Chapter Text
Jango Fett was declared missing, some even believed that his luck finally caught up with him, getting himself killed for real this time.
As it became clear, that Jango was not just involved in a long hunt, but was missing, the Mand'alor Jaster Mereel refrained from making public appearances for a whole week, while the grunts where sent out to find the Alor'ad.
The grunts came back.
The next day Jaster gave a speech in an armour painted almost completely grey, only having some small streaks of the familiar green and red most Mandalorians had known their leader by.
The speech was short.
There were not many words, that had to be said.
Jango was not yet declared dead.
Soon everything returned to normal, except for the colours of the armours of the Clan Mereel. While they originally preferred green as their base color, now most of their beskargam was painted grey with accents of green and gold.
In the meanwhile far away from the silent grief of the Mandalorians, another lonely young man was kept in stasis on a planet, that resembled more a clinical facility.
Years went by and more and more boys sharing the man's face started to populate the planet, growing fast into young adults, that easily could be mistaken for the man in the stasis.
The lookalikes were trained to fight and be soldiers, while any hint of individuality was punished harshly.
The man in the stasis woke up when the first of them was decommissioned. He woke up shrieking, but it didn't matter. Only minutes later he was put to sleep again, before the pain of the loss of life was gone from the young man's mind.
As the years continued, the cycle of waking up shrieking and returning forcefully to sleep continued and each time the young man cries became more sorrowful, as he mourned the lifes lost before and during his current awaking, not even being given enough time to calm down, as he was forced into stasis once again.
In yet another part of the Galaxy a young Padawan had returned to the safe embrace of the home he had grown up in, but unable to spend a night without being torn apart by cruel visions.
His master watched him helplessly, as the visions his young student received shared nothing else but death and sorrow of the same young human the poor boy saw.
Sometimes it looked like it was not about one single man, but multiple different individuals, who for some reason all shared the same face.
The master tried to get advice how to his Padawan, both in reading and understanding the visions and how to surpress or lighten their intensity. Yet, despite his efforts, his Padawan continued to cry late at night, when he buried his face into his master's tunics whimpering for someone to comr and help 'them'.
Years passed, the visions became no less but to the Master's grief the Padawan grew distanced to everyone around him, putting up a fake facade of happiness, whenever one worriedly asked him how he was faring.
He no longer came to his master's room in the night.
He no longer cried for help.
Instead he focused on his studies, pretending that he didn't see men die during the night, when he was supposed to sleep.
He became one of the most skilled padawan's any master could wish for, yet the Master looked mourningly at the braid he was adding yet another bead to, questioning the force if the price was truly worth to be paid.
When the braid was once again braided properly again and their bond strengthened, the Master Qui-Gon Jinn wordlessly hugged his Padawan, before the boy could flee from his grasp again.
Obi-Wan tried to free himself at first, but soon relaxed in his master's strong arms and forgot for a moment, that he was more than a young boy in the arms of their father.
Everything changed weeks later when Qui-Gon woke up to the familiar sound of crying after years of silence from his Padawan.
"Padawan mine", he whispered silently, as he was standing in the doorframe to his student's bedroom, still slightly dazed from the few hours of fitful sleep he was woken from.
Something was different, Qui-Gon noticed.
He had yet to realise, what it was.
But when Obi-Wan turned his gaze to him with tears, that had been kept in for years, flowing now freely down his reddened cheeks, and spoke up with a shaky voice, Qui-Gon knew, what had changed.
"We can help them, Master. I know where they are."
It was hope.