Chapter Text
The woman's hood, a sliver of moonlight itself, concealed the two as she ducked under the concrete pillar. The rest of Corosaunt buzzed with sound and life, yet the Jedi temple remained silent. She took a deep breath, praying to the stars above, and bolted to the concrete steps, going up them two at a time. The baby cooed as she sprinted, large blue eyes opening in confusion. The woman made it to the entrance, the large doors still shut tight.
Tears dropped down onto the child as she delicately kissed his forehead and ripped off her necklace to place into his small chubby hands. It was a simple accessory, a wooden pendant tied onto a piece of black string. Yet engraved onto the wood was the symbol of House Kryze, forever linking the child to his ancestors.
She placed the bay down onto the smooth concrete, grateful for the warm weather. A fat tear rolled down the child's cheek as the woman stood up once more.
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Korkie," the woman murmured, finally tearing her eyes away from her son. Satine knew this was the only way to protect her child from the freshly raging civil war; she promised herself she understood that. Yet as she stumbled away from her beautiful baby, her soul was violently torn from her body, leaving only the Duchess behind. The lights of a speeder approaching the temple startled the girl, and she sprinted to her vehicle, not looking back.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The speeder screamed in protest as Obi-Wan rounded the corner, his padawan braid flying wildly in the wind. Quinlan laughed loudly, “Slow down, Obes; the temple is only a block away!”
The padawan flashed him a grin before overtaking a passenger speeder, leaving the insults of the driver behind as he rounded the corner and slowed down, eyeing the lifeless jedi temple.
“One of these days, you're going to kill me!” The boy complained loudly.
“Why else would I be going so fast?” Obi-wan shot back, wincing as his friend hit him over the back of his head. The two ungracefully clambered out of the vehicle, and as Obi-Wan stumbled towards the temple, he regretted the last Jawa Juice. The other padawan joined him, bumping his shoulder. “I’m glad to see you happy again, Obes. Since your mission with the Duchess, you haven’t been the same.”
His smile dropped—the memory of Satine sobered Obi-Wan up faster than any caffeine or nap could. Obi-Wan shook his head; it had been a year; he needed to get over it. The pair climbed up the steps, and Obi-Wan was just about to open the door when his companion cried out.
“Oi! Obes!” Quinlan called, his voice strangely serious. The Jedi furrowed his brows as he approached his friend, heart dropping as he spotted the bundle on the ground.
The infant’s pale skin glowed slightly in the night, its chubby arms wriggling nervously. His large eyes, a familiar blue color, were filled with tears and fright.
“It’s a baby.” Obi-wan murmured, earning an eye roll from Quinlan.
“You’re a smart one, aren't you? His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but the padawan ignored it. Without thinking, the boy lifted up the infant, cradling it in his arms—and the force hummed with delight.
It was wrapped in a soft blue blanket, and Obi-Wan nudged the auburn hair out of the child’s face. The child was definitely force-sensitive; its signature was luminous. As the Jedi held it closer, the baby settled down, tears gone, and closing its eyes once more.
“What’s that?” Quinlan’s voice startled the padawan, who had forgotten about his accomplice. The boy reached over Obi-Wan’s shoulder and pointed at a small object the child clasped. The jedi took it from the child's hands, studying the small wood piece. A strangely familiar symbol was carved into the pendant, and Obi-Wan’s stomach summersaulted.
“That’s the crest of some Mandalorian Clan.” He murmured, unsure of which.
“Yeah, of course you’d know that." Obi-Wan gave his friend a withering glare, unfortunately not strong enough to stop the boy’s next remark.
“You sure this isn't a secret lovechild of yours? I mean, it kinda looks like—"
Obi-Wan forcefully kicked Quinlan in the shins, causing him to shut up. “No, it's not.” He hissed through gritted teeth. Sure, he had never heard of a force-sensitive Mandalorian, but that didn't mean anything.
Right?
“We better take it to the council—" Obi-Wan shook his head. Perhaps it had been his friend's last comment, but the Jedi didn’t want the infant going to the council, not yet.
“No, it’s too late. We’ll take him to Qui-Gon instead.” Quinlan shrugged, opening the large doors for two as they walked in, footsteps echoing through the lonely corridor.