Chapter Text
Shaak Ti had never been one for the politics that went with dealing with the Senate. She had always been a Jedi more keen for action, more interested in helping the beings of the Galaxy and glad to leave the bureaucracy and dealing with tiring politicians to Master Windu.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny the Senate partially blowing up was shocking, more so than anything she’d thought could happen in that building.
The fact Mace had been visiting with Chancellor Palpatine at the time caused her concern though. The moment plumes of thick smoke began unfurling up towards the sky and the small shockwave spread out to hit the surrounding infrastructure—including the Jedi Temple—the Knights and Masters inside sprang to action.
Evacuating those stubborn senators was undoubtedly going to be a small nightmare; Shaak could only hope no one had been seriously injured considering the explosion hadn’t seemed all that large.
Jedi arrived at the Senate building in droves, all fanning out systematically and assigning themselves to certain sections of rubble to be searched. They had suspected correctly: the explosion had only caused a small amount of destruction, blowing a hole into the thick wall of the building.
Shaak briefly caught sight of Mace directing some younger knights, letting out a relieved sigh to see he was alright. Nearby, she spied the chancellor speaking with Master Yoda; the conversation appearing to be verging on an argument between the two.
Odd, Yoda and Palpatine may occasionally disagree—the Grand Master didn’t exactly appreciate Palpatine’s abuse of power to influence the Jedi Council into doing what he wanted, but there wasn’t much they could do while they operated under the Senate’s authority—but they’d never bordered so closely to being openly hostile as they were now.
Shaak didn’t dwell too much on it, focusing on helping those trapped inside escape. She’d only emerged back outside when she spotted Kit Fisto next to her, escorting Senator Organa out from the destruction.
“You’re sure you’re not injured, Senator?” the Jedi checked. Organa waved his concern away calmly.
“I was lucky,” he insisted. “I thank you for your assistance, Master Jedi, but there are many more inside who require your aid more than I.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know what’s going on over there?” Shaak asked Fisto discreetly once Organa had left them, gesturing to where Yoda and Palpatine’s little spat was playing out.
Kit sighed tiredly. “Not much,” he replied. “From what I overheard, he’s refusing to leave for some reason, which Master Yoda clearly finds idiotic, since the man is bleeding badly from his arm.”
Now that he’d drawn her attention to it, Shaak noticed the Chancellor was indeed cradling his left arm gingerly, his fine black robes slightly stained darker with what must be blood.
“Said something about overseeing all the senators made it out okay, even though Yoda assured him it was unnecessary to do so and it was more important he sought medical attention,” Kit added.
Still odd, but Shaak supposed maybe the man really was just concerned for his senators’ safety. Shrugging, she turned back towards the wreckage. “How many are out so far?”
“Nearly everyone,” Kit said. “The explosion was minor, and pretty much out of the way from the Senate Chamber, so the only major casualties seem to be mostly service droids.”
“I sense one or two still inside,” she murmured, eyes closed as she sought out the lives within the Force. The pair locked eyes once more, shared a look of silent agreement, and ventured back inside to find out those last few remaining sentients in the building.
Shaak had split up from him and any other nearby Jedi, deciding to make her way deeper inside the building and along the massive duracrete boulders that’d fallen in the explosion. Somewhere underneath the rubble, she sensed another survivor, fear and pain radiating off of them in waves. For a split second, Shaak worried they were a Force-sensitive, but quickly dismissed that notion when she felt nothing more than a signature of one who merely had a strong presence in the Force, but no actual abilities.
Similar to the Chancellor actually, now that she thought about it.
She felt a bit silly for not thinking they were Force-sensitive a moment later, when it felt like another small explosion went off. This time however, there was no physical shockwave for people to feel; the only ones affected were the Jedi, who all nearly collapsed to their knees at the weight of the Force signature that suddenly burst into existence in less than a standard second.
Shaak gasped out a wheezing breath, staggering briefly under the pressure pounding against her temples. Was that coming from whoever was trapped under the rubble?
