for the stormtroopers, but she suspected the isolation of the planet was what had sold it for him.

The inquisitor dropped the datapad on the console before squaring her shoulders. “Have the Purge troopers ready. We leave as soon as possible.”

The officer nodded as she turned to leave, the spark of excitement rushing back through her veins. The inquisitor had almost crossed the bridge to the corridor before the ship shook violently. Red emergency lights flooded the room, casting long shadows, and highlighting her frown and the glint of displeasure in her eyes. Officers scurried to their consoles like mice to a scrap of fallen cheese as warnings beeped through their screens.
Her feet pounded on the ground —hard and fast, the opposite of a Corellian sand panther— as she hurried to the first officer in her sight.

Her fingers curled around the back of the chair of an ensign. “Speak. Now,” she snarled, her eyes searching like a hawk for any sign of the source of disturbance on the holoscreen.

“We’re trapped in a tractor beam, Inquisitor.” The ensign swallowed, head bowing down to avoid the fury dancing in her gaze.

The Seventh Sister heard it before she felt it.

Not footsteps, not breath, but something deeper. It was a stillness that devoured all motion. The air thickened to a point where she struggled to breath properly. Puffs of warm air escaped her chest, but her throat closed up as soon as she needed to inhale. The walls seemed to lean inwards and the shadows escaped like snakes in fright. The Force coiled in her gut like a trapped animal, hissing without a sound. That’s how she knew.

He was here.

Lord Vader was terror. Cold, brutal and intense. His presence could be felt parsecs away, strong and overwhelming to the senses. But his Blade…

His Blade was quiet.

Not silent, quiet. Intentional. Like a drawn knife hidden in the night. Glistening in the moonlight only when he commanded. He was always listening to the galaxy breath and deciding whether to let it take its next. He wasn’t predictable and quick to rage like Vader, he was worse, always watching for a falter and hesitation. He was the eye of a storm, calm even in frantic situations.

The Commander didn’t bark commands, he didn’t have to. Whispers of his name were enough to garner respect and authority. He looked at people like he’d already read their failure in their blood, like the Force had written it there for him alone to see.

The stomps echoing in the hallway had the crew on edge, something colder than space settling in the air. The door hissed open, revealing the lean yet commanding cloaked man framed by crimson light. He wore no armour, none needed when he could crush his enemies with a flick of his wrist. The long, heavy textured material of his robes absorbed the white light that returned overhead. The Darktroopers behind him came to a stop at the door, blasters at the ready as they stood on guard.

“This mission is mine,” the Seventh Sister said.

Luke raised his leather clad hands to remove his hood, revealing his face and his sandy locks free of any shadows. His eyes narrowed, voice low but filled with undeniable authority. “I’m here now. The target is more important than protocol.” He stepped forward, activating his own holo-projector to reveal new intel. Precise, detailed and impossible to ignore. The inquisitor clenched her jaw, her teeth threatening to break under the pressure. This was meant to be her chance at glory, she wasn’t about to let anyone swoop in to take the credit for half of the work she had personally poured into this chase.

Seventh Sister turned, her expression a mixture of defiance and wariness. “My orders are from the Grand Inquisitor himself. You think your rank makes you better? You’re not invincible.” Her irritation fuelled her courage as she snapped back without any second thoughts about the repercussions.

Luke smirked coldly at the defiance. “Sister, one thing you fail to understand is that invincibility isn’t given by title. It’s earned. Lord Vader deemed it too careless to let you take on this operation, especially after your…failure at Lothal. You’re lucky to even be breathing, so you follow me, or stand aside.” The man stared, his bright eyes hard and unflinching. The threat was clear in his words. “Power is the only currency here, Inquisior. Be sure to remember that.”

The tension thickened. Seventh Sister’s pride clashed with the reality of Luke’s lethal reputation. Fury surged through her again, hot and blinding, but it was already curdling into shame. She bowed her head reluctantly, fists still clenched. The inquisitor stepped back, her caution barely masking the flicker of fear. Only a fool would oppose Vader’s second in command.

There was no pleasure or approval at her submission. Only a weighted gaze that saw things only he could.

Outside, the Imperial dreadnought dwarfed the Arquitens-class cruiser. It had torn through space like a wound, looming over the Planet like a warming beacon.

You gazed at the sky, the Force pulsing with fear as you followed your Master dutifully down the path. You itched to say something, anything that would prompt him to head back to your warm hut securely nestled between the mountains, but your Master was the epitome of stubbornness. Even storms and tsunamis weren’t enough to deter him, and you knew he would rather die than let the Empire take away his autonomy.

The single Arquitens-class cruiser hovering over the planet had stolen the rare burst of sunlight from the grassfields. The dried mud cracked underfoot as you continued despite your unease, walking past the caves to the cliffs east of the Ashen Expanse. The sea was rougher here, beating violently against the rocks and singing a song of despair and agony. You could taste the salt in the air, and feel the cold drops of the seawater on your skin. The wind whistled stronger the closer you came to the edge, yet your Master didn’t stop.

“We should probably go back now,” you said loudly over the sound of the waves. You stopped while the man climbed down the rocks with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

“No, there’s something I need to show you.” You sighed in frustration, but you followed him down nonetheless.

There, at the edge of the world, on a ledge overlooking the infinite blue sea, stood your Master. You stepped closer, shoulder brushing against his as you stared at the side of his face.

“Is that it?” you said impatiently. He threw you a withering look in return, to which you only pursed your lips tightly.

“Sit.” he said quietly and you did. Cross-legged.

Between you, no words. Only the wind.

The Force was alive here, thick in the air, humming beneath your legs, coiling in the roots of ancient trees that clung to the cliffs. It pulled at your senses like a tide neither of you commanded.

Your Master closed his eyes. “This is your final lesson,” he said quietly. “You will hear nothing. See nothing. You will not try. You will only be. If the Force speaks, it will not be to your ears.”

You kept looking at him for a while, disbelief swirling in your stomach like the mist in the forest.

“I don’t see you meditating,” he chirped, eyes still closed.

Your eyes wandered to the horizon, deep blue meeting the gray of the sky. “You said I still had much to learn.”

“Learning never stops, Crystal. A Jedi Knight’s strongest weapons will always be knowledge and compassion.” A warm feeling washed over you at the use of your childhood nickname, the tightness in your chest unravelling to reveal a calmness you hadn’t felt since a long time. Then, you closed your eyes with a small smile tugging at your lips.

And together you waited.

Minutes passed. Then hours. The sun began to bloom orange as it came shy of kissing the horizon. Somewhere the Fish-catching birds cried.

And finally, without needing to speak, you felt it, like the deep breath of the galaxy exhaled through both of them. A connection, not between Master and student… but between two Jedi. Equals in the current.

You turned your head slightly, “It’s quiet,” you whispered.

Master Kelriss opened his eyes.

“It is,” he said. “Because you no longer need to be told who you are.”

And with that, he rose, salt and pepper hair flowing with the wind. He unhooked his lightsaber and held it in both hands, not as a weapon, but as a symbol.

“Tomorrow, you are a Knight,” he said, pride flickering in his eyes. You stood up, hands brushing the soil off your pants before shaking your head in confusion.

“I can’t take your lightsaber.”

“A Jedi deserves a worthy weapon. What you carry is only half of what it used to be.” He nodded to your weapon hanging from the hook on your belt. “The staff served me well, as it will serve you in the future.” You glanced at the lightsaber, fingers brushing over the dull bronze and the scratched white metal. The weight of this legacy pressed heavy on your shoulders. You inhaled sharply, your fingers wrapping around the hilt.

You had dreamt of this day ever since you were a child. But now that it was here, it felt final… like the end of everything you had ever known.

Your hand returned to your side, the hilt clicking against its twin resting on your hip.

Warm arms gently circled your shoulders and you leaned into the embrace, cheek resting against your Master’s cloak, scratchy and worn out from years of use. Your arms wrapped around his middle and you fisted the back of his robes. A sigh escaped his lips and you held back tears, because for some odd reason, this felt like goodbye.

The walk back to the hut was loaded with a newfound energy unfamiliar to you. The sun hadn’t set yet, painting the sky with a beautiful golden hue that reminded you of your lightsaber.

“You never told me why you called me that,” you said quietly, right hand clasped in his while your left hovered over the grass, the ends tingling your palm.

He smiled, his eyes softening as memories of you, swaddled in blankets as a baby, came back to him in bits and pieces.

“That kyber crystal used to be the only thing that would keep you from destroying my eardrums.” he said, glancing at one of your lightsabers hanging from your belt.

You let out a laugh, “But you said I used to be a quiet baby! Lying doesn’t suit you, Master.”

“Please, I’m not getting lectured by someone who denies eating all the Jogan fruit.”

You parted your lips, a retort at the tip of your tongue as your eyes traced a shard of sunlight across the soil.

Then… the light dimmed.

You looked up. Not a cloud. No eclipse.

But movement. Something enormous passed overhead. Slowly.

You stilled, hand slipping from your Master’s grasp.

What you saw froze you where you stood.

The sky, once occupied by a decent sized cruiser, was now solid. A vast, impossibly silent shape slid between you and the setting sun.

Your heart pounded in your chest. “That’s no census ship.”

The warship crept overhead like a ceiling that didn’t belong to this world. It moved with the deliberate pace of something that knew it wasn’t meant to be challenged. No markings. No signal. Just cold hull plating that swallowed sunlight and turned the air heavy.

Your stomach turned.

“Come,” Master Kelriss said with no sense of urgency at all.

They had come for you both.

Your worst fear was at your doorsteps.

Your mouth was dry as you hurried into the hut behind your Master, fear in the pit of your stomach. You watched in urgency as he stripped his cot, his hands working quickly to lay the bed sheet over the table.

“What are you doing? We need to leave now!” you cried out, hands tugging pleadingly on his sleeve. He shrugged you off, hurrying to the shelf next to the door.

“Come on, help me,” he breathed out, his arms straining under the weight of the texts and the scrolls and everything sacred you had learned over the years. You groaned, copying his actions as he raided the shelf empty and laid everything on the table. He reached for the oil can, unscrewing the cap before dousing the bundled up bedsheet generously. You didn’t move. Didn’t question him. You just stood with your hands slightly trembling at your sides.

The fire started small. Then, the orange flames licked higher, black smoke swirling inches below the ceiling before escaping out of the window.

A hand grasped your shoulder roughly and forced you past the threshold. You broke out of your daze, eyes darting from the burning embers to the man who tightened his hold on you.

“Go!” he said, pushing you away. You didn’t bother asking where. You knew. It had been drilled in your head since you were old enough to walk. Run to the underground caves. Don’t look back.

“I’m not leaving without you.” You surprised yourself with the sternness in your voice.

“Now’s not the time to be stubborn.” His voice was tight, not angry, but strained, like he was holding something back. Eyes locked, jaw stiff, breath shallow. It wasn’t a command. It was a plea, wrapped in frustration.

He took a step closer, relaxing as he sent a wave of reassurance through the Force. “I will be right behind. I promise.” He squeezed your shoulder. You found yourself nodding hesitantly before reaching for his lightsaber. You held it out, waiting.

His eyes lingered before letting out a sigh of defeat, knowing there was no way you would allow for his refusal. His knowledge wasn’t the only thing he had passed down, clearly.

Master Kelriss watched as you disappeared behind the slope of the grassfields and waited patiently for what was to come.

There was no Emotion, there was Peace.

There was no Death.

There was only the Force.

The Imperial blockade consisted of a single dreadnought, he noticed. A massive, hulking warship suspended in low orbit like a silent executioner. Its dark, angular hull stretched for kilometers, bristling with turbolaser batteries and missile bays, each one capable of levelling cities from space.

The warship’s presence alone was enough. It didn’t need an escort. Its shadow covered the sky beneath it, casting fear across the planet’s surface. Around it, TIE fighters patrolled in disciplined formations, like vultures circling a predator too large to challenge.

It wasn’t a fleet. It was a statement. One ship was enough.

But it wasn’t Vader, he knew that much. He didn’t feel the darkness in the Force. There was no constant overwhelming hatred or anger boiling in the air.

Inquisitors were powerful, but not powerful enough to command a flagship of the Imperial Navy, let alone a dreadnought. That kind of authority belonged to only one person other than the Sith Lord himself.

The corridors of the Obsidian were silent as always when he walked them. Officers moved aside without being ordered. No one spoke his name, not out of respect, but fear. He was always the Commander or Lord, but never just Luke. To most he was just a shadow. The Empire’s ghost weapon.

He stood alone in his quarters, cloak and leather gloves off, staring at the transmission flickering in front of him. It started with a faint energy flicker, growing into a blazing Force signature.

Interesting.

The Jedi was no longer cloaking himself with the Force.

He would have died braver than most had Luke not received orders to take him alive. Lord Vader had still some use of him. He didn’t dare question him. There was no place for skepticism, but that didn’t stop him from speculating. The Seventh Sister was ignorant enough to not understand the implication of his involvement in this hunt.

Luke didn’t feel anticipation. No excitement. There was no hunger in him, no bloodlust. Just the quiet certainty of duty. He would go. He would hunt. And the noise would stop again.

Still… the Force around the signal felt strange. It wasn’t just power. There was grief. Echoes of something… warmer. Love, perhaps? He wouldn’t know. Yet, somehow it felt familiar.

Familiar or longing?

He dismissed it. Attachments were liabilities. He had none.

He closed the transmission with a flick of his now gloved fingers, then reached for his lightsaber. Long and practical, nothing like the fancies of the Inquisitors. His cloak settled across his shoulders like a second skin. Outside, the Darktroopers prepared for deployment.

The drop was clean. They had landed near the mountain range overlooking the cliffs. Luke didn’t reach for his holoprojector. The Force told him where to go, not with words but with weight.

He felt the presence at the edge of the grassfields, open and tense. There was a burning hut at the foot of the mountain overlooking the green plain. He almost raised an eyebrow to that, until his eyes finally caught the blurred figure of the man he sensed so clearly ever since he dropped.

He turned his head slightly and the darktroopers stopped, their feet sinking into the mud. Luke descended the grassy incline alone, his footing steady despite the slippery stones and the tangled roots on the slopes. The air crackled with silent intensity as he stepped forward, his black cloak billowing like a shadow caught in a storm. His eyes, cold and unyielding, locked onto the Jedi standing across him, a lone figure bathed in the fading light of the sun. Luke’s stance was disciplined, each movement precise and controlled, the product of years forged in the crucible of the Empire’s ruthless will. The Jedi’s posture held the quiet defiance of hope. Fragile but fierce.

Luke made no move to reach for his lightsaber. He stood, his hand clasped behind his back.

“Tell your Lord he will never get what he came for,” Vayden Kelriss said quietly.

Luke didn’t flinch, but something in his tone stuck.. He was too calm, too certain for someone about to get captured. He wasn’t pleading or afraid. The Jedi looked at him like he knew something he didn’t.

He regarded him in silence. Luke understood he wasn’t speaking to him. But through him. To Vader.

“I don't carry messages. But what if I said you could deliver the words for him personally?” His voice was quiet, almost calm. Although behind it, the Force pulsed with something deeper. Not anger. Not certainty. It was something colder, more controlled. He circled the Jedi in slow steps.

“He should have come himself. Why send his errand boy?” The unflinching calm of the Jedi rattled something in him, but he didn’t show it, instead he chuckled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Behind him, he felt the nervousness of one of the Darktroopers, flashing like a broken torch.

“You were a difficult man to find, Jedi.”

“The only reason you found me is because I let you.”

You reached the edge of the entrance of the underground cave, a narrow crevice that led to the winding network that snaked around the entirety of the planet. It was a dead zone to sensors and any advanced Imperial tracking tech. It was cramped and dark. Safe. You could wait. Days, months if you had to. Long enough for the Empire to sweep past. Long enough to disappear.

Your hand gripped the edge of the limestone. One foot inside.

Then, you stopped, the turmoil growing too heavy in your heart.

You knew your Master made up his mind when he said he would follow. He chose to stay.

And you chose to not let him die alone. You were ready to be one with the Force.

He was your only family as you were his.

What kind of daughter would you be if you didn’t cradle his body as he stopped breathing?

You didn’t care if you died. Didn’t care even if you were going to be the only one who held the language of the Force when it was still raw, still sacred. The kind of wisdom that lived in silence and starlight. You didn’t care. Not even when you were the last.

Your legs burned with every step. You didn’t stop once. You flew over the earth like the wind itself had given you wings, motion and fear fused into one. The Force was so buried inside of you that you couldn’t feel anything. You didn’t feel your Master, the trees or even the core of the planet as you tripped over a rock and almost landed face first into the mud.

You arrived at the end of the mountain range, the cliffs to your back. The fire had died down and your eyes searched frantically for a figure cloaked in brown. You felt your blood run cold at the sight of Imperial Darktroopers standing on guard at the top of the slope. Below, you saw him, a man so alike to the one you saw in your dreams. You would have thought him the same person if it weren’t for the eyes and the hair.

You were hyperventilating before you knew it.

A darktrooper fidgeted on his feet, his blaster rising as he took aim.

You didn’t know what you were seeing.

“No!” you cried out as the man in black ignited his red lightsaber.

Master Kelriss followed the gaze of the darktrooper as he fired, turning to see you miles away. His face twisted in anguish as he reached out by the Force.

An invisible weight dropped you to the ground, the blaster shot scorching the soil next to your head.

Vayden Kleriss finally took out his lightsaber. Luke waited as the Jedi took his stance. He had felt a second Force signature as soon as a cry pierced the air. He didn’t spare a glance to the source. His full attention was on the Jedi. There was no need to rush.

Their blades crossed as he struck first. He blocked and slashed with ease. The clash echoed through the desolate expanse, light against dark, yellow against red. Sparks flew, and beneath it all, a storm of emotion stirred.

With a flick of the wrist and a sudden twist of momentum, the yellow lightsaber came so close to sliding past his opponent’s guard but before the Jedi could, a shot rang out. Luke read the move before it happened, and he waited patiently for the open he needed to disarm his opponent.

But the Jedi fell before he could. A blaster shot had burned his neck.

He turned, anger simmering just below his calmness. “You, fool,” he barked.

The Captain of the squad stepped forward. “He’s the replacement, my Lord. He didn’t know.”

“He should have.” Luke’s voice dropped. No troopers were to interfere. Not for tactical reasons but because he had chosen to face them alone.

By the Lord Commander’s order, no one would lift a finger. This duel was his and his alone. It was not a display of power, but of principle.

Not mercy. Not cruelty.

Honor.

Luke clenched his fist and the trooper fell to his knees, the air escaping his lungs at an alarming rate. Only when he laid still on the grass did he stop.

It came out of nowhere, or maybe it was the sparks flying as the blades clashed against each other. The world shrank in around you, sounds warping, lights too sharp and shadows too loud.

Something was wrong, other than the obvious fact that death was at your Master’s doorstep.

Fear, pure and formless, came flooding everything all at once. Your head pounded as you knelt on the soil, and when you looked up again. He was dead.

A cry escaped your chest and the man in black turned again, eyes piercing through your soul for the first time.

You scrambled back as quickly as possible, sensing the danger.

All you could do was run.

The Captain raised his blaster and shot.

Luke held his hand and the shot deflected to the mountain, dislodging the rocks and the trees as they came sprawling down.

“I need her alive. She won’t get far. Not with the blockade.” The Jedi may be dead, together with whatever Vader seeked but they had a solution.

He watched as you reached the edge of the cliff.

You turned, locking eyes with him again before you disappeared.

His eyes narrowed. Not in suspicion, but in almost remembering. Your voice, the way you stood. The shape of your face. Your eyes.

He had seen you before.

He was sure of it.

Chapter Text

You had no choice, but to give in to the ocean as it swallowed you whole. The sharp and cold claws of the water dragged you deeper, and a jolt shot through your spine at the silhouette of the man standing over the cliff, crimson and shadow framing his face. The sharp memory of golden eyes flashed, and you felt yourself tensing before you knew it. Your body had locked into place, freezing your joints. There was no struggle for breath or consciousness. You just let yourself be taken by the waves, dragged by the currents and drawn into the open ocean like a fallen leaf in the changing season.

Your fear dwindled down as black spots stained your vision. There was a stillness that allowed you to drift away for a while, your mind in a bright sanctuary where you thought of nothing, only good memories and the warm feeling after a hearty meal or a few laughs. There was solely peace before your head screamed for you to wake up. It started with a hole in the carefully crafted illusion, small enough to be covered by a bacta patch until it started growing into a rip, ragged around the edges like it was slashed by a creature. It gulped everything with the power of a black hole— the flowers, the trees, your willpower, your hope… Still even without the shield of the sanctuary protecting the fragility of your mind, you didn’t wake up. The void that the ever-present warm and bright signature in the Force left behind shocked you to the core so hard that your body had to resort to trapping you within the four walls of your mind for your own safety.

You felt everything despite not being awake. The burning sting in your calves was ever so present, a constant reminder that all you did was watch as he died at the hands of the Empire. You ran like a coward. You didn’t even try picking up your lightsaber to fight, to avenge your Master like he would have had it been him. A few tears slipped past your closed eyelids, intertwining with the sea water as it slipped past your shoulders. A pulse of reassurance bloomed inside of you, flickering and weak but familiar and warm like a fire lulling you into a dreamless sleep. It spoke to you faintly, whispering words you wished you had heard sooner. You unconsciously choked the fire until it died down to ashes, and the feelings of despair and delirium flooded back.

The remaining smoke twisted sinisterly, curling around your ears and screeching a song that had almost serenaded you to the dark side of the Force. A shiver rushed through your body. You were physically alone, somewhere in the middle of a vast ocean, miles and miles away from the coast. Yet, you felt a presence pressing, hovering just out of reach, close enough to know you still breathed. The man in black had fried your wits along with your courage. His stark resemblance to the man in your dreams drained your mind of any coherent thoughts. You didn’t know who he was, or what he was, but both the rational and irrational parts of you agreed to stir clear of his path. His presence was so interlaced with the Force that you felt him even now in the murkiness of your own emotions. You knew Inquisitors weren't as strongly inclined to the Force as the Jedi and that left only one possible answer to who he was.

A Sith.

A master of the dark arts.

Another shiver ran along your spine. Was it him that had almost seduced you to the dark side with the promise of peace and quiet? Or was it yourself, drowning in your own grief and sorrow? Whoever it was, it throbbed at the weakest part of your mind, exploiting the gap between your defenses.

The adrenaline laced in your blood had finally run its course and your body felt heavy, your robes an unwilling anchor that weighed you down.

The corridors of the Obsidian were as quiet as they usually were, but underneath the silence was a thin layer of constant fear that spiked at his return. The crew stirred clear of Luke’s path as he walked down the hallway to the bridge of the warship, steps as light as a panther in the night. A tense wave of nervousness flashed as an officer hurried past him, hair stuck to his scalp as though he’d run his sweaty hand through it once too many times. So they had heard, he supposed. They came back with no Jedi and a Darktrooper less. Were it any other day, Luke would have an intense displeasure and dissatisfaction running through his veins at the failure, but the mission still had purpose. The cause wasn’t lost. The Jedi had a padawan, and if he knew anything about the Jedi, it was that they left no stones unturned in training. That padawan of his was the solution to his upending problem.

A brief memory of you flashed. He had racked his brain hard for any hint that might point to where he had seen you before, but it all bore fruitless. The familiarity of your signature had thrown him off as he stood at the cliff’s edge, his eyes boring into your form as you drifted away into the ocean. He had made no move to chase after you in the water, confident that there was no place in the galaxy you could go where he wouldn’t find you. Not because he had all the resources he needed, but because he felt your presence still, like it had always been there, just never fully exposed until he’d look into your eyes. It felt like sunlight peeking through dark clouds during a storm or the brief comfort a nap brought after an exhausting day.

He shook those thoughts out of his head as the doors to the bridge opened, revealing the bustle of activity and the back of someone he didn’t particularly wish to see. The inquisitor turned, her lips stretched into a subtle smirk. Luke heard her thoughts before she even voiced them out, his mind probing into hers without much difficulty and resistance from the Mirialan.

“I hear the Jedi had a padawan, Commander,” she said, the glee in her voice igniting a spark of irritation in Luke’s chest. He didn’t need to go plunging into her head to know exactly what she thought of him at that moment. A fool, an incompetent, a man undeserving of his title, among other things, for failing to get the padawan. Her greed and her innate pleasure for violence sickened Luke to the point of no retreat. She didn’t do it because it was her job, she did it because she loved it, even if she wasn’t particularly skilled at hunting down anyone whose skills bested her. Luke let her bask in her pool of arrogance and ignorance. He didn’t need her approval. He only needed to do his job.

One thing was for sure though, nobody had the faintest clue that Vayden Kelriss had a padawan. Not the imperial spy, not the ISB, not even the Seventh Sister.

“For someone whose mission this was, you seem to have done a poor job at preparing for it, Sister.” The implication hung heavy in the air. To his knowledge, the Inquisitor spent more than 2 years hopping from backwater planet to backwater planet to find the Jedi with no progress at all. The only valuable data she had managed to collect was the past sightings of Kelriss in Jedha before he disappeared off the grid completely. There was no mention of a padawan at all, which meant the girl was either an Eredeen native or someone he found along the way to the Planet. But even then, something nagged at the back of his mind.

The padawan was a ghost essentially. There was no record of anyone living with Vayden Kelriss on Eredeen Prime, and he doubted the villagers would be willing to give up any information about the man to the Empire, at least not without some pressure and cohesion.

The Mirialan locked her jaw at his quirk and Luke was glad it was enough to shut her up indefinitely.

“I want the blockade tightened up and tactical sweeps on the ground as soon as possible. Nobody leaves without inspection.” Luke’s order had a string of affirmations flowing throughout the bridge as he turned to leave, his cloak flying behind him. He felt the Inquisitor drop her shoulders as the door opened to let him through.

He continued walking despite hearing the footsteps of the Inquisitor paces behind, hoping that his ignorance of her presence was hint enough.

“I’m not sure Lord Vader would be pleased to hear about your failure at eliminating that padawan.” Her voice echoed throughout the hallway, loud and clear.

“Don’t presume to know anything about Darth Vader, Inquisitor. Perhaps I have not made myself clear enough, you don’t get to question me. The second you stop being useful is the moment you die,” Luke said coldly, stepping forward slowly. The inquisitor backed away, hackle raising at the danger she sensed closing in on her. Her back knocked against the wall and she tensed. Something else swirled in the air, not anger or hate, just an odd sensation that felt ancient and foreign. It consumed everything around and pulsed intensely. Luke had no intention of explaining himself, he didn’t need to. He answered to no one but Vader. Not even the Grand Inquisitor and certainly not the Seventh Sister.

Her eyes tracked his movement, pupils widening in horror as his fingers tightened in his fist. It started with an itch in her throat before it spread to her lungs. The lack of air had her knees buckling hard to the floor. Her fingers clawed at her neck in panic, and she felt heavy tears swell in her eyes as her throat continued closing up. The sensation of being choked had even overridden the sharp ache in her knees.

“Have I made myself clear, Sister?” She felt herself nodding frantically. Her ego twisted inside, fighting against the humiliation of kneeling in front of the man who had stolen the limelight with an arrogance beyond anything she’s ever seen before.

