Leia settled into the pilot's chair and grimaced at the controls, but lifted them off and out of atmo. It wasn't until Artoo beeped in enquiry about what coordinates he should plug in that Leia actually stopped to think about it.
"Vilrein?" she called back into the hold.
Vilrein paused in her perusal of Aphra's many, many dangerous droids. "My lady?"
"Where should we take you?" Leia asked. "Where can you lie low? With any luck, the Emperor will think you died in the explosion."
Vilrein was quiet.
Leia pressed, "Have you got any family? Someone who might take you in?"
"I have a brother," Vilrein admitted. "And two nieces, on my homeworld. They might help."
"Alright," Leia turned back to the navicomputer as Artoo made to insert his arm into it. "What's your homeworld?"
Vilrein hesitated.
Then she said, "Jedha."
Hyperspace was always hypnotising.
Luke's datachip burned a hole in her pocket. Her hand hovered over it for what seemed like hours, eyes stubbornly riveted to the oscillating, coruscating blue lights beyond the viewport. It was fascinating, and beautiful, and Leia did not reach for the datachip.
There were plenty of machines around her that could read it, show it, Aphra's love of technology and need for it in play, but she did not insert it into any of them to see what her brother—her brave, selfless, missed brother—had to say about it.
She could not.
She was so focused on the stars that when someone did approach her from behind, she jerked upright in shock, feet instinctively coming down from their perch on the console to land on the floor.
But they took a moment to find the floor, because there was a droid down there.
Leia relaxed. "Artoo."
He whistled something. Leia's binary was pretty rusty, and he seemed to be using an older strain of it than the droids she used to deal with in the Empire, so she didn't quite catch the detail of what he said. But she caught enough.
She sighed gently. "No— no, it's fine, I don't need you to play it for me."
Artoo buzzed and rolled forwards. He extended his arm and plugged it into the console. A moment later, Aurebesh text scrolled across a small screen.
OTHER AVAILABLE COMPUTER IS IN USE ?
Leia shook her head. "No, I'm not using any of the others here yet."
A twitter. YOU ARE OF THE SAME LINE AS SKYWALKER, LUKE ?
Interesting, Leia thought, how production line, binary's closest approximation of immediate family unit, translated so well to terms of blood lines and family trees. "He's my brother, yes. My twin brother."
INFORMATION ALREADY RECORDED.
She rolled her eyes. "If you already knew, why did you ask?"
But he wasn't finished. FILE FROM 7958 C.R.C: CONSTRUCTION OF SKYWALKER, LUKE AND SKYWALKER, LEIA. MAKERS: NABERRIE, PADMÉ; AMIDALA, PADMÉ AND SKYWALKER, ANAKIN. LOCATION: ROOM 22B, HOSPITAL FACILITY, POLIS MASSA.
"You—" Leia shook her head. "What?"
FILE READS—
"I know what you were talking about! But. . ." She frowned. "You were there when I was born?"
STATEMENT ALREADY GIVEN.
"Well, kriff you too, I was just asking—"
LANGUAGE INAPPROPRIATE FOR SITUATION; AGAINST PREDICTED PARAMETERS OF MAKERS.
She glared. "Are you threatening to tell my parents because I swore?"
That twittering sound again. She was pretty sure it was laughter.
RETURN TO PRIMARY OBJECTIVE, he said when he finally stopped sniggering. Which, to be fair, was a solid minute later. YOU WILL NOT IMMEDIATELY OPEN FILE OF SKYWALKER, LUKE?
"Oh no you don't! I asked you if you were there when I was born."
CONFIRMATION ALREADY—
"Yes, I know." Kark, but this was a sassy droid. "But—why? You're Bail Organa's droid."
ORGANA, BAIL WAS ALSO PRESENT.
She snorted. "I'm sorry," she said, "what? That stuck up politician—"
PLUS KENOBI, OBI-WAN AND UNKNOWN, YODA.
She raised her eyebrows, despite herself—Kenobi, she wasn't surprised about, even half expected, but. . . Yoda? She hadn't expected that.
"Please, Artoo, actually answer my questions this time." She sighed. "Why were you at my birth."
