Scorn

Prologue

A soft, warm wind swept through the fragrant river valley near her family's vast country estate. Bunches of wildflowers clutched in chubby hands are destined to be woven into a clumsy, but thoughtful, crown for her mother and she cannot contain the ecstatic giggles that ripple through her small body at the thought of pleasing her favorite person in the whole world. Purple, green, blue, white, and pink waves sway with the tall grasses that nearly dwarf the young one, whose hair flows behind her like a wild, golden stream, whipping around with the chaotic breeze as she runs circles around the small group conversing quietly in the grass. The earth-toned blanket stretched beneath them is large enough to fit twenty, and yet it could never contain the boundless energy of a five-year-old spitfire. Her laughter and energy do nothing to dispel the serious tone circulating at the eye of her storm.

"What do we know of the empire's plans now that Vader has dispatched Sidious?" questions a nervous, berobed man of late age. His white hair is tucked neatly into a ponytail at his nape, the long lines on his face a mix of weariness and distant contentment. A face that used to laugh easily morphed into the visage of someone who fears danger around every corner. The girl knows him as "Bibby," but her nickname for him is only a fraction less dignified from his actual surname. Her affection for him is mostly unwarranted, but she's come to love every single one of her parents' "friends."

"Our intelligence team reports very little unrest, which was initially surprising," a cloaked man remarks in a lilting voice that defines beloved storytime for the girl, who has fallen asleep many nights to the man's tales of adventure and magic. "Now we know that Vader has been planning this move since Order 66, and he amassed a rather large and dedicated following within the empire's ranks. They were able to quickly and efficiently quiet any discontent."

"Do we expect any change in the empire's behavior?" A Twi'lek with vibrant amethyst skin raises a skeptical eyebrow to accompany her question, unimpressed by the presented information so far.

"Only time will tell, but I expect not." The cloaked man replies, equally lacking in optimism.

"How embedded is your web of spies, Kenobi?" This man's countenance can only be described as intense, his fishlike face drawn, but determined. Large, bulging eyes constantly surveying his surroundings, as if even the innocent breeze might carry violence or ill-tidings. He almost seems poised, prepared to defend if need be- practically the opposite of Bibby.

"Our group is steadily growing in size. While Vader has accumulated his own following, so have we, and they're all too happy to funnel information to the Resistance." The Jedi, a founding member of the formerly rag-tag revolutionary order, seems to take a second to contemplate his words before continuing, "As we evolve and organize our bases of operation and train the people who occupy them, we grow stronger everyday with information. I will not say that I foresee an easy, unopposed vanquishing of our enemies, but we will have peace. Even in uncertain times like these, we must hope."

His companions nod solemnly in agreement as more happy shrieks burst from the child, who seems to have found a hopping creature to amuse herself. She hops along behind it, not understanding that her comparatively large stature and volume would be terrifying for small creatures. To her, they are all treasured friends.

"I am eternally grateful for all of you, and as always, I admire your courage." A stoic man in gray watches the girl as she hops along, tenderness in his gaze softening the skin around his brown eyes, as warm and giving as the dirt that cushions his daughter's small feet. "Daddy," his favorite label for himself, is known as Bail within the fellowship that's gathered outside his summer home.

"As am I," chimes the woman to his right, who will gladly replace her glittering coronet with the abandoned flowers, intended for a tiara, that lay forgotten while her daughter leaps along behind the large toad. Breha, "mama," queen. She answers to many titles, all of them sacred and all of them equal.

"May the force be with all of you, in the coming days as our new foe finds his footing." This last comment, falling from the Jedi's lips almost out of habit, grows rarer by the day as people fear even acknowledging the scorned religion of the not-so-distant past. Yet, for the fighters, scholars, planners, and spies seated in this field on Alderaan, far from the searching, paranoid eyes of the empire, his words breathe hope and resolution.

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