Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I just think!” Bridger says in that stupidly annoying way of his, “It’d be great! If we could just, like— take a little field trip, maybe? Do some sightseeing? This place is pretty cool an’ all, but it’d be a shame if we just ignored where our ancestors came from.”

Luke scowls, crossing his arms over his chest as his supposed fellow Jedi stands there like a— like a disrespectful sleemo. His footsteps falter in the middle of the Ysanna market. Children’s chittering laughter, the mouthwatering smell of spices and the colourful drapes of cloth are not enough to lighten his mood. Not when Bridger is being so karking ridiculous.

“We are not ignoring our ancestors,” Luke bites out, turning to face his companion head on, “hence the reason why we’re building a Temple right here. And the Ysanna have already shown us the ruins of the Great Jedi Library. They’ve done so much for us. Ossus is sacred to them. We can’t just—”

“They showed you the library!” Bridger interrupts, arms wildly swinging. He narrowly avoids slapping the side of a rumbling kirruk. The great beast rumbles in curiousity, eyes slanting towards them as their twi-lek rider guffaws at their antics.

They’re lucky that so far the Ysanna have viewed them as more of an amusing curiousity than anything else. It’s maybe in part due to the fact that most of the Ysanna barely speak a lick of Basic and Luke (and Bridger, Luke admits begrudgingly) are a bit clumsy in trying to convey their meaning through the Force. But if Bridger doesn’t calm down in a minute they’re definitely going to attract a crowd, and Luke isn’t eager to find out what’ll happen if the Ysanna’s kind indulgence ends up wearing off.

“It’s not my fault I got stuck in Wild Space for a few years—” Bridger continues, heedless of the volume of his voice in the outdoor marketplace.

“Thirteen,” Din helpfully reminds them, leaning forward so little Grogu can peer into the shivering depths of a bowl of strange liquid.

“Yes! Exactly!” Bridger points a wild finger at Din like his inability to be a normal human being has somehow been excused. “So like, it’s really not my fault I missed out on your fun, exclusive trip to the Great Jedi Library—”

Irritation sparking, Luke fights the urge to step right up into Bridger’s face like they’re young and scrappy teens on Tatooine. “By that logic, it is also not my fault that you missed out—”

“Oh please!” Bridger rolls his unfairly pretty eyes. They’re a deep shade of blue-purple that Luke’s never seen on anyone else. Which is truly unfortunate because it means that he ends up thinking about them quite often. Way more than he wants to. It’s so annoying. He’d rather think about anything else. Like Din, for example. Din and his big, beautiful brown eyes. Din and his sweet face and gentle hands and—

“Bweese!” little Grogu mimics triumphantly, little arms swinging as his eyes sparkle.

Predictably, Din gasps, quiet and soft and so incredibly indulgent. “That’s right! Please. Wow, buddy, you’re really starting to pick up words quick, huh?” He briefly presses the brow of his helmet against the top of Grogu’s little head before turning his child to face him. “Can you say it for me again?”

Grogu’s little button nose scrunches in concentration. Then, “Bweese?”

Din, once again, predictably gasps.

Unfortunately, so does Bridger. “That’s great! Good job!” he cheers, reaching out to gently ruffle the soft wispy hair on top of the child’s head, all of his grievances magically forgotten. “You’ll be talking in full sentences in no time at all!” Clearly pleased with himself, the child reaches up to tug at Bridger’s beard. Bridger doesn’t even seem to mind, just turns his attention to Din and elbows him in the side. “Hey, he’s really racking up quite a vocabulary there! I don’t think he could say a word in Basic when I first met him!”

“Yeah, he really is,” Din agrees, soft and warm. “And I have you to thank for it.”

Bridger’s eyes widen and his cheeks darken fetchingly. Then he laughs, clear and bright and lovely. “Aw, I don’t think I’ve done that much!” he says bashfully, scratching the curls at the base of his neck.

Something that feels an awful like envy churns in Luke’s gut. He bites his lip against the awful, familiar feeling. Because— well. He’s pretty sure Din’s right. Luke has known Din and Grogu for over a year now and in all that time, Grogu has only ever been able to communicate through the Force. But once Bridger showed up a half a year ago, all smiles and laughter and rogue-ish good looks—

Grogu began speaking Basic.

Halting and stumbling, sure. But— there’s clear progress there, and Luke can only attribute it to Bridger’s startling ability to connect with other living beings.

(that being said, Din was not happy three weeks ago when Grogu triumphantly shouted “KARK!” in the middle of a meeting. Bridger was subsequently banned from Sundari and had ended up moping about Luke’s unfinished Temple like a morose tooka for a whole agonizing week)

“No,” Luke sighs, telling himself that he must be a selfless, kind, forgiving Jedi. Channel Ben, he thinks furiously. Ben would never be so petty. “He’s right, Bridger. It’s clear how much you’re helping Grogu.”

Maybe Grogu will want you as a teacher, Luke can’t help but think, feeling quite mournful and inadequate. Out of the two of them, Bridger had a traditional Master and Padawan relationship. Out of the two of them, Bridger knew more of the old Jedi Order as Ben Kenobi knew it. His training wasn’t cobbled together pieces from dying Master Jedi and scraps of old Jedi texts like Luke’s was.

Privately, and as petty as it is, Luke is really beginning to regret inviting Bridger to build the new Jedi Temple with him. He’d initially been so excited to hear about another Jedi, especially someone his own age! Leia had nothing but good things to say about Ezra Bridger. And it’d been great at first. Amazing, even. They’d both been so excited to connect with someone who understood them in a way no one else alive could.

But it didn’t take long to realize how different they actually are, and how head-buttingly similar, too.

If this experience doesn’t drive Luke to the Dark Side, he doesn’t think anything will.

“Oh,” Bridger says, quiet and stunned. Out here in the middle of a crowd of so many Force-sensitives, it’s difficult to parse what Bridger’s feeling. But the pleased curl of his smile is enough to tell Luke that he’s just stroked Bridger’s ego. Big time. “Thanks, Luke. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Right,” Luke mutters, turning away to inspect a stall filled with little stone and wood carvings. The older Ysanna merchant smiles at him, mouth filled with unnervingly sharp teeth. They look like a Taung descendent, what with their hulking body and grey, angular face. The tendrils trailing over their shoulders are all Nautolan, though. Which is no surprise really, considering that the Ysanna are descended from the survivors of the Great Sith War.

