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An even longer time ago, in a Galaxy far, far away...
STAR WARS
The Lost Child
Volume 1: The Disappearance
The REPUBLIC has fallen, the JEDI ORDER has suffered a crippling defeat at the hands of the newly christened SITH EMPIRE. Having taken control of the Inner Rim and Core Worlds, the Sith bask in their victory as their enemies are rounded up and executed.
Evading the dreaded Imperial Occupation, Jedi Knight Cecil Espaa and his family continue to live under the watchful nose of the Empire on the now conquered world of Correlia. Meanwhile, Mordren Espaa and his son, Olyvan, desperately search for a way off planet and back into Jedi controlled space.
The Sith Inquisition, obsessed with finding and eliminating any remaining Jedi, has dispatched thousands of Inquisitors across the planet in an attempt to locate the survivors....
Dusk had always taken him by surprise. On this planet, so teeming with electricity and life, to see such darkness fall was shocking. Correlia's dusk was slow, a crawling shade that creeped from one side of the planet to another. Welcoming sunlight gave way to a painted shadow that caressed the walkways below.
Another day gone, exactly like the last. Another day to come, predictable and identical to this one. It was as if the Force was punishing him with utter redundancy.
Cecil Espaa ducked beneath the low-hanging neon sign, heading down the winding streets towards his homestead. It was time to make the trek across the concrete jungle this planet had become. Time to see another day had passed, and that his daughter and family where safe. It was always a dangerous journey, between the spacers on the lower levels to the hightened Imperial security, but this area was one of the few places anyone could get unfiltered, and thus illegal, holonet footage. One step after another, the Jedi continued down the streets, now alight only due to the neon flashes of various advertisements. To any passersby, he appeared to be a regular civilian dressed in tight black pants, a drab grey coat, and leather boots. He didn't wear weapons, as he didn't need them. The Force was the only weapon he required.
As the street reached it's end, he paused. An imperial checkpoint lay just ahead. It didn't take Cecil long to count the guards, a number of 20, all armored and armed. Avoiding this checkpoint would prove difficult, passing might allow him more ease. But if even one recognized him, he would be captured or killed without question. Reaching inside his cloak, he withdrew an imperial identity cylinder. Cecil had lived there under a fake name, and so far no-one had questioned him of it. Beginning to approach, a similar chill stopped him in his tracks, a cold and dark feeling that filled him with an empty, uncaring dread. The chill of the Dark Side. Almost as soon as he sensed the dark presence, albeit a weaker one, he began moving back down the street, hoping his own presence hadn't been given away. His luck, however, had run out, as an Imperial Inquisitor began to survey the crowd. From a distance, his race was unrecognizable and undistiguishable, clad in a dark cloak and adorned with a faceless mask, the only true symbol of his position lied in the metallic hilt he held in his left hand, the crimson fire of the Sith hissing forth from it's emitter. His troops began to talk amongst themselves, undoubtably wondering why their commander was acting so strange as to draw his saber in a crowded area. Some smarter troopers seemed to understand the reason and raised their blasters, moving closer to the Inquisitor.
Cecil had no time to decide a best course of action. He moved backwards rapidly, winding down a dark corridor, continuing to follow it until it reached a dead end, blocked by a large metal link fence. Groaning, Cecil looked around for a way over. He found none. As he began to climb, he heard civilians beginning to scream in panic as the Imperial Soldiers began to yell orders and separate them. And who could blame them? Cecil thought, hoping over the fence with a solid thump. Vivien, his daughter, had been born in a time of violence and misery. Naturally Cecil would want to protect her. But at what cost? The people suffered any time the Empire even came close to realizing he was there. They would not want to end up in the hands of the Empire. Or end up like him, a warrior turned into an old man overnight by sorrow and grief.
Was there anything inside him anymore? He wondered this, lying on his sleep couch at night, staring at the polished wooden ceiling. How could a being be numb and full of pain at the same time?
There had been so many that he cared about. And now just about everyone he'd loved beyond his immediate family was dead.
The names and faces would begin in his mind. Kwanli. Marcus. Sikhar. All Jedi slaughtered in the wars. For it had been just that - a slaughter, shocking, devastating, quick... but not quick enough for the victims.
