The Red Mission (Branching Out - Book V)

by kurenohikari

The boy who had left Tatooine with dreams of freedom was gone. In his place stood a Jedi—a man who had faced war, loss, and darkness, and come out stronger for it. And this time, he wasn't fighting for a galaxy. He was fighting for home.

Anakin Skywalker stood at the helm of Ekkreth, hands gripping the edge of the console like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. The stars streaked by outside, a dizzying blur against the black void, but his mind was elsewhere, lost somewhere between the past and the future. His mechanical hand twitched absently, an unconscious reaction to old memories that still refused to settle. It had been months since Count Dooku took it from him, but some scars never heal, not completely.

He let out a long breath, his eyes narrowing as if he could will the galaxy to make sense through sheer frustration alone. "Exegol," he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with dry sarcasm. "The first stop on this galactic tour of nightmares."

From the co-pilot seat, R2-D2 beeped a low, inquisitive note. Anakin shot him a glance, eyebrow raised.

"I know, I know," he said, voice tight but with the barest hint of amusement. "I'm talking to myself again. Don't get used to it."

R2's lights blinked in a pattern that could only be interpreted as sass. Anakin couldn't help the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Even now, after all the chaos, it was the little things that still got to him. Like a snarky droid that had been by his side through it all.

He leaned back in the pilot's chair, crossing his arms over his chest. The hum of the ship was a soothing rhythm beneath his feet, but there was no denying the tension tightening in his shoulders. This mission—this mission—was different. It wasn't just about saving a planet or winning battles. This was about the balance of the Force itself, severing the Sith's hold for good. No ghostly puppeteers whispering in the shadows. No more puppet strings.

"Should've seen this coming," Anakin said aloud, though there was no one to hear him except Artoo. "I should've just Force-pushed Palpatine into the nearest exhaust vent."

R2 gave an indignant whistle.

"Oh come on," Anakin snapped back, waving a hand dismissively. "You know you thought it too."

Anakin leaned back in the pilot's chair, his eyes half-closed as the stars blurred past in quiet, endless lines of light. It was peaceful out here—something he never would have admitted until a few months ago. Back then, he craved the noise, the movement, the thrill of the next fight. Now, though, the silence felt like an old friend. He exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing absentmindedly against the hilt of his lightsaber at his side.

The weight of it was a reminder—solid, real. The kyber crystal inside glowed white, a reflection of his journey, his growth. He traced the contours of the hilt, a blend of rough sandstone and the smooth, ancient bones of a krayt dragon. Tatooine had shaped him in more ways than one, and that saber? It carried the proof of it, like a badge of honor for all the battles—both internal and external—he'd fought to get to this point.

He smirked to himself, eyes flicking open as he gazed out into the nothingness of space. It was almost funny. After everything, he was content. Who would have thought?

"Master Skywalker."

The voice of C-3PO, his protocol droid, cut through the stillness. It wasn't that whiny tone—no, this one was polished, even-keeled, but still managed to sound like it was on the edge of stating the obvious.

"Uh-huh," Anakin muttered, not bothering to turn around. "What now?"

C-3PO shuffled forward, the droid's feet clicking softly on the floor of the cockpit. Anakin could hear the subtle whirr of servos, a sound that had somehow become comforting over the years.

"I merely wanted to suggest," C-3PO began, the usual prim tone tinged with a slight hesitation, "that we might consider stopping for refueling and supplies. Perhaps on Tatooine."

Anakin froze, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his saber, the knuckles on his organic hand going white. Tatooine. Of course, that's what C-3PO would suggest. He was a droid built for practicality, after all. It made sense to him. But to Anakin?

Tatooine wasn't just a planet. It was a wound. He might wear it with pride now, but that did not mean he wanted to reopen it.

For a second, he didn't respond. His jaw clenched as memories flashed uninvited behind his eyes: the stifling heat, the gritty sandstorms that stung his skin, the screams of his mother that haunted his dreams long after she was gone. Tatooine was where it all began. It was where he'd been born a slave and where he'd learned just how much cruelty the galaxy was capable of. It was also where he'd seen the ugliest parts of himself—the raw rage, the uncontrollable need for vengeance. He could still feel the weight of his lightsaber, slicing through the Tuskens like they were nothing. Like he was nothing.

And yet, there was a pull there. A familiarity, sure, but also something more. It wasn't all bad. Tatooine was where he built C-3PO, where he first met Padmé, where he learned how to survive—where he was raised by his mother. And maybe, just maybe, it was where he could learn something about himself again.

But it still stung. Even after all this time.

"Yeah… no," Anakin finally said, voice tight. His eyes stayed locked on the stars, his expression unreadable. "We're not going back there. Not now."

C-3PO hesitated, his glowing eyes flickering slightly. "But, Master Skywalker, our fuel reserves—"

"I said no, C-3PO," Anakin cut him off, sharper than he intended. The droid straightened immediately, servos clicking as if trying to process the sudden shift in tone.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, waving a hand dismissively. "We'll make do. I'll figure something out. Just… drop it."

The droid shifted awkwardly for a moment before retreating with a soft mechanical hum, leaving Anakin alone again with his thoughts. He stood up, pacing across the cockpit with slow, deliberate steps, the hilt of his lightsaber brushing against his side with each movement.

It was ridiculous, really, how much a name could still affect him after all these years. He was a Jedi now—a knight, for kriff's sake—and yet, Tatooine still had this grip on him. A part of him knew he could never escape it. Not really. It was his origin, his crucible.

But he wasn't the same angry, reckless boy who left the planet with nothing but hope and a dream of becoming something more. He had changed. He'd had to change.

He stopped in front of the viewport, hands bracing against the cool transparisteel as he stared out at the stars.

There was a time when he thought the only thing that mattered was power. Becoming the greatest Jedi the galaxy had ever seen. And yeah, maybe part of him still wanted that. But after everything—after losing his mother, after his duel with Dooku, after learning who Palpatine really was—he realized that power wasn't the point. It never had been.

No, the point was understanding. Understanding himself.

There had been moments, dark ones, where he wondered if something was broken inside him. Something fundamental. Maybe it had been when he was a slave, watching people suffer day after day, or maybe it was losing his mother, that sense of helplessness burning like acid in his veins. He'd questioned it, agonized over it—whether his asexuality was the product of all that trauma. Whether it was something that needed fixing.

