Chapter 1: Author's Note and Disclaimer
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 2: Prologue
Chapter Text
Youngling
Chandrila, “The Jewel of the Core”
A world of rolling emerald fields, glassy sapphire lakes, and elegant domed cities. Known for its peaceful beauty and refined culture, it was a Core World untouched by conflict for generations. From its capital, Hanna City, spires of white stone and transparisteel gleamed above Lake Sah’ot, their reflections shimmering under twin moons. This was the home of the Vail family—respected, wealthy entrepreneurs who moved easily among Chandrilan high society.
Calen and Mireille Vail were visionaries. Their enterprise specialized in luxury starship interiors and advanced navigational systems, catering to the Core’s wealthy travelers. Though not politicians, their prominence in Chandrilan culture was unquestioned. Yet beneath their success and social standing, what they wanted most was simple: a child to fill their world with life.
Soon, that longing was fulfilled.
Vail Residence, Outside Hanna City
Chandrila — 33 BBY
Lana entered the world under the gentle glow of Chandrila’s moons. Mireille cradled her newborn daughter in satin sheets, gazing down at her with tired but radiant eyes. Calen stood beside her, his usual composure breaking as he brushed trembling fingers over Lana’s soft, black hair.
Her eyes opened—vivid, startling blue, clear as Chandrila’s skies. They seemed almost too sharp for a newborn, her gaze steady and curious, as if she were already memorizing their faces.
“She’s perfect,” Mireille whispered.
“She’s ours,” Calen replied, voice thick with emotion.
Even as an infant, Lana was spirited and vibrant. By six months, she babbled constantly, pointing at the sparkling lakes beyond their estate windows and laughing as if she already understood their beauty. At one year old, toys on the nursery floor occasionally twitched or rolled on their own when she reached toward them, though her parents dismissed it as coincidence.
But servants whispered. A vase quivered and toppled during one of her cries. Doors swung open when she toddled past. Mireille noticed these moments most, watching Lana with a mixture of wonder and unease.
It was subtle at first: floating objects when she giggled, lights flickering when she clapped. Her parents assumed it was childhood curiosity manifesting in strange ways—until one morning, when Mireille entered the nursery to find Lana giggling as her plush nerf calf hovered inches above her hands.
The toy dropped when Mireille gasped, and Lana simply squealed in excitement.
Vail Residence, Outside Hanna City
Chandrila — 31 BBY
The recruiter was calm, robed simply in tan and brown. He introduced himself gently, speaking in measured tones as he knelt in the nursery. Lana toddled forward curiously and grinned, reaching up—only for the plush nerf calf on her shelf to float into her hands without her touching it.
“She is strong in the Force,” the Jedi said, his tone almost reverent.
Calen and Mireille exchanged uneasy glances. They knew what this meant: Jedi training on Coruscant. Their daughter would be taken far from Chandrila’s serene lakes and gentle winds.
The departure was quiet and heart-wrenching. Mireille knelt, cradling Lana one last time, whispering promises she couldn’t keep: “We’ll see you again, starlight. You’ll do amazing things.” Calen kissed his daughter’s brow, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands: “Be strong, Lana.”
Lana didn’t understand why her parents stayed behind as she was carried aboard the shuttle. She pressed her tiny hands to the viewport, staring back at their shrinking figures on the balcony until they vanished beneath clouds and stars.
Jedi Temple
Coruscant
Coruscant was overwhelming.
The descent was dizzying—endless lights, ships darting like insects, and towering structures beyond anything Chandrila had prepared her for. And there, at the center, rose the Jedi Temple: five soaring spires crowned with a golden glow, dominating the skyline.
The Temple felt enormous and cold. Stone corridors echoed under soft footsteps, lined with towering statues of ancient Jedi whose stern faces loomed over her. The crèche masters spoke gently, guiding her through routines she didn’t understand: shared meals, meditation circles, quiet lessons about shapes and words.
She cried herself to sleep those first nights, clutching her blanket and whispering for her mother.
Slowly, the Temple became home. The gardens became her favorite place: hidden courtyards blooming with exotic flora, fountains whispering beneath the sun streaming through skylights. She learned to sit still in meditation, giggling when pebbles rose shakily into the air around her.
But the dormitories were full of restless laughter, too. But it was in the dining hall where she met him.
Jedi Temple
Coruscant — 29 BBY
Kaelen Rii was a green-skinned Twi’lek boy, four years old like her, with a grin that spelled mischief. Their first meeting was in the dining hall, when he stole an extra fruit cake and shoved it into her hands with a conspiratorial whisper: “Eat fast before they see.”
From that moment, they were inseparable.
They darted through halls after lights-out, hiding behind massive statues, daring each other to sneak into rooms they weren’t supposed to enter. They giggled uncontrollably when creche masters passed by unaware. Kaelen showed her where the rafters in the training halls were climbable, and Lana followed without hesitation.
When lessons felt overwhelming, Kaelen reminded her they were still just children.
By the time she was five, Lana’s days balanced discipline and mischief. She sat cross-legged in meditation circles, learning to still her mind, then spent afternoons chasing Kaelen through corridors in mock saber duels with training rods.
One day, Kaelen dared her to sneak into the Archives. They crept in only to be caught by Jocasta Nu, who loomed over them like a hawk.
“Children,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The restricted stacks are restricted for a reason.”
But instead of scolding them harshly, she gave them beginner holobooks on Jedi history. “If you must be here, then read something useful.”
They grinned at each other and obeyed, returning often enough that Jocasta eventually stopped pretending to be surprised.
As Lana grew older, the Temple’s atmosphere shifted. She noticed whispered discussions between Knights about “the Separatist threat,” overheard names like “Count Dooku” spoken in wary tones. Kaelen repeated gossip he’d heard from older Padawans:
“They say Dooku used to teach here. Can you believe that? A Jedi Master, leading Separatists?”
“Not a Sith,” Lana corrected automatically, echoing Jocasta Nu’s words, though doubt gnawed at her.
Training intensified. Master Cin Drallig’s sparring sessions demanded sharper reflexes, and Lana’s natural interest for wielding two sabers at once drew attention, even if to her it was just for fun. Huyang tutored them late in the evenings, his metallic voice droning patiently as they pored over emitter designs and kyber resonance theory in preparation for their eventual Gathering.
In quieter moments, she felt it: the Jedi’s unease. The galaxy was changing. Separatist rumblings grew louder. Systems seceded. And though she didn’t yet understand the full scale of what lay ahead, she could feel it like a storm building in the distance.
Jedi Temple
Ilum — 22 BBY
Snow crunched under her boots. The air bit cold against her cheeks, sharp and thin in her lungs. Ilum was unlike anything Lana had ever seen: a world blanketed in ice and silence, its jagged crystalline caverns glittering faintly in the dim sunlight.
The Gathering was spoken of in whispers, a rite of passage whispered about by older younglings, half myth and half warning. Now, standing before the cavern entrance, she understood why.
Master Yoda’s voice, ancient and weathered, carried softly over the wind. “Inside, the crystal you seek you will find. Fear… must you face. Or fail, you will.”
Lana swallowed, glancing back at Kaelen. His lekku twitched nervously, though he smirked at her all the same. “Race you,” he whispered.
Her breath hitched, but she grinned. “Try and keep up.”
Inside, silence swallowed them whole. The icy tunnels shimmered with refracted light, each step echoing faintly as her breath fogged the air. The deeper she went, the colder it grew—not just in the air, but in her chest. Doubt clawed at her mind: What if I’m not ready? What if I fail?
Then, in the stillness, she heard it: a faint hum, resonant and pure, pulling at her through the Force. She followed, winding deeper until she reached a narrow alcove lit by a faint blue glow. Embedded in the ice was a shard of kyber crystal, humming in perfect harmony with her heartbeat.
She reached for it—and froze.
Visions surged in the crystal’s glow: Chandrila’s lakes fading into darkness, her parents waving goodbye from a balcony swallowed by shadow, Kaelen’s laughter drowned out by silence, Jocasta Nu turning away, Yoda’s voice fading. Alone.
“No,” Lana whispered, breath trembling in the frozen air. “I’m not afraid.”
The crystal pulsed brighter. The visions shattered. And when she opened her eyes, it rested in her palm, cool and perfect, glowing blue.
Jedi Temple
Coruscant
Back at the Temple, she stood before Huyang’s workshop, the ancient droid bustling as he handed out components.
“Emitter matrix,” Huyang intoned, placing the piece in her hands. “Mid-grade focusing lens. Power cell regulator… ah, yes, and your crystal.” He examined it with a mechanical hum. “Blue. A classic. Reliable, elegant… and entirely predictable.”
From across the bench, Kaelen leaned over and grinned. “Matches your eyes.”
Lana flushed, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up.”
Huyang’s photoreceptors tilted curiously. “Does it? Hm. Fascinating correlation, though not scientifically relevant.”
The next hours were a blur of focus and precision: aligning emitters, setting the resonance chamber, calibrating the focusing lens. Huyang guided her hand, offering quiet corrections: “Steady. The Force flows through you, not the tool. Harmony, not haste.”
When at last she slid the final piece into place, she exhaled and thumbed the activator.
With a snap-hiss, the blade ignited. Brilliant blue light filled the workshop, its hum steady and sure.
Kaelen let out a low whistle. “Not bad, Blue-eyes. Not bad at all.”
She smiled, pride swelling in her chest. This was hers.
The Temple buzzed with tension. Even as Lana reveled in her new saber, she couldn’t ignore the murmurs in the halls: more star systems leaving the Republic, more Jedi dispatched on delicate “peacekeeping” missions, more grim faces returning to the Temple.
One evening in the Archives, Jocasta Nu lowered a holobook and sighed. “The galaxy is… restless, Lana. Count Dooku’s rhetoric spreads faster than reason. Entire sectors rally to his banner.”
“Why?” Lana asked softly.
“Fear,” Jocasta replied simply. “Fear drives even the brightest lights into shadow.”
Kaelen, perched on a nearby chair, snorted. “I bet I could take him.”
Jocasta arched an eyebrow. “Let us hope it never comes to that, young Rii.”
Jedi Temple
Coruscant — 21 BBY
The Temple halls were quieter than usual that evening, so different from the war raging throughout the Galaxy, shadows stretching long under the glow of soft lanterns. Lana and Kaelen sat across from each other on the steps of their favorite garden courtyard, knees drawn up, hands fidgeting. Neither spoke at first.
A small chime echoed from the wall-mounted comm—clear, sharp, and undeniable. Both of them froze.
“That’s it,” Kaelen said, his voice quieter than usual.
Lana swallowed hard. “The assignment call.”
They glanced at each other, fear and excitement tangled in their faces. Kaelen tried to smirk, but it wavered. “Guess this is it, huh? No turning back.”
Lana forced a breath and nodded. “Tomorrow, we’re not younglings anymore.”
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them—then Kaelen extended his hand, palm up. “Together, one last time?”
She stared at it, then smiled faintly and clasped it tight. “Together.”
The chime repeated. A crèche master’s voice came faintly over the Temple intercom: “All younglings report to the central training hall at dawn.”
Kaelen squeezed her hand once, then let go with a lopsided grin. “See you at the gardens tonight, Blue-eyes.”
Lana laughed softly, though her heart twisted. “See you there, fruitcake thief.”
Coruscant was alive with light even at night, its endless cityscape glowing like a sea of stars inverted beneath them. But here, in their hidden corner of the Temple gardens, the hum of speeders and bustle of the city felt far away. The only sound was the quiet trickle of a fountain and the whisper of leaves stirred by artificial breezes.
Lana sat cross-legged in the grass, fingers idly plucking at a blade until it snapped. Her blue eyes—reflecting the faint glow of the Temple’s spires—watched Kaelen as he leaned against their favorite tree, his lekku shifting nervously.
“Can you believe this is our last night here?” Lana murmured, her voice softer than usual.
Kaelen’s usual grin was missing. He kicked at a pebble near his boot. “Feels weird. Tomorrow we’re Padawans. We won’t even be in the same wing anymore.”
Lana gave a faint laugh. “We’ll probably be halfway across the galaxy. You’ll get sent to some desert world, and I’ll end up freezing somewhere like Ilum again.”
He smirked faintly, but there was no joy behind it. “As long as you don’t end up somewhere boring like the Agricultural Corps.”
Her gaze drifted upward to the sky, though it was only a simulated dome above the garden. “I don’t even remember Chandrila,” she admitted. “Not really. Just… flashes. Blue lakes. My mom’s voice.”
Kaelen tilted his head, his expression softening. “I remember shadows more than faces. My parents are just… gone in my mind. Like they never existed.” He chuckled bitterly. “Guess we’ve always been each other’s family instead.”
Lana smiled at that, leaning over to nudge his shoulder gently. “You’ve been the only one who’s always been there. Through everything.”
His eyes met hers, and for a moment, silence stretched between them. The weight of unspoken fears hung heavy: the war outside, the unknown tomorrow, the chance they might never see each other again.
“Hey,” Lana said softly, almost hesitating. “Can I give you something? To remember me by?”
Before Kaelen could respond, she leaned in quickly and pressed a kiss to his cheek—light, fleeting, and warm. When she pulled back, her face flushed pink, but her smile stayed.
