#irele skywalker fic

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (18)

Chapter 18: Truce | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Yearsafter young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a secondchild—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: Hello guys, I’m sorry if I’ve become so inactive last year. The slump was one thing, but more and more things kept piling on my shoulders that it’s becoming more difficult to bear. I lost my grandmother last year. My only comfort was that I was able to take care of her and spend time with her. For a while, I lost my energy to write at the time; and now that it’s the new year, I’m picking up my old habits again. I hope you guys have had a great Christmas and I wish you guys a wonderful 2022. ❤ As for me, I’m okay and I will be.

Requesting to be tagged:@heavenly1927

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3– 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 – 13 – 14 – 15 – 16 | Previous: Part 17 | Next: Part 19 | Masterlist

19 of ?

Their screams echoed in the ice, but no one to hear it but themselves as they wind got colder and heavier. Cal managed to snatch a stray cable on one hand—apparent scraps from the excavation—and used to Force to shrink the minute inches that separated him from Irele’s arm.

That ultimately saved them from a bone-crushing demise, along with a few bumps of frozen outcropping delaying their fall, they may not know it but they’re a few feet away from the ground. With her free hand, Irele fished out her torch to flash on whatever’s below her feet. Without telling Cal at all, she pried Cal’s hand open so she can free herself and free herself she did, while warranting an abrupt “Hey!” from her apparent savior; she fell for a few feet but safely landed in a cat-like manner.

“D’aw come on!” Cal groaned through his teeth. He peeked down and decided to follow. He wasn’t sure whether to trust the Force, his instincts, or the mere fact that Irele had touched the ground nearly unscathed. He contemplated for a second before unfolding his swelling fingers clasped on the frozen, brittle cable.

When Cal straightened his back, he found it odd to discover that Irele has her saber in its sheath. She has her back turned to him, and so he examined her secretly while she examined the cave they’re in.

“Well, I guess we have to find our way out of here,” Cal awkwardly breaks the silence, but he wasn’t rewarded with the answer that he expected.

“Look over there, several openings—they must lead up to a tunnel network,”

He wholeheartedly startled by how agreeable she was. Irele quickly spun to face him and he jumped at the sudden confrontation.

“Listen, I don’t know about you but I don’t plan on dying of hypothermia while hundreds—if not thousands—of feet below the surface. So for now, as much as I wanna preserve my pride which I don’t have the luxury of, we…” she choked at the very idea of the word. She clears her throat, “We’ll have a truce. And that expires once we’re back on the ground, then we’ll go back hating and trying to kill each other.”

Out of habit, Irele uttered the word “Understand?” in Huttese—her second native tongue—to which Cal was taken aback by. He just nervously nodded, pretending to have understood the last word. She didn’t wait for Cal to say anything more, she expected that he complies because realistically speaking, there’s no other option.

She shuddered at the thought of what Second Sister or any of the Inquisitors would say once they find out she went in connivance with a Jedi just to get out of a cave. Scandalous!

Like a whisper, BD-1 nudged Cal’s jaw and flashed a dynamic map of the cave’s subterranean level. Two yellow blips indicate himself and Irele, surrounded my raised mounds of blue holographic light signifying the dead ends, the rock and ice formations, and open paths.

“Listen, umm…” Cal tries to call her attention while she was busy contemplating which path to go through.

“Irele.”

“What?”

“My name is Irele. You hesitated because you didn’t know what to call me, is that it?”

“Y-Yeah, you’re right, uhh…” he redirected his attention to the map. “T-Take a look at this.”

She approached him with such an assertiveness just by the way she walked; he guesses that she’s lived a life of entitlement, privilege, and power. She was standing by the opposite side of the map, the blue light highlighting the brown tinge in her hair, the yellow blips dotting her eyes like stars against a moonless sky.

“BD-1 managed to take a perimeter scan of this part of the cave we’re standing and its closest proximity which is just about a mile and a half. Would’ve been two miles if we were closer to the surface for a better signal.”

“Oh, so we do have the luxury of going back if we took a wrong turn,” Irele chirped. Then she hovered her finger over one of the paths. “We can start here, this pocket right here looks promising; if not, then we either turn around or head straight.”

“Okay then, I’ll roll with that,”

“Ah-ah, you take the lead,”

Cal caught on quite quickly, “How would I know you wouldn’t stab me in the back?”

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing,” she inhaled, immediately regretting it as the cold air froze her throat. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a proper Jedi’s death instead of leaving you out to freeze.”

“Should I be comforted by that?” His brows furrowed.

“It’s the best I can do, buddy,” she shrugged.

He sighed and did take the lead. When he got a considerable distance from Irele, he whispered to BD-1, “You got my back, right, little bud?”

“Woo!” BD-1 whistled quietly.

–

Normally, Stormtroopers take ten to fifteen minutes only to write a status report; but with Irele involved and having been into an accident, they exceeded the deadline; going over the same paragraph mentioning the young Sith in command, debating whether it’s presumptuous, exaggerated, or understated.

“Hey,” uttered the girl, the boy turned around to acknowledge. And she continued. “Why did you help me back up there?”

He could not answer. As a matter of fact, he can’t pinpoint the exact reason why. Irele watches him trip over his words as he makes up an answer, she continued to stare at his shifting eyes.

She internalizes, “Oh, so that’s the Jedi’s compassion in action. Cute.”

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking of a good answer… if there isn’t any to begin with.”

“You could’ve killed me the moment I landed down here,” he suggested.

Irele clicked her tongue against her teeth and rolled her eyes around the subterranean space they’re in, trying to avoid the topic in earnest.

She squinted her eyes at him and slightly nodded, “I don’t like fighting in the cold.”

Cal gulped. He studied her as she came up with a plan to escape the cave and return to the surface.

“What are you exactly?”

Her head swung to the side to look at him in disbelief, “Are you kidding me?”

“N-No! That’s not what I meant! I mean… I know you’re human, but… So far, you’re the—”

“The what?”

“The most… docile Sith I’ve encountered,” it would appear that Cal did his best to come up with an adjective for Irele. The last time he met a Sith, she clung onto the windshield of the Mantis and attempted to steal control of the wheel using the Force. “You could take that as a compliment.”

“Thanks? I guess,”

Back in the Mantis, Cere frantically shoots back and forth on the computer terminal, hoping for Cal’s comm signal to bite—but to no avail.

“Cal? Cal, do you copy!?” Cere shouted through the microphone. After a minute of static, she gave up and took his seat next to Greez. “Nothing!”

“Look, I know it looks bad, but he’s a big kid. He can handle himself!” consoled Greez, but clearly that wasn’t enough to stroke the older woman’s nerves.

“Something doesn’t feel right, Cap, I feel like he’s encountered something… like a paradox,”

Greez admits to not being the most knowledgeable when it comes to Jedi beliefs, but with his practical living, he shares his own inkling that whatever it may be—he’s sure that Cal can handle it.

Meanwhile, Trilla has caught wind that Irele had been entangled with a Jedi, fell into a chasm when a Jotaz pounded the ground until it crumbled, and are now in the deepest level of the caverns. The girl’s circumstance gave her a thought, but it’s a shot in a dark—a bold one at that. What ought to be most perfect situation to test Irele’s apparent immunity from Vader’s wrath is—given how it looks like right now—is a baseless claim, in Vader’s perspective, at least.

“That’s the only report you have of her?” Trilla feigned concern for a comrade and the Stormtroopers did not see through it.

“Yes, Second Sister. Unfortunately, the search party is having difficulty in navigating the unpredictable terrain. We have no record of the underground levels of this area, so there’s lots of unexpected twists and turns,”

“For all we know, she could be in the other side of the region,” the trooper’s seatmate interjected, half-jokingly. “Just a theory, though.”

They continued on their monitoring while Trilla was left out to her own thinking. She retreated to a spare room in the station where she could do some thinking, after spending what ought to be an hour of meditation, she was discouraged by the mere thought that Vader will defend the young girl and will only believe Irele’s side once asked.

Behind closed eyes, she remembered the way Irele glowered back and how her words now sounded like a warning rather than advice.

“Remember this, Trilla: the fantasy you think I have is no reality of mine.”

“No reality, my ass!” she growled and stormed out of the room.

Trilla ordered a small transport to bring her to the other excavation site, near the crashed Venator, she needn’t explain why; she only had a feeling that she will encounter one of them, but she prioritized getting the Jedi first.

The unlikely pair continued to find their way out of the caverns and back on ground level, heavily relying on BD-1’s map, they seem to traverse deeper into the complex cave system with rarely a clue if they’re any closer to their goal. For Cal, it almost reminded him of the Padawan trials back in the day.

“That turn looks promising,” he points ahead.

They come across an enclave with a narrow path that leads up; they follow that but were stopped short when they were facing a cliff-face of ice with no manageable handholds and a gap between them. Cal remembered that he had the grips from Dathomir, he jumped toward the wall with the clawed grips punched through the ice and proceeded to climb. At that moment, he was too focused on not falling that he forgot about Irele for a minute; when he was just a few punches away from the ledge, he felt a chilling breeze blow at him—causing his fists to quiver—and when he finally reached the top, Irele was sitting on the ground, legs crossed over each other, her chin resting on her palm as if she was bored, and smirked.

“You know, it’s dangerous to turn your back on me.”

“Are you gonna help me or what?”

Irele took a moment. She instantly remembers when she watched Cal examining a broken Zeffonian pot and got an inkling that he had psychometry. She has met—and killed—Jedi who share the same ability, or something similar. One incident in the past made her cautious of people like Cal.

“I think you can handle this yourself,” she scoots back to give him room. Having the urge to use his showy side, he sprung off of the handhold, spun in the air and over Irele’s head and landed after her.

“Such a big help.” Cal mumbled under his breath as he dusted off his sleeves.

At the end of their new path was another large mouth of the cave; Irele hesitated to follow, curious as to why Cal was so carefree in just stepping in. The girl followed her gut feeling—it was something ominous and it’s not good for her either—as she slowed her pace on purpose, doing so quietly that Cal couldn’t hear her or feel her behind him, the boy was beginning to pick up the same thing… but he was too late.

Cal finds the Second Sister at the other end of the cave.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (17)

Chapter 17: An Unlikely Alliance | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: Hi guys, I really have no excuse other than my creative slump. But as I’ve said in the previous chapters that my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. Well... just last month, I lost her. I’ve dealt with a good chunk of my grief in the past month as well; I still am, but I’m picking the pieces of what’s left of it. It’s the first time I’ve experienced the death of a close family member, so I don’t know what to do right now, I don’t know how to navigate through the sadness yet. Baby steps, I guess...

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 – 13 – 14 – 15 | Previous: Part 16 |  Next: Part 18 | Masterlist

18 of ?

In a hurried grace, the Second Sister rushed to the nearest dormitory at her convenience. Locking herself in, she gingerly placed her comm on the floor, settled herself on her knees as she waited for the transmission to come through.

A projection appears before her, generated by the holodisk, standing at a mere twelve inches—a blatant contrast to the individual’s true height. The Castle Servant of Vader answers Second Sister’s call. There was no luxury of introductions when the Servant had come into full view.

“Tell your master that I have personally witnessed his ward, Irele, depart from our designation here in the planet of Zeffo. She had gone off-planet as soon as our common target, a Jedi by the name of Cal Kestis, managed to escape from their encounter. No word on where she fled and when she’ll be back—rather, if she has even returned to her directive.”

The Servant hummed, he didn’t speak for a second to absorb all this information. He was construing the words he’ll relay to his Master; this loyal page had a craftiness of threading his words accordingly to the situation and mood of Vader, and whatever predicament he’ll find himself with the Dark Lord, the outcome of his words remain constant.

“Be careful on how you devise your allegations, Inquisitor, for Lord Vader perceives such things into immeasurable scrutiny—especially when it comes to the girl. If what you say is true, rest assured that Vader will see into this and apply the necessary sanctions on his ward,”

His words consoled Second Sister, but he immediately killed her dream of ever winning the favor of the Sith Lord.

“I suggest you don’t celebrate your victory yet, Inquisitor. She is, after all, one of his greatest assets—if not the only one.”

Without word, the Servant cut off the transmission. The hem of his cloak swept the tile as he made haste to his master’s grand chamber. He entered a room where two crimson guards stood on each side, in the center of it all is an enormous Bacta tank filled to the brim. The cloudy liquid obscured the true figure of the one inside it, the guards and the Servant were the only ones who have ever since Vader in this state—and they were bound to never say a word about it, otherwise the sentence spells immediate execution.

The Servant immediately bowed, not keeping his eyes on the tank and stared at his warped reflection on the black tile.

“My Lord,” he addressed. “I’ve received word from one of the Inquisitors in Zeffo…”

There was a pause from both ends, and he felt the need to look up to emphasize the gravity of his news.

“It’s about the girl.”

–

“Look, BD,” Cal gasped.

The tiny droid whistled, amazed by the scale of the crashed Venator. Cal, being used to seeing these on a daily basis back in Bracca, didn’t feel the same way. Although, it intrigued it on whom it belonged to, who were the Master and Padawan tandem on that ship, and if they even survived.

On his left, he noticed what looked like a memorial fashioned like a columbarium. Empty clone helmets sat on each pigeonhole in the stone wall. Cal felt a faint trace of the Force in it, literally an echo, he knelt down and hovered his hand above one of the helmets sitting on the ground.

Blaster bolts rang in his skull, the fleeting red lights flickered behind his eyes—he almost regretted ever touching this echo.

“The villagers thought they were heroes… but they didn’t know what really happened,” Cal lamented, a quiet anger in his tone.

He reported the sighting of the crash to Cere, the woman on the other end advised caution.

A draft blew on his back, whisking a few strands of maple-red hair out of place, Cal looked over his shoulder and turned around to the opening of a cave. He decided to take that route instead. Carefully he dipped his legs into the water, he was able to wade for a few meters until eventually he had to dive in; it wasn’t a long tunnel anyway, he had reached the other end with a metal door.

“I wonder who did this first, the villagers or the Empire?” he thought out loud, his droid companion beeped to gamble a guess.

“It doesn’t look all too sturdy, and there’s rust—definitely the locals’ doing, probably a bunch of miners,”

Whatever’s on the other side of the door drew him in, he denied the curiosity growing in him to find out what’s in there. Fortunately, there was another way in, albeit the longer way around, he dared to use the ice slope until he found the heavy machinery installed within this complex ice cave system.

He landed on one of the highest areas of the caves, literally overlooking the whole operation in the caves. Elevators and massive cogs were planted in the area, Stormtroopers were stationed by the elevators while keeping at a safe distance from the local fauna dwelling behind the rocks. Cal had let his guard when he felt Irele’s presence at the last minute—say, the exact moment she ignited her sabers.

“Like the view?”

Cal’s eyes trailed on Irele from top to bottom. “I could get used to it.”

Compared to their first encounter, this one had more intensity and resolve from Irele. Their lightsabers twinkled like a collision of stars in the distance, their battle grunts drew the attention of the Stormtroopers in the lower platforms, a few wanted to take aim but immediately withdrew when they considered that they might hit Irele instead—which would instantly have them killed by her on sight once she’s finished. The girl would always find a way to pivot and evade Cal’s strikes and bring him close to her grasp.

“I’m just getting started!” Irele cackled wildly, adrenaline fueling her jump attack.

She landed the strike cleanly, with Cal barely blocking her attack at full strength—despite being taller than her—but their skirmish was quickly interrupted by rumbling. The rock shook underneath their shoes, some unwitting Stormtroopers got startled and then evolved into feeling alarmed. It was not the gargantuan machinery installed in the mountain. The two warriors froze, mid-attack, when they saw a silhouette behind that wall of impregnable ice growing with each quake.

A Jotaz tore a hole with its balled fists, sending shards of rock and ice flying. This was no ordinary, predatory fauna—it was the largest Jotaz that the Stormrtroopers have ever seen, bigger than the Rabid Jotaz. This was most likely the alpha of the colony… and the angriest.

What good will a pair of saber-staffs do to such a creature so calloused, aged, yet learned?

The small droid on Cal’s shoulder beeped so frantically that it might as well fry its wires from over-analyzing and die on the spot. Jedi and Sith had a turn on striking the animal but it just wasn’t enough; though it’s not everyday anyone spots a Sith and a Jedi teaming up to fight one enemy. Just imagine how the status report would be written out.

Albeit the lack of communication, it’s a miracle that these two synchronize their attacks so well against the Jotaz. Aside from the typical taking of turns, the faith they put to each other—even though it’s temporary—to grab one’s hand, to trust the timing, or the switching of places was uncanny and yet fascinating.

However good their strategy may be, it still could not withstand the colossal weight of a Jotaz’s fist pounding the earth. Cal has encountered one or two Jotazes, but that this one had a different way of fighting—more aggressive, its size did not hinder it thus making it move quicker and more agile.

“This is bad!” he thought out loud.

“Yeah, no shit!” huffed Irele after pivoting in the air to swing her saber on the Jotaz’s shoulder blade, barely cutting through the calloused flesh of the animal.

Eventually the animal got sick of these two children swinging and hitting it with glowing sticks. It was apparent that the great Jotaz was not using its full strength until now. The Jotaz propped itself on its two balled fists—enough a support to boost its lifted kick—and the two evaded it, but that was not the intention; then it started bashing the ground while targeting either Cal or Irele at the same time. The animal had gone berserk and started causing cracks on the rock on which they were standing. The ground shook, cracks opened up like mouths beneath their feet, and boulders were  plummeting into the abyss.

Irele was standing nearer at the edge and she was on the collapsing side of the ground. Gravity betrayed her and her feet were planted to that piece of the ground…

Until Cal caught her.

“I gotcha…!” Cal reassured, albeit struggling between paying attention to the Jotaz or focusing on his grip on Irele. He panted, “Don’t worry… I gotcha!”

That one moment, they locked eyes—they’ve had eye contact once, but that was during in the middle of a fight—and there was something neither of them can explain or pinpoint. It was just a matter of mutual sympathy.

“Behind you!” Irele shrieked.

One second after Cal had turned around, the Jotaz swung a backhand at him and sent the boy—with the girl in his other hand—falling into the darkness of the cave’s depths. Into the midnight blue darkness the two of them go, debris and pebbles nicking at their faces and necks, and the bumps on their bodies would go purple by morning. If you were to peek over the edge, you’d only be greeted by pitch black darkness and fog, never to know how far that depth goes—but one thing is for sure, no mere human would ever survive that fall.

The creature’s long roar declared the two humans gotten rid of; meanwhile from the other side of the cave, were the Stormtroopers who witnessed it all, along with one Purge Trooper, from beginning to end.

When the Jotaz finally retreated, there was a debate on what and how to report it—especially to Vader himself. Whether or not they don’t send it directly to him, he will catch wind of what had happened to his ward one way or another.

Stormtroopers are going to have an absolute field day with this report.

“I wouldn’t wanna be the poor guy who’s gonna write the report about this,” one trooper sighed condescendingly to his companion.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (14)

Chapter 14: And So the Hunt Begins | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: I’m honestly a little worried about the story getting attention. There are times where I feel insecure and doubtful of the work I put out. A ton of questions come to me like “Has the story gotten boring?” and my answer to that is I sure hope not. If you’ve been following the story, looking forward to each chapter update, and you’re actually enjoying it, thank you so so much! That really means a lot to me. I try my best not to let the stress of work and personal life get in the way of my posting and especially my creativity. Please, guys, do me a small favor: let me know what you think of the story so far. 🙏🏻 As always, love lots 💜

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 | Previous: Part 13 | Next: Part 15 | Masterlist

15 of ?

Irele, along with HY-L33, bolted to the elevator lobby. The door opened to the hangar bay. The young girl’s strides were poised with urgency, she commanded the nearest captain to prepare her ship and a small unit of Stormtropers to accompany her.

