Shoutouts:

Eowyn Skywalker: Well, of COURSE you knew what I was up to. You don't have to tell me that. Heh heh. I always have been speculating on what Benny boy would turn out to be like. Couldn't resist. You know me.

Falcona, Luke, and Anakin: Hi, guys! Glad you like it!

smeagol's preciousss: Lo and behold, it continues! I just couldn't stay away. It's the writer's bug.

Alice the Raven: Yes, I don't see present tense popping up much either. I think it brings much more of a focused narrative when it comes to first-person, and I've been doing some experimenting with present tense of late anyway. I don't feel it's worth as much when it's used in third-person. Thanks for your comments!

Here's part two, everybody. It's shorter than I usually make my chapters, but bear with me. This story won't last long, I'm thinking, and it might come in short spurts. I'm just going with the flow—I'm sure most members here will know the feeling.

Have you seen the little boy who used to be?

His stay was brief.

But his heart turned cold as death indwelled

Beside his grief.

His story's short, his story's long, he

Lost all his own.

Heir to a forgotten name and a

Forbidden throne.

Fallen Heroes
This time I stand outside in the rain as the waves beat their roaring cadence against the sand.

Of course the journal isn't with me. The thing's actually made of genuine paper, a rare thing to have about. These days, most journals and the like, if not some kind of datapad, are books made of leaflets of flimsy. But this parchment is something else entirely, a modern curiosity with deep roots in the antiquity of its past use. The child that had written upon it had never realised the value of the paper…

I shake my head; the movement causes a stream of water to conquer the obstacle my eyebrow presents and runs right into my eye, carrying with it some faint mineral traces of salt. This stinging surprise makes me realise I've been sweating a little.

Strange. It's cool out here, and with the rain—

A massive fork of lightning licks out through and under the clouds almost directly above me, and the following thunderclap is instantaneous and deafening, pressing a powerful hand against my chest and heart before passing through a moment later. The sheer power of it all never fails to make me shiver, and I prod the electrical activity above me the best I can with my somewhat rusty senses.

Then the deadly violet snake strikes down on this strip of beach, not very near to me but still far too close—I throw myself down to the sodden sand and clap my hands against my ears in a desperate effort to block out the awesome BOOM that rattles every atom of me just after I feel the intense wave of heat cook them in preparation.

Ozone floods my nostrils. I slowly get up, deciding now would be a wonderful time to head back indoors…but first I must take a look at the spot where the lightning hissed down to its destination and death on the white sand.

The heat has fused the sand together, as I knew it would, in a remarkable glass formation. I wait for a moment for the thing to fully cool off in the rain, then bend down to delicately pick it up. It's almost spiral-shaped from this perspective, and when I turn it over…

Several successive lightning flashes off close to the horizon illuminate my natural sculpture eerily, lending it colour.

Life.

The face of my father stares back at me with intensely blue eyes for just that split second, the entire glass formation taking on a pale glow.

I drop the thing in shock and run inside.

Entry nine:

I've finally seen a blue ghost. And it scared the hell out of me.

"Stang. You're soaked." She throws a huge towel at my face.

I manage to catch it, although my depth perception could really use some work when I'm in deep states of numbed senses, like now. "Uh-huh."

Lahon glances at me again. "You don't look so good. Something bite you out there? I've heard there's some nasty little blood-sucking gnats that come up during breaks in the rainy season—"

"I'm fine," I interrupt, and rub the towel roughly over my face and hair. "Look at me. I look like normal, I'm acting like normal, I'm even talking like normal…I'm fine."

"Except normally, you don't talk about how normal you're being," she retorts. "Come on, Harim—"

"Ben," I correct.

"Right. Ben." Her mouth twitches, and I can read her thoughts without having to look into anything but her face: This could take some getting used to. "I don't know whether it's that little journal that's getting to you, or what, but maybe we should just get offplanet. You wanted to yesterday, anyway. Which reminds me. Did you—"

"Yeah. No one answered, so I just left a brief recording."

She eyes me again, twining her fingers into her long dark brown hair, something I know she does when she's turning some thought over in her mind. "You're sure."

"Um," I affirm.

I'm annoying her, and she has absolutely no qualms about making that perfectly obvious to me. "Ben—"

"I think I left something outside," I cut her off once again, draping the towel over the nearest chair back. "I'll be right back. Okay?"