About three years go, in his search to understand his ancestry, Luke happened upon Ossus. It must have been the will of the Force (or the machinations of a meddling old troll’s Force ghost) that led him here, because it turned out that the planet was once home to a great Jedi temple. A war between the Sith and the Jedi had laid the planet to waste and forced the Jedi to flee to Coruscant where they’d made themselves at home. But in the ruins of what was left, the survivors of the Jedi, Sith and Mandalorians learned to coexist on Ossus.

They’d also, apparently, been quite content to make a bunch of babies together.

Hence, the overwhelmingly Force-sensitive Ysanna.

So here Luke is, trying to learn as much as he can from a people who have been largely isolated from the galaxy while also trying to build a temple for the New Jedi Order.

Luke ignores the sharp flicker of disappointment behind him, determined to force Bridger’s attention elsewhere and earn some quiet peace for a few minutes. Luckily it works, because a few moments later Bridger’s chattering up a storm with a local, occasionally bringing a clearly confused Din into the conversation.

Letting out a little sigh, Luke sags under an impending headache. It throbs with his pulse just behind his left eye, warning him that if there’s any more excitement today, he’s going to be in a lot of pain later. Which will karking suck because he hasn’t gotten the hang of Force healing yet.  

He really hadn’t intended for today’s particular outing to become such a party. Generally, Luke tries to visit the Ysanna on his own. He’s forged quite a few tentative friendships here and he enjoys being around other Force-sensitives, around people who share a common cultural ancestry for all that their ways of life are so different now. But what with Bridger now determined to help him rebuild the Jedi and spending more and more time with Luke on Ossus— it’s beginning to feel a little crowded, as awful as that sounds.

Din and Grogu, Luke doesn’t mind. They can visit all they like. Both are naturally curious and bright and Din himself is…such a balm, honestly. Though he’s only visited the Ysanna a couple time, he’s already picked up some of their language, and Grogu is always eager to play with the Ysanna children.

But all of them at once? With Luke’s stupidly bitter envy, and Din and Grogu’s clear adoration of Bridger?

Does it make Luke a bad person if he just wants to spend the day by himself? Just this once?

He’s beginning to understand how Leia must feel all the time. It’s really like trying to herd nexu kittens.

“Skywalker,” the Ysanna merchant rumbles, eyes sparkling. “What brings you here today?”

It takes a second for Luke to parse the words, but he’s grateful when understanding comes quickly. “Ah,” he starts, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and words to press them gently into the Force along with his stumbling Ysannese. “My apprentice and apprentice-buir wished to see the market.”

The Ysanna’s eyes flicker over Luke’s shoulder, latching onto whatever shenanigans are happening behind Luke’s back that he refuses to acknowledge. Acknowledging it will only encourage Bridger. Luke knows from experience.

“I see,” they say, smile widening into a knowing grin. “Apprentice-buir,” they echo, tone teasing.

Flushing, Luke dips his head sheepishly. “Apologies, I— ah. I am unsure of the correct word.”

The Ysanna raises a ridged brow, eyes laughing. “I believe the word you are looking for is riduur.”

“Riduur,” Luke echoes, frowning in thought. It sounds vaguely familiar, though he can’t recall where. But he’s probably heard the Ysanna use it in conversation. Is it such a common word, for your apprentice’s parent? It must be, though. The Ysanna thrive on apprenticeships and communal family.

“Riduur,” he repeats, the word clumsy and warm on his tongue.

Smiling in approval, the Ysanna nods their head in the direction beyond Luke’s shoulder just as Bridger barks a loud laugh. “And your other riduur?”

That makes Luke splutter, despair flaring bright and awful in his ribcage. How could this Ysanna think that Bridger is also Grogu’s parent? Is it the way Bridger is so good with Grogu? Is it so obvious to everyone that Bridger is smitten with Din? Is Luke kidding himself? Is Din into Bridger? Are they— Force forbid— are they actually together? Is that why Din visits so often, and not to see Lu— uh, bring Grogu for training? Yeah, yeah that’s what he means.

He can’t stomach the thought.

I wish Leia was here, Luke thinks despairingly, she’d set me straight.

But to be honest, Leia would probably give him a dead-eyed stare if he asked. She’s been doing it before Luke even admitted he’d fallen head-over-heels for the current Mand’alor. She’s been doing it since Bridger came into the picture. Leia has no time for fools, especially when the fool is her own brother.

The Ysanna eyes him curiously, laughter in their eyes, like maybe Luke is a wayward child. And maybe he is, to this Ysanna’s eyes. Maybe he is to every Ysanna’s eyes. He doesn’t really know. Maybe he’s fooling himself into thinking they consider him a friend, when really they think of him as a particularly cute yet very stupid pet.

“They—” Luke swallows, thinking of Bridger eagerly tagging along with them this morning. “They also wanted to visit the market.”

There’s another roar of laughter behind him, this time from several cheerful voices instead of just Bridger’s. Bridger is— unnervingly quick at making friends. That stupid twinge of envy rises up again, curling bitter in the back of his throat, and suddenly he really does feel like a child. A silly, stupid little kid.

Luke is usually the one befriends everyone first. He was such a weird little kid on Tatooine and he worked hard to get people to like him. He worked so hard for it to come natural and now here comes Bridger, Jedi extraordinaire with his floppy hair and pretty blue-purple eyes and bright raucous laughter and clever hands and—

Luke purses his lips, feeling flushed and frustrated and so pent-up that he’s practically vibrating up into the stratosphere. He shouldn’t feel so petty. He’s a full-grown adult for kark’s sake! He’s a rebel leader, a Jedi! This— this weird infuriating jealousy is so far beneath him—

A hand lands on his shoulder and warm breath fans across his cheek, soft curls of hair tickling his throat as Bridger leans in close. Luke can practically feel the curious hum in the back of the man’s throat.

“Here, what have?” Bridger asks brightly in stilted Ysannese, like he doesn’t think Luke minds him being in his space, pressed up against his back all warm and solid and—

Luke gives in to the scrappy Tatooine kid in his heart, and elbows Bridger in the gut. Hard.