Luke stared at the pathetic pile of the crumbling snarky woman at his feet before dropping his fist in satisfaction.

“Report back to Nur, Inquisitor.” With that he was gone, leaving her to bathe in her shame and anger alone.

You woke up to the view of a gray sky and the face of a Zabrak inches away from you. Startled, you sat up, your hand on your chest as water flowed out of your mouth and your nose. The salty water burned its way out, and you coughed at the fiery sting at the back of your throat. A hand found its way between your shoulder blades, warmth seeping through the layers of wet clothes stuck to your skin. You shivered, curling around yourself at the touch of the stranger.

“It’s alright. We found you adrift. It’s a miracle you’re even alive.” The sincerity flowing through the woman’s voice had you relaxing, but not completely as you eyed your surroundings and tightened your fingers around your lightsaber. You were on a fishing boat. The distinct smell of fish was confirmation enough. You spied a Trandoshan lingering behind, suspicion swimming in his slitted green eyes.

“Captain, it’s time,” he said roughly, without even sparing you a glance.

The woman nodded before reaching out with a hand to help you up. You hesitated for a few seconds, your mind still fuzzy from almost drowning. Your hand clasped into hers tightly, and you were hauled upright with relative ease.

The Captain led you into a small cramped cabin that smelled of lemon and dried herbs. She was kind enough to offer you a pair of old work overalls to change out of your wet clothes. You weren't hesitant to peel off the layers as soon as she left, your skin itching as the cold air bit into the exposed area. You found yourself sitting at the edge of the cot, eyes staring out of the window at the waves lapping against the hull. You had to get out of here as soon as possible. It wouldn’t be long before there was a bounty on your head, and something about the Trandoshan told you he would have no trouble handing you over to the Imps for some extra credits.

You reached out slowly, identifying the rest of the crew at the bridge. The harbour was only half an hour away, a thought rang out through the Force, and you sighed quietly in relief. You tiptoed to the door, searching for a lock at the control switch and activating it before heading to the window to spy the horizon for wooden quays and towers that lined the edge of town.

The flexiglass was no match for your lightsaber as you hauled yourself out through the frame. The harbour was filled with noise and flies and a thin layer of mist. The smell of fish was even stronger here, laced with the bitter scent of moonshine. You walked along the crowd, hoping that the overalls helped you blend in with the mismatch of fishermen, villagers and travellers. You continued down the harbour, turning left only when you reached the spaceport. There was no bustle of movement or the usual coming and going of starships. The Imperial blockade had reduced the movement in a matter of hours, and you grinded your teeth in frustration. There was no other way out of the planet unless you stowed away in one of the ships that had authorization to leave. Although it was guaranteed they would be boarded, which would most likely result in you ending up being in one hell of a pickle. You could try and fight off a Stormtrooper squad and win, but even then they would have the upper hand by being able to call for reinforcements.

You hid in the shadows of a Lambda-class shuttle, watching silently as you sensed the few people around you. You had to get off planet somehow because sitting around and hiding in the shadows would do nothing but bring the Imperials straight to you. The walls surrounding your mind were up the moment you woke up on the boat, heavily fortified to push back any attempt at finding you through the Force.

You held your breath as a Stormtrooper walked past, blaster hanging loosely from his hand. He headed straight to the back of the spaceport, where a series of Imperial freighters laid. You stayed crouched, docking behind the other ships as you came closer to the cargo holders. The datapad fixed to the wall of a partially covered hangar caught your attention. It blinked on and off, the screen flashing every once in a while. You crept slowly, looking around in caution.

You were convinced that datapad was a gift sent from the Force itself. You exhaled shakily, grateful to whoever it was that neglected to switch it off. It had everything you needed, but most importantly, the destination of those Imperial freighters. Stowing away in one of those would be your safest bet. They were transporting tons of cargo, and garrisoned with only a couple of Stormtrooper squadrons, which would definitely help you stay undetected within the ship itself. They couldn’t possibly search all of the ship at once, not when they were so undermanned for a job so intensive.

You tiptoed your way to the back of the lot, giving one last glance to your home before walking up the ramp as quietly as a womp-rat.

The freighter took off half an hour after you had snuck in. You found yourself uncomfortably wedged in the vents, underneath the metal floorboards that were as cold as ice to the touch. Your wet hair had soaked the back of your overalls, and you shifted every so often, trying to relieve the uneasiness of having to stay still in such a tiny space.

The reality of your situation didn’t dawn on you until you felt the start of a cramp numbing your leg. Your eyes squeezed shut, your teeth biting down on the rough material of your sleeve as you swallowed down a wince. Warm tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. This was too much, all at once. A few hours ago, you had lost your Master, the man who had raised you like you were his daughter, the man who had taught you how to love. And now, you were hiding in an Imperial transport brimmed with people who would love to use you as target practice.

A seed of guilt sprouted. You wished it had been you who perished in the grass field, not him. You stifled the sound of your sob in the crook of your elbow. Everything felt empty. There was no warmth or joy in anything anymore, only the cold and sterile realisation that you were all alone for the first time in your life.

And a Jedi alone in the world was a terrible thing.

True to your assumptions, the Imperial freighter wasn’t boarded for an inspection of any kind. You let yourself relax slightly as the ride passed the two hour mark. The cargo hold was relatively quiet, save for a few loud conversations between the Stormtroopers guarding the entrance.

You had no idea what to do once you managed to sneak out of the freighter. You would be on another planet, yes, but what then? You had no credits, and if there was one thing you learned, it was that having no credits got you absolutely nowhere. You had no valuables to sell in exchange for some, and stealing wasn’t an option. The last thing you needed was getting caught and ending up in an Imperial jail, which was very much the equivalent of swimming into the jaws of the ferocious fish-catching birds.

You bit your lips in anxiety.

The fear of getting caught was still stuck at the back of your mind. You were no match against the man in black, you knew that much. Your Master was a temple guard back in the days of the Old Galactic Republic, one of the best swordsmen of the Jedi Order, and even he couldn’t hold his own against the Sith. So, what chance did you possibly have? You were just a padawan, for star’s sake. You had no battle or duel experience. The only person you had ever crossed blades with was your Master during lightsaber training, and even then, he had gone easy on you.

A finger brushed against your padawan braid as you pushed your partially dried hair out of your face. The clock had undoubtedly hit past midnight in Eredeen Prime and a lump formed in your throat at the thought of no longer being a padawan.

Did he really think you were ready or was it just the consequence of what he felt was coming?

Your heart clenched in anguish. He didn’t even get the opportunity to cut your braid. It would have been his proudest moment. He had told you once how eager he was to become a Jedi Master, to take a youngling under his wing and teach him the Force as he knew it. But the council deemed him inadequate, so he just pledged his life to defend the Temple until his last breath instead.

Your thoughts glided to the Sith.

You had stopped feeling his presence the moment you put your mental walls up, but even the remnants of his Force signature was intense. It flowed with an energy that displayed the full potential of his power. Unlike the essence of the man with golden eyes, his felt calm. It didn’t flare up with spontaneous bursts of rage or hate, it was steady and smooth, like the surface of the pond back in the Forest on Eredeen Prime. It threw you off at first, it wasn’t something you had expected from someone using the dark side of the Force. There was no chaos, no ambition, no pride or even envy. Just the quiet thrum of duty and honour.

At least you were certain it would be a fair fight if you were to go up against him.

The freighter had landed as soon as it exited hyperspace, and you wasted no time sneaking out of the stuffy ship when the Stormtroopers had disappeared down the ramp with the cargo —only to step into the fiery oven that was Tatooine. The twin suns were high in the sky, shining with an intensity that burned the skin left exposed by your overalls.

You found out soon enough that one’s dream was another man’s nightmare when you roamed the busy streets of Mos Eisley aimlessly. The sun had always been considered a gift on Eredeen Prime, something to be deeply cherished and celebrated, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore the heat and the setbacks that came with it, which was really the smell, the sweat and the thirst. Tatooine wasn’t exactly what you were used to, but it would have to do for now.

The next few days spent in the city was as fun as one would think. The weather was horrible, and your body refused to adapt to the rising temperatures. You had begrudgingly stolen a poncho hanging on the back of a chair in a busy cantina for the better of your health. It gave you no pleasure, but you couldn’t deny the instant relief it had offered you from the parching heat. You felt your body growing weaker as day turned into night and night turned into day. The lack of sustenance was slowly catching up to you. You could barely stand for more than a few hours without your vision blurring and a wave of nauseousness rising from the pit of your stomach.

The people here had a weird tendency to ignore others, you noticed. It was a blessing and a curse at the same time. You could go on your way without attracting much attention to yourself. To them, you were just another lone traveller or if you were to be more accurate, another poor bastard that relied on the kindness of others to survive, which was definitely scarce in a place as dangerous as Mos Eisley. The cantinas were always filled with bounty hunters, slavers, smugglers and men whose likes you couldn’t even be paid to cross.

The dizziness had you losing track of the time as the sun rose high in the sky once again. You were tucked carefully in the nook of a wall in one of the less busy streets in the outskirts of the city. It was a little cooler here. The sand wasn’t as heavy in the air as it was in the centre, and you found yourself breathing with a little more ease.

You kept your eyes on the figures walking by, your once sharp alertness slipping with each second. There was a fuel depot a few houses down and you figured that was where most of the people were headed to.

A woman strolled by, her presence rippling through the Force like the sputtering ignition of an old but dependable starship. Her energy was a breath of fresh air in the otherwise choking smoke of violence and danger that spread from most people you had walked past in the last few days. It radiated with earthy tones, nothing like the refined serenity of a Jedi or the cold discipline of a Sith. A droid followed at her ankles, small with a disk shaped head.

Another presence touched the Force, a slightly colder and intimidating one.

You turned your head slightly, watching from the shadows as a man with green spots on his skin approached the shorter woman. Your fingertips tingled, and a frown graced your lips. You didn’t need to use the Force to know that man was bad news.

You instinctively pushed against the wall, the sweet spike of adrenaline fueling most of your actions. The brute had already squared off against the woman, and you could hear the shrieks from a few steps away. You successfully shouldered your way past the woman just in time to see him baring his sharp teeth.

“You will leave now,” you whispered under your breath. His eyes glazed over and he repeated the words before turning back the way he came from, leaving only a puff of sand dust in his wake. You kept staring at his back, just to make sure the trick had fully imprinted on his mind. You knew you probably shouldn’t be using the Force so freely, seeing as you were both in hiding and close to starving to death, but the guilt would have eaten away at you had you not helped that woman.

“Oh, thank you. That’s the fourth time this week he has done that,” she mumbled with displeasure. Her eyes racked over your form, and you could feel her intentions clear through her signature. “You look like you just crawled out a Sarlacc pit. Had a few rough days, or what?”

“Something like that,” you replied slowly.

“Well, tell you what, I have been looking for someone to help me around the garage. Lots of lazy folks around, but you look like a promising one.” Her curls bounced around her face when she spoke, voice cheery as she spared a brief look at the pit droid at her feet.

You bit the inside of your cheek, “I don’t know much about mechanics.”

“Let’s just hope you’re a quick learner, then.” Her tone left no room for argument and part of you was relieved at the determination in her voice.

The woman introduced herself as Pelli Moto while you weaved your way through the city centre once again. You kept your head down, following closely behind her. She handled Hanger 3-5 at the spaceport and she has been an engineer by trade for as long as she remembered. She asked you a few questions about yourself, which you answered as vaguely as possible, with a few sprinkles of believable lies so you didn’t look suspicious. As far as she knew, you were just another orphan displaced by the Empire who had somehow found her way on Tatooine. Now that you thought of it though, it technically wasn’t a lie.

You were an orphan.

And the Empire was technically the reason you had ended up here.

The Executor and the Obsidian floated side by side menacingly in orbit of an orange planet. Darth Vader’s flagship was an Imperial I-class star destroyer a little larger than Luke’s personal dreadnought.

He found himself in a shuttle, crossing the small distance to the Executor to report back to Vader. His mission on Eredeen Prime was a failure, but he wasn’t quivering in fear. He knew his Master well enough to know how to appease him, even during his fits of silent rage. Luke prepared himself for the confrontation, certain that he could turn the situation in his favour.

The strong pull towards the Holoprojection chamber confirmed Vader’s presence aboard as soon as he stepped out of the shuttle. Luke wasted no time heading towards the bridge, his lightsaber brushing against his thigh at his unfaltering steps. He knew Vader had already sensed his presence, and the waves of displeasure rolling off of him was just the preview of what awaited him behind the doors of the communications room.

Luke was aware he had a lot of explaining to do. He was also aware that he had failed his mission miserably.

The Jedi Vader seeked alive was dead, at the hands of one of his Darktroopers. Now, while it was true that the culprit was already dead, it meant little to the Sith Lord. The failure was Luke’s alone, and he would be the one to answer for it. The air became increasingly more unruly the closer he came to the bridge. He felt the twisting of the Force all around him, it moved and moved, swirling like a whirlpool that was destined to warn others of the danger lying behind its invisible walls. It felt dangerous, like a terrain full of booby traps that might spring up and kill at any wrong move.

The door hissed open.

Vader stood in front of the viewport, his hands clasped behind his back. The dark outline of the Sith Lord against the orange of the planet was a sight to behold. He didn't make any move to speak. He stayed rooted behind the holoprojector, still as a statue unlike the electrifying atmosphere that wrapped itself around the both of them like a cocoon.

Luke took a few steps towards his Master and knelt, his back straight as a rod and a look that highlighted the solemnity in his face.

“Vayden Kelriss is dead, but I’m sure you’ve already heard about that. He had a padawan, a girl no older than twenty. I’m aware the outcome of the mission is not what you were waiting for, but I’m confident this will prove fruitful for us. The padawan will be easier to break. Whatever information you seek will be much easier to extract from someone as inexperienced as her.”

Rhythmic breathing filled the cracks of the silence that followed.

“You were expected to succeed. You were trained to succeed. What excuse do you offer?” Vader turned sharply, black cloak flaring behind him. His voice was like steel drawn across stone. He stood above the kneeling boy, and watched him struggle not to crumble under the weight of failure and the heavy disappointment he had sent towards his apprentice.

“No excuses, my Lord. I won’t fail again.”

I won’t fail again.

He didn’t respond.

Not yet.

He had heard those words before. In himself. In people long forgotten and gone from the past he buried. Promises made in pain and carved in guilt. He had brought Luke this far, rescued him from a miserable future buried in the sands of Tatooine to the black corridors of Imperial command. He had taught him how to wield a saber, strike without mercy, to feel the Force as a weapon— not a current of peace, but of control.

If she was his greatest failure, Luke was his greatest success.

His most loyal weapon.

His Blade.

His son, even if he will never know it.

“Find her.” He didn’t wait for Luke’s reply. He didn’t need to hear it.

Vader walked away, the Force stirring around him like static before a storm.

Luke’s tense muscles eased as soon as he was left kneeling alone in the chamber. His jaw remained tightly clenched in thought. Vader never said what it was exactly that he seeked, and Luke was raised to not ask questions, only to obey and follow unconditionally. He had meant what he said, he wouldn’t fail again. He couldn’t. Luke didn’t have to look too far to know what would become of him should he fail again. Vader trained the Inquisitors with an iron fist. He was brutal, just like he was to him once, but even then, he couldn’t take the gold medal for facing the most vicious side of Vader, not when there were Inquisitors who had their limbs cut off for mistakes that had negligible effect to their cause.

Luke would find you.

You may have succeeded in getting off-planet undetected, but you won’t be running around free for long.

How far could a padawan without help possibly get?

A flutter of something distinctly yours flashed through him.

No, he thought.

Now was not the time to think about you as something else other than a prey.

Aiding the woman in her workshop was hard at first. Anything about droids, hydroscanners and powerpacks went straight over your head for the first few weeks. Your Master was never particularly fond of anything that involved the holonet, droids or any advanced technology really, so you grew up like someone born light years ago. But being a rather fast learner, you eventually got better over time. It felt good and fulfilling to be doing something else other than drowning in your grief and your fear.

Yet you still cried yourself to sleep every night, with only the white moon to bear witness to your silent sobs. It didn’t matter how many engines you fixed. The pain, the guilt, the anger… it hurt all the same.

Revenge was a dangerous path to go down.

There were so many cautionary tales about it in any ancient Jedi scroll you studied before.

But you wondered how sweet it would feel to kill the man who had brought death and destruction to your life.

He will die, you promised yourself.

And it was going to be by your hand.

The next day was one of the busiest days of the week. The hangar was filled with starships and speeders that needed fixing as soon as possible. The pit droids helped for the most part, but it still wasn’t enough to get everything done before the twin suns went back to sleep and a new day arose. You had reluctantly taken a break after you accidentally caught your reflection on the shiny surface of a newly fixed speeder. You looked like a womp-rat with all the grease staining your face and the sweat dripping down your neck.

Pelli rushed inside, a wrench in her hand as she immediately started working on one of the bigger ships at the back of the hangar. You spared her a quick glance before one of the pit-droids bumped into you. A slight grin tugged at your lips at the protesting beep it emitted. You moved a couple inches back to clear the path, shaking your head at the silliness of the droid.

“Hey, you mind getting some fuel for that big boy over here?” Pelli said over the noise of her work.

You muttered a quick yes and headed out back to take some credits from the top drawer in the tools’ shed. You came to know your way around. You were sure you could navigate the hangar blindfolded without the Force helping you dodge everything in the way.

The streets were as packed as they usually were by the time you joined the steady stream of people heading out the hangar. You carefully fixed the hood of the poncho, making sure it was obscuring most of your face. It still made you a little anxious to go out in public, but refusing the fuel runs once too many times in a row was bound to draw suspicion from Pelli. The woman ruled her hanger like it was a sand-blasted kingdom with a hydrospanner in one hand and a sharp tongue in the other.

To any outsider, she was just another mechanic with disheveled curls, oil-smudged coveralls and a hangar full of half-sentient droids that listened to her out of habit, rather than programming. But to you, she was Pelli, the woman who had saved your empty stomach from eating itself from the inside out. She hid her fierce loyalty to those she took in behind her gruff exterior, sarcastic comments and annoyance, but unbeknownst to her, you sensed everything she kept close to her heart, especially her hidden fondness for her droids and for you.

The fuel depot was empty when you stepped inside, so you waited, fingers fumbling with the credits deep in your pockets in the meantime. Your eyes wandered around, taking in the sight of all the canisters aimlessly laying around and collecting dust. A sigh escaped past your lips as you leaned against the counter in boredom. You should have definitely taken one of the droids with you.

After half an hour of waiting, your patience ran thin. You moved towards one of the fuel canisters you needed, dragged it to the entrance and dug for the credits in your pocket. The gold bars glinted as sunlight from the window hit them perfectly, casting a glow over the walls. You dropped them on the counter, before something in the corner of your eyes caught your attention. There, buried under a datapad was a bunch of flimsiplast.

You froze, hand slowly reaching to shove the datapad aside. You held out the flimsi in front of you, crinkles forming under the strength of your grip.

A bounty.

No name.

But your face.

It didn’t register at first. The words didn’t make sense. You swallowed, this had to be someone else’s profile, a cruel joke perhaps.

A sharp ache echoed in your head. What choice did you really have but to accept the sad reality of your life?

You cursed under your breath. The price was high enough to make strangers dangerous and friends… questionable.

A chill crept over you, despite the heat radiating from the twin suns overhead. Your stomach turned to stone. Every glance on the street felt heavier now. Every nod from a local, every casual gaze— it all twisted into suspicion. Were you already marked? Followed? Was someone already watching?

You had gradually let go of your dependency on the Force these last few weeks, convinced that maybe if you stopped leaning in like you usually did, you could go under the radar. But at that moment, every single thought about not using the Force was swept under the rug. You alertly reached out to your surroundings, and you felt yourself shakily exhaling in relief at the lack of alert bells in the area.

You hurried home as quickly as possible, dragging the fuel canister behind you on the sand, all while you kept your head bowed completely to hide the rest of your face. You needed to leave Tatooine. You could no longer stay here now that there was a bounty so large you could build an entire city from scratch on your head. Mos Eisley was too much of a hotspot for Bounty hunters like Boba Fett and Cad Bane to be safe. You were truly and utterly fucked.

Going back to the hangar and acting like your life wasn’t actively in danger was harder than trying to beat your Master in a game of Sabbac. Nightfall crept with the pace of a snail, and Pelli, bless her heart, didn’t say anything even when she noticed your unease. The sight of dinner had your stomach in knots. Anything you ate or drank would undoubtedly have ended up on the floor of the refresher, so you wished Pelli a good night and retired early to spare her the trouble of having to clean up after you.

The rest of the night was spent rolling around in your cot. The panic fully set in now. Sleep was so far gone, you were convinced it flew away to another system all together. Life had a funny way of making everything go wrong just as you started to get your head straight on your shoulders.

Everytime your eyes started to drift, your mind had the brilliant idea of conjuring up images of blaster barrels in dark alleyways and hands dragging you into silence. A coldness washed over you. Being handed over to the Empire was even more terrifying than the thought of Bounty hunters snapping at your ankles.

You laid there for what felt like hours, body still and wide, tracing cracks in the ceiling you’d memorised a dozen times already. The blanket felt heavy and the air too still. You kept one hand under your pillow, fingers curled around the hilt of your lightsaber that was no comfort anymore.

But even exhaustion had its own gravity.

At some point, your breathing slowed. Not willingly, but because your body had nothing left to give. The tension didn’t leave– it just dulled, blurred at the edges like a fever dream.

The hum of the Imperial starship was constant, like the heartbeat of some distant, emotionless god. Inside the meditation chamber dimly lit in sterile blues and grays, Luke was motionless.

He sat crosslegged on the polished deck, black robes folded around him, gloved hands resting on his knees. His lightsaber laid before him like a symbol of obedience. His eyes were closed, but the Force flowed through him like a river beneath ice, It was strong, quiet and dangerous. The darkness within him was no longer the storm it had been during his last confrontation with Vader. It was discipline. It had purpose and order.

Around him, the room was quiet and the blackness of space sprinkled with stars kept him company as he meditated. He cleared his head of any thoughts. There was only silence and the cold. In his mind, he reached out. Through hyperspace lanes, through star systems burning with quiet rebellion and through the minds of those who feared his name. He stopped when he felt something foreign, a hypervigilance taking over his senses. Luke extended his reach, brushing against a metaphorical rope he had never noticed until now. The tugs started out small, until they became so frantic Luke had no other choice but to hold onto it and follow when it pulled him inward.

A darkness closed in around him, and he reluctantly opened his eyes.

He found himself back in the grassfield in Eredeen Prime, standing exactly where he had weeks ago.

Yet something felt different.

The grass was not the vibrant green it had been. It was yellow and withering, with tall stalks of purple flowers swaying peacefully in the wind. Luke looked around, his eyes searching for any hint of what he was seeing. It felt like a dream and a memory at the same time.

Or was it a vision?

Was the Force trying to tell him something?

Something about you, maybe?

The hut that had been in flames was intact. The roof was made up of large dried leaves that shone like durasteel under the sunlight. The weather was warmer. There was no mist or the hint of a storm approaching. He spied a clothing line behind the hut. From it, hung beige robes small enough to fit only a child.

A shout rang out, and he turned towards the source of the voice.

A few meters away from him, stood Kelriss with his back turned to him. There was no grey lining his hair and his skin was free of any wrinkles. The Jedi held on to a pair of botanic shears. At his feet sat a basket full of the purple flowers that were littered across the field.

Luke couldn’t hear anything he was saying from where he stood, and he didn’t move closer. He felt a surge of happiness echoing in his heart. The emotion wasn’t his, but it clung to him anyway. Raw, vivid, intimate. The strangeness of the situation had him looking away. He didn’t belong here. He was trespassing in something sacred.

Yet, his feet stayed locked into place. It was almost like he was trapped in his own body. He couldn’t move, not even to let go of the rope that had led him here.

Movement had him glancing back. There was a child creeping behind the Jedi, hair flowing freely in the wind. She looked like you. Same hair, same eyes, same Force signature. Although this time, it flowed with an innocence so pure it was overwhelming to his senses. Luke’s heart clenched unconsciously. He wished he had the luxury of having such a joyful childhood. The longing pressed heavier in his heart when the child vaulted herself over the Jedi’s back, arms wrapped around his neck and legs dangling in the air.

“What did I say about using the Force for silly tricks like this, Crystal?” Kelriss said, his voice stern, but the smile on his face said otherwise.

Luke broke free from the hold. He felt the roughness of the rope as it slid off his arm and gathered in loose rings around his wrist. He exhaled, ready to pull back from whatever it was that he was seeing.

Something held him back at the last moment. He opened his eyes once again. What he saw had the cogs and wheels in his brain running even faster than before.

His eyes locked with yours across the field. The grown version of you. The one that had jumped off a cliff into the ocean to escape him.

The moment your eyes met, the air shifted. The peaceful atmosphere turned sharp and electric, like the seconds before a storm.

Luke felt it hit. The pain in your face, the sudden flare of confusion, then something darker than fear. Anger. He saw it all, clear as light, reflected back to him like a blaster bolt that missed its mark.

A part of him wanted to speak, but the words were stuck in his throat.

The rope had tightened around his arm once again, so tight he was sure it was going to mark his skin with bruises. He felt the darkness converging all around him again. There was a strong tug. His feet stumbled.

When he opened his eyes, he was back in the meditation room. With shallow breaths, he pulled back the left sleeve of his robe.

There was no rope burn. Just the paleness of his skin and a few silver scars.

Chapter Text

You woke up with a start, as if tugged by invisible hands from a place that was already retreating too quickly to follow. The room was dim, wrapped in the soft hush of early morning, and for a moment you lay still, unsure where the dream ended and the day began. There was a heaviness in your limbs, the echo of sleep clinging to your eyes, and in your chest, a fury of emotions.

A thin layer of sweat lined your skin despite the chill. You found yourself breathing heavily, a dull ache budding in your chest. The dream was already fading. Fragments, like the colour of the grass or the sky that had looked too close, began to slip away. You tried to hold on, to follow the thread back into that other world, to make sense of what you had seen before you woke, but it all unraveled in your grasp. Already, the logic of waking life was reasserting itself, the hum of silence, the feel of the sheet separating you from the thin layer of sand on the floor, and the distant sound of someone moving outside.

But something lingered. As if the dream had left a fingerprint on your soul. You didn’t remember all of it, but the emotions running through your veins and the faint memory of purple flowers told you enough. Your mind had brought you back to your childhood, when your only worries were having to eat your vegetables and stay still during meditation sessions. You had stood and watched from a distance, as still as a statue, as nostalgia filled the air like rain in a storm.

The only thing you sharply remembered was him and the temptation of joining the shadows. You had seen the Sith lingering on the edge of the grasslands where he had slain your Master. You had thought he was real at first, but the clouded look in his eyes had made you second-guess yourself. He had just been a fragment of your imagination, something you were convinced the fear bubbling up on the surface must have conjured. After all, the initial wave of shock at discovering your bounty was still racking your brain. Nowhere was safe, not even the tiniest crack in a planet deep in the uncharted territories.