Without waiting to hear her response (which would have been a complaint anyway, so I really figure I didn't miss anything), I duck back outdoors. That glass sculpture, eerie or not, is far too fascinating to just leave outside. Besides, I want to know if I was just seeing things when…

I shake the thought away as I converge on the sand strip that serves as a beach. You're just going to pick the thing up, bring it inside, show it to Lahonna, and go to sleep before she can start interrogating you again. That's real simple. Three easy steps. You can do that.

The sand shifts pleasantly under my bare feet, cool and moist. Some particles cling to the bottom hems of my trousers as I make my way along the beach, the pounding surf muddied with disturbed sediment. Now there's a good analogy for the state of my mind.

I spot the glass, walk up to it, and pick it up. There, now wasn't that easy? I twist the thing over in my hands as before, wondering if I was in a dream then, or perhaps just fell into one now.

It shifts its shape as if it were a fluid entity, now a ship, now some alien landscape, now a face…but never the one of my father. I run my fingertips over the smooth rounded edges, hoping something will happen. Hoping nothing will happen.

I shake my head and turn about to walk back to the cabin.

She's waiting for me just outside the door, her dark eyes half-slitted in a cryptic expression. "What's that?" Her voice sounds openly curious enough, so I decide I'll take my chances.

I heft the work of nature up in my hands. "Reformed sand."

"That's cute, hon. Real cute." Lahonna drops the slightly sardonic remark and fixes her eyes on the incredibly delicate-looking sculpture, coming closer to finger it. "I've never seen anything like it before. How'd you find it?"

"Uh…I was sort of there when it was made."

She looks up into my face with a sort of wary disapproval in her eyes. "This thrill-seeking thing has really got to quit. I mean, the high cliff jumping was all right so long as you didn't land on your stomach, and the hard vac walks were fine since you don't get vertigo so bad. The entry-from-orbit thing with that little flimsy-looking aircraft, though, was insane enough, and now we move to this planet so you can nearly get yourself fried on purpose? Honestly, if you really want to kill yourself, there are easier and cheaper ways to do it."

"Thanks for the support, hon. But this wasn't on purpose. I just happen to like storms, and I didn't think the lightning would strike so close." I shrug. "This thing has got to be worth a couple hundred, at least."

She picks it up, eyeing it in fascination. "You mean you don't want to keep it?"

I swallow. "I don't know. You can keep it if you want."

She smiles, then, and brings it inside, brushing the caked wet sand off the bottom and drying the rest off before setting it upon the same squat table that the journal rests on.

It's late.

Well, the hour itself isn't really late. Deep space isn't dictated by such things as day or night. But to my and Lahonna's internal clocks, it's late enough. She's already fast asleep in the ship's bunks. I should be too, but something's keeping me up.

Quit being so vague, I tell myself. You know exactly what it is. You just can't affix a name to it. That's a problem in itself, really…

The natural glass sculpture rests on the copilot's seat. I sit in the pilot's chair, staring at it. Afraid to touch it. What if something happens again?

That's the question that keeps me restless, that doesn't allow me to close my eyes without the image of my father's face appearing under my eyelids. I hate it. I never asked for it. I just wanted an escape. Is that really too much to ask? My fingers stray dangerously close to the control panel. I could just revert from hyperspace and redirect us to the Corporate Sector. But what would Lahonna think of that? She'd call me a spineless coward, even though…

…But I am. I'm still a little kid when faced with this problem. Maybe that's what I hate, more than anything else. My own fear rankles within. It shouldn't be there. I should be able to accept who I am and walk my own path without completely straying away from my father's footsteps.

…Right?

Narrowing my eyes, I stare at the glass object, focusing in on it. I can prove it to myself, right now, that I can do this. There's still some of my father in me, no matter how I've tried to drive it out, leave it behind, purge it from my system. And that means I have his power by right of birth.

The little sculpture shifts a bit, tilts to one side on seemingly nothing at all. I focus more, gritting my teeth as I try to hone my rusty senses. It begins to hover. I almost giggle with giddiness, losing some control, but I soon have it back in the air again, rising higher.

There's a white glint as it comes high enough to reflect the starlight to my eyes.

I flinch, fearing a repetition of what happened on the beach…and let go without thinking. The artificial gravity takes its hold, and drags it down in a torturously slow process that leaves me helpless as the glass falls to the floor, unprotected by the chair because I pulled it away just a little and now it's falling and I can't do anything in time to catch it and…

It explodes upon impact, crystalline shards shooting out in a billion different directions, all over the floor and into my skin, and what was a fascinating oddity and maybe more just a bare second ago is now…powder. Nothing. Gone.

