#star wars rebels zine

[reneeofthestars]

Stand Up Together

I’m so excited to finally share the short story I wrote for @legacy-rebelsfanzine​ ! 

I love Star Wars Rebels, and I’m honored to have gotten to work on this wonderful zine! 

Read on AO3     Words:1,427

 ***************************

It was a dream Ephraim Bridger had grown familiar with.

He would open his eyes and find himself standing amid the grasslands of Lothal, the landscape dotted with rock formations, the sky warm with orange and gold as the sun set.

Laughter just ahead would draw his attention, and there was his son, having lured yet another loth-cat out of its nest to play. At his side, Mira took his hand in hers and leaned into him, standing on her toes to kiss him. Ephraim would wrap his arms around her, closing his eyes as he took in the peace around him, holding onto the dream as long as he could.

This time, though, the dream changed.

Ezra’s sudden silence broke him out of his reverie. When Ephraim found him again, Ezra was far ahead, his wild blue-black hair barely visible above the tall grasses. His son stood stock-still, transfixed by the sudden appearance of a white loth-wolf that towered over him.

The boy didn��t look frightened; he stared in awe at the creature, even as Ephraim’s heart leapt to his throat and he pulled Mira along, sprinting towards Ezra. The loth-wolf watched as Ephraim ran, but the creature made no move to attack. Instead, it laid down and waited patiently, yellow eyes studying him. The loth-cat Ezra had been playing with scrambled up the wolf’s back, coming to rest on its head.

Ephraim called out for Ezra, and the boy turned to him. His face split into a wide grin, showing his missing front teeth. “It’s okay, daddy!” he called, patting the loth-wolf’s leg. “It’s time to stand up!”

Ephraim woke in his cell, still reaching out for Ezra.

*

“You’re quiet,” Mira murmured as she sat beside him to eat. The pristine Imperial detainment center encased them, as devoid of expression and as militant as the stormtroopers that guarded it. The morning broadcast toting the Empire’s propaganda droned on in the background of the mess hall, masking their quiet conversation. Ephraim had learned to tune the noise out.

“I had a dream.”

She smiled knowingly, age lines crinkling around her eyes. “Ezra?”

He nodded as his throat tightened. “He told me it’s time to stand up.”

Mira choked on a laugh, then quickly sobered as a trooper guarding the door turned sharply to look at her. Once the trooper resumed his stance, she lowered her voice while picking at her rations. “I hope he remembers that.”

“I think we told him often enough.”

“He was so little. Young, I mean.” She paused thoughtfully. “Do you think he’s taking after you or me, height-wise?”

“We’ll find out, one day.”

She rested her head briefly on his shoulder, her headwrap secured around her hair. That had been one decency the Empire allowed her. The other had been allowing him to keep his beard, instead of being clean-shaven. He briefly kissed her forehead. The greatest mercy the Empire had shown was allowing them to stay together.

Of course, any time the officers thought Ephraim and Mira were speaking too loudly, too pointedly about the flaws of the Empire, or were found encouraging an ever-growing group of prisoners, they were threatened. Threatened with labor, with death, with separation. They had been punished in the last seven years of their captivity, but so far, no extreme penalty had befallen them.

Seven years. Had it really been that long?

He held his cup tightly, watching as droplets fell from the rim where they’d sloshed. Not a day went by that he didn’t think about his son. His little boy was fifteen now. How old would he be when Ephraim finally got to see him again?  

Mira’s voice pulled him from his isolation. “Do you remember,” she said, trying not to laugh, “when he turned on the broadcast when we’d gone to the market?”

Ephraim ducked his head to hide his smile from the troopers. “And announced to anyone still tuned-in that he’d drawn a picture of a Jedi in a ship fighting back against the Empire.”

“I didn’t know you could run that fast. You reached him minutes before I made it back.”

“I swear, I locked the hatch to the room.”

“I know – I watched you do it. He just had a knack for getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Like the roof.”

“Oh!” Mira put a hand to her chest, as though the memory still made her heart flutter in worry. “If Tseebo hadn’t climbed up after him, I don’t know what I would have done!”

“I would have come over myself to get him, if you’d needed me to,” a gruff voice broke in.

A broad-shouldered man with sun-tanned skin and a white beard set his tray down with a huff across from them. A dark purple circle ringed his eye.

“Ryder.” Mira raised a hand to examine the bruise. “What happened?”

