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The blood-red anger has faded away now, and in its place, grief has crept in to trap her in its blue depths, and Sabine feels as though she’s drowning, unable to fight her way up for air.
Some small part of her is still in denial, and maybe it will be for a long time.
Kanan—mentor, friend, father . . . gone.
Dwelling on the past never helps. Sabine knows that all too well. But right now that’s all she’s able to do—letting herself drift into memories, looking back on everything that’s gone forever.
The man who shaped her into who she is today, who took her in when she was just a scared child with scars on her heart and fire in her eyes, who guided her through her most uncertain moments, who was there for her when she felt lost and hopeless and broken—he’s been ripped away in the cruelest way imaginable.
His absence is a gaping hole where there once was warmth and safety and protection and love, and Sabine feels as though she’s inches from stumbling into that hole and never hitting ground.
Night is falling as she steps out of the cave, and it takes her a moment to adjust to the darkness.
There’s a lone figure out at the edge of the cliff, and when she realizes who it is, her heart sinks.
Hera stands alone, silhouetted against the purple-blue twilight, gazing out across the waves of grass as whispering breezes swirl over the plains of Lothal.
Sabine doesn’t want to cross the short distance between them. Doesn’t want to bridge the ocean of silence that has crept in to fill the emptiness.
She can’t let herself cry again. And she definitely can’t handle seeing Hera cry. But she also can’t walk away, not now, not when Hera is more broken than Sabine has ever seen her. Not when Sabine herself feels like she’s spiraling out of control.
Slowly, still wondering if she’s making a mistake, she steps away from the shadows of the cave.
Normally, Hera would hear her footsteps and turn to greet her, but now she seems to not even know that Sabine’s there.
“Hera.” She keeps her voice soft as she approaches, but Hera still tenses. “Is it okay if I stay here with you for a while?”
Hera nods almost imperceptibly, her eyes still fixed on the horizon, watching the pink-and-gold streaks of cloud fade into darkness.
Sabine walks up to stand beside her, leaving a few feet between them, a divide that feels like lightyears right now.
A loth-bat soars low overhead, stirring up unwanted images, and Sabine’s breath catches in her throat as the memories resurface—the gliders, the shipyard, the fuel tank—
No. This isn’t helping you. Stop.
Hera draws a ragged breath, and Sabine realizes that she’s faintly trembling.
She almost asks her if she’s okay, but catches herself. None of them are anywhere close to okay right now.
“Do you want me to leave?” she asks gently.
Hera’s gaze darts toward her for a moment, long enough for Sabine to notice glimmering tears.
“No, Sabine, you can stay,” she says softly. “That—that wasn’t what I . . .”
She trails off, shoulders shaking.
Sabine hesitates for a moment, realizing that she has no plan for how to handle this.
Kanan—she tries to ignore the flash of pain that accompanies the name—Kanan would say something about how life changes form in the Force, how no one’s ever really gone, but to Sabine, that just sounds like more of the same mystical Jedi ‘wisdom’ that cost him his vision and Ahsoka her life on Malachor.
The pieces of the puzzle—his refusal to lead the mission, his haircut and the meaning behind it, his final words to her and Ezra—fit together all too clearly now.
He had known. And he had allowed it to happen.
She draws in a breath.
“Hera . . . I know this hurts more than anything the Empire did to you. I know there’s nothing I can do to change that. But please don’t shut us out. I . . . I can’t lose you too.”
Hera’s silent for a moment, and Sabine becomes even more certain that she should have just left her alone.
“This is my fault!” Hera bursts out suddenly. “I dragged all of you into this, forced you to sacrifice everything for the Rebellion, and—and now Kanan’s gone because of me!”
“Hera, it wasn’t your fault—“
“Yes, it was!” Hera’s eyes are filled with fire. “I was the one who insisted we stay with the larger Rebellion. Kanan didn’t want to, but . . . I was too blind to think about how it would affect everyone. And he—“ Her voice cracks in a half-sob.
“He was right,” she finishes weakly. “And now because of me, he’ll never see this war end.” She wipes furiously at the tears trailing down her cheeks. “And I shouldn’t be making this about me, but I-I can’t . . .” Her voice wavers, and she shakes her head slightly, unable or unwilling to go on.
Sabine turns and wraps her arms around Hera, breathing in the smell of smoke that still lingers.
She feels Hera relax slightly, feels warm arms close around her in a tight embrace, tears dripping into her hair.
“Hera . . . it’s not your fault. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but there was nothing any of us could have done.” She pauses for a moment, trying to steady herself. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re allowed to grieve.”
“I’m sorry,” Hera whispers. “You’re far too young for this war, Sabine, and I forced you to fight, forced you to face the people who abandoned you, forced you to give up everything for this rebellion . . . a-and now . . . ”
“Hera, that isn’t true.” Tears sting at Sabine’s eyes. “I wanted to fight. I wanted to make a difference. I still do. Because of you, I have something to fight for.” She pauses, taking a breath, forcing down the sobs that threaten to rise. “Because of you, I have a family, and a home. And Kanan . . . Kanan felt the same. He wanted to make the galaxy a better place. That’ll live on in the Rebellion . . . and in us.”
Hera’s quiet sobs are crushing Sabine’s already shattered heart. She has never seen Hera cry before, has never seen her broken like this. And she has never felt so powerless to help.
She presses her face into Hera’s shoulder, clinging desperately to her, and allows herself to break down as the pain and shock and grief wash over the two of them.
Sabine isn't sure how long it is before she finally breaks away from Hera, forcing herself to take deep breaths, grounding herself in reality.
She looks out to where the moons are rising. Each blade of grass is like a thread of silver, woven into a shining tapestry across the plains of Lothal.
Below them, a loth-wolf slips out of the rippling grass to stand silhouetted in the moonlight.
It lifts its head and gazes into Sabine's eyes, and a chill runs down her spine. Something in its expression, in the way it looks at her, is eerily familiar.
For a moment, she feels warmth, safety, peace wrap around her in a ghostly embrace.
Then the wolf turns and vanishes into the grass.
Hera reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder.
“You know, Kanan was so proud of you,” she tells Sabine quietly. “And so am I.”
Sabine manages a half-smile.
“Love you,” she whispers, just loud enough for Hera to hear.
Hera smiles in return, but she seems lost in thought for a few moments before she answers.
“Love you too.”