But after those long, difficult mind-healing sessions with Vokara Che, the healer who'd become something of a guide for him, Anakin had learned to accept the truth. Nothing was broken. There wasn't anything to fix. He was who he was—not because of the things he'd been through, but in spite of them.

He wasn't broken. He was just… Anakin. And that was enough.

His grip loosened on the edge of the viewport, the tension in his shoulders easing as he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

A white crystal. A symbol of clarity, of peace, of his connection to the Force as it was meant to be.

Not twisted. Not corrupted. Just pure.

He stood there for a while, staring at the endless expanse of space, his mind slowly calming, his heart beating in time with the hum of the ship.

And yet, as much as he tried to push it away, the idea of Tatooine lingered. The home he swore he'd never return to. But maybe, just maybe, it was something he needed to face. Not out of fear. Not out of obligation. But to close the chapter once and for all.

"Master Skywalker," C-3PO's voice broke in again, softer this time. "I apologize if I overstepped. But… are you certain you don't wish to—"

"C-3PO," Anakin interrupted, more gently this time. His hand moved to his side, brushing over the sandstone hilt of his saber again, grounding himself in the present. "You are right, we are going to pass by the planet, we might as well stop to refuel and restock."

C-3PO nodded satisfied, as Artoo whirled around in celebration. The ship hummed quietly around them, and Anakin let out a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint, almost sardonic smile.

He stepped back from the viewport, his focus sharpening. Tatooine wasn't far now. And with every passing second, he could feel the pull of the desert growing stronger, like a storm waiting on the horizon.

He tightened his grip on his lightsaber, feeling the smooth texture of the krayt bone beneath his fingers.

"Alright, let's get this over with," he said, and the words came out as more of a sigh than a command.

The droid beeped quietly in agreement, and Anakin turned back toward the cockpit controls, his eyes hardening as the stars began to fade, replaced by the ominous shadow of Tatooine in the distance.

It did not take them long to make it there, Anakin smoothly landed the ship outside of city and cloaked it. The knight stepped off the ramp of Ekkreth, boots sinking into the familiar, unforgiving sands of Tatooine. A gust of hot wind hit him, the kind that felt like it was trying to peel the skin right off your bones. He paused at the bottom, inhaling deeply as he looked around the barren landscape of Mos Espa, the sprawling city of dust and metal that seemed smaller than he remembered. Or maybe it was just him.

"Alright, Artoo," he said, his voice low, almost to himself. The droid trilled behind him, rolling down the ramp with a sense of enthusiasm that only a droid could muster in a place like this. Anakin gave him a sideways glance and smirked. "I don't know why you're excited. It's still a junkyard."

R2 beeped a sarcastic series of whistles, and Anakin chuckled, the sound short and dry.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's just make this quick. Food, fuel, and we're out of here. Got it?"

The droid warbled in agreement, though there was a hint of skepticism in his tone. Anakin knew better than anyone that nothing on Tatooine ever stayed simple for long. Still, he wasn't planning to stick around for a reunion tour. The quicker he could get off this rock, the better.

As they moved into the bustling market, Anakin found himself instinctively slipping into old habits—keeping his head low, hood up, blending into the crowd like any other traveler looking for supplies. The smell of roasted womp rat and spice drifted through the air, mixed with the faint tang of engine oil and sweat. It was as chaotic and vibrant as ever, the noise of haggling merchants and bartering customers swirling around him.

But something felt off. Not in the way of danger, just… different. It wasn't the Tatooine he remembered. The people looked the same—rough, worn by the heat and hardship—but there was something in the air, a sense of change. Maybe it was just him, trying to find significance where there wasn't any. Or maybe the Force was giving him a heads-up that things weren't as simple as they seemed. It wouldn't be the first time.

As they passed a stall selling scrap parts that reminded him too much of Watto's old shop, Anakin's gaze drifted over the sea of faces in the market. For a second, he stopped, heart skipping a beat. There, in the crowd, two familiar figures were making their way toward him, and it was like a flashback hit him straight in the chest.

No way.

Kitster and Wald. His old friends. And… free?

Anakin blinked, the disbelief hitting him harder than any Sith lightning ever could. His feet moved before his brain caught up, and by the time they were within shouting distance, his lips had already pulled into a disbelieving smirk.

"Well, if it isn't the two biggest troublemakers in Mos Espa," he called out, voice loud enough to catch their attention over the noise of the market.

Kitster stopped mid-stride, his face going from casual curiosity to shock in an instant. His dark eyes widened, and his jaw nearly hit the sand. Wald, standing just behind him, had the same look of disbelief plastered across his face, his floppy Rodian ears twitching in surprise.

"Annie?" Kitster breathed, as if saying it too loudly might make him disappear. He looked older, more weathered by the years, but the mischievous spark in his eyes was the same.

Anakin shook his head with a crooked smile, closing the distance between them. "Yeah, it's me. And it's Anakin," he added, with just a hint of playful mock annoyance.

Kitster blinked a few times, clearly still processing what was happening. Then, without warning, he lunged forward and pulled Anakin into a tight hug. The move caught Anakin off guard, and for a second, he just stood there stiffly, his arms awkwardly hovering in the air.

"Alright, alright," Anakin grumbled, patting Kitster's back with a smirk. "You're gonna squeeze the life out of me."

Kitster finally let go, stepping back with a grin so wide it looked like it might split his face in two. "I can't believe it's really you! I thought you were halfway across the galaxy being some big hero."

"Yeah, something like that," Anakin muttered, eyes flicking to Wald, who was still standing there, arms crossed but grinning. "Wald, you're still kicking around here?"

Wald let out a raspy laugh and shook his head. "Kicking around, maybe, but not as a slave anymore," he said, his voice filled with a kind of pride Anakin had never heard from him before. "We're free, Annie. I mean, Anakin."

Anakin's smile faltered just slightly. "Free?" he repeated, his brow furrowing. "How… when did that happen?"

Kitster and Wald exchanged a glance, and then Kitster stepped forward, his expression softening. "It's kind of a long story," he said, his tone carrying the weight of years. "But it started a while ago, right after you left. Queen Amidala—well, her handmaiden, Sabé—came looking for your mom, Shmi."

At that, Anakin's heart clenched. Shmi. The name alone was enough to send a thousand emotions coursing through him—grief, guilt, love.

"She… Sabé couldn't find her," Kitster continued, the words hitting Anakin like a punch to the gut. "But she freed a hundred slaves in her place. Me, Wald, a bunch of others. We've been free ever since."

