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Ahsoka’s ship is ugly.
It’s also hers.
That makes the uneven engine whine charming, the patched hull practical, and the cockpit’s tendency to smell faintly of overheated wiring a personality trait rather than a maintenance failure.
She paid for it herself with months of repair work, cargo runs, and every credit Rafa and Trace didn’t manage to drag into one emergency or another. The vessel is small enough to land almost anywhere, old enough that most port authorities don’t bother looking twice, and fast enough to escape anyone who realizes they should’ve looked three times.
Ahsoka loves it.
Morai hates the left engine.
The convor perches above the navigation console, green-and-white feathers puffed in disapproval as the engine rattles through the end of their descent.
“I know,” Ahsoka says. “I heard it.”
Morai clicks her beak.
“It doesn’t need replacing.”
Another click.
“It needs a new stabilizer coupling.”
Morai turns her head away.
Ahsoka lowers the landing gear over a patch of grassland on Lothal and smiles despite herself. “You didn’t pay for the ship.”
Morai looks at her.
Ahsoka feels the response through their bond. Warm amusement, bright impatience, and the distinct impression that Morai considers money an unnecessary complication invented by beings who cannot simply take what they need.
That philosophy explains the scrap metal.
During Ahsoka’s time with the Martez sisters, Morai developed a habit of returning to the repair shop with random pieces of machinery clutched in her talons. Wire casings. Power regulators. Conductive rings. A cracked focusing mount that Trace swore came from a mining laser and Rafa swore had come from somebody else’s locked cargo compartment.
Ahsoka recognized several of the pieces.
Not their exact origins, but their purpose.
Parts for a lightsaber hilt.
She knew because she had built two.
Morai had not brought enough components for complete weapons. Some pieces didn’t fit together at all. Others looked ancient, handmade, or taken from technology Ahsoka had never seen.
The collection currently occupies a cloth pouch beneath the pilot’s seat.
Ahsoka has asked what Morai wants her to do with it.
Morai has never provided a useful answer.
The ship settles onto Lothal’s grass with a final metallic groan.
Ahsoka cuts the engines and looks through the viewport.
Rolling plains extend beneath a pale blue sky. Distant mountains rise through the haze, their slopes cut by dark veins of stone. Tall grass bends beneath the wind, turning the landscape into a green-gold ocean.
There is nothing here.
No job. No contact. No repair contract. No reason for Morai to insist they alter course from the Hydian Way and land on a world Ahsoka has never visited.
“Happy?” she asks.
Morai launches from the console before the boarding ramp finishes lowering.
Ahsoka grabs her cloak and follows.
The air smells clean.
That surprises her more than it should.
Coruscant’s air had always tasted faintly of metal, fuel, and too many beings breathing the same recycled atmosphere. Even the upper levels carried the city inside every gust. Lothal smells of soil, sun-warmed grass, and animals hidden beyond her sight.
Her montrals catch movement across the plains.
Wingbeats. Small rodents beneath the grass. A herd somewhere to the south, too far away for human hearing but clear to her.
Morai circles once above the ship and flies east.
“Wait.”
Morai does not wait.
Ahsoka pulls her cloak tighter and follows her through the grass.
They walk for nearly an hour.
Morai lands occasionally, waiting on rocks or fence posts until Ahsoka catches up, then flies onward with the serene confidence of a creature who does not carry water, food, or responsibility for the ship parked several kilometers behind them.
“You know,” Ahsoka calls, “most navigators explain the destination.”
Morai chirps.
“That wasn’t an explanation.”
Another chirp.
“You’re worse than Master Yoda.”
Morai sends her a flash of amusement through the bond.
The terrain gradually rises. Grass gives way to broken stone and low shrubs. Ahead, a narrow canyon cuts between two hills, nearly hidden beneath hanging vines.
Morai disappears into it.
Ahsoka follows, ducking beneath the vines and stepping into cool shadow.
