Chapter Text
"It's an old tale from way back when
and we're gonna sing it again and again"
- Road to Hell (Reprise), Hadestown
Through the Force, everything is connected. It is through this connection that Luke Skywalker is undone and made anew.
War was nothing more than the death of those in power viewed as lesser. It was a politician’s hand moving the piece on the chess board, watching in boredom as the pawns died needlessly to secure a brutal victory. People who instigate war rarely see the horror of their actions; even fewer consider it horrifying.
These thoughts raced in Master Plo Koon’s head as he watched his troopers gathering their brothers from the rubble, heart aching with grief. It was a well-oiled practice, the steps as easy as breathing to them. Losing brothers was a daily occurrence for them, a constant discomfort they had to tolerate for the greater good.
(Sometimes, when he is alone, Plo Koon wonders if that’s true. Questions whether this war is worth it if it results in thousands of lost lives every day. What would be left after this war had been fought?
These questions are loudest when he sees the padawan on the field and hurt, especially if it is one he recruited. He had promised the life of a peacekeeper, but instead, they were made into soldiers—child soldiers, old enough to be padawans but still younglings.
Sometimes, the guilt and regret are too big for him to let go of.)
Plo-Koon walked a steady rhythm through the destruction, extending his senses further, searching for life when he knew there was none. Except, he stopped, curiosity piqued at the sudden excitement vibrating through the Force.
And then, a supernova.
The Force swirled, a vicious wind that had all Plo-Koon’s troopers running for cover as the strength increased, debris flying with its path. He stood in the chaos, assured that the Force wouldn’t hurt him, and squinted as a bright light shone behind the wind currents. It resembled a sun, no, a sunrise; specifically, the one Plo-Koon ached to see after every dark night he spent fighting. To one without Force sight, it was a natural attack, but to Plo-Koon, it sent a feeling of hope surging through him, an unnatural warmth he wanted to burrow himself in.
It lasted only a minute and died down as quickly as it came.
“Oh,” Plo-Koon said softly when he saw what was in the middle of it.
There was guilt, and there was regret because he knew what Council would do, but it didn’t stop him from contacting them, unknowingly beginning an old story differently.
I am eight and small, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. My skin has been bronzed from the Twins Suns that glare from the sky, yet I shiver at night when the moon rises.
I am angry.
I don’t know why or at who, but I am. My chest heaves and my lungs burn as tears trail down my cheeks, itching all the way to my chin. Everything is too much.
The adult voices are too loud. Their feelings are too close.
I want it to stop.
“Go away!” I scream.
Everything in the room rattles, the sound of my voice so high and ugly it breaks the windows outward, glass flying around in the air. Aunt and Uncle fly back into a wall so hard the stones crack.
Silence thunders as I realise what I have done. But things weren’t quite yet, because now there was something new between them and me, a sour taste that burns from my throat to my stomach.
Fear of me.
Sound was the first thing she registered. There was the beeping of machines and the stiff creaking of a moving droid. More than one droid, she knew, from the distinct lack of rhythm present. Over the sounds of machinery was muffled breathing; too slow to be human.
Looming black shadow. Slow, heavy footsteps. Kish-kosh.
“I am your-“
She took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled, mimicking the patterns of sleep. The movements felt practised, yet she couldn’t remember how she learned them. It took everything in her – another unrecognisable but familiar method – to keep her body calm. Something was wrong; she knew that. Where she was wasn’t where she was meant to be.
She couldn’t remember that either.
It sent her spiralling. Where was she? Who was she? How did she get here? Something was wrong. She was wrong. But how did she know that?
She forced those thoughts to the side, not wanting to dwell on them, and inhaled again, focusing on her surroundings. With a faux calm, she reached out with her senses.
Cold, cynical, sterile.
She was in a medical facility. The fact backed up with the hard bed she was lying on and the needle in her arm.
Worry, calm, slightly hungry, craving peanuts.
Another life form. They felt taller than her, sturdier too.
She turned her attention to her body: no aches, four limbs, ten toes, five fingers.
Five fingers..?
She was missing her hand.
