*A/N: This story was started like right after The Force Awakens was released. I have not seen The Last Jedi - been too busy with vet school. So this is an AU. Writing begins before Starkiller Base was a thing yet. Forgive me if any of the information is totally wrong... like I said, I haven't actually watched anything after TFA! If you want more, please review. My time is a little limited right now so I won't bother posting more if there's no want for it!*

Calla Abolithe drew an arrow from her quiver, nocking it against her bow and pulling back on the string. She aimed at her target - the ororaan was grazing in the nearby meadow, completely unaware of Calla's presence. She breathed deeply, and as she exhaled, she released the arrow. It flew through the air, whizzing past the trees that disguised Calla, and flying into the ororaan's chest. The sudden impact startled the ororaan, and it tried to flee the danger. But it was already too late. It was a perfect shot, like magic; the ororaan was dead in minutes.

"Looks like I've defeated you yet again, Vanan," Calla said, turning to the man behind her. She had killed one more animal that day. One more serving of meat for her tribe.

"Yeah, yeah. I think you're just lucky," he said with a smile on his face.

"Luck has nothing to do with it. It's all skill. Skill you've yet to acquire."

"Yeah, yeah. You can gloat when you wield a sword like I can." Vanan rolled his eyes at her confidence, even if on some level, he was certain it was true. Vanan knew Calla was an extremely accomplished hunter in the tribe. She had this way with her arrows, almost like she could will them into her targets. It didn't matter if a strong wind blew the arrow off course, the arrow somehow found its mark. Her fellow members of the tribe attributed this characteristic to her bloodline. As the daughter of the chief, she had started training younger and harder than the rest, always looking to prove herself to her people.

Vanan and Calla walked to the ororaan's corpse as another member of their hunting party - a young boy named Brocah - pulled a cart behind him. They lifted the kill together, depositing it onto the cart next to the other kills of the day.

When they were finished, Calla looked upon the cart with an approving glance. "Could be worse, eh? We should head back now. Nightfall is on its way." She pointed to the sun, which was nearing the horizon of the large meadowed clearing dangerously.

Brocah nodded. He was a quiet boy; she'd only heard him speak a handful of times. Calla always thought him more suited to healing or studying instead of more physical pursuits, but his father was the "Great Loni," famed for his unparalleled skill in hunting. When Brocah asked her father for a hunting apprenticeship, he could hardly deny the boy.

They walked towards their tribe, towards the busy sounds of their families. Calla sighed, thinking of the bustling village and wishing she could ignore all of her responsibilities and live out in the forest where it was quiet and cold. The waning sun cast an ethereal glow along the forest floor. Small animals roamed between the trees, scurrying from the vibrations of the hunting party's boots hitting the mossy terrain. Flecks of fuzzy white insects floated down from the treetops, occasionally catching in Calla's dark blonde hair. She walked beside Vanan, their hands so close they could almost be touching. Brocah followed behind, eager to please them as he towed the cart. That was another thing she liked about Brocah. He never questioned Calla and Vanan's relationship; he let them be. It was common knowledge that the two hunters would be married soon. It was arranged from their births, not that Calla had ever minded. They were always friends, respected each other, encouraged a bit of fun between each other. They were a fine match, she thought. She probably wouldn't want to be married to anyone else. She certainly couldn't imagine kissing anyone else, that was for sure. "You look like you're pondering something important," Vanan said."Just wondering if the ororaan's antlers would look better above my bed or my hearth," she smiled. Vanan laughed, his green eyes crinkling around the rims. "A true dilemma," he said through laughs. He took the opportunity to shuttle his hand into hers, pulling her closer to him. He whispered in her ear, "If I might offer my opinion, chief? I think it would look better above a bed...our bed." Calla pushed him away and feigned an expression of appall. He laughed yet again. Calla walked back to Brocah. "I'll take the cart for a while. You can have Vanan teach you some tracking basics."Brocah nodded, passing along the cart to the chief's daughter. She picked up the handles and walked on, listening to Vanan's lessons and occasionally offering her own advice when Vanan's suggestions were less than helpful. He was a great tracker, but he was a tall, strong man. Brocah had a smaller body, like Calla. She might be able to give better advice in that regard. Less than an hour later, the sun had begun to set, lighting the sky in purples and pinks. Calla, Vanan, and Brocah had reached the edge of their village, the brown roofs greeting them like always. The cart bounced over dirt walkways as they approached the butcher.