SKYWALKER, ANAKIN TRANSPORTED ME TO LOCATION: MUSTAFAR. KENOBI, OBI-WAN TRANSPORTED ME AND AMIDALA, PADMÉ (PLUS SKYWALKER, LUKE AND SKYWALKER, LEIA, BEFORE ASSEMBLAGE) OFF PLANET, TO LOCATION: POLIS MASSA.
"Still! Why did my father take Bail Organa's droid to Mustafar!"
PREVIOUS OWNER: SKYWALKER, ANAKIN.
Leia tilted her head. "My father owned you? And gave you to Organa?"
ORIGINAL OWNER: AMIDALA, QUEEN.; AMIDALA, SENATOR. PADMÉ; NABERRIE, PADMÉ AMIDALA.
Leia shook her head. Maybe she should just stick to interpreting. Reading the literal words on the screen made her head hurt. "So, you belonged to my mother? Then my father? And he gave you to Organa?"
AMIDALA, PADMÉ TRANSFERRED ME TO ORGANA, BAIL WHEN SHE, SKYWALKER, LUKE AND SKYWALKER, LEIA WERE TRANSPORTED TO LOCATION: TATOOINE.
"I see." She hummed. "You know, there would've been plenty of use for an R2 unit on the farm; she should've kept you."
OBJECTION: SAND WOULD CORRUPT MY PARTS.
Leia had to laugh. "That it would," she said. "That it would."
They talked for a good few hours longer, Leia trying to weasel as many stories out of this enigmatic droid—she wondered if Padmé had had a plan, sending this droid on a mission with her—as possible, and Artoo dodging by nitpicking her questions, insulting her, her father, her mother, her faults as a member of an organic species and, on a particularly memorable point, blowing an electronic raspberry.
(He'd never once insulted Luke, though. She was impressed; he was a lot cannier than he let on.)
By the end of it, the datachip in her pocket was lighter.
But she still couldn't bring herself to look at it.
YOU REQUIRE A PORT FOR THE FILE OF SKYWALKER, LUKE ?
She sighed. "No, Artoo."
He ran over her foot.
"Ow!"
YOU REQUIRE A PORT FOR THE FILE OF SKYWALKER, LUKE. He nudged her foot again, a little threateningly.
"I think you just want to see the message, you nosy little tin can," she grumbled. He was suspiciously silent. "Fine."
She drew it out of her pocket. It was. . . so small, the size of her thumbnail at most; she had one heart-stopping moment where she considered what might have happened if she'd lost it.
Then she held it out to Artoo. "Where should I insert it?"
He spun his dome until he was showing the slots to put smaller files into. But she frowned.
"Do you have the right ports for this sort of datachip?"
He squawked in offence. I AM EQUIPPED WITH THE MOST MODERN REPUBLIC ADAPTATIONS.
"Republic adaptations. That might work for larger files, but the main Imperial businesses changed the shape and format of their smaller datachips five years ago, to better account for glitches and allow for more storage. All droids were updated. Were you not?"
I AM AN EXPERIENCED MODEL WITH A PROCESSOR FASTER THAN ANY OTHER DUE TO 30 STANDARD YEARS OF—
"So, you're out of date?"
I HAVE EVERY FUNCTION AND COMPONENT NEEDED FOR EVERY POSSIBILITY.
"Except now?"
He blew an electronic raspberry again.
She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Guess we'll have to use one of Aphra's machines then, and hope she hasn't rigged it to blow up in our faces."
PROBABILITY IS LOW. SHE HAD NO INDICATING FACTORS THAT HER SHIP WOULD BE HACKED, AND THAT MODEL CONTAINS NO FIREPOWER WITH WHICH TO "BLOW UP".
"Thank you for your reassurances." Leia still eyed the console—which, to be fair, she could immediately tell did have the right data ports for this—with unease.
The datachip was back to burning hot in her hand.
Artoo whistled. NOW IS THE OPTIMAL TIME FOR THE FILE TO BE OPENED.
"Why?" she asked, tearing her gaze away from that little scrap of metal and plastisteel.