Kaelen blinked, utterly stunned. His lekku twitched in surprise, and he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh… okay, wow.” He cleared his throat, fumbling for humor. “So that’s it? I risk my life stealing you fruitcakes from the dining hall for years, and all I get is one kiss on the cheek?”
Lana rolled her eyes, grinning despite herself. “You’re impossible.”
He chuckled, though his voice cracked faintly. “I’m just saying… if anyone’s gonna remember me, I want it to be the girl with the bluest eyes in the Temple.”
She laughed, swatting his shoulder. “You’re such an idiot.”
“I know,” he said quietly, the smile fading into something more tender.
They sat there for a long time after that, leaning shoulder to shoulder in the quiet garden, staring up at the stars they couldn’t see through the city’s haze. Neither spoke, afraid words might break the moment.
For just tonight, the galaxy didn’t matter. The war didn’t matter. Tomorrow didn’t matter.
For tonight, it was just them.
The creche masters gathered the younglings in the Temple’s central training hall, the vaulted chamber alive with anticipation. Masters lined the periphery, their robes flowing, their gazes sharp. The air thrummed with quiet tension: this was the day they would be chosen.
Lana stood shoulder to shoulder with Kaelen, fingers tight around her saber hilt. “What if no one picks me?” she whispered.
Kaelen smirked. “Please. You’re too loud to ignore.”
A deep voice called her name.
“Lana Vail.”
She turned. A tall man approached from the Masters’ line. He was dressed in a rather unusual dark burgundy tunic, black pants and boots, and what seemed to be more of a brown hooded cape rather than a robe, his presence calm but commanding. His features were rugged, weathered by years in the field, his gaze steady as it met hers.
“I am Jahn Bakar,” he said. “You will be my Padawan.”
The world seemed to still.
Lana swallowed, nerves and excitement warring in her chest. She bowed deeply, just as they had been taught. “I accept, Master.”
He nodded once, firm and approving. “We leave at dawn.”
As he turned away, Lana looked back over her shoulder. Kaelen gave her a mock salute, grinning wide. “Don’t forget me when you’re famous,” he called.
“I won’t,” she mouthed back, smiling despite herself.
That evening, Lana stood at the Temple’s balcony overlooking Coruscant’s endless skyline, her saber clipped to her belt, the hum of traffic below blending into white noise. Beside her, Jahn Bakar joined her in silence, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Your training begins tomorrow,” he said evenly. “Far from here. The galaxy is changing, Lana. You must be ready.”
The city lights stretched endlessly before them, like stars scattered across the durasteel horizon. Somewhere in the distance, faint thunder rolled—though the sky was clear.
Lana’s hand brushed her saber hilt. Excitement and fear tangled in her chest, but beneath it all burned determination. “I’m ready, Master.”
He glanced at her, the faintest trace of approval in his expression. “We’ll see.”
And as the Temple’s spires glowed in the evening light, the Force stirred around her—a promise of trials and bonds, of loss and hope, of the path ahead.
The future beckoned, and Lana Vail stepped forward, unknowing but unafraid.
The Clone Wars
Venator-class Republic Cruiser “Radiant Echo”
Orbit Over Felucia — 20 BBY
The Radiant Echo drifted above the planet, its daggered hull glimmering faintly against the pale glow of hyperspace trails in the distance. Inside its cavernous hangar, clone troopers moved in disciplined formation, boots clanging against durasteel as LAAT gunships powered up, filling the air with their mechanical roar.
Lana Vail leaned over the observation railing, her Padawan braid hanging loosely over her shoulder, her blue eyes sharp and restless. She gripped the hilt of her lightsaber—a comfort more than a weapon—and tapped her boot impatiently on the deck. Below, Felucia’s fluorescent jungles glimmered like an alien sea, its giant mushrooms and neon haze rising like a dreamscape.
“You’ve been pacing for ten minutes,” came the voice she knew well. Calm. Level. Grounding.
Master Jahn Bakar stepped beside her, his green-bladed saber hanging steady at his hip, his robes swaying faintly with each measured step. His presence was always the same—anchored, immovable, like a stone in a storm.
“I’m not pacing,” she replied, flashing him a cheeky grin without looking away from the world below. “I’m… preparing.”
“Impatience is not preparation,” Jahn said, his tone even, but there was that ghost of amusement in his eyes. “Felucia will still be there in five minutes.”
Lana turned, leaning her elbow on the railing. “Unless it decides to vanish. I mean, look at it—it looks like the kind of planet that would just get swallowed up by its own weird glowing plants.”
He sighed softly, folding his arms. “You sound like Skywalker.”
She smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He only shook his head, though she swore she saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
Moments later, the gunships roared to life, their repulsors humming with raw energy. Lana bounded forward, braid swinging wildly, practically leaping aboard the nearest LAAT. Jahn followed with his usual steady stride, composed even as klaxons blared.
“Eager, aren’t we?” he remarked as he stepped aboard.
“Only because I know we’re going to win,” Lana shot back, strapping herself in with a cocky grin.
Jahn raised an eyebrow. “Confidence is useful. Overconfidence gets Jedi killed.”
Lana leaned in, her grin widening. “Good thing you’ve got me to keep things interesting.”
He didn’t answer, though she caught the faintest shake of his head.
When the LAAT plunged into Felucia’s atmosphere, the humid air smothered them instantly. The jungle floor glowed beneath the canopy, colors too vivid to be natural. Blasterfire lit the mist as droids emerged in waves.
Jahn’s green blade snapped alive, his Ataru acrobatics launching him forward in whirling strikes, each motion fierce and aggressive, blending seamlessly into Form V’s dominating power. Beside him, Lana launched herself into the fray with graceful Makashi strikes, her blade flowing with elegant precision, every thrust sharp, controlled, and cutting through droids like a dancer with lethal intent.
“Hold position!” Jahn barked, vaulting off a boulder with an Ataru flourish, cutting through two B1s midair before landing in a crushing Form V overhead strike that cleaved a super battle droid in half.
“I am holding!” she shouted back, spinning into a lunging strike, her Makashi form piercing through a droid’s chassis with a pinpoint thrust before pivoting to intercept another.
“Reckless,” he muttered under his breath, but she heard him anyway and laughed as though it were praise.
When the last droid fell, Lana twirled her blade once before deactivating it, flashing him a victorious grin. “Not bad for my first real mission, huh?”
“You’re still alive,” Jahn said simply, though there was approval in his eyes. “We’ll call that progress.”
Back aboard The Radiant Echo, progress was measured not in praise but in repetition. The training chamber echoed with the clash of sabers, green against blue, sparks flickering with each contact.
Jahn’s Ataru flourishes and heavy Form V counters pushed Lana hard, forcing her Makashi elegance into defensive precision under pressure. Her saber flicked high, then low, footwork precise, but Jahn’s raw strength and dominance in Form V smashed through her guard. A twist of his wrist sent her weapon flying from her grip.
“Your left flank is wide open,” Jahn said calmly, lowering his blade.
Lana groaned, collapsing onto the floor. “I knew that was coming. I just—ugh!” She flung herself onto her back in exasperation. “I’m terrible at this.”
“You’re not terrible,” Jahn replied evenly, retrieving her saber and holding it out. “You’re impatient. Impatience makes even the skilled look sloppy.”
She grabbed the hilt, scowling. “I’m trying, you know.”
“And I see that,” he said, crouching to meet her eye. “Frustration clouds your instincts. The Force flows best in clarity. You must stop forcing it.”
She frowned, muttering, “Easy for you to say. You’re perfect.”
Jahn smirked faintly. “If I were perfect, I’d be Head of the Council.”
That pulled a laugh out of her despite herself, dissolving her frustration like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Malastare — 20 BBY
The gunship jolted violently as it descended into Malastare’s war-torn sky. The atmosphere was thick with the acrid scent of fuel and burning earth. Below, detonations lit up trenches like fireworks.
As the LAAT neared the landing zone, blasterfire erupted from hidden positions—an ambush. Clones poured out, only to be cut down instantly in the crossfire. The jungle-tinted ground was a deathtrap, littered with wreckage and bodies.
“Take cover!” Commander Daro roared.
Jahn’s green saber snapped alive, deflecting bolts in broad, powerful sweeps of Form V, his presence steady as a wall even amidst chaos. Beside him, Lana danced through the barrage with Makashi precision, weaving strikes into deflections, her every motion calculated and elegant.
Half their squad was gone in seconds.
The comms crackled with Mace Windu’s voice: “All units, retreat. Pull back to the eastern ridge.”
Jahn grimaced. “You heard them! Fall back!”
But Lana froze mid-step, eyes narrowing. She was scanning the battlefield—not panicked, but focused.
“Wait! Master, look—there’s a pattern!”
“What?” he shouted over the blasterfire.
“Their lines—see it?” she said, pointing through the haze. “They’re repositioning after every heavy barrage, leaving a gap right there!” Her finger jabbed toward a series of fuel depots guarded lightly on their flank.
“Lana, we don’t have time to—”
“If we hit that depot,” she cut in, urgency sharpening her voice, “we cut off their supply and collapse their advance! I know I’m right!”
Jahn stared at her for a heartbeat. The comm barked again: “Master Bakar, retreat immediately!”
Lana’s blue eyes met his, blazing with conviction despite the fear laced beneath. “Trust me, Master!”
For a moment, the world shrank to silence—then Jahn nodded.
“All right.” He turned to Commander Daro. “Cover our retreat. We’ll flank them!”
“Sir—?!”
“Do it!”
Lana surged forward, her blade flashing like lightning. Jahn followed close behind, his Ataru leaps vaulting wreckage as they broke from the retreating line. Together they carved through the enemy flank—Makashi precision opening gaps as Ataru’s relentless speed struck deep.
They reached the depot under withering fire. Lana sprang forward, slicing through a control line in a burst of sparks. Jahn hurled a massive fuel tank into a spider droid using the Force, triggering a cascading explosion that ripped across the Separatist line.
The enemy faltered. Clones cheered as the tide shifted.
By day’s end, the siege was broken.
As the battlefield quieted, medics tended to the wounded under a sky still streaked with smoke. The fires of war smoldered on the horizon, but for the first time all day, silence blanketed the trenches.
Lana sat on a half-toppled crate, her hands still trembling faintly from adrenaline, staring down at her lightsaber.
Jahn approached, his armor scorched and robes torn, but his presence steady. He crouched down in front of her, his gaze calm and searching.
“You were right,” he said simply.
Lana blinked, surprised at the raw honesty in his tone. “I just… I saw it. I didn’t even think, I just… knew.”
He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “That’s the Force guiding you. You trusted it—and yourself. That’s what saved this campaign.”
Her lips trembled into a small smile, pride flickering in her expression. “You could’ve ordered me to stand down.”
“I could have,” Jahn admitted with a faint smirk. “But I’ve learned something about you, Lana—you don’t see obstacles, only paths forward. The Council gave an order, and I defied it because I trusted you.”
Her breath caught at his words. “You… really mean that?”
He nodded firmly. “If I didn’t, we’d be counting bodies instead of victories tonight. You have instincts most Jedi take years to hone. One day, you’ll surpass even me.”
She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “I doubt that.”
He squeezed her shoulder gently. “I don’t.”
His voice lowered, sincere and steady. “You’re not just my Padawan, Lana. You’re my partner out there. Remember that.”
In that moment, the exhaustion melted away. She straightened slightly, holding his gaze, and whispered, “I won’t let you down, Master.”
“You haven’t yet,” he replied softly.
The fires in the distance crackled, but for Lana, the battlefield no longer felt so cold.
Several Systems — 20/19 BBY
The months blurred into a cycle of battle and brief reprieve.
Lana fought beside Jahn on Christophsis, vaulting across crystal-laden ridges and piercing through advancing droids with precise Makashi thrusts. Jahn darted between enemy lines with Ataru’s acrobatics, vaulting from shattered platforms and landing devastating Form V counterattacks that cleared swaths of enemies.
On Ryloth, she leapt from a wrecked LAAT, her saber weaving in elegant ripostes as she dispatched a squad of B-2s with practiced poise. Jahn crashed down beside her in a ferocious Form V strike that cleaved an armored droid cleanly, then spun defensively to catch incoming fire.
Umbara was different. Cloaked in endless night, its misty blackness swallowed sound and sight alike. Lana faltered here, fear creeping into her chest like icy fingers. When droids ambushed their flank, she froze—until Jahn’s green blade burst ahead of her, Ataru’s whirling speed carving through enemies with blinding motion.
“Focus on my voice,” he commanded firmly, his tone grounding. “Breathe. Let the Force guide you.”
Anchored by his voice, she steadied herself and returned to Makashi’s sharp economy, her blade finding targets with precision while he flowed seamlessly from Ataru’s ferocity to Form V’s unstoppable dominance.
Between battles, quiet moments aboard the Radiant Echo became lifelines.
The observation deck was their sanctuary, hyperspace light streaking past like rivers of blue fire. One evening, Lana sat perched on the railing, saber hilt idle in her lap.
“Do you ever miss it?” she asked softly.
“Miss what?” Jahn’s voice was calm, steady.