"Brocah, feel free to go home. You did well today. We'll teach you how to shoot tomorrow."

Ever the talkative adolescent, he gave a final nod and parted from Calla and Vanan.

"I'm beginning to wonder if he can even speak," Vanan said as soon as the boy was out of earshot.

"At least he won't scare away the prey with his pratter. Unlike like some men I know."

"That's hardly fair. Personally, I think I charm all the prey so they remain close to me."

"Well, personally," she teased, "I couldn't think of a less charming man." She passed one of her father's counselors and nodded in a greeting to him. "Counselor Consulo," she said. The man was old and gray, but always had a spring in his step. Calla thought he looked ready for his next, and perhaps his last, adventure.

"Good evening, Miss Calla. Vanan. I see your hunt was successful."

"Fortunately, we didn't have to venture far."

"I'm glad. Have a pleasant night, Miss Calla," he said. Calla smiled.

At the butcher, they unloaded their kills, stacking them with the few other animals that other parties had brought back earlier than them. The butcher thanked them for their work and sent them on their way, baskets of carved meat and fish now in their hands.

"Well, Vanan. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow. We'll hunt beyond the meadow. Maybe track something a bit bigger than an ororaan? To give Brocah a bigger target, I mean." She waggled her eyebrows.

"Of course. All for Brocah's sake. Certainly not because you want a little adventure?" He paused. "To our time together," Vanan initiated the farewell common in their culture, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"And to all our time apart," Calla finished, clapping her own hand on Vanan's shoulders. Vanan smiled and winked, leaving her to walk home.

The Abolithes lived in the center of the village. The other buildings radiated from the chief's in concentric circles. Calla didn't always enjoy being in the center of it all, but she also knew it was inevitable. Her destiny was to lead her people. And leaders do not live out in the forest, miles away from those they've sworn to protect.

She had barely entered the door before she felt small arms around her waist, embracing her. The girl was strong and the move had taken her by surprise. Calla almost fell backwards at the sudden force.

"Althea!"

Her sister was much younger than her. Separated by sixteen years. Her parents had tried to have a second child for so long; her mother had desired it so greatly that she prayed for the Force to deliver one to her every night. She had gotten her wish, but paid for it with her life.

Calla felt like more than a sister to Althea. She'd partially raised her. Became her best friend.

"Calla!" She buried her face into Calla's abdomen, squeezing until it hurt.

"Yes, I made it home. Just like always, Althea." Calla rolled her eyes.

When she drew back, Althea looked at Calla excitedly. "I learned a new form today! Teacher says I already do it perfect."

"Perfectly," she corrected. "You already do it perfectly." Althea shrugged. "Well, go on then! Show me," Calla said.

The younger sister stepped further into the room, to an open space, and began performing the form. Calla recognized it immediately - the sweeping arm motions, the gentle gliding of her feet along the floor. Althea had learned Wandoo, the fourth form. Her teacher had been right. She was doing it perfectly. Calla had often wondered if Althea would become a form teacher herself one day since she always seemed to pick up the art so quickly.

Their forms were a sacred practice. The dances were a connection to the Force. It reminded her people that the Force's energy flowed through them all. They were all privy to the humbling power of the Force and had all learned the forms when they were younger as part of their schooling.

When she finished, Calla clapped. "Excellent Wandoo, Althea! It's probably better than mine, even."

"No way. You're always better."

Calla shook her head, and gently poked her sister on the forehead. "It took me three months to perform Wandoo. And I was probably three years older than you are now when I learned it. All your hard work at school is paying off."

Althea grinned from ear to ear. Calla gave her a pat on the cheek before heading further into her home, dropping off the meat in the kitchen to cook later. She wanted to speak to her father, knowing perfectly well it was that time of the year again. The time of year where her village communicated to the closest planet to learn all of the news in the galaxy. Since their planet's inception, they preferred simple lifestyles. All technological advances had been sacrificed for true peace, neutrality, and isolation. However, they had one communication device that was turned on for four hours once a year. Just to stay in touch.

She found her father pacing in his study. "Father?" she called. His face did not soothe the unease she felt. He looked somehow grayer, more wrinkly, than usual.

He looked at her. "Calla. You're here. Come in. Close the door."

She drew her eyebrows together, but she did as she was told. "What is it?"

"Nothing to worry about," he said, struggling to smile. Of course, Calla was not convinced. "I spoke to the ambassador. Their crops are hearty and their people are well."

"And?" She didn't really care if their people were well. Millions on their planet. Of course they were well.