I stifle a cry at the shock and the surprising little pricks of pain down near my ankles. I shouldn't be such a big baby—it was just a hunk of glass, and there weren't that many pieces that made it through my pants into my skin…maybe just three or four at the most… I bend down, rolling up the cuffs of my pants, inspecting the damage. It's strange, how such little cuts can make so much blood. The hems of my pants are already a little stained on the inside, and the scarlet beads grow until they join together to sink downwards in tiny rivulets.

I grab a rag nearby, pulling out the few shards that actually are stuck in before dabbing at the blood. There's no pain, really, and I cast the shards aside with the rest of the shattered glass, squeezing the little lacerations until I'm sure there isn't anything left inside that could be cleaned out. Wiping the blood away, I put my leg up on the copilot's chair to wait until the cuts have a chance to scab over, and I lean my head back, closing my eyes for a moment. Great. That was real smooth. At best, I have just another little excuse for my disillusionment.

I rub my forehead. I can't believe what I'm thinking. I'll just get one of the little hand-held dusters somewhere around here once my leg stops bleeding, suck all the bits of glass into it, and head for some sleep. At least I don't have to worry about seeing things again. I might've lost some credits if I could have sold the thing, but no use crying over spilled ale. I'll just get my head cleared up by the Jedi when I get to where I'm going.

Even if I really don't want to.

Grimacing, I take my leg off the copilot's seat, inspecting it for a moment before letting it drop to the floor, my pant leg falling back down into its usual place. I get up, yawn, and pick up the stupid glass thing to put somewhere before I go and…

…and…

"Oh, shit."

I'm hardly able to keep myself from dropping it again with surprise. It's back.

Together.

Carefully, trying not to think about this, I take it back and stuff it inside a small satchel I use to carry things of mine around.

I'll just…deal with this later. After I've gotten myself some sleep. No big deal. Just a damned creepy phenomenon. That's all.

That's all.

"Stop messing around, kid."

It doesn't really register, at first.

"Hey. You listening to me?"

"Huh? Me?" I raise my head, rubbing at my bleary eyes.

"Yeah, you." He raises an eyebrow from across the small bar table we sit at. "I said, quit messing around. You need to be more decisive, for one thing."

I shrug.

He bends forward to eye me. "Prime example, right there. That's what's not to do. You taking notes, or what?"

"Is that a requirement?" I ask wearily.

His hazel eyes stare straight through me, sharpened with age. I remember seeing those eyes when I was younger, but nowhere near as penetrating as they are now. I guess raising a couple of Jedi kids and sticking around with them will do that to a guy.

"Okay," I admit, just as he's opening his mouth. "You're right. I need to be more decisive. But I don't see how I've been messing around."

"Maybe 'wasting your time' would be a better way of putting it." My uncle smiles lopsidedly. "Though it ain't as if I didn't do the same when I was a kid. You find it fun, so to Vader if it don't count long-term. There's other stuff for that. Right?" Han's an interesting person. Maybe it's just his perspective of things.

"So I was wasting my time, now."

"You've been running. For all purposes, kid, that is a waste of time, more so than almost anything else. You should've known your identity was gonna catch up to you, sooner or later."

"So it's caught up. What do you want me to do about it?"

"You're being defensive again. That won't help you any, trust me."

"Sorry."

He leans back in his chair and looks around the dimly lit, smoke-filled lounge. "Now, tell me again why you came in here in the first place. And take it slow."

I sigh. "This was one of our stops on the way to the Jedi base. Lahonna was still sleeping in the ship, so I thought I'd stretch my legs a little by taking a walk around. I passed by this place, and something…pulled me in."

"Pulled you in. Just like that."

"Yeah."

"Good." He smiles again. "We're making progress. I ain't nothing of a Jedi myself, and you know that. But I've learned how they work. Besides the Jedi themselves, I've got to be one of the galaxy's leading experts on 'em. Now, show me that bulky sort of lucky charm you've got."

"Huh?"

Han gives me a disgusted look. "Don't think I didn't notice it, kid. You're protecting that lump of whatever-it-is inside your bag. Saw it as soon as I saw you. Either you're planning to trade it in for some pile of credits, or it's got something of a sentimental value. Right?"