Just when Artoo meant to whistle his reply, the indicating light on the console began to flash. There were approaching Jedha.
"Because we're about to drop out of hyperspace?" Leia asked grimly. "Well, too late now." She pushed herself to her feet, shoved the datachip back in her pocket only half-reluctantly, and called out, "Vilrein?"
The response was instantaneous: "Yes, my lady?"
"We're about to arrive at Jedha. Whereabouts does your brother live?"
Vilrein appeared in the doorway of the cockpit, large, dark eyes steady. They meant Leia's gaze as she said, quietly, "On the other side of the moon to the holy city. I'll guide you in."
They made it to Vilrein's village relatively easily; while there was a heavy Imperial presence on the moon, it was thickest around Jedha City, and they had no interest in the rural settlements. Kavetha reminded her of Anchorhead in that way: it was built atop a small mesa, instead of straight into the desert sands, but it was small, it was close-knit and it was down-to-earth. She didn't know whether she liked or despised it for it.
She glanced sideways at Vilrein for a few seconds after they landed, when the brownish sand was still puffing around the Ark Angel. Her face was that stoic Imperial calm, unreadable, but suddenly Leia was wondering how a woman from such a remote village had got this far—and how she felt about sinking back into such obscurity.
Leia's circumstances meant she thought of Tatooine as harsh, but home. It meant childhood; it meant innocence; it meant love without darkness.
Would she still feel that way if she'd lived there her whole life?
Would Luke?
"Do you want me to escort you in?" Leia asked. "Or wait here while you go alone, in case your brother—"
"He'll take me in," Vilrein said with a quiet certainty. "He's got no love of the Empire—he'll be glad I finally left it behind. Came home."
"But he'll be a bit resentful too?" Leia asked.
Vilrein gave her a surprised look. "Are you reading my mind?"
"No," Leia said. "I didn't need to."
After a moment, Vilrein smiled. "Thank you, my lady," she said, offering her hand. "It was an honour to work with you."
"I hope to work with you again," Leia replied, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. "Sometime."
A wry quirk of her lips. "Sometime."
Leia nodded. "I'll escort you out."
Artoo, thankfully, said nothing as she hit the button to lower the ramp and they both stood there for a moment, staring out at the desert horizon. It was dotted with other mesas, rock formations that curved and whirled in interesting patterns.
It was cold too—colder than Tatooine, certainly. Wind blew up the ramp and scattered sand everywhere; considering this wasn't her ship, Leia couldn't bring herself to care.
Her gaze was still riveted to one of the rock formations. The shape of the face of the rock, the curve of a ridge around it. . .
Well. It looked like a hooded face.
"Vilrein?" she called out. The woman paused at the bottom of the ramp. "What's that?"
She turned to see what she was pointing at.
"That's. . . the closest Basic translation for what we call it would be the sorcerer," she said. "It was a Jedi Temple—or rather, the original one of Jedha. It's ancient. They moved to the Holy City centuries ago, which is why the Empire's so focused on wiping their presence out there, though the Empire has certainly been here too. But there wasn't anything for them to find here: the kyberite veins have all but run dry, and I'm told the Holy City always had a better connection to the Force anyway.
"That was what the Guardians of the Whills used to preach," she conceded, "at least."
Leia stretched out with her feelings.
It hurt—Force, the kyber veins, the blood of this planet, hurt with how the Empire had ransacked and brutalised and pillaged it. But that mesa. . . that still quavered with light.
It was calling to her.
"I believe them," she said.
Vilrein nodded, and walked away.
Once she was gone, Leia lifted up the ship and made for that mesa.
She had a feeling. . .
And she needed a new lightsaber, after all.
Leia wrapped up in whatever spare clothes she could find in Aphra's quarters before she ventured into the halls of the Temple. She looked like an adventurous young archaeologist herself, but at least she was prepared.
She supposed.
Artoo kicked up a fuss.
"No, droids can't come into the Jedi Temple," she declared. He squawked his indignance, text shooting across the screen almost faster than she could read it. SKYWALKER, ANAKIN HAD SIMILAR GLITCHES AND HE—
"Lived to ruin another day," Leia said dryly. "I'm going into that temple. I need you to stay behind and guard the ship."