“The Temple. The gardens,” she murmured. “Kaelen would’ve loved this view.”
“Kaelen?” he asked.
“My friend,” she said. “From before. He used to say I’d be amazing someday.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Guess I still have work to do.”
Jahn smiled at her. “You already are.”
Sullust — 19 BBY
The world around them was fire and ash, rivers of molten rock cutting glowing scars across its tortured surface. They deployed with clones into searing heat, blasterfire erupting instantly. Lana’s Makashi form flowed like water—her strikes surgical and graceful—while Jahn hurled himself forward with Ataru’s acrobatics, striking down enemies with sweeping, crushing Form V counters that turned droids into slag.
Then the words came. Cold. Like a vibroblade through the comms.
“Execute Order 66.”
At first, confusion rippled through comms—then betrayal. Rifles raised. Blaster bolts fired.
“Master?” Lana gasped, her voice trembling.
Jahn’s green saber snapped alive in a blur, batting bolts aside with ferocious Form V sweeps.
His voice cut like thunder. “Lana, run!”
Commander Daro's voice boomed coldly: “Open fire!”
They sprinted through volcanic tunnels, boots pounding against stone slick with ash. The air was stifling, their lungs burning with each breath. Bolts whizzed past as Jahn leapt high into an Ataru flip, cutting down two clones with a spinning strike before landing in a crushing Form V overhead slash that shattered a third trooper’s rifle.
“Why are they doing this?!” Lana cried out, parrying shots with pinpoint Makashi thrusts as tears streaked her ash-smudged face.
“Not now!” Jahn roared, deflecting a deadly volley with sheer force before pulling her forward with the Force.
As they ducked through a split in the tunnels, a trooper’s bolt seared past Lana’s cheek, and before she could react, another clone emerged from a side shaft behind her, rifle leveled point-blank.
“Lana!” Jahn’s voice thundered.
He surged forward, vaulting into an Ataru spin that cut the clone down mid-trigger pull, landing protectively in front of her. He pulled her against him for the briefest heartbeat, shielding her with his body and saber.
Her breath hitched as she realized how close it had been.
“Eyes forward!” he barked, though his voice softened as he quickly met her gaze. “I’ve got you. I will always have you. Now move!”
They tore forward again, hearts pounding in unison. Clones poured in from both ends of the tunnel, hemming them in. Jahn surged forward, Ataru’s speed blurring his strikes as he cut down a path, while Lana ducked and riposted, precision piercing gaps in their armor.
A familiar voice rang out—Sergeant Vex, rifle trembling. “Stand down, Jedi! Don’t make me—!”
Jahn spun, redirected a bolt with Form V’s raw strength, shattering Vex’s rifle and sending him sprawling.
They pressed on, weaving through fire until light broke ahead—the hangar. Several shuttles and transports gleamed beneath crimson alarms.
“Go!” Jahn barked, parrying a last volley, then vaulted in an Ataru flip over Lana, cutting down two clones blocking the ships.
Lana leapt into one and went straight into the cockpit, fingers trembling as she powered up the engines. “Engines hot!”
Jahn vaulted in, sealing the canopy. Blaster bolts hammered the hull as the fighter roared out, weaving through deadly fire until hyperspace consumed them.
Jahn and Lana sat in silence as they replayed the holo transmission for the third time:
“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen… with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi: Trust in the Force. Do not return to the Temple. That time has passed, and our future is uncertain. Avoid detection. Be secret… but be strong. May the Force be with you.”
Hours had passed.
Maybe one day.
Neither knew for sure.
They had concealed themselves inside a cave on the largest of a small cluster of asteroids. No signal. No chatter. No guidance. Just the hum of residual heat from the ship’s systems and the cold breath of deep space pressing against the hull.
In the cockpit’s silence, Lana trembled, staring at the now dormant holo emitter.
“Why did they do this?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Why would they—our own men…”
Jahn’s brow furrowed, his expression taut with controlled tension. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low. “Something’s wrong. Deeply wrong.”
Lana’s grip tightened on her saber, her hands shaking. “So, this happened to the others too? To the Temple?”
Jahn turned toward her, his brown eyes steady despite the fear neither of them voiced. “It sounds like it.”
His hand rested on her shoulder, grounding her like an anchor in a storm.
Her lips trembled. “Then it's all gone, Master… I don’t even know where to go anymore.”
He shifted closer, his voice gentling. “Lana. Look at me.”
When her eyes met his, he spoke with quiet certainty: “You’re not alone. Whatever happened out there, whatever this is—we’ll face it together. We'll fight back. We’ll live long enough to see this ‘Empire’ fall.”
Her breath hitched. “What if we’re all that’s left?”
“Then we become the start of something new,” he said firmly, his hand steadying her trembling one. “We adapt, we endure, and we hold on to the light. Always.”
Her head lowered against his shoulder for a moment, exhaustion and fear mingling in silence.
“Together?” she whispered.
“Always,” he replied, his tone unshakable.
And as hyperspace stretched ahead into the unknown, confusion and dread looming over them both, Lana clung to that one promise—the first glimmer of hope.
Chapter 3: Chapter 1: Smugglers
Chapter Text
Black Spire Outpost
Batuu — 17 BBY
The neon glow of Black Spire Outpost bathed the streets in fractured color, painting the weathered durasteel and petrified trunks in hues of amber and teal. Smugglers, traders, and drifters moved in restless tides, their faces half-hidden under hoods and helmets.
From their corner table in Oga’s Cantina, Jahn Bakar sat like a shadow carved from durasteel. Broad-shouldered and unflinching, he wore the weathered edges of war in the lines at his eyes and the faint scars along his jaw. At thirty-one, he looked older than his years, the Clone Wars and two years spent surviving on the run etching a quiet gravity into his face that few men his age carried. His dark hair, loose and brushed back, framed a face equal parts handsome and haunted. The black flight suit he favored—reinforced at the seams and scuffed from years of close calls—clung to a frame honed by discipline.
Across from him, Lana Vail was his perfect counterpoint: restless where he was still, vibrant where he was stoic. At sixteen, she balanced on the edge between girlhood and adulthood, her sharp wit and mischievous nature often outpacing her years. She sprawled lazily in her chair as if the galaxy wasn’t hunting them both, her long dark hair braided hastily over one shoulder, framing a face still soft with youth but sharpened by piercing blue eyes that saw far more than they should. Her pale desert leathers looked casual enough to pass for a spacer’s attire.
Hidden beneath the folds of their clothes, out of view but never far from reach, rested their lightsabers—elegant weapons of a more civilized age, relics that marked them for what they truly were.
Lana sipped her drink nonchalantly, boots propped up on the edge of the table despite Jahn’s disapproving glance.
“You know, dad,” she said loudly enough for nearby ears, her tone dripping with sarcasm, “if I had a credit for every stormtrooper that’s walked past tonight, I could buy half this cantina.”
Her grin widened when a couple of patrons glanced their way and then looked away, uninterested—exactly as she wanted. Under the table, her hand rested lightly near her hidden weapon.
“Relax,” she added in a lowered voice. “We’re just a harmless smuggler father and daughter out for overpriced drinks. Totally inconspicuous.”
Jahn exhaled through his nose, fighting a smirk despite himself. “Keep your voice down,” he murmured, his tone equal parts caution and amusement.
Lana leaned in closer, blue eyes sparkling. “Come on, dad. If they were onto us, we’d already be sprinting. And if it comes to that,” she whispered, voice playful, “I vote we head straight for the Mynock. Fast ship, clever pilot, and your brilliant, charming daughter with a fancy weapon? What’s the worst that could happen?”
Jahn arched a brow, but before he could reply, the cantina doors hissed open and a fresh squad of stormtroopers stepped inside, scanning the room.
Lana grinned, tilting her head toward them. “See? Perfect timing for one of your famous ‘teachable moments,’ dad.” Despite her mockery, she stiffened slightly as the Stormtroopers paced nearby.
Two stormtroopers, one a sergeant, approached their table. The sergeant looked at Jahn and spoke with a firm voice. “Let me see your identification.”
“You already checked us earlier,” Jahn said calmly, letting the Force thread subtly through his words. “You said we were clear.”
The sergeant’s gaze lingered for a moment before he nodded almost imperceptibly. “My apologies, sir.” He turned sharply, gesturing to his men, and the squad marched out. The cantina door hissed shut behind them.
With a smug smirk, Lana relaxed and leaned back in her chair. “See, Master? Nothing to worry about.” She winked and took a slow sip of her drink, savoring the small victory.
Jahn shook his head as he ordered another drink. “You can be just as charming as a nesting rancor, you know?”
Lana giggled and nodded, her tension melting. “Well, you’re the one who taught me all those fancy diplomatic moves, Master.”
“I told you, don’t call me ‘Master’ in public, daughter,” Jahn muttered, lowering his voice. “You’re going to get us both killed.”
With a cheeky grin, Lana raised her glass. “Sorry, dad,” she murmured, the word rolling off her tongue with practiced ease.
The cantina’s chatter swelled back to normal. Patrons resumed their private dealings in the dim neon haze. The bartender slammed down a new glass in front of Jahn, sloshing amber liquid over the rim. Lana watched the droplets catch the light, her mind already racing.
She leaned closer, her voice dropping. “So, what’s the next move, Master?”
Jahn sighed. “The same as always, Lana. Lay low, take whatever jobs we can find to make some credits, live another day.”
Lana tapped her fingers against the table, restless. “But Master, aren’t you tired of just living? I say we stir up some trouble, make a name for ourselves. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Jahn fixed her with a stern look. “Not stirring trouble has kept us alive. There may be other Jedi survivors out there, hiding just like us. We must be patient until the time comes to rebuild the Order.”
Lana groaned. “But Master…” She leaned in, her voice full of stubborn fire. “What if we could help them? Don’t you ever get the itch to fight back?”
Jahn’s expression softened. “Being a Jedi isn’t about finding every excuse to fight. It’s about knowing when not to.” He let the words hang between them, measured and deliberate. “Patience, Lana. It’s what saves lives.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was understanding behind it. “Fine,” she muttered. “But promise me—just once in a while, we get to stir up a little trouble?”
Jahn drained his drink and set it down with a finality that closed the conversation. “Come on,” he said, rising. “Let’s get back to the ship.” He smiled faintly, tapping his chest in a gesture she understood well. “We can ‘study’ a little.”
Lana grinned, springing from her seat. “Alright, dad,” she said, her voice alight with energy. “Let’s go and learn.”
Outside Oga’s Cantina, Black Spire Outpost stretched out like a relic carved into the bones of an ancient world. The towering petrified spires that gave the settlement its name clawed upward into the indigo sky, their jagged silhouettes catching the faint glow of Batuu’s twin moons.
Narrow streets wound between worn durasteel stalls and sandstone buildings patched together with scavenged plating, their edges softened by decades of desert winds. Neon signs buzzed faintly in alien scripts, washing the night in fractured hues of amber and violet. The air smelled faintly of roasted meat from distant market stalls, mingling with the sharp tang of fuel and the ever-present grit of dust carried on the breeze.
Overhead, the faint hum of speeders and low-flying cargo haulers blended with the chatter of smugglers, traders, and drifters—all of it under the watchful eyes of scattered Imperial patrols.
Jahn’s gaze lingered on the outpost’s gates beyond the market, where the wilderness stretched past sight—dark spires, jagged rock plains, and the faint glow of the Golden Mynock hidden somewhere among them. Out here, even in the shadows of Imperial occupation, the wild edges of the galaxy felt close. It was the kind of place where danger lingered just out of view, yet survival thrived in its cracks.
As they moved through the crowded streets, weaving past droids and merchants hawking wares, Lana spotted the gleaming Droid Depot and pointed for the tenth time that evening.
“Look, Jahn!” she said, her voice pitching high with excitement. “An astromech would be so useful right now!”
Jahn only shook his head, smiling faintly as they pressed on toward the Golden Mynock, its golden-and-copper hull waiting under the shadow of the tallest spire.
Inside the freighter’s cargo bay, Jahn keyed the ramp closed and turned to her. “Do you remember Malastare?”
Lana’s grin dimmed, her tone softening. “Yes, Master.”
He gestured for her to sit opposite him on their paired meditation stools. “After we landed, half our battalion was gone before we even reached cover. You were thirteen. One year into your training as my Padawan. You complained about the retreat order, but you studied their battle formations. You waited, and then you struck. That patience won us the city.”
Lana smiled faintly at the memory. “I remember. The Council wasn’t happy.”
“They weren’t,” Jahn agreed, settling into his seat. “But they couldn’t deny the results.”
She blushed slightly at the praise but quickly recovered with a cheeky grin. “Well, I had a pretty amazing Master to learn from,” she murmured, using the title in its proper context this time. “But seriously, when do we get to have some fun that doesn’t involve blaster bolts?”
She pouted dramatically, though the playful spark in her eyes betrayed her teasing tone.
“Considering you had been training under my guidance for less than a year, I can hardly take credit.” Jahn laughed softly as he rose to his feet. “Let’s train a little.”
He ignited his lightsaber, the green blade whooshing into life and filling the cargo hold with its steady hum.
