Seventh Sister's Mentorship

Spectre Six & Seven

3 BBY - Onboard the Ghost, Hyperspace

The faint hum of hyperspace thrummed through the halls of the Ghost. Seventh Sister moved silently down the corridor, her senses heightened, as they always were. She could hear the sound of a lightsaber in motion from the next room—Ezra.

A smirk crossed her lips.

Pushing the door open, she found Ezra practicing with his lightsaber, focused on a holo-projection. The boy was so determined, so... persistent.

"What are you working on, Bridger?" she asked, her voice laced with both curiosity and amusement.

Ezra turned off his saber, catching his breath. "These holovideos have been really helping me. To help my defense, especially against bucketheads."

Seventh's eyes drifted to the hologram. Her smirk faded as she recognized the figure within the projection: The Hero with No Fear. Anakin Skywalker.

The Jedi her old master, and the Council, had once deemed reckless. But she'd admired him from afar. Skywalker was the one who always got the job done. Always cared for his troops. A warrior who fought at the front.

"I recognize the teacher in your video," she said quietly.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, Kanan and Ahsoka told me about him. Anakin Skywalker. Heard he was a real legend."

"For good reason," she replied, her voice tinged with a note of something—perhaps nostalgia, or was it regret? "He fought at the front, protected anyone he could. His clones trusted him. And in the end, those same clones turned on him, like they did all of us."

Ezra nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Heard he was a powerful Jedi."

Seventh Sister gave a hollow laugh. "For a Jedi, yes... and yet, I was surprised Vader killed him at the Temple. He was one of the few who could've stood a chance."

The room grew a little colder at the mention of Vader. Even after all these years, the shadow of the Dark Lord loomed over her thoughts, like a phantom she could never shake.

"Kanan told me about that," Ezra said, a bit more carefully now. "The Temple's fall."

Seventh's eyes flicked to Ezra, studying him. He always probed, always sought answers. And now, for the first time in a long while, she considered answering. Fully answering.

"Wait, when the Purge happened, where were you?" he asked, his tone softer, as if sensing the weight of his question.

She hesitated. She rarely talked about this. But Ezra... he had this way of getting under her skin, making her think, making her feel. She hated it—and yet, she couldn't deny the strange comfort in it.

"I was with my Jedi master," she began, her voice distant. "We thought the worst of the war was over. The Separatists were retreating. And then... our clones turned on us. My master and I fled into the grasslands, hoping to hide."

Ezra stayed silent, watching her closely.

"It didn't take long," she continued, her tone growing more clipped, as if the memory were a wound she was trying to close. "Vader came for us. He was relentless. He cut my master down like she was nothing."

Seventh paused, feeling the familiar surge of anger, of power, the same emotions that had fueled her survival.

"I took her blade. Struck down as many clones as I could. Fury gave me strength, but when I went for Vader... it wasn't enough. He knocked me out." Her voice tightened, the memory of that defeat stinging. "He tortured me. And when I woke, I was no longer a Jedi."

There was a long, tense silence between them. Ezra's gaze didn't waver, but there was sympathy in his eyes. He reached out, placing his hand on hers—a gesture she didn't expect.

She almost flinched at the warmth of his touch.

"Why are you here?" Ezra asked softly. "Why did you join us?"

For a moment, the mask of cold indifference slipped, and something more vulnerable peeked through. She let out a sharp breath, trying to regain control of her emotions.

"You saved me from Maul," she said simply, brushing her dark hair behind her ear. "You're... ambitious. I thought you could be my apprentice. Now... it feels more like you're my bodyguard."

Ezra frowned, not quite understanding. "I still don't get what you mean by that."

Seventh Sister rolled her eyes, a smirk creeping back onto her lips. "Bridger, you kept me sane while the Rebels held me after Malachor. You made sure they didn't... break me."

Ezra blinked, surprised at the admission.

"You didn't let them strip me of what little freedom I had left," she continued, her voice lowering, almost tender. "You made me feel more like myself again. Still on a leash, yes... but I prefer this one."

Ezra chuckled softly. "Well, I've learned to give second chances," he said, his eyes meeting hers with that unwavering, stubborn belief of his. "And I believe you're helping us."

Redemption—clung to her like a thorn. She wanted to scoff, to laugh it off. But she couldn't. His belief in her was frustratingly... disarming.

"You think so, do you?" she muttered, eyeing him. "At one point, I thought you would be my apprentice. Now... I think you might just help me in a different way."

Ezra's cheeks flushed slightly as she reached out, her hand grazing his chin. She could see the shiver it sent through him, and it made her smirk.

"Still," she added, her tone shifting back to its familiar teasing, "Make no mistake. I'm not here to fight for your Rebellion. I'm not one of you."

Ezra gave her a knowing look. "Maybe not yet," he replied. "But that could change."

Her expression faltered for a moment. Could it? She didn't answer. Instead, she rose from her seat.

"I'm getting something to eat," she said, her voice a bit sharper than before. The shift in tone was intentional, an attempt to guard herself from the warmth of his belief.

But as she reached the doorway, she couldn't help but glance back at him, standing there in the dim light, training saber in hand.

"Have fun, Bridger," she said with a wink before slipping out, the door hissing closed behind her.

Ezra's face flushed a deeper shade of red.

And for the first time in a long while, Seventh Sister allowed herself the smallest smile.