Once the confusion had died down, you sensed a wave of something foreign within yourself. It had started as pure, unadulterated fear, until it twisted into something harder to control. It grew and grew, like the vines of the invasive weed you used to pluck out in the grassland. You felt it suck the life out of you, taking everything good you had ever felt, shaping it into a blade that pulsed with energy and vibrated with passion. It begged to be touched, to be felt, to be used. Your fingers hovered over it, unsure. The anger in your heart was sated by the sight of the blade, but hatred was still waiting for its own pleasure.

The sight of the Sith in your dream — even if it was just your imagination — did more than fuel your rage. It angered you to see him there, so much so that you felt like an exploding volcano. The forest was tainted by the remnants left by the man with golden eyes, and now the place you held closest to your heart had fallen to your Master’s murderer. The dark side of the Force felt easy to slip into. The promise of power and revenge and everything else so tempting that you already had a foot in before you had even realised, until a whisper echoed in the back of your head.

You held out against the pull of the Light for as long as you could. Yielding then felt like defeat. You couldn’t let the Sith take part of you away again, not when you had him right in front of you.

An uneasiness flashed, and your feet shifted on the soil. The dark side throbbed with power just beyond the empty. It waited like a silent beast to consume you whole. For a moment, everything went still, until a buzz split through your head.

That was when you heard it, not with ears, but with the space between thought and breath.

This isn’t you.

A voice whispered. Familiar and distant.

Your knees buckled as the buzz grew too loud to ignore. For the first time in days, you let the good overtake the pain. The love you had buried beneath all that anger flooded in, raw and quiet. The world grew quieter around you. There was only the soft whistling of the wind and the distant lapping waves. The heavy weight of the Force was gone. All that remained was the soft and gentle tide of the Light.

The growing awareness that you had almost fallen to the dark, for the second time since your Master’s death, froze you. The hole in your faith was now too large to ignore. You had to let go of all your fear. Because fear led to anger, anger led to hate, hate led to suffering, and suffering led to something impossible to come back from.

The distinct feeling of shame flooding every inch of your being had you bowing down your head. You couldn’t bear to look up, because that would mean acknowledging that you were weak, that you had almost been seduced to the dark by the mere sight of the Sith Lord.

It couldn’t happen again.

Your Master had given his life so you could escape the darkness, not drown in it.

The old hermit’s routine always began before the break of dawn in his small, weather-worn hut in the Jundland Wastes. He would wake up at the exact time every morning, down a cup of warm tea infused with dried roots he had harvested and meditate to find clarity. The mornings were always harder. He struggled to maintain his connection to the Force in a galaxy where the Jedi were gone and hope was dim.

The wind shifted outside. A ripple, faint as a breath, stirred the stillness within the Force.

Obi-Wan Kenobi’s hand paused over the water pot, his eyes narrowing. The air around him grew heavy, not with heat but with presence.

He reached out. Not far, but not near either, there was pain, rage, a spark of innocence and a flood of peace. He felt a new Force signature emerging and underneath it all, something that pulled at his chest like a string left long untugged. It gave him a painful jolt of hope, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. The presence had a touch of Luke’s somehow, like it was marked or laced… But Obi-Wan knew it wasn’t him. Luke’s Force-signature hadn’t sparked this bright in years.

Obi-Wan abandoned his tea and moved to his worn mat, where he sat cross-legged. His eyes were half-closed, bathed in the dim orange light of the rising suns. Sand had crept through every crack and corner of the room, just as time had found the lines on his face. The air was dry, heavy with memory.

He hadn’t spoken aloud in three days.

There was no one to speak to, just as there was nothing good to share, only guilt and grief from the past and present.

Outside, the dunes stretched like an ocean of gold and ash with nothing beyond them. No cities that mattered. No friends. No Luke.

The son of Skywalker, who was meant to be raised in the Light, had never arrived on Tatooine.

The child was in his hands.

Not in Anakin’s hands. In Vader’s.

The name still left a bad taste in his mouth.

Anakin had burned. He died as Padmé took her last breath and was reborn into something terrible.

Obi-Wan had failed.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, to no one and everyone.

Forgive me, Master.

Forgive me, Anakin.

Forgive me, Luke.

In another life, perhaps Luke would have been raised by his uncle and his aunt. In another life, Luke would have had the opportunity to play with the wooden toy starfighter he had carved months ago.

Obi-Wan’s guilt was what buried him in Tatooine. His failures kept him here in exile as punishment for everyone he had let down. He was drowning in guilt, isolation and quiet desperation. He deserved every bit of it, he thought. Nothing could undo all of the mistakes that led up to this, not his daily meditation or the time he spent grieving. Out there, the galaxy had moved on without him. The Jedi were gone. The war was over. And yet, his war had never ended. It lived behind his ribs like a wound that refused to close.

He had failed Luke. He had broken his promise to Padmé.

He didn’t even know how he let it happen. Obi-Wan had been too late by the time he had felt the Force contort. The shuttle had already been intercepted, and the boy taken. There had been a mole on Polis Massa. Someone he had failed to sense among the chaos of Padmé’s labour.

He didn’t deserve the peacefulness of being one with the Force, not when Luke was suffering in the grasp of the darkness. That’s why he kept breathing. Because waking up everyday and living with the fact that he had failed was the ultimate punishment anyone could have given him.

He closed his eyes, reaching further into the Force. “Master Qui-Gon,” he whispered, voice cracking from silence. “If you’re here, I could use your voice.”

There was a long silence.

Qui-Gon’s voice came softly, as if wrapped in the wind itself, “You felt it too?”

“Yes. A shadow… or a start of one. It vanished as soon as it appeared. It wasn’t Luke. But it… pulled at me.”

“Not all darkness arrives with thunder. Some creep in like frost.”

“Should I go to it?” Obi-Wan said, uncertainty clouding his voice. He had been the reason Vader was born, and if he could stop the darkness from consuming someone else, maybe it could be the start of his atonement…

“You already have. You listened.”

“Listening doesn’t save anyone. Anakin–” he stopped. Obi-Wan breathed shakily.

“It’s where saving begins.”

“I’m tired, Master. I feel like I’ve been burying the dead for years. Burying hopes, too. Everything I have done has had consequences. Bad ones. I’m not sure I know how to rise when nothing asks me to stand.”

“Let the Force raise you. Just for what’s next.”

Obi-Wan turned his gaze to the sand dunes out of the window. Whatever it was that stirred the Force had given him some hope.

“What if I fail again?”

“You won’t. You have never failed, Obi-Wan. Nothing overrides the Force’s will. Destiny was set the moment Anakin was born. Vader is who he was always meant to be.”

“And Luke? He has good in him. I know it.”

“All in good time, Obi-Wan.”

“What does that mean, Master?” pleaded Obi-Wan.

The wind stopped, and away with it went the wisdom and guidance of the Force. The room was far quieter than it had been moments ago. Obi-Wan let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Not even his Master’s reassuring words were enough to convince him that there was nothing he could have done to prevent this. Luke was a sensitive topic. One that he thought about every night before bed and every morning after he meditated.

The Force signature had dimmed down, but he could still feel it in his chest. It pulsed weakly for a few more minutes before it vanished completely, leaving no trace behind. His eyebrows quirked up. That was rather unusual, no Force-user he had ever come across or sensed had been able to fully cloak their signature like that. There was always a loose thread or remnants left behind. This meant it had to be someone extensively trained in the Force. Was it a surviving Jedi? A Padawan?

His shoulders tensed. A Jedi being tempted by the dark side was a fusebox waiting to explode.

Obi-Wan got up from his mat, and brushed away the grains of sand that had stuck to his robes. He had already gone on his supply run into town a few days ago, but the ripple in the Force was too ambiguous to ignore, so he slipped his brown cloak on his shoulders, clicked his lightsaber onto his belt, and got ready to cross the barren and empty desert that reflected his soul.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to bid Pelli and the droids goodbye, so you slid out of the hangar quietly before she even woke up. It pained you to go away like this, but it had to be done. Staying would have put her in danger, and seeing someone else you cared about die because of you would have truly broken you completely. Taking credits from the tool’s shed flooded you with so much guilt that you were left empty handed once again. It wasn’t ideal, but you would make it work. You’ve heard about smugglers before from a few clients back at the hangar. You probably wouldn’t be able to afford their exorbitant service, especially without credits, but there was no harm in trying, was it?

You bit the inside of your cheek in thought.

You knew Kyber crystals were worth a lot on the Black market. You could always trade it for a trip off planet, but then, that would leave you with no more valuables to trade and not to mention, no lightsaber. You would have no way to defend yourself unless you successfully found another weapon. A vibroblade would work, you supposed, even if it wouldn’t be as attuned to the Force as a Lightsaber. You shook the thoughts out of your head. The Lightsaber wasn’t going anywhere, nor was the crystal. You would have to do something else.

A sigh escaped past your lips as you walked down the empty streets of Mos Eisley. You didn’t like deceiving people, but this was a matter of life or death. Conning a smuggler wouldn’t be as bad as your brain made it out to be, would it? It’s not like they were good people to begin with, anyways.

Now, you just sounded like a fucking hypocrite.

Great.

You had closed yourself off to the Force ever since you woke up from that nightmare. It was partly the guilt, but also the fact that there could be Inquisitors lurking in every corner of the city by now. You didn’t know when the bounty had been issued, but you suspected it was recent.

The city was rapidly waking up around you. The cantinas had already opened their doors, and speeders flew down the narrow paths, flinging sand everywhere without a care in the world. You didn’t really have a game plan on how to go about your next step, so for a few moments of guidance, you eased the tight grip you had enclosing the Force. It felt peaceful to feel the fabric intertwining every living thing with each other again. It was a breath of fresh air in the otherwise dry climate of Tatooine.

But the stillness of the Force was gone just as quickly as it had flooded your senses. There was a furious alarm bell tingling in your ears. The hair at the nape of your neck stood up despite the heat. The hood over your head prevented you from throwing a quick glance past your shoulders, so you did the next best thing you could and reached out with the Force instead. You silently prayed whoever was tailing you was no Inquisitor. You would take a bounty hunter over a Jedi hunter any day.

The presence you felt pressing closer was there, but barely. It was a flicker just beneath the threshold of awareness, like a heat shimmer on the edge of a scope. There was no flow or light. It was just weight. Heavy and dense, hardened like durasteel left out in the storm. Where others moved with currents, bright with emotion, muddied with fear or hope, this person moved with intent. The absence of anger to trace and fear to follow had you nervously playing with the edge of your poncho. This was someone experienced, someone whose life boiled down to action and purpose.

The scent of danger had you moving faster down the street. You shouldered your way through large crowds and snaked into smaller alleys, hoping it was enough to shake him off. It wasn’t.

It didn’t matter if you were miles ahead of him or not, the presence loomed ever so closer each time you stopped to take a breath. The growing nervousness in the pit of your stomach had you stumbling a few times, and you soon found yourself on the outskirts. You blinked in confusion, unsure of how exactly you ended up here when you had intended to take a turn into the heart of the city all along.

“Shit.” Your stalker had cornered and caged you so perfectly you didn’t even realise until it was too late. The open desert staring at you was the perfect playground for the hunt of an inexperienced Jedi. There were no crannies and nooks to tuck into, only the harsh empty sand dunes that served as a silver dinner plate to the meal you were about to become.

You scanned the horizon as a wave of dread washed over you. Your fingers tightened around the hilt of your lightsaber. It was cold despite the blazing heat from the twin suns overhead. Your legs took you along the wall surrounding the city, away from the small crack you had slipped out of. You spied a few speeders littering the sand in front of an opening large enough for a sandcrawler, and you ran as fast as you could. Sand kicked behind your legs in a thick curling plume, clouding the sight of the figure stalking behind.

A shot rang out, and you swerved just in time for it to skim the edge of your poncho. Your feet stuttered at the sudden move and the undulating waves in the sand. The momentum had you sliding down the side of a slope, the scorching rough sand scraping against your skin under your poncho and your shirt. The adrenaline rushing in your veins subdued the pain as you got up and raced for the speeder a few feet away from you.

You clipped your lightsaber back onto your belt and jumped onto the speeder, hands reaching for the ignition in a record time. The engine sputtered, spitting a burst of black smoke before taking off when you pressed on the acceleration pad. Your brain barely acknowledged the sound of an angry complaint amidst the ringing in your ear. You glanced back to see a Twi’lek angrily waving his arms in the air, and you shouted out an apology over the sound of the roaring engine as he became smaller and smaller.

You cursed yourself for staying on Tatooine for as long as you did, because it had to be the stupidest decision you’ve ever taken in your nineteen years alive. There was nowhere you could possibly hide in the vast openness of the desert, and the sand getting everywhere was a nuisance in itself.

The speeder was flying smoothly until it shook. Another look back confirmed your suspicions. There were blaster marks all over the rear, and the smoke slowly emerging from the engine had your blood running cold. You patted down your belt to make sure your lightsaber was secure before jumping out of the vehicle with the Force propelling you as far as it could from the soon to be wreckage.

You let out a groan as you landed roughly on your side. The sound of an explosion filled your surroundings, and you blinked to clear your vision from the dust.

The lines of the figure became sharper as it moved closer through the cloud. You swallowed, your throat dry as the grime settled on your tongue and caught in your nose. Your legs trembled, but you stood up anyways, your right hand grasping your lightsaber loosely, ready to take on the fight that would determine the rest of your life. Your breathing steadied, and you willed a calmness that rivalled even that of your meditative state. The Force buzzed around you, and you embraced it fully. There was no ocean to dive into to save you from a confrontation this time.

The dull green armour of the Mandalorion didn’t shine in the sunlight like you thought it would, instead it seemed to absorb all the light like the clouds back on Eredeen Prime. You stood still, sweat running down your brow. The rope around his right shoulder joint had you furrowing your eyebrows, before you felt your heart turn to lead. That was no rope.

It was a padawan braid.

A blond padawan braid with blue string and bronze beads.

The desert went quiet. Too quiet.

“Whatever the Empire’s paying you, I can give it to you tenfold.” You let out a slow breath out of calculation. There was no backup coming. No credits. No plan. Just words. You raised your chin slightly, meeting his gaze like you had something worth dying for.

A pause.

“You can’t even afford clean clothes, but sure you can,” Boba Fett said sharply with a slight rasp beneath the modulation of his helmet. Every word landed with the weight of a threat, even when he wasn’t making one. Out of every bounty hunter on this godforsaken planet, it had to be the one who could kill you with his pinky. Now, you desperately wished it had been an Inquisitor instead.

You stared down the barrel of his blaster, hoping it wasn’t set on disintegration. Your jaw clenched. “Fine, maybe I can’t, but I have a Kyber crystal. That’s gotta be worth something, right?”

“It does. I’ll just strip it off your dead body.”

Wonderful.

Your Padawan braid wasn’t going to be the only thing stripped off your corpse as a hunting trophy, apparently.

Wasn’t that just lovely!

Fuck, you really escaped a frying pan just to end up in a fire. Bluffing your way out wasn’t going to work.

“There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“There’s no talking your way out of this, Jedi.” The coldness of his voice sent a shiver running down your spine.

Then without skipping a beat, the bounty hunter fired.

You sensed it just in time. The bolt screamed towards you. Your lightsaber snapped to life with a sharp hiss. You pivoted, arm already in motion. The shot ricochetted off your blade, just like you had practiced a thousand times before.

But this time, it was real.

“I’m not a Jedi. I just found this Lightsaber lying around, I promise.” He stepped forward and fired again. You took that as a sign to keep your mouth shut, and deflected the shot mid-air, sending it barrelling back towards him. He barely flinched at the shock, and just stood there like an unmovable force, calm and unshaken.

You moved back, putting some distance between you two. The bounty hunter reached for his belt, and before you knew it, there was a stun grenade detonating nearby, bathing the area in a white flash and a sonic burst.

Your senses were scrambled, the Force around you warping like heat above sunbacked stone. Disorientation struck fast with no warning and rhythm, just a sudden collapse of clarity. Your grip faltered. The saber slipped from your hand, tumbling end over end before it hit the sand with a muted thud. It hissed as it deactivated, swallowed by dust.

For a heartbeat, you knelt on the sand, open and vulnerable.

Fett did not hesitate.

A whipcord flew out of his vambrace and wrapped around your forearm. The smooth rope tightened your wrist, and the panic at being caught had you tugging on it with your other hand. The Force flowed back all around you, and you held out a hand towards your saber. Fett stumbled at the unexpected strength of your tug while your weapon zipped back in your grasp. It ignited, and the bright yellow of the blade sliced the cord as easily as it would a piece of fabric.

You stood back up, holding your lightsaber in a defensive stance. Fett was already on his feet. Or, off his feet as his jetpack hissed. The high ground gave him an advantage, and he continued shooting even feet up in the air. The frequency of the shots increased when he unsheathed his second blaster from the holster on his thigh. The annoyance prickling at you wasn’t enough to make you sloppy, but the sting and the strain in your muscles were what might do it for you.

In the split second he took to reload his first blaster, you held out your free hand and pulled with all your strength and concentration, but the Jetpack didn’t part from the bounty hunter willingly. It shook, and Fett fired as he caught your trick. You weren’t so lucky this time. The shot had found its mark even when you moved out of the way. Your arm stung like it was burnt with fire erupting straight out of a volcano. Your eyes were brimmed with tears, and a wave of nausea and light-headedness flooded your senses.

Your outstretched hand shook. You fuelled through the pain, clenching your fist as your survival instinct took over completely. The Jetpack moved rapidly towards you while Fett fell and rolled on the sand to protect his neck.

Your lightsaber slashed the jetpack into two. The pieces flew past you in a frenzy, the molten edges narrowly missing you as the Force guided them away.

Your heavy breathing slowed. “I don’t want to kill you,” you said, conflict swimming in your heart. You didn’t want to skim along the edges of the dark side again, not after what had almost happened a few hours ago. You could still feel it tugging, the strand of temptation, but you refused to take the bait.

“Mercy makes corpses,” he said.

You didn’t see the canister, only heard the click. A thin hiss broke the silence. The gas billowed out low and fast, colourless in the desert air, carried by the wind like a whisper, It hit before you could react, before the Force could warn you.

Your lungs burned. You felt the world spinning sideways.

Fett stepped through the haze with precision. He didn’t waste a moment, not even to wait until you were knocked out completely. He walked with the confidence of a man waiting to get his reward. He fumbled with the settings of his blaster as he switched it over to stun. A pressure built behind your eyes, pulsing and disorienting. The Force was slipping through your fingers like sand. You stumbled, knees digging onto the ground as you tried to break out of the hold of the dizziness.

You just have to clench your fist. He will be dead before you know it.

You closed your eyes tightly, willing those whispers to go away.

“Please,” you begged shakily.

You just wanted them to go away.

The bounty hunter stopped.

He was right in front of you, you felt it. Until he wasn’t.

All you heard was a swoosh and the sudden sound of a crash in the distance.

Your eyes opened, heavy and unfocused. Through your blurry vision you saw someone in the distance, brown cloak billowing around with the wind and the sand.

“Master?” you said weakly, before darkness lulled you to sleep.

Your eyes snapped open.

Your breathing evened out, but your heart was still racing.

The ceiling above you wasn’t one you recognised. It looked like sandstone and wood, stained by time. A single beam of light cut across the room from a small window, dust motes drifting across it like ash. Everything smelled off. Not foul, just foreign. Dry air. Old wood. Something metallic. The faintest trace of smoke and dry spice. It was nothing like the usual sharp tang of oil, soot and rubber that wafted over Pelli’s hangar.

You bit your lower lip hard enough to draw blood at the sudden pain rushing through every nerve as you shifted slightly. Your whole body was sore. Every joint felt like it had been bent the wrong way, but your arm ached like it had been cut off. The blaster wound pulsed, and you cupped it gingerly to relieve some of the pain. Your eyebrows furrowed at the feel of a bandage tightly wrapped around your arm.

Your pulse quickened, and for the first time since you woke up, the bandage on your arm meant something. Someone had seen you broken, and they were close enough to help… or hurt.

Suddenly, everything changed.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your gaze swept the room in urgency. There was a blanket thrown over you, not military or Imperial. It was handwoven, patched with fabric scraps from old clothes. You glanced at the shelves lined with worn-out tools, fragments of tech and old datapads stacked beside ancient artifacts. A robe hung from a hook in the corner, and you let out a breath as you remembered the man in the desert, the one you had mistaken for your Master in your delirium.

Who was he?

What did he want?

How long had you been out?

Your fingers hovered near the bandage, hesitant. It was clean and professional. Not rushed. That meant time. That meant someone cared enough— or only needed you alive.

You didn’t need to wonder for what. You resisted the urge to scoff. What was the point of patching you up if they were going to hand you over to the Empire regardless?

Then, a shadow emerged at the corner of your eye.

A figure.

He stepped into the room quietly.

You sprang from the cot, hands searching for anything to use as a weapon. The absence of your lightsaber made you feel exposed, naked in the face of danger. You pressed your back against the rough wall made of stone as you glanced at the man standing in front of the only way out. He had a weathered face with tired eyes that spoke of long years of solitude and suffering. But despite it all, he was alert. Familiar, even.

“Easy,” he said, voice, low and calm. “You’re safe. For now.”

Your instincts were still screaming.

“Where am I?” you questioned unsure.

He didn’t answer right away.

“Someplace the Empire’s not watching” You blinked at him. That wasn’t much of an answer. You found yourself slowly letting go of the suspicion nonetheless.

He moved slowly, his eyes soft to avoid startling you again. Your brain fought for your body to stay alert, just in case you had to make a run for it, but something about this man made you feel like you were safe. His Force signature radiated gentle warmth, the empathy of a healer and a teacher, yet braided through it was an iron thread of resolve. It was calm on the surface, vast underneath. The first impression was a cool, steady glow, like moonlight on a still lake. But underneath was a tremendous depth and currents singing with emotions that weren’t unfamiliar to you.

Sorrow, guilt, compassion.

“Who are you?” you said quietly. Nothing about him felt ordinary. There was something about him. The way he sat. The way he breathed. Like he had seen more than anyone should, and chose to carry it anyway.

He hesitated, then quietly. “Ben. Just… Ben.”

But you know it wasn’t the full truth. You felt it, like a faint vibration in the Force.

You shifted on your feet, before walking slowly back to the cot. Your fingers brushed the blanket discarded on the floor.

“Are you a Jedi?” Your words were soft, and once again unsure as you mumbled.
He didn’t answer.

Instead, he exhaled slowly. Looked towards the window, where the winds had picked up and the harsh Tatooine sun bled against the orange light across the sand. His silence said everything you needed to know.

“I was.” His voice had you looking away. The words hung in the room like dust in the light, untouched, unspoken for years.

Your throat closed up, and you felt tears blurring your vision.

“I thought you were my Master when I first saw you.”

“Kelriss.” You looked up in surprise, mouth slightly agape at the sound of his name being uttered by someone else.

“How… How did you know?”

“You have the same accent,” he replied with a small smile, barely there, like the edge of a memory returning.

A tear slid down your cheek, slow and unrelenting. Your lips tugged into a sad smile. The ache didn’t vanish, but beneath the weight of it, you felt something else. Not happiness or comfort. Just a quiet presence. A warmth. Your Master may be one with the Force, but he still lived in you, one way or the other, be it your accent or your knowledge.

“Did you know him well?”

“Not much, but I know he was a good man.” He nodded, the smile deepening a little.

Silence filled the space as you stared at the blanket absentmindedly. You racked your brain for something to say, anything good about the man you considered your father, but all you could see was the sight of him on the ground. Dead.

“He had known the Empire was on us. He told me to hide. He said he was going to be right behind me, but he wasn’t.” You sniffed, “The Sith killed him, and I couldn’t do anything.”

Ben straightened slightly, the calm in his expression tightening just a fraction. His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but recognition.

His voice was low, controlled as he said, “A Sith?”

There was a pause.

The turmoil in his eyes went undetected as you glanced at him.

“Was it Vader?” He said the name like it was ash in his mouth.

Obi-Wan felt his heart drop at the shake of your head. It hit all at once. There was stillness in his chest, a tightening beneath his ribs. He felt like his whole world had come crashing down once again. The air itself had shifted, gone colder. There was dread, slow and creeping, cold as ice, sliding down his spine like a blade drawn edge-first.

Luke.

The room felt distant. Like he was watching it through thick glass. The sounds around him dulled, and even the neutral colours of his home faded into grey. His own body didn’t feel quite like his. He blinked, the movement sluggish and unfamiliar, like he was piloting himself from somewhere else, a split-second behind.

The warmth on his arm snapped him out of his trance.

“Ben? Are you okay?”

“Yes, nothing to worry about.” You leaned back on your seat at his answer. “Did he find you?” The man said softly, more emotional. A flicker of guilt flashed beneath the words.

“No, I managed to get away. But he saw me. He knows who I am.” Obi-Wan watched as your eyes glazed over, as if you were transported back in time. Luke had seen you, but that didn’t explain why you carried remnants of His Force signature in yours. He breathed out slowly. Was that what Qui-Gon meant? Were you the one who was going to bring the Empire on its knees?

All of this felt… strange.

Vayden Kelriss had cursed you with knowledge so rare there was nowhere safe for you in the entire Universe, not with Vader still alive. Kelriss had sacrificed himself so you could get away, and because he knew something terrible would unfold had he been tortured for information. It was the right choice, he contemplated. He would have done the same, both for the sake of his Padawan and the balance of the Force.

But something ticked him off. Whatever Kelriss knew should have died with him. Obi-Wan knew the Jedi as a bright student with an even brighter mind, but the Jedi council had a reason for not appointing him as a Jedi Master. The problem was, he simply knew too much. Ancient Jedi philosophies and practices, even those that were forbidden by the Jedi council. Master Yoda hadn’t said much about it, and Master Windu had turned a blind eye, claiming it was all only in theory.

And you? You were doomed from the start, ever since the Jedi had rescued you out of the Temple, barely a few hours old on the day the Grand Republic had collapsed. The day his brother had turned. The day Padmé had lost all hope.

He saw it vividly, like a picture painted with bold and flashing colours when he had picked up your lightsaber from the sand.

You and Luke were opposite sides of the same coin.

Both cursed to carry legacies that brought nothing but destruction.

A Jedi and a Sith.

Light and Dark.

Good and Evil.

Love and Hate.

Hope and Fear.

He looked at you, truly looked at you. You were strong with the Force. Kelriss had trained you well, but his death had left a dent so large on your soul that Obi-Wan couldn’t see past it. That might explain the remnants of Luke’s Force signature. He could be the one influencing you to the dark side, it had to be. There was no other explanation. The guilt and the grief pulsing through your signature were so similar to his own. He wished he could protect you from everything that seeked to harm you, but he couldn’t. You had a destiny to fulfil, just like Anakin had.

He felt some hope blooming in his heart. Luke may be lost, but he had Leia, and now he had you.

You found yourself sticking close to the fire when night fell. Ben was hunched over the heating pad, stirring some root vegetables and pieces of wild game he said he had hunted a few days ago. Your fingers played with the sleeve of your clean jacket. He had given you some clothes, fresh and clean. You itched to ask, but you bit your tongue at the end. Did he have children? Why else would he have those clothes laying around?

Your eyes followed the orange flames.

What if the Empire got to them too?

Was that why he was drowning in guilt?

You glanced at the man. He carried a heavy weight on his shoulders, you felt it in the way he spoke, the way he moved.

Was he at the Temple the night it had happened?