“Ma’am, the 65th Squadron has already been deployed to Zeffo.”

“That’s Captain Kane’s squad.”

“Indeed,” the commander’s eye rolled to the side for a bit. “What’s left of them, at least.”

“Their transmissions mentioned a Jedi who cut them down by the numbers, and you’re satisfied with what’s left of them?”

“That’s… not my implication, my lady,” the commander blushed.

The commander then held his tongue. There was no way debating through that. Complacency and settling for less were neither minor or major offenses, though it makes one’s work efficiency and ethics seem questionable. The uniformed man hung his head in shame, hoping that Irele would not say another word and leave it at that.

A hangar operator cut in their conversation—or lack thereof—indicating that Irele’s light cruiser, the Obeisance, is ready to go. He got his unspoken wish.

“Jedi can be fools. But so is one who decides to underestimate them.” Irele lectured, serving mostly as a reminder to herself than an advice to the commander.

Nothing was further said. Irele hopped into the cruiser and her droid companion followed along. The pilot was already informed of their destination, so Irele had time to do some more “light reading.”

The small computer in her quarters provided the database of all the logs transmitted from various troopers and officers originating from several, different planets. Irele narrowed down her search about the Zeffo logs and skimmed the holos until there was mention of the Jedi.

She had a strong feeling that this incident in Zeffo has got something to do with the red-haired Jedi she eyed on during the briefing with the Inquisitors. Secretly, she had feared that one or two of them might have gotten there first, though they would have most likely gone for the more notorious survivors—Jedi masters and Padawan prodigies, for instance.

“What can be said about Zeffo, Haylee?”

“A small colony of humans reside in the continent just along the planet’s equator. Albeit a large landmass, the terrain is rather hostile—as 60% of the planet is water.”

“It is also a treasure chest of sorts—for the Emperor, at least, and other like-minded hoarders,” Irele added, the droid had nothing to comment. “Stay here in the Obeisance, Haylee, understand? I can’t have you in the line of fire down there.”

Irele was the first to alight the cruiser via her personal TIE Interceptor docked in the cruiser’s hangar. Riding behind her was the transport ship carrying the 77th Squadron. The transport landed first, melding with the remnants of the 65th, while Irele demanded the last known location of where the Jedi was found.

“Lady Irele, Captain CL-5857 reporting. Sending you the last reported coordinates of the Jedi.”

“Very good, Captain. My channel’s open for you now.”

The numbers instantly appeared on Irele’s screen and followed the navicomputer after the coordinates have been encoded. The TIE Interceptor zipped past the said colony—which was now literally a ghost town sprawling with Stormtroopers, almost like ghosts. Peeking over her window, she spotted a bleach-white mound pushed to the side along the stone cottages.

Dead Stormtroopers.

“Interesting.” Irele muttered and smirked. Not the least bit fazed of just how possibly deadly her target is.

–

At the end of the Augur Pulverizers, Cal found his way on a dangerously-placed metal balcony and startled two Stormtroopers, sneaking up on them. He stayed there to catch his breath. The roar of a TIE Interceptor’s engine caught his attention and watched the ship dart through the overcast skies like a loosed arrow.

He half-dismissed the feeling he got before the TIE flew out of sight. Irele got a quick glimpse of the other end of the pulverizers, the head full of red hair was such a dead giveaway, he stood out more than the white armor dotting Zeffo’s terrain.

On his right was a plateau where more of them waited for him, but it was his only way to get to the tomb.

Irele circled her way around the mountain. She discovered her destination when she found the monument of a Zeffonian sage standing amongst the jagged pillars of rock. She remained on the high ground, docking her TIE on a plateau that overlooks this region of the planet and sensed Cal coming this way.

Trekking through Zeffo’s steep ridges and cliffsides were both exhilarating and arduous. Fresh air welcomed itself to Cal’s lungs and the wind swept off the auburn locks from his head. He emerged from the mouth of the cave at the far opposite of the grand entrance of the tomb.

Cal scanned the area and saw that the coast was clear

Too clear.

Sitting atop of one of the stone columns dotting the courtyard of the tomb was Irele, leisurely swinging her one leg over the other.

“I’m almost hoping you’re not the guy the Stormtroopers are talking about in their audio logs,”

Her entrance startled Cal, setting him on high alert and had him brandishing his saber on pure instinct. Bemused, Irele smirked while she rested her chin on her palm.

“Well, let’s see if looks really can be deceiving!”

She leaped off of her perch; lightly did her feet touch the ground at her descent. Dust plumed over the tips of her boots, and while bent, she takes her lightsaber off of the clip pf her belt to boast a pair of red blades on both ends.

Cal tried his best to remain calm. His gloves squeaked as he tightened his grip on his own saber. He activated the second frost blue blade, a statement implying that he’s just as capable as she is.

Irele smirked and cooed, “Well now.”

They battled in the second tier landing of the tomb’s courtyard. Dual-ended blades clashing against one another. Red versus blue.

If only Vader could see her now.

Irele’s training did not betray her. Those two years of strenuous training had given her a great amount of stamina, more than enough to last her two duels against a Jedi and still have more to chase them down to finish what she started.

“Come on, redhead! Don’t disappoint me!” she snarled, taunting the boy.

“Don’t worry, you’ll find I’m full of surprises!”

“Oho!” she cackled. Distanced herself for a second’s worth of a breather, she bared her teeth in a wide, mischievous grin. “I do love surprises!”

Cal wasn’t afraid to admit that his opponent was nimbler, more dexterous, and perhaps even stronger. He could feel the hate and anger flowing in her, as if it’s replaced the blood in her veins, though he thinks she’s a fool for weaponizing those emotions—ones that only a Sith would use to their advantage.

He needed to find an opening. This girl was too strong, he thought. He rammed his shoulder to her, causing her to stumble in her footing, and then—within a moment’s opportunity—he recoiled and sprung his hands to his front: sending a wave of the Force to increase the distance away from her. Then he made a run for it—there was an opening at the side of the tomb entrance, and hurriedly squeezed his way through the narrow space between two boulders.

He managed to slither his way out, but Irele caught up to him fast. Shrapnel of stones flew and clattered behind Cal, he looked over his shoulder and saw the girl appearing from the dust cloud, her crimson blades lighting up in the middle of the fog.

“Who are you!?”

No reply from the girl.

She just kept pushing forward. Greedy to land more strikes on the boy and hopefully disarm him.

Ahead of them was another way to the lift that leads to the underground level of the tomb. The only obstacle is that a ring of rocks, spinning around the lift in great speeds, is blocking Cal’s way of ever getting into that ancient elevator.

Desperately, he slows down the movement of the stones circling the lift, and bolted through while it was still safe. Irele was at his tail. They continued their exchange of strikes until either of them could notice that the influence of Cal’s Force Slow was wearing off. He had made his way closer to the lift while they fought, but Irele was too blind to be aware of her surroundings. When the stones were gradually returning to their original speed, Cal mustered up enough energy again to push Irele out of the stones’ orbit with one hand, while the other slowed the stones but they were now at his volition.

“NO!!”

Cal hopped into the lift, his one hand relaxed and the stones were orbiting the golden elevator at cyclonic speeds. As the golden lift sank, with a heavy bell-like clang to signal its descent, so did Irele’s stomach. This is unacceptable, she knew it, she needs to find another way to the tomb and catch up with the Jedi.

Meanwhile, Cal sought refuge and rest in the safety of the golden lift. He caught his breath and shook off whatever tension and adrenaline left from that fight.

“Who was that?” he asked to nobody in particular.

“Bee-woo…” BD-1 chirped.

His comlink beeped, and Cere’s voice popped through the speaker.

“Cal? Have you found the tomb?”

“Yeah, I found it. And I also found someone interesting.”

“Who?”

“She… I don’t know if she’s an Inquisitor. I’m not even sure if she is one. Though I am sure that she’s with the Empire. I saw her TIE Fighter earlier, didn’t expect to bump into her though.”

He recalled quietly what she looked like and what she wore. Normally, Inquisitors donned armor with the Empire’s insignia on it. But Irele was fashioned differently, compared to a completely armored Inquisitor: her outfit consisted of a short-sleeved top that covered her from the neck down, a long skirt complemented by ankle-length boots. The only pieces of “armor” she has are a brown leather surcoat over her top and a belt. In her defense, she preferred less is more.

“Whether or not she’s an Inquisitor, if she’s just as bad as you say she is—then you better keep an eye out. You are definitely not alone out there.” Cere warned with a graveness in her voice.

“I know.”

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (16)

Chapter 16: Guardian From Afar | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: Hello guys, I’m sorry if I’ve become so inactive lately. The slump was one thing, but more and more things keep piling on my shoulders that it’s becoming more difficult to bear. The worst news I have received this year so far is finding out that my dearest grandmother is suspected to have Stage 4 can-fucking-cer, we have yet to confirm it this weekend for the follow-up checkup—as if the oncologist announcing the suspicion isn’t enough. So, of course, I had to take care of her in the hospital for a week. I didn’t bring my laptop with me because I wanted to be hands-on in taking care of her. I stayed with her until she got her surgery to have one of the tumors removed. So yeah, that’s the worst biggest highlight of the past several weeks. I’m really sorry that my break has delayed the progress of the story but I don’t plan on quitting midway. Nope. Anyways, I’m happy that we’re back home and I’m back in the game.

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 – 13 – 14 | Previous: Part 15  | Next: Part 17 | Masterlist

17 of ?

Irele had arrived just in time for the suns to set.

She kept her distance from the homestead and stayed on a ridge that overlooks Mos Eisley to the Salt Flats—her old home.

She sat by the edge of the cliff, binoculars in hand and thumbed the zoom dial on the domed homestead. Two figures were in sight—one woman and a boy, but the latter was at a distance from her and he was tinkering with something just a few yards away from the house. When the woman beckoned the boy, he didn’t budge at first; a few more calls and the boy was stubborn as ever. The scene amused Irele.

Eventually, the woman gave up and continued tending to her work. Irele unconsciously uttered a name and the boy stopped whatever it was he’s doing, looked at not in the direction of the woman behind him but far ahead…

Almost as if he heard his name from the cliffs up far north.

Underneath her lenses, Irele smiled but her heart ached. She choked when she bit her lip. Her grip on the binoculars failed and never got to see the boy run back to the woman, then later joined by a man appearing out of the house.

She wiped the tears drying on her cheeks with her sleeve until someone had caught her completely off guard.

“What’s a young Imperial officer doing in a place like this?” a sage voice came from nowhere, it startled Irele to her feet, she rose in a stance with her hand close to her hilt.

An old man in tattered brown robes, a dust-caked tunic and overcoat, had a slab of Bantha meat slung over his shoulder in a twine net. From the looks of things, he had just gone back from hunting. He also jumped a bit when Irele spun and stood up defensively, but he just chuckled after seeing her face and sensing that she was essentially harmless—for the moment, at least.

“Who are you?”

The hermit smiled and chuckled once, “I suppose Time has not been kind on my complexion, hasn’t it… Irele?”

Irele’s posture relaxed and it took her a second until she guessed who this person is.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she uttered with great surprise. Surprise over the fact that Tatooine hadn’t killed the old man yet.

“Come with me. Ration bars are not enough a sustenance for a young lady like you. I hear they are extremely bland.”

“I didn’t plan on staying for long, I…” she trailed and then looked at the homestead. “I was just visiting. I just wanted to see someone.”

He immediately knew. There came a somber smile on his bearded face. In the distance, both of them heard the woman’s voice.

She called out, in her most melodic and motherly voice, “Luke! Come inside now!”

Irele clenched her shaking fist to stop it, but that didn’t work. It just made her tear up more. She tormented herself by looking back at the Lars homestead again and again, only to find herself heartbroken, in agony over the fact that this is as close as she can get. She was hopeful that if she dared to come close to the homestead, enough for her family to look at her and then remember her, they’d welcome her back into their arms, throw it all away and she’d return to her normal life.

Such a fantasy cannot exist in her reality now.

They would know at first sight what she is, what she’s become, and it’ll only convince the Lars couple to bar her from Luke.

“I miss him… I miss all of them,” she sobbed.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was a man of many firsts… and perhaps this is his first time to witness an Imperial cry; to show some humanity, proving that the Empire has not really broken through this girl as they thought they would.

“Come now,” he gazes at the sky. “Unless you’d want to spend the evening dealing with Tusken Raiders.”

Somehow the word had made the scar on the end of Irele’s brow bone hurt and made her wince.

Irele caved in and followed Obi-Wan, but before they could get far, one last time she looked over and said goodbye.

For the first time, Irele had stepped into Ben Kenobi’s humble abode. He insisted on making herself at home and gestured over the pot of water. She rolled her sleeves, dipped her hands and rubbed them together until no feeling of sand and grime was present, Obi-Wan noticed red and purple cracks underneath her skin, almost like veins when in reality they weren’t. They were the internal scars that had developed over the years—initially, it was the torturing on the machine like how all Inquisitors started out upon their arrival in an Inquisitor Fortress; and then it escalated to the jabs from her opponents in the advent of her training, many a times they kept the electrifying end stuck to her for prolonged periods of time on purpose. Until she looked like her skin contains lightning under it.

He didn’t look away from it and when they met eyes, there was a concerning gaze from him that Irele discovered—an expression that she hadn’t seen from anybody in a long time.

She seated herself on a stool as old Ben busied himself in the small kitchen. It didn’t take him long to make a stew out of the Bantha meat slab. Upon the first bite, Irele melted, and stuffed her little face with spoonfuls of the stew.

“Now I’m starting to wonder what they feed you in the Empire,” Obi-Wan commented, with a genuine concern for the girl.

“The Empire has a standard preset meal with all the nutritional value our bodies require to be in top shape,”

“Well, that’s a rather exquisite menu,”

His joke was rewarded with a chuckle from the girl, and they continued on with their supper with a side of small talk.

“He would be seven years old by now, right?”

Kenobi leaned back on his seat and rubbed his chin, “Yes, I’d wager.”

“Do you think he still remembers me?”

“I think your sister-in-law makes sure of that,”

She nodded. Comforted by the thought that Beru goes out of her way to keep Irele remembered, perhaps through memories in the form of bedtime stories.

“I can’t go out there, can I?”

The hermit was anything but dishonest, but he had sympathy for the poor girl. His intrigue over Irele’s intentions and actions prompted him to lean forward, prop his elbows over his lap and squeeze out some answers from the girl.

“I thought the Sith followed their doctrine of having only one master and one apprentice,”

“They still do. Apparently, the Sith denies being as archaic and rigid as the Jedi, when in reality they’re not so different. Ancient schisms and all that,”

“So what are you to them?”

The cogs in Irele’s mind spun, she could almost hear ticking of some mechanism within; she avoided Kenobi’s gaze by staring down at the partially-eaten bowl of stew and thought hard of the exact word. But none came to mind.

“Nothing,” said she. “Just another expendable.”

Expendable was a word that Kenobi himself have heard many years ago, from dejected clones who—at the face of imminent death—resorted to comforting themselves to their known fact that they are only clones. Of course, their Jedi commanders and generals thought otherwise… until they turned.

It seems the Empire’s consistent with the feeding their people the thought that they’re anything but living beings. Obi-Wan thought.

“You truly have no business here in Tatooine, don’t you?”

Irele kept mum, she had lost her appetite too as the questions were beginning to be more inquisitive as she had expected.

“Not really, no.”

“Then why did this little girl come back to the place she can no longer call home?”

“Because I want to see my family… I miss them,” she choked. “Even though I shouldn’t anymore.”

“Then perhaps the Empire didn’t do a good job in turning you into what they had expected or hoped,”

Irele bursts standing up, toppling the bowl and spoon that was sitting on her lap.

“No! I’m not the girl I used to be when I was still here… I’ve killed people, Ben! Countless! The look on their faces when they see that a literal child is their killer, I…” she paused to inhale and the tears are already welling at the rims of her eyes. “I can’t forget it. They think me a monster.”

Meanwhile, Old Ben, remained calm and stoic as he ever were; arms hugging him on both sides, his head following the direction of Irele pacing left and right during her outburst until her exhale signaled the end of the rant.

“Then why haven’t you struck me down the first time you saw me?”

“My directive was to find a red-haired Jedi boy… not an old hermit who went out hunting.”

“That’s an answer, but only on surface level,”

Old knees propped up Ben Kenobi, he placed a hand on Irele’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, “You may think you are what they say you are—but today proves otherwise.”

It was time for Irele to go, but before boarding her fighter, she dared to go down the slope—partially disregarding Obi-Wan’s warning of her brother’s apparent reaction, it deterred her for a bit, though it wasn’t enough to stop her from walking towards the domed homestead.

Closer and closer, she went.

If only returning home was as easy as coming back from a trip to Mos Espa with her friends.

Irele could hear the faint, pitched voice of her nephew inside the house—that small, innocent voice that sounds like it’s always pleading for something; from there, her heart ached and her knees were beginning to fail. She misses Luke ever so much. Hiding her softness and her humanity from the rest of the world she lives in now did little to completely suppress it. There are times where she allowed herself to feel such things, times like this.

“Luke, I don’t have to tell you twice!”

“I’m going, I’m going, Aunt Beru!”

“Hurry up now, it’s nearly supper.”

A small boy comes running out of the doorway of the homestead, tasked to turn on the transmitter posts before it gets any darker. His bursting out of the house startled the young woman standing a few yards away.

Irele watched, even in the growing darkness, she could make out Luke’s features. The most prominent being his sandy blonde hair that blends all too well with the desert and teal eyes. When the little boy was about to switch on the transmitter on his right, that’s when Irele had left her guard down; she was too invested in looking at her seven-year-old nephew that she didn’t even move away from sight.

Her heels jumped when they met eyes. Her stomach sank, her top crumpled as she grasped on it.

Fortunately, Luke did not shout—not out of fear nor shock, but he did gasp because he was startled. He stood there opposite the woman stranger, now hesitant to approach the transmitter that stood between them.

Neither of them were speaking. They just kept on staring. Irele wanted to spread out her arms and have him welcomed in her arms not knowing it is really the other way around. Eventually, her knees gave and she bent down to his height, somewhat appearing like she was conceding, to prove Luke that she was indeed harmless.

The boy’s lips pursed into a shy, awkward smile to which Irele returned with the friendliest she can manage. She thought she had forgotten how until she saw her nephew again.

This is enough, she thought.

Her feelings about Luke were strong yet warm… but also familiar, in a filial manner. Through those adventurous eyes, she saw Anakin in him, and it pained her. Irele hung her head while fighting back tears, but shot up right away when both of them heard Owen’s voice.

“Luke? Where are you, kid?” he beckoned.

Irele wanted to see her brother too; but she could not let her guard down, she knows Owen well—nonsensical and overly protective, when push comes to shove. Luke had spun to the direction of Owen’s voice and that was Irele’s cue to disappear. Calling on her Force Energy, she executed a Force Sprint; to the untrained, naked eye it would seem like the individual is dissolving into a shimmer when in reality the user is moving in great speeds from one point to another. In a split second, she had covered a significant distance from the homestead to the ridges where she vanished.

“Luke, oh! There you are,” Owen sighed, bursting out of their front door. He noted the angle of where Luke’s body was facing, when he followed the general direction, he saw nothing but humored the boy. “What are you looking at over there?”

“I… Nothing, I guess,” Luke mumbled, still staring out into the ridges reducing into silhouettes.

Owen scooped up the boy in his arms, “Come on now, it’s almost nighttime. Wouldn’t want to stick around after dark, do we?”