Anakin felt the air rush out of him, his body going stiff. Sabé had tried to find his mother. She'd tried to save her. His mother had been married to Lars by then, and nothing could change that, but the idea that Sabé—and by extension, Padmé—had cared enough to try? That meant something.

More than he could put into words.

Kitster must've sensed the shift in Anakin's mood because he quickly added, "We've been working with a group now. A rebellion movement, trying to take down the Hutts' grip on the planet."

Anakin's gaze snapped back to him, sharp. "A rebellion? Here?"

Kitster nodded, his expression serious. "It's slow going, but we've made progress. The Hutts aren't invincible. Not if we keep chipping away at them."

Anakin crossed his arms, his mind racing. It made sense. He could feel the change in the air, that sense of something shifting beneath the surface. The Hutts had controlled Tatooine for as long as he could remember, but the people? They were tired. Fed up. It was about time someone did something about it.

"Can't say I'm surprised," Anakin said, though there was an edge of dry amusement in his voice. "Seems like everywhere I go, someone's always starting a rebellion."

Wald laughed, but there was a hint of seriousness in his voice when he said, "Well, if anyone knows how to get under the skin of the big bads, it's you, Anakin."

Anakin's smirk softened, but he didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked down at R2, who was rolling in small circles around them, clearly bored with all the talking. "What do you think, Artoo?" Anakin asked, raising an eyebrow. "You up for sticking it to the Hutts?"

The droid let out a series of excited beeps and whistles, which made Kitster and Wald burst into laughter. Anakin shook his head, fighting back a grin.

"I knew it," he muttered. "Can't take you anywhere without starting a revolution."

But even as he joked, something in his chest tightened. The truth was, he felt something pulling at him here. It wasn't just nostalgia, wasn't just the ghosts of his past. Tatooine was changing, and maybe… maybe it was time for him to play a part in that change.

Kitster slapped him on the shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Come on," he said, grinning. "You can't leave without getting a drink. We've got a lot to catch up on."

Anakin hesitated for a beat, glancing back toward Ekkreth, where C-3PO was likely sulking for being left behind. He should be focused on Exegol. That was the mission. That was where he needed to be. But…

One drink wouldn't hurt.

Besides, it wasn't every day you ran into old friends on the planet you swore you'd never come back to.

"Alright," Anakin finally said, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a grin. "But you're paying, Kitster."

Kitster threw his hands up in mock indignation. "Figures. Jedi or not, you're still a cheapskate, Skywalker."

And just like that, the weight on Anakin's shoulders felt a little lighter. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't just the Chosen One or the Jedi Knight on a mission to save the galaxy.

For a few moments, he was just… Anakin. And that was enough.

Anakin leaned against a rusted post outside the cantina, the edges of his blue Jedi robes fluttering slightly in the hot breeze over his white pants, arms crossed tight over his chest. His eyes were distant, unfocused, but his mind was racing.

Anakin should have felt nothing but joy. His childhood friends were free! But there was something else—something bitter that gnawed at the back of his mind, twisting the taste of relief with a sharp edge of regret.

"Hey, Annie—er, Anakin," Kitster said, leaning back on a barrel next to him, his tone casual but his eyes filled with concern. "You okay? You look like you're about to fight someone."

Wald, standing off to the side, gave a snort of laughter. "That's probably just his face. Can't blame the guy—he's seen some things."

Anakin shot him a sidelong glance, his lips twitching into a half-smirk despite himself. "Yeah, well, you're not wrong," he said, voice dry. "But seriously, I'm fine. Just… thinking."

Kitster tilted his head, brow furrowed. "About what?"

Anakin's gaze drifted back to the sand-covered streets of Mos Espa, the familiar hum of speeders and the clamor of the market filling the background. He hadn't set foot on this planet in years, and yet, nothing had changed. The same dusty streets. The same merchant stalls. The same quiet desperation hidden behind every smile.

He sighed, shaking his head. "You guys... you're free now. I mean, really free," he said, the words coming out slower than he'd intended, like he was trying to wrap his mind around them as he spoke. "That was always the dream, wasn't it? Back when we were kids? We'd talk about it for hours. Racing in the streets, fixing junk speeders... all while dreaming of getting out of this place."

Kitster chuckled, the sound light but filled with an undercurrent of something deeper. "Yeah, I remember," he said, crossing his arms and gazing out into the bustling market. "I remember you saying you'd come back and free all the slaves. That you'd be the one to change things. Guess we were all dreamers, huh?"

Anakin clenched his jaw, the words hitting him harder than he expected. He had wanted to free them. He had promised himself he would. But life—fate, destiny, whatever you wanted to call it—had other plans. He'd been whisked away by the Jedi, caught up in a whirlwind of galactic wars, prophecies, and betrayals. The wide-eyed slave boy from Tatooine had been forced to grow up too fast, his dreams replaced with a lightsaber and the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.

But those dreams had never really died. Not completely.

"I did free them," Anakin muttered, more to himself than anyone else, his voice barely audible over the noise of the market. Kitster and Wald exchanged a confused glance, but before they could ask what he meant, Anakin continued, his tone shifting—harder, but with a flicker of pride. "Not here. Not on Tatooine. But the clones? They were slaves too, whether anyone wants to admit it or not. Born and bred to fight a war they never asked for. And I freed them. Two hundred thousand clones, Kitster. They've got lives now. Families. Homes."

There was a beat of silence, broken only by the sound of R2-D2 beeping softly at Anakin's feet. Kitster's expression shifted, a mix of awe and understanding flickering across his face. "I didn't know that," he said quietly. "That's... that's incredible, Anakin. I mean, really. You did it. You freed them."

Anakin shrugged, though the movement was stiff. "Yeah. But it wasn't Tatooine, was it?"

And there it was. The gnawing bitterness that had been sitting heavy in his chest since the moment Kitster had said the word "free." It wasn't Tatooine. His homeworld, the place that had forged him in fire and sand, was still under the thumb of the Hutts. Still a slave's planet.

He could feel the familiar burn of frustration rising in him, that old, restless anger that had driven him as a boy. But he wasn't that boy anymore. He was a Jedi now. A knight. He had control. He'd learned to let go.

Mostly.

Kitster shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension in the air. "Look, Anakin... I get it. Tatooine—it's always been a mess. But you're doing what you can. You've already done so much. The Hutts? They're a whole different animal."