His dearest friends, Tamara and Tavious. The imperious Lord Zo. The warriors - Kyle Visari, Alexander Karn, Valin Thorne. And the great Jedi Masters - Alderamin Cepheus, Jade Reign, Silas Lightsinger....
Gone. The word would toll in his head.
Gone.
Gone.
Jedi he'd fought alongside, studied with, laughed with - a roll call of the dead that thumped out a drumbeat of pain with every heartbeat.
And then, as dawn would bring a blush of light to his ceiling, he would turn, as he always did, to the last, worst thing. The thing he could not avoid looking at, the thing that gave him the most awful pain. Not only had he lost his friends to a merciless war... He had done nothing to stop it. Here he remained, a lost and broken artifact, with a daughter to care for and a family to protect. He knew that had he been in those battles, had he been on Tython, he could have done nothing to prevent the deaths. But it was the lack of trying that killed him inside, that made his heart feel laden and cold.
The only beings in the galaxy who could understand the depths of his grief were across the Galaxy, fighting the very same fight he now ran from at every turn. And the spirit who could help him, who had promised to help him - his father Arhena - could not appear to him. Instead, he had only heard his voice.
You are not ready for the training.
But I am, Father. I have nothing else now.
That is why, my Son, you are not ready.
The priming of a blaster startled Cecil from his reverie as he finished dropping form the opposite side of the fence. A lone Imperial Soldier approached, his nervousness radiated from him like blood in the ocean, expanding ever outwards. Cecil put his hands in the air, he would avoid harming the boy if he could help it, but nonetheless reached for the power that lay dormant in his mind.
"Sir, could I see your identification?"
The Soldier was polite with his tone, which calmed Cecil slightly, as he tossed the trooper his cylinder. With a resounding clack, the guardsman caught the cylinder and cycled through it, checking all relevant information. Seemingly satisfied, he lowered his weapon and moved closer to Cecil, handing him his cylinder and giving him a thumbs up.
"Seems all is in order, Mr. Olin. If you could just come with me to the checkpoint, I'll see you on your way."
"Is something wrong, sir?"
The trooper laughed gently, allowing the blaster to sink down to his chest. Cecil immediately darted his eyes up, preparing to attack at any moment.
"No, nothings wrong. The commander just got finished doing his Sith thing. Apparently he sensed another force user nearby and wanted us to round everyone up. Don't worry, after that you'll be on your way."
"Sir, I'm sorry but I really need to get home. It's dark out and my daughter will be worried by now."
The trooper seemed to pause, looking around to see if anyone was in the immediate area, and nodded understandingly.
"Fine, go. Just try not to run around in alleys like that, it looks suspicious, alright."
Cecil breathed gently and smiled at the guard, walking away swiftly while stowing his cylinder once more in his cloak. He counted his blessing all the way back, moving quickly and in public. This increased security was cause for concern, and so he changed course towards one of the many cantina's on his way home.
This one in particular drew all sorts of mischevious and nasty sorts from all reaches of the Galaxy, whos greed for gossip as well as drinks ran deep. Cecil may have been cut off from the Galaxy, but like the Holonets, he needed to stay informed. A couple well payed bribes had seen to it that he would never find trouble in the bar, as the Mon Cal bartender saw to it he was left alone. Here, he was just Jayme Olin, a humble businessman who had finally settled down. He had not chosen this table for candid reasons, no, he had situated himself across a group of pilots that he knew did not have the need to boast. Allowing the force to gently surround him, he peirced in to their conversation, listening to them for a few moments to ensure they where still sober.
"...did you see the blockades the Imps had set up around Coruscant? I was grounded for a week! A week! They wouldn't even take bribes"
A second pilot replied, his attenae waving in anxiety, "Travel restrictions getting harsher. Bribing officials became nearly impossible. They're all scared to death of treason."
"Ha. Bribery will never stop, not even in the Empire. I'm more concerned about that new science and research facility they opened up. Hear they bring prisoners there to preform vicious experiments..."
Cecil had heard enough. At this point, after watching the liberties of Correlia slowly diminish as the concentration of Imperials on the planet grew, Cecil didn't care much to listen. For if he listened for too long, he would be tempted to taken action, placing himself and his family in unnecessary risk. The Inquisitors were likely just making a pass to check for resident Jedi, nothing more.
"Oh yeah. The Inquisitors won't even go near that place. Heard there was a huge military emergency over there, and that they lost hundreds. Hah, serves the bastards right. Stealing children? That's a recipe for disaster."