The former governor of Lothal waved her away. “I’m alright, Mira. Got into a little scuffle with the guards, that’s all.”

“What? Why?”

After making sure none of the troopers were nearby, Ryder pitched his voice low. “I caused a distraction for two of the new inmates. The Bothan and the Mon Cal? They were able to hack an outlying terminal and get a map of the facility.”

Leaning closer, Ephraim asked, “Are they planning something?”

Ryder shrugged. “Seems like they want to, but they don’t have any ideas past getting a layout of the place. Figured it was a good opportunity to get –”

The speakers buzzed; the words of the calm Imperial broadcast cut off in a burst of static. Frowning, Ephraim glanced around. Others had noticed as well; guards and prisoners alike looked to the speakers in surprise.

The static continued, and he heard an officer call over her comm to check the holonet signal. After a few moments, the interference ceased, and a strangely young male voice reverberated around the mess hall.

“We have been called criminals, but we are not. We are rebels, fighting for the people, fighting for you. I'm not that old, but I remember a time when things were better on Lothal.”

Ephraim’s heart stopped. Mira seized his wrist, her knuckles white.

“Maybe not great, but never like this. See what the Empire has done to your lives, your families, and your freedom? It's only gonna get worse…unless we stand up and fight back.”

An officer was yelling orders to cut the connection, but there was nothing they could do; the Imperial broadcasts were hardwired to play consistently throughout the prison. And now every prisoner stared at one another – dissenters, fighters, activists, and so many others – and Ephraim saw a spark in their eyes as the transmission continued.

“It won't be easy. There will be loss and sacrifice. But we can't back down just because we're afraid. That's when we need to stand the tallest. That's what my parents taught me. That's what my new family helped me remember.

“Stand up together. Because that's when we're strongest—as one!”

Another burst of static crackled over the speakers, followed by a ringing silence.

Tears filled Ephraim’s eyes, and he let them fall, his heart swelling with so many emotions he thought it might burst. Relief, pride, concern, love, all swirled into a bubble that finally broke through as a sob.

Mira’s hands were shaking as she gripped him tightly. “He’s alright,” she whispered against his cheek. “Ezra’s alright.”

“Ezra?” Ryder frowned. “You think that was him?”

“She’s right,” Ephraim murmured, pulling her close. His tears stained her headwrap, but it didn’t matter. “The way he spoke, the phrases he used – it’s the same things we’d say in our broadcasts.”

“His voice sounds just like you when we were younger.” Mira smiled through her own tears. “He’s out there, fighting for the free galaxy we wanted for him. And with a family – Ephraim, someone’s looking out for him.”

The buzzer sounded, alerting all detainees that they were to return to their cells. The stormtroopers seemed rattled; they snapped at the closest prisoners to move faster, grips tight on their blasters, helmets swiveling as they scanned the mess hall.

Ephraim stood, but a lightness in his chest made him pause. He met Mira’s eyes; determination danced in her gaze, and she nodded once. Their son was out there, standing up for others, standing against the Empire. And it was high time Ephraim and Mira joined him.

Ryder glanced between them. “I know that look,” he muttered uneasily.

Ephraim clapped him on the shoulder. “Stand tall, Ryder. It’s time to act.” 

*

[womenofswzine]

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[vikobelo]

mother Hera (*￣3￣)╭ for force fatale zine

[basket-of-loquats]

family portrait

[Image description: a digital drawing of Hera Syndulla with her young son Jacen, visible from the shoulders up. She holds Jason up as they both smile at the audience. The background is yellow with lighter stripes. End ID.]

[phantomcabij]

Forgot to post this: here's my piece I did for @legacy-rebelsfanzine ! Fun fact, they were my first zine ever!

[chocomars]

I can finally post my pieces for @rexsokazine! I did for both romantic section and a small part of a page of wonderfulness in the platonic section. A BIG, BIG thank you to everyone who worked together in getting this zine to happen! ✨

[rexsokazine]

Hey! That's us!!

To grab your copy and contribute to the donation, shop here!! > (http://alivezine.bigcartel.com/)

Ps. Link for international orders outside of US (x) (also can be found on the description of the physical bundles on the shop)

[heumilch]

Hi star wars girlies (gn), look at this piece I did for @as-the-world-caves-in-zine A Villain Zine. Featuring my fave Thrawn in the Chimera above Lothal

[phoenixyfriend]

They Went to Live on a Farm

No, really. Rex and Wolffe got a ranch. Ahsoka's visiting!