"The ambassador expressed some concern over a new enemy in the galaxy. Political unrest involving a small faction known as the First Order." He stopped pacing, preferring now to sit in his armchair. "They're dangerous, Calla. They want to bring down the New Republic. And they use violence to get there."

"And why would this matter? We're not affiliated with any government. Most people don't even know we exist. This 'First Order' should want nothing to do with us," Calla said.

Her father looked away. She still had much to learn about leading their tribe. Protecting them should always be at the forefront of her mind. Considering all possible threats to their peace, even the least likely of those possibilities, was part of being a leader.

"You are too young to remember the Galactic Empire. My father told me of its creation, its rise to power. They always seek allies in the forgotten. And they will always view us as the forgotten."

"We prefer it that way. Don't they know that?"

"They don't care. Power is all that concerns them."

Calla edged closer to her father, kneeling before him. "Why do you fear them? They won't want anything to do with us when we deny their requests."

He licked his lips. "People like that don't like rejection." He turned from her gaze yet again, this time his eyes glancing towards the window. He looked into the darkness, like he was searching for something. No, like he was hiding something.

"Calla."

"Yes, Father?"

He suddenly turned back to her. His brown irises blazing into her own, lighting her on fire. "If they come, you'll need to leave. Take Vanan and Althea and run as far away as possible. To the Basha monument. Maybe even further. I will send someone to get you when it's safe."

"What? Why? No, I won't. My place is with you. I won't cower from their threats."

"Calla, you don't understand. There are things about your mother, about your abilities, that you don't know. You have to trust me. If you see them here, you must run. It's for your safety. For our safety," he asserted. He was right. Calla did not understand in the slightest. She was an Abolithe. A future chief. How could she simply abandon her people? And why would her presence endanger anyone in the village? What did her mother or her "abilities" have to do with any of that?

Her father did not allow her to ask those questions, but instead placed a hand on her shoulder. "I wouldn't be ordering you to do this if it wasn't important. You can't be in this village if they come," he repeated. He seemed to think she understood that time, but she still didn't. "You have to promise me, Calla. Give me your word that you will follow my direction."

His face was so stern. She hadn't seen him look this way since he was calmly explaining that her mother had died.

His expression was somehow serious and sad and terrified all at once. There was something in the way his hand desperately clung to her shoulder that made her nod. She would listen to her father, even if she didn't understand why he would demand this of her.

She placed her hand on her father's, feeling his rough and unrefined skin. She squeezed it. "I promise," she said.

"Good," he said. "Let us pray that day never comes."

"It won't." She offered a reassuring smile, but what did she know?

She removed her hand from his, and he dropped his arm from her shoulder. "What else did the ambassador say?" she asked.

He told her in detail all of the information the ambassador relayed. Mostly, it carried little weight on her people. It didn't concern her tribe if there was a new senator, or if a far off planet had changed their economic system. They were a self-sufficient people, untouched by the tainted policies of graceless governments. They ruled with gentle mercy in a small society where everyone had a role to play. It had worked for hundreds of years, and they were not quick to change it.

When he finished speaking with her, he told her that he wouldn't be present for their meal tonight. He had to speak with the council about the news from the ambassador. She would eat with Althea and go to bed.

They ate creel fish and Althea recounted her day with excited chirps. Calla smiled and proffered responses when she felt it was appropriate, but truthfully, she wasn't listening. She was thinking about the First Order. She wondered what they believed in, why they felt their ideologies were special enough to disturb peace over them. What did they look like? Were they fearsome?

She imagined a group of old men with white hair sitting around a large stone table discussing politics. Every so often one of the men would become angry and would slam his fist against the stone. She imagined herself at the table, trying to convince them that peace was always the better choice. Diplomacy would save them all, exactly as her father taught her.

She helped Althea trade her tunic for nightclothes, and tucked her into bed. Her sister asked for a bedtime story, but Calla denied her one. "I'm too tired," she said. "It's been a long day. How about an extra special one tomorrow night? One about Mother?"

Althea pouted, but she obliged. Her poor sister had never met her mother, so calm and so wise. Sometimes it was painful for Calla to recall the memories, even if she had been six years since she died. She saved small stories about her to bribe her sister, and it always worked. Maybe slightly manipulative, but Calla did what she had to do.

Calla turned off Althea's lantern and kissed her goodnight. "To our time together," Calla said, pulling the blankets over her sister's chest.

"And to all our time apart," she replied.

