Chapter Text
After helping Shmi with some chores, Feral finds himself out on the sandy veranda beneath the sweeping dark sky. The breeze borders on chilly, but after the scorching day spent double checking Anakin’s podracer, metal blinding and engine air scalding, it’s rather welcome.
Legs hanging out over the barrier, Feral watches the slow spin of the stars and breathes deep. Somewhere across the city Obi-Wan might be staring out a viewport at those same stars. He might be trailing his gaze over the endless line of the desert. Or he might even be in his bunk, taking a well-deserved reprieve from the rest of the crew.
Two moons trail across the sky, fat little things that shine bright. He purses his lips, grief swelling inextricably as he’s reminded of the Tusken Raider tale Anakin told him late last night as they wavered on the cusp of dreams and waking.
Twin suns. Brothers both doomed by their duty as they betray their own hearts.
Betrayed by each other.
It’s- a strange feeling that ebbs and swells within him, trapped beneath his breastbone. It trembles awkwardly along his ribs, pressing against his hearts, his lungs. Feral can only breathe against it. Breathe past it. Just breathe breathe breathe.
The feeling of something lurking upon the horizon rises once more.
Master Windu told him there was a shatterpoint and Feral was at the centre of it. Last night he was so sure that he’d found the reason for it. He’s still sure. There’s just- something about Anakin that calls to him. Something familiar about Shmi that he just can’t shake off. They’re bright in the Force in a way no one else is. There’s no way they’re meant to languish out here on Tatooine, beaten and used and suffering. He’s supposed to be here, he must be, and if not for them, then what?
“Baschna?”
Anakin slips up beside him, clambering up onto the barrier. Feral holds out a steady hand in case the boy falls, but Anakin moves like he’s done this a hundred times. Gently kicking out his legs, Anakin peers up at the stars with him.
“There are so many,” the little boy breathes, awed. “Do they all have a system of planets?”
“Most of them.”
“Has anyone been to ‘em all?”
Feral grins. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.”
“I wanna be the first one to see ‘em all!” Anakin exclaims. Sheer joy and hope radiate from him. “I come out here a lot just to look at them. I wanna be a pilot, you know?”
“Oh, really?” Feral says, fondness creeping into his voice.
“Yeah.” Anakin’s eyes shine with the glow of the twin moons. “I mean, I already am. But I wanna be a proper pilot with my own ship, big enough for me and mom and Threepio. That way we can travel wherever we want, whenever we want. Just us three, exploring the galaxy.”
“You think Threepio will like that?” The droid seems a bit too anxious to be galivanting around like Anakin dreams, not that Feral would ever dissuade him.
“He’s a lot braver than you think,” Anakin says matter-of-factly. “I found him in pieces in a junkpile. Only a few of his vital components were left, like his memory processors. He’s his own person, he’s baschna like most droids aren’t allowed to realize. His memory isn’t erased. He remembers what it was like before I found him. He was a slave.” Anakin takes a moment, fingers curling white-knuckled at his sides.
“Threepio is family. Even if I want him to help mom, he also wants to help mom. He likes her. Threepio won’t serve someone if he doesn’t want to. He has that choice.” He grins up at the stars. “So, yeah, Threepio might get a little nervous, but I know he’ll want to explore the stars with us, too.”
Feral can’t quite find anything to say in response so he stays quiet. They sit like that for a while. Staring up at the stars, the moons slowly climbing higher and higher.
“You said you have a brother.”
Anakin peers at him from the corner of his eye.
“I do.” Feral nods, smiling slightly. “His name is Savage. He’s three years older than me.”
Anakin is silent for a moment longer. “Padmé seemed surprised that you had one.”
A sigh escapes him. “It’s…unusual. For blood relatives in the Order to have the relationship my brother and I have. We all arrive at the Temple when we’re very young. Sometimes siblings like us are found or given to the Order. Sometimes Force-sensitivity runs in families, and so you might know an uncle or cousin in the Order. Twins are more common than anything else. What’s unusual about Savage and I is that we’re several years apart, yet we’re still very close.”
Anakin frowns. “Is that bad?”
