Han Solo's famous luck had finally run out.
The story was the same it always was. Some thug in Imperial Grey owned a Star Destroyer and a plan for galactic domination. The New Republic, chronically short on soldiers, sent the Falcon and the 'Big Four' on a covert mission to stop the problem before it became a headache.
No one saw the man, no one sensed his presence. He hid in the shadows, laying amongst the fallen bodies of his brethren, a slugthrower clutched in his hand. No one was aware of the danger until a red spot started growing on Han's back. It didn't hurt, just a sense of dizziness as the floor and ceiling traded places.
Leia noticed first. She screamed. It might have been his name, he wasn't sure. The boring grey of the ceiling was invaded by his wife, tears already forming.
"Hey honey." He said, softer than he had hoped. The voice that came from him was that of someone mortally wounded. "I took a round."
"Shh." She said, trying to reassure him and much as she tried to reassure herself. "Don't worry, we'll get you out of here, get you fixed up."
Han tried to smile. It was hard. "I don't think so, honey. I got hit pretty good."
Han couldn't see Chewbacca or Luke. By the sound of things, they were dealing with the stragglers with their bare hands. He needed to talk to them, before it was too late.
"Honey-" He stopped. The words were harder now. "Luke, Chewie."
She understood, she always did. Leia pulled her gaze away for a moment, giving volume to the request Han couldn't. Chewie arrived first, the sounds of a lightsaber continued for a while. The pain in Chewbacca's eyes was unguarded, a contrast to the tears falling over a politician's face. Han wasn't hurt by that, Leia had always coped by putting on a mask. She would grieve in her own time. Chewie always did tell Han his opinion, and today was no different than any other.
"Chewie, I'm not making it out. You take care of my family, you hear?"
His oldest friends response was one of denial and assurance, promising hope for survival.
"No, buddy. This is it. I'm clocking out. Promise me you'll keep them safe. Promise me."
The promise was given. Han could see the moment reality sank in for his friend. No more escapes, no more close calls, just the cold embrace of death.
Luke was overhead now. Rage was visible on his face. The walls were shaking. Luke's eyes looked yellow, poison was seeping into his friend's soul.
"They will pay for this." Luke said, his voice a demonic growl. "They will all pay."
Han had to save Luke, he had to get through to him, before the Dark Side took what was left of Luke's scarred soul. "Luke, you've got to teach my kids." The Jedi's gaze softened a little. Han pressed on. "Teach them to defend themselves, to stand for the right. Teach them to be Jedi, Luke. You're the only one that can." It hurt to talk, but the words needed to be said. Luke was calming down, the rage replaced with hollow grief. "Promise me you'll teach them, Luke. Promise me they will be Jedi."
"I will, Han. I swear on my life."
Han was satisfied, Luke wouldn't descend into rage again, not while Han's kids needed teaching. Luke would keep his promise. He would protect Han's kids, he would teach them.
There wasn't much time left. Saving the hardest for last, Han turned to his wife. "It's time for me to go now." He said, barely above a whisper. "Keep fighting, my love. Don't let this destroy you."
It would be hard for Leia, for all of them. The blood of a Skywalker, or someone close to a Skywalker, had been the price of peace in the galaxy for a long time. Leia would want to hide, to take their, no, her children and hide away from the galaxy. But she couldn't. The galaxy needed a Skywalker to guide it, and Leia would have to be strong, for her children and for everyone else. It would be difficult, but Han hoped that together, Chewie, Luke, and Leia could remain strong.
Closing his eyes, Han thought of his own father, who died young. Han hoped that particular trait didn't run in Solo men. One summer, on a camping trip, Han's father took him out in the forest for a lesson.
"Son," he said, his gruff voice hiding his affection. "The legacy of a man is the security of his children. No matter what you do in life, son, keep your children safe."
Han was dying for the New Republic, but his legacy was safe. A Wookie with a life debt, the strongest Jedi in the galaxy, and the Chancellor of the New Republic herself. Each of them prepared to sacrifice the same price Han was for two young toddlers. Han wished that he could have seen his children grow up, but life was a cruel taskmaster. It didn't matter, his children were safe. That was the legacy of a man.