AGAINST WHAT VIRUS? SAND?
"It's a very dangerous virus," Leia agreed solemnly, and turned away to jog down the ramp before she read the undoubtedly explicit translation of whatever Artoo shrieked.
She approached the honey-coloured stone with. . . some trepidation, she had to admit.
She could see no entrance, and when she reached out with the Force. . .
There is an entrance, the Force whispered, like whispers fading to an echo fading to a breeze. Beneath you, beneath you, beneath you.
Then I have to bring it up, Leia thought.
She felt for it—there it was, right underneath her as promised. Careful to only use the light side, she wrapped the Force around it and pulled. . .
It won't work.
She snapped her head up. "Who's there?"
Artoo whistled something mocking from the top of the ramp. She'd forgotten he was still there.
I am, Leia.
A breeze tugged a loose strand of hair out of her plait and tucked it behind her ear. I always have been.
That sounded fishy, but she couldn't afford to be distracted now, so she asked, "How can I make it work?"
This temple is like one of many: on Lothal, on Malastare. It requires a master and an apprentice to open it.
Her shoulders slumped. "Then I can't do it."
I taught you to shield your mind when you and your brother were only a few years old, the voice said. I think I count.
Reach out again.
She did.
She closed her eyes, extended her hand, and reached out.
This time, the Force. . . flowed through her, sweeter and clearer than before, like the ring of a bell once cracked, now mended. She could sense another presence nearby, tugging and coaxing, and then. . .
There was a great rumbling.
Sand shifted beneath her feet.
And, when she opened her eyes, the mesa was rising.
It rose straight out of the ground, the sheer face of the carved Jedi's forehead rising out of the ground and eclipsing the sunset until most of the face was visible, until. . .
Where the left eye was, a tunnel. Sand poured out of and into it.
Her breath caught without realising it.
"Thank—"
She turned to her left, to see a blueish figure gazing at her, smiling. She didn't recognise him until he faded, becoming one with violet Jedhan dusk.
She said, "Old Ben?"
The inside of the temple was even colder than the outside. She imagined it would be cold even under the beat of the hot sun during the day; she was far enough underground the moment she stepped inside and the entrance closed behind her that the sun's light could never reach her here.
She stood there while the rock shuddered and shivered underneath her, not bothering to turn to watch the earth rise outside to swallow her and the cavern up again, but keeping her gaze on the sliver of light that slowly shrank to nothing, feeling the sand gush in around her ankles. She could still see—there was a faint, very faint, light that seeped into the honey stone but seemed to have no discernible source—but it was suddenly much darker without that blade of direct sunlight.
She walked forwards anyway.
There was. . . a tug, an impulse, a compulsion, so she followed it onwards.
Up ahead, the tunnel hooked to the left. She followed it, her hand coming up to brush the stone as she passed; the horizontal layers of rock shed slightly different coloured grit on her palm: red, silver, brown. . .
There was another turn, the other way. She did the same with her right hand, letting the calluses on her fingertips brush it this time, so her gaze was on the wall when she noticed the wind.
It was hot.
It was hot—and dry, though that wasn't the surprising part. It blew in her face, blew her hair back—her hair, which was suddenly in two plaits instead of just the one, half-falling out so thick locks flapped around her face in the desert wind.
She pushed them aside, squinted, wincing in the light of the sun.
No.
The light of the suns.
When she reached out her right hand again, the wall of the temple had vanished. She was standing in the middle of miles upon miles of sand—paler and yellower than on Jedha—a veritable sea of sand dunes, and staring at—
At—
A white homestead.
Burnt and charred—no. Burning and charring.
From within those domes, the recess in the ground, she heard screams.
"Leia!"
She hadn't heard that voice in eleven years but she ran forwards as if it'd been yesterday. "Aunt Beru!"
More screams.
And she heard it now: the hum of a lightsaber. The rasp of a respirator.
She reached the door, slipped into the entrance dome and down the steps, peered around—
And flattened herself against the wall when the shadow stalked past, death in hand. She knew that silhouette.
