Author's note: this chapter has been edited to erase grammar and spelling mistakes

Hello there!

I'm very sorry for taking so long to update - I started a PhD program and it's kicking my butt. I'll do my best to keep the new chapters coming quicker from now on. This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but the next one is already on the way!

Thanks to everyone who left a review, this really makes my day (or week or month) every time! For the records, the following chapters contain direct quotes from the Star Wars: The Clone Wars novel series (legends)

Answering reviews:

Yodathethinker: yep, totally did. Quin's trying to help his overwound friend to find some calm

Djberneman: Thank you so much! Focusing on the emotional burden placed on Anakin is one of my main points and I'm so happy about your comment.

guest: Thank you so much for your extensive reviews! They are always exciting to read. I can't answer all of them without spoiling my own story; but here's some thoughts. You'll notice I've changed the original Canon timelines a bit to better support my alternate story line. Ahsoka now finally made it into the picture, and she and Kenshin will meet in the next chapter. We will see Asaij Ventress (and Quinlan) later again when Kenshin will seek her help to complete a mission. The paths he will take might be darker and darker and if he'll choose to return to the Jedi Order, he might have bigger problems to worry about than another Padawan. Nari will play an important role at the end and will acquire her own lightsaber somewhat soon, but who will train her? It is correct that the Jedi Order begins to be short on forces and pushes initiates and padawans prematurely into their next stages. Kenshin Kano, however, is a controversial figure in the Jedi Order and that is putting it mildly. You are right about Cin Drallig who respects Kano's skill with a lightsaber, but thinks of him as an heretic and a disgrace to the Jedi Order. Quite a few Jedi, especially Council members, share this very critical view of Kenshin. The lines of what is good and bad and whom you can trust become more and more blurry and both Anakin and Kenshin will find themselves struggling. Even the sharpest sword won't be of help when you don't know where to strike or if your enemy is invisible.

~ 21 ~

Broken heart of gold

- What you lose you will find again, but what you throw away you never get back -

***** Ryloth orbit, one and a half years after the battle of Geonosis

Birds chirped, and the sunlight glistening on the water made the lake appear like a silver-golden mirror. Both his flesh hand and his cybernetic one caressed her flawless, warm skin, his entire world reflected in her eyes. There was her. There was him. There was softness and love—nothing but love in this moment, like galaxies uniting in a mesmerizing, star-glittering embrace. The Naboo holy man spoke the words, and they kissed. Husband and wife. He could feel the warmth in his heart as much as he could feel the golden sunrays on his skin. For the first time in his life, Anakin felt truly and genuinely happy.

A sharp beeping noise cut through the soft birdsong, jerking him back to the present.

"Kriff! Blast it," he muttered to himself, shoving the daydream away. Focus! A space battle was about to begin, and here he was, lost in memories. His Padawan, Ahsoka, had just launched with her squadron of starfighters—her first command. What in all seven Corellian hells was wrong with him? Daydreaming in the heat of action was so unlike him. R2 let out a series of admonishing beeps.

"Yeah, buddy, I know. I'm sorry."

The black void of space was suddenly lit up by clouds of explosions and streaks of red plasma, but Ahsoka's blue squadron held their own, making a run for the main Separatist ship. For a moment, it seemed like everything was under control. But then… four more Separatist battle cruisers appeared, reinforcing the blockade. The nightmare had just begun.

Anakin and Admiral Yularen both drew a sharp breath. Ahsoka and her squadron were capable, but not this capable.

Separatist fighters swarmed the viewscreens like a hive of angry insects. The run for the main cruiser was suicide, and now they needed every fighter to defend their own fleet. Anakin barked the order for Ahsoka to retreat, but his Padawan, filled with confidence and her own ideas, hesitated. Only after his third bellowed command did she finally turn her squadron back toward the already damaged Republic cruisers. But it was too late. Vulture droids and enemy fighters pursued them relentlessly. By the time they entered the relative safety of the hangar, the greater part of her pilots was gone—evaporated by angry enemy fire in the cold void of space.

In the aftermath of the battle, Anakin and his still-new apprentice had their first heated argument. They both apologized quickly, but the tension lingered. It had been a trap, and even if Ahsoka had obeyed immediately, there might not have been a way to save everyone. There was no way to prepare for the loss of life—whether close companions or soldiers under your command. Anakin knew that all too well.

