3rd Person
Death. An inescapable consequence of war. Regardless of the means or the root cause, with conflict came those who did not survive it. Whether soldier or citizen, death did not discriminate among those it spirited away.
Or did it?
Every individual existing within the galaxy had something to offer. A talent, a hobby, or a dream. You could never be sure what someone might one day accomplish just by looking at them. Yet, only one mattered thing in the heat of battle.
Power. The means to defeat, to conquer the enemy.
The weak... those who were ungifted in combat... their chances of survival were miniscule compared to the strong. Every weak individual that was lost to war... what if they hadn't been?
What could they have done? Discover a galaxy-changing energy source? Who could they have saved? Could they have cured a previously incurable illness? What catastrophes could they have prevented?
Those unable to fight back simply became names in a cemetery. Their unseen talents died with them.
Chirrut
Night was upon us. Holed up in our humble lodgings, we heard all of it.
Every explosion. Every blaster shot. Even the faint cry of a clone in pain.
It was difficult to sleep, to say the least. Nevertheless, we'd been ordered by the Sentinel to not leave our rooms. The punishment was harsh, exactly as she'd assured us. Yet, I was confident... I was miserably sure that we deserved all of it. Perhaps it should have been more severe.
'If only we could help them...' I despaired.
"Kkkkkk."
The spare commlink Slipstream had 'slipped' me earlier crackled.
"Chirrut...?" I heard Hela whisper under her breath. A quick check of my surroundings assured me that nobody within my vicinity heard.
"Yes... what is it?" I asked in a hush voice.
"Have you found any leads?" she pried. I bowed my head before responding, despite the fact that nobody observed my gesture.
"No. With the lockdown... surely it's impossible. Any perpetrator would hesitate to act within these circumstances." I bemoaned.
"Actually, I may have one." she confessed, though she seemed conflicted.
"Explain." I implore, curious.
Adi
Our situation was dire.
As the horde grew in number, so did my men fall. Yet still, the assassin failed to make an appearance. I had only one solution. One that, if my hunch was correct, would minimize casualties and allow as a chance at grasping victory.
Still no sign of my apprentice. However inexperienced he was, we would need him to succeed. As I moved to contact him again, I recalled the last time we'd spoken properly.
'I am the master, and you are the padawan. Don't forget that, Zevon.'
It would have to be addressed later. I mustn't let my thoughts and emotions linger.
"Padawan, where are you? Come to my position immediately." I ordered.
"Master. I'm right here." he croaked.
I spun around, and there he was. His face was contaminated with soot and grime. Additionally, it was drenched with sweat... or tears? Now that I registered his appearance, it was unfathomable that I hadn't felt his presence. He emitted unbridled fear and shock. And such... such pain.
YOU ARE READING
The Weakest Jedi
Fanfiction*OC version of The Weakest Jedi.* The story of a young boy and his foolish dream. Born into the hellish underworld of Coruscant, Zevon was found by the Jedi at a young age and welcomed into the order. There's a slight problem, though... Zevon's forc...
