Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Welcome, reader — and thank you for being here.

Embers of the Force began as a quiet spark — a simple story I wanted to tell. But as the pages unfolded, it became something deeper: a reflection of healing, of identity, of love found in unlikely places. It is, at its core, a journey. One of survival, of rediscovery, and of connection — not just between characters, but between the parts of ourselves we often keep hidden.

I hope that within these chapters, you find something that resonates. Whether it’s a moment of warmth, a sharp breath of grief, or the courage to keep moving forward — even in the dark — I hope this story brings you something real.

May the Force be with you always.

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fanfiction created for personal, non-commercial purposes.

All characters, events, dialogue, and story arcs not present in official Star Wars canon and/or Legends (Expanded Universe) are original creations of the author. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to existing characters, events, or institutions is purely coincidental.

All other elements — including canonical characters, locations, terminology, and the Star Wars universe itself — are the exclusive property of Lucasfilm Ltd. and The Walt Disney Company. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is a tribute to the saga that continues to inspire generations.

Chapter Text

Mos Espa

Tatooine — 16 BBY

Weeks blurred into a strange rhythm beneath Tatooine’s twin suns. Days began with the dry hiss of sand against the windows, the distant roar of swoop engines, and the scent of roasted caf wafting from the market stalls below their modest inn room. Life in Mos Espa was harsh, but steady.

Lana sat cross-legged on their narrow balcony overlooking the marketplace, her gaze following a group of Jawas bartering animatedly with a Rodian over a battered speeder engine. Her wind-tangled hair brushed across her cheek as she glanced back through the open doorway.

Inside, Jahn sat at their table, sleeves rolled past his elbows, repairing a power cell with calm precision.

Her eyes lingered on him longer than they should have.

“Lana?” His voice snapped her from her trance. He didn’t look up, but the subtle weight of his presence drew her upright.

“Yes, Master?” she answered, a little too quickly.

He nodded toward her disassembled lightsaber on the mat beside her. “Your focus,” he reminded gently.

Her cheeks warmed. “Right—sorry. I was just… watching the market.”

From the doorway, Grath smirked knowingly, his tusked grin wordless but clear.

In the months that followed, the trio carved out quiet lives beneath Tatooine’s brutal suns. Lana’s sharp wit and talent for finding rare salvage turned her into an invaluable hand at Watto’s shop, earning her trust among the locals and credits enough to keep them afloat. Jahn kept a low profile, frequenting the Hunter’s Lodge in plain clothes, his unassuming demeanor allowing him to gather whispers of Imperial movements and local trouble without drawing notice.

Grath, ever the stoic shadow, lent his hands to both Watto’s workshop and the ship hidden beneath it. From time to time, his past life resurfaced—swoop racing under an alias, his victories earning them credits without risking exposure. His love for the sport was unmistakable, yet disciplined, every calculated win part of their careful balance.

Three months passed this way, the edges of their fugitive lives softening into something that almost resembled normalcy. With their earnings pooled together, Jahn and Lana purchased a small stone cottage on Mos Espa’s outskirts—a place to maintain their guise as father and daughter while training quietly away from prying eyes. Grath made his home behind his workshop, doubling it as a safe haven for the Gundark Nightmare.

One evening, Lana returned to the cottage, dusted in sand after a long day. She pushed the door open with a smile ready on her lips, eager to share her latest find from Watto’s shop—only to freeze.

A young woman sat across from Jahn at the table, her laugh soft but warm. They shared chilled drinks, relaxed in each other’s company.

The odd tightness in Lana’s chest was immediate. Jealousy? No—it couldn’t be. Yet the unfamiliar burn coiled deep, and she forced her expression into polite calm as Jahn looked up.

“Lana,” he said, gesturing her inside. “This is Asha Unma—a merchant passing through from Corellia. She needed shelter for the night.”

Asha’s smile was kind, disarming even, but Lana’s stomach twisted anyway. “Nice to meet you,” she said politely, then excused herself, slipping away to her room—the first true private space she’d had since the purge.

Alone, her thoughts tangled. Was this what attachment felt like? Memories of the Temple flickered—friends long lost, the stolen future of camaraderie and quiet halls. Now even here, her heart betrayed her focus.

That night, muffled laughter from the kitchen pulled her from her meditation. She sat in silence, staring at the wall, her chest hollow. Her mind painted vivid images: Jahn and Asha leaning close, sharing stories by lamplight. Tears came unbidden, hot and quiet, as she buried herself in her blankets and fought the ache of solitude that pressed like a weight across her chest.

Morning came with the desert wind whispering against the walls. Lana stirred awake, the suns’ first light warming her room. She stretched, instinctively savoring the small comfort of being lightly dressed—until Jahn’s voice called from beyond her door.

She jolted upright, heart racing, and hastily tied her robe. When she opened the door, Jahn’s gaze flickered—just for a second—before shifting away, his composure as steady as ever.

“Watto found something we need for the ship,” he said evenly.

“Right,” she replied, her cheeks warm as she nodded quickly.

They met Grath at the shop, but instead of clutter and scrap, Lana stepped into a burst of color: streamers draped along the walls, paper cutouts dangling from hooks.

“Surprise!” Watto’s gravelly voice rang out alongside Grath’s booming cheer.

Her breath hitched. On the counter sat a pastry, frosted with her name in careful Aurebesh script.

She blinked rapidly, laughter bubbling through tears she hadn’t realized were forming.

“Master Bakar… why?” Her voice cracked slightly, her gaze sweeping over Grath and Watto alike.

Jahn’s faint smile held that rare warmth she cherished. “Because, kiddo—today’s your birthday. seventeen years.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. She’d forgotten. The date had lost meaning in exile, but here, surrounded by them, it felt real again.

She hugged Jahn first, then Grath, then even Watto—her small family amid the endless sands.

“To new beginnings,” she whispered.

Later, Grath vanished briefly, only to return moments later holding a surprise of his own: a newly rebuilt R2 unit, gleaming in pale blue, gray, and faint metallic purple.

The droid chirped brightly, swiveling its dome toward her.

Lana gasped. “A real astromech?!” She turned to Jahn, wide-eyed, heart swelling. “Master—this is incredible!”

He chuckled softly. “Grath found the frame. We rebuilt it piece by piece. You always did ask for one back on Batuu.”

Her joy spilled over, unrestrained. “Thank you, both of you,” she said, before kissing Jahn’s cheek—light, quick, but enough to make her heart stutter.