Irele hid behind one of the boulders just before the foot of the ridge, from there she witnessed Owen taking the little boy in his arms and retreating back into the house. She smiled, but melancholy filled her; she gave up whatever hope she had in her of ever returning here—this desolate wasteland that she once called home.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (13)

Chapter 13: The Favorite | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: I’M NEGATIVE FOR COVID, YAY!!1!! That’s the only negativity I need in life lmao

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 | Previous: Part 12 | Next: Part 14 | Masterlist

14 of ?

16 BBY

Battered by the sweat and grit in this confined dojo, Irele had proved her capabilities for battle.

For every instructor that walked in to face her, the difficulty climbed as well.

But the dojo had become her sanctuary. No limitations, no rules. She can be angry as she likes, she can be violent to her opponents, and then there would be no repercussion—it was all at the expense of “training” which was basically they had in mind for her.

Now that she was conditioned for combat, the next phase of the plan laid out for her growth would come next—although it would be simultaneous to this training regimen.

Today marks the first anniversary of her training, the day that started this all. To commemorate the event in some sorts, they sent in an electrohammer Purge Trooper to fight with her. No trooper of this sort has ever come in to this dojo until today. For a second, it startled her; but then she shook off the anxiety from her shoulders and tightened her grip on a weapon she had stuck with since Day One—a javelin.

Her one display of power that warranted Darth Vader himself to pay a visit to the dojo in Nur.

“Admiral, ready my shuttle and chart a course to Nur.”

“Right away, my lord.” The admiral did not give it a second thought, he immediately proceeded with the preparations.

Everyone in Nur knew that Darth Vader was coming, and so they were all in full-blast in cleaning up the place to make it presentable to the lord. Everyone—except Irele, who was too engrossed with her training.

It was just getting good when Vader had arrived in the viewing room of the dojo—Irele’s already picking up the pace in the fight, but the Purge Trooper was nowhere near tired. Suddenly, it seems like out of nowhere, a strong invisible wave had lifted the instructor off the floor and threw him across the room. The last thing Irele saw was her hand held out, fingers curved in a manner as if choking a neck, and vibrating with remnants of that energy that had sent the trooper five feet away from her.

Little by little, her sensitivity with the Force has become more active.

She could not explain it. She couldn’t even believe it, she thought those moments were just illusions or daydreams that she had mixed with reality.

But this moment proved otherwise.

And it intoxicated her.

Although she had not mastered how to utilize it actively and consciously, she would take every chance she gets when she felt like it would come to her aid in the fight.

Vader departs the viewing room and makes his way down into the dojo.

“You fight well, child,” he boomed as he entered, causing Irele to turn to his direction, javelin at the ready. “But you’ve a long way to go if you are to master the art.”

Under his cape, Vader revealed his weapon: a silver cylinder accented with black duraplast grips, covered to the pommel. His leather thumb pressed the switch and out comes a blood-red beam. Irele has heard the stories, but never did she imagined seeing it in person; as a matter of fact, she’s not sure if her javelin has any chance against that.

Irele took the offensive, she moved first.

Vader, unbeknownst to her to be her own brother, effortlessly evaded it as simple as stepping out of the way.

The girl had too much pride in her to admit that her opponent was indeed stronger and more skilled, but she thought she could outsmart him, outmaneuver him, not knowing that her efforts would be in vain.

They traded strikes, but Vader was taking the lead in this fight. Irele’s tiring herself out in evading and looking for an opening, landing fewer strikes than she did with her first opponent—the trooper. The dark lord was neither generous nor kind with the training, he wanted to show Irele different levels of strengths—if she were to be dispatched in campaigns where combat is inevitable, she might as well be fazed now than later out in the field.

“It’s unwise to presume you can overpower me, child.”

With their blades locked in, Irele caught a glimpse of Vader’s face up close. The crimson red film of the lenses of his helmet uncovered a hazy view of his eyes—his real eyes: twin golden discs, glinting with menace and at the same time, a sort of grief.

For a moment, Irele’s expression showed humanity; but in the next second, she remembered the fight.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Her overconfidence in her strike was her undoing, Vader’s lightsaber swiped it out of her hands, leaving her literally empty-handed.

“Perhaps you should re-assess that teenage confidence of yours, little one.”

Vader was moving in for a killing blow. He dared go that far. The operators in the viewing room think, “He’s going to kill her!” but the unexpected happened. In that one moment, time seemed to have slowed for Irele; Vader’s heavy yet nimble movement appeared to be slower in her eyes, which afforded her mere seconds to concentrate.

She closes her eyes… and focused.

Behind the darkness shrouding her view, she wondered why the strike hasn’t landed her yet, slowly she lifts her eyelids and saw a clear sheen shimmering in front of her—like glass with a frosted finish—while her hands were held up in front of her and wide open, sparks sputtered on all sides of Vader’s saber.

There was no time to comprehend this, but what Irele understood is that she needs to use this to advantage… now.

She pushed one hand further away, towards Vader—in effect, he was being backed away, by her. The girl took one more step, and alternately used the other hand to do the same thing as the first hand. Once aligned again, she slowly gravitated both hands to each other, closing the space in the middle and she watched Vader succumbing to his knees.

“Yes…” he lowed, rather satisfied. “You are strong with the Force. Like the blood before you.”

Those words rang into Irele’s soul, like a heavy bell with its ram, and on the top of her mind, there was one that came: Anakin.

She ceased using the Force and stumbled to her bottom, Vader remained kneeling but he held his head up to face the frightened, confused teen.

“Well done, Irele. You are ready.”

–

15 BBY

Irele’s training program did not hold her back, neither did it confine her within the walls of the fortress in Nur.

Roughly a month after her first year, she was tasked to hunt Jedi. Everything she needs to know about them—she did some reading in her time alone. She studied every form, their art and history: down to the most minute part of the culture and norms. And especially the broken legacy that had was their downfall.

It’s been an impressive second year.

Irele has been training consistently, of course, having nothing else to do—except interact with HY-L33, whose programming has been modified into half-protocol droid and half-nanny droid. Most crew members who had the gall to speak to the girl kept telling her that interaction with a droid does little with human social development and growth, to which, in her chagrin, Irele would reply: “I think I’m too old to be told about pediatric psychology.”

Despite her snark, Irele tries to be learned in terms of battle strategies—she’s juggled combat training with studying naval strategies and ground assault tactics, after learning that she may be dispatched on  missions with a squadron of troopers in a particular planet from time to time. In one or more occasions, she would cross paths with the devilish Admiral Thrawn, but rarely do they meet for conferences—virtual or otherwise. She can’t help but use some of her street smarts in campaigns, which more often than not, actually works.

These privileges that she enjoys were personally decreed by Vader himself, in the hopes that she would maximize her abilities from more than being a reckless warrior. Some were against it because they perceive her as a rebellious, smart-mouthed child; others decide to give her a chance, because after all, she is a growing girl who’s got a lot to learn in this kind of world she’s been thrown in.

Not all know what she was before—but to generalize it, she was just some local girl in a desolate planet in the middle of nowhere.

The droid HY-L33 looked for her master, and found Irele examining and polishing her lightsaber—something she crafted on her own, the exterior at least. The kyber crystal was harvested from a Jedi survivor she killed not too long ago, in a tropical moon where she was dispatched alone with little to no reinforcements as the troopers were designated as patrols in the town.

“Lady Irele, the briefing with the Inquisitors is due in thirty minutes.”

“Ah yes, the Jedi hunters,” Irele’s brows furrowed, “I thought I wasn’t required?”

“Indeed, but it’s been said to be beneficial for your upcoming campaigns.”

“Who said so?”

“Lord Vader, apparently… and the Grand Inquisitor.”

“Right then, thank you, Haylee.”

Irele dressed into her garbs. Tailored to perfection: the bodysuit and pants were a dark gray waterproof fabric so that the garment won’t weigh her down when fighting under inclement weather such as rain, fog, and snow. The standard material for the armor plating was duraplast—tried and tested against Stormtroopers’ blaster fire and Purge Troopers’ electro-powered weapons—and it covered her torso, shoulders, and forearms; an armor skirt made from the same material complemented the utility belt. Supposedly, they’re to be worn when in the field, but since she’s been cooped up in the Fortress in the past few days, she doesn’t bother strapping on the armaments.

Lastly, she slipped into her low, black boots. Looking at the mirror, she bound her hair in a ponytail. It was once a medium bob with ragged tips, but now she’s grown it out to a length just after her shoulders.

“Alright, I’m ready. I’ll see you in a bit, Haylee.”

The droid gave a short bow and Irele departed her room.

Nur has become her home. The metal maze once confused her, but now she knows where she’s going even with her eyes closed.

She stepped into a turbolift and pressed the button that leads her to the level where the holding rooms and war rooms are.

“Holding Room A-121,” she muttered to herself in reminder.

Along the way, she exchanged short or curt bows to the crewmen who bothered tipping their hats or saluting to her as a greeting. When she saw the engraved number on the door, she pressed another button to prompt the door open. Before her was the group of Inquisitors around a table, lounging about like schoolchildren. Her entrance silenced their already hushed conversations and she stepped in, hoping to find a spot to sit the farthest from them.

“Oh, look who’s come to join us. The favorite.” chided one of the male Inquisitors.

“Let’s make this quick so we can forget each other’s sorry asses were in the same room.”

The briefing consisted of the locations where they would be dispatched. Holograms reflecting the planets flashed one by one on the podium, head profiles of surviving Jedi flashed after the planets, and Irele squinted her eyes on a particular one that stood out like a sore, red thumb.

“Do you know this one, Irele?” one of the male Inquisitors, the Second Brother, asked Irele. He noticed she looked at this one Jedi rather specially—or so he thinks.

Irele turned her eyes to the Inquisitor and replied with a frosty “No” and then she scanned the other head shots. She studied them, since she didn’t want her not being a Jedi-turned-Inquisitor to be a disadvantage. She’s got as much as grit as the rest of them. After the briefing, she isolated herself in one of the couches, locked herself away deep in thought that the Inquisitors’ chatter was just white noise.

She couldn’t wait to retreat to her bedchambers, where she can have some time of her own, unafraid that her idea and its credit might be stolen by another. Over time, Irele has proven to be the kind who “does their homework,” for instance, she remained in the holding room when everyone else had left—probably starting their leg of the hunt once they’re off the moon—and studied the briefing’s log.

“The Jedi are going to be extra cautious if they discover the Inquisitors are hunting them out,” she spoke under the finger against her lip. “Inquisitors are too obvious to spot. The uniforms are a dead giveaway…”

Her eyes widened at the thought.

“But I won’t!” she gasped.

Before leaving the room, she humored herself with listening to the voice logs of Stormtrooper Commanders during their operation in Zeffo. She switched between data tapes, hoping to find an inkling if it was the best place to start.

Audio Data 03403, plays:

“Most of the ancient relics have been extracted from the tombs after much deep digging. Although the acquisition of these antiques were done at the expense of some of us here. Captain Kane, for instance. Who was tagged as K.I.A. while excavating more of these relics underground when local fauna attacked her and a few men in her team.”

Irele stopped midway and scrolled a new one in the databank. Audio Data 34735 plays:

“I’m starting to have a feeling that our patrols are thinning out…”

“Finally, something interesting,” she commented.

“We don’t have the luxury of deploying new troops while sending injured men to the nearest Star Destroyer or outpost. No thanks to that Jedi that was obviously headed in the same direction as we are.”

The girl’s eyes widened upon hearing the word. Her chest tightened, her heartbeat was slow but the thumping was heavy, she could almost feel it pulse through the skin of her ribs. She anticipated more.

“Though I don’t think he was after the relics. I think he was after only one relic, that I don’t know though. Whatever it is, it’s important. But another important thing is that we need to do our job if we don’t wanna lose it—or worse, our lives.”

She’s heard enough and stopped playing the audio recordings. She clicked her way to the metadata of the file and saw that both recordings were one and two days old respectively. She rushed back to her bedroom to slip into her armor, entering the room startled HY-L33, leaving her stuttering and practically choking on what words to say.

“Miss Irele?”

“Haylee, run me a quick scan. How far are we from Zeffo?”

Without question, the droid obeyed. For a minute or two, she stared with unblinking photoreceptors, the white light behind them was unmoving as a faint whirring ran in her central processing unit.

“Approximately two and a half parsecs away, milady.”

“Too wasteful to use Anathema’s hyperspace. No small carrier armed with hyperspace, but the speed is there.”

The words literally rolled off of Irele’s mouth as she talks to herself until she comes into an epiphany of an idea.

“Come on, Haylee!”

“Coming, Lady Irele.” the droid monotonously cooed but one can sense the urgency she adapted with her mistress.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (11)

Chapter 11: Set in Motion | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: Hi guys, I’m slowly getting back on my feet mentally. I hope I didn’t disinterest you guys with how long I’ve taken to write stories. If you still stayed to tune in to the story despite the dramatic change in my posting schedule, A BIG THANK YOU TO YOU GUYS!! I’ll keep writing to make this story interesting.

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 | Previous: Part 10 | Next: Part 12 | Masterlist

12 of ?

17 BBY

A day after her full medical examination, the Anathema charted a course to the western arm of the Mustafar system.

For the first time in a near-month, Irele officially can wander around the ship. The first thing she did with the privilege was to find her way to the bridge, with HY-L33 by her side. Despite her plain-looking clothes, she stuck out like a sore thumb.

She approaches the viewing pane of the bridge, a spot that most officers were accustomed to seeing Vader instead, and watches the bluish-gray moon come into size as they pass through the Imperial blockade. She didn’t listen to the standard exchange between officers from each end, her gaze remained on the moon. She allowed herself to close her eyes to get a feel of the planet—she felt it cold and brooding, and yet it was brimming with life. She started to guess what kind of terrain it had too, probably volcanic rock, she thought; but the closer the ship got, she realizes that it was mostly water.

Unaware that she’s connecting with the planet’s essence through the Force, to her, it felt like frolicking around someplace new and unexplored; for this particular moon, she could feel the cold water seawater freeze the nerves under her skin, she could the faint light of the bioluminescent creatures thriving in the depth as if like starlight, and the strong current that nearly swept her off of her feet. Her eyelids shot up.

“What is this place?” she asked no one in particular.

“We are approaching the moon, Nur, Lady Irele.”

Irele turned her head to the side to see who answered: a young uniformed officer with black hair neatly cropped at the sides. He donned the exact same garbs as his colleagues, the only thing that differed was the badges pinned on his left chest—which was relatively fewer than the seasoned admiral.

The same officer didn’t go far from her; as the Anathema got into the moon’s exosphere, he escorted her—along with HY-L33, whom she insisted to be allowed to follow her—to the hangar where the shuttle Zenith awaits its passenger. Irele made herself comfortable in the main cabin, furnished with only a small round table surrounded by a booth, across it is a slab meant as a bench for other passengers.

The girl’s curiosity grew at the same time the moon scaled in size as they descended into the atmosphere. At first glance, she’d think the gray and black surface would be high cliffs; the Zenith cut through the clouds, revealing much of the land mass, she leaned in by the window to find that there was none. All of it was water. The only other terrain that existed there was the fortress that sat in the middle of the ocean, it was practically an artificial island in its own right.

“What is that?”

“That is Fortress Inquisitorius, Lady Irele.”

“What’s in there?”

“This is the standard lodge and training grounds for Inquisitors.”

It’s the first time she’s heard the word, though she’s absolutely sure that she is none of that.

“Why am I being brought here?”

A pause came upon the droid, HY-L33’s neck whirred as to bow her head.

“My apologies, neither captain nor crew have uploaded their ship manifest into my database.”

Irele made a mental note to request for HY-L33 to have special privileges if it involved her. That is, if she can even make one.

The fortress’s peak pierced through the sky like a spear, standing tall and as deep as the ocean floor. The pilot gently curbed around, allowing Irele a closer look and all of a sudden she felt weary.

–

Irele exited the Zenith and was then passed over to another officer, though much older and appearing to be perpetually vexed by this fool’s errand. Nevertheless, the escort officer walked Irele and HY-L33 through the fortress. It was a metal maze underwater.

The vibrant blue of the underwater life reflected a sheen over Irele’s widened eyes. Mouth agape, she had forgotten that she was in such a foreboding, ominous place. Never has she ever dreamed in her entire life that she’d see a place this blue, after living of seeing nothing but golden-brown sand that stretched up to the ridges where the twin suns hid.

The escort officer kept on blathering about where was what, schedules—her schedules, specifically—of her routines and training sessions. Irele was having none of it, she walked by the glass wall staring at the shoals that swam past her. Her distracted giggling caught the attention of the officer and he snapped.

“Lady Irele, did you hear what I just said?!”

The poor, startled girl’s shoulders jumped and her heels sprang. She froze in place.

“S-Sorry, I was looking at the water…”

The officer sighed and switched his tone, “Would you want me to arrange a tour in your own personal pod, young lady?”

It didn’t take a genius to see that the officer’s words were drawling with a harsh breed of sarcasm. Irele’s fists balled so tightly that her fingernails dug curves on the skin of her palms. She glowers at him, refusing to speak. The escort rolled his eyes and sighed, further irritated by this mundane task given to him.

“Puh! Children!” he scoffed under his breath as soon as he turned away from Irele and continued.

Eventually, they arrive to a viewing room with a wide window that spanned from left to right. Irele was reluctant to stand beside the escort, the latter thought likewise so he stepped back himself. Below the viewing deck, Irele witnessed something intense, brutal, and oddly fascinating.

Two individuals, armored head to foot in sleek black, both wielding weapons but each a different kind.  One held a pair of rods, and the other a weapon in the same fashion as a hammer. Violet electricity crackling along the ends of the weapons sparked at every collision and strike each fighter made.

Irele pressed herself against the glass when the fight was getting good. She didn’t place her bet on anyone, she had never seen a graceful, calculated fight such as this—even though this is a normal sparring session, to keep these fighters’ wits and skills sharp. The dual wielder eventually wins after staggering his opponent with a flurry of attacks.

“Come now, young lady, it’s time I bring you to your quarters.”

She looks away from the viewing pane and then to the escort, her expression served enough as a question asking for elaboration, though he didn’t humor her with an answer—even if she actually asked.

Her room in Fortress Inquisitor was a bigger version of the one she had in the command ship; and so she had to adjust all over again, but seeing that it was no different either way, getting used to the room was somehow easy.

“Well, HY-L33, I guess we’ll be staying here for a while.”

“Indeed, Lady Irele. I will be here to assess you medically if you are fit for your regular training sessions assigned in your schedule.”

“Why am I going to be trained? Are they gonna make me an Inquisitor?”

“In a way, Lady Irele, yes. But you will not be named an Inquisitor.”

“Then what’s the point of training me? I get that I will need to learn how to fight but for what?”

HY-L33 stood silent and incapable of answering her master’s questions. Irele apologized for barraging the droid with questions that may not have been—as she now mockingly calls it—“not uploaded into her database.”

Irele took rest for the day, not knowing what’s in store for her in the coming days.

The pawn now moves.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (15)

Chapter 15: Ahead of the Competition | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 – 13 | Previous: Part 14 | Next: Part 16 | Masterlist

16 of ?

Irele landed on the receiving platform of the base installed among the mountains, not far from the tomb’s entrance courtyard. Her entrance had interrupted the conversation between an Inquisitor—whose back turned to Irele—and a Purge Trooper Commander of Irele’s unit. The girl’s presence compelled the Inquisitor to drift from their chat and turn around.

“Ah, I figured you’d be here,”

“Pleasant surprise, Second Sister,” Irele dryly welcomed.

