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Five years into the Empire’s reign- A cold breeze swept through the alleyway where the young Sith, Darth Heka, lay. She hadn’t slept much in the past few days; running from the Empire you helped build doesn't leave much time for rest, though she tried.
As she blinked her eyes, adjusting to the light of the sky and straightening her wrinkled tunic, she noticed something: a child—a young girl—was rooting through her pack. Before she could even think, Darth Heka had the girl on the floor, easily overpowering her and holding the small girl by the neck just as her master had taught her.
“You must be really stupid or really brave to be stealing from an Imperial officer,” she spat.
She knew it was a lie; she wasn’t an officer, and she had never been one. She had been powerful in the Empire, but she had held no official position. She wasn’t known by the public, and most definitely not by children on some backwater planet on the Outer Rim—except for the few times she had heard of her and her master being used as horror stories. They were similar to the tales she heard in the Temple growing up, like Darth Bane haunting nightmares or Darth Revan coming to kill you. Though, ancient Sith Lords weren’t well known by children now. Sith Lords in general weren't known, besides Count Dooku, who was mentioned in history. Even though he was only killed five years ago by Heka's master, he wasn't "old news." Heka had vivid memories of him—though they weren't nice. Rich asshole, she thought.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me,” the young girl cried, cutting Heka from her memories of the old Count. She struggled against Heka’s hold, somehow knowing at least a little combat.
Heka let the brat go. The girl had clear blue eyes—similar to Heka’s before her fall. Her brown hair was messy, and she was clearly starving, as the clothes on her were far too big. She looked to be twelve, but she was so small. She looked like she was about to cry, and for the first time in a long time, Heka felt guilt. She hadn't felt that since the Clone Wars, but it was there now—a pit in her stomach that felt like she was being lectured by her master or Obi-Wan again.
“What’s your name, little one?” Heka asked, softening her tone only slightly and using the name little one—a term she had hated when she was young. (Obi-Wan liked to call her that when she was being extra snippy.)
“I’m not telling you, and I’m not little,” the girl snapped, trying to look threatening but failing badly. She did have a nice bit of sass, though; Heka liked that.
“Okay, but I won’t share my food if I don’t get a name,” Heka claimed, sitting back down and grabbing her bag to take out some food. She realized for a second she was giving the girl a small smile—she hadn't done that in a while, either.
“I’m Kyla. Now, can I have some food, please? Consid... uh... uh,” she began to stutter, “considering you offered,” she finished, getting the word right this time.
God, how uneducated is this kid? Heka grabbed the food, which was just protein bars, but if the girl was willing to steal, she was likely willing to eat anything edible. She gave one to the girl, who happily took it and started eating eagerly.
“What’s your name?” the girl asked while chewing.
Disgusting. “Don’t chew with your mouth open,” Heka said. For a second, she sounded exactly like Obi-Wan. “And you can call me Heka, considering you seem to be a stray and now I’ve fed you.”
She joked, but she knew this kid was a liability. You’re going to get attached, a voice that sounded like her master told her. Hypocrite, she thought back to the voice. The voice was right; this kid wasn’t going to be useful to Heka. But then, she saw something in the kid’s own little pack, which was half-open. It was a lightsaber. It wasn’t Heka’s—she had her own two crimson ones on her belt, which she had bled with her own anger and pain caused by her master. Maybe a stolen one? she thought. But then she realized the kid was Force-sensitive; she could feel it. It took a while for Heka to notice because she had stopped feeling for Force signatures that weren’t dark a while ago—it stopped the pain of having to kill extra people.
“What’s that?” Heka pointed into the bag. After all, what was the kid going to do, Force-choke her? Very unlikely.
The girl looked like she’d been caught with something she shouldn't have—which, in truth, she shouldn't. “It’s nothing, just my stuff. None of your business,” she said sharply, scrambling to grab and close the bag. This kid was a bad liar. Yeah, this was most probably a Jedi.
“It looks like you have a badly hidden saber in your bag.”
“No, I don’t,” she said quickly. Caught already, she didn't even ask what a saber was.
“Well, you just lied to me. I might have helped you, but it’s against the code to lie; it can lead to the dark side,” Heka smirked, making eye contact with the kid and showing her yellow eyes. Heka probably shouldn’t have been lecturing kids on the Jedi Code.
“Well, who’s going to tell me off? The Jedi Council?”
True, they couldn’t. And this kid seemed to know that. Heka should probably kill the kid to show her hatred for the Jedi or her devotion to the dark side. It would be easy and quick. But fuck the Empire and the dark side—she was bored, and this kid seemed fun.
“Well, I don’t know—some of them are alive, and also the Empire wants you dead.”
She probably knew that. “I knew that,” she snapped. This kid had no fear. Was Heka like this as a child? She owed her master an apology.
