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Chapter Text

The deep thrum of the shuttle’s engines reverberated through the docking bay as its landing struts locked into place with a sharp hiss of hydraulics. A metallic clank echoed as the boarding ramp descended, steam curling from the vents in pale, ghostly tendrils.

Grand Admiral Cody strode down the ramp with measured precision, each boot fall striking the durasteel with a heavy clang. Mandalorian armour encased him—scarred, repainted in muted ochre and deep grey. Jagged sigils crawled across his pauldrons, hard-earned markers of rank and battles survived. The beskar shifted comfortably with his movements, His T-shaped visor reflected the cold sterility of the Imperial-class warship, its cavernous hangar gleaming under stark overhead lights.

An honour guard waited at the ramp’s base. Twelve mandalorian stormtroopers stood in flawless formation, their boots slamming into the deck in perfect unison—CLANG. The sound snapped sharp through the hangar’s vastness.

Cody’s gaze swept over them. The armour had evolved since the clone days—sleeker, flexible capable of withstanding most standard munitions. Not quite beskar, but close.

He dipped his helmet in acknowledgment. The guard pivoted with razor precision, their synchronised turn like the edge of a blade. A faint thrum of pride stirred in Cody’s chest. They were disciplined. Efficient. His.
He moved forward, the honour guard falling in behind him.

At the far end of the hangar, Commander Fox stood waiting, helmet tucked under one arm. His face rough-cut and scarred, jaw tight with tension.

“Cody,” Fox greeted informally.

Cody didn’t break stride, time for pleasantries later. “Walk with me.”

Fox fell in step beside him, their boots a steady rhythm on the deck.

“Sitrep?”

“It was a fluke. Total accident. We picked up the distress call three days ago,” Fox began, voice clipped, all business. “Outer Rim patrol intercepted fragments—slaver chatter targeting old spice routes. Civilian carrier was caught en route to Yavin with several stops on the way including Nal Hutta.”

Cody tilted his head, visor catching the harsh light, but let him continue.

“We expected heavy casualties. Slavers pull the same play when confronted —they use civilians as shields, kids if they can, force our hand. But when we boarded…” His lip curled. “They were already down. Dead or too wrecked to fight. Not a single one left standing.”

"Ah" thought Cody, he now was starting to see why he had been called halfway across the galaxy.

“Initial impression was an uprising that took the slavers by surprise. But the civilians were in bad shape, they had no idea what happened. Some were still cuffed when we found them. No one saw who made the first move.”

Cody’s gauntlet flexed at his side. 'The Jedis compassion will be there undoing.' An oily sick voice whispered in his head. He shook his head. That ossik was dead, Jango had made sure if it.

“We processed survivors as per protocol. Severe injuries went straight to bacta. One kid—Philly Starbright—looked human, flagged clean in the system. No alerts. We put him in a tank. He woke up early. Panicked.” Fox’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Before anyone got close—”

“Force blast?” Cody guessed.

“Blew half the med station apart. Three droids gone, two medics in recovery. Took an entire sentinel team to bring him down and sedate him.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy.

“Jedi?” Cody’s voice dropped low.

Fox pulled something from his utility belt and held it out.

Cody froze.

A padawan braid. Frayed. Roughly severed—not the clean cut of a ceremonial knighting. Someone had hacked it off in haste. Or desperation.

“Found it hidden,” Fox said. “Sewn into the inner hem of his undershirt.”

Cody took it, careful even through his gauntlets. The weight of it—small, but heavy with history—sent a hollow thud through his chest.

“And this,” Fox added, pulling out a rough cut translucent blue crystal.

Kyber.

Cody didn’t need to feel its hum to know what it was. The weight of it was enough. He rolled it in his gloved palm before handing it back.

“A padawan,” he murmured. “Before Order 66?”

Fox nodded. “But no match in the archives. No records. He’s a ghost.”

Cody exhaled a low breath. “How old?”

“Early twenties, if that. My guess—he was still a padawan when the Order hit. How he survived? How we missed him? who he is? Intel can dig into that.”

“Condition?”

“Rough. They dragged him out half-dead. Bacta’s not working—his body’s rejecting it. He’s weak, barely coherent when he wakes.” Fox hesitated. “But he’s latched onto the sentinel team that subdued him. They’re the only thing keeping him grounded.”

Cody snapped his head around. “That’s a protocol breach.”

“I know. But without them, he flatlines. He’s bonded to them—instinctive. We break that, he dies.”

Cody cursed under his breath. Messy. Dangerous. Totally against the agreed protocol to assimilate force users into useful guides for the empire.

“And Obi-Wan?” Cody pressed, voice sharp.

Fox’s jaw worked. “The kid muttered the name. Once. Barely audible. Could mean nothing. Could be he’s seen him. Maybe sheltered with him.”

Cody’s fists clenched. Another thread in a frayed mess.

“Is he stable enough for interrogation?”

Fox shook his head. “Not yet. But I brought CV-111 aboard.”

Cody’s lip curled. “Her?”

“Efficient,” Fox deadpanned.

“Fine,” he bit out. “Let’s see what secrets our little ghost is hiding.”

His gaze dropped once more to the frayed braid in Fox’s hand—a relic. It had been six years since Order 66—six years of chasing every lead, every whispered sighting, only for each one to dissolve into nothing. But this… this was the most concrete lead they’d had.

Cody’s jaw tensed beneath his helmet, boots anchored to the deck as frustration clawed at him. Six years without Obi-Wan. Six years of wanting, of hunting ghosts and chasing shadows.
But Mandalorians were patient. They knew Obiwan would slip up eventually—make one mistake—and when he did, they would be there, waiting.

It was time for their Jedi, their guide, to come home.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood in the sunlit training room of the Jedi Temple, the hum of lightsabers filling the air. Across from him, Anakin Skywalker grinned, mischief dancing in his clear blue eyes.
“Feeling tired, Master?” Anakin teased, executing his signature flawless somersault to land behind Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan spun, barely deflecting Anakin’s swift strike. “Overconfidence, Anakin,” he chided, though a smile tugged at his lips.

Their blades clashed in a series of rapid movements, the room echoing with the energy of their duel. Anakin’s attacks grew bolder, his youthful exuberance pushing Obi-Wan to match his pace.

Suddenly, Anakin’s demeanour shifted. His eyes darkened, and his strikes became more aggressive. “You need to be faster, old man,” he said, his voice carrying an unsettling edge.

Obi-Wan parried, concern etching his features. “Anakin, what’s—”

Anakin stalked toward him, no longer smiling, his eyes now hidden. “So rusty. You need to work on that if…”
“If?"

Anakin didn’t answer, just looked over Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

A sense of dread and fear shot up Obi-Wan’s spine. He couldn’t turn around; his body was frozen. He could feel somebody—several somebodies, in fact—approaching. But he could do nothing. Anakin leaned forward, whispering silkily into his ear, “Run.”

Obi-Wan woke with a gasp, his heart pounding. It took him a few seconds to realise the beeping sounds were not from his dream but his comlink. Cursing, he scrabbled in his storage box, pulling out the device and flicking it on.

“Hello,” he answered, his voice still thick with sleep.

A familiar voice crackled through. “Your friend has been compromised, the ship was boarded by slavers and then liberated by the empire, it's for sure he is in custody."

Obi-Wan’s chest tightened. “I understand…” He paused, evaluating the risks, formulating a plan. “If I reveal myself at his last known location, I might divert their attention.”

“It’s dangerous,” the voice cautioned.

“I can’t let them trace him anywhere close to here. The family must remain safe.”

A heavy silence followed. “May the Force be with you.

Obi-Wan closed the comlink and looked around. Sandy, hot, desolate Tatooine was a dust bucket, but this hovel had been his home. As much as he detested it, he felt a small measure of sorrow at leaving. He grabbed the few possessions he had, stuffing them into his go bag. Then taking one final look around, he strode outside.

Turning, he focused on the large overhanging boulder. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he centred himself in the Force. It had been so long. It came to him like a waggy puppy, flowing through his fingers. Curling and writhing like a shadow against his soul. A force gesture and the boulder smashed down with a shudder. And that was that; with a flick, his entire existence erased from Tatooine. Just one more stop, and then he would never return.

o|o

Half a galaxy away, strangely orange tinted eyes blinked open.

o|o

Owen awoke to the gentle but insistent shaking of his wife, Beru.

“Owen, Owen wake up.”

He blinked away sleep, noting the urgency in her voice.

“He’s here.”

Owen’s heart tightened. She didn’t need to say who; he knew. With a nod, he threw on his robe and stepped into the cool Tatooine night. Outside, under the three moons’ pale glow, stood Obiwan Kenobi, with a pack slung over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to come unannounced,” Obiwan began.

Owen’s jaw tightened. “What’s happened?”

“There’s been a compromise.” Obiwan's gaze shifted to the horizon. “I fear they may eventually come here, looking for me.”

A chill ran down Owen’s spine. “So, we need to leave.”

“Not immediately,” Obiwan replied, his tone measured. “Tatooine remains off the Empire’s radar for now. But precautions are necessary.”

Owen glanced back at the homestead, where Beru stood in the doorway, her face pale. “What do you suggest?”
“I’ll create distractions elsewhere, lead them away.” Obi-Wan’s eyes met Owen’s. “In the meantime, send Luke with Beru to her parents’ settlement for a few ...maybe six months. If things settle, they can return. If not…”

Owen’s fists clenched. “The plan?”

“Plans can change,” Obiwan said softly. “But yes we must be prepared.”

Owen looked away, his voice gruff. "Well at least I got the harvest in." He stepped forward, surprising Obiwan as he pulled him into a firm embrace. “May the Force be with you, my friend.”

“And with you, Owen.”

Releasing him, Owen cleared his throat. “Would you… like to see him?”

Obiwan's eyes softened. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Inside, the homestead was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls. They approached the small room where young Luke slept, his chest rising and falling in a peaceful innocent slumber, unaware of all the turmoil about to unfold.

Obiwan knelt beside the bed, his hand hovering over the boy’s forehead. “The Force is strong with you, Luke,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Always.” He sat there for several minutes, knowing this maybe the last time he would see him, drinking in the sight of a boy that had stolen his heart much like his father had. As he stood, a tear glistened in his eye, quickly wiped away.

Back at the entrance, Beru handed Obi-Wan a small satchel. “It’s not much, just some provisions.”

Obi-Wan shook his head gently. “No my dear, I can’t take anything that might link me to back here.”

"Oh, oh ... oh yes...I see." Beru’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Thank you, Obi-Wan, for everything. We will keep him safe.”

He offered a faint smile in return. “Force be with you.”

o|o
Relentless Imperial Star Destroyer

Commander Cody stood on the observation deck, his gaze fixed through the transparisteel window into the medbay. The young Jedi lay on a medical mattress, stripped to a pair of medical sleep trunks, his body marred by a patchwork of black bruises, broken bones and a particularly nasty blaster wound. His semi-lucid state was evident from the occasional whimpers and groans that echoed through the intercom.

An oxygen mask, sensors, and IVs connected to his form, in a writhing mass of cables and tubes. He was young maybe 19 or twenty. But his sentinels were young too, late twenties taking into account their accelerated aging during childhood, they had been greenies when order 66 came through.

The clones having shed their armour, positioned themselves protectively around the Jedi. One sat closely beside him, gently stroking his unmarked skin in soothing motions, while another knelt in front, eyes locked onto the Padawan’s face with unwavering attention. Two more stood vigil nearby, ready to assist as needed. Standard protocol had been set aside; empirical evidence suggested however that this approach could and would foster a bond. The Padawan’s condition was severe, and his recovery would span months—a period during which his sentinels would solidify their connection to him.

At Cody’s signal, two stormtroopers exited the medbay, snapping to attention before him. Despite their rigid posture, a flicker of concern betrayed their stoic expressions.

"Lieutenant Kasra of Zillo Squadron sir, this is Corporal Ajax, with our Jedi is Trooper Jones and Trooper Marc."
Cody's eye brow rose at the possessive 'our', in their introductions, but returned their snappy salute. "At ease."

“Sir, perhaps a few more days?” Ajax ventured. “He’s still fragile.”

Cody exhaled slowly. “I understand your concern, but time is of the essence.” His tone not unkind.. “we will be gentle, no permanent harm will come to your guide.”

The stormtroopers exchanged a glance, then nodded reluctantly.

