Chapter III Part II

The familiar roar of a starship engine breaks through the evening quiet like a pulse of electricity under my skin. I sense a familiar presence approaching. For a heartbeat, my chest lifts with hope — he’s home early. Papa is coming back early, the hum of his ship settling down on our orchard’s landing pad like it always does.

But when I step out the front door, wind tugging at the hem of my tunic, the disappointment sinks in before I can swallow it back. It’s not the Crucible. A Nu-class shuttle — boxy, armored, its wings folding up as its landing struts hiss and lock into place — sets down on the pad opposite Papa’s, to the left side of the squat garage. The Republic-era paint is scraped in places, the metal weathered by far too many jumps through too many shady systems.

Still, I find myself smiling. Even if it’s not him, it’s her. Rebecca. After almost two years, that’s something.

Before I can move, Mirajane and Lisanna streak past me like twin bolts of lightning, nearly knocking me off my feet. Their shrieks echo in the courtyard, the orchard branches trembling with their squeals. I follow, boots crunching on the path, Zeke trailing behind with a curious little beep.

The shuttle’s ramp lowers with a groaning hiss. Out step two figures: Rebecca Lockhart, the woman who’s always felt more like an older sister than a friend of Papa’s, and behind her — towering, sharp-edged, all too stiff — IG-22.

Rebecca's long auburn hair is braided down her back, and the old wide-brimmed hat she’s worn since I was a kid bounces as she walks. The leather vest over her crisp white shirt looks the same, though her left arm — mechanical from the elbow down — gleams in the late sun, polished metal catching every stray beam. At her hips, the twin LW-868 blasters rest in easy reach, the holsters cracked and worn from years of quick draws.

Right behind her, IG-22 emerges. Reprogrammed, repainted, but still unmistakably an assassin droid, its metal joints whispering like a predator’s purr as it descends the ramp.

“Rebecca!” the twins shriek together. They crash into her so hard I swear I hear a muffled “oof!” from her chest. Rebecca staggers back a step but laughs, hugging them tight — mechanical fingers curling carefully around Mirajane’s shoulders.

“Whoa, whoa — easy now!” Rebecca laughs, arms hooking around them as she spins once, their giggles splitting the air. “Gods above, look at you two. Did you grow twice your size just to tackle me better?”

She sets them back down just as IG-22 tries to slip past. Too late. Mirajane’s eyes catch the glint of metal and her grin goes wicked.

“IG-22!” she squeals, and before the droid can process a retreat, she and Lisanna are wrapped around its legs.

“Please stop the hugging,” the droid drones, voice flat as ever, photoreceptors flickering like they’re rolling their eyes. “I hate hugs.”

Lisanna just tightens her grip. “Never,” she declares.

I catch Rebecca’s eye over the droid’s shoulder and we both burst out laughing. She peels the girls off IG-22 with practiced ease — a gentle tug, a soft push, and the droid’s limbs are free, though its mechanical sigh could rattle steel.

Talia appears by the path, Erza perched on her hip, round cheeks flushed from the warmth of the house. Rebecca’s eyes soften instantly.

“Oh my Gods. Look at this little cherub,” she coos, stepping closer, boots thumping softly on the landing pad. Erza turns her head, sees the new face, and lets out a low, suspicious groan — then promptly buries her face into Talia’s shoulder.

“Oh, come on,” Rebecca pouts dramatically, hands on her hips. “Don’t you remember me, sunshine? It’s Auntie Rebecca. I swear I don’t bite.”

Talia chuckles, shifting her hold on Erza as she pats her tiny back. “Don’t fret. She’s like that with just about everyone.”

Rebecca sighs, but she’s still grinning when her gaze swings back to me. She does that quick up-down glance she always does, taking me in like she can measure every year that’s passed just by looking.

“Look at you, Nikko. Stars, you’ve grown. Stand up straight — I think you might actually be taller than me now.”

I roll my eyes and pull her into a hug anyway. She’s warm and real and the edge I’ve been carrying since Papa’s message eases, if only a little.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as we pull apart.

Rebecca flicks the brim of her hat playfully. “Are you kidding me? Your father told me you’d be forging your first lightsaber. You think I’d miss that? Not on your life.” She squints, mock-inspecting my tunic for hidden hilts. “I didn’t miss it, did I?”

I chuckle, flicking my tail against her boot. “No, you didn’t miss it.”

She looks around — the orchard, the caldera walls, the garage — and then her brow furrows just slightly. “Where’s Ryu? And Apollo?”

“Running errands on Nevarro. Should be back tomorrow,” Talia says, stepping closer. I feel the disappointment in Rebecca before she even sighs.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Oh, stars, that figures. And here I was ready to hand him a mountain of trouble for not writing me back for three months straight.” She clicks her tongue, then glances at Talia with a sheepish grin. “I’m not intruding, am I?”

Talia just laughs, that soft warmth that makes the whole yard feel a little less cold. “Rebecca, you never intrude. Dinner’s almost ready if you’re hungry.”

Rebecca groans like she hasn’t eaten in days. “I am starving. You have no idea how disgusting some of the field rations up there are. Tastes like brine and regret.”

I notice IG-22 shifting near the shuttle’s ramp, arms crossed, posture screaming stubbornness even for a droid.

Rebecca turns, pointing two fingers at IG-22, who’s edged closer to the shuttle ramp like it’s hoping to vanish. “You too. Don’t think you’re standing guard all night.”

