#childforceusers

[heathenwithwifi]

Twilight of Destiny.

An AU where Anakin has a twin sister.

Summary: Tatooine, a world of heat, hunger, and hollow promises, becomes the stage for a ripple in destiny.

When Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padmé Amidala seek repairs in the storm-blasted markets of Mos Espa, they stumble not upon one gifted slave child—but two. Twins. Alina Lyra Skywalker and Anakin Skywalker.

Where Anakin burns bright with speed and curiosity, Alina is silent fire—controlled, unreadable, and unknowingly more powerful than any Jedi ever documented.

As a sudden sandstorm forces them into the Skywalkers’ modest home, truths begin to surface. Through a dinner of stew and quiet glances, a revelation of Force-born power emerges. Qui-Gon Jinn must decide if he’ll follow the Jedi Council’s cautious path—or the will of the Force itself.

But the galaxy has never seen anything like Alina.

And Alina is not ready to be seen.

Trigger warnings: literal child slavery/mentions of slavery, subtle emotional neglect (by others, not by family), discussions of trauma,power,fear. identity anxiety/fear of ones potential, mild classism and exploitation themes, canon-typical peril (storms, threats, jedi danger--yknow your typical tuesday for a jedi), hints at religious/political rigidity (jedi order--don't even argue with me on this, the jedi order is such a cult)

Tags:#StarWarsFanfiction #SkywalkerTwinsAU #AlinaLyraSkywalker #AnakinSkywalker #JediCouncilCritique #QuiGonLivesAU #SlowBurnForceBond #FoundFamily #TatooineStorms #ChildForceUsers #ObiWanKenobi #PowerfulOC #ForceMysticism #QuietPower #StarWarsReimagined #PrequelEraAU #ProtectAlinaAtAllCosts #TheForceIsStrongWithHer #SiblingDynamics #AngstySoftQuietGirls #HiddenStrength #SheDoesNotSpeakUntilSheDoes

Word Count:4,354

Part 1

Tatooine--a sun-scorched world of sand and slavery, where dreams go to die and survival is everything. But on this day, the Force moves quietly beneath its dust-blown surface.

Their starship crippled by a blockade run over Naboo, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Queen Amidala’s entourage are forced to make an unscheduled landing on Tatooine. Obi-Wan Kenobi, left behind to guard the ship, monitors their surroundings from the ship. Meanwhile, Qui-Gon and Padmé--diguised as a handmaiden--walk the streets of Mos Espa alongside Jar Jar Binks and the astromech droid R2-D2, seeking a hyperdrive part they desperately need to leave the planet.

The market is bustling with heat, voices, and barterers--shouting over clanking metal, hissing steam, and alien dialects. Qui-Gon moves with quiet purpose , his gaze sharp beneath the hood of his cloak.

“This place reeks of tension,” Padmé mutters, brushing sand from her robes.

“That’s not tension,” Qui-Gon replies, his voice low. “It’s destiny.”

Their search leads them to a dusty junk shop owned by a grumbling Toydarian named Watto, who buzzes impatiently through the air. As Qui-Gon negotiates, Padmé’s attention drifts--and she catches movement behind a low workbench:two children. One, a boy with tousled sand-blond hair and piercing blue eyes, is sorting through a pile of rusted parts. The other, a girl, crouches beside him, wiping sand from a circuit board with practiced precision.

They look about nine or ten--filthy, sun-browned,barefoot--but even so, there’s something poised and bright about them. The girl glances up first. Her sage green-gold eyes meet Padmé’s, and a strange recognition passes between them. Then the boy looks up, smiling wide.

“Are you an angel?” he asks Padmé suddenly.

Padmé blinks. “What?”

“An angel,” he repeats. “I’ve heard the deep space pilots talk about them. On the moons of lego, I think. You look like one.”

Padmé can’t help but smile. “That’s very kind of you.”

Watto flaps over, scolding. “Eh! Back to work, Skywalkers! These parts aren’t going to sort themselves out!”

Qui-Gon’s attention turns to the children. “Skywalkers?” he asks.

Watto waves a hand. “Yes,yes. My slaves. Twins. Got ‘em in a junk deal. The boy’s handy with machines, and the girl--well, she’s clever. Good with delicate work. Quiet, too. Doesn’t say much unless she has to.”

Padmé stepped closer, curiosity lighting her face. “What are their names?”

