I rarely ever heard my father cry. He was certainly not the type of person to embrace or show his emotions, especially in the presence of his own daughter. When he was alone in his room, I often eavesdropped on him, since he seemed to enjoy talking to himself. He had seemed particularly worried lately at the imminent reemergence of the Dark Side, but I had never seen him so helpless and scared in all my nineteen years. My father was a good man with a hard past, but he was my father nonetheless, and I would always love him regardless of whether or not he decided to fight my cousin.
He rarely shared anything about my past. I know little of my mother's death, and even less about my grandfather. I often asked about my mother's death, but I eventually stopped after seeing how much it hurt my father to talk about her. All I knew for sure is that she disappeared just before we left for Nal Hutta after my cousin tried to kill us. What most likely happened is that she had been killed by him and that sparked our departure, but my father never gave me the full story. He rarely did about anything. I had never grown up, I would always be his poor defenseless little girl.
The only thing I know for sure about my grandfather is that his name was Anakin Skywalker and that he saved my father's life. I had heard people mention Darth Vader occasionally in hushed tones when speaking about him. Judging by this and my cousin's surprising aptitude for the Dark Side, my grandfather may very well have been the notorious and feared Darth Vader. Again, I would never get an answer from my father regarding that.
I vividly remember my cousin's betrayal of his own uncle. He had confided in me on several occasions throughout our youth that he was frustrated by how little my father taught him. He believed that he was being held back and that my father knew far more about the Force than he was letting on. He wanted power: power that my father didn't think he could handle. Oh, how right my father was.
Through some circumstances of which I never found out the specifics, my cousin met a strange Dark Jedi who called himself Darth Ronin. Ronin had promised my cousin power beyond his wildest dreams under one condition: he kill his uncle and the remaining Jedi, including me, of course.
In his quest for power, he attempted to do just that. He had come to the fourth moon of Yavin along with a small group of Dark Jedi sent along with him to assist him in his task. They went to the new Jedi Temple on the moon and destroyed everything my father had worked so hard to build, killing every padawan they could get their hands on, leaving the non-Jedi alone for some strange reason.
After a brief and vicious duel, during which my father fought with the sole purpose of killing them and protecting me, my father took me and fled the scene after using his mastery of the Force to bring the remains of the temple down on the small group of Dark Jedi to provide us a small window of opportunity for a risky escape.
We left the planet and immediately went to Nal Hutta to begin our exile, my father wasting no time hiding us from the reaches of the Dark Side. He told me that his purpose in leaving was to keep me safe from the heartache should he have fallen in the duel, but I maintained that he left before he killed them and let his emotion push him towards a path to the Dark Side. My father had always been an advocate of using violence as a last resort, so the way he dueled the attackers was completely out of character from him. He most likely noticed this too and saw it fit to go into a life of exile rather than live a life that may or may not end in the last Jedi in the galaxy turning to the Dark Side.
Of course, he may have been scared that, if he were to die, my cousin would certainly bring me over to the Dark Side, whether I wanted to join him or not. It would destroy him if he ever found out that I had once dabbled in the Dark Side under the guidance of my cousin a very long time ago when he had first met Darth Ronin. I immediately turned my back on the rush of power I felt, fearing that one day I may end up in a duel to the death with my own father.
As I sat outside of his door, I heard him speaking earnestly to someone about a man who could help us fight Darth Ronin, a man who apparently used to be a Jedi himself. Before I could dwell on this any further or try to decipher the mumbles coming from within my father's bedroom, the room fell silent and he emerged.
"You've been listening," he said, more of an accusation then a question.
"Trying," I replied, standing up from the dusty floor.
"Get your bag, we're leaving."
"What should I take?" I asked, startled. I had learned many years ago to trust my father blindly, him being much stronger in the Force than I.
"Your lightsaber and whatever you can fit in that bag," he replied walking away, most likely to go prepare the ship for whatever he had planned.
"Where're we going?" I asked him before he could leave the room.
"Tatooine," he replied simply before closing the door behind him.