All the breath leaves Bridger in one giant wheezing huff, leaving him to dangle uselessly over Luke’s shoulder. It unfortunately means he ends up leaning most of his weight on Luke, who now has to deal with the consequences of his own actions.

The Ysanna tilts back in gut-roaring laughter, teeth glinting in their mouth as they slap their knee. “What a feisty pair of riduur’e!” They grin at Din who’s appeared at Luke’s other elbow, Grogu neatly tucked into his arms as his child gnaws on a stick of grilled meat. “The storms have favoured you, Mand’alor.”

Luke’s too preoccupied with trying to discreetly shove Bridger off him to notice more than Din’s quiet intake of breath, the questioning tilt of his head.

The Ysanna turns their attention back on Luke, eyes soft and warm in the natural harsh lines of their face. “You are smart, Jetii. The market may be a place for fun and laughter, but it is also full of keen eyes and ears. The Ysanna already liked you, little Jetii, but bringing your riduur’e and ad here will earn you both favour and friends.”

“O-oh,” Luke stutters, half-catching the words as he pinches Bridger viciously in the side. Luckily, that seems to convince the asshole to slither off his shoulder with a half-hearted poke to Luke’s ribs. Bridger straightens himself out while Luke neatly sidesteps any impending retaliation. Conveniently, it presses himself closer into Din’s side and it’s all too easy to imagine the warmth of his body beneath that gleaming armour. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

The Ysanna’s smile softens and they dip their head. “And it means a lot to the Ysanna that you walk among us and wish to learn our ways. I know it is not exactly what you were looking for when you came here, but I am still glad you found us, Jetii.”

Unbidden, tears burn Luke’s eyes. He ducks his head again, but this time in a proper bow. “Thank you, elder. I am glad I found you, too.”

The Ysanna studies him for a moment, then curls over their table of wares to consider the selection. After a moment, they pluck up a handful of carefully carved stones. Expression very much indulgent, they reach across the table and motion for Luke to reach out. Luke immediately offers his empty palms and the Ysanna gently deposits the stones into them. “A good luck charm, little Jetii. For you and yours.”

“Thank you,” Luke says automatically. He makes to reach for the Ysannan coin tucked into his belt, but the merchant just shakes their head and gently but reprovingly slashes their hand through the air.

“A gift,” they insist. “To celebrate new beginnings. And—” they say just as Luke opens his mouth again, “no need for thanks. You will wear the word out.”

Abashed, Luke smiles and silently dips his head. Curious, he peers at the stones in his palms. Counts more than the four he was expecting. Frowning in confusion, he looks up but the Ysanna’s knowing eyes are already fixed on them.

“Call it a feeling,” they say with a wink.

And, considering that all of the Ysanna are connected to the Force in a way so few are, Luke doesn’t bother arguing with that. So he looks down into his palm to inspect them again. They’re all vaguely flat and circular, some more unevenly shaped than others. All dark stone with smooth edges, flecked with bright pinpoints of colour.

Luke’s breath catches in his throat.

“Kaiber,” the Ysanna confirms before he can croak out his question. “From the Caves of Sight. I do not believe you have been there quite yet, little Jetii, but all Ysanna eventually find themselves in the tombs beneath the Ashlanae. It is where we confront the truth in our souls.”

They lift their hand to their throat, where a glimmering green kyber crystal is strung about it. Nearly all Ysanna seem to have them. From what Luke has gathered, it’s similar the Jedi Knight Trials. They venture into the caves beneath Ashlanae Temple to face visions and ghosts and memories. When they return, they all have a kyber crystal that helps guide them through the rest of their life.

The Ysanna considers him, tilting their head like a bird. “But perhaps…that time for you is nearing, hm?”

Humbled pleasure brings a smile to Luke’s lips. “Your wisdom is invaluable, elder.”

It’s then that Bridger decides to butt his great big floppy-haired head into their conversation.

“Take us?” Bridger says eagerly, having recovered from Luke’s bony elbow. He steps forward and places a careful hand on the table to lean closer to the Ysanna. “Caves of Sight?”

“Don’t be greedy,” Luke mutters, eyeing the lightsaber hanging from the other man’s belt. “Don’t you already have a lightsaber crystal?”

Bridger pauses, then swings his head to the side to stare at Luke. He raises a judgmental eyebrow, an incredulous expression upon his face. “You,” he says slow and deliberate, “of all people, should know that I love a good Temple. I know I already have a crystal. I don’t need another one. I’ve already had my trials, same as you.”

Abashed, Luke purses his lips, suddenly feeling like a child again. Something like guilt twinges in his chest. For all that Bridger like to play around, he can be surprisingly serious and quick to call others out on their shavit. Bridger may annoy Luke more often than not, but… he is a Jedi Knight. Same as Luke. And he’s more than earned it. This is just a reminder than Luke needs to take his companion more seriously, learn to appreciate him more, act a bit more humble—

“I just really want to explore a bit,” Bridger pleads.

“You mean get into some trouble,” Din sighs.

“Yeah!” Bridger agrees like he doesn’t hear the utter weariness in the man’s voice. “What he said! I just wanna get into some trouble! It’ll be fun, Luke. Come on. Live a little! You always visit the Ysanna without me and I’ve been stuck at the Temple trying to figure out how to decipher your terribly drawn blueprints. For a guy who can take apart and reconstruct an X-Wing quicker and more accurately than anyone I know— you kinda super suck at architecture, man.”

Never mind. Not a lesson in staying humble. This is a lesson in endurance.

“I consulted Leia—”

“Who doesn’t know shavit about building construction!” Bridger exclaims, raising his hands like he doesn’t have weekly holocalls with Leia where they drink wine and talk shit about all the idiots in the New Republic. “I love Leia! Give the woman the Senate and she’ll work miracles within a day, but give the woman a construction site?” Bridger just shakes his head. “You’re just asking for that building to fall down on our heads.”