The Second Sister was one of the most uncontested Inquisitors among the organization. Her prowess for combat and her stratagem for war tactics were unmatched, as well as her penchant with tech—which she was more secretive of than her other attributes. However, despite all this recognition, one thing she loathed about Irele was her own prestige with the higher ups: Lord Vader, namely, and perhaps extending to the Emperor—who was expressively keen in cultivating the Sith ways into the young girl as soon as she was extracted from Tatooine.

The older Inquisitor envied the girl over the privileges and favor that she’s so oblivious of, interpreting it as some kind of unjust immunity—although Irele doesn’t feel that way, she feels she’s just as expendable as the Inquisitors. She had ingrained the idea that one slip-up could spell her extermination from Vader, no less, thus her entire being in full survival mode—with the help of her competitive spirit keeping it in check.

Irele sensed hostility from the Second Sister, so she kept her distance as they spoke.

“Ran out of planets to search?”

Her instincts were roaring at her, telling her that Second Sister has come for the Jedi, most likely. But it was basically an unspoken race to see who catches the prey first—and Irele never liked competition. If she was forced into one, she must prevail in any way she can.

“Actually… this planet, specifically, piqued me. I know about the relics hidden in here and I don’t doubt that a Holocron—or something equal to it—might work to my advantage.”

“This island is basically an idyllic mausoleum. Watch your step though, the last one in command here died trying to hide her stash.”

Second Sister stepped closer to Irele to the point that they’re at each other’s noses. Irele glowered calmly at the Inquisitor while her words hissed through her bared teeth, “I’m not that stupid.”

She didn’t walk out the conversation without bumping Irele hardly against the chest to the point that the girl wobbled where she stood.

“What did I ever do to you—and the others—to be acting like some kind of angst-ridden teenager?”

The Inquisitor froze and slowly half-turned so Irele can see at least her face.

“Don’t go humble on me just because you’re better than anyone among us Inquisitors,”

Irele bobbed her head back, expressing an exaggerated sigh as she hugged herself with crossed arms over her chest, “Poor you. I’m just disposable as you guys are.”

“Liar!” Second Sister hissed, this time directly facing Irele front and center, and even went so far as stepping forward to her; but of course, the other girl was left unfazed and secretly pitied Trilla.

That’s how they really think of me, huh?

“I didn’t come here only for you to walk in and step up. I will get that Jedi and the Holocron—and those will maybe win me the Emperor’s favor!”

Irele doesn’t react to that declaration. She watches the Second Sister walk away angrily and slam the button on the control terminal that summons the elevator. Before the heavy doors would open to reveal the lift, Irele had one more thing to say.

“Remember this, Trilla: the fantasy you think I have is no reality of mine.”

Trilla’s jaw clenched and disappeared as the elevator sank.

–

Returning to the tomb, Irele found that the golden elevator has not returned to the starting point of the shaft, and so she had to make herself resourceful. Nevertheless, she took the path to the chamber, peeked over the edge and calculated her jump. It didn’t take much effort, she descended as gracefully as she did when she first faced Cal.

She landed atop the golden sphere sitting on the concave at the center of the elevator. The scent of aging metal intruded her nose that she cringed—and maybe even sneezed. She then examined this massive, ancient elevator; she dared come up and touch the rails to feel the cold smoothness of the gold, she looked closer and found they were shaped like the corals by the windows of the lower levels of Fortress Inquisitorius in Nur. She spotted a crack on the bottom part of the ornate wall, she crouched to take a closer look—this portion had grown brittle over the millennia, but it’s as though someone deliberately broke it off. She needn’t to think who did it.

She crawled through the hole and ended up in an antechamber. Irele made her way down using the platforms that looked like tiered steps; when she it to the ground, she heard a noise like two rough stones scratching against one another. She looked and saw the bronzium statue come alive!

Immediately whipping out her saber, one flick of her wrist loosened the center of the weapon—practically splitting it into two. Remembering her training back in the dojo, she was taught that her surroundings, the environment, can be used to her advantage. And so she did.

The tomb guardian raised its arms in mid-air, then its blue linings started to glow brightly and, even though it looked pretty, it wasn’t a good sign. Irele leaped up to the nearest stone platform on her left and watched the tomb guardian release a rod of blue energy out of the sphere in its chest.

��Okay, it’s got laser beams!” Irele points out.

Knowing that those beams are too powerful to be deflected using the lightsaber, she has to make use of whatever’s around her. Being small and nimble compared to the walking tower that is the tomb guardian, Irele favored the high ground: taking shelter on the platforms whenever the statue would emit its powerful energy beams and then returning to ground level.

She was starting to feel just how impenetrable the guardian’s metal shell is with her blows, but that didn’t deter her from ridding herself of this nuisance. Overwhelming the mute sentient with her lightsaber, she performed every trick in her list—which she thought was good practice—and ranged from single-bladed attacks, to duel-wielding, and saberstaff.

“I’m barely denting the thing!” she gasped, and then her eyes wandered in the antechamber.

The odd, large sphere might do something, and so she thought of how to exploit them; in a last-minute attempt, Irele lifted one—but in a struggle—and swung it towards the tomb guardian that was menacing marching towards her, its hand positioning into what ought to be a choke-hold—but Irele was too busy to notice that it was a first spinning in place, gaining momentum into a deathly punch instead.

“HA!” her own amused her—mostly because of the noise that the stone sphere and metal man produced. With the guardian disoriented, she gave it several swings; going as far as walking on the wall with great agility only to pivot and split the guardian open from its back.

At the last limbs of its life, Irele delivered the killing blow—a molten gash spitting sparks on every side on the bronzium tomb guardian’s back; three or five seconds silence rang across the antechamber, only the wind made noise with the hollow gong dangling on the beams, the mute metal sentinel was a fallen tree, the dust and sand of the ruins blanketed it in beige clouds. Upon its collapse, the ground shook under Irele’s feet and then the silence that played the gongs returned.

Irele can finally take a look around the antechamber without any interference. She heard the distant roaring of an animal she can’t identify, neither does she want to, and continued on. There were so many secrets hiding on each side of the walls, she doesn’t know where to begin.

Finally alone, only now did she notice that gigantic spheres were placed strategically on certain spots, a tall wall had been obliterated—possibly by the same object—and was positioned to the shallow, bowl-like sockets on the ground. Irele then approached the passages at the far corners of the room, the kind that ones is most likely to miss out—if one doesn’t know how to look—and didn’t find anything interesting, she only circled back to the main foyer.

“I know there’s something…” she sighed in chagrin. “Something I’m missing.”

Roaming through the first phase of the tomb, she either finds herself back to where she began or into another room but with less and less clues to pick up Cal’s trail. Her only trade-off is that she’s giving herself a history lesson, except there is no teacher to tell her.

Irele, as adventurous as she always has been, found herself twenty feet above the ground after scaling the walls and ending up on high ledges. At the other end, she found a gold light spilling through a hole in the wall and followed it. A golden sheen coated her brown irises, beige sand and aging gold had melded in color; her eyes fixed on the glass center of the floor and saw the sarcophagus underneath it. She descended from her perch and found that another tomb guardian had been felled; the odd one out in this empty yet grand-looking chamber was the wall on her left. It was not stone neither was it corroded gold; she approached it and determined it was tree bark, though she cannot say what kind.

“This bark doesn’t belong in this planet…” she deduced.

Irele hurriedly patted her pockets for her comlink and contacted HY-L33 with an urgency.

“Lady Irele, I’ve uploaded a brief data file on the scan sampling of the tree bark you sent,” the droid spoke over the radio.

“Kashyyyk,” the only thing she reads out from HY-L33’s scan file. “He went to Kashyyyk.”

At that moment, she had imposed contemplation on herself. For one, she could go back to the Anathema and fly to Kashyyyk; but a latter choice is more personal, and the thought of it is enticing, but it risks her directive and the expectations set upon her.

“What have I got to lose?” she whispered to herself and she looked for her way out of the tomb.

Once she got back to the outer plaza, inhaling in fresh air as if she’s been holding her breath underwater, she hopped back into her TIE and fiddled with the navigation computer. Her fingers hovered on the keypad, reluctant to type in the coordinates, until she worked up the nerve a minute or two later.

R-16.

As the TIE ascended from the ground, Irele tweaked her radio channel to a secure encrypted line to HY-L33 before she would go off-planet.

“Don’t ever tell them.”

–

From the other end, HY-L33 did receive Irele’s secret transmission. Apparently, Irele had prepared herself and the droid for this. The modified nurse droid’s photoreceptors flickered as soon as she received the frequency, and right off the bat, she knew what to do—and like any good, unassuming droid would do, it went on standby mode like it always has for the past two hours.

Meanwhile, in the deeper levels of the Imperial’s established base, the Second Sister oversaw the excavation operation inside the mountains of Zeffo. She noticed the faint chatter among Stormtroopers over the computer terminal and was beginning to have her suspicions, until one of her own Purge Troopers approached her from behind but kept his distance.

“What’s going on, Captain?”

“Reports say that they identified the TIE Interceptor of Lady Irele leaving the planet.”

“She flew alone? And her crew?”

“Apparently they don’t know she had gone off-planet.”

“She abandoned her directive,” Second Sister tells herself, and underneath that onyx-black mask, a white crescent shined over her bronze skin—she hadn’t realized she was grinning, she can’t tell if it’s in a triumphant manner or a sly, opportunistic one.

Now’s my chance to shine! She chuckled with a sinister intent.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (1)

Chapter 1: A Child Can Dream | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: I AM SO HAPPY TO BE BACK! Our house is clean, power and wifi is back on, and we’re slowly getting back on our feet now! ❤ It was a tough 2 weeks, but we survived. My neighborhood is getting back on its own feet as well. We just need more time in flushing out whatever trace of the flood remains. Thank you so much to @glxy-otter​ and @someoneovertherainboww​ for sending me lots of love & support! It really made me smile 💜🥺

Also in AO3

Previous: Prelude | Next: Part 2 | Masterlist

2 of ?

The garage was filled with the same perpetual noise. For a seven-year-old, this is no suitable place for a child—but this is the normal she grew up in.

“Hurry up with that chassis!” barked a male Twi’lek with orange skin in Huttese.

The girl answered, in the same dialect, “Can’t you see that this thing is twice my size, Pelug!?”

“You’re lucky you’re faster than those pit droids, otherwise, I would’ve put you in concessionaire duty!”

A pair of hazel eyes shot a piercing look at the humanoid, a scowl forming in her eyebrows.

The orange Twi’lek’s pair of lekku wagged along with his finger pointed at the girl, his threat didn’t scare her as much as he wanted to—though it’s common knowledge that concessionaire duty was the worst, one is essentially demoted if put there. But she thinks she’s proved herself highly unlikely of being in that position.

Not receiving help—not expecting to either—she hauled up the chassis on a crate while shooing the doddering pit droids. When the path was clear, the hatch had already been opened—thanks to those little ones—to screw in the part before the big race. The speakers crackled and echoed across the entire garage, reminding us that the participants have less than thirty minutes before the racers are required to bring their rides on the starting block.

“Irele,” Pelug called in Basic, but immediately went back to speaking Huttese. “You got tiny hands, hold this open for me while I close off the hydraulic seals.”

Irele obeyed. She had a few seconds of relaxing her fingers one seal after the other.

After the tech work, their contender—a male Togruta named Gelesh with uneven lekku—hopped onto his podracer. A few switches and clicks, the Brazen Bullet roared to life—lights flickered across the entire dashboard, the engines belched, and the turbines thrummed.

“Hey, if Sebulba fights dirty—”

“I’ll fight filthier!” he cuts Irele off laughing, but she let it pass. The exchange was somewhat tradition for both of them.

The speakers in the garage crackled again, startling many who are inside, and the croaky announcer prompted the racers to prepare at the starting block; in less than a second, a second translates everything to Huttese. The announcer was the two-headed sentient of species she still doesn’t know the name of.

Gelesh’s entourage—including Irele—strolled out of the garage and made for the exit. The Tatooine sunlight abruptly blazed its rays over their heads, luckily, they were wearing headgear. Gelesh was confident although the nervousness was somehow getting to him, the girl can sort of sense it—along with a few more emotions that she didn’t want to point out to make it worse for him.

“Hey, Gel?”

“Yeah, Irele?”

“Relax.”

That took a load off of his chest, his lips stretched to a friendly grin, he pulled himself together first and then his goggles next. To each racer, they followed the instructions as the two-headed sentient said so. All the technicians began scrambling back to their pit stop when the mufflers have fired up. Little Irele went further into their pit stop, crawling through spaces that only she can enter; she then scaled a spire with makeshift handholds she herself installed until she could reach a ledge on the spire that apparently supported one of the spectator boxes.

The seven-year-old was small enough to seat herself on such a narrow edge; from there, she has as good as a view of the spectators in the towers and stands. If the crowd was already rowdy before the racers lined up on the block, the noise got wilder and louder that perhaps one can hear it all the way to Mos Pelgo. Each podracer had their characteristic noise for each action: ignition, acceleration, compressor activation, and what have you—Irele can identify the Brazen Bullet and its every sound with her eyes closed.

“Alright, racers, rev up those engines because we start in five…”

A collective of podracers engine noises rung and rumbled the circuit. Three seconds in, their ignition sent dust clouds flying over the heads of the poor people in the bottom row of the stands. The people in the bleachers joined the countdown, and so did Irele as she kept her eye on the single podracer whose body plates are forged with bronzium.

“ONE!!”

One by one, the vehicles zipped past—their noises abrupt like the firing of a blaster, the mufflers thunderous as they pulled the accelerators—some of the audience members had the hems of their clothes flying to the direction of the podracers, nonetheless arousing their secondhand adrenaline.

Irele’s little heart went with Brazen Bullet speeding right in the lead, the bronzium finish of the vehicle were fleeting specks of light over her glossy, hazel eyes. She scaled the spire some more until she could sneak a peek on one of the watchers’ tablets to see who’s in the lead and dead last. For everytime Gelesh completed the lap, Irele could almost feel her heels floating, as if she was the one driving the pod and feeling the exact velocity, the thrill, the sheer focus—driving one was a dream, though her mother forbade her, begged her even not to try it, but said so with a softness that compels Irele to obey, despite her desires.

Everyone had their eyes on the rising star, Gelesh, who was also leaving Sebulba in the dust. Hot on his heels, the Dug desperately cranked every possible lever his hind legs could grab on—in the hopes of catching up to the Togruta. The Dug, unwilling to accept defeat after the destruction of his streak by the victory of that one human boy years ago.

That boy was Anakin Skywalker.

Irele had heard stories of him: how he defeated the Dug despite all odds, and snagged the top place in the race, and how he was an underdog in everyone’s eyes. She wondered if they might have been friends somehow, given their mutual penchant for podracing albeit preferring different aspects.

“This is it, people! This is the last lap of the circuit—Gelesh Odibra and Sebulba are practically neck-and-neck! Who will cross the finish line first!? They’re all so close now!! It’s Gelesh!! No, it’s Sebulba!!”

The sentient argues with its Huttese-speaking head, looping what the Basic-speaking head kept saying in a continuous effort in riling up the crowd. Irele was literally on the edge of the tier when the Brazen Bullet and Sebulba’s podracer were within view. A twin-trail of sand, clouding the tail-ends of the podracers approach the starting line—with the third light blinking green, eager for the victor to zoom through it.

It was all such a blur. The crowd cheered, nonetheless, believing that their eyes didn’t deceive them and that they saw their contender stay ahead of the other by a hair. Not long after, a scuffle was developing when two differing spectators argued on whose champion went through the finish line first. Irele spotted it across from where she sat, but she didn’t watch the scuffle for long; she turned her attention to the announcer’s tower.

“Wow, did you see how close that was! Everything was such a blur I’m not even sure if I saw it right!”

The second head agreed, speaking in Huttese, in the same enthusiasm as the Basic-speaking one.

To finally calm the crowd, and settle it once and for all, the sentient clicks a pattern of buttons on their control panel to project a snapshot of the two racers at the finish line—determining who was closest to the line. Showing images from all angles, it’s clear that the Brazen Bullet’s nose was basically under the sensors of the light—thus triggering all three lights to indicate that a racer has completed the circuit.

“I don’t believe it! This is Gelesh’s third win in the streak—cementing his record just right above Sebulba’s!”

By the hum of a gong echoing across the circuit, a large portion of the crowd jumped and roared in a united cheer—ribbons and petals of sorts flew in congratulation, showering the youthful Togruta in his victory. He hopped out of his podracer, his entourage comes sprinting out of their pit stop with Irele at the tail just getting down from her perch.

“GELESH, YOU DID IT!” squealed the girl, sprinting and shouldering her way to his view.

A host hands over a trophy to Gelesh who then let Irele—perched on his broad shoulder—hold the other side of the trophy. People have gotten out of their seats to surround the defending champion. They chanted his name, the rest of the spectators showered him with flowers, petals, and ribbons.

Every victory was wonderful for Irele. Perhaps, it equaled to the exact same thrill as driving her own podrace. This went on for two more years, and in those next years, they enjoyed the sport—win or lose.

–

24 BBY

It seemed that the garage manager was feeling gracious today. The Rodian boss let Irele go home earlier than her normal shift, in which the girl celebrated with a grin whose ends pierced her plump cheeks, a squeaking cheer as she scrambles to put away her things, and a sprint that sent the dust floating behind her heels.

Irele didn’t head home right away, she went the other direction—towards the junkshop where her mother worked, employed by the blue, pungent Toydarian, Watto. The chimes rang as she burst through the door, startling the creature—who hoped it was a customer, but much to his chagrin, it was only the girl, and so he returns to his chair with a groan.

“Where’s Mom?”

“Over there,” Watto lazily pointed and croaked with his native accent running thick in his voice.

“Mommy?”

Shmi paused at the workbench to meet her daughter, “Irele? You’re out early.”

Irele threw herself into Shmi’s arms, embracing her as tight as her scrawny arms can, “Yeah, Selek let me out early today. Good thing he did!”

Her mother simply smiled, perhaps too overwhelmed by her daughter’s energy.

“You didn’t forget, did you?”

That somehow jolted Shmi enough for her realize that she had caught herself spacing out. She shook her head and mouthed the word “no,” she saw the concerned expression in Irele’s face and took her daughter by the shoulders.

“No, darling, I didn’t forget,” she pursed a sweet smile and tapped the tip of Irele’s nose with her forefinger. “How could I forget my promise to you?”

Irele’s eyes lit up, the sihght of it delighted her mother. Shmi then finished up whatever work she’s been busying herself with before getting off of work. Mother and child strolled out of the junkshop, Irele trottd off happily while keeping her hand clasped in Shmi’s—who was walking in her normal pace, with a few occasional tugs from the child because of her prancing.

By the time they got home, Irele impatiently put her things away in her room, got washed, and eagerly waited for Shmi to join her in the kitchen. The promise was that they were going to cook something together—a house favorite of Irele: Shmi’s own, delicious recipe. They had saved enough from their wages separately, and in total, they had enough to buy ingredient for a hearty, full supper consisting of meat, a medley of mushrooms and vegetables, and fruits and pallies for dessert.

They could only do this once for their individual pay was rather low.

All of this is a celebration of Irele turning eight.

A simple celebration with fulfilling food on the table, with no one else but her mother and herself, in the coziness of their cottage—to Irele, it was wonderful. And perfect.

It was everything she could ever ask for.

–

Months after their promised celebration, Irele had been seeing a man with sandy brown hair and a scraggly stubble. Maybe once or twice, she saw him clean-shaven. She always saw him frequenting Watto’s shop, either to buy or play Sabacc—but oftentimes, the latter in which Watto had a questionable win record. One should not be surprised if the blue Toydarian won through his swindler’s methods.

This man was Cliegg Lars.

