During the Fall of the Republic: Lower levels of Coruscant

The girl knew she wasn't supposed to sneak out, particularly at night, particularly not to venture into shady lower-level establishments frequented by unsavory individuals. She knew she probably shouldn't be learning to cheat at sabacc. She knew she certainly shouldn't call anyone Uncle, especially not a pirate. Just now, though, as she perched on a stool next to her uncle, nibbling on a fried tuber and watching attentively as he showed her how to distract her opponent and then slip a card from her sleeve to her hand, she didn't particularly care. The cantina was filled with boisterous patrons, the smells of greasy food and spirits, conversations jovial and raucous—a strange combination which had intimidated her when she first came, but which now, after a year or so of regular visits, had taken on a comfortable familiarity. It helped that she knew no one would try to hurt her uncle's niece.

She fed the last bit of tuber to the Kowakian monkey-lizard that perched on her uncle's shoulder, and then took up a handful of cards and slipped one up her sleeve. She fidgeted "carelessly" with a salt cellar, glancing up to see what her uncle thought of the tactic. He nodded approval. She smiled. This would be easy. Now all she had to do was "accidentally" knock over the saltcellar, lay her cards down on the table, let the new card slip from her sleeve onto her pile as she moved to clean up the spilled salt, and that would be that. Careful to maintain a pensive expression, she fiddled with the saltcellar a little longer, and then—

The Force darkened so abruptly that it was like her crechemaster turning off the lights at bedtime. The girl's hand froze on the saltcellar. There was one foreboding moment, like the beat between a streak of lightning and its accompanying thunderclap, and then something ripped, or a lot of somethings. Her hand jerked, knocking over the saltcellar. Her head felt like a pack of rabid lothwolves was rampaging through it, shredding everything to ribbons. Her fingers curled on the table; dimly, she felt the grittiness of salt packing under her nails. Her face was wet, and she was shaking, or sobbing, or maybe both—she wasn't sure.

The pirate had no idea what do to. His niece had been perfectly contented, a happy little Jedi doing him proud in her study of the sporting arts. Then she had gone rigid and knocked over the saltcellar with a disappointingly clunky twitch. He opened his mouth to chide her lightly for bungling the operation, but closed it again upon observing the blank, distant expression on her face, which turned quickly into a mix of confusion, fear, and pain. Great tears started down her cheeks, and she quivered like a blade of grass in a dust storm.

What did one do for a terrified youngling in tears?

It must have been the Force that caused it, because she was fine one minute, and in the throes of some great distress the next. Well, if it had to do with the Force, then the only hope of a solution would be to find someone who might be knowledgeable about Force matters. The Jedi were hardly likely to welcome the pirate, even if he was kindly returning the youngling he had borrowed, so he would have to look elsewhere.

Thus he did what any sensible pirate in such a fix would do: He scooped up the quavering Katooni and headed for the nearest black market.

Where, perhaps unsurprisingly, a solution was found. When they passed by a seller of exotic animals, the girl's sobs subsided slightly, returning, however, as they moved away from the small menagerie. The pirate returned to the stall. The girl calmed again, just a little. He carried her around the cages and tanks. She seemed calmest when they were close to a selection of gold, lizardlike creatures. The seller called them ysalamir.

The ysalamir was cheap. The seller gestured to a small holoprojector on top of a cage of rare birds. "Looks like I won't be gettin' much demand for 'em, now that the Jedi're on the way out. Though kidnappers'd buy 'em to cut 'em off from the Force. So much for that. No Jedi, no Jedi-kidnappers, no business," they grumbled. "Just when I was going to corner the market, too."

In the holo, clones marched on the Jedi Temple. Jedi Declared Traitors to the Republic, read a line of text across the bottom of the image.

Well, the pirate supposed that explained his niece's distress. It was lucky, indeed, that he had been on Coruscant today, or else— With a rather un-pirate-like shiver, he took the ysalamir's leash from the seller, muttered a warning to the Kowakian monkey-lizard to be on its best behavior, and set off through the lower levels once more.

And so the pirate, the little girl, the monkey-lizard, and the ysalamir left Coruscant and melted into the galaxy. It was strange for the girl not to feel the Force, but at least the emptiness didn't hurt. There was enough hurt already, for she knew she would never see her clanmates again, nor any of the padawans she had looked up to, nor any of the masters who had taught and taken care of her.