Hurt, sharp and sudden, flares bright and awful and Luke must breathe past the humiliation. Instinctively, he curls in on himself just a bit. At his side, Din stiffens and Grogu whines softly. Cheeks burning, Luke grits his teeth and drops his gaze to the little carved stones in his hands. They glimmer like starlight in a deep, dark sky. And now that he isn’t so caught off guard by the flecks of kyber, he can see that the same symbol is carved into all of them. Circular, thin and spiky, the ends don’t quite meet. Like a curl of thorns or a slumbering creature.

“Ezra,” Din says, tone sharp. “Luke is honouring your people. Do not disrespect his efforts.”

There’s a startled pause, then—

“O-oh.” Bridger stutters, quiet and shaky. “I— I didn’t mean—” He audibly swallows.

When Luke looks back up, Bridger’s looking a little pale. Something tight and distressed in the corners of his eyes. He looks, in a word, mortified. Utterly and completely.

Well, Luke thinks with more than a bit of shame, that makes two of us.

Then there’s a hand on his own, curling over the stones in his palms. Tan and scarred, it’s warmer than Luke expected, as is the expression falling across Bridger’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Bridger says, quiet and soft. “That was karked of me to say. I can really be an asshole sometimes, huh?”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, equally quiet.

Wincing, Bridger lets out a weak chuckle. “Wow, you really didn’t even consider denying it.”

“You can be a shabuir,” Din agrees. Then pauses and looks down at little Grogu. “Don’t repeat that, kid.”

Grogu grins up at his father, all teeth and starlight and darling little boy, and then very clearly and enthusiastically says, “Shabuir!”

Laughter bursts out of Luke before he can stop it. Din just looks so horrified, for all that his face is hidden beneath his helmet. The slump of his friend’s shoulders is just so incredibly defeated as little Grogu repeats the word over and over, patting the side of his father’s helmet like he’d pat a tooka.

“This is all your fault,” Din groans, tilting his head in Bridger’s direction. “I’d finally convinced Boba and Fennec to stop swearing in front of my kid and then you come along and it’s kark this, shabuir that— I’m going to cause a galactic incident one of these days and Senator Organa is going to kill me.”

“She wouldn’t,” Luke reassures him through his laughter, slipping one hand out from beneath Bridger’s to touch Din’s shoulder. “She likes you too much.”

And it’s true. Leia loves Din. She loves his blunt honesty, the dedication he has for his people, his unrelenting kindness, the way he manages to get Luke to settle down for more than fives minutes stars Luke it’s like trying to herd a nexu kitten all I’m asking is for one sit down dinner with my brother—

And. Well. Luke gets it. Din is pretty karking amazing. Too amazing. He went from a lone no-name bounty hunter to the father of an incredibly Force-sensitive child to destroying remnants of the Empire to taking up the darksaber and becoming Mand’alor. What’s not to like?

And normally Luke would trust Leia’s good sense, but ever since she reunited with Bridger, Luke has been seriously questioning her judgement skills. Because she’s had the gall to say that Bridger is good for Luke. Good for Luke like Din is good for Luke. It’s madness! When Luke complained to Han and Chewie about it Chewie just laughed while Han threw up his hands and said, “Listen I don’t think you should be talking to me about your love life, kid. Not when it involves all that hoodoo magic shavit. I have enough on my plate trying to handle your sister. Speaking of. Do you just, like, happen to know where she’s always dreamed of— someone asking her an important question. Like— a really important question. Is it by the sea…? Or her favourite restaurant? Or maybe just in bed after a good round of—”

And that was all it took for Luke to never complain to Han about the whole Leia-thinking-Din-and-Bridger-are-good-for-Luke situation ever again.

So Luke squeezes Din’s shoulder and wills for the man to not question Leia’s own sanity and good judgement.

“She likes me?” Din says, as quiet and fragile as a baby’s breath.

“Yes, Din. She really does.”

Startled pleasure radiates from Din as the man promptly forgets that his child now knows at least two swear words and is more than happy to belt them out at the top of his little lungs.

“The woman’s got good taste in friends,” Bridger agrees, quiet and playful but completely sincere. His eyes curve in a sweet smile, lips curling beneath his dark beard. Luke finds himself caught by the shape of them. Finds himself wondering if Bridger’s beard is as soft as it looks, or as coarse as Luke’s was two years ago when he failed quite spectacularly trying to grow one in.

Luke doesn’t refute Bridger’s words, more concerned with getting Din to believe them because for some reason the man never notices when people imprint on him like nuna chicks. It’s both an endearing and frustrating quality. Luke would rather the man be aware of how much people love him, than have Din expect people to dismiss him at every turn. At least the Mand’alor title seems to be doing him some good, because half a year ago Din wouldn’t so easily cave to their reassurances.

“Ah, you have your whole lives ahead of you,” the Ysanna merchant sighs wistfully behind them. “So much to live for, so much to look forward to.”

Luke turns, embarrassmed for both forgetting them and having a spat right in front of their face. But the Ysanna’s expression is just kind and indulgent and perhaps a bit melancholy when he meets their gaze.

“Sorry, elder,” Luke rushes, face flushed.

The Ysanna’s sharp mouth tilts in amusement. “I remember when I was like that with my riduur’e. No need to apologize.” They tilt their head. “Perhaps some fresh air would do you good, though. There’s nothing a little bonding time won’t fix.” Their golden gaze slants to Bridger before returning to Luke. “Your riduur wished to go to the Caves of Sight, yes?”

“Oh,” Luke says numbly. “Elder, you don’t have to—”

“Hush,” the Ysanna tuts, raising a ridged brow as well as a hand. “You’d do well to learn to listen, ahm buna.”

“Sorry, elder,” Luke says automatically, feeling properly chided. Then he blinks, unsure. His grasp of the language has gotten much better but there are still words and phrases he has trouble with. “Ahm buna?” he repeats, cautious.

The Ysanna tilts their head, pondering. Then, “Ahm buna. It is oath keeper. Protector. Young teacher. Someone who is wise and full of responsibility yet still has much to learn.” Their gaze slides over Luke’s shoulder and alights upon something. They grin, all teeth and good humour. “Not unlike how our Olah Okko used to be. I still remember the first day he read the skies wrong. Luckily the lightning did not cause harm, but we certainly did all get drenched.”

Olah. Luke knows that word, it’s one he’s heard quite often since coming to Ossus. It’s teacher and memorykeeper. Healer and shaman. Storm shepherd and leader and grandparent all rolled into one.