Written for "Alive: A Rexsoka Zine," over at @rexsokazine. We just got permission to post! Whoo!

-----------

She comes to the planet on public transport, safer now than she has been in years. She pays for a ticket, and hardly worries about bounties or Imperial inquisitors. She’s outlived that regime.

Renting a speeder is similarly easy.

(It’s been less than a decade since the destruction of Alderaan. It’s been only five years since the battle on Endor. Ahsoka is only forty-five, and she’s outlived civilizations.)

(It’s a sobering thought, always.)

Rex is waiting in the fields when the speeder pulls up. He’s out there with some herd animals that she’s forgotten the name of, wearing a straw hat on his head to protect his scalp from the sun.

His hair’s been thinning. He’s forty-one, but the clones aged double for the first ten years, so he’s really more like fifty, and…

Well, he hates to admit it, but his age is really catching up to him. Ahsoka’s usually too polite to point it out.

“Commander!” He calls out, and she disembarks straight into his arms with a laugh. The speeder is even still sputtering behind her.

“Commander,” she greets right back, and he chuckles against her montral, stubble rasping against the skin that’s leathered with age. She still swats at him for it.

“Rude,” he mocks, backing away and right into the side of one of the furry creatures that’s ambled up right behind him. It’s tall enough that it’s more like a high wall than anything, and he doesn’t seem particularly surprised by the creature simply showing up in his way.

“So, these are…” she trails off.

“Nerfs, actually,” Rex says, roughly smacking at the creature’s side. Said creature is large enough that it appears not to notice. “Just a bit of a local offshoot, relatively unique breed, bigger than the usual. The fur’s more like a bantha than the usual nerf, longer, that sort of thing.”

“So they’re mostly for textiles?” Ahsoka asks, coming closer by enough to pet the nerf’s snout. “The size certainly seems closer to a bantha…”

“Only when you don’t have them next to each other for comparison,” Rex says. “You wanna stay out here with the animals a bit, or go see Wolffe?”

“He’s in?”

“And only almost as grumpy as usual!”

(Continue on AO3)

[wildwestzine]

Yeehaw! Take a closer look at the bundles and our stretch goals we have in our shop! Preorders end November 20th!

[forcefatalezine]

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[reneeofthestars]

Reunion

Excited to share the short story I wrote for "Star-Crossed: An Anidala Zine" @anidalazine ! A "Padme Lives" AU

Words: 2,585 * Read on AO3

******************************

Padmé Naberrie Amidala, former Queen of Naboo, former Galactic Senator, and current member of the Rebellion, had been in her share of tight spots before. 

But this was the first time the tight spot was an Imperial holding cell.

She’d already examined every inch of the enclosed dimly-lit space, searching for a weakness she could exploit, but found none. There was no access panel, no loose wiring, and no ventilation system large enough for her to squeeze through. So Padmé sat on the bench and watched the door, working on what she would say when an officer inevitably came to interrogate Sola Minnau.

After all, Padmé Amidala was dead.

For a while, Padmé thought she was dead. The galaxy around her swirled in hot reds and blues, then cold blacks and whites. Grief so raw it threatened to tear her apart, pain unlike any she had experienced, then stillness. Such perfect, silent stillness. She was weightless, drifting through some gentle embrace where there was no pain. No suffering.

It was the babies’ cries that called her back.

Once she was well enough to sit upright, she held her children close to her. Leia had Padmé’s eyes; Luke had Anakin’s. She was given privacy to cry. And once she had no more tears to shed, she set to work.

Padmé contacted Sabé, and her dearest friend organized the rest. Gathering Padmé’s former handmaidens, they worked swiftly to organize a body double and a funeral, and before long, the people of Naboo mourned the death of Padmé Amidala.

Heart aching but determined, Padmé had agreed to have her children separated – from her, and from each other. Having lost Anakin, Palpatine would turn his interest to the children if he knew they lived. Obi-Wan disappeared into the Outer Rim with Luke, and Bail falsified Leia’s birth records and took her into his home.

Over the years, Padmé – Sola Minnau, now – worked closely with Bail, Mon Mothma, and other trusted allies, establishing contacts, supply lines, and information networks. They smuggled food and medicine to communities being bled dry by the Empire, and helped those in danger disappear, all while trying to bolster support to resist the ever-growing dominance of the Empire over all worlds.

