Things change after he shows the what it means to be a Skywalker, forty-first of his water-line. They say his names in awe. Anakin, the one who brings rain, and Skywalker, descendant of Ekkreth the first slave himself. He sees the way the budding lines of light join them together, the power of faith and hope and belief permeating the deserts.

His mother is not pleased by these developments. "You're just a child," she says and holds him close, her fear as clear as Tatooine is hot. "You shouldn't be the one to do this."

"You named me Anakin. I brought the rain as you knew I would." He smiles. "Who was my father?"

She frowns. "You know it's always been just me."

"No, mother." He takes her hands in his own, though really, it's more that he holds two of her fingers in each hand. "You can't feel him well, but father is everywhere. Father is the heat of the sun giving warmth to the kryat dragon. Father is each water-line, broken and unbroken, that have existed since the first life. Father is the void which binds hyperspace lanes together."

Her love for him means she will always fear.

Freedom cannot be gained simply through battle for they have no weapons, nor can it be found by fleeing for they have implants in their bodies.

Watto is a creature of weak will but great cunning. He was the first to notice Anakin's eyes burn with knowledge and that his hair was less blonde and more spun gold. He also noticed, and even encouraged, Anakin's interest with machines. Still, he will not simply give them their freedom.

It is midnight when Anakin and three other slaves enter Watto's residence. The place is grimy and disordered. The sentient they seek sleeps peacefully in the hammock until they open the window.

Watto wakes instantly and whips out a blaster from somewhere. Anakin raises his hand and the blaster goes flying, hitting the wall with a dull clank.

"I knew you were going to be trouble," Watto says bitterly.

Anakin stops the other slaves from pouncing by extending his arm in a warding gesture. "Leave him," he says in the slave language, and the slaves back down.

"Where is the implant?"

"I have nothing to gain from telling you."

"I do not want to break your mind." Father leans over his shoulder and grants him the knowledge. "But for my people, for my promise, I will."

Father leans over his shoulder and whispers the knowledge of what must be done. Tendrils of serpentine power wrap round Watto's mind, searching for the answers he seeks. He sees the visions of who Watto was, a sentient not so petty and cruel before he was stranded on Tatooine. It sickens him to twist these memories and change the foundation of who Watto is. But he has made a promise and he will see it through no matter what.

After it is done, Watto becomes his. The sentient's mind is warped to be subservient. A perfect slave.

Anakin buries the feelings of guilt down. This is the best future available to him of the dozens of choices available. This one has the most possible good endings.

They leave with the knowledge that Anakin has found. It is just before dusk when he and a larger group of slaves stand on the border between deep desert and the salt flats. He removes a knife, the straight blade of their people and raises it high for all to see.

"I gave water as part of my promise. Now, I give blood."

The explosive implant that keeps him shackled is in his arm. He knows the location perfectly and with his father's presence guiding him, keeping his hand from shaking, he makes the incision across his arm. Father's gentle whispers soothe the pain away as he digs through his bloody arm and removes the implant.

There is blood on the sand as he lifts the tool that keeps them enslaved.

"This is what they use," he says in the high voice of a boy. Yet, not a single slave would dare interrupt a blood-oath. He spits on the ground and lets his water mix with the blood.

"This is how they stop us running. No more. From this I will build a path for our freedom. Return to your masters, and when the time is right, we will return to the desert of our home."

He is grateful to Jira when she helps bandage his arm in the grandmother's hut. They have little in the way of supplies, but they have always known how to make do. The stitch will eventually scar but he does not regret it.

"Grandson," one of the seven elders says when he is healed. "We have permitted your acts too long. Skywalker you are, but we remember the last rebellions."

"The path you walk down is blood and death," another says.

He watches them, seeing possible futures as easily as others see the weathered skin of their palms. It is not one future but dozens, some more likely than others.

Anakin smiles gently, deciding which future is most likely to occur.

"The corpse of your fellow slaves in the sand," he says, looking to the third, and then to the fourth as he continues. "My execution by rope and blade in Mos Esapa. That is what you were going to say."

The grandmothers have seen much and do not react with the shock or trepidation anyone else would. "We are not youths to be intimidated by such tactics."

Anakin bows his head in shame. "Forgive me, venerated elders. I meant no disrespect. But a blood and water oath cannot be broken."

"Then wage this war of yours alone. Do not let the common slave die in the name of your arrogance."

"There will always be deaths, many of those innocent. But if we do not shed blood now then a thousand more generations shall bear the slave collar."

Another grandmother scoffs. "You are a boy asking thousands to fight and die for you."

He inclines his head. "The price will be high," he agrees sadly. "I understand your hesitance so I will give you a sign of my good faith. I will give any who follow me a piece of freedom. Walk over the edge with me and I will teach you to walk the skies."

He leaves the hut.

The sun outside is scorching but he is greeted by those who believe in him, those hoping that he will be their promised messiah. He shakes his head.

"Tonight."

And so, they leave. They will go through their day, obeying their cruel masters. Perhaps they will make it without being whipped or suffering under a harsh boot. Perhaps they won't. It doesn't matter.

Anakin spends his time in the shop, cobbling together a dozen parts. He knows where the implant is and he has faith in his father's guiding hand as he works, Watto dull and lifeless in a corner. It is cruel and he will always hate himself, but for his people that is one sin he will gladly take.

In the evening, it is ready. He waits till the suns have fully set and the slaves are given free reign to do as they please within reason.

They wait for him, the grandmothers and his followers—Kitster and Ald and Jira, those who will always be first amongst equals. His mother is the only true surprise.

"This is the chain that binds us," he says, showing them the transponder. Then he raises his new contraption. "And this shall be the breaker-of-chains."

He hands the transponder to one of the grandmothers alongside the kryat dragon leather.

"Tie it to me in the ancient ways."

There is a murmur of surprise. "It can only be removed by the one who tied it."

Anakin nods. "I know. This is my proof. I will walk to the deep desert, to our true home. You will have the chain and you will use, hour after hour. In three days, I will return and show you the chain is broken."

"This is madness," his mother says.

"I will always come back to you."

He holds his arm out to be bound. The grandmother moves quickly and deftly, her fingers never hesitating as she binds the explosive implant to his arm right over the scar it once resided. He can appreciate the symbolism.

"Yasungwa," she says once it is done, tugging on the straps. It only tightens.

Anakin nods. He is equipped only with the animal-killing spear of his ancestors that doubles as a walking tool. It is all his ancestors needed before and it is all he will need today.

"Three days," he promises his mother.

He sets off, walking towards the rise win and to an uncertain future.