On the fruit stand of Mos Espa…
Anakin stood by the old vendor's table, brushing dust off the few wrinkled pallies that hadn't spoiled under the sun. He reached out gently toward the woman behind the stand.
"How are you feeling, Jira?" he asked, voice tinged with concern.
Jira smiled, though her features were drawn from the heat. "The heat's subsided a bit," she murmured. "But that sky... it's like a bad omen."
Her gaze drifted upward—where the heavens remained unnaturally split. One side, serene and cloudless. The other, still blanketed in thick, shadow-wrought gloom. A line cut across the world.
Anakin's jaw tightened slightly. He wasn't an idiot.
He'd felt the shift. That pressure. That gaze. That moment earlier, when he and Jin-Woo locked eyes…
Still, he put on a smile and pressed a few peggats into Jira's hand.
"Then maybe that means fortune's coming your way now," he said. "I'll take three pallies. And here—this is medicine. My friend gave it to me. She said it'll help with the heat. Try it, okay?"
Jira blinked, touched by the gesture. "Anakin… thank you."
Anakin turned and glanced over his shoulder.
Rey stood a short distance away, watching quietly. A small nod between them. The kind that didn't need words.
She was beside Jin-Woo—calm, arms folded. Behind her stood Talon, ever still but alert. Qui-Gon walked just a pace ahead with Padmé close to his side, her eyes scanning the people and stalls of Mos Espa with quiet thought. Morgan moved like a shadow behind them, saying nothing, yet sensing everything. Jar Jar Binks loitered near a jug of fruit wine, possibly plotting something unhelpful. And R2-D2 had just rolled into view, beeping indignantly at the amount of sand clogging his joints.
A strange little group… but one that somehow fit.
Jira's voice cut through the dry air, laced with genuine worry.
"Good gracious, Ani… storm's comin' soon. You best be headin' home quick, child."
Jin-Woo heard her. His eyes didn't move, but he heard her clearly.
And deep within his system—his internal chronometer—he watched the countdown strike zero. The timer on his wrist, set hours ago, now blinked silently in confirmation. Everything was lining up. As expected.
First contact with the galaxy's defense mechanism—the Chosen One himself—had been initiated. And the system hadn't marked it as a failure.. Which meant: the quest was still active. Jin-Woo was still in the game.
Then, breaking that quiet with a voice both cheerful and hesitant, Anakin spoke up.
"Guys, uh… how about you come to my hovel?? You can wait out the storm there."
Everyone turned their heads.
Not toward the storm. Not toward Anakin.
All eyes drifted to one person. Jin-Woo.
Jin-Woo. blinked once, then let out a long, tired sigh.
"…Why are you all looking at me like I'm deciding the fate of the world or something?"
Rey, Talon, Padmé, Morgan, and even Qui-Gon—all of them slowly raised one eyebrow in perfect unison.
The message didn't need to be spoken.
The sky over Tatooine is literally split in half because of you. Don't play dumb.
Jin-Woo scratched the side of his head, grumbling.
"…Alright, brat. Let's go to your home."
———
At Anakin's hovel, the main room was modest—old but warm. The scent of sand, metal, and home-cooked food lingered faintly in the air.
Jin-Woo and his group stepped in behind the boy, each one of them ducking slightly under the low ceiling. The room was dim, lit only by afternoon light filtering through cloth-covered windows.
Anakin's voice rang out as he kicked off his boots.
"Mom! Mom, I'm home!"
From the back room, a gentle voice responded—surprised but kind.
"Oh, my Annie… what is this?"
Shmi Skywalker stepped into view, blinking at the crowd suddenly standing in her home.
Anakin gestured toward them, grinning.
"These are my friends! That lady over there—she gave me the medicine, that's Rey."
He scratched the back of his head.
"The others… uh, I didn't really catch their names."
He pointed again.
"Except for that man in black. I remember his name. It's Jin-Woo."
Before the conversation could derail, Jin-Woo stepped forward smoothly.
"I'm Jin-Woo," he said flatly. "And these are my companions—Jar Jar Binks, Qui-Gon Jinn, Padmé , Talon, Morgan…"
He paused, tilting his head toward the door.