It passed soon, in the direction of where the room she and Luke had shared was. It was a tiny, tiny room, they'd never have both been able to fit in it for much longer, and she didn't think the shadow would find much in it so she ran because it could come back.
"Aunt Beru?" she whispered. "Uncle Owen?"
Then, the last name, the most important name: "Luke?"
There was no answer.
So she slipped out from her hiding place in the shadows and shuffled across the open sand to the garage, where the screams had come from. Smoke belched from it.
Tossing a look over her shoulder, again and again and again, she crept in.
And sobbed.
There were two bodies crumpled to the sand-dusted floor, eyes wide and unseeing. She whimpered and collapsed to her knees next to one. Her uncle, Owen.
She tugged his head and shoulders into her lap.
Bent her head over him.
And screamed.
There was no return of the respirator, no hitch in the wind in response to her shrieking grief. But there was a twitch of the body in her arms, and suddenly there was a hand reaching up to her.
She folded it in her own on instinct, and only then did she realise that the hand was small, soft—softer than hers, calloused and battle-worn; certainly softer than her uncle's. She tucked it into her palm and only then did she look down.
Her own eyes—young and wide and terrified—stared back at her. Tears wetted her—both of their—cheeks.
"I'm scared," young Leia whispered.
"I know," Leia whispered back. "I know."
"It hurts," young Leia insisted. Leia glanced down; the front of her off-white desert wear, swaddled around her in a way that made her seem even smaller than she was, dripped red. She touched her fingers to the fabric.
Then Leia pressed her lips together and tried not to cry. "I know," she repeated in a desperate whisper; that was all she could do, to comfort a dying little girl. She made to sweep back a thick lock of dark hair from the girl's face—Leia's hair was back in its single plait now; it was her young self whose hair was nearly falling out—but it just smeared blood over her forehead. "I know, little one, I know."
"Is—" The other hand, still strong and forceful despite being on the threshold of death's embrace, pushed at her chest. "Is Luke— Where's my brother—"
Luke.
Leia blinked back tears, and failed; they streamed down anyway.
She resolutely did not glance at the other corpse—the one that had been Aunt Beru—but the glint of blond in her peripheral vision disturbed her.
That corpse was not twitching at all.
"He's fine," she murmured. The lie tasting worse than the smoke on her tongue, and from the look that canny little Leia gave her, it wasn't convincing either.
But the next part was.
"You'll see him again soon," she promised, brushing her hair back again, heedless of the blood on her forehead—the blood now staining Leia's borrowed clothes, too. "Soon. You'll be right with him."
It was a horrible, horrible thought.
But it meant that young Leia was smiling when she finally tilted her head back and lay still.
Leia shuddered.
And then she screamed again.
"My my," said a cool, clipped voice behind her. "I don't know what sort of vision you are."
The sound of the respirator was gone, Leia realised.
The respirator was gone, but the shadow was back—here was the shadow, the monster; here was who it had always been.
Her own self stalked closer, dressed in the same dark garb she used to wear, a lightsaber bouncing at her hip. She walked like a predator stalking her prey.
Her eyes were the brightest gold.
"My own image," she mused, "dressed like an outlaw and looking like death warmed over?"
"At least I'm not wearing black in a desert climate," Leia snapped. "It traps the heat, you know, Leia."
Leia barely had time to blink before the lightsaber was lit, hungry, and at her throat.
Sith lightsabers always sounded so much more bloodthirsty.
"That is no longer my name," her other self said. Her voice was calm, but eerily so—like the unnatural monotone of her father's vocoder.
The words, though, more than anything, were what gave Leia chills.
"Then what is your name?" she challenged.
Her other self gave a smile that was more like the flash of a knife than an expression of joy.
"Once I've defeated you, my final vision, and returned to kill my master?" she said. "Empress."
Leia froze.
She—
She knew that. . . plan.
That ambition.
That revelry.
The dark side nipped at the back of her neck, and she wasn't sure if it was hunting her or embracing her.