The droid stiffens, voice flat: “I prefer to remain with the ship.”

Rebecca crosses her arms, tilts her head. “Please. When’s the last time you had a tune-up? Or a recharge that didn’t taste like rust?”

IG-22’s servos whir, the faintest sigh escaping its vocoder. “Fine. But I will not tolerate hugging during dinner.”

The twins share a glance that practically screams Challenge accepted.

I laugh again, my heart lighter than it’s been all day. Maybe it isn’t Papa at the landing pad — but it’s someone who feels like a piece of him, too. And for now… that’s enough.

Dinner is warm and lively, even if my mind feels like it’s somewhere else. The smell of the potato and leek soup fills every corner of the dining room, mixing with the faint scent of freshly baked rolls Talia set out in a woven basket. The table is lit by the soft glow of the old brass chandelier overhead, flickering with just enough light to catch the gleam of Rebecca’s metal arm as she gestures wildly.

Rebecca sits across from me, half-leaning over her bowl as she spins her tale. Her long auburn braid bobs against her back with each laugh, the leather vest she wears creaking softly as she talks about the grand academy on Coruscant she's been attending, the ruined temples on the fourth moon of Yavin she's been exploring. The chair creaks when she shifts to show the twins just how huge the temples were on Yavin 4 — wherever that is.

“It’s all covered in jungle!” she says, eyes wide. “You’d think it’d be the size of a few ruins, right? But no — temples upon temples. Some of them older than anything we’ve ever seen. And the rumors — that there was an ancient super weapon hidden there. Can you believe that?”

Mirajane and Lisanna lean in so close they nearly knock over their water cups. “Did you see the weapon?!” Mira blurts out, eyes sparkling.

Rebecca laughs, tossing them a wink. “No, no weapon. If it even exists, it’s buried under centuries of roots and vines. I’d need a dozen lifetimes to even scratch the surface.”

Meanwhile, Erza babbles happily in her highchair, flinging a spoonful of cooled soup across the table. Talia catches it with a napkin just in time, unbothered, patiently feeding her another tiny bite while Zeke stands sentinel behind the chair, whirring softly as he wipes stray smears from Erza’s cheek with a soft cloth.

I sit quietly at my end of the table, listening to Rebecca’s stories, watching the soft glow of the lamp on the wood grain. I hear every question the twins fire off — and every answer that makes them giggle or gasp. But my mind drifts. That word again: shadow. The thought creeps in between bites of bread. Am I just the girl who walks behind her father’s steps? The Acolyte in training who can’t even lift a rock properly?

I pick at the crust of my roll. Talia notices. I can feel her eyes on me when she thinks I’m not looking. She doesn’t push though — just leans her head on her hand, smiling softly at Rebecca’s latest description of braving a rainstorm in the jungles while her data pad shorted out for an entire day.

After dinner, we wash up together — or, more accurately, I dry dishes while Zeke clanks around trying to help, and the twins slip away to plan some late-night mischief with Rebecca. Erza curls up in Talia’s lap on the couch, her tiny eyes fluttering shut as Talia hums a lullaby too soft for me to catch.

But the heaviness in my chest sticks like a burr. When I’m finally in my room, in my soft bed, with the blanket drawn up to my chin, I stare at the ceiling until my eyes burn. I play some of Papa’s music on low — the crackling old recordings from his trips off-world. Soft chords and voices in languages I can’t even name.

It doesn’t help.

I slip out of bed, padding across the wooden floor in my socks. The manor is quiet, shadows from the moon falling in soft beams across the hall. In the kitchen, I find the jug of blue milk Papa brought back from some Outer Rim station — sweet and faintly vanilla, like a memory you can taste. I pour a glass and stand by the sink, looking out through the window at the empty landing pad. The stars overhead feel so far away.

I finish the glass in slow sips, rinse it, and dry my hands on the towel. The pad’s still empty. No Crucible. Not yet.

Back in my room, the soft music hums on. I drop onto the floor, crossing my legs on the faded rug. I remember Papa once telling me, when your mind races, quiet it. So I close my eyes. I breathe.

Slowly, the manor comes alive in my senses — not sight or sound but something deeper. I feel Talia’s steady heartbeat, Erza’s soft snores, the twins giggling in whispers in their room even though they’re supposed to be asleep. I sense Rebecca dozing in the guest room, dreams flickering like half-forgotten stories.

Outside, I reach further — the bees dozing in their hives near the orchard, the night insects burrowing beneath leaves. Birds, tucked into nests. Fish drifting lazily in the stillness of the lake. Everything connected by mana, by the same pulse that thrums through my veins even when I doubt it.

I whisper, “What should I do?” but the only answer is the hush of my own breath.

Then, a word drifts through my thoughts — Academy. The conversation at dinner, Rebecca mentioning Coruscant’s grand academies. And I remember: Elasier has its own academies, each one older than most kingdoms. Magic. Swordsmanship. Alchemy. History. So much more than what I could learn alone.

Could that be my way? A place where I don’t feel like just his shadow, but myself?

I open my eyes. The faint glow of the lantern makes the edges of my bookshelves shimmer. I sigh, sinking back onto my bed. Maybe. I’ll ask him tomorrow. No matter what he says, I’ll know then. I’ll know if I’m meant for something more.

I close my eyes. Let the soft music drift over me. And in the back of my mind, I hold onto the thought — that maybe, just maybe, I can find where I belong.