Moments later, a slender woman was escorted into the room, her wrists bound and features partially obscured. Upon seeing Cody, her visage shifted momentarily—a subtle distortion corrected swiftly by a sharp prod from the guard.

“Commander Cody… or should I say, Grand Admiral Cody now,” she remarked, her voice calm, almost amused.

“This is unexpected.”

Cody’s expression remained unreadable. Fox stepped forward, removing her shackles with practiced efficiency.
“Time to earn your keep,” Fox stated, his voice devoid of emotion.

The woman flexed her wrists, a wry smile playing on her crimson lips. “And here I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“Put this on,” Fox instructed brusquely, handing her a set of drab brown robes and an earpiece. “This is your brief, CV-111. Follow all instructions precisely; do not deviate.” He handed her a flimsi with detailed information.

She glanced at the robes, then perused the flimsi. Her mouth pursed as shock gave way to realisation. Looking up, her eyes sharpened with cunning.

“Oh, this is rich. You’re after the granddaddy of all bounties: Obi-Wan Kenobi.” She sneered. “Gentlemen, I think it’s time to discuss my terms. You want my help—the help only I can provide. Well, let’s negoti…”

Her smug demeanour vanished as Cody seized her by the throat, slamming her against the wall. Her feet kicked futilely as her face morphed from that of a woman into a green, rubbery alien. Cody sneered in murderous rage.

“You put five of my men in the ground, murdered Jedi, and killed ad as collateral damage.” His voice was icy. “There is no negotiation. You should be dangling from a rope. If you have no purpose, I’ll hand you over to Delta Battalion—they’d love to get acquainted.”

He pushed her harder into the wall. “Do your job, and you’ll live—in a comfortable cell with reasonable amenities. That’s the deal, CV-111—the only deal.”

He released her, his face returning to its impassive mask. The creature cowered on the floor, avoiding his gaze as it slowly rose. Silently, it donned the Jedi robes, then examined the holo image. Gradually, its form shifted, morphing into a facsimile of a man that Cody longed to see again, but not this fake.

"If they are forced to sensitive, they will sense I am not Obiwan." The creature said tonelessly.

They ignored cv111.

Fox nodded to the medic, who prepared two injectors—one blue, one red. “You have five minutes; any longer would be dangerous.”

Cody observed, his expression unreadable, as the clones hesitated before stepping back. The medic approached the unconscious Jedi, his movements precise. He inserted the first injector into the IV port, releasing a suppressant to dampen the Jedi’s connection to the Force. The second injector followed, delivering a stimulant designed to rouse him into a state of disoriented awareness.

The Jedi’s body reacted almost immediately. His fingers twitched, and a low moan escaped his lips. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, reflecting the harsh overhead lights. The shapeshifter, maintaining Obi-Wan’s visage, moved swiftly to his side. Kneeling, he leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur picked up clearly by the hidden microphone.

“Dearest one, wake up. It’s me, Obi-Wan. Wake up.”

The Jedi’s eyes fluttered open, pupils dilated and unfocused. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the face before him. “Master… Master Kenobi, you came for me.”

“Yes, of course my dear,” the impostor replied, infusing his tone with warmth.

A flicker of confusion crossed the Jedi’s face. “You shaved. It’s better; the beard made you look old and dull.” His gaze shifted, attempting to take in his surroundings. “Where am I? What’s…”

The faux Obi-Wan chuckled softly, though the sound was tinged with tension. He gently grasped the Jedi’s chin, redirecting his attention. “We have some ways to go, young man. Where shall we head to first?”

The Jedi’s brow knitted in uncertainty, his mind struggling to piece together fragmented memories.

“Too soon,” Cody’s voice crackled through the internal comms. “Back off. Ask him if he would like some tea.”

The shapeshifter nodded subtly, adjusting his approach. “Would you like some tea, my dear?”

The Jedi’s eyes searched the impostor’s face, suspicion mingling with hope. “Tea… Yes, perhaps that would help.”

Behind the one-way glass, Cody monitored the exchange, his jaw clenched. “Tell him your friends call you Obiwan.”

Maintaining the gentle facade, the shapeshifter spoke, “My friends call me Obiwan. I am your friend. Padawan, dearest one, what name do prefer that your friends call you? I am your friend.”

A shadow of a smile appeared on the Jedi’s lips. “Just Cal,” he whispered, then winced as a sharp pain shot through his temples. “Master...Obi-Wan, you feel… different. Something is… wrong. I don’t…”

The monitors beeped urgently as Cal’s heart rate spiked, his breathing growing rapid and shallow. Panic etched lines across his face, his body tensing as if bracing for an unseen threat.

“Knock him out; we’ll try again tomorrow,” Cody ordered, frustration seeping into his voice.

The medic stepped forward, administering a sedative into the IV. Cal’s struggles subsided, his muscles relaxing as the drug took effect. The clones moved in, two pushing the fake Obiwan out the door, one gently repositioning Carl's limbs, and one snuggling in behind, soothing him through the bond, weak though it was.

Cody exhaled heavily, meeting Fox’s gaze. “We have a name, at least, and confirmation he’s been in contact with Obi-Wan. It’s a start.”

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan would never admit it aloud, but he was rather enjoying himself. After six years of standing by as a silent watcher, after six years of witnessing his universe burn, it felt good—better than good —to finally take action. And if, in the process, he was flipping two fingers up at the Empire? Well, all the better. Frag them.

Since leaving Tatooine, he had spent seventy-two hours crafting a web of false leads and setting up what appeared to be safe houses, all pointing to an escape route that not only led away from Tatooine but suggested he had never even set foot in that sector.

His first act after smuggling himself onto a freighter had been to destroy everything that could tie him to his old identity. He scrubbed himself raw—so many times that his skin burned—and hacked off his hair with rough, uneven strokes. He kept the beard for now, knowing any description of him would likely include it. And purloined new clothing and equipment. Only his lightsaber the one constant.

He jumped ships three times before reaching Norval, where he established what would look like a well-used safe house. From there, he moved to Kaban and built another. Then he repeated the process in another six locations, finally arriving in Lothal. And then, he waited. He managed a few hours of rest before an alert pinged on the local network channel.

Silently, Obi-Wan crept onto the rooftops of the hovel where he was hiding. Above him, hanging like a monolithic harbinger of doom, was an Imperial Star Destroyer. He raised an eyebrow. Hmmm. A problem—but not an insurmountable one.

His plan was simple: act as though he had been tracked down, cornered, and forced into another of his signature, last-minute escapes. Then, he’d lead his pursuers on a merry chase across the galaxy before slipping away on some forgotten backwater world.

It was rough, but it was elegant. Now, he just had to stay two steps ahead—while pretending to be a neurotic, washed-out, and anxious Jedi. Not so far from the truth thought Obiwan rather ruefully.

He waited a few more hours and then crept down the stairs, the local news channels were abuzz with excitement at the unexpected arrival and Obiwan smirked. It was about to get a whole lot spicer. He made sure to lurch into the wall and sent out the smallest tendril of the force to the concierge ...... just the smallest sense of unease and suspicion pushed towards the alien. Far easier than clouding a mundanes mind. He allowed his face to be glimpsed just barely before staggering away.

o|o

The checkpoint loomed ahead, a bottleneck of civilians pressed together under the watchful gaze of Imperial stormtroopers. Their white armour gleamed under the city’s flickering lights, blaster rifles held at the ready. Obi-Wan kept his head bowed, his hood drawn low, his posture small, unassuming. His breath was steady, his pulse controlled.

And yet, beneath the feigned tension, anticipation thrummed in his veins. It had been years since he’d done something like this.

He took a step forward.

“Next!” one trooper barked, scanning the line.

Obi-Wan moved carefully, his body language broadcasting the nervousness. 'Look at me ...look at me.'. The stormtrooper in front of him waved him forward and then stilled.

“Hey… you.”

Slowly, carefully, he lifted his chin just enough for the dim light to catch the edge of his face.

The trooper stiffened. “It’s him!”

Blasters came up. Civilians screamed.

Obi-Wan ran.

Shouts erupted behind him. “Call it in! We’ve got Kenobi!”

The street exploded into chaos as he weaved through the panicked crowd, bodies shoving and scattering. Stun bolts hissed past his shoulders, blue energy sparking against the concrete.

“General Obi-Wan! Stand down!”

The words sent a thrill through him, but he didn’t break stride.

“He’s heading east! Cut him off!”

He ducked into an alley, his boots striking hard against the uneven ground, his stolen robe snapping behind him. The troopers weren’t far; he could hear the thud-thud-thud of their boots pounding the pavement.

"Stop, stop now. We are not going to hurt you."

“By the Custodian Protocol Act, stop! You are under guardianship of the Empire!” another shouted.

Obi-Wan nearly laughed. Oh, he knew what that meant. A cell, a collar, a slow, drawn-out erasure of everything he was.

No, thank you.

He twisted sharply, vaulting over a stack of crates, pushing through a market stall, sending fruit and fabric tumbling. A vendor swore at him, but Obi-Wan was already slipping away, a shadow in the disorder.

“Box him in! Now!”

Two troopers burst from a side alley, trying to intercept. Surprised Obi-Wan pivoted—but too slow.

One tackled him, slamming him into the ground. The impact rattled through him, sharp and jarring. Another was on him in seconds, pressing down hard, pinning him in place.

“Hold him!”

Rough hands grabbed for his arm, yanking his sleeve up, exposing his skin. A cold press of metal against his wrist— a hypno poised.

Obi-Wan moved.

He twisted, elbowing the nearest trooper across the faceplate. The other stumbled as Obi-Wan wrenched free, rolling onto his back.

“Aim for his legs!”

Blaster bolts burst toward him. Obi-Wan spun, robe flaring, and when he turned back, his lightsaber was in his hand.

Snap-hiss.

The brilliant blue blade lit up the night.

Blaster fire rained down, but Obi-Wan only grinned, sharp and bloodthirsty, and sloppily deflected them—just enough to keep the troopers scrambling, forcing them to duck, to hesitate. But not lethally, despite everything, he could not find himself to kill them.

Then, with a flick of the Force, he leapt.

He landed light on the rooftop above, boots skidding against the tiles. Below, the troopers shouted in frustration.
“Get reinforcements! He’s heading for the Southern sector!”

“Don’t lose him!”

Obi-Wan saluted them lazily, blade still humming in his grip—then turned and sprinted across the rooftops, the city unfolding before him. The force howled in jubilation, his pulse thrummed, adrenaline singing through his blood.

Stars, but he’d missed this.

o|o

The room’s holocom flared to life with a sharp beep. An incoming alert. Both clones snapped to attention, old instincts honed over years of war sharpening in an instant.

Cody stepped forward and keyed in the authorisation. The holo-image of a local commander materialised, the static hum of the transmission cutting through the silence.

“Commander,” the officer began, his voice clipped with frustration. “We had a confirmed sighting of Kenobi.”
The air in the room shifted. The name alone was enough to set Cody’s blood on fire, adrenaline rushing through him, but his face remained impassive.

"Report.”

The commander exhaled sharply. “Intel flagged this as an unlikely but possible trajectory. We sent a contingent to investigate. A checkpoint near the spaceport had him—before he turned tail and ran.”

A flickering holo-footage played in front of them.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, draped in a travel-worn cloak, slipping through a checkpoint undetected—until the moment recognition struck. The moment the stormtroopers stiffened and reached for their weapons. The way he ran—a calculated burst of speed, slipping through the cracks like a ghost.

Then the chase.

Stun bolts filled the air, civilians scattered. The troopers pursued him through winding streets, over barricades, between buildings. They tackled him.

So damn close.

And then Obi-Wan broke free. He twisted, fought, deflected stun bolts with that damn lightsaber, then vaulted to the rooftops.

The footage paused at the last frame. Obi-Wan stood there, saber humming, looking directly at the troopers below him—and with an infuriating, Obi-Wan smirk, he saluted them.

Cody exhaled sharply, something hot coiling in his chest.

Fox huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Damn.”

Cody found himself grinning before he smothered it with a scowl. The thrill of seeing Obi-Wan alive and fighting burned through him, an old fire rekindled.

"He managed to escape the planet,” the officer admitted, voice tense. “Local patrols scrambled, but he got to a snub-nosed fighter before we could box him in. He jumped to hyperspace before our ships could manoeuvre to block him.”

The holo shifted again, showing grainy footage of a battered, one-man fighter burning through the atmosphere, engines flaring before it vanished into the stars.

Fox cursed under his breath. Cody’s jaw clenched.