Realising she was the only one around, she knew she’d have to be the one to rescue them. All the other Jedi wouldn’t be able to make themselves get any closer to the being emitting so much power into the Force right now. It was a small miracle Shaak hadn’t collapsed herself yet, but the fact she could now sense this signature belonged to a young child made her find strength to keep moving closer.
Clambering over the duracrete, she finally reached the nexus of the presence buried underneath. She took a single deep breath, closed her eyes and channelled the Force as best she could when she was being damn near blinded by what felt like a thousand burning suns at the same time. A beat, and then the huge block levitated slowly up from the ground. Using all her concentration, she directed the boulder to move to the right and land gently back on the ground.
A small pocket was revealed, hiding under where the block had been, with just enough space for a body to curl up inside and not be crushed by any collapsing rubble.
A tiny cavity, just barely large enough for the young boy lying unconscious inside it.
A child. A human youngling Shaak estimated to be no older than twelve standard years, if even. He looked closer to ten with how small he was.
What in all Sith hells was a child doing in the Senate?
After the explosion at the Senate this morning, Vokara Che was really hoping she wouldn’t have too many banged-up Jedi wandering down to her halls. That being said, she also didn’t want any of them to avoid coming to see her, reckless idiots that most of them were.
What she didn’t expect was for Shaak Ti to show up carrying an unconscious boy—who was not from the Temple, by the way—and a hurried explanation that she’d found him underneath some debris.
And she most definitely hadn’t expected to be blinded by said unconscious boy’s Force signature. It was like she’d been sucker-punched in the gut and clubbed over the head all at the same time. Taking a quick moment to triple-reinforce her shields, she focused back on the task at hand.
“That’s some cut you’ve got there, buddy,” she muttered quietly to the passed-out boy on the bed in front of her, only Shaak around to hear her. For someone who’d been trapped under a pile of collapsing building, he’d emerged relatively unscathed, only a couple of bruises and scratches on his skin. His clothes had done a good job protecting him from cuts, but the right sleeve of the fine tunic he wore was ripped almost to shreds and showed a gash on his upper arm.
Grabbing a pair of scissors, Vokara moved around to his injured arm to begin cutting away what remained of his sleeve so she could work on healing that gash.
Which was also when the boy promptly woke back up.
Eyes blowing wide open, the boy’s eyes skittered around at his surroundings, landed on Vokara and Shaak and relaxed almost imperceptibly before his eyes caught on their clothing, which, oddly enough, triggered his panic again, a tiny choked gasp catching in his throat.
Thinking his fear was linked to the explosion from earlier, Vokara attempted to soothe him, sending feelings of calm to him through the Force as best she could.
“You’re alright, young one,” she promised. “You’re safe and in the Jedi Temple.”
This only served to make the boy panic further, emitting a tiny yelp at the feel of Vokara’s Force presence and slamming his own shields down forcefully. The sudden disappearance of his overwhelming presence in the Force was jarring to say the least, but at least now Vokara didn’t feel like her ribs were being crushed.
Now completely shut off from them, it was like the boy’s existence in the Force had never been there in the first place; such intense and fortified shielding that Vokara wondered how someone so young was able to shield as well as he could. For all intents and purposes, he now appeared like any other non Force-sensitive.
Cautiously, Shaak approached him. “Is something the matter, child?” she asked tentatively, reaching a hand out. The boy flinched violently, then sat ramrod straight, whimpering like he was in pain—
He was in pain.
“We only want to help you with your injuries,” Vokara tried to assure him, making sure she exuded nothing but her sincerity into the Force. The boy regarded her with fearful suspicion, but Vokara picked up on him taking notice of the way the Force rang with honesty at her statement. “The gash on your arm looks pretty nasty,” she said softly. “May I take a look, please?”