The canyon walls close around her, muting the wind. Her striped feet make almost no sound against the stone. Water drips somewhere ahead in a slow, steady rhythm.
Then she hears it.
A song.
Not through her ears.
Through her bones.
Ahsoka stops so abruptly that loose gravel slides beneath one foot.
The sound is high and clear, like glass singing beneath starlight. Another note answers it from deeper inside the hills. Then another, overlapping until the whole canyon hums with something she has not heard since Ilum.
Kyber.
Her breath catches.
She remembers the Gathering. Snow reflecting against the cavern walls. Younglings spreading through the ice maze while Yoda waited outside. The way the crystals called, each voice meant for one Jedi alone.
She remembers finding hers.
She remembers building both sabers with hands that shook from excitement.
She remembers surrendering them to the Temple, trusting they’d be kept in the Halls of Remembrance.
The absence at her hips still feels wrong.
Ahsoka reaches toward the song.
It swells.
Morai lands on a stone ledge beside a dark opening in the canyon wall.
A cave.
Ahsoka approaches slowly.
“You brought me here for the crystals.”
Morai dips her head.
Ahsoka looks into the entrance.
The tunnel beyond slopes downward, narrowing between black stone walls. The air carries moisture, mineral dust, and a faint electric sharpness that raises the fine sensory hairs along her montrals.
Morai remains on the ledge.
“Aren’t you coming?”
The convor folds her wings.
Ahsoka waits.
Morai does not move.
“You dragged me halfway across the galaxy, but you’re staying outside?”
Morai chirps once.
The meaning arrives through their bond with unusual clarity.
This path is hers alone.
Ahsoka looks back toward the narrow strip of sky above the canyon.
She has no food with her. Her canteen is half full. The ship’s emergency locator is clipped to her belt, though the cave walls may block the signal.
Everything sensible says she should return to the ship, gather supplies, and come back prepared.
The song deepens.
The crystals are waiting.
Morai watches her.
Ahsoka exhales.
“This is how people get lost.”
Morai’s expression does not change.
“Fine. Guard the entrance.”
She steps into the cave alone.
The daylight disappears after the first turn.
Ahsoka activates a small utility light from her belt, but its glow barely touches the walls. The passage angles sharply downward, forcing her to brace one hand against the stone.
The kyber song guides her.
Sometimes it comes from ahead. Sometimes from beneath her feet. Occasionally it seems to rise from inside her own chest.
The cave grows colder.
Her canteen empties slowly as hours pass.
At least, she thinks they are hours.
There is no natural light by which to measure time. Her chronometer begins displaying nonsense after the first deep chamber, jumping forward several minutes, then backward, then freezing entirely.
The Force does that sometimes.
It has very little respect for clocks.
Or food.
Or basic bodily functions.
The tunnel opens into a vast cavern.
Ahsoka’s utility light flickers out.
She stands in complete darkness.
The song stops.
Chains rattle behind her.
Ahsoka spins.
The cavern is gone.
Kadavo surrounds her.
Metal floors stretch beneath harsh lights. Electrified fences divide rows of prisoners. The air smells of sweat, blood, hot machinery, and fear.
A collar closes around her throat.
“No.”
The word comes out too quickly.
Too breathless.
She reaches for the clasp and finds cold metal locked against her skin. Her wrists are bound. The shock staff scars along her back burn as if they were fresh.
This is not real.
Ahsoka knows that.
The Force is testing her. The cave is showing her fear because kyber crystals do not answer beings who hide from themselves.
Knowing does not stop her body from believing.
Her montrals catch every sound at once.
Boots striking metal.
Whips activating.
Prisoners crying.
Zygerrian voices laughing somewhere behind her.
The walls close in.
Ahsoka cannot breathe.
She backs away and hits a cage.
Hands reach through the bars.
Some are Togruta. Some clone. Some human. All begging.
Commander.
Jedi.
Help us.
Her heart slams against her ribs.
She reaches for lightsabers that are not there.
