Here is a new chapter, go check out chapter 4, I did some editing. Enjoy!
The desert nights were harsh and unforgiving, shrouding weary travelers in a bone-chilling cold. Nevertheless, Kol Skywalker, wrapped in his duster pulled high against the chill, ventured through Mos Espa to reach the hangar where his ship awaited. Pausing in the dim glow of the night, he gazed up at the starlit sky.
'It won't be long now.' A soft bip-bop behind him drew his attention, and he turned to find the little astromech droid, R2-D2. "And what are you doing here?"
R2-D2 responded in a rapid string of binary, a language Kol could barely comprehend. "I know it's late, but I'm not exactly defenseless," Kol reassured, gesturing to the blaster holster on his belt. The droid persisted. "Fine, you can come along, just don't break anything please."
Pleased, the little astromech followed as they entered the Millennium Falcon. Once inside, R2-D2 quickly understood why Kol had issued the warning. The ship's interior was a chaotic sprawl of equipment strewn about and stacked haphazardly through the corridors, while the cargo hold resembled a cluttered mess.
"Yeah, I know, I have to clean this up to make space for our trip." Sighing, he took off his jacket and dived into the task at hand.
The hours slipped away as Kol worked tirelessly to organize and clean, the promise of rest slipping further away with every item he stowed. In the solitude of the night, with only the soft hum of the ship and the occasional beep from R2-D2, Kol prepared the Millennium Falcon for the journey ahead, knowing that rest would have to wait a little longer.
Hours later, he sat facing a crate, exhausted. R2 had long since powered down, bored after exploring the whole ship. Kol used the opportunity to take a small holocomm from his belt but hesitated.
When his mother had pulled him aside to talk, Kol could sense her unease, her anxiety palpable in the air around them. As she began to speak, her words carried a weight that seemed to hang heavily between them.
She revealed that his father was not from Tatooine, as Kol had believed. No, his father hailed from a distant world, one shrouded in mystery and legend. He was the son of a Mandalorian—a member of a proud and fierce warrior culture known throughout the galaxy for their strength, and prowess, and feared for their thirst for conquest.
Kol listened in silence as his mother recounted the tale of his father's departure, leaving behind only a holocomm and a sizable crate of belongings. The revelation sent a wave of conflicting emotions coursing through him—confusion, curiosity, and a deep-seated longing to know more about the father he had never known.
Who was he to be in all of that? Kol was just a sixteen-year-old boy trying to fight for his family, a boy who somehow had Lady Luck on his side as he traversed the galaxy. Everything would change, his perspective of his life thus far, and the future ahead of him.
It felt like skirting at the edge of a collapsing star.
Don't ask.
Kol Skywalker took a deep breath, before activating the holocomm.
"If you're hearin' this, my child, then your mom felt it's time for you to know about where you come from. I'm Jango Fett, and I'm your dad."
Kol didn't sleep at all that night.
Next Morning – Podrace Day
Qui-Gon walked into the hangar where a dozen or so podracers were being readied for the race. With him were Jar Jar and Watto, the atmosphere filled with the distinct sounds of engines humming and mechanics tinkering. The air was thick with the scent of fuel and the excitement of the impending race.
Watto fluttered alongside Qui-Gon with a self-assured swagger. "-I want to see your spaceship the moment the race is over."
"Patience, my blue friend," Qui-Gon replied with a calm assurance. "You'll have your winnings before the suns set, and we'll be far away from here."
"Not if your ship belongs to me, I think!" Watto snorted, a satisfied laugh escaping his lips. His sharp eyes swiftly fixed on the Jedi. "I warn you, no funny business!"
Qui-Gon continued his stride, his gaze focused elsewhere, skillfully setting the trap he had laid for the Toydarian. "You don't think Anakin will win?"
Watto swiftly flew around, blocking his path, and brought them all to an abrupt stop.
Flapping his wings like mad, he gestured towards a flashy orange racer parked nearby. Its engines had been tinkered with, creating an unmistakable X-shape when the energy binders kicked in and the engines synchronized.
Off to the side of the racer, lounged the dug Qui-Gon had been told about, Sebulba. His wicked eyes locked onto them; his spindly limbs poised in a vaguely threatening stance. A pair of agile Twi'leks diligently worked on massaging Sebulba's neck and shoulders. The Twi'leks, humanoids from Ryloth, sported pointed teeth, smooth blue skin, and twin tentacles that cascaded gracefully from their hairless heads down their silken backs. Their crimson eyes briefly lifted to Qui-Gon, a spark of interest flickering, before swiftly returning to their master.
Watto let out a snort. "Don't get me wrong," he declared, shaking his head in that weird way of his. "I got nothin' against the kid. He's decent for your kind." His snaggle-toothed mouth twisted. "But Sebulba, he's gonna take the win, I think."
