Chapter Text
Her body lurched forward again as the whole ship shook from another explosion. One of the engines was gone—fried—but the other strained to pump all it had into the ship’s unsteady propulsion. She exhaled sharply, fighting to maintain focus as she gripped the control yoke.
The Force is with me, she kept whispering. The Force is with me, now and always.
Another explosion. This time, the entire left wing was blown to pieces, and the ship spun sideways like an oversized iron boomerang. The Force was with her, but so were the pirates.
Six small starfighters rained fire upon what remained of her Sword of the Evening, reducing the once-elegant light freighter to little more than space dust and flaming debris. But there was hope still—a blue-green world flickering on the holo-desk, a promise of salvation, if only she could land this thing without exploding first.
“Damage assessment.”
From the co-pilot seat on her right, RX-P3 spun his cylindrical chassis, three clawed appendages tapping at the systems display monitor.
“Status report: Targeting and weapons systems—unresponsive. Shields and deflector systems—unresponsive. System status—”
“I said damage assessment ,” she snapped, cutting off the droid’s jittering report.
Pee-Three fell silent for a moment as the ship continued its uncontrolled spiral downward.
“…Life support systems are stable.”
“What else?”
The droid turned its helmet-like head toward her, twin yellow photoreceptors unblinking. It gave no response.
She closed her eyes, letting the Force wash over her.
A HWK-290 wasn’t built for combat. Even a modified variant with laser cannons was no match for ships with more durable chassis. The pirates knew this, so they kept tailing her. A wounded animal, crawling away from a pack of wolves. There was no chance of escape—the ship would explode, and she would die.
Or so the pirates thought.
She didn’t blame them. They had no way of knowing she was a Jedi and not just another smuggler passing through the wrong territory. They were right about one thing—the ship was finished. No amount of piloting skill could save it now.
But there was one thing in the universe that could even the odds.
She was lucky she had the Force.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
One hand on the control yoke, the other on the console. Pee-Three rattled off more system failures, but she wasn’t listening. She felt the ship through the Force, her consciousness expanding to encompass it.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
All things were part of the Force in some way—living or dead, it didn’t matter. The electricity running through the circuits like the blood in her veins. The engine roaring like the rhythmic beating of her heart. All part of the same greater whole. And just as a mind commanded its body through a single bioelectric impulse, so too did she impose her will over the ship.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
Another explosion.
“The engine is unresponsive,” the droid chimed.
She already knew.
The ship spun toward the world below. She felt every laser grazing the wounded hull, every explosion like plasma searing her flesh and bone. Before the droid even had a chance to speak, she sensed the life-support systems flicker out.
Yet even as more shots tore through the ship, the Sword of the Evening refused to break.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
“All systems are offline.”
She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The Force-imbued breathing technique she relied on demanded silence in exchange for survival. Even the backup systems were gone. No electricity pulsed through the ship. By all accounts, it was dead.
The spinning ceased, though the ship still hurtled downward. She was close now—so close to the atmosphere that the pursuing starfighters abandoned the chase, satisfied their target was doomed.
They didn’t realise she was still alive.
Her body and the ship—both held together by the same ancient will that had forged the universe at the dawn of creation.
There is no death, there is the Force.
The Sword of the Evening burned as it plunged through the planet’s atmosphere, a streaking fireball against the twilight sky. Somewhere far below, people would look up and point. Some might even make a wish.
A small smile ghosted across her lips.
She couldn’t hear anything over the raging inferno, but she knew the heat had fried Pee-Three’s internal circuitry. It would’ve done the same to her—if not for the Force.
It took all her strength to hold the ship together, to maintain the thin layer of invisible energy shielding her body, regulating the temperature, acting as a surrogate for the air she could no longer breathe.
She couldn’t see through the flames, but she felt the ship’s descent. Closer to the ground than to the clouds.
There wasn’t much strength left in her. Just enough for one last maneuver. The rest would be up to fate. She focused, directing what little remained of the ship’s trajectory, forcing it into an angle, pushing against the onslaught of gravity to slow its momentum.
The Sword of the Evening —or what little remained of it—met the earth.
It didn’t explode.
Instead, it skidded across the landscape, carving a blazing scar through the land. Tall grass burned. Dirt churned. A fiery trail stretched across the fields, a wound cut into the world.
Then—finally—the ship stopped moving.
The Sword of the Evening had landed.