The collar shocks her.
Pain tears through her neck and spine, dropping her to one knee.
The laughter grows louder.
“You failed them,” a voice says.
Ahsoka looks up.
The Zygerrian queen stands above her, smiling.
“You failed yourself.”
The vision shifts.
Anakin hangs from electrified restraints, blood running down his face.
Rex kneels beside him in a slave collar, blue eyes empty.
Obi-Wan lies motionless on the floor.
Ahsoka’s panic rises until she can barely see.
This is not real.
Her body does not care.
The cage is too small.
The air is too thin.
The collar is there again.
She claws at it until her fingers ache.
The shock comes harder.
Ahsoka screams.
The sound echoes through Kadavo and returns as laughter.
For one terrible moment, she is not a Jedi, a commander, or a survivor. She is fifteen again, trapped beneath a slaver’s hand and certain nobody is coming.
Then Morai’s warmth brushes the far edge of their bond.
Not entering the cave.
Not interfering.
Only there.
Ahsoka presses both palms against the floor.
The metal beneath them is cold.
The pain is real to her body, even if the place is not.
Fighting the fear only feeds it.
She learned that after returning from Kadavo. Every time she forced herself into a closed room and pretended she was fine, the panic came back worse. Every time Anakin reached through their bond and she slammed the door, the fear grew teeth.
She cannot cut this apart with a saber.
She has to let it move through her.
Ahsoka closes her eyes.
The queen laughs.
The collar burns.
Ahsoka breathes.
The first breath is shallow.
The second shakes.
The third reaches the bottom of her lungs.
“I’m afraid,” she says.
The vision flickers.
She feels the fear without naming it weakness.
She feels the collar, the cage, the helplessness, and every memory she has kept locked behind walls because letting anyone see them felt worse than carrying them alone.
Pain moves through her.
She does not hold it.
She releases it into the Force.
The panic does not vanish. It passes through her in waves, sharp enough to hurt but no longer strong enough to command.
Ahsoka opens her eyes.
The restraints around her wrists loosen.
The queen’s smile falters.
Ahsoka rises.
The collar remains around her throat.
She leaves it there.
“You don’t own me,” she says.
The queen ignites a shock whip.
Ahsoka catches it with one hand.
Pain burns across her palm.
She pulls.
The queen stumbles forward.
Ahsoka drives her elbow into the slaver’s throat.
The vision erupts.
Zygerrian guards pour from the walkways. Ahsoka has no lightsabers, no armor, and no army.
She moves anyway.
She ducks beneath a shock staff, breaks the wielder’s knee, and takes the weapon from his hand. The next guard swings. She turns the staff, catches him beneath the jaw, and sends him over the railing.
The prisoners begin shouting.
The cages open.
Rex rises first.
Not empty now.
Furious.
Anakin tears his restraints from the wall. Obi-Wan stands, bruised and smiling with exhausted approval.
The vision’s Kadavo collapses beneath rebellion.
Ahsoka fights until there are no slavers left between her and the door.
When the final one falls, the metal floor beneath her becomes stone.
The chains disappear.
The collar dissolves into light.
Ahsoka stands in the cavern again.
Two white stars hover ahead of her.
Kyber crystals.
Pure, bright, and singing in harmony.
She reaches for them.
The moment her fingers close, the cavern explodes into visions.
She stands inside a war room beside Fox.
He is older, though not by much. Red-and-black armor covers him from throat to boots, but the right side of his face has been replaced by metal. One gold eye remains. The other glows as a red optical sensor set inside black plating.
Ahsoka looks down at herself.
Beskar covers her body.
Not Jedi armor. Not ordinary Mandalorian plates.
Togruti beskar, shaped around her montrals and lekku, marked with patterns that feel older than any clan she knows. The metal hums with her soul instead of dulling the Force.
Beskar is supposed to dampen sensitivity.
This armor amplifies her.
Fox places a hand over a galactic map.
