Chapter Text
15 BBY
The wind howled like a plummeting fighter, drowning out all other sound but that of the millions of grains of sand slicing through the air, blocking out the sun, scouring the flesh from any creature foolish enough to be caught without shelter—
And they were many.
The bones of innumerable sentients covered the ground, humans and bothans and wookies and twi’lek and rodians and togruta, all lying where they’d fallen. Their dying screams carried on the wind, feeding the sandstorm— pain and fear and hate all blending together into furious, ravenous pleasure, cruel and insatiable, devouring all the deserts heat…
But not all its light.
There in the distance was a single point of luminous blue-white, glowing through the hungry dark.
Ben staggered towards it.
The further he went, the harder the storm lashed at him, pushing him this way and that, leeching the warmth from his body and soul, screaming in his ears—
— Promise me you will train the boy —
— I’ve loved you always —
— The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated —
— I hate you!! —
And then there was quiet.
Not silence, for the howling of the wind was behind him, around him, but distant, held back by the light…
Kyber.
There in the eye of the storm stood a great shard of Kyber, not glowing but refracting— the light of the twin suns shining down from above, bloody red and soft blue mingling within the crystal, and casting strange, shifting shapes across the ground. He stepped closer, and peered into the multifaceted depths.
A hundred figures moved within, walking and fighting on a hundred worlds, surrounded by faceless enemies, luminous allies… but as Ben watched, as he opened himself to the storm and the screams and the light, two figures emerged from the many. Here they held hands, there they fought, but always they orbited each other, all that chaos caught in the gravity of their dance, their battle, their serenity and their fury and their love—
Ben Kenobi woke with a start, heart pounding in his chest.
Beige walls. Dust and machine oil.
His hut. The Jundland Wastes. Tatooine.
He slumped back down onto the sheets, and breathed deep.
He supposed he should be pleased that all his meditation was bearing fruit… but karabast.
The bones, the screams, the darkness, that was nothing new… but the crystal, the figures, the duo…
The twins.
Why now? He’d been meditating almost every day for the past four years, and every one of those days, Luke had been safe on the Lars’ farm.
Had something changed? He hadn’t felt any disturbance in the Force… but that didn’t necessarily mean anything— it seemed like the Force was all disturbances, these days, all grim echoes of the Empire’s crimes, rippling across the galaxy…
All while he hid here, too sad and broken to…
No.
None of that, Ben.
He took a deep breath, and held it for eight heartbeats before slowly releasing it— and with it his self-loathing, his despair…
Emotion, yet peace.
Chaos, yet harmony.
All was not lost— he was still connected to the Force, and with enough clarity to receive vivid, meaningful visions.
He just had to figure out what that meaning was .
He just had to figure out what had changed.
By the time the sun rose, he was shrouded in a cloak, the cool morning air whipping at his face as he sped across the desert.
*
Ben was by no means an expert on hives of scum and villainy, but he was far from a layman. A few too many undercover missions had seen to that. And as hives of scum and villainy went, Mos Eisley was among the more wretched he had waded into.
Which made it an ideal place to catch up on current events.
The spaceport’s diverse denizens only played Imperial news to mock and dissect it. There was some truth in it, if you read between the lines— but more numerous were the pirate channels, the rebel frequencies, and the many, many rumor mills.
Subtly projecting I was never here into the Force, Ben ducked into the cantina, and found himself a nice dark corner. The smell of burnt Spice and liquor filled his senses, and beneath it the body odors of a dozen species, deeply ingrained in the synth-leather upholstery. If he breathed deep, which he was reluctant to do, he’d be able to smell the acrid aftermath of blaster fire from deals gone wrong.
But better Hutt territory than Imperial territory.
He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and listened— past the Bith cyber-jazz, the chatter in languages he neither recognized nor understood…
—paying in Death Sticks, not credits—
—Brooonaughhh rruug rrruo—
—bounty’s up after that mess on the salt flats—
— Udesii, vod. Tion'ad hukaat'kama? —
—latest news from Alderaan—
There.
He trusted in the Force, and opened his eyes.
A few meters away, a trio of drunken Rodians sat in a poorly-lit booth, half-watching a holoscreen. On it was a pale human woman in dark, austere imperial attire, hands folded before her, with a chaotic scene superimposed beside her— moving bodies, fire, the ghostly white of stormtroopers…
Ben slipped out of his corner and carefully approached, until he could hear the anchor’s voice clearly.