Wald nodded in agreement, his long Rodian fingers tapping absently on the barrel next to him. "He's right, you know. The Hutts... they've had this planet in their grip for centuries. It's not like you can just waltz in and wave a lightsaber around to fix it. We have been at this for years and we are barely making a dent."

Anakin let out a sharp breath, pushing off the post and taking a few steps forward, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "I know that," he snapped, though his tone wasn't as sharp as it could've been. "But what's the point of all this power if I can't do something about it? What's the point of being the Chosen One, of surviving the Siths, if I can't even free the planet I came from?"

He could feel Kitster's eyes on him, and for a moment, there was silence. Anakin's hand tightened around the hilt of his lightsaber at his side, his knuckles going white. The weight of it felt different here, heavier, like it was reminding him of everything he hadn't done.

Finally, Kitster spoke, his voice quieter, more measured. "You're not the same person you were when you left, Anakin. You've already done more than anyone could have asked for. But this?" He gestured around at the city, the people going about their lives in the shadow of the Hutts' control. "This is a fight too. A different one, yeah. But still a fight."

Anakin stared at him, the words sinking in deeper than he wanted to admit. A fight. It was always a fight. But maybe that was the point. Maybe it wasn't about sweeping in and saving the day in one glorious moment. Maybe it was about the long game, the slow burn of change that started with people like Kitster and Wald, and spread until the galaxy finally tipped the scales.

His mind whirled with possibilities. Could he really do it? Could he, the former slave, the boy who grew up with sand in his teeth and anger in his heart, come back and free his homeworld? It seemed almost poetic. Like everything had been leading him back here, to this moment. But still...

"I don't know," Anakin said, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. "I've spent my whole life trying to save the galaxy. I've fought duels, I've freed people, but... I never came back. I never came back for Tatooine."

Kitster's hand clapped on his shoulder, the suddenness of it pulling Anakin from his thoughts. "You're here now," Kitster said with a crooked grin. "That's a start, isn't it?"

Anakin huffed out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. "Yeah, maybe it is."

The moment lingered, the three of them standing there in the heart of Mos Espa, a place that had once seemed so large and now felt so small. Anakin could see it now—the way things had shifted. The way the people moved, a little more freely, a little more confidently. The undercurrent of rebellion, of hope, was there. It was quiet, but it was there.

Anakin felt the weight of the decision settling on his chest, like a slow-building storm. The Force was buzzing, not in its usual way—no ominous warnings, no clear direction—but something deeper, like a whisper at the edge of his consciousness, nudging him forward. It wasn't pushing him to Exegol, no dark clouds of destiny looming in his mind. No, it was here, in the dusty streets of Mos Espa, with Kitster and Wald by his side, talking about rebellion as if they weren't the same kids who used to fix busted podracers with scrap parts.

He took a breath, his gaze drifting between his two old friends as they spoke, their words blending into the background as his mind raced. Wald was going on about some raid they had planned—something about disrupting a shipment from the Hutts—but Anakin wasn't fully listening. Not yet.

Could it really be this simple? Could he actually stay here, fight for Tatooine, and make the change he'd dreamed of since he was a boy? He'd always imagined it, but it had felt like a fantasy, the kind of impossible dream you tell yourself to keep going when the world around you is a kriffing mess. But now… now it was staring him in the face, as real as the sand beneath his boots.

He let out a breath, cutting Wald off mid-sentence. "Okay, stop," Anakin said, holding up a hand, his tone sharp but not unkind. "Just… give me a second here."

Both Kitster and Wald blinked, their conversation dying instantly as they turned to look at him, a mix of curiosity and concern in their expressions. Kitster's brow furrowed, and Wald tilted his head, his green Rodian ears twitching as if trying to pick up on whatever had shifted in Anakin's demeanor.

Anakin paced a few steps away, boots kicking up little clouds of sand as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to sort through the chaos in his head. His mechanical hand flexed unconsciously, the soft whirr of the servos the only sound for a moment.

"Anakin?" Kitster's voice was cautious, careful not to push too hard. "What's going on?"

Anakin stopped, turning to face them. "What if..." He hesitated, almost surprised by his own thoughts. "What if I stayed?"

That got their attention. Kitster straightened, blinking in surprise, and Wald's eyes widened as he let out a low whistle, clearly not expecting that.

"Wait, stayed?" Kitster repeated, his voice somewhere between excitement and disbelief. "You mean... here? On Tatooine?"

Anakin nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, his fingers drumming against the hilt of his lightsaber as if grounding himself in the decision. "Yeah. I mean, why not? I've been running around the galaxy for years, fighting for the Republic, freeing people from one kind of slavery or another. Why shouldn't I fight for Tatooine? For us?"

Kitster's mouth opened and closed, clearly struggling to find words. Wald, on the other hand, had no such issue.

"Yeah, but aren't you supposed to be, you know..." Wald gestured vaguely into the air. "Saving the galaxy or whatever it is Jedi do these days?"

Anakin let out a short laugh, dry and humorless. "Yeah, that's the idea." He glanced down at the sand, kicking at it absently. "I've got a mission. I'm supposed to head to Exegol and... well, it's complicated. Let's just say it's a big deal. Sith stuff."

Wald snorted. "It's always Sith stuff with you Jedi."

Anakin shot him a look, but it lacked any real heat. "You're not wrong," he muttered. He paused, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the weight of the galaxy for just a moment. "But the more I think about it, the more it feels like maybe... this is where I need to be."

Kitster took a step forward, his brow still furrowed, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Are you serious? You'd stay and help us fight? The Hutts aren't exactly the same as battling Sith Lords, Anakin. We're just... regular people."

Anakin met his gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a small, almost sardonic smile. "Yeah, well, I was a regular person once too. Believe it or not."

Kitster chuckled, though there was still a note of disbelief in his voice. "I don't know if I can believe that, man. Even as a kid you were a different kind of beast. The first human to have won a Boonta Eve Classic in over three hundred years."

Anakin shrugged, a hint of dry amusement in his eyes. "We were all just kids here once, right? You, me, Wald... Look at what you've done already." He gestured around them, to the streets, to the subtle energy of rebellion humming beneath the surface. "You're fighting the Hutts. You're making a difference."

Kitster and Wald exchanged a look, their faces a mix of excitement and doubt. It was clear that the idea of Anakin joining them felt like something out of one of their old childhood stories. But the more Anakin spoke, the more real it became.

