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Chapter Text

Zaraiyah Kaeda-Rhu was the type of person who always desperately tried to cling to what little she could of her heritage and culture. In spite of the fact that she was born on Taris, far from her ancestral homeland, she could clearly remember spending the bulk of her free time as a youngling in the Temple library, soaking up all the information she could possibly retain concerning the planet of her people. All that time in the library paid off in a different way as well, granting her one of her most valuable friendships, the one she shared with Madame Jocasta Nu.

Informational articles and historical records can only get a girl so far though, and soon enough she would turn to the only other Twi’lek Jedi she could. Poor Master Che could recall and recount in detail the many tedious sessions she’d had with a child Zaraiayah who had absolutely no qualms about firing endless questions at her about her life before the Order until she resorted to introducing her to Master Secura. She hadn’t taken it personally though. That was just Vokara being Vokara, and anyway she knew the Chief Healer had secretly enjoyed those sessions, even if she would never admit to it aloud.

These days she had at least some firsthand experience, having been stationed on Ryloth with Krell and Master Windu during that long, bloody campaign early in the war. She remembered very clearly the joy of being among so many of her people, in spite of the circumstances. The rush she had gotten from riding with Syndulla's freedom fighters had meant everything to her. She had felt at home for the first time in a long while.

She was even trying to relearn Ryl, slowly recovering the memories of her mother-tongue that she had tried to bury. Her desire to practice the language had in fact been a turning point in her relationship with Obi-Wan during the first few weeks of her new apprenticeship. Much to her chagrin, she discovered very quickly that he was much more fluent than she, though he assured her this was only because of her lack of exposure and immersion. His master, Qui-Gon, had apparently encouraged him to mingle with the locals during missions. Krell . . . not so much.

Then there was the matter of her surname, which was really a combination of two surnames. Ahsoka had asked her about that once when they had gone for an early morning walk together, and by early she meant that it was still dark out. Both had been awakened by nightmares and had inadvertently met each other in the halls, then decided they preferred each other's company to solitude.

“So why do your records before . . . before your apprenticeship to Obi-Wan list you as ‘Padawan Rhu’ when before that you were ‘Youngling Kaeda-Rhu?’ And now you’re back to Kaeda-Rhu again?” Ahsoka had asked after a long period of comfortable silence. The question had startled Zaraiyah with its abruptness, but she hadn’t really minded. She knew if her friend weren’t in this sleep-deprived state she wouldn’t have asked such a question.

“Snooping through my records, are we Tano?” She had joked, earning her a playful shoulder nudge from Ahsoka. The contact had made Zaraiyah’s face heat up slightly, and she remembered how grateful she had been for her crimson skin tone which made it essentially impossible for someone to tell when she was blushing.

"No, but seriously. Why is that?" She had sighed and turned her gleaming silver eyes to the picturesque skyline of Coruscant just as the Sun was beginning to show itself.

"Before I came to the Temple, I was adopted by a human family on Onderon. The family's name was Rhu." Zaraiyah could remember exactly how and when she had paused as the memories came flooding back to her, how she had decided she wasn't quite ready to admit her origins to anyone, not even the girl she cared most about. "But my birth-mother, her name was Kaeda. Kitri Kaeda." She had watched as understanding dawned on Ahsoka's face.

"Both of them were good to me, though I can't remember my mother as well as I used to." She had continued with a wry smile. "And even though I was adopted by humans, I'm still Twi'lek, and I want to honor both parts of my past. Krell being Krell . . . he didn't respect that."

In short, Zaraiyah was the type to not only want, but to fundamentally need clarity, even the slightest bit, on the issue of her origins and ancestors, of her homeland and mother-tongue. She needed that knowledge, that certainty. And she was proud of it, every bit of it. Nevertheless there were times when she would much rather be any other species than Twi'lek, or at least would have preferred not to have been a female of her species. Like right now, for example, with Obi-Wan giving her a "private briefing" on their assignment to Zygerria, which really consisted of him trying and failing to find a tactful way of explaining to her how desirable her species was considered, and how if anyone tried to actually be inappropriate with her to go to him immediately.

"Master," She said when she decided it had gone on long enough. "With all due respect, I've lived my whole life as I am." An amused smile danced on her lips. "I can handle it." An expression she couldn't quite place flashed across his face (was that. .  . pride?) then it was gone, and she was left wondering if it had ever been there at all.