Watto fluttered forward, waving a stubby hand. “Don’t forget who donated the power cell!”

Lana giggled, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Watto.”

She turned to the droid, still whistling cheerfully. “What should we name him?”

Jahn smirked. “Anything but another beast, please. I don’t need to call ‘Sarlacc’ across the shop.”

Her grin turned mischievous, eyes sparkling.

“Don’t you dare…” Jahn muttered, already regretting the suggestion.

Lana only laughed. For that fleeting moment, beneath Tatooine’s twin suns, hope felt alive again.

Chapter Text

Six months into their exile on Tatooine, Sarlacc—their refurbished R2 unit—had become more than a machine. He was a companion, a confidant, and a quiet witness to a life lived in the shadows.

The droid’s skills in slicing and field repair had quickly proven invaluable. When he wasn't buried dome-deep in scavenged podracer engines, he was chirping cheerfully around the cottage, syncing systems, patching leaks, or throwing sarcastic whistles when Lana fumbled a lightsaber maneuver. His sounds were no longer just mechanical—they were part of their home.

Lana had grown sharper in her training. With Sarlacc managing the tedious mechanical tuning, she focused fully on the forms passed down by her Master—each motion more fluid, more precise. Sometimes she programmed Sarlacc to simulate unpredictable combat sequences. He obliged gleefully, especially when it meant zapping her in the leg with a low-voltage nudge for sloppiness.

But the routine broke today.

The front door groaned open, light slicing through the dusty gloom. Jahn Bakar entered in silence, his cloak weighted by more than desert wind. Lana’s saber deactivated with a hum, her breath catching as she turned.

“There’s been movement,” Jahn said, voice gravelly with restraint. “Imperial patrols west of Mos Eisley. They’ve taken an interest in a refugee shelter.”

He stepped forward, the scent of dry sand and rust trailing behind him.

“Our cover may not hold much longer.”

His gaze locked with hers—intense, yet quietly reassuring.

“Your training has to be your anchor now. The Force will guide us. But we must be ready.”

Lana nodded slowly, the gravity of his words sinking in. She looked toward Sarlacc, who had paused his tinkering and now stared at them silently, almost as if sensing the tension in the room.

She crossed over and gently tapped his dome. “It’s okay, buddy. We’re not going anywhere.”

The droid let out a soft, uncertain trill. She met Jahn’s gaze again—and this time, she saw it clearly.

Pride.

That subtle glint of approval in a Master’s eyes. It wrapped around her heart like a warm tether, drawing strength and duty tight within her.

“I’ll keep my saber close,” she said. “But hidden. As always.”

That evening, the four of them gathered in the backroom of Watto’s cluttered junk shop, the musty scent of burnt circuitry mingling with caf steam. The day’s earlier lightness had vanished, replaced by the electric hush of danger looming.

They stood around a flickering holomap of Mos Eisley. Red dots pulsed slowly where Imperial presence was growing. The hum of old droids filled the spaces between their words.

Watto handed out caf mugs with a scowl that barely masked worry. Grath leaned in, eyes scanning sectors and escape routes, lips tight in thought.

Jahn broke the silence.

“The Empire has eyes. If we step wrong, we burn our lives and everyone around us. We help—but we stay ghosts.”

Lana’s fingers curled around her mug. Her voice was steady, but inside, fear wrestled with duty.

“What if they find us? What happens to Grath? To Watto?”

Grath’s mug hit the table with a metallic thunk.

“Kid,” he said, voice rough as gravel, “I’ve seen worse odds. If it comes to a fight, I’m not hiding.”

His smirk came and went in a flash, like sun catching on a blade.

“And besides, we’ve got something the Empire never has—each other.”

Watto floated closer, wings buzzing slower than usual. “I’ve done my fair share of surviving, Jedi. If they come for the refugees, they’ll find more than just broken parts and dust.”

He rested a gnarled hand on Lana’s shoulder. “We stand with you.”

Jahn nodded solemnly.

“Then we don’t sneak in.”

His eyes gleamed with mischief—just a spark, like a match struck in darkness.

“We make noise. We hit fast, with the Gundark. No one's expecting a full assault from a ghost ship in the sky. We drop in loud, draw their fire. Lana and I handle the boots on the ground.”

Lana blinked. “You want to drop the Nightmare straight into a patrol zone?”

“Bombs and whistles,” he said with a grin. “Right on their heads.”

She couldn’t help it—she laughed. Just once. The sound surprised even her. Maybe it was the ridiculousness of it. Or maybe it was the part of her that loved it. Not just the plan, but him.

And then she caught herself imagining something more—her arms wrapped around him, lips pressed to his, hearts colliding in that single, dangerous moment. She snapped her gaze downward, cheeks burning.

"Focus," she thought to herself.

Grath cleared his throat, barely hiding a smirk. “Well, I can’t say I’ve missed this kind of trouble... but I ain’t backing out either.”

Watto hovered back toward the map. “I’ll stay behind, monitor city comms. If they reroute patrols, you’ll know first.”

Jahn gave a short nod. “Your intel may be what keeps this whole thing from blowing up in our faces.”

“Just don’t crash the ship,” Watto muttered.

As they stepped into the street, the second sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand-packed alleys of Mos Espa. Sarlacc rolled up beside Lana, dome rotating, body gleaming in the twilight.

She touched the pocket where her lightsaber rested, tucked safely beneath her clothes. She felt its weight more acutely now—not just as a weapon, but as a promise. A legacy.

Around her, the market bustled with life—Rodians bartering for parts, Jawa calls echoing between buildings, the distant whine of speeders cutting across the horizon.

Tatooine played at being normal. But beneath the illusion, something darker stirred.

For now, though, it was still just another day in exile.

A mirage of peace.

A breath before the fire.

Chapter Text

Mos Espa

Tatooine — 16 BBY

“Master,” Lana said, her voice low and urgent, “we need to reach the Gundark Nightmare. If we wait until morning, the Empire could already be here—and the refugees…” Her words faltered, the weight of it crashing over her. She glanced between Jahn and Grath, panic edging her voice. “We can’t let them catch us unprepared.”

Grath exhaled slowly, scratching behind one tusk. “About that,” he muttered, his tone awkward.

Lana frowned. “What do you mean about that?”

Jahn’s brow arched slightly. “Grath…”

Grath raised both hands defensively. “Look, I didn’t tell you because I figured I’d move it back before it mattered!” He shifted uncomfortably. “Had a leak in my hangar—couldn’t risk the Empire poking around if they dropped in unannounced. So I… relocated it. Cave out in the Dune Sea. Half-hour on foot.”

