The door creaked open, causing the toddler to stir. The silhouette of a woman greeted him, and she slowly approached, speaking to him with a soft voice.

"Little Obi, wakey-wakey!" Doma began to lightly tickle his belly, eliciting giggles from her groggy son. "Breakfast time! And," she widened her eyes, "Guess what!"

"What?" He asked.

"Daddy's home!"

Smile blooming, the youngling jolted upwards and swung himself off the miniature bed, vibrating with excitement. His father was absent frequently, going on 'adventures,' as he called them. And when he came home, the few hours a day he was not locked in his office, his father would motivate him and play with him, enthralling him with stories of drama and excitement.

Running over to the dresser as his mother flipped on the light, he stumbled, the blood rushing from his head, black spots dancing in his eyes.

"Jumped up too quickly, did we?"

Damning the black spots, Obi-Wan spun towards the voice's source. A smirking, red-haired man had now joined the duo in their morning routine.

"Daddy!" Before he could react, his father had kneeled down and drew him into his arms, squeezing him as if to force the breath from his lungs. But, his intelligent, strong, warm father was home. And if his father's firm grip barely left room for oxygen, he could go a few seconds without breathing. He was used to his father's firm grips. They made him feel loved and wanted, as if his father never wanted him to leave his side.

Not that his mother's hugs and affections were bad, they were always nice, but they never had quite the same feeling. They were comforting, yes, but where she brushed a stray strand out of his eye, his father would rearrange his entire look, attentive to the highest degree.

When Obi-Wan would fall and scrape his knee, his mother would kiss it and go to find a bacta strip. His father, however, would sit next to him and request his story, explain why he needed to watch where he was going, and that if he fell, he needed to be a big, strong targon and keep going forward.

He said that the pain of the scrape was a reminder to be more cautious, to think carefully, a reminder of what the future could bring. That pain could be a motivator.

But, Obi-Wan refused to think of anything negative happening in the future. He had his daddy and mommy. His daddy would never let anything happen to him. He said so, and little Obi-Wan trusted his daddy with his entire being.

He never wanted to leave his parents.

The trio sat in amiability and broke their fast that day, with the morning light shining through tall, intricately designed windows. Aiwhas flew through baby-blue skies, and swam with zalaacas through a layout of swamps and lakes, blue, yellow, green and small lines of scarlet blending together, creating images Obi-Wan could stare at for hours, daydreams running amok.

Mommy poured him milk in a glistening silver glass as the kitchen's droid danced about, the scent of eggs and sweet pastries wrapping the family in a warm embrace. He could make faces at the cup, scrunching his nose or flaring his nostrils, maneuvering his tongue up and down and left and right, widening and winking his eyes.

His mother giggled at his antics, while his father just glanced at him, and switched his gaze to his datapad. Obi-Wan knew his father was amused, because he could instinctually feel it. Whenever his father was around, it was as if the puzzle in his head gained a piece. The piece was never missing per se, but it was wanted. It added so much more, as if the picture the puzzle created was lackluster, and his father added a magnificent scale of detail. The bond between him and his father formed an entire ecosystem, and without his presence, he felt akin to a forest lacking its largest and most abundant fauna.

"Less datapad, more family time," Doma teased, snatching it from his father's grasp. A sudden heat enveloped Obi-Wan, his entire body burning, his eyes feeling as though they would melt. Irritation overwhelmed him, and his little hands clenched into fists, knuckles whitening.

But, as suddenly as the sensation appeared, it left him, the temperature of the room freezing in comparison to what he had felt.

"Of course, dearest," Palpatine smiled, retrieving the datapad from Doma and slipping it into one of his many hidden pockets. "I'll leave work alone, for now."

Obi-Wan silently watched the exchange, his mother leaning over and pecking his father's cheek.

He met his father's eyes and received a wink in response.

His father may be the best person ever, but he was also really, really weird.

After their morning meal, Obi-Wan was sent to his teacher droid. The droid was programmed to sound feminine, and its entire metal body was pastel orange. Almost everyday, the droid, TC-13, would teach him his numbers, the aurebesh alphabet, and general sentence structure. Tee-see would also answer any questions elaborately, be it an inquiry about his favorite animals, aiwhas, or 'how many stars are there?'

A majority of the time, the answers would only lead to more questions, and tee-see would have to turn them back to the topic of the day.

Tee-see taught him how to read, as well, but only when his father was absent. Reading was his and his father's shared hobby, and Obi-Wan's strength, and thus, his father would teach him when present.

The topic of that day was numbers, and it was his most difficult course. However, he was able to count to 12, and Tee-see said that was extraordinary, and his father when he was alerted looked and felt so prideful, that he knew he would succeed as long as he worked his hardest, and didn't stop no matter what. His father and the evidence in the numbers told him that.