The boy looked up from his work brushing sand off his hands. “I’m Anakin,” he said proudly, blue eyes bright. “Anakin Skywalker.”

The girl glanced up as well--but where Anakin leaned forward, eager and open, she stayed crouched low, her hands still busy in the crate. Her eyes met Qui-Gon’s for only a second. Vivid sage green. Piercing. There was nothing shy in her gaze--but something held back. Wariness. Not fear, exactly. More like a calculation.

She didn’t speak.

“She doesn’t talk much,” Anakin said, glancing at her. “Especially to strangers.”

Alina gave him a small look--barely a twitch of her eyebrow--but it said everything. He shrugged.

“I do enough talking for both of us anyway.”

Padmé crouched a little closer,her voice warm. “You two work for Watto?”

“We’re his slaves,” Anakin said matter-of-factly. “We help in the shop and around the yard. I fix things. She…she fixes them better.”

“She’s your sister?” Padmé asked gently, watching the girl.

“Yeah. We’re twins,” Anakin replied with a grin. “But I'm older. By five whole minutes.”

That earned him a tiny snort from the girl. She didn’t lift her head again, but her fingers moved faster, sorting through power couplings like they were beads in a game only she knew how to play.

“She’s not trying to be rude,” Anakin added quickly. “She’s just smart about people. She can tell when someone’s dangerous or fake or--y’know, a bounty hunter.”

“Noted,” Qui-Gon said, voice calm and even.

The girl’s eyes flicked toward him again.

And this time she lingered.

There was something about him--tall,composed, quiet. But not like the others who came through Mos Espa with credits in their hands and promises on their tongues. He wasn’t loud. He didn’t try to win her over.

He just watched.

And somehow, that made her trust him less.

“Alright, alright!” Watto barked from across the shop, flapping his wings as he returned to the counter. “Enough chitchat. If you’re not buying, get out of my way!”

Qui-Gon rose, his attention still partly on the girl. Padmé followed, glancing over her shoulder once more.

The children returned to their work in silence. A few moments passed.

Then the wind changed.

It started a slow push, like the air had suddenly grown heavily. The dust shifted in lazy spirals across the floor of the shop. Alina stiffened.

She turned her face slightly toward the door. She didn’t need to see it--she could feel it.

“Ani,” she whispered.

He looked up. The breeze outside had picked up, ruffling the awning. The bright light of the twin suns had begun to fade, dimmed by the haze rolling in from the dunes.

“A storm,” Anakin muttered. “A big one.”

Padmé came to the entrance of the shop and peered outside. “Looks serious.”

“It is,” Anakin said. “When the sky turns like that, you don’t want to be caught out in it.”

Watto was already locking down the shutters with a grumble. “Everyone out! No haggling in a sandstorm!”

Padmé looked to Qui-Gon. “We’ll never make it back to the ship in time.”

“We’ll find shelter,” Qui-Gon said firmly, already stepping toward the door. “Quickly.”

Anakin sprang to his feet like a spark catching flame. “You can come with us!”

Padmé blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“To our house,” he said, grabbing a cloak from a hook near the doorway. “Me and—her.” He motioned toward the girl without looking, already reaching for the latch. “It’s not far. You’ll be safe there.”

Alina’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in something like disbelief. She stood slowly, her frame lean but sturdy, brushing sand from her patched trousers. She said nothing, but the stiff set of her shoulders spoke volumes.

“Mom won’t mind,” Anakin added, a bit of nervous energy slipping into his voice. “She always says it’s right to help people—especially in storms. That’s what she’d do.”

He pulled the door open, and the full force of the wind howled into the shop like a beast unleashed. The awning snapped and flapped violently overhead, and the dry air was thick with swirling sand and grit. The light outside had gone from gold to gray—sunlight swallowed by dust, the world beyond cloaked in chaos.

Alina looked back toward Qui-Gon and Padmé. The Jedi’s expression was unreadable, calm as stone despite the growing storm. Padmé’s brows were furrowed with concern, her hand shielding her face from the rush of hot wind.

Alina hesitated at the threshold.

Her bare feet hovered at the edge of the dusty shop floor. Her fingers brushed the doorframe—just for a second—as though grounding herself. Something about these strangers had thrown her off balance, and she didn’t like it. But Anakin had already made the choice for both of them, and somewhere deep inside, she knew the choice had been made long before the storm ever rose.

She turned to Qui-Gon first. Her gaze was guarded, but steady. Not a child’s look—not really. Something sharper. Older.