The years passed. Eventually, the girl stopped taking her pet ysalamir everywhere she went. She began to feel the Force again—dark and cold, now, but at least it no longer felt raw or wailed through her mind like a chorus of lost souls. She learned how to be a pirate and became her uncle's right-hand woman, although she never quite forgot the lessons of her Jedi youth.

A few days after the fall of the Republic (AFR): A ship somewhere in space

"What are you going to do, with no war, no army?"

"I could ask the same of you, Commander."

"I asked first. You deserve a rest. Peace. Freedom."

"Maybe. Don't know what I'd do with peace, though, after being trained for war all my life."

"That's what peace is for—finding out what you want to do."

"So, is that what you're going to do, then? Step back, let someone else take up the fight?"

"You know I can't do that." It went against everything she had ever been taught—to defend the defenseless, to seek the greater good, to protect her people. "But I chose this life; I've been choosing it since I was a youngling. You didn't get to choose."

"No, but I am choosing now. Fighting's all I know, and for the sakes of all my brothers and the jetii'se, and every sentient that has to live under this piece of shavit's reign, I'm going to keep on. Besides, the General would have my hide if I went off and left you to face this whole karking empire on your own."

She grinned, though it was a little sad around the edges. "Once more into the fray, then."

"As you say, Commander."

"Shut up, Commander."

A few months AFR: Gehenna

Sunlight streamed down, so bright that the sand glinted golden beneath their feet, and Padmé's hair was lit with an unusually ruddy glow, its warmth matched only by the warmth in her eyes as she looked up from the infant in her arms.

"Beru already calls her Kraytling, and Owen's willing to lay credits that she'll take on Jabba with her own two hands by the time she's twenty."

He reached out to trace one finger over the baby's tiny features, but as he did, she shimmered like a mirage, and his hand passed through her fading image. Padmé's warmth turned frosty, and her smile warped into a glare. "No. You will never touch her."

Wrath surged, his hand closed, and the Dark Side raced to a summons he was scarcely conscious of giving. Padmé's lip curled ever so slightly in distain even as she struggled against the chokehold.

"Go—on!" she gasped, "I'll sooner—die—again—at your—hand—than have—you—find—her—"

Horror struck like lightning, and his hand dropped, fingers falling slack. "Angel—no—Padmé!"

He clawed desperately at the Force, seeking the merest shred of light to heal her—but even if he had been halfway competent at healing, the Light was gone, the pilot flame extinguished which had burned steady even through his slaughter on Tatooine.

Only the Dark Side remained. The Dark Side, and Padmé's corpse at his feet, and the merry echo of familiar voices flowing over the dunes, taunting him with all that might have been, searing like a saber through the heart.

Only the Dark Side remained.

He welcomed the blinding smog as it blotted out the suns and erased the last symbol of the life that had been. The inferno of hatred blazed, turning the sand underfoot to glass, and his reflection mocked him, arms crossed, blue eyes cold with judgement. With a snarl of sheer rage, he lashed out at the glass and shattered it into a million shards.

The Light was gone, the Jedi was no more, the last remnant of Anakin Skywalker had been destroyed. Vader had destroyed him.

Only the Dark Side remained.

But as the flames receded, in the space between sleep and waking, one final shade drifted. She stood once more upon the sand, atop a dune, staring out over the sparkling silica sea. As two suns beat down, so two shadows stretched behind her, yet they were not her own. One was a skirted figure, aiming a blaster toward the horizon, and the other, tunic-clad, wielded a long blade as the winds murmured over the dunes. Were they ghosts of the past, or were they visions of what the future, not so very long ago, might have held?

Vader awoke in a rage, swearing to forgo sleep henceforth.

A few months AFR: Tatooine

Padmé set down the metal cylinder on the table with a solid thunk that almost made Obi-Wan jump. "I want you to teach me to use this."

He ran one finger over the length of the hilt. "Why do you want to learn how to use a Jedi weapon? It would put you under instant suspicion from the Empire. The Inquisitors would realise you were Force null, but stormtroopers—"

"I know. But I will use every tool I can access to keep my children safe. A blaster is a good defense, but it's always best to have a backup, even if you would only use it as a last resort."

Plus, you need something to do. Since that day when she and Beru had brought back the news of Palpatine's latest apprentice, Obi-Wan had become more withdrawn than ever. Most of his days he spent in meditation, and sometimes in merely staring out across the dunes, lost in the middle distance.