Lana’s face went pale. “You what?” The sharpness in her voice turned heads from a few passersby, and she immediately lowered it, leaning closer. “Grath, it’s the middle of the night! Do you have any idea how dangerous the Dune Sea is after dark?”

“I didn’t exactly have a better option,” Grath shot back quietly, arms crossing. “No speeders, no risk of anyone spotting it. Safer that way if the Imps came sniffing.”

“Safer?” Lana hissed. “Tusken patrols roam that deep! Not to mention womp rats—”

A low whistle from Sarlacc cut her off. The little droid rolled between them, dome swiveling toward the desert horizon. Jahn’s lips tugged faintly at the corner, calm even in the storm.

“Lana,” he said evenly, “breathe. We’re not walking.”

She blinked. “What?”

Grath smirked despite himself. “Time for the surprise.”

Jahn gestured subtly. Sarlacc’s dome rotated forward, a small dish antenna emerging and locking into position. The droid let out a sharp trill, lights flashing.

“What’s he doing?” Lana asked.

“Watch,” Grath said.

Moments later, a low hum rolled across the sands. Lana’s heart skipped—she knew that sound. Through the haze of Tatooine’s night air, she spotted it: the silhouette of the Gundark Nightmare breaking through the stars, engines glowing faintly as it swept toward them.

Her jaw slackened. “You’re kidding me…”

Sarlacc chirped smugly, retracting his antenna as the ship descended, ramp lowering with a hiss.

Grath tapped his chest. “Installed a remote-pilot system. Sarlacc can fly her to us from anywhere on-planet. Figured it’d be useful if we ever needed a fast exit.”

Lana stared at the droid, torn between relief and disbelief. “And you didn’t think to mention this sooner?”

Sarlacc let out a warbling beep that almost sounded like laughter.

“Less arguing,” Jahn interjected. “Board. Now.”

The trio ascended the ramp, the warm hum of the ship enveloping them like a heartbeat. Inside, Grath slid into the pilot’s chair, fingers dancing across controls. The cockpit glowed in soft blues and greens, Sarlacc plugging into the port behind them.

Lana settled into her seat, the tension in her shoulders easing as the Gundark lifted, the lights of Mos Espa dwindling below. For a fleeting moment, the galaxy felt distant—the stars above indifferent and eternal.

She glanced at Jahn beside her, his calm focus steady as ever. It grounded her, even amidst the chaos.

They swept low over the Dune Sea, engines whisper-quiet on stealth. Sarlacc’s dome spun, projecting sensor readouts across the holo-display. The droid beeped twice, flagging movement: TIE fighters patrolling near a makeshift landing zone.

“Spotted ‘em,” Grath growled. “Three of ‘em, tight pattern. Just close enough to be a problem.”

“Stay low,” Jahn instructed. “We’ll use the rocks to mask our approach.”

Watto’s voice crackled through the comms. “Got chatter about extra patrols near the refugee shelter. You don’t have long before the Imperials clamp down tight.”

“Understood,” Jahn replied, then muted the channel. He turned to Lana. “We land at the outcropping. You and I advance on foot.”

Lana’s pulse spiked. “What about Grath?”

“Cover fire,” Jahn said. “Sarlacc manages targeting. Once we engage, they hit the landing pads hard.”

Grath cracked his knuckles. “Been too long since I lit up Imps.”

The Gundark Nightmare glided into a shadowed cave. As the engines powered down, the desert night closed in—cold, silent, waiting.

From the cliffside, they surveyed the Imperial site. The landing pad sprawled below—a slab of duracrete ringed with floodlights, supply crates stacked high, and three Sentinel shuttles resting under the watchful eye of stormtrooper squads. A row of prefabricated barracks hugged the edge of the pad, their windows glowing dimly.

An Inquisitorial shuttle descended into the landing pad, its wings folding inward with a mechanical shriek before it settled onto the pad, sending sand scattering.

Jahn’s jaw tightened.

The Grand Inquisitor emerged first: tall, angular, and pale gray-skinned, his yellow eyes sharp. His presence radiated menace, his movements deliberate and predatory.

Behind him, another figure descended—the Fifth Brother, looming and broad, his armor stark against the night.

And then Lana saw him.

A boy, roughly her own age, was forced to his knees at the center of the pad. His wrists were bound, his posture slumped in exhaustion, head bowed. He wore torn training robes marked with faint Jedi insignia, a haunting remnant of the Order she once called home.

Lana’s breath caught. Her heart twisted at the sight—a reflection of herself if fate had played differently.

Jahn’s hand steadied her shoulder, firm but silent.

The Grand Inquisitor’s lightsaber hissed to life, crimson glow spilling across the bound boy’s face.

Lana froze. “No—”

The blade plunged forward.

The boy collapsed, lifeless, his face striking cold duracrete.

Rage exploded in her chest. Jahn was already moving, emerald blade igniting like a thunderclap in the night.

Lana’s saber snapped alive with a hiss, blue light bathing her trembling hands. The desert roared alive as they surged forward—no longer hidden, no longer silent.

Chapter Text

Imperial Camp, Outside Mos Eisley

Tatooine — 16 BBY

Jahn and Lana stood tall, sabers ignited, as the Grand Inquisitor assessed them with cold amusement.

“Ah, the elusive Jedi,” he mocked, a crimson blade hissing to life. “I knew it wouldn’t be long before you showed yourselves."

Jahn and Lana tightened their grips on their lightsabers.

"You've been busy," the Grand Inquisitor said, his voice carrying the cold precision of a blade. His eyes gleamed with malicious amusement as his second crimson blade hissed to life, casting blood-red light across the sands.

"But your time is at an end. The galaxy has no room for your kind." He raised the weapon in a slow, taunting flourish. "Surrender now, and perhaps your deaths will be swift."

Lana felt her chest tighten, grief threatening to break her composure as she glanced at the slain Padawan. seventeen, maybe eighteen. No time to mourn. She drew a deep breath, centering herself in the Force. She spun her saber and stood ready, blue light crackling against the darkness.

"We won’t," she said, her voice steady despite the weight pressing on her heart. "We’re not alone."

The Grand Inquisitor laughed, a hollow sound that echoed like a cruel wind through the dunes.