So it’s no surprise that when Luke turns around, he finds the leader of the Ysanna, Olah Okko, weaving through the crowd towards them. His traditional carved mask is settled high upon his wrinkled brow, its face tilted towards the lightning-streaked skies above. Bonebeads cascade over his shoulders, chittering and clattering like rainfall or a flock of birds. His long storm-grey hair falls smoothly against his bare throat, a stark contrast to the deep purple and blue of his robes. There’s a curling smile tucked beneath his long moustache and his moonpale eyes glimmer with humour.

“What’s this, Manda Reinh? Are you cursing my name?” he laughs as he settles at Din’s elbow. “Still sore over losing our game of han-tahk the other night?”

Han-tahk. A game of chance involving Kingwood chips and a kaddyr bug. When Luke first arrived he’d naively taken up Olah Okko’s offer to play. He knows better now. Though he’d gotten quite a lot of satisfaction from watching Bridger get utterly trounced by the wily old man a couple months ago.

“Tsan murra!” the Ysanna merchant spits playfully, eyes glittering, the curse light and full of good humour. “Let your elders win for once, you vengeful little thing.”

Olah Okko raises one dignified brow, moustache twitching in amusement. “Never, elder.”

The Ysanna barks out a laugh, then waves a hand at the red-armoured Taung who slinks out of the crowd to hover like a hulking shadow at Olah Okko’s shoulder. “Child-of-my-child! Keep that boy of yours on a leash! He cannot be trusted when there are games to be won! My coin is on the line and your duty is to protect your elders.”

The Taung inclines their head placidly, eyes as golden as their grandparent’s. Their rough skin is more green-grey than the Ysanna merchant’s and though their face is not quite as angular and severe, they have the telltale residual horns on their head that their grandparent lacks. Fleshy tendrils and fins interweave with the thick black hair that drapes regally over their worn scarlet pauldrons. Their hair is just beginning to go silver at the temples. A yellow kyber crystal glints in the crook of their throat.

“My duty is to the Ysanna, ba’buir,” they rumble, amusement warming their voice, “which, unfortunately for you, includes Okko.”

“Loyal as ever, Tor.” Olah Okko’s smile is as warm and radiant as the love he and Manda Tor share for each other. It was apparent from the first moment Luke met them. Olah Okko never strays far from Manda Tor’s golden gaze and Manda Tor is never far from Olah Okko’s gentle hand. It’s a bond they formed when Okko was a child, Luke is given to understand, and it has only grown stronger over the years. It’s unlike anything Luke has ever felt. The closest he can akin it to is the love he feels for Leia, but even that feels just a bit different. No less significant or genuine, just… different.

“Yes, loyal as ever, child-of-my-child,” the Ysanna merchant, Manda Reinh, teases, eyes sparkling. Then they chuck a thumb at Luke, Bridger, Din and Grogu. “Ahm Buna Skywalker wishes to take his riduur’e and ad to the Caves of Sight.”

Olah Okko’s eyes go wide, and he considers their little party with an air of surprise. “Oh, do they now?”

Luke ducks his head, flushing under Manda Tor’s piercing gaze. “We know it is a sacred site, Olah Okko,” Luke murmurs. “We understand if—”

“I don’t see why not,” Olah Okko hums, smiling.

Bridger whoops, pumping his fist. Din leans back, startled. Little Grogu eyes Olah Okko’s bonebeads and reaches out with a curious hand. Olah Okko catches that tiny green hand in his own, stroking a finger over Grogu’s palm before offering a trailing line of bonebeads in return. Grogu babbles happily, tiny fingers pressing into the dips and ridges worn with age.

Luke blinks, startled. “Are— are you sure?”

“What did they agree to?” Din whispers, leaning close to Bridger.

“They’re going to show us around a sacred site!” Bridger whispers with such enthusiasm that it can hardly be called a whisper.

Manda Tor laughs, a rumbling thing. “Yes, Bridger-of-Worlds,” they say in Basic, words slow and deliberate. “You have waited long enough. It is time you and the Sky Walker understand where you came from.” They tilt their head and consider Din and Grogu. “Our foremothers would weep with joy to see the Jetii and the Mand’alor walk their hallowed halls with a child borne of both worlds.”

Grogu stares up at the massive Taung for a quiet moment, then lifts his arms, beseeching.

Manda Tor smiles softly, then turns to Din. “Mand’alor. Will you do me the honour?”

Din hesitates for a moment, then nods and passes over his child. The Taung cradles Grogu in their massive arms and peers down at them with such a soft expression that Luke almost feels like he’s intruding.

“You are a precious little thing,” Manda Tor murmurs in Ysannese. “Well-loved, as you deserve. May the stars always light your path, the suns warm your days and the moons sing you to sleep so you may rest. I feel you have a long journey ahead of you, little sun child, and your buir’e will look to you as they look to the stars.” They lean forward and press their lips against Grogu’s brow. Grogu coos softly.

Then Manda Tor raises their head to consider them all. “Come, Okko and I will show you the way.”

--

“You know I respect you, right?” Bridger says as they make their way through twisting dark caves with only Din’s headlamp to light their way.

Luke sighs, drawn from thoughts of the lingering and strangely formal farewell Manda Tor and Olah Okko gave them at the entrance to the caves. The two of them had led them through the old crumbling streets of Knossa City where the ancient Jedi used to live and where the Ysanna have long called home. But surprisingly they hadn’t led them straight to Ashlanae, the sacred Temple and ancient heart of Jedi wisdom in the galaxy. Instead, they’d led their little party to the base of one of the mountain peaks surrounding Knossa and there they’d found a partially overgrown cave.

“Do you?” Luke asks, tired.

“Yes!” Bridger insists, throwing up his hands. They round a curling corner, trailing after Din’s haloed silhouette. Bridger nearly trips on a rock as he twists his upper body to face Luke. “You’re super nice and Grogu and Din love you and you’ve got this uncanny ability of finding all the best cantinas without even trying and you rock the all-black look and you’re such a good pilot even Hera says so and anyone who’s Leia’s sibling is already winning at life and—” He catches sight of Luke’s incredulous stare and stutters to a halt, footsteps mirroring the unsure lilt of his voice. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

Luke frowns, something strange and warm tangling between his ribs, making it a little hard to breath. Doesn’t say how people usually start kissing Luke’s ass by rambling about how he defeated Darth Vader or was a Rebellion leader or that he was a powerful Jedi. Not all of... whatever that was.