Relenting, the boy’s shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly, but seeing as he was seemingly mute for the time being, Vokara was going to take that as a yes. Slowly, and keeping her hands where he could see them at all times, she moved towards him again with the scissors. “I need to cut away the rest of your shirt,” she explained. “Otherwise I won’t be able to treat that gash.”
The boy looked like he was close to tears, keeping his eyes down as he trembled while Vokara snipped the fabric carefully away from his shoulder. Shaak attempted to distract the boy, asking him a number of basic questions, all of which the boy remained silent to. When the sleeve was gone, she could finally get a good view of his injury. The cut thankfully wasn’t deep enough for stitches, but there was dirt from the explosion and from being buried under rubble that needed to be removed before she could patch him up.
That wasn’t what caught her eye though. No, what gained Vokara’s attention was the markings on the boy’s back. Intricate, swirling black markings that looked to be going down his back and just barely peeking out from the fabric of his tunic now that the sleeve had been hacked away. Ever so carefully, Vokara touched one of the black lines with her index finger. The boy shivered and looked ten seconds away from bursting into tears, but he made no move to get away from Vokara and stop her from looking.
Were they tattoos? Or clan markings? They couldn’t be natural; humans weren’t born with any markings or patterns like some other Galactic species. He was human, wasn’t he? She edged the fabric a tiny bit to the side just to check she didn’t need to be concerned about poorly healing tattoos or anything like that and then it hit her.
She’d seen these patterns before. They weren’t just any old lines on his back. They looked like—
“Feathers,” Vokara murmured, noticing the boy watching her warily out of the corner of his eye. The second she said the word, it was like she’d triggered something in the boy, who just barely choked down a terrified yelp and jerked away from her fingers.
Once, only once had she ever seen this intricate design on another humanoid species’ skin. This boy was wary of everyone and everything it seemed, but Vokara needed to clean and patch that wound or he’d get a serious infection. But perhaps there was someone who could help her.
“Master Ti,” she spoke up calmly, turning her gaze back to Shaak. “Would you fetch Knight Kenobi for me please?”
Having only returned from his mission less than an hour ago, Obi-Wan had been hoping to maybe sleep an hour or two before finding Master Qui-Gon for latemeal and catching up with his former teacher.
The mission hadn’t meant to be as long as it had, but Obi-Wan knew his diplomatic skills had been needed on Stewjon, and being Stewjoni himself, he’d been the best choice to go. No one else in the Temple could speak the language, and despite being part of the Republic, not many on Stewjon could speak Basic.
It didn’t mean he hadn’t occasionally wished he was back on Coruscant with the other Jedi. He’d missed his old Master and his friends, not to mention being gone for three standard months meant he had a lot to catch up on.
Starting with the Senate explosion. Seriously, he’d barely exited the ship before hearing about the attack. Of course, the moment he’d been informed he’d tried to assist on helping the other Jedi who were there evacuating everyone from the damaged building.
Only Master Che’s threat to tie him to a bed in the Halls of Healing if he didn’t rest stopped him from going. According to her, he looked ‘dead on his feet’ from the long journey home, and needed sleep more than anything. The Twi'lek healer was formidable when she wanted to be, and Obi-Wan would prefer not to suffer her wrath.
So imagine his surprise when less than an hour after that interaction, Master Ti was knocking on his door explaining that Master Che was requesting he come back down to the Halls of Healing again.
“What did I do now?” he grumbled tiredly. “I told her I’m fine, she looked me over herself and everything!”
“It’s not you, Knight Kenobi,” Master Ti clarified. “She requires your assistance with another patient.”
What? “Why?” he asked, following after the Togruta woman anyway.
“I’m uncertain myself,” Master Ti explained carefully. “Did you happen to notice a burst of energy in the Force earlier?” she asked casually.
“Oh…yes,” Obi-Wan replied. “It woke me up actually.” The sensation was so strong he’d nearly toppled out of bed, feeling like a new star had birthed into existence in his chest. It was overwhelming, to say the least. “Is that related to what Master Che wants?”