After a moment of consideration, he sighed. "Very well. I will teach you."

So they went out into the yard, and he began to instruct her in the beginning stances, and as Padmé gripped the saber, she tried not to remember watching as its previous owner demonstrated more advanced forms in her living room at 500 Republica, to the near-peril of a certain unfortunate chair.

2.5 years AFR: Nar Shaddaa

The cantina on Nar Shaddaa was not a reputable establishment, yet it made an ideal rendezvous for the members of a certain political interest group to hold philosophical exchanges. No one would bat an eye at a couple more off-worlders mixing with the rabble, or the exchange of a little packet beneath one of the greasy tables, and even if anyone was sober enough to take in the conversations around them, said conversations were far too numerous and noisy to be intelligible at a distance of more than a foot.

Hence the reason for Ahsoka Tano's presence. She sat at a table off to the side of the room, where she could watch the entire crowd. The cantina should be safe, but carelessness was a bad habit in her line of work. Her contact had departed not long ago, and she was now whiling away the time until she deemed it safe to leave. The cantina, at least, certainly did not lack for entertainment, she thought, as the burly inhabitants of a nearby table took collective exception to a second-rate bounty hunter's hat, descended upon the unfortunate soul en masse, and proceeded to abscond with his prized accessory. Unfortunately for them, it transpired that the bounty hunter also had a few friends, who were not quite so second-rate as himself, and who rather resented the ill treatment of their comrade.

Ahsoka, engaged in watching for off-target projectiles and fists, did not notice the approach of a certain scowling individual until a voice hissed in her ear, "Oathbreaker!"

She jumped, mentally berating herself for becoming distracted, whipped around, and found herself face-to-face with a pallid woman, whose frown was accentuated by the distinctive markings on her face, and whose eyes were narrowed in anger.

"I believe we had a deal, did we not? My aid, in exchange for you interceding with the Senate on my behalf. Do you think I enjoyed spending a year being known as a Separatist even after I parted ways with Dooku? Not that it matters now, of course, but still."

"Ventress, I'm sorry. I left the Order. I was on my own, and things were… rough. And I didn't feel like I could go to the person I knew in the Senate. And then everything fell apart."

Ventress scowled again.

"I let my own problems get in the way of keeping my word after you helped me. I'm sorry."

Still scowling, but to a slightly less fearsome degree, the woman turned off her saber. "Fine. I get it."

"What… what have you been doing, since then?"

"You recruiting to restart the Jedi?"

"No! I'm not a Jedi. I was just—wondering."

Ventress gave a disbelieving snort, but deigned to reply. "Same thing as before. Bounty hunting. A little sabotage." The gleam in her eyes was as cool and as hard as kyber. "You know, Dooku was perfectly content with me as his apprentice—until, one day, he wasn't. It always seemed strange. He was deliberate, not one for flying off on a whim. Really, it's no wonder the man left the Jedi. Just look at the rest of his lineage. Must have been too much to handle." She glanced at Ahsoka, as if to see whether the barb had struck. Ahsoka maintained an expression of polite interest. Ventress rolled her eyes, but continued. "It took a while, but I eventually realised that the decision to off me had likely not been my Master's own. And who else could make decisions for him?"

"His own Master."

"He didn't take me into his confidence on who his Master was. Sidious—that was all I knew. Of course, when the clones started shooting down the Jedi, and the Chancellor became the Emperor, things became a little clearer. The citizens of the galaxy may have believed all the treason talk, but me? I spent too much time with the lot of you to ever believe that kark."

"You were trying to kill us," Ahsoka reminded her flatly.

"Yeah, and no matter what we all did, the lot of you stayed staunchly on the side of the Republic. Most of you. Why would you all turn on the Republic when you'd just kriffing won? Didn't make sense. Not with all those Jedi ideals. But it got me thinking, all the same, because while it wasn't the kind of thing you Jedi would do—"

"I'm not a Jedi!"

"—it was exactly the kind of thing a Sith might do."

"Your point being?"

"My point being, Tano, that I know exactly who's responsible for my old Master's assassination attempts. And he's going to get what's coming to him."

How perfectly the stars sometimes aligned. Ahsoka leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile.

"How would you like some help with that?"