Kyla looked like she was about to leave, and Heka knew that would end badly. “Hold on, kid. Let me help you, because clearly your master can’t, and no one else will.”
Kyla looked upset, or offended, or both. “You don’t know that. I don’t have a master.”
Heka felt like the kid didn’t. If she did, she wouldn’t be allowed out, especially with a lightsaber so badly hidden. “Do you? Where are they?” Heka asked, raising an eyebrow. Kark, she was doing an Obi-Wan thing again. She needed to stop that soon.
“Well, he’s just… busy with things, you know?” She was stammering. Heka was right again. The girl looked like she was scared of her; Heka could see it in her eyes. For the first time in a while, Heka didn’t feel powerful or happy from it. She felt guilt. She felt dangerous in a bad way.
“You don’t have one, do you?” she asked, trying to sound less threatening and “Jedi-killer-y,” and more like a peer in grief. She knew it was very likely the kid didn’t have one in the first place; she looked about twelve, so she would have been seven when the Temple burned—or, well, became Sidious’ playhouse—so she wouldn’t have been old enough to be a Padawan to a master yet.
The girl looked up at Heka again, showing more of that courage Heka was starting to admire. “Maybe I don’t. But don’t act like you didn’t kill any. You’re a Jedi hunter. You’re going to kill me in a second; you’re just playing with your food,” she accused. She sounded even more scared and sad.
Heka knew it was time to take her own words seriously and not lie for once. “I did kill Jedi, and I don’t regret it, but I won’t hurt you,” she said. She didn't know if she regretted it; at the start, she felt guilt. She felt like she was failing everyone—Obi-Wan, Master Koon, even in a way, Anakin, even if he was the one doing it with her. She did leave the Empire, but she might have just done that because of how they treated her. But she was feeling guilt again, proven by this brat who was now crying and yelling.
“So what? You’re going to turn me into a Jedi hunter? Please, no! No, just kill me! Kill me! I will never betray my order, no!” She was getting worked up now, hyperventilating. Big fat tears—reminding Heka so much of her own—were rolling down her face. Her blue eyes looked at Heka’s yellow ones, which she was now remembering looked quite sickly.
Heka reached out a hand, not knowing what she was doing. The girl flinched so hard she fell back. Heka grabbed her. “I’m not going to turn you into an Inquisitor,” she whispered as she steadied the girl. “You’re too mouthy and snippy.”
“I’m not! You’re just boring.”
That was a lie; Heka was probably the most un-boring person ever. But at least the kid was stable enough to be a pain in her neck.
“If I was going to kill you or turn you into an Inquisitor, you would already be on my ship.”
Kyla made a face that suggested she was about to ask if she had a ship and if she was going to kill her. Heka beat her to it.
“But I don’t have a ship. I don’t even have enough food to last until later tonight. I’m running from the Empire just like you, believe it or not. But I seem to have some unresolved trauma I haven’t gotten over, so I will, if you want, keep you safe.” She was being so… honest. She barely even acknowledged the trauma in her head, and she had just told a child about it.
“If you’re not going to kill me, what are you going to do with me? Enslave me? ‘Cause I ain’t gonna be sold to Jabba the Hutt or nothing,” Kyla shot back. She looked like she was debating it, and for some reason, Heka was happy about that—not the dark, sadistic happiness she felt sometimes, but the excited happiness she used to feel when they were going back to the Temple after a battle.
Did she actually care about this kid being with her and being safe? No, of course not. She’d use the kid like a droid, but cheaper.
“If I were to sell you, I would have just snatched you up, not fed you,” she said bluntly to the kid, who was looking at her suspiciously.
“So you will help me and make sure I’m okay?”
“Yes.”
Kyla looked like she was thinking of something, like she wanted to ask something but was considering how to say it. Was she going to ask for anything big? But it was shocking: “And train me to be a Jedi? No Sith thing you’re doing.”
Heka was stunned. Her, train someone to be a Jedi? She was such a great Jedi, after all. “What?” she asked, genuinely wanting to know what this kid was thinking.
“Well, you clearly are trained, and you hate the Empire. I hope you were a Jedi once, right?” She looked at her with eyes like a puppy asking for something they knew was unlikely.
“Yes.”
“So you could train me—like, to spite the Empire, making the next generation of Jedi—and I get training. Win-win.” She looked at her with expecting eyes, like she really wanted this to be true. Heka was thinking about it. Imagine her training a Jedi Padawan? She did know what she was doing, and it would piss off the Empire and her master.
“Okay, Padawan,” she said, signaling for the kid to get up with her. Kyla’s face lit up as she scrambled up with a big grin. Who knew? Ahsoka Tano, Jedi Hunter, was now training one