The thought should be shocking, but instead, it was just old. She had learned to live with what was once a wound that had just stabbed over. However, she knew that while her flesh fingers were gone, they had been replaced by a prosthetic; whoever found her must’ve taken it.
There was no sense of defenselessness. Instead, a steadfast feeling settled in her stomach. She could defend herself even without her hand.
She breathed deeply, still mimicking the calmness of sleep, knowing there wouldn’t be a need for it. Something was telling her not to react aggressively, to stay calm. Whoever found it meant no harm, but That didn’t mean she wanted to stay here.
She didn’t belong here and needed to go home even if she didn’t know where home was.
The owner of the non-human lungs finally spoke up.
“I know you’re awake.”
The voice was deep and gentle, and it might have even been called soothing if she didn’t want anything to do with it.
No, you don’t, she thought with feeling, trying to press the word onto the unknown being’s mind.
“Impressive,” the voice sounded amused. “If I were not who I was, I would have succumbed to your persuasion. Unsurprisingly, you are strong in the Force but still have much to learn, youngling.”
Youngling.
A taller man, with slight red hair greying under the sunlight, with a strange accent and a proud set to his shoulder. Practising walking like him, dancing with him.
“You are still a youngling, Luke. Your impatience will only bring you harm.”
“When do I stop being a youngling?”
“When you and I are the same age.”
“Oh… hey! That’s not fair!”
“Many things aren’t, dear one.”
Her name was Luke. She was Luke, and she was… the thought slipped from her mind, dessert sand between clenched fingers. Thinking of herself as Luke meant something; her name did mean something from where she was from. It had weight and a legacy behind it, and it felt important.
Youngling, however, send a sense of wrongness down her spine, and applying it to her felt unjust. Luke wasn’t a youngling, and she was… she didn’t know how old she was, but Luke was confident that she had stopped being young long ago.
But ‘strong in the Force’ felt right, like an old shoe that had been stretched to her feet. It was a statement she had often heard as both a casual remark and a firm scolding. The air hummed a familiar tune: Luke didn’t recognise it.
Stubborn, she kept her eyes shut.
“I must admit, youngling, how confused I am. We found you in the middle of a battlefield. You suddenly appeared. It was nothing I have ever seen before.” The voice waited a moment. “I would like to know your name.”
“It’s rude,” she said, someone else’s words on her tongue, her eyes snapping open, “to ask someone’s name without introducing yourself. My name is Luke, and I was born – I am not a youngling.”
The muffled voice belonged to a Kel Dor male, orange-brown skin glistening under the fluorescent lights of the medical bay. Large, solid black eyes blinked softly, the only feature not covered by his mask.
“Ah,” he hummed. “No, I suppose not. According to human standards, your visage puts you between thirteen and eighteen. While you look old enough to be a padawan, as shown through the lightsabre we found with you. However, I have found no record of you, not even in the Agri-Corps.”
“My dear padawan-“
“We both know I was never just your padawan, uncle.”
“No,” Luke shook her head. “Not a youngling, and I’m not a padawan either.” Those words tickled the back of her mind, familiar but unfitting for her. “You still haven’t told me your name.”
“I apologise,” the Kel Dor said, “I am Jedi Master Plo Koon.”
Jedi Master.
Greenlight slashing through armour. Levitating rocks. A dark-haired girl.
“I am a Jedi, like my-“
Master made her flinch, as natural as jerking away from a knife at the throat was. She focused on something else.
“I am a Jedi,” the words blurted from her mouth, right yet wrong. I am the Jedi.
Plo Koon’s amusement could be heard as he spoke, “A Jedi? But not a youngling or a padawan?”
“No,” she said firmly. “A Jedi.”
“A Jedi with no record of ever appearing at the temple?”
“I, uh.” Luke swallowed thickly, sitting up as carefully as possible. With an ease that spoke of years of practice, she sat crossed-legged, palm up on her left knee, right arm resting against her thigh. “I do not know.”
Plo Koon blinked, the tension softening around his eyes. “You do not know what?”
“Anything.” It ripped from her throat, a poisonous admittance of a weakness she doesn’t remember. Not knowing felt unnatural for her, as if knowing things were her job and she was failing at it.
Her name is Luke. She is a Jedi. She is Lost.
