Part One: Anu (Freedom)

It happens so quickly there is hardly time to register the change before rage sweeps through him. He senses Obi-Wan lose consciousness, so abruptly he must have been drugged, before their force bond is cut off; Obi-Wan’s been captured. The Mandalorians have taken his Master and there’s not a damn thing Anakin can do about it. 

He pushes the fleet he’s leading onward, urging them faster and faster. He and Obi-Wan were in the middle of evacuating a trading settlement from a frontier moon when the Mandalorians flashed out of hyperspace damn near on top of them. The senate had received intel that warned of advancing Mandalorian forces. The trading settlement would have been overwhelmed in hours, and the Republic would have lost valuable air space. 

Their intel placed the Mandalorians days away; they thought they’d have the little moon completely evacuated by the time the warrior race arrived, but the Mandalorians showed face way ahead of schedule. They were in the last stages of evacuating, flying out in a fleet of rusty starships that had long since passed their prime. Anakin was up ahead, leading the charge, separated from his Master by over fifty ships when the Mandalorians entered the fray. 

Obi-Wan ordered Anakin to stay the course; to get the civilians to safety while his Master distracted the quickly advancing enemy. He could only stew in his frustration and anger as Obi-Wan flooded their bond with a worrying mix of forced calm and adrenaline, busy making a nuisance of himself. Obi-Wan muffled his end of the bond just as Anakin had gotten the fleet out of firing range and within seeing distance of a hyperspace lane. 

Anakin stays just long enough to watch the first wave of ships enter hyperspace, anxiety buzzing through him, before speeding back to the moon. The flying he utilizes in his rush to return to Obi-Wan isn’t strictly legal and would have his Master up in a frenzy. He arrives in under a minute, but all is quiet when he reaches the deserted settlement. 

The Mandalorians have long since left, his Master with them. There’s nothing to track, no trail to follow, and no one to fight. Obi-Wan is just gone. 

Sitting in the chilling silence of open space, his breath escaping him in sudden bursts, grief overwhelms his rage. The Mandalorians are notorious for their integration program. Odds are Anakin won’t ever see his Master again. Even if the Jedi Knight isn’t killed and they meet once more, he probably won’t be able to recognize the man Obi-Wan would be forced to become. 

It doesn’t mean he won’t try, however. His thoughts have already turned to plans for a rescue. He’s got to get back to Coruscant and start the search for Obi-Wan. In a daze, Anakin turns to follow the fleet into hyperspace. 

Unnoticed, tears drip down his cheeks; precious water wasted with no hope of being redeemed. 

The Jedi Council refuses to let Anakin launch a rescue. They keep him grounded in the Temple, under constant watch. They are scornful of his evident grief, warning him about the dangers of attachment. Anakin hardly hears a word. 

He spends the first week in an unwholly rage, refusing to so much as breathe calmly. During the second week, he barricades himself in his and Obi-Wan’s rooms, crying himself to sleep and forgetting to eat. He barely remembers the third week, his body numb and his mind subdued. 

It’s in the fourth week that he returns to himself; bit by bit. He goes to his classes, tidies up their rooms, and starts eating three meals a day, but he’s quiet and somber; a lifeless husk. 

After his (admittedly eruptive) outburst over losing his Master and only father figure, the Jedi Council voted against allowing Anakin the opportunity to take his Knight Trials. They decreed him too emotional, too loud, too powerful- just too much. They have never trusted him, always weary of his presence in the Order, but he still wasn’t expecting this particular blow; it caught him off-guard. He wasn’t ready for it, wasn’t prepared.

They said they would find him a suitable replacement to serve as his Master until such a time that he is ready for the Trials. He was to remain within the Temple walls until an available Knight or Master could be found. 

Replace Obi-Wan? Anakin can’t fathom such a thing, but he obeys. What else can he do? He’s got no allies or friends in the Temple besides a few of the other Senior Padawans who he’s cordial with, but they are acquaintances at most. Padme is the only person who truly cares for him on the entire planet. 

They became close a couple of years ago when she first returned to Coruscant. He and Obi-Wan were assigned to her protection detail due to their prior association during the Battle of Naboo. Anakin was there when she was officially sworn in as the new Senator of Naboo. He watched her start to make a name for herself and gain control of her office with remarkable efficiency. 

It’s also possible that, during the month-long assignment, they might have gotten personally acquainted with each other’s bodies. However, other than a few highly enjoyable late-night liaisons, and that one mission where they almost got married, they’ve remained mostly platonic friends. 

