The night air carried the scent of juniper and lake water. Bail Organa stood at the pavilion railing with a glass of Toniray that he had barely touched in the last twenty minutes.
Breha had taken Leia upstairs an hour ago. Their daughter had fought sleep with the righteous fury of a child who still had grievances to catalog, but exhaustion won as it always did.
The debrief with Ben had lasted nearly two hours, and Bail was still processing the sheer volume of information.
He knew some of it already. The Empire's tightening grip on the Outer Rim, the Inquisitorius expanding its reach, and individual survivors being hunted with increasing efficiency were trends he tracked through Fulcrum's reports and his own intelligence networks. Those were grim realities of their era.
The boy was an anomaly.
Ben had spoken about Ezra Bridger with the careful precision of a man selecting each word. Strong in the Force. Dangerously creative. An orphan from Lothal. Bail had heard about the planet and its extensive Imperial mining operations. The surprising part was the fact that this boy had tracked down the most reclusive Jedi in the galaxy and demanded to be trained through a masterful application of blackmail.
Setting aside the sheer impossibility of a child achieving that, the tale was incredibly amusing. A famed General and Hero of the Clone Wars being blackmailed by a boy who had not even reached his teenage years, and the old master actually having to concede to those demands.
The mental image had left Bail laughing for several moments.
He initially suspected Imperial involvement. A sting operation or an elaborate trap would make sense for the ISB. A typical Imperial response would involve arriving with enough armaments and troops to raze the planet to the ground.
But the Daiyu rescue had been the boy's design entirely. Identifying the flaws in Bail's initial plan of sending Ben directly, creating a false narrative, and executing the ground-level work were feats of astonishing competency.
He had nearly scolded Ben for allowing a ten-year-old boy to take such risks. The story he heard next had left him speechless.
From target identification to extraction route, the child had improvised on a world he had never visited. Ben had put it plainly. The boy was as good an operational planner as most Republic officers he had served alongside during the war.
Leia's account added another layer. While a traumatized child's perspective required careful interpretation, there was no hiding the fact that the boy had dispatched multiple mercenaries all by himself. He utilized some sort of self-made armor that made him appear far larger than he was. Bail had not seen it yet, but both Leia and Ben had praised its effectiveness. It did made him curious through, and wonder what contraption has an child made that had warranted such praises.
And for a moment, even if he believes the praises, the armor could explain defeating mercenaries. But the Inquisitor was an entirely different matter.
Bail took a slow sip of wine. Fulcrum's reports had been consistent on the subject. The Inquisitorius were former Jedi, retrained into hunting instruments. Individually, they were deadly enough to run down most surviving Force-sensitives. Ahsoka handled them without much difficulty, but she had been trained by Anakin Skywalker himself and tempered by a galactic war. For knights with incomplete training, an encounter meant certain death.
Traditional Jedi Padawans began their training at three or four years old. They spent every day of their childhood and adolescence immersed in the Force, guided by masters, and surrounded by the infrastructure of an Order that had refined its methods over millennia.
This child had been training for roughly six months.
He had killed an Inquisitor.
Ben had not elaborated on the specifics. The tightness around his eyes when the subject came up suggested the details were deeply unpleasant. The result remained unambiguous. The Third Sister was dead, and the boy responsible was apparently resting idly in the guest wing.
That assumption shattered as a familiar voice carried across the stone floor.
"Enjoying the scenery, Senator?"
Bail's hand held steady on the glass. It was a near thing.
Ezra Bridger stood at the pavilion's entrance, a few steps up from the stone pathway that connected to the guest wing. He had changed out of his battered gear into the simple, relaxed clothes Carel had provided. He looked exactly like the child he technically was. He possessed a thin frame, slightly damp dark hair, and bare feet that rested quietly on the cool stone.
"Ezra." Bail offered a warm smile that required less effort than expected. Whatever else this boy was, he had brought Leia home. "I am surprised to see you out here. I would have thought you would be asleep by now after the past few days you have had."
"Tried. Unsuccessfully, of course." The boy walked up the remaining steps and leaned against the railing a few feet away, looking out over the valley. "The air here makes it hard to stay indoors, honestly. I keep wanting to just stand somewhere and breathe."
"It does have that effect on visitors." Bail gestured to the pair of cushioned chairs arranged near the railing. "Please, sit."
Ezra climbed into the oversized chair, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged. "Is Leia asleep? I imagine she had a lot to say."
"She did." Bail smiled fondly, looking out at the Alderaanian mountains. "She was quite tense once the adrenaline faded. She started crying as soon as the doors closed, refusing to let Breha or me leave her sight."
A flicker of sympathy crossed the boy's face. "She held up well on Daiyu. Better than most adults would have under those conditions."
"She also talked about you quite a bit." Bail allowed a hint of amusement to seep into his voice, testing the waters. "Not all of it was complaints about being sedated, surprisingly enough."
Ezra visibly suppressed a wince. "Please tell me she is not planning any elaborate acts of royal vengeance."
"I cannot make any promises regarding her terms of contrition, but I believe you have earned her respect." Bail paused, letting the comfortable silence settle between them. The boy possessed a stillness that was deeply unnatural for a ten-year-old. "We owe you a debt we can never fully repay, Ezra."
The boy waved a hand dismissively. "Just doing what needed to be done, Senator."
Ezra leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His tone shifted, dropping the casual cadence of a tired child.