They all knew the risks. If they were caught, they could be subject to execution, or worse. But Padmé couldn’t stop. She would help, no matter the cost. She had spent her childhood on relief missions with her father, and she hadn’t been able to stand by while her people suffered when she was queen. She wouldn’t hide now.

That’s the thought that kept her focused when the contact on Rodia ended up being an Imperial informant. They had barely greeted each other before Padmé was surrounded by stormtroopers. Padmé had kept quiet, giving only her pseudonym when they initially questioned her. The troopers marched her onto a shuttle, and once they’d boarded the Star Destroyer in orbit, she’d been taken to a holding cell.

She took a deep breath and leaned back against the cold wall. In the twelve years since the fall of the Republic, Padmé had never been taken aboard a capital ship. With no communication or resources, help wasn’t coming. Padmé was on her own.

The door of the holding cell hissed open. She stood as a towering black-clad figure stepped in. Coarse, mechanical breathing filled the room; Padmé forced down a shudder. They had never crossed paths, but she recognized him from endless holos and horror stories, from the expressionless helmeted mask, from the lightsaber hanging from his belt.

Darth Vader.

*

Darth Vader’s breath would have hitched if his respirator hadn’t dragged the air from his lungs and reinflated them automatically. His heart would have stopped if the cardiac regulator hadn’t measured out steady heartbeats. The servos in his legs whirred as the galaxy was swept from under his feet and he nearly fell to his knees, so overcome with the emotions that suddenly raged inside him.

Padmé was alive. Alive, breathing, not five feet away.

No, that couldn’t be. She was dead. Vader had observed her funeral on Naboo, had mourned at her tomb. This was some trick, some deception meant to rattle him; the Emperor himself was likely behind this, testing Vader’s resolve. What was this trickery then? A PROXY droid? A Force Apparition? A Changeling? Perhaps a handmaiden?

But as Vader and his dead wife stared at one another, he shakily reached out with the Force, and felt – Padmé. Her existence thrummed in the Force, whole and strong, with that same vibrance he remembered from so long ago.

But she’d never looked at him like this. Anger burning in her eyes, resolve in the set of her lips, defiance in her stance. He’d seen her look at others like this and he’d admired her dedication and determination. But to have her glaring at him now, with loathing and defiance… he felt unsettled.

Padmé didn’t waste time. “On what grounds was I arrested?” she demanded. “It’s unlawful to take a citizen into custody without disclosing the nature of the supposed criminal activity.”

The current Admiral of The Executor had been so smug when he’d approached Vader to announce that a rebel insurgent had been captured. Vader had strode to the detention block, flanked by two stormtroopers, ready to wring out all the information he could from the rebel scum –

Of course she would be with the Rebellion. The Empire was the very thing that she had been so concerned about creating during the Clone Wars.

He forced himself to speak. “Conspiracy against the Empire.” His synthesized voice rang out in the enclosed space, so warped and pitched that she would never realize who she spoke to.

But did he really want her to know? Did he want Padmé to know what became of Anakin Skywalker? To see this broken, twisted husk of what remained? Would she want to know? Vader had killed Anakin Skywalker, had carved out everything that remained of the naïve Jedi, everything that Padmé had loved, until only Vader remained.

She was speaking, and Vader said nothing. He just… listened to her voice, bringing to mind memories of her practicing her speeches the night before important Senate sessions, as he half-listened, so happy that the Force had their paths cross all those years ago in Watto’s shop –

Fury burned in Vader’s core and he let it fester, let it burn away at the memories of the man he had killed. He turned his head, addressing the two stormtroopers standing in the cramped cell just behind him. “Leave us.”

Hastily, the troopers filed out, the door sliding closed behind them.

His breathing filled the silence; Padmé had stopped talking when Vader spoke. He felt her fear, though it did not show on her face.

“Do you have nothing to say?”

She had come to him on Mustafar, knowing what he’d done. Even as she betrayed me, she loved me.

It was the last thing she said to him; Vader heard it in his nightmares, sometimes. “Stop, stop now, come back. I love you. Anakin…”

Grief welled in him, and he spoke before he could stop himself. “I thought I lost you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve never met.”

“You were alive, I knew you were, but I felt – I felt our bond break.” His emotions roiled through him. “You were gone, he said –“

Hatred .