She had no strength left. Not to hold the ship together. Not to protect herself. But she had to. Just long enough to crawl out. Just long enough to survive.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself from the pilot’s seat, maintaining her controlled breathing to avoid inhaling the thick black smoke choking the cockpit. Her fingers found the hilt of her blade, wrapping around it. She pulled it free from her belt and ignited it.
A purple blade shimmered in the dark.
She lacked the energy to phase through the wall, but she had just enough strength left for this.
She carved her way through the wreckage, slicing through twisted metal and fire-blackened debris. The Force bubble around her flickered, its power fading, leaving her skin exposed to the heat and her lungs at the mercy of the smoke.
It burned. It hurt. She could barely move. But she persisted.
At last, she stumbled from the wreckage, collapsing onto the scorched grass, the cool night air brushing against her face.
With one final breath of fresh air, she let herself fall into oblivion.
***
Incense. She smelled incense. Burning dry grass and animal oils left a strong fragrance in the air. These were not the fresh scents of the outside world—no, she was in some kind of hut, and judging by the animal skins covering her body and the softness of her cushioning, she was being treated rather well. Something was wrapped around her skin beneath the covers, and she could feel a cold balm still melting on her burns.
Her burns—right. She’d suffered heavy injuries when her ship crash-landed. She had the locals to thank for their generosity; she wouldn’t be alive now if not for them. She would make sure to return the favor in some way once she managed to leave the bed and discover exactly who had saved her.
Kalee—the planet was named Kalee on the star charts, in a system of the same name. It was inhabited by primitive reptilian natives who had once helped the Republic in a war against a dangerous alien empire. Right, she remembered now—she had been investigating pirate activity when her quarry got the better of her and almost took her down for good.
What a shame. It seemed she was losing her edge.
She stirred slightly, just to see if she could, and was immediately assaulted by an onslaught of pain. She opened her eyes, and a kindly face met her gaze—a gaunt reptilian with bat-like ears, large, bright golden eyes, and two eroded tusks protruding from the skin-sockets beneath his cheeks. His red-orange skin was tight and covered in warts.
She had seen a Kaleesh before—one of their off-worlder kin, those who had never seen or even heard of their homeworld, having spent thousands of years growing on distant stars, ever since some ancient war.
The man muttered something in a language she couldn’t understand, gently lifting her head with his hand as he poured a liquid into her mouth. She didn’t fight or protest—she had been around long enough to recognize the look and taste of folk medicine. In all her life, it was one of the worst things she had ever ingested. It immediately made her belch, which, in turn, made the old man laugh.
Focus , she thought. Trust in the Force and remember the Code. She mustered her strength and summoned the Force to her will, knitting her mind through its power to understand and speak the language of these people. It was a useful ability to have, should one find themselves without a protocol droid.
“Where am I?” she asked after some time had passed. The Kaleesh words felt awkward coming from her lips. The old man’s eyes widened.
“I didn’t know you could speak our language, Darum.”
Darum? Ah, yes. How fitting that even these people would think of the same nickname the Jedi had given her.
The Dark Woman.
“I can’t,” she explained, her voice raspy and weak. Her head fell to the side, her breaths heavy. “I can only understand you through the use of the Force—what you might know as magic.”
The old man nodded knowingly. “Then I was not wrong in my assumption. You are Je’dai.” The sudden reverence in his voice told her enough. Despite the poor state she was in, he couldn’t help but bow his head in respect. “We are honored to host you, great warrior.”
“I understand that I have your people to thank for still being alive.”
“The chieftain’s kamen rode to meet the falling star, and there you were—just as Sheelal had foreseen.” The old man’s voice turned quiet; he seemed reluctant to continue.
Sheelal? Even with the Force, she couldn’t quite make sense of the word. Was it a name or a title? Either way, Sheelal’s foresight intrigued her.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Only for a day, Darum Je’dai. Your wounds are minor, and your body is recovering quickly. I have never seen burn marks disappear before…”
“The Force is a powerful ally to have.”
“The magic of the wind and spirit,” the old man whispered. “Such power… to have fallen from the sky, walked through fire and smoke, and come out almost unscathed.”
He shook his head suddenly, as if clearing his thoughts, and rose from the stool he had been sitting on. Soon, he brought a wooden cup to her lips.
“You’ve already given me your medicine.”
“Oh no, this isn’t zigmash —it’s just tea. Drink, it’s quite good. My sister’s recipe.”
He wasn’t lying. The tea was quite good.