Apparently, Shmi had caught the eye of Cliegg, as he frequented the junkshop in search of parts mostly for speeders and other machines he uses. Despite being a child, Lars’s feelings did not escape the insightful Irele; in her opinion, he’d been coming over to the shop a little too often for someone who kept fixing speeders. Although, she cannot be certain if his motives are true; it’s still a lead nonetheless. Even she had drawn attention to herself from the man, shying away from his gruff yet friendly hello’s, and then curiously watching him deal with Watto whilst hiding behind walls.

It wasn’t long until Cliegg began to fall for Shmi, rooting from their day-to-day interactions with one another whenever he would stop by. He pretended that he doesn’t feel Irele tailing them, but he didn’t let that bother him—she’s a child after all, he thought.

Shmi presently being a mother with a daughter in tow didn’t trouble Cliegg. A man of ethics—a rare trait in this lawless ball of sand—he could not imagine buying off Shmi from Watto, but then leaving the child to the Toydarian. Fortunately for Lars, it was evident that Watto’s gambling—with a not-so-impressive track record to boot—had gradually collapsed his business. Little by little, Watto’s wares had either been disposed of or been sold to the lowest possible price in the hopes of keeping the business up. When there was nothing else to profit from, Watto would be forced to sell his remaining property—the mother and child slaves. Cliegg took it from there.

From a certain point of view, his proposition of buying Shmi and Irele intrigued the Toydarian.

“How much you gunna pay fo meh two slaves, eh?” rasped Watto, irreparably pronouncing “slaves” as slehvz in his thick, native Toydarian accent.

“I can pay you twenty thousand each,” Cliegg bobbed his head for the dramatics, pretending to be pensive. “I’ll pawn off my X-class landspeeder to pay them.”

A single holodisk produced a projection of the item in question. The speeder—brand new and in its prime, only seven months old—was an interesting wager in and of itself. The rusty-reddish paint job would stand out in the desert, whether up close or in the horizon, sunlight would bounce off on the sheen of the thrusters’ metallic sections. Truly a shiny new toy.

Cliegg could have sworn he heard the clinking of credits when Watto’s eyes lit up with greedy intrigue.

Good, that’s gotten his attention. Thought the man.

Watto hovered himself closer to the projection, his flimsy wings struggled to carry his weight as they flapped erratically, and rubbed his fleshy chin at the same time. To the flying sentient, it wasn’t a bad deal, at least for Lars’s expense in his mind—the ratio of the trade somewhat balances out: Lars wants two things from him, thus he wagers something in the same worth.

“You must think me a fool, Watto,” Cliegg noted the perhaps long silence of Watto examining the images. “To pay you the price of a single landspeeder for two slaves.”

The Toydarian chuckled, then gestured defensively, “No, no. I don’t that, Lars, meh friend. In fact, this is quite an int’resting investment.” His emphasis on the word “investment” made him enunciate the S into a harsh, buzzing Z.

Perhaps, it is in the nature of every Toydarian to call anything an investment—even a gamble on a card game. There aren’t many of Watto’s kind here in Tatooine, but that is the only impression Cliegg can pick up from Watto for his opinion on the species. Not having any of the suspense, the man tried to broke the deal until they can shake on it. Watto came so far as making an event out of it, but Lars insisted to refrain from the grandeur, to which his beneficiary gave in.

They finally shook on it. The two males were clueless that Irele had been eavesdropping on their exchange. It was a bad habit that Shmi had gently reprimanded her of, but just this once, she had never been invested in someone else’s conversation—only because the subject was their freedom at stake, and it was this stranger who dared to go through this length of settling an agreement with their current slaver. Irele’s mind was in a whirl—would he be a kinder slaver than Watto? More generous or more cruel? With their conversation going on what felt like hours, she had resorted to sitting on the floor, her back against the wall as she listened in on their voices.

The girl heard the door chimes followed by the silence, then she scrambled to her feet when she heard the flapping of Watto’s wings grow louder and disappeared as quietly as she could.

Two days later after that agreement had been set in stone, today’s the fateful day: Shmi finds out only now that she and Irele had been sold to Cliegg Lars. When Watto announced that he’s sold them together to this man, understandably, the woman was taken aback from her lack of prior knowledge, and she had every right to be surprised. Her daughter, on the other hand, feigned it—her false silence fit in with the mood of the room.

Shmi and Irele Skywalker watched the pouch of credits transfer from Cliegg’s hand to Watto’s, signifying that they now belong to Cliegg Lars.

“Take them,” Watto says, although somberly. He hovers in place as he watches Shmi and Irele join Cliegg out of the shop.

“I wish you good luck on your business, Watto,” Lars bade, however, it felt backhanded.

At the entrance of the junkshop awaited a pair of eopies—tall, quadrupedal animals that served as mounts for people and carriers of cargo—handled by a Jawa that Cliegg hired for a few hours.

“I’m sorry if I couldn’t give you two a more comfortable ride to your new home,” there was a sincerity in Lars’s voice, warm and genuine, something that Shmi nor Irele had not heard for a long time.

“It’s fine,” Shmi stuttered while trying to be polite. “I’m more used with the mount than speeders.”

“Ah, well, where you’re living—you’ll get used to it, but I’ll let you do it in your own pace.”

With a simple waving gesture from Cliegg, the Jawa hauled the animal pair then coaxed both to go down on their knees—level enough so the humans can hop on their backs. Each eopie grunted when they felt more weight on themselves; Shmi and Irele shared one saddle, Lars took the lead from town to their new home.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (5)

Chapter 5: Lingering Grief | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 | Previous: Part 4 | Next: Part 6 | Masterlist

6 of ?

“I love… Love…” Shmi choked before she succumbed to death, never able to complete the simplest yet most important of phrases.

Anakin’s shaky fingers closed his mother’s eyes. The pang of grief was quickly overtaken by an unquenchable vengeance.

A heavy, ominous darkness blankets the Tusken encampment. The guards outside Shmi’s tent barely had a reaction time to the ignition of Anakin’s lightsaber; when they had turned around after the flaps of the tent hit their sleeve, they were cut down without the hesitation of a moment.

Alarmed by the attack, the Tuskens untied their massiffs—their reptilian guard dogs—and unleashed those hounds on Anakin, before advancing to attack the intruding Jedi themselves. The rage and grief seething within him was weaponized, it had amplified his swordsmanship; however, it made his movements raggedy, uncalculated, and unbecoming of his practiced lightsaber form. He planted his feet on the ground while he kept his eyes straight on the enemy. Or were they at all?

One after another, the Tuskens came at him—cycler rifles and staves brandished in the air—and were instantaneously felled, not even allowed to have a swing of their own weapons. One of them alerted the snipers who were in the perimeter of the encampment, supposedly on patrol; many of them went for the encampment, attempting to give support in the skirmish, but they were quickly losing—despite outnumbering the Jedi to fifty or so.

When push comes to shove, a number of the females braved and took up arm to fight off this murderous trespasser—who’s cutting them by the numbers. In their native tongue, they urged one another to join the ranks and charge. The women joined the fray, amongst the males, while some other females—particularly mothers—scurried with their young into their tents for safety. Now, the latter caught Anakin’s attention.

Anakin cut through the Tuskens’ defenses, man and woman alike, and sliced down the mothers first then their children next, sometimes the other way around. The wounded but living mothers howled in the night, carrying their children—grown and newborn—sorrowfully wailing, praying to their deities to deliver them mercy from this agony. And that exact deliverance came in the form of a blinding blue beam of light. However, their granted prayers were not of mercy, but of an unquenchable hatred, more like a punishment—from a certain point of view.

But then again, does the way of death matter?

He proceeded to finish off the stragglers, many of them fatally injured and are just scrambling on the sand with one hand extended in a pleading gesture. In their eyes, Anakin appeared to them like an executioner—with the campfire at his back, tracing his unhooded silhouette, and a cyan beam illuminating his distorted features. That was the final thing they ever saw before their bodies met the lightsaber, a noble weapon now used for an atrocious annihilation.

That night, Anakin never discriminated. He killed not only the men, but the women, and the children, too. He left nothing in his wake but death and destruction.

–

In the middle of it all, a chill wraps around Irele over her shoulders. She thought it strange, it’s only the first few hours of nightfall—where it’s usually warm at that time of the day and the cold gradually creeps in. The cold was dramatically different from the desert breeze at dusk. It crawled along her arms, then snaked over her spine and the small of her back, forcing her to pause from her pastime of creating beaded and woven crafts—a hobby she picked up from Shmi.

“What’s wrong, Irele?” asked Beru, mending a scarf in the common room.

“Is it just me or has it gotten unusually colder?”

Beru’s eyes flicked to the side, paused to feel a draft, and then shrugged. She was wearing a short-sleeved tunic paired with her long skirt. She would have felt the same as Irele, but she didn’t. When the older girl noted the uneasiness in Irele’s expression, she stood up and patted her forehead.

“Are you alright, Irele? You don’t seem to have a fever.”

“No, but I guess it was just a funny feeling. Maybe heatstroke.”

“Irele, we’re all too used to the heat here to get a heatstroke,” Beru chuckled. “If any, we’d get one if we were in a volcanic planet!”

The girls shared a chuckle with the lighthearted joke, which may have distracted Irele for a bit until she eventually dismissed it as indeed a funny feeling, but only for a second.

She had been waiting for Anakin—along with their mother—to come home, but given that they lack the whereabouts of this Tusken band, she though perhaps he had asked the locals along the way, like Jawas and vagabonds. When the hours have passed, the night had grown darker, Irele had no choice but to sleep on it.

In her bed, the cold persisted. She pulled up her blanket—her favorite one for it was handmade by her mother—until it covered her up to her nose, exposing her only from the eyes up. She tried closing her eyes, but her lids twitched, begging to be opened. Lying flat on her back, facing the ceiling, staring at the stone ceiling, she wondered and imagined where Anakin and Shmi would be.

“Mom… I hope he brings you home safely.”

More thoughts coaxed into Irele’s mind. They’re hopeful thoughts. Behind her eyes, she’d visualize Shmi in the kitchen, whipping up a favorite meal of hers, and she’d insist on helping. Both of them would sew together, making whatever garment they choose. All that wishful thinking lulled the girl to sleep, blissfully unaware of the chaos that her own brother had wrought.

The next morning, the sound of the speeder made Irele drop everything and run to the porch.

Her hopes from last night were shattered when she saw Anakin riding the speeder alone and all he brought with him was a fully swaddled body. Her felt her heart drop her stomach, and she watched in silence as Anakin carried the corpse and glowered at the Lars family and then to Padmé. He brushed past them, and then in the corner of his eye, he caught his little sister staring. Irele standing there stopped him in his tracks, then his glower softened into a look of shame—one that says he didn’t fulfill his promise to her. Just one day of meeting her, he lets go of a promise, and fails it.

He didn’t know what to say to her. She let him know that he didn’t need to, for she turned tail and ran back inside.

Irele helped in the preparation of the grave, but for the rest of the activity, she did not speak. She did not maintain eye contact with anyone. The only interaction she’s ever had was with C3PO when she needed help on something, but not even he received a gaze from his young mistress.

She dusted her hands together, and dismissed herself.

“I’m going inside. I want a drink.” she told to no one in particular, but her father and brothers acknowledged it.

She was in the kitchen, just through the small doorway past the dining table, helping herself to a glass of juice. She sat in the seat nearest the door and just stared at the glass filled with a clear, apricot-colored liquid, tracing the rim of the glass with her finger, occasionally sipping it—for once, the sweet fruit juice tasted watery and bland, she finished the glass nonetheless, though reluctantly.

During her drinking, she had sensed Anakin walking into the workshop as she heard even the more careful of clinking of metal hitting the table. She remained silent, though he could sense her there, he just chose not to disturb her and rather make himself busy with fixing things. Next, she heard Padmé’s soft and kindly voice, a stark contrast to Anakin’s steely tone.

“Are you hungry?”

“The shifter broke,” he completely avoided her question.

Their conversation went on, with Anakin struggling to keep away from the grief that lingered in him.

“But I couldn’t…” he trailed. “Why’d she have to die? Why couldn’t I save her? I know I could have!”

Then he tasted something sour, not realizing that he had bitten the inside of his cheek and it bled. The walls listened and told everything to Irele, who’s still drawing invisible lines on her glass. Much later, she jolted when Anakin responded to Padmé’s fact with a loud frustration.

“Well, I should be!”

“I will be the most powerful Jedi ever!”

Irele continued to listen in, though Anakin’s behavior frightened her, and she had already come out of the dining room and hid behind the wall before the workshop’s archway.

“And I promise you: I will even learn to stop people from dying!”

Taken aback by the bold claim, she thought it impossible and dismissed it as wishful thinking clouded by unrealistic ambitiousness. Again, Irele heard more of Anakin’s roaring, this time blaming someone by the name of Obi-Wan of holding him back. She just continued to listen, hoping to find a way to empathize with her brother, but she found it difficult when he’s so flooded primarily of hatred and anger than sorrow and grief.

“Ani, what’s wrong?” Padmé cooed, attempting to break through his walls.

Anakin looked down on his hands, the very hands that held and swung the sword as he passed on his sentence to the Tuskens. They’re still red from the overly-tightened grip of his saber from last night. There were bruises too, little nicks that he didn’t notice during the genocide. The tears have dried, leaving glossy streaks on his defined cheekbones. His nostrils flared as he gasped for air, when the realization was slowly creeping up to him. He choked as he sighed.

“I killed them… I killed them all…” he repeated. Then swung to face Padmé. “They’re dead. Every single one of them…”

Padmé stared at him, dead frozen on where she stood. Her fingers unfeeling. Irele heard those very words from her own brother’s mouth and she could have sworn she felt her heart pause from beating. Her stomach tightened after every following word.

“And not just the men. But the women… and the children too!”

Irele’s knees nearly failed her as they lost their strength. Her heart felt heavy like an anchor. She silenced a gasp when she brought her hand to her mouth.

“They’re like animals. And I slaughtered them like animals! I hate them!”

Horrified of the unimaginable, completely unnecessary carnage her brother had wrought, she ran away from the workshop; the sound of her boots lightly scraping against the sand and metal as her heels sprang Anakin’s ears pricked up, but he was too preoccupied with his grief that he dismissed it as nothing. Irele sprints to her bedroom. For a moment, it didn’t sound like her brother was the one talking—she heard the words of a monster in the guise of a man.

Her hands trembled uncontrollably that she cannot even hold something with two fingers. She finally allowed herself to melt to the floor, and she cannot fathom how much violence and damage that Anakin left in his wake upon retrieving their mother. That night, Irele could not sleep; she waited for everyone to have fallen asleep and attempted to sneak out of the house to visit Shmi’s headstone again. They had buried Shmi already, Irele helped too, but Cliegg was too cautious of the nightfall that he insisted on setting the funeral tomorrow morning where it’s safer; of course, his son and stepdaughter agreed to it, Anakin didn’t have much of a choice. He stole a glimpse of Irele, who kept her vision forward; when she would turn to an angle where she’d have to face Anakin she kept her eyes on the ground, and would look in front when she’s gained distance from everyone else.

She and her own biological brother lack the comfort and warmth as siblings would share—especially in such a harrowing experience like losing a parent.

She’d rather prefer the comfort of a stone.

Settling herself on the sand, her handwoven scarf—made by her mother, no less—wrapping her little body from her desert chill, she spoke to Shmi’s headstone.

“Hi, Mom…” she sadly started. Unable to find the next, proper words, she had a silent moment in front of the grave, and rocked back and forth for a bit. “He’s quite taller than I expected. Though, I should’ve seen it coming. He is my big brother, after all.” She huffed out an awkward chuckle.

She scribbled on the sand and then would start over by brushing it with a single sweep of her hand. This would repeat as she spoke openly to the gravestone. For every passing moment, the tone of her voice would grow more somber and quieter, lacking the strength to let out another word than simply letting it go and cry.

“You know, he told me that he’d bring you home—but I never expected it to be in this way.”

There was a bitter taste in her mouth, she clicked her tongue, “He promised.”

No answer, of course. Nevertheless, the girl continued. Already yearning for her mother’s embrace.

“Had I known… I already had that feeling…! I should’ve come with you. I may be little but… You never doubted me. Thanks to that, I knew—I really knew—that I could fight them off, even for just a bit. If I did, I would have protected you. Then they never would have taken you away from me. I would have bought us time to escape… I would have called Dad and Owen—or anyone—for help.”

She hiccuped, picking up what’s left of her failing confidence, “I would have saved you.”

That wishful thinking then led her to finally releasing the tears she had been holding back all day.

“I miss you so much already, Mommy…”

Not even the warmth of her woven scarf blanketing her would be enough of a stand-in for Shmi’s hugs. It will never be. Being the only memory of her mother, it’s only a fragment of what Irele will remember of her.

She went to sleep quite late, understandably so.

–

The morning of the funeral, as promised, occurred. Cliegg gave his eulogy first, Irele had her turn on her eulogy next—she had not much to say, for she had already said everything in private last night—though she cannot be moved from where she knelt, then Anakin got on his knees right next to her.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you, Mom, and I hope you can forgive me too, for breaking my promise to my sister.”

Irele craned her head to her side but quickly withdrew it, facing the grave again.

The funeral was interrupted when the white and blue astromech droid R2D2 came to bear news. Padmé and Anakin prepared to retreat to the silver starship meters away from the homestead.

“Come with me,” Anakin whispered, he sounded demanding even in a low voice.

Irele attempted to harden her voice, to convey the conviction of her decision, “My place is here, Anakin. Like it or not, they’re my family. I can’t leave them.”

Anakin’s head bobbed downwards, and then the unexpected happened—in an attempt to comfort one another, both Irele and Anakin planted their hands on each other’s shoulders; he gave her small shoulder a tight squeeze, hers was gentle and somewhat faltering as if the toll of Shmi’s death has only begun to sink into her.

“May the Force be with you.” bid Anakin.

She didn’t know what to say back and simply watched her brother sprint towards the ship.

The Cliegg family watched the starship blow a plume of smoke underneath its landing gear, hovered, and then darted through the sky before vanishing like star come morning light.

For Irele, it’s back to her regular life here in Tatooine. Where she belongs.

Or so she thinks.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (12)

Chapter 12: Fitting Into The Mould | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: I am so sorry for the delays. A lot of things have taken toll of me. One of which is learning that one of my coworkers is positive with COVID and I just happen to be one of the few people he was with the day before he stopped going to work. So I am required to go into home quarantine, only went out once to do my testing but I haven’t gotten my results yet in the past 5 days which made me extra anxious, and my time out of work will not be paid even though it’s considered “Official Business” as per my company’s COVID policy. But so far, I’ve been fine, which is good. Then my PS4 is on the brink of death just when I started playing Ghost of Tsushima for the first time, but most of the people in my forums say it just needs a deep clean but I’m too scared to take it apart because I’ve never done that. I didn’t want to write while my head’s muddled with these thoughts, but only now did the anxiety subside. I hope you guys understand. I figured the story’s quality will go bad while I have such thoughts and feelings.

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 | Previous: Part 11 | Next: Part 13 | Masterlist

13 of ?

Irele had a kinder three weeks in Anathema than her first week in the Fortress.

As soon as her first day started, she’s required to march her way to the training dojo—to which she got lost in finding, no thanks to the crew working in this metal maze. She’s already feeling her breakfast burning in her stomach after jogging to the dojo, after so many failed attempts and subtle peeking over doors that are ajar, and saved herself from a first-day scolding at the expense of a slight stomach cramp.

Smoke plumed and framed along the walls, colored in blood-orange as the hydraulics and power coolants flowed and hissed underneath the grated floor. At the center of the room, a lone trooper—clad in the same, onyx black armor like the previous ones she saw—stood, with a weapon at the ready; his visage standing in the heart of the dojo gave off an intimidating air around him, as if untouchable, invincible.