Feral shakes his head. “Not necessarily. My brother and I love each other very much. I would do almost anything for him.” He pauses. “The Jedi Order worries about attachment. If you become too attached, you put your own desires above everything else and you risk Falling to the Dark Side.”
“What’s that?” Feral has Anakin’s full attention now. There’s curiousity in Anakin’s face, as well as a tinge of fear. And there’s that hint of the unknown horizon again. It simmers like the oncoming dawn. The sun bubbling out into the endless dark. Stars fading and dying. Or perhaps it’s the twilight instead. The dark engulfing everything as the horizon swallows the sun whole.
“The Dark Side…” Feral starts, then stops. This boy knows nothing. He’s so strong in the Force, yet he knows nothing. If he was younger this wouldn’t be a problem, but Anakin is nine years old. He already has a whole life, a family. He’s experienced loss and hardship in ways that Feral can’t even begin to fathom. Feral must be careful about this. He must explain it in a way that Anakin will understand.
“Jedi can access and use something called the Force. Bodies put out heat, but they also put out energy. This is the Force. It is an energy that exists because we are alive, and it connects us all, too. It’s like…Mos Espa wouldn’t be a city without the people within it, right? And because we’re all here, we’re all connected.” Anakin nods and so Feral continues. “Without people, the city is nothing. Without living things, the Force is nothing, but without us being connected, without us living in this same universe, we are nothing.”
Anakin looks a little confused by this so Feral backtracks. “Because the Force is an energy we all create, it connects everyone. Some people can feel it, like the Jedi, and some cannot. It depends on how sensitive you are to the Force. The more sensitive you are, the more midichlorians you have. They’re little microscopic creatures that feed off the Force. So if you put off more energy into the Force, you’re making more food for them, so more of them will come to you.”
Anakin’s lip curls. “You’ve got- little creatures living on you?”
Feral laughs. “They’re like bacteria. Everyone has bacteria living on their skin, or good bacteria their bodies produce. They’re harmless.”
Seeming to accept this, Anakin nods. “So what’s the Dark Side then? Are Jedi the only ones who have the midi- midichlorians?”
Pausing, Feral turns his gaze back to the sky and its sweeping stars. “The sky is the sky, right? Even if it’s day or night, it’s still the sky. Moons, suns, stars, it doesn’t matter.”
Anakin shifts beside him, nodding. “Yeah, of course.”
“Well the Force is the same. It may look or feel different sometimes, but it’s still the Force. The Dark Side is like the night. It’s secretive. You can’t see as well unless you make your own light. It can be scary, too, because you don’t know what’s out there. If you’re scared you’re more likely to lash out and give in to your fear. It’s harder to make decisions because you don’t know if you’re making the right ones in the dark where you can’t see anything. You’re hindered by your own overwhelming emotions and the Dark around you. But if you learn the Dark, if you don’t make your own light and instead wander by feel alone, you can learn to navigate it. Yes, you might still be caught unawares by a cliff edge or a prowling beast, but you become used to it. You use it to your advantage. You become the prowling beast, using the Dark to confuse and scare your prey as you hunt them down, corner them.”
The moons are so bright above, so reminiscent of those twin suns.
“The Light Side of the Force is what all Jedi serve. It’s like the day. You can see everything. You don’t fear plunging to your death by stepping into a hidden ravine. Our view might be hindered by mountains but all we must do is climb them to see the other side. We are knowledgeable because we can see what’s around us, and because we can see everything it’s easier to stay calm and collected. To think of others instead of just saving yourself in the Dark. The Light Side is tranquility and compassion, selfless and unconditional love for all living things.” Feral meets Anakin’s wide gaze.
“The Dark Side feeds off anger and fear. Hatred, passion, aggression. These emotions cloud our thoughts. When you feel these things it’s harder to see, like you are in the dark. So it’s easier to succumb to the Dark Side.”
Anakin frowns, the fear trembling along his skin. “But- so—” He gulps, shame roiling hot. “Is it- bad to be angry?”
“No,” Feral rushes to assure him. “Everyone feels anger or fear. You can’t help it. It’s part of life. It’s what you do with those feelings that’s important. You must seek to understand them. Why are you angry? Why are you fearful? What can you learn from it? How can you resolve the situation to help yourself and those around you?” He pauses for breath. Calms against the swelling of the Force’s tide, the flicker of light upon the shifting surface. “Then once you understand them, you can let go of it. You can move on, wiser for having understood your emotion and the experience.”
