The Jundland Wastes were a masterclass in monotonous desolation, and Obi-Wan Kenobi's cave was its sad, dusty capital. It wasn't a home. It was a hole he'd crawled into to wait for the galaxy to end, furnished with little more than a sleeping mat, a small power generator humming a mournful tune, and the crushing weight of failure. For a decade, its silence had been broken only by the wind and the occasional skittering of a womp rat.
Now, it had a new sound: the rhythmic, annoying thump-thump-thump of a small hand patting his eopie's flank.
I was sitting cross-legged in the sand just outside the cave entrance, scratching Akkani behind her floppy ears. She seemed to enjoy it, letting out a low, contented groan. I, on the other hand, was enjoying the silent, radiating waves of pure, undiluted frustration coming from the man standing in the cave's shadow.
How did we get here? Well, after I'd dropped a few lore-bombs back at the Starlight Stables that basically nuked his "just a simple hermit" cover story from orbit, he'd gone into full-blown panic mode. He hadn't dragged me here for a friendly chat. He'd dragged me here for containment. He was a man whose entire purpose revolved around keeping a low profile, and I had just walked up to him in a public place and called him by his real name. It was the social equivalent of setting off a flare at a stealth mission briefing.
The first hour here had been a circular firing squad of denial and deflection.
"You must leave," he'd said, his voice strained. "It is not safe for you here. I am not who you think I am."
"Yes, you are," I'd replied cheerfully, already making friends with Akkani. "The Force is very specific about these things. It doesn't get addresses wrong."
"I cannot train you."
"Why not?"
"The Jedi are gone."
"Well, you're not," I pointed out. "So, technically, there's at least one left. And he's standing right there."
He'd aged about five years in that single conversation. Now, we'd settled into a tense stalemate. He was trying to figure out what to do with a Force-sensitive kid who knew everything, and I was making it abundantly clear that my departure was not on the menu.
"You cannot stay here," he said, trying again. It was his fifth time using that exact line. He was clearly out of practice when it came to arguing.
"Okay," I said, still patting the eopie. "Where are we going?"
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "That's not what I meant. You must leave. I am staying."
"Nope," I said, popping the 'p'. "The Force sent me to you for a reason. My whole purpose is to help fix this mess. Kind of a big job. I can't really do that if you don't teach me how to use a lightsaber and do cool space magic."
I was laying the "innocent, Chosen One" persona on thick. It was my only real leverage. He couldn't just kill me—I was a child, and despite everything, he was still Obi-Wan Kenobi. He couldn't drop me off in Mos Eisley because I'd just start asking for "General Kenobi" again and blow his cover completely. He was trapped. By me. A ten-year-old with meta-knowledge and a high tolerance for awkward silence.
"This is not a game," he finally said, his voice low and dangerous.
"I know," I replied, finally looking up at him, injecting as much earnestness as I could into my voice. "The Force doesn't just show me the future. It shows me what's happening right now. I've seen Wookiees in chains on their own homeworld. I've seen stormtroopers dragging families from their homes in the middle of the night on Corellia. I see the Emperor on his throne, a black hole where his soul should be, pulling the entire galaxy into darkness."
I let that hang in the air. This wasn't a future I was warning him about; this was the Tuesday he was actively ignoring.
His expression softened with a profound sadness. He knew it was true. "These are dark times. A battle that has already been lost. The best we can do is endure. To hide, and to protect what little light is left."
"But what about the one causing it?" I pressed, my voice still frustratingly childlike. "The Emperor's right hand. The one who hunts down anyone like me... like you were."
He looked away, toward the horizon. "The Emperor has many agents. Inquisitors. Hounds trained to sniff out the last of us. They are a threat to be avoided, not confronted."
"No, this one is different," I said, keeping my tone steady, factual, like I was reading from a datapad. "His name is...Anakin Skywalker"
Obi-Wan's face, already weathered by sun and regret, seemed to lose its remaining structure in disbelief. The name hung in the dry air between us like a physical blow and his eyes snapped toward me, as if wondering whether I said the same think that he heard.
"Anakiiin Skywalker" I repeated,
He didn't speak. He just stared, his eyes wide and unfocused, looking at a point somewhere past my shoulder, probably seeing a different desert—one made of fire and lava.
"No," he finally whispered. The word was brittle. "That's not possible. I left him. I felt… I felt him die."
"Yeah, well, the Emperor's medical plan has great dental and full cyborg resurrection, apparently," I said, turning back to Akkani. She nuzzled my hand, her big, slobbery mouth searching for more scritches. "He's more machine than man now. Twisted and evil. Calls himself Darth Vader. Real subtle, I know. He's basically the Emperor's chief enforcer and part-time Jedi exterminator. Figured you should know. Better to hear it from me than run into him at the local cantina."
I kept my tone casual, like I was giving him the weather report for Mustafar: cloudy with a high chance of lightsaber dismemberment. The less I acted like this was a world-shattering revelation, the more he'd have to internalize the sheer, mundane horror of it.
He was still frozen. I could practically hear the gears grinding to a halt in his head. The grand tragedy of his life had just gotten a sequel, and the reviews were terrible.