"I have no doubt you can." He replied, looking slightly awkward as he tossed her a clothing bag. "You should go change now. We'll be reaching Zygerria soon."

Zaraiyah nodded dutifully and took the bag, feeling relieved that the ordeal was over. She had a sneaking suspicion Ahsoka was enduring a similar conversation with Anakin. Force, the embarrassment the whole thing caused her was almost enough to make her wish she had decided to sit out this mission after all. Following the start of her apprenticeship to Obi-Wan, both of them had been granted a meditative retreat for 'as long as the Healers deemed necessary.' So while Obi-Wan had gone to Kiros, Zaraiyah had practically been held captive, forced to sttend Mind Healing Sessions with Vokara and Rig Nema. Fortunately, both had cleared her for duty, and of course she had jumped at the chance to be back in the field. Except this mission was no outright battle, at least not yet. Right now it was all about freeing some 50,000 enslaved Togruta colonists.

As she stood in front of the mirror in her quarters dressed in the costume she had been assigned specifically for this mission, she had to restrain herself from ripping it all off. It was skimpy (to say the least), consisting of a blindingly white bra-like garment that barely covered her breasts, serving to enhance that still-developing part of her body. There was a skirt too, also white but with silver accents. Really, it was more of a piece of white underwear with silver mesh hanging down to "cover" her legs. She examined the pair silver cuff-like bracelets that went from her wrist to just shy of her elbow. Under different circumstances, she might have liked them. Finally, she turned her eyes to her new headdress, also silver, which was ornate and elaborate, drawing attention to her more developed and fully healed lekku.

She hated it. Every single kriffing part of it. She hated how little of her body it covered, she hated how all the silver brought out the striking color of her eyes, and she hated whoever had thought up this disguise. It reminded her of something her mother would have worn, or rather, something her mother would have been forced to wear. No. She thought to herself firmly. I promised myself I wouldn't think about her during this mission. Absentmindedly, she began to roughly scratch the scar back of her left hand again. The ugly, lighting-white mark that marred her hand stood in stark contrast to her skin, painfully noticeable at times when she happened to not be wearing gloves, which was usually never, if she could help it. Unfortunately, this was one of those times, as whoever had come up with the disguise had not included them.

She felt her lips curl into a sneer as she glared at her reflection. A mild wave of nausea washed over her as she decided that she momentarily decided that she hated herself just as much as she hated the stupid costume.

"Zaraiyah?" Ahsoka's voice made her jump. The other girl entered the room, clad in a similarly revealing disguise, only hers was slightly less scanty. Her mouth shifted itself into a frown as she looked Zaraiyah up and down. "You too, huh?"

She let out a bitter laugh.

"Of course me too." The unspoken addition, I'm Twi'lek did not go unheard. They stood there for a few all too brief moments, simply looking at each other with deep understanding and empathy that only they could share. Maybe their respective masters could sympathize, or even try to protect them from the consequences of their being females, each of an "exotic" non-human race, but they could never understand. Not truly. Not like Ahsoka and Zaraiyah could each understand the other's plight. And, she had to admit, that fact brought her some small amount of comfort.

Both their comms beeped.

"They want us up there." Said Ahsoka finally. She motioned for Zaraiyah to follow her. "Let's go."

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Ahsoka Tano remembered exactly when and why she had decided to ditch the tube top for something less revealing. Sure, she hadn't exactly started to dress like Master Shaak Ti, but it was a change noticeable enough that it had earned her a few odd looks from those closest to her for some time after the switch. She had never told anyone the reason behind the change in uniform, mostly because she knew how Anakin would react. She never told anyone about the incident on a mission to the lower levels of Coruscant, how she had finally realized just how much some people would always objectify her, in spite of all her successes and accomplishments. And she had certainly never told anyone just how much that fact stung.

Maybe that was why she felt so acutely uncomfortable in her disguise right now. It was beautiful fabric, and she knew the contrast against her orange skin was alluring, but she still felt uneasy. It wasn't that she didn't like or want to look attractive, it was just the sense she got of being shown off and sexualized that made bile begin to rise in her throat. She could tell Zaraiyah felt the same, everything about her body language made that excruciatingly clear.