"How endearing," he sneered. His gaze locked on her. "The youngling still clings to hope." He tilted his head slightly, spinning his blade with effortless menace. "Your courage is admirable… if misplaced. It will not save you."

Jahn stepped forward, green blade raised, its glow bathing his face in defiant light. He gave Lana a proud nod, protective and unwavering.

"My Padawan is right," he said calmly. "You won’t win."

The Fifth Brother moved to stand before the Grand Inquisitor, his double-bladed saber spinning to life with a mechanical snarl.

"Your arrogance is your downfall," he rumbled, mint-green eyes narrowing. "This one is mine. We have unfinished business."

The Grand Inquisitor’s smirk lingered, though thinner now.

"Very well. But remember—" his gaze cut toward Lana, predatory "—the girl is mine." With a sharp flick, he hurled a burst of the Force at her.

Lana staggered but reacted fast, saber flashing up to intercept the wave. Her boots slid in the sand, grit whipping past her face as she growled through clenched teeth: “I won’t let you take me.”

The duel exploded in an instant. Jahn lunged at the Fifth Brother, his Ataru form erupting in a blur of green light and acrobatic strikes. Each blow was powerful and precise, Form V driving down with crushing intent while bursts of speed and spins from Ataru forced the larger Inquisitor onto the defensive.

Meanwhile, Lana faced the Grand Inquisitor, his Makashi finesse cutting through the night like liquid fire. His footwork was elegant, controlled, his blade movements cruelly economical. Lana mirrored him with her own Makashi stance, blue saber low and angled, sharp duelist precision meeting deadly mastery. Every clash rang out like thunder, sparks hissing against floodlights that bathed the landing pad in stark white glare.

Sand kicked up around them, swirling in the desert wind. Floodlights carved hard shadows across the duracrete pad—its edges lined with crates, fuel lines, and downed starfighters. Troopers barked orders at the perimeter, their blasters clutched tight as they circled closer, the ring tightening.

Jahn vaulted, green saber carving a brilliant arc downward—blocked by the Fifth Brother’s spinning blade. The impact shuddered like a hammer strike. They pressed forehead-close, teeth bared, strength straining against strength.

Nearby, Lana darted sideways, deflecting a vicious thrust from the Grand Inquisitor, her blade barely holding. His mocking grin twisted.

"Sloppy," he taunted, pivoting low and forcing her back.

Suddenly, Jahn intercepted—stepping between Lana and the Grand Inquisitor, locking blades in a crash of light and sound.

"If you want her," Jahn snarled, voice like stone, "you’ll have to go through me first."

Lana’s heart stuttered. For a split second, she felt it—an aching rush of affection, fierce and unbidden. Not now, Lana, she told herself, shoving it down as her saber rose once more.

The Grand Inquisitor’s eyes glittered knowingly.

"Adorable," he purred. "Walls, Master Bakar, always break." He feinted toward Lana, probing her defenses as his voice curled with poison.

"And anger, my dear Padawan? It burns brighter than any torch. Feed it. Let it make you strong…"

Lana tightened her grip, jaw set. I won’t.

The duel surged harder. Jahn and the Grand Inquisitor’s blades became a blur of green and red, Makashi precision clashing with Djem So’s raw power. The Fifth Brother bore down on Lana now, each strike brutal and battering, forcing her to flow seamlessly between her Makashi finesse and Form V’s heavier blocks. Her arms ached; each deflection rattled through her bones.

Then came the roar of engines.

The Gundark Nightmare burst over the horizon, cannons blazing. Its fire raked across the landing pad, blasting crates apart and scattering stormtroopers like ragdolls. One unlucky trooper was caught full-force, pinwheeling through the air with a shrill, high-pitched scream that vanished into the desert night.

Lana almost smirked—but another strike from the Fifth Brother nearly took her head off.

Blaster fire turned the encampment into a warzone. Floodlights shattered. Smoke rolled.

"Sarlacc! Lock onto those TIEs!" Grath’s voice roared over comms, steady and iron-willed as he dove the freighter low.

The droid whistled in annoyance.

Above, TIE fighters screamed into pursuit, but Grath’s cannons spoke first—one exploded in a blossom of fire.

Jahn parried a deadly thrust from the Inquisitor, booting him back with a Force-assisted kick.

"Lana, now!"

She surged forward, blue blade flashing as she cut down a stormtrooper in their path, clearing a line to the ramp descending from the Gundark.

The Fifth Brother glared, disengaging with a roar, vaulting into a waiting TIE. Engines screamed as it shot skyward, abandoning the fight.

The Grand Inquisitor merely smirked, lowering his blade.

"Run, little Jedi. We’ll meet again.”

The Gundark Nightmare sliced through the void of space, its engines purring like a contented krayt dragon. As Jahn and Lana entered the cockpit, panting from their recent exertion, Grath's eyes darted between the controls and the looming figure of a Star Destroyer on the viewscreen.

"Looks like we've got company," he said with a wry grin, hands deftly maneuvering the ship to evade the swarm of TIE fighters spilling from its hangars like angry insects. The tension in the air was sharp, but their banter carried a strange familiarity—light, almost grounding, despite the stakes.

"Alright, you two," Grath called back, his voice tinged with the thrill of the impending chase. "Strap in and keep those TIEs off us so we can jump."

The ship rocked as it dodged the first volley of laser fire, cockpit lights flickering. Jahn and Lana exchanged a quick look, an unspoken bond passing between them, then split off to their stations.

Lana slid into the lower turret, hands locking around the controls as her seat swiveled downward, her view filling with stars and the deadly streaks of green blaster fire. Jahn climbed into the upper turret, his calm voice crackling through the comms:

"I’ve got the top. You take the lower arc."

"Copy that," Lana answered, her breath steadying as her turret powered up with a satisfying hum.

The Gundark’s guns roared to life, unleashing a storm of crimson fire. TIE fighters dove and weaved, their laser bolts hammering the shields. Lana tracked one darting across her scope and squeezed the trigger—a burst of fire caught it square, erupting in a brilliant explosion.

"Nice shot, kid," Jahn’s voice cut in, cool but proud.

Lana smirked faintly. "I know, right?"

Jahn smirked. “Alright, don't get cocky,” he replied.

The ship jolted hard as Grath banked away from incoming fire, but their rhythm built. Jahn’s turret swept wide, shredding a TIE before it could flank them, while Lana locked onto another, her bolts stitching across its wing until it spiraled into debris.