“—third day of dangerous unrest following a brutal terrorist attack on the royal palace—”
What?
That made no sense—
“—among the dead were Queen Breha Organa, her husband Senator Bail Organa, and their infant daughter Leia.”
Ben’s blood ran cold.
“Although no one has yet claimed responsibility for the attack, many believe this was retaliation against the royal family for their unwavering support of the Empire—”
No!
Surely the people could see that Bail and Breha meant to spare them an Imperial occupation —
“—Imperial forces are deploying to restore order to the historically peaceful Core world—”
Force have mercy.
This… this couldn’t be. The twins were such bright lights in the spreading darkness, surely he would have felt if one of them…
Oh.
Oh no.
He would have. He’d held them both in his arms, he’d know if one died.
Leia.
They’d found her. She’d shown some sign of Force-sensitivity and they’d found her, taken her, killed the Organas for hiding her and blamed it on rebels…
Ben forced himself to breathe, to not radiate his panic through the Force —
Palpatine had her.
Darth Sidious had her.
Emotion yet peace, chaos yet harmony, death yet the Force—
He slumped against the wall, legs suddenly weak.
Sidious would destroy her. He would take all that potential and pervert it, twist that dear sweet girl into another Vader—
He barely made it to the back alley before his stomach emptied itself.
He forced himself to breath deep and hold it, to let it out slowly, again and again…
The vision. The duo.
The dyad.
Luke.
If Leia was to be reforged in darkness, reforged into a weapon…
The balance needed to be protected, now more than ever.
He had to train the boy.
*
“Absolutely kriffing not.”
“Owen — ” Beru laid a hand on her husband’s arm.
“No. You brought him here to keep him away from all this!”
“And we’re grateful to you for bringing him to us, Ben, but the Jedi…” Beru sighed. “They took Anakin, and they never gave him back.”
“I know.” Ben leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table between them, pouring his sincerity into the Force. “I’m not asking to take him from you.”
“Aren’t you?” asked Beru. “We know what the Empire does— if you make him a Jedi, he’ll want to go and do something about that.”
Owen’s frown deepened. “He’ll fly off and get himself killed is what he’ll do!”
“And he couldn’t do the same here?” Ben asked. “Tatooine grows more lawless by the day — but if I train him, he will be more than a match for any slaver or brigand.”
Owen sat back, arms crossed. “I said no , Kenobi.”
Ben did his best to keep the worry and frustration off his face.
He glanced around the dining alcove, and then out across their circular courtyard… to where a domed cleaning droid buzzed across the ground. It was an old model, pre-Clone Wars, and easily one hundred kilos…
Yes. That would do nicely.
Ben reached out with his hand and with the Force, and gently lifted the droid into the air. Then, with his other hand, he plucked their three cups of tea off the table, and made them slowly orbit each other.
Owen lurched back, away from the display — but Beru just watched, eyes wide with awe.
“This,” said Ben, “is the result of many years of training to achieve control and restraint. The same power, untamed, can be as dangerous as any sandstorm or Imperial strike... and just as obvious to those who know how to look for it.”
That got Owen’s attention. He narrowed his eyes, gaze flicking between the floating mugs and the man levitating them.
“You brought him here to protect him from all this,” he said again. “To keep him safe.”
“I did. But…” Ben sighed. “Luke will be stronger than I am. Stronger than I ever was. With the abilities he will soon show, he will have the power to save billions of lives.”
Neither farmer said anything, at that.
They were oddly still, in fact— Owen’s expression tense and vexed, Beru’s worried, conflicted…
Ah.
Ben put down the mugs, and the droid.
“He’s already shown them, hasn’t he?”
A muscle twitched in Owen’s jaw. Beru leaned forward, elbows on the table, head bowed in thought.
“We’re going about this all wrong,” she said, “aren’t we?”
Owen looked sideways at her.
“This… thing he was born with… we can’t choose for him.”
“Beru…”
She shook her head, a placating hand on Owen’s crossed arms. “This should be Luke’s choice to make. Once he’s old enough to understand, and only once he’s old enough to understand, then you make this offer again, Ben Kenobi— and you abide by his decision, ”
The slightest weight lifted off Ben’s shoulders, at that. He could breathe that much easier.
Feeling suddenly tongue-tied, he nodded.
“That’s… you’re right, of course.”
Perhaps if Anakin had more of a choice, if it wasn’t a choice between the Order and slavery—
Later, Ben. Think about it later.
“It is Luke’s choice to make.”