“Ben, can I ask you something?”

He was still, as always and composed in that way that made you feel like he already knew what you were about to say. Then he turned his head slightly toward you. There was no sharp movement or tension.

With a small nod, he said quietly, “Of course.”

You opened your mouth, then paused. The question was there, you were sure how to say it, but you didn’t know if you should. A flicker of doubt curled in your chest. “Were you there when the raid happened?” Master Kelriss refused to speak about it. He would tune you out anytime you asked, even when you told him about your nightmares and the man with golden eyes. He told you it was only a nightmare, but deep down you knew it wasn’t. You were positive you were seeing the medbay of the Jedi Temple through someone else’s eyes.

Ben quietly switched off the heating pad and turned. His eyes held a haunted look, and you regretted even entertaining the thought of asking about something so sensitive.

“I should have been. I only saw the aftermath.” He closed his eyes for a breath, then opened them again, looking not at you, but past you.

You thought long and hard about it. The clones had turned on the Jedi that night, so was what you were seeing in your nightmares the last moments of a clone’s life? But how? Why would you have a Force connection to someone you have never met before? Whatever you saw made sense in a way, why else would a Jedi be killing someone other than to protect others? Unless…

“But how did the clones manage to defeat every single one of the Jedi?”

His expression shifted subtly, yet it was unmistakable.

“It wasn’t just the clones.” You let go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding. Then, horror came slowly, like cold water soaking inch by inch into cloth, until it was everywhere. Your mouth went dry. Something inside you recoiled, not in fear of danger, but in the weight of truth that you weren’t ready to carry.

“A Jedi,” you whispered. Ben looked away for a moment. He was far away, you could tell, standing among the ashes of the Temple.

“One of our own. The one we trusted most.”

You suppressed a shiver.

So, it wasn’t the memory of a clone afterall… It was one of the Jedi's being betrayed by their own.

Chapter Text

The twin suns broke through the horizon slowly, casting shadows across the endless dunes. Cold still shimmered from the sand, though the air had already begun to heat with the coming morning. From a distance, the desert looked still, lifeless, yet the silence carried weight. It pressed against your skin, heavy and watchful, as if the very sands were holding their breath. On Tatooine, danger seldom announced itself. It waited, patient as the stars that disappeared with the rising suns against the bright sky.

Yesterday had been a close call. The blaster wound on your arm still throbbed at any sudden movement. The sting was a painful reminder that you would have almost met your end if it hadn’t been for Ben, the man who was kind enough to shelter you for the night. The Jedi knew more than he let on, you knew that much, but you didn’t press him for any more answers. He carried a weight that pinned him down, most of it guilt and so much sadness. You sensed it. It hung over him like a cloud, dark and compact, ready to let loose a thunderous shower of hail.

A slight wind picked up as you walked, blowing grains of sand over your shoes. Ben trailed a few steps ahead of you, his fingers wrapped around a thick wooden stick as he led the way. It was decided that you had to get off-planet immediately. If Boba Fett had been that close to capturing you, it meant it wasn’t long until the Inquisitors showed up. Tatooine was certainly no safe place for you, not when the streets of the cities were crawling with people working for Jabba, the Empire and the likes. Moreover, if it really was as Ben suspected, you were no low level target. If the Emperor’s Blade was involved, then you were definitely in even deeper trouble than you could imagine.

Did the Emperor really consider Master Kelriss such a threat that he had to send his best assassin to finish the job?

All that churned in your head was that you wouldn’t survive. How could you possibly think otherwise when you could barely defend yourself against Fett?

Doubt swarmed your head, and it wasn’t until Ben turned to glance at you that you noticed the falter in his steady pace. You stepped beside him as you caught up, eyes fixed on the golden sand dunes against the blue sky, a poor attempt at distracting yourself from your thoughts. Ben didn’t say anything. He just waited ever so patiently, eyes lingering as he felt the conflict within you ripple through the Force. You understood he was giving you the choice. He would only ask if you wanted him to.

“Fett almost had me,” you said quietly. The shame in your voice would have gone undetected if it was anyone else. But Ben wasn’t just anyone.

“Don’t fault yourself, child. Fett is trained to take down even the most skilled of the Jedi.” The rasp in his voice calmed your nerves down to some point, but it didn’t mean much, not when your life was on the line. You shivered as the brief memory of the padawan braid around the Mandalorian’s shoulder flashed in your mind.

“Then how could I possibly face the Inquisitors and survive?” Your throat went dry. You had spent your entire life being sheltered from danger. Master Kelriss had raised you in a box stuffed with cotton, away from anything that might cause you harm, and now that was going to bite you in the ass. It was only at the late age of nine that he had let you build your first fire from scratch, and it wasn’t until you were thirteen that he had finally let you accompany him into town. You wouldn’t say he was overbearing. He was just the kind of man who would kiss all of your wounds and chase the monster under your bed so you slept right.

“Nothing overrides the will of the Force,” Ben said vacantly, as if the words weren’t actually his own.

You peeked through the hood of your cloak to glance at the man. “Are you saying the Force led me here?” There was a brief pause in your words before you whispered, “To you?”

A faint smile touched his worn features, barely there.

“I can’t claim to know its will,” he admitted. “But the Force seldom wastes its effort. If you’re here, there’s a reason, even if neither of us can see it yet.” Ben couldn’t possibly tune into the future no matter how hard he tried, but he knew, for a fact, that you were one of the inevitable cracks in Palpatine’s perfectly crafted world that would lead to the fall of the Empire. “Trust in the Force, in yourself. The Light is both your shield and your sword. Wield it as you’ve been taught, and you will be unstoppable.”

You exhaled. He was right. You had to trust yourself to submit fully to the Force so it could guide you, but the remnants of the Dark side still lingering around had your pulse picking up. Depending completely on the Force meant that there would be a trace, a thread the Sith could follow that would lead him straight to you. You knew you had to get rid of the grief and the sadness you had bottled up to destroy the remaining mist hovering over your Force signature, but that would mean letting go of your Master. And you weren’t sure if you were ready to do that just yet.

The suns had already risen fully in the sky by the time you and Ben reached the outskirts of Mos Eisley. You stood hidden behind a large boulder, the wind whipping your cloak back as sand scratched against your cheeks. Ben lowered his binocs and squinted to prevent the sand from getting into his eyes.

“I doubt Fett is already up from that concussion, but you can never be too careful. Keep to the shadows. Don't speak and don’t show your face unless you absolutely have to.” He dug his hand into the deep pocket of his robes and removed a small scratchy satchel. You knew it was credits by the metallic chime when the satchel shifted. “That’s all I could spare. Save some, don’t spend it all on a ride off Tatooine.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I couldn’t.”

“You need it more than I do clearly,” Ben said, before taking your palm and wrapping your fingers around the satchel. You hesitated, your hand still in the air even after he had pulled away to stand next to you.

“Will I see you again?” you asked, your fingers pulling back your hood so you could look at the man properly after the credits were securely nestled in your pocket.

“If the Force wills it.” The words were final, his farewell to you, but you still had one last scratch to itch.

“Your name’s not really Ben, is it?”

For a moment, his gaze dropped, as though the weight of the years pressed too heavily to ignore. “You’re asking a lot of questions today. But no, it isn’t,” he replied softly. “But the man who carried that name… he doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You may feel like he’s gone,” you said with the same softness, “but I don’t believe that. You’re still here. The man who carried that name. He’s the same one standing in front of me. Maybe older, Maybe hurt. But not gone.”

Ben stayed quiet with his eyes fixed on Mos Eisley. His gaze drifted to the horizon, where the heat distorted the blue sky behind. The words pressed against the walls he had built inside himself, walls he had told himself could never be breached. You were too kind for your own good. If only you had known what he had done. Had he been able to get Luke safely to Tatooine, Kelriss would have still been alive and you wouldn’t have been a fugitive.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, barely more than a whisper, “You give me more credit than I deserve.” He let out a slow breath, shoulders sinking as though the weight of years had finally caught up with him. “I’ve made mistakes. Choices I can’t take back. If that man you speak of still lives in me, then he is broken. And I don’t know if broken men can do much good anymore.” His eyes finally met yours, tired, but not without a glimmer of something else. Something fragile. “Still… it’s kind of you to believe otherwise.”

You didn’t answer right away. His words were heavy, weighted with so many emotions that left your mind reeling. Instead you stepped closer, slow enough that he could have turned away if he wished. He didn’t. When your hand brushed his arm, the contact was light and hesitant. You feared he might shatter beneath your touch.

But he didn’t pull back.

“You don’t have to believe it yet. Just… let me believe it for you,” you muttered.

The words sank deeper than he expected, stirring a place inside him long buried under dust and silence. The walls he had spent years building did not crumble, but for the first time he felt them shift. The kindness in you had unexpectedly cut deeper than any blade. He could still see the grief etched across your face, raw and unhidden, yet here you were, offering comfort to him, a man who deserved it least.

“You’ve just lost more than I can imagine, and yet you spare what strength you have left on me.” He shook his head, as if the weight of it was too much to bear.

You hesitated. “It’s what a Jedi would do, isn’t it?” You didn’t have to look into his memories to know Ben had gone through so much. You may have lost your Master, your home and everything you had ever known, but nothing could possibly compare to the pain the old Jedi had experienced throughout the course of his life. “I’m scared. That if I stop caring… then everything is truly lost,” you sighed, a quiet resolve in your breath.

“You’re wise beyond your years. Hope is a beautiful thing, rare amidst all the chaos and destruction.”

“I wish it was enough to destroy the Empire.”

“Perhaps, it is.”

Leaving Ben wasn’t as painful as leaving home, but it still left a sizable hole in your heart that ached whenever your thoughts strayed back to the old man. He had given you a spark of hope, a fickle thing, but it burned deep nonetheless. Something about him had calmed the onslaught of thoughts that pounded your head relentlessly. It felt liberating to connect with someone attuned to the Force again, even if the pain and the grief that lingered in his Force signature became a little too overwhelming at times. But then, you doubted your own signature pulsed with any emotions that weren't melancholic.

Ben had told you Fett would be out of commission for what was likely to be a few days. While you were too out of it to witness what had become of the bounty hunter, the old Jedi had given him a well needed concussion. You had been too flabbergasted to ask at first, so Ben took it upon himself to cheekily reveal that he had tossed him back with the Force. The man had nastily bumped his head against what was left of the speeder you had stolen and wrecked. He had thought him dead initially, but his Force signature was still as bright as any star in the sky.

You adjusted the cloak around your shoulders, tugging on the front so it concealed the hilt of the lightsaber clipped to your belt. The pair of trousers Ben had given you was a few sizes too large, so you were grateful your belt had survived the whole ordeal with the bounty hunter. Most of your clothes were ruined, and the ones that weren’t were still thrown out anyways. The smell of soot and burning flesh that stuck to the fabric had your head spinning as if you stood up too fast.

The heat of the twin suns had barely faded as the doors to Chalmun’s Cantina hissed open, revealing a haze of smoke, shadow and sound. The dim light inside was a welcomed contrast to the blinding glare of Mos Eisley’s streets, but the relief was short-lived. The cantina wasn’t a sanctuary. It was a den. If Fett hadn’t whacked his head, you suspected he would have been here, tucked in a dark corner as he sipped whatever concoction was strong enough for the man with a heart of stone. Maybe you were being a little biased, but you couldn’t help the disdain at the memory of green armour and his gravelly voice. You suppressed a sigh. You knew it wasn’t very Jedi-like of you to feel this way, but you would have really appreciated it if he hadn’t been trying to kill you yesterday. He was just a simple man making his way through the galaxy, like you were right now, if you were to ignore the abnormally large bounty on your head.

Inside, the air was thick— with tension, with secrets, with the unmistakable stink of oil, sweat and spice. You straightened your back and dipped your head so the edge of the hood kissed the tip of your nose. The lack of light in the cantina was working in your favour, casting a deeper shadow on your half hidden face. A stale, metallic smell clung to the walls, mixing with the tang of unfamiliar drinks being sloshed into dirty glasses. Every surface seemed worn, scarred by years of elbows, blaster burns, and beings who’d long since left the place or been removed. Some in body bags, you were sure.

In the far corner, the Bith band played their strange, swirling tune, fingers moving rapidly over bulbous instruments, head bobbing in rhythm. The music was fast but dreamlike, almost hypnotic. It didn’t soothe so much as add to the surreal tension, like dancing on the edge of a knife. It was nothing like what you’ve ever heard before, and it certainly was a far cry from the traditional pipebag tunes of Eredeen Prime’s native folks.

You fought to keep your back straight as you continued past the threshold. You didn’t need to look to know there were a dozen eyes trained on your cloaked figure. It was the norm. Eyes turned as newcomers entered— always. You felt the heat of their gaze, piercing and cold, even through the layer of fabric separating you from their cynicism. Not all eyes were human. A pair of Rodians muttered in Huttese, their glossy snouts twitching toward the door. A hulking Aqualish snorted into his drink, and somewhere near the bar, a cloaked figure adjusted their belt just enough to show the gleam of a blaster grip, the scratches telling a story not to be taken lightly.

And over it all, behind the counter, the bartender glared. He didn’t care who his customers were— murderer, thief or bounty. If you didn’t cause trouble, you were welcomed, but if you did, then you could only hope you were fast enough to finish it.

“No droids,” he growled as a pair hovered at the entrance. They beeped uncertainly before shuffling back into the heat outside, unwelcome in a place built only for flesh and flaws.

The Force pulsed sinisterly. Here, deals were struck with a glance and sealed with a handshake. Or a knife. People talked in whispers and stared in silence, both equally dangerous. The cantina wasn’t safe, but it was neutral. At least for now, it was.

You knew what you had to do. Find the smuggler and dip out as soon as you could, before anyone could find out who you were and decided you were better off dead than alive.

You scanned the booths, past the snarling Trandoshans, the cloaked Rodians, and the bored server wiping the same spot on the table over and over. The bartender had his eyes fixed on you, but you weren’t looking for a drink. You were looking for a name, and you already had one.

Han Solo.

He wasn’t hard to find, not for someone who knew what they were after. Black corner booth. Half in shadow. He was exactly where the Pirate who had his ship parked on Hangar 4 said he would be. Looks like eavesdropping had its rewards afterall, however bad it was. One boot up on the seat opposite him, one arm draped lazily along the backrest. A Corellian with the look of someone who didn’t care, but noticed everything.

His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the old spacer’s vest slung like it was part of him. A blaster sat just loose enough in its holster to be fast, and a crooked smirk played on his face, as if he already knew you were coming.

You approached slowly, pulling back the hood just enough to show a human face. Dust-scoured but focused. You stopped at the edge of the table.

“You Solo?” you asked, even if you already knew the answer to that.

Solo didn’t move at first. He took a slow sip from a dented metal cup, then glanced up, eyes sharp beneath heavy lids. His calmness was perplexing, but you weren’t surprised. “Depends on who’s asking,” he said.

“A generous customer,” you replied.

“Well then, you looking to buy a drink, or buy a ride?”

“A ride,” you said quietly, “Off-world. Quiet. No questions.”

That got a raised eyebrow. Han sat up straighter, setting the cup down with a faint clink. “That sounds expensive,” he said. “And dangerous. Which usually means interesting.”

You didn’t flinch, but the sweat on your palms spoke of your nervousness. “Like I said. I’m generous.”

Solo smiled now, half-amusement, half-challenge. “You’ve got some bad timing. Empire’s tightening its grip. Smugglers are going legit. Or getting spaced. Bet there’s gonna be another kriffing blockade soon. Wonder what poor bastard the Empire’s chasing after now.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Tension flooded your insides. You leaned in, voice low, “I heard you made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs. That true?”

His grin widened, wolfish now. “I don't like to brag.”

Looked like he did if he caught that bait.

A low whistle interrupted the exchange. A Wookie stood, towering behind the booth, arms crossed, eyes locked on you. A warning, or maybe a question.

Solo gave a small nod. “Relax, Chewie. This one’s got the look. Desperate. Dumb enough to be serious.” You rolled your eyes beneath your hood. Perhaps you were desperate, but you weren’t stupid. Well, at least you weren’t stupid enough to stay in Tatooine now that you had overstayed your welcome. He gestured to the seat across from him. “Alright. Sit down. Tell me where we’re going.”

You slid into the booth, still a little hesitant. The cantina noise crept back in, but just faintly. In that corner, in that moment, a deal was being made, the kind that changed lives, that pulled people into wars they didn’t want, or legends they never asked for.

And Han Solo?

You bet he was already calculating how much he could get away with.

“Wherever you’re going next.”

Solo stared across the table, eyebrows arched, fingers drumming lazily against his dented cup. It was the most logical destination you could think of. If you didn’t even know where you were going, the Empire couldn’t possibly sniff you out, could they?

“Wherever I’m going next?” he repeated, like he wasn’t sure if he’s misheard or if you were just that reckless.

You didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. You couldn’t give yourself away. “That’s right.”

Chewie, the Wookie, growled low behind you, his signature sending a wave of curiosity through the Force. You eased, reassured that it wasn’t a growl of anger. It was the kind of sound you expected he would make when a sabacc player suddenly tossed all their credits into the pot on a garbage hand. Either bold… or stupid.

Solo leaned back, arms crossing loosely, studying you now. No twitch of fear. No obvious lie. Just a flat, tired stare that spoke of someone running, maybe not from a planet, but from something heavier. The man fought a grin, well he wouldn’t be surprised at all if you had just escaped Jabba’s Palace.

“No one climbs aboard my ship without knowing where we’re headed,” he said, tone casual but edged. “Unless they’ve got nothing left behind and even less ahead.”

“Exactly.” All you knew was that you had to run and hide. Anywhere would do, be it a sewer, a cave in the middle of nowhere or the radioactive wrecks of a star destroyer.

The smuggler was silent for a beat. He could feel the weight of it all, the kind of weight that made people disappear into backwater ports or crawl into spice dens. This wasn’t some rich kid slumming it, and it wasn’t some desperate rebel either.

This was someone who’d already fallen off the map. And didn’t want to get back on it.

He looked over at Chewbacca. The Wookie rumbled something deep and short. Han nodded slightly.

“Well you’ve got some timing,” Han muttered, pushing his cup aside. “We’ve got a job lined up. Quick haul out of here. Hot, of course. They’re all hot these days.”

“Dangerous?” you asked.

Han grinned. “Only if you don’t like getting shot at.”

You’ve gotten shot at only twice before and Maker, how you hated it.

Silence stretched for a moment. You looked around at the murky bar, the cracked walls, the alien faces half-lost in shadow. It was better than nothing, better than sitting here and waiting to get caught.

Han jerked his thumb toward the door. “Come on, then. Welcome to the Millennium Falcon. She’s fast, she’s temperamental, and she doesn’t like dead weight.”

You stood up, pulling your cloak tight. “I’ll pull mine.”

He glanced at Chewie, then back to you. “Let’s hope so.”

As you pushed through the cantina doors and out into the glare of Tatooine’s twin suns, the heat hit like a wall, but it didn’t matter. Something had just shifted. A deal had been made. Not for credits. Not even for trust.

Just for a seat.

And that was enough. For now.

Luke strode down the corridor of the Obsidian with measured purpose, his boots striking the deck in steady rhythm. Three weeks away from the ship. Far too long, in his view. The assignment had taken him to Shu-Torun, tasked with securing the planet’s continued loyalty to the Galactic Empire and ensuring the unbroken flow of its precious ore.

He was displeased at being assigned this mission, and he was even less impressed when one of the Ore Dukes insisted he danced with his daughter during the opening ball. It was safe to say, the only one who danced was the Duke himself, a hundred feet off the air as Luke cut through the parting crowd to get his job done. He didn’t have time for pleasantries and attempts at courtship.

The King, moreover, had proven arrogant and short-sighted. During Luke’s ceremonial tour of the Shu-Torun royal palace, the monarch had attempted an assassination, a move as foolish as it was fatal. The plot failed. By the end of the day, the King and his two heirs lay dead in their own halls.

Only one royal remained. Princess Trios, the youngest child of the late king. Luke had spared her life, not out of mercy, but as a calculated gesture. With the throne now hers, Shu-Torun bent willingly beneath the Empire’s banner. She ruled, but only at the Emperor’s pleasure.

By all measures, the mission was a success. The ore would flow. The world was secured. And yet, as Luke stepped onto the Obsidian’s command deck, there was no satisfaction, only the cold anticipation of unfinished business. Your dream was still fresh in his mind. He vividly remembered the soapy scent of the purple flowers, the squelch of mud under his boots and the joy vibrating in the air, as if he stood there on Eredeen Prime himself. Then, the atmosphere had darkened with rage. He brushed his wrist with his fingers. The feel of the rope lingered, sometimes when he least expected it.

An ISB officer waited near the tactical display, his uniform crisp, his face composed but wary. He stepped forward, offering a data-slate.

“My Lord,” the agent said, “we have the prisoners you requested. They’re secured in separate cells.”

Luke’s gloved hand closed over the slate without looking at it. His eyes fixed on the officer instead. He had the Stormtroopers comb through the Harbour before he had gone, and soon enough, one of them had received word of an odd occurrence on one of the Fishing boats. On closer inspection, the Trooper had reported a hole burned clean through, edges fused and glassed over, as if the metal had been melted from the inside out. Perfectly circular. No blaster could have done it.

It was a lightsaber.

“The Captain and her First Mate,” the ISB man continued. “Picked up in port after transporting your… person of interest. Both claim ignorance.”

Luke started towards the detention level, the officer falling in step behind him. “Ignorance,” he said quietly, “is rarely the truth. And when it is, it’s still useless.”

The metal door slid open with a hydraulic hiss. Cold white light flooded into the interrogation cell, washing over First Mate Hessk, a beat up Trandoshan with slitted green eyes. He sat cuffed to the floor in the center of the room, head bowed down, with blood dripping on his dirty shirt. He was hunched forward, knuckles tight around the restraints that bit into his wrists. Sweat clung to his forehead, though the chamber was ice-cold.

Luke stepped in slowly. His black cloak trailed behind him, boots echoing on the durasteel floor. He waved his hand, and the mind probe deactivated, crumbling to the ground. The prisoner flinched at the noise, digging his chin deeper into his chest in an attempt to hide away. There were no Stormtroopers. No interrogator droids. There was no need for any of them. He was enough. Just him— the Empire’s Blade.

The door sealed shut behind him with a final, echoing hiss.

For several seconds, Luke said nothing. He waited, the ominous silence striking the Prisoner’s heart with so much fear. The Force pulsed all around him, so tense he could snap it in two with his own hands. The silence wasn’t empty. It was surgical. A precise tension, meant to crack the soul before a word was spoken.

Hessk shifted.

“Told the offissser already. I don’t know where ssshe went,” he rasped, voice low and hoarse, the S’s drawn out like a snake’s breath.

Luke tilted his head. “No. You told them she left at dawn. Quietly. Slipped away. But you didn’t mention the window. Or the shipyard.”

Hessk’s spine stiffened.

A small, cruel smile ghosted across Luke’s lips. “You have a weak mind,” he said, voice calm and unyielding, like ice sliding over steel. They had known about the window, it was why they had them in custody in the first place, but the shipyard? That was the kind of information he needed.

Without another word, Luke’s presence shifted subtly. An imperceptible tightening in the air, like a shadow pressing against Hessk’s chest. It wasn’t a blast or a shove, just a quiet, crushing weight that squeezed at his lungs and slowed his heartbeat. The prisoner’s breath caught, a shallow rasp escaping his lips as the invisible grip lingered, probing for cracks.

Panic flicked behind Hessk’s eyes. Sharp and unwelcome. He clenched his fists, trying to summon stubborn defiance, but the pressure burrowed deeper, more than physical, it was an invasion of his mind’s fragile edge, a whisper that told his resistance was pointless. His mouth opened, then snapped shut with a faint clink of teeth.

Luke stepped closer. “You hated her.” It wasn’t a question. He could feel the disdain rolling off in waves as the memory of you coughing up sea-water on the deck crossed his mind.

“She was wrong,” Hessk muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. “Didn’t belong. Looked like a girl, moved like a ssshadow. Never spoke. Don’t care what ssshe was. Force-witch, rebel ssspy, Jedi, wanted her off my ssship.”

Luke’s tone hardened. “Then why are you protecting her?”

“I’m not!” Hessk snapped, the hiss turning sharp, “Didn’t want any of thisss! You think I wanted to get dragged in? We’re fissshermen, not smugglers. Not traitors.”

Luke stared down at him, calm as a glacier. “Yet you watched her climb out the window. You saw her disappear into the yards.”

“Didn’t follow her,” Hessk said quickly, “Didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to get involved.”

“You saw which ship,” Luke said flatly.

The prisoner looked up sharply. His eyes searched Luke’s face, not for mercy, but for the cost of giving in.

“I don’t know what ssshe is. But I know what you are,” he said, voice shaking. “You’ll kill anyone in your way. People like me don’t matter.”

Luke didn’t flinch. “You’re right. You don't." He ignited his lightsaber. The red blade hummed to life, casting blood-coloured light across the chamber. “Then why not tell me and live?” Luke said. “Tell me the name of the ship.”

Silence.

Hessk exhaled shakily, chin quivering.

“...Ardent Whisper. A rust-bucked Imperial freighter. Docked on pad nine, west bay.”

Luke deactivated the saber. The room plunged into silence. His jaw clenched as Hessk spoke, but the real fury simmered beneath the surface, slow, burning and cold. An Imperial ship. Stowing a Jedi on an Imperial freighter, slipping past an Imperial blockade without so much as a cursory scan. The arrogance of the Empire’s own rules, the fatal loophole his officers had left wide open. He had trusted them to complete their jobs, but once again he was proven wrong. First, the Inquisitor and now, his own officers. A blockade was a blockade. It didn’t matter if the ship leaving was Imperial, it was to be boarded. He would make sure that was engraved in the back of everyone’s mind.

It wasn’t just a failure of security. It was a failure of the Empire’s vigilance and a mockery of everything he fought against. His anger wasn’t loud or wild. It was a dark controlled blaze, the kind that didn’t burn outward but sharpened every word, every movement. The kind that promised retribution not through chaos, but calculated, inescapable consequence.

But he had to give it to you. He hadn’t expected someone so isolated to make such good decisions. It’s exactly what he would have done, and he was a fool not to see it before it happened.

“Was that so hard?” he said softly.

Hessk didn’t reply.

Outside the cell. Luke’s boot echoed down the corridor. His face remained unreadable, but his voice, when he spoke to the nearby officer, carried quiet finality.

“Have the Captain brought in. When I’m finished with her, burn the ship."

Captain Rennar sat upright despite the restraints. Her pale skin was marked with intricate, dark tattoos winding around her sharp cheekbones and on her neck. Small, curved horns crowned her head, casting faint shadows under the harsh Imperial lights. Blood flecked the corner of her lips from a previous strike, but her spine remained straight. Proud. Civilian dignity clinging to her even here, behind sealed durasteel doors.

Luke entered in silence. His dark silhouette crossed the threshold like a shadow untethered from its source.

She didn’t even flinch.

“Your First Mate cracked,” he said. “He told me everything.”

She gave no reply.

Luke paced slowly around her, not looking directly at her. Letting silence close in like fog.