"I see," she said carefully. She rolled away from young Leia's corpse, got to her feet and backed away from the girl—because she was a girl; eighteen suddenly seemed a lot younger when she was looking at her own face, her own yellowed eyes, and it was a person about to kill and torment and destroy. Her other self didn't twitch to follow her; just shifted her lightsaber so it was at her side, still ready to hurt and maim and swing.
Leia kept backing away, and then her eyes shifted to the tiny, tiny corpse she'd nearly stumbled over, and fresh, cold horror flooded her.
"I'm the last of your visions?" she asked.
Her other self tutted impatiently. She took a threatening step closer, but Leia couldn't focus on that. "Yes."
"So, you killed my— our younger self?" She struggled to get the words out. The blood was still drying on her front. "Why?"
"Because she was small, and weak, and foolish enough to trust me," she snapped. "She's dead now. I have grown beyond her. She's gone.
"And now," she eyed Leia up and down, unimpressed, and continued stalking forwards, "I'm going to grow beyond whatever you represent—"
"And Luke?" Leia asked.
Her other self froze.
She uttered, "What did you say?"
"You killed our past self," Leia reiterated. "You also killed Luke's past self. Why?"
A hideous sneer twisted her face. "Because he was weak too, and has only ever held my brother back, until—"
"Really?" Leia stepped forwards there—belligerently, bravely, insanely. "Until what?"
Her other self glared. "Until he was unable to cast off his chains and he paid the price."
That sent Leia's heart racing again, tears pressing the backs of her eyes; but they were furious tears, tears of hate. Not despair.
"He was supposed to be my second in command," she continued. Rage rushed through her voice; it scraped like needles against stone. "He was supposed to rule the galaxy with me, he—"
Leia threw out her hand.
The moment the lightsaber landed in her hand she leapt forwards and drove the blade down, ready to cleave that girl's head—her other self's head—her sick, twisted self's head in two—
But there was another red blade blocking the blow.
Leia jerked back and spun to avoid the incoming attack. She kicked out on instinct but her other self dodged, and then dodged Leia's forward jab, her slice up.
Leia had already deflected another four hits before she recognised the hilt.
"That's our father's lightsaber," she grunted as she shoved back against their locked lightsabers.
Her other self smiled.
"How—" She disengaged her blade, staggering back. "How did you get that? He would not have given—"
"Oh," her other self promised, "he didn't."
A slash of red and Leia ducked frantically, spinning on her heel as she backed up again, eye on herself.
This was never going to work. They knew each other far, far too well.
They were each other.
"He didn't," Leia repeated.
"Of course not." Her other self stalked the same circle they were keeping each other at a distance in, in that garage filled with black, black smoke. Young Leia's and young Luke's bodies formed the centre.
Her voice turned more bitter than a rotten jogan. "If only Luke hadn't insisted so fiercely on defending such a useless wretch of a man," she spat, "I would still have my enforcer."
All the breath left Leia at once.
Because this— this version of her—
She had—
"You killed Luke," Leia breathed. No.
No.
She could never—
Even drowning in darkness, revelling in it, she wouldn't—
"He insisted," her other self hissed, "in getting in my way."
Leia lunged forwards. "You killed Luke."
There was a frenzy to her motions now; she was repeating steps on instinct, muscle memory, but there was power to it: block, deflect, jab, parry, block, deflect, jab, parry, slash, swipe, stab, drive, cleave—
Her other self was matching her blow for blow; they were the same person, the same (corrupted, twisted but identical) heart, and the pain that dwelled in one—
Well.
But Leia missed Luke so much it hurt because she was away from him. She was going to save him. She trusted him.
Her other self missed him so much it hurt because she'd killed him.
And she couldn't handle it.
She was falling back on the same old defensive patterns she and Luke had drilled each other on so mercilessly; the same patterns that worked far better when you had a twin at your side to back you up; the same patterns that Leia, who'd abandoned the dark side, who'd not seen or duelled Luke in months, who'd spent days and weeks being drilled by the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order in how to not fight like a Sith, had long since grown beyond.
She knocked her father's lightsaber from her hands and slashed it in two. the two pieces clattered to the floor.
Her other self just snarled and ran at her, weapon or no weapon—
And Leia caught her in midair.
And squeezed.
She finally understood what her father found so satisfying about it.