The Ryloth blockade was eventually overcome, but not through careful planning. The victory came from a strategy that bordered on madness—a strategy Anakin's former Master, Kenshin, would have called "cutting off the dragon's head." With limited resources, Anakin saw no other option but to take out the enemy command. He did so by evacuating one of the already damaged cruisers and crashing it into the Separatist battle station, jettisoning at the last moment in an escape pod. The remaining forces, under Ahsoka's command, backed him up.

Anakin's bold plan and Ahsoka's equally daring tactics won the battle. Ryloth's people were saved. But the victory was bittersweet. The grief and devastating sense of loss overwhelmed Ahsoka Tano

Days later, back on Coruscant, Anakin still saw no change in his young charge's mood. She had lost nearly her entire squadron because she had made a wrong decision. Her mentor sensed the guilt emanating from her in intense, cruel waves. She blamed herself, and solely herself, for every single death.

Anakin knew that feeling all too well. He had been carrying it for years. The memory of losing his mother still haunted him, a demon that gnawed at his soul. He didn't want Ahsoka to suffer that way.

At last, an idea came to him. There might not be a way to erase her pain, but he could show her that he understood. When his first Master, Atal, had died, Yoda had sent him to New Holstice, a planet that housed a monument to all Jedi killed since the formation of the Republic. The monument, composed of thousands of brightly glowing insects, had left the young Jedi in awe. While it hadn't eased his grief, the ritual of honoring Master Atal had brought some sense of closure.

He didn't have the time to take Ahsoka to New Holstice, but he managed to acquire some of the mesmerizing moths. They would glow just as beautifully in the Temple's gardens as they did on their home planet.

Ahsoka followed him wordlessly to a tree—a fire glow tree native to Kenshin's homeworld, and it had been, unsurprisingly, his master's favourite tree. Its finely fingered leaves shone a bright, warm red. Anakin pulled out a jar, inside which the glowing insects danced.

"What are these?" the young Togruta asked, curiosity briefly wiping away her tears.

"Memory moths," Anakin explained softly. "We will never forget the ones we lost, and these moths are a special way of honoring their memory. Little flying, living memorials. They're said to be immortal and to whisper the name you tell them for all eternity. For each moth you release, you say the name of the one you want to honor and remember."

He handed Ahsoka the jar. "Technically, they're only for Jedi. But the Clones we lost…"

"The men I lost! It's all my fault!" Ahsoka's voice broke as she hung her head, her shoulders shaking with renewed sobs.

"Ahsoka," Anakin said gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Yes, you need to be more mindful of your decisions, and you do need to listen to orders. But your intentions were good. You only wanted to do your best. The cruelty of war is that eventually, you will lose troopers—troopers who have become your friends and brothers. That, Ahsoka, is the reality of command. It's inevitable! I don't mean to lessen the importance of the people we lose. It's something we have to face in this war. We must honor them, but we mustn't let it tear us apart."

With wide, sad eyes, Ahsoka accepted the jar from him.

"Tucker," she whispered, releasing the first moth. It flew out of the jar, its glowing wings casting a soft light on her tear-streaked face.

"Axe."

"Slammer."

"Swoop."

Name by name, she whispered, and one by one, the glowing moths danced away into the night. Ahsoka had said the names of all the lost Clones in her squadron, but one moth remained.

Anakin gently shook the jar, coaxing the last moth out. It hovered in front of his face, its soft glow illuminating the tears welling in his eyes.

"Kenshin," he said, and a lone tear slipped down his cheek. The moth didn't fly away like the others had. Instead, it hovered there, as if watching him, before finally landing on his hand.

For a moment, Anakin was astonished. Then irritation flared. He had wanted to honor Kenshin, to find some solace in this small ritual. And yet, this tiny insect seemed to defy him. He shook his hand, but the moth wouldn't budge.

"Go away," he snapped, trying to shake the moth off. But the stubborn creature merely hovered above his hand, refusing to leave. Not even your memory moth can behave like it's supposed to. Stubborn bantha head! Why couldn't I save you?

"Kenshin was your Master, right?" Ahsoka's voice was soft, almost hesitant.

Anakin felt a sharp retort rise in his throat, but the words stuck there, trapped by the weight of his grief.

"Yes," he finally said, his voice cracking.

Ahsoka reached out and took his hand, holding it gently. "What was he like?" she asked. "Tell me about him."

Anakin stared at the glowing moth hovering before him, his vision blurring with unshed tears.