"Why don't we go outside, little targon?" Palpatine asked, corralling his mother and he towards the scarlet and wood door.

When his parents sat down in chairs beside one another, his father beckoned him over. He held a small, tan box.

"I have a gift for you," Obi-Wan walked over, keeping his gaze everywhere but the box, trying his darndest not to seem impatient. Patience was key, according to Palpatine, who's red hair turned garnet in the shadows on the patio. Mother arched an eyebrow at his father, seemingly having not known of the gift, either.

"Open it," And Obi-Wan did, meticulously, slowly removing the cushioning material until a deep-blue color began to show. He went faster, tearing the object out of its container.

"Woah!" He cheered. It was a miniature aiwha, wings outspread in flight, head held high and noble, contrasting shades of blue mimicking a shine.

"Obi-Wan," he focused on his father, who began to whisper conspiratorially, his mother's focus having moved to the horizon. "Just like the big aiwhas over the lake," he ran a finger down the statuette's side. "This one can fly."

"Really?" The youngling bounced on his heels, arms and hands tense, his grip on the aiwha firm. "It can?"

Smirking, he inclined his head. "Yes, but only if you force it to."

Obi-Wan frowned. "It doesn't wanna?"

"Make it fly, little targon," he leaned back in the chair, gesturing towards the large expanse of grass, the Great Lake on the horizon. "Go, my boy."

Obi-Wan ran out to the middle of the yard as quickly as he could, the grass scrunching beneath his boots. Holding the statuette up, mimicking flight, he gallivanted in the yard, the humid weather from the last rotation's rain causing his shirt to start sticking to his body.

He liked making the aiwha fly, but it wasn't the same as the big aiwhas. They didn't need someone to hold them up, there was no big hand coming from the sky and whisking them around.

Breathing heavily, he stopped, his legs burning slightly. "Fly!" He said to the miniature, holding it aloft in his hand, palm open. "Fly!"

Now, this was a problem. He puffed out his cheeks, glaring at the aiwha. If daddy said something could fly, it could! His daddy never would lie to him!

He stomped his leg, huffing. Everything began to disappear, vaporizing from his focus, everything aside from the stubborn statue. It was going to fly. He would make it fly!

A deep chill began to grow inside his chest, spreading throughout his body, quickly. He froze more and more every fraction of a second. He needed to make that statue fly! His daddy would be upset if he couldn't! His daddy needed to be proud!

The statue lurched upwards, leaving his palm, and the chill abated. He felt as though he could control anything and everything. Beginning to maneuver the miniature through the air, he laughed. It slowly sailed around him, and he twisted and turned to follow its quickening pace. It came within centimeters of his head, only to jerk away, round and round, at his command.

Its surface glinted in the sunlight, looking so similar to the big aiwhas over the lake, whose skin sparkled as they flew and dove.

"Obi-Wan!" Doma yelled, and he turned to meet her, his cheeks hurting with how wide his smile was.

"I made it fly!" He cheered.

She was sprinting towards him, and as she grew closer, he saw her face, pinched and flushed.

She slammed to a stop, guarded, two meters away. "Obi-Wan," she shakely said, "Stop."

"Why?"

Doma stormed closer, and lightning quick, snatched the statue from the air.

"Mama!"

"You cannot do that! That's bad! Its-" She was breathing heavily, chest heaving, her eyes watering. "You can't do that!"

"I wasn't doing anything bad!"
"Yes you were!" A painful hand grabbed his arm, fingers digging bruises into his skin. "Inside, now."

"It hurts," he choked out, beginning to sob. The chill was entirely gone now, replaced by a burning face and blazing eyes, and a deep, gut wrenching fear and confusion.

She had dragged him towards their home, the patio in plain view. His father was frowning, brow furrowed, looking as though he may intervene.

But he didn't, and now they were right near the steps, and his arm was hurting, the pain spreading, and the chilly feeling was coming back-

"Let go!" He cried.

She suddenly removed her hand as though she were the one escaping, and dropped his aiwha. He lurched forward and grasped it, running onto the porch, and slamming into the open glass door, rushing inside.

Obi-Wan pushed the door shut, tears running down his face, drenching his neck. He was shaking uncontrollably, vision blurred, barely able to see his father blocking his mother's entry.

Palpatine had grasped her shoulders, saying something to her. Her expression flipped from anger to emptiness, her jaw slack, as his father gestured to the lake on the horizon.

The youngling didn't want to see anymore, and spun on his feet, sprinting to his room, his footsteps quiet upon the lush carpeting.