Unwelcoming and strict, the instructor obviously to spend every minute wisely.

“Grab a weapon.”

Irele had noticed a rack at the far end of the room; picking up his mood from the moment she saw him, she briskly walked to the weapons rack, troubled herself for a minute on what to use, took a gulp and a breath before snatching the javelin.

She kept her eyes on her faceless teacher while she walked towards him, but her hands searched for the activation switch. The weapon crackled to life, purple lightning glowed Irele’s fair, small face, and she gazed at the cracks of light dancing at the end of the lance.

“Now…” the trooper poised himself in a defensive stance, after showing off a spin with his twin batons. “We begin.”

Irele is no brawler. The only time she ever fought someone or something was a Massiff that had been loosed by its Tusken Raider owner, probably sent out to find and hunt down prey—and that was two years ago, she had shuffled her way out of that situation with a scraped forearm.

Of course, her attacks are flimsy and somewhat limp-looking to the instructor—who had been training a lifetime for combat. The trooper would retaliate with a heavier strike, tenfold from Irele’s power, and would reset his stance for another attack; whereas Irele would still be finding her footing after she’d been staggered.

“This is pathetic!” barked the trooper, relaxing his posture and twirls the left baton. “Put some back into it!”

The poor girl cannot talk back, no matter how much she wanted to. For every time she was staggered or pushed back, she could only coerce herself to poise into a somewhat satisfactory attack stance and get another shot—only to be denied.

This entire session felt like hours on end. Irele could barely notice any progress in herself, except the frustration, disappointment, and boredom all mixing together within the trooper as this day goes on. Whenever he was not satisfied, he would berate the girl—to which he thought would negatively motivate her to attack him more strongly.

Meanwhile, in the confinements of his chamber, Darth Vader watches over Irele’s performance virtually and in real-time. Hidden cameras were all over the dojo, and every feed was relayed to the Vader in his chamber. Screens panned across the half of the circular shell, he could see Irele versus the trooper exchange blows, although he kept his eyes on the girl—his young ward.

He could have sworn he feels something in her. At this time, Irele was beginning to grow exhausted and eager to finish this—she just doesn’t know how to.

“Come on, little girl, put some back into it!” her instructor growled. “I could’ve done better things than  this today!”

Thinking that he can just get this over with by defeating her in the spar, call it a day, and pick up where they’ve left off tomorrow—he charges at the girl who was still gaining her bearings after feeling the weight of the exhaustion get the best of her. At this time, Vader’s eyes remained on the girl, and secretly, he hoped something would come up.

Blinded by his lax arrogance, the trooper rushed towards Irele and raised his arms—both batons at the ready—and sprung up from the floor. Just when he thought he had landed a hit on the girl’s ribcage, Irele blocked it with her javelin at the very last minute.

Finally! The satisfaction of receiving the first step to a seemingly successful attack pattern flooded the girl with a newfound vigor. Irele pushed back the trooper while javelin and batons were still in contact with each other; little by little, her footwork was gradually becoming better, not by a lot, but it was preferable than her stumbling stupor a while ago, there was balance and there was pacing. Clearly, her strikes were not as strong as the instructor had hoped, but they were getting somewhere and that’s enough.

“Your strikes still need work!”

“Don’t…! You…! Just…! Ever…! SHUT UP!?”

For every word Irele roared, a strike would follow.

Her attacks were nothing flashy, she was only using what she knows from Tatooine—one of the few fragment of her past life still clinging into her…

And now it’s being weaponized.

Vader shuffled slightly where he sits. The anger in Irele’s voice and words found their way through his thick hide of an armor—albeit virtually—the emotion was wholly familiar to him.

Anger.

Hate.

It’s something he knows well.

Perhaps too well.

He didn’t wait for the training to finish, he’s watched enough he thinks. With the touch of a button, the screens fold back into their metal hatches within the shell of the chamber; another prompted his seat to swivel so he faces the opening. He steps onto a black circular base, a white ring of light hums alive the moment his boot stepped on it and shifted all his weight on it as he positions himself kneeling.

A bust of his master buzzes into life, shrouded in black was a rather pale face, even in the blue rendition of the hologram, one could tell that his color was sickly and white-as-bone.

“Master…” Vader greeted.

The Emperor did not linger into the niceties. He had sensed that Vader was about to give word of his ward’s progress.

“Her training has begun then.”

“Yes, my master.”

“Her anger… she weaponizes them,” observed Palpatine. He slighted his head back. “I can feel it. Truly strong she is with the dark side of the Force.”

“It is a nature that she cannot seem to outgrow.”

“Good,” croaked the Emperor. “The kin of Skywalker will have no trace of virtue but the Sith!”

“And she will be our asset, my lord.”

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (10)

Chapter 10: A Home Away | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Cal Kestis x Fem! OC

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 | Previous: Part 9 | Next: Part 11 | Masterlist

11 of ?

The maintenance droids only needed an hour to prepare a dorm for Irele within the command ship. Not that she would need a personal room in every ship she boards, but it would help if she did in the near future. The human guards did not need to wait for Irele to come to, they barged into the cell, pulled the poor girl by the arm to stand her up and then drag her out of the prison block while she could barely use her own two feet.

Irele’s eyes have not adjusted to the changing tones and gradients of lights of each part of the ship she passes through. She thought she said the question “Where are we going?” when the guards only heard an incoherent groaning at the throat.

The way from the prison block to her new chambers was a ten-minute walk, if one marched faster it would have been lesser. Upon reaching their destination, only one escorted her into her room and sat her down on the bed—to which she immediately fell limp and ended up lying down instead. While she was out cold, a nanny droid entered her bedroom to tend to whatever it can in the quarters; it took its time, in fact, until the girl came to. The droid’s sensors picked up the spike from Irele’s heart rate from slow to normal, it briskly turned around.

“It is fortunate that you’ve come to, milady. The serum from the probe has completely worn off. Should you feel slight nausea, do not be alarmed for it is normal as well. I can administer some painkillers to you with your choice of pill or syrup.”

The droid is programmed to speak in Basic and had a rather lulling, female voice—perhaps the most appropriate if you are to manufacture and program a droid for nursing.

“Milady? What are you talking about? Who are you? What are you?”

“You are here as a ward under the strict order of Master Vader. I am HY-L33, Nanny Droid,” it brought its head into a bow, “At your service, Milady Irele.”

“Why call me Milady when I’m kept hostage here?” she sits up and examines the room.

“Oh, you are mistaken, Milady. You are Lord Vader’s ward,” HY-L33 corrects. “And I have been tasked to take care of your basic needs and whims, if need be.”

“What I need is to go home! I don’t like being holed up in anywhere!”

The nurse droid lowered its head slowly, it stayed like so for a moment; with a rather sympathetic voice, HY-L33 responds, “I’m sorry, but I am incapable of fulfilling that whim, milady. I would suggest that you make yourself comfortable in this new one.”

Irele sighed, knowing that she’s talking to a wall here. She gave herself time to calm down and breathe. She passed her hands across her face and sighed.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be lashing out to you…” Irele inhaled. “What are you called again?”

“HY-L33, madam.”

Irele quietly parroted the name, “That’s a mouthful. How about I call you Haylee, is that alright?”

“If it proves to be more convenient for you, milady. Although personally, I do adore the name you’ve given me.”

Irele hummed as she managed a small smile, she hinted the chirp from the droid’s voice, relieved that she found some company out of the droid in this inorganic, cold room, she walked around to get a better feel of it now that the serum from the interrogation droid has worn off.

“Say, Haylee, do you know where we are?”

“We are aboard the command ship Anathema, the ship is within the Ulgoro system, and we are passing by the orbit of the planet Yelen.”

“How far are we from Tatooine?”

Haylee ran a quick scan from her processors, “We are approximately twenty-five parsecs away from the said Outer Rim planet.”

Irele breathed deeply, her heart sank, “That’s so far away…”

The droid’s photoreceptors picked up Irele’s increased heart rate and temperature. The girl was manifesting signs of anxiety: shivering hands, failing voice, and cold sweat.

“You are suffering from homesickness. Unfortunately, I do not have the appropriate medication for that, milady. Neither can I administer any medication for you. This is absolutely natural as you have been extracted from your real home to your current location.”

Irele took the deepest sigh and made a mantra.

Don’t lash out on the droid, you just screamed at it ten minutes ago.

She told this to herself mentally until she’s calmed herself down.

“Yeah, I am homesick. I left my family behind and…” she trailed off, realizing that the last people she was with were her friends. “My friends. They must be all worried sick about me.”

“You will be well taken care of here, Lady Irele.”

“Heh,” the girl huffed. “No need to be so formal. Just call me Irele.”

“As you wish… Mistress Irele.”

“Droids, gotta love ‘em…” she mumbled very quietly, knowing how acute droids’ hearing could be—depending on the model, that is.

–

Fortunately enough, Irele is indeed being taken care of.

Ever since she was moved to her own chambers in the Star Destroyer Anathema, she was thoroughly pampered—more or less—than anyone else in the ship, aside from Darth Vader. Never has she ever been well-fed in sixteen years! The serving portions were generous and they were quite tasty, but she had her moments where the food somewhat reminded her of home.

A uniformed officer enters Vader’s quarters to report of Irele’s adjustment to the new environment. Most of the officers feared that they’re speaking like a broken record, reporting the same thing to Vader every week—they had probably imagined it vexed him to be hearing the same thing over and over; it did them little comfort when adding their own personal observations of her such as asking for seconds with her food and interacting with the nanny droid, since she’s still shy and cautious from everyone else on board.Additionally, she was not yet allowed to wander off alone beyond her room. So, by all means, she is pretty much a hostage still—a rather pampered one, at the very least.

“Has she stopped her erratic behavior?”

“Fortunately so, Lord Vader, she has. Perhaps about a week and a half since her extraction, she had become somewhat… docile.”

Vader paused. He had presumed it was the effects of the interrogator droid’s syringe, but surely during the time the nanny droid was tending to the girl, the substance has flushed out since. Realizing that he truly knows nothing of what kind of person Irele is—compared from his earliest reference of her—he sighs with a quiet frustration under his mask.

“Very well. We are right on schedule. Carry on, captain.”

“Yes sir,” the captain bowed and dismissed himself militarily. His true posture showed when he rejoined his companion who had been waiting for him by the door. He hissed, “I didn’t conscript myself to the Imperial Fleet to be a babysitter!”

“Be more frustrated when Lord Vader does appoint you the official babysitter of the girl.”

“She’s quite a handful, don’t you think so?”

“Temperamental, to say the least,”

Only Vader and the droid, HY-L33, know what’s in store for Irele. Very soon, the plans for her life under the Empire’s wing—unknowingly under her brother’s care, or the walking shell of him perhaps—will be put into play.

For many weeks, HY-L33 patiently watched over Irele—especially in the medical aspect—and a mandate was programmed into her that once a diagnosis of the teenager would show optimum by the end of three weeks since her extraction from Tatooine, Irele would be considered physically eligible and be subjected to training. Eventually, HY-L33 was the only companion she has ever had in this ship since day one; so in exchange for medical knowledge and advice from HY-L33, Irele repays it with stories from her homeworld of Tatooine, but knowing that the droid is under Imperial property, she was cautious of what she ought to say, and rather told her adventures she had done on her own or with a friend instead of her family life.

“It seems as though your rigorous lifestyle has contributed to your increased stamina throughout your developmental stage.” HYL-33 commented once while listening to Irele recall one job she did where she would deliver goods door-to-door across the town of Mos Espa.

“Yeah well, I had to work. Because if I didn’t work, that just meant, I’ll be sleeping hungry—or if I’m lucky, with a half-full stomach.”

HY-L33, being the medical nanny droid that she is, went on to lecture Irele that it was ill-advised to sleep on an empty stomach for it will cause ulcers. The girl politely listened and heeded the advice, until she calmed down the droid that she had been fine for the rest of the time she was growing up.

She had only been staying for a week and a half. HY-L33’s sensors indicate a lesser trace of homesickness and anxiety within Irele, her body mass index has not changed drastically at all since her food intake was increased rather than imposing an eating strike—a few of HY-L33’s references cite that most human teenagers are more rebellious, especially when it comes to being fed after being thrown into a stressful situation. However, this was not the case with Irele, which made the nurse droid’s circuits cooler.

Eventually, the three weeks were over. Irele noticed HY-L33 seeming to be in full preparation. She did not mind this, but kept a close eye, until she could find the right timing to ask. After lunch, Irele went to the bath by rote, and quickly dressed herself in a dark gray shirt, black pants, and low boots.

Irele could truly sense something different in their routine.

“Haylee?”

“Yes, Miss Irele?”

“Is there something new added into the routine?”

“Yes, Miss Irele, we are about to perform a full health assessment on you. Please follow me and I will escort you to the medical ward.”

This was the first time Irele had been outside of her bedroom. For three weeks, she had been holed up in that metal room with no one and nothing else but HY-L33—to which she had grown fond of anyway—and then she finally comes out for a medical check-up.

Along the way, she could not look into the eyes of the crew, although she perfectly blended in with her gray and black clothes. She was nervous and afraid of what they’re thinking of her—because she felt like she knows what they’re saying about her, it’s a feeling that she can’t explain but it still manifests in her. Eager to avoid the stares and attention, Irele walked directly behind HY-L33 until they got to the said medical ward.

When they got there, the interior of the medical ward was a little bit brighter than most of the rooms in the ship. The walls were still metal, of course, but it was a cooler shade of gray which somewhat eased the people who are admitted and confined here—instead of the intimidating dark grays and blacks on other parts of the ship. At the center of operations was a 2-1B surgical droid stationed by a medical bed; it was approached by HY-L33 and Irele, when the droid’s photoreceptors saw the girl’s face, a deep male tone started speaking in a monotonous, continuous fashion.

“Irele Skywalker, human female, age is sixteen standard years, height stands at five feet and three inches…”

“Okay, okay, I think we got enough of my vitals already!” Irele interrupted.

“Were you briefed of your purpose here?”

Irele made a side-eyed glance at HY-L33, who didn’t move at all, “I was only told I was getting a check-up.”

“Correct.”

The surgical droid cleared out what HY-L33 failed to when they were still in the bedroom. It started with the physical examination—taking down her age, height, and weight, until it pored into analyzing the fluid levels and vitals of her organs to see if they were normal. It was all strange for little Irele, but she held up and did as she was told. She wasn’t getting hurt by the droids anyway, save the one pinprick that they had to do in order to conduct a blood test.

From Vader’s chamber, he was receiving real-time transmissions of the medical ward’s database. Whatever diagnosis the droids encode into the database under Irele’s profile, Vader saw it all firsthand—every revision, every new entry, every number.

Midichlorian count: 20,598.

Seeing this number and then recalling his impression on Irele baffled Darth Vader.

This child has lived sixteen years in a backwater planet, with a high midichlorian count… and yet her sensitivity is dormant.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (Prelude)

My God, would you look at that timestamp? ;u; Anyway...

Dear Anon,

First of all, I am so sorry that it took this long for me to get to this prompt! D: Sweet Anon, if you frequent my page, you may have seen my PSA posts that my laptop died and my posting had slowed down because I had nothing to work with—except borrowing someone else’s laptop, but that’s only on a weekly basis, compared to when I had my laptop still working. But now that it’s home and good as new, I can finally work on the fics!

And since you allowed me to use either a Reader or an OC, I decided to go with the latter! I hope that’s okay with you 👉🏻👈🏻

--

Cal Kestis x Fem! OC

Summary: There is another! Years after young anakin skywalker departed tatooine, his mother shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Also in AO3

Next: Part 1 | Masterlist

1 of ?

32 BBY

The harsh desert morning unravels its sun upon the towns of Tatooine. The woman’s eyes shot open upon being greeted by the silence. She had been too used to the routine of having her son, a boy of nine, always coming up to her bed and snuggling to her side only to wake her up in an innocent whisper.

The cottage had gotten quieter since. Shmi Skywalker sighed, waking with a heavy heart for months on end. She has yet to practice herself in being accustomed to being alone in almost everything she does in and out of the house: cooking, eating, cleaning, working, and sleeping. The most difficult part of it all is trying not to think too much about her little boy: how he must be doing, if he’s making good friends with any children wherever he is, or if he’s not being too hard on himself.

Don’t worry too much, Shmi. She tells herself while folding clothes.

It has been four months since she watched her son join the man who promised to make the boy a Jedi. But those four months felt like an eternity for a mother, all by her lonesome.

On one evening, in the middle of cooking her supper, Shmi felt her stomach churning and the reflux was quickly climbing upwards from her stomach to her throat. She scrambled from turning off the heat to rushing to the wash. While allowing herself to retch, her free hand twisted the tap, letting the water run as the drain siphoned the bile.

Shmi’s eyes shifted wildly and paced her breathing. Battling her own conscience whether to think what she’s already thinking.

Is she with child?

She had no relations of any kind, thus it only leaves her to only one conclusion: it is the same circumstance as her conception of Anakin, her son. She calmed her beating chest with the flat of her palm resting above her breast, then—almost reluctantly—her hand trailed downwards to her womb. It took moments before she could hear a heartbeat that isn’t hers, but she quickly welcomed it. In the back of her mind, she wondered if this one will turn out the same as its brother—strong with the Force, as the Jedi had examined once before; regardless, she assesses whether she’ll cover up the child’s origins with a story, but then Shmi cannot find it in her heart to lie about it, and so she deliberated that she’ll remain truthful to how she had her now second child.

Though, she doubts that this one will be found by more Jedi.

As far as Shmi knows, not many Jedi will go to this desolate wasteland to find children to recruit or free slaves—the last Jedi she met, Qui Gon Jinn, said as much before.

Nevertheless, she took care of herself so that the bundle of life growing in her would come out healthy as well. Her owner, Watto, was surprised though quickly shifted back to his indifference. Out of understanding—something he rarely does—he had allowed her to continue working from home, as it had always been even when her son was still here, until the child was due.

Nine months, she carried it.

And come the final month, she was ready to deliver.

A band of female neighbors did her the kindness of assisting her with the birth, one of them was an elderly vendor woman who peddled by their home street.

Two younger woman supported Shmi, lending her their arms for her to grip on. The vendor woman paced her instruction of Shmi when to push. That night, the entire residential block was filled with her screams…

Until it was followed by the fresh wails of an infant.

The two assistants gasped, one of them could not fight the tear that rolled down their cheek when the elderly woman held the newborn. A smile stretched across her face, her thin lips pursed as her grin opened more at the sight of the baby gradually ceasing its cries.

“Shmi…!” the elder gasped. “It’s a girl!”

Shmi struggled to release her grip from one of the maids, gesturing to the elder to hand over the baby. The second maid helped her sit up before letting her carry the newborn. The moment their skins touched, Shmi instantly fell in love—remembering the first time she gave birth.

The infant girl: a head full of hair, with strands as dark as a moonless night in the Dune Sea; round, hazel eyes that glinted like sunshine; and rich, soft, olive skin.

“She has your eyes!” gasped a maiden.

Shmi giggled. She is at a loss for words. More so when her daughter clasped its tiny hand around her forefinger and middle finger together.

The elderly woman asked if she can bathe the child and swaddle it; in the meantime, Shmi rested and the maidens cleaned her up as well. That night went back to its peace, but somehow it felt much more mellow—like a silent lullaby.

Cradling her newborn, Shmi gently rocked left and right—as if dancing—while humming to her new baby daughter. A daughter! Her heart leapt. There’s a smile that she can’t seem to erase, and she doesn’t plan to as long as she kept her eyes on her little daughter.

“Oh, what to name you, my pretty one?” she cooed.