“You ferried a Jedi,” he continued. “She escaped through your cabin window, made her way to the starship yard, and stowed away. Hessk even gave me the name of the ship.”

Still, she said nothing. Her crimson eyes remained forward. Measured. Calm.

Luke turned to face her. “You didn’t ask her name. You didn’t report her. You told your First Mate to burn the robes, erase the signs.”

“I don’t know who she was,” she said finally, voice low but steady. “She was just a helpless girl pulled from the sea.”

“But she wasn’t, was she?” Luke said, “You knew. You saw the look in her eyes. You saw the robes. You saw the lightsaber.“

“She was scared,” Rennar snapped, lips tugged downwards in a snarl. Her jaw tensed beneath the tattoos tracing her sharp jawline.

Luke bent down to her level, his bright cold eyes piercing through her soul. “Say her name. Admit what you saw,” he whispered. The Captain held his gaze, not flinching or backing down.

“She was a Jedi. And I will not help you kill her.”

For a moment, the air was still. Luke’s expression didn’t change. There was no flash of anger. No roar of accusation. Just the soft hiss of his lightsaber igniting, red bathing the room.

“You chose your side,” he said.

“And you chose to be a monster,” she replied. “Whatever they’ve made you… I hope she gets away.”

Luke stood still. The last line sat like glass in the silence. Then, one clean motion.

The blade cut through.

Captain Rennar slumped forward, her body falling quiet, the chains rattling once and then no more.

He stood over her for a moment longer. His face unreadable. His saber deactivated with a snap-hiss. Another witness silenced. Another tie to the past severed.

Luke clenched his jaw. He felt the anger stirring within him, hot and cold at the same time. He couldn’t believe it. How could such an inexperienced Padawan be causing so much trouble for him? He had hunted experienced Jedi Masters with years of combat experience under their belts before, and he had cut through them as smoothly as a knife would butter. Yet, you, out of all people, kept slipping out of his grasp. This wouldn’t do.

His fingers tightened in his fist. Luke breathed out, trying to calm himself. It was neither the time for anger nor the indulgence of a temper. But he couldn’t help it, frustration bubbled in his stomach. Frustration at not knowing your name, frustration at being kept in the dark, frustration at his incompetent officers. When did it stop? His shoulders were trembling slightly before he knew it.

Why wouldn’t his Master tell him anything? What was it that Vader wanted to know?

He didn’t even know your name.

Where had he even seen you before?

Luke closed his eyes and tipped his head backwards.

He had always done whatever his Master asked of him. So why couldn’t he trust him with answers?

The anger stirring began to spread like wildfire. It pressed against his ribs, tightened the muscles in his jaw, and demanded an outlet. This was not the righteous fury of a Sith, it was something harder and heavier. A hunger to punish failure. To seal every weakness, no matter the cost.

His fist clenched even tighter than before. The next instant, it slammed into the durasteel bulkhead with a bone-jarring crack. The wall dented inward, a shallow crater radiating fine fractures through the plating.

Pain shot up his arm. He welcomed it, a small grounding of stressed metal. He flexed his fingers once, straightened his glove, adjusted his cloak, and walked out of the cell, not sparing a glance at the corpse sprawled on the floor. It gave him no pleasure, but it had to be done. The Jedi were a disease. Their followers were its carriers, blind, stubborn hosts clinging to myths and ideals that should have died with the Republic. They infected ships, worlds, entire sectors, leaving order to wither in their defiance. It didn't matter if they carried lightsabers or simply harbored one of its wielders. The sickness spread all the same. And like any infection, it had to be cut out. Completely.

The anger wilted gradually as he pushed further into the corridor. His silent tantrum had given him some insight. He knew what he had to do now. Follow the course of the Ardent Whisper. He doubted he would have to go further than the freighter’s first stop to catch you.

All he had now was Crystal.

But soon, he would have your name.

Your real name.

And a body to prove with it.

Chapter Text

Kael Voss diligently entered the cell after the interrogation to assess the damage. What he hadn’t expected was to find a shallow hole in the durasteel wall. The dead woman wasn’t surprising. She had initially given him and the interrogator droid nothing but a sharp glare and a few words of spite. He had left soon after that, a heavy sigh on his lips as pity began to flood through his core. The Commander wouldn’t be as kind as me, he had wished to say, but he didn’t. Instead he had kept his mouth shut and left the cell, patiently awaiting the arrival of the man who would eventually get the job done.

The Commander didn’t look angry when he had left the cell, but the hole in the wall said otherwise. The ISB officer could count on his fingers the number of times he had seen him hot with anger, and it didn’t even reach past the green number of two. The Obsidian has been hovering over Eredeen Prime for the best part of a month and a few weeks. The last two weeks had been mostly spent gathering intel and regrouping forces on the ground while the Commander was away to Shu-Torun. The blond man had ordered him to stay, grumbling under his breath how he needed someone who was actually level headed to carry on the rest of the operation in his stead before he left to take care of more pressing matters.

Voss should have been flattered. His Commander had so much trust in him that he gave him full authority over the entirety of his dreadnought. Any other officer would have rejoiced, he supposed, but Voss wasn’t the kind of man who sought power. He woke up every morning, stared at the picture of his wife and kids, and put on his white crisp uniform to repeat the routine that had been drilled into his head since his days in the Chandrillan military academy.

Hours later, after he had eventually arranged for the release of First Mate Hessk, he found himself outside the Commander’s meditation room. He didn’t knock, for he knew the man was well aware of his presence from the other side of the door. So he waited, his back straight and his lips pressed in a thin line.

The doors hissed open, and Voss shifted on his feet.

“The bounty hunter Fett is here to see you, my Lord,” he said, studying the man carefully.

The Commander only nodded stiffly in response, the tension in his jaw not going unnoticed by the ISB officer.

The conference room was small and dimly lit, the soft hum of the star destroyer’s systems a constant backdrop. Boba Fett stood near the viewport, staring at the patchy green in the sea of blue on the surface of the planet below.

The door slid open quietly, and Luke entered without ceremony. He walked to the viewport and stopped steps behind the bounty hunter.

Fett turned, tilting his head to offer a respectful nod.

“Did you bring me anything of value, bounty hunter?” The Commander asked coldly, his hands coming to clasp behind his back.

“Not much. Only her last location. Tatooine.”

Luke’s jaw clenched.

Tatooine.

A planet crawling with smugglers, bounty hunters and people who would have killed to make an easy buck such as this, and yet, you had managed to make it out unscathed again. Your last location wasn’t enough. By the time they reach the sand-filled death trap, he was sure you would have already hopped onto the next planet and the next. Luke found the start of a crippling headache blooming. Perhaps if he hadn’t been gone for so long, he wouldn’t have been facing such irreversible troubles. The manifest of the Ardent Whisper had yet to be received, and he was this close to bursting out in anger at the sweet time the Intelligence officers were taking.

He took a deep breath and calmed himself down.

If you had been on Tatooine, then they would comb through every inch of the sand to find any hint of your next destination.

Luke tilted his head to glance at the ISB officer nestled in the corner of the conference room.

No words had been said, but Voss understood very quickly. “Preparing for the jump to lightspeed, my Lord.” The middle-aged man walked out, the bounty hunter following in his trail as they left behind the man clad in black with his thoughts.

Tatooine was still better than nothing.

But results were all that mattered.

Your first night on the Millenium Falcon was studded with a complex swirl of emotions. It was soon after you had left the cantina that you found yourself aboard the Corellian freighter. It wasn’t what you would have expected from a ship that made the Kessel run in 12 parsecs, but you supposed it would have to do. Besides, you doubted expressing your thoughts about that piece of junk would put you on the Captain’s good graces.

Solo had said something about a job on the Ring of Kafrene, a mining colony and a deep-space trading post in the Kafrene asteroid belt in the Thand sector. That was good, it took you far away from Tatooine and the reach of the Empire.

You spent the last few days travelling in hyperspace, your eyes stuck to the view of the hypnotising blue hue of the travel lane. You had spent your first interplanet ride trapped in a stuffy air vent, back when you had escaped Eredeen Prime out of necessity and desperation, and it wasn’t until now that you understood the wonders of a starship. It was beautiful and peaceful even, with the hum of the Falcon’s engines and the soft creaks as it shifted in space. But beneath that comfort lay a gnawing unease. The galaxy outside was vast and unpredictable, and here, in this metal cocoon, you were vulnerable, not just to the dangers of the Empire, but to the secrets you kept buried deep within yourself.

Loneliness prickled at the edges of your thoughts. For all the noise and life aboard the Falcon, you were still new. A stranger with a hidden power no one suspected. The weight of hiding your Force sensitivity pressed heavily on you. It was a secret that could bring danger not just to you, but to Han and Chewie if revealed.

At the same time, there was a flicker of something, hope. The unspoken acceptance from Han and Chewie, the tentative camaraderie, gave you a small seed of belonging. Maybe here, amidst the stars and worn metal, you could find more than just refuge, maybe you could find a place to call home. You worried your lower lip between your teeth. A part of you knew that thought was a lost cause.

As you curled up in a quiet corner, the ship’s gentle vibrations lulled you. You allowed yourself a small, private breath of relief. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but tonight, you were safe.

The Falcon settled onto a dusty landing pad, the engines winding down to a soft hum. Although the Ring of Kafrene was a labyrinth of shacks, prefabricated housing, and countless maze-like corridors, the outpost you landed on was little more than a cluster of weathered metal and stacked cargo crates, surrounded by rough-looking mercenaries whose eyes flicked to the ship the moment it touched down.

Han shut off the engines and turned to look at you. His voice cut through the last of the cockpit’s hum before silence engulfed your surroundings.

“All right, kid. This one’s simple. We’re picking up a shipment of rare durasteel plates from a local smuggler. High value, low visibility. We grab the goods, pay the right credits, and get out before anyone notices,” he said as he stood up from his seat. Chewie let out a low growl of acknowledgement, his eyes searching for anything suspicious through the viewport.

You nodded, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement. Han walked out of the cockpit, before he gripped onto the door and looked at you, “Don’t suppose you have a blaster on ya’, do you?” He let out a hum at the shake of your head and nodded for you to follow him. Han walked down the corridor and entered the main hold, heading straight to the crates lying beside the table. He picked up the first blaster he saw, with a light barrel and some deep scratches on the sides.

“Alright, now you just point and pull the trigger.”

“Yeah, I know how to use a blaster, Solo.” He fixed you with a playful glare.

“Just making sure.” You shook your head, unimpressed at his shrug. You regarded the blaster in your hand with a measured, almost reluctant respect. Yes, it was a practical tool, useful, even necessary at times, but it felt somewhat impersonal. The weight of your saber clipped to your belt felt even heavier now. To you, it was more than a weapon. It was an extension of your will, a symbol of the Jedi’s dedication to balance and defense. But the Jedi Order no longer existed, all that remained was memories and words that flowed around the galaxy.

You would become what you had to be in the moment, and now it was just a smuggler with a well used blaster who didn’t hesitate to shoot at the first sign of trouble. Under your cloak, your fingers swiftly hooked your lightsaber so it hung in the back instead. The blaster replaced your well loved weapon on your side, the bulk of it an unfamiliar weight against your thigh.

Chewie’s stomps down the corridor had you looking up. He let out a growl, and you glanced at Han, so he could relay the message. Shyriiwook wasn’t exactly hard to learn, but only a few days of exposure to the language wasn’t nearly enough for you to understand him.

“Stay close,” he repeated, “and keep your head down.”

The ramp opened up, and you silently followed behind the Wookie. Your senses were stretched thin, feeling the subtle pulse of the Force beneath the hum of the outpost. It guided your steps, alerting you to danger before it appeared. Han took the lead, his hand firmly attached to the blaster on his holster as he weaved through the narrow metal corridors. The people were a mixture of strange and scary, carrying weapons that looked like they could decimate entire crowds with a single shot. You kept your head down, just like Han said, and stuck to Chewie’s side, his tall frame a small comfort in the middle of the intimidating unknown.

As you approached the smuggler’s crate, a pair of guards stepped forward, weapons raised. Han flashed his trademark grin and pulled a handful of credits.

“Friendly transaction,” he said smoothly.

But something was off. Your instincts screamed. You barely had time to nudge the nearest guard with a subtle Force push, sending him stumbling back just as a hidden squad burst from the shadows, weapons blazing.

‘Cover me!” Han shouted, diving behind a stack of crates.

Blaster fire echoed, but you moved with grace, dodging bolts, using tiny Force ripples to disarm and trip attackers without revealing the true extent of your power. It was challenging at first, trying to maneuver without igniting your lightsaber and finishing the firefight as soon as it started. But eventually, the unnaturalness of fighting without a weapon eased. Your blaster was in your hand yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to shoot so you holstered it back. Instead, you subtly redirected the bolts, making sure they skimmed past the three of you and found their way back to the shooters instead.

Chewie roared, charging into the fray, scattering foes with brute force. You threw a glance at Han, just to make sure he was too busy to notice how one of the shooters too close to him stumbled over nothing. It surprised you, how normal it felt for the three of you to move as a chaotic but effective unit.

As the ambush thinned, you found yourself unholsting the blaster again. The weight was unfamiliar, but it helped calm down some of your nerves. Moreover, it might be a little suspicious if they didn’t see you use it at all, and the last thing you needed right now was more attention for something you could have avoided altogether. Within minutes, the fight was over, and the shipment was secured.

The fight itself had been short, but moving the cargo was another matter. The crate was big, half a ton at least, and wedged into the far side of the docking bay. With the thugs scattered but not necessarily gone, speed was everything.

Han and Chewie worked fast, one hauling, the other covering. You kept your eyes on the shadows, trying not to draw attention to the fact that you were making their work just a little easier. When Han strained against the weight of the crate, it seemed to shift a touch more smoothly, never enough to make him suspect, but just enough to shave precious seconds.

They muscled the container onto a repulsor dolly and shoved it down the narrow walkway, blaster fire still ringing in the distance as the retreating shooters regrouped. You slipped to the rear, occasionally toppling a stack of crates “accidentally” to block your pursuers.

By the time you reached the landing pad, Chewie was already halfway up the Falcon’s ramp, barking orders in his guttural growl. You and Han heaved the crate up together, the ship’s hydraulics hissing as the ramp sealed shut.

Within moments, the Falcon blasted off, streaking away from the outpost just as a half-dozen enemy ships scrambled after you. Han, grinning like a man who’d just cheated death again, punched the hyperdrive.

The Falcon’s cockpit was bathed in the cool blue as he sat in the pilot’s seat, one leg slung over the other, tapping his fingers against the armrest. Chewie was in the co-pilot’s chair, running post-jump diagnostics. You lingered in the doorway, trying to look casual as you watched the swirling tunnel of light outside.

“Who were those people?” you asked, taming the flyaways that stuck to your sweaty forehead.

“Blackstar Syndicate,” he muttered. “Bunch of lowlife scavengers who’ll sell their own boots if the price is right. Must’ve gotten wind of the durasteel plates and decided to swoop in.”

Chewie growled a low agreement.

Han didn’t look at you when he spoke. “You move pretty quick for a kid who says they’ve never run jobs before.”

You froze for a heartbeat, masking it with a shrug. “Guess I’m just lucky.”

Han’s eyebrow ticked upward. “Lucky’s tripping over a loose cable and not breaking your neck. You? You were duckin’ blaster bolts before they even got close. You seein’ the future or something?”

You gave him a crooked smile. “Good reflexes. That’s all.”

Han leaned back, studying you like a sabacc player weighing a risky hand. “I’ve seen good reflexes. Yours are… different.”

Chewie let out a soft rumble, his tone curious but not accusatory.

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your voice steady. “I said I would pull my weight. Why is that so surprising now? You think I’m hiding something?”

Han’s grin was quick and thin. “Kid, everyone is hiding something. I’m just deciding if yours is gonna get us killed.”

The cockpit went silent again, save for the ship’s steady hum. You let your gaze drift to the stars, forcing your breathing to slow. You couldn’t let him see the truth, not yet. But the way Han was watching you out of the corner of his eye told you he wasn’t going to stop pestering you.

He had said it with that half-grin. Like it was just another casual Solo jab, but the sound of it made your stomach tighten. If only he knew. If he had the faintest idea that the moment the Empire caught a whisper of you, their faces— his and Chewie’s— would be plastered on wanted lists from here to the core.

You managed a smirk, the same mask you had been perfecting since the moment you stepped out of that freighter on Tatooine. “Guess you’ll just have to take your chances.”

Han chuckled and turned back to the controls, conversation over for him. But not for you.

Inside, the words dug like a thorn. You were going to get them killed. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but the danger was there every second you stayed aboard.

And yet you stayed.

You slowly began losing track of time as the number of jobs you ran along with the smugglers began to rack up in double digits. Weeks had blurred past in a haze of hyperspace jumps, shady docking bays, and the smell of engine grease that clung to everything aboard the Falcon. Jobs came and went, some easy runs with quick credits, others tangled with double-crosses and blaster fire, but somehow, the three of you always made it out in one piece.

Han taught you the rhythm of the ship, how to read the soft pitch in the hyperdrive’s hum that meant it was running smooth, how to cut the sublight engines without jostling the cargo. He even taught you how to maneuver the Corellian freighter around when you eventually confessed you knew nothing about piloting in the first place. He had been reluctant at first, afraid that you might damage his beloved starship, but Chewie knew exactly how to smooth the smuggler’s sore spots. The Falcon ended up with scratches on her belly but you promised to fix it yourself, so Han’s wrath had died down pretty quickly after that. The skills Peli had taught you back on Tatooine were becoming more than useful in the new direction your life had taken, and you couldn’t be more thankful for the woman who undoubtedly saved your life.

Chewie, on the other hand, made sure you knew where the ration packs were stored, and which ones were safe to eat without gagging. Understanding the Wookie was no longer a guessing game. His growls could say more than most people managed with words.

They, in turn, learned you could hold your own in a firefight and had a knack for spotting trouble before it landed on your lap, though they never asked how.

Still, the guilt was there. It followed you from system to system, a shadow at the edge of every laugh, every shared meal, every job you survived together. You would wake up in the crew quarters some night, staring at the low ceiling, wondering how long you could keep the truth from catching up.

But every time the thought of leaving crossed your mind, the sound of Han’s dry, amused voice or Chewie’s warm rumble pushed it back. You told yourself it would only be for one more job. And then another. And another.

Three weeks, and the Falcon almost felt like home. Which scared you more than anything else.

The job on Veyra IX had been quick and easy. There was no ambush or blaster fire waiting for you. The moon was a humid, bioluminescent jungle world whose air was thick with microscopic pollen-like spores from its native flora. It had looked beautiful through the viewport of the ship, the ethereal blue and purple glow of the spores mixing to create something so unique and different from the rest of the moons that orbited the planet of Veyraan.

It wasn’t until you had gotten back to the ship that you noticed the spores. It clung stubbornly to everything— your hair, your skin, your clothes. Under the sun, they had been invisible, but under the low artificial lights of the freighter, they glowed, like bright stardust sprinkled across the body.

Chewie had let out a pleased growl, saying something about how the distinct, sweet and metallic scent of the pollen masked Han’s strong sweaty smell. You had stifled a laugh, sharing an amused look with the Wookie before climbing onto the bunk above him for a much needed nap.

That had been hours ago.

The Wookie’s loud snores filled the quarters like the constant hum of the ship. You turned around in your bunk. Your eyes stung, but sleep wouldn’t find you. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the man with the piercing golden gaze. Some times he drowned you again, others he just stared you down until his eyes were only two pricks of bright light in the darkness.

A shiver ran down your spine, and the hair at the nape of your neck stood up. You let out an exhale.

It was just the cold, you said quietly, yet you made no move to cover yourself with the soft blanket.

You gave Chewie one last glance, before quietly climbing down the bunk and heading out of the crew quarters. The cot Han preferred was unmade, but you knew that didn’t mean anything. He didn’t care to make his bed up, not unless someone paid him for it. You couldn’t really blame him. You would have probably done the same if you had to survive Imperial academy too.

Padding quietly through the dim corridors, you headed for the refresher. You felt Han somewhere near, close enough that you could almost picture the exact way he was sitting. Likely in the cockpit, boots up on the console, feigning relaxation while his mind chased old worries. You could sense his faint irritation at the navicomputer’s slow processing. You felt it wash over you, and silently you hoped it was enough to mask the hammering of your heart against your ribcage.

You slipped into the refresher, letting the door hiss shut behind you, sealing you into the small, metal-lined space. The bioluminescent spores still clung to you like a second skin. The shower had been useless, and even your clean clothes now reeked of that sweet scent Chewie seem to love.

You removed your damp tunic, sighing as the cold air kissed the skin that was left exposed by the tank top you had underneath. You bunched the fabric in one hand, rubbing it over your face and neck. The cloth came away streaked with blue and purple, pollen that clung stubbornly to your damp skin, catching in the creases of your elbows and the hollow of your throat. You scrubbed harder, but the pollen only smeared further, the glow brightening under the dim light.

A huff escaped your chest. You didn’t know what you were doing. Even the shower hadn’t removed all of the evidence that you had been on Veyra IX, but you still kept trying, pressing the fabric harder like it would make a difference, as if you could wipe away not just the pollen, but the lingering panic in your chest.

You wished you had left that nightmare on Eredeen Prime too, like you had left your Master.

You blinked, keeping your tears at bay as you palmed the control of the sink. Water gushed out in a thin, steady, stream. Your tunic laid abandoned on the counter, and you focused on the chill, letting it bite onto your skin, hoping it could wash away the residue of the misery still clinging to you.

You leaned against the counter, palms flat on the cold durasteel. You kept your gaze down, not paying particular attention to anything but the cold stream that flowed down the sink.

You were too busy zoning out to notice the subtle changes.

At first, it was just the sterile tang of cleanser, the kind the refresher carried only every couple of days as it was cleaned— nothing unusual. After came the subtle scent of polished leather and blaster lubricant.

But then, with another heartbeat, a third note slipped in.

A trace of cologne. Not flashy, but clean and understated, something crisp with citrus or cedar.

Your eyebrows furrowed. It wasn’t the usual mix of soap and aftershave you’d expect from Han, or the musky, earthy smell that clung to Chewie’s thick fur. This was sharper.

You tried to place it, but it felt too out of place, like an echo from some distant world you’d never been part of.

Maker, were you going crazy?

You cupped your hands under the cool stream, letting the water pool and then spill over your fingers. You brought it up quickly, splashing the water against your cheeks and forehead. Droplets scattered, catching the dim light as they slid down your face and neck.

You avoided the mirror, knowing the pollen lining your skin would only send another wave of hopelessness within you. Your palms found their way back on the counter, your body relishing on the coldness of the durasteel. Your eyes trailed down your arm, slowly assessing the imprint the spores had left on your skin.

Something moved in the corner of your eye, but you scratched it up to the water blurring your vision.

Then something in the mirror moved. Nothing quick or sudden. Just your hand twitching.

A coldness washed over you.

Your hand had been still in that moment. You had been staring right at it.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

You glanced at the bottom corner of the mirror, where your hand should have been.

In its place, a man’s hand, rough and scarred, laid flat against the counter. Your pulse hammered so loud it threatened to drown out everything else.

Your gaze jerked upwards, heart lurching as the rest of him appeared. Broad shoulders, muscles taut and defined, rippling beneath pale skin marked by faint scars, silent stories of battles fought and survived. His chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, bare and exposed, a stark contrast to the sterile metal walls around him.

His jaw was clean-shaven, sharp and strong, catching the faint light in a way that made him seem both real and unreal. For a moment, you found whatever you were staring at beautiful, like the mesmerising distinct glow of Veyra IX from space, but then your eyes met his.

Icy blue eyes.

Unlike anything you have ever seen before.

Intense and unreadable.

A cold dread settled over you, chilling your bones as shock spiraled into raw, gripping fear. You wanted to scream, to flee, but your feet felt rooted, caught in the grip of something dark and impossible. Your legs trembled as you stepped away from the mirror. The room spun slightly, and you reached out brushing the wall for support.

Your hand found the control of the door, and you stumbled back through the doorway, every noise amplified in your raw nerves. The terror didn’t fade, it settled deep inside you, a shadow lurking beneath the surface.

A pair of arms found its way around you, and you jolted, heart leaping as you whipped around, eyes wide and wild.

Standing there was Han, his expression flickering between concern and surprise.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You swallowed hard, the sudden contact breaking the fragile barrier of your panic, but also sending a fresh wave of shock through you.

“I’m fine,” you stammered, though your voice betrayed you.

Han didn’t press, just nodded and gave a small, knowing smirk. “Sure you are.”

You glanced back at the mirror, it had snapped back to your own reflection. Wide eyes, blood-drained face and the bright pollen on your skin. Sweat beaded at your temples. You brought your shaky hand up to wipe it off.

“Just a… nightmare,” you muttered, praying that the man wouldn’t notice the fear and terror swimming in your eyes. How could you even begin to explain whatever that was? You were hallucinating? Your mind was conjuring up the reflection of the man who had killed your Master instead of your own? First, you had seen him in your dream, lurking in the shadows, and now you were beginning to see him wide awake.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as if sizing up how bad it was.

“Nightmares, huh?” he said, voice low but not unkind. “Been a while since I had one that good.” He gave a small smirk, then his tone softened just a bit. “Look, kid, dreams mess with your head, but they don’t own you. If you wanna talk. I’m around. If not, just don’t let it catch you off guard.” He shrugged. Turning away with that trademark half-smile, but there was something in his eyes. Quiet and steady, that said he got your back, even if he didn’t say it outright.

You nodded, slowly coming to rest against the wall where Han had just been.

What was happening to you?

You could still feel your heart pounding as your chest heaved with short and quick breaths, but you buried it under the same calm you had worn for so long now. Smile, deflect, move on.

It was just your mind making things up. Like that dream.

You swallowed. Yes, exactly like that dream.

It was nothing but the fear and the terror you had bottled up inside of you.

Luke had gone into the refresher for nothing more than a rinse and a moment of quiet. The last few days had been hectic as the ground forces converged towards Anchorhead, the last of Tatooine that hadn’t been searched yet. All they had was a couple of unreliable eye witnesses, drunkards and intoxicated people high on spice that were purely motivated by the credits. Fett had said that you had help, and that made matters even more complicated. The chances of finding you would drastically decrease if it was another Jedi, but no matter, Jedi or not, he was going to find you. No Jedi had ever survived him before, and they weren’t going to start now.

The room smelled faintly of soap and warm metal, steam still curling from the vent where he let the water run too hot.

He leaned forward over the sink, bracing his palms on the counter, watching the condensation bead and streak down the mirror. His own reflection swam there, blurred and familiar. His blond locks were damp from the steam, some clinging to the nape of his neck and his forehead. Luke pondered quietly, his mind searching for answers as he put himself in your shoes.

Another stow-away? Or would he have switched it up, just in case?

Commercial liners were too risky. Too many eyes and too many ears.

Smugglers? Only if he had money. And he doubted you had any.

He breathed through his nose, running his fingers through the hot stream flowing down the sink. He felt a prick of something heavy blooming in his chest. Fear and terror spread, the emotions as foreign as the satisfaction he once felt when he’d complete his missions. Luke ran a hand through his hair, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Then he looked up, only to find out his reflection wasn’t his own.

