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Agent Alexsandr Kallus wears gloves for one reason. Not because he’s cold, not because of fashion. Kallus wears gloves because printed on the outer side of his left hand is his soulmark. The characters are unfamiliar, obviously a dialect beneath the human language, and it’s disgusting.
He hadn’t been ashamed of the mark when he was young, before he knew what it was, but that all changed when he set foot on Onderon.
The Lasat mercenary stalked up to him, bathed in flames and smoke. He was terrifying, taller than Kallus and littered in scars that would make a child cry out in fear. He stopped right in front of Kallus’s body, crouched in front of his face, and smirked.
“Well look who’s still breathin’,” the man, no the beast, laughed. “What should I do with a pretty face like yours?”
“Just kill him already,” one of the human mercenaries called out, completely unphased by the death surrounding her.
“But, Luna, that’s no fun. And look at this face,” he drawled, gripping Kallus by the face and hauling him off the ground. Kallus wanted to kick his legs out, scream, even beg for mercy, but he couldn’t move. He just hung limply in the lasat’s hold. “Pretty boys like this should fight,” he growled, pulling Kallus’s face close to his.
The feeling of hot air fanning over Kallus’s face awoke something in the human and his ungloved hand swung up to grip at the lasat’s fingers. He tried to pull them away from his face, to free himself, but it didn't work. Claw sunk into his cheek, and Kallus felt the blood slither down his bare face. All his effort just made the lasat laugh, but the sound is cut short when he saw Kallus’s soulmark.
His head swings back in wild laughter as he reads the characters out, the unknown language shockingly melodic as the lasat pronounces the words.
“Only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle,” he says in Basic, voice eerily smooth. “Can you believe it, Luna? Let me keep this one; he’s gonna be a whore for some other Lasat anyway.”
“Kill him or leave him; I don’t care what you chose, but do it fast. We need to leave.”
The lasat sighs, dropping Kallus to the ground.
“I hope whoever your soulmate is hates themselves enough to fuck an Imp.”
Kallus started to wear gloves when he returned from that mission, terrified of what the mark would mean for him. He was destined to be with a monster like the one who tried to kill him, to be with something inhuman and uncivilized. Kallus gagged; this is not what he wanted.
Zeb had gone his whole life without seeing the color yellow. His nan said it looks like how the sun feels on his fur during the summer season, and Zeb couldn’t wait to see it. As a kit, that’s all he would ask about.
“What do you think my soulmate will be like, Nan?”
“Well, I can’t be sure, Garazeb. How ‘bout we ask Chava?”
Zeb twirled in delight, ears trembling in excitement. Lady Chava was weird, but he kinda liked her; she always smelled like tea and candy to him.
After dinner, Nan brought Zeb and his older brother to Chava’s place, perched high in the forest of Lasan.
“Hello, Garazeb,” Chava said, pitch heightening as she cooed at the kit.
“Hi, Lady Chava. I’ve gotta question.”
“A question for me? Go ahead, young one.” She sat Zeb down on her lap, scratching behind his ear.
“What do you think my soulmate will be like, Lady Chava? What does the Ashla tell you?”
Chava hums, reaching into the Ashla to ask Zeb’s question for him. She sees yellow lines of electricity, seemingly from a bo-rifle or some other weapon. She knows yellow is the color Zeb can’t see, but she doesn't know what it means. Is his soulmate a warrior, or worse, an enemy?
Chava sighs, pulling back from the Ashla.
“Your soulmate is strong, Garazeb. That’s all I can tell you.”
As soon as the words leave the Rebel’s mouth, Kallus wants to kill him. His mother would have been disgusted by his attitude, but Kallus knows better. He knows the damage a lasat can do, how easily it could break a human. Kallus refused to be broken.
So, instead, he brags. He lies about his role on Lasan, hoping to break the lasat instead. Each blow Kallus lands feels like a weight off his shoulder. This is for the years of trauma , a voice in his head says when he strikes the animal with the electric end of his bo-rifle. This is for ruining my happy ending. This is for throwing away my chance at love. This is for taking my everything.
The boot hits him in the chest and the world flares with color. There’s so much for him to notice, but his eyes focus on the yellow waves of electricity flowing from Agent Kallus’s bo-rifle. Chava was right, his soulmate is strong, too strong. Zeb falters, and the yellow end hits him in the torso. This can’t be happening to him. This man, this monster who gave the order to kill his people, this was his soul mate. Kallus strikes him again and Zeb groans.
He can’t fall to this man, but another shock runs through him and Zeb is on his knees. He’s failed. He’s failed again, just like on Lasan. Agent Kallus has his bo-rifle held high above Zeb’s head, ready to strike, but then the human goes flying and Zeb finds himself flat on his back.
Kanan is the one who comes for him, helps him to the Ghost.
Yellow has a new meaning to Zeb. Kallus’s bo-rifle is yellow. So is the man’s hair, The meteorite keeping them warm is yellow, fading in and out as they steal its neverending heat. So much of Kallus is yellow, and Zeb wishes he wasn’t able to see the color.
Kallus pulls off his glove as Orrelios, no Zeb, runs back towards the Ghost, back to his family. He stares at the words he still can’t pronounce. He hates his mark, even if he doesn’t hate Zeb anymore. He’s an imperial; he’ll never be able to be with Zeb, not even if he wanted to.