Star Wars: Starkiller

The battle against the Imperial convoy had left the Ghost crew exhausted, but at least they had accomplished their mission. Hera piloted the Corellian freighter with precision, keeping it steady in hyperspace as they escaped the system. Sabine, her helmet by her side, sat silently in one of the cargo bays, lost in thought. Ezra and Zeb, accompanied by Chopper, inspected the ship's systems to assess the damage caused by the skirmish.

In the cockpit, Hera and Kanan spoke in hushed tones about the mission.

"What happened out there?" Kanan asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Well, we got what we came for." Hera replied with her usual efficiency.

"Yeah, I got that part. But..." Kanan paused, searching for the right words. "Fulcrum was right about the timing and the route, but the Imperial defenses were far stronger than expected."

Hera nodded, her hands tightening around the controls in frustration.

"It's getting harder to stay ahead of the Empire. They always seem one step ahead."

Kanan was about to reply when something stopped him. His gaze fixed on the swirling blue tunnel of hyperspace before them, his expression hardening as his eyes seemed to focus on something Hera couldn't see.

"Kanan, are you okay?" Hera asked, a hint of worry creeping into her voice.

Kanan didn't answer immediately. He closed his eyes, feeling a strong pull through the Force. A fleeting vision flashed in his mind: a burst of light, infinite darkness, and a body floating in the void, radiating a powerful yet faint presence. His eyes shot open, and his voice took on an urgent tone.

"Hera, drop us out of hyperspace!"

Hera looked at him, bewildered.

"What? Why?"

"Just do it! Now!" Kanan shouted, his rare intensity startling her.

Taken aback by the sudden command, Hera yanked the controls, pulling the Ghost out of hyperspace. The ship reverted to realspace in what appeared to be an empty patch of the galaxy.

"What is wrong with you?" Hera asked, clearly irritated.

Kanan took a moment before responding, still focused on the disturbance in the Force.

"I'm sorry, but there's something here… something we need to find. Don't ask me why—I just know."

Hera was about to argue further when something caught her attention. A humanoid figure drifted slowly in the void, spinning aimlessly.

"What… is that?" Hera asked, her eyes widening.

Kanan took a deep breath, concentrating on the sensation.

"I think I know what it is," he said, his voice low and heavy with meaning. "Hera, prepare the Phantom."

"What? Kanan, you're acting really strange. What's wrong with you?"

Kanan turned to her, his expression serious.

"Trust me. This is important."

Hera studied him for a moment, trying to decipher his expression. Finally, she relented with a sigh.

"You better have a good reason for all this," she muttered as they both headed for the Phantom.

In the main hold, Zeb, Ezra, and Chopper watched them board the auxiliary ship with confused expressions.

"What are they up to now?" Zeb grumbled, scratching his head.

"No idea." Ezra replied, though he too felt unsettled. A presence—powerful and dark—seemed to linger nearby.

Once aboard the Phantom, Hera followed Kanan's directions, piloting toward the floating figure.

"This is insane," she said as they closed in.

"You want to pick up a corpse from space? Do you realize how reckless this is?"

"I know," Kanan replied calmly, "but it's not a corpse. Trust me, Hera."

She shot him a skeptical glance but ultimately decided to trust him, as she always had.

As they drew closer, Kanan focused, extending a hand toward the drifting body and using the Force to slowly pull it toward the Phantom's airlock.

"You've got a few seconds to get it inside before we both end up in space." Hera said, her voice tense.

Kanan didn't respond, his concentration unwavering. With one final effort, he managed to bring the figure aboard.

As the airlock sealed and the oxygen stabilized, Hera turned to Kanan, her frustration evident.

"What did we just bring on board?"

Kanan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he approached the unconscious figure. It was a young man, his tattered clothing scorched and his body marked by burns. Hera's eyes were drawn to one detail that sent a chill down her spine: a lightsaber hung from his belt.

"Hera," Kanan said, his voice barely above a whisper, "this boy… he's strong in the Force. And he's alive."

Hera stared at him, her unease growing as a heavy tension filled the ship.

(Meanwhile with Starkiller)

Darkness surrounded him, cold and oppressive, like an endless ocean he couldn't swim or breathe in. Starkiller floated in an infinite void, but he wasn't alone. Distant echoes called out to him—fragments of voices he couldn't fully understand.

Suddenly, a faint light began to form, shifting into harrowing images of his past that consumed him like a storm.

He was back on a planet he didn't recognize but felt deeply tied to. The huts were burning, and thick black smoke billowed into the sky. Screams filled the air, desperate voices pleading for help.

In front of him stood a familiar figure: a fallen Jedi, fighting fiercely against Imperial soldiers.

"Run!" shouted an unknown hooded figure wielding a blue lightsaber, fending off the endless waves of troops.

Starkiller was just a child, watching helplessly. He tried to scream, but no sound escaped his mouth. Then, the air vibrated with a low, menacing hum as a giant shadow emerged among the soldiers: Darth Vader.

The dark figure advanced calmly, his steps echoing like thunder. Young Starkiller felt terror crush him, but he couldn't look away. His father charged, a desperate act of bravery, but Vader disarmed him with ease.

"No… no…" Starkiller whispered, unable to move as he watched Vader lift his father with the Force, choking the life out of him.

Vader's helmet turned toward him, and though he couldn't see the eyes behind the mask, he felt the cold, penetrating gaze pierce through him.

"Your destiny begins now," Vader said in his deep, mechanical voice before extending his hand. Everything vanished in a burst of light.

The scene shifted abruptly. Now he was in the dark training chamber aboard the Executor, Vader's flagship. His master watched him with arms crossed as Starkiller fought a group of combat droids. Red lightsabers clashed, sparks flying as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

"Too slow," Vader growled. "You have no room for mercy or doubt. The Force is your tool—use it."

Starkiller spun his blade and unleashed a powerful telekinetic wave, destroying the droids. But it wasn't enough. Another droid appeared behind him, knocking him to the ground.

"Get up!"

Vader's shout lashed through his mind like a whip. Starkiller gasped, pushed himself up, and struck with fury, obliterating the droid. But the rage didn't leave him. It wasn't just directed at the droids—it was at everything: Vader, the Emperor, the galaxy that had turned him into a weapon.

The chamber began to collapse. The floor shook, and the walls shattered into an endless abyss. Starkiller fell, screaming, as Vader's words echoed around him like an unrelenting mantra:

"You are mine. You always will be."