Through it all, the hum of the ship, the cannons’ rhythmic thrum, and Grath’s sharp piloting melded into a singular, desperate harmony.

Another TIE screamed past Lana’s viewport, hot on Jahn’s arc. "Got one on your tail!" she called out.

"Not for long," Jahn fired back, his turret rotating sharply. The unleashed fire hit it's mark, obliterating the fighter in a ball of flames.

The Gundark weaved through the chaos, its cannons ripping holes in the Imperial swarm. Grath’s laugh echoed through the comms, a sound raw and triumphant. "That’s it! Keep ‘em off our backs!"

One final TIE screamed in head-on, lasers raking toward the freighter. Lana and Jahn locked onto it simultaneously, their combined firepower turning it into a spectacular blossom of flame that faded against the black.

The last fighter spun away in wreckage. The comms crackled with Lana’s exhilarated squeal, her voice bright against the hum of engines.

Grath chuckled, reaching out to pat the console affectionately. "Good girl," he murmured to the ship, affection clear in his tone. "Alright, we’re clear for now." He glanced back at Jahn and Lana with a wide grin. "Time to jump to hyperspace."

His thumb pressed the lever. The ship surged forward, stars streaking into brilliant lines of light until hyperspace engulfed them.

The cockpit fell quiet, save for the low hum of the ship’s systems. Breathless but safe, the three shared a moment of stillness—one small, stolen reprieve from the war that waited beyond the stars.

Chapter Text

Aboard the Gundark Nightmare

Hyperspace — 16 BBY

Lana ran back to the cockpit, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She threw herself into the co-pilot's chair, grinning from ear to ear.

"Did you see that, Uncle Grath!?" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of awe and elation. She pumped her fist in the air, the glow of the console lights catching the sweat-dampened strands of her hair.

"They didn’t know what hit them!" She turned to look at Grath, eyes shining with excitement. Her heart was still racing from the battle, but what filled her chest most was the warmth of their victory, fleeting but sweet. The word uncle slipped from her lips naturally now—a sign of how deep their bond had grown in the weeks they’d spent together. She leaned back, exhaling sharply, letting herself bask in the brief, stolen feeling of triumph.

Jahn limped into the cockpit moments later, smiling despite the pain etched on his face.

"Well done, Padawan," he said warmly, his voice tinged with exhaustion. He slumped into the auxiliary chair with a groan, hand pressed firmly to his thigh.

Lana’s grin faded when she noticed the injury. Her eyes widened, the thrill of victory replaced with sharp concern. She reached toward him, fingers hovering over the scorched fabric of his flight suit where the wound peeked through.

"Master," she said softly, her voice hushed as if speaking too loudly might worsen it. "Are you okay?"

Jahn chuckled lightly, trying to wave her off, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him. "I’ve been worse. Nothing a good bacta soak can’t fix." His smile warmed, and he reached out to rest a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You stood your ground against the Grand Inquisitor, Lana. You’ve come so far in so little time. I’m proud of you—more than you know."

Her cheeks flushed pink at the praise. She ducked her head to hide the fluttering smile pulling at her lips. "Thank you, Master," she murmured, almost shyly, her voice trembling slightly despite her efforts to steady it.

"Looks like you two have had quite the adventure," Grath interjected with a half-smirk, his gaze fixed on the endless stretch of stars ahead. "But we’ll have time for all that when we’re safely on Dantooine. We should be in orbit within a few hours." The hum of the Gundark’s engines filled the cockpit like a lullaby, a steady reminder of forward motion.

At the mention of Dantooine, Jahn fell silent. His gaze drifted toward the void outside the viewport, distant and shadowed, as if pulled backward through time. The warmth of his earlier smile faded into something quieter, more guarded. With a slight wince, he rose from his seat.

"Inform me when we reach orbit, Grath," he said simply, his tone clipped but calm. Without another word, he turned and limped out of the cockpit, boots echoing against the deck plates as he vanished down the corridor.

Imperial Camp, outside Mos Eisley

Tatooine — Moments Later

Back on the desert wasteland of Tatooine, the Grand Inquisitor stood among the wreckage of the Imperial camp. The air reeked of charred metal and scorched earth, mingled with the faint ozone stench of blaster fire. His eyes narrowed as the whine of a descending shuttle broke the silence.

Darth Vader emerged through the steam and smoke, his towering silhouette cutting a dark figure against the horizon. The rhythmic hiss of his respirator echoed through the night like a slow drumbeat of dread.

"Your failure is disappointing, Inquisitor," Vader’s modulated voice rumbled, each word heavy with restrained fury. "The Jedi grow bolder." His gaze swept the devastation before settling on the Inquisitor’s bowed head. "We will intensify the hunt."

The Grand Inquisitor lowered himself in deference, crimson blade igniting in silent acknowledgement. "The girl is strong, my lord," he said carefully. "Unscarred by fear. She is... exceptional. With time, she could be turned."

Vader’s red lenses flared faintly. "Bring her to me alive," he commanded coldly. His presence was suffocating, a storm contained within armor. Without another word, he ascended the shuttle ramp.

As its doors sealed, the Grand Inquisitor watched the sands swirling around the wrecked landing pad. The hunt was far from over.

Petranaki Arena

Geonosis — 22 BBY

The ground trembled with the roar of the gathered beasts and the jeers of countless Geonosians above. Jahn stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his former Master, the Mirialan Vira Ondari, eyes fixed on the spectacle at the arena’s center where Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, and Senator Padmé Amidala had broken free from the execution pillars. The monstrous reek, nexu, and acklay prowled around them, the beasts’ guttural cries mingling with the savage cheers of the crowd. High above, Master Windu appeared on the balcony, his presence a beacon of resolve amid the chaos. When Windu’s violet blade snapped to life, hundreds of sabers hissed in unison—a storm of light erupting across the arena floor.

Jahn smirked faintly, rolling his shoulders as he drew his emerald blade with a smooth flourish, settling into his Form V stance.

“Well,” he said, voice low and dry. “I suppose this isn’t exactly what the Council meant by ‘diplomatic solutions.’”

Ondari’s soft chuckle carried even in the cacophony. Her calm, centered Makashi stance was flawless, saber angled downward with precision, her green blade humming softly in her hands. “A Jedi must be prepared for any outcome, Jahn,” she replied serenely, her gaze steady even as droids flooded into the arena. “Even ones we would rather avoid.”

He shot her a sidelong glance, lips quirking. “You say that like you’ve rehearsed it for me.”