"Nervous?" She asked her friend, whose face was set into a steely and unreadable expression. Her words seemed to snap Zaraiyah out of her trance as she jumped again, then looked embarrassed.

"What? Oh, uh, not really." She replied, leaving Ahsoka entirely unconvinced. And was it just her or was her face gradually turning a slightly darker shade of red than usual?

"It's okay to be, you know."

"We'll be landing shortly, Commander Tano, Commander Kaeda-Rhu." Said Rex crisply. With indescribable gratitude, Ahsoka noted how the Captain's eye-contact with them never wavered, how his gaze never wandered to either girls' exposed bodies. He was an exception. He and Anakin and Obi-Wan, all exceptions to the general rule.

Zaraiyah nodded in understanding to what Rex had said, though her eyes were glazed and distant, as if she were watching a program on the holonet. Worried, Ahsoka gently placed a hand on her shoulder, causing the other girl to flinch violently away.

"Sorry." Said Zaraiyah shortly. "I guess I am a little nervous." Ahsoka stared for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. Like her master, she had never really been the comforting type. Of course she cared (a lot) but she often found herself at a loss on how to express it.

As the silence dragged on for what felt like an eternity, she noticed Zaraiyah scratching the back of her left hand. That might not have been remarkable if she hadn't been doing it roughly enough to where violet blood was steadily trickling through her broken red skin. Now that she thought of it, she had been scratching the whole way to Zygerria, ever since she had joined the assignment. It was always the same spot too, and as she looked closer she saw a startlingly white scar beneath the trickling blood. Ahsoka resisted her first impulse to grab her wrist and stop her, considering how she had responded to touch just moments before.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" She spoke gently instead, jutting her chin toward Zaraiyah's scarred and still-bleeding hand. "There's no shame in-"

"I'm fine." Zaraiyah snapped, hiding her left hand behind her back as soon as she noticed Ahsoka's gaze. "Let's just focus on the task at hand."

No one else had noticed her quiet distress, and not knowing what else to do, Ahsoka sighed and nodded, turning back to the window which showed them the growing vision of Zygerria.

Chapter Text

At least Ahsoka got the luxury of being covered for now. Even if it was reminiscent of the robes Krell used to make Zaraiyah wear. She shuddered as thought crossed her mind before she could stifle it.

"Remind me why we're the ones playing the slave parts?" Said Ahsoka, snapping her back to the present. Zaraiyah braced herself for Anakin's reaction.

"I tried it once. I wasn't any good at it." He said, much more calmly than she had expected. What surprised her most were his words, though. Evidently she and the Chosen One had something in common. "Besides," He said playfully. "The role of the master comes easily to me."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and Zaraiyah had to fight not to snicker.

"Really? Well this time try to be convincing at it." Said Ahsoka. Anakin only grinned wider. With that, Zaraiyah, her Master, and Rex entered the walled city behind the childish pair. On their own they were clever and exceptional warriors, but put them in a room together and all they had left between them was approximately half a brain cell. She had shared the sentiment with Obi-Wan once, and after a good laugh he had agreed.

The memory comforted Zaraiyah as she walked with her head bowed between her Master and Rex, both of whom were disguised as slavers. She felt exposed and vulnerable, painfully aware of the multiple sets of leering eyes boring into her bare skin. She almost regretted agreeing to this mission. Almost. Freeing the enslaved colonists will be more than worth it. She reminded herself, doing her best to fight the long-buried memories that were now finding a foothold at the forefront of her mind.

She felt Rex lay a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder, a silent indicator to follow him and Obi-Wan as they slipped away from Anakin and Ahsoka. She raised her head just in time to see a green-skinned Twi'lek man trip and fall to the ground. To call him a man was generous though; he looked as if he couldn't have been  much older than Ahsoka and herself.

"Get up! You useless skug!" A Zygerrian man barked as he shoved roughly past the other Twi'lek slaves. With great effort, Zaraiyah ignored the guilty pang that appeared when she made brief eye contact with one of the women. In the fraction of a second when silver met violet from across the narrow marketplace, she could not help but see herself reflected back at her in the defeated-looking girl in cuffs.

"Master, the bonds, they are too heavy." The boy said, huddled protectively around his own body on the ground. His voice was hoarse, as if he had not had something to drink for a long while.

"Tell it to my whip!" The slaver snarled, unhooking an electro-whip from his belt and swinging it high.