“Ask,” she said, making the old man flinch. “I can sense your anxiety. You’re unsure if you should, but there’s no reason to fear me. You may ask whatever is on your mind.”
“Thank you, Darum Je’dai…” His face hardened in anticipation. “Why have you come to Kalee? The last time your kind came, they brought us only war. We were trained and given powerful weapons to slay our enemies. Is that why you have returned, Je’dai?”
“I assure you, I have come alone and not for the sake of war.”
“Then why are you here?”
“My ship—the falling star—was damaged by pirates, and I crash-landed here. I am no different from a marooned sailor. I will require your assistance in finding a way back.”
“I see. If you truly bring us no ill news, then you are welcome among us until we can find you a ship back home, Je’dai.” He stood up again. “The Chieftain will want to speak with you when you are feeling better.”
She nodded, turned her head away from him, and, finally giving in to her exhaustion, drifted off to sleep.
***
“I hope you’re satisfied with our hospitality, Je’dai.”
“It has been most generous, Master of Irikuum.”
The Kaleesh man was younger than she’d expected—still in his best years despite the weight of wisdom that oozed from his every word. Life on Kalee must have been short and hard if men grew so quickly.
A day had passed since her first conversation with the Malga —the Kaleesh wise man—and now, she had been taken to meet their leader. They sat cross-legged around the hearth of his hut, which hardly differed from any other in the village. The Kaleesh seemed a humble people. It was something she could respect—but not before she put it to a little test.
The chieftain chuckled at her remark as he removed the teapot from the fire and poured them both a cup. She was starting to think that these people were obsessed with tea.
“Me, a master? Nothing of that sort exists here, Je’dai. We leave such honors to the great cities of the south, where Khans lord over their subjects from gilded halls.” He lifted the clay cup to his lips, forming a soft and knowing smile. “No, a chieftain is nothing like a Khan. We are here to advise and lead, not enslave and command. A coddled man will forget how to hunt for himself and will wither come winter.”
“Wise words,” the Dark Woman agreed, using the Force to cool her drink to a digestible temperature. “Your people know a great deal about the nature of the world—more than most in the wider galaxy.”
He chuckled again.
“Much of my knowledge has come from my mother’s mother. She fought in the Great War, side by side with your Je’dai gods. They taught her many things—though they wouldn’t teach her their magic.”
“Unfortunately, the Force is impossible to teach to those who weren’t gifted at birth.”
“That is a shame. We could use a Je’dai of our own. Northerners raid our lands every so often. They steal our livestock, take our women, and hunt in our plains when theirs are empty.”
She could have sensed it in the Force, but the trajectory of his voice had already given it away. It was all too clear what the man had in mind.
“Jedi are born across the stars. Sometimes, they are born where we can find them, train them, and ensure they follow the path of the Light. Yet there are those unfortunate enough to be born far from our reach. Most of them remain ignorant of their potential. Those gifted with the Force but without the skill to use it may find themselves particularly lucky—always landing on their feet, catching themselves at the last moment, somehow sensing danger when no signs point to it…”
“...and seeing the future in their dreams,” the Chieftain of Irikuum finished for her.
The Dark Woman nodded slowly.
“Yes. Like your man Sheelal.”
The chieftain laughed again.
“He’s not quite a man yet. You see, Darum Je’dai , young Sheelal is my son.” He leaned forward, placing his empty cup beside the fire. When he next spoke, his voice carried a tone of light reverence. She could see the pride glowing in his eyes. “My son sees things when he sleeps—and sometimes, even when he is awake.
“At first, we thought nothing of it. Children often lie, after all. But my son’s predictions were never wrong. One day, he woke me to say that a dying hunter would ride back to town—that he would bleed out unless we were ready for him. We didn’t take him seriously. And when the warrior rode in on his Kuunsi , a gaping wound across his stomach, we could do nothing but bury his corpse.” The pride in his eyes had turned to regret. “We never doubted him after that. He earned his name at an age when most boys struggle to speak. Now, whenever Sheelal speaks, we listen. And his dreams haven’t failed us yet.”
“When can I meet your son?”
“Soon. But first, tell me—can you train him? Can you give us a Je’dai of our own?”
The Dark Woman straightened her back and gave the chieftain a solemn look.
“Yes and no. I can train Sheelal, but I must take him with me to the world of the Jedi, where he will learn our magic and wisdom. I can’t promise he will return to you—but if he proves his dedication, there is a chance he will be assigned to Kalee as a Jedi Watchman.”