With a dramatic sigh, Lana stood and drew her own lightsaber, the blue blade flashing brilliantly in the dim light. “Fine, if I must,” she said, her excitement clear as she twirled the weapon in a graceful Makashi flourish. “But remember, when the Empire falls, it’s all thanks to my tactical genius!”
She saluted playfully with her saber before sliding smoothly into her duelist’s stance.
Their blades met with a sharp hiss, the clash of blue and green filling the air with light and sound. Jahn pressed forward with Djem So’s raw strength, his strikes heavy and deliberate, forcing Lana to retreat and parry. She answered each blow with sharp, precise ripostes, Makashi’s elegance woven seamlessly with the strength of her own Djem So counters.
Sparks danced where their blades locked, the rhythmic hum of their sabers echoing like music in the confined space.
Jahn’s movements shifted into Ataru’s flowing acrobatics, his footwork nimble as he vaulted over her, bringing his saber down in a wide arc. Lana spun gracefully beneath him, sidestepping and answering with a swift upward slash that would have caught him had he not twisted away.
Their duel became a dance—teacher and student, father and daughter—each strike and parry carrying both discipline and familiarity. They exchanged smirks between clashes, testing one another’s skill without fear of harm, the trust between them absolute.
The air shimmered with the heat of their blades, the Force threading through every step, guiding them in harmony.
Finally, their sabers locked, green and blue buzzing violently against one another. Both held their ground, breath steady, eyes locked in mutual respect before disengaging in unison.
That night, as the Golden Mynock rested in its hidden dock, Lana’s sleep was pierced by a vivid, unsettling dream. In the tumult of battle, she saw Jahn, his eyes fierce with determination as he urged her to flee from an imposing figure—an Inquisitor.
The clash of sabers was deafening, sparks flying with every strike. The smell of scorched metal filled her senses as she watched in horror: the Inquisitor’s crimson blade severed Jahn’s hand in a brutal stroke, sending him to his knees. His green saber flickered out as he cried for her to escape.
Then, with a final thrust, the crimson blade pierced his chest. The vision dissolved into darkness.
She jolted awake, heart hammering, clutching the hilt of her lightsaber beneath her pillow as if it could anchor her to reality.
By dawn, pale light streamed through the cabin window. Lana stretched, the nightmare lingering at the edges of her mind as she dressed and made her way to the cockpit. Jahn was already there, eyes scanning the star map. He glanced at her, the exhaustion of their late night still etched on his face.
“You’re up early,” he said, his tone quiet but edged with concern. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Yeah,” she murmured, rubbing her eyes. “Just a weird nightmare.” She forced a small smile and glanced at the map. “What’s the plan for today, Master?”
He studied her for a long moment, then stepped closer. “You know Jedi don’t have nightmares,” he said gently. “We’re too attuned to the Force for it. Tell me what you saw.”
“It was just… a battle,” she said, swallowing hard and avoiding his gaze. “Nothing unusual. But I’m fine.” She forced a brighter smile. “Come on, let’s get breakfast. I heard Oga has something worth forgetting everything over.”
He didn’t push, only nodded knowingly. “They’ve got a special Ronto wrap at Ronto Roasters this morning.”
Her smile turned genuine. “Oooh, that sounds perfect. Let’s grab one before they run out. And maybe…” Her eyes gleamed mischievously. “Maybe we can find a little trouble along the way?”
Jahn smirked faintly, turning back to the controls. “We’re here to keep our heads down, remember.”
The tension eased, and they spent the day running small jobs through their informant network. By evening, they returned to Oga’s, settling into their familiar table beneath the cantina’s neon glow.
Lana stretched with a groan. “I’ve had enough of this ‘stay quiet’ stuff. When do we get to stir up real trouble?” Her grin turned sly. “I heard there’s a smuggler holding a Jedi artifact—a piece of a holocron. What if we took it back?”
Jahn’s brow arched. “You’ve known about this?”
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it was nothing,” she admitted, sheepish but eager. “But what if it’s real?”
He sighed, but the spark of curiosity in his eyes betrayed him. “Show me.”
They slipped into Batuu’s shadowy underbelly, neon signs fading behind them as the air turned colder and the scent of oil and durasteel thickened. Jahn’s hand rested near his saber, then he heard them.
Jahn quickly pulled Lana back into the shadows and covered her mouth as they hid. She hadn’t heard the clang of boots against the metal floor until three Mandalorian warriors—likely bounty hunters—strode past in silence, their visors gleaming under the dim corridor lights.
Lana held her breath, heart pounding, as their imposing figures vanished around a corner.
Once they were out of earshot, Jahn eased his hand away, and Lana exhaled sharply. “Thanks, Master,” she murmured softly, eyes glinting with both admiration and relief. “Let’s keep moving. We can’t let them ruin our surprise.” She gave him a playful nudge, her voice hushed but eager.
“Lana, wait,” Jahn said, his tone low and urgent. “This whole thing is giving me a bad feeling. The dark side dwells in these tunnels.”
Lana’s brow furrowed, but she crouched beside him behind a stack of crates. “But, Jahn,” she whispered insistently, “this could be our chance to make a real difference.” Her voice trembled with determination. “We’ll be careful, I promise.” She bit her lip, her youthful defiance tempered by the hope in her eyes. “We can’t just ignore this, can we?”
Jahn looked at her steadily. “We also can’t ignore the possibility that this is a trick from the dark side leading us into a trap.” His voice was measured, calm but firm. “Tell me, what are the odds of a piece of a Jedi holocron being in the possession of some random smuggler, on one of the farthest, most forgotten systems in the Outer Rim?”
Lana swallowed hard, her voice quieter now. “I guess it’s pretty slim,” she admitted. Then her gaze softened, her whisper laced with yearning. “But… what if it’s not a trap? What if it’s the Force guiding us to something important? We’re Jedi. Aren’t we supposed to follow the Force?”
“Yes, Lana,” Jahn said gently, leaning against a crate. “But the Force manifests in many ways—including the deception of the dark side. It will tempt you, convince you that there is a righteous purpose, only to make you suffer.” He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “One day, you will learn to tell the difference. Even then, it won’t be easy.”
Her excitement dimmed, but she nodded solemnly. “I understand, Master,” she whispered, using the title with quiet reverence. She looked up at him, her voice softer now, tinged with hope. “But what if it’s not just the Force? What if it’s our destiny?”
Jahn’s expression softened. He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Then we will see signs again,” he said firmly. “Destiny can be delayed, but it cannot be avoided.”
Before Lana could reply, a faint rustling caught their attention. From behind a nearby crate, a Duros with large, bulbous eyes and a nervous twitch suddenly emerged. His gaze darted between them, panic flashing across his face—he had heard everything.
Upon realizing he’d been discovered, the Duros bolted down the corridor with surprising speed, his footsteps echoing sharply against the metal floor.
Jahn’s jaw tightened. “Forget the holocron,” he said sharply. “He knows what we are now. We have to go.”
They sprinted after him, their footsteps pounding against the durasteel floor, but the Duros vanished around a corner.
As they rounded the bend, the sound of synchronized boots met their ears, and a squad of stormtroopers emerged from the far end of the corridor, blasters raised.
Jahn’s saber ignited with a sharp snap-hiss, the green blade flaring to life. Without hesitation, he leapt forward in a soaring Ataru arc, his form twisting midair as he descended upon the front line. The first stormtrooper fell before he even registered the attack, Jahn’s blade carving through plastoid armor in a flash of light.
Blaster fire erupted, bolts streaking toward them. Lana’s blue blade ignited as she stepped into a Makashi duelist’s stance, her strikes precise and economical as she deflected bolts back into their marksmen. She flowed forward, every movement elegant and measured, weaving past her master to deliver a clean counterstrike that sent another trooper sprawling.
Jahn shifted seamlessly into Djem So, hammering down with crushing power. His strikes cleaved through the squad’s defense like a storm, each blow forcing them backward step by step. Lana mirrored him, moving at his flank, her blade a blur of precision ripostes.
Together, they became a force of blue and green light, blades weaving a deadly rhythm in perfect harmony.
Blaster bolts ricocheted wildly, illuminating the corridor with flashes of red as the troopers were cut down one by one. Their synergy was effortless—Jahn’s aggressive strikes opening gaps that Lana exploited with pinpoint accuracy, her calm Makashi footwork complementing his fierce, relentless Ataru assaults.
In minutes, the corridor fell silent but for the hum of their sabers and their steady breathing. Smoke curled from scorched walls, and armored bodies lay strewn across the floor.
Jahn’s expression hardened. He deactivated his lightsaber with a sharp hiss. “The dark side is here,” he murmured, the chill of its presence unmistakable in the Force.
Lana swallowed, her fingers tight around her hilt. “I felt it too,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “What do we do now?”
“We go back to the Mynock,” Jahn replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned toward the exit, his green blade extinguished. “Now.”
They hurried back through the tunnels, the shadows of Batuu pressing close around them. Neither spoke as they moved, but both felt it—that cold, unseen presence watching from somewhere deep within the outpost’s underbelly.
Chapter 4: Chapter 2: Hunter and Prey
Chapter Text
The two Jedi moved quickly, their boots striking the packed soil of Batuu just beyond the towering durasteel gates of Black Spire Outpost. Outside the settlement’s walls, the wild outskirts stretched toward jagged petrified spires, bathed in pale moonlight. It was quieter here—no bustling market stalls or neon lights, only the rustle of wind against the rocky terrain and the distant hum of nocturnal creatures. The Golden Mynock lay hidden among the spires, its golden-and-copper hull dimmed to blend with the shadows.
But the air felt heavy, almost oppressive. The Force whispered warnings neither could ignore, its currents sharp and cold, carrying with them the unmistakable sense of being hunted.
Jahn led the way, his eyes fixed on the narrow path winding between the spires. His hand hovered near his concealed lightsaber. Behind him, Lana followed closely, her gaze darting warily to every shadow that stretched across the moonlit rocks. The playful spark that had animated their earlier banter was gone, replaced by a taut silence.
They were nearly halfway to the ship when Jahn froze. The faintest ripple in the Force crawled down his spine—a shiver of imminent danger. His saber hissed to life in an instant, its emerald glow illuminating the path ahead. “Lana,” he said sharply, “behind you!”
Lana spun on her heel, her breath catching in her throat. Emerging from the darkness of the spires came a towering figure, his presence suffocating. The Inquisitor moved with deliberate menace, black armor glinting faintly under the pale light. His helmet—broad and angular—framed his deep-set, predatory eyes, and in his hands, he wielded a double-bladed crimson lightsaber, its deadly glow spinning into a vortex of red energy.
“The Fifth Brother…” Lana’s voice was barely a whisper, trembling with recognition. Her heart pounded. “J-Jahn! It’s one of them!” She ignited her blue saber, its glow clashing violently against the crimson haze spilling across the rocky terrain.
Jahn stepped between her and the Inquisitor, his stance steady, Djem So’s defensive strength anchoring him like a wall of durasteel. “Get to the Mynock!” he commanded, his tone calm but unyielding. “I’ll hold him off—GO!”
The nightmare from her sleep slammed into Lana’s mind with cruel clarity: Jahn standing against an Inquisitor, alone, falling beneath a crimson blade. The memory froze her feet to the ground, terror clawing its way up her spine.
But the snap-hiss of colliding sabers shattered her paralysis. Sparks burst between green and red, the Fifth Brother’s strikes hammering down with brute force. Jahn countered each one with precise, crushing blocks, pivoting with disciplined strength.
“Now, Lana!” Jahn’s voice rang out, harsh and urgent.
Trusting the Force, she turned and sprinted toward the spires where their freighter lay hidden, her lightsaber still ignited at her side.
The Golden Mynock was nestled between two massive petrified trunks, half-concealed beneath a camouflaging net. Lana vaulted up the ramp, slamming her palm against the controls to seal the hatch. She raced for the cockpit, her fingers flying over the panels in a blur. Engines roared to life, vibrating beneath her boots, and the ship’s forward cannons hummed as they powered up.
Her breath trembled in her chest, but she centered herself, whispering to the Force, “Guide me… guide us.” Through the viewport, the duel raged among the spires, illuminated in flashes of emerald and crimson.
Outside, Jahn’s movements were a seamless fusion of Ataru’s aerial agility and Djem So’s brute precision. He vaulted off a jagged rock, twisting midair as he brought his green blade down in a powerful arc. The Fifth Brother met it with his spinning double saber, the clash echoing across the spires.
“Impressive… for a Jedi relic,” the Inquisitor sneered, his deep voice reverberating within his helmet. “But the Jedi are extinct. You are nothing but embers fading in the dark.” He pressed forward with brutal sweeps, each swing forcing Jahn backward step by step.
Jahn gritted his teeth, sidestepping and countering with a crushing Djem So strike that forced the Inquisitor to spin his saber defensively. “The light of the Jedi can never be extinguished,” he answered evenly, voice calm amidst the chaos.
“Light?” The Fifth Brother’s laugh was a hollow, metallic growl. “You’ve mistaken weakness for hope.”
In the cockpit, Lana locked the ship’s targeting reticle onto the duel. Her pulse thundered in her ears, but she steadied her hands. “Not today,” she muttered, squeezing the trigger.