“We only get one chance,” he says.
Ahsoka hears herself answer.
“Then we don’t miss.”
The vision tears sideways.
Mandalore burns beneath a red sky.
Ahsoka stands in the throne room with two white lightsabers in her hands. Across from her waits something Dark.
Not Dooku.
Not Ventress.
Something hungry, furious, and wrapped in old pain.
A black-and-red face smiles.
A double-bladed saber ignites.
The vision changes again.
Ahsoka holds a black blade.
The Darksaber hums in her hand.
She sits upon Mandalore’s throne, though the word throne feels wrong. It is less a seat of power than a promise made to everyone standing beyond the chamber doors.
Rex stands beside her.
He is older too.
His armor is no longer plastoid. Blue-marked beskar covers him, worn and scarred, with the jaig eyes still painted across his helmet.
He looks at her with quiet certainty.
Not Captain and Commander.
Something deeper.
The future shifts.
Anakin stands in sunlight.
Padmé is beside him.
They hold two infants, one in each pair of arms.
The babies blaze in the Force like newborn stars.
Twins.
The girl opens her eyes.
The boy reaches toward Anakin’s face.
Padmé laughs, and Anakin looks at her as though the entire galaxy has finally given him something it cannot take away.
Then his shadow stretches behind him.
Tall.
Black.
Breathing through a machine.
Ahsoka reaches for him.
The vision breaks.
She sees Fox again, metal-faced and bleeding.
She sees clones collapsing beneath a single command.
She sees the Senate burning.
She sees Morai circling above a white city.
She sees herself crossing blades with Anakin beneath a sky full of ash.
She sees Rex reaching for her through smoke.
She sees a child with blue eyes standing beneath twin moons.
The images come too quickly to understand.
Past.
Future.
Possibility.
Warning.
The Force has never cared about explaining itself in a reasonable order.
Ahsoka tries to pull away.
The visions tighten around her.
Her knees strike stone.
The crystals burn cold in her hands.
She sees herself kneeling before no Jedi Council and no Mandalorian ruler.
She sees clans bowing their helmets.
She sees Fox’s red optical eye narrow as he says something she cannot hear.
She sees the black blade raised over her head.
She sees Rex without his helmet, older and smiling.
Then everything stops.
Ahsoka is on her knees in the dark cavern.
Both fists are closed around kyber crystals.
White light spills between her fingers.
Her utility light lies dead beside her. Her canteen is empty. Her mouth feels like sand, and her stomach cramps hard enough to fold her forward.
She has no idea how long she has been inside.
Hours would not explain the weakness in her limbs.
Days, then.
Of course.
The Force can show her half the future but cannot remind her to drink water.
“Ass,” she whispers.
The cave offers no apology.
Ahsoka forces herself upright.
The crystals’ song leads her back.
She remembers very little of the climb. Stone beneath her palms. Her own breathing. The crystals held against her chest inside the scrap-metal pouch Morai assembled piece by piece.
That had been the purpose.
Morai knew.
Somehow, the convor had known Ahsoka would need materials waiting when she emerged.
The passage brightens ahead.
Ahsoka reaches the cave mouth and nearly falls into the daylight.
Evening covers the canyon.
Or perhaps it is a different evening.
Morai launches from the ledge with a cry and circles above her. Relief floods their bond so strongly that Ahsoka almost laughs.
“I’m fine,” she says.
Morai screeches.
“I’m mostly fine.”
The ground tilts beneath Ahsoka.
Her Togruta senses catch distant movement before her eyes focus.
Boots striking stone.
Armor plates.
Two heartbeats approaching fast from the canyon entrance.
Mandalorians.
One wears blue-grey armor.
The other wears white and gold.
They are running toward her.
Ahsoka tries to reach for a weapon she does not yet have.
Her fingers close around the pouch containing two white crystals.
The last thing she sees before darkness takes her is Morai flying straight toward the Mandalorians as though she has been waiting for them too.