Zariayah felt Obi-Wan grab her gently at the elbow then, as if he were restraining her from doing something rash. He needn't have worried; she had spent her childhood constantly witnessing scenes like this. It wasn't until she had fled to Onderon that she learned that such treatment of fellow sentients was not, in fact, acceptable behavior. Maybe that was why what Ahsoka did next shocked her so.

"You don't want to do that." Her friend said through gritted teeth while she held the slaver's forearm in an iron grip. She had just enough time to register that Obi-Wan had been worried about the wrong padawan before she saw the slaver yank his arm away, disgusted and outraged.

"You dare touch me!"

"Excuse my slave, friend." Zaraiyah let out short sigh of relief when Anakin stepped in. "She is freshly-caught."

"Hm, what do we have here? You wear Zygerrian armor, but you are not one of us. Who are you?"

"I've come for an audience with the Queen."

"Then you have an invitation? We can't let just anyone in to speak with Her Majesty."

"No invitation, but I do bring news. News the Queen will be eager to hear."

"I doubt that. You're nothing more than a brigand." Zaraiyah held her breath at the slaver's snarl while silently questioning the wisdom of having this part of the mission hinge on Anakin's smooth-talking.

"I wouldn't say that, especially when the Queen learns you prevented her from hearing the news about Bruno Denturri." Almost immediately, a pair pf guards and a spherical drone rushed forward to shield Anakin and Ahsoka from the irritated slaver.

"Halt! Cease all hostilities!" The drone said. "This man is to be escorted to the palace by order of the Queen." With that, Anakin and Ahsoka were off to the palace with their new entourage, with Zaraiyah, Obi-Wan, and Rex discreetly headed in the opposite direction.

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Obi-Wan could practically feel his padawan's discomfort and humiliation radiating off of her like waves. It pained him, but at least she was playing her part better than Ahsoka, at least from what he had seen. Even so, he would be lying if he said he didn't find it disturbing how easily she had slipped into her role.

In the next instant, he moved to catch Zaraiyah from falling forward after a Hut had shoved roughly past her. They were standing at the edge of a square pit, one of many that the Zygerrians were using to hold their slaves.

"Thanks." She whispered, eyes glued to the dark and filthy pit below, and the three Wookies who were crammed into it.

"Ganda chuba kuna, koochoo pulta!" Said the Hut before moving on and paying them no further attention. They waited until the Hut was out of earshot before continuing their discreet search.

"Sirs, take a look at this." Rex motioned for them to go to the pit he was standing over. Obi-Wan and Zaraiyah jogged to him and leaned over the edge. Obi-Wan's gaze darkened.

"Stand watch." He told the two of them. "I'll take a closer look." With that, he leapt gracefully from the edge and into the pit, ignoring the reek of urine and vomit. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he registered - with relief - that the crumpled form in the corner was exactly who he was looking for.

"Governor Roshti!" He greeted the older Togruta man.

"No! Oh, no!" He flinched back and scrambled away from him, pressing his body as hard as he could against the cold stone wall. Obi-Wan felt something twist inside him painfully.

"It's alright!" He said, removing his helmet. "I'm a friend. A Jedi here to help. Do you know where your people are?" The poor man looked just about ready to break down in tears of joy.

"They're. . .they're. . ." He slumped into Obi-Wan's arms, eyes drooped shut. Oh, Force. He promptly slung the Governor over his soldier and used the Force to leap up out of the wretched hole.

"Master, did you find out where the others are?" Asked Zaraiyah, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the unconscious Governor.

"Not yet. We've got to get him out of here." They probably had about a second before they were noticed. He took in their surroundings, his eyes landing on the Brezak perched on the wall almost directly above them. Yes, that'll do nicely.

He vaulted up at the beast, tossed its rider away like a doll, and cracked the reins sharply, urging his new ride downward.

"You there! What are you doing with that slave!" One of the guards shouted at them as all three of them worked to heave the Governor's dead weight onto the creature. Rex was now in front and holding the reins, desperately urging the Brezak into the air while Obi-Wan and Zaraiyah made sure the Governor didn't fall off.

"Master!" Zaraiyah's cry followed the sound of one of the guard's firing on them. Down she tumbled, taking Obi-Wan and the Governor with her. The unforgiving pavement greeted them as they landed side by side, surrounded by very unhappy-looking guards with their weapons pointed right at the their faces.