Kitster scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to temper his enthusiasm. "It's not going to be easy, you know. The Hutts… they've got the whole planet wrapped around their slimy fingers. We're talking bribes, hired muscle, bounty hunters. And if they even get a whiff that you're involved, it's going to turn into a war."

Wald, always the pragmatist, crossed his arms and tilted his head. "Are you sure about this, Anakin? You've got a whole galaxy to deal with, don't you? What makes this fight any different?"

Anakin paused, his eyes drifting out over the horizon, where the twin suns were just starting to sink toward the dunes. The familiar sight stirred something deep inside him, something he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Tatooine is where I'm from," he said quietly, almost to himself. "It's where I was born. It's where my mom was born. And... it's where I was a slave."

His jaw clenched, the memories surfacing like ghosts from the past. He could still hear the chains rattling, still feel the burn of the Tatooine sun on his back as he worked for Watto, barely scraping by. He hadn't thought about it in years—hadn't let himself.

He turned back to them, his voice steady but laced with determination. "If I can free the clones, if I can fight for the Republic, why the hell shouldn't I fight for my own home? For the people who are still stuck in chains?"

Kitster's face softened, his eyes shining with something like admiration. "You could really do it, couldn't you? You could free Tatooine."

Anakin didn't answer right away. He wasn't so sure himself. But what he did know was that the thought of leaving Tatooine, of abandoning this chance to make real change, felt... wrong. The Force wasn't pulling him toward Exegol like it had been before. No, it was here, swirling around him, nudging him forward.

Maybe this was the mission. Maybe this was his destiny all along.

"Look," Anakin finally said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not promising anything. But if you need me—if you really need me to help with this rebellion—then I'm in. No more dreams. No more excuses. We fight."

Kitster let out a breath he didn't seem to realize he'd been holding, a wide grin spreading across his face. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... welcome to the rebellion, Anakin Skywalker."

Wald grinned, shaking his head in disbelief. "Just like old times, huh?"

Anakin smirked, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. "Not quite like old times." He glanced down at the lightsaber at his side. "I've got a few more tricks up my sleeve now."

Kitster chuckled, the sound light and genuine. "Yeah, I'll bet you do."

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the gravity of the decision settling over them like a blanket. The air felt different now—charged, alive with the possibility of change.

"But before we do anything, there is one stop we must do," Anakin felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. He didn't know how this fight would end, or if he would ever make it to Exegol. But right now, in this moment, it didn't matter. Because he knew exactly where he needed to be.

Later that day, Anakin stood in the doorway of the modest homestead, the wind kicking up swirls of dust around his boots as he glanced over at the moisture vaporators dotting the landscape. The familiar sight of the Lars' farm—the low, rounded structure dug into the Tatooine sand, the distant hum of machinery, the faint smell of moisture in the arid air—felt both comforting and strange. He hadn't been back here in so long, and yet it was like stepping into a memory he'd tried to bury.

Owen Lars stood just inside the door, arms crossed, his expression hard and unreadable. Anakin could practically feel the tension radiating off him. The farm was his sanctuary, his escape from the chaos of the galaxy, and now Anakin had dropped in like a sandstorm, talking about rebellion and freeing the slaves. The last thing Owen wanted was to be dragged into another conflict.

"Anakin," Owen said slowly, his voice low and cautious. "I don't know what you think you're doing here, but this—" He gestured out to the endless expanse of desert, the farm they had worked so hard to build. "This is our life. We've worked hard to keep this place going. The Hutts don't bother us much out here. It's... quiet."

Anakin raised an eyebrow, his hands resting on his hips as he looked around, then shot Owen a dry smile. "Yeah, I'm sure you've had a nice, quiet life. You think the Hutts are just going to let you keep it that way? They'll come for you, Owen. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they'll come. And then what? You think you can just keep hiding out here, hoping they don't notice?"

Owen's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond right away. His eyes flicked over to Beru, who was standing behind him, her face a mix of concern and something else—something sharper. Determination. Beru wasn't one to speak up often, but when she did, people listened.

And Anakin could see it now—she wasn't just listening to Owen. She was thinking. Processing. The idea of rebellion didn't scare her. If anything, it seemed to be lighting a fire inside her.

"Owen," Beru said softly, stepping forward, her voice calm but firm. "He's right. We can't keep pretending we're safe just because we've kept our heads down. How long before the Hutts want more? How long before they start taking from us, like they do to everyone else?"

Owen frowned, looking at her like he didn't recognize the person speaking. "Beru... this is our life. We've got the farm, we've got each other. Why risk that? We have already lost father and Shmi to the Tuskens, we do not need to anger the Hutts as well."

She didn't back down, meeting his gaze with an intensity that took Anakin by surprise. "Because there's more at stake than just our farm, Owen. There are people out there—our people—still suffering. You know my family's history. You know what the Whitesuns went through under the Hutts. I swore I'd never turn my back on that." Her voice softened, but the conviction didn't waver. "This is our chance to make a difference."

Owen shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting from Beru to Anakin and then to the horizon, as if looking for an answer in the sand. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and Anakin could see the struggle playing out on his face. Owen wasn't a coward; he was just... practical. He wanted to keep his family safe, to protect what they had. And in a place like Tatooine, where survival was often the only thing you could hope for, Anakin understood that.

But Owen didn't see the bigger picture. Not yet.

"Owen," Anakin said, his voice softer now, less challenging. "I get it. You don't want to drag your family into a fight. But the thing is, the fight's already here. It's been here your whole life. The Hutts control everything. You think you're free, but you're not. None of us are."

Owen's eyes flicked up to meet Anakin's, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. The air between them felt thick, heavy with unspoken tension. Then, slowly, Owen's shoulders slumped just a little, the fight going out of him.

"Damn it," Owen muttered, shaking his head. "You always did know how to stir up trouble, didn't you?"

"It's a gift." Anakin smirked, the old, familiar dry humor creeping back into his voice. "Not to mention, my Force-given duty as your younger step-brother."

Beru smiled gently, placing a hand on Owen's arm, her voice softening as she spoke. "We can't ignore this anymore, Owen. If we don't stand up now, when will we?"

There was a beat of silence as Owen looked between them—his wife, his stepbrother—and then finally, with a resigned sigh, he nodded.

"Alright," Owen said, his tone reluctant but genuine. "I'm in. But don't expect me to go running off with a blaster in hand. I've got a farm to run."