“Unacceptable,” Fox muttered. “There was no Sentinel Takedown team in position?”

The commander stiffened. “No, sir. We weren’t prepared for him—the troopers on the ground weren’t expecting a Jedi. If our specialists had been closer, things would have ended differently.”

Cody knew that. He knew exactly how it should have gone. Obi-Wan should have been pinned, knocked out, collared, restrained and transported straight to Coruscant or Mandalor. Instead, he had run circles around a squad of highly trained troopers and slipped through their fingers like smoke.

The holo shifted again, displaying an interior feed—Obi-Wan’s hovel.

The small, dim room was a stark contrast to the General Cody had once known. This was survival at its barest—a stripped-down bed, a stained table, empty alcoholic bottles, a bundle of worn clothes folded neatly in the corner. The walls were barren, the only possessions left behind mere scraps. It was nothing like the Jedi temples, the war bases, the command centres where Obi-Wan had once stood tall.

A slow, cold anger settled in Cody’s chest.

Fox folded his arms. “He’s probably running on fumes.”

Cody nodded. “Send in intelligence. Tag and bag everything for a full analysis.”

The officer straightened. “Understood, sir.” He saluted and signed off.

Cody turned sharply to Fox, already issuing orders. “That fighter has a short-range hyperspace drive. He won’t be able to make it far without refueling.” His fingers tapped rapidly on the holo-display, mapping out the nearest possible destinations.

Fox was already ahead of him. “I’ll dispatch ships to all viable planets within range. Sentinel Takedown teams fully equipped this time.”

Cody’s voice was low and dangerous. “No mistakes this time.”

Fox nodded.

Cody inhaled once, steadying himself, then squared his shoulders. “Get the Emperor on the comm.”

Chapter Text

18 MONTHS BEFORE ORDER 66

The Custodial Preservation Act (CPA-1124):

Enacted during the Ruusan Reformation era, following the Sith Wars.
This law was established to protect key Republic assets—both strategic and biological—during times of crisis. The Jedi, though independent from the Senate, were classified under this act as “Essential Strategic Entities” (ESE) due to their role as peacekeepers and defenders of the Republic.

Key Provisions:

• In times of galactic unrest or when a Jedi’s physical or mental state is deemed “compromised,” authorised Republic military units can invoke CPA-1124 to place the Jedi under “protective oversight.”
• The law was designed with wartime contexts in mind, primarily to prevent Sith manipulation or the fall of Force-sensitive individuals into enemy hands.
• The custody is framed as safeguarding the Jedi’s well-being and ensuring they remain capable of fulfilling their duties.
Only a High-Ranking Military Officer or a recognised Commander can activate the clause, requiring minimal bureaucratic approval in emergencies.

Alpha finished reading the debriefing from their political intelligence officer aloud. He looked up, smiling meeting Cody’s gaze first, then Jango’s.

Jango’s eyes darkened with unconcealed glee. They exchanged a look, Cody was the first to break the silence, lifting his glass. Jango and Alpha followed suit, their movements almost synchronised.

“Oya,” Cody said, and their glasses clinked together.

They had been searching for something—anything—to ease their path, and here it was: an old, forgotten, archaic law. Never rescinded, never questioned, simply abandoned in the depths of bureaucracy. The key they needed, handed to them on a silver platter by the very Republic they sought to tear down.

The Jedi had been all but gift-wrapped for them, tied up with a neat, elegant bow.

o|o

PRESENT DAY

The stormtroopers moved with military precision, sweeping through the spaceport district one building at a time. Blaster rifles at the ready, visors scanning for movement, their boots echoed as they advanced.

“Squad One, clear. Moving to next sector,” a trooper reported over the comms.

“Copy that, Squad One. Squad Two, take the east sector. We’ve got reports of a possible sighting near Docking Bay 47.”

“Understood. Moving now.”

Three dozen white armoured figures moved in tight formation, clearing warehouses, storage units, and abandoned shuttle bays with relentless efficiency. The spaceport was vast, a labyrinth of durasteel corridors and flickering overhead lights. Each structure, room was swept, each corner checked, but the quarry remained elusive.

A single trooper fell into step with them, slipping seamlessly into formation. He moved as they did, his armour indistinguishable from the rest. But if you watched closely, just for a moment, something was off. The way his helmet tilted just a fraction too much when glancing around.

As the squad pressed forward, the odd trooper gradually drifted toward the rear. A few paces more and he was at the very edge of their formation. Then—just as they breached another building—he veered left, slipping between a row of supply crates. A moment later, he ducked behind a garbage transport.

Helmet off, Kenobi grinned maniacally, running a hand through closely shorn sweat-damp hair. His pulse pounded with the thrill of it. Still got it!

He wasted no time, slipping through the shadows toward a sleek, nondescript freighter. A matter of seconds to bypass the security protocols. The moment the hatch sealed behind him, he was already moving, hands flying over the console. A quick hack. A little sleight of hand. A minor navigation recalibration. And then he was gone.

Ten minutes later, the freighter powered up, thrusters roaring to life. It lifted off smoothly, climbing into the night sky. The stormtroopers caught on too late.

“He’s getting away!”

“Com the warship!"

"Lock down all outbound traffic!”

Orders snapped through the comms as troopers scrambled, rushing back toward the docks in a futile attempt to stop what had already been set in motion.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan Kenobi settled back in a completely different ship, stretching out on a too small cot, arms folded behind his head. He could already imagine their frustration as they realised they had been duped. Again. If he was lucky, it would take them at least a few hours to intercept the decoy ship. Long enough for him to slip through their fingers. Again.

He sniggered, exhaustion creeping in even as amusement danced in his chest. “Sleep tight, boys,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

o|o

Galactic Standard Time 04:12
Cody’s jaw was tight, his expression thunderous as the holo-call connected. The blue-tinged figures of Alpha and Jango flickered to life before him, their faces unreadable. Cody, on the other hand, barely contained his fury.

“He kriffing slipped through our fingers again!” he spat, slamming a gloved fist against the console hard enough to make the equipment rattle. “Do you know how tired I am of this dance? We had him. Again. And he kriffing walked away. Like we were amateurs.”

Alpha exhaled through his nose, arms crossed. Jango, predictably, looked more amused than concerned.

Cody inhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep his report structured despite the pure frustration burning through him. “Lothal—he ran rings around us. Felucia? A damn ghost. In and out before we even had a lock. Then there was the stormtrooper incident two days ago. And tonight? Mosel checkpoint—kriffing Mosel, with every security measure in place—and what does he do? Strolls through like a holo-star on a night out. No disguise, no Force trickery. Just a change of clothes, a strut, and a smirk, Dressed like a Coruscant prostitute. Walked right past our officers, winked at one of them.”

Alpha’s lips twitched slightly. “At least he’s finally shaved that damn beard. Makes him easier to ID.”

Jango let out a thoughtful hum. “He must have made a pretty hooker.”

Cody scowled. “I am not dignifying that with a response.”

Alpha exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly. “We’ve searched his last five safe houses. Nothing. No links, no clues, no trail to follow. The man lives like a hermit—no ties, no credits stashed, nothing.”

“And you’re still surprised?” Jango asked dryly.

Cody’s fists clenched. “It was textbook. We are better than this. He should’ve slipped up by now, with the way he’s been living, the things he’s had to do to survive.”

Jango tilted his head, considering. “Obi-Wan he's enjoying this. His escapes, near misses are flamboyant." He paused. "There’s a bird on Mandalore—the Mthyriee. When a predator nears its nest, it acts injured—flutters about, drags a wing, makes an easy, tempting target. The predator chases, certain it’s about to feast, never realising the bird is leading it away. Then, at the last second, it flies off. By the time the predator realises the trick, the real prey is long gone.”

Alpha frowned. “You think he’s protecting someone?”

Jango’s eyes gleamed. “Someone. Or maybe many.”

Cody’s scowl deepened. “The Padawan—the young Jedi, Cal, now identified as Cal Kestis—was officially listed as a casualty in a shuttle accident. Nineteen other initiates and Padawans were also declared dead. Four Jedi Knights, too. That was six months before Order 66.”

Alpha’s expression darkened. “The Jedi saw something coming. It’s the only explanation.”

Cody nodded grimly. “And if they did, they wouldn’t have just hidden one or two. They’d have hidden as many as they could.”

Jango’s gaze sharpened. “What else did Kestis say?”

Cody exhaled through his nose. “Nothing of value. Despite being badly injured and disoriented, he clammed up fast. Even without the Force, he’s trained to keep his mouth shut. He’s too fragile for intense interrogation. And whatever location he might’ve known? Useless now. The Jedi don’t sit still.”

Jango hummed. “Once he’s fully bonded, his Sentinels may persuade him to reveal more over time.”

“It’s a dead end for now,” Cody admitted.

“Not quite,” Jango countered. “It means we have a lot more Jedi—and potential Jedi—fugitives on the run than we initially thought. And if they’re still alive, someone, somewhere, is helping them stay that way.” He paused, considering. “Pull a call out for all Sentinel squads. Full alert. I want every available team mobilised across the Outer Rim and key points in the Mid Rim. If there are Jedi hiding, the Sentinels will have more chance of scouting them out and they will be well motivated.”

Alpha nodded sharply. “We’ll need regular broadcasts, targeted sweeps, and shakedowns in known transit hubs. Start with the usual smuggler routes—anywhere that’s seen a surge in unregistered starship activity in the last year. Someone will know something. Someone always does.”

Cody’s frustration simmered beneath his skin, but he forced himself to focus. “Cal Kestis was in good health not long ago. His medical scans show he was well-fed, stable. But that changed. The decline only started in the last six months.”

Alpha’s brows knit together. “A Padawan leaving the nest and realising the galaxy isn’t the kind place he was expecting?” he murmured. “And then Obi-Wan swoops in to save him?”

"It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Alpha tapped his fingers on the console thoughtfully. “If there’s a connection between Obi-Wan and Kestis, that means this isn’t just some stray Jedi running scared. It means there’s a network—a real one, not just scattered survivors clinging to life. That complicates things.”

Jango gave a slow, considering nod. “It means the Jedi are still protecting their own. And if they’ve managed to do it this long… we need to assume they’ve hidden others just as well. Kestis might just be the tip of the blade.”

A smirk played at the edges of Jango’s lips. “Well, at least the unbonded Sentinels will be pleased,” he said dryly. “It’s going to be a Jedi hunt all over again. The thrill of the chase, the scent of a challenge… they’ll be eager to get back out there.”

Cody exhaled sharply. “Then we better start making prep now,” he muttered. “We should get containment rooms aired out and ready—Force-dampening cells, the whole setup. If we’re going to be bringing in multiple Jedi, we need to be sure we’re ready.”

Alpha hummed. “I’ll have security run full checks on the main facilities.”

Jango nodded approvingly. “Good. And while we’re at it, we’ll need more medics on hand too” He glanced at Cody. “Put the call out. Medics, counsellor's, interrogation specialists, anyone with experience handling Force-sensitive guests.”

Cody was already making notes. “We’ll also need to sweep our informant network again. If Kestis was being taken care of up until six months ago, someone had to be providing shelter, food, supplies. And whoever that was? They’re still out there, still connected to the Jedi.”

Alpha smirked. “And when we find them, we don’t just get one Jedi—we get the whole nest.”

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

Cody hesitated, then exhaled. “And Obi-Wan?”

Jango smiled. “We change tactics. Instead of chasing his every step, we predict his route. He’s avoiding the Mid Rim, steering clear of the Geonosis sector. That tells us something. If we keep applying pressure, we can herd him where we want him.”

Alpha smirked. “Wolf packs at the end.”

Cody nodded, his anger burning into something sharper. “We send out all the Indictors to that area. Every spaceport we suspect he might use—we plant ships that look easy to sneak onto, or ships that look easy to steal. We make it look like he’s getting away, just like he did tonight.”

Jango’s gaze sharpened. “And then we close the trap.”

Cody exhaled, already calculating logistics. It was a mammoth task. It would take coordination, patience, and resources. But it would be worth it.

Jango’s eyes narrowed. “And Cody.”

Cody straightened. “Yes?”

Jango’s smirk deepened. “We’re wrapping things up here. We’ll be joining you soon.”

Cody grinned. Three Sentinels, as strong as they were?