Her only answer was a peaceful smile. “Because I have.”

 

---

 

Blasterfire erupted from the stands, raining down in deadly streaks of red. Jahn surged forward, his Form V strikes battering through the first wave of battle droids. His saber slammed down like a hammer, cleaving limbs and torsos apart with efficient power, each movement purposeful and driving. Ondari glided beside him, her Makashi a sharp contrast—each strike elegant, precise, her blade flicking through gaps in armor and joints with flawless control. They moved like water and stone, her fluid grace guiding his raw force, their synergy cutting down swathes of droids in a seamless dance.

Geonosians shrieked from above, hurling spears and sonic rifles as droids poured in from every entrance. Jahn pivoted hard, deflecting a bolt back into a B1’s chest, then shoved forward, crushing another into the ground with a heavy kick. Through it all, Ondari remained composed, her motions almost meditative amidst the storm.

 

---

 

Then it happened. Jahn turned to intercept a trio of advancing super battle droids when a metallic screech cut through the din. His head whipped back just in time to see a droideka rolling in from their flank, its shields flaring to life as twin cannons locked onto Master Ondari.

“MASTER!” Jahn roared, vaulting toward her. She twisted elegantly, deflecting a volley with flawless timing, but she couldn’t block them all. A burst of heavy blaster fire struck her square in the chest, the impact hurling her backward. Their eyes met in that frozen instant—hers calm, even as the light in them began to fade.

 

---

 

Jahn’s heart stopped. The Force screamed through him as he lunged, cutting down the droideka in a blur of raw fury. He dropped to his knees beside her, cradling her hand in his, her green saber extinguished at her side. Her breath was shallow, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Resilience, Jahn,” she murmured, serene even in her final moments. “Resilience in the Force.”

Her fingers slipped from his grasp as her chest stilled, and the world around him vanished in a haze of fire and grief. Blaster bolts and screams blurred into nothing but white noise. His saber ignited again with a roar, its emerald glow flaring like a beacon as he rose. He reached down, his hand closing firmly around her fallen weapon, the hilt warm in his grip.

Dual blades ignited—emerald, mirrors to each other—illuminating his face in a furious glow. Jahn shifted into Jar’Kai, his strikes becoming a whirlwind of relentless ferocity. Chaos burned in his heart, his grief pouring into every movement as he carved through droids, each blow a storm fueled by loss, anger, and unyielding resolve.

Aboard the Gundark Nightmare

Hyperspace — 16 BBY

A soft knock echoed at Jahn’s door, pulling him from the storm of memories.

"Come in," he called, his voice tired but steady.

The door slid open with a faint hiss, and Lana stepped inside. Her gaze immediately fixed on his leg, where the scorched fabric of his flight suit revealed the ugly wound beneath. The small cabin was dimly lit, the glow from the corridor spilling across the sparse bunk and cluttered tools, painting the room in warm tones against the cold void outside.

"Let me help," she said gently, already pulling her medkit from her belt. She crossed the short distance between them, her footsteps soft, her expression lined with concern.

Jahn gave a small nod, leaning back slightly on the edge of his bed. His voice was quiet. "Thank you, Lana."

She knelt in front of him, setting down the kit and deftly peeling away the tattered fabric around his thigh. Her hands were steady, but her heart thudded louder at the sight of the injury. As she cleaned it with bacta-soaked gauze, Jahn winced sharply and let out a low groan through clenched teeth.

Lana glanced up at him with a teasing grin despite herself. "Oh, stop being such a baby," she giggled softly, shaking her head as she carefully worked. The warmth in her tone took the edge off the tension, filling the cabin with a fleeting sense of normalcy.

Jahn chuckled, though it was strained. "Easy for you to say. You’re not the one getting patched up."

"Not yet," she replied with a playful smirk, unrolling the bandage. Despite her light words, a blush crept across her cheeks as her fingers brushed against his bare skin while wrapping the bandage snugly around his thigh. His closeness, the faint scent of sweat and burnt fabric, and the quiet intimacy of the moment made her pulse quicken in ways she didn’t quite understand—but she focused on the task, determined not to let it show.

"You’ll be as good as new in no time, Master," she said gently, her voice softer now. She looked up briefly, catching his gaze, then quickly returned her focus to securing the bandage. The quiet hum of the ship’s engines filled the silence between them.

Jahn exhaled, reclining back slightly against the bulkhead. "I don’t know what I’d do without you, Lana," he said sincerely, his eyes softening as he smiled.

She giggled lightly, masking the heat in her cheeks. "Well, you’d probably find yourself another Padawan. Maybe a prettier one, but definitely not smarter." She glanced away quickly after saying it, hiding her blush.

Jahn laughed, shaking his head. "I don’t think I’d find either," he admitted warmly. His gaze lingered on her, steady and thoughtful. "I’d be lost and bored as a loth-rat if you weren’t here."

Her heart skipped at his words. Smiling shyly, she met his eyes. "I’ll leave you to rest, Master," she said, rising slightly from the bed. "We have a lot of work ahead of us, and I don’t want to tire you out."

"Lana, wait," he said quickly, stopping her. There was something strained in his voice, something unresolved. He sat up slightly, patting the space beside him on the bed. "I wouldn’t mind if you stayed. Please."

Her breath caught, but she nodded softly and sat back down. "Is something the matter, Master?"

Jahn sighed heavily, glancing down at the bandage she’d just wrapped. "After fighting the Inquisitor… hearing him threaten you… trying to lure you to the Dark Side." He paused, then looked at her, his brown eyes filled with something raw. "I’ve always known you mean the world to me, Lana. But I don’t think I understood how deep it went until I had to stop him from killing you." His hand rested gently on her knee, warm and steady. "You’re not just my Padawan—you’re my family."

Lana’s face flushed, her chest tightening at his words. Her hand moved almost instinctively to his, fingers curling lightly over his knuckles. "You’re my family too, Jahn," she whispered, leaning closer. "I… I don’t know what I would do without you."

He smiled faintly and drew her into his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against him, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath her ear.

"You are young," he said softly, "and you still have much to learn about the Force… but I know you’ll be better than me. You won’t make my mistakes."

Lana lifted her head just enough to glance up at him, sensing the storm behind his calm voice. The Force itself seemed to echo the cloud of regret he carried, heavy but restrained.

"Master," she murmured gently, "you’ve always been there for me. And I know we can face whatever comes—together."