She gave herself a minute or so to think, muttering words that ought to be names. The ones she must have preferred were said out louder than the rest.

“Irele…”

The name came to her naturally. She chanted the name a few times, and was confident that it was the suitable name for her daughter. The child cooed, her hand squirmed and gently tapped Shmi’s bosom.

“My little Irele…”

Shmi craned her neck so that her lips are closer to Irele’s forehead. Mother and child retreated to their quarters for the night.

Even for just one night, Shmi felt free. At the birth of her daughter, Irele Skywalker.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (6)

Chapter 6: No, There Is Another | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

A/N: Sorry it took so long, you guys! ;;w;; What with the holidays and me managing what to order for my 24th birthday today (It’s the 27th where I live so we’re celebrating in a quite chill way heheh), so this is my birthday treat to you! A new chapter! 💖💖

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 | Previous: Part 5 | Next: Part 7 | Masterlist

7 of ?

19 BBY

Irele, her stepbrother Owen, and his now-wife Beru Lars live together in the same roof. After their father had died of natural causes, they placed him next to the grave of Shmi, as they deem it appropriate; they have taken full control of the homestead, though their ways didn’t change that much.

Now thirteen years old, Irele Skywalker had grown into the spitting image of Shmi Skywallker albeit younger. Medium length hair always secured as a ponytail with thin braids woven along the tail, warm and earthy-colored eyes, and a somber yet friendly smile.

The teenager had grown into an adventurous young spirit. Perhaps, if one is to see Shmi as a girl, she would have been the exact same as her daughter. Gaining friends in Anchorhead and even as far as Mos Eisley, though she had learned to steer clear of the latter town unless the need truly arises. Taking odd jobs in either of the towns, her hustler’s nature remained intact, she did not want to depend heavily on her brother and sister-in-law for monetary support—albeit Owen strongly disagrees, but to not avail.

“You’ve been out more often than staying at home!” chided Owen, who was now perhaps in his early thirties.

“Well, I do need to work, don’t I, big brother?” she tapped his bulky arm as she strolled into the house.

She had just returned from her work in the shop that’s a hybrid of a speeder vendor and a servicing center. Whether she realizes it or not, she always finds herself tinkering with something, fixing them… like her real brother’s pastime as a child.

Irele had taken home a piece of a machine to her house, a personal project of sorts, completely unrelated to her work. She settled herself on the small worktable in her bedroom and immediately casts her lamp’s light on the working space. A metal rod put together with various, mismatching shafts and components held together by screws and sewn leather wrappings; it’s even a miracle that it worked, one way or another, it would serve better as a melee weapon than that of a Magnaguard’s electro-staff. Perhaps this staff is one of the many testaments of Irele’s skillfulness and resourcefulness, for growing up as a hustler and being exposed to machinery at an early age.

As she grew, she always donned a woven scarf made by Shmi. It has been a few years or so, and the heartache is very much fresh; every time she catches a glimpse of her headstone, with Cliegg’s next to it, the healing wound is ripped open once again—though she found comfort in confiding and speaking to both of them as if they were still alive, sitting with her and listening.

“Oh, circuitry should be here. Mom would have pointed that out too.” she mumbled to herself as she fiddled the wires with the sharp end of a thin screwdriver.

Come the hour of sunset, Irele had finished her chores after her handicraft. In the middle of her working, she felt a presence—it was sage and calming—she also heard the grunting of a single eopie. Curious, she and Beru went to the door. She was right about the eopie, carrying a single rider who held the reins with only one hand and is carrying something with the other. Irele thought the hooded rider to be her brother, as she remembered his own cloak, but the cowl revealed a slightly older man—his jaw was covered with a full, sandy-brown beard, his eyes were kind and yet she hinted the sadness in them, as if tragedy had befell him shortly before coming here.

It was Obi-Wan.

When the stranger coaxed the animal to kneel, he carefully hopped down, and supported his precious cargo with his free arm. He approaches the older girl and she willingly takes what he gave. The wide sleeve of his robe gave way to show an infant boy, perhaps a few weeks old. Beru and Irele’s eyes lit up, they spoke nothing to the stranger but they bid him with a short, polite bow.

Obi-Wan noticed the second girl, her olive skin and brown eyes gave him a memory of Anakin—the reminder sharply jabbed him into the recesses of his mind. The angry voices, the echoes of the sputtering lava, and the sorrowful howling of Anakin drummed behind his ears.

“Are you alright, sir?” Irele noticed.

“Oh, dear. I am fine, thank you,” he cleared his throat and tucked his arms inside his sleeves. “I am just not used to travel here in this place… but I will be.”

“I see.”

“My dear, may I know your name?”

“It is Irele…”

“Irele…?”

“Irele Skywalker-Lars.”

Obi-Wan slowly angled his head upwards, concealing his surprise as her name sinks into him.

Another Skywalker?

“Well, Irele,” he cleared his throat again. “May I ask a favor from you?”

“I’ll do my best to fulfill it.”

“I’m sure you can,” Obi-Wan’s gaze went to Beru carrying the baby who joined her husband, Owen, looking at the binary sunset. “Take care of him.”

“I don’t mean to sound uptight but… Who is he to me?”

“He’s your family. Your nephew. His name is Luke.”

Irele was a smart girl. She knew whose son the infant would have belonged to. A part of her wanted to ask where the father is—her brother—but perhaps it was for the best that she does not obligate the stranger to indulge her questions.

“Then I’ll do everything in my power to keep him safe.”

“I know, Irele,” Kenobi smiled, although a little sadly. “I know.”

“Sir, I’m sorry but I don’t know your name.”

“Ben… Ben Kenobi.”

Kenobi did not stay long in the premises of the homestead. He bowed to Irele, who returned the gesture, and returned to his steed. The eopie grunted as Kenobi hauled the reins to the right side, then spurred the tall quadruped to the distance, clouds of sand puffing under its hooves until the figure disappears as the twin suns set.

When Kenobi was gone from her sight, she turned to her brother and sister-in-law, along with their nephew—whom Owen would have probably called his son, given the chance. Irele was excited. She was already thinking of the things she and Luke would do—what games they’d play, what machines she’d teach him to fix, what kind of speeders could they hop on together.

He was the brother she never had.

From a certain point of view, it’s a wrong that she could right, while fulfilling her promise to Kenobi.

After Beru nursed the infant, she laid him down on their bed, Irele never left Luke’s side. She chuckled every time he would squirm, coo, and smile at her. Her heart fluttered and she fell in love with him. When Beru left the two children alone, Irele tasked herself to watch over him.

She moved her finger to his tiny hand and with his tiny, soft fingers he clasped her thumb with a grip as light as a feather. Irele’s heart melted once more.

And then she whispered as she kissed the tiniest hand that held hers, “I’ll keep you safe, Luke. I’ll always protect you.”

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (4)

Chapter 4: Brother, Brother | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 | Previous: Part 3 | Next: Part 5 | Masterlist

5 of ?

They arrived at the moisture farm, the exact one that Watto told them. The domed abode stood out across the surrounding dunes, behind it were the suns hoisted in its point for high noon. As Anakin and Padmé approached, a dark-colored figure got into their better view—little did the Jedi knew that the figure posted outside was the droid he had created years ago.

“Oh!” startled, the droid turned around to face the visitors. “Hello, how may I be of service? I am C—”

“3PO?” Anakin squinted some more, unsure whether the sunlight was playing tricks on his already narrowed eyes.

The droid paused, its photoreceptors processing the face of the young man before him, and then it dawned on him.

“Could it be? The Maker!” the black droid exclaimed. “Master Ani, I knew you would return! Oh and Miss Padmé, oh my.”

At least Padmé was delighted to have been remembered by the droid she has not seen in a decade.

“Bless my circuits! I’m so pleased to see you both.”

“I’ve come to see my mother,” the droid’s maker said in the same steely tone he used when speaking with the Toydarian, affording no moment for the droid to celebrate this small reunion.

C3PO stuttered, unsure how to begin responding to that purpose.

“Yes, well, I do believe it is best I bring you inside.”

The droid stiffly turned around, expecting the human pair to follow, and they were escorted into the ground floor of the Lars homestead.

From the kitchen, Owen could hear C3PO speaking like a tour guide. He had figured it might have been the person he thought would come, he just didn’t realize it’d be today. Out of common courtesy, he—along with the Whitesun girl—came out of the kitchen to greet their guests.

“Master Owen, might I present to you the two most important visitors.”

“I’m Anakin Skywalker.”

“Owen Lars. And this is my girlfriend, Beru.”

Beru managed a smile to both visitors before softly saying “Hello.”

“I’m Padmé.”

“I guess I’m your stepbrother,” he swallowed. “I had a feeling you might show up someday.”

Anakin didn’t take that kindly, he had no emotional reaction to it—he’s just here for his mother.

“Is my mother here?” he demanded, stepping away from his apparent stepbrother.

“No, she’s not,” a gruff voice drew everyone’s attention to its direction, followed by the soft whirring of a hoverchair.

Cliegg had aged, though not quite well, given what had happened in the past. He extended a hand as he introduced himself.

“Shmi is my wife,” he added. “We should go inside. We have a lot to talk about.”

Owen quickly came to his father, taking the two handles protruding outward from the backrest of the chair.

“Where is your sister?”

“She hasn’t come back yet,”

“Well, she better come home quick.” Grumbled the elder Lars only within Owen’s earshot.

They all gathered at the dining table. Cliegg began with how he met Shmi, how he bought her, and eventually freed her. The old man chuckled once as he studied the boy’s features while he was listening in carefully, even while he stares at his hands clasped together.

“You know, it’s funny,” he began, the remark caught Anakin’s attention. “I never realize that you and Irele have the same eyes—but I think she resembles Shmi’s the most.”

Anakin’s eyes shifted shakily, his lips parted but no words escaped from it; he looked alternately between Cliegg and Owen, wordlessly demanding some clarification to what Cliegg said. Anakin blinked once, dramatically so, and finally managed to let out the words: “I… Irele?”

Everyone on that very table exchanged looks, but the other party was more confused and perhaps curious on who’s this Irele person that they don’t know of. Cliegg’s last words also got to Anakin and he decoded it quickly—but as he solved the minor riddle, more questions piled up after the answer. Has his mother given him a sister without his knowledge? Why hasn’t he felt her through the Force? Is she not gifted with the same abilities as he is?

“W-Where… Where is she?”

“She’s probably out in town with the other children her age. Irele is coping, you see, but I don’t think it’s not doing her much good. Overworking, finding and taking one too many odd jobs—more than she can handle—”

“Coping?” Anakin asked for elaboration.

Cliegg guessed there’s no way of sliding his way out of that question. They will come to the point in the conversation on what had happened to Shmi. The mood in the dining room changed significantly. A gloomy silence befell Owen and Beru as they waited for the head of the house to begin the tale.

“Your mother went out early—just before dawn—to pick mushrooms, like she always does. But this one time, she was ambushed by the Tusken Raiders, they had been prowling by the ridge waiting to raid the farms when there’s no one looking—but they saw your mother. They attacked her and took her with them, kept her hostage. And your sister, well…”

The elderly man sighed, taking and then letting out a deep breath, he attempts to continue.

“She left the house to search for her the moment she got out of bed. I found her woken up by a cold sweat, then she insisted that something was wrong. I trusted her, believed her, and let her go find her mother in the fields. She came back empty-handed, I had already prepared a search party. Those Tuskens walk like men, but they’re vicious, mindless monsters. About thirty of us went, only four of us came back. I’d be out there with them, but after I lost my leg… I just couldn’t ride anymore until I heal. I don’t want to give up on her, but she’s been gone for a month.”

The silence was distrupted by the sound of light footsteps, the only noise that rung across the homestead apart from their voices.

“I’m home!” a girl’s voice announced. “Dad? Owen?”

Her voice and her arrival caught the attention of both her family and the two visitors. Anakin stood up and stepped out so that he can see—and be seen—the rotunda. Just a meter and a half away from him was a girl of ten years—nearing eleven—standing from the stairs from where he came when he himself arrived in this house.

Irele was immediately taken aback by this stranger, not because it was a new face—but because she was bothered by how familiar he looked and felt. A good minute has passed and it dawned on her. She knows who this is.

Anakin examined the girl: black hair tied back into a ponytail, donning a woven scarf to protect her from the sands, and a pair of earthy hazel eyes hooded with a somber, unreadable gaze—nearly similar a hue to Shmi’s eye color. Looking at her was like seeing Shmi in her girlhood, for Irele could perhaps grow to be the spitting image of their mother. This is his sister, he thought, but he wasn’t sure what to do or how to react and interact with her—neither of them have known much about the other. And they’ve only just met! To Irele, it felt like she had waited a lifetime to meet him; she always had that feeling, perhaps over time, she didn’t anticipate him as much.

“Irele…?” Anakin uttered.

“H-Hi…” she stuttered shyly, reacting to her name.

Cliegg spun his hoverchair, “Irele, this is your brother. Your real brother.”

Irele’s brows furrowed, she blinked several times as she examined Anakin’s features. Perhaps she could not spot any resemblance yet, but eventually she would have—if she gave it time. As the siblings stared at one another; thoughts, questions, and even comments about each other’s appearances flood their minds.

What does she know about me? Did Mom ever tell her about me?

There’s something I feel about him… though it’s making me too nervous. It’s almost like it’s something bad… or maybe because he just looks a little mean.

Before giving a proper reaction or even speaking a single word, she sprang to her heels and fled to her room, flimsily holding her satchel loosely by the strap, dangling just inches away from the ground as she ran.

The adults dismissed it as bashfulness and also surprise. Anakin did not go after her anymore and went to the direction of the front door.

“Give her time,” Cliegg advised.

“Where are you going?”

Anakin’s eyebrows slightly pulled, but Owen did not notice, “To go find my mother.”

“Your mother’s dead son, accept it. There’s little hope she’s lasted this long.”

In fact, he didn’t. He could never ever. Then Cliegg sighed in defeat, knowing that this boy might be just as stubborn as his little sister. He reached for Anakin’s forearm and clutched it weakly, slightly startling him.

“If you can’t do that… at least talk to your sister.”

The sky had burned into a golden orange hue, sunset was nearing. Night will be upon them soon. Anakin found Irele in the workshop, he recognized some of the apparatus to be Shmi’s—apparently, she had brought those with her when she and Irele were bought.

As he was approaching her, he caught a glimpse of what she was doing—she was piecing together a sort of tech that seemed familiar, along with a little help from her friends in town.

“Irele, I…”

“She told me about you,” Irele matched her brother’s firm tone of voice, though the hint of uncertainty rang along her words. She did not look at him, she spoke to him while keeping her eyes on her handicraft. “A long time ago. I just didn’t think we’d meet at this time.”

Anakin got close enough to get a better look at her tinkering, he examined the small machine and discovered that she was retrofitting a podracer’s dashboard.

Attempting and hoping he’d establish a connection with her, he caved in to listen on what Irele has to say.

“She told me that you were a great racer. You won against Sebulba.”

“Sebulba? He still races?”

Irele turned to Anakin, not exactly surprised that he still remembers the cheating Dug, though a decade’s worth of not knowing anything happening in Tatooine would at least fog his memory. His sister nodded slowly and then returned to fixing the dashboard.

“No, it’s…” she trailed off when she got too focused on arranging the wires. “It’s from a customer in Anchorhead. I used to be in a podracer’s pit stop entourage, when I was like six.”

“Do they still race?”

She shook her head, and answered the question she knew was coming, “Accident. Can’t drive a pod with just one arm, huh?”

Her posture straightened, she moved the magnifying lens away from her, and then secured the dashboard in a leather sleeve before settling it down neatly in the center of the workbench. Irele finally afforded a good long look at her big brother.

Big brother… kinda weird to call him that.

“Ani,” she uttered, though she meant it as a practice of getting used to addressing him when talking to him. She didn’t really intend to call him, but he looked at her anyway. There was a pause before she continued.

“How much did Dad tell you—about Mom?”

It slightly baffled Anakin how casually she called Cliegg her father, he cannot blame her anyway if this is the father figure she grew up with.

“Just enough for me to know,” Anakin answered.

She hummed. Then Anakin decided to ask the question that has been lingering in his mind. If this was his birth sister, was she born in the same way he was?

“Irele, perhaps you can tell me something,” he began.

Detecting the seriousness in his tone, she swiveled the chair to face him, propping her elbow on the table. Staring back at him with those hazel eyes that he cannot gaze upon without remembering Shmi—because he could definitely see his mother within his sister—he licked his lips before speaking.

“Cliegg isn’t really your father, is he?”

His sister stared at him some more with squinted eyes, bobbed her head to the side as she got the idea of his question. She wordlessly shook her head; when she did, then Anakin’s presumptions have been realized—she was exactly like him. Within their moment together of just conversing, he could feel the Force flowing in her, although it was faint and seemingly dormant. In that case, her Force-sensitivity might be still untapped—what seemed to be a small stream on a quiet summer morning will eventually turn out to be a powerful, raging dam. And so it begs the question: will he report her to the Jedi Council?

“He told you about the Tuskens, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Oh…” Irele’s eyelids drooped as she looked randomly on the floor, avoiding her brother’s gaze. Another moment passed, both siblings were inept in speaking to  one another casually—unlike how Irele is to Owen—but then she lifted her head again, and this time, she looked at her real big brother with pleading eyes, suggesting a sense of longing for their mother and sadness. The latter being a dangerous emotion to dwell on. “You’ll bring her back, won’t you… Anakin?”

Then at that moment, Anakin was both determined and burdened to keep such a promise. He was confident and hopeful that he would rescue Shmi, but with such a motivation fueled by the fear of loss, Irele was beginning to sense something ominous from him. In the back of her head, she was regretting what she asked of him. She saw a shadow loom over Anakin, as dark as his long robes that sweep the sand as he strode. Her heart pumped slowly and heavily, it suffocated her and made her nervous.

There’s something not right with him. Something… bad. She thought to herself, her fingers twitched with anxiety. It’s too late to take that back. Anakin has sealed a contract forged from her behest—which was also his. Now she wanted to stop him, because she know something bad was going to happen—executing the same foresight she had for Shmi.

“Anakin, are you alright?” Irele asked, and that seemed to snap him back to reality.

He stammered as he answers, “Yes. I… I just blanked out, I guess.”

“Right…” she groaned with a growing suspicion. “Just… Just don’t lose sight of what you came for.”

Her vague warning would allude to the preceding events. Anakin took her words to heart, and his being a Jedi gave him the advantage to read people better than most, to analyze their motives and desires. Hearing Irele say something like that hints her Jedi-like abilities: her foresight, which was something Qui Gon had noted of Anakin himself when he was still a child.

“I won’t,” he said with conviction, and then he managed a smile in the hopes of easing her spirits. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back.”

Irele’s thin lips pursed and watched her big brother turn around to leave her be in the workshop. When his back turned to her, that smile instantaneously melted away; her stomach slightly churned at the sight of his robes shadowing his figure—he looked broader and more intimidating, and quite ominous.

She had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling about this.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (3)

Chapter 3: Two Ends Meet | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 | Previous: Part 2 | Next: Part 4 | Masterlist

4 of ?

22 BBY

Several months after their emancipation, Cliegg had asked Shmi’s hand in marriage—to which she happily said yes. Irele had just turned nine that time; she and mother had grown quite close to the Lars father and son. The joy in her little heart of having a bigger family was overwhelming, it’s almost as if she forgot that she and Shmi were ever a slave. That life of theirs was now past. Irele now has a father figure, and a brother to boot—and she was content.