3 years AFR: Jundland Waste, Tatooine

He should have expected the encounter when, out of the blue, he had the distinct feeling that he ought to borrow Anakin's—Padmé's—lightsaber before starting out to meditate in the little hut at the end of the Jundland Waste. In hindsight, he was really quite a fool for thinking that he could be so fortunate as to never see Maul's face again, and now he paid the price, for there, framed in the doorway of the hut, saber lit, stood the Zabrak.

"Kenobi—such a pleasure to meet you again."

The dark pilot light that had been lit so many years ago in Theed flared, eager for confrontation, but Obi-Wan quelled it. There was nothing to be gained from giving in to the Dark.

"Maul."

And he waited, unwilling to give Maul the inquiry which his dramatic appearance clearly invited. At last, Maul sighed. "So inhospitable, Kenobi. Aren't you curious, aren't you wondering why I have come to call?"

"Not particularly. Your past record speaks for you."

"Ah, but the past is not everything—Lady Tano would know that now. She had within her reach the knowledge to stop all of this, but she did not believe me, did she, and now what I told her would come to pass… has."

"What did you tell Ahsoka?"

"Oh, only that my former Master had his sights set on her former Master as his next apprentice… so blind, the child… but then, so were you, Kenobi, weren't you? And only I could see—well, it takes one to know one, as they say."

Obi-Wan's finger twitched on the switch of his lightsaber. "And I suppose you expect me to believe that you've come here out of the goodness of your hearts, with the purpose of once more being helpful?"

"Are you letting the past cloud your vision of the present? Shame, shame—I thought the Jedi were above such things. Tell me, have you never heard that the enemy of an enemy is a friend?"

"I find it difficult to imagine an enemy who would inspire the two of us to friendship."

"Is that so? And my former Master, he is not such a one? Perhaps you are unaware: He destroyed my brother and apprentice. I am sure, Kenobi, that you… can appreciate this situation."

"That commonality is hardly enough to induce me to trust you, Maul, and I refuse to be motivated by vengeance."

"Then, I suppose, I shall have to add a further incentive. What if I were to tell you that my brother's life force did not dissipate in the natural way of things, but was instead… relocated… to another body, not so very far away?"

Satine? Was that really what Maul was trying to bait him with? Did the semi-Sith believe that he was as attached, as desperate as his padawan? [Perhaps he actually had good reason to, what with how Obi-Wan had run off to Mandalore four years ago.]

"No? Still not good enough, Kenobi? A shame—I can never hope to defeat my former Master alone, and you are the only surviving Force user I can find. Except…" his eyes narrowed in cunning, as he gestured in the direction of the Lars farm, "… for them."

"I beg your pardon—except for whom?" Obi-Wan's tone was mild, and he kept his expression curious, yet disinterested.

Maul only realised his mistake when Obi-Wan's saber, already in motion as he ignited it, slashed toward his head. The ex-Sith ducked neatly, however, igniting his own blades. He held his weapon in a defensive position.

"Oh, I came to this dustball to find you, Kenobi, you may be sure of that. Your little secrets are safe… quite safe… for the present. You might want to improve your shielding, though. If my former Master were to send his Myrmidon for a visit, he would find them and have two new Inquisitors before you could light your blade. Of course, if you wanted them to be really safe, you might consider allying with me.

"You will not—" he slashed again, only to be blocked, "use them—" a thrust, parried, "to bait me!"

This time, he feinted, and as Maul moved to block a blow which never came, delivered a rapid strike to his arm. Unfortunately, the former Sith twisted swiftly away, and the blade only burned him, instead of severing the limb as intended.

Maul snarled. "I had hoped to find you open to negotiation, Kenobi, but as you are not—" He began to move on the offensive now, evidently calculating that two powerful, impressionable younglings would be more valuable for his purposes than one stubborn master.

"Not with you, Maul," Obi-Wan replied, returning blow for blow, wincing as Maul's blade passed a little too close and singed his robes.

As the battle continued, he recalled Padmé's lightsaber tucked into his robes. A plan began to take shape in his mind, and he held his hand at the ready to reach for the second saber as soon as he saw the opening he needed.

It came.

Extinguishing his saber, he slipped beneath Maul's guard, flipping both his saber and Padmé's into a reverse grip as he came up close in from of his adversary. He felt a ripple of confusion from Maul—and then a thunderclap of understanding, as he ignited both blades, and two blue sabers pierced Maul's chest, one through each heart.