"He was kind. Compassionate. Brave and brutally honest. Strong—the strongest person I've ever known. He was a true Jedi. He always fought for what was right, no matter how hard it was, no matter the consequences, no matter what the Council said. He believed in me when no one else did. We didn't get along at first, but from the beginning, he accepted me for who I was. Nobody else ever did."

He hung his head. More tears dropped. He was beyond the point of caring if a 15-year-old could handle her Master having a mental breakdown right in front of her.

"He was a great mentor. Never afraid to admit his own mistakes. We're Jedi, but we're also living beings, feeling emotions, and sometimes… we make mistakes."

Anakin's gaze followed the moth as it finally floated away and landed on a leaf of the fire glow tree. Its light seemed to burn far too bright, a beacon of all he had lost. "Sometimes, I don't know what to do now that he's gone. Yoda says not to mourn or miss the ones who have become one with the Force. But I can't… I miss him, and I always will."

His reasoning did little to ease what he felt. Losing Kenshin had sparked malicious flames eating away at his heart and he couldn't do anything to tame them. It was too much to bear, an unbearable burden added to an already overburdened heart.

He had been promoted to Jedi Knight a mere month after the disastrous rescue mission. The knighting ceremony—the day he had dreamed of and prepared for half his life—should have been bright and glorious. A milestone, a step into freedom, a fulfillment of his dreams and his mother's hopes. Instead, it had been a dark and gloomy hour. Kenshin should have been the one to sever his Padawan braid, but in a hasty, impromptu field ceremony, Yoda had made a quick deed of it.

As if his heart had not been broken enough, as if the Force herself had wanted to deepen the cut in his soul, the day after he had found the questioning eyes of Nari staring at him. The youngling that had taken a strong liking to his grumpy Master. Her inquiring about Kenshin and him having to explain to her that her friend would never come back had been the worst.

Palpatine's face had showed quiet compassion when his protegee gave into his gentle prying and opened up to tell him about the disastrous rescue mission. The Chancellor's hand felt strong and supporting on Anakin's shoulder when they shared a moment alone in the vast office. Sidious, behind the fatherly mentor's façade, was content. Every once in a while, there came a Jedi doubting this façade and sticking his nose in things that were none of their business. Kano had been one of these Jedi, like Ronhar Kim. Unlike Ronhar Kim, Kano had had no regard or respect for hierarchy, rules, or conventions and might have become more of a nuisance. Thankfully, a pawn of too lowly a rank to become really dangerous and now this problem, although not one Sidious had deemed of too great an importance, was dealt with. Amidala's kidnapping had been of Gunray's doing, the Neimoidian barve still held a grudge against the Senator and former Queen. He, Sidious, however, had uses for her. Although Anakin had never said a thing, it was clear that he had feelings for the young woman. And that could be a valuable asset to be exploited. How good of Kano to have sacrificed himself for his Padawan and also saving the means to control said Padawan in the form of the admittedly attractive senator. He made sure that the smile that now appeared on his face looked sad and appeared to be an encouraging gesture to the Chosen One, who had so little idea of what he was chosen for.

Another two months later, in the midst of battle, a tiny young Togruta had been literally dumped in front of the new Jedi Knight. He had not ever wanted a Padawan. They were a liability.

Have I been a liability to Kenshin? He sometimes wondered, even though he knew that the answer was no.

Rejection. The Jedi with their strict, rigid ways were quick to judge and reject even one of their own, Anakin knew that well. The hot, salty sensation of being the odd one out and being condemned for it. The hope, the passion, the sense of being lost, the inner self-doubts she tried to cover up with her cockiness, this entire bundle of emotions in the form of the tiny Togruta didn't deserve that rejection, so he had decided to give her a chance. Very soon, he knew to be glad about it.

She didn't hold him back, in the opposite. Ahsoka was sassy and disobedient, but capable and loyal. He hated bringing a young teenager, a child, onto battlefields, but what choice did he have? There was no other way he could have trained her without neglecting his duties as a general. The galaxy was at war and he, they all, had to do their duty.

Duty. Was duty all there was? No matter how much he accomplished, how good he became, how hard he fought, or how grueling fulfilling this duty became, would he ever be enough? When would the Jedi begin to respect him, to trust him? Didn't they see that all he wanted was to help?

Even Obi-Wan didn't trust him. Especially Obi-Wan.