Master Ti hummed consideringly, but chose not to answer, instead saying rather cryptically, “Perhaps you’ll see for yourself.” while she held the door open to the examination room for him.
Walking through the doorway, Obi-Wan first spotted the Chief Healer. Then he saw the boy. Likely no older than twelve—he was small for his age, but something in his eyes made him look older—watching Obi-Wan like a caged animal watches its captor.
“Master Che,” he greeted politely, just barely catching the tiny flinch the boy made when Obi-Wan spoke. “How may I be of service to you?”
“Ah, Knight Kenobi,” Master Che smiled. “I was wondering if perhaps you could help my young patient here?” The boy looked horrified to be the topic of conversation, and Obi-Wan wondered with concern why he was so fearful of three Jedi. Jedi were symbols of peace and harmony. No one should fear the Jedi, that went against everything they strived to be while serving the Galaxy.
“I’ll do my best,” he replied calmly, trying to shoot a friendly look the boy’s way in order to make him relax, only the boy wouldn’t meet his eyes. Strange. “What seems to be the problem?”
Master Che beckoned him over with a hand, waiting until Obi-Wan stood next to her behind the boy before asking, “Recognise these?” and pointing to some black markings on the boy’s back.
For a second, the answer was no, he didn’t. So the boy had tattoos, how was that relevant to him? Maybe the child was a bit young to be getting tattoos yet, but he could be from another planet with different customs. Those feather-like patterns could be anythi—
“Oh,” Obi-Wan realised aloud. “Yes. Yes, I think I do recognise them.”
“I thought you might,” Master Che nodded, though she didn’t sound exactly pleased. Obi-Wan couldn’t blame her; he remembered how much trouble patterns like these had caused her before, namely because of him. “Could you help him?” she asked softly. “He might respond better to you than he has to me or Master Ti, and I really need to clean his wound without him looking like he’s a split second away from bolting out the door.”
“Yes, I think so,” Obi-Wan agreed slowly. He’d never had to do this before, but if it would help Master Che treat the boy’s injuries, he supposed he could give it a go. “Could I ask both you and Master Ti to step outside for a moment, please? I’ll only take a moment.”
Both Masters nodded easily, exiting the room and letting the door slide close behind them. Now alone with the child, Obi-Wan noticed how harshly he was trembling. The poor thing was terrified.
You’re safe here, young one.
“I mean you no harm,” Obi-Wan promised softly, moving so he was standing in front of the boy. He still wouldn’t meet Obi-Wan’s gaze, blonde hair falling over his eyes as he stared resolutely at the floor. With a tiny sigh, Obi-Wan dropped to kneel on one knee on the floor in front of where the boy was perched on the bed, trying to force him to make eye contact.
“I recognise your patterns,” he began explaining. The boy’s eyes darted over to Obi-Wan briefly before glancing away again.
“Would you like to know why I recognise them?” he asked, slowly beginning to remove his tabards and outer tunic until he was stripped down to the specialised white undershirt he always wore under his robes. “Because they’re like mine.”
Arms and shoulders now on display, Obi-Wan turned around so he kneeled away from the boy, displaying his own reddish-gold patterns that swirled over his back, across his shoulder blades and edging onto his upper arms.
There was a soft sound of wrinkling fabric, and while Obi-Wan couldn’t currently see the boy, the light impact of feet hitting the ground informed him that the boy had slipped from the bed to stand behind Obi-Wan.
Very, very slowly, Obi-Wan turned back around to look at the boy again. He seemed a lot less wary now, instead looking at Obi-Wan with barely restrained curiosity.
“Like…me?” the boy whispered, so softly Obi-Wan might’ve missed it if he hadn’t seen the boy’s mouth move. It was, as far as he knew, the first thing the boy had said the whole time he’d been here.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed, pleased to be making progress with him.
“Cursed?”
“What?” Obi-Wan nearly balked. “No. No, young one. It is not a curse.”