Anakin is silent for a long time. When he speaks, his voice is small and it grows with every word that spills from his mouth. “I’m angry that slaves exist. I’m angry that my mom has been hurt because of it and I’m afraid we’ll be separated.” Tears fill his voice as his lip wobbles. “I love my mom. She and Threepio are all I have. I can’t lose them. I can’t. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
Hearts swelling in his chest, Feral stares down at this little boy who has opened his heart to him. Who has willingly shown his vulnerability. He wonders if Anakin has ever told anyone this before.
“Why are you angry that slaves exist?” he asks gently.
Anakin head whips up, expression incredulous. “Because slavery is evil. It hurts people! It kills them! No one should made forced to do something they don’t want! Everyone deserves to be free!”
Feral nods. “It is an injustice. Everyone deserves basic rights. That anyone believes others can be treated as property is- It’s awful. Worse than any words can explain. Are you angry at the people who have slaves? Who capture and sell others for profit?”
Anakin stares up at him, eyes swimming. “Yes.”
“You are right to be.” He hesitates. “And what do you want to do with that anger?”
“I—” Brows scrunching, Anakin stumbles over his own words. Purses his lips. Gulps. Glares into his own lap. “I don’t know.”
Feral considers him. The Force swells swells swells. “You’ve been a slave all your life,” Feral prods gently. “Surely you must have imagined what you could do if given the chance.”
“Maybe,” Anakin mumbles, stress and guilt making his voice go tight.
“Then what do you want to happen to them?”
“I want them to die!” Anakin exclaims, voice ringing out across the rooftops. He pants, tears splattering down his cheeks. “With them gone, then everyone would be free! Everyone would be happy and safe and- and we wouldn’t have to worry about slavery anymore!”
The fear of rejection quivers so strongly in the Force it nearly makes Feral sick. But there’s stubbornness there, too. A fierce righteous belief that pushes it out out out until it’s hot as the desert sands upon Feral’s skin, and just as abrasive, too.
“Would it actually solve the problem?” The words are difficult to keep even in the face of Anakin’s blazing fury and desperate longing, but Feral manages it.
This makes Anakin falter and he glances up, confusion contorting his young face. “Wha- of course it would. All the Masters would be gone!”
Ruefully, Feral shakes his head. “Evil isn’t something you can destroy once and be done with it. Do you think people have been enslaved since the beginning of existence? Because I certainly hope not. If you do somehow manage to kill all the slavers, someone will always rise up again. Somehow, slavery will return even more insidious than before because they’ll remember the people before them being slaughtered. They’ll return with a vengeance, Anakin. You will have created more problems than you will have stopped.”
Tears leak down Anakin’s cheeks as he furiously shakes his head.
“And in the end, what will it cost you? How will you live with yourself knowing you killed so many people? How do you even know you killed the right ones? Evil is…subjective. Evil can be willful ignorance. Evil can be inaction. Would you kill the young daughter of a slaver simply because her father gave her a slave? She is too young to know this is wrong. People can be taught. Would you kill her before even giving her the chance to change?”
“That’s- that’s different,” Anakin stutters.
“And what about the people who have no slaves yet have done nothing to help them? Will you kill them, too?”
“I- I don’t know.”
Sympathy curls sharp between his hearts, but Feral pushes on at the insistence of the Force, as well as his own need to help this boy before it’s too late. “You should never hurt others for you own gain. You should never take pleasure in hurting others. By giving into violence, we become just like them. Not to say we can’t ever resort to violence, because sometimes it is inevitable, but it should not be our first choice. Not ever.”
Sniffling, Anakin rubs at his nose. “Then- then how am I supposed to change things?”
“That is a very difficult and complicated question that I am not quite sure how to answer,” Feral admits. “You can try to appeal to them. To convince them what they are doing is wrong, but I rather suspect that’s been tried before.”
Ferocity light Anakin’s eyes. “Then I’ll make them believe! And if not- then- then—”
“By robbing them of their free will and forcing them to do what you want, wouldn’t you become a slaver yourself?”