The Golden Mynock’s cannons roared, twin plasma bolts searing across the spires. The Fifth Brother twisted his saber into a spinning guard, deflecting the shots in twin arcs of red energy.
“Your bond is your weakness!” he roared, hurling his blade outward in a spinning throw that Jahn narrowly evaded with a Force-assisted leap.
Jahn landed lightly, using the moment to thrust out his palm. The Force surged outward in a kinetic wave, slamming the Inquisitor back against the rocks with a roar of displaced air. “Lana, now!” he called.
The Mynock descended lower, ramp extending as dust and sand whipped around its landing struts. Jahn sprinted for it, vaulting up the ramp just as the Fifth Brother recovered, fury blazing in his gaze.
Lana yanked the control yoke, and the Mynock lifted off, engines screaming. The Inquisitor raised his saber, but it was too late—the freighter shot skyward, clearing the spires in seconds and streaking into the night sky.
Jahn entered the cockpit as the stars expanded ahead of them. He dropped into the co-pilot’s seat, inputting coordinates. The moment Lana’s hands steadied on the controls, he reached forward, pulled the hyperdrive lever, and the stars stretched into lines as hyperspace swallowed them whole.
“Lana…” His voice softened, calm and reassuring. “Well done.”
But her hands trembled. She stared straight ahead, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered. “I saw this. I saw it in my dream—fighting him, you falling. I thought it was just a nightmare…”
Jahn reached across, gently taking her hands in his own. His voice was warm, steady—the anchor she needed. “And yet here we are,” he said quietly. “Alive. You trusted the Force. You saved me.”
Her tears finally fell, but a small smile tugged at her lips.
Jahn leaned back, his expression softening. “Did I ever tell you about my first off-world mission?”
Lana blinked, wiping her cheeks. “No,” she said, her voice small but curious. “Tell me.”
He chuckled, relaxing into the chair. “I was eleven. Master Ondari left me in the cockpit for two minutes. Two. I got bored and pretended to be a pirate over the comms… broadcasted it to four systems.”
Lana gasped, then laughed, her tension easing for the first time since Batuu. “You didn’t!”
“Oh, I did,” Jahn replied with a grin. “Three Dug syndicate cruisers and two Trade Federation freighters arrived in minutes. By the time Ondari returned, half the sector was ready to shoot us out of the sky.”
Lana’s laughter filled the cockpit, bright and cathartic. She shook her head, eyes shining despite the tears. “Master Bakar… you really were just like me.”
He smiled, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. “We’re all reckless when we’re young. What matters is that we learn from it.”
Their laughter lingered as the hum of hyperspace surrounded them. For now, the danger was behind them—but the image of the Fifth Brother remained etched in Lana’s mind, a reminder of the darkness waiting ahead.
Chapter 5: Chapter 3: Brothers in Arms
Chapter Text
Mon Cal City
Mon Cala — 17 BBY
Hyperspace stretched endlessly outside the Golden Mynock, a storm of stars pulled into streaks of light across the viewport. Lana sat curled in her chair, chin resting on one hand as she stared at the swirling glow, her boot tapping idly against the deck.
“Master,” she murmured, her voice quiet but edged with curiosity, “where are we headed next? We can’t stay in one place for too long, can we?” She glanced at him, worry flickering beneath her usual playful demeanor. “I just want to make sure we’re ready this time—not running into another mess without a plan.”
Jahn moved calmly across the cockpit, finishing his checks before settling into the pilot’s chair. His hands glided across the controls with practiced ease. “We’re en route to Mon Cala,” he said, his voice even and measured. “An old friend of mine is there. He can help us. And the Empire has no reach that far beneath the waves.”
Lana tilted her head. “Mon Cala…” she echoed thoughtfully. “The water world, right? Home of the Mon Calamari?” Her eyes brightened despite herself. “I’ve never seen an ocean planet before. What’s it like?”
Jahn leaned back slightly, his expression softening. “A place of beauty and ingenuity. Towering cities grown from coral and durasteel rise from the endless sea. The Mon Calamari are a proud people, masters of starship design and aquaculture alike. Their society is balanced, though complicated—the Quarren—”
Lana exaggerated a yawn, stretching her arms dramatically. “Oh, sorry, Master,” she teased with a sly grin. “I guess I misspoke. I didn’t mean a lecture.” Her tone dripped with feigned boredom. “What I really want to know is… are the sunsets as incredible as everyone says? Do you actually see sea creatures the size of ships? Is it one of those places that makes you just… stop and stare?”
Jahn shot her a side glance, a smirk tugging faintly at his lips.
“I suppose,” he said dryly, “you’ll just have to see for yourself. We’re here.”
The hyperdrive levers slid back, and hyperspace dissolved into a starfield. Ahead of them, Mon Cala filled the viewport—a vast blue orb alive with glimmering currents and luminous cities that pierced the waves like towers of glass and coral.
Lana’s sarcastic smirk fell away instantly, her breath catching in awe. “Oh,” she whispered, leaning forward as if she could reach out and touch it.
Below them, crystalline spires rose from the ocean’s surface, each crowned with lights that glittered like stars against the pale sky. Semi-submerged domes glowed faintly beneath the waves, their shapes shifting with the silhouettes of leviathan-like creatures swimming past.
Jahn glanced at her, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly as he caught the wonder in her expression.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmured.
“Okay,” Lana admitted, eyes wide, “you win. I take it back. Worth every boring political detail.”
The Mynock descended, guided by two Mon Calamari escort ships. They slipped between skybridges connecting soaring towers, down toward harbors nestled at their bases. Bioluminescent fish trailed glittering paths in the deep below, and sleek aquatic transports glided between submerged docking rings.
As the comm crackled with an automated request for identification, Jahn leaned forward smoothly, transmitting their forged clearance codes with practiced ease. The escorts peeled off, leaving them to approach a quieter docking bay tucked beneath an arching, coral-like structure.
The Mynock settled into a secluded harbor dock. The boarding ramp lowered with a hiss of hydraulics, and a rush of salt-heavy air filled the cockpit. They descended the ramp together, boots clanging softly against slick durasteel, the scent of seawater mixing with the faint metallic tang of starship fuel.
Mon Cal City stretched out before them—a breathtaking lattice of translucent walkways and coral-like spires, teeming with life both above and below the waves. Schools of luminous fish darted past beneath the glassy walkways. Shafts of sunlight pierced the water, illuminating towering reef-like skyscrapers alive with flowing streams of aquatic traffic. Lana slowed her steps, eyes darting to every sight, the wonder plain on her face.
Their path wound downward, deeper into the city’s underlayers. Vibrant coral arches and glowing flora faded into industrial metal and shadowed passageways. The scent of salt gave way to oil and rust, the rhythmic pulse of ocean currents replaced by the hum of machinery.
“My contact is in the lower levels,” Jahn said as they stepped into a descending lift. “Not much of a view down there.”
“I understand, Master,” Lana replied softly. She squeezed his hand briefly before letting go, her face set with determination. “I’ll stay focused this time. I promise.”
The lift carried them down into the dim undercity. The bustling coral streets of the upper levels gave way to damp corridors lined with pipes and cables. The glow of bioluminescence was replaced by stark overhead lighting, buzzing faintly in the salt-heavy air. Here, the city was quieter, its energy subdued, its inhabitants hardened by the edges of survival.
Jahn led her through the winding tunnels until they reached a battered door beneath a flickering sign, its lettering worn and scarred. A starship repair shop.
“Let me do the talking,” he said quietly. “He’s… a particular individual. But we go way back—before the Clone Wars.”
Lana nodded quickly, folding her hands in front of her, her voice barely above a whisper. “Understood, Master. I’ll be right behind you.”
Jahn knocked firmly on the door.
It creaked open a moment later, just enough to reveal the dark barrel of a blaster aimed directly at them. The scent of oil and scorched metal wafted out. From the shadows stepped Grath Vornik, a broad-shouldered Kordran with leathery gray skin, sharp brow ridges, and amber eyes that cut through the gloom. His vest was stained with grease, and a scar ran jagged across his jaw—a veteran’s mark.
“You’ve got ten seconds to explain why I shouldn’t pull this trigger,” Grath growled, his voice gravelly and low.
Jahn raised his hands calmly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Good to see you too, old friend. Or has living this far from your home in the Unknown Regions, or Coruscant, made you forget how to greet a guest?”
Grath’s eyes narrowed. A beat of silence stretched—then a rough chuckle escaped him. He lowered the blaster. “Jahn Bakar. Stars above, I thought you were dead. Too stubborn to stay that way, I see.” His gaze shifted to Lana, sharp and assessing. “And who’s this?”
“I’m… Lana Vail, sir,” she murmured softly, stepping closer to Jahn’s side, her eyes cast down.
Grath’s mouth quirked faintly. “Sir? Polite one, isn’t she?” He stepped aside, gesturing inward. “Get in here before the Imps get curious.”
Inside, the workshop was a maze of starship parts and half-disassembled droids. Plasma cutters hung from racks, and a podracer engine loomed overhead on a chain hoist. The smell of grease and ion fuel clung to the air. Grath sealed the door behind them with a hiss.
“I didn’t think any of you Jedi survived the purge,” he admitted, leaning against a workbench. His voice carried disbelief tinged with relief. “It’s been too long, old friend.” His eyes softened as they flicked briefly to Lana. “And you… I can see it. The spark in your eyes. A Padawan.”
Jahn’s tone turned serious. “We’ve been on the run since it happened. We crossed paths with an Inquisitor on Batuu—Fifth Brother.”
Grath’s jaw tightened. “Fifth Brother,” he muttered, his hand curling into a fist. “I’ve heard the stories. Ruthless doesn’t begin to cover it.” He glanced at the Mynock’s schematics projected on his datapad. “If he’s seen your ship, it’s compromised. You need stealth upgrades—now.”
Lana’s eyes widened. “You mean… get rid of the Mynock?” Her voice cracked, and she quickly covered her mouth, cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t mean—” She hesitated, lowering her voice. “It’s just… she feels like home.”
Jahn placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Grath gave her a small, approving nod. “A fine ship, but the Empire knows her silhouette now. I can retrofit her—hull plating, drive signature scramblers, even stealth tech from the Rim. She’ll be unrecognizable when I’m done.” His gaze turned sharp again. “But we’ll need to be quick. Tell me everything about the encounter.”
They did, their voices low in the hum of the workshop. Plans formed quickly. By the time they walked back out into the cold, damp air of the lower city toward the Mynock, Grath was already listing components, barking instructions to dockhands, and motioning for his droids to follow.
The docking bay loomed ahead, filled with the sound of clanging durasteel and hissing engines. The Golden Mynock gleamed beneath the harsh lights, its gold-and-copper hull standing proud amid rows of dull gray freighters.
Grath stepped aboard first, his sharp amber eyes sweeping over the interior. “She’s in good shape,” he said with a faint smirk. “Better than I expected, given the way you fly.”
Jahn arched a brow. “Just do your magic, Grath.”
Grath snorted. “You’ll get her back better than new. With the upgrades I’ve got planned, the Empire won’t know where to look.”
Lana followed them up the ramp, her fingers brushing the wall of the ship. She looked back over her shoulder at the vast, alien cityscape beyond, her heart pounding with anticipation for what lay ahead.
Chapter 6: Chapter 4: The Gundark Nightmare
Chapter Text
Mon Cal Lower City
Mon Cala — 17 BBY
Over the next few days, Lana and Jahn took up temporary residence in a small room adjoining Grath’s workshop, surrounded by the whirring and clanking of droids and the endless hum of power tools. The room held two modest beds coated in a thin layer of dust, a rickety table piled high with half-finished schematics, and a training droid that looked as though it had been salvaged from a junk heap decades ago.
The training sessions with the glitchy droid became Lana’s daily ritual—a way to quell the restless knot in her stomach as the Golden Mynock underwent its transformation just a few corridors away. She darted and spun across the cramped floor, her lightsaber flashing through the air as she parried the droid’s erratic bolts. Sometimes it fired too fast, forcing her into a scramble, her blade a blur of blue light as she barely kept up. Other times, it simply stalled, twitching uselessly, and she found herself pacing around it impatiently, her breaths coming hard, sweat glistening on her brow.
From the doorway, Grath stood watching in silence. His broad frame filled the threshold, arms crossed, his expression unreadable under the pale light that leaked from overhead strips. He leaned casually against the frame, saying nothing, letting the steady rhythm of her movements speak for itself.
Finally, as Lana spun mid-pivot and struck the droid’s final shot from the air with a clean, elegant Makashi parry, Grath grunted his approval.
“You’ve got good moves, kid,” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the room like a vibroblade. Lana froze and looked up, startled to find him there.
Grath stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing against the metal floor. “But I noticed something while you were deflecting—your blade’s hum shifts for half a breath each time you parry. See?” He gestured toward her hilt. “That means you’ve got a power drain between the crystal chamber and the energy cell. It’s small now, but one day, that split-second delay could cost you.”
He reached into his tool satchel and produced a small, worn wooden box, its surface smooth and polished by time. “Here. Been holding onto this for years.”