Cecil paused, allowing himself to continue listening. Children?
A third voice cut in, "I heard the old man lost his son. And Conswatch lost his daughter last week, tried to hire me to get them back. Hell no, if an Inquisitor would think twice about tangoing with whatever's happening there, I sure as hell won't. Strange things are brewing here, I just need my ticket off this rock. Hand me another ale, I'm still sober."
Cecil rose swiftly, making his way out of the bar and once again moving down the road. Surely enough, lost signs had popped up all along the streets, and soldiers stopped to speak with greiving parents, faking concern for the citizens. It was time to go home.
He saw and felt his homestead up ahead, the gentle glow of his daughter greeting him through the force. An old, with greyed auburn hair and white oceanic eyes swept the porch. Mordren had always been a family man, and this life seemed to agree. As his main concern reached his eyes, he felt all the stress and intensity of the day fade away. A head of black raven hair caressed the side of a young girl, peircing green eyes glinted even from this distance. She was laughing and giggling as Vasra rolled a ball towards her. Was it Cecil's imagination, or did she begin to slow the ball even as it approached?
If the Force was there - and he knew Vivien was force sensitive - she did not know if Vivien knew of it. Perhaps not for years, and certainly not without the appropriate training. Yet another worry that he pushed out of his mind as soon as it came. Vasra, Mordren's wife, rocked back and forth on the doorstep, gently smiling as she watched Vivien crawl around. Usually she had something cooking for supper by now, and she would dissappear inside for a few moments to check on it. Vivien would crawl in after her, as though she couldn't bear to let Vasra out of her sight.
As he walked forward, he felt warm satisfaction. This was her home, no matter what the Empire did, no matter what the war brought to this planet. He wished that Brook, Vivien's mother and his wife, knew that her daughter was being brought up as they had always wanted. Safe, secure, and happy.
But Brook - Sweet, brave, fierce and sad Brook - was dead, too.
Cecil did notice something odd, however. Unlike most days, he could not sense his Nephew's presence nearby. The boy was strong in the Force, and that alarmed Cecil more than anything was that Mordren didn't seem to notice his son's absence. Could this be associated with the disappearances he had heard at the Cantina?
"Mordren! Where is Olyvan?"
Mordren turned, leaving the balcony and embracing his brother. He was shorter than Cecil by a head, and much more burly. His time as a G.A.R Commando had left him lean and strong, as chiseled as stone.
"He's inside, in bed. Why do you sound so worried?"
"I can't sense him."
Both Mordren and Cecil needed no more than that. Both rushed inside, ignoring Vasra's greeting and gently smiling at Vivien as they rushed towards Olyvan's room. To both of their dread, Cecil had been right. The bed, unkept and uncovered, was barren, and Olyvan was not in his room. His red jacket and virboknife, however, where gone, along with his window being loose and unfastened, prompting Mordren to unleash a string of swearing.
"I swear when that boy gets back here, he's gonna wish he had never been born! Karablast Cecil this was our fault, he gets this from us."
Noticing the look of dread and bleached palor Cecil had taken on, Mordren grabbed his brother's shoulder.
"What's wrong? He's probably just with Ussa and his friends... Cecil?"
For Mordren's sake, Cecil hoped he was right. Whatever punishment his father had in store for him was nothing compared to whatever was happening out there. He moved like a ghost, leaving the room and entering his own, reaching a false panel behind the wall and grabbing his lightsaber, the familiar grip felt odd in his hands, as he had not used the weapon in a while. As he strapped it to his side, Mordren walked into the room.
"Cecil, seriously. You're overreacting. Ussa's is a block away, I'll go check myself. Stay home, be with Vivien, you obviously had a stressful day..."
"No, Mordren. Stay here, let no-one in. I'll check Ussa's. The Inquisition had a run in with an Imperial Science project gone wrong, and apparently it won. Since then, children have been disappearing. I'm not willing to let Olyvan become one of them."
"Sithspit. Fine, hurry, bring him back."
Slowly, Cecil rose once more. He turned towards the door of the Homestead and left. He wasn't resting anywhere tonight, not until he'd retrieved Olyvan and learned all he could about this incident.
Because at one time Cecil Espaa had been trained as a Jedi.
And now, he might be only one left on the planet that could stop this.
*****