"And there's one more. If I'm not mistaken, she'll arrive—"
Knock. Knock. Right on cue, a deliberate knock echoed from the front door.
Without a word, Jin-Woo walked over and opened it.
Standing there, hands on her hips and glaring, was none other than
The Daughter of Mortis herself. Her tone was clipped with divine irritation. "You left me behind, damn invader."
Jin-Woo didn't flinch. His smirk was immediate. "It's your fault for wandering off. Don't tell me the shut-in of Mortis doesn't understand how galactic society works?"
As the sandstorm howled outside, the group settled into the humble warmth of the Skywalker home. Rey, ever playful, had taken to amusing Anakin with a game involving levitating small objects and pretending to juggle them with the Force. The boy's laughter echoed through the room, lifting the atmosphere like a balm.
Meanwhile, Shmi quietly approached Jin-Woo, who stood apart from the others, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes distant.
"You seem… not relaxed," she said gently. "Not like your companions."
Jin-Woo didn't look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the cloth-covered window, but his voice was calm. "I'm always like this. That's all."
Shmi nodded slowly, then hesitated.
" someone of your caliber… you're not supposed to be here. Annie said something strange earlier. That he has a strong feeling. That he has to beat you. Mind telling me what that means?"
Jin-Woo finally turned his head, just slightly. His eyes met hers—no hostility, just plain truth.
"The brat's got ambition. That's all it is. Besides… I heard he's going to podrace soon."
Shmi's expression hardened immediately. Her voice was firm.
"I forbid it. That's the last thing I will let Annie do."
But Jin-Woo's eyes narrowed—not at her, but at something far beyond the walls of the small hovel. His mana detection pulsed.. A threat.
Without a word, he shifted slightly and made a subtle gesture—a signal buried in the fold of his fingers.
Talon, lounging against the corner wall with arms crossed, immediately caught it.
No need for words. It was time. Time to find her sister. Elena Daru.
Morgan joined her a moment later without question, simply falling into step as they moved toward the exit.
Padmé, still sitting near the low table with R2-D2 and Qui-Gon, raised her voice.
"Wait—what should I tell the others? That you just wandered off?"
Jin-Woo turned his head slightly, that usual half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Tell them I'll catch up," he said dryly. "Catch you up, princess."
Padmé blinked—then flushed slightly, pink creeping across her cheeks before she could even think to react. She hadn't spoken to him properly yet. Not after what she witnessed in the grand arena of Mos Espa.
The devastation. The impossible power. Jin-Woo standing over the dead bodies of thousands mercenaries, including that monster, Durge.
And he had acted like it was nothing.
Padmé hesitated—then called after him, her voice quieter but sincere.
"Don't take too long, Jin-woo… I'll be waiting."
Jin-Woo glanced back only once, gave her a casual wink—then vanished into the streets of Mos Espa.
As he walked, the storm began to subside. His mana, now steadily resonating through the ground, soothed the planet itself. The skies above remained split—one half dark as void, the other clear and cloudless—but it wasn't the unnatural weather that unnerved the people.
It was the aftermath. Dozens of mercenaries hung suspended in the air, impaled by jagged, floating spears of demonic magic—Morgan's work. They had come for Rey, ordered by Lady Valarian herself after her prized racer, Sebulba, had been publicly humiliated.
Jin-Woo passed beneath the display without a glance. Without hesitation. Just another day. Just another warning carved into the sky.
Beside him, Talon kept pace. Silent, sharp, her posture alert and poised for conflict.
Jin-Woo turned his head slightly, his voice calm but direct.
"Elena Daru," he said. "What does she look like?"
Talon didn't even blink. "She's blue. Like me. We're twins," she said. "Separated long ago. Our parents sold us both to slavers."
Jin-Woo's gaze drifted forward again, scanning the path ahead. The stalls. The dust. The silence between shouts. He said nothing.
Talon moved beside him without a word, matching his pace as if by instinct. Morgan watched from within his shadow, her presence like a veil—silent, protective, and coiled like a blade waiting to draw.