Lana blinked, lowering her blade and deactivating it with a hiss. “What is it?” she asked softly, wiping sweat from her brow as he handed it to her.
“Open it.”
Her fingers trembled slightly as she undid the clasp. Inside lay a newly-forged double crystal chamber—sleek, intricate, and unlike anything she had seen—with a pristine focusing crystal already seated within it. Its faint glow shimmered like starlight captured in glass.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Grath… this is—”
“Meant for a Jedi who’d make proper use of it,” he said simply. “And from what I’ve seen, that’s you.”
Lana swallowed hard, her chest tight as she carefully lifted the chamber from its casing. “Thank you,” she whispered. She knelt by her cot, opening her lightsaber hilt with steady hands. The new chamber clicked into place, perfectly seated, and when she thumbed the ignition, the blade roared to life. Its hum was smoother now, more alive. “It feels… right.”
Later that evening, Lana lay face-down on her bed, datapad in hand, her feet swinging idly in the air. Her gaze fell upon the wooden box resting on the nightstand. She picked it up, tracing her fingers over the aurebesh letters engraved into the lid: Vira Ondari.
Recognition struck her like a blaster bolt to the chest. Master Vira Ondari—Jahn’s Jedi Master. The chamber had been hers. Her heart pounded as she stared at the name, the realization heavy in her chest. She set the box down reverently, looking at her lightsaber anew. That hum carried not just her blade but a piece of Jedi history.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Jahn walked in, grease-stained and weary from working in Grath’s hangar. His brow furrowed at her expression.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, setting his toolkit aside. His lips curved faintly into a smirk. “You look like you’ve been asked to feed an Acklay.”
Lana looked up, her eyes shimmering. “I just realized… this chamber—it belonged to your Master. To Master Ondari.” She pointed to the name on the box. “I feel like I’m holding a piece of her legacy, and I… I don’t know if I’m worthy.”
Jahn smiled softly and crossed the room, sitting beside her. He draped an arm around her shoulders. “I knew Grath had it, but I didn’t expect him to give it to you.” His voice carried warmth and memory. “She commissioned that chamber shortly before the Clone Wars began. She died before she could retrieve it.” His hand rested lightly on hers. “When she died, I asked Grath to keep it safe. I suppose he was just waiting for the right Jedi to wield it.”
“Oh, Master…” Her voice quavered, tears pricking her eyes. “I’ll carry it with honor,” she whispered, holding her saber tight. “I promise I won’t let you down.”
Jahn chuckled, pinching her cheek playfully and leaving a streak of grease across her skin. He laughed when she blinked at him. “First, I should shower. Then, you should come with me. You’re going to want to see the Mynock.”
When he left for the refresher, Lana wandered over to the cracked mirror in the corner. She saw the smudge on her cheek and giggled quietly, rubbing it away. “Guess I’ve been officially initiated into the ‘Jedi-Mechanic’s Apprentice’ club,” she murmured, smirking at her reflection. Her eyes lingered on the saber hilt at her hip and the faint blue glow of its kyber crystal through the small viewport.
When Jahn returned, freshly cleaned and smiling faintly, they headed into the hangar.
The moment the doors opened, the smell of freshly welded durasteel and coolant filled the air. Before them stood the Golden Mynock—or rather, what it had become. Its hull gleamed in a deep midnight blue, accented with faint shimmering lines of silver that seemed to vanish in shadow. Its frame had been subtly reshaped, sleeker and more aggressive, with a new Mon Calamari-refined engine array humming faintly beneath the rear plating.
Lana’s eyes widened. “Master,” she said, stepping forward. “It’s beautiful. But… it doesn’t look much like the Golden Mynock anymore.” Her lips curled into a grin. “We’re going to need a new name.”
Jahn raised a brow. “Oh? Any ideas?”
She grinned mischievously. “The Gundark Nightmare.”
He blinked, then laughed. “That was a joke... right?”
“Well, so was naming it the Golden Mynock,” she teased, hands on her hips. “But I like it. If the Empire’s going to have nightmares, let’s make sure it’s us they see when they close their eyes.”
Grath approached, wiping his hands on a rag. “Looks like the name’s sticking,” he said with a chuckle. “And I’ve got to say, this ship’s ready to make the Empire lose some sleep. Stealth plating, a re-tuned hyperdrive, reinforced shields… she’s quieter than a Wookiee sneaking through a library and twice as mean.”
Lana beamed. “She’s perfect.”
Grath smirked. “Then I guess it’s time I tag along. Someone’s gotta keep this bird flying—and keep an eye on you two.”
Jahn’s smile faded slightly, his voice taking on a quieter, more serious edge. “Grath… you know what that means. Being with us paints a target on your back. The Empire won’t hesitate to crush anyone even suspected of harboring Jedi.” He folded his arms, his tone heavy with concern. “We’ve already dragged enough people into danger just by existing. You’ve done more than enough for us already.”
Grath crossed his arms in return, meeting Jahn’s gaze without flinching. “And what then? You fly off, leave me to tinker in a workshop while the Empire spreads its claws deeper into the galaxy?” His voice hardened, though it carried no anger—only resolve. “You’re Jedi. You’re supposed to fight. And I may not have a lightsaber, but I’ve been fighting wars and dodging blaster fire since before you even held one of those fancy glowsticks.”
Lana watched the exchange silently, her eyes darting between them. Her amusement was palpable, but so was the growing feeling of anticipation.
Jahn exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “It’s not about doubt in your skill, Grath. It’s about not dragging you into this fight unnecessarily. The Jedi were supposed to protect people, not get them killed.”
Grath stepped closer, his broad frame imposing but steady. “You think I don’t know the risks?” His voice dropped, quieter now, rough with sincerity. “I know them better than anyone. I fought in campaigns the history books won’t even remember, and I watched good men and women die to keep the next generation alive long enough to see another dawn.” His gaze softened just slightly, turning to Lana before settling back on Jahn. “If sticking by your side keeps her alive—and keeps you both flying—then I’ll gladly take that target.”
Silence filled the cockpit for a long moment. The hum of the newly tuned engines seemed to underscore every word unspoken between them.
Finally, Jahn looked down, then back up, a faint smile breaking through his stern demeanor. He extended his hand. “Alright, old friend. Welcome to the Gundark Nightmare. But when things get rough, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
There was a brief moment of silence. Only the rush of the waves outside, and the chatter of pit droids in the pad cut the momentary tension. Lana held her breath waiting for either one to speak.
Grath clasped his hand firmly, grinning. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Jedi.”
Lana, grinning ear to ear, clapped her hands together. “Well, I guess it’s official. We’ve got ourselves an ‘uncle’ aboard.”
Grath chuckled at that. “Uncle Grath, huh? I’ll take it.”
Lana giggled cheerfully.
Jahn shook his head, a rare laugh escaping him. “Force be with us.”
Moments later, the cockpit came alive.
Switches flipped in rapid succession, consoles lighting up one by one. Lana slid into the co-pilot’s seat, grinning ear to ear as Grath settled beside her, flipping toggles like he was born there. Jahn stood between them, hand braced on the seatback, his gaze calm but focused.
Engines roared to life, their deep thrumming reverberating through the hangar. A startled pit droid yelped in binary and stumbled backward, tripping over a hydrospanner with a clang.
“Shields online,” Grath barked.
“Navicomputer locked,” Lana replied, her hands dancing over the controls.
Jahn placed a hand on her shoulder. “Punch it, Padawan.”
With a mischievous grin, Lana yanked the throttle forward.
The Gundark Nightmare lifted off in a smooth, graceful rise. Outside, its repulsorlifts sent crates and loose tools skidding as droids scrambled out of the way. The ship spun on its axis, engines howling as it surged forward.
“Hang on!” Grath shouted with a laugh.
The sleek starship shot out of the hangar like a missile, climbing high through Mon Cala’s oceanic skyline, parting clouds as it broke atmosphere. The world below shrank to a shimmering jewel beneath them.
The stars ahead beckoned.
“Coordinates set,” Grath said with satisfaction.
Jahn glanced at Lana, his tone low but resolute. “Take us to the next horizon.”
Lana smirked, fingers tightening on the controls. “With pleasure.”
The stars stretched into lines, and the Gundark Nightmare leapt into hyperspace.
Chapter 7: Chapter 5: Memories Between the Stars
Chapter Text
Aboard the Gundark Nightmare
Hyperspace, 17 BBY
The Gundark Nightmare drifted smoothly through hyperspace, its engines humming like the low purr of a restless beast. The cockpit lights glowed in soft blue and amber, casting a calm hue over the interior while the stars stretched into brilliant white lines outside the viewport.
Lana sat in the lounge area near the galley, her legs curled beneath her and her datapad resting against her thighs. Across from her, Jahn leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded, while Grath tinkered idly with a hydrospanner at the workbench, his broad shoulders hunched forward.
“You ever going to tell me what the plan is now that we’ve got the Gundark Nightmare running?” Lana asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Her tone was teasing, but a thread of genuine curiosity ran through it.
Jahn smirked faintly. “First, we stay ahead of the Empire. Always moving, never predictable. Next stop is Tatooine—a good place to disappear for a while. It’s remote, sparsely populated, and outside most Imperial patrol routes.”
Lana tilted her head back dramatically and let out an exaggerated yawn. “Oh wow. Desert planet, no water, sand everywhere. Sounds like paradise,” she said sarcastically, shooting him a cheeky grin.
Grath chuckled from the workbench. “Careful what you wish for, kid. I’ve been to Tatooine. You’ll be scrubbing sand out of your boots for months.”
Lana wrinkled her nose. “Great. I can’t wait.” She rolled her eyes, then shifted in her seat, her voice softening. “I know we’re joking, but… it still feels strange. Jumping from place to place. Never staying long enough to breathe. Do you ever… get used to it?”
Jahn’s gaze lingered on her, his expression gentling. “You don’t get used to it,” he admitted. “But you learn to live with it. Survival first. Everything else comes after.”
She nodded slowly, eyes dropping to her lap. The ship’s soft hum filled the silence.
Grath turned toward them, leaning back against the bench with his arms crossed. “He’s not wrong. The galaxy’s been ugly for a long time. But you stick with the right people, and suddenly it doesn’t feel so bad.” His gaze softened slightly, directed at her. “You’ve got that, kid. Trust me, I’ve seen worse crews.”
Lana smiled faintly, leaning back into the couch. “Thanks, Grath. I think I’m starting to see why Jahn calls you a friend.”
Grath grunted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “He owes me drinks for life after Ryloth, and he knows it.”
Jahn let out a quiet laugh. “You mean the time you charged a Separatist tank with nothing but a thermal detonator and bad judgment?”
“Worked, didn’t it?” Grath shot back.
Lana giggled, curling tighter beneath herself as her eyelids began to droop. The sound of their banter faded to a dull, pleasant murmur as exhaustion finally took her. She didn’t even notice when her datapad slipped from her hands to the couch beside her.
Jahn glanced over, his voice lowering instinctively as he nodded toward her. “She’s out.”
Grath followed his gaze, his smirk softening. “Kid’s been pushing herself hard. Can’t blame her. Reminds me of you back in the war.”
Jahn rose quietly, stepping closer to the couch. He retrieved a folded blanket from the storage compartment and gently draped it over her. Lana stirred slightly but didn’t wake, settling deeper into the cushions. Jahn lingered for a moment, watching her peaceful face, then straightened.
“She’s got potential,” Grath said quietly, his voice unusually serious.
“She’s more than that,” Jahn replied, his tone low and thoughtful. “She’s strong. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Grath leaned against the wall, studying him. “If Vira Ondari could see you now…” His voice trailed for a moment, heavy with meaning. “She’d be proud, Jahn. You’re doing right by the girl. By the Order.”
Jahn’s jaw tightened slightly at the mention of his old Master, but his eyes softened. He glanced down at Lana, his expression caught between pride and a lingering ache. “I think about her often,” he admitted quietly. “I still hear her voice when I train Lana. Every lesson, every correction—it’s like she’s still guiding me.” He exhaled slowly. “I just hope I’m living up to what she’d expect.”
Grath’s gaze followed his toward the sleeping Padawan. “From where I’m standing, you are. The galaxy’s changed, Jedi or not. But you’ve kept her alive. You’ve kept her learning.” His voice carried a deep respect, gruff but sincere. “That’s more than most could manage.”
Jahn gave a faint nod, his lips curling in the smallest of smiles. “She’d like Lana,” he said quietly. “I think… she’d see a lot of herself in her.”
The two men stood in silence for a moment, the only sounds the soft hum of the ship and the faint hiss of the hyperdrive.
Grath’s tone softened. “You’ll get her there. I’ve seen you under fire, Jahn. If anyone can keep this kid alive long enough to become something more, it’s you. And if the Empire doesn’t like it, well…” He smirked faintly. “That’s their problem.”
Jahn chuckled quietly, glancing once more at Lana as she slept peacefully beneath the blanket, her lightsaber still clipped securely to her belt even in rest. “She’s the reason I keep going, Grath.”
Grath nodded firmly. “Then you keep at it. For her. For Vira. For all of us who can’t anymore.”
The words hung heavy in the quiet lounge, filled with the weight of old wars and old ghosts.