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No, no, no, this can't be happening. Force, let this be a dream, let this be a dream. Considering her luck and the incessant throbbing at the base of her right lek, Zaraiyah had the sneaking suspicion that this was not, in fact, a dream. Which was unfortunate for her, considering her current situation. She was chained to a wall by her wrists, and judging by the darkness and the stench of urine, she guessed she was in one of the pits she had been standing over earlier. She must have hit her lek after her fall from the Brezak and passed out. Just perfect.

She turned her head, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through her skull with the movement. Stupid hypersensitive lekku. Obi-Wan was in a similar position next to her, except that he looked even worse than she felt. She met his gentle, apologetic gaze, and drank in the waves of encouragement he was sending through their newly-formed bond.

"Ah, good. Your pet is awake." A Zygerrian guard said to him. From the corner of her eye, Zaraiyah could see he was holding an electro-whip. She was certain that her Master had been on the receiving end of it while she was unconscious.

In the time it took for her to complete that thought, the electro-whip had already slashed through the air and onto her bare back. She cried out, clenching her hands into fists as the lashes continued. She couldn't think straight; her entire body was on fire and hundreds of daggers were stabbing at her each time the whip came whistling down onto her. Time melted away, and all she knew was agony.

"Stop! I-I'll talk, please just stop!" Obi-Wan's desperate plea only barely registered at the corner of Zaraiyah's consciousness. The guard granted her a brief reprieve, which she savored for a moment until her now-sluggish mind finally caught on.

"Don't. . ." She mumbled, eyes only half open as she slumped against the wall, held up only by the chains around her wrists. She cringed away from the guard who looked as if he were about to shut her up when another Zygerrian entered. This one was different, though. He was formally dressed, and he looked important, walked with an air authority and arrogance.

"Well? Who are they?" Asked the newcomer.

"This one was just about to talk."

"Wait." The newcomer said, walking towards Obi-Wan. "I know you. From the hologram." He grasped her Master's jaw roughly in his hands to look at him, and Zaraiyah winced at the sound of cracking bone. "I never forget a Jedi."

He released him then, turning his attention to Zaraiyah. "And I take it this is your apprentice? Such a pretty thing. . ." He said, stroking her face.

Her stomach turned violently as her heart pounded in her ears. She turned her gaze downward, not wanting her Master to see the unadulterated terror in her eyes. She felt a tear slide down her cheek as she wished to the Force that she were anywhere else right now.

Chapter Text

The moment the Zygerrians brought Governor Roshti out, Ahsoka knew the others were in some deep bantha-shit. She exchanged a worried look with Anakin as they shoved the elderly man forward and out into the stadium.

“This handsome sample represents a lot numbering no less than 50,000 beings! Note the compliance. Virtually untrained in combat, there will be no rebellion from these slaves.” The announcer said, prompting a deafening roar of cheers from the audience. Ahsoka felt sick with anger and anxiety. Whatever had gone wrong with the rescue attempt, the weight in her stomach told her they would find out very soon.

“So, where do you keep 50,000 slaves like the people of Kiros?” She heard Anakin say to the Queen as she made brief eye contact with Rex. She was glad for her Togruta eyesight, otherwise she was certain he would have simply been a blip in the sea of scummy slavers that made up the audience. At least he’s alright.

The Queen looked as if she were thinking about her answer carefully, which surprised her since she hardly considered his question to be subtle or nonchalant. At all. Unfortunately for them, she was interrupted when the Prime Minister strode in, shoving Ahsoka to the side so he could bow to the Queen. Ahsoka scowled at the back of his head, half-hoping their covers would be blown soon so she could openly give him what he deserved.

“Your Majesty, I have urgent news.” Even with her proximity to the pair, that was the last thing Ahsoka could make of what he said, for whatever else he told her was told in hushed, careful whispers.

The weight in her stomach grew heavier, and she felt even sicker than she had before. She almost considered just letting herself vomit all over the Queen’s fancy shoes, but, with great effort, she resisted the urge. Almost unconsciously, she made her way over to where Anakin was standing. Being closer to him calmed her slightly; his presence comforted her. She watched intently as the Queen waved the Prime Minister away, she allowed herself to be glad of at least that small victory. She was far from oblivious to how he (she was almost certain his name was Molec) had been eyeing her from the moment they had met.