After fighting side by side in countless battles, after becoming a general under Obi-Wan's watchful eyes, one would think they'd have forged a bond. Obi-Wan had become the closest thing to a mentor he had after Kenshin was gone. And yet, Obi-Wan Kenobi, whom he had once regarded as a friend, didn't see anything in him.

Anakin's thoughts drifted to that night on Coruscant, the night he had roared Obi-Wan's name into the void, holding what he believed to be his friend's dead body. He had gone on a furious chase, hunting down Obi-Wan's supposed killer, a bounty hunter named Rako Hardeen.

Unbeknownst to Hardeen and himself, the bounty hunter had in fact been hired by the Jedi Order, who had only faked Kenobi's death. In the disguise of his own assassin, Kenobi had infiltrated a Separatist plot to kidnap Supreme Chancellor Palpalpatine at the Festival of Light on Naboo. Anakin only discovered the truth during the chaotic events of the festival itself—a harrowing chase to keep Palpatine safe. The revelation that the Jedi had kept him in the dark hadn't surprised him, but that Obi-Wan, his friend, had been complicit in the deception cut deeply. Obi-Wan hadn't trusted him to act convincingly and had deliberately left him out of the plan. As if he wasn't a battle-tested Jedi General in command of the 501st, with a Padawan of his own. As if he was still a naive fool without the ability to reason or judge.

"How many other lies have I been told by the Council? And how do you know that you even have the whole truth?" Anakin had yelled, his voice echoing with bitterness.

Obi-Wan had met his outburst with a pained expression, his eyes filled with guilt and silent regret. That had been the only answer he received.

For weeks afterward, Anakin refused to speak to Obi-Wan. But when a terrible event forced them back together, there was no room for personal grievances.

The group of Jedi stood around the holo console like frozen statues, their faces reflecting the horror of what they had just witnessed.

"This is the work of a reckless, impulsive animal," Obi-Wan said, his voice strained as the footage replayed. In a cruel, heart-wrenching loop, they watched Master Halsey and his Padawan being slaughtered at the temple of Enid on Devaron. With Count Dooku's former assassin, Asajj Ventress, presumed dead after the Battle of Sullust, the Jedi were left with more questions than answers. More surveillance footage from Devaron revealed a large Zabrak warrior to be the perpetrator of these atrocities—a creature who was, indeed, an assassin of Dooku.

Anakin and Obi-Wan pursued the trail to Toydaria and then to a Separatist dreadnought, but their target eluded them.

The mystery seemed to fade into the background, swallowed by the nebulae of uncertainty, until a disturbing message from Raydonia reached the Jedi Council. It was a message intended for Obi-Wan, one that brought with it a chilling realization.

Pillaging, slaughtering, and raids were reported from several Outer Rim worlds. These were not worlds of political or tactical significance—just innocent people, arbitrarily chosen as targets.

Darth Maul.

The name sent a shockwave through Obi-Wan, rattling him to his core. Maul was alive. The monster Obi-Wan had once cut in half, the same monster who had killed his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, was back. And now, Maul was threatening to burn more settlements to the ground unless Obi-Wan Kenobi showed himself.

The situation was dire enough that it was brought to the Chancellor's attention. But Palpatine, listening with barely concealed impatience, seemed indifferent to Obi-Wan's pleading.

"I understand your reservations, Master Kenobi, but I am afraid that we can no longer allow this personal matter of yours to be a Republic concern. It does not appear that this… Darth Maul… is a direct threat to the Republic. We need to redirect your efforts to the cause at hand: dealing with Count Dooku and ending the Clone Wars. This Maul, crime lord or not, is of no relevance to the Separatist threat! Especially in light of recent events."

"Forgive me, Chancellor, which events are you referring to?" Obi-Wan asked, confusion etched on his face.

"I beg your pardon?" Palpatine replied, his tone icy.

"Chancellor Palpatine," Yoda interjected, "Indeed not know we do, what trying to tell us, you are."

"It seems your graces haven't been informed yet. The news reached me quite recently." The Chancellor rose from his chair, his expression a mask of concern. "Nute Gunray and all the chairmen of the Trade Federation have been murdered. When you requested this meeting, I assumed this was your reason. The news came in along with your request for this audience. I think I do not need to elaborate on the severe diplomatic consequences this has for the conflict between our Republic and the Separatist alliance. The murderer has not revealed themselves—it is, at this point, believed that a single assassin committed this atrocious act—and the Trade Federation is now making serious allegations against the Republic! I must insist that the Jedi Council sends their very best negotiators and investigators to clear the Republic of all accusations and mitigate the damage already done. We need at all costs to avoid losing more systems to the CIS!"