Unfortunately, despite being a world-class senator, there isn’t much Padme can do to help him with his current predicament; not with how closely he’s being watched. He hasn’t even been able to sneak away long enough to contact her. 

In this, he is utterly alone. 

The five days after the Council’s ruling are the hardest of his life. They seem to drag on and on. His classes are dull, his ever-present babysitters are grating, and his temper is razor-thin. He is nearing a breaking point; something's gotta give soon or he is bound to explode. 

Anakin holds out approximately 33 days, 9 hours, and 20 minutes after Obi-Wan’s capture before he gives up. It feels a bit like betrayal- running away from the home and people his Master loved so dearly, but he can’t stay here a second longer. It will either kill him or drive him to murder. Take Master Windu or Master Yoda, for example, they grow more killable with every minute spent in their presence. 

 He waits until nightfall- after his watchers have left him to rest. Moving on quick, silent feet, he darts around the rooms Obi-Wan spent over a decade raising and teaching him in. Their home is infused with years of love and care, but they are Jedi and their actual physical possessions are few and far between. 

Within half an hour he’s ready to go. In a sturdy duffle bag he found wedged in the back of a closet, Anakin stores a week’s worth of clothes, a medi-kit, and enough hygiene supplies to last him a month. He’s got a backpack filled with his coursework datapads, an extra set of boots, a coat, and a couple of spare data pads slung over his shoulder. He places the few trinkets and baubles he and Obi-Wan have collected over the years in a small satchel that clips onto his belt next to his lightsaber.

That’s it; that is all he takes. Ten years in the Jedi Order and his life can be summed up by the contents of three measly bags. It’s depressing, is what it is. 

The next step is trickier, but Anakin hasn’t forgotten the skills he learned as an overlooked slave boy on Tatooine. It’s as easy as anything to hunch his shoulders, soften his gait, and fade like smoke into the shadows; unseen and unnoticed. It feels like only seconds later that he is slipping free from the Temple and into the smog-coated, starless Coruscant night. 

Illegally “borrowing” a ship capable of hyperspace flight is no test for the talents of a trained Senior Padawan. He finds a hole in the ever-racing air traffic of the sleepless city-planet and he’s gone; a Jedi no longer. 

He doesn’t feel truly settled until he’s taken three fast jumps through hyperspace. The rapid, jarring travel has his head smarting, but the distance from the Jedi temple soothes the last of the nerves left over from his hasty escape. 

It occurs to him, now several star systems away from the home he spent most of his life in, that Anakin doesn’t have a single clue as to what he’s supposed to do now. He can almost hear the grumbling and scolding Obi-Wan would charge him with if he were here. 

He could go to Naboo; Padme’s sister and her family would offer him shelter without hesitation. He knows they would be happy to have him, and that Padme would be glad to sponsor him as he gets his feet back under him. He could go to university or join Naboo’s Air Force. Hell, he could become a farmer. It would be a good life; he’d be content there- on Padme’s beautiful, vibrant home planet, but content is all he would ever be. 

Happiness is what Obi-Wan wanted for him. Anakin can remember his Master telling him countless times that he must be healthy, of course, and satisfied, but most of all he should be happy.

Obi-Wan’s words and the whisperings of the Force guide him as he enters the codes for his next destination. He has a childhood oath to fulfill, sworn with sand-choked breath, and a mother to reunite with. 

Shmi Skywalker has been a slave for as long as she can remember. She only knew her parents long enough for them to gift her a name: Shmi. It means wise one. Hers is the name of a person who is always willing to help others; a comfort in a time of great pain. Shmi is a protector's name- the one who will bleed to keep her family safe. Shmi is the name of a mother.

She has done her best to honor the gift of her name and to live as the woman she believes her parents envisioned her as. 

Shmi named her son, her precious raindrop, Anakin. It signifies strength, valor, and passion; the name of a warrior. In Amatakka, the slave language of Tatooine, their language, Anakin means the one who brings rain. It is a promise of freedom- that they will know peace from chains when the rain comes. It was a promise to him as well- that no matter the sacrifice, Shmi would see her son free. 

She took his miraculous birth and his potent connection to the Force as a sign that she chose Anakin’s name well. No matter the struggle of hiding such a powerful baby from the depur, Shmi will never regret her son’s strength. 

Finding him now, a sorrowful curl of limbs hidden beneath her only table, Shmi is assured once more that Anakin’s name is the perfect match for her beautiful boy. She had thought that her last memory of him, looking so small and fragile next to the tall jedai who led him away from her and into anu, would be the final time she laid eyes on her son, but the Great Mother has brought her raindrop back to her and Shmi is so, so grateful. 