And then, finally, she spoke—her voice low, soft, but not hesitant. More like a quiet revelation.

“My name is Alina.”

The wind caught strands of her hair, tugging them loose from the braid at the base of her neck. She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink.

“Alina Lyra Skywalker.”

The name settled in the air like a spark falling into dry kindling. Something ancient shifted in the Force—Qui-Gon felt it, subtle and low, like the hum of a lightsaber before it’s drawn. He didn’t speak, but his eyes lingered on her just a moment longer than necessary.

And then she turned.

Her silhouette vanished into the storm without a word more.

Qui-Gon followed, his long cloak snapping behind him like a banner in battle.

Padmé hesitated.

She stood in the shop's doorway, her gaze still fixed on the empty space where Alina had stood. The girl's voice echoed in her mind—so quiet, but filled with something fierce and untamed. Her name—Skywalker—settled in Padmé’s chest like the first tremor before an earthquake.

The wind pushed harder now, thick with red dust. The streets outside were almost swallowed from view. R2-D2 beeped frantically as Jar Jar let out a muffled shriek behind her.

Padmé looked once more into the haze, then stepped into it, following the footprints already half-buried in the sand.

Behind her, Watto cursed in Huttese and slammed the door shut.

Ahead, the twins were already disappearing into the storm—one walking fast, the other walking quiet.Anakin led with purpose, darting through side alleys and narrow footpaths that twisted between Mos Espa’s crumbling stone homes. He knew every shortcut, every step that stayed dry during flooding, every corner that caught just enough shadow during the brightest part of the day. His cloak whipped behind him as he called over his shoulder, “This way! Not far!”

Alina moved behind him, less rushed but no less sure-footed. Her body was half-turned as she walked, glancing over her shoulder again and again—not out of fear, but out of instinct. Her braid had come loose in the wind, strands whipping around her face. She didn’t speak, not even when the coarse red sand stung her cheeks. But Padmé noticed she stayed near—never letting the group fall too far apart, quietly tracking their pace.

The storm pressed closer.

By the time the little group turned down a narrow corridor between two squat buildings, visibility had shrunk to only a few feet. The city seemed to disappear behind a thick veil of ochre dust. The howling wind swallowed every sound except for the rasp of boots on sand and the occasional beep from R2-D2, who was struggling to keep up.

Anakin stopped at a rusted metal door barely distinguishable from the wall around it. He knocked twice with the heel of his hand, then pressed his weight into it until it creaked open.

Warmth spilled out into the storm—not just from temperature, but from something more human. The soft glow of lamplight. The scent of something cooking low and slow on a heating coil. The murmur of life behind thin walls.

Alina motioned them inside. “Quick,” she said, raising her voice over the wind. “Before the hinges lock up with grit.”

Qui-Gon stepped through first, then Padmé, then R2. Jar Jar flailed his way in last, tripping over the threshold with a yelp. Alina shut the door behind them, pressing her back to it, catching her breath.

For a moment, there was only stillness.

The Skywalker home was modest—two rooms, a low ceiling, and walls the color of warm clay. Woven mats softened the floor beneath their feet. A cooling unit hummed in the corner. Small shelves lined with tools, copper wire, and faded family items gave the room the feel of somewhere both functional and fiercely personal.

And then she appeared.

Shmi Skywalker, drawn from the back room by the noise, stepped out into the light. She was barefoot, dressed in a long tunic with sleeves rolled up past her elbows. There was dust in her hair and worry already in her eyes. But she didn’t shout, didn’t scold.

Her eyes went straight to her children.

“You’re early,” she said softly. “And there’s a storm.”

Anakin grinned, brushing sand from his tunic. “We brought guests.”

Shmi’s gaze shifted. She took in the tall Jedi first—his weathered robes, his calm face, the blade hilt at his waist. Then Padmé, still cloaked, sand clinging to her eyelashes. Then Jar Jar, hunched awkwardly in the corner, and R2, who gave a polite beep.

She said nothing at first. Only blinked slowly, as if processing.

Alina moved past her mother and began brushing sand from a pile of fabric near the hearth, slipping silently into her old routine.

Shmi folded her arms.

“Anakin,” she said carefully, “who did you bring into my home?”

“They were stuck out in the storm,” he said quickly. “And they were at Watto’s—Qui-Gon, he’s a Jedi.”

At that, her brow creased.

“A Jedi?”