“He said I killed you,” Vader rumbled. “He said I killed you in a fit of anger, and when I couldn’t sense you, I believed him. The Emperor lied to me. He’s kept you from me all these years, knowing that I –”

That he what? Would have left Emperor Palpatine’s side? That he would run away with his long-lost wife? That he would kill her?

Padmé’s eyes had gone wide, frightened, incredulous as she stared at him. In a small voice, so quiet he almost didn’t hear: “…Anakin?”

The anguish threatened to consume him.

“Anakin Skywalker is dead.” He paused. “I…am what remains.”

She stared at him for so long, so silently, that Vader wondered if this might be a dream after all. “What…what happened?”

“It is because of Obi-Wan that I am like this,” he hissed.

“No! He would never hurt you! He loved you –”

“Enough! I don’t need to hear empty assurances.”

Fear lingered in her eyes, but that spark had returned. “If you can’t believe he loved you, what about our love?”

“I loved you more than I can ever express. I did everything for you – I would continue to do anything for you – ”

“Except come with me.”

“You brought Obi-Wan to kill me.”

“No! I didn’t know! I didn’t know he’d snuck aboard my ship.” And Vader was startled to hear the truth of her words reverberate in the Force. Taking a hesitant step forward, Padmé’s eyes flickered between the lenses of his mask, as though trying to see through them. “All I wanted was you. For us to be safe, and happy. We didn’t need anything else. Even…even after everything you did…”

“It was necessary. To bring order to the galaxy, to gain powers of the Force that would save –” Vader stopped abruptly. “The child. Does the child live?”

She bristled, and that was all the answer he needed.  

He turned from her, but he didn’t see the cold cell around them. He saw a child splashing in the lakes of Naboo, Padmé laughing as she chased them, and Anakin Skywalker watched them from the grass, smiling and happy, whole and unburnt.

And then his vision clouded with red, and black, and Darth Vader’s fury returned, wiping out the scene of peace that had been stolen from him. Because it had been stolen from him. If he had never pledged himself to the Emperor, never razed the Jedi Temple, never succumbed to the Dark Side, if the Emperor hadn’t lied to him about Padmé’s death… 

“Anakin?”

He jolted out of his seething reverie. Padmé’s expression was carefully controlled, but Vader could sense her unease, her fear, her… hope.

Her steady voice held more gentleness than he deserved. “What happens now?”

Now, the Emperor would die. Now, Vader would have revenge. Now…

He turned on his heel and waved his hand, the cell door opening, harsh white light spilling into the dim space.

“Bring her,” he commanded.

The stormtroopers moved immediately, pulling Padmé from her cell and marching her behind him. He could feel her eyes boring into the back of his helmet, but he didn’t turn around. If he took the time to explain, he might lose his nerve.

And neither Darth Vader nor Anakin Skywalker ever lost their nerve.

*

Padmé wanted to cry. She wanted to curl into the corner of some isolated place and sob her heart out. Instead, she raised her chin and walked as upright as she could as the stormtroopers escorted her behind the towering Sith.

How had the man she loved become the most feared monster in the galaxy?

She had believed, all those years ago, that there was still good in Anakin, even as he turned his back on everything he believed because he thought it would save her. But when Obi-Wan said that Anakin was dead –

Obi-Wan. Did he know that Anakin lived? Did he know what had become of his best friend? Had Obi-Wan lied to her about Anakin’s death, the way the Emperor lied to Anakin? No, she couldn’t believe that. He had been nearly as distraught as her. He couldn’t have known.

With all her heart, Padmé wanted to believe that there was still some sliver of good left in the creature that was Darth Vader; some glimmer of Anakin that she could recognize. But the horrific things that Vader had done… She watched the Imperials scatter from him in fear as Vader led her through the maze of corridors. How many had he killed? Tortured? He continued to hunt down surviving Jedi, relentlessly pursued Rebel insurgents, left ruins in his wake.

Could there really be good left in such a man?

She had to believe there was.

The corridor opened to a hanger bay. TIE fighters, small cargo ships, and shuttles lined the platform; technicians, pilots, deck crew, officers, and troopers moved in tightly organized groups, or else with purpose from one task to another. Darth Vader ignored them all, heading straight for a shuttle.

Technicians tending to the shuttle tripped over themselves as they leapt to attention.

“Lord Vader! We weren’t informed of a scheduled departure –”

“An apt statement, as I don’t often operate on schedules.” The man flinched. “I have need of my shuttle. Is it suitable?”