Luke swallows, trying to work past the weird clench in his stomach. “That…was one long run-on sentence. How did Thrawn survive you?” He manages to twist his mouth into a smirk, still feeling a little shaky. “Did he try to smother you in the night?”

“Hey!” Bridger protests, the dim light of the caverns just barely enough to see how his cheeks darken. “That was one time! Okay, maybe like— two or three times— but none of it matters now! Because now he’s number one on emergency contacts list.” He pauses. “Okay, more like, number five after Hera and Jacen and Sabine and Zeb, but everyone knows that Zeb’s probably going to miss the call because he’s sucking face with Kallus—”

“Does Thrawn know he’s number five on your emergency contact list?” Luke asks, incredulous, eyebrows raising.

Bridger just gives him a dead stare. “Are you serious right now? Thrawn knew before I did. He made himself number five on my emergency contacts list. The only reason he’s not number one is because, and I quote, ‘I’ve deduced that your propensity for trouble will necessitate my aid, but considering your close familial relationship with the Ghost Crew it is more likely that you will call them before I.’”

They fall silent for a moment, letting the words sink in. Up ahead, Grogu’s giggles echo in the dark.

Luke frowns. “So why isn’t Chopper in your top five?”

Now it’s Bridger’s turn to give Luke an incredulous look. “Chopper? You’re asking me why Chopper isn’t the first one I call in an emergency? He’s probably the one who got me in the mess in the first place!”

Luke laughs, light and soft, thinking of Artoo likely getting into mischief with Threepio at the Senate right at this very moment. “You’re right. How silly of me.”

Bridger grins, teeth glinting in the dark. In these strange echoing caves Bridger feels full of light and laughter and love. It’s honestly how he usually feels, and Luke lets himself bask in it. Just for a moment.

“I just—” Bridger fidgets, eyes skittering to fixate on Din’s broad back. “I wanted to make sure that you know I respect you, despite all the shavit I say. Because— because I like you. You’re a good guy and you’re doing a lot of good, too.” He pauses for a moment, then says, quiet and soft, “I don’t want you to hate me.”

Something aches in the pit of Luke’s stomach, and he swallows past the discomfort those words bring. “I don’t hate you,” Luke confesses softly. “I just…”

“…don’t like me,” Bridger finishes. He flashes Luke a wry grin, crooked with sorrow.

“It’s not even that,” Luke sighs, shoulders hunching. He hates this. He hates this so much, but he’s an adult and a Jedi Knight and he can do this. Leia will be so proud. “It’s just… I spent so long thinking I was the only Jedi left. And now…”

“And now,” Bridger echoes, like that actually means anything. His grin softens. “You get like this with Ahsoka, at all?”

Pursing his lips, Luke fights a pout. “No. She doesn’t even really consider herself a Jedi anymore. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t grow up as one. Doesn’t mean it hasn’t shaped her bones or her heart or the way she sees the galaxy.”

Bridger looks down at his feet as they walk. Luke watches him out of the corner of his eye, unable to tear his attention from the regal cut of Bridger’s profile in the dark. After a few long minutes, Bridger looks up and his pretty blue-purple eyes meet Luke’s. Luke flinches, caught, heart stuttering in his throat.

“I was such a scrappy, mouthy little kid,” Bridger confesses. “I grew out of it some, but some part of me is still that street rat that likes to talk shit and mouth off. Thrawn tells me it’s a defense mechanism. Or a survival one. I dunno,” he laughs, head shaking, curls bouncing. “He said a lot of deep crap while we were out there in Wild Space, trying not to get our asses killed.”

Bridger doesn’t talk a lot about what happened during those thirteen years he was lost to the Galaxy. But it’s clear how it’s shaped him, and it’s even clearer how deep the bond between him and Thrawn runs. If it weren’t for Bridger, Thrawn might have reclaimed the scattered Imperials and launched an attack on the New Republic. They were so newly formed that Luke’s sure Thrawn’s fist would have struck a devastating blow. But that didn’t happen, because Ezra Bridger was there.

It's hard to remember that sometimes, what with Bridger’s mischievous eyes and raucous laughter. But… he’s a good person. A good Jedi. Luke knows he should trust him. He knows that. And he does. It’s just—

There’s something about Bridger that makes Luke want to bite him.

“But it doesn’t excuse what I said to you,” Bridger says, quiet and intense and oh so sincere. Luke’s breath catches in his throat. “You’re doing what Master Kenobi would have wanted. You’re doing what Master Yoda would have wanted. You’re rebuilding the Jedi Order and you’re reclaiming a legacy that’s been lost for—” He chokes a little, tears evident in his voice, then continues a bit croakily, “For a really long time. I shouldn’t be shitting on that, even in jest.”

Luke wonders if Bridger’s thinking of his old Master, Kanan Jarrus. If he’s thinking of his Master before him, and a whole lineage of people lost and forgotten, and the thousands of other names they’ll never know.

Luke swallows. Thinks of Leia. Thinks of his father. Thinks of little Grogu who has survived a lifetime of fear and pain, and who was saved by a nameless Jedi they’ll never know.

“Well,” Luke says, trying for smooth and Master-like and hitting something more along the lines of just-swallowed-a-frog, “Leia tells me I need someone to keep me on my toes. Keep me humble and grounded.” He glances at Bridger and catches his eye. “You up for the job?”

Bridger stares at him for a second, stunned. Then a smile slowly curls across his face, becoming more radiant by the second. “So long as you don’t mind doing the same for me. And,” he jerks a thumb at Din up ahead, “so long as you don’t mind if I occasionally call for back up.”

Luke laughs so long and hard that Din pauses and turns around.

“Everything okay back there?” Din calls, somewhere between cautious and amused. He’s used to Luke and Bridger squabbling. He’s really not used to the two of them getting along.