Hiccups escaped him as he climbed onto his bed. The chill had left him again. And although he was warm, unbearably so, his silky blankets looked comfortable and loving. He maneuvered on the bed, back to the wall, wrapping himself in them, knees pulled up. Flipping the aiwha around in his hands, he checked it for any scuffs or scratches. The material was cool to the touch, and when he saw no errors, he put it to his smoldering cheek, letting the chill seep into his salty, trembling skin.

As his breathing slowly evened out, his door creaked open. He jolted his gaze to the intruder, identifiable due to the light seeping through his tinted window.

"My little targon, are you alright?" Daddy softly said, barely above a whisper.

"Daddy…" His father ghosted forward and kneeled in front of him, his robe rustling and he adjusted his legs. Palpatine put his hands on his knees, refraining from touching the still trembling boy.

"What happened, my boy?" Palpatine looked into his eyes, causing Obi-Wan to avert his gaze downward. He fidgeted with the aiwha, his emotions rearing up again, fire lighting behind his eyes. Every word was choked out, his chin wobbling.

"You said aiwhas can fly. So I made it fly," he sniffed. "Mama got upset. I didn't do anything bad."

"You're right, little one. You did nothing bad. In fact, you did something really, really, good."

Obi-Wan looked up into his father's eyes. "Mama was upset."

"She doesn't understand the power you wield. Now," Palpatine laid his legs outward, laying on his side, seemingly relaxed. "Can you make it fly again?"

"I don't know."

"Do it, little targon. I would be very happy if you did so. It looked quite fun."

Obi-Wan nodded, lips thinning into a line. He could do this. He would make daddy proud. Pushing himself until his back touched the wall, he placed the statue in front of his, now crossed, legs.

Staring at the statue, he took a few deep breaths, trying to focus like he had prior. Irritation did not come to him, for he knew that he could make the aiwha fly. His father would be so delighted. And he loved making his father happy.

Determination ripped through him, and the focus followed. A little hand was held out above the statue, and it began to hover shakily. Slowly, ever so slowly, it began to float higher and higher, finally hovering above the youngling's head. He commanded it to slowly glide to his father, whisking so close as to move a stray hair. It then came back to the boy, lightly dropping to the bed.

His father was grinning, and he grinned, too. The bond they shared was alight with pride and joy and gaiety, and Obi-Wan almost wanted to jump up and down, and his cheeks were once again hurting not due to sobs but due to his impossibly wide smile.

"I'm very proud of you, little targon," That nickname never failed to calm Obi-Wan down, and the horrible afternoon had seemingly been a nightmare, unreal. "Did you name your statue?"

The quick subject change did not jarr Obi-Wan, for anything his father said was very, very important! "Yes!"

"What name did you choose?"

"Ayda!"

"Ayda," he repeated, raising his eyebrows, seemingly testing the name for himself. "A very pretty name. A great choice, little targon."

The little targon puffed up his chest as his father continued. "Now, my son, you will need to train that power of your's."

"With you?" He tilted his head, studying his father's face. A frown darkened Palpatine's features, quickly replaced with a calm, melancholy facade.

"No, I cannot train you. I do not have that power."

"Who'll teach me?"

"You will go to a people called," he scowled. "The Jedi. They will teach you many things. But, you must remember, that even though he may not have the power you wield, your father knows best."

"You're the smartest person ever, Daddy."

He smiled again, reaching out to cup Obi-Wan's face. "That may be, little one. However, you have the power to protect yourself and your loved ones, and you need to learn to cultivate it."

"Is it that school place Mommy mentioned?"

"No, little one. You will live with them, and you won't see Daddy for a long while."

"I don't wanna leave Daddy!" He cried, a chill enveloping him.

"You must. I will see you again, one day-"

"No!" The freeze enveloped him, and his breath began to show, vapor escaping his nose. "I was good!"

"Yes, you are little targon. But, one day, don't you want to be a big targon? Don't you want to be the leader of the pride, don't you want to make sure nothing bad happens to your family?"Obi-Wan hiccupped, eyes burning, as his father spoke. "If you don't train, bad things could happen to us-"

"I don't want something bad to happen!"

"Then you must go," His father said, voice firm. "Trust in your father, you will see me again. I will never forget you, and you must never forget me," He kneeled once more, pulling Obi-Wan into his embrace. "I will come find you, one day. You will grow powerful and independent, having developed the ability to protect everyone you love. You must remember that. Remember what I have told you, and you shall always, always protect your loved ones," Pulling away, he lifted his son's chin. "If you grow to be the strongest, I will be very proud of you."

Even though he was on the verge of sobbing, and his chest was as tight as it had ever been, he forced a response. "Okay."

"Good boy," his father's firm hand laid on his shoulder. "Get some rest, I know you're tired."