Eventually, Irele had known friends who were the children of the other farmers that Cliegg worked with. She was also introduced to Beru Whitesun—a fair-skinned brunette who caught her stepbrother’s heart—the two girls grew quite close too quickly. The Lars siblings still helped around with the farm, Shmi had started going to the fields with them as well; though the toll of their debt to the Hutt was slowly catching up to them, having them to work extra hard and persisting to yield more crops so there’s enough to sell and to keep for themselves.

One day in the middle of working in the fields with her mother and stepbrother, Irele’s gaze trailed to her mother—bent down to pick the crops and vegetables that were ripe for the taking, she smiled to herself as she stared at Shmi, until a mild pang pierced her head.

“Irele, are you alright?” Owen noticed and caught his sister by the arm.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she groaned. “Just the heat, maybe.”

“Do you need something to drink?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Pausing from work, she isolated herself from one of the canopies they’ve put up if ever one of them decides to rest. She continues to examine the scene of the field: the farmers including Cliegg, her brother, and her mother working. Though she always focused on Shmi; her grip on the waterskin faltered, causing some drops to spill over, and then sighed and decided to close her eyes to doze off for a bit. As echoing screams in Shmi’s voice haunted her mind, she woke up in a jolt—a single scream escaped when she woke and it alarmed the workers in the field. Shmi ran up to her daughter under the canopy, Cliegg followed behind his wife.

“Irele!” Shmi gasped. “Irele, are you alright?”

Shmi brushed up the loose strands of hair dangling over her daughter’s forehead, sweat smeared on her palm. Irele gasped when she opened her eyes once more and saw Shmi.

“Oh, Mom…”

“Darling, what’s happened?”

“Nothing, I…” Irele shook her head, incapable of explaining what she had just experienced. “This heat is making me see things.”

“Oh, Irele, dear,” Shmi clicked her tongue and sighed. “It’s alright. You can sit down for the rest of the day. You don’t need to work anymore.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Shmi smiled, though it was a worried one. She brushed Irele’s hair back to her ear and returned to work.

“If you need anything, Irele, don’t be shy to call, okay?”

“Okay, Dad.”

Not wanting to worry her family with such episodes, Irele decided to bottle it up to herself—even if the visions mostly revolve around her mother. But there was something else—something that she cannot pinpoint. She was seeing things that are about to happen, which she dismissed as pessimistic imagination, though she doesn’t know that these are events that are about to unfold. Little did she knew that the Force was making its way to her, to warn her of something horrible that has yet to come.

The next few months have been difficult for Irele herself—the visions and the voices persisted—oftentimes she wakes up in a cold sweat when the nightmares have become more jarring. She pretended that everything was fine, though she’s become increasingly worried for her mother, most of the time she pleaded Shmi not to work in the fields and just stay at home—even offering to help around in the house. Shmi detected this new concern from Irele, and then unconsciously recalled the same words that Qui Gon Jinn uttered about her son: seeing things that have yet to happen.

A Jedi trait.

Shmi shook her head and granted Irele’s request, staying at home when the ten-year-old pleaded so. It eased her for a bit whenever Irele’s expression changed when they spend the day at home, however, it worried her that her daughter was perhaps foreseeing events that could spell disaster for the family and ultimately damage the poor girl.

There was one day where Shmi went out alone, before the break of dawn, to the fields. It took her half an hour to scrounge and pick up mushrooms that she needed for her family’s meal today. The chore became her undoing. Tusken Raiders have been prowling the ridges as a vantage point over the fields, they have been scouting the fields in the hopes of raiding the crops. They saw Shmi walking off from the fields, carrying a satchel of mushrooms and other vegetables; not wanting any witnesses, they sprang out on her in numbers—their primal grunts echoed across the empty dunes, Shmi’s scream was short-lived and drowned out by theirs.

The Tuskens incapacitated Shmi by hitting the back of her head with the pommel of their long rifle. They bound her ankles and wrists, and mounted her like a ragdoll on the saddle of their Bantha.

Their echoes have died down, leaving the desert as desolate, quiet, and empty as it always has. Irele gasped, wide awake, beads of sweat dotted her forehead.

“MOM IS GONE!!” She announced with such a loud voice that it was heard throughout the entire homestead, up to the outdoor rotunda.

Cliegg was awakened by the sound of Irele’s voice, but only registered it as a loud sound; he was alerted when his free hand patted his right hand side and found Shmi’s side of the bed empty. He knew that it was her routine to leave early to pick out crops before everyone else gathered in the fields. There was daylight already. Normally, Shmi would have returned even before the sun had risen. When he stood up from bed and comforted Irele in her bedroom, a look of concerned veiled his face as he saw his stepdaughter all wide-eyed and breathing heavily.

“Irele, it’s okay, your mother just went out to pick out mushrooms, it’s okay.” he shushed but it was futile.

“Sorry, Dad, I need to go.”

“Go? Go where?”

Irele spoke while she prepares herself—putting on her overshirt, slinging her bag across her body, and producing a staff that she procured on her own.

“I’m sorry, I just really can’t say. But I do have a gut feeling that I just can’t ignore. Something’s not right, Dad.”

Cliegg was speechless. Irele joined him on her bed, sitting beside him.

“I’ll contact you with the comlink, okay? Keep the lines open.”

The man held his daughter’s cheek, taking a good look at her made him realize that she greatly resembled her mother.

“Be careful. And come home quick.”

She nodded and then left with a small speeder bike. When she had gone a considerable distance from the homestead, Cliegg commanded Owen to call the men and tell them to stand by. Going in the direction of the fields, Irele’s worry grew and grew with each passing moment. When she had caught sight of the vaporators’ silhouettes sticking out, she slowed down the speeder bike and hopped down even before it had gotten into a full stop.

Irele spotted Shmi’s tracks—a straight line from the fields to where she stood—and then discovered more. The footprints were jumbled, indicating struggle, and an impression that might have suggested that a person fell over to the ground—the girl was certain it was her mother. She searched for more tracks, propping her staff in a cautious, offensive position, and then stepped forward to the fields but was immediately stopped when she heard a shuffle amongst the sand and rock.

“Tuskens…” she muttered.

She examined the sand once more—a trail of a neat, single line, with impressions that make it too hard to guess how many have walked in the exact same path laid out before her. Tuskens, alright. She surveyed the surrounding ridges, the distance from the fields to the openness of the desert, and she thought it wise to deduce that it was indeed them. She produced her comlink and reported back to Cliegg before heading home. She already had the presumption her father had prepared a search party.

–

Anakin Skywalker is in a perpetual unrest with himself. Mainly because he had been having nightmares of his mother—the haunting echoes of her agonizing screams, her calls for help, and the quick jab of dead silence had been keeping him awake at night.

That morning, he strolled out of his bedroom and found himself alone in the garden veranda of the guest house that he and Senator Padmé Amidala are staying in the Lake Country of Naboo. He basked in the morning sunlight, the cool breeze wafting through the sleeves of his long beige shirt and drying the sweat smeared across his chest. Padmé found him there and quietly turned around to leave him alone.

“Don’t go,” he simply said, though pleadingly. It stopped her in her tracks. “Your presence is soothing.”

The young Jedi Padawan opened up about his nightmares to the Senator, she hints at the shakiness in his voice, imagining what kind of dreams could he be seeing in the middle of the night. When push comes to shove, the senator insisted she will go to Tatooine with him.

“I’ll go with you.” despite the softness in her voice, there was the conviction that cannot be persuaded anymore.

Upon their arrival, they hired a carriage into the town to escort them from the docking bay. Returning here brought back memories for Anakin—many of which are bittersweet. The carriage had brought them to the market district of the town, where it had passed by a lonely stall—or lack thereof—manned by a single Toydarian.

“Chut-chut, Watto,” Anakin greeted.

The blue, aging Toydarian grumbled at the robed stranger who took the component and started tinkering with it after speaking in the local dialect. Watto greeted back the young stranger in his raspy, aggressive native tongue then transitioned into a bumbling mess when he recognized the Jedi robes; Anakin ignored all this as he was focused with the machine component.

The Jedi spoke once more, again in dialect, “I’m looking for Shmi Skywalker.”

One more minute passed and it hit Watto.

“Ani…?” the Toydarian gasped. “Little Ani?”

Anakin didn’t speak. He simply put down the component back on the small table between him and Watto.

“You are Ani! It is you!!” Watto burst.

Following a few more compliments and one-sided catching up, Watto cut to the chase in the hopes that he can have the boy catch some people who owe him money.

“My mother.” Anakin demanded.

“Oh, right, of course… Shmi!” bumbled Watto. He scratched the back of his chubby neck as he arranged the words in his mind. “She’s not mine anymore… I sold her.”

“Sold her?”

“Years ago. I sold her to a moisture farmer named Lars. And believe it or not! I heard he freed her—and married her! Whaddaya think o’ dat, eh?!”

Both the Jedi and the senator’s reactions were identical: their lips parted and their eyebrows furrowed. Anakin licked his lips and leaned closer.

“Do you know where they are now?”

“A long way from here,” but Watto should have known that is not enough to deter the boy. “Someplace on the other side of Mos Eisley.”

“I’d like to know,” he spoke through the grit of his teeth.

Nervous, the Toydarian gave in and filled him in with all the details. Inside his newer yet smaller shop, the hovering creature produced a small ledger with a tattered leather cover. Running a clawed finger lightly on the page, careful as to not rip it, he stopped after two taps on a specific line of writing.

“I was right, it was Lars!” he chortled.

“Where does he live?”

Watto groaned, poring over his ledger again, and then moved his finger to another part of the page.

“He lives in ‘da Salt Flats, eh, you’ll find it close to Anchorhead. You know Anchorhead, eh, Ani?”

Without answering, Anakin turned tail—with Padmé walking by his side, trying to keep up with his strides—and mounted their rented carriage. Anakin ordered the droid that pulled it to bring them to a point-to-point transport service to get to Anchorhead.

Along the entire trip, Padmé could not find an opening to speak with Anakin; it began to sink into her that she’s only tagging along with the young Jedi’s personal mission.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (9)

Chapter 9: His Ward | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: Hi guys, I’m really sorry for taking so long to post! I’m going through something and it’s taking quite a toll on my emotional health. I can’t brush it off that easily of course, but I’m trying my best to not let it devour me and ruin my routines and habits entirely. I still try to write, but my breakdown episodes are taking too much of my time during the day and I hate for just deciding to sleeping it off—though, it actually helps, plus a good cry. I’m sorry for rambling like this, but I’m not in slump just yet and I hope this situation of mine isn’t gonna drag me into one. I hope you all have been liking the story, if you do, I super duper appreciate it as always! Also, I’ll get back on the tag games you guys have put me in as well! They look super fun!

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Part 7 | Next: Part 10 | Masterlist

10 of ?

You are weak…

Incompetent…

Incapable of taking care of a child, what more if two?

An ominous, heavy voice burdened these words to Owen. The man felt paralyzed in his own bed. His knees and elbows locked in place, his calves and arms frozen stiff, and his lungs tight and narrow. He had hoped Beru would be woken up by his squirming and help him out of whatever is happening to him right now.

But his wife was nowhere to be found.

Owen found himself surrounded in darkness, standing in the middle of nowhere and nothing. He feared if this was purgatory. After he had spun a considerable amount of times just to orient himself on where he is and what is going on, the voice took shape—a towering figure armored in black, with his wife and nephew suspended between them while they’re on their knees. Owen could feel his heart sink to the soles of his feet and his legs were failing to hold his balance.

And for that, you shall pay the price of your negligence!

The sharp, ragged ignition of a lightsaber brandished through Beru’s breast and she fell right then and there. There was almost no death cry. Beru was mute as she jolted from the final sensation through her body and slumped to the dust, without waiting for the woman’s corpse to touch the soil, the beam swung sideways to poor, little Luke.

The boy had a death cry, albeit short it was haunting and gut-wrenching, and his cry faded out as he fell to the floor next to his aunt. Owen, in that dream state, was frozen in place. He wasn’t bound to the floor or anything, he was simply incapable of moving. The only thing he can do is watch—as penance imposed by the tall, monstrous figure brandishing a red sword made of light.

“NO!”

Owen sat up screaming and awake. He’s quite lucky they have no neighbors, but the creatures in the desert might have heard him, maybe even old Ben Kenobi in the off-chance that he’s out in the dunes at night.

“Owen!” Beru gasped, woken up by her husband’s nightmarish episode. “Owen, it was a dream!”

“Oh gods!” her husband gasped, clutching his chest so tight that his shirt crumpled. When he realized that it was indeed a dream, he cupped Beru at the neck so tightly that he almost choked her. “Oh, Beru!”

“Owen, dear…” she sighed, unable to comfort her husband.

It’s been only two nights since Irele disappeared, and the toll has already taken her brother.

–

Irele was brought immediately to the command ship when the transport boarded its hangar. She was thrown into a cell unconscious; hours have passed when she came to. Her body was disturbed by the sudden change in temperature, she was more conditioned for warm, temperate climates. The inorganic, air-conditioned room was an unpleasant surprise for her nerves.

She patted herself in different parts of her body to see where it hurts. Nothing. She was completely unscathed—except, of course, the few light scrapes and bruises she got during her hallucinogenic episode though they were nothing she can’t brush off and heal from.

“Where am I?” she asked to no one in particular.

She looked at the door and saw that it was a solid blast door; the small rectangular window that could only frame the eyes was sealed shut, there was no way of telling if there was someone on the other side of the door.

“Hello?” she knocked on the door, it was worth a shot, she thought.

She said it again, the knocking had gotten louder.

Irritated, the guard outside the cell banged the door with the pommel of his blaster.

“Quiet!” his voice was muffled through the helmet, but the manner of his speaking was sharp and strict. The sudden loud clang startled Irele, forcing her back to the slab that stuck out of the wall that’s meant to be her bed.

She stands up again to walk back to the door, to get some answers from the guard.

“Where am I?” she slapped the door, prompting for answer. “Hey!”

“I SAID SHUT UP!”

“Ugh, you know you’re making the noise twice as worse,” a second guard groaned, though more indifferent towards the prisoner, as well as his companion.

“The little brat won’t shut up.”

“She’ll shut up when Lord Vader comes in,”

“Can’t expect him to come any sooner, can I?”

“Maybe you can turn up in his chambers and tell him yourself,” the second guard chuckled, quite amused by his own snark.

“Yeah, whatever,” the first guard said dryly, completely feeling the opposite.

Overhearing their small talk, Irele picked up the name and tried to familiarize herself with it. Lord Vader? She pondered. But she’s never heard of it. Understandably so, even upon the establishment of the Empire, Tatooine remained uninvolved with the affairs of the now Galactic Empire—as it was in the prime days of the Republic.

Even if the name never rung a bell, she found herself shivering—both by the cold and by the imminent confrontation of this unknown entity that she already fears.

A uniformed crew marches to Darth Vader’s personal chambers. From Vader’s end, the door to his room opened and the cadet let himself in after the Sith Lord allowed him.

“My Lord, the prisoner has come to,”

“Very well. Leave her to me, I’ll deal with her myself,”

“As you wish, my Lord.”

“Go.”

The cadet bowed and his lungs loosened. He had puffed up his chest for a minute or two after leaving the chambers. Darth Vader stood up from his shell and strode regally out of his room; it was not an uncommon sight to find the lord of this ship wandering alone without an escort or two.

Vader made way to the prison block, where the teenage captive would be doing nothing except sit and wait. He isn’t expecting her to recognize him, though he almost wished his did—at least the human part of his being. The door shot open; Irele—seated at the very center of the slab—threw her back flat against the wall. She hasn’t even gotten a good view of Vader and she was already terrified. He had to bow his head before presenting the hulk of his height in his cybernetic body.

Irele’s breathing skipped a rhythm. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him, she has never seen anything quite like him. The sound of his breathing made her pupils dilate.

I see him in my nightmares… Irele thought.

Her heart dropped to her stomach when she heard him speak.

“I have been looking for you, child.”

Vader could clearly see that Irele was just utterly petrified. She may not realize it, but their gazes lock—even with the two bulbous globes where his eyes should be obstruct his own—he could clearly see his little sister: his truest next-of-kin. He saw the way her hands latched onto whatever surface it could grab on the metal wall, and goodness did they shake! He remained indifferent—he tried to be.

“W-Where am I?” the poor, shaken girl shuddered.

“That is of no importance.”

“But I’m so far away from home…!” she couldn’t bring herself to raise her voice, only to speak up a bit. “What did I do wrong?”

The dark lord answered none of those questions, but perhaps he could answer the next one.

“Who are you?”

“Your new master. You shall be my ward.”

To Irele, that declaration didn’t sound as ominous as she had hoped; yet, her heart sank when she realized that she’s now bound to this dark lord. In whatever word he paints it to be, she is his prisoner, and she will be here for a very long time. Another pill that’s hard to swallow for her is that she must remain tight-lipped about her family’s whereabouts for the rest of the time she’s here—which is probably forever.

Not realizing she didn’t actively react to this, Darth Vader had been suspended in silence for a few moments.

“You seem unsettled.”

“I don’t know this place. I don’t know you really are, either. The only thing I want right now is to go home. My friends might be looking for me.” She bit her tongue after that last one, keeping mum about her family if ever this lord will hunt them down after the slightest shortcoming.

“This is your new home now… Irele.”

Irele could not accept it. She looked around: nothing in this place is nowhere near to be called home! This is a prison that Vader is desperately convincing the girl to see it as one, to accept it as one.

“It would be wise if you do not object, child. My leniency could only go so far.”

Behind him, the door opened to let inside a black orb with silver apparatus, it hovered into the cell while its internals hummed. The floating globe’s most prominent appendage would be the syringe protruding from its left-hand side; Irele spotted a drop of liquid dangling at the edge of the needle’s tip.

Again, she pressed herself harder against the wall as soon as she caught the glint of the needle under the light of her cell. She tried to scream, but even opening her mouth felt like a laborious feat, so all she could do was taking deep yet short breaths as the droid approached her. The arm with the syringe extended to angle itself better. Vader watched from the far corner of the cell—incapable of helping his sister—and imposing a penance of sorts on himself, to torment him over the fact that even if he had all the means to do so, he is constrained from any sort of humane thing to do to at least ease off the pain from Irele.

The prick of the needle was slow, long, and agonizing. Vader could see Irele’s right arm tensing, shaking uncontrollably, and her hand violently jerking sideways. He saw the liquid leave the syringe and enter Irele’s bloodstreams, but the droid made it sure that it was equally tormenting. Irele tried to fight but the substance had temporarily paralyzed her. She threw her head back, slamming against the wall, and with a great effort she lolled her head to Vader…

A tear escaped from the corner of her red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes; her mouth trembled opened to release a grunt that should have been a cry of pain. The look in her face was a plead for mercy or of help—even by a miracle. She looked to the one and only person who could stop this, and there he watched within the blackness of the room, her cry was replied with nothing but Vader’s rhythmic breathing as he stood there and watched. Even with a helmet on, if one could see closely, he was in an irredeemable state of regret for remaining a bystander in Irele’s moment of suffering.

She must learn to live with this… Otherwise, she may not live at all. He reinforced himself, albeit quite a twisted mindset.

The interrogation droid had pulled out the injection. The pinprick drew blood and Irele only had the clothes on her back to clog the bleeding. Weakened by the shock and pain, she melted to the slab and fell unconscious.

He turns to leave the cell, the droid followed, and quickly sealed Irele in. The guards straightened their backs at the sight of their master and awaited his orders. With a raised finger, he commanded them to ready a personal bunker filled with all necessities like new clothes for Irele.

“By the time the substance wears off, see to it that she is brought to the medical bay immediately. I want her in optimum shape if she is to be subjected to training in due time.”

Training? The uniformed men thought.

No questions were actually asked, for Vader strode away back to his chambers, and left the guards to do what is asked of them.