The Queen stood and walked to the edge of their booth. Something deep inside her started screaming at Ahsoka to run. She exchanged another look with Anakin behind her back. Neither of them needed the Force to guess by now that the whole mission was (probably) about to go to shit.

“Before we begin the auction, I would welcome two most special guests, the Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi and his apprentice, Zaraiyah Kaeda-Rhu.” In almost perfect unison, Anakin and Ahsoka snapped their heads up in time to see the aforementioned pair being shoved roughly into the center of the stadium by a handful of guards. Ahsoka felt her heart drop to her stomach as she saw how battered they both looked. Obi-Wan’s face was cut and bruised, his clothes were now torn in places and stained scarlet. He was limping too, while holding his side as if it pained him to breathe. Beside him, little Zaraiyah was in a similar state, except her head was bowed as she shuffled forward, allowing her Master to lean on her for support as the pair hobbled awkwardly onto a raised platform for the crowd to jeer at.

“My friends, my good friends.” The Queen’s authoritative voice boomed across the stadium. Ahsoka doubted that she had ever wanted to strangle someone more than she did now. “Do not fear the Jedi! They are no different than others we have forced into submission, for they have forsaken their ideals to serve a corrupt Senate. Every Jedi has become a slave to the Republic. The Jedi Order is weak, and we will help break it.”

The audience roared its approval, a foreboding symphony that made Ahsoka’s shiver as she watched her friends on the stage below. Zaraiyah, still helping to support Obi-Wan’s weight, dared to hide her face in his shoulder for a brief moment, as if she were far past caring about the rules on attachment. Right now she probably just wanted to be comforted.

“Teach the Jedi their place.” The Queen said to Anakin, offering him an electro-whip while wearing a sadistic grin. He took it after hesitating for just a fraction of a second, then left without sparing a glance at Ahsoka.

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As Anakin clambered up onto the stage where Obi-Wan and Zaraiyah were kneeling side by side, he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit smug. The smugness was, of course, coupled with the ever-present, suffocating fear that they would not make it home this time, either due to death (which was preferable to literally every other possibility in this situation) or something worse, such as being enslaved for the rest of their miserable lives. But once you got past the fear part, then yeah: he was feeling smug. Because today he was once again rescuing his old Master. And on his first mission with his new Padawan, no less. He swore to the Force, if they got out of this shit hole alive he would never let Obi-Wan live this down.

“Looks like I have to rescue you again, old man.” Anakin said under his breath, and for a moment he thought it was drowned out in all the cries of ‘Whip the Jedi!’ from the crowd surrounding them.

“I knew you’d have a backup plan.” Said Obi-Wan, relief in his voice. Zaraiyah let out an odd, relieved noise that was somewhere between a cackle and a sob. Their mini-reunion was rudely interrupted by a certain Zygerrian Queen.

“Prove to me you are a slaver. Swing that whip or die beside him.”

“Well those are some lousy options.” He muttered. He looked up at Rex, then at Ahsoka back in the Queen’s booth. When they both nodded, all he felt for a moment was relief that he wouldn’t have to play pretend with the Queen anymore.

“You leave me no choice, Highness.” He said, bowing low and activating the electro-whip in his hand.

He saluted, then wrapped the whip around one of the guards while Obi-Wan and Zaraiyah took care of the others so that only the three of them remained on the platform. A whistling sound cracked through the air as three lightsabers rained down on them. Thanks, Artoo. Obi-Wan and Zaraiyah freed each other from their cuffs swiftly before springing into action, incapacitating the remaining guards that were in the pit with them.

Just then, Rex came tumbling down from his place in the audience, taking one of the guards down with him. Zaraiyah rushed toward him, and upon seeing that the Captain would be fine for now Anakin turned to look up at the booth.

“Ahsoka, the Queen!” He yelled while Obi-Wan stood beside him, eyeing the door they had come in through. No doubt Zygerrian reinforcements would be appearing any moment now. No sooner had he finished that thought than did said reinforcements begin to flood in.

Anakin leapt back up onto the stage, trying to gain the high ground against their opponents who vastly outnumbered them. Within seconds, the four of them were surrounded. From the corner of his eye, he saw Zaraiyah being pulled to the ground by two electro-whips as she tried desperately to protect Rex, who was still struggling to stand. Moments later, Obi-Wan met a similar fate, and the cry of pain he let out as he struggled against the whip around his throat only made Anakin fight harder.

