Chapter VI Part II

Finally, Papa steps into the guild. The moment the door swings open, the dim glow of the sky catches my eye — the sun is already sinking behind Arroyo’s rooftops, painting the clouds in deep reds and bruised purples. Papa doesn’t say much. He just places a gloved hand on my shoulder — steady, grounding — and together, we leave Arroyo behind.

By the time we reach the caldera, the manor lights glow like fireflies against the darkening orchard. Zeke is the first to greet me, his metal dome whirring anxiously as he hovers by the landing pad. Before I can say anything, Mirajane and Lisanna come barreling out from behind him — their boots thumping on the stone, cloaks flaring. They nearly knock the breath from my lungs as they fling their arms around me, squeezing tight, chattering over each other in that way only twins can. Relief, worry, a dozen questions bubbling up before they even pull away.

When they finally let go of me, they swarm Papa next — burying themselves in his cloak as he pulls down his hood and unclasps the mask from his face. His hair’s a mess from the wind, but his eyes are warm when he looks at them, ruffling their hair even as they bombard him with questions — Nevarro this, the shootout that, what kind of droid parts did you find, Papa, tell us everything!

Meanwhile, Zeke drifts closer, his optic flickering. “I’m… I’m sorry, Nikko,” he beeps, tone crackling with static guilt. “When those creatures stunned you and Adam — I realized fleeing was the best outcome. I took the speeder and drove straight here. I decided to tell Miss Talia everything.”

I reach up and run my hand over his cold dome, my ears flicking back. “Don’t be sorry, Zeke. If you hadn’t done that…” The thought makes a chill run down my spine. I can’t even finish it. I just squeeze his shoulder gently. “Thank you. Really.”

Past the landing pad, Talia stands waiting. She’s wrapped in her heavy shawl, Erza balanced on one hip. Her eyes — those piercing green eyes — meet mine, and for a heartbeat I see every emotion tangled together: relief, frustration, a mother’s fear. Erza squeals when she spots Papa, chubby arms flailing, tiny tail flicking in delight.

Papa steps forward, and Talia gives him a look — that silent exchange that says everything without a single word. She shifts Erza into his arms, and his whole face softens as he lifts her high, her scarlet hair gleaming in the low light.

“Hey, little Scarlett,” he murmurs, his voice warm, the weariness of Nevarro melting away as he spins her gently through the air. “Papa missed you.”

Erza’s giggle cuts through the dusk like birdsong. She clutches at his cloak when he brings her close, pressing her little cheek to his pauldron. “Did you miss Papa?” he asks. She nods, tiny fingers fisting his hair, her answer clear as the stars peeking through the orchard’s canopy.

Talia watches them for a moment — the way Erza buries her face in his shoulder — before stepping closer and they share a kiss. He leans into it, just for a heartbeat, then she turns to me. She doesn’t say anything yet, just pulls me into a hug, her warmth cutting through the cold guilt that’s been lodged under my ribs since Arroyo.

Rebecca appears at the edge of the path, her coat still dusted with travel grime, IG-22 a silent shadow behind her. She gives Papa a hug too — careful not to jostle Erza — while IG-22 lingers just long enough to scan the scene before turning back toward the manor, its servos clicking quietly into the darkness.

I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder — Apollo. I’d almost forgotten he was here. He’s standing just off to the side, helm tilted, that dark Mandalorian plating blending with the dusk. The twins spot him immediately and dart over like they’ve been waiting all evening.

“Apollo! What happened on Nevarro? Were there really that many pirates?” Mira blurts, tugging at his vambrace.

“And did you get all the droid parts you wanted?” Lisanna asks, peering up at him.

Apollo nods and looks over at Papa. He lets out a heavy breath through his nose and nods. “Negotiations soured when the syndicate, not pirates, decided to double cross us,” Apollo begins, Mira and Liz’s eyes widening as the droid recounters his and Papa’s adventure. “But your father was prepared for such an outcome. He reacted quicker, got the drop on them, and was able to flee with the desired parts and the credits,” the droid says.

They listen excitedly, peppering him with more questions as he gently steers them toward the manor’s path. He doesn’t answer everything — but his tone stays warm, his words patient, like a big brother instead of a machine.

Talia catches my wrist then, tugging me aside, away from the twins’ chatter and Papa’s soft cooing to Erza. The moment we’re out of earshot, her voice drops — that low, sharp edge I know too well. She lets me have it. No yelling, no wild gestures — just that quiet storm. How terrified she was when Zeke came speeding through the caldera tunnel alone. How close I came to unspeakable horror. How lucky I am that Papa was nearby to save me. How my sisters were so worried when they heard what happened. Her words cut deeper than any blade — but I stand there and take it, because I deserve it. When she’s done, she pulls me in, arms tight around my shoulders, and I feel her whisper more than I hear it: a prayer of thanks to the old gods that I came home in one piece.

