The suns were low when Anakin Skywalker said goodbye.
He stood in the doorway of the small home he had grown up in, Revan's helmet already back in place, wrappings tight around his arms and neck. HK-47 hovered near the wall, holding a compact crate of Anakin's belongings. K2-S0 stood outside, loading the last of the parts into a transport sled.
Shmi Skywalker stepped forward.
She cupped Anakin's masked face in both hands.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she pulled him into her arms.
"You be brave," she whispered into his shoulder. "Not strong. Brave."
Anakin hugged her back fiercely.
"I'll come back," he said, voice muffled by her robes.
"I know," she replied, though they both knew there were no guarantees.
Aiylan approached next.
She didn't tease this time.
She wrapped Anakin in a tight embrace.
"You better not forget how to fly while you're off playing Jedi."
Anakin let out a soft, filtered huff.
"Don't worry."
She leaned close.
"Kick their asses if they try to change you."
He nodded.
Aurra watched from a distance, arms crossed.
Skud stood silently at the edge of the yard, massive and unmoving. His gaze never left Anakin. There was something ancient in the way he watched, like a sentry fulfilling a vow older than the desert itself.
Black Krrsantan stepped forward and rumbled something low.
Anakin understood.
"I will," Anakin replied quietly. "I promise."
The Wookiee bowed his head slightly.
Jango waited until the others had stepped back.
Then he approached.
He placed a hand on Anakin's shoulder.
"You did good, kid."
Anakin nodded.
"You'll look after my mom."
Jango met his gaze.
"We will."
Anakin didn't move.
Jango exhaled slowly.
"We won't be on Tatooine all the time," he added. "Jobs take us off-world. But we'll check on her whenever we can. Skud will stay behind
when we leave. He won't let anything happen to her."
Anakin glanced briefly toward the silent Gendai.
Scud inclined his massive head once.
Anakin looked back at Jango.
"You promise?"
Jango's voice was firm.
"On my armor."
That was sacred.
Anakin nodded.
"Okay."
They clasped forearms.
A Mandalorian goodbye.
Then Anakin turned and walked away.
He didn't look back.
///
The walk to the Naboo shuttle was quiet.
Qui-Gon led the way.
K2-S0 and HK-47 followed behind Anakin.
The wind whispered through Mos Espa's streets, carrying sand and distant machinery noise.
No one spoke.
Finally, Anakin broke the silence.
"You can ask."
Qui-Gon slowed.
"Ask what?"
Anakin's voice came steady through the mask.
"You saw my face."
Qui-Gon stopped walking.
He turned.
"Yes."
Anakin waited.
Qui-Gon met his visor.
"I understand why you were wary. I won't tell a soul."
Anakin nodded.
"…thank you."
He hesitated.
"You're different from other Jedi."
Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"You didn't flinch."
Qui-Gon smiled faintly.
"What other Jedi have you met?"
Anakin paused.
"…touché."
That earned a quiet chuckle from Qui-Gon.
"I've never been very good at following rules," Qui-Gon admitted. "Probably why the Council won't give me a seat."
Anakin let out a small mechanical laugh.
"Sounds like their loss."
HK-47 tilted his head.
"Statement: I approve of Jedi who demonstrate independent thinking. It increases survivability."
Qui-Gon glanced at the droid.
"Why does he talk like that?"
Anakin answered easily.
"That's how he was designed. He's ancient. From the Old Republic."
HK-47 puffed slightly with pride.
"Correction: From a far superior era."
Anakin continued.
"He's been with me since I was born. He served my mother first."
Qui-Gon absorbed that quietly.
K2-S0 spoke flatly.
"Master Anakin also built me for protection. I fulfill that directive with enthusiasm."
HK-47 turned toward him.
"Observation: Your enthusiasm lacks homicidal creativity."
K2-S0 replied calmly.
"I compensate with efficiency."
Anakin shook his head slightly.
"Behave."
Both droids went silent.
Then Qui-Gon stopped.