Obviously, trying to evade this would be a futile exercise. "Uh-huh. It's not much, though. Just a lump of glass." That broke and then sort of metaphysically glued itself back together.

With exaggerated patience, he lifts his eyebrows. "Then you won't mind showing an old lump of glass to me. What's so special about it?"

I withdraw the object from my small satchel and put it delicately down on the table. "I…I don't know."

He studies the thing, then looks back at me. "Don't give me that. You just don't know how to put it so that I'll believe you."

"Well, you've seen a lot of things, right?"

"Damn right, kid."

"So maybe I haven't seen as many, and…" I break off hesitantly, but he waits for me to continue, so I do. "…and so seeing my father's face in this thing surprised me."

Han picks it up, inspects it from all sides, and gives me an odd look. "First things first. Where were you when you saw it?"

"On a beach in the middle of a storm. It'd just been made by a bolt of lightning on the sand, and I came over and picked it up after it'd cooled off. I was turning it around to look at it when it was sort of illuminated by lightning farther off over the sea."

He nods thoughtfully. "So I'll go ahead and assume you couldn't've been drunk. That's a good sign."

"Good?" I have to restrain myself from glaring outright at him. "Good how? And why the hell did it have to happen to me?"

"Well," he says in a reasonable tone, "if it'd happened to anyone else, they wouldn't have been affected the same way, because Luke wasn't their dad. Right? Right."

"You know that isn't what I mean."

"Sure I do, kid. Who knows—maybe your dad wants to check up on you. See how things are going."

"Then why didn't he do it fifteen years ago?" I mutter. "Would've been a lot easier."

"Maybe. Maybe not. One thing's for sure: a guy'll pay a lot more attention to you if you appear to him after you've died."

This time I don't restrain myself from glaring at him. "And what if I choose not to listen?"

Han pauses to stare at me, then shakes his head, grinning just a little. "You know, it's a lot easier to talk to a naïve farmboy than a cynical kid like you."

"So help me if I don't want to turn out like my father."

"Well, okay. But have you ever tried taking your namesake for an example?"

"I never knew him. You know that. He got himself killed way before my parents even met."

"Nice old guy. I found him annoying, but that was just me. He had a different way of looking at things and knew just what to say. First guy to let me on about the Force. I mean, I'd heard some things here and there, but he gave a name to it. At the time, I thought it was just a load of hokey—" He breaks off suddenly, looking at me.

"What?" I ask, irritated.

Han starts laughing. "I tell you, kid, if irony was ale I'd be the most inebriated human from here to Kessel."

"The hell, you would be," I growl, confused.

"You know," he chortles, "they tell you when you're a kid that someday everything's gonna be reversed on you, but you never really take it to heart. So, we going to Alderaan, or what?"

I frown as he starts laughing again. He's probably had a couple of ales before I got here. That's it. Besides, he's getting on in age. Maybe he's cracked after all these years. Or maybe it's just the entire galaxy that's going on me.

Han collects himself after a moment. "Okay. But seriously. You need to get some kinda grip before you go back to the Jedi. If you don't know where you are and where you stand, and all that character stuff, you could get yourself ripped apart while they're training you up. And we don't want that to happen, right?"

"No, not again," I grit out. "So what is this? Some sort of 'finding yourself' exercise?"

"Call it what you want, kid. Where do you want to go?"

I stare back at him in surprised confusion. "…I don't know. Where am I supposed to want to go?"

"Good question. Fortunately, I've got an equally good answer. Tatooine."

I close my eyes. "No. Not Tatooine. I do not want to visit that dump."

"Why not? You can squeeze some nice Alderaanian moss paintings out of it every now and then, not to mention some old ghosts."

"…What?"

"Never mind, kid. It's the 'old ghosts' part that concerns you."

"I'm not looking for more of those."

"No, no, I know that. But I've heard some stuff about returning to the place of one's origin. It opens something up inside some people."

"Good for them."

"What? You want me to drag you to Hoth? Or maybe Dagobah?"

I roll my eyes. "Tatooine isn't my homeworld, anyway."

"It's where half of you originated, anyway, as well as your granddad, not to mention where your namesake camped out for some twenty years. Oh, and do I recall something about your dad returning there to collect yours truly while your mom was on assignment?"

"It's a small galaxy," I mutter.

"And it's about to get a whole lot smaller, kid."