Qui-Gon acted like he was sizing up the Dug, giving him a once-over and going as far as placing his hands on each side of his hips. "Why do you think that?"
"He always wins!" The Toydarian broke into a fit of laughter, consumed by his own cleverness. "I'm betting heavily on Sebulba!"
"I'll take that bet."
Watto's laughter came to an abrupt halt, recoiling as if he had touched scalding hot oil. "What?" He shook his head in sheer disbelief. "What are you talking about?"
Qui-Gon advanced a step, making the Toydarian edge away from the Jedi. "I'll wager my racing pod, my ship, and maybe a healthy sum of credits." Watto flinched, and Qui-Gon could see the shopkeeper almost salivating.
Kol had reasoned with them that Watto would never agree to bet Anakin against just the pod, even if it were the fastest one in existence.
As they conversed, a commotion behind them caught their attention. Turning around, they saw the Skywalkers family, plus Padmé and R2 with C-3PO arriving. Pulling the pod were two eopie, with Anakin and his mother in one, and in the other were Padmé and Kol.
Qui-Gon's attention, however, was arrested by the sight of Kol. Shock ran through his spine as he gazed into the vizor of a red Mandalorian helmet.
He was fully armored, with a black undersuit and a black cape draping over his right shoulder and halfway down his back. His body was protected by red plates of beskar, and on his forearms were vambraces that from what Qui-Gon knew, could carry an assortment of deadly instruments. Everything clicked in Qui-Gon's mind, and amusement swirled within him.
Kol Skywalker was not just a skilled pilot, a smuggler, and a boy with a good heart; he was a Mandalorian, and, intriguingly and maybe hilariously, Force-sensitive.
A grin played on Qui-Gon's lips at the thought of the Jedi Council's reaction when they learned of this revelation. And he couldn't ignore the way Padmé held Kol around the waist, a connection that added another layer to the unfolding relationship.
After a long moment of hesitation, greed won out.
"You have a bet outlander!" letting out a forced laugh, he boasted. "Be ready to lose." With the final word, Watto left, flying in the recent arrivals' direction.
Upon reaching them, he exchanged words in Huttese with Anakin. Surprisingly, the response didn't come from the boy but from the towering Wookiee who was already angrily cramped inside the pod with the droids.
The furious roar startled even Padmé, who watched Watto scurry away in a hurry. "What did he say?"
"Nothing worth repeating," Kol answered with his module voice. He slid off the animal and caught Padmé around the waist as she did the same. "Watto likes to celebrate before his victories, and sometimes that comes back to bite him in the ass."
"Kol." They turned to Qui-Gon, and a giggle left Padmé as she saw Jar Jar hiding behind the Jedi. "Well, this is an interesting development."
Kol removed his helmet, adjusting his hair. It was getting too long for his liking, and he quickly realized that long hair wasn't helmet-friendly. "It was an eventful night."
Nodding, Qui-Gon turned to Anakin. "Are you ready, young Skywalker?"
"Yep!"
"Let's get you ready then."
"Ani!" a small voice cried out as a little human ran over to them. "Ani, that's so wizard!" the little boy was looking at the rebuilt pod with hungry eyes before turning to his friend. "I'm sure you'll do it this time, Annie!"
Padme's alarmed gaze shifted from one to the other. "Do what?" she asked suspiciously.
Kitster, the little boy, beamed. "Finish the race, of course!"
The girl's face lost its color, her eyes drilling into Anakin. "You've never even finished a race?" she demanded, incredulity coloring her tone.
Anakin blushed, a bit embarrassed. "Well... not exactly," he admitted. His mouth tightened with determination. "But Kitster's right. This time, I will."
Behind her, Kol snickered at her expression and burst into laughter as she turned back to him with a glare.
Down at the Racetrack
At the heart of Mos Espa, the bustling crowds started to thin, a gravitational pull drawing the population towards the pod racer arena located at the outskirts of the spaceport. The majority of shops and stalls had already closed, and the remaining few were hurriedly wrapping up their business. Owners and vendors completed their sales, casting anxious glances toward the steady stream of traffic.
Within the chaotic swirl of activity, a probe droid glided through the air, its mechanical eye methodically scanning from shop to shop, face to face, on a quest through the crowds.
Thousands upon thousands of people were crammed into the Podracer arena, filling every nook and cranny. The stands were full, and the entire place became a riot of color, movement, and noise against the vast desert backdrop.
Suddenly, the air crackled with thunderous applause as the racers emerged from the main hangar on the far side of the start line. Podracers rolled into view, a motley parade featuring some pulled by eopies, others by hands, and a few gliding along on repulsorsleds. It was a vibrant procession, a chaotic blend of pilots, pit crews, and a colorful assortment of hangers-on.