I hug her back, whisper an apology against her shoulder. She leans back just enough to fix me with a look that makes my ears flatten. “You’ll be cleaning the composters for a week,” she says, voice low. Not a particularly clean task that normally our service droids handle.

I almost laugh — the smell alone will be punishment enough. But I nod. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” she says, brushing my hair from my face. And for just a moment, I feel it again — that warm, fierce love that makes her so much more than just a stepmother.

We all drift back toward the manor together. The lights in the dining room glow soft and golden, the scent of roasted vegetables and herbed stew wrapping around me like a blanket. Fresh bread sits warm in a basket at the center of the long table — simple, hearty, ours. Papa settles at the head with Erza perched stubbornly on his knee, tiny hands tangled in his cloak as if she might drift off at any moment but refuses to let go.

Talia moves around us with that quiet grace of hers, ladling stew into earthenware bowls, setting down plates stacked with roasted meat and crispy potatoes. The twins keep trying to sneak extra rolls when they think no one’s looking — Mira smirks every time she thinks she’s gotten away with it, and Lisanna giggles behind her cup when she’s caught.

Rebecca and Papa talk — or more like Rebecca repeats her story from earlier, all clipped sarcasm and sharp jabs about the idiots who tried to swindle him on Nevarro. Papa just laughs, deflecting her barbs with the same easy calm he uses when deflecting blaster bolts. Erza tries to grab at his spoon every few bites, whining in protest when Talia makes a half-hearted attempt to lift her away to bed. She wins, of course — curling tighter into Papa’s chest, humming softly as the grown-ups talk. I glance over at Talia and she doesn’t seem bothered at all — if anything, she looks quietly amused.

I poke at the tender potatoes on my plate, stew growing lukewarm while my mind drifts somewhere far beyond these warm walls. What would it be like to sit like this with people my age? To laugh about silly things, tease each other over nothing, to be just… Nikko — not Papa’s shadow, not the daughter of the Acolyte who toppled the Shadowfell. Just me. A girl at a table full of friends.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I’m so lost in it that Papa’s voice cuts through like a lightsaber hum. “Now — I think Nikko’s waited long enough.”

My ears flick upright. “Waited for what, Dad?”

He chuckles, brushing Erza’s hair back from where it sticks to his pauldron. “Someone’s deep in thought tonight. Your lightsaber, of course.”

I blink. Right. The saber. The thing I’ve dreamed about for years — the thing I’ve begged for until my throat went raw.

“I—” I start, but the words catch on my tongue. Do I even deserve this after what I did?

Papa doesn’t let me fall down that hole. He rests his free hand on the table, scarred fingers tapping against the wood. “The reason I went to Nevarro was to find the last pieces you’d need. Certain alloys, conductors — metals we don’t have here on Elasier.”

My tail twitches behind me, that tight knot in my chest loosening just a little. He went that far — for me.

Talia arches an eyebrow at him, her tone dry as old parchment. “And the shootout? Care to explain that?”

Papa only smirks, that crooked grin showing teeth. “Just some idiots who thought they could double-cross me.”

“How many idiots?” Mira pipes up, leaning over her half-finished stew.

“How many did you kill?” Lisanna adds, licking a smear of butter from her thumb.

Papa laughs — that low, dangerous laugh I’ve heard a hundred times before. “Many… and many.”

Then his gaze cuts back to me — sharp and warm all at once. “Well? You ready, Nikko? Ready to build your own saber?”

The doubts bubble up, sour on my tongue, but they don’t get to stay. Not tonight. I’ve waited too long, trained too hard, to bury myself under one mistake.

I nod, my tail flicking once, twice, betraying the spark that sparks to life in my chest. “Yeah,” I say, voice steady. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Papa’s grin softens. He bounces Erza once on his knee — she squeals in sleepy delight, then goes boneless against his chest, a small puddle of warmth against his armor. “Then go get your crystals,” he says. “I’ll meet you at the squat garage.”

I don’t need telling twice. I’m up before my stew’s even cold — ready to claim what’s mine.

I reach my room and stop in front of the small wooden bowl that holds the two halves of my kyber crystal. For a heartbeat I just stand there, staring at them — twin shards of something ancient and impossibly alive, waiting for me to make them whole again.

I hover my hand over them, feeling a faint warmth buzzing in my fingertips. But I don’t touch them yet. Not until I change out of these travel clothes — the smell of Arroyo’s dust still clinging to my tunic and boots. I slip into softer trousers, a loose shirt, pull my tail through the slit at the back, and tie my hair up higher so it won’t fall in my face. Only then, when I feel a little more like myself, do I reach down and cup the crystal halves in my palm.