For a long while, they stayed there—two soldiers of battles past, united in quiet understanding, watching over the girl who represented a future neither of them thought they’d see. Outside, the stars of hyperspace streaked endlessly forward, carrying them toward whatever awaited beyond the next horizon.
Chapter 8: Chapter 6: Twin Suns
Notes:
Embers of the Force just got its very first bookmark yesterday, and honestly I’m overwhelmed 🥹. To celebrate this small but huge milestone, I couldn’t wait — so here’s a surprise double update: Twin Suns and Tales of the Past, the two final installments of Shadows of the Order.
Thank you to everyone who has read, subscribed, or bookmarked — this is for you.
Chapter Text
Aboard the Gundark Nightmare
Hyperspace — 17 BBY
The lounge was quiet save for the steady thrum of the hyperdrive. Lana sat at the holo-table, her chin resting on her folded arms, while Jahn stood near the cockpit doorway reviewing a datapad filled with planetary schematics. Grath sprawled across the opposite bench, boots up, idly twirling a hydrospanner between his fingers.
“So,” Lana murmured, breaking the silence, “what’s the plan once we hit Tatooine?” Her voice carried that mix of curiosity and unease she always had before stepping foot on a new world.
Jahn lowered the datapad. “We’re setting down in Mos Espa,” he said evenly, tapping the settlement highlighted on the holo-display.
Lana frowned. “Mos Espa? Not Mos Eisley? I thought—”
“Mos Eisley’s crawling with bounty hunters, Imperial patrols, and half the criminals in the Outer Rim,” Jahn cut in. “If anyone’s looking for us, that’ll be their first stop. Mos Espa’s smaller. Still dangerous, but it’s where we’ll blend in best.”
Grath snorted. “Smaller’s a relative term, kid. Espa’s a den of scum in its own right—black markets, swoop tracks, Hutt enforcers shaking down vendors for protection credits. But fewer Imperials poking around means fewer questions.”
Lana crossed her arms, leaning back with a skeptical look. “So we’re picking ‘less bad’ over ‘worst.’ Sounds fun.”
“It’s survival,” Jahn replied simply, setting the datapad aside. “We keep low profiles, take a small room in the workers’ district, and avoid making any waves.”
Lana groaned dramatically. “We’re Jedi, Master. ‘Not making waves’ isn’t exactly our strong suit.”
“Speak for yourself,” Grath grinned. “I can keep my head down just fine. Well… when I’m not racing.”
That caught Lana’s attention. She tilted her head. “Racing?”
Jahn sighed preemptively, rubbing his temple.
Grath smirked at her. “Swoop bikes. Tatooine loves ‘em. Dust tracks carved into the canyons, crowds big enough to wake the dead. And I…” He leaned back with a grin, pride clear in his voice. “I used to be a champion. Mid Rim circuits. Won enough trophies to stack ‘em higher than this ship’s hull.”
Lana’s eyes widened. “You were a swoop racer?”
“Not just a racer. The best,” Grath said with mock modesty. “Ord Mantell, Roche Asteroid Belt… I even ran one blindfolded once.”
“Blindfolded?”
“Drunk, too,” he added with a wink.
Jahn groaned audibly. “This is exactly why I didn’t bring it up.”
“Hey,” Grath shot back with a grin. “Could be useful. Swoop circuits on Tatooine are where credits move fast and rumors move faster. We need contacts? It’s a good place to start.”
Lana leaned forward, smirking. “So the plan is: lay low, keep quiet… and sign up Uncle Grath for a swoop race?”
Jahn exhaled through his nose. “No swoop races.”
The navicomputer chimed, its display flashing signaling their proximity to Tatooine.
Grath pushed himself upright. “Strap in,” he rumbled, strolling to the cockpit. “We’ll table the swoop talk for later. Dropping out in ten.”
Lana slid into her seat beside Jahn, fastening her harness. Outside, hyperspace rippled, collapsing back into starlines.
With a lurch, the stars snapped into focus—and there it was.
Tatooine
A lonely, sun-bleached sphere suspended in the void. Its pale surface was marred by endless rolling dunes, jagged canyons, and salt flats that shimmered like mirrors under the light of its twin suns. Heat radiated visibly even from orbit, a suffocating beauty that spoke of both danger and isolation.
“Welcome to paradise,” Grath muttered, flipping switches as the ship angled toward descent.
Lana pressed closer to the viewport. “It’s… wow,” she breathed. “I mean, it’s sand. So much sand. But it’s kind of beautiful in a—‘please don’t kill me’ way.”
“Keep that thought,” Jahn said, his hands steady on the controls. “We’ll see how you feel when we hit ground level.”
The Gundark Nightmare pierced the upper atmosphere, flames licking at its shields as it cut into the planet’s thin skies. Below, the endless desert stretched in every direction. Nestled within it, half-buried in a basin of rocky ridges and sun-bleached flats, lay Mos Espa—its domed adobe buildings clustered like pale shells, thin plumes of dust curling up from its busy streets and open-air markets. A sprawling swoop track curved around the outskirts, bleachers empty now but hinting at the roar of crowds past.
Grath whistled low. “There she is. Dusty old Espa.” He cracked a grin. “Haven’t been here since I nearly wrecked in turn six on that track. Good times.”
Jahn shot him a look but said nothing, guiding the ship toward the landing pads beyond the market quarter.
The repulsorlifts engaged, humming as they eased down through the haze. As the ship settled onto its struts, a gust of hot, dry wind swept across the hull, rattling sand against the plating.
Lana wrinkled her nose. “It smells like burning metal and… old bantha fur.”
“Congratulations,” Grath said with a smirk, unbuckling his harness. “You’re officially in Mos Espa.”
Jahn rose smoothly from his seat. “Stay alert,” he said, his voice firm but calm. “This place doesn’t forgive carelessness. Blend in, keep your hoods up, and follow my lead.”
Lana glanced out at the sun-scorched city and swallowed, her fingers brushing the hilt of her saber hidden beneath her robes. “Here we go.”
The boarding ramp hissed open, and the searing heat of Tatooine rolled in like a physical force.
Mos Espa Spaceport
Tatooine
They descended into Mos Espa, their boots crunching against sunbaked sand as the noise of the bustling city swelled around them. Mos Espa unfolded like a labyrinth of dust-stained walls and domed rooftops, its winding streets a tangled sprawl that radiated out from the bustling market square. Heat shimmered above the ground, distorting the edges of distant sandstone buildings, while colorful awnings fluttered in the wind over stalls packed tightly against the narrow lanes.
Lana’s gaze darted from one sight to another: a swoop bike roaring past, scattering Jawas with shrill protests; a Gamorrean guard roughly shoving a human merchant aside in a dispute over territory; children playing with a battered, ball-shaped droid in the street. Her fingers clutched her cloak tighter as she struggled to take it all in.
“Stay close,” Jahn murmured, his voice low but commanding. He walked with measured steps, hood drawn low, his every movement deliberate and calm. Even amid the chaos, there was a serene sharpness to him, his awareness sweeping across every shadow and balcony.
Grath ambled at his side, broad-shouldered and steady, his eyes scanning the crowds with a veteran’s familiarity. “Smells exactly the same,” he muttered. “Sand, sweat, and scams. Ah, home sweet home.”
Lana shot him a dubious glance. “You missed this place?”
Grath smirked. “Not even a little. But I know how it works.” He gestured toward a crooked side alley where a group of Weequay haggled over crates stacked on a skiff. “Same tricks, same hustlers. This city doesn’t change.”
They pressed on, weaving through the crowds. Vendors shouted over each other, hawking roasted meats that sizzled over open flames, exotic fruits that dripped with vivid juice, and piles of scavenged tech that looked barely functional. Overhead, old wiring and cables crisscrossed between buildings like webs, hung with battered lanterns that swayed in the breeze. The hum of a podracer engine somewhere beyond the walls mixed with the sound of arguments and laughter spilling from shadowed doorways.
They reached an old inn tucked between two leaning buildings, its exterior sun-cracked and its faded sign barely legible. Inside, the air shifted from blistering heat to cool shadow. Dim lamps lined the walls, casting uneven pools of light over rough-hewn tables where locals hunched in quiet conversation. The scent of alien spices and stale ale hung thick in the air, mingling with the low hum of murmured voices.
A slightly red-skinned Toydarian buzzed forward from behind the counter, wings beating lazily as he eyed them up and down. His tone carried the sharp suspicion of a man used to trouble. “What’s your business here?”
Jahn stepped forward smoothly, his voice even. “We’re just passing through,” he said. “Looking for a place to rest our heads, and a meal before we head out again.”
The Toydarian studied them for a long moment before nodding once. “Room’s cheap. Food’s cheaper. Keep the trouble outside.” He jerked his thumb toward a corner table. “Sit. There’s a city map there—helps new folk find their way around. Won’t do you much good if you get lost in these streets.”
They moved toward the table, Lana glancing around as she pushed back her hood. The cool dimness of the inn was a small relief from the punishing suns outside, though the mingled scents made her wrinkle her nose. “I love you, Master,” she sighed, shaking out her cloak as grains of sand pattered to the floor, “but I’m starting to think I hate this planet already.”
Her eyes followed a pack of Jawas scurrying across the room, their shrill chatter loud enough to draw a few glances. “The sand gets everywhere,” she muttered under her breath, running a hand through her hair. “And it’s so—” Her words trailed off as a Rodian brushed past their table, the unfamiliar rush of Mos Espa stealing her attention again.
Once their room was secured for the night, the trio stepped back into the sweltering streets. Mos Espa’s market quarter pulsed with life: stalls packed shoulder-to-shoulder in a maze of canvas awnings and rope-strung tarps, each promising something rare, strange, or stolen. The sharp scents of spice and roasting meat mixed with the oil and grit of machinery, while the throaty growl of swoop engines occasionally rolled in from beyond the city walls.
Lana drifted toward a stall glittering with trinkets, her eyes catching on a necklace that gleamed like polished starlight against the dust-covered display. Almost without thinking, she reached out—
A purple-skinned Twi’lek woman, scar carved deep into her cheek, snapped a hand around Lana’s wrist with startling speed. “You think to steal from me, girl?” her voice rang sharp, lekku twitching in anger.
Lana’s cheeks flushed hot. “I wasn’t stealing!” she protested quickly, pulling her hand back. “I was just looking—”
The Twi’lek’s narrowed gaze didn’t soften.
Jahn was there in an instant, his voice calm but firm. “My apologies,” he said, laying a reassuring hand on Lana’s shoulder. “My daughter has an eye for pretty things. She meant no harm.” His steady gaze met the Twi’lek’s. “We’re only travelers, nothing more.”
With a small grunt, the woman released Lana’s wrist but muttered darkly under her breath as she turned away.
Jahn leaned down slightly, speaking low enough only Lana could hear. “Patience and discretion,” he reminded her gently. “We can’t afford attention.”
Lana nodded, cheeks still burning. “Yes, Master,” she murmured, swallowing her embarrassment. As they walked away, she cast one last glance at the necklace, her fingers brushing the edge of her cloak as she silently cursed her own curiosity.
Grath’s gravelly voice broke the silence. “There,” he said, pointing toward a battered shop front guarded by a half-sleeping Toydarian perched outside, his chin tucked to his chest. “Watto’s Junk Shop. If this place hasn’t collapsed yet, might be worth seeing what’s inside.”
As they approached, the Toydarian startled awake, wings buzzing as he rose into the air with a grin sharp enough to cut glass.
“Welcome, welcome!” he rasped. “What can I do for you fine folks today? Need parts? Repairs? Or maybe—” his eyes twinkled with knowing amusement as they flicked between them—“you’re looking for something special?”
Inside, the shop was cluttered and dusty, shelves crammed with salvaged tech, broken droid limbs, and scorched ship components. Sunlight filtered through a cracked window, illuminating the haze of dust motes hanging in the air.
“What brings you to Watto’s?” the Toydarian asked slyly, eyes glimmering with curiosity.
Jahn kept his tone casual. “My daughter, my friend, and I just came in off-world,” he said. “We’re looking for potential upgrades—and maybe ways to earn a few credits.”
Watto grinned wide, rubbing his hands together. “Ah! Well, if it’s credits you’re after, you’ve come to the right place!” He flitted over a pile of rusted engine parts and leaned in closer. “Podracing,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. “Fast credits. Big payouts. Dangerous as a hungry rancor, of course, but…” He winked. “Nothing says ‘profit’ like betting on the right racer.”
Lana’s eyes lit up despite herself. “Podracing?” she whispered, glancing at Jahn.
“Not a chance,” Jahn cut in sharply. “It’s not what it used to be. Brutality and sabotage are the sport now, not speed.”
Lana bit her lip, lowering her voice. “Could we at least watch? Just once? For the experience? Please, Master?”
Watto’s sharp laugh cut through the room. He hovered closer, eyes locking on her as his grin widened. “Master, is it? Is he your father, or do you just call every man who orders you around ‘Master’?” His gaze narrowed, intrigued. “Or maybe the girl is merely a servant? I could pay a fair price for her, you know?” He chuckles.
Lana froze, cheeks flushing crimson. “I—he’s like a father to me,” she stammered quickly. “He’s taught me… everything.”