“A Je’dai what ?”
“He will be the guardian of this world against all evils that may befall it.”
“This is what you wish?”
“It would be a shame for such a gifted child to remain untrained.”
“And if we refuse? Will you take him anyway?” There was a threat in his voice, and the air around them had just changed.
The Dark Woman sipped her tea, unbothered by the chieftain’s tone.
“That would be against Galactic Law. A Jedi cannot take a child without approval from their parents.”
The chieftain nodded. He was a clever man and seemed to understand his predicament rather quickly.
“Come,” he said, rising from the ground. “I will take you to my son.”
The Dark Woman set down her drink.
“I was hoping you would say that.”
***
The Dark Woman moved through the night—past the wooden huts layered with animal skins, through the long, wind-blown grass, and under the shining moon. Her Jedi robes had burned in the crash, but the Kaleesh were kind enough to offer her a spare set of their clothes, a gift she’d graciously accepted, though the alien fabric felt strange against her skin.
“There he is,” the chieftain said, pointing at a small shadow lying against the wall of the Malga’s hut.
The Dark Woman approached and saw that the boy was asleep. She knelt beside him and placed a hand on his head, caressing the rope-like strands of his matted hair. He was older than most children taken by the Jedi, and for a moment, she wondered if such a thing was wise. The boy already knew his parents and his people—how could he forget them? But the Dark Woman had taken such children before, and in rare cases, even adults had become Jedi.
She closed her eyes; there was one more thing she wished to see. In the absence of a device that could test a sample of his blood, she had to rely on an older, more dangerous method. She would peer into the boy’s mind.
She jolted back and gasped, startling the boy’s father.
“What happened?” he demanded, dropping beside her, a look of worry on his face. Not for her, of course, but for his son.
The Dark Woman shook her head. The boy was stirring from his sleep. His lids parted, revealing bright golden eyes, slashed by a single line—the cold, empty eyes of a predatory snake.
“Master?” he muttered in the confused slur of a child still learning how to speak.
“What did you do to him?” the father demanded.
She couldn’t answer him. Her mouth was clenched, her eyes pinned on the boy, who was more than that. She rose to her feet and turned away. The chieftain placed a hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it off and began to walk.
“I cannot train this boy,” the Dark Woman said, her voice cold and final. “He is too powerful. Too dangerous. Too old.”
“Too old? By the Ancestors, he’s four!”
She whirled around, her face a mask of ice. “There is a darkness inside this boy. A darkness that will destroy him and everyone he touches. I will not allow that darkness to enter the Temple. I—”
“I have dreamt of you, Darum.”
The boy’s voice made her freeze. It was the voice of a child, but the words he spoke carried knowledge beyond his years.
“I saw him kill you.”
“Whom did you see, boy?”
She was on one knee again, her hand firm on the boy’s shoulder. It wasn’t a kind touch. The boy squirmed, protruding his mouth in a petulant frown.
“You’re gripping me too hard!” he whined.
“If you harm my son, I—”
“Silence!” she snapped at the chieftain, and by the will of the Force, he obeyed.
Her cold glare fell back on the boy. “What did you see?”
“A dark man killed you. He was tall and strong, and he wore armor and a cloak… and had a blade of fire in his hand. He was Je’dai, like you.”
The Dark Woman’s heart skipped a beat.
Could it be true? Could the boy be describing a Sith? A boy who had never heard of such a thing, who would have no way of knowing… unless it was the will of the Force.
No, that was preposterous—the Sith had all gone extinct.
Yet… if nothing else, such a vision was worth studying by those beyond her expertise.
“What else have you seen?” her voice softened as she spoke.
“That you would take me to a temple,” he continued, now smiling, his eyes glinting with excitement. “You will give me a flaming sword. Can I have two? Can they look like Lig blades?”
He was only a child. Despite the power and the danger she sensed in him, he was only a little boy. But a boy cursed—no, blessed—by the Force.
She knelt there for some time, aware of the chieftain’s disapproving stare. Finally, after much thought, she made her decision.
“Sheelal—what is your given name?”
“Qymaen,” he said. “But others call me Qy.”
She offered him her hand. He grabbed it with all the strength his little body could muster.
“You seem to have a habit of making your dreams come true, little Qy.”
She would never forget the smile he then flashed her—so wide and toothy, the smile of an innocent child yet uncorrupted by the world.
He rarely smiled after that. In the years she trained him, she could count his smiles on one hand.