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The twin moons of Lothal shone bright across the plains, casting the night in a blue-ish tinge. A wind blew that rustled the grasses. High up, in the mountains, it was fierce, cold. Yet Ezra Bridger still stood outside, pacing.
Something was wrong. Something was missing.
The leather of his clothes kept him warm to some degree, but there was a coldness inside. An emptiness of sorts.
Kanan. He needed to find Kanan.
Ezra traversed the inner and outer passageways of the old settlement, seeing his friends sleeping, seeing other rebels, their equipment, the archaic art on the walls. But no Kanan.
Maybe he was in the Ghost?
He didn’t know why, but he had to find him. It was pressing down upon him, making it difficult to even swallow. His mouth was dry, and a nervous sweat had started on the back of his neck and under his arms.
Kanan, where are you?
Ezra boarded the Ghost through the hold. It was empty. No sign of anyone. He checked the engine room, climbed the ladder to check the cabins and the cockpit.
As he stood before the empty cockpit, staring out the viewport, breathing heavy, he sensed a presence behind him.
Ezra turned.
There was no one there.
But there had been. Surely there had been.
“Kanan?” he called.
No answer.
He tried to follow the presence, and it led him out of the Ghost , and down a rough-hewn path through the mountains to the plains below. It seemed warm, familiar, but always out of reach. He needed that presence; needed it like he needed to breathe, to live.
Was it Kanan? Why was he avoiding him?
Something was seriously wrong.
“Kanan!” Ezra called once he stood before the grasslands. “Kanan, there’s something…. I don’t know what’s going on, but I need your help. Please.”
Why was his master avoiding him?
“Kanan, please.”
There it was! That presence again. Behind him. Ezra turned, ready to face whoever it was, but there was only empty space. Pain clawed at the inside of his chest, like there was a hole there and he was slowly chipping away, each piece falling into that hole bit by bit.
Ezra was alone. Yet he couldn’t stop searching. How could he?
The deep shadows from the mountains surrounded him, and he thought he saw something in those shadows. A figure. He followed into the darkness, and it was like that darkness crept inside of him. Gnawing, biting.
“Kanan?” he called, his voice weak now, unsure.
He had to find him. Had to. It was weighing down on his shoulders, a pressing need that wouldn’t abate.
Soon he found himself running. Running away from the shadows, out into the grasslands. Loth-wolves appeared on either side, running with him. Or were they after him? They circled around in front of him, and Ezra skidded to a stop, dirt furrowing about his boots.
“Do you know where Kanan is?” he asked the white Loth-wolf.
It snarled, big eyes focused on him. Ezra backed up a step, but then he was nudged forward by a large, furry body. Another wolf.
“Something’s wrong,” Ezra tried explaining. “I need to find him.”
Still, the large creature before him continued snarling, and the hair on the back of Ezra’s neck stood on end.
Suddenly, those massive jaws were opening, and they seemed to never stop, teeth gleaming like white spearheads, swallowing Ezra whole, enveloping him in utter darkness.
“Kanan!”
Ezra sat up, sweating, panting. He was in his cabin on the Ghost, Zeb snoring on his bunk beneath him.
A dream. It had been a dream.
Still, that emptiness dragged at him, and he knew the truth. He couldn’t find Kanan because Kanan was no longer a presence in the Living Force.
Kanan was…
Ezra stumbled out of his bunk, still wanting to search, still needing his master, his family. He went to the cabin door and pressed the button to slide it open. From there, he made his way to Kanan’s cabin.
It was stark, empty, and maybe now it always would be. The wonderful being who had once lived here was gone.
Ezra collapsed to his knees, and hugged himself as he sobbed.
Kanan Jarrus, his master, was dead.