His posture changed instantly.
The Force tightened around him.
"I've felt this since we arrived," Qui-Gon said quietly.
Anakin stiffened.
"Felt what?"
"A presence."
Qui-Gon's eyes scanned the rooftops.
"Dark."
His hand went to his lightsaber.
"Pick up the pace."
They started running.
Anakin kept up easily, legs pumping, breath steady.
The shuttle came into view.
So did movement.
A speeder roared in from the right.
Qui-Gon spun.
"Anakin—DUCK!"
Anakin dropped instinctively.
A figure in black flew past where his head had been a second earlier.
The speeder skidded sideways.
The rider leapt.
Red light ignited.
Qui-Gon's green
blade met it in a shower of sparks.
The first Jedi–Sith duel in millennia began in silence and fury.
The Sith moved like a blade in human form.
Fast.
Relentless.
Qui-Gon parried, pivoted, struck back.
Anakin scrambled up.
"HK—help him!"
HK-47 practically vibrated.
"Enthusiastic confirmation: I have not killed a Sith in a very long time!"
The droid raised his blaster and opened fire.
The Sith was forced back immediately, deflecting bolts while trying to keep Qui-Gon at bay.
HK flanked with surgical precision, firing from unexpected angles.
The Sith snarled, suddenly on the defensive.
Anakin backed toward the shuttle.
He shouted to the crew inside.
"QUI-GON SAID TAKE OFF!"
The ramp began to close.
Qui-Gon and HK fought their way backward toward it.
The Sith pressed forward, furious.
At the last second, Qui-Gon disengaged, grabbed HK's arm, and leapt aboard.
The ramp slammed shut.
The shuttle lifted hard.
The Sith stood alone in the sand, red blade blazing as the ship streaked into the sky.
Inside the bay, Qui-Gon collapsed to one knee.
Anakin rushed forward.
"Are you okay?"
Another figure joined them—Obi-Wan Kenobi, finally face-to-face with the boy.
"Master!"
Qui-Gon nodded, breathing heavily.
"I'm fine."
He looked at Anakin.
"This is Obi-Wan. My Padawan."
Obi-Wan studied Anakin, feeling the Force swirl around him like a storm.
Anakin gave a small nod.
"Hi."
Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly.
The Sith was real.
The boy was powerful.
And the galaxy had officially begun to move.
///
Hyperspace was quiet in a way that felt unnatural.
Outside the viewport, streaks of white-blue light stretched endlessly forward, folding space into a rushing tunnel of stars. Inside the Naboo shuttle, the hum of engines was steady and low, a constant lullaby beneath the soft lighting of the corridors.
Everyone had retreated to their own corners.
Obi-Wan meditated in the forward compartment.
Qui-Gon rested against the wall near the cockpit, eyes closed but senses alert.
HK-47 stood motionless beside a storage crate, running internal diagnostics.
K2-S0 had stationed himself near Anakin's room like a silent sentry.
And Anakin…
Anakin sat curled on one end of the main lounge couch, Revan's helmet still on, hood pulled low, hands busy tinkering with a small power regulator he'd scavenged from the cargo hold.
His movements were slower than usual.
His shoulders were hunched.
He was shivering.
Padmé entered quietly.
She wore the simple cream-and-gold garments of a handmaiden now, hair pulled back, posture softer without the armor of ceremony. She paused near the central console, glancing toward Anakin for a moment before turning to the controls.
Her fingers hesitated.
Then she pressed the activation stud.
A blue hologram shimmered into existence.
Governor Sio Bibble appeared, his face drawn and anxious.
"My Queen," he said urgently, wringing his hands. "The death toll is catastrophic. The Trade Federation continues to tighten its grip. Our people grow weaker by the hour."
Padmé's heart sank.
The old transmission continued.
Supplies are nearly gone. Hospitals are overwhelmed. Morale is collapsing."
Padmé swallowed.
The hologram faded.