The fog shifted, shapes sharpened, and a different reflection stared back at him.

A sickening sweet stench filled the sterile bathroom, along with the faint smell of leather and grease.

You, with your gaze strictly downward, tracking the water like it owed you something. Your hair clung damply to your skin, your breathing quick and uneven. The background wasn’t his spacious fresher, it was a different space entirely, cramped and messy, with a faint hum in the air that wasn’t from his ship.

For a heartbeat, he forgot to breathe.

Luke had seen you from a distance before, the day Kelriss died and then in your dream, but it was never this close. You weren’t an illusion, you were right there, only a pane of glass away. So close, he felt like he could reach out and touch you.

Something whispered, he shouldn’t be seeing this, and still, he couldn’t look away. The curve of your neck, the subtle tilt of your head, the way your eyes darted to your hands and then the bottom of the mirror as if sensing.

For a long moment, he simply watched you, trying to memorize the details, trying to understand how he had ended up here, and why it mattered so much. He dropped his gaze to your neck, and he felt his ears warming up. He had been too busy admiring you, tracking down the water droplets that flowed down your neck, to even notice the blueish purple glow that lined your skin. Luke averted his eyes for a split second, the intimacy of the situation downing on him. Part of him knew why he didn’t look away sooner, but he didn’t allow himself the onslaught of those thoughts, because that would mean acknowledging that he yearned for warmth amidst the coldness that plagued his life.

A wave of fresh fear pulsed through the Force, and Luke glanced back at your reflection in the mirror. His head tilted slowly to the side, as if the sight wasn’t quite registering in his mind yet.

Were you seeing him too? Like the last time?

Just as the thought crossed, you looked up.

Wide eyed, with horror dancing in your irises.

He wanted to press a hand against the glass, but he was afraid it might ripple or vanish, wishing for a way to connect without breaking the impossible boundary. He felt a pull he didn’t understand, an urge to memorise the reflected image and commit it to memory.

Then you flinched, and the image broke like ripples over water. His reflection snapped back into place. His own emotions came back to him as his head cleared from the fog of yours.

Luke stayed there, staring, the stream now feeling too thick, the room too small. His heartbeat picked up, and he pushed out of the fresher, reaching for his dark tunics and the robes that hung from the hook by his bunk. He didn’t allow himself time to ponder about what just happened, how you could see each other, how he could feel your Force signature so clearly one second, before it vanished like it had never been there to begin with.

Finally, he had you.

That blue-purple glow must have been from somewhere. Preferably somewhere where the pollen was bioluminescent. He slipped on his robes as quickly as he could, smashed the control panel of his door and headed straight to the bridge. The lights of the ship flickered in his peripheral vision, the hum of engines louder in his ears than ever.

By the time he reached the bridge, he was nearly breathless. He didn’t pause, didn’t wait to explain. He slammed a hand on the console, scanning the readings, his mind already calculating trajectories, alert levels, and escape routes.

The bridge crew turned to him, startled, “Commander?” If they noticed his disheveled hair and damp inner robes, they had the common sense to keep quiet about it.

“Pull up the moons of Veyraan. I need the one with the bioluminescent pollen,” he said, voice taut, “Prepare for the jump to lightspeed.”

“My lord, the Stormtrooper squads are not done with the sweep yet.”

“Do as I say, Ensign.” The young man looked away in panic, his fingers fumbling with the controls as he nodded.

Luke turned, sensing the Lieutenant’s signature even before he had crossed the bridge. “Lieutenant Voss, good you arrived just in time.”

The man with the salt and pepper hair stopped beside him, eyes racking through the robes and the cloak hastily thrown over his frame. Voss didn’t say anything, just nodded at his instructions, and went straight to work.

Luke stood from his hunched position over the console, back straight and satisfaction pulsing in him.

One of the deck sergeants stilled, and Voss was quick to slide by her console. He turned, the neutral expression he always wore still on his face. “It appears we have a visitor, my Lord.”

Vader’s presence struck him before any sight or sound. It was a pressure in the air, cold and immense, like the weight of the deep ocean pressing against his chest. His Master’s Force signature was unlike any other, dense, impenetrable, and threaded with a darkness that hummed like a low, endless storm.

At that moment, Luke went rigid. His Master wouldn’t have come all this way if it wasn’t important. He would just have called through the Force instead. The fact that he was here in person meant the matter carried weight, the kind that couldn’t be trusted to relays, signals, or even the shadow-quiet of a mental summon. Or perhaps, it was something Vader knew his apprentice would appreciate hearing from his Master himself. Either way, the presence of Vader’s signature twisted something inside of him. Somehow, he knew already that he wouldn’t like whatever he had to say.

And he had been right.

He knelt in front of Vader in the meditation room aboard the Executor. Tatooine still loomed in the distance, but his Master paid no heed to the planet through the viewport, ignoring it like it was just another inconvenience that could be settled with a single clench of his fist.

Vader’s presence filled the chamber long before he spoke, heavy and cold against Luke’s senses. The white glow of the viewport lights reflected faintly off the black cybernetics.

“The inquisitors will accompany you,” Vader said at last, his voice the low grind of stone on steel. “They will ensure the Jedi is found and brought before me.”

Luke inclined his head in a controlled nod. “As you wish,” he said aloud, his tone respectful.

Inside, the words felt like grit and ash in his mouth. The hunt was his, claimed the moment he first felt you through the Force. Every lead, every witness, every trace of your presence was already locked into the mental map he carried. You weren’t just another fugitive, you were prey that belonged to him.

The Inquisitors would only clutter the trail. They were carrion birds, circling noisily, eager for scraps. They wouldn’t feel the subtle currents in the Force as he did. They wouldn’t understand the precision required. They were outsiders who would rush, make noise and cheapen the capture.

If Vader was sending the Inquisitors, then he doubted Luke’s ability to finish the hunt alone. The thought cut deeper than he expected. Not as an insult, but as a wound to his pride. It stung, sharp as a blade’s edge, not because it was a challenge to his loyalty, but because it was a challenge to his skill.

Vader’s black mask titled slightly, studying him. Through the Force, Luke could feel the deliberate weight of the decision, not distrust but a cold calculation. Vader was desperate, so much so that he was assigning the Inquisitors to his mission. Luke swallowed a scoff, as if they would make a difference.

A question pressed at the edge of his thoughts, one he had to force down before it reached his tongue. Luke’s mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, then closed again. The moment passed, swallowed by the weight of the silence between them.

Luke turned to leave, but the question remained in his mind, faint but persistent. Halfway to the door, Vader’s voice cut through the silence.

“You have questions.”

Luke froze. His head turned slightly, just enough to glance back. “No, my Lord,” he said evenly.

Vader stepped forward, the slow, deliberate sound of his boots echoing in the chamber. “You wonder why she must be taken alive.”

The air seemed to thicken. Luke didn’t confirm, but he didn’t deny it either.

“Her death would be… wasteful,” Vader continued, each word measured, deliberate. “There are uses for her the blade cannot serve. Knowledge she carries. Paths she can open.”

Luke said nothing, but through the Force he felt the undercurrent, not just strategy, but something else, something Vader wasn’t giving voice to. Luke felt the sting of betrayal at his Master’s words. Yes, he already knew you had knowledge Vader wanted so badly, but what was it? What secret could Vader not trust him to hold?

The black mask tilted down toward him. “Your role is the hunt. The purpose will be mine.”

Luke bowed his head. “Understood.”

As he left, his thoughts were anything but measured.

Vader’s explanation hadn’t been enough. Frustration tiled on top of the pressure of Vader’s expectations. It felt like he had been given only half the map and told to find the way.

And then there were the Inquisitors. Their presence on his hunt was an irritant he couldn’t shake. The idea of you being taken alive by anyone else, or worse, mishandled, was almost unbearable.

He kept walking, jaw tight, the controlled mask never slipping. But under that stillness, the resolve hardened. He would find you before they did. He would deliver you alive as ordered, but not because the Inquisitors had helped. Because he had hunted you down. Perhaps then, would his Master finally deem him worthy enough to keep his secrets.

Chapter Text

The swirling faraway lights of Veyra IX weren't as captivating as the bioluminescent spores lining your skin, but Luke let his eyes rest on the planet nonetheless. The bitterness of the company he now had to endure hadn’t washed away yet, not with the ever present Force signatures of the Inquisitors slowly itching at his composure. He let out a concealed sigh, fingers tightening in his fists as the door to the conference room opened with a hiss.

Voss stepped inside, his quiet steps barely echoing through the dimly lit room. He stopped beside him, calmness radiating from the Lieutenant as if they weren’t at the most critical stage of their operation.

“The Inquisitors are awaiting your orders, my Lord,” Voss said, crossing his hands behind his back. His datapad stayed clutched in his hand, as if it was grounding him from the inevitable failure of their ongoing search.

“Just as we discussed, Lieutenant,” Luke replied flatly. He didn’t bother glancing at the man, nor did he try to voice out his thoughts at finding his most trusted officer’s lack of faith disturbing.

It was quiet for a while, before Voss found his voice once again.

“Our target will most likely be on the outskirts of the Fortress, my Lord. I doubt it would be wise to concentrate the search on the Southern hemisphere instead.” Luke let the tip of his tongue slide across his lower lip. He understood where the Lieutenant was coming from, but the thought of the Inquisitors even retracing your steps made his skin crawl.

“The Inquisitors don’t know that, Lieutenant, and I intend to keep it that way.” Voss’s signature settled in a steady understanding. Luke didn’t have to explain. He never did.

“Very well. Should I have your shuttle and the troopers ready for take-off, then?”

“I will be going alone,” Luke replied with a tight finality in his voice.

Voss stilled, his eyebrows going up as he strained against the want to advise otherwise. In the end, he nodded, his stoicness wrapping all around him. He had no reason to doubt the Commander, and even if he did, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Voss liked to think that’s how he survived so far. His uncanny ability to remain calm and collected even in the face of danger had earned him his well deserved spot besides the Empire’s Blade. He had been full of doubt once, his perfectly crafted walls chipping away to reveal the mild irritation and displeasure at being assigned to a fresh-faced boy he doubted had even gotten a taste of battle before.

He had learned not to question the integrity of the man who reported to Vader himself barely a few days into their first campaign.

The ruthlessness of the assassin had quickly earned him a reputation across the crew of the Obsidian. No one dared to cross him, and no one dared to utter his name even in his absence.

“Good,” Luke drawled as he shifted on his feet. His mind kept slipping abruptly to blurred images of you, and he felt his gut twist at the disappointment of not seeing your face as clearly as he did back in the refresher. Finally, he looked away, preventing his heated gaze from burning a hole on Veyra IX, and turned to walk out of the conference room.

Luke found himself back in front of the mirror. He opened the tap, only to close it seconds later. His hands wouldn’t stay still. He fidgetted around, looking for something to ground him back to the real world, but all he could think about was the memory of you burnt onto the back of his head.

He bit his lip. You looked so scared of him. It should have brought him pleasure, but it didn’t. Instead, he felt unease tingling his fingertips, so he gripped the counter once again, fingers tightening around the edge, and he cursed. He cursed the Force for whatever it was trying to tell him, whatever he couldn’t understand, because all he had ever been taught his entire life was how to bend it to his will, not how to embrace the soft whispers that spoke his name and tried to guide him towards something he wasn’t sure he wanted.

Yes, he craved something real, but he wasn’t so desperate as to fall for the warmth of the first person he felt. He had had some pleasurable encounters with women before, but none as intimate as whatever the mirror incident was. He had never allowed himself any emotion that tugged at his heartstrings even in his most vulnerable state, free from the confines of his clothes and his duty to the Empire.

His jaw tightened. Luke stepped away from the counter, a new resolve settling over his bones. He couldn’t let his personal feelings get between him and his mission. It wasn’t the way of the Sith to feel anything more than one kind of emotion. Anger, hate, greed, selfish pleasure. Anything else was pointless, a mere distraction that pulled him away from the Sith’s ultimate goal of achieving unlimited power.

Luke carefully peeled the layers of his set of black robes off. His shoulders dropped just an inch, a quick respite from the heavy layers he preferred wearing to shield himself from the artificial cold of the Obsidian. His fingers were quick to reach for the thinner ones, robes he was sure wouldn’t choke him with the humidity of the forest surrounding the old Fortress that served as the unofficial spaceport of the moon.

The hangar doors loomed ahead, a vast mouth of durasteel swallowing the shadows of the corridor. As he stepped through, the air changed. It became colder, sharper, carrying the faint tang of fuel and ozone. Rows of TIE fighters hung from their racks like predatory insects, wings jutting upward, engines silent but waiting.

His boots rang against the deck plating, every step measured, deliberate. Officers and ground crew turned as he passed, snapping to attention without a word. Their silence was not just discipline, it was lined with a faint unease. His presence always pulled at the air, pressing down on the hangar like gravity itself.

His TIE advanced stood apart from the others, painted in the same black that cloaked him. Its hull gleamed faintly beneath the harsh lights, the sharp edge of its wings cutting clean lines against the gloom.

He approached it with the calm intensity of ritual. Gloves tightened around his hands. His cloak slipped from his shoulders and was folded, placed into the waiting grasp of a silent aide. Without breaking stride, he mounted the ladder to the cockpit. The canopy hissed open. Luke paused just long enough to survey the hangar— the scurrying crews, the marshallers littering the floor and the troopers guarding the bay.

Sliding into the pilot’s seat, he rested his hands on the controls. The systems thrummed to life beneath his experienced touch, consoles bathing the cockpit in pale green glow. He drew in a slow breath of relief, happy to finally have the opportunity to fly again. The familiar vibration of the engines beneath him sent a shiver up his arms. It stirred something in him. A flicker of a memory. The first time he had sat in a cockpit, far younger than most cadets who had already touched a simulator.

His Master had taught him that flight was survival and dominance. Luke’s playtime had been endless flight drills, but through that, he began to love the feeling of it, not as freedom, but as power.

The TIE’s shriek cut across the sky, scattering birds from the canopy below. Branches trembled as the black craft descended, its ion engines flaring blue through the trees. The clearing was narrow, too narrow for most pilots to risk, but Luke guided the ship in without hesitation.

His hand moved with the precision Vader had drilled into him. To any observer it might have looked effortless, but Luke felt it all. The air biting against the wings, the subtle give of the earth beneath the repulsorlifts, the way the forest itself seemed to recoil from his approach.

The TIE touched down with a wince of compressed air, the landing struts sinking into soft soil. Engines whined down, leaving behind an aching silence broken only by the forest’s tentative return to life.

Inside the cockpit, Luke lingered a moment before unsealing the canopy. The smell of fuel and metal gave way to damp moss, earth, the rain still clinging to the leaves, and the saccharine smell of the spores that had given you away filtering through the air. His breath caught, just slightly, as the scent triggered the emotions he had been pushing down. Instead he focused on the sight of the green stretching endless in every direction, his mind already skipping to the paths you might have hiked through the forest.

The woods pressed in around him, dense and alive. Branches reached like grasping fingers, moss muffled the earth beneath his boots, yet even here, the Force whispered of movement. He didn’t need to see you. Every subtle shift, a bent twig, a disturbed patch of ferns, the soft hum of disturbed air, spoke of your passage.

He paused, closing his eyes for a heartbeat. The presence of others rippled faintly around yours. Not Jedi, but strong, stubborn and protective. He felt them, two anchors of intent, rolling with your movements, keeping you just out of reach. His jaw tightened at the sensation. They complicated the hunt, but did not deter it.

A faint breeze carried the scent of spores and the smoke from the now distant engines of his TIE. Luke inhaled deliberately, letting it fill him, grounding him in both the world and in the Force. He advanced slowly, boots silent, eyes scanning. Fallen branches bore the imprint of your weight, leaves bent in patterns that betrayed your passage.

Every sound seemed amplified in the forest, be it a bird’s cry, a snapping twig or the whispering of the wind through the canopy. Luke let it wash over him, filtering it through the Force. He could feel the way the forest had bent around you, almost shielding you, but he wasn’t that naive to skip over the bubble.

There was a thrill to it, buried beneath the ice of discipline. The thrill of a hunt where the quarry was elusive, the terrain complex, the obstacles real. He felt you, faint, fleeting, like a spark against shadow. You knew you were being hunted, and that was enough to keep him moving, to keep him patient and relentless.

Just as the trees thinned, Luke found himself drawn to the imposing oak tree that stood like a lone sentinel. It loomed over the others, dwarfing everything else without apology. His fingertips brushed the grooves and the ridges of the grey-brown bark, a stark difference from that of the Hornbeams that conquered the forest. A ripple of motion reached him, faint and distinct. Someone had passed here recently.

He inhaled, letting the Force extend through him. He continued moving forward, careful and deliberate, every step aligned with the subtle currents he traced. The forest became more than terrain, it was a map, a record, and through it, he glimpsed your path, your choices, and the ripple of others he could not yet understand.

A gnarled root jutted into his path. He paused, biting down on the tip of his glove to free his hand, before brushing it slowly. And through that simple touch, the vision opened. A stumble, a hand gripping the oak tree, a sharp jolt of muscles correcting, and that teasing, playful presence weaving around you. He didn’t withdraw his hand, his fingertips still against the moist moss as he flickered his eyes around, patient and observant as he searched for any more hint of you in the forest.

A sharp sting bit through the tip of his index finger. He froze for a heartbeat, the unexpected pain slicing through his concentration. His hand twitched, and he glanced down to find a dark insect clinging to his fingertip. He tilted his finger, observing as its wings shone in the sunlight that peaked through the canopy. The metallic blue and purple pigment gleamed like the spores, but not unnaturally as it did on your skin or your hair. Blood welled beneath the pressure of its mandibles, a thin smear creeping toward his knuckle.

“Kriffing vermin,” he muttered, voice flat but edged, more a precise verdict than a curse. With a quick, surgical movement, he pinched the beetle between two fingers and crushed it until its shell cracked. The carcass dropped lifelessly to the leaf covered floor, joining the never-ending cycle of the harsh ecosystem.

For a moment, Luke studied the mark it left behind, the faint bead of blood glistening on his skin. His nose flared in annoyance, the muscle in his cheek flexing once. Such a small thing, such a pitiful interruption, and yet it drew blood.

He pressed the glove back on, leather grinding against the sting. It looked like the forest had enough of his poking, so he turned around and headed down the path that led to the impregnable stone Fortress.

A couple of hours later, Luke trekked his way back to his TIE advanced, his boots carrying him with unhurried precision through the slippery undergrowth as a thin sheet of rain cascaded down.

He had enough. Not everything, not yet, but enough. Your movements, your path, the shadows of those who sheltered you. The companions were not a hindrance. Two others moved with you. One loud and arrogant, the other primitive and a little hairy. They were leverage. Pieces on the board to be maneuvered, used and discarded. The thought sat in him with a quiet satisfaction, a weight that steadied rather than agitated.

He slowed as he neared his starfighter, his gloved hand trailing along the smooth edge of the hull. The fighter was cold and precise. Loyal. Unlike the people who didn’t hesitate to throw you under the speeder. It wasn’t difficult to squeeze information out of people who had everything to lose. To them, you were nothing more than a means to an end. The man who had sold you some sparksticks hadn’t hesitated to spill the beans about the two who had been by your side. A Wookie and a human male. Smugglers, by the sound of it.

He climbed into the cockpit, settling into the seat with practiced ease. As the canopy sealed shut, he felt himself leaning back on his seat. The sting of blood on his finger, the whisper of voices in the trees, the image of your path down the forest, all of it folded neatly into place in his mind.

He had enough to continue the hunt. And the hunt was all that mattered.

Luke’s boots echoed across the hangar as he returned, his heavy cloak, the only thing that wasn’t streaked with a fluorescent hue, back around his shoulders. Three Inquisitors waited, tense and eager to deliver results.

Seventh Sister, composed, stepped forward. “Commander,” she began, voice steady. “We’ve scoured the southern forest sector. No signs of the target. Only faint traces, but nothing concrete.” Her eyes flicked to him, a trace of compliance lingering from their confrontation weeks prior.

Luke’s gaze swept over them, calm and unreadable. “And?”

Third Brother leaned forward, his movement jittery, like a predator held in check. His angular mask glinted under the overhead lights, and his tone carried a sharp, impatient edge. “No encounters, Commander. Movement observed, but it could have been unrelated. She was not present when we arrived.” The Zabrak traced the ring of his lightsaber to get rid of the layer of the sticking pollen, fingers twitching as the Commander’s signature pulsed of something alike to displeasure.

Tenth Brother stood slightly apart, his stance rigid, almost ceremonial, but the tension in his hands betrayed a controlled aggression. His voice was deeper, slower, and deliberate. He started, a hint of defiance in his tone, “Pad Three shows nothing definitive. No boarding detected while we were there. The target clearly outpaced us.”

Luke’s hands rested behind his back. Inside, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. He had guided them exactly where he wanted, to a place he knew was empty, while he moved freely along your path. Every step of their search confirmed his control, and their reports, while thorough, were utterly useless.

“Resistance? Encounters?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer to his question.

“None,” Seventh Sister admitted. She had learnt to follow his lead, suppressing any instinct to challenge him. Something in her throat caught, and she held herself back from gingerly touching her neck in comfort and memory. “She had departed before we arrived. It’s the only explanation.”

Luke’s expression stayed still, almost detached, but his mind savoured the moment. The Seventh Sister’s passivity reminded him of the respect, or at least the caution, he had instilled, while the other two still bristled at his authority, eager to assert themselves yet unable to influence the outcome.

Third Brother’s lips curled in displeasure, “Commander, with all due respect, our methods—”

“You will document everything,” Luke interrupted, voice quiet but cutting. “Even what seems insignificant. I will decide what is useful. The rest…” he let the words linger, “... is already in motion.” Luke didn’t care if the Inquisitors didn’t like being bossed around. Contrary to their beliefs, they were nothing more than glorified trackers with insignificant knowledge of how the Force worked.

The Inquisitor clenched his jaw in response. He watched as the Tenth Brother’s hands flexed at his sides, but neither dared press further. Only the Seventh Sister remained composed, silently acknowledging his authority.

The Commander turned, cloak whispering across the hangar floor. His steps faded down the corridor, and Seventh Sister let the tightness in her chest ease for the first time since the start of their intel debrief.

“He still moves like he owns the place,” she muttered, finally finding the strength to cross her arms and reveal her distaste.

“You think nodding along everything he says makes you clever?” Third Brother broke the tense silence with a sneer, his eyes fixed on the Mirialan.

The Tenth Brother followed the fiery gaze of the Zabrak, and he found his own emotions being fueled by the irritation radiating from the man. “You’re too quick to agree. Makes the rest of us look defiant,” he added silently, sharing a glance with the man beside him.

“I’m following protocol,” Seventh Sister said evenly, her own frown falling as she schooled her face in a mask of indifference. “Not opinion.”

“Protocol?” Third Brother exclaimed mockingly. Then, seconds passed, and his face twisted with the look of a man who just uncovered some groundbreaking news. “Or fear? You act like you’re afraid to step out of line.”

Seventh Sister narrowed her eyes sharply. “Afraid? Don’t be ridiculous. I follow orders. Something you two should learn,” she snapped. “I know when to act… and when to survive.”

Tenth Brother leaned onto the durasteel wall, silent as he followed the back and forth between the two. “Survive?” he snorted. “That’s a convenient excuse to bending to him.”

Her jaw tightened so hard she could hear her teeth grinding in her mouth. She clenched her fists just enough to show her tension, but hid the fury running through her veins. She refused to let the effect of those words be caught by those two despicable idiots who were going to get themselves killed sooner or later. “I bend to no one.”

The brothers exchanged a look at the coldness of her voice, sensing the hidden hostility, and also the truth she refused to admit. Her fear was buried under layers of venom, difficult to track if it wasn’t for the anger slowly simmering its way to the surface. Clearly, they had poked at a vulnerable spot, something that had affected her more than they could have imagined.

The Millenium Falcon sat tucked into the edge of a crowded docking bay on Ord Mantell, her hull blending in with the grime and smoke of the spaceport. Outside, markets buzzed with smugglers, traders, and more than a few people who wouldn’t look kindly on a Wookie or someone like you hanging around unsupervised. Han had gone out hours ago, wasting no time as the ship landed on the planet, grumbling about needing to settle a tab and pick up a contact who actually paid on time.

That left the ship uncharacteristically quiet, except for the occasional creak of metal and the hum of life support.

You sat cross-legged at the dejarik table, a messy stack of sabacc cards between your hands. Chewie loomed across from you, arms folded, giving you the same patient, rumbling growl he always did when you were taking too long to play a card.

“I know, I know,” you muttered, biting your lips as you laid one down. “But I don’t trust you, Chewie. You’ve got that look again.”

Chewie barked a short laugh and tossed his own card with a flourish that sent the table vibrating.

You groaned, leaning back against the seat. “You’ve got to be cheating. I can’t prove it, but I know you are.”

The Wookie chuffed smugly, reaching over the table to scoop the small pile of credits you’d been using as counters. They weren’t real bets, just spare bolts and ration wrappers you’d found lying around in the cockpit, but he gathered them like a proud king collecting tribute.

You narrowed your eyes, determined to win the next round. “One more round. And this time. No funny business.” You had felt a spark of joy when the Wookie suggested the game to kill the boredom while waiting for Han to return. It took you back to when your Master would sit you down, teaching you an endless array of strategies that flew right over your head. He always gladly let you win any other game, but never Sabacc.

Chewie rumbled low in his throat, ears flicking back, a sound that made you grin despite yourself.

The hours passed quietly, the two of you playing hand after hand, you getting bolder, Chewie growing louder in his laughter each time you tried and failed to outwit him. By the time Han finally came striding back up the ramp, smelling of smoke and dust and muttering something about crooked card sharks and even worse bartenders, he stopped short at the sight before him. Chewbacca and you were locked in a Sabacc standoff, both scowling in seriousness.

Han blinked, "Great. Now you’ve gone and corrupted my Wookie.”

Neither of you looked up.

You clutched your cards like the galaxy depended on them, and Chewie stared over the table, letting out a triumphant rumble every time you hesitated.

Han cleared his throat. “Glad to see you two having the time of your lives while I’m out there nearly getting my teeth knocked in by a bunch of Mantellian lowlifes.”

You didn’t look up, eyes narrowing at your hand. “Your fault for running errands.”

Chewie barked a laugh, not even trying to hide it.

Han’s eyes widened theatrically. “Oh, so that’s how it is? My own copilot betrayed me for a rookie card shark?” He pointed straight at you. “You know he lets you win sometimes, right?”

Chewie let out an indignant roar, slamming a card down so hard the table rattled.

You hid your grin, finally daring to lay your last card. “Well, he didn’t let me win that one.”

The Wookie let out a smug, rolling growl, collecting his pile of bolts and wrappers while you let out a sigh in defeat.

Han shook his head, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Unbelievable. Leave for a few hours and suddenly I’m the odd one out.” He moved past you towards the galley, muttering just loud enough to hear. “Two against one.”

You scooped the scattered Sabacc deck back into your hands, shuffling with far too much determination for someone who’d just lost three games in a row, Chewie leaned back, arms crossed, rumbling with smug amusement.

“This time, I’ve got you,” you muttered, flashing him a smile.

