The Republic transport craft hummed as it hovered above the atmosphere of the sprawling city encompassing the entire planet. Even without breathing it in Tyar knew the surface would have cleaner air compared to the smell of refuse that would fill his lungs back home. Coruscant was already a far cry from Nar Shaddaa, at least from above the skyline. He'd never been so high up on his home planet.

His adventure had contained little excitement after leaving home, mostly comprising a considerable amount of sitting and waiting as they took one shuttle after the other on their way to the heart of the Republic. The Jedi who'd found him, Master Valara Vartil, spent most of her time meditating in perfect silence during the lengthy transits, unperturbed by the turbulence they sometimes encountered or the questions he'd ask. She'd always urge him patience, but explain little. Eventually Tyar grew tired of asking at all.

This ride had been no different, and there was at least some comfort in the fact that it was the last one for a while. It didn't change his boredom. Tyar sat slumped, all but lying flat on his seat while the cabin gently jostled around him in its descent. There was a pile of three holomags to his right, only some of them interesting. He didn't care for galactic gossip or dining or anything of a banal nature. One series of articles about swoop racing held his attention for an hour, but even the stories grew dull as he ran out of pictures to admire.

Continually he'd look over and expect to see his big brother there too, but always found the space he should've occupied empty. Cirak was still on Nar Shaddaa. They were entire systems apart now, and the space between them felt heavier on Tyar's shoulders than it had in any of the past days. He'd cried the first night without him, pouring his tears into the blankets he'd been given so no one would see. Somehow when Cirak said everything would be all right, Tyar believed him. Even without Dad he'd felt safer with his big brother around. It didn't feel right not having him there where he couldn't hear his words of comfort.

Tyar glanced to the seat across from him. Master Valara sat cross legged in a meditative posture, her breathing so slow it seemed almost nonexistent. Both seats on either side of her were empty; in fact there were few people aboard anyways. There was the odd Republic soldier standing guard at the front and back of the shuttle, but from what he could see the rows were mostly empty. Tyar's eyes lingered on one of the soldiers who was leaning against a wall with crossed arms. Growing up he'd seen gang members loitering on the streets of Nar Shaddaa with the same sort of posture, but their expressions had always been hardened and intense, territorial. Here, though, his arms were not held so tight, and there was a slight grin from the corners of his mouth. For this soldier, it was home.

Grabbing a holomag. Tyar pushed himself upright and slid out of his seat, holding the reader close to his chest. The Jedi Master remained unperturbed by his sudden decision to rise, and so he slinked off without alerting her to his departure. He moved through the sliding doors at one end of the shuttle to another section of the ship. It appeared equally empty, with only a few individuals resting in their seats.

Master Valara had said something about a war going on, and Cirak had said something similar a bit ago too. Sometimes, late at night when his big brother thought he was asleep, Tyar would find him watching some programming on the conflict, only to turn it off as soon as he noticed him. It must be pretty bad, Tyar figured. People probably aren't traveling a whole bunch if bad things are happening around the galaxy.

Still, he couldn't imagine it being any worse than daily life on Nar Shaddaa. He didn't feel the same tension on Coruscant, neither within himself nor the other passengers.

Each of the rooms aboard the smaller transport were identical, built for efficiency and maximizing occupancy rather than the comfort of its occupants. Two columns of seating split the hold into thirds with plenty of space to meander as they endured their travels. A window spanned the entire space on the wall to the left. A few errant passengers looked out it down at the metropolis below, one of them a Zabrak boy who couldn't have been hardly any older than Tyar himself.

Tyar hadn't seen many children since leaving Nar Shaddaa. Even on his home planet he knew very few other children. Dad had always said school would be a waste of time and that he'd enroll him in it once they moved to another planet, and their apartment complex had housed few other families besides their own. Cirak had been the closest person in age that he knew. He felt vaguely intimidated at the prospect of meeting someone close to him in age, but he felt a pull towards the Zabrak, similar to the one he'd felt from Master Valara. With cautious steps Tyar began his approach.

The Zabrak – an iridonian – turned to face him. Tyar froze, still several steps away, and looked over the boy. Faded outlines of cuts lined his face and neck, the scars mostly healed but still visible. Like all other Zabrak he had horns atop his head, but his were still short, barely grown in. His tunic, of a similar make as the ones Valara wore under her robes, appeared deceptively new in the face of his more weathered physical features. Golden lights from the cityscape below illuminated his face in such a way that it emphasized its damage, and Tyar spotted in his brown eyes subdued caution, confusion.