An hour later, the news was all over the holonet, blasting from screens and loudspeakers in every city on every planet in Republic territory. Nute Gunray, Viceroy of the Trade Federation, was dead. Assassinated. He, along with the full board of chairpersons, had been found dead after a board meeting on Cato Neimoidia. Of course, the security cameras had been disabled—no footage was available. No arrival or departure of any unregistered vessel had been detected. All guards had been found unconscious, security droids disabled. Strangely, later footage revealed no visible trace of impact or weaponry. Gunray and his chairpersons had been found with their necks snapped, but no external bruises. The droids showed internally smoldered circuitry, but no trace of projectile or plasma impact, nor any hints of a blunt weapon being used.

The discussion that had begun in the Chancellor's office continued in an impromptu Council session.

The threat and open challenge by Maul still stood, and Obi-Wan knew that the Dathomiri monster would keep his promise—innocent people would continue to die at his hands by the hour. Maul had to be stopped! But Yoda didn't share this opinion.

"Right you may be, Obi-Wan," Yoda said. "But heed the words of the Chancellor, you must. A personal matter for you this is. If you do pursue him, go alone you must."

"What if there's a connection?" Ahsoka chimed in.

"You think Maul killed Gunray?" Anakin asked, eyebrows raised.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, this is extremely unlikely. I can't imagine any incentive for Maul to eliminate Gunray. People like Maul don't have any interest in politics. The galaxy could drown in war and burn for all he cares."

"He's a monster," Ahsoka muttered. "I don't think he needs or would bother to state a reason if he feels like killing someone. He's a brute."

"My words exactly," Obi-Wan agreed. "He's a brute, and whoever killed Gunray was most certainly Force-sensitive but acted with pristine precision and a very different intention. This was not Maul's style, so to speak. And, whoever Gunray's murderer is, he or she certainly did us—and the Republic, that is—a favor. Maul hates the Jedi and the Republic, and even he is clever enough to realize that."

"Are they for real?" Ahsoka whispered to Anakin as they watched Obi-Wan board his ship. "That Maul monster spreads chaos, murder, and pillage at every turn, threatening Obi-Wan, one of the Republic's best generals, in person, and the Chancellor says it's not a Republic concern? And the Council sends Obi-Wan alone? And what even is the deal with those Trade Federation people?"

"There's nothing we can do to sway the Council's opinion, Ahsoka," Anakin replied, his voice calm but tinged with frustration. "They issued their orders."

"You're really letting Obi-Wan run into this mess all by himself, Master?"

"Cool off, Snips! The Council's orders are one thing. How we go about it is another. I'll explain the Trade Federation thing on the way."

******** somewhere in the Rishi Maze, an hour after the space station explosion

The crew of the Vulture had seen their share of strange events, and an old space station blowing apart wasn't even the weirdest. But a station explosion could mean scrap—valuable scrap—floating around, just waiting to be picked up. Scrap that could be sold on the black market or to scrap yards; it didn't matter to them, as long as they made it out with more credits in their currently empty pockets. Maintaining their official cover as scrap dealers also helped them conceal their occasional smuggler runs and other, even less legal activities. Not that they felt any remorse—the rich could stand to lose a few credits, which would be far more useful in the hands of the Vulture's crew. What they liked less was the prospect of Republic or CIS prisons, so they preferred to keep a low profile.

Debris still drifted away from the blast center—smaller and larger pieces scattered like cosmic confetti. Among the thinning field of wreckage, something caught the crew's attention: an escape pod.

"Scanners say there's a life form aboard," Ronnor, an older Nikto and the ship's navigator, announced. He leaned closer to the screen, his eyes narrowing as the pod came into clearer view.

Sumi, the young human woman leading the small crew, stepped forward. Her gaze was fixed on the pod, her mind racing with possibilities. The crew also included Marath, a male Zabrak; Tersen, another human girl; and a shabby astromech droid they called Buster.

As the pod was brought on board, all four of them stared at their find. Inside was a man, short but impressively built, his bulk making up for what he lacked in height. His torn, black shirt revealed thick biceps and an equally muscular torso. Scars marred his face and arms, telling tales of past battles. Disheveled, messy black hair fell past his broad shoulders, framing a face that, despite its ruggedness, held a certain handsomeness. He looked young, but the dark circles under his eyes and the emerging wrinkles on his forehead suggested he had seen more than his share of hardship.