The next morning, Calla woke with the rising sun. She slid out of bed and changed into her usual outfit. Leather pants, leather bodice, green tunic, leather armguard for her bow. It blended in so well with the forest flora, camouflaging her body. Vanan's garb was similar. They hardly engaged in whimsical colors like many of the other tribesmen. Only on special occasions did Calla agree to wear pastel dresses. She left her hair in her normal style. Freely falling down her back, save for the small plait near her face just to keep the hair out of her eyes. She woke up Althea and got her ready for the day before they both ate their morning meals. Their father greeted them in the kitchen, planting small kisses on the tops of their heads before heading out the door to meet with other tribesmen.

"Are you ready to go, Althea?"

"Mmhmm," she replied, her last bite of porridge in her mouth preventing her from speaking. Calla grabbed her satchel, bow, and quiver, and threw them around her shoulders as Althea mimicked her motions with her own, slightly smaller, satchel.

They walked, in-step, to the school. Children of various ages were walking in, usually unaccompanied by their parents. Their tribe was safe. Children could roam freely, day or night, as long as the wild beasts of the forests stayed far away. And they usually did.

Calla spotted Vanan in her peripherals. He waited for her by the mason's workshop with an odd expression on his face. He was studying her, like she was somehow a completely different person. She wanted to shout profanities at him and tease him for his strange expression, but that would hardly be appropriate in the village. It would have to wait until they were isolated in the forest.

Before Calla even had the chance to say goodbye to her sister, Althea had already slipped away into the building. Calla let her go, watched her little golden hair bounce as she ran inside.

For some reason, she felt uneasy. Maybe because Althea was growing up and wouldn't need her as much anymore? Maybe the Force was telling her it wouldn't be a good hunting day?

She waved away the inauspicious feeling and headed towards Vanan.

Only parsecs away, Commander Kylo Ren stood beside General Hux in a dark room aboard their newest addition to the First Order, a Battlecruiser deemed the Finalizer. Before them, Supreme Leader Snoke appeared in hologram-form. Snoke hated the hologram system on the ship, but its corridors were not large enough to host his desired height. The small likeness would have to work until he could find somewhere more suited to his personal tastes. Which was exactly why he had called Kylo and Hux together.

"Open the galactic map," Snoke ordered.

With a casual glance to Kylo, Hux did as he was instructed. The map opened around the men, the lights streaming from a small orb in the center of the table. The galaxy was immense, until it zoomed in. Closer and closer. To one planet.

"What are we looking at?" Kylo Ren asked, his voice highly mechanized through his mask.

"A primitive dwarf planet on the very outskirts of the galaxy. It is largely unknown by the whole of the galaxy, and its residents prefer it that way. With a population of less than a thousand and its large supply of kyber crystals underground make it a perfect base of operations. You're tasked with conquering the planet for the First Order."

Snoke was right. Neither Kylo or Hux had heard of this planet before. How had it escaped constant threats from those desiring the power of the kyber crystals?

"And its inhabitants?" General Hux asked the next logical question. He was ever the strategist.

"Offer them a chance to join our cause. When they don't accept - and they won't - kill them all," Snoke said.

That was all General Hux needed. He curtly nodded, absolutely prepared to carry out Snoke's order. He was a dutiful soldier, an attribute which Snoke had always admired. His young apprentice, however, took a bit more convincing, a bit more prodding and luring. Kylo liked to know what he was doing and why he was doing it. His questioning, though sometimes tiring to Snoke, was what initially drew Snoke to his apprentice. Those who question can be swayed, influenced, and manipulated.

"Why is a planet with a large supply of kyber crystals untouched?" Kylo asked, as Snoke knew he would.

"Before the Jedi Order fell, a small faction of their ranks disavowed their traditions. They refused to believe that the Force belonged to anyone. They thought it was wrong to hoard the Force. Thus, they colonized a planet with a strong connection to the Force and worked hard to erase themselves from any archives. Most, like Emperor Palpatine, did not know of its existence. Only a select few with a respect for the Force can find faint references to it in Jedi archives," Snoke said.

"References that you found?"

Snoke could have smiled if he was capable of it. The planet stirred old memories in Snoke, memories of a woman gained and lost. She would have been so upset to know he was about to annihilate her people. They would have argued about it, and he would have laughed at her asinine behaviors.

"Long ago, yes. I came across it," he paused, the glimmer of his smile completely faded. Underneath it spawned something much more sinister. "And now it will make an excellent Starkiller Base."