You flicked a card down, and flinched suddenly, jerking your hand back in pain. You frowned down at your skin. Just on the tip of your finger, an angry red welt had risen. It was round and swollen, like an insect bite, not like a cut you’d expect from handling the new set of cards a little roughly.

Chewie leaned against the table with a questioning rumble, sniffing the air. There were no pests or buzzing. Nothing. The table was spotless, no sign of anything that could have bit you so hard that you drew blood.

“Just a scratch, don’t worry about it,” you muttered, flexing your hand as if it might explain itself.

Han appeared in the doorway, holding a ration pack he had peeled half open. His brow furrowed when he saw the welt. He glanced around the table, the floor, the corners of the lounge. The Falcon was old, sure, but it wasn’t exactly crawling with vermin. “Huh, looks like Chewie still got one of those nasty beetles in his fur.”

The Wookie let out a growl in protest, hands reaching for the medkit under the table.

Han narrowed his eyes, “Hey, I’m not the one who brought those onboard. I told you to shake them off before you got inside!”

You kept quiet, thinking. There weren’t any beetles left hiding in the corners of the Falcon. Han had made sure of it the second he got inside on Veyra IX, reaching for the bug spray every time one of you found one scattering around.

You shook it off, not thinking much about the strange fact that a bug bite just spawned on your finger before letting Chewie take your hand in his warm ones to clean the blood and slap a Bacta patch on the bite. “When’s the next job, anyway?” you said, interrupting so they would stop arguing about the kriffing beetles.

“In a few days. Should be easy. Didn’t hear the locals complaining about the early curfew. But you might wanna clean your blaster for this one. I swear, those nerfhearding troopers will shoot at anything that moves,” Han said, his eyes unfocused, as if he was recalling his latest close call with the empire.

Chewie let out a rumble, and you thanked him before withdrawing your hand from his grasp. You played it cool, letting out a hum in agreement. Even the slightest mention of anything that had to do with the Empire had your muscles tightening in discomfort, but Han and Chewie didn’t think anything of it, afterall, you were all in the same boat.

The docking bay reeked of the kind of grease that clung to skin and clothes long after you left. The Falcon was still hunched beneath a sagging hangar roof, half lost in shadow, looking like just another broken freighter.

Han had called the job simple. Just a pickup, a payout, and then you would be gone before anyone even caught wind. But by now, you understood that simple by Han’s standard just meant messy.

First, the contact was late, a twitchy Rodian who couldn’t stop glancing over his shoulder. Han paced, muttering curses, while Chewie kept a steady presence near the ramp. You lingered at the edge, every sense taut. The Force prickled around you like static.

You knew before you heard the boots.

“Stormtroopers,” you whispered.

Han froze, then swore.

They came in formation. A squad of white plastoid with their blasters pointed forward. Their hands twitched, as if itching to pull the trigger.

The commander’s voice cut through the yard, “ISB inspection. All vessels subject to search.”

For a moment, Han found himself relaxing, relieved that the contact hadn’t ratted him out. But then, as soon as it disappeared, the tension flooded back in. “Figures,” he said, a grin plastered on his face. He shot you a look. “Don’t. Say. A. Word.”

The squad fanned out. Two troopers angled towards the Falcon. Chewie growled, bowcaster already rising, but Han flicked his hand to keep him down.

“Afternoon, officers,” he drawled. “Sure you wanna waste time digging through a ship that’s falling apart faster than I can fix her?”

“Cargo manifest,” the commander ordered without wasting a single breath.

Han slid them a datapad with Chewie’s doctored files, all half-truths and dead ends. The officer scanned it, none the wiser. His visor was tinted black, unreadable. You felt your throat tighten. You clenched your fists, grounding yourself, willing your pulse to slow. Every instinct screamed to reach out with the Force, to nudge the danger away, but you kept still, nail digging into your palms.

Then one of the troopers froze, visor turning on you. He stopped mid-step.

“You—” His voice crackled through the vocoder. “Wait.”

The second trooper shifted, confused. “What is it?”

The first tilted his helmet, staring straight through you like plastoid could see your soul. “I’ve seen her. Somewhere—”

You felt every drop of your blood turn to ice.

Han cut in fast, voice sharp, grin gone. “She’s nobody. My crew. That’s it. Now, if you’re finished wasting my time, I’ll gladly open the cargo bay and let you dig through the power couplings until you choke on rust.”

For a moment, you thought the trooper might press it. That he would call the commander, or raise his blaster, but shouts broke out from across the docks. Another freighter had resisted inspection, blaster fire erupting in the haze.

The commander snapped his head around without hesitation, shoving the datapad on Chewie’s chest before running up to the neighbouring freighter. “Squad, move!”

The trooper lingered just a second longer, visor locked on you like a spotlight. Then he turned, following his unit.

Han’s hand was at your elbow before you could breathe, pushing you roughly toward the ramp. “Chewie, now. Engines hot.”

The Falcon’s ramp clanged shut. A heartbeat later, her engines roared to life, shaking the decrepit hangar. By the time the stormtroopers realized, she was already tearing skyward.

Stars stretched into hyperspace, and only then did Han finally release you. He leaned against the bulkhead, eyes narrowed and voice low.

“What the hell was that, kid?”

You looked down at your hands, still trembling. “Nothing,” you lied through your teeth.

Han didn’t believe you, not for a second. “No, we’re past excuses now. That trooper looked at you like he knew you. So, you either tell me what’s going on, or we’re chucking you off the next stop. Clear?”

Chewie let out a low, warning rumble. But Han didn’t waver.

Your heart pounded. You couldn’t tell him everything, not yet. But silence would only make things worse. You drew a deep breath, staring at the table instead of Han.

“My father… was important,” you said softly. “They killed him, and I barely escaped. They think I might be worth something too. Not for who I am, but for who he was.” Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Your voice faltered. “That’s why I’m running. That’s why I didn’t have a destination back on Tatooine.”

The words weren’t a lie, but they weren’t the whole truth either.

Han’s eyes narrowed again, searching your face like he could peel back your words and find what you weren’t saying. Finally he blew a breath, dropping a hand through his hair.

“So you’re telling me you’re just leftover politics?”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “That’s all.”

Han stared at you a moment longer, then shrugged, dropping into the seat opposite you. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care if you’re running from old family drama, kid. Just don’t let it get us killed.”

You gave a small, brittle smile. “I won’t.”

But deep inside, you felt the weight of the secret still coiled tight in your chest. The part you hadn’t said. The part that would change everything if Han ever found out.

Tenth Brother had hunted Jedi long enough to recognise a real trail from a false one. This— this was starting to stink.

He had thought nothing of it the first time on Ord Mantell, or the second on Aaloth, or the third on Florrum, but now he could feel the seeds of suspicion growing. He had brushed it off in the beginning. Maybe, it was simply a slip of judgement, something that no one was immune to, not even Vader's chosen. But somehow their failures kept outweighing their wins.

As they stripped down the planet they were currently scouring, they found the ravine empty, so was the hollowed village, then the cliffside caves. Each time, the blond haired boy strode ahead with that unnerving composure, claiming to feel something. And each time, when they finally searched the ground, the Jedi was already long gone, like they were chasing shadows instead of prey.

By the fourth detour, the seedlings had already sprouted hard and fast, the vines wrapping itself all over his mind until it was all he could think of. They were chasing ghosts.

The boy never searched. He never crouched to sift through dust, never pressed his hands against scorched stone. He simply stood there, silent as a monolith, then declared the hunt over and ordered them to move on. As though the search itself was beneath him.

They had spent hours chasing no one through the abandoned industrial sector. Hours walking down corridors of rusted metal, catwalks spanning yawning pits, and stacks of freight crates that smelled faintly of oil and decay to find nothing but more painful knots underneath the skin of his shoulders. All this hard work for nothing.

He felt the start of a sneer forming on his lips. Their Commander turned as they reached the largest atrium of one of the abandoned factories. His cloak brushed the dull surface of the durasteel floor. “Fan out,” he said coolly. “I feel her presence deeper in the western wing. Cover every path. Leave nothing unchecked.”

Seventh Sister didn’t miss a beat, too eager to obey. Third Brother scoffed but turned to walk down the second hallway, saber already in hand. Meanwhile, he lingered, eyes narrowing. He was waiting for something to confirm his suspicions, something to finally set it all to stone.

The boy didn’t wait to see if they complied. He walked in the opposite direction.

The opposite direction.

It wasn’t even subtle. He moved like he was certain no one would dare question him. And maybe he was right. The others were already crashing through the hallways like hounds chasing scraps, leaving him behind.

Tenth brother stayed rooted to the spot, fists curling tight. His gut screamed the truth. He had no intention of finding the Jedi with them. He was drawing them off her scent, sending them in circles like fools, pecking after trails he would purposely leave to lead them astray. All of that to keep the real trail for himself.

Does he think us blind? He seethed. Or does he simply not care?

For a moment, the thought of following him flickered sharp and dangerous. To see where he really went. To confirm what his instincts already told him.

But then the Commander paused, he didn’t turn fully, and he didn’t utter a single word. His eyes did all the talking. He half-glanced over his shoulder, pale blue eyes catching him in their snare. A look that said plainly: I know what you’re thinking. Don’t.

Tenth Brother felt his chest getting tight with every second their eyes remained locked. He forced his glare onto the floor, jaw clenched. By the time he looked up again, he was gone, vanished into the shadows like he’d never been there at all. He was left alone with his fury, while the others still tore apart the rest of the factory like fools.

When the Inquisitors regrouped at the edge of a loading platform, Third Brother slammed a gloved fist against an empty crate, sending it flying down the platform that opened on the side of an echoing valley. “Nothing! Hours wasted. We're chasing air!”

Seventh Sister crouched, running a finger along another crate’s edge. “There’s nothing here. Perhaps she never came this way.”

“Perhaps,” the Zabrak spat.

Tenth Brother stood aside like always, staring at the empty corridor where they had just emerged from. The faint hum of the emergency lights around them filled the space with oppressive quiet. Finally his voice broke, low and tight. “He’s keeping her from us.”

Third Brother froze. “The Commander? Don’t be absurd—”

“He is.” Tenth Brother interrupted calmly, despite the irritation bubbling in his stomach. “He doesn’t hunt with us. He doesn’t search. Every trail he gives dies the moment we arrive. Every time. And you think it’s a coincidence?”

The Mirialan glanced up to him, her face stoic. “You sound certain.”

Third Brother cut in before he could say something. “Look, he’s arrogant, yes—”

He found himself stepping closer, his voice sharp, almost a hiss. “I don’t care what the Emperor or Vader calls him. Blade, heir, assassin. He bleeds just like everyone else, but he thinks he’s above us. Marches in, points a finger, and sends us running after nothing.”

Seventh Sister adjusted her gauntlet, eyes still fixed on the path they had walked. “Careful. He is above us. He could cut you down and walk away without a second.”

“It didn’t take much for you to become a bootlicker, Sister,” Tenth Brother replied, more insults dangling at the tip of his tongue. The Mirialan only offered an eyeroll, before she went back to fidgeting with her gauntlet, trying not to look invested in the argument he was trying to sell.

Then, the Zabrak finally spoke after being interrupted twice. “Are you saying he’s intentionally not leading us true?”

Tenth Brother stared at him, a puff of air escaping his nose. “He’s feeding us scraps while keeping the real prize for himself.”

The woman’s head snapped toward him, a hiss escaping her lips. “I would expect such foolishness from the Third Brother, not you. You’d accuse him of treachery? Of deceiving Lord Vader?”

His jaw flexed. “I’d accuse him of being what he is. Vader’s chosen. And Vader’s chosen doesn’t share.”

Silence fell. Even the Third Brother, who was silently seething at the indirect insult thrown by the woman, had no retort ready.

She looked away at last, voice quieter now. She felt something inside her shift. “Then we should tread carefully. If you’re right… we’re being played. And if you’re wrong…” Her eyes flicked down the valley. “He’ll kill you for even thinking it.”

He didn’t answer. His hand tightened on his saber hilt, knuckles pale against the black grip.

Chapter Text

The Inquisitors were gathered in the side chamber of the garrison, their voices low but sharp. Once again, the hunt for the Jedi had proven to be the opposite of fruitful, and after Tenth Brother’s accusation, the air pressed even tighter around them. The man had laid out his thoughts— that the Commander had steered them astray, that he was keeping something from them.

Seventh Sister was tethering within the boundaries of cool neutrality, neither defending their superior officer nor accepting the fact that Tenth Brother’s accusation might hold some truth to it. Meanwhile, Third Brother still lingered in that odd space between doubt and disbelief, partly convinced that his fellow Inquisitor was only bitter about the power the Commander held above them.

Seventh Sister tensed up just before the doors of the chamber opened, revealing the man himself, a stone-cold expression plastered on his face. He entered without a word, and the silence that followed was instant. The quiet hum of their heated whispers had buzzed down to complete stillness.

Luke let it hang, as if he couldn’t feel the tension in their muscles, the suspicion engraved in their bones, and last of all, that faint anger that threatened to seep into the Force. He had felt it all the moment he had glanced back to look into Tenth Brother’s eyes at the factory. The doubt had laid loud and clear in his irises, and it solidified with every step he had taken in the opposite direction, yet Luke hadn’t stopped. He continued walking down the empty corridor, silently hoping that the fool would take bait. And he did. Tenth Brother had done exactly what he wanted him to. All of it without a nudge.

“You’ve been busy,” he said smoothly, almost idly.

The way they stiffened brought an amusing wave of pleasure through him. The room remained quiet. No one dared to utter a single word.

He paced slowly around the table, his gloved hand brushing the edge as though lost in thought. Then he stopped behind Tenth Brother, whose nervousness was hiding behind a mask of false coincidence.

“Certainty is a dangerous thing,” he started softly, his gaze on the others instead of the man before him. “It makes others think you see more than you do.”

Tenth Brother bristled, but Luke moved on before he could answer, circling behind the Third Brother.

“Doubt, though… doubt is useful. It sharpens the mind. Keep one from being fooled.” His tone carried just enough weight to suggest Third Brother’s thoughts might not be misplaced. The Zabrak felt his back straighten, the words further reinforcing his belief.

Finally, Luke’s eyes fell on the Seventh Sister. He didn’t accuse, nor did he praise. He only said, “Silence, however… Silence makes you complicit in whichever side proves wrong.”

Tension snapped high, and each of them felt something gnawing at them.

Luke hadn’t raised his voice once. He didn’t have to.

The door sealed behind him with a hiss, and the silence he left behind felt heavier than his presence. For a moment, none of them moved, too stunned to process the threat that lined his words.

Then Tenth Brother's fists clenched. “You see what he did,” he muttered, voice edged. “He didn’t deny it. He turned it back on us.”

Third Brother was having none of it. He barked a short laugh, more mockery than humor. “Or maybe he exposed you. Certainty, that’s what he said. You think you know everything, but you just don’t like being wrong.”

His head snapped toward the Zabrak. “Wrong? I know what I felt. He’s hiding something.”

“And you’re so sure,” Third Brother sneered. “So sure you’re the only one who can sense the Force. You think he needs to trick you? He could kill you without lifting a finger, which he hasn’t, and that tells me you’re just imagining things.”

The woman finally spoke, her voice cutting through their rising tones. “Both of you are fools.” Her tone was flat, but her eyes were sharp. Too sharp, as if covering fear. “He wasn’t warning us. He was warning me. Silence, he said. You heard him. Silence is complicity. That means one of you is already guilty.”

The Brothers turned on her, suspicion narrowing their eyes. For a moment, they both set their animosity aside, the spotlight fixed on the only woman of the pack.

The Zabrak scoffed, “You’re twisting his words to keep the blame off yourself.”

Tenth Brother felt his neck flush with roaring anger. “Maybe you’ve been covering for him all along. You’re always so quick to obey his orders, following him like a hound begging for scraps.’

Seventh Sister folded her arms, jaw tight, but she didn’t answer.

The chamber fell back into silence— only this time it wasn’t heavy because of Luke, It was heavy because none of them trusted each other anymore. The foundation of their professional relationship had collapsed with the snap of a finger. Luke was no longer the primary target of their suspicion, instead it was their own. Years of hunting Jedi together had boiled down to nothing but distrust and doubt. All of that simply with a few well placed words.

The locker room reeked of sweat, charred plastoid, and the sour bite of burned hair. The overhead lights flickered, buzzing faintly, their hum the only sound louder than the silence choking the squad.

Sergeant Bolt sat hunched on the bench, peeling his scorched chest plate with a grunt. The plastoid clattered against the durasteel floor, cracked down one side, smeared with dark streaks of blood— his or someone else’s, he wasn’t sure. His helmet rolled from his hands, bouncing once before resting upright, lenses staring blank and hollow.

Around him, younger troopers muttered in low voices. He stared at the floor, a towel draped around his neck. He had stripped his gloves off, his scarred hands raw and shaking from firing until his blaster’s barrel glowed red.

One of the troopers muttered, “Thing came out of the trees like it knew where we’d be. Straight at us.”

Another scoffed nervously, peeling off his gauntlets. “Wasn’t luck. Felt like it was directed.”

Bolt’s jaw tightened. He had heard the same thought in his own skull when the beast had turned its snarling maw past the flankers and straight for their captain. No animal should’ve known the line of command.

“You saying she sicced it on us?” one of the rookies asked finally, too quiet.

The silence that followed was worse than shouting.

The beast had come out of nowhere. It was a wall of teeth and hide in the middle of what should’ve been a routine sweep. Half the squad was in bacta, two were dead, and still no sign of the Jedi they were supposed to be hunting.

Bolt, a veteran clone long past the prime of his wars, shifted in his seat. His white hair clung in damp streaks against his temples. He had fought droids, insurgents, rebels, but he still hated fighting things that couldn’t be reasoned with, beasts that only wanted to tear them apart. He drew in a slow breath. His voice was gravel when it came. “Jedi don’t just fight with sabers. They bend the world itself. Wind, flame, beasts. Even luck.” His knuckles tightened on the towel. “The field will turn on you if they will it.” He rubbed the rough skin of his hands, callouses hardened since Kamino, since Geonosis, since a hundred campaigns the shiny white buckets couldn’t even pronounce.

A rookie tried to laugh it off. “Then what chance do we have, sarge?”

His gaze lifted, one eye bloodshot from where he had taken a hit, and the rookie shut his mouth quickly.

“Don’t need a chance,” he rasped in reply. “You need to survive long enough for him to arrive.” Back then, it would have been his Jedi General, but now in the age of the Empire, it was the Lord Commander, a man whose presence exuded more power and danger than his own Jedi General ever did.

The room went dead quiet. Everyone knew who he meant. Nobody said his name. The weight of the Commander’s shadow filled the space even more than the stink of charred plastoid and bacta plasters.

Bolt stood up, walking past the trooper closest to the door whose helmet was balanced on his thigh, fiddling with a battered holopad. The soft glow showed a tactical sim game, crude soldiers on a gridded field, one side already collapsing. The younger man sighed, muttering curses under his breath as Bolt reached the sink.

He spat red into the drain, and pulled on his undersuit. “Clean up and reload. Don’t fool yourself thinking it was chance we stumbled into that thing. Nothing’s chance, not with a Jedi.” He remembered battles where Jedi cut down platoons before his men could even get into formation. This wasn’t so different.

His words sank in. Although none of them spoke it aloud, the same thought gnawed at them all. If the beast had been a trap, then the Jedi was three steps ahead.

The locker door hissing broke the silence. Every head turned, then stiffened.

The Commander stepped inside, his presence as cold and sharp as the durasteel floor under their boots. The Stormtroopers rose instinctively, but he didn’t even look at them. His gaze had already fallen on the holopad.

“You’ll lose that flank,” he said casually.

The trooper blinked, caught off guard. “Sir?”

Luke stepped closer, eyes on the simulation. He pointed, one gloved finger over the hologram. “You’ve left your centre unsupported. You’ll try to reinforce too late. By the time your heavy line adjusts, the opposition will cut through here.” His finger traced the holographic weakness with surgical precision, like he was actually manoeuvring real soldiers around.

The trooper swallowed. “I—yeah. That’s… exactly what just happened.”

Luke’s expression didn’t change. He straightened pulling his hand back, gaze already drifting away. “Predictable and avoidable,” he hummed. His tone carried no heat, and if anyone was to strain a little harder, they might have seen the playful glint that danced in his eyes at the sight of the hologame.

After a quick assessing gaze over the rest of the squad, he walked out, cloak brushing the floor, never once mentioning the mission.

The door sealed behind him.

For a few more beats, silence hung heavy.

The young trooper placed his holopad aside and looked at Bolt, frowning. “He didn’t even say a word about what happened. Doesn’t he care? We lost men out there.”

The clone dragged a hand down his jaw, a nasty old scar across his cheek tightening. He didn’t answer right away. “He cares. Just not the way you think.”

The trooper stared back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bolt’s eyes stayed fixed on the closed door. “The Commander doesn’t waste himself on anger. You think he expected us to win against that thing? He wanted to see how we handled it. Where we broke.” he nodded towards the holopad. “Same thing he saw in your game.”

The trooper’s frown deepened, unease creeping in.

The clone walked back to his seat on the bench, exhaling slowly. His words came quieter now, like he was talking to himself. “Men like that don’t measure losses the way we do. They don’t rage at what’s gone. They just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

The only sound was the hum of the ship’s engine, steady and unyielding, like the shadow of the man who had walked past their blood-soaked failure as if it were nothing more than a flaw in a training exercise.

You sat on the edge of your bunk, shoving the last of the few things you had into a scuffed satchel. The Falcon’s hum filled the background, the low thrum of her reactors, the faint creaks in her hull, a ship alive in its own stubborn way. You had grown used to that sound. Too used to it.

Han’s voice carried faintly from the corridor, grumbling about a faulty motivator. Chewie answered with a growl, tools clattering. It was almost comforting, that routine bickering, the sense that for once, you had fallen in with people who weren't looking to gut you in your sleep.

But the last few weeks had stripped away that comfort.

Two separate checkpoints where patrols had been waiting, as though tipped off. A sweep at Mos Sarne where Stormtroopers had combed through every hangar except yours, and then doubled back just as you were all preparing to leave. And then came the blockade at Pergos. You and Chewie had barely escaped blaster fire until that wild beast with claws the side of your forearm had burst through the foliage like a mad man seeing red. The distraction had given the both of you enough time to slip back to the Falcon undetected, but still they were becoming too precise, too sharp, too damn close.

Ever since that night on Ord Mantell, the Empire seemed to always be snapping at your ankles with an overwhelming fierceness. That wasn't chance. Not anymore.

The truth ate at you. It was you, the Empire had a mark on your name, your face, your trail, and Han and Chewie didn’t need you around to drag them under it. It was truly a miracle how they hadn’t found out about the gravity of the bounty on your head yet.

You stood, ran a hand through your hair, and let your eyes rest on the little things you were leaving behind, like the battered mug Chewie had given you, the toolkit Han pretended not to miss when you borrowed it. They would notice you were gone, sure. But at least they would be safer.

You reached under your pillow, fingertips meeting the cold metal of your lightsaber. It’s been so long since you actually held it in your hand. The weight of it was comforting, like a warm stew in the cold or the streaking blue lights of hyperspace. You breathed in sharply, tucking it carefully in the satchel like it was one of those easily bruised mushrooms you’d harvest back home.

Your boots were soft against the grated deck as you moved quietly through the Falcon’s dim corridors. You had waited until Han and Chewie were both in the cockpit to leave. The thought of saying goodbye had you sick to your stomach, so you silently slipped out of the crew quarters just like you had on Tatooine.

You paused only once, near the dejarik table, where you and Han had wasted hours between runs. The lights overhead flickered faintly, and for a moment you thought about one last game. One last goodbye. But goodbyes left trails, and trails got people killed. You promised Han you would keep them safe, and leaving was the only way you could do it. Every minute longer aboard this ship put both smugglers closer to a crossfire they didn’t deserve, all for a truth they weren’t even aware of.

The ramp lowered with a hiss of hydraulics, cool night air spilling in. Outside the spaceport was quiet, just rows of freighters and the dull glow of city lights beyond. Easy to disappear into.

You glanced back once, just once towards the heart of the Falcon. The ramp sealed shut behind you, the Falcon none the wiser that a crewmember was gone. Han and Chewie wouldn’t realise until morning, and by then, you would already be another shadow in the galaxy. Now, at least, they wouldn’t be there to burn with you.

The marketplace you found yourself in hours later was a riot of color and noise, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, vendors shouting over one another, droids weaving through the crowds with trays of mechanical parts and foodstuffs. You moved along the edge of the crowd, keeping your satchel tight against your side, every sense on edge.

Every passerby felt like potential trouble. Every glance from the wrong angle, every brush of an arm against yours, carried the weight of a hundred possibilities. It felt like Mos Eisley all again, having to hide yourself to avoid getting jumped by bounty hunters or worse. The Empire could be anywhere— a Stormtrooper in civilian guise, a spy tucked into the crowd, a comm signal ready to betray you.

You kept your head low, eyes scanning, noting exits and cover. A vendor tipped over a crate of fruit, shouting in a language you didn’t know, and the crowd surged, shoving you sideways. You caught yourself against a pillar, keeping your footing, feeling the pulse of the crowd like a living thing pressing in on all sides.

The world buzzed all around you. The past months had solidified your bond with the Force, even more so than you expected. Ever since you’ve met Ben, you felt that spark of hope growing each time you would use the Force, and between jobs and supply runs, you had picked up a lot of useful things your Master had neglected to teach you. You had turned to the Force more often than not to get you, Han, and Chewie out of trouble. It had been hard at first, to resist the urge to ignite your lightsaber and finish off the fight in a split second, but doing so would have only put a bolder target on your back.

You slipped back into the crowd as it calmed down, blending into the flow of travellers and locals. You dipped your head even further, avoiding eye contact with anyone who happened to glance your way. Red dust kicked up behind your feet as you continued to shoulder your way out of the crowd. The spaceport was a few blocks away from the market, so you decided to take your chance with the busy town square instead of the quieter streets that were used as shortcuts by the locals.

In the distance, the muted sun of the planet slowly began to rise overhead, casting an orange hue over the rest of town. As the stalls along the path thinned, you slowed down, lingering for a few seconds to avoid sticking out like a sore thumb, which you were sure you already were, considering the custom clothing here was nothing like that of your jacket and weather-worn pants.

You stopped at a stall tucked beneath a sagging awning of striped fabric.

Blaster parts.

Rows of them, gleaming under the sunlight. Stripped-down scoped, power cells, handgrips worn smooth by use. The smell of oil and burned metal clung to the table, heavy as memory.

You let your fingers brush over a cracked power regulator, and for a second you weren’t in the market anymore. You saw the Sith Lord— the black cloak, the blood-red saber, the precision in every moment. The Blade, that’s what they called him. An Imperial weapon. He ignited his saber without hesitation, and he carried silence like a weapon sharper than steel. Then, another memory slid its way in, one of bright blue eyes and damp blond locks.

The merchant’s voice dragged you back, “Good eye, that’s a fine piece. Bit temperamental, but with the right touch—”

You stepped back before he could finish, shaking your head. The reminder of him too sharp. You forced your gaze across the rest of the wares instead, letting the noise of the crowd wash over you.

