The Grey Childe
Disclaimer: The only things I own are my meager, hapless OCs and this vague storyline. Everything else belongs to George Lucas/Disney (because Disney owns everything now).
WARNINGS: This story will have swearing, violence, variations of abuse, and (probably) torture. If these are triggering for you, you have been warned. If you still wish to read, but would like to skip the violence/torture, I will try to make sure I let you know beforehand in the author's notes in each chapter.
AN: I am a shameless fan of inserting OCs into preexisting worlds and watching them make things better (or worse) and monkey-wrenching the entire timeline into unrecognizable patterns. I'm making this up as I go with only a vague notion of where things are going. If nothing else, I hope you're entertained!
Now! A long time ago in a galaxy far, far, away….
Chapter I: "Light. Darkness. A balance."
The town didn't end with a bang or a whisper. It ended one scream at a time. With each scream, Rehn flinched, sweat trickling down his brow and stinging a bloody cut on the side of his pale face. He ducked as a TIE fighter flashed by overhead, cannons tearing through the mud houses along the street with ease, the force of the blasts whipping his silver-white hair into his eyes.
More screams echoed in the darkness around him, shadowed figures in white lit by fire and the crimson light of blasters. Bodies were dropping around him while the townspeople ran in a desperate bid to survive. Rehn tried to push his way past them, to see more of what was happening, but was blinded by a nearby explosion.
The ground abruptly fell away and Rehn stumbled, catching himself against a hut of some kind, brittle sticks and clay stabbing at his palms. Confusion and shock rattled through his mind as he jerked away.
A different planet, one covered in sand, Rehn realized distantly. He looked around, noting that he was now in a small village and in the midst of another battle taking place. The same white figures as in the previous town were wielding blasters against the villagers who were desperately fighting back, their own blasters and guns shooting blue rather than red.
Soon enough, the villagers lost, the ones still alive herded before a large Upsilon-class shuttle. It opened, the ramp slowly coming down as Rehn's fear rapidly soared up. The boy was rooted to the spot, unable to move as a black hooded figure appeared, slowly approaching as all others vanished in a flood of darkness. The clear sound of a lightsaber echoed between them, ominous in its finality.
"Found you."
Rehn Kai Jinn jerked upright and promptly rolled, falling off the small bed with a thump as he coughed and gasped, clutching at his thin chest. He struggled to calm the Force-vision induced panic. The scent of smoke and burning flesh lingered in his nose.
"What in the Outer Rim was that?" he wondered tiredly, collapsing in exhaustion and pressing his sweaty forehead to the cool stone floor as he caught his breath.
"Rehn? Are you alright? I felt a disturbance..." asked the groggy voice of Rehn's master, Tretalo Pasche from the other bed.
"I'm alright, Master," the fifteen-year old padawan rasped, fighting against the urge to retch, "Just another vision."
The teen stood shakily, pushing his white, sweat-damp hair out of his pale face, the dangling metal earring he wore clinking softly.
"You've been getting more of them lately. Is there a pattern?" asked Pasche, more awake as he sat up to regard his tired padawan with concerned green eyes.
"It seems to always be battles involving the First Order. There are so many deaths, Master..." he said quietly, leaving the pain he felt through the Force unsaid.
"Do you recognize anything? Or sense anything?" asked the old man shrewdly, eyeing his apprentice's frown.
"No, I haven't recognized any of the locations, and there's nothing distinctive enough to tell them apart from anywhere else," Rehn frowned, frustration furrowing his brow. Slightly hesitant, Rehn continued, "I keep sensing the Force, the dark side of it. It's strong and tumultuous, like an ocean. And just as vast. It scares me..." he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Don't discount your fear. It is a warning, and will keep you alive. But never allow it to take root, or it will control you," Pasche counselled, giving a quiet groan as he stood and stretched out his old limbs; he felt far older than his fifty years.
"Master, why does the Force keep giving me these visions?" asked Rehn, "They're getting clearer. I've no way to know if they are things that have already happened or events yet to come."