The little dark flame flickered in glee, but it did not grow, for there was no anger, no vengeance—only duty. Obi-Wan was a Jedi, a protector, a guardian of the Light. The two little suns in the Lars farmhouse were safe, both from the Darksider and from the possibility of their secret being spread. Mortal enemies of the Jedi, were the Sith. Light triumphed over Dark, and a menace died which ought to have died two decades ago.

But Obi-Wan felt nothing, as he watched the green mist of Dathomir drift from Maul's corpse. There was no relief, for Sidious was as great a threat to Luke and Leia as ever. There was no victory, for Qui-Gonn was still dead, and Satine was still dead. She was dead—he absolutely refused to give credence to Maul's insinuations, which had surely been lies spun to manipulate him.

3 years and a few months AFR: Somewhere in space

"You never got the chance to finish your training."

"Thank you for pointing that out, Asajj, I hadn't noticed."

While she was a talented agent, Ventress made for a disagreeable companion, and after the better part of a year spent working with her, Ahsoka was becoming more than a little tired of her cutting comments.

"I was going to say that you never finished your training, and while you're surprisingly good in spite of that, your technique could use some work. You didn't have a dual-wielding master."

"Are you trying to see how far you can push me? What is your problem? No one's forcing you to do this. If you don't like me, then don't work with me."

"So impatient." Ventress made a condescending tsk. "I was going to say that I just so happen to have a considerable amount of experience in dual wielding. Plus, your master and grandmaster combined couldn't take me in a fight. I think that's at least a decent recommendation?"

"You're offering to teach me?" Ahsoka could scarcely believe what she was hearing.

"Well, we really need some way to pass the time in hyperspace, and it's more useful than sabacc. Besides, then I won't have to save your hide as often."

"You've had to do that all of two times."

"Which is two times too many."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, but Ventress had a point. She hadn't ever had extensive teaching in dual wielding, and it would be rather foolish to reject an offer of instruction from an experienced dual wielder. It wasn't as if she could afford to be choosy about instructors in the present state of the galaxy.

Half a year later, Asajj cursed as her remaining saber went flying through the air, a well-aimed kick shoved her to the ground, and a great heaviness plunked down on top of her. Tano grinned, disgustingly pleased with herself, as she pinned her opponent's arms with her knees.

"Well?" the girl asked.

Without permission, the merest slip of a rogue smile sneaked across Asajj's lips. Obnoxious little sister, she thought, more proud of her pupil than annoyed at losing their match. For the third time in a row. But hells if she was going to say that. Every family, every mentor, every connection she had ever possessed, had been taken from her, one way or another. She would be damned if she ever again acknowledged an amicable connection within Fate's hearing—so she forced her mouth into an annoyed scowl once more.

"You're like an obnoxious tooka that steals food and then expects a person to worship it," she griped.

Perhaps Tano saw through her, though, because her grin broadened. "But you love me anyway."

"I do not."

Tano raised a skeptical eyemarking, and Asajj huffed. "Enough of this nonsense. Are you going to let me up, or were you planning to use me for a couch all day?"

5.5 years AFR: Lars farm, Tatooine

"Leia!" Luke hissed into the darkness.

His sister responded with a muffled growl. "Go back t'sleep, Luke, 'm tired."

"Wait, Leia—am I dead?"

"Maybe, if y'wake me up again."

"Leia, the man in my dream talked. He called me dead."

"You're making way too much noise to be dead."

"Maybe I'm a very noisy ghost?"

Upon which Leia evidently decided to prove the degree of his corporeality by lobbing a pillow at him.

"He-ey! Leia!" complained the afflicted one. "Why d'you suppose the man said I was dead?"

"I'd'n' know. Why's it important?"

"Dunno. He just seems familiar, is all, and he's never talked before. Leia? Leia, what d'you think? Leia?"

But Leia had either fallen asleep or else resolved against further conversation, for there was no response. He decided it was best not to wake her again. She probably wouldn't actually do him bodily harm, but she might tell Mama that he kept bothering her when she was trying to sleep. And then Mama would give him that disappointed look, and ask him how he would like it if Leia woke him up. No, it was best not to keep bothering his sister.