Luke is a lost Jedi, and she didn’t belong here.
“I don’t remember any battle or even falling asleep,” she said softly, eyes boring into Plo Koon’s, begging for understanding. “I don’t know where I am or where I’m from, even how old I am. I know this: My name is Luke, and I am not a youngling nor a padawan. I don’t think I was ever one of those. I am a Jedi, and I want to go home.”
Plo Koon nodded slowly. “The Force indicated you speak the truth.” What she considers the truth remained unsaid. “You are on the flagship Triumphant. My armada found you whilst we were completing our last battle. You appeared, quite literally, out of nowhere, but there was a bright light as you did. Aside from your lightsabre, you were unarmed, wearing what you are now. As we speak, we are heading towards Coruscant-”
“No!” Fear swept through, a guttural reaction so severe it left her dumbfounded.
A cosmopolitan planet. Dark shadows coiling in the skyline. Lightning streaking from a gloved hand.
“I don’t care what you need to do, but never step foot on Coruscant. Do whatever you can to assure that he doesn’t find you.”
“I can’t!” Her denial was frantic, a calm composure lost.
“Oh?” Plo Koon asked. “Why ever not?”
Luke frowned. The fear felt ingrained into her bones, scratched into the marrow, insistent and painful in its remembrance. Yet, she could only say, “I don’t know.”
What was so dangerous about this Coruscant that it invoked such a reaction from her?
“I see,” Plo Koon said, sending gentle waves of calmwarmsafe to her. In her confusion, Luke let herself relax into it. “I can assure you that Coruscant is one of the safest places in the galaxy. It houses the Republic Senate, and the Jedi Temple is also situated there. Besides, I have to report finding you to the Council.”
Luke nodded absently. Somehow, she already knew about the Jedi Temple but thinking about how had her head aching.
“Is there a refresher I can use?”
“Certainly.” Plo Koon stood up, gesturing towards one of the med-droids. “MD-18 will show you the way.”
With a shallow bend at the waist, the Jedi Master exited from the medical bay, leaving Luke staring at the wide, unblinking lights serving as MD-18’s eyes.
“Well, MD-18,” Luke shuffled awkwardly, “please show me to the refresher.”
Luke moved as if in a trance. This made her overtly aware of everything.
Mindlessly, she followed the droid to a room with a refresher adjacent, staying in her present state of mind even as the warm water of the shower burned down her back. Luke stretched her senses out into the Force, and within seconds she could feel the life on the ship. The electrical currents surrounding her, the marching footsteps pounding on the ground, the click of blasters loading, medical droids, and the Jedi on the bridge. He shone brightly in comparison to the other life forms on the ship, humans who, strangely enough, looked similar to one another. Not identical, but rather as if the hundreds of men were all brothers.
Luke didn’t know so many humans could be related to one another. She felt a pang of sympathy for the mother.
She returned to herself and stepped outside the shower, purposefully avoiding the mirror on the wall. Her clothes were scattered across the open space, and she itched to examine them, hoping to find a semblance of who she might have been.
With a forceful sigh, Luke looked up and met her own eyes in the mirror, unsurprised to find an unknown face staring back.
This isn’t me! Her mind screamed.
Long blonde hair curled down the stranger’s back and framed her face, big blue eyes wide in shock peaking from the mass of curls. Her cheeks were round and red and so young, freckles dotting across her slightly crooked nose. Youth radiate from her.
This wasn’t Luke.
The hair and eyes felt right, but the age didn’t. Her body was wrong, skin pulled to tight over bones too big to be held, too young and missing the lines on her face she knew she had. Luke didn’t feel young, but the body she was in definitely seemed to think she was. Where were the laugh lines dented in her cheeks? The crows’ feet at the corner of her eyes?
She had grown up – she knew she had, felt it right in her heart – but all of it was lost. In its place was an amnesiac fifteen-year-old girl.
Luke tore her eyes away from the mirror and focused on what she was found with. The clothes she was wearing were different. Some of it resembled things she liked, but it was as if someone else had chosen her outfit. Black knee-high boots, but instead of flat and flexible, with a large and thick sole underneath. Idly, she wondered if these could stomp someone to death? Maybe that’s why she was given them.