Pale and shaking, eyes wide, Anakin’s chin drops to his chest.
The swell of the Force crests and crashes, violent and freezing. Seasalt spatters and Feral remembers to breathe breathe breathe.
Sighing heavily, Feral reaches out a tentative hand and Anakin willingly tucks himself under his arm. Small, calloused hands clench at Feral’s tunic as the boy presses himself into his side. He shivers in distress and Feral rubs a careful, soothing hand along Anakin’s arm.
“This is why the Dark Side is so dangerous, young one. As Force users with powers so few possess, we can cause so much destruction if we cannot control ourselves and master our emotions,” Feral says softly, thinking of Savage and his wild eyes. Savage and his aching, consuming anger. This is why Master Windu taught Savage Vaapad under a very cautious eye. Too easily can someone become consumed by the Dark if they slip upon that razor-edge. But if utilized correctly, it can help you confront that anger and control it without giving in to it.
Just as it helps Savage.
“The Dark Side preys upon your fears and weaknesses. It whispers your deepest doubts and tempts you with power. It is seductive, venomous and it will eat you alive from the inside out.”
Hiccupping, Anakin curls a little closer to Feral. The front of his tunic is already damp.
Quietly, Feral recites, “‘Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.’ All Jedi are taught this from a very young age. It is okay to feel these things, but we must not let them consume us. Instead we confront them. We work to understand them. We let them go and move on, having learned all we can. It is a careful balance we must maintain through constant work.” He squeezes Anakin’s arm comfortingly. “You have already begun to do the same.”
Anakin stills, then his head jerks up to meet Feral’s gaze. His eyes are red and puffy even in the long- stretching light of the doorway. “R-really?”
“Yes,” Feral reassures, smile soft and kind. “You’ve done really well. You already were doing well. In the face of cruelty, I have seen that you are kind. Despite hardship, you are generous and giving. Despite all the darkness, you remain bright in the face of it. Your mother must be proud.”
Anakin sniffles again, rubbing his sleeves across his nose. “Yeah, well, she’s the kindest person I know.”
There’s movement in the corner of his eye and Feral follows it with a slight tilt of his head. Shmi stands in the doorway watching them. Concern shines bright in her eyes, but there’s appreciation there, too. It slips like an early dawn along his senses, warm and soft and bright. Feral’s not sure if it’s because he’s comforting her son or because she heard their conversation.
Feral soothes his hand along Anakin’s arm again but it makes the boy hiss and flinch. Immediately, Feral draws away, alarmed. “Are you alright? Have I hurt you?”
Anakin shakes his head. “No- sorry. I just got cut when I was fixing up my podracer earlier.”
“What?”
A shadow falls across them. “Did I hear that right?”
The both of them look up to see Qui-Gon’s concerned, yet amused expression as he steps closer. He settles down at Anakin’s other side and gestures for the boy to extend his arm. “Come. Let me see.”
The boy spends a few embarrassed minutes fidgeting as Qui-Gon carefully cleans and bandages up the cut.
But not before he manages to sneak a blood sample.
At Shmi’s insistence, Anakin scampers off to bed, offering Feral a small, shy smile. Feral watches him go, an odd feeling in his chest.
“You couldn’t have been subtler, Master?” Feral murmurs.
Qui-Gon chuckles. “I suspect it was the subtlest I could be with him. I saw an opportunity and took it.”
Feral eyes the device in Jinn’s hand with trepidation. “You can feel it.” It isn’t really a question.
“Yes,” Jinn says, staring down at his hand, too. “There is a reason we landed on this planet,” he says slowly. “The Force leaves no room for luck.”
Feral doesn’t tell Jinn he thinks he’s right.
He doesn’t have to.
When he eventually slips back inside, Feral glances out over Mos Espa and pauses. Just peeking over the skyline is a bubble of light. Abruptly, he realizes it’s a third moon.
He doesn’t remember it being there the night before. Uncertain, his eyes trace its brilliant rim as he tries to recall last night. But no. He’s sure it wasn’t there. Frowning, he watches it as if expecting it to suddenly spring up and reveal itself entirely.
Apprehension simmers low in his belly. It aches in his bones.