So, instead, Luke stared into the miniature galaxy hovering above their nightlight holoprojector. It was a sort of game of his, to see how many planets he could recognise from Mama and Uncle Ben's stories before he fell asleep. There was Tatooine, of course—and Kamino, where the clones were from—and Coruscant, where the Jedi used to live—and Naboo, Mama's homeworld—Alderaan—Geonosis—Florrum—Abafar—

He still wasn't sleepy. Nor was he sleepy an hour later, when, after locating all but one of the worlds he could think of, he finally gave up his search for the elusive Mortis. He couldn't be sleepy. The dream kept nagging at him.

By and large, it was a dream which he had had many times before. There was always a man, shrouded in dark, clinging mist, almost half-shadow himself, and when the dream started, he was always on his knees, facing toward a pitchy abyss. The first time Luke had had the dream, he had stayed well back, for the mists and shadows were colder than a desert nightfall, and something about them made him think of crawly things, like the many-legged insects that liked to haunt the shady, damp spots under a leaky vaporater. Nothing much had happened during the dream, and Luke had woken up not much the worse for wear, although he had burrowed closer to Leia before going back to sleep, letting her noonday sun melt away the last of the cold mist clinging to him.

That had been when Luke was three. He had had the dream several more times between then and now, and each time he had become a little bolder, venturing nearer to the shadowy man. This time, he had decided to try talking to the man, which had not exactly gone as expected.

Luke tiptoed through the fog, letting the Force flow around him to brush away the nasty crawliness of it. The fog dissolved into the Force, like ice melting into water. Did that mean the fog was also the Force, just in a different form? Was this the Dark Side? It didn't seem so scary. Just cold and nasty, and why would anyone want anything to do with that?

Why did the shadowy man stay here, anyway? Maybe he was from a swamp world and thus didn't mind the feeling of cold ooze and crawly things.

Luke watched him carefully. The man didn't look like much of a threat, but the mist was cold and dark and thick, its languid drifting somehow ominous, and the Force warned of danger. Being a Skywalker, Luke decided to ignore the warning. He walked boldly over to the man and sat down in a casual attitude. He ignored the dark mist that immediately wafted over to investigate. It didn't feel quite as cold the rest of its kindred.

"Who're you?" Luke asked.

The man did not respond.

"Do you live here?"

No response.

"It's not a very nice place," Luke observed. "My other dreams are lots nicer'n this one. You can come with me, if you want," he added, stretching out his hand to the man.

The shadowy man seemed to separate into two distinct, overlaid entities. The familiar, dark-cloaked figure stayed where he was, but the underlying, ghostlike one extended a gloved hand toward Luke's own. The hand moved slowly, hesitantly, as if uncertain of its reception.

Luke nodded encouragingly. "That's it, come on! You can leave that other guy here. I don't think he wants to come, anyway."

The hand withdrew abruptly.

"Where I go, he will follow."

"Well, he can come too. Maybe he'll be happier if we go somewhere nice."

But the shadow shook his head, and just for a moment, Luke glimpsed a face in the depths of his hood. It was a familiar face, one he had seen dozens of times in Artoo's old holorecordings of his father, smiling at Mama, pestering Uncle Ben, teaching Aunt 'Soka a new lightsaber technique.

"Dad? Come on, we can go away, somewhere where there's sunshine, and none of this icky cold stuff."

For a moment, Luke was sure he heard Mama's voice echoing around the misty plain. Come away with me… can't follow—follow—follow— In the blink of an eye, the cold became searing heat, and the mist turned to flames—and then, just as quickly, they changed back, and his father sighed, and said gravely, "I cannot leave this place. It is too late for me, child. Just as it is too late for you."

"No it's not, I'm really asleep," Luke assured him.

The Force around his father felt like it had around Leia that time when she accidentally stabbed herself with Beru's sharp scissors.

"No," his father said. "That is not possible."

"It is, 'cause I went to bed early. Mama made me."

There was another scissors-stab in the Force, and the darkness gathered tighter around the shadowy man, completely concealing Dad from view.

"Enough of this folly. Anakin Skywalker is dead. I killed him; I destroyed him. And you—" the shadows thinned just enough that Luke could see his father's eyes, a marled battleground between gold and blue, "you, too, are dead. Haunt me no more."

"I'm not!" Luke retorted. "How can I be dead when I'm standing right—"

But his father did not listen. He rose, turned his back on Luke, and stepped toward the abyss. Luke tried to grab his cloak and tug him back, but the material was no more than shadows in his hands, and his hands themselves were dissolving into light, and then the rest him was, too—

And then he had opened his eyes, and there had been the little galaxy floating above the holoprojector. He had heard the murmur of Mama and Aunt Beru's voices in the sitting room and felt Leia's heel digging into his thigh.