"You're like me," Tyar said.

The Zabrak said nothing at first, his confusion more evident as he narrowed his eyebrows. After another moment his expression softened. "Are you a Jedi?" There was a subtle wonder in his tone.

"No. Are you?"

He shook his head. "I'm being taken to the Temple though. One day I'm going to be. Did a Jedi Master find you too?"

"Master Orgus did. He took me here with his…uh…" the Zabrak boy trailed off and cocked his head. "I think he called him a 'paddle won.' His name's Bengel. He's nice." He smiled slightly.

Outside another Republic ship sailed past them. The planetary lights shimmered off the metal and rippled across the boys face, drawing attention to his irregularities again. Tyar regarded the boy's facial features. "Why's your face all weird?"

The other boy recoiled, reaching up to gently touch his cheek with his hand. "It's not weird…" He turned away, obviously hurt by Tyar's statement.

"I didn't mean it like it was a bad thing. I'm sorry." Tyar watched as the other boy's expression remained cautious, perhaps even a little frightened. Deep down it wasn't too unlike what Tyar was feeling himself. "Do you like holotoons?"

"I've never watched any holotoons."

"You've never watched holotoons?" Tyar couldn't restrain his shock. "Do you like swoop?"

"I had an old master who raced swoop. Sometimes I would hold lights while people worked on them so they could see."

Old master? Tyar wondered, and slowly he comprehended what he meant. The scratches and scars on the other boy's face suddenly made sense. "You were a slave?"

The boy nodded. Tyar knew that a similar fate could've befallen him if Cirak hadn't saved him from the gangs on Nar Shaddaa, even if his older brother had thought he hadn't realized it. To think that someone actually lived through it, and that he was nearly the same age as him. The times growing up that Tyar played with toys, this boy was probably forced to do hard labor. Pity swelled in Tyar's chest. In another life their positions could've been reversed.

But now they were the same, regardless of circumstance. They would be Jedi, heroes. It couldn't have been chance that they were both here now, both on their way to Coruscant. If the Force really was in all things like Master Valara said, then maybe it was why they'd met.

After a pause Tyar held out the holomag and turned it on, flipping it to a page on a swoop bike he'd found notable. He approached the boy and handed him the device. "Do you want to look at swoop bikes with me?" The boy stared at him blankly. "You can take it," Tyar urged.

The Zabrak took the holomag from his hands. His posture loosened, and he smiled again.

"This one's called the Amzab ZB-2," Tyar said, "It's one of the fastest models in racing right now."

"What kind of repulsor does it run on?"

"I don't know."

"They should use an Aratech Whirlwind Y6 model repulsorlift. It has great lift and helps stabilize the bike during acceleration. That's what my friend taught me. He knew a lot about swoop bikes." The boy swallowed hard, as though fighting back a lump in his throat. "His name was Jowporin. He died before Master Orgus found me. I think he would've liked this bike."

"My brother and I always wanted to get speeder bikes of our own one day," Tyar said, "We'd talk about it a lot." He looked back at the boy. "Do you miss your friend?"

"Yeah."

"I miss my brother too. His name is Cirak. He knew a lot of stuff about bikes and swoop too." Tyar paused. "I'm sorry about your friend. Cirak almost died once too, and it made me really sad and scared. Is that how you feel?"

"Master Orgus has been trying to make me feel better, but…I still really miss him."

Their transport rumbled, and outside the window Coruscant seemed to draw closer. Skyscrapers took shape rather than being a conglomerate of lights and outlines, and though they were as small as flies Tyar thought he could see traffic whirring on busy lanes below. They'd be at the Jedi Temple soon, no doubt.

"If you'd like I can be your new friend," Tyar said, "We can talk more about speeders and starships and do Jedi stuff and everything. Maybe one day we can even get one." Before the other boy could respond Tyar shot out his hand. "I'm Tyar. Tyar Kiht."

The boy glanced between Tyar's hand and his face. After another pause he shook it. "I'm Eonur."

Tyar beamed and continued shaking Eonur's hand. Not knowing if he should let go or not Tyar instead playfully swung their grip side-to-side. He giggled, and Eonur began laughing as well. It was silly, but it was the first time he'd laughed in days.

And for the first time since leaving home Tyar didn't feel quite so alone.