Anakin couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry, we'll leave the blasters to the professionals." He turned slightly, gesturing toward Kitster and Wald, who were hanging back near the edge of the homestead, waiting for the conversation to wrap up. "You can help with logistics. You've got resources. We'll need that."

Owen crossed his arms again, though the tension had eased from his shoulders. "Fine. But if this blows up in our faces, it's on you, Skywalker."

Anakin shrugged, his tone easy and full of that dry, cutting humor. "Pretty sure everything's always on me. So what's new?"

Kitster and Wald wandered over, grinning like they couldn't believe what they'd just witnessed. Kitster clapped Anakin on the back, shaking his head. "I can't believe you convinced Owen Lars to join a rebellion. They have one of the best moisture farms in the outskirts of Mos Espa. I thought it would take a miracle."

Anakin rolled his eyes, smirking as he pushed Kitster's hand off his shoulder. "Yeah, well, miracles aren't my specialty. But apparently guilt-tripping people into action is."

Wald chuckled, his green Rodian eyes gleaming with amusement. "Hey, whatever works. We need all the help we can get."

They all stood in a loose circle, the five of them—Anakin, Kitster, Wald, Owen, and Beru—around the Lars' modest home. It was a strange group, Anakin realized. They were rebels, sure, but not in the way people imagined. They weren't soldiers. They weren't strategists. They were just... people. People who had lived under the shadow of the Hutts for too long. People who had decided enough was enough.

Anakin crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the group. "Alright," he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "If we're doing this, we need a plan. We can't just charge in guns blazing. We need to be smart about this."

Owen nodded, his practical side kicking in. "We've got to be careful. The Hutts have spies everywhere. One wrong move, and they'll shut us down before we even get started."

Kitster nodded in agreement. "We've been working in small groups, trying to disrupt their supply lines, hit their operations without drawing too much attention. But it's slow going. We need something bigger. Something that'll make them take notice."

Owen exhaled sharply, his eyes scanning the horizon as if he could already see the danger coming. "This is gonna be a hell of a fight."

Anakin smirked, the weight of his decision settling on him, but instead of feeling burdened, he felt... ready. This was the fight he was meant to fight. This was why he'd come back to Tatooine.

"Yeah," Anakin said, his voice full of that old Skywalker swagger. "But I've fought worse."

Kitster grinned, shaking his head. "You better not be rusty, Skywalker. We're counting on you."

Anakin chuckled, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his white-bladed lightsaber. "Don't worry, Kitster. I've still got a few tricks left."

The suns had dipped low by the time they all settled around the Lars' modest kitchen table, the last rays of light casting long shadows across the homestead. The familiar warmth of the evening air mingled with the quiet hum of moisture vaporators, and inside, the dim glow of old lamps flickered around them. Owen sat at one end of the table, arms crossed but less tense than before, while Beru sat beside him, her face serious but eager. Kitster and Wald lounged in their chairs, both looking a little out of place but clearly energized by the conversation.

Anakin, however, was pacing. His arms were crossed, his brow furrowed as he moved back and forth across the room like a caged loth-wolf, clearly deep in thought. R2-D2 was trundling around the edge of the room, beeping intermittently, as if weighing in on the strategy himself—though it was hard to say if anyone was paying attention to him.

"Well, we've got two options," Anakin said, breaking the silence, his voice laced with the dry, clipped edge of someone used to cutting through endless debate. "We either rally the people you've already got—small pockets of resistance, the ones working behind the scenes—or we form something new. But either way, we're going to have to move fast. The Hutts won't sit still for long once they figure out we're organizing."

Kitster raised a hand like he was in class, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Alright, but... what's the difference? If we rally what we've already got, aren't we still forming something new?"

Anakin stopped pacing long enough to glare at him, the kind of look that said don't get cute with me, but his lips twitched in a brief smirk. "I'm talking about scale. We can either stay small—hit-and-run tactics, little disruptions—or we go big. Something the Hutts can't ignore. If we want to free the slaves, we're going to need more than just a few raids. We're talking full-scale rebellion."

Wald, who had been tapping his fingers restlessly on the table, spoke up. "Going big means making a lot of noise. We're talking criminal syndicates, bounty hunters, and probably half the galaxy's scum coming after us."

Owen shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his practical mind at war with the rebellion that was forming around him. "The last thing we need is to bring the whole galaxy's attention down on us," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "We're farmers, not soldiers."

"You're right," Anakin said, but there was a gleam in his eye as he shot a look at Owen. "You're not soldiers. But I am a Jedi Knight."

That hung in the air for a second, the weight of it settling in as everyone exchanged glances. It was the unspoken truth between them: Anakin wasn't just an ex-slave. He was a trained Jedi, hardened by battles that had taken him to the edge of the galaxy and back again. The Hutts weren't dealing with a couple of angry farmers or back-alley smugglers this time.

They were dealing with him.

R2 beeped again, rolling over to Anakin's side, his dome swiveling up to nudge at his leg. Anakin glanced down, almost as if remembering the droid was there. He chuckled, giving R2 a soft pat on the dome. "Yeah, I know, buddy. You've got some ideas too, don't you?"

Kitster leaned forward, elbows on the table. "So, what do you suggest? I mean, you've fought in wars. It is well known how you earned the moniker of the Hero of Naboo. However, we haven't. You tell us, Skywalker—what's the move?"

Anakin's eyes narrowed in thought as he resumed pacing, his boots scuffing lightly on the worn floor. His mind flickered back to the countless strategies, each battle is a different beast, each enemy requires a different kind of strike. But this wasn't a droid army. This wasn't Palpatine's scheming or the Separatists' cold calculation.

This was the Hutts. Brutal. Unpredictable. Self-serving.

"We hit them where it hurts most," Anakin said finally, stopping to face the group. "Their credits. We disrupt their operations—spice, weapons, whatever they're smuggling—and we make sure they feel it. They won't care if we free a few slaves here and there, but if we start bleeding their profits dry? They'll come looking."

Beru, who had been quietly absorbing everything, leaned forward, her voice firm but steady. "And when they come looking? What then? They'll retaliate. They'll hit back harder."

Anakin nodded, acknowledging the truth of it. "They will. And that's when we hit them even harder. We don't let up. The Hutts have ruled Tatooine for generations, but they're not invincible. They've gotten comfortable, sloppy. They think no one would dare stand up to them. But we're not going to give them a choice."