“Everything’s fine, Din!” Bridger calls gleefully, eyes twinkling in the dark as he stares at Luke’s laughing face. “I just finally managed to pull my foot out of my ass.”

There’s a pause. “I’m not sure that’s how that saying goes,” Din says, uncertain.

“It is now,” Luke manages force out between his laughter, “because I’ve just pulled Bridger’s foot out of my ass, too!”

“Skywalker?” Din gasps, stunned.

“Hey!” Bridger shoves at Luke’s shoulder then trips on ahead, laughing as Luke gives chase. “I think that was your own foot up there!”

“Please,” Din groans as Grogu begins to chant foot foot foot! “Please remember that I have an impressionable child who has already managed to say kark right to a senator’s face.”

“Keep Grogu away from Leia, then,” Luke laughs as they catch up to the Mandalorian and his child, “because she’s got a vocabulary worse than Han.”

Din stares at Luke, then peers down at his child who is now playing with the little carved stone Luke gave him on the walk over to the caves. “She’s been babysitting for me,” he says dully.

“Well then,” Bridger says a bit too triumphantly, “I think you’ve finally figured out who taught your child to say kark. I told you it wasn’t me.”

“She wouldn’t,” Din says, disbelieving.

“She would,” Luke insists.

Grogu looks up at his father, wide eyes sparkling, and reaches up to pat his helmeted cheek. “Kark,” the little boy says sagely, with all the inflection of an Alderaanian senator.

--

The tunnels are dark and quiet and they’ve been walking for a really, really long time. They haven’t even come across any shrines and Olah Okko has told them that the caves are full of them. There should be branching paths and murals and statues and epitaphs and kyber crystals. Not one singular twisting tunnel leading them on and on and on endlessly into the dark.

“Are we lost?” Bridger whispers at one point.

“How can we be lost?” Luke whispers back, privately wondering the same thing. “All we’ve been doing is following this one tunnel.”

“I thought Jedi Temples were supposed to be more interesting than this,” Din admits, sheepish. “The catacombs beneath Sundari have more than just blank walls.”

“The catacombs beneath Sundari don’t count because they also have a karking Mythosaur in them!” Bridger whisper-yells, pointing an accusatory finger at Din. “And you still won’t let me visit her!”

“She’s shy,” Din says.

Bridger lets out a great whooshing sigh. “I’m great with animals,” he mutters grumpily. “Just ask Hera. Just ask Thrawn. There are so many animals I convinced not to eat us it’s not even funny.”

“Myth-sar,” Grogu chirrups brightly. “Cu-cu—” He stutters, little nose scrunching as he concentrates. “Cuddly,” he concludes with a little satisfied nod.

“That’s right, Grogu,” Din readily agrees, smoothing a gentle hand over Grogu’s head. “She is very cuddly.”

Pouting, Bridger crosses his arms and falls back a step, petulant. “I want to cuddle a Mythosaur,” he grumbles, nose scrunching the exact same way Grogu’s does.

Luke grins, then elbows Bridger lightly in the side. “Maybe the next time we visit, she’ll be up to it,” he offers.

Bridger startles, glancing at Luke like he hadn’t expected the comradery. Then he grins, a little shy. “I hope so.”

Din’s halts so abruptly, Luke nearly shoulder-checks him.

“What is it?” Luke asks, instantly on high alert.

“There’s something up ahead,” Din says, pointing into the darkness.

Luke follows his fingers and— yes. There is. Up ahead, not sixty paces away, is a wide circular doorway. The tunnel widens around it like a fishbowl, creating an antechamber. From here, Luke can just barely make out carvings in the dim light.

Bridger hums thoughtfully, taking a step forward before pausing again. He closes his eyes and lifts an idle hand. Luke watches those steady fingers spread, feeling the way Bridger reaches out through the Force, exploring the depth and breadth of the chamber and all the little nooks and crannies. After a long moment, Bridger’s eyes open again and for a moment they look like they’re filled with stars. Then Luke blinks as they’re that familiar blue-purple again.

“Seems safe,” Bridger says, light and airy.

Curious, Luke reaches out a hand, too. Shivers against the echoes of ancient footsteps treading through these tunnels, a distant ringing rhythmic clang like an anvil on beskar, the whispers of a thousand voices dead and gone now lingering where the living make their homes. And— he’s right.

“It does feel safe,” Luke confirms, though he can’t tell what’s beyond the wide circular door, only able to taste the lingering scent of spice on the air. Spice like Mandalorian cuisine and not the spice that smugglers run.

It seems that’s enough to reassure the Mand’alor because he immediately starts forward again, arms wrapped comfortably around his child.

Luke exchanges a glance with Bridger. Bridger shrugs and starts after Din. Feeling strangely anticipatory, Luke follows close behind.

Delicately carved looping patterns fill the floor of the antechamber. Luke traces the lines with his eyes with the voracious curiosity he feels for everything related to the Jedi. It’s not a pattern he recognizes, and after a moment he realizes it’s a repeating pattern. One. One, two. One, two, three. One, two, three, four. All the way up to seven. Seven looping strange symbols curling and leaping over each other in a way that makes Luke’s head spin, makes him lean down over his knees to get closer, to follow the twisting pattern—

“Luke.”

He blinks. Looks up at where Din’s fingers grasp the edge of his cloak. Follows the arm up to that shining beskar helmet. The man tilts his head. “You alright?” he says, slow and cautious.

“Yes,” Luke says, voice distant. Then he blinks again, head clearing, and straightens. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

Din considers him for a quiet moment, then lets go of Luke’s cloak to readjust Grogu in his arms. The child’s gaze is transfixed high above them, little mouth agape in awe. Din points towards the ceiling, to whatever has caught his child’s gaze, then tilts back his helmet so the light can wash over the ceiling.

Luke looks up.

Mandalorians. Mandalorians and Jedi. A colourful mural swathes across the whole expanse of the ceiling, full of Jedi wielding lightsabers and hovering in meditation, Mandalorians mid-flight and forging armour. Jedi and Mandalorians bowed together, foreheads pressed against each other in a soft, lingering touch. Jedi and Mandalorians back-to-back fighting off an unseen enemy, Jedi and Mandalorians locked in furious battle against each other. And then, in the very centre, a Mandalorian on their knees with a fallen Jedi in their lap, arms cradled around them, head tilted in deep mourning.