“Amu?” Anakin calls out, sensing her presence as she enters the tiny quarters Watto granted her. They are different from the rooms she shared with Anakin before he left to become a jedai. He must have asked around to find her new residence. She is surprised that word of his arrival didn’t make its way to her before she left Watto’s shop. 

Anakin climbs to his feet, unfolding from his hiding place. His face is shadowed by more than just the weak evening light; it is a mask of grief. There are signs of recent dimas, the tear tracks still drying on his cheeks. This is not a happy reunion and Shmi’s heart breaks for her chi uikka-ke. 

She opens her arms in a silent invitation and Anakin stumbles into her embrace, a fresh wave of dimas breaking free and pouring from his eyes. Her words, when they come, are soft as a desert breeze. “Ani, my uikka-ke, what has happened to return you to me?”

Anakin’s voice is hoarse and quiet. “My Master- he’s gone.” 

Shmi ruthlessly smothers the instinctual rage that title inspires. Sternly, she reminds herself that Anakin means maratt-ke when he says master; a teacher rather than an owner. The term is a positive one, to the jedai. Balance regained, she returns her focus to the uikka-ke in need of comfort whimpering in her arms. 

“Obi-Wan is gone,” Anakin whispers, hidden away in his mother’s breast. The way he says it is almost questioning- a hopeful, hesitant refusal to accept the luk of such a statement. 

The name is unfamiliar to her. She thought Anakin was to be trained by a jedai named Qui-Gon. Right now, however, is certainly not the time to seek clarification on the issue. Obi-Wan, whoever he may be, is obviously someone dear to her son’s heart. 

“Oh, akku-ke, I’m so sorry. I mourn with you.” Shmi offers a prayer to the Great Mother; may she protect the man her son feels such grief for and may his naluke find peace. 

Their embrace does not end for several long minutes. They remain on the sandy floor, kneeling beside the table. It is only when Anakin’s dimas begin to wane that she releases him from her arms. Shmi watches as Anakin centers himself carefully.

When he looks back up at her, his expression sends a shiver racing down her spine. It is unyielding, determined, and full of dakka. She straightens, sensing the importance of the coming moment. 

“To mourn is not the true reason I have come home, Amu,” Anakin admits, a steel-like strength layering his words, “Tatooine will be free. I will break our chains and the skies will weep in joyful relief.” 

A rush in her ears; a breathless love. A fire -quiet, unobtrusive, but ever-smoldering- flares to life in her chest. There is only one way she can respond to such a declaration; to her son’s fierce resolve and unshakable purpose. 

“In that case, my uikka-ke, we have much work to do.” 

They start slow; with slitted whispers and pointed glances. The gal-enas are the first to be told. A revolution wouldn’t grow the legs to stand on without the elder’s approval and it is always best to avoid their ire. Especially the gan-amus, who are freesome when vexed. 

Word spreads farther day by day; slithering like rahshum between the slaves. Talk of an uprising drifts from city to city, traveling in the silver glow of the moonlight. Two weeks after his homecoming, they have news back from every jira on Tatooine: the slaves have heard his oath and they are ready to answer it. They are willing to fight to become anku, a freed people. 

Anakin has some experience with combat. The Jedi are sworn to protect the Republic and are oath-bound to the destruction of the Sith. They have been warriors almost longer than peacekeepers at this point, what with the constant fighting against the Maladorian Empire and the Sith Regime. 

So Anakin knows how to keep a level head in battle. He can follow orders and complete objectives with relative success, but he has no experience with leading. Neither do any of the slaves. Independence and critical thinking are quite literally beaten out of them from birth. Obi-Wan had to teach Anakin what it meant to be a person and now he must do the same for his brothers and sisters, his attan-kes. 

For obvious reasons, they go through an adjustment period. They spend about a month just talking about it; about rebelling. Anakin travels all other Tatooine, aswaying fears and working through tentative plans. The most frequent question is how; how are they going to do it? How will they get supplies? How will they get the slave chips out? How can they win? How, how, how. 

They are valid questions. Anakin has doubts himself, but everyone helps and eventually, there is something like a battle plan to work off of. By the end of that first month, the only Amavikka-ke not aware of their scheme are the slaves locked up in Jabba the Hutts’ palace. They alone will have their chains broken without consent. Anakin hopes they will forgive him, that he will earn their padu, but regardless of their future judgment, they will be freed. 