Owen frowned, clearly still uneasy. "That's all well and good, but we're going to need more people. A lot more people. Right now, we've got a handful of farmers, some old friends from Mos Espa, and..." He gestured vaguely toward Kitster and Wald. "A couple of adrenaline junkies who like causing trouble."

Wald grinned, clearly pleased with the description. "Hey, I resemble that remark."

Kitster chuckled, but his face grew serious again quickly. "He's right, though. We're gonna need more fighters. There's only so much we can do with a few blasters and a bad attitude."

Anakin's brow furrowed, his mind racing through possibilities. "We need to get the people on our side. If we can show them that we're not just some fringe group, that we're serious about taking down the Hutts... we'll have a movement. But we need to make a statement first. Something big."

"Like what?" Owen asked, skeptical. "Blowing up Jabba's palace? That'll just get us all killed."

Anakin smirked, though there was a dangerous edge to it. "Not quite. But close."

Beru raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "What are you thinking, Anakin?"

He stepped closer to the table, his voice low, full of that intense, focused energy that had carried him through countless battles. "We target one of their major operations. Something they can't afford to lose—like a spice refinery or one of their slave auctions. We shut it down, free as many people as we can, and make sure the whole planet knows about it."

Kitster's eyes lit up at the idea, his mind clearly already racing with possibilities. "A slave auction? That would hit them right where it hurts. But they keep those places guarded, Anakin. We'd need a team. A real team."

Anakin looked around the room, his eyes landing on each of them—Owen, Beru, Kitster, Wald. They weren't soldiers, not in the traditional sense, but they were ready. Ready enough. And more than that, they had something the Hutts didn't: hope.

"I'll handle the team," Anakin said, the confidence in his voice unmistakable. "We'll start small, hit one of their operations, and go from there. But once we make our move, there's no turning back."

Owen exhaled sharply, his eyes scanning the table before landing on Beru, who gave him a soft but encouraging smile. He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "I still can't believe we're doing this."

Anakin smiled, the expression almost predatory. "Believe it. We're just getting started."

R2 beeped excitedly, as if eager to get the plan underway, and Anakin glanced down at him with a smirk. "You're in, too, huh? Thought so."

The room seemed to settle for a moment, the gravity of what they were planning sinking in. They were about to go up against the most powerful crime syndicate in the galaxy. It wasn't just a fight for freedom anymore—it was a war.

However, Anakin didn't feel the weight of it crushing him. He felt... ready. Determined.

Kitster broke the silence, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "Alright, then. Let's go kick some Hutt ass."

Wald snorted, shaking his head. "You realize they've got rancors, right?"

Kitster waved him off with a laugh. "Yeah, yeah. We've got Skywalker. Same thing."

Anakin's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and grim resolve. "Let's see if the Hutts are ready for a Jedi."

The group leaned in closer, the outlines of their plan starting to take shape, the soft hum of R2's beeps filling the air as they debated logistics, strategies, risks. The suns had long since set, but inside that small homestead, there was a growing sense of momentum. A spark that hadn't been there before.

For Tatooine, for the people still bound in chains, for the future they were about to fight for—Anakin knew this was just the beginning.

As the night air settled over the Lars homestead like a blanket, cooling the heat of the twin suns that had scorched the sand during the day. Inside, the low buzz of conversation had slowed, voices quieter now as the group shifted from spirited debate to the final stages of planning. The table, cluttered with datapads, scraps of paper, and half-empty cups of water, looked like the aftermath of a war council. And in a way, it was.

Anakin leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he studied the rough map they'd sketched out of the Hutt outpost. His mechanical hand tapped rhythmically against his arm, the slight whirring sound barely audible over R2's occasional beeps. Kitster and Wald were hunched over the table, pointing out details and whispering in hushed tones, while Beru stood by the counter, refilling cups like it was just another evening on the farm. Owen, predictably, had stayed quiet for most of the planning, his arms crossed, but he wasn't sulking anymore. He was listening. Calculating. The practical side of him was starting to see the possibilities, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud.

Anakin let his eyes drift over the scene. It was strange, sitting here with these people, planning a rebellion against the Hutts like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy. Years ago, he would've been consumed with anger—driven by that fiery, relentless need to act, to fix things. But now? Now, the anger was still there, but it was different. Controlled. Purposeful.

He felt... calm. Focused.

Back then, all he had were dreams. Dreams of freeing the slaves, of taking down the Hutts, of making things right. But they were just that—dreams. Wild, impossible fantasies fueled by frustration and the sense that the galaxy was too big, too cruel, and he was too small to change anything.

Now, though... now those dreams were standing on the edge of becoming reality.

Anakin glanced up, his eyes catching Beru's as she set down a cup in front of Owen. She smiled at him, and there was something in that smile—something quiet and knowing. She didn't say a word, but she didn't have to. Beru had always been good at understanding people without them needing to explain. She could see the change in him, just like he could feel it.

He wasn't that angry boy anymore. He was a Jedi.

More than that—he was Anakin Skywalker, fully aware of who he was and what he stood for.

Kitster leaned back, letting out a long sigh as he rubbed his eyes. "Alright, I think we've got it," he said, his voice tired but excited. "We go in at first light, hit them hard and fast. If we can cut the power to the security systems, we'll have a window to get the slaves out before anyone can call for reinforcements."

Wald nodded, his fingers still tracing the lines of the map. "We'll need to move quickly. They've got patrols, but if we time it right, we can catch them between shifts. It won't be easy, but it's doable."

Anakin stood up, stretching out his shoulders as he moved to stand beside the table, looking down at the crude map. His expression was calm, but his mind was already running through every possible scenario, every detail of the plan.

"We've got the element of surprise," Anakin said, his voice steady, commanding. "The Hutts won't expect a full assault. They'll think we're just another small group of rebels. That's our advantage."

Owen snorted softly, though there was a reluctant grin on his face. "You're always thinking about war, aren't you?"

Anakin glanced at him, his smirk laced with dry humor. "War's what I'm good at."

There was a beat of silence before Kitster grinned, shaking his head. "I don't know what's crazier—that we're actually doing this, or that it might actually work."

Anakin shot him a look, one eyebrow raised. "It's going to work, Kitster."

Kitster chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, Jedi Knight. I trust you."

The room settled again, the energy shifting from tense to something more focused, more certain. They had a plan. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.

Anakin took a slow breath, letting his eyes drift over the group again. Kitster, Wald, Owen, Beru—even Artoo, who was now parked by the door, beeping softly to himself. These were the people who would fight with him, who would stand by his side against the Hutts. They weren't soldiers. They weren't warriors. But they were ready.

