So this is the OC fic that I talked about in an author's note from one of my other stories. This story starts not too long after the Clone Wars, and will probably extend a little past the Original Trilogy. It will not be connected with most, if any, of the canon storylines. I'm hoping to eventually write a sequel that continues into the sequel trilogy timeline. Oh, and Hali means spirit in Swahili. And there will be trigger warnings at the beginning of any chapters that could contain triggering content. Now, on with the story. NOT A FINAL DRAFT!
"Please don't go. Please.", someone cries, grasping a young woman's arm. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.", a voice responds, before letting go of her hand and disappearing into smoking flames that dust the horizon and smother all, leaving the voice stranded and screaming, bound in flames.
Hali jumps up, sweating. Not that damn shitshow of a dream again, she thinks, moving to peer out the narrow street level window. The small room is dark, but a single faded light across the way allows her to see the faint shadows of others who await the dimming of lights, signaling the breaking of daylight on the highest levels of Coruscant. Throwing the blanket onto her cot, she stays quiet as she walks down the dusty hall to the small kitchen. 'Power's out again. Mom probably had to reroute it to the shop last night', she thinks, peering through what little lighting illuminates the room. But one thing in the dim light catches her eye. A note sitting on top of a small package of some sort. "Hali, please don't open this until tonight. I need to tell you something. Happy Birthday." She sighs. Most wealthy people above them celebrate their "Life Day", but down here in the lower levels she, like many others, like to call it a birthday, and she only has a few notable memories of her own relating to such a day. Prepping a small piece of instant starch and moving quickly, she heads out to meet the latest clients at whatever weird location requested by said clients.
"Where are they?", Hali mumbles, watching the damp, smog-filled alley below from her vantage point on the rooftop. The clients were supposed to arrive an hour ago, and she's almost afraid to know why they're late. She, and almost anyone who knows anything down here can say that being late means one of two things- being stopped and interrogated, or being involved in something much more than a simple business. As she waits, egghead voices move in below, and she moves forward, curious. "We have arrived at the reported sighting, but the criminal is nowhere in sight. We're scanning the area now." Who in kriff are they talking about, she wonders, and slides down the roof in the opposite direction. Might as well take the long way around and be late, rather than run into those things again, she thinks. There have been more and more patrols lately, but none of them have directly affected anyone she knows-yet. She knows almost anyone around here could be considered a criminal by the Empire, as none have legally registered businesses. Survival is the main focus of their lives, that and keeping anything worked for and earned out of the Empire's hands. Which again, is painful, considering that everything around here is illegal in the so-called almighty Empire's eyes. Her mom has had to hide their business, and her, from prying eyes for almost as long as she can remember. She drags her feet past worn buildings, past homes that had been burned by patrols, and keeps moving, pulling her hood up to avoid those prying eyes throughout the alleyways.
She takes the well worn, albeit gritty backstreets, trying to test just how much area is being patrolled by bucketheads, but internally groans as a patrol steps in front of her path, preventing an escape. Hali reaches down in her bag, digs for the false I.D., and holds it, ready for the million credit question."I.D., citizen.", demands the commander of the patrol. She holds up her I.D., but they remain. "What is your business here?", asks the same bucket head. "Visiting a friend. Nothing else, sir." she says mockingly. "Hands up, criminal." "Hey, hey, hey. What is my crime, exactly?" "Selling goods without a license." Okay, time to go, she tells herself. Grabbing a smoke bomb out of her pocket, she lights it and slips through the smoke, past the gagging guard.
" Kari, where have you been? And why are those troopers after you?" Hali sees her mother standing there, her face wrinkled in worry. "So, the clients tipped off the buckethead meddlers that I was some criminal, probably to get a reward, and never showed up. I ran into them, but I got away." "It's getting more and more dangerous out there. They're everywhere. And searching more feverently than ever." "Hey mom, what is that package? There was a note, saying I needed to wait until tonight, to open it?" She sighs, "I can't hide everything anymore. You should have what was intended for you." "He left me something?" That's a shock, she thinks. He left before she was even born, and Kari knows her mom dislikes talking about him even more than discussing the Empire. "He wanted to stay. But things outside his control wouldn't allow it. I was furious at the time, but now I just- miss him. He wanted to see you, but the last time I heard from him was before the war ended. He was struck down as a political enemy." Her mom becomes silent. Kari looks at the faded package, and unwraps the worn leather string.
"A necklace?" "Yeah. It's kyber. Smugglers tell that it's one of the rarest gems around. It powered the Jedi's lightsabers, once upon a time." "But why would he want me to have this?" "He wanted you to have something different. Like him. He was force sensitive." Halii stares. "But he would have been found by the Jedi." "He was hidden from them by his family." "Oh. I- I'm taking tonight off.", she mumbles, pulling her head out of the endless thoughts that fill it. "Oh no you won't, young lady. You are going to organize the workshop. It's a mess, and no thanks to you." "But-", she protests. "No buts.'', she says firmly. Hali sighs. Her mom is not someone to mess with. She will not take no for an answer, ever, which is why she rarely fails to sell something when dealing with their most picky clients. Walking down the hallway towards the shop, she stops, feeling strangely lightheaded. Everything around her slowly pulls back, except a coldness that plunges into her bones. She feels it pulling, tugging, drowning her, until everything fades away, leaving her in a quiet, confusing darkness.
Thanks for reading. Reviews/ Follows/Favs/ PMs welcome:)