"Speaking of things that need to be done. I heard the Senator is in the business of funding rebellions?"
Bail's glass paused halfway to his lips.
The words hung in the air between them, casual as a comment about the weather. The boy's expression remained pleasant, almost curious, as if he had asked about local wine vintages rather than dropped an accusation that could end Bail's political career and potentially his life.
"That is quite the statement to make toward a Senator of the Realm, Ezra." Bail kept his voice measured, his senatorial training engaging automatically. "Particularly regarding a planet that has demonstrated its commitment to Imperial governance through numerous charitable initiatives and—"
"Oh, I'm not making an accusation."
Bail raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"No." The boy's smile widened slightly. "It's not an accusation because I'm stating a fact. And before you tense your nerves thinking about me having a hidden recorder somewhere in these lovely clothes your man provided—" He gestured at his simple tunic. "—fret not. Working for the Empire would be quite possibly the least probable of all possible actions I could take."
"That is reassuring to hear," Bail said carefully.
"Not to say I would never work for them." Ezra's expression shifted to something almost mischievous. "But if I ever did, you can count on it being part of some elaborate ruse to scam them of everything they're worth."
Despite the gravity of the conversation, Bail felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward. The sheer audacity of the statement, delivered with such casual confidence by a child barely old enough to attend primary academy, was genuinely amusing.
"Such hatred for the Empire." Bail set his glass down on the railing, turning to face the boy more directly. "You should be careful with your words, young one. They could brand you a traitor in the wrong company."
"Good thing this isn't the wrong company then."
"I suppose not." Bail studied him for a moment. "Though I admit to curiosity. Is there a particular reason for your... dislike?"
Something shifted behind the boy's eyes. He sighed, a sound too weary for his years, and extended one hand.
The wine bottle rose from the small table beside Bail's chair.
It lifted smoothly into the air, rotating in slow, precise arcs. The liquid inside caught the moonlight as the bottle traced patterns that seemed almost choreographed—loops and spirals that held a strange, hypnotic grace. A casual demonstration of control that most Jedi Knights would struggle to match.
"I had someone," Ezra said quietly, watching the bottle's movements rather than Bail. "Someone who was taken by the Empire."
"Your parents?" Bail felt genuine sympathy well up. Ben had mentioned the boy was orphaned. "I am deeply sorry for—"
"Oh yeah, them too." The bottle paused mid-rotation. "But I'm talking about someone else. Someone very dear to me. Her fate has been unknown to me for... a while now." His voice remained steady, but something raw flickered underneath. "It leaves me in anguish. Not doing enough. Not protecting her when I had the chance. And anger, of course. At the Empire, for taking her."
Bail leaned forward slightly. "Ezra, whatever happened—it wasn't your fault. You're a child. You couldn't have—"
"I could have."
The words came out flat. Final.
"I had the power. She didn't." The bottle resumed its lazy rotation. "And while perhaps not all the fault lies with me... the heart is not a rational thing, is it? It doesn't care for logic or reason. It just feels what it feels."
Bail found himself momentarily without response. The sentiment was one he might expect from a philosopher or a grieving widower. Not a ten-year-old sitting cross-legged in an oversized chair.
"I would not have expected to hear such thoughts from someone your age," he admitted. "But I cannot say I disagree."
"Life tends to accelerate certain lessons." The bottle drifted back to its original position, settling onto the table without a sound. "Does Master Kenobi know?"
"About your... person?"
"About any of it."
"Not fully, from what I gather. Though he seems to suspect something." Bail hesitated. "He cares about you, Ezra. That much is clear."
"I know." The boy's expression shifted to something almost sardonic. "Though I've been a bit hesitant to share certain details with him. Given his previous experience with disciples having... unhealthy attachments to people."
He delivered the line with perfect innocence, but his eyes held a knowing glint.
Bail felt his diplomatic mask slip for just a fraction of a second.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he managed.
"Of course not." Ezra's smile turned almost impish. "Those things aren't something that should be discussed in public or private. Particularly given how the deadbeat dad is still very much active in galactic affairs."
The statement landed with the precision of a surgical strike.
Bail had suspected the boy knew about Vader's identity—Ben had mentioned that Ezra was the one who revealed the information—but hearing him reference it so casually, with such dark humor, was jarring. The boy was treating the galaxy's most terrifying enforcer as a punchline.
"You are enjoying this," Bail said, surprising himself with how steady his voice remained. "Getting reactions out of me."
"A little bit," Ezra admitted without shame. "But only because you react well. Most people either panic or go completely blank. You actually process things in real-time. It's refreshing."
Bail took a long breath. He was beginning to understand why Ben had looked so exhausted during their debrief. Five minutes of conversation with this child and he felt like he'd aged a year.
"Is there something specific you wanted to discuss tonight, Ezra?" He reached for his wine glass, needing something to do with his hands. "I have a feeling you didn't seek me out just to make cryptic observations about my extracurricular activities."
The boy's demeanor shifted again. The playfulness retreated, replaced by something more focused. More deliberate.
"You're right." He uncrossed his legs, letting his feet hang over the edge of the chair. "I came to offer you something, Senator. Information. The kind that could reshape how you understand the war you're preparing to fight."
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A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Was taking a bit of time to write so couldn't update on sunday
And also, we are a bit down on powerstones for this week's ranking, so don't forget to vote if you liked the chapter.
Adios.
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