Yeah. They could contain Obi-Wan.

o|o

Jango strode into his quarters, the door hissing shut behind him. He wasted no time—packing was second nature, a task that took mere minutes. His armour was already prepped, his weapons secured. But as he reached for a small, unassuming case tucked away in the corner, his movements slowed.

Flicking open the latch, he lifted the lid, revealing the contents nestled in a bed of deep Felucian velvet. The metal gleamed in the dim light—cold, perfect Beskar, forged generations ago and reforged anew for this purpose. A collar, smooth and unyielding, its surface etched with his sigil and now his triad’s. Beside it, a pair of matching bracelets, their weight unmistakable.

Jango ran a gloved hand over the Beskar, feeling the strength of it, the legacy it carried. This was no ordinary restraint. It was a claim, a mark of protection, a declaration that could not be ignored. And soon—soon—it would be fastened around the throat of their pretty blue-eyed Guide.

His fingers curled around the collar, lifting it slightly as he imagined the moment. How it would look against fair skin. How it would feel, solid and inescapable, a bond as much symbolic as it was real.

His lips curled in a smirk.

“Soon,” he muttered, voice thick with anticipation.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan nursed his drink in the dim glow of the cantina, half-watching the holo-news as it flickered across the screen. The usual drivel—political posturing, propaganda—until the feed abruptly cut to an emergency broadcast.

The transmission was polished, expertly crafted by the Empire’s PR machine. It was cinematic. Stirring. And it was all lies.

The broadcast painted a sweeping narrative: how the Sith had planned and plotted for years to rule the galaxy. How they had poisoned the Jedi, twisting them into something corrupted and broken. How, in a last desperate act, some of the Jedi had created the clone army to save the galaxy and them. How the clones, loyal and noble, had risen up to destroy the Sith and, in their mercy, sought to save what remained of their fallen Jedi masters.

The final image was designed for maximum impact. A lone figure, clad in full armour, stepped forward from a swirling mist, the imperial Empire’s crest gleaming on his chest-plate. Behind him, hundreds—perhaps thousands—of clones stood at attention, their formation stretching into the distance. Triumphant, rousing music swelled as they marched, the Emperor at their head.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. So dramatic.

A crisp, official voice took over.

“Reports indicate that vulnerable Jedi have been sighted across multiple systems. These individuals, suffering from severe psychological distress, require immediate psychiatric intervention—under the extended act CPA-1124 - assistance that only the Empire is equipped to provide. Any information leading to their safe recovery will be generously rewarded."

A weighty pause.

“For their own protection, fugitives are not to be harmed. Any interference with Imperial rehabilitation efforts will meet with severe consequences.”

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around his glass. So this was the new game. A lie the galaxy had swallowed entirely. Rebranding the Jedi as damaged victims—pitiful, unstable, in need of saving. With a hefty price tag attached that would have every low life, merc and slaver on the lookout.

For six years, he had kept his head down on Tatooine, a planet too self-absorbed with its own struggles to care about the galaxy at large. His exile meant no searching for answers, no unnecessary risks. His only scraps of information came from prearranged, six-month comms with Bail Organa. He knew things had gotten bad. But he hadn’t expected what he had found.

It seemed the Empire had not killed the Jedi . Nor were they keeping them in cells. Instead, they were reintegrating them into society as something called a Guide. Obi-Wan didn’t yet understand what that meant. But he had seen the footage—Jedi standing beside clones, unchained, moving freely. No restraints. No obvious signs of imprisonment.

Some even looked… calm. At ease.

Brainwashing. It had to be. What other explanation was there? Something curdled in his stomach.

The broadcast ended, and the cameras swung to a bright-eyed, red-skinned Nubrak host who eagerly dissected the latest developments with her co-anchor.

Obi-Wan sneered. Bloody vultures.

Then the woman mentioned something that made his spine stiffen. “And in other news, the Emperor himself is visiting Lothal!”

The screen shifted to a live feed of the planet, and there he was—Jango Fett.

Kriffing bastard.

Jango looked infuriatingly at ease, smiling as he greeted the gathered crowd. His presence exuded warmth, charisma—nothing like the cold-blooded killer Obi-Wan remembered. With a casual charm, Jango launched into a short speech about laying the first stone for a new academy—an orphanage for troubled young ones.

Obi-Wan’s fingers tightened around his glass.

Behind the Emperor, the holo-feed panned to a familiar sight—a small, run-down structure being flattened under the weight of a bulldozer. Obi-Wan’s previous fake safe house. His stomach turned to ice.

Jango smiled, directly at the camera, wide-eyed and disarmingly innocent, as if he weren’t sending a huge message with every calculated movement - I see you.

Inside, Obi-Wan seethed. 'How kriffing dare he!' For a fleeting moment, he entertained the thought of sneaking onto Coruscant, just to make a mess, to remind Jango that ghosts don’t die so easily. But Obi-Wan was angry, not suicidal. Still, Lothal was too damn close. Time to leave.

o|o

Cody fell into step beside Jango, his boots striking against the pristine floor in perfect cadence.

“So?” Cody prompted, his tone carefully neutral.

Jango hummed thoughtfully, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “The padawan knows little,” he said at last. “We’ll send a squad to investigate the location he claims to have been in for the past six years, but his sentinels detected no deceit. It appears he was abandoned there with an older Jedi—Master Kyuto—who died recently. After that, the kid set out to find others of his kind.” He exhaled sharply, a faint note of something like sympathy in his tone. “He’s been completely isolated all this time. Lonely. His bonding will be easier despite protocol not being followed.”

Cody frowned. “And Obi-Wan?”

Jango’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He refused to answer, but it’s likely he either met or was found by Kenobi and sent on a prearranged route.” He hesitated for a beat, then glanced at Cody with mild curiosity. “I watched the interrogation with CV-111. You ended it early?”

Cody’s jaw tightened. He let out a slow breath through his nose.

“He’s young,” Cody said at last. “Would’ve only been an initiate when all this started. A barely-passed padawan when Order 66 went out. Innocent.” His voice lowered, roughened. “I felt uneasy. His sentinels were unsettled, and, truth be told, I wanted to storm in there, rip CV-111 to pieces, and coddle Cal myself.”

Jango exhaled, the sound more of a sigh than he probably intended. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “I felt it too. Perhaps because we believed that no younglings survived the inferno.”

Cody’s expression darkened, something dark twisting behind his eyes. “The heat was so intense, no bodies were ever recovered,” he murmured. Then, after a beat, “But… do you think—” He hesitated, unwilling to give voice to the thought clawing at his mind.

Jango’s stride faltered. He tilted his head slightly. “Perhaps...If the Jedi did manage to protect the ad, I’d think better of them.” A pause. “But it raises more questions than answers.”

His gaze flicked briefly to Cody, eyes sharp. “Where the kriff are they now?”

“And how,” Cody murmured, almost to himself, “and why.”

Jango grunted in agreement.

o|o

The port stank of fuel and rotting vegetation, the air thick with the acrid tang of burning plasma from recent take-offs. A low murmur of voices echoed from nearby, traders haggling in harsh tones, the occasional outburst of laughter cutting through the steady hum of machinery. Somewhere to his left, a heavy freighter vented steam with a metallic hiss, and further down, a droid clanked noisily over uneven duracrete, its servos whining in protest.

Obi-Wan moved through the shadows, keeping to the edges of the port, his gaze scanning for an easy mark. Then he saw it—off to one side, tucked between two bulkier freighters—a one-man navigational ship. Fast, manoeuvrable. It was built for precision, for slicing through the void with an ease most ships couldn’t match. More importantly, he knew how to fly it.

Perfect!

He crouched, lowering his profile, and studied the vessel carefully. It had been refueled recently, the fuel lines still coiled neatly beside the landing struts. The hull gleamed under the flickering port lights—clean, unblemished. It was in excellent shape.

His eyes narrowed. It stood there, sleek and gleaming, daring him to take it. Like a fat, grey worm ...dangling from a hook.

Obi-Wan frowned. A worm? The image was oddly vivid, lingering in his mind’s eye with an insistence that made his skin crawl. He tore his gaze away from the ship, forcing himself to refocus—but the strange vision clung to him, whispering of something deeper.

He exhaled and reached out with the Force. It swirled around him in uneasy eddies, rippling like disturbed water. Danger. Yes, but also something else. Anticipation. A readiness, as if something...was waiting.

Useless.

Obi-Wan shook his head sharply, but the image of the hook and worm refused to fade. A trap, then. For him?

His fingers curled against his palm as he weighed his options. The temptation was there—to mess up the trap, to see what lay beyond. He had done it before. But something was different this time. The tension in the air, the way the Force whispered warnings he couldn’t quite grasp. He had learned to listen when it spoke like this.

He flexed his fingers, exhaling slowly. No. Not this time. Perhaps he had done enough. Perhaps this particular temptation—wasn’t worth the cost. He needed to be smart. He let his gaze drift past the ship, to the darker alleys beyond the main docking bays. There were other ways out of here. Other paths, less direct, but safer. He could disappear into the underbelly of the city, barter or smuggle passage on a less conspicuous vessel, slip through the cracks of the Empire’s reach once more.

A longer road, alas a more tedious boring escape—but he had matured from his younger days and learned the value of patience. Obi-Wan turned, melting back into the shadows.

o|o

The freighter was an old model, the kind barely holding together on scrap and stubbornness, held aloft by captains who knew every trick to keep them flying just one more day. The Helios Dawn was no different—patched hull, overstressed engines, a crew that cared more about keeping fed than checking cargo manifests. It had made slipping aboard easy. Now, as hyperspace streaked past the ship’s thin walls, he let himself exhale. A brief moment of rest.

The cargo hold was dim, the air thick with stale lubricant and the metallic bite of recycled oxygen. Obi-Wan sat wedged between crates, wrapped in a cloak that smelled of oil and old sweat, barely registering the discomfort he was so tired. Just a few more jumps. Then he would be Safe. Yoda was waiting.

He closed his eyes.

He must have drifted deeper than intended because when the freighter lurched, it ripped him from sleep with the force of a gut punch. Not the smooth deceleration of a routine drop. This was sudden. Wrenching. Violent.

The unmistakable pull of an interdiction field.

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open.

Seconds later a voice crackled through the freighter’s comm, clipped and unmistakably Imperial.

“Unregistered freighter Helios Dawn, you are entering an Imperial empire checkpoint. Power down your engines and prepare for boarding. Any attempt to flee or resist will be met with force.”

A curse from the cockpit. The crew hadn’t expected this. Smugglers, then. Or at least running something they’d rather the Empire not find. Obi-Wan didn’t care. Whatever was in these crates wasn’t his concern.

The Star Destroyer looming beyond the Interdictor—that was a more pressing concern.

He reached out, stretching his senses beyond the hull, feeling the cold weight of the Imperial presence pressing against him. Stormtroopers. Officers. Minds locked in routine efficiency, scanning for anomalies. Searching. For now, they didn’t know what they were looking for. That was his only advantage.

The Helios Dawn’s systems powered down one by one. In the hold, the emergency lights cast everything in a dull, rust-colored glow. The familiar hiss of docking clamps followed, then a metallic thunk-thunk as the Imperial boarding tunnel sealed against the freighter’s airlock.

Boots. Heavy. Armoured. Rhythmic. Stormtroopers not clones.

“Move! Hands where I can see them!”

Obi-Wan pressed deeper into the alcove, barely breathing as the crew was hauled into the hold.

The ship’s captain—a grizzled man whose voice was all smoke and bad luck—tried to talk. “This is a legal—”

“Shut it,” a stormtrooper barked.

Then a second voice—crisp, authoritative. The officer. “Routine security sweep. We are searching for fugitives. You will comply, or you will be contained. Understood?”

The silence was reluctant, but obedience followed.

Boots thudded against the deck as stormtroopers fanned out, sweeping the ship. It wouldn’t take them long to reach the far corner where Obi-Wan was hidden. His heart pounded, though his breathing remained steady. He had to move.

He stretched out with the Force, feeling for the two guards stationed at the airlock. Not clone troopers either—stormtroopers. Sloppier. Weaker.

Obi-Wan inhaled slowly. Then—a flick of his fingers. A violent crash erupted from the far side of the ship. The troopers at the airlock snapped to attention.

“What the hell was that?”

“Go check it out.” One hesitated. The other was already moving.

Obi-Wan didn’t wait.

Silent as a breath, he ghosted forward, his boots barely skimming the deck. The second trooper turned too late—by the time his gaze flicked toward the airlock, Obi-Wan was gone.