Leading the charge, standard bearers marched at the forefront, each proudly waving a flag that proclaimed the identity of the pilot and their sponsor. This lively display formed a dynamic line, injecting a burst of energy in front of the diverse assembly of Podracers.
As the racers rolled onto the track in front of the arena stands, a flurry of activity in the royal box marked the entrance of none other than Jabba the Hutt, accompanied by his female companion, Gardulla. Gliding into the cool interior of the box, the two Hutts undulated along the flooring to their designated spots amid the vibrant silks draping the rough stone.
Jabba led the way, slithering directly to the arched overlook where he could be seen by the people of Mos Espa. Raising his pudgy arm in a jovial greeting, he reveled in the appreciative roar of the crowd. Gardulla, while less ostentatious, muttered her approval, nodding her neckless head atop a thick, shapeless body, her slitted eyes glittering.
Following the Hutts, a retinue of humans and aliens filed in, privileged guests of Mos Espa's rulers on this auspicious race day. It was a coveted designation. Bringing up the rear, a line of slave girls of various species, chained together, made their entrance, present for the amusement of those who had willingly chosen to attend.
Below, the Podracer pilots formed a line, facing the royal box. On command, they bowed deeply in acknowledgment and homage to their benefactor, Jabba the Hutt, the looming figure in the galaxy's underworld.
As Jabba spoke in huttese with a rumbled deep voice, Kol checked the pod over. Padmé observed all around her, holding Kol's helmet in her hands. Jabba was introducing the players, she realized.
"Fat slug." She heard Kol over the roaring crowd expressing his disdain for Jabba.
Ahead of them, Shmi was kneeling in front of Anakin, her hands on his shoulders.
"Be safe, Annie," she whispered, planting a tender kiss on his cheek, a gesture as natural as any loving mother's. "I love you, sweetie."
He nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "I will, Mom. I love you too." Her smile, warm and reassuring, lingered as she gently moved away, leaving Anakin with a mix of emotions as he prepared for the impending race.
R2-D2 rolled up to Anakin, emitting approving beeps that carried a sense of reassurance. Meanwhile, C-3PO assumed a solemn tone, cautioning against the perils of driving too fast, all the while expressing heartfelt wishes for his master's success.
"R2, 3-Po, go ahead with Mom to the viewing platform." Kol dismissed with droids, before turning to his brother. "Now you listen to me and listen well, Ani." Getting his little brother's undivided attention, Kol grabbed his arm in a brotherly grip. "Focus on the race, focus on your instincts, trust yourself." Pointing to Ani's heart, he tapped his chest. "Trust this above all else."
The boy launched himself at his brother, his arms going around his neck in a hug. "I love you, Kol."
"I love you too, Anakin." The teen pulled back and ruffled Anakin's hair. "Stay safe."
Suddenly a furious roar startled them, and they turned to see Sebulba running away to his pod as fast as he could to avoid the angry Wookiee, who was fixing something on Anakin's pod. The dug had banged hard on a stabilizer of the left engine.
Fortunately, Chewbacca always had their backs. Finishing the simple repair, the Wookiee stomped to them, the picked Anakin up. Grumbling in a series of words and grunts, they two hugged, with Anakin mumbling an 'I love you too, Chewie'.
The roar of the crowd surged to even greater heights. Qui-Gon extended a helping hand, aiding Anakin as he climbed into his Pod. The boy settled into the seat, deftly securing the straps, donning his worn racing helmet, and lowering his goggles into place.
"Are you all set, Annie?" Qui-Gon inquired with a calm assurance. The boy nodded, his eyes focused and intense. Qui-Gon maintained eye contact, offering guidance. "Remember, concentrate on the moment. Feel, don't think. Trust your instincts."
A hand rested on the boy's shoulder, and Qui-Gon's smile conveyed both reassurance and encouragement. "May the Force be with you, Annie,"
As they all walked to the viewing platform, Kol glanced up and saw a speck of what looked like a person hovering over the arena, unnoticed by anyone else. Putting his helmet on, his visor honed on the figure and now he could see who it was.
It was a woman dressed in Mandalorian armor, and, with a half-assed salute, she flew away, propelled by her jetpack.
As they made their way to the viewing platform, Kol's gaze flicked upward, catching a distant figure hovering over the arena—a speck unnoticed by the others. Securing his helmet in place, he activated his visor, honing in on the distant silhouette until its identity became clear.
A woman, clad in Mandalorian armor, soared gracefully through the air. With a casual half-assed salute, she propelled herself away using the jetpack strapped to her back, disappearing into the distance.
"And with a little help from a friendly Mandalorian, there's nothing we can't do."