"Is he still alive?" Sumi asked, carefully stepping closer. She placed a hand on the man's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall that indicated he was still breathing. His heartbeat was there, slow but strong.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Just unconscious."

As she inspected him, something caught her eye—a black cylinder clipped to his belt. She grabbed it, turning it over in her hands. It was scratched up, worn from use, but unmistakable.

"That for sure ain't no torch lamp" she said, inspecting the lightsaber hilt closely.

"That for sure ain't no torch lamp," she muttered, recognizing the lightsaber hilt.

"You sayin' what I think you're sayin'?" Ronnor asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

"Yes! We found ourselves a Jedi!" Sumi's initial curiosity quickly gave way to something darker. Her eyes narrowed, a fury bubbling up from deep within. Her hand trembled as she gripped the lightsaber, her knuckles turning white.

The images and sounds in her head were as vivid and burning as they had been on the first day. Her parents' and brother's screams as they burned alive echoed in her mind, their faces seared into her memory. They had been innocent farmers, simply trying to make a living, caught in the crossfire when Separatist droids, anti-Republic Jabiimi factions, and Republic troops—Jedi included—had collided in battle. A group of Jedi had taken cover behind their modest home, a humble hut that offered little protection. When the house caught fire and collapsed, trapping her family inside, the Jedi—too busy with the battle—had fled without offering any help. Her mother's last word to her had been RUN.

And run she did, away from the flames, away from the life that had been taken from her. Left with no home and no credits, she made her way to a spaceport, where she met Tersen. Tersen was a refugee herself, even younger than Sumi, but she knew how to pilot. Together, they stole a beat-up, barely spaceworthy ship and fled the planet. With no clear plan for the future, they began selling their services as freight haulers. Three more vagabonds joined them, and soon, the crew of the Vulture became her new family.

But the hatred she felt for the Jedi never left her. She blamed them for the destruction of her family, for the pain that never faded.

"That guy? Doesn't look like a Jedi to me," Marath grumbled, eyeing the unconscious man suspiciously.

"Oh, these self-righteous, fanatic space wizards come in all shapes and sizes," Sumi spat, still clutching the lightsaber. "Maybe this guy here killed a Jedi and carries this thing around just for fun, but something tells me he's the real deal."

"What in all moons and stars would a kriffin' Jedi be doin', floating about in an escape pod near an exploded space station?" Ronnor asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.

"How am I supposed to know? Wake him up and ask him. But make sure to put him in shackles first. You never know what these Force farts are capable of." Sumi wasn't taking any chances. She confiscated the man's blaster and a few throwing knives she found hidden on him. Dealing with a Force-wielding maniac was bad enough—she wasn't going to let him have any weapons to make it worse. "Then again... it's probably better if I do the talking."

Ronnor nodded, then slapped the man in the face—twice—until he let out a groan.

"Time's up, sleepyhead! What's your name, and what's your business here?" Ronnor demanded.

The man blinked groggily, his eyes struggling to focus. "My... my name?"

"Yeah, your name. Who are you?"

The man stared at him, confused, as if Ronnor had just asked him to steal the egg of a mudhorn.

"Blast it, he's either high on death sticks or took a huge hit to his head," Marath observed, shaking his head.

"By the looks of him, definitely the latter," Tersen added, crossing her arms.

"Again: what's your name?" Ronnor pressed, growing impatient.

The man's gaze slowly steadied, but he still looked disoriented. "I... I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Ronnor's frustration mounted.

"I don't know!" the man insisted, his voice tinged with desperation. "Where am I? Who am I?"

"You don't know who you are?" Ronnor repeated, incredulous.

No matter how much Ronnor pressed, the man couldn't recall his identity. Neither did he remember why or how he had ended up in this forsaken corner of the galaxy.

"Ronnor, leave it," Sumi commanded, her voice sharp. "Everyone onto the bridge."

The crew left, leaving the man shackled in the cargo hold, alone with the rusty astromech droid, Buster. The droid beeped at him, its tone surprisingly chipper for the situation.

He understood some binary, and the droid's message was clear: "Hello. You're in poodoo."

Yeah, he could figure out that much on his own. His head throbbed, and he had no idea where he was. Not even who he was. His mind was a foggy void, and now he was shackled in the cargo hold of a ship he didn't recognize.