Jahn closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. "I was born on Dantooine," he began quietly. "My parents… they didn’t understand my abilities. They feared them. The other children used to call me Chaos, whisper about me behind my back. I didn’t even know what I was until Master Ondari found me when I was seven."

Lana’s expression softened, her thumb brushing lightly over his hand. "That must have been so hard," she said, her voice tender.

He nodded faintly. "She vouched for me, even though I was too old by the Council’s standards. I was angry back then—resentful of my parents, my village. I… I was tempted more than once. But Ondari was patient. She was my anchor." His jaw tensed. "Her guidance kept me from falling. When she died… I nearly lost myself."

Lana nestled closer against him, listening intently.

"Right before the Clone Wars," he continued, "I went back to my village. I wanted to forgive them, tell them I’d fight for what was right." He swallowed, his voice dipping lower. "But the Separatists had already razed it to the ground. Ashes. Nothing left."

He looked down at her, his gaze softening again. "Then… you came into my life a couple of years later. A cheeky, sarcastic little girl who talked back almost as much as she listened," he chuckled.

Lana smiled against his chest, laughing lightly. "And look at us now," she teased softly. "All grown up and fighting the Empire." She tilted her head back slightly, meeting his gaze. "I’m grateful for everything you’ve taught me, Jahn."

He smirked faintly. "You’re still cynical, cheeky, and sarcastic as ever. But your connection to the Force has grown stronger than I ever imagined."

She playfully punched his shoulder. "Hey!" she laughed, easing the tension.

Jahn laughed too, rubbing his shoulder. "When we reach Dantooine, maybe we can visit what’s left of my village. It would mean a lot to me."

Lana’s laughter softened to a warm smile. She nodded, eyes shining faintly. "Of course, Master. Whatever you need, I’m here."

He eased down onto the bunk, smiling at her as he made room for her in silent invitation. Lana hesitated for only a heartbeat before settling against him, her head on his chest, his arm wrapping securely around her. The ship’s hum seemed to cradle them both, steady and warm.

Minutes later, exhaustion claimed them both, their breathing steadying in unison.

When Grath quietly opened the door later, he froze. A smirk tugged at his lips as he saw them asleep: Lana curled against Jahn’s chest, his arm protectively around her. With a knowing shake of his head, Grath quietly shut the door and left them undisturbed.

Chapter Text

Aboard the Gundark Nightmare

Hyperspace — 16 BBY

That night, Lana’s sleep was anything but restful.

Her dreams twisted into shadow and dread: a dimly lit chamber cloaked in suffocating silence, broken only by the mechanical rasp of Darth Vader’s breath. He loomed like an obsidian monument over a defeated Jahn, the emerald of her master’s saber extinguished, his body bent in subjugation. Vader’s crimson blade hovered above him, its glow painting the floor in blood-red hues.

"Join the Empire," Vader’s voice reverberated through the darkness, cold and absolute. "And he will be spared."

Lana’s breath caught in her throat, terror clawing at her chest. She looked to Jahn—his face battered but proud, his gaze meeting hers in a silent plea. The weight of choice pressed down on her like gravity itself, and she cried out, her voice breaking into raw desperation:

"No!"

Her scream tore her awake. She bolted upright in bed, heart hammering violently, breath ragged and shallow as the nightmare clung to her like icy chains.

Jahn opened his eyes instantly, roused by the panic in her voice. "Lana!" His voice was sharp with urgency as he quickly crossed the room from the corner he had sat down to meditate. Without hesitation, he pulled her trembling form into his arms. "I’m here! It’s alright—you’re safe," he soothed, his hand cradling the back of her head as she shook like a leaf in his hold.

Her fingers clutched his vest desperately. "Master," she whispered, her voice quivering, "I… I had a dream. A terrible dream…" Her forehead pressed to his chest, the sound of his heartbeat grounding her in reality. "It was about you… and Darth Vader. It felt so real." She looked up at him, eyes wide and brimming with fear that slowly hardened into resolve. "We can’t let that happen."

Jahn gently held her at arm’s length, his steady gaze locking with hers. "What did you see?" he asked softly, though tension edged his words.

Her grip on him tightened. "Vader had you," she said, voice trembling but resolute. "He told me… if I joined the Empire, he’d spare your life." She swallowed hard, shaking her head with ferocity. "But I’d never betray you, Jahn. Never. We’ll get through this—together."

His expression softened. He placed a reassuring hand against her cheek, thumb brushing away the tears she hadn’t realized had fallen. "We will," he promised quietly, steady as bedrock.

Before either could speak further, the comm system crackled to life.

"Jahn, Lana—approaching Dantooine," came Grath’s voice, calm and grounding as ever. The moment fractured as duty pressed itself back upon them.

The Gundark Nightmare descended from hyperspace, and Dantooine filled the viewport—a lush, emerald jewel adrift in the starfield. Its rolling grasslands and glittering rivers reflected the fading sunlight, casting ribbons of gold across its surface. Wisps of cloud drifted lazily over sprawling plains that seemed untouched by war, serene and alien after months of deserts and starship corridors.

Lana leaned forward in her chair, her breath catching at the sight. The verdant expanse promised peace, yet the weight in Jahn’s posture was unmistakable. His hand rested on the nav-console, fingers hovering as if hesitant.

"Take us there, Grath," Jahn said quietly, pointing toward a sector beyond the visible ridges. "Between those valleys—there’s a cavern big enough to hide the Gundark."

Grath nodded, his thick fingers dancing across the controls. "Hang tight. This bird will settle in smoother than a gundark in mud."

The ship dipped lower, slicing through the atmosphere in a hush of flame and wind. Below, flocks of silvery-winged avians wheeled gracefully in the thermals, their chorus echoing faintly through the hull. Lana pressed her hand against the viewport, a rare, wistful smile tugging at her lips.

As they skimmed the grasslands, the golden hour bathed the world in warmth. Ridges rose ahead—craggy guardians of ancient stone, their shadows sprawling long and sharp. Jahn’s gaze lingered there, unreadable, until he finally murmured:

"That ravine," he said, pointing. "It’ll shield us from orbit scans."

Grath guided the Gundark into the yawning maw of the cavern, its jagged entrance swallowing them whole. The engines’ hum dulled to silence as they settled on the rocky floor. The ship dimmed, instrument panels casting their faces in soft blue light. Outside, dust stirred lazily in the still air.

Jahn stood first. "Lana and I will scout the area," he said, fastening his cloak. "Comms off. We’ll be back by nightfall."

