Lineages

Chapter One

The door creaked open, causing the toddler to stir. The silhouette of a woman greeted him, and she slowly approached, speaking to him with a soft voice.

"Little Obi, wakey-wakey!" Doma began to lightly tickle his belly, eliciting giggles from her groggy son. "Breakfast time! And," she widened her eyes, "Guess what!"

"What?" He asked.

"Daddy's home!"

Smile blooming, the youngling jolted upwards and swung himself off the miniature bed, vibrating with excitement. His father was absent frequently, going on 'adventures,' as he called them. And when he came home, the few hours a day he was not locked in his office, his father would motivate him and play with him, enthralling him with stories of drama and excitement.

Running over to the dresser as his mother flipped on the light, he stumbled, the blood rushing from his head, black spots dancing in his eyes.

"Jumped up too quickly, did we?"

Damning the black spots, Obi-Wan spun towards the voice's source. A smirking, red-haired man had now joined the duo in their morning routine.

"Daddy!" Before he could react, his father had kneeled down and drew him into his arms, squeezing him as if to force the breath from his lungs. But, his intelligent, strong, warm father was home. And if his father's firm grip barely left room for oxygen, he could go a few seconds without breathing. He was used to his father's firm grips. They made him feel loved and wanted, as if his father never wanted him to leave his side.

Not that his mother's hugs and affections were bad, they were always nice, but they never had quite the same feeling. They were comforting, yes, but where she brushed a stray strand out of his eye, his father would rearrange his entire look, attentive to the highest degree.

When Obi-Wan would fall and scrape his knee, his mother would kiss it and go to find a bacta strip. His father, however, would sit next to him and request his story, explain why he needed to watch where he was going, and that if he fell, he needed to be a big, strong targon and keep going forward.

He said that the pain of the scrape was a reminder to be more cautious, to think carefully, a reminder of what the future could bring. That pain could be a motivator.

But, Obi-Wan refused to think of anything negative happening in the future. He had his daddy and mommy. His daddy would never let anything happen to him. He said so, and little Obi-Wan trusted his daddy with his entire being.

He never wanted to leave his parents.

The trio sat in amiability and broke their fast that day, with the morning light shining through tall, intricately designed windows. Aiwhas flew through baby-blue skies, and swam with zalaacas through a layout of swamps and lakes, blue, yellow, green and small lines of scarlet blending together, creating images Obi-Wan could stare at for hours, daydreams running amok.

Mommy poured him milk in a glistening silver glass as the kitchen's droid danced about, the scent of eggs and sweet pastries wrapping the family in a warm embrace. He could make faces at the cup, scrunching his nose or flaring his nostrils, maneuvering his tongue up and down and left and right, widening and winking his eyes.

His mother giggled at his antics, while his father just glanced at him, and switched his gaze to his datapad. Obi-Wan knew his father was amused, because he could instinctually feel it. Whenever his father was around, it was as if the puzzle in his head gained a piece. The piece was never missing per se, but it was wanted. It added so much more, as if the picture the puzzle created was lackluster, and his father added a magnificent scale of detail. The bond between him and his father formed an entire ecosystem, and without his presence, he felt akin to a forest lacking its largest and most abundant fauna.