Qui-Gon stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Qui-Gon Jinn. This is Padmé Naberrie. We meant no intrusion, ma’am. The storm came faster than we expected.”

Shmi looked at him long and hard. “I haven’t seen a Jedi since I was a girl.”

“You remember them?”

“I remember the robes.”

There was no hostility in her tone. Only a sadness that settled in her voice like dust in the corners.

“You’re welcome to stay until it passes,” she said finally. “But don’t think I don’t notice the way you’re watching my children.”

Padmé blinked.

Qui-Gon didn’t flinch.

“I’ve seen enough off-worlders stare at them like puzzles they want to take apart,” Shmi continued. “But this is still their home.”

“You’re right to be protective,” Qui-Gon said, voice steady. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Shmi studied him for another moment, then nodded once. “Good. Then let’s get the sand off your faces and something warm in your stomachs.”

She turned toward the small kitchen space without waiting for agreement.

Anakin immediately launched into explaining their visitors to R2, while Jar Jar poked at a curious-looking thermal unit near the wall.

Padmé sat down slowly at the small table in the center of the room, brushing her cloak clean as best she could. Her eyes drifted toward Alina, who had settled beside a workbench and was quietly organizing a tray of parts. Not hiding, not exactly—just giving herself space.

“She’s… quiet,” Padmé said aloud before she could stop herself.

Shmi, from across the room, smiled softly. “Only when she’s thinking. Which is often.”

Qui-Gon sat as well, folding his hands before him. “She feels very deeply.”

“She doesn’t show it,” Shmi replied. “But yes. She always has. Even before she could speak, she’d cry when other people were in pain. Not because she was hurt—because they were.”

Alina glanced up for only a second, then returned to her work.

Anakin sat down beside her. “She doesn’t like being talked about.”

Alina didn’t look at him, but her elbow jabbed him lightly in the ribs. He grinned.

Dinner was simple—reheated root stew and dry bread, served in mismatched bowls. But it was warm, and the air inside the house felt safe, cocooned from the storm still howling beyond the walls. Padmé found herself relaxing for the first time in hours, her shoulders easing as she watched the twins eat and tease and finish each other’s sentences.

They were so clearly tethered to each other. Not just by blood—but by something deeper. Something wordless.

Qui-Gon, for his part, observed quietly.

Every time Alina touched a piece of cutlery or lifted her bowl, he noticed the subtle reaction in the air around her—just a slight warming. Every time Anakin grew excited, the light in the room seemed to shift brighter for a moment. They were not merely children. They were beacons. And they were stronger together.

He looked to Shmi. “You’ve raised them well.”

She looked tired—but proud. “I’ve done what I could.”

“Do they know what they are?”

Shmi hesitated, her spoon frozen mid-stir.

“They know they’re different,” she said softly. “They’ve always known. But they’ve never been taught what it means. I’ve never known enough myself.”

“Then perhaps it’s time someone did.”

Alina looked up then—really looked at him. No longer guarded. Just... waiting.

The storm groaned against the outer walls of the Skywalker home, wind howling like an old beast in pain. Inside, the light had softened. Dinner was finished, bowls cleared, and a quiet anticipation hung over the room like a held breath.

Qui-Gon Jinn’s hands moved with deliberate calm as he drew the small silver bioscanner from within his robes. The instrument’s gentle glow cast pale blue reflections on the table. He didn’t place it down right away. Instead, he looked first at Shmi, then at the children.

“This device measures something called midichlorians,” he explained gently. “They’re microscopic lifeforms that live within all living beings. They help us feel the Force.”

Anakin leaned forward, wide-eyed. “So... you can see how strong someone is with the Force?”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Yes. In a way. Would you like to try?”

“Yes!” Anakin offered his hand eagerly. “I’ve always known I could feel things. I just didn’t know what it meant.”

Qui-Gon pricked the boy’s fingertip with practiced ease and slipped the tiny blood sample into the scanner. It hummed softly, analyzing. The room fell completely silent.

After a few long seconds, the result flickered across the screen.

Qui-Gon’s eyes widened, though his expression stayed composed. “Over twenty thousand,” he said.

Padmé’s head snapped toward him. “That’s... more than Master Yoda, isn’t it?”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly. “By a significant margin.”

Anakin looked between them. “So... I really am meant to be a Jedi?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “I believe the Force has a plan for you.”