“Yes, my lord! It has been returned to your specifications.”

As the deck crew hurriedly cleared away their equipment, Padmé couldn’t help a twinge of familiarity; of course Anakin would be particular about his ship. So that, at least, had remained.

Darth Vader stood at the landing ramp and faced her. The troopers shoved her forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand twitch. But he didn’t strike. Instead, he stepped in front of them. “That will be all.”

“Sir?” one of them asked confusedly.

“I am not accustomed to repeating myself.” The low, warning tone sent a shiver up Padmé’s spine.

“Yessir,” the other said hastily, stepping back. The first trooper went to speak, thought better of it, and followed his fellow soldier.

Darth Vader’s shadow fell over her as she walked into the ship. Despite the size of the shuttle, there wasn’t much room inside; half the interior was taken up by some spherical mechanism, like a ball-shaped chamber.

“What’s happening?” she asked, doing her best to keep her tone calm.

Instead of answering, Vader swept past her, cape billowing behind him as he strode to the cockpit. “Strap in until we enter hyperspace.”

Her stomach flipped. Where was he taking her? Why didn’t he bring any guards along? Tense, she lowered herself into a seat and adjusted the safety harness. Darth Vader – Anakin – no, she couldn’t think of him as Anakin – Vader sat in the pilot's seat, expertly flipping switches and adjusting controls until the ship hummed to life.

The harsh white of the hanger bay ended as they emerged into the blackness of space. She could just spy Rodia through the viewport as Vader turned the ship and input coordinates. Coordinates to where? Within moments, the stars warped and stretched, before slingshotting them into the blue-white of hyperspace.

Gathering herself, Padmé undid the harness and stood. Vader made no movement as she walked into the cockpit. Even when she stood beside him, he didn’t turn to look at her. She gazed out the viewport feeling like she was hurtling towards –

“I will take you anywhere you want to go.”

A breath escaped Padmé. “What?”

Vader said nothing.

“You’re –” she sat heavily in a little-used copilots chair. “You’re helping me escape?”

“You will be interrogated as a Rebel spy. You may be tortured, or killed. And if the Emperor discovered your identity, he may take personal interest.”

After a long moment he added softly, “I cannot lose you again.”

With a trembling hand, she reached over and touched the side of that black mask. Finally, he turned to face her. It may have been a trick of the lenses, but for just a moment, she thought she saw his eyes illuminated in the light of hyperspace. Anakin’s eyes. Luke’s eyes.

“Come with me.”

[womenofswzine]

⭐ Meet our guest contributors! ⭐ Introducing @uzuriartonline as one of our page artists!

[chocmarss]

In Waves, In Skies

Summary:

“What did Senator Organa say?”

rexsoka. rebellion era. repcomm mention. star wars. rated G. 699 words.

Notes: I realised I never actually posted this ficlet I did for the @rexsokazine here. It’s somewhat of a companion fic based on the art I did for the zine too.

“What did Senator Organa say?”

Sunset washed over the landscape like gold.

There was a time when the sharp insistence of tumbling hopelessness would have attempted to reach for her, long fingers offered temptingly to her quaking resolve, its quiet and everlasting companion a looming dread by its shoulder. You’d be safe here, they would croon, loving and gentle. Come with us. Stay with us. Pain wouldn’t exist here the same way.

Ahsoka would like to think such shadows knew better than to keep her in their shackles.

Read more on AO3

[wizardofrozz]

Rebel Heart

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: war, angst, mention of death

A/N: It's taken me way too long to finally get this posted BUT I'm so proud of this piece and am honored to have been able to write this for the incredible @forcefatalezine ❤️

Ahsoka Tano knew her destiny was to be a Jedi Knight. Ever since she was old enough to understand what the Jedi Order was, she had been determined to reach knighthood. She trained until her muscles refused to continue following the katas she had memorized. Ahsoka wanted to be the best: the best youngling, the best Padawan, and eventually the best Knight. Then she met Anakin Skywalker at the beginning of the war, the Chosen One according to her crechemates. Being the Chosen One’s Padawan was a heavy burden, one that hung around Ahsoka’s shoulders for a long time. However, her place at Anakin’s side would prove to be a path she had never thought she’d find herself on.  