Akkani, bored with the lack of attention, decided my entire hand looked like a tasty root vegetable. Her giant, rubbery lips closed over my fist with a soft schlorp
I let out a very undignified yelp and tried to pull my hand back. It was like trying to extract a wrench from wet concrete. "Hey! Let go, you walking carpet!"
That seemed to finally jolt Obi-Wan out of his catatonic state. He stepped forward, his movements stiff.
"Akkani. Release," he said, his voice still hollow.
The eopie gave a disappointed grumble but let my slimy hand go free. I wiped it vigorously on my pants. "Thanks. She's got a stronger grip than she looks."
He wasn't looking at me. He was staring at the ground, his shoulders slumped. The fight had gone out of him, replaced by a weary, bottomless grief. "Anakin," he breathed, the name a curse and a prayer all at once.
"Yeah," I said, my voice softer now. "He's alive. And he's out there. Which is why hiding in a cave and waiting to die of old age isn't really a viable long-term strategy for either of us."
He finally lifted his head, his blue eyes boring into mine. "Who are you, truly? An Imperial plant? A... a vision sent to torment me?"
I wondered what answer should I give, and at the end, I felt a bit of turth isn't false.
"None of the above.
I'm just a boy. A really, really unlucky one who got stuck with way too much knowledge and a to-do list that includes 'save the galaxy' somewhere between 'don't die' and 'figure out how the Force actually works.'"
I stood up, brushing sand off my pants. "And honestly? I don't care about your rejection. I don't care about your sacred duty to the boy you're watching from afar like the galaxy's saddest stalker—"
"You know about—" Obi-Wan's voice cracked, genuine alarm breaking through his grief.
"Yes, I know about Luke," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "Son of your former apprentice, last hope of the Jedi, future farm boy turned galactic hero, all that jazz. He's ten. I'm ten. And while we're both learning our multiplication tables, his dad is out there creating more orphans than a galactic census can count."
Obi-Wan opened his mouth—probably to point out the obvious irony of a ten-year-old lecturing him about other ten-year-olds—but the rest of my words seemed to lodge the protest in his throat.
"The Empire isn't taking a decade-long vacation while you wait for your Chosen One 2.0 to hit puberty," I continued. "Every day you sit in this cave, more systems fall. More Jedi die. More kids like me get hunted down or worse."
I crossed my arms, trying to look as serious as a pre-teen in oversized gear could manage. "So here's the deal. You're going to train me. Because if you don't, I'm just going to sit right here and be the most annoying houseguest you've ever had. I'll follow you everywhere. I'll sing badly. I'll ask 'are we there yet' every five minutes when you go to town. I'll tell Akkani all your embarrassing Clone Wars stories."
The eopie's ears perked up at her name.
"You can try dragging me back to Mos Eisley," I said, tilting my chin up defiantly. "But I'll just come back. With friends, maybe. Or I'll start asking every spacer I meet about 'Old Ben Kenobi, the legendary Jedi General who definitely lives in a cave somewhere around here.' Your call."
The ultimatum hung in the air between us, thick as the desert heat. Obi-Wan stared at me with an expression that was equal parts exhaustion, disbelief, and something that might have been the ghost of amusement if you squinted.
Then Akkani, apparently deciding the tension needed breaking, leaned down and gave my entire face a long, wet, sandpapery lick that went from chin to forehead.
"GAHH!" I sputtered, stumbling backward and frantically wiping eopie drool from my eyes. "Why?! What did I do to deserve—"
I could taste it. It was like someone had liquefied a wet dog and added sand for texture.
A sound escaped Obi-Wan. It wasn't quite a laugh—more like the exhale of someone who'd forgotten what laughing felt like but whose body remembered the muscle movements. His shoulders shook slightly.
"She likes you," he said, and there was definitely something lighter in his voice now. "She has... questionable taste."
"Yeah, I noticed," I grumbled, still trying to get the taste out of my mouth. "Is this what passes for a welcome on Tatooine? Because I preferred the death threats."
Akkani made a pleased rumbling sound, clearly proud of her contribution to the conversation.
Obi-Wan looked between us—me, covered in eopie spit and looking thoroughly betrayed, and Akkani, smugly content with her work. Something in his expression shifted. Not acceptance, exactly, but maybe resignation. The kind of resignation that came with realizing the universe had a twisted sense of humor and he was the punchline.
"You truly won't leave, will you?" he asked quietly.
"Nope," I said, giving up on my face and accepting my new eopie-scented existence. "I'm like sand. I get everywhere, and I'm really annoying."
He closed his eyes, looking older than the desert itself. "The Force has a cruel sense of humor."
"Tell me about it," I muttered. "It stuck me in a ten-year-old body with a broken connection and told me to go save the galaxy."
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A/N: I had gotten struck on this chapter for so long...Like literally anythingI wrote wasn't satisfying me at all and to put the cherry on the top, my fever made an reappearnace yesterday evening and refuses to go, same as Ezra/
I dunno if the chapter is correct or not entirely tbh, if there is too much issue, I would rewrite it later.
Btw ranking has reset, so if you could kindly vote this fic with your stones, it would be quite nice motivation!