Through the narrow boarding corridor. Into the belly of the Interdictor. A foolish, desperate act. But then—who would dare such a move? He exhaled, adjusting his cloak. One problem solved. Now for the next. Somewhere aboard this ship, there was a barracks. A stormtrooper’s armour. A disguise. Blending with the enemy had worked before. It would have to work again.

o|o
“He’s here.” Alpha’s triumphant voice echoed through the holocall.

Cody and Jango exchanged a searing glance before Cody swiftly pulled up a space chart, calculating the distance.

“I felt him,” Alpha continued, his voice quieter now, laced with awe. “The bond—what’s left of it—is still there.”

“We’re five hours out. Keep him contained.”

“Oya.”

o|o
The stormtrooper armour was a poor fit. The chest plate pressed uncomfortably against his ribs, the helmet stifled his vision and muffled sound, and the rebreather carried the acrid tang of recycled air. The entire suit reeked of plastoid and sweat—likely from the last unfortunate soul who had worn it. Still, it would serve. The Force was still with him. And so far, so good.

Through a viewport at the end of the corridor, the looming silhouette of a Star Destroyer. There was no outrunning it. Even if he could steal a ship, he knew his limits. Once, he’d been a competent pilot—but against that? Against the Empire’s full firepower? That was suicide.

Strangely, he could almost feel the ship, a weird thrumming stirring to life. He set the sensation aside. It didn’t matter. What mattered was a new plan.

Obi-Wan strode down the corridor. Officers passed without a second glance. They never looked at stormtroopers. The white armour rendered them faceless, interchangeable. As long as he moved with purpose, he was invisible. Then he saw it.

A row of escape pods, ten in total, lined up against the bulkhead. Their launch controls gleamed under the overhead fluorescents, untouched. The nearest planet was close—too close for the pods to go unnoticed. If they all launched at once, the Empire would scramble to investigate.

Grinning he stepped toward the control terminal, fingers flying over the keys.

EMERGENCY EVACUATION INITIATED.

Hydraulic locks hissed as they disengaged. One by one, the pods shuddered, then burst into the void, streaking toward the planet below.

The response was immediate. Klaxons sounded. The ship lurched into high alert, orders crackling through comm channels as officers barked for status reports. He slipped through the confusion, his stolen armour shielding him from suspicion.

The shuttle bay was already a frenzy of movement. The Empire never ignored a security breach—squads were scrambling, preparing to track the missing pods. That was his way down.

He moved quickly towards one of the smaller shuttles being prepped for launch, a recon team gearing up for planetary deployment. He veered toward it, eyes landing on an access grate near the rear of the inner cargo hold.

Without hesitation, he crouched, pried it open, and slid inside. The space was tight, barely wide enough to fit his frame, but he wedged himself in, muscles locked to keep from making noise. He reached back, pulling the grate into place just as boots clattered onto the shuttle’s deck.

“TK-417, confirm ready for launch.”

“Confirmed. Squad prepped and loaded.”

The deck shuddered beneath him as the shuttle’s engines roared to life.

“Escape pods don’t launch themselves,” someone muttered.

“System malfunction, maybe. Or some newbie idiot hit the wrong sequence.”

“All ten? Doubt it. Maybe deserters.”

A scoff.

“Then what, a Jedi?”

Another scoff, louder this time. “If it were, we’d be at full battle stations.”

Obi-Wan remained still, controlling his breathing, listening. They wouldn’t suspect a single trooper slipping away in the chaos. And by the time they realised something was wrong, he’d be long gone.

The descent was rough. The shuttle rattled as it punched through the atmosphere, turbulence throwing the passengers against their restraints. Dim red emergency lights flickered inside the hold, casting deep shadows over the armoured figures strapped into their seats. The stormtroopers—not clones, no matter how much they tried to move like them—muttered among themselves, uneasy.

The landing was worse. A hard jolt slammed through the shuttle’s frame, metal screeching in protest. Obi-Wan barely had time to register the sound before the grate he was pressed against ripped free from its mounting.

Whoops!

It clattered onto the deck with a deafening crash.

“What the kriff?”

Blasters snapped up. Stormtroopers surged to their feet.

Obi-Wan inhaled slowly. Then he stepped out from behind the broken grate, straightening to his full height. Calm. Controlled. Unshaken. His voice was mild as he pulled off the ill-fitting helmet, letting it drop carelessly to the floor.

“Hello there.”

Chapter Text

Alpha snapped the final seal on his gauntlet just as the door pinged open. Captain Byron strode in, breathless, offering a salute so sloppy it drew a sharp lift of Alpha’s eyebrow. The man didn’t wait to be chastised—he darted to the nearest console and hit the comms key.

“Patch it in.” Byron commanded.

A tinny voice responded, “Yes, sir,” followed by the flicker of a hologram coming to life.

Alpha’s breath hitched. There he was—his Obi-Wan.

Byron spoke, dragging Alpha’s focus back. “We miscalculated Sir. He wasn’t on the escape pod. He used this as a diversionary tactic to board one of the landing shuttles. He nearly got away with it too.”

Alpha scoffed, tone biting. “Of course he did.” But his eyes crinkled with reluctant amusement. Obi-Wan had flair. And a talent for slipping through their fingers but his force kriff luck was about to run out.

They watched the footage in silence. The Shuttle interior monitoring cameras giving a clear view of proceedings - Obi-Wan Kenobi stepping out of the shadows with a smirk. Lightsaber igniting in a clean arc, each stun blast deflected, a pulse of the Force sending soldiers sprawling. Ten seconds of controlled force ossik fury—and then he was gone.

“What’s the location?”

Byron had already pulled up a holo-map. The planet spun mid-air, zooming to a thickly forested region. He pointed out key locations. “Nearest official ports are here and here. I’ve dispatched squads to lock them down. But there are over twenty smaller outposts—low-traffic, mostly off-grid. Still, a few have hyperspace-capable ships. He could use try and steal one.”

Alpha studied the feed as data analysts layered intel across the display. Not ideal. He would have preferred an abandoned rock, not this half-wild frontier. But it was manageable. Containable.

He checked his chronometer. Jango and Cody would be planet-side in under five hours. Between the three of them, Obi-Wan didn’t stand a chance—especially not with the bond, subtle, one-sided, and ripe for exploitation.

“What do we have nearby?”

Byron tapped in new commands. A spread of ships lit the screen.

Alpha’s eyes narrowed. He dismissed the outliers. “Move Interdictor Prime and the Crucible—different sectors, overlapping gravity wells. Deploy Comet, Dreadnought, Titan, and Jericho in atmospheric orbit. Ground deployment begins now. I want clone and stormtrooper squads sweeping the forest—standard net pattern. If he’s spotted, push him to an extraction funnel. Sentinel teams ready. Tag and bag.”

Byron nodded, fingers flying across the console. “Assault carriers?”

“All Sentinel strike crews in the air. Keep them moving.”

“And walkers, sir?”

“How many are operational?”

“Thirty.”

“Set them down in the forest. Standard search pattern, shake and bake."

Byron blinked. “All thirty, sir?”

Alpha’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. All of them. Set up some honeypots at different locations. I am heading planet-side ready my ship.” He turned towards Byron. "And Captain raise the alert - full battle stations, I want every pilot and drone on patrol until we have Obi-Wan contained. There will be no mistakes this time."

O|O
FOUR HOURS LATER
Obi-Wan stroked his chin out of habit, then grimaced. Ugh no beard. It wasn’t the same—less grounding, less comfort. Just skin and stubble and the sense that something essential was missing.

And things were… not looking good. He had made decent time, following the Force’s tug to the nearest hint of civilisation—this compact town tucked between forested hills and low ridges. He had hoped for a quiet starport, maybe a few old freighters in need of bribes. Instead, he was greeted by efficiency.

The imperials were everywhere.

He stood half-concealed behind a crumbling outbuilding on the town’s edge, surveying the scene below. A wide central square had been converted into a checkpoint zone. Barricades and energy fences flickered faintly, funnelling civilians into scanning queues. Troopers barked commands, scanning IDs and inspecting cargo. Locals moved quickly, warily—no one argued, no one complained.

An imperial officer paced the perimeter, pausing at a drone control station. Sleek black recon drones buzzed through the air above, mapping alleyways and rooftops with clinical precision. At least one was armed—he could sense it. His fingers itched towards his lightsaber.

Overhead, an assault carrier had touched down on a wide platform, its massive form dwarfing the town’s rooftops. Troopers flowed from its belly like ants, already establishing perimeter routes and offloading walkers on powered lifts. It was all bustle and quiet competence.

"All this for little ole me." He muttered on a sigh. He should have slipped into hiding two planets ago. Now, his confidence—or arrogance—had brought him into the centre of the net. Again.

Still, the Force was with him. There was a way out. He just had to find it or make one.

He had passed a farm a klik back, he could snag a swoop bike and he could push deeper into the wilderness and find a less guarded settlement. Somewhere off the main net. Somewhere they wouldn’t expect him to go. His only other alternative would be to hunker down and wait for the storm to pass over. They would think he had managed another escape. It was tempting, this was a temperate planet a far nicer planet than Tatooine.

Obi-Wan took one last look at the heavy patrols moving through the town, and exhaled slowly. Farm it was and then he could maybe grab different clothing. He had ditched the armour and was now clad in blacks. Soft, durable and flexible but it didn't leave much to the imagination.

O|O

Alpha looked up, a slow grin spreading across his face as a familiar pulse echoed through the bond. They were close now. Just in time.

“Sir,” came a clipped voice from the command pit. “The Executor has just dropped out of hyperspace. She’s entering planetary orbit.”

“I know,” Alpha said, still grinning. He felt them before the sensors did.

Before another word could be spoken, a new transmission cut in—static snapping, then a sharp voice over comms: “Patrol Seven-Nine-Three has visual on Fugitive Guide Kenobi. He’s on the move on a stolen swoop bike. Coordinates transmitting now.”

A line of red blinked to life on the console, accompanied by a topographic scan of the dense forest terrain.

Alpha’s grin widened, eyes glittering.

“I have you now, Obi-Wan.”

He turned sharply. “Ready my ship for immediate launch. And inform the Emperor—he’ll want to be apprised. No doubt he’ll join the hunt.”

Alpha stepped toward the viewport, gaze locked on the treeline in the distance. He could feel the brush of Obi-Wan’s presence against the bond now—faint, confused, still ignorant.

But not for much longer.

“Sir,” the comm officer called again, urgency rising. "He’s ten klicks out—on the run.”

Alpha’s smiled with dark glee. “Then it’s time we welcome him properly.”

O|O

The swoop bike snarled beneath him as Obi-Wan ducked low, trees whipping past in a blur of green and shadow. The wind dragged at his clothes, but the Force steadied his hands, guiding him along the forest path. Blaster fire cracked behind him. The forces hissed, he ducked, one bolt skimmed past his shoulder. Another seared just beneath his swoop’s engine housing. He gritted his teeth and leaned forward, narrowing his profile as the trees thickened and he zoomed through a deep gully.

A warning pulse and then three clones suddenly on foot burst from a thicket on top, one swinging a stun pike like he meant to knock Obi-Wan clean off the bike. He ducked hard, the weapon passing inches above his head. A second clone lunged out with a grappling cable, but Obi-Wan yanked the swoop into a savage curve, cutting through a tight gap between two massive trunks.

Then a second speeder shot out ahead of him.

Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate. He slammed the brakes, pivoted hard left, then kicked off a low tree to slingshot around the obstacle in a reverse corkscrew arc that sent branches snapping around him. The swoop whined in protest, engine straining—but it held.

Obi-Wan grinned.

No non-force user could’ve made that turn. Not without slamming into a tree—or breaking their own spine. He caught a flash of dismay and confusion through the force, then the static crackle of a comm call as they tried to regroup.

Another hard bank—another close shave around a gnarled trunk—and then he burst through a thicket of low foliage into a sloping ravine. The last of the scout bikes behind him overshot the drop, caught unprepared, and vanished behind him in a scream of engines and snapping branches.

“Too slow,” he muttered with a breathless chuckle. But the moment of triumph faded as the forest ahead shifted.

Three more speeders came in from the west, silent, coordinated. Not chasing—intercepting. And from the east, two more.

Krif...Kriff, Kriff. They were....were herding him. His stomach sank as realisation hit. It wasn’t a hunt. It was a net.

And then the hum shifted.