"I'm not sure," pondered the grey Jedi as he tugged on his boots,
"But, in all likelihood, it means you and the events are connected in some way," continued Pasche as he stood, slipping on his over-robe to complete getting dressed for the day.
Rehn stared at the floor in thought, wondering what possible connection he could have with something as monumental and catastrophic as the First Order. The boy took a breath, giving himself a mental shake to push away a creeping sense of foreboding.
"I'm a nobody. It's unlikely that they could know of me, or care, outside the fact I'm a Force sensitive," the Arkanian teen murmured, chewing his lip.
"They have killed for less," Pasche intoned severely, "And you are not just Force sensitive. You are my padawan, receiving both the knowledge and training of a true Jedi. My being a grey Jedi will not matter to them. A Jedi is a Jedi," he warned.
"Either way, I suppose this means we're moving on?" asked Rehn quietly, white-blue eyes watching as his master moved around the quaint room, collecting their scant belongings.
Pasche gave the boy a nod.
"Better to move now, before the sun has fully risen. It's going to rain in a few hours and I'd like to get us to the port before then," he explained, taking a moment to rub at his aching, barometric knee.
Rehn sighed. As much as he would like to go back to sleep, he understood his master's concern; visions were not something to ignore. And the risk of being found out as a Force user was more likely the longer they stayed in one place.
All it would take is one informant sending a message to someone within the First Order.
And so Rehn grabbed his utility belt with attached thigh holster and blaster, buckling both securely, making doubly sure that the holster was situated properly; nothing threw off movement more than it being too tight, or worse, too loose.
Next were his boots, scuffed and worn, but still comfortable, followed by a vambrace on his left arm and a long, slim blade sheathed on his right hip. Additional knives were stashed in each boot.
Master Pasche shook his head, torn between an admonishment and amusement at the walking arsenal that was his padawan.
"A Jedi needs only a lightsaber and the Force," the older man rebuked, a smile tugging at his stern countenance at the oft-repeated lecture.
"I'm no Jedi yet, grey or otherwise," countered Rehn, "And I've no lightsaber. Besides, I was raised as a foundling. Weapons are part of my religion," he grinned, tugging on his ragged cloak, too large for his small frame, and even more battered than his boots.
"What a mixed bag my padawan has turned out to be," lamented Pasche sorrowfully, a teasing grin showing through his greying beard, the scar over his eye crinkling with amusement.
Rehn gave a small answering grin, grabbing their only bag of supplies and slinging it onto his back, pushing part of his cloak over his shoulder and raising the hood, tugging it low to obscure his distinctive face and hair.
"Ready?" asked Pasche, standing near the door.
Rehn gave a nod and Pasche opened the door, leading the way downstairs to the front desk where they quickly and quietly checked out, the humanoid female behind the counter obviously irritated at the unusual early morning check-out. A muttered swear in Huttese followed the master and padawan out the door.
Stepping out onto the street, a gust of wind nearly blew off Rehn's hood, whipping the boy's white hair into his eyes as he caught the fabric and tugged it down more securely. The teen swayed for a moment before leaning into the wind to keep his balance and catch up with his long-limbed master.
"Where are we going to go, Master?" asked Rehn, ghost pale eyes glancing up at the man beside him.
"Your training is progressing nicely, but I think having another padawan to spar with would help your growth. Your Alter Force abilities seem to have reached a plateau," Pasche explained quietly, voice hushed and barely discernable to Rehn's sensitive ears, "So, we are going to travel further into the Outer Rim. There is a place there where we can meet other users of the Force."
Rehn looked at his feet, lips falling into a self-conscious frown. He knew he was having a difficult time mastering the physical Force, but it still hurt to hear it aloud.
Changing the subject, Rehn asked quietly, "I didn't think there were any more Jedi temples?"
"There is one I know of, and it is a closely guarded secret. Very few Jedi remain, and we are all committed to keeping this secret. It's a sanctuary of sorts, with old ruins dating back long before the old Jedi Council existed," the older man said quietly, stepping to the side as he dodged an overburdened transport slowly making its way down the crowded street, "It's not too far from this planet, anyway," he added.