He slept fitfully, the confusion and fear of the day seeping into his dreams. Multiple times, the boy awoke to his empty room, sweating and barely resisting the urge to call his father to his side.

After what he assumed were hours, his father retrieved him from his room. His father slowly washed his face, and told him that a Jedi had arrived, and that he must look his best.

They entered the seating area, and Obi-Wan was able to see that night was about to fall, the lake in the distance bathed in oranges and reds, fiery. Aiwha's were rare in the nighttime, he knew, yet still quietly sighed when he saw none in the sky.

In a leather chair, facing towards the hallway he and his father had emerged from, a tall, dark-haired man sat. He exuded confidence and grace, along with a calculating glare. Obi-Wan wanted to shrink under his gaze, but denied his right to do so, staring straight at the man.

"Master Jedi, this is my son, Obi-Wan," His father gestured to him. "Let's converse, shall we?"

Dooku nodded. "I will need to conduct a midichlorian count, Ambassador."

"Of course, of course," Palpatine sat in a loveseat, hoisting Obi-Wan to rest beside him. "You and my son should acquaint yourselves first, however."

Dooku blinked slowly at his father, before clearing his throat. "Youngling, I am Jedi Master Dooku," His voice was cold yet not unkind. "Your father said you caused a statue to float. Is that true?"

"Yes," He said, quieter than he had meant it to be.

Master Dooku hummed, reaching into his cloak. He retrieved a small kit. "I am going to conduct a necessary test," He stood, maneuvering around the tea table to tower beside the father and son duo.

He opened the kit, pulled out a needle, and glanced at Palpatine, who nodded. "This may pinch, Obi-Wan."

A rush of air escaped his nose as he bit his lip, willing himself to withstand the prick.

The Jedi turned to his kit, and began fiddling around with a small device. Obi-Wan glanced at his father, and mirrored the smirk on his face. If his father was okay, he should be okay.

"You remember what I said, correct?" His father said. Again, Dooku glanced at him, unimpressed yet somehow respectful.

"You'll find me to be an extremely capable man, Ambassador."

"I never thought differently."

Obi-Wan felt like he was missing some type of undertones in the conversation. Everything they said had many meanings, and although he definitely was the type to pry, his mood was not allowing for his mouth to move.

The machine beeped, stealing Dooku's focus away. The Jedi's eyes widened, before he quickly schooled himself on a calm mask. "I understand, Ambassador Palpatine.

"Obi-Wan," Master Dooku stood straight, shoulders high, the tower of his being somehow growing exponentially higher. "You will be escorted by myself to the Jedi Temple. There you will learn many, many things. I am expecting greatness from you, little one."

Obi-Wan could do nothing but nod, and say, "Yes, sir."

"You will learn the nomenclature of the Jedi at the Temple, however, you will either refer to me as Master Jedi or Master Dooku, understood?"

"Yes, Master Dooku."

"Your son is a fast learner, Ambassador."

"He is," Obi-Wan puffed up at the compliment.

"I would like to depart as soon as possible."

"Ah. I understand," His father stood, bringing Obi-Wan to stand next to him. They left the home, heading out into the twilight night. Obi-Wan sniffed the humid air, not fully comprehending that he may not see it for years, and years, and years.

A shining ship resided on the landing pad. It was similar to an oval in shape, gleaming and reflecting everything around it. It had triangular wings, stretching outward, longer than the ship itself. And although a majority of the surface was reflective, gold could be seen strewn about, adding an allure of peace to the vehicle.

"Little targon," His father said when they neared the ship, a ramp lowering down. "Trust Dooku, as I trust him. He is a good man to emulate."

He looked up at his father. "Emulate?"

"To look up to, to become more similar to."

"Oh."

"Make sure to follow his orders," Palpatine looked at the Jedi. "Watch out for him."

Dooku nodded. "I will monitor his career carefully."

Obi-Wan hugged his father, receiving little comfort, as his father quickly disengaged. He was urged to go to Dooku, to enter the ship, to leave.

Once again, his eyes began to burn, and his arms and legs felt like lead. His father's wishes circulated in his skull, urging him to be fearless and to have strength, to go become the big targon that could protect his Daddy.

"We will meet again, little targon," His father whispered at Obi-Wan's back, Dooku's warm hand clamping onto the boy's shoulder, comfortably guiding him away, towards the unknown.

It took all his strength not to cry as he turned and watched his father's departure, the shadows crawling around him, the light seemingly hissing in pain at Palpatine's steps.

Master Dooku looked down his nose at him. "You have a strong will, young Kenobi."

Obi-Wan would become the best Jedi, the strongest, the greatest. He would never lose hope of his and his father's reunion.

He refused.