From high above and behind, a new sound cut through the chaos—lower-pitched, smoother, predatory. The unmistakable whine of an Imperial-grade swoop. He risked a glance over his shoulder.

There it was. It dropped in like a hawk, all black plating and stripped-down efficiency, its rider leaning low in the saddle. No markings, no unit identifiers—just speed and precision.

It moved like a shadow, cutting through the canopy without pause, each manoeuvre flawlessly mirrored against Obi-Wan’s evasions.

His stolen farmbike shuddered in protest. Obi-Wan’s jaw clenched.

This one was different. Whoever was riding that monster moved like a Jedi, Though he could not feel them through the force. Maybe a dark force bounty hunter? The Force coiled and writhed, whispered darkly in his ear. The force was with this rider.

Branches tore at his shoulders as Obi-Wan ducked low, letting the forest blur around him. The speeder jolted, a warning chime flaring as it skimmed over uneven ground, but he ignored it. Ahead, the forest opened just enough to give him a winding route—a tight channel that no sane pilot would dare try at speed.

He veered right, slicing through the path like a needle threading silk. Fallen logs became launch points. Roots curled up like claws but he vaulted them, swoop skimming low, nose-down to hug the terrain. The wind roared in his ears. His eyes burned from the rush of air and debris.

Obi-Wan extended his force senses —just a flicker—and cursed under his breath. The rider was still there. Closer. No visible strain. No overcorrection. Like he wasn’t chasing at all, just waiting.

The Force pulsed in warning again, a pressure at the back of Obi-Wan’s skull. Recognition.Whoever that was—they knew him and he knew them.

He pushed harder, reaching out through the Force, scanning ahead. He caught a glimpse of a dry creek bed up ahead—narrow, jagged. The kind of death trap that would snap the legs of a walker, or gut a speeder at full throttle.

Perfect.

He angled toward it and dropped, the swoop juddering as gravel and loose rock clattered against its sides. The manoeuvre bought him a second. Maybe two. Long enough to kick the swoop back up the other bank and blast through a spray of ferns at the top.

His breathing was ragged now. He was running out of forest, out of tricks, out of time.

The hum behind him grew louder. Then closer.

Obi-Wan’s heart dropped as the shadow swept in, the Imperial swoop suddenly no longer behind but alongside him, cutting through the trees in perfect synchrony. The rider turned their head just slightly, visor catching the slanting sun.

No insignia. No markings. But the shape, the posture, the silent intensity…so familar. The clone pulled up—then dropped, deliberately slamming the side of their swoop into Obi-Wan’s.

Metal screeched. Obi-Wan lost control. His bike spun sideways, veered wildly—he wrestled with the controls, but it was too late. The world tilted. Then shattered.

Impact.

They crashed into the undergrowth. The speeder’s nose slammed into a root system, catapulting Obi-Wan off the saddle. He hit the dirt and rolled, pain lancing through his ribs. The world spun, blurry and breathless.

He gasped, leaping to his feet, saber already lit.

The clone stood in front of him, helmet in one hand, the other resting casually on a DC-17 holstered at his hip. A crackling purple stun baton crackling at his side . And that face. Obi-Wan’s breath caught. Alpha. His lightsaber dropped slightly.

“Give it up, Obi-Wan,” Alpha said, “There is no escape. This is your destiny.”

Obi-Wan looked at him in disbelief. "Kriff you." And then he as if on a signal they both lurched forward to attack.

Obi-Wan’s boots skidded through the forest floor, as he twisted, ducked, parried—his lightsaber a blur of blue between the trees. Alpha was relentless.

Every strike from the clone commander’s stun baton sent sharp pulses of energy crashing against Obi-Wan’s blade. He hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected the baton’s modified core to absorb the saber’s energy instead of crackling apart under it.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “New toys?”

Alpha only grinned, driving forward again, baton swinging in a low arc meant to clip Obi-Wan’s knees. He barely leapt in time, rolling across the mossy ground and coming to his feet in a force bounce going into a defensive stance. The Force whispered, warning him. He even now couldn't bring himself to truly hurt his former ally but he maybe left with no choice.

“You don’t talk much these days,” Obi-Wan said between breaths, trying to buy a second. “What happened to the charming commander who used to joke during drills?”

Alpha’s eyes glinted, his smirk sharp. “He found a purpose.”

Another clash—this time closer. Obi-Wan staggered, forced back again. The trees opened behind him. Too late, he realised what was happening.

A clearing.

His feet stepped on flattened grass—open space. No cover. No escape routes. Alpha had been driving him here the entire time.

Herding him.

Obi-Wan’s stance shifted. If he couldn’t flee, he had to finish it.

“I am sorry my old friend,” Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber.

Alpha’s baton twitched, a silent dare.

But before Obi-Wan could strike, the roar of rocket thrusters shattered the air. Heat rippled through the clearing as two jetpack trails burst through the canopy overhead, streaking downward like fire from the sky. The earth trembled when they landed behind him.

Obi-Wan spun, instinct screaming.

Two figures—armoured, armed to the teeth, their Mandalorian helmets gleaming with soot and rain.

Then the helmets came off.

Jango Fett and Cody.

For a second, Obi-Wan couldn’t breathe.

The Force screamed betrayal in his chest. Old instincts flared, but something deeper—something more personal—twisted like a knife.

Cody spoke first, voice tight. “Stand down, General.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, his blade held low but ready. “I’m no general,” he growled. “You made sure of that.”

Cody had the grace to wince, his gaze dropping for a heartbeat before his face hardened. "Under The Custodial Preservation Act (CPA-1124):you are now under guardianship of the empire”

Obi-Wan scoffed. "Or I could end it all now. How nice of you to drop by," he spat out the last word with venom as he turned his attention to Jango, "Emperor."

Jango stepped forward, his eyes assessing. “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said. “You have been sought, and now you are found. This doesn’t need to be unpleasant. Lower your weapon, and you have my word—you and anyone you harbour will be safe.”

That cut deep. Deeper than they could have known. Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed with sudden fury. They knew. Or suspected. That he wasn’t just surviving—he was protecting.

He couldn’t surrender.

“You dare,” he snarled, the hum of his lightsaber rising as he drew the Force in like breath. “You think I will believe anything you say while you hunt us like animals through the galaxy?”

Cody opened his mouth—but Obi-Wan was already moving.

The Jedi launched forward with a roar, saber cutting through the air like a stormfront, targeting the weakest point in their triangle.

The battle had begun.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan’s boots tore at the dirt as he pivoted sharply, lightsaber clashing with Alpha’s stun baton in a thunderous, sparking strike. The jolt travelled up his arms, bone-deep. The Force howled a warning—he twisted, barely in time to avoid Jango’s baton carving through the space his ribs had just occupied.

The next twenty minutes blurred into an unrelenting rhythm of attack and retreat—almost elegant in its brutality. It was a hunt masquerading as a duel. Three sentinels, moving as one, herding their quarry like a beast through the forest. Each move coordinated, clean, practiced.

Obi-Wan fought back like a storm. Still sharp. Still alive. The Force surged in him, pulsing with each breath, each strike. But the tempo was breaking him. He was bleeding energy—draining into the ground with every passing second.

They weren’t rushing. They had no need to.

They let him swing. Let him spend his fury on their Beskar-plated bodies, let him wear himself thin against their patience. He could feel it—how they leaned on each other, not through the Force, but through something else. Some clone technique perhaps.

Cody darted low, feinting, and Obi-Wan reacted—just a milisecond too slow. The baton slammed into his shoulder. Fire bloomed across his side. He staggered, teeth clenched against the pain.

But he didn’t fall. “You won’t take me,” he spat, slashing outward. “I’m not your puppet!”

His force push, pressed them back a few metres, not much as they dug in. But it gave him space.

“No one wants to hurt you,” Cody snapped. “We just want you to stop.”

Then it came again. That pressure—not Force-sent, not emotional. Something colder.

::Tiredsafeletgosleep::

A flicker in his mind. Static under his skull. His foot missed a step. He shook his head what was wrong with him, he needed to focus. He gritted his teeth. Growled, snarled, forced it down. He ducked Jango’s next swing, sparks flying from his blade as Alpha came in again. The edge of his tunic smoked from the plasma of the baton’s passing.

::Tiredsafeletgosleep::

He shook his head, So fuzzy. What the kriff?

With a furious shout, Obi-Wan shoved out with the Force—hard. Cody stumbled. Jango reeled. Obi-Wan spun, blade sweeping wide, forcing more space between them again.

But Alpha was already there. Slamming into him shoulder-first, driving him down. They crashed into the earth, wrestling in the dust. The hum of the saber mingled with the low crackle of the baton. Obi-Wan’s boot caught Alpha’s thigh—he kicked off and rolled, back on his feet.

Too slow. His limbs felt like stone. Something kept scraping the edges of his focus.

Jango came again, calm, methodical. Cody at his flank. Obi-Wan moved on reflex. But they were good, too good.

::Tiredsafeletgosleep::

He choked back a cry. His body screamed. His soul howled.He slashed at Alpha—low and vicious—but Alpha caught his wrist and locked it down. “Stop!” Obi-Wan roared. “You betrayed me! You betrayed everything we stood for!”

Cody’s voice cracked, guilt slicing through his resolve. “We protected you. We never stopped. You’re not our enemy. You never were.”

The Force still coiled within Obi-Wan, but his mind—it was fraying. That pressure wasn’t letting up. He needed to understand it, find the edges, block it out—but there was no room. No time.

::Tiredsafeletgosleep::

His knees buckled. His saber dropped an inch.

Jango stepped forward, hand out, empty. Calm.

“Kenobi,” he said gently, “just stop. Let us help.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, chest heaving. Exhaustion twisted with confusion, drowning in the weight of everything unsaid.

::Tiredsafeletgosleep::

Something clicked inside him. He blinked, horror rising. “You’re Force-sensitive,” he whispered, voice thin. “You’ve been inside my head this whole time.”

But it wasn’t the Force. It was… tethered...weird. He shuddered, feeling them now, deep inside, a connection he hadn’t consented to—couldn’t control. He couldn’t shut it off…yet.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement—Jango again, approaching with something half hidden in his hands.

Shackles. And a collar.

Obi-Wan’s blood turned to ice.

“You would make me a slave,” he breathed. The Force screamed. His mind went white with it. And he fell—into the storm, into the power that had once killed a Sith and now screamed to keep him free. The wind changed. Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped wide—white, luminous, unseeing.

Cody felt it in his gut before he saw it. The air went thin. The Force around them twisted, screaming, and then cracked like thunder. The ground trembled.

“Stuns—now!” Cody bellowed, panic cutting through his voice. “Hit him with everything!”

Fifteen stun bolts burst from every direction—blue fire screaming through the clearing toward the Jedi’s body. Obi-Wan's fingers flicked.

They froze.

Hung, suspended in the air like beads of molten glass—time fractured. And then they reversed.

Screaming back into their barrels with a shriek of physics made mockery. The air bent inward. Gravity shuddered.

Obi-Wan stood at the centre of the storm, arms raised, head thrown back, light radiating from his skin like a dying star. His robes whipped around him in a spiral of impossible wind, a tornado rising around him, carved out of Force and pain and grief.

“Kriff!” Alpha gasped.

“He’s gone too deep,” Cody shouted over the roar, his voice hoarse with fear. “He’s burning himself out—he’ll kill himself. He might take all of us with him!”

The bond thrummed with terror for their guide.

Jango didn’t hesitate. He reached out—not physically, not with weapons, but through the bond that connected them all. Then directed it towards their guide, their General, their bond mate. Alpha followed. Cody joined them.

Three minds, trained and disciplined, braided into something other. Built on battlefields, sealed in promises. A bond forged not through the Force, but through trust, through duty, through love—and ruthlessness. A sentinel bond.

They pressed, hard and pure, the same single thought rippling across the connection like steel across nerve:

::Stop.::

::Stop.::

::Stop.::

Obi-Wan jerked—like something had physically struck him. His scream was silent, mental, a jagged cry of resistance of agony and fear.

His hands shot up to his head, fingers digging into his scalp as he staggered, footing slipping in the torn earth. The storm faltered—winds spiralling wild, uncontrolled.

Jango launched himself forward, fast and low, shoulder slamming into Obi-Wan’s midsection. Alpha was already there, catching his legs, bringing him down hard.

Obi-Wan thrashed—pure instinct, the Force lashing out—but they bore down, relentless.

One hypno…Two…Three.

His limbs jerked once, twice, and then—Stillness. His head lolled. Eyes closed.