Anakin beamed, the excitement in his small frame practically electric. Shmi smiled, too, but her eyes remained watchful—especially as Qui-Gon turned his gaze toward the girl sitting in silence across the table.

“Alina.”

She met his gaze with a stillness that was striking. Not fearful. Not stubborn. Just... deliberate.

“I’d like to test you, too.”

Alina didn’t move. Her fingers were laced together tightly in her lap. For a moment, she didn’t even blink. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was quiet and firm.

“Why?”

“To understand,” Qui-Gon replied. “The Force surrounds you both. But with you... it’s different. It’s deeper. Quieter. But no less strong.”

“I don’t want to be a project,” she said flatly.

“You wouldn’t be,” he assured her. “You’d be a student of the Force. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Shmi touched Alina’s arm. “It’s alright, my love.”

Alina hesitated… then slowly extended her hand.

Qui-Gon took it gently. Her skin was warm—noticeably more so than Anakin’s, as if heat lived just beneath her surface. He pricked her fingertip, drew the sample, and inserted it into the device.

The scanner began to hum.

Longer this time.

The glow pulsed brighter. The hum deepened.

Qui-Gon’s brow furrowed.

The numbers began to rise.

Twenty thousand.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-four.

The room went still.

Twenty-six.

Padmé inhaled sharply.

Twenty-eight.

Even Jar Jar leaned in, forgetting to be nervous.

Thirty-one thousand.

Then, finally, the screen froze. The number blinked.

Thirty-two thousand.

Qui-Gon’s mouth opened slightly. He looked down at the screen. Then back at her.

No Jedi had ever recorded numbers like this.

Not Yoda. Not the old Masters. Not even the Chosen One—if Anakin was that.

But then what was Alina?

Padmé whispered, “Is it broken?”

“No,” Qui-Gon said. “It’s working just fine.”

Alina slowly withdrew her hand, eyes on the Jedi.

“What does it mean?” she asked.

Qui-Gon didn’t answer right away.

He turned to Shmi. “You truly don’t know where they came from?”

“No,” Shmi said, her voice trembling now. “There was no father. Not one child—two. I just… had them. One day they were mine.”

“Are they dangerous?” Padmé asked.

“No,” Qui-Gon said. “Not dangerous. But powerful. More powerful than anyone I’ve ever encountered.”

Anakin looked between them, confused. “So... she’s stronger than me?”

“Not stronger,” Qui-Gon said gently. “Different. The Force flows through both of you in ways we’ve never documented. Anakin shines—brilliant, wild, fast. You burn bright.”

He turned to Alina.

“But you... you don’t burn. You glow. You carry the Force like a storm that hasn’t broken yet. Calm. Controlled. But vast.”

Alina blinked, her voice suddenly fragile. “Does that scare you?”

Qui-Gon looked her straight in the eye. “No. But it humbles me.”

She held his gaze for several moments.

Then she looked down, brushing her thumb over the tiny pinprick on her finger.

“I always knew there was something,” she said. “But I didn’t want to know what it meant.”

“And now?” Padmé asked softly.

Alina didn’t look up. “Now I’m not sure if I want to find out.”

Shmi placed a steady hand over hers.

“You don’t have to decide today,” Qui-Gon said. “But the Force doesn’t do things by accident. I was meant to find you both. And if the Council will not train you... I will find a way.”

Padmé looked at him sharply. “Even if it means going against the Jedi Code?”

Qui-Gon’s expression was resolute. “The Code has its place. But so does destiny. And I believe theirs is one the galaxy cannot afford to ignore.”

The wind had begun to die, but the storm inside Qui-Gon Jinn had not.

The room had quieted. Shmi had retreated to tuck the children in—Anakin had fallen asleep mid-sentence, buzzing with podrace excitement. Alina had vanished without a word, slipping down the hall like a shadow. The only light came from a small energy lamp on the floor, casting flickers along the walls.

Qui-Gon knelt before the holocommunicator he’d placed in the far corner of the Skywalker home. With a few adjustments to the power relay—generously patched together by Anakin and Alina—the emitter buzzed to life, casting a sharp blue glow.

Moments later, Obi-Wan Kenobi shimmered into view. He was seated cross-legged aboard the Queen’s royal starship, his face serious, his voice low.

“You’re late checking in.”

“The storm hit harder than expected,” Qui-Gon replied calmly. “We had to find shelter with locals.”

Obi-Wan arched a brow. “Locals?”