He wasn't running anymore. He wasn't haunted by his past. He was standing in the present, fully aware of who he was and what he needed to do.

"You alright, Anakin?" Beru's voice broke through his thoughts, soft but curious.

Anakin looked at her, surprised for a moment that she could see through him so easily. He smiled, a real smile this time, not the sarcastic smirk he usually wore like armor. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I am."

Beru smiled back, her eyes filled with warmth. "Good. Because we're going to need you tomorrow."

Anakin chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

Owen, still watching from his seat, leaned forward with a tired but resolved expression. "You really think we can pull this off, Anakin?"

Anakin met his stepbrother's gaze, his voice steady and full of that old Skywalker confidence. "I don't think. I know." The room fell silent again, Anakin took one last look at the map before turning away, heading toward the door. "Get some rest," he said over his shoulder. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

R2-D2 trilled and followed after him, clearly ready for whatever came next, and the others watched as Anakin disappeared into the night, the stars twinkling above the dunes outside.

Kitster leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. "So... anyone else feel like we're about to do something incredibly stupid?"

Wald snorted, a grin spreading across his face. "Stupid? Sure. But that's never stopped us before."

Owen exchanged a look with Beru, who gave him a soft, reassuring smile. "He's different now," she said quietly. "Anakin's not who he used to be. We can trust him."

Owen sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know."

Outside, Anakin stood under the vast Tatooine sky, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heat of the day. He stared out at the stars, his mind strangely clear. The future wasn't certain. The plan could fail. The Hutts could crush them all before they even got started.

R2-D2 rolled up beside him, letting out a series of low, thoughtful beeps. Anakin glanced down at the droid, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, I know," he said softly, his voice tinged with dry humor. "This is crazy, even for me."

R2-D2 gave an indignant buzz, his dome swiveling as if to say, since when has that ever stopped you?

Anakin huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Good point."

He turned his gaze back to the horizon, watching as the suns dipped lower, their fading light casting long shadows across the desert. The sands seemed endless, stretching out before him in waves of gold and crimson, but instead of feeling small beneath them, Anakin felt... anchored. Grounded.

This was home. As much as he had tried to forget it, as much as he had buried the memories of this place under years of war and conflict, it had always been there, waiting. And now, he was back. Not as the boy who had left, but as the man who had returned to finish what that boy had started.

A creak of floorboards behind him drew his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Beru approaching. She had a towel slung over one shoulder, her hands still damp from washing dishes, but there was a soft smile on her face as she stepped up beside him, gazing out at the three moons.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said, her voice quiet, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile peace of the moment.

Anakin nodded, turning his gaze back to the sky. "Yeah," he said softly. "It is."

They stood there in silence for a moment, the only sounds the faint rustle of wind and the quiet hum of R2-D2's processors. It was one of those rare moments that felt suspended in time, like the galaxy itself was holding its breath, waiting for whatever came next.

Beru broke the silence first, her voice gentle but filled with a quiet strength that Anakin had always admired. "You've changed."

Anakin glanced at her, brow raised slightly. "What do you mean?"

She turned to face him fully, her blue eyes studying him in that calm, knowing way of hers. "When you left here an year ago... you were angry. Driven, yes, but... there was so much anger in you. I could see it, even if you didn't."

Anakin felt a flicker of something—old memories, old feelings—rise up in his chest, but he pushed them aside. "It feels like I was just a kid back then," he said, his tone guarded but not defensive. "I didn't know any better."

Beru smiled softly. "Maybe. But now? Now, you know who you are. I can see it in you, Anakin. There's a calmness in you that wasn't there before."

Anakin let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. "I had to learn the hard way," he admitted quietly, the weight of his words heavier than the air between them. "I made a lot of mistakes."

Beru nodded, her expression gentle but understanding. "We all do."

Anakin was quiet for a moment, his mind wandering through the years of battles, losses, and the endless training sessions that had consumed so much of his life. But he wasn't that person anymore. He'd faced his demons. He'd found peace—not in the way he thought he would, but in a deeper, quieter way.

"I'm not here to fight for myself," Anakin said finally, his voice steady. "This isn't about me. This is about them. The people who've been stuck here, under the Hutts' control, suffering like we did when we were kids. I can't just walk away from that."

Beru's smile widened just a little, her eyes soft with understanding. "That's why you're different. You've found your purpose."

Anakin didn't respond right away. He didn't need to. He could feel it. The fire inside him wasn't the wild, reckless blaze it had once been. It was controlled, focused, like the glow of his lightsaber. He wasn't fighting out of anger or revenge. He was fighting for something bigger than himself.

Behind them, the door creaked open, and Owen stepped out, his face still etched with that mix of reluctance and resignation. He gave Anakin a long look before crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, I guess this is happening."

Anakin smirked, turning to face his stepbrother. "You sound thrilled."

Owen shook his head, but there was a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. "I'm just trying to figure out how I ended up in the middle of another one of your crazy plans."

"You married into it," Anakin said, his voice dry.

Owen rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He moved to stand beside Beru, his gaze shifting out toward the horizon as the last sliver of sun disappeared beneath the dunes. "You sure you're ready for this, Anakin? I mean... the Hutts are dangerous. You've got experience, but this isn't the core worlds. These are real criminals. Outlaws of the worst kind. People who won't hesitate to kill you if you get in their way."

Anakin's smirk faded, replaced by something more serious, more resolute. "I know what I'm up against," he said quietly. "And I'm not afraid of them."

Owen glanced at him, his brow furrowing. "You're not the same kid who left this place."

"No," Anakin agreed, his gaze steady. "I'm not."

There was a moment of silence between them, the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air. Finally, Owen sighed, shaking his head. "Just... try not to get yourself killed, alright? Beru would never let me hear the end of it."

Beru smiled softly, but there was a glimmer of worry in her eyes. "Take care of yourself, Anakin."

Anakin nodded, his expression softening. "I will. And we'll free Tatooine. I promise."

The night settled in around them, the stars beginning to twinkle in the vast sky above, and Anakin could feel the resolve settling in his chest like a stone. The boy who had left Tatooine with dreams of freedom was gone. In his place stood a Jedi—a man who had faced war, loss, and darkness, and come out stronger for it.

And this time, he wasn't fighting for a galaxy. He was fighting for home