Rehn eyed the dubious transport as it drifted sluggishly by, a family of five crammed into what was clearly meant to only seat two, with battered luggage crates precariously balanced and haphazardly tied onto the back.
"Is it just me, or is something going on?" the boy asked, calling after his master while quickly dodging the sudden influx of what appeared to be refugees surging down the street.
Pasche caught his padawan's arm and tugged him off to the side, taking shelter in an alley before the small teen was crushed. Rehn caught his breath, glancing first at his master and then at the people passing by. The majority of them were in a bad state, injured in some way or another and completely exhausted. The fear, anger, and grief they carried with them was palpable.
"It would seem so," said Pasche, the lines around his mouth deepening with concealed worry. "Wait here with our things, I'm going to go find out what's happened," Pasche finally said after a few moments of consideration.
Before Rehn could open his mouth to voice agreement, Pasche was gone, disappearing seamlessly into the throng. The boy sighed. His master would likely be gone for a bit.
Rehn turned his attention to the alley and found an old crate, likely left over from a supply drop. The teen shrugged off his bag and hopped onto the crate; he might as well get comfortable.
It was a few minutes later and Rehn's eyes were drifting shut. A gentle, pleasant breeze had found its way through the alley, carrying with it the scent of rain and the sounds of life. It relaxed him, smoothing away the remnants of the Force-vision from earlier.
The boy inhaled deeply, shifting slightly on the crate to get more comfortable. A small sound to his left caught his attention. Frowning in curiosity, Rehn looked in the direction the small sound emanated from, but all he saw was a collection of scrap metal and garbage, most of which was blaster damaged beyond recognition and salvageability.
Rehn settled back with a shrug, intent on resting for the next few minutes before Pasche returned.
Until the weak beeping sounded again, along with a faint thunking of metal.
With a deep sigh the padawan slid off the crate, his curiosity reluctantly piqued. Rehn moved further into the alley, scanning the junk that littered the sides of the buildings. A shifting pile of detritus drew his attention.
A small chime sounded before something round clattered and rolled out of the junk to an abrupt stop in front of his feet, nearly causing the boy to trip. Rehn jumped back defensively, drawing his blade out of reflex and eyeing the metal ball with wariness. A single light, small and innocuous, blinked sluggishly between blue, white, and red.
"A droid...?" Rehn murmured, sheathing the blade smoothly as he crouched down to inspect the battered robot.
It didn't resemble any droid the padawan had seen before, though the roundness reminded Rehn of a BB unit. There was a long, cord-like attachment on the bottom of the droid and one triangular piece near the top, which upon closer inspection seemed to be one of two; a small jagged hole showed the second was missing and likely long gone.
"Looks a bit feline," thought Rehn musingly, carefully reaching down to more closely inspect the damaged droid, "Seems reparable..."
Rehn, feeling impulsive and trying to ignore his inner voice (which always sounded distinctly like Master Pasche's when he was about to do something impractical), picked up the small droid. It gave a series of weak beeps and chirps before shutting down mid-beep.
The teen almost dropped it in shock.
"Did I translate that right? It asked if I was a Jedi. How could it tell?" he thought, feeling the beginnings of panic and paranoia surge through him.
Standing quickly, Rehn turned and made his way back to his improvised seat. He placed the droid onto the crate and reached over to grab his pack, slinging it carefully onto his shoulders. That done, he grabbed the small droid and picked it up, shifting its tail to drape over his arm so he wouldn't trip over it.
"I need to find Pasche," Rehn thought grimly, darting out of the alley and into the main thoroughfare, narrowly dodging a large, injured Clabronian stumbling down the street.
The teen hurried down the road, his grip on the droid white-knuckled. He wished Pasche wasn't so paranoid about communicators and commlinks. They had no way to contact each other if they were separated and things went wrong (as they so often did). All Rehn could do was follow the vague sense of his master's Force signature.