A small compass sat among the junk. Dusty. Almost hidden. Not worth anything to most buyers, but it pulled at you. You picked it up, thumb brushing the glass face. It was cracked, but the needle still twitched, steady and true.

For a moment you wondered what he would see if he held it. Probably nothing but a broken trinket, something that had outlived its purpose. Is that how he saw the Jedi? How he saw you?

You glanced at the dusty needle, and you saw something else entirely. Direction. Escape. The promise that even if the galaxy felt like it was closing in, even if he was only a step behind, you could still weasel your way out.

The compass shined under the orange sunlight, and your stomach tightened at the thought of him walking down these same streets, watching from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. That was enough to unsettle you more than the crowds ever could. You set the compass down quickly, almost too quickly for it to be nothing.

A voice called from deeper in the market, someone hawking fruit, someone laughing. Normal sounds. And yet you knew none of it was ordinary anymore. Not with the Sith getting closer with every step you took.

You picked up your pace, rounding the corner to veer into the path that led straight to the spaceport. The hair at the nape of your neck stood up, and you stopped just in time to avoid walking straight into someone else. A Togruta, tall, much taller than you, stumbled, her hand reaching to grasp at your elbow to steady herself. You stiffened at the touch, and your heart began to gradually beat faster against your chest.

The intricate white markings on her face stretched as she smiled apologetically, “Sorry about that, didn’t see you there.”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, your feet shifting as you tried to slide past her. The woman stayed rooted in place, her hand still comfortably wrapped around your elbow like you were her long lost friend. Unease crept in, and you silently debated shaking her hand off and bolting down the street before she could say anything.

You glanced down at your elbow, praying she would get the hint and leave you be, but the woman had no thoughts about letting go of you so easily. “Are you from around here?” she chirped, wrinkles forming in the corners of her eyes.

“Sorry, I’m in a hurry,” you replied impatiently.

You pushed past her, feeling the grasp on your elbow easing before it tightened again, sudden and unyielding. Heat flushed beneath your skin where her fingers pressed, sharp and insistent, like iron clamping down. Your breath caught, chest tightening as though the air recoiled with you. A prickle of fear shot through your nerves, mingling with the sting of anger at being held so firmly, so brazenly, by someone you did not know.

You twisted instinctively, but the hold only made you feel smaller, pinned, as if your own body was no longer yours to command. Before you could wrench free and draw your blaster, she leaned closer and spoke words no stranger should have known.

“Hear me,” she said sternly, any traces of warmth or friendliness dissolving from her face. In the orange glow, the woman didn’t look old, but she didn’t look young either. “I don’t usually work for free, but I like to keep my options open. The Inquisitors just docked in bay 12. They are not here for the local spice dealers”

Your breath faltered. The world seemed to tilt, the noise of the street fading into a hollow silence. Your eyes snapped to hers, wide with shock before narrowing to a guarded glare. “I don’t know what you think you know,” you said, forcing your voice steady though your pulse thundered in your ears. “But you’ve made a mistake.”

“Does the Millennium Falcon ring any bell then, Jedi?” the Togruta replied with a bite.

Her words stopped you cold. Millennium Falcon. Blood rushed to your ears, and for a second all you could hear was a loud ring bursting your eardrums. Fear washed over you, not for yourself, but for them. Han. Chewie. The only ones reckless enough, kind enough, to help when no one else would.

Your stomach turned as the woman’s voice echoed. If the Inquisitors were here, and the ship’s name was on someone’s lips, then they weren’t just hunting you anymore.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, more to yourself than to her. Panic surged through you, for what might happen to the ones who had given you shelter, a family of sorts. Already, your mind raced not with escape plans for yourself, but with how to protect the Falcon before it was too late. This was all your fault, if you hadn’t stayed for so long, if you hadn’t grown attached…

The Togruta straightened, flicking her montrals towards the spaceport. “When you get out of whatever mess you’re in, remember the name Siddi Dren. You’ll owe me.”

She turned, disappearing into the crowd like she hadn’t been there in the first place. You were still frozen, a mixture of shock and fear buzzing through your every nerve. If what she said was true, then the Inquisitors were chasing the Millenium Falcon, and there was no guarantee what would happen if they got to the ship, if they would even leave Han and Chewie alive. They may be good fighters, but there was no way they could hold their own against the Inquisitors barging in unannounced to catch them by surprise.

You felt a painful headache blooming, but there was no time to waste, not when your friends were in danger.

You lost track of how long you’ve been running. The sting in your calves burned all the way to your bones, and it felt like your entire body was on fire. Your throat was dry, and every swallow was followed by pain and the feeling that you were running out of oxygen. Your satchel laid abandoned somewhere, already half buried in the red dust as you raced to the other end of town.

Your thoughts kept jumping to the Falcon, and you couldn’t help but curse at the absurdity of it all. Han and Chewie should have been gone by now, parsecs away for the next run they had planned in the Outer Rim. If they were still here, that could only mean one thing. They were waiting for you.

You blinked as your eyes stung with unshed tears. You were already too far away to reach them before the Inquisitors did, but you had to do something to buy them some time.

Your lungs burned, each breath ragged and shallow, the steady rhythm of your boots on cracked mud faltering as exhaustion finally caught you. The air felt heavy in your chest, and sweat plastered your hair against your temples. You stumbled to a stop just outside the edge of town, where the streets gave way to emptier, darker ground.

The looming shape of an old leather factory rose ahead, its silhouette jagged against the gloomy sunlight. There was no smoke clawing their way out of the rusty smokestacks, but the strong smell of leather still lingered. Broken windows of the brick building stared back like hollow eyes. The air smelled strongly of chemicals and oil, the kind of staleness that clung to places like this.

You leaned against the chain-link fence surrounding the building, one hand clutching the hilt of your lightsaber, the other pressed to your side as you fought to steady your breathing. You were partly hidden from sight behind the stacked crates that were waiting for shipment on the other side of the fence. There was silence, no sound of machine rumbles or shouts, just the faint creak of metal in the wind and the footsteps of the Stormtroopers patrolling the factory.

The leather industry here operated mostly at night, when the stench of raw hides was less oppressive. By day, the factory lay silent, devoid of workers and watched over by patrols guarding the goods and the administrators who managed the trade.

Your chest still heaved, but you forced yourself upright. The cavernous halls and shadowed corners of the factory could be turned into a hiding place, or a trap.

The town square had been crawling with civilians and innocent bystanders. It was the last place you could engage the Stormtroopers, but here, among the drying hides and the thin trees that surrounded the factory, it was the perfect place to draw the Inquisitors out and away from the Falcon.

As a pair of Stormtroopers disappeared behind the building, you moved as quickly as you could. The fence rattled faintly as you placed your hands against it, every motion deliberate, careful not to draw their attention back too soon. The midday sun bore down, glaring off the links, heating the metal until it almost burned your palms.

Your lungs still ached from the run, each breath shallow, but you hauled yourself upwards, boot scraping against the wire. The chain clinked and shuddered under your weight, and for a moment you froze, listening, waiting. No shouts, no blaster fire.

You climbed higher, the rust-stained barbs of wire glinting in the sunlight like teeth. Pressing flat against the fence, you swung one leg over, careful to avoid a snag, then the other. Your arms trembled at the strain, but you did not hesitate. With a final push, you dropped onto the cracked pavement inside the yard, using the force to sooth your landing and avoid the impact from jolting up through your knees.

You sneaked past the crates, wiping dust and sweat from your hands, and forced your breathing steady. You slowly stood from your low crouch. Enough running. Enough hiding. If the Inquisitors were hunting, they needed to see you, not the Falcon.

No later had you stood up, did the Stormtroopers’ voices carry faintly as they rounded back into view. “There! By the fence!”

You drew your lightsaber in a single smooth motion. With a hiss, the blade ignited, its glow sharp even in the midday sun. The bright yellow cut through the orange hue like a beacon impossible to ignore. You raised it high so there was no mistaking it, no doubt about who stood there. The hum of the lightsaber fuelled your adrenaline, and your fear was quickly overtaken by the confidence that pulsed in the Force as the troopers leveled their blasters, firing in quick succession. You deflected the first bolts easily, sending one sizzling into the walls of the factory. The clang rang out like a challenge. Every move you made was deliberate and impossible to ignore.

You advanced on the squad, blade sweeping in bold arcs, deflecting shots wide to keep the noise echoing across the outskirts. Sparks flew from rusted metal, and the hum of your saber filled the air. The troopers pressed back, calling into their comms in sharp, panicked tones. That was the moment you wanted, the message would carry. The Inquisitors would come. They had to.

As you spun your lightsaber, keeping the squad pinned and the noise alive, you allowed yourself a relieved sigh. The Falcon was safe. Their quarry was standing here.

The Stormtroopers’ shouts gave way to silence as a shuttle’s engines screamed overhead minutes after you’d engaged. They stopped firing briefly, blasters lowering in distraction, before you took the advantage and sent them flying back in the wall with a swipe of your hand.

Dust spiraled, rattling against the fence and broken windows of the factory. The ramp of the Imperial shuttle lowered, and three Inquisitors spilled out, blades igniting in furious red arcs. Their growls and threats filled the air. Fear beckoned, whispering in the dark, but you cast it aside. In its place stood resolve, steady and unbroken, as you faced them with a courage born of light.

The Inquisitors lunged forward in a split second, but you turned and sprinted into the yawning dark of the leather factory. The sunlight gave way to dust and shadow, beams of light spilling through the broken windows and the fractured roof panels that were yet to be repaired. The air smelled even stronger of oil and fresh hides inside, and the silence was broken only by your boots striking the concrete floor.

Inside the labyrinth was yours. You weaved between rusted machinery, letting the sound of your saber echo through the vast hall as you struck down anything in your path to block the corridors.

The largest of the Inquisitors burst in after you with a speed that could rival that of a speeder. He moved recklessly, his double-bladed weapon spinning wildly and illuminating the room you had slipped into. He crashed through a row of leather racks, slicing them apart in his rage. You let out a breath, and stood from where you’d crouch in the shadow of a desk. Your lightsaber striked his flank, and sparks shrieked across his armor as he barely deflected. He swung wide, too wide, and you darted back into the shadows, leaving him cursing behind as you fled the storage room and raced down the corridor to put some distance between you and him.

The factory wasn’t hard to navigate despite the lack of light, but you soon found yourself faltering at the edge of a forked hallway. You could sense one of the Inquisitors approaching through the Force, the signature reeking of a determination that outmatched even Han’s during a game of Sabacc. Whoever was coming wouldn’t be easy to slide past, that much was obvious. The Force didn’t ripple with waves and sparks of anger and excitement like it had with the first Inquisitor, instead it pulsed with a calmness that was enough to fill you with unease.

The hair at the nape of your neck stood up just like it had a few hours ago at the edge of the market, and you took it as a sign to move before the Inquisitor could catch a glimpse of you hesitating. Your body progressed forward as if on autopilot, and you raced down the corridor on the right before realising your mistake, but it was already too late.

At the end of the corridor, the hue of a red lightsaber emerged from the darkness as the slender black-cad body of one of the Inquisitors appeared. The figure stopped just as you did, and the black mask retreated into the cone shaped helmet to reveal a Mirialan woman. Her smirk and her eyes twinkling with excitement sent a shiver down your spine. You spared a glance back down the other end of the corridor, only to grasp the cold reality that you were now trapped. The last of the Inquisitor, the one whose Force signature you had felt was standing at the entrance of the hallway like a wall of shadow, cutting off your only exit.

You tightened the grip on your lightsaber, the skin of your palm digging into the gold engravings on the hilt.

The woman stepped forward slowly into the narrow corridor lit with nothing but the glare of the lightsabers. Her head tilted like a predator examining a wounded animal, and her voice dripped with mocking sweetness. “Oh, look at you. Cornered and helpless. I can hear your heartbeat racing. Don’t tell me you’re afraid? I love when the mighty Jedi tremble.”

She let her lightsaber spin with a sharp whir, deliberately close but not striking yet.

“Go on, fight back. You’re already beaten. But I’ll drag it out to watch you break.”

Your throat felt dry, palms slick with sweat around the hilt of your lightsaber. Every breath rasped shallow, your chest tightening under the weight of two predators closing in, but you refused to crumble under the weight of the Inquisitor’s threats, as mocking as they were.

A steady deeper voice cut through the air, “End the games, Seventh Sister. We should finish this.”

A look of annoyance downed on Seventh Sister’s face. “Patience, Tenth Brother. Don’t you want to watch her squirm?” she said, and your stomach knotted.

Your heart pounded so hard it almost drowned you out. Fear ate at your gut, but through the haze of panic, you noticed something. The way the Tenth Brother shifted his weight, restless, impatient whenever the woman would move. The way the Seventh Sister’s smirk widened wherever she spoke over him, deliberately slowing the moment, savoring it.

Not partners. Rivals.

Your eyes caught a cracked pipe above, hissing faintly. A way out, maybe.

You forced your trembling hands to lower, letting the lightsaber clatter to the floor. “She’s stalling you, Brother,” you said loud enough, swallowing the shake in your voice. “She wants the credit for my death. Are you going to let her steal your glory?”

The words were a gamble, born of desperation, but it seemed to hit where you wanted it to, because Tenth Brother stiffened, helmet turning sharply towards her.

“She just wants to watch me suffer. Do you really trust her not to turn on you when it’s convenient?” you continued, your hands held high where they could see them.

Silence followed, as if your words had hit home. The Force pulsed with faint suspicion and tension.

Then Seventh Sister smirked, savouring the unease oozing off of the man, “Oh, Brother… you’re so easy to provoke,” she said, shocking you with how little she cared about her fellow Inquisitor being manipulated to turn against her.

That was all the opening you needed. With a desperate thrust of the Force, the pipe ruptured, and white-hot steam burst into the hallway, hissing like a scream.

Seventh Sister cursed and stepped back, waving her saber through the cloud. Meanwhile the Tenth Brother recoiled, growling in frustration at the distraction they had fallen straight into.

Your saber snapped back into your hand with a flash of yellow, slashing the wall. Sparks exploded, adding to the chaos. Your pulse hammered, adrenaline roaring as you blurred forward in the haze, slipping past Seventh Sister before she could react.

Behind, Tenth Brother’s shout shook the corridor. And above it, Seventh Sister’s delighted laughter followed, sharp and cruel. “Run, little Jedi!”

You didn’t dare look back. Every muscle burned, lungs screaming, but you pressed on, heart still rattled by fear, and by how narrowly you had escaped the two Inquisitors too busy snarling at each other to close their jaws.

You stumbled out of the choking factory corridor and into the partially open hangar. For one brief second, relief surged, the sun stretched beyond the open bay doors, freedom so close it ached.

And then a crimson blade came flying straight for your head.

You docked just in time, throwing yourself hard to the ground away from the docked TIE fighter beside you. You brought your arms up immediately to protect your head as the blade ripped through a fuel line at the base of the starfighter. Sparks ignited into flame, heat bursting outward in a wave. The hangar erupted into chaos. Fire licked upwards, alarms blared, and smoke billowed. Your side and your head throbbed from being slammed into the durasteel floor, and sweat and soot stung at your eyes.

As you blinked through the loud ringing in your ears, the figure of the first Inquisitor emerged through the smoke, his armour scorched, a long, jagged line across the side where your blade had bitten deep. Sparks sputtered and smoke curled upwards, but he didn’t stagger. His presence was a living wall of menace, the kind that made your stomach twist with dread.

His lightsaber zipped back in his hand from where it had gotten stuck between the durasteel panels of the starfighter, and the crimson glow illuminated the damage of the explosion all around the closed part of the hangar.

“There’s nowhere to run, Jedi scum,” he snarled, moving to strike as hard as he could while you were still defenseless on the ground.

You lunged, igniting your lightsaber and weaving between his heavy strikes, each swing forcing you to dodge or parry with the Force. He was relentless and strong but still reckless as he depended mostly on his brute strength instead of the Force to strike you down completely. His anger continued to blind him, and his strikes gradually became more erratic and far from measured the longer you resisted.

You pushed back with a burst of Force, spinning to avoid a brutal downward strike, until at last, a desperate, perfectly timed slash caught his chest armour.

A deep groan of metal echoed through the hangar as another jagged line glowed molten across his black plating. You staggered back, heart racing as you wounded him enough to slow him down. Then, without thinking, you pushed him back with the Force, straight into the burning TIE in the distance.

You leaned against the ship closest to you, hand clutched to your side as black spots began to fill your vision. Your eyes were stinging with the thick dark smoke, and your limbs were burning with exhaustion. Your head felt like it was about to explode, and for a moment, you wondered how it would feel if you just laid on the floor and drifted to sleep.

Before you could close your eyes to blink off the sting, the whine of spinning blades cut through the air. Seventh Sister glided into hangar from the window overlooking the open bay doors, her eyes dancing in amusement at the sight of you wavering in and out of consciousness.

You rubbed at your cheek with the back of your hand to get rid of the sweat and soot sticking to your skin, and stood straight in alert as the Tenth Brother appeared at the entrance of the hangar, heavy boots striking the floor like war drums.

Tenth Brother strode forward through the scorched hangar floor, then he saw it. Third Brother sprawled motionless in the wreckage of a burning TIE. Armour scorched completely by the fire, lightsaber extinguished, smoke rising from the ruin. The sheer force of your attack had sent him flying, twisted into the heart of the flames. He froze for the briefest heartbeat, a growl deep in his chest.

Seventh Sister followed his gaze, eyes flicking between the corpse and Tenth Brother’s eyes. “Looks like Third Brother here is indisposed,” she said before striking first, elegant and precise. You rolled aside, sparks scattering as blades met. A spin, a leap, the Force guided your every movement, every dodge. But before you could follow up, Tenth Brother’s crushing downward arc from behind forced you to dive forward.

Fire and smoke swirled to your advantage, hiding your motions as you vaulted over crates, Force-pushing a falling panel into the Seventh Sister’s path to buy a heartbeat of separation. She hissed in frustration, dodging to follow, while Tenth Brother advanced with relentless fury unlike him.

Your heart raced, eyes flicking urgently around the hangar, looking for anything that would help slow them down, shrapnel, crates, fuel lines. Every surface was a potential weapon. You eyed the broken wing of the TIE fighter on the ground and sent it flying towards the man, its edges ragged but sharp enough to pierce through his armour.

A pained growl escaped past his lips as the debris found its mark on his chest. The large piece of metal pinned him to the wall, the protruding pointy tears digging through his armour and puncturing his skin.

Seventh Sister emerged once again behind the crates like a wraith, her blade spinning, casting crimson shadows across the wreckage sprawled around the hangar. She moved with effortless calm, her eyes still twinkling with a predatory gaze despite the chaos.

You raised your blade weakly, trying to steady it, but your arms shook from fatigue. Sweat dripped from your temples, and each breath was a battle.

Seventh Sister circled slowly, savouring your weakness.

Your knees nearly buckled, you forced yourself to stand tall, saber angled defensively. You could feel yourself slowly slipping, the exhaustion of fighting off three skilled Jedi hunters settling over your bones. Fear still gnawed at your gut, but beneath it flickered a stubborn determination. Survival, even if only for another heartbeat.

She lunged, her strikes elegant, almost playful, but still deadly, like she was a loth-cat playing with its food. You met her blade sluggishly as you struggled to hold against the strength of her strikes. Sparks flew, each clash rattling your bones. She pressed harder, forcing you to retreat step by step, laughter cutting between blows.

Every instinct screamed that this was the end. She had the strength, the skills, and the sadistic patience to finish you off.

Her blade continued to hammer through every faltering step, and at last she angled her saber with surgical precision and sliced clean through the hilt of the lightsaber in your hand. A violet crack split the air, shards of light and sparks scattering across the floor as the saber died with a hiss of smoke, its casing peeling apart in molten seams. Fragments of scorched alloy tumbled from your hands, and you threw the other half of the hilt still in your hand straight towards the Inquisitor to throw her off, your desperation twisting into survival instinct.

The broken weapon spun end over end, its molten edge still glowing white. It grazed across Seventh Sister’s arm— a flash of sizzling heat, the acrid scent of scorched fabric and burned flesh.

She snarled, her composure breaking for the briefest instant, blade faltering as she clutched at the wound. The other end of the hilt clattered uselessly across the hangar, but the damage was done, the Inquisitor’s perfect grace had cracked, revealing the anger that laid underneath all of the precision and the deadly elegance.

Your eyes flickered, desperate, towards the wreckage as she tightened her fingers around her lightsaber, ready to deliver the final blow.

Through the smoke, half-buried in debris, Third Brother’s lightsaber laid inches away from his pinned corpse under the burning remains of the TIE.

Summoning the last dregs of strength, you reached out with the Force. Your fingers curled in empty air, heart hammering, and the weapon ripped free of the ash.

Seventh Sister paused, her grin returning amidst her pain, as though amused by the effort. “Clutching at scraps, are we?”

But then the hilt spun through the air, and with a snap-hiss it ignited mid-flight, crimson energy blazing. The blade slashed the Inquisitor across the leg as it zipped to you, catching her immediately off guard. Heat seared through armour and fabric, burning against her skin. She hissed sharply, staggering back a step, her blade wavering as pain flared along her limb.

Gripping the weapon, you turned, stumbling but moving fast. Every step was agony, but the opening was there, and you had to seize it.

Seventh Sister roared in frustration, stumbling forward, pain flashing across her face. But you were already weaving through the wreckage of the hangar, sliding under twisted scaffolding and vaulting over burning debris. With every desperate stride, you gained ground. The Inquisitor’s laughter was replaced with sharp curses as she forced herself to pursue, but the injuries slowed her, giving you precious seconds to slip past the obstacles between you and freedom.

Seventh Sister held out her hand in a final attempt to prevent your escape. She furrowed her eyebrows, her lips twisted into an ugly snarl as she threw you like a rag doll against the wall using the Force. The air was knocked out of your lungs, and you let out a pained groan, body slumping on the ground. Your head was pounding, and your vision blurred when you tried to focus. You swallowed a whimper, closing your eyes shut to prevent hot tears from spilling out.

If you were going to die, you were going to do it without fear. Just like how Master Kelriss had.

In what you believed was the final moments of your life, you prayed, hoping that your Master was proud of you.

In the distance, the loud clattering of metal against metal caught your ears, and you looked up sluggishly. Tenth Brother had moved, having yanked off the debris pinning him down. Blood pooled at his feet when he stood, but he didn’t let it slow him down. “Enough!” he said, taking the moment to advance and charge forward despite his injuries.

But the Seventh Sister’s eyes, still flashing with pain and something darker, met his. In that moment, a subtle, deadly calculation passed through her— a product of Luke’s subtle seeds of doubt. She didn’t hesitate. With a sudden, ferocious sweep of her blade, she struck the Tenth Brother before he could come too close to where you laid, catching him off guard. He stumbled, the plastoid of his armour melting across the chest from a near-lethal slash.

Your eyes widened at the sight, but you didn’t interfere. You needed only time and space to slip away. Your target was no longer to distract the Inquisitors. It was survival and ensuring Han and Chewie had escaped. You got up, running across the only area of the hangar untouched by the explosion, and staggered past Third Brother’s body towards the maintenance shaft, leaving the remaining pair to deal with each other.

Tenth Brother knelt, his lightsaber clattering on the floor next to his knees. He clutched at his chest, and Seventh Sister kicked at the hilt of the lightsaber, sending it far from his reach. She looked up just in time to see you disappear down the shaft, and she let out a frustrated yell, pushing past the man and sending him rocking face-first on the floor.

With her wounds screaming, Seventh Sister limped to where you had slipped down, and watched as you ran out the maintenance shaft and disappeared into the yard.

Pain flared along her injured limbs, a burning reminder of your desperate strikes, but it wasn’t the injuries that ate at her. Fury boiled beneath her calm exterior, coiling like a viper in her chest. Humiliation pricked at the edges of her pride. The prey she had toyed with, the one she had stalked through fire and smoke, had slipped right through her fingers. And then there was Tenth Brother, one of the many who had misjudged her, underestimated both her skill and her willingness to act decisively.

When she limped back to the centre of the hangar, Seventh Sister stood over the Tenth Brother, her wounds burning but her resolve absolute as she studied the man. He was wheezing, coughing up blood as he pressed a hand over his heart. The pool of blood made one thing certain— his fight was over.

“Trust is a weapon. And fools die when they think they have it,” she spat through gritted teeth.

Tenth Brother stared at her, his eyes unfocused as hot-white pain bursted through his every nerve. “You… you betrayed me.”

“I know when to act, and when to survive,” she said coldly, repeating the words she had said the first time they had accused her of bending to the Lord Commander's every command. They had accused her of being weak, of being a bootlicker and a hound begging for scraps, yet she was the only one strong enough to come out on top.

The Jedi was gone. Third Brother was dead. Tenth Brother barely clung to consciousness. And Seventh Sister, wounded but alive, stood alone amidst the ruined hangar, the ultimate beneficiary of Luke’s manipulation.

She ignited her lightsaber, striking one last time.

Even as she limped towards cover, the echo of the Commander’s presence lingered in the Force, unseen but felt, his control over the situation complete without him ever raising a saber.

Luke entered the factory silently, his boots echoing faintly against the concrete floors. Most of the factory remained primitive, built up of mud bricks or concrete, but the hangar was supposed to be the perfect imagery of Imperial force. All shiny durasteel, robust flexiglass, sharp corners and the heavy smell of fuel. What he hadn’t expected was the stench of scorched flesh, blood and ozone— the remnants of lightsabers clashing.

The weight of the compass in his pocket was comforting, pressing against his thigh like the lightsaber clipped to his belt. He had been retracing your path again, following the fresh remnants of your signature in the Force. You had stopped at a stall, lingered, and grasped at the cracked compass he had bought for more than it was worth.

He had silently hoped it would help him understand you, know you better from the inside out so he could predict your next move, but the compass gave him no direction, no clue as to what you saw in it or how your brain worked for that matter.

Moments later, Voss had informed him about the deviation of the Inquisitor’s chase from the Millenium Falcon to the leather factory on the outskirts of the city. He had only hummed, and left the Inquisitors to their devices. They were fools, too blind to see how you were leading them straight into a trap.

Third Brother's body laid in a heap of burned flesh and metal. Sparks flickered from a near ruptured conduit. The Tenth Brother was sprawled in the middle of the hangar, blood still leaking from all over his chest, except the parts where a lightsaber had cauterised his wounds.

Luke glanced at the only survivor, Seventh Sister, leaning against a crate, wounded but upright.

His face remained unreadable. He knelt briefly to inspect the Third Brother's body, the Force ripping faintly around him as he reached for any lingering threads of your presence. His senses confirmed what he already suspected. You had slipped through, intentionally, leaving the Inquisitors. You were clever. Reckless only when necessary.

He rose, boots echoing again in measured steps. He looked at Seventh Sister, her wound, the way she had struck the Tenth Brother, her posture of dominance tempered by caution.

Luke’s calm was itself a warning. He didn’t say anything, but every movement, every pause, carried silent authority. His mind sifted through the debris of the encounter, noting the fractures he had sown between the inquisitors, the lessons they had learned too late.

He didn’t pursue the Jedi. You had escaped, yes, but the lesson had already been delivered. Tenth and Third Brother’s deaths were not failures. The Inquisitors carried the consequences of questioning his authority, and that ensured that Seventh Sister would be easier to control in every hunt to come.