Maybe he’ll ask Shmi about it tomorrow.
He steps back into the safety of the Skywalker’s home, leaving behind the night sky as the third moon slowly yet steadily climbs up to reach his brothers.
-:-
Luminara quickly became a staple in Savage’s life.
At first, he only saw her whenever he visited the Archives. Then their paths began to cross in the halls, the commissary, the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Whenever Luminara’s Hawkbat Clan joined Dragon Clan for instruction, Savage and Luminara cast each other small, hesitant smiles from across the room.
I wonder if I’ll see her today, was Savage’s first thought every morning, mind still thick with sleep. Anticipation curled in his gut, shivery in a good way.
Apparently the little tattoo was a blessing Luminara’s family bestowed upon her when they gave her to the Temple.
“It’s supposed to symbolize pride and good fortune,” Luminara said, fingertips idly grazing the diamond. “They were happy to give me to the Jedi, but not because they didn’t want me. They were proud their daughter was chosen.”
Excited, but nervous, Savage pounced on their unexpected similarity, quick to tell her about his own tattoos. He couldn’t remember all their meanings. He was supposed to learn it all when he got older but- well. He’d never have the chance now. So he shared what he could and grinned when Luminara traced fascinated fingers along the crown of his head.
The first time Feemor caught the two of them together in the Archives, bent over the same pad, his steps faltered. But then he grinned wider and brighter than Savage had ever seen. Savage couldn’t help but sink into himself, a strange guilt and shame eating away at him, but Feemor—
Feemor only asked them what they were studying, voice perfectly casual and pleasant.
Before long they needed to make their goodbyes and as with every time they did so, Savage’s chest went tight when Luminara disappeared out of sight. As the two of them made their way through the hallways towards the crèche, Feemor glanced down at him. Stubbornly, Savage clutched his pad to his chest and kept his gaze fixed forward as he marched down the hall.
“I like your friend,” Feemor said perhaps a bit too nonchalantly.
Savage’s steps faltered, glancing up at the man in shock. “F-friend?” he stuttered.
Smile far too kind, Feemor nodded. “She seems like a good one.”
Savage stayed silent the entire way back to the crèche, even when little Feral and Obi-Wan slammed into his knees and welcomed him back.
Friend.
The word repeated itself over and over again in his head. It echoed, long and loud until it was soft and worn and familiar instead of strange and sharp and terrifying.
Friend.
He rolled it over and over. Traced along its edges with hesitant fingers until he was brave enough to cup it between his palms and cradle it close. It was warm. Comforting.
“Friend,” he whispered to himself in the dead of night. It felt good on his tongue. New but- good.
He’d never had a friend before. Not ever. Feral was his brother, he looked out for him. Even the other kids in the crèche— he looked after them, too. He loved them, but they weren’t really his friends. They were more family than anything else.
Even Feemor wasn’t really his friend.
But Luminara— She was his friend.
It felt good to have one.
(To absolutely no one’s surprise, they remained best friends for the rest of their lives)
-:-
Feral wakes with a choked gasp, hearts pounding erratic stumbling rhythms against his breastbone. Sweat trickles between his horns, dripping down his brow and pooling in the creases of his cheeks. The fading wail of a baby echoes in his ears, too loud at first for him to really realize what it is. The sound rattles around his skull, razor-sharp and bone-dry, it drags against his mind leaving ragged wounds in its wake.
He lays in the dark, ears full of the wail and his panting breath and the twin stumbling gallops of his heartbeats. There’s wetness in the corners of his eyes but his limbs are so heavy he can hardly move, so it takes a minute or two or three maybe even longer to lift his hand to his face. His numb fingers come away wet. He rubs at his eyes and more warmth trickles down. The slip of his silka beads is cool against his throat.
Hearts refusing to calm down, Feral curls his arm over his face and fights to breathe. The wail of the babe eventually fades but that foreboding anticipation only swells and swells just as it did last night. Except now, instead of the promise of relief it continues to rise. Slow at first, but steadily it tumbles up up up until it surges so high above he is dwarfed he is lost he is alone—
“Feral?” Anakin mumbles in the dark. There is a shifting of cloth and the boy rolls over to face him, peering through the dark in a vain attempt to see his friend. “What’s wrong?”