“Come on, farmgirl. Every girl needs a pair of head-stomping boots.”
She shook the echoes away but relished in the warmth they bloomed in her chest. Course fingers traced the boots with fondness; clearly, it was given to her by someone she cared about. A loose-fitting long-sleeved black shirt with billowy sleeves. The pants were beige and tights, with colourful flowers on each side of the legs. Each side’s stitching pattern was different, and they also felt distinct. The left side stitches were sloppier, pulled skewed and too tight, but it radiated irrationlovesister. The right side’s stitches were better, entwined with affectionfondessiloveyou. The outfit was dramatic, but Luke had a feeling her clothing usually was.
It made her want to cry.
Luke had a name, but she also had more. Someone out there was waiting for her, Maybe it was a sister, a friend or a partner, but somebody out there knew her, certainly better than she knew herself at the moment. There were people who loved her, and Luke couldn’t even remember them. The harder she tried, the more her head pounded in warning.
It was a chilling thought to consider, but maybe the Force didn’t want her to.
At least, not yet.
With a deep breath, Luke closed her eyes and envisioned a ball of angry light behind her lids. She let it pulse with her anger and frustration, let it bleed her dry from her disappointment. She held it there, examining the reason for her feelings. Rage for ending up in this situation, not remembering anything, and not being with the people she was meant to be with. Frustration because she couldn’t fix it. Luke fixed things, but how could she when she couldn’t see what was broken?
Exhaled and let go.
Immediately, her headache faded and her shoulders relaxed, muscles filled with the tranquillity of the Force. Its presence resembles a parent’s embrace, calloused hands cradling her and promising to keep her safe.
“You’re safe, Luke. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Luke got dressed and went into the cramped bedroom, unsurprised to feel the presence of two life forms standing in the hall. It didn’t escape her notice of how distant she was from anyone else. The guards were the only ones close by, and she wasn’t allowed access to her lightsaber. Master Plo Koon must have felt her presence as she swept through the ship.
With an annoyed click of her tongue, Luke plopped down on the hard bed, petty enjoyment at the thought of her shoes on the mattress – something told her she was used to far better space travel arrangements – and sat in the same cross-legged position as before.
This time, she let herself be swept away in the Force, engulfing herself more intimately than before. She reached out, and for a moment, she felt everything.
The neutral life of the sun, stars and moon shone a dim yellow through her Force eyes. Sentient life form glowed a faint blue overall, but when focused, each and every creature was unique, even those strangely similar ones surrounding her on the ship. Every Force signature was influenced by their parents, which is influenced by their parents and so on and so forth. Yet, while very similar, siblings were always different from one another – a mix of their bloodline and themselves. Jedi, regardless of their species or of their parents, always shined white in the Force.
How Luke knew this was not something she wanted to spend time on.
Instead, she narrowed her perception, focusing on the nearest white light to her, unsurprised to find it gathered tightly towards its owner’s body. She poked at it gently, playfully, and was rewarded with a small hum of amusement. It was only a thin line of connection, but it was all Master Plo Koon needed to speak to her.
“You are broadcasting loudly, young one,” he said. “I understand your curiosity, but these are dangerous times.”
Pulling away from him, Luke was about to return to herself when something else caught her attention.
A rising sun was peeking over the rest in the far distance. Instead of the regular pinks and oranges, one expected in a blue sky, the sun was red, pulsing with emotions and drive, burning with warmth. It wasn’t the dry, punishing heat of a desert sun, but rather the heat one sought out on a cold day to keep you warm. Maybe it was a childishness brought bout by her young body, but Luke wanted nothing more than to curl up within it.
Luke gave in to the temptation, and, as she did with Master Plo Koon, she stretched herself towards the sun, grazing the dim edges.
Quickly, the sun jerked back close to its person, but not before echoing sentiments of confusion, whatwasthat, whatthefuck before disappearing entirely.
Disappointed, Luke focused on herself again, pulling her force signature to herself, letting it settle in her bones, and continued meditating.
(Unbeknownst to her, across the galaxy, Anakin Skywalker fainted in front of his troopers with Obi-Wan pointing and laughing as he went down.)