Silence. The wind died.

The stunned squad surrounding them stared, weapons still raised, breath caught in their throats.

“…Kriff,” Cody whispered, sinking to one knee beside the others, breathing like he had run a marathon.

Alpha’s hand was still pressed to Obi-Wan’s neck, feeling for a pulse. He exhaled in relief. “Alive.”

Jango didn’t move for a second. He was still staring at Obi-Wan’s pale face, his brow furrowed—“He would’ve torn the planet apart,” he said quietly.

Cody scrubbed a hand over his face. “He nearly did.”

No one spoke. Around them, the wreckage of the storm—the forest bent and broken, scorch marks in the dirt, the weight of power still lingering in the air like ozone after lightning. Obi-Wan Kenobi—fallen, injured , unconscious, and more dangerous than any of them had ever imagined.

And still… theirs.

Chapter Text

They had been holding Obi-Wan securely in their arms as the shuttle lifted away from the planet, angling toward the looming shape of the Executor. The dull thrum of the engines was a distant noise compared to the storm of utter elation pressing against Jango’s ribs. Six years. Six kriffing years. And now he was finally caught, contained…safe and theirs.

The guide bond—it was there, stronger and more formed, than Jango both expected and dreamed of. And Jango couldn’t fucking wait and glancing at his bond mates he knew they felt the same also. What a chase Obi-Wan had led them on.

Obi-Wan lay quiet across their laps, curled partly against his chest, Jango’s gloved hand smoothed gently across Obi-Wan’s forehead, brushing away damp sweaty hair clinging to his skin.

“He always did know how to make things ten times harder than they needed to be,” Cody whispered, a fond huff in his voice.

Jango shifted slightly, adjusting Obi-Wan in his lap to cradle him better. But something wasn’t right. Obi-Wan, limp from sedation, went liquid. He slumped with a disturbing bonelessness, like a puppet with the strings cut. His weight seemed to melt. Like he might slip right through Jango’s fingers.

Jango’s breath caught. His senses—fine-tuned after decades of battle—snapped into sharp focus. Something was wrong. A tremor of something primal twisted in his gut. He frowned, eyes narrowing, heart beginning to race in his chest.

He wasn’t imagining this. “Obi,” he whispered, barely audible. His bond mates straightening up, worry, concern echoing through their sentinel bond.

A medic lurched upright from his seat, a monitoring datapad clutched in his hands, eyes wide.

“Sir!” he barked. “He’s crashing!”

Another medic was already on his feet. “Code 95! Halo, Jumper, with me—tell Executor to prep a full trauma team, now!”

Jango barely had time to process the words before Obi-Wan was yanked out of his arms.

“No—careful—careful!” he snapped, rising halfway before Alpha caught his arm and pulled him back.

Obi-Wan’s robes were stripped away in seconds, cold sterile scanners sweeping over pale, too-still skin. An oxygen mask was slapped over his face. IVs were jammed into both arms as fluid began to flow. Medics were shouting, crowding around his guide lying limp on the deck, barking numbers and vitals, cursing under their breath.

The monitor was screaming. His heartbeat—a second ago steady and slow—was now spiking erratically, a jagged line dancing from panic to flatline and back again. Too fast. Too slow. Too wrong.

Jango couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. How the kriff was this happening? He had been assessed. Twice. The medics had cleared him for transport. He was stable. His vitals had been fine. They had said it was safe to move him. Jango wouldn’t have let him leave otherwise. Obi-Wan was supposed to be safe now.

“Do something,” he growled, but his voice cracked. “Fix him.”

Alpha was sat silent beside him, jaw clenched, Cody’s eyes locked on Obi-Wan’s chest like he could will it to rise on its own. The three of them—warriors, commanders, soldiers who had stared death in the face more times than they could count—were utterly useless now.

They could only stand there and watch as their guide slipped away to a place they could not follow.

o|o

The shuttle doors opened with a hiss, the trauma team was already there, a dozen strong. White crisp uniforms, a hover-gurney floating between them. No hesitation as Obi-Wan was carefully manoeuvred on to the gurney, taking care not to dislodge the various monitors and tubing that snaked around his body.

“Erratic BP, fluctuating O2 saturation, dropping pulse, suspected internal cascade or systemic crash—possibly toxin or secondary neural overload,” snapped the shuttle medic.

Jango followed, flanked by Cody and Alpha, each of them practically vibrating with suppressed panic. But it wasn’t just fear—it was wrongness. The bond, already dimming, was flickering like a candle in a wind tunnel. He couldn’t feel him properly anymore.

They tried to make him stop at the trauma line. Jango ignored them.

“Sir, you can’t—”

“He’s our Guide.” His voice came out low and dangerous, not quite human. “We are not leaving.”

The lead medic hesitated a fraction of a second—then gave a sharp nod. “Stay clear. Don’t interfere.”

Obi-Wan was wheeled into the trauma bay, medical fields activating as overhead lights brightened to a harsh sterile white. His body looked small on the gurney now, pale and too still beneath a mess of wires and tubes. His chest barely moved.

They worked quickly—one medic attaching neural stabilisers to Obi-Wan’s temples, another running a scan over his torso. Someone else was already prepping a stabiliser for direct injection to the heart.

“Clear!”

His body jerked under the shock, back arching slightly before slumping back. The monitor blipped. Then dipped again.

The trauma chief cursed under his breath. “He’s not responding, I don’t understand why.”

“We’re losing him,” another medic muttered. “His neural activity’s spiking in layers we can’t even track.”

No.

Jango couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even hear properly anymore. His vision tunnelled, every sense narrowing in on Obi-Wan’s motionless chest and the beeping monitor that was starting to drag into a long, horrible line. Static filled his ears.

The next thirty minutes were a blur of chaos and shouting. The trauma team fought like warriors—medics barking orders, sweat beading at brows, machines whirring. Obi-Wan’s vitals danced a razor’s edge, stabilising for a breath only to nosedive again.

Then—finally—a shift. A moment of stillness.

The chief medic straightened. He exhaled hard, brow furrowed. “He’s stabilised for now,” he said cautiously, voice tight. “But something’s still wrong. He’s slipping. We don’t know why.”

Jango’s knees nearly gave. He gripped the edge of the trauma screen, knuckles white, a sound half-relief, half-prayer escaping him.

“I’ve requested Jedi Guide Healer Aniss,” the medic continued. “She was already en route to the Vengeance for Guide Cal and she’s redirected—she’s five hours out.”

Cody swore softly, running a hand down his face. “It’s some Force ossik.”

The CMO—Larkin, if Jango remembered correctly—nodded reluctantly. “We’ve learned a lot but… there’s still much we don’t understand about the Jedi, about the Force.”

“What can we do?” Alpha asked, voice gruff with helplessness.

Larkin hesitated. “For now stay close. Don’t force the bond open—it’s too fragile. Just drip feed it. Send reassurance, safety. Anchor him. That’s all you can do.”

The triad wordlessly went to Obi-Wan’s side, careful moving around the cables and tubes. Cody took one cold hand. Alpha the other. Jango laid his palm gently over Obi-Wan’s chest, just above where his heart faltered.

They closed their eyes, letting instinct take over, reaching for the thread—the bond—that trembling, flickering tether stretched too thin.

::Stay safe… stay safe… stay…safe…::

Time slowed to a crawl. Every second dragged as they poured feeling through the bond—love, warmth, safety. The fierce desperation to keep him now they had finally found him again.

O|O

She entered like a thunderclap wrapped in silky indigo robes. Short, plump, and unassuming—until you met her indigo eyes, Jedi Guide Healer Aniss swept into the trauma bay flanked by two sentinels like twin shadows. Her hair was a mess of tight curls, her robes wrinkled, and her energy sharp enough to slice durasteel. Jango straightened instinctively.

Her sentinels gave Jango a silent nod and a quick salute—half apology, half warning.

Aniss barely spared them a glance. Her gaze found Obi-Wan instantly, and everything else in the room ceased to exist. Her brow furrowed. The energy in the room shifted.

“Everyone out. Now.” The order cracked like a whip.

Larkin sputtered. “Healer, I must object—”

But Jango was already moving, pulling Cody and Alpha with him. He had enough encounters with Aniss to know when not to argue. She was usually serene—until she wasn’t. And when she wasn’t, even a Sentinel backed off.

They filed into the observation gallery, hearts hammering in their throats, watching as Aniss stepped to Obi-Wan’s side.

She didn’t speak. Her hands hovered inches above Obi-Wan’s body—first his head, then his chest, then lower still. Her sentinels stood back, eyes closing, quiet as statues, lending her their strength.

Minutes crawled past. Then her eyes opened. Sharp. Wide. Troubled.

She read his file, skimmed the chart. Her lips thinned. She prodded Obi-Wan’s pressure points, tapped a sensor, frowned deeply. Then went back to the head of the bed and lowered her hands again. Her brow was drawn, jaw clenched. Whatever she found in the Force, it wasn’t good.

At last, she opened her eyes and sighed hard. She looked straight through the transparisteel, met Jango’s gaze—and grimaced.

Jango’s stomach dropped. That was the look. The one that meant she was about to hand him his own shebs on a platter. He didn’t care. Let her scream. Let her rage. Let her flay him alive if she had to. As long as Obi-Wan lived.

Aniss emerged from the medbay, tension in her shoulders. “Show me the VOD,” she ordered curtly.

Jango hesitated.

“Don’t waste my time—I know you recorded the takedown. After hunting Obi-Wan this long, there’s no way you didn’t.” Aniss growled.

Alpha looked vaguely uncomfortable, but Cody stepped up and activated the holoprojector. He queued the recording to the moment it all changed—when Obi-Wan’s body locked, his eyes turned incandescent white, and the surrounding air seemed to fracture with raw power.

“I read about this once,” Cody said quietly, watching. “A Jedi reached too far into the Force, pulled too much and went supernova.”

Aniss’s expression darkened, ruby lips pressing into a hard line. “Supernova? Well you are not far off. It’s extremely rare—thank the stars—but I’ve studied cases in archival deep records. What you saw was a catastrophic Force surge: Obi-Wan collapsed multiple internal Force wells, likely out of desperation, and went too deep, too fast. When the Force pulled back, the backlash nearly tore him apart.”

“A burnout?” Jango asked.

“Partially,” Aniss said. “But this is more complex. He was probably already in critical physiological exhaustion and then he attempted a full well-dive into the Force. That creates feedback loops. Micro-tears at the cellular level. His muscular system, circulatory pathways, even his neural network—there are signs of Force overexposure. Almost like …energy poisoning.”

The CMO hissed through his teeth. “No wonder the regen beds are reading high instability…”

“How do we fix him?” Cody asked.

Aniss didn’t hesitate. “Time. And stabilisation. Keep him in a medically-induced Force-dampened coma for the next 24 to 48 hours. Full neural stasis. Then sedated until fully stabilised, hopefully no more than a few weeks and bring him out slowly. No access to the Force, and he shouldn’t be left alone—yes, yes, I know your ossik protocols and in this case even if I didn’t think they were stupid, they would be like taking a hammer to a delicate carving.”

She raised a hand, clearly anticipating protest. “But you have one chance to get this right or next time, he won’t come back. His body is riddled with microfissures—Force-fractures, we call them. Your scanners might not pick them up, but they’re there, on the quantum level. Without containment and support, his own energy field could destabilise.”

“Okay what do we do?” Alpha asked, low and tight.

Aniss was silent a moment, then muttered under her breath, “Can’t believe I’m saying this…” She stood straighter, gaze hard. “You need to hard bond with him. All of you.”

Jango blinked. He had not expected that. Not from her.

“A strong sentinel guide might be the only thing strong enough to hold him together. Normally, a master or a strong enough Jedi that he had a connection with could possibly stabilise him through a single-thread connection. But there is no one left strong enough close by and Anakin is not mentally fit nor would he get here in time. In any case he needs more. Sentinel-Guide bonding offers anchoring through the limbic resonance field—if done correctly, it’ll keep his subconscious from spiralling into Force dissociation. On a subconscious level he needs to know he’s not alone, even if he’s not fully aware of bonding.”

Alpha and Cody exchanged a look. The low thrum of their bond stirred between them, already shifting—anticipating.

Jango’s shoulders relaxed, just slightly. “He’s going to live.”

Aniss exhaled, her voice softer. “Yes. But he’ll need full rehabilitation. Neural mapping, probably physio for fine motor recovery. And… a mind healer. You don’t reach that deep into the Force unless something’s already broken.”