The boy sighed, so disappointed he looked like he was close to tears again. “Oh. Not like me, then.”
“You’re not cursed,” Obi-Wan promised kindly, shifting so he sat cross legged like he was about to meditate. “Here, watch.” Taking a deep breath, he focused himself in the Force, thinking about the patterns in his skin and making them come to life. In a sedate manner—so as not to startle the clearly skittish boy—Obi-Wan’s patterns emerged from his skin to become fully-formed wings of reddish-gold, spreading them as wide as the small room allowed.
The boy watched in awe, and Obi-Wan supposed he might’ve never seen anyone else do this before. “Do yours do this as well?” he asked the boy.
“Mine are bad,” he mumbled, eyes averted to the ground. “Not supposed to show them. They get in the way.”
The way he said it, it was more like he was reciting back something he’d heard many times, rather than his own opinion.
Deciding it was more important to get the boy cleaned up first, Obi-Wan decided to let it drop for now. “It is quite cramped in here,” he conceded, folding his wings back down against his back. “Perhaps another time then. For now though, would you let Master Che look at that cut of yours?”
The boy flinched again, and this time Obi-Wan was able to catch the exact moment he jerked. The exact word that triggered his response.
Master. Oh dear. There was usually only one reason for a person to react to the word like that.
“She’s not like that, dear one,” he promised. “It means Teacher.”
“I know,” the boy replied, almost seeming stubborn. “It’s the same thing.”
“Not here,” Obi-Wan tried to explain. The boy had an accent that wasn’t Coruscanti or any other Republic planet. No, it was definitely Outer Rim. Obi-Wan only knew a little Huttese, but he was familiar enough with it to know that there wasn’t much nuance in the language. The boy likely didn’t know the difference between the two words. “It means she is very wise and knows a lot about certain things, in this case healing, so we call her that as a sign of respect. She has mastered that skill, so she becomes a Master.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” the boy complained, growing frustrated. “Master is Master! If you’re talking about maratt, why would you call her Master? Maratt isn’t depur. She can’t take me anyway, Master won’t like it and he’ll just make me go back!” he finished, scowling and looking away.
Maratt. Depur. Now, there were a couple of words Obi-Wan hadn’t heard in a very long time.
Deciding to take an absolute gamble that he not only remembered the next word correctly, but also that the boy would understand him, he said calmly,
“Veki.”
Hello.
The boy’s eyes snapped back to look at Obi-Wan, surprise etched across his young face. Like a switch had flipped in him, he smiled and began speaking rapidly in a language Obi-Wan hadn’t heard since he was twelve. The musical-sounding language went mostly over his head; Obi-Wan had only picked up so many words in a week and was nowhere near fluent. Not the way this child was.
Sensing Obi-Wan’s confusion, the boy frowned slightly again. “You don’t speak it, do you?” he realised.
“I’m afraid not,” Obi-Wan agreed apologetically. “But I remember enough to tell you that Vokara Che is no depur. She will not hurt you, little one.”
“I’m not little,” the boy protested. “I’m thirteen!”
Small for his age then, Obi-Wan deducted. The boy looked like he could just barely pass for twelve, clearly not getting enough nourishment to support any growth spurts.
Rising to his feet, Obi-Wan smiled down at him. The top of the boy’s head didn’t even come up to Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “My point is that it’s safe for you to let her see to your arm,” he reiterated. The boy cocked his head to the side slightly, making Obi-Wan think he resembled something akin to a small tooka.
“You’re not her slave?” he asked quietly, looking a small bit scared again.
“I’m not,” he agreed.
“Anku?”
Freed person?
“Yes. For seventeen years.”
The boy was silent for a short moment, deep in thought. “Okay,” he said after a while, voice cracking with hesitation Obi-Wan could sense he was trying to battle against.
“Okay?” Obi-Wan smiled, glad to have gotten through to the boy.
Nodding once, the boy was timid when he asked, “Will you stay with me?”