In one hand, he held his lightsaber and in the other he swung a whip. It was not electric like the ones the slavers carried, but it would do. He brandished it, wordlessly daring the Zygerrians to come any closer. Part of him knew it was over at that point, but he could not, would not stop fighting. If he was truly going to be delivered back into chains, it would not be without unleashing all hell onto these scum.

He continued to struggle even after both hands were restrained by electro-whips and his lightsaber had gone flying far past his reach. Even as his legs were caught by the whips, he still writhed in their hold, not in pain, but in defiance. It was only a few seconds after one caught around his neck when his body finally gave out even as his mind still screamed at him to fight.

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Zaraiyah stayed glued to her Master’s side as they waited to be loaded onto the Zygerrian ship. The scar on the back of her left hand burned as she hung her head even lower, praying to the Force once again that this was all just some sick nightmare. She swallowed hard and dug her fingernails into her palms in an effort to ground herself. I’ll be fine. She told herself silently, willing the tears pooling in her eyes not to fall. She would not show weakness. As long as I’m with my Master, I’ll be fine. Obi-Wan must have felt her mounting panic through their bond, because in that same instant she felt solace wash over her like cool water, which could only have come from him. She was soothed momentarily, though she was not so unobservant that she had failed to notice that his own dread had been intermingled with his reassurance.

She looked up and met his tired eyes with her own, opening her mouth as if to speak, then froze.

No kriffing way.

Approaching them was a Human man with a security droid in tow, about Obi-Wan’s age, but that was just about where the similarities ended. This one was shorter, and so pale that his skin had an almost sickly, translucent quality to it. His eyes were so dark and soulless they were almost black, and his white-blond hair was slicked back so tightly it looked as if it were painted onto his skull. Overall, he looked like the sort of person who could stab you in the back (literally and figuratively) and walk away with a clear conscience. But worst of all was his unmistakable uniform, for on the left side of his chest, stitched flawlessly with shining silver thread, was the Czerka emblem.

Obi-Wan followed her gaze, which was filled with renewed terror, to the man, who had reached them by now. His eyes landed on the Czerka logo, and realization flooded his expression. Zaraiyah could almost hear his thoughts: ‘So that’s where that scar came from.’ She could wonder how he had drawn that conclusion so quickly later.

She held her breath, daring to hope that he was not here for what she guessed he was. Unconsciously, she moved even closer to Obi-Wan, dropping her head again and staring furiously at the ground.

She heard the Czerka representative say something to one of the Zygerrians, but she couldn’t make out what it was. Or perhaps she simply refused to accept it.

“Make it quick.” The Zygerrian snapped in reply.

The Human man stepped in front of Zaraiyah, and she felt her chin being grabbed and yanked upward. This can’t be happening. She couldn’t breathe, oh Force, she could't breathe. She was dying. She was suffocating, she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She felt impossibly cold and unbearably warm at the same time as more tears welled in her eyes.

“Scanning,” The droid said in its metallic voice before shedding a beam of green light right at her face. She blinked hard, temporarily blinded. “Identified and confirmed via facial recognition: Czerka property. Classification: item of sentient property.”

“NO!” She heard herself shriek. Without thinking, she wrenched herself free from the man’s grasp and sprinted, not bothering to look where she was going. Nothing else mattered as her feet pounded against the ground, her senses dulling as she succumbed to single-mindedness. Her surroundings melted away until it was just her, running as fast as she could. All she knew was that she needed to get away from them. There had to be a load of cargo somewhere, something, anything to hide behind and-

A wave of agonizing, electric pain overtook her, and she fell to her knees as she cried out. The very next thing the felt was the security droid’s clamping arms grasping her. Her feet were several centimeters from the ground now. Oh Force, she couldn't find a foothold, she couldn't get away! She thrashed about in its grip, dazed from the shock collar but still fueled with adrenaline and desperation.

“Master!” She shouted as loudly as she could now that droid was crushing her lungs in its pitiless hold.“Master, help me!”

The last thing she heard was Obi-Wan pleading on her behalf before an impossibly long and thin needle jabbed into her neck. Then, everything went dark and silent.