Everything had been quite normal, or it ought to have been—but he had noticed a new note in the Force, as if the dream had left a piece of itself behind.

6 years AFR: Lars farm, Tatooine

This was it, at last. This was their last morning on Tatooine, and in a just a few minutes, they would leave to join the Rebellion Proper on the moon Yavin IV. The Nubian starship was already loaded, stocked with ration bars and some homemade foods from Beru, and the box that contained Luke and Leia's toys, and the safe that held Padmé's coded Alliance records. Artoo had already trundled aboard and begun to input the directions into the ship's navigation, and everyone else was gathered around the bottom of the boarding ramp. The twins, who had been fairly bouncing up till just half an hour ago, had grown subdued, almost dismal. Luke sniffled once or twice, while Leia's face was puckered in the way that meant she was trying not to cry.

"Mama? We'll come back sometime, won't we? We can see Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen again, can't we, Uncle Ben?" [Which was the best their baby voices had been able to make of Obi-Wan—and the name had stuck, rather to "Uncle Ben's" discomfiture.]

"Of course we will, Leia."

"Of course, Luke."

"Promise, Uncle Ben?"

"Barring unforeseen circumstances, yes."

Which sent both children into a cascade of grumbling over that dreaded, and not quite fully understood, concept.

"What's an unforeseen circumstance, anyway?"

"Why do those have to exist?"

"Can't we use the Force to make them go away?"

Beru intervened. "They're things that probably won't happen, anyway." She directed a minute frown toward Obi-Wan. "So there's no point worrying about them now. Here—why don't you open these? There's a little present for each of you." And she placed a cloth packet into each child's hand.

They unwrapped the packets eagerly, but excitement soon turned to confusion as each looked inside their packet. Leia picked up the contents of hers: a flame-hued stone, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, polished smooth, and engraved with an intricate marking. "What is it?" she asked.

Luke was similarly befuddled as he lifted out a stone from his packet, engraved like Leia's, but softly cream-colored.

"It's a nice rock?" he said, glancing up at his mother as he navigated the novel social situation of receiving a strange gift.

Beru smiled. "It's more than a rock. You see, long and long ago, when the people of Tatooine were all as free as the winds that sweep the dunes, when datapads were beyond anyone's wildest dreams, and the aurebesh had not yet spread beyond the world of its birth, in ages so far past that even their ghosts have faded, these glyphs were how the Tatooine wrote. There was no flimsi, either, and so they wrote on wood, and they wrote on stone. Wood was the medium of secrets, snippets easily made, easily destroyed. Slaves still use wood to this very day, to tell of things which the masters must never know."

Padmé fingered the snippet that hung around her neck. A secret, something easily destroyed.

"But stone," Beru continued, "ah, oaths were graven in stone, for even when stones are buried deep in the desert, the sands shall surely shift, and the oaths shall see the suns once more, and their words be known. Nor can a vow be given lightly in stone, for the carving takes many days, and great patience, and gives the carver long hours to contemplate their sincerity."

Leia turned the stone in her palm over and rubbed her little fingers over the carving. "It's a promise? What about the glyph-thing, what does that word mean?"

"It isn't a word, kraytling, but an idea. It means good wishes, and love, and the feeling of home."

Luke grinned up at his aunt. "You made two, and they say the same thing, so you must be double-sure you love us!"

"Yes, little sun," she said. "Double, and triple, and a million-times sure. And just as sure that I'll miss you, so you'll to have come and visit." She hugged Luke tight, but looked at Padmé as she said it. "I know, I know—what if you're followed, what if someone thinks we're Rebels, too."

"It's a concern, of course," Padmé said. "I don't want to put you into unnecessary danger. You never asked for this rebellion, and it isn't fair—"

"Nonsense. Do you think we would have let you stay in our house if we hadn't been willing to risk some danger? Owen and I may not be active rebels like you and Obi-Wan, but we don't like the Empire, either."

So the goodbyes were said, and hugs given all around—even to the disconcerted Obi-Wan, at least by Beru—Owen settled for a hearty clap on the back—and then Padmé and Obi-Wan, and Luke and Leia, climbed into the ship. A few minutes and a few dozen waves through the viewports more, and they were gone, climbing high into the atmosphere before jumping into hyperspace.