Padmé stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty air where Naboo had just been begging for its life.
Her hands curled into fists.
A soft, filtered voice broke the silence.
"Are you okay?"
She turned.
Anakin sat on the couch, still masked, the small device resting forgotten in his hands. His head tilted slightly, golden eyes hidden behind dark visor glass.
Padmé forced a smile.
"I will be," she said.
She walked over and sat beside him.
Up close, she could see the subtle tremor in his arms.
"You're cold," she said.
Anakin shrugged.
"Space is… colder than Tatooine."
She gave a small, sympathetic laugh.
"That's true."
She stood, retrieved a blanket from a nearby storage compartment, then returned and draped it gently around his shoulders.
Anakin froze for half a second.
He wasn't used to casual touch.
Then he relaxed.
"Better?" Padmé asked softly.
He nodded.
"…yeah. Thank you."
She tucked the edge of the blanket around him more securely.
"You're from a hot planet," she said gently. "Your body isn't used to this."
He hesitated.
"Everything feels different off Tatooine."
Padmé studied him.
"In what way?"
Anakin considered.
"The air. The quiet. People don't shout as much."
He looked down at his hands.
"And there aren't chains."
Padmé's chest tightened.
She didn't respond to that.
Instead, she sat back against the couch and let the silence settle again.
Anakin shifted slightly closer without realizing it.
His voice came quietly through the mask.
"You looked worried."
She sighed.
"My home is suffering."
He nodded.
"I know what that's like."
She turned to him.
"You do?"
"My mom."
That was all he said.
It was enough.
Padmé reached out and gently rested her hand over his, still wrapped in the blanket.
He stiffened for just a heartbeat.
Then allowed it.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"You really are kind."
She smiled faintly.
"I try."
His head tilted toward her.
"You have to be related to those angels."
Padmé blinked.
"What angels?"
"The ones on the moons of Iego," Anakin said drowsily. "The beautiful ones."
She laughed softly.
"I don't think so."
He nodded slowly, unconvinced.
"Yeah," he murmured. "You do."
His posture softened.
The adrenaline from the race.
The fear from the Sith attack.
The exhaustion of leaving his mother behind.
It all caught up to him at once.
His head drifted sideways.
He leaned gently against Padmé's shoulder.
She startled slightly at first.
Then stayed perfectly still.
Anakin's breathing slowed.
The mask's filter whispered quietly as he slipped into sleep.
Padmé looked down at him.
He was so small.
So young.
A boy who had raced monsters, killed to survive, left his mother, and been hurled into galactic conflict—all in the span of a single day.
She carefully adjusted the blanket so it covered him fully.
He made a tiny sound in his throat and settled deeper into her side.
Padmé wrapped one arm around his shoulders.
She sat there holding him while hyperspace sang around them.
She thought about Naboo.
About war.
About politics and power and armies.
Then she looked at the sleeping child leaning against her, clutching the edge of his blanket like it was the last solid thing in the universe.
And for the first time since leaving home, Padmé Amidala let herself cry quietly.
Just a little.
Not loud enough to wake him.
Anakin slept on, unaware of politics, unaware of prophecies.
For this moment, he was only a tired boy from the desert, wrapped in a blanket, held by someone who cared.
The stars carried them forward.
///
Soft chimes echoed through the corridors as systems came online and crew members moved between stations. Hyperspace warnings blinked along the control panels, and the steady hum of the engines shifted pitch as the ship prepared to revert to realspace.
Anakin Skywalker wandered the halls quietly, Revan's helmet back in place, cloak drawn tight around his shoulders.
He found Padmé near the aft lounge.
She stood with the other handmaidens, speaking softly. Sabé—dressed in the Queen's regal attire—held court nearby, posture perfect, voice calm, playing her role flawlessly.
Anakin hesitated.
Then stepped forward.
"Padmé?"
She turned.
Her face softened when she saw him.
"Yes?"
"Can I… talk to you alone?"
