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.
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 💜
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!”
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.
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.