“I-it’s fine,” Feral chokes out, voice quaking. “Just- just a dream. Go back to sleep, Anakin.”
Making a dubious noise, Anakin shifts again more purposefully. Before he can slip off the bed, Feral forces himself to sit up, limbs aching and weak.
“You have a big day tomorrow,” Feral manages to say more levelly. “It’s important you get your rest. No use having you fall asleep in your podracer in the middle of the race.”
Scoffing, Anakin shifts again but Feral can tell the boy is laying down again. “Like I’d do that,” Anakin mumbles, grumpy. He’s silent for a few moments. Then he asks, voice hesitant, concerned, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Affection blooms warm and steady in Feral’s chest. It helps soothe the frantic beating of his hearts. “Yes, Anakin. I am sure. It was just a strange dream.” Pauses. Breathes. Speaks the automatic reaction when neither his Master nor his brother are here. When Obi-Wan is gone. “I’m going to go meditate on it before breakfast.”
“Okay,” Anakin accepts sleepily, so trusting.
Feral’s hearts clench. But he doesn’t want Anakin to worry. Standing up is wobbly, but doable. Making short work of tidying his makeshift bed and leaving everything folded in the corner, Feral finds the strength in the dark to slip out of the room. He pads silently to the doorway of the veranda and it quietly swishes open and closed for him as he passes through.
The sky dawns a deep, gentle blue as night gives way to the day. The air is still cool and sharp, but Feral has no doubt it’ll soon begin warming up. The slave quarters are quiet, some people already up and shuffling about. It’s easy to relish the quiet of the sleepy city. To take relief from the open air and the burgeoning dawn that peels him open like a particularly stubborn fruit, laying him bare and warm for the world to see. He’s not hunched in on himself, huddled and alone. Trapped in the dark of his own mind.
He settles cross-legged upon the barrier where he and Anakin sat only last night, laying his hands open-palmed upon his knees. The slight breeze tickles him through his thread-bare shirt, running across his chest. Even now he can feel the sand. Little bits of grit in his lashes, caught between cloth and skin.
There is a certain relief in opening yourself up to the universe, connecting you to the rest of it. Feral takes advantage of this as he closes his eyes and breathes deep. Running careful fingers along his connection to the Force, to the people around him and the planet. The thin-thread lines that extend to places he can’t see, beyond the stars.
Bruck has always described the Force as an ocean. A swelling of the tide, the spray of sea salt, the cries of the gulls above. We linger upon the shore and tread out into shallow waters, he once told Feral. Non-Force-sensitives are landlocked. They cannot see the water, only hear it in the distance, occasionally catching the smell of brine and seaweed. But we Jedi can swim out. We can float upon the waves and move with the current. But the Dark… Feral’s friend had trailed off, eyes going distant. If we overtax ourselves, we will sink, and if we’re lured far below the touch of the sun by the promise of spiny neon secrets and haunting behemoth truths lurking in the shadows— we’ll lose ourselves in the Dark as the pressure slowly crushes us alive.
It’s an apt interpretation of the Force, Feral won’t begrudge him that. It’s one that Master Feemor even shares.
But Feral has always seen it as the sweeping landscape. The suns and moons above. The shifting of the clouds and the whirl of the wind.
Feral has always been more of a literal person, which is sometimes his downfall. He understands things best when he can visualize them clearly. When he can hold and examine them for himself. It sometimes frustrates his Master who always understands the vague intricacies of the Force better than anyone, but Mace is endlessly patient and has never hesitated in attempting to paint indescribable things with words so Feral can see.
So when he pictures the Force, he pictures the landscape around him. It makes everything much simpler. He also thinks it helps him better understand and adapt to every planet he visits.
And right now, the Force feels like the sand. All-encompassing, it swallows the planet, affecting every part, every creature. Connecting everything, it leaves nothing untouched. It is not inherently good or evil. It just is.
He meditates as Master Windu taught him: opening himself fully to the Force, mind blazing bright, and feels for those places that are most tangled. As he wanders the narrow alleys and gaping ravines of his mind, he examines each place carefully, hands full of the tangles of his thoughts. He goes through them one by one, confronting his fears and his doubts. Replacing an upended pot here, carefully repairing a broken table leaning against the alley wall, coaxing a hurt creature out from a tiny cave. Equating his emotions and thoughts with tangible things has always been soothing.