They tingle against my skin, pulsing faintly in the low light. I draw a deep breath — steadying my heart — and tuck them carefully into the small cloth pouch I’d set aside for this.

Downstairs, the manor’s quiet hums around me — the warmth of home wrapping tight. I pause at the dining room archway. Papa stands at the counter, his sleeves rolled up, cradling Erza against his shoulder with one arm while the other gestures lazily through the air — a faint flicker of the Force making plates and forks scrub themselves clean in the basin. He’s humming something soft under his breath, half a lullaby, half an old song.

Erza’s already drifting off, her tiny hand curled in the collar of his shirt, eyes heavy but fighting sleep just to stay close to him. Rebecca stands beside him, stacking dried dishes and teasing him about something — I catch the low sound of their laughter mixing with the clink of ceramic and the drip of water.

I glance around but don’t see the twins or Talia — the manor feels too still for their chatter. They are probably in their rooms winding down for the night. And Apollo… my eyes land on Zeke instead, hovering by the front door, his optic light flickering warm as he watches me pass. He lets out a soft chirp — good luck — and I manage a small grin before pushing open the squat garage door.

Inside, the squat garage smells like warm metal and old oil. A soft track hums from the tiny music player on Papa’s dusty workbench — calming, wordless, the kind of music that makes you breathe slower whether you mean to or not. Zeke hovers just inside the doorway, then settles on an old charging pad in the corner, giving me space.

I lay out what I have: my battered welding tool, the pair of forceps with the burn mark on the grip, my welding goggles with the tiny scratch on the right lens. Tools that feel like mine — flawed but trusted. I glance at the crystals again, then at the crate I picked up from Elara.

And then it hits me. The design. The style. I never even thought about it — not really. I’d spent so long dreaming of having a lightsaber that I never stopped to picture what it should look like. My heart skips — panic trying to crawl in around the edges.

A soft rustle of footsteps on the old floorboards pulls me back. I turn to see Papa stepping in, the old door creaking faintly behind him. He’s changed too — no Temple Guard armor, no heavy robes. Just his old boots, faded pants, and that beaten leather jacket that’s been patched so many times it’s more stitch than hide. His saber still hangs at his hip — its weight a quiet reminder of what I’m about to build.

Erza’s bundled up in his arms, her cheek smushed against his shoulder, thumb half in her mouth. She’s so small like this — so stubborn about staying close to him that not even sleep can pry her away. Behind him, Apollo follows in with a heavy crate balanced effortlessly in his arms.

Apollo sets the crate down beside me with a quiet thunk. He doesn’t say much — just rests one hand on the lid for a second, then nods. His visor flicks to Papa, and when Papa gives him a small wave, Apollo slips out.

Papa shifts Erza in his arms — she lets out a tiny yawn, before she curls closer. He glances at the crates stacked at my feet and then at the little pile of tools I’ve lined up. His smile is tired but warm, the kind that makes the cold doubt in my chest ease a little.

“Sorry for the wait,” he murmurs, voice low so he doesn’t wake her. “I tried to put her down, but you know how she gets after a trip.”

I nod, my eyes flicking to the small crate I’d picked up from Elara, then to the crate Apollo brought. “So… all this is for my lightsaber?” I ask, my fingers drumming on the old worktable.

Papa’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Of course. I’m giving you options — alloys, plates, conduits, wiring. What your saber is made of is entirely up to you.”

I feel my ears flatten slightly. “Is it… bad that I don’t even have a design yet?” I ask, my voice small. I hate how small it sounds.

But Papa just shakes his head, that same gentle grin pulling at his lips. “No,” he whispers, brushing Erza’s hair back where it sticks to his collar. “Take as much time as you need. This saber — it’s an extension of you. It’ll grow with you. You’ll get frustrated. You’ll fail. I failed so many times when I built mine.”

I blink at him, surprised. When I saw him forge his lightsaber… I thought he got it right the first time. But seeing him say that — the truth in his eyes — it makes my chest loosen a bit.

“Okay, Dad,” I say quietly.

He leans forward just enough to rest his free hand on my shoulder — warm, steady. “Don’t forget to take breaks,” he says. “Don’t rush this. Take as much time as you need. If you don’t succeed today, there’s always tomorrow. If you’re hungry, there’s stew and bread left in the fridge. And Apollo will be around if you need help or if you have questions.”

He squeezes once, the way he does when he wants me to feel the Force at my back even when he leaves the room. “You’ve got this.”

I nod, my tail flicking once behind me. “I got this.”

Papa turns, his footsteps soft on the old floorboards as he carries Erza back to the manor — her tiny fingers twitching against his chest, her breath already falling into that deep, even rhythm of sleep. The squat garage door drifts shut with a faint click.

It’s just me now. Me, my crystals, and a table of parts that could become anything.