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Somewhere on the outer rim, in a quiet little system, on a planet that stays green all year round, they say there is a witch.
The woman is hard and gaunt, yet beautiful. It is hard to judge exactly how old she is, until you see the years of sadness piled up in her eyes. She gives no name and no one bothers to ask. She keeps to herself, giving no trouble and expecting none in return. Unlike most in the outer rim, she carries no weapon, except a heavy-looking metal hilt in her belt. There have been whispered rumors as to what it is exactly, but one dares to speak the name aloud.
Tales arose over the years of how she earned the title of witch. They say she can make you believe anything with the simple wave of her fingers. She can lift things far too heavy for a woman of her size, and some say she can command the world around her without having to speak a word. The people in the nearby settlements avoid her.
She is not alone.
There is a child, a tall boy with dark and solemn eyes. She rarely cuts the black curls that frame his face. They say he has powers too, though none have ever seen it. When asked about the boy’s father, she turned away as if the grief was too heavy to bear.
The woman trains her son patiently. She clothes him in grey. She watches him carefully every day, looking for signs of darkness or light. They boy has yet to choose.
On clear nights they lie outside and gaze up at the stars. They boy looks out and dreams of adventure. The woman views the stars with trepidation, knowing it is only a matter of time until they are discovered. A day will come when someone will arrive and try to take her son away from her. She says nothing but grips her lightsaber with a sense of determination.