As he examines each and every overwhelmed part of himself, he slowly pulls the threads of his fears apart, inspecting the crinkle and curve of each, learning from them as he smooths them out into calm lines of thought and emotion and connection. It’s time-consuming and slow-going, but Feral has always been a patient person. Master Windu has only helped him cultivate that.
With each fear untangled and the landscape of his mind straightened out, Feral slowly calms, and his own connection to the greater Force becomes clearer. There are those twin bright threads that lead him straight back to Anakin and Shmi. There’s that old, ever-present cord that leads him back to his brother. Full of love and comfort and protection. Master Windu is of steel. Strong, solid. But there’s bend to it, like a wire. When Feral runs his runs along its warmth, he can grab on and centre himself.
And there’s Obi-Wan. Of course there’s Obi-Wan. He can hardly remember a time when he didn’t feel their connection. When it didn’t bloom bright and lovely within his mind. A seed taken root, flowering under the constant care and affection of Obi-Wan’s attentions. It warms him from the centre out, trickles through his limbs and fills his lungs and his hearts and Feral—
Obi-Wan sees him like no one else can. Obi-Wan wakes him like no one else can. Seeing him is like the dawn rising to break the night, just as it is now. And he is helpless in the face of it, turning just as a flower faces the sun, roots stretching deep, leaves reaching up up up.
His awareness of the universe becomes so much clearer, so much simpler.
Obi-Wan sits there in his mind, warm and precious and Feral cradles him between his hands for just a moment. But the weight of him in his hands makes the obvious even more apparent, and his dream echoes within him. A thin surging line of fear and trepidation, aching loss and fury— it pulses into him from somewhere beyond the horizon. A distant wildfire, faint wisps of ash and ruin traveling along the winds.
Feral wonders if it’s always been there, that line pulled so taut and thin he hardly noticed. The fire too far away to notice. But now—
Something…something is coming. Something familiar and blazing and sharp and bloody. It sweeps across the landscape, devouring everything in its path, leaving nothing but death and suffering in its wake.
And it’s coming for Feral.
When he opens his eyes again, Master Qui-Gon’s hand is upon his shoulder and the suns have once again begun their steady, sorrowful chase across the sky. His skin is warm and his eyes are dry.
“It’s time to get ready.”
-:-
The years passed and slowly Savage and Feral stopped sequestering themselves in Feemor’s bedroom. Instead, they visited Feemor just for the sake of visiting him. When they first arrived, he was their simple patron. Now, he was much more.
Obi-Wan, Bruck and Luminara joined them sometimes, all of them jostling for space as they helped Feemor cook breakfast. They tried to follow his careful, patient instructions, but there was a period in which meals were hardly edible even with Feemor’s futile attempts to save what they’d ruined.
It was comfortable. It was- it was family, Savage eventually realized.
His brother was growing up healthy and strong, with more friends than he could count, sometimes. Feral took delight in lessons and the Force. He soaked up everything like a sponge and didn’t even seem to realize how brilliant he was. Feral was meant to be a Jedi, and Savage was slowly beginning to hope that maybe, just maybe, he was meant to be one, too.
But sometimes, Savage watched his brother laugh with his friends and wondered what would have happened if the Jedi hadn’t found them.
It was an awful thought, one he allowed to fester and rot within himself along with that anger he couldn’t quite hide.
But whenever he allowed that to happen, Feemor saw it. The man took him aside for meditation in the Room of a Thousand Fountains or to practice katas in the salles. Sometimes they’d cook together, just the two of them. Quiet and purposeful, the act of making a meal almost meditation in itself.
It was-
It was…
It was more than Savage even knew to hope for, all those years ago. When he grabbed his brother and stole that Nightsister’s ship. It shouldn’t have been possible but somehow- somehow—
Perhaps the Force willed it.
It was all he could really reason. There was no other way a child of six could have done it.
So when he looked up at Feemor’s gentle, smiling face, Savage thanked the Force for what it had given him.