Watto circled her, wings buzzing as he examined her intently. His leathery grin deepened. “Quick little one, aren’t you?” His voice dropped, sly and knowing. “But I’m no fool. You’re hiding something.”
The air in the shop thickened with tension, Jahn’s calm but unyielding presence settling beside her like a shield.
Lana’s heart skipped a beat as Watto’s suspicious eyes bore into her. Panic surged through her chest, and without thinking, she raised her hand slightly, her voice trembling but infused with the Force.
“You don’t need to remember what I just said,” she murmured, her words quiet but laced with persuasion, her gaze fixed on his.
Watto blinked, his wings faltering mid-beat. For a moment, it seemed to take hold—but then, with a sharp flutter of his ears, he jerked back, shaking his head violently. His small eyes widened, not in fear, but in dawning recognition.
“Jedi,” he breathed, his voice low and rough. He stared at Lana, then Jahn, then back again, the corners of his mouth curling into a strange mix of sadness and amusement. “You’re Jedi. I knew it.”
Lana’s face flushed, panic rising in her chest. She glanced at Jahn, who was already stepping forward, his hand raised slightly in a calming gesture.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Jahn said firmly, his tone steady but edged with warning. “Let us go, and no one has to get hurt.”
His gaze flicked toward Lana and Grath, signaling them to stay sharp.
“Please.” Mumbled Lana in fear.
But Watto only chuckled—a dry, rasping sound that seemed devoid of malice. He waved a hand dismissively, as though batting away invisible ghosts.
“Trouble?” he repeated, shaking his head. “No, Jedi. I’m not your enemy. Not anymore.”
His leathery wings carried him back a few feet as he glanced toward the shop’s dusty front door, making sure no one was watching. Then he looked back at them, his eyes older somehow, heavy with a burden that had clearly been there for years.
“I’ve seen enough fighting to last a hundred lifetimes.”
He gestured toward the back of the shop. “Come. We need to talk in private.”
Jahn hesitated, but after a brief look toward Lana and Grath, he nodded. Together, they followed Watto through a narrow doorway into the back room.
The change in atmosphere was immediate. The back room was dimly lit by a single flickering glow rod that cast long shadows across the walls lined with crates and ancient tech. The air smelled of old metal and dust, but it was quieter here, insulated from the noise of the street.
Watto shut the door behind them and tugged on a frayed pull-string, flipping the front sign to “CLOSED.”
On one wall sat shelves stocked with organized, high-quality parts—things far too valuable to be left in the decrepit shopfront. In the corner, a crate bore the faint emblem of the Republic, its paint chipped and faded but unmistakable. A small holomap of Mos Espa sat on the table at the room’s center, marked with several glowing tiny Republic emblems.
Watto hovered near the map but didn’t look at it. His eyes were distant, his voice quieter now.
“I knew it,” he repeated softly, his gaze fixed on Lana. “The way you carry yourself, girl. I’ve seen it before. Years ago… back when the galaxy was a different place.”
Jahn’s brow furrowed. “Watto,” he said carefully, stepping closer. “You said you’ve seen Jedi before. When?” His voice was calm but probing, each word measured. “And what did you mean when you said you’re not our enemy ‘anymore’?”
Watto didn’t answer at first. Instead, he floated closer to the crate in the corner, running his gnarled fingers over the faded Republic emblem. His wings gave a slow, tired beat. For a long moment, he stared at it as if it were an open window into the past.
Grath shifted his stance, arms crossed, but stayed silent, letting the moment play out.
Lana leaned forward slightly, her fingers curled into her robes. The Force hummed faintly in her senses, tinged with something old and sorrowful as she watched Watto’s weathered face.
Finally, the Toydarian let out a slow sigh and spoke—not to them, but almost to himself.
“I’ve seen your kind walk these sands,” he murmured, his voice distant, rough with memory. “Not many, but enough. Once, long ago, before… all this.” His gaze drifted to the glow rod swaying faintly above them, shadows playing across his lined face. “I remember the day the clones came. The day the stars seemed to go dark.”
He trailed off, his voice catching. Silence blanketed the room.
Jahn exchanged a brief look with Grath but didn’t interrupt.
Watto’s eyes unfocused further, his gaze fixed on something none of them could see. The hard edge in his face softened, replaced by something almost mournful. His mouth opened slightly, as though he might say more—but no words came.
He simply hovered there, lost in memory.
Watto’s eyes seemed to glaze over, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular as silence settled in the dim room.
His fingers traced the edge of the holographic table absentmindedly. In his mind, the years peeled away: a boy darting barefoot through this very shop, laughter trailing behind him as sand clung to his hair and grease smeared his face. He remembered the thunder of engines outside, the deafening roar of podracers tearing through the canyons, their echoes rattling his chest long after the races ended. The boy would burst in afterward, wings still ringing in Watto’s ears, babbling about victory and stardust dreams. Too small for his tools, too bold for his own good—angry and proud, that was how he made him feel all at once.
Then came the stranger. Tall, calm, robes flowing as though he belonged to some other world entirely. Quiet eyes that saw through everything and everyone. Watto recalled that gaze even now, steady and unshaken, and how it had unsettled him then. A single conversation that turned the course of things—subtle, yet sharp enough to carve a future from the sands.
The memories weighed heavy, and he drew in a slow breath, blinking them away. He said nothing. The shop felt suddenly smaller, the hum of the glow rod louder in the stillness.
Jahn, Lana, and Grath watched him closely. None spoke, their anticipation palpable in the quiet.
Watto finally looked up, his expression unreadable, wings shifting slightly as he adjusted his stance. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, until even Lana felt her breath hitch, waiting for whatever came next.
Chapter Text
Watto sighed deeply, his wings drooping as he floated a little lower to the ground. The leathery folds around his eyes crinkled as if the weight of memory pressed down on him. Nobo
"I've seen many things, Jedi," he murmured, his voice quieter now, tinged with something almost fragile. "But you… you remind me of someone. Someone I once knew a long time ago."
He turned slightly, his gaze drifting toward a corner of the dimly lit back room, his expression unfocused as if staring through time itself. His gruff tone softened to something almost paternal. "A boy. Barely up to my chest, skinny as a broken droid, but faster than anyone I’d ever seen behind a pod. He was like a son to me, though I was too stubborn to admit it back then."
He closed his eyes briefly, the words carrying him deeper into memory. "Anakin Skywalker," he said, his voice thick, each syllable rolling out with reverence. "The fastest podracer this side of the galaxy—even if he’d never actually won a race before. Too many crashes, too many close calls. But I knew he had something in him. Something no one else did."
Watto chuckled bitterly. "I can still see it: the engines roaring so loud they rattled my wings while I hovered in the stands. He’d never cross the finish line, but I’d still get this feeling in my gut—angry at how reckless he was, and proud all at once. Because even if he lost, even if he nearly killed himself every time, he never stopped. Never quit. Like the whole blasted galaxy dared him to fail, and he just… wouldn’t."
He shifted, wings buzzing faintly as if the recollection drained him. "Then came that Jedi. Tall, calm, with a voice that could talk a Hutt out of its meal. We struck a deal. Ani would race, one last time. His first win—his only win. He crossed that finish line, and I thought my wings would stop flapping right then. I’d never seen him so alive, so bright-eyed."
Watto’s face twisted in a rueful smile. "He won his freedom that day. Walked out of my shop grinning like he owned the suns. I was furious to lose him—felt cheated, even. But deep down? I was proud. Proud enough to choke on it. Should’ve told him."
His wings buzzed lower now, his voice thinning with melancholy. "Years later, he came back. Taller. Older. That smile was gone. He was looking for his mother. There was something harder in him then, something that made me ache to see. He didn’t stay long. And after that… nothing. Not a word, not a glimpse. Just silence."
Watto turned back toward them slowly, eyes glistening faintly in the dim glow of the holo-map. "Then came the war. I heard his name again—Anakin Skywalker. Hero of the Republic, they called him. But by then, he was gone from here, gone from the boy I knew. I’d sit outside this shop some nights, listening to the echoes of podracers in the distance, and I’d swear I could almost hear his engines again. Suns help me, I’d half expect him to come running through that door like he used to."
He exhaled sharply, shaking himself from the reverie. "But that’s long past now," he said, his tone rougher again, though the ache still lingered underneath. "Gone. Dust in the twin suns." He looked squarely at Jahn. "Now, tell me why you're really here."
Jahn leaned forward, posture easing, voice steady.
"You knew Skywalker?"
Beside him, Lana’s eyes had been wide for a while, her curiosity barely contained. She looked around the shop as though expecting the walls themselves to whisper more of the legend.
Watto smirked faintly, though it was tinged with sorrow. "Hero," he echoed softly. "Before all that, he was just Ani. A boy with grease-stained hands and a head full of dreams too big for his own good. He spent half his life fixing scraps of junk in this shop, and the other half dreaming of the stars. The Force… I didn’t get it. Not back then. But I knew there was something in him. Something that could never be chained."
He floated closer, his eyes lingering on Lana for a moment in quiet reflection.
"When Qui-Gon Jinn came through, I thought it was just business. Spare parts, wagers, debts. But then that Jedi started talking about destiny. I thought he was crazy. And yet…" He chuckled softly. "Ani raced, won his first podrace, and walked out free. I thought it was the Jedi who saved him, but I see it now—it was always Ani saving himself."
Watto turned toward the glowing holo-map again, the faint Republic emblems flickering against his face. His wings buzzed slowly. "I’d give anything to hear those engines again, just once. To see him cross that line, grinning like nothing could touch him. That was the last time I saw him as he was."
The room fell quiet for a moment, the silence heavy but reverent.
Grath finally leaned forward, breaking it gently. "Watto… we need a place to lay low. Somewhere safe to breathe. And some parts for our ship. Nothing flashy, nothing loud." His deep voice carried the weight of someone used to cutting straight to the point. "You know this planet better than any Imperial dog. Can we count on you?"
Watto studied them, wings buzzing faintly, gaze lingering on Jahn. Finally, he nodded with a weary sigh. "The Empire’s hunting you. I can smell it. You can stay here tonight. I’ll dig through my stock, see what I’ve got worth salvaging." His gaze flicked to Lana. "But no podracing. Not for someone like you. Too many eyes would notice, and you don’t need that kind of heat."
He gestured toward a curtained corner lined with cushions and folded blankets. "Rest here. We’ll talk more in the morning. Tatooine’s a nest of scum, but there are still old paths, old names, that mean something out here."
Lana exhaled, relief mingling with gratitude. "Thank you," she said quietly, stepping toward the corner. Then, with a spark of energy, she added, "If you like, I can help clean up the shop. It’s not so different from the Temple archives—dusty and impossible to organize."
Watto chuckled despite himself, fluttering back toward a cluttered workbench. "If it keeps you busy, kid, knock yourself out."
Jahn watched her fondly but silently as she knelt to gather scattered tools, her youthful determination filling the room with a strange warmth. Grath, meanwhile, crouched beside the dormant pit droids, prodding one with his thick fingers.
Watto hovered near the holo-map, lost once more in thought. His eyes lingered on the faintly glowing Republic emblems. For a fleeting moment, the hum of the map seemed to mingle with phantom sounds—the roar of podracer engines, a boy’s laughter echoing in his ears, and the soft, steady voice of a Jedi who had once turned his world upside down.
He didn’t speak.
And the trio let him be, the silence reverent as old memories lingered in the dusty air.
Lana sat by the small window above Watto’s shop, gazing out at the twin suns sinking low on the horizon, their dying light bathing the endless dunes in gold and crimson. The desert stretched forever, harsh and unforgiving, yet in this moment it seemed… quiet. Gentle. “It’s strange,” she murmured, her voice almost lost in the hush of twilight, “how something so harsh can look so peaceful at the end of the day.”
Jahn stepped beside her, his presence steady and grounding, and rested a warm hand on her shoulder. “Even in the hardest places,” he said softly, his voice carrying that calm strength she always trusted, “there’s always a bit of light left to hold onto. You just have to see it.”
She leaned into him ever so slightly, her heart steadying at his words. The suns slipped lower, their glow spilling across his face, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself had stilled. “As long as you’re here, Master,” she whispered, her voice trembling with quiet conviction, “I think I can.”
The two of them stood together, side by side, bathed in the fading light. Above the horizon, the twin suns kissed the edge of the dunes—brilliant, fleeting, and achingly beautiful. And as the last rays lingered against the sky, hope rose quietly within her chest, fragile but real, like the first stars beginning to pierce the twilight.
Notes:
Thank you to everyone who’s been reading, even if in silence.
Because every ending deserves the promise of a new beginning—
Coming soon, in Embers of the Force:
Life on Tatooine won’t stay quiet for long. Lana will wrestle with thoughts and feelings she doesn’t fully understand, Jahn will face old scars that won’t stop bleeding, and both of them will come to blows with the Inquisitors in ways that will change them forever. There will be new bonds, devastating wounds, and one promise that Lana can’t afford to break:
"I will not lose you."
Embers of the Force — Part II: Shadows of the Heart
Coming October 6th, 2025
Robin_tales_fighter on Chapter 2 Fri 07 Nov 2025 11:00AM UTC
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