They reached the perimeter of the Lucky Despot. The structure loomed ahead, neon signs half-flickering, half-daring them to enter. Two guards at the gate stepped forward.
"Invitation on—"
They didn't finish.
A pinkish portal bloomed beneath their boots like a flower of light, the magic of transfiguration manifesting with a gentle hum. In the next instant, the guards were gone—swallowed whole, not even a sound left behind. Just the shimmer of displaced air and the scent of oresence .
Talon's eyes lingered on the spot briefly.
Master… and his companions are so strong, she thought. Will I ever be like them?
Jin-Woo pushed open the entrance to the Lucky Despot, and the scent of credits, spice, and luxury hit them immediately. Despite the fact it was still a modified freighter, the inside looked like the finest casino in the Outer Rim—plush red carpet, chandeliers made of kyber glass, and the hum of music mixing with the clatter of games and hushed whispers of deals.
Talon followed quietly, her eyes scanning everything—but her pace faltered when she reached the central auction platform. There, in a large suspended birdcage of polished durasteel and glasteel, stood a Twi'lek woman—blue-skinned, bound, but still keep her head high .Elena Daru ( img here )
Talon's breath caught. Her steps slowed, then stopped entirely. She looked at Jin-Woo. Didn't speak. Just looked—eyes wide, slightly teary, silently pleading.
Jin-Woo didn't say anything at first. He only lifted his hand… and gently placed it on her head, ruffling her head Then leaned down slightly and whispered,
"Watch the show, my apprentice."
Talon stiffened but nodded, standing straighter, jaw clenched.
The bidder on stage—a slim, crooked man in golden robes with a datapad in hand—gestured dramatically toward the cage.
"We start the bid at 5,000 peggats! A rare specimen! She carries a name tied to the Old Republic era . Skilled with twin blaster pistols, a legacy that commands fear even now. Her sister? Nameless, at least on record. But the rumors say… she once brought herself back from the dead. Maybe she'll carry the same potential."
A voice from the audience answered.
"7,000 peggats," said a Falleen male—one of the Black Sun council members, dressed in ceremonial black and green robes that shimmered with status .
The bidder brightened. "Ah, 7,000 peggats from the esteemed Black Sun organization! A bold offer! Now, anyone willing to go higher than Black Sun itself?"
Jin-Woo stepped forward—no change in expression, "1 million peggats," he said with calm voice , .
The silence shattered. The room gasped. All eyes snapped toward him.
The bidder choked. "W-what?! One million?!"
Even Elena looked up from inside the cage, stunned. But then—she saw her. Just beyond the crowd. Talon. Their eyes locked. And in that moment, both sisters went wide-eyed, their breath caught. Tears welled instantly..
Without a word, Jin-Woo raised his hand. With a flick of his fingers, the birdcage shattered—ripped apart by invisible force. Steel crumpled like paper, splintering under the weight of his telekinesis.
"Go ahead, Talon," Jin-Woo said calmly.
Talon didn't hesitate. She sprinted forward, and Elena matched her from inside the ruins of the cage. They met halfway in the middle of the stage, colliding in a desperate, silent embrace. Tears rolled freely down both their faces—sisters, finally reunited after a lifetime apart.
The room watched, silent. Until a voice shattered it.
"You liar!" snarled the Falleen Black Sun council member who'd been outbid, pointing a shaking finger at Jin-Woo. "There's no way you have one million peggats! I don't see any credit chits! No transfer pad! You're a Jedi, aren't you?! This is the Outer Rim! Not the Core Worlds! The Republic holds no weight here!"
Jin-Woo raised an eyebrow—then sighed.
Without a word, he dipped his hand into his shadow. And from that abyssal void… ten shimmering containers emerged, thudding onto the stage. Each was dense. Heavy. Metallic.
Coaxium. Ten packs. Each weighing 10 kilograms.
Refined. Stabilized. Radiating energy so potent it made the room buzz with tension.
Jin-Woo tilted his head slightly and said with a smirk, "Any dumb idiot know what this is. And I'm damn sure you do."