Ahsoka prided herself on her faith in the Jedi Order. She believed in the teachings, in the council, and in the community within the Order. Then the Clone Wars began, throwing the galaxy into turmoil, and forcing Ahsoka to watch men die by the hundreds; men she had known more intimately than she ever thought possible. She watched the Jedi as a whole start to lose their way, silently questioning the motives of the council. Criticizing the Masters tasked with leading them left a sickening pit in her stomach. Onderon was one of the first catalysts for her doubt. 

The Republic was turning its back on Onderon, leaving the people to conform or die, and it made Ahsoka sick. Standing on the outside, watching rebels struggle to form a winning plan, with Master Obi-Wan’s order echoing through her head. Ahsoka knew she was there to help, not to fight for Onderon but knowing she would be standing by while people died left a sour taste in her mouth. 

Then she stared into Stella Gerrera’s eyes as she fell to her death. A young life was cut short and Ahsoka couldn’t help but wonder that if the Jedi had done something sooner that maybe Stella would still be fighting the good fight. She stood silently with Anakin and Obi-Wan at Stella’s funeral, the what-ifs plaguing her mind despite knowing she should release her worries to the Force. Every time Ahsoka tried to find peace in the Force, all she saw were bright, youthful green eyes staring back at her.  

Onderon changed Ahsoka in a way she wouldn’t understand for a long time. 

Tucked into a dark corner of Coruscant's underworld, Ahsoka tried to understand how she had ended up in this situation. She had grown wary of the Jedi’s approach, silently questioning the orders passed down from her Masters. 

Whether it be the importance placed on the citadel rescue or the entire fiasco with Rako Hardeen, Ahsoka was finding her faith in the Order beginning to waver. Of course, she was still young, maybe she didn't understand the intricacies of the Jedi Council’s decisions. However, she couldn’t ignore the pit in her stomach when she thought too hard about the actions they were taking or the fact that the Senate had a hand in their affairs too. 

The last straw for Ahsoka was the bombing at the Jedi Temple, the incident that left Ahsoka running from the people she had trusted with her life. She couldn’t go to Obi-Wan, Master Plo, Rex and the 501st, or even Anakin. Ahsoka had never felt so alone, having no one to turn to in her darkest time yet. 

Then Ahsoka came face to face with the last person she ever imagined she’d be working alongside. 

Ventress had a certain way of operating, a system that contradicted the core of Ahsoka's being. But what choice did she have? Ahsoka had run out of options the second Letta took her last breath. Following the Jedi code wouldn’t help her, but could she go against everything she ever stood for? 

Ahsoka found out that, yes, she could and that it was easier than she was comfortable admitting. 

The pink-tinted electricity crackled in the air, throwing flashes of light over the black-glass eyes staring back at her. He was so achingly familiar, widening the fissures in her already broken heart. She had spent so long grieving her Master, wondering how his life had ended after Order 66 went out, especially after attending Padme’s funeral. There had never been a time when she wished he was gone but staring into the endless void of Vader’s helmet changed that. For a fleeting moment, Ahsoka wished Anakin had died that fateful day. 

Vader’s voice boomed through the crumbling room, sounding nothing like the voice Ahsoka remembered, the voice that had brought her comfort so many years ago. There was nothing left of the man she knew, nothing to even hint at Anakin hiding below the surface of Vader’s toxic presence. Ahsoka refused to call herself a Jedi after the fall of the Republic, feeling unworthy of the title, however, she had never felt more undeserving than she did when she committed to avenging her Master. Ahsoka was no Jedi and planned to stay that way, despite the ache in her heart telling her to honor her family. 

A Jedi couldn’t beat Darth Vader and beating him was the only option. 

The Jedi had been gone for years, thousands of holes in the Force where her family had once resided. The family her Master was responsible for decimating and Ahsoka still missed them terribly. She wished she could hear Master Plo call her Little ‘Soka one last time. She missed Obi-Wan’s warm presence over her shoulder, his reassuring hand on her shoulder. She missed the excitement of the Temple, the halls buzzing with Masters and younglings mingling. Ahsoka longed for the days when she was so convinced of her future. The unwavering determination that she would be a Jedi Knight, standing alongside Anakin and Obi-Wan with a smile on her face because she had made it. But now, standing at Rex’s side again after so many years, watching the explosion of color in the sky over Endor’s moon, she finally understood that becoming a Jedi Knight never was her destiny. 

Ahsoka Tano was always meant to be a rebel.