“A woman and her children. Slaves. The mother’s name is Shmi Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked upward at the surname, but he said nothing.

“They have two children,” Qui-Gon continued. “Twins.”

Obi-Wan leaned forward slightly. “You’re interested in one of them.”

There was a pause.

“I’m interested in both,” Qui-Gon said. “But I tested the boy first.”

A flicker of energy passed between them—Obi-Wan bracing for something unspoken.

“His name is Anakin,” Qui-Gon said. “And his midichlorian count is over twenty thousand.”

Obi-Wan stared at him. “Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

“That’s...” Obi-Wan trailed off. “That’s more than Master Yoda.”

“I know.”

Obi-Wan sat back slowly. His tone shifted. “Is he the Chosen One?”

“I thought so,” Qui-Gon said. “Until I tested the girl.”

Obi-Wan stilled. “You tested both?”

“Yes.”

Qui-Gon's voice was quieter now, not with uncertainty—but with reverence.

“Her name is Alina Lyra Skywalker. She’s his twin. And she is...”

He searched for words.

Obi-Wan waited.

“She’s not like him. She doesn’t shine like Anakin does. She burns—but it’s inward. Controlled. Hidden, even from herself. I didn’t sense her at first because she doesn’t reach outward with her power. She pulls it inward. Contains it. It’s like standing next to a star that hasn’t gone supernova yet.”

Obi-Wan raised his brows. “That’s... poetic.”

“No,” Qui-Gon said. “That’s just the truth.”

He picked up the bioscanner still sitting at his side and glanced at the numbers frozen on the screen.

“Thirty-two thousand, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan froze.

“Thirty-two?”

“Higher than any record in our archives. Higher than any Jedi. Higher than the boy.”

The silence between them turned heavy.

“She’s Force-born too?”

“She has to be,” Qui-Gon said. “Shmi insists there was no father. No conception. The children were simply... given to her.”

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. “And you believe her.”

“I do.”

“And the Council—?”

“They won’t understand her,” Qui-Gon said simply. “They won’t want to.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s too quiet, too composed, too... unreadable. They will see the boy and fall in love with his raw potential, his speed, his brightness. But they’ll see the girl and feel... discomfort. She feels like something old. Something the Jedi don’t have a box for. Her presence doesn’t ripple. It sinks. Deep. Steady.”

Obi-Wan looked unsettled.

Qui-Gon continued, “She has heat in her. Literal, Force-reactive warmth. When she’s upset, the air around her warms. When she’s afraid, the room stills. Her emotions affect the physical world—but not in bursts. Not like someone who loses control. She doesn’t lose control. She holds it. All the time.”

He paused, his voice heavy now.

“And she’s afraid of what it would mean to let it go.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was low. “That sounds like something the Sith might say about a candidate.”

“That’s what worries me,” Qui-Gon said. “That the Council might sense the same thing and misjudge her. But I’ve looked into her eyes. She’s not drawn to power. She doesn’t want it. She fears what it could make her. There’s no darkness in her... but there is shadow. Like a room where light hasn’t reached yet.”

“Why does she hide it?”

“Because she knows the world won’t understand.”

Obi-Wan was quiet for a long time. Then: “What are you planning to do?”

“I’ve entered Anakin into the Boonta Eve podrace. I’ve bet on him to win us the parts we need. Watto wouldn’t let me wager for both children—only one.”

“So you chose the boy.”

Qui-Gon’s face darkened slightly.

“I chose the option Watto allowed. But I will not leave Alina behind.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms. “And how do you plan to free her? Trickery? Credits we don’t have?”

“If I must.”

“You’ll go against the Jedi Council.”

“I’ve done so before.”

Obi-Wan gave a small smile, more exhale than expression. “Yes, Master. You have.”

Qui-Gon’s tone grew resolute. “You know me. I don’t believe in prophecy lightly. But I believe the Force sent me here—not just for one life, but for two. They are not meant to be separated.”

“Even if the Council forbids their training?”

“They can forbid what they like,” Qui-Gon said, standing. “But I will follow the will of the Force. Always.”

The holocom flickered as Obi-Wan’s projection wavered in and out with static.

Obi-Wan’s voice returned, softer now. “Then let’s hope Anakin wins the race.”

“He will,” Qui-Gon said.

He looked to the hallway where both twins now slept in separate corners of the same home. One dreaming of flying, the other lying awake with her eyes open in the dark, feeling every pull of the Force like a tide just beneath her skin.