He'd just reached one of the larger streets when a strong, ominous fluctuation within the Force abruptly washed over the teen, crashing through his senses and sending him reeling, his sight swamped with echoing images from the morning's vision. Rehn shuddered and stumbled to a stop, almost falling on his face for a moment from the vertigo. Not even a moment later and explosions struck, one after the other as First Order ships filled the sky, releasing their torrents of blaster fire.
Rehn swore, trying to reorient himself as the ground trembled and heaved beneath his feet, the buildings and homes nearby crumbling to dust. Rehn dodged the exploding debris as best he could, crying out in shock and pain when a particularly large chunk slammed into his back. He hit the ground hard, barely having time to curl himself into a ball to protect himself from being trampled by the panicking townspeople. The bag on his shoulders protected him somewhat, as did the droid clutched to his chest, but Rehn knew he needed to get up.
Another explosion rocked the street and the people panicking around him stumbled and fell, giving Rehn some breathing room. He used the opportunity to clamber to his feet, once more chasing the vague sense of his master.
It led him a few streets over, to the outskirts near where First Order ships were landing. Rehn's chest tightened with worry. Armored Stormtroopers filed down the streets, shooting all who resisted them and herding the rest away in a symphony of screams and the thud of boots.
"Master, please keep yourself hidden!" he thought, hoping Pasche could keep himself from being noticed for a while longer.
The Stormtroopers were getting closer. Thinking quickly, Rehn dodged to the side, hiding himself in a narrow alley. He shrugged the pack from his shoulders and carefully stuffed the droid inside before slinging it onto his back once more. Calm hands immediately checked his weapons and readied his grappling glove.
He'd be traveling by rooftop, what was left of them anyway.
Sharp ears picked out the sound of military-issue boots and the sound of gunfire. Rehn glanced up a moment, judging angles and distance. He raised his hand, the line shooting out and latching to the roof. Rehn gave a tug and rocketed upwards, catching the ledge with strong fingertips and flipping up and over, rolling quietly to his feet. Keeping low, Rehn darted across the roof, leaping the gap to land on the next one.
"I know I complained to Pasche about the layout and crappy buildings of this town when we first arrived, but now I'm actually thankful for it," he thought wryly, dropping low to avoid an overly vigilant trooper who happened to look to the rooftops.
Rehn waited a few beats before resuming his run with the speed of long practice, though it'd been a while since his last roof-run. If not for the frequent blaster fire and the terrified, pained screams, Rehn would have enjoyed it. As it was, he was still worried about Pasche.
"And apparently I was right to be worried," he thought, eyes narrowed as he took in the scene at the edge of town, finally having arrived at the last building overlooking the abandoned landing port.
Pasche stood tall and easy, confident even while surrounded by Stormtroopers. His hands were raised and a woman was being dragged helplessly away.
"He gave himself up to protect her, didn't he?" he sighed, expression grim, "I need a plan."
The plan turned out to be simple: take out as many as he could before getting noticed.
"Starting with the outliers and loners," thought Rehn, drawing his vibroblade and readying his vambrace.
The first dropped without a sound, knifed in the back and dragged silently further out of sight. The next received a grappling line around the neck, yanked down and neck snapped efficiently. The third was messier. The trooper noticed Rehn's approach at the last second, not soon enough to save himself, of course, but enough that the padawan's strike wasn't as clean as the others, leaving blood spattered across his arms and smeared on his hands; he had to pause and clean them, and the handle of his blade, as it became too slick to hold properly.
And so it went. Rehn silently and efficiently continued to remove Stormtroopers from the fight, always moving and not stopping to think, focused on getting to Pasche. The Jedi slowly being forced to his knees and restraints placed on his wrists caused Rehn to pause, staring across the space between them apprehensively.
"I'm running out of time," he thought, biting his lip.
Rehn took stock of the remaining troopers and gritted his teeth, wishing he had whistling birds or some kind of grenade to even the odds. His spiraling thoughts and disjointed plans were interrupted by a distant sound, a dissonance that trembled through the air and made the hair prickle on the back of his neck. The teen looked up and his pale eyes widened.
"Fuck."