Archive of Our Own

The rich and powerful came in droves, droning on. It is politics that they stand on, the luxury of the buildings and elegance of the trees. The flowers twist this way and that along verandas: elaborate decoration fit for royalty.

The creatures there were either rough themselves or those doing rough. The sand dunes were scorching, heated by the twin suns orbiting above. When they melted down the dusty orange landscape was lit in the bathe of the red glow.

They made their home in the columns, hid their secrets between them and kept their information safe under the roof they held up. The made their home as a safeguard, as an archive, a place for council in the Temple.

The gray sheet of rain covers the platform like  armour. It coated everything until it shone, dull and bright: a powerful plate standing between the fragile flesh underneath and the enemy coming in from the skies. It was a factory.

On the sands is a battlefield. The dust is made of more than anywhere else: built from fallen droids and those that failed against them. On the sands is a ruin. A ruin of a faltered start of the war.

Where the Wookies roamed wild, where the warrior race were born and grew into power of strength of character, of heart and raw brute strength to tear limbs from their sockets. Living safe and preparing for the day they weren’t.

Black stone reaching up, large and imposing, breathing with the bubbling lava of its heart. Hot and harsh where nothing beautiful grew and a red hot burning triumphed. The rocks stood like a cape, a second skin; like a cage.

Coming into existence against the backdrop of the stars, two newborns without a home, not belonging to the planet on which they were born. They were sheltered from the fiery pain of the planets that they left in the wake.

It was at peace. In a fragmented galaxy it was a place of protection, a place where peace was achieved through unity and strength of solid political bonds between leaders with hearts as true as their own leaders’ hearts were.

Over a rocky path, a rocky course, over the road of turmoil and pain, of rough rocks and stones down the way to a home carved into the stones it hides in. It was dark here, where it hid light.

It was a base built on the foundations of hope. The trees whistled with the arrival of X-Wings and pilots and rebels trooped about the base. A family living in the place where a Force tree would one day sing.

The holy city sang out from its Kyber heart; sorrowful songs of love forged blind, of hate leading to ruin. Once it was a shelter, a temple, a safe point but the song was reaching its end, dimmer and dimmer.

The rains swept across the torrents of rock that stood to protect the secrets developing at the heart. They stood imposing and tall and seemed dangerous, but if one fell then the rest of them would crumble down with it.

Down at the beaches, domed in and surrounded by inescapable forces, there was life stirring. It was water splashing, sand sticking, winds of change chewing through the trees; transmitting from the tower a new dust dancing across those funeral fields.

The city was an ugly hive of bad tidings. It was an arm blocking your way or a gun aimed at your chest. It was lies and deception, the welcoming bar of smugglers and bounty hunters looking for a job.

There was a new weapon. It was something new and deadly, like a growing virus attacking all that worked against it. It was power building and bubbling up, up toward the surface before it would boil over and strike back.

The freezing cold winds raged wild and fierce across the barren wasteland. The rebels hid in their new base while above the monsters waked. The cold struck deep enough to kill if you fell by the wayside, frozen right there.

The swamps were a murky mystery, damaged greens shrouded by cloaks of grey. There was life hiding below the surface, a stirring that could be dangerous if allowed to be. Fogs hid the truth of what was lurking out there.

Up in the clouds, where the air thins, is a wonderful city full of life: a head in the stars leads to hearts full of dreams and ambitions. The clouds float by but cannot be caught, always just evading capture.

Surrounded by tall trees swarming up, dotted and connected by bridges and huts built around them, are bases built into the middle of the forests. It was all greens and browns, wild and prosperous nature bating metals and unnatural stains.

The sands swirled away to reveal the scavengers picking apart the carcasses of greatness. It was desolate and lonely: a graveyard of great metal beasts of a war that settled like the sands across the horizon, stirring in the distance.

Below a statue of a friend, the palace stands out against the ferny jacket that separates it from the blue that swims out for miles; wide eyes with clear intentions and a steady gaze, blues and greens pooling around stone.

They were rebuilding, moving on and planting new roots. It was a routine of uproot and upheaval they were well used to. The base wasn’t dwindling but sprawling like the trees and soft grass on which their home was made.

If its predecessor was the dark side of the moon then this was the dark shadow that could eclipse it all. Planet sized for planet fall, more power, more destruction; caving in and breaking the core, splitting it all apart.

A lost planet, hiding away. In the ruins of Jedi Temples long past use with stairs carving their way up the mountains of green. The blue of the sea was calm and weathered, a steady gaze or a burning lightsaber.