Her other self choked, eyes going wide as she purpled, hands vainly clutching at her throat. Leia bared her teeth and squeezed more—
"Leia."
Leia didn't jump, didn't drop her, didn't loosen her grip. But she stopped tightening it.
"Leia."
She turned her head.
The worn, sun-lined face of her aunt greeted her and she nearly sobbed there and then, her smile the warmest thing she'd seen since she'd left Tatooine for the first time.
"Leia," she said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "We taught you to be protective. Not vengeful."
Leia stared at her for a moment, lips forming words not even she could understand. Then she jumped at a hand on her other shoulder and turned.
The tanned, wrinkled face of her uncle was smiling at her too.
"We taught you to be pragmatic," he said gruffly. Tears lined his eyes as he looked at her, all grown up. "Not cruel."
Leia took a breath. Took another breath. It swept in and out of her like the winds scouring the desert.
Like the rasp of her father's respirator as she crawled into his lap in the middle of the night, terrified and small and feeling so, so along.
Was it the desert again?
Yes, she thought. It's always the desert. The desert is where I was made.
"We taught you to love," finished a whisper. She had no idea who said it—if it was her aunt, her uncle, her other self, her young self, or even the Force itself, planting the message right between her eyes until she could ignore it no longer. "Not to hate."
She dropped her.
Her other self crashed to the floor, gasping in air through lips that were half blue. She flinched back as Leia knelt in front of her; when she took her hands, she made several futile attempts to pull away.
"I'm sorry," Leia whispered.
"I don't need your pity—"
"I'm sorry," Leia went on, "that you will never see Luke again. That you will never see our father again. That you will likely never see the light again."
Leia made to brush some of her hair behind her ear, like she had to young Leia—in a way, they were so similar. Both had no idea of the reality of the galaxy—how evil it could be, but also how good—and both were so, so scared.
And lonely.
And lost.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, "that you have no family left."
Her other self hissed, "I will be Empress."
Leia took her cheeks in her hands and kissed her forehead.
She said, "You will be alone."
And when she blinked, it was all gone.
The other self, the bodies, the desert that had forged her. She knelt in the cold stone of the Jedhan temple, head still bowed, tears still chilly on her cheeks.
There was a silver light ahead of her.
She looked up.
There was a figure standing in front of her—a woman. Fairly old, with grey-dark hair and lines of both laughter and pain in her face, around her dark eyes. When she spoke, it was with a faint accent Leia had never heard before, though it felt like the most familiar thing in existence.
"You have done so well, my grandchild," she said. She smiled broadly at her. "I am so very proud of you."
Leia's breath caught.
"Are you Shmi Skywalker?" she asked.
"No," she said, though she smiled with her face and spoke with her voice. "But I have something for you."
And Leia both understood and didn't understand at all, but she nodded sombrely and when Shmi-who-was-not-Shmi held out her hand, Leia accept the gift.
The kyber crystal glowed in her hands like a condensed star.
Shmi-who-was-not-Shmi was waiting for her to say something.
"I am done destroying," Leia vowed. She reached for her pack, slung over her shoulders—for the pieces of her old lightsaber that she kept there. "Now I'm ready to build."
Her companion nodded proudly and Leia set to work.
When she emerged, Artoo shrieked at her for worrying him.
She waved his worries off and refused to speak about. . . any of it—even the new lightsaber that bounced at her waist.
"If it's really been as long as you say," she said coyly, "then we need to be heading back, right? Before anyone gets worried."
Artoo grumbled his disapproval but set about plugging the coordinates into the navicomputer.
It was on the flight back that Leia found herself fingering Luke's message again.
This time, she actually slipped it into the console and played the message. Hearing Luke's voice for the first time in weeks, even just as a part of the security code, simultaneously shattered her heart and stitched it back together.
He said, "It's horrendous. Disgusting. Abominable."
She frowned. It played again.
"It's horrendous. Disgusting. Abominable."
"It's horrendous. Disgusting. Abominable."
"It's horrendous. Disgusting. Abominable."
Realisation dawned.
And, in the way light creeps through window blinds at sunrise, Leia smiled.