Jyn's father had always been a man of science. Despite that, the man had a lofty belief in the Force as any crazed, old farmer would.

"It is what binds us, my Stardust. What ebbs and flows in all of us – connecting us to the galaxies and to each other."

He had said this while ploughing the soil for the new crops. They were to expect a good harvest this year. Rain had become more frequent and their previous harvest had given them more seeds to plant. Jyn had looked forward to eating more of the plasmaberries.

Of course, that was never to happen. She had watched through the young seedlings as troopers trampled through the vegetation, taking their time as they headed to confront her father. She had seen the blood bleed out into the soil as her mother collapsed. It was a good thing her parents had trained her many times before to scamper to the hiding spot using the vegetation as disguise. It helped that she was a small, wiry thing.

As she hides in the dark, cold hideaway, she trembles. Not of the cold, nor of fear. But out of shock. She had seen the light leave her mother's eyes and yet something in her bade her to run. It was a wonder that she had survived. She reaches for the necklace and clings tightly to the stone, feeling its energy ebb and pulse on her little palm. She swore never to forget.

As a little boy, Cassian's father had always told him to never fear those in power.

"They hide behind their power so that the world would not see them for what they really are – afraid. They fear the wrath of free will. They fear the wrath of the people. The fear the other end of the Force."

His mother had been the one to teach him to fly after his father's death. The night before she had passed, she had hugged him tight; cradling him in her arms and burying her nose to his dark curls. He remembered her bright orange suit and the mild scent of fuel and leather that clung to it.

He remembered the soft kiss to his cheek and her tucking him to bed with the other rebellion younglings. She had promised to see him again. Even as a six year old, he had caught the slight waver in her voice. He didn't even flinch when a pilot in a singed suit woke him up to deliver the bad news as gently as he could the following morning.

Jyn had lived most of her life assuming she was an orphan. The many times that she had been captured, many were shocked to learn of her heritage. She never uttered a word, but her identity was something of a curse. It cannot be helped. Her father had been a very influential man. His work instrumental to the power and tyranny held with glee by the Empire.

She had resented him for that.

But it was not until much later that she learned of his true intentions. That while her father had been the one responsible for the existence of a weapon of mass destruction, he will be responsible for giving her the key to its destruction.

Cassian had always assumed that he would die at some point. Not of old age, nor of a heart attack – that was for the privileged senators who would hide in their gleaming towers in the midst of battle. But dying for the Rebellion. It was always something that he accepted subconsciously but refused to waste any mental resource into deliberating.

In a way, it was that mindset that kept him sane. He knew he had a role – an important one. He knew he was a small cog in a grander scheme. He knew that whatever the Rebels wanted to achieve, it was to benefit the future. The younglings that scampered about in headquarters as apprentices, the children he sees who stare the Stormtroopers with wide eyes. Not himself.

But he would have never thought that he would die in this manner. In the blaze of glory holding a woman tight in his arms. He clung to her as his mother had the day she knew she was walking to her own death. She clung to him knowing that this was it. Their role and service to the Rebels was done.

For a brief moment, he allowed himself to fantasize. He rested his cheek in her hair – how it scented just like his mother's. If they had managed to escape, he knew this woman would be special to him. He would have seen how much they were kindred spirits – how he would be kicking himself because he would have been doomed. Doomed to being a slave to his heart and putting her needs before his own. Her safety above his own and her happiness before his own. Rebels rarely indulged in romance; needs, safety and happiness were a luxury.

But that wasn't going to be a worry. So he quietens his mind and just lets himself hold her. Holds someone he knows his mother would have liked. He lets his thoughts go to their memories, back to his childhood where his mother sat him on a dormant X wing. Back to his father ruffling his hair and sharing the brave stories of the protests he had led as a young man.

He closes his eyes and clings to the woman tighter and he feels her quiver – he tightens his arms and she follows suit. He realizes he's quivering too. She is part of his story now. A story no one will tell. But he doesn't care. He only hopes what they had achieved will be enough.

He knows his parents will be proud.

Jyn had never been one for romance. It was a lofty ideal for someone who was constantly on the run. But here she was, moments away from her own death, wondering what could have been.

The atmosphere between them had always been tense between. She had supposed their lack of trust for the other stemming from recognising how similar they were.

But it seems like the Force had been forthright in bringing them together for she could not imagine accomplishing anything had it been anyone else with her. Their ideals and minds were so in tune; it was a wonder they had not met before.

She pushes the thoughts away and lets herself rest her head to his chest. It was nice – being comforted. It was a feeling so foreign to her but so welcome. She feels like she is in her father's arms again.

She is feeling grateful; grateful that her father's legacy had been saved. By his stardust.

"Mama why are you crying?"

"Papa? What's wrong?"

"Is Uncle Cassian coming to play with us again?"

"Is Mama coming home?"

"Why are the grown-ups crying, does anybody know?"

"Where's Papa?"

"My child-"

"My love-"

"Dear children-"

.

.

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"Let me tell you the story of the people that fought for us."