Star Wars: Immortal Devotion - Short Stories (Character Intros/One Shots)

"Vermillion Wings" (Part 1)

"Do you ever dream? Like really, truly dream? Not just something meaningless or benign, but something that represents your true, subconscious desires? Because that is all I seem to do anymore. Every waking moment it's daydreams, every moment I'm asleep it's lucid visions. I do not rest anymore, I only dream. And it's always the same dream; the same unobtainable desire. It's the same chain of liberating events, the same image burned into my sleep deprived eyes, the same feeling of taking flight and searching for a greater meaning. I wonder if I'll have that dream tonight?"

Tip closed his journal and slid it under his bunk, just as he had done a thousand nights before. The barracks at the quarry were now still, but they were anything but quiet. The snores of nearly half a dozen of Tip's fellow miners filled the room, but he was used to it. It had not kept him up before, and it would not keep him up now. The exhaustion seeping its way into every fibrous muscle in his body would see to that.

The life of a miner was no easy task. Even though his job rarely forced him to enter into the planet's gaping mineshafts anymore, Tip still had to put every ounce of his being into making sure the ores and cargo excavated from the mine were transported safely, efficiently, and most of all, quickly from Site A to Site B. This task usually lasted roughly 20 hours of Tibrin's 30 hour days.

The monotony of what he did would drive most other beings to suicide in a matter of days, but Tip no longer minded. He wouldn't go as far as to say he enjoyed it, but the familiarity of the route, and the unchanging nature of his duties, gave Tip a sense of security.

He was not forced to do this job. On the contrary, Tip could quit anytime he wanted to. He could walk away from the mines and never look back. But where would he go? He had no family to return to. None of these men around him did.

Their pay was nothing more than the clothes on their back, the food in their stomachs, and the bunks in their barracks. But where would they spend credits if they were given any? The tavern onsite was where the offworlders dwelled, and was simply a gathering spot for the local Ishi Tib. No miner actually ever purchased the beverages. There were no occasions that required celebrations or revelries or good spirits.

These miners were not fortunate enough to have been born in the major coral cities. They were not fortunate enough to vote on important issues, to choose to serve the Empire's greater endeavors, or even to revolt and join the ever growing rebellion they received news about almost daily now. And Tip would be lying if he said that they didn't mind. But what could they do? Who would hear their voices and validate their opinions? They were born miners, and they would die miners.

No, Tip was not forced to do this job. He did it willingly. But recently, for a reason beyond his understanding, he dreamed of liberation. He wondered why such a thought now frequented his consciousness as he drifted off into a deep slumber, joining the chorus of snoring Ishi Tib that filled the room.

*******************************************

This is how it always began. Tip was standing in the grassy dunes, looking out towards one of the great coral cities in the distance. The wind blew the grass almost perpendicular to the ground, and it tickled his ankles as he started to walk.

The rhythmic tingle in his legs only grew and expanded as he realized his body was changing shape. Before long, he had taken the form of a great Farlas Hawk, one of the giant vermillion birds that he often witnessed soaring high above the mineshafts and crevices of Tibrin.

He took to the sky, letting an updraft carry him to extraordinary heights. From here, he could see everything. The brilliant cities that spread out across the expanse of the grassy plains, the frequent fissures that were filled to the brim with a mix of ancient Tibrin beasts and modern Imperial machinery, and a lake in the distance that sparkled with a brilliance like a shining gem freshly unearth from a long forgotten cavern.

Tip wanted to soar to the lake and bask in its beauty and mystique, but the closer he flew, the further away he became...

When all hope of reaching the glistening pool seemed abandoned, Tip was suddenly surrounded by a flock of other avian creatures. Each one unique, colorful, and also seeking to reach the gemstone pool.

The force of their synchronized wing-strokes created a tailwind so strong, it thrust the flock towards the lake at a breakneck speed. As they neared, Tip knew that, as always, the dream would soon come to an end. He never reached the pool. The gallery of avian species surrounding him would begin to fall from the sky. And he would awake before he could know what it felt like to be truly liberated. To go where HE wanted.

But maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. Tip flapped his wings with all of his might. He just had to see what was at the lake. Why he was always drawn to its luster. He was so incredibly close. He just needed to fly a little bit faster...