The Jedi’s lightsaber hangs from the Mandalorian’s belt.

The Darksaber hangs from the Jedi’s limp hand.

Something hollow cracks in the center of Luke’s chest, he stares at the Darksaber in that fallen Jedi’s hand, thinks of the one hanging at Din’s waist, breaths in—

Bridger whistles. “Wow. I wish Sabine was here,” he says wistfully. “She’d be able to tell us exactly what’s going on here.”

“Countess Wren is well versed in art history,” Din agrees quietly. “And in Mandalorian history itself. Far more than I.”

“And she won’t let you forget it,” Bridger teases, casting a glance at Din. But the full weight of his usual humour isn’t there, lost somewhere in the darkness of the cave and the looming grief above. “Hey, Luke.”

Reluctantly dragging his eyes from the strange mural above, Luke meets Bridger’s steady gaze.

“You think this is what Olah Okko and Manda Tor meant for us to find?” Bridger asks quietly.

Shrugging, Luke casts his gaze around the wide antechamber, then fixates on the giant circular door marking the end of their passage and the start of a new one. “I don’t think they meant for us to find anything at all. The Caves of Sight…” He trails off, thinking of the kyber crystals tucked against the throats and hearts of every Ysanna on Ossus. “No one walks the same path. No one encounters the same things. What we see… I think that’s determined by us.”

In the following silence, Luke makes his way over to the looming doorway. At first glance it appeared to be hewn from the same rock as the mountains above and below them. But upon closer inspection…

Luke lays a hand against the door and feels the cool sheen of rough-hewn metal.

“You Jedi are so cryptic,” Din accuses, but it’s worn soft by the exasperated warmth in his voice.

“You like it, admit it. Your life is a lot more interesting with us around,” Bridger laughs, voice lilting.

“My life was interesting enough before you barged right into it,” Din sighs.

Bridger only laughs, footsteps echoing as he moves closer to where Luke is running his hands across the uneven surface of the door. “What’d you find?”

“Luke?” Din calls, moving closer, as well. A second later, his sharp intake of breath is all Luke needs to confirm his suspicions. Din hurries closer, crowding into Luke’s side with Bridger close behind.

Everything is silent but for their breath. And then—

“That’s a lot of beskar,” Din says, quiet and uneasy.

Grogu whines and Luke reaches out instinctively to soothe him, flinching when his hand touches someone else’s. He looks up, startled, and meets Bridger’s equally wide gaze, their hands intertwined upon Grogu’s little head.

“It’s alright, little guy,” Bridger says after a moment, gaze flickering down to peer into Grogu’s distressed face. “We just weren’t expecting it, is all. The Jedi lived here, not the Mandalorians.”

“So what’s this doing here?” Luke echoes the question they’re all wondering.

Din shakes his head, slow and careful. “It’s a clever disguise,” Din admits, still uneasy though clearly reluctantly impressed. He reaches to run a questing hand along the door. “There’s a seam that runs down the centre of it, barely noticeable. I’ve never seen anything like it. Only an Armourer or master craftsman would have been able to create such a thing.”

“Yeah, I really doubt any Mandalorians would have taught Jedi to do this,” Bridger agrees, gently knocking his knuckles against the door. It rings with a deep hollow sound that judders straight through Luke’s bones.

Frowning, Luke glances up at the mural high above. The intertwined Jedi and Mandalorian are largely lost to shadow, but it’s still easy to see the gentleness of their touch, so carefully and lovingly depicted by their nameless artist.

He isn’t so sure Bridger’s right.

“Well?” Bridger says after a moment. “Should go check it out?”

“You want us to check out what’s behind the giant beskar door that definitely shouldn’t be here?” Luke asks, deadpan.

Bridger raises a judgmental brow. “Okay, now you’re just trying to be difficult. And you sound like Han. I know you want to see what’s on the other side just as much as I do.”

Luke purses his eyes, then gives in and rolls his eyes. He can’t help the way he starts to smile. “You’re getting to know me so well, Bridger.”

“It’s a match made by the stars, Skywalker,” Bridger singsongs, laughing as he pulls away from Luke’s grip to lay his hands greedily upon the beskar door. “What do you say, Mand’alor? Wanna cause some trouble?” He winces, then corrects himself. “I mean, you wanna go exploring?” he tries again, sheepish.

Luke gets the distinct impression that Din is rolling his eyes. Hard. “I think you want to cause some trouble,” Din scolds, “or find it, at least.” His helmet tips down to consider Luke’s hand laying upon his little son’s head.

Flushing, Luke hastily pulls his hand back to himself and curls his fingers into his cloak. Din follows the motion, tilting his head in consideration, then clearly meets Luke’s gaze through the helmet. “Bridger did want to go on a field trip. Think you’re up for it, Jetii?”

Feeling suddenly shy, heart thrumming an uneven beat in the pulse of his wrist, Luke laughs. “Sure, Mand’alor. Anything to keep this kid preoccupied and out of my hair.”

Bridger scoffs, “I’m a full two days older than you!”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Luke teases, pressing his hands against the door as well, then grins. “Shall we?”

Din’s laughter is tinny and slightly distorted through the helmet, but it’s the most beautiful thing Luke has ever heard. “Boba’s gonna give me a lot of shavit for this,” he says even as he lays a hand against the door.

“Yeah, that guy is really sick of Jedi,” Bridger agrees, grin wild. “Also, have you considered that Grogu might be learning all those bad words from you?”

Scoffing, Din shakes his head. “Just open the door, Ezra.”

With a laugh, Bridger mock-salutes, then shoves a shoulder up against unforgiving metal. “On three?”

“One,” Din says immediately.

“Two,” Luke says, fingers curling in anticipation.

“Three!” Bridger crows, and all of them push, even little Grogu.

All at once the door gives under the pressure of their bodies with a great, creaking groan.

Light spills out from the seam between the doors flooding the chamber with light. Squinting against the blinding sun, Luke barely manages to notice how the light catches on barely-there etchings running all along the rim of the door. A long, curling, spiking pattern that looks startlingly familiar.

“Oh—” Luke gasps, just as they fall through the door and into the light beyond.