Grath’s brow furrowed but he nodded. "Understood. May the Force be with you." He glanced toward the droid. "Sarlacc, keep her ready for launch. I don’t like staying buried for long."

Jahn met Lana’s gaze, silent but certain.

"Ready?"

She drew a steadying breath, fingers brushing her saber. "Yes, Master."

The climb from the ravine tested them. Their boots scraped loose gravel, and the wind whistled through sheer walls as they ascended.

"You know," Lana panted, rubbing her knees, "we could just use the Force and jump our way up instead of scaling death-traps like this."

Jahn smirked over his shoulder. "And miss out on all this adventure?"

She rolled her eyes but smiled, falling into step behind him. The teasing eased the tension, even as the final ledge gave way to the surface—and Dantooine unfolded before them.

The plains stretched endlessly, an ocean of green swaying in the breeze. Wildflowers peppered the grasslands with bursts of color, and distant rivers glinted like molten silver. Creatures bounded in the distance, their silhouettes framed by the descending sun.

Lana’s breath hitched softly. "It’s… beautiful."

"It always was," Jahn said, though his voice carried the weight of memory. His eyes lingered on the horizon, somewhere far beyond the present. "But beauty doesn’t erase what happened here."

They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the whisper of the wind and the soft rustle of grass against their boots—until the ruins emerged.

Time had not been kind.

Stone walls lay toppled and entwined with creeping vines. Rusted battle droids slumped lifelessly amidst cracked courtyards, their empty photoreceptors staring blankly. Blackened blast scars marred what remained of doorways.

"This…" Jahn’s voice faltered. His steps slowed as they approached a small, crumbling structure. The word Chaos was still etched into the stone arch, jagged and cruel.

Lana’s heart clenched. She touched his arm gently. "Master…"

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. "This was my home."

Inside, dust hung in the air like ghostly veils. A decayed hay mattress slumped against the far wall, and shattered pottery lay forgotten in the corners. Jahn moved slowly, his hand brushing the old frame of his bed as though reacquainting himself with an old wound.

Then his gaze shifted—to a stone slab on the floor.

He raised his hand. The Force stirred, and the slab lifted soundlessly, revealing a hollow beneath. A weathered wooden box rose into the air, settling in Lana’s hands.

"Open it," Jahn said quietly.

Lana’s eyes widened in surprise as she took the wooden box in her hands, feeling the weight of its significance. The crest of the Jedi Order was etched into the lid, its lines worn but dignified, hinting at the treasure hidden within. She carefully lifted it open, her heart pounding in anticipation. Inside, wrapped in fine green fabric, lay a lightsaber hilt unlike any she’d ever seen.

She unraveled it slowly, reverently. The hilt gleamed even in the dim light, its sleek frame forged from brushed steel with elegant copper inlays that traced along its length. The emitter was slightly flared, lending it a regal profile, while the grip bore polished wooden accents carefully fitted into recessed channels—an artistry that spoke of refinement and tradition. Near the activation switch sat a small copper button, worn smooth from years of use, as though holding it connected her directly to the countless battles and meditations it had known.

Lana stared at it, entranced. It felt alive beneath her fingertips, humming faintly in the Force, its balance perfect and poised as if it had been crafted to answer her hand.

"Master…" she whispered, her voice trembling, awe and reverence blending into a single breath.

"Vira Ondari’s," Jahn answered. "My master’s."

He took it, ignited it. The blade sprang forth—not green, but molten orange, its glow flickering like a living ember. Lana looked at Jahn, confused. 

"Long story, for another time," he said with a gentle smile, although his eyes seemed lost in a long and painful echo from the past.

Lana nodded, choosing to respect his unspoken need for mystery until he was ready, and stared at the blade, awe washing over her. "It’s… beautiful," she breathed.

He smiled faintly. "It’s yours now, Lana. Wield it. Learn it. Let her strength guide you when mine isn’t enough."

Her fingers curled tightly around the hilt. "I’ll honor her. And you."

Jahn extended his hand, and with a subtle gesture, a second relic rose from the hollow: a Jedi Holocron. Its intricate geometric lattice spun softly as it floated between them, glowing faintly. With a pulse of the Force, it came alive.

Blue light flared, casting their faces in ghostly illumination as the projection unfolded—a training room of polished stone floors and high, arching windows overlooking the Temple gardens. The sound of distant waterfalls mingled with the hum of ignited lightsabers.

A younger Jahn stood in the center, no older than Lana herself, his stance raw and unrefined. His emerald blade lashed out in bold, heavy arcs—Djem So strikes brimming with power but lacking control. His expression carried that same defiance Lana knew so well, determination flaring in every motion.

Opposite him, Master Vira Ondari moved with flawless grace. Her Makashi blade carved elegant lines through the air, her posture poised and unshakable. She glided across the floor with the ease of a dancer, each step calculated, her emerald blade intercepting his strikes with precise flicks of her wrist.

"Focus, Jahn," her voice rang clear, serene yet firm, echoing slightly in the chamber. "Strength without balance is nothing but chaos. Again."

The younger Jahn lunged recklessly, his blade sweeping in a wide arc. With a single deft motion, Ondari pivoted on her heel, sidestepped, and parried his strike away, the tip of her saber resting at his chest before he even realized he was open. He froze, panting.

Ondari deactivated her saber with a soft hiss. She placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Resilience through the Force is the only path to survival," she said, her calm gaze piercing his frustration. "Not brute strength. Not anger. Only those who flow with the Force will endure the trials ahead. Remember this, Jahn."

The young Padawan lowered his blade, his jaw tight. Yet despite his stubbornness, he nodded, the faintest flicker of respect breaking through his defiance.

The image flickered and shifted, replaying snippets: Ondari correcting his footwork with a gentle tap of her hand; Jahn grinning boyishly after landing his first clean strike, only to be swiftly disarmed; Ondari’s soft laugh echoing through the chamber as she guided him back into stance.

 

Lana sat transfixed. It felt alive—like she was standing in that training room herself, feeling the air hum with energy, hearing the clash of blades ringing off stone walls.

The projection faded, leaving only silence and the faint glow of the Holocron.

Lana exhaled, her voice barely above a whisper. "Master… it’s like watching history breathe.”"You already embody her words," Jahn said, his voice quiet but proud. "Resilient. Connected. Everything I hoped you’d be."

Their gazes lingered on each other. The orange blade dimmed between them, glowing faintly as night settled across Dantooine.