“What else can we do for him?”

Aniss hesitated. “Aside from the bond? Monitor cortisol spikes. Watch his theta wave activity during cycles—if they spike, he’s dreaming in the Force again, and you’ll need to suppress it. And… keep talking to him. He maybe won’t hear you in words. But he’ll feel your emotional fields. Stay calm, stay grounded. I will prepare some briefing notes”

She turned to go, then paused, hand drifting instinctively to her abdomen.

Jango’s brow furrowed as he noticed. His eyes widened. “You’re… pregnant again?”

Aniss gave a tired smile. “Yes. Third one. Left Jacen and Jacaina with Dagger, whilst we completed the Andoullaa mission.”

Jango was aghast. “You should never have been out on the field in your condition.” He turned a censorious look at her sentinels who just shrugged sheepishly.

“Hush now, I am pregnant, not incapable and they needed a healer experienced with interplanetary plagues. Anyhow it’s the last mission for awhile.”

Jango shook his head, half in disbelief, half in admiration. “Force help the man who tries to cross you.” He stepped forward, took her hand and bowed. “Thank you again, Guide Aniss.”

She snorted softly. “Daily updates, Commander. Or I’ll come back and microscopically tear you apart.”

Chapter Text

The Rite of Veshok’la
Outside the Bonding Chambers

The prep chamber was quiet, the air warm and faintly perfumed—deliberately chosen to be calming.

Obi-Wan lay sedated on the padded bench, his skin pale, his chest rising in soft, shallow breaths. He looked younger like this. Smaller. Almost vulnerable. But for the first time in days, he was stable—his mind quiet enough, his body strong enough—for bonding to proceed.

He wasn’t restrained. He didn’t need to be. Not sedated and with all three sentinels present—Cody, Alpha, and Jango. Their armour had been shed. Weapons surrendered. This wasn’t battle. This was honour.

The bonding chamber stood sealed behind them, its walls layered in woven beskar and lined with sound-dampening mesh—a necessary precaution, learned the hard way by those who had underestimated the occasional volatile intimacy of a sentinel-Jedi guide merging

But they were not yet ready to pass through. First, the rite had to be honoured.

The sentinels had stripped, clad now only in white linen loincloths—Jango, Cody, and Alpha. They looked every inch the warriors they were: bronzed warriors, broad-shouldered, battle-scarred, formidable. A sight to behold, if Obi-Wan had been awake to see it.

Laid before them on a low obsidian platform were five carved stone bowls, each representing a distinct phase of the rite.

Presiding over them stood Devaron. His eyes dulled with age but his gaze razor-sharp. His robes were ceremonial—simple, high-collared, deep grey with muted clan sigils stitched at the hem. A historian and a warrior. He had once served with Jaster. He had seen Jango put a blaster bolt through a Sith’s throat. He was not easily cowed. And this was perhaps the biggest honour of his life to prepare and deliver the first stages of this particular bonding ceremony.

His sharp eyes scanned the trio, and despite the gravity of the moment, a faint smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.

“So eager,” he said, voice low. “It doesn’t matter if you’re Emperor or a greenie—by this stage, every sentinel turns into a bumbling recruit at the altar of bonding.”

Alpha, of course, muttered something under his breath about how he had helped write the damn protocol. Cody elbowed him in the ribs, and Alpha grunted.

Devaron’s eyes narrowed in amusement. “And yet here you stand. Equal in flesh, equal in rite. That is the first lesson of Veshok’la.”

He stepped beside the largest bowl and placed his palm above it, eyes shuttered for a brief moment in reverence. When he spoke again, it was with the calm rhythm of someone who had chanted these words a hundred times before—and still believed every one.

“Before formal bonding—when instincts rise and minds begin to intertwine—the Rite of Veshok’la. is observed. A shedding. A reckoning. A beginning. Its name comes from the veshok tree—rooted deep, sharp-barked, unbending. Its bark purifies. Its roots anchor. In ancient days, warriors would rub veshok ash into their wounds before swearing blood-oath. Today, we use it to remind sentinels your bond must grow deep, or not at all.”

His voice never rose, but the air seemed to hum around him.

“This rite has been adapted for our era, yes—for Jedi guides, for clone-born sentinels—but not softened. It exists to ground you. To humble. To set intention.”

He paused, gaze flicking to each of them, lingering on Alpha—who gave a pained grimace and a dismissive wave, as if saying, yes, yes, we know.

“First, you will wash yourselves. Not just to remove the scent of battle, but to cleanse old prejudices, pride, aggression. All emotion must be cast off. What remains is commitment.Then you will attend to your Guide. Your guide is dependent in your hands, your intent. Be pure of heart and mind. He must be cleansed with the same care. His body prepared. This washing and care is not only symbolic. It calms territorial instinct. It softens barriers. It makes space—for bond.”

A slow breath moved through the room.

“After that, comes the Zey-Oil—a sacred blend of stillleaf and rendered resin. Scentless. Neutral. When rubbed onto your skin and his, it removes all residual trace, and primes for scent-locking that occurs during the bond itself.

More than that, it brings equality. In this chamber, you are stripped of past, rank, reputation. You are not Commander. Not bounty hunter. You are merely sentinel—meeting your guide.”

There was a long pause.

“Many sentinels at this stage pray—some to Kad Ha’rangir for strength, others to Arasuum for peace. But that is between you and whatever gods you believe in. The final act is holding vigil with your Guide. I understand the next stage of the agreed protocol, isolation, sensory deprivation and submission for your guide is to be omitted. So please once you have finished the ritual you may you cross the threshold and enter the bonding suite.”

Devaron folded his hands and bowed his head. “Go with honour,” he murmured. “And carry it well.” He stepped away without another word.

An officer stepped forward - a sentinel bonding counsellor. “As per your request all monitoring devices have been removed from the suite. To access emergency protocols simply press the emergency button or simply say order 33. As per standard protocol Obiwan has been fitted with an internal medical monitor so we can assess his well being. In the event of a cascade or where the guide is in imminent danger we will initiate procedures as dictated. Good luck Alor.” He smartly saluted, with a fist to his vambrace and then left with the CMO

The door behind him sealed shut with a soft hiss. And finally they were alone with Obi-Wan

Jango was first.

He stepped forward, dipped a linen cloth with both hands into the first basin, then rubbed it along his chest and shoulders in long, deliberate strokes. The water was warm, laced with salt and pulverised veshok bark, slightly abrasive. It was meant to draw out scent, but also memory—sweat, battle, anger. It clung to him, then lifted.

He moved on to the second basin—pure water, faintly tinted with crushed solaleaf. He sluiced it over his skin, letting it run down his chest, arms, legs, back. Last, he dipped his hands into the neutralising solution—cool, faintly floral. It removed all trace of his natural scent, leaving him blank. Unmarked. Present. Then Alpha. Then Cody. Each with their own rhythm, each holding silence.

They turned.

Obi-Wan lay on the padded recline, holes around the edges so water could drain away, his body slack in rest, breath steady. He had been stripped earlier by the medic and covered in ceremonial cloth. He looked smaller like this. Young. Almost fragile. But his presence in the bond was unmistakable—like a sun behind a veil.

They approached him as one.

Jango reached first, removing the cloth. His hands did not shake, but his breath hitched—barely. Obi-Wan’s skin was pale beneath the harshness of bacta stains, sweat and marred with faint bruising, the medical aftermath of his collapse.

Cody dipped the cloth into the basin, then gently, slowly, began. None spoke.

They washed in long, gliding strokes. Not quick. Not hesitant. Devotional. They rinsed the residue of the medical ward—bacta, antiseptic, pain patches—and watched as each trace of intervention faded. Each basin in turn, sluicing him down carefully. Jango and Alpha washed his hands, feet, neck. Cody cleaned beneath his nails. Every inch of him was seen, acknowledged. Revered.

The grooming came next—ritual-standard, from scalp to body. Not for humiliation. For equality. For beginning again. Later, Obi-Wan would choose how he wanted to present. But now, they stripped away the old skin. To start anew.

Cody gently held Obi-Wan’s head steady as he shaved.

“You sure he’s not going to wake up mid-shave and deck one of us?” Alpha muttered.

“If he wakes up,” Cody said, “he’s going to be confused and scared. We won’t let him wake alone.”

Then they turned Obi-Wan.

That was when they saw them—the old scars. Barely there a cross-hatched pattern across his back, faint but unmistakable: whip marks. Cody froze. Alpha swore softly. Jango had gone deadly silent. Then acting on a hunch, Jango washed the base of Obi-Wan’s neck, a soft silver line emerged, if he hadn’t been looking for it, he might have missed it.

Jango’s breath shuddered. He lifted his hand to his own throat, tracing the ring of old pain. “He was collared,” he murmured. “As a child. A slave.”

“This wasn’t in his records,” Alpha said, low, dark.

“I thought he was modest. Always running away from the medics.” Cody leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the others seeking strength. “This explains much.”

No more was said. The rites must be observed. Rage, anger, regret they had no place here.

O|O

When it was done, they towel-dried him carefully, patting him down with linen. Then came the oils and salves, each meant for recovery, grounding, and bonding. A ritual more ancient than the Republic.

The oil Kote Zey’la, a sacred, scentless oil pressed from still-leaves and dried veshok resin. It shimmered faintly in the bowl, thicker than water, meant not for healing—but marking. A way to say, this one is claimed, and safe.

Cody warmed it between his palms.

Alpha began at Obi-Wan’s temples, brushing it into his hairline. Cody followed, rubbing it into his sternum, down his ribs. Jango took the hands, each knuckle, each line of palm, like tracing a map.

Each touch was deliberate, silent. They did not rush. It was not a ritual of desire—but of claiming. Of saying: you are no longer alone in this body, nor in this world. You are ours to care for, to protect to shield.

Now the bond could begin. And so they waited—breathing together. Feeling the gentle threads of bond-energy begin to stir in the air like morning light. Obi-Wan slept on.

O|O

At first, there was only sensation.

Warmth. Soft sheets. A low hum like the ship’s engines far beneath him. And something pressing gently at his lips—wet, sweet.

Obi-Wan blinked, or thought he did. It was hard to tell. His body felt like it was floating and too heavy all at once. His mouth opened instinctively, and someone coaxed him to chew. The taste burst—ripe, juicy, clean. Fruit, maybe. Something with syrup? He swallowed without knowing if he was awake or dreaming.

A hand brushed his cheek. Fingers combed through his cropped hair.

“You did well,” someone murmured, voice low, reverent. “Rest now, mesh’la.”

He slept.

Woke again.

The room was dim, lights softened to a dusk-like glow. A cloth moved slowly over his face, warm and wet, tracing the bridge of his nose, the line of his jaw. He made a sound—soft, uncertain—and someone squeezed his hand.

“You’re safe.”

The words pressed gently into him like balm. Like the heat from a hearth he hadn’t known he needed. He drifted again.

Woke.

This time, he felt the pressure of hands supporting his head, something cool and sweet pressed to his lips. Another sip. Another bite. His mouth was dry, but the food coaxed it into working.

“You’re doing so well,” came the whisper. It echoed through something deeper than hearing. “We’ve got you.”

He let himself lean back. Eyes too heavy to hold open.

A voice asked gently, “Can you answer one question, love?”

He wasn’t sure he could. His tongue felt like stone. But someone’s fingers brushed his wrist, a grounding pulse that steadied him.

“Yes,” he rasped. Or maybe he just thought it. Either way, they heard.

“What hurts the most right now?”

He blinked.

“My head,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “And… my heart.”

A pause. A breath.

Soft fingers stroked his temple. “That’s okay. You’re not alone in it.”

Sleep took him before he could even ask what they meant.

Again.

A cloth across his brow. Gentle pressure behind his ears. Someone massaging lotion into his hands, slow, methodical. Lips at his temple. Whispers he couldn’t quite understand. And beneath it all—like a thread humming through his bones:

lovesafecalmbond

It was there. Present. Not like the Force, but woven beside it. Not invasive. Not coercive. Just… waiting. Obi-Wan sighed, turned toward the warmth, and let the bond cradle him deeper into sleep.

He came back to himself like surfacing from a long, heavy dive—lungs full of pressure, mind thick with silt.

Voices filtered in slowly. Familiar. Unwelcome.

“…He’s stabilising.”

“Finally. Then let’s ease him up.”

The words sharpened something in him. Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open.