Padmé glanced toward Sabé, who gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
Padmé followed Anakin a few steps away, stopping near a viewport where hyperspace still streaked past in silent light.
He stood awkwardly in front of her, hands tucked into his sleeves.
For once, he didn't know how to start.
Padmé waited patiently.
Anakin finally pulled something small from his pocket.
It was a necklace.
Simple.
Crude in places.
Hand-carved from desert stone and wrapped with thin wire scavenged from a broken nav-chip. The pendant bore a rough geometric symbol—not Sith, not Jedi—just something Anakin had made because it felt right.
He held it out.
"I made this," he said through the mask. "It's… for you."
Padmé blinked.
Anakin shifted his weight.
"I thought… when I go to the Jedi Order… you could have it. So you'd remember me."
Padmé took the necklace carefully, as if it were fragile.
She studied it for a moment.
Then she looked up at him.
Her eyes were warm.
She stepped forward and hugged him.
Anakin stiffened in surprise, then slowly returned the embrace.
She held him close.
"I don't need this to remember you," Padmé said softly. "I'll remember you for the rest of my life."
Anakin froze.
His voice cracked slightly through the filter.
"…oh."
She pulled back, smiling.
He suddenly found the floor very interesting.
His shoulders drew in.
"Sorry," he muttered. "That was dumb."
Padmé shook her head.
"No," she said. "It was kind."
His cheeks burned beneath the wrappings.
He gave a small, awkward nod and slipped away toward the cockpit before she could say anything else.
Padmé watched him go, fingers closing gently around the necklace.
///
The stars stretched.
Then snapped.
Hyperspace folded away like a curtain being pulled aside.
Anakin stood in the cockpit beside the pilot, hands resting on the edge of the console.
Outside the forward viewport, Coruscant revealed itself.
A planet-wide city.
Endless layers of spires and towers rose through clouds, glowing with traffic lanes and atmospheric lights. Ships moved in intricate streams between skyscrapers that pierced the sky. The surface below was a tapestry of metal, energy, and motion.
Anakin stared.
The pilot chuckled softly.
"First time?"
Anakin nodded.
The pilot gestured forward.
"That's Coruscant. Capital of the Republic."
Anakin didn't respond right away.
His voice finally came, quiet.
"It's… loud."
The pilot smiled.
"You'll get used to it."
Footsteps approached behind him.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan entered the cockpit.
Qui-Gon stood beside Anakin, hands folded.
"Well?" Qui-Gon asked. "What do you think?"
Anakin stared at the planet.
"It's different."
Obi-Wan crossed his arms.
"Different how?"
Anakin hesitated.
Then spoke carefully.
"It's technically my ancestors' home."
Obi-Wan blinked.
"I'm sorry—what?"
Anakin turned slightly.
"I descend from Mandalorians."
Obi-Wan frowned.
"But Mandalore is the home of the Mandalorians."
Qui-Gon shook his head gently.
"Not originally."
Obi-Wan looked at his master.
"In ancient times," Qui-Gon explained, "Coruscant was home to the Taung—the original Mandalorian species."
Anakin listened silently.
"They were warriors," Qui-Gon continued. "Conquerors. They eventually left Coruscant and settled on Mandalore, where their culture evolved into what we know today."
Obi-Wan absorbed that.
"The Mandalorians still carry legends about it," Qui-Gon added. "That one day they would return to their first world."
Anakin stared at the glowing planet.
"Guess I beat them to it."
Obi-Wan glanced at him.
"You seem remarkably calm about all this."
Anakin shrugged.
"Big places don't scare me."
Qui-Gon studied him thoughtfully.
They watched Coruscant grow larger in the viewport.
Traffic swarmed like schools of luminous fish.
The Republic's heart pulsed beneath them.
Anakin Skywalker stood quietly between two Jedi, looking at a world built on ancient bones and forgotten wars—bloodlines folding back on themselves in the shape of destiny.
And somewhere deep in the Force, old echoes stirred.
The boy had arrived.