Tatooine's suns sank slowly, stretching dune shadows across the scorched horizon.
Illaoï knelt in the warm sand, lifting a panel of scrap concealing her stash.
There — behind a half-buried maintenance pipe — were her treasures:
A weathered haori with gold-threaded collar,
A pendant glowing with opaline light,
And a slim ring that gleamed like memory.
She touched them like relics.
Sacred.
Silent.
Behind her, voices rose.
"Are you insane?!" Loewen snapped, visibly shaken.
"We all could've died."
"That wasn't bravery — that was madness!" Kira barked.
"You could've at least warned us!"
"Do you ever think about anyone else?" Doc muttered.
"Even the Sith knows how to work as a team, for stars' sake."
Scourge said nothing.
He didn't need to.
His gaze — fixed on her — said enough:
He understood.
She had orchestrated it.
But even he couldn't tell… was it luck? Or precision?
Then Loewen stepped forward.
And hit the deepest nerve.
"You talk about helping, protecting, repairing. But you act alone. Like we're disposable. Like what you risk doesn't touch the rest of us."
"You say you want to look upon the world without hate?Then start by not turning your back on those who try to love you. Like a real family would."
She didn't move.
No tears.
No flinch.
No anger.
Just stillness.
She packed her things, closed the satchel, and remained kneeling.
Watching the twin suns melt into the crimson sky.
The others walked away.
Loewen last.
His steps weighed by the sharpness of his own words.
Only T7 stayed.
He rolled up slowly.
"T7 = worried / T7 = afraid Lady = gone forever…"
She turned her head, eyes catching the starlight.
"T7 = loved Lady's songs / T7 = misses her poems…"
A faint smile curved her lips.
Not for the droid.
Not really.
But something inside… cracked.
The Jedi's words.
The droid's honesty.
Something was shifting.
And above them — in the sky of dusk and fire — the first stars blinked into being.
Not promises.
But possibilities.