The Republic’s army is made up almost entirely of civilian volunteers. The Jedi are the main instructors for that army, as well as its generals and commanders. That means that Anakin has experience with fashioning normal, everyday people into capable warriors. At least, he’s observed the training sessions countless times and was often enlisted to assist the Jedi in charge when he and Obi-Wan were on leave. 

He is reasonably confident that he can shape the Amavikka-ke into a deadly force proficient enough to defeat the depur. However, there is only one of him and there are over eighty thousand slaves on Tatooine, spread out between the various cities and settlements. 

Almost immediately it becomes evident that traveling between the cities with any kind of regularity just isn’t feasible. Not only does it increase their chances of getting caught, but all that time spent hunched over a speeder, flying when the Twin Suns are low or after nightfall, severely limits any progress that can be made with one group before he must leave to attend to the next. 

To solve this issue, they develop a wave-like system. Anakin focuses on one small group at a time, anywhere between twenty to thirty people. He spends weeks honing their skills, pushing their bodies’ limits, and sharpening reflexes. Then, when they are sufficiently trained, he sends them back to their settlements so they can teach their neighbors what he taught them. 

Like the ripples caused by a pebble or stone, each new generation of his students goes on to instruct countless more; creating an ever-expanding series of rings. They run into a new problem after three rotations of this. Mos Espa has the largest population of slaves, with a third of the city dedicated to a Slave Quarter. That’s where Anakin spends the great majority of his time. It’s easiest to hide him there, in the overcrowded, congested hovels of the Slave Quarter. 

The slaves he is training will be noticed if they go missing. Sending them outside of the city limits is liable to get them intimately acquainted with the explosive chips embedded in their bodies. They need a way to extend the ripples’ reach outside of Moa Espa without alerting the depur to their illicit deeds. 

They turn to the mittankus; the ex-slaves who bought their freedom after years of careful saving. They can travel safely between the cities without raising any alarms. They will be his ambassadors, so to speak. It is this choice that reunites him with Kitster. 

Anakin holds his highly illegal lessons in an abandoned mine just outside of the city limits. It’s far enough away to ensure outsiders won’t hear them training while being close enough that the commute is reasonable after a long day’s work. 

When he sees Kitster walk into the room, the biggest, cheek-splitting grin on his face, Anakin honestly believes he is hallucinating. To see his childhood dera, his brother, his upan-ke, alive and healthy and free- well, the elation such a thing inspires is soul-deep and breathtaking. 

They embrace; both of them are much taller, with newly broad shoulders and deeper voices, but somehow still recognizable as the boys they once were. Kitster brings a new life to the rebellion and to Anakin specifically. His presence soothes a little more of the ache Obi-Wan’s capture left behind. This mission has always been important, but suddenly there is joy to be found in it as well.

Anakin dedicates the better part of a year to teaching the willing and able-bodied how to fight. Rusty swords and knives left abandoned on the streets are quietly squirreled away, finding homes in the hands of Anakin’s students. Forgotten scraps of metal and broken blaster pieces accumulate in whatever house he’s residing in that week. Anakin occupies himself during the days, when the slaves suffer under their masters’ demands, crafting the junk into weapons.  

The mittankus spread throughout Tatooine, establishing their own hidden places in the major cities where they turn their residents into lethal warriors. Kitster leaps at the opportunity, eager to aid the rebellion regardless of the fact that his chains are already broken. He is a credit to them all. Anakin visits the mittankus’ makeshift salles every eighth week, checking on their progress. 

The slaves advance quickly; as failure is not a survivable option. Either the depur or the misery of a depuan life will kill them. So they will learn the art of war, but what Anakin asks of them is no easy task. The slaves have long days of unpaid and unwilling labor and their nights now consist of what amounts to basic training. It’s exhausting and often hellish but the Amavikka are hard-working people and they endure. 

With their lovers, families, and children as motivation, they are unstoppable. Hope, after all, is a dangerous weapon.

Several months into the training sessions, Anakin observes a shift in the way people talk about him in the Slave Quarter. He’s earned the title of rattike; the protector. It’s a great honor and a surefire way of getting him to blush every time he hears it.  

A notable consequence of the Amavikkas’ growing trust in him is the sudden increase of time spent in the presence of younglings. Their amus are a lot more comfortable leaving them in his care after half a year spent under his tutelage. Entirely without his input, Anakin’s days now involve a good amount of babysitting. He gets to know the gal-enas quite well, as they are often left in charge of the younglings due to their old age. 

It’s not long before he notices that several of the younglings are Force-sensitive. This prompts the birth of an entirely new enterprise. In the spare moments between watching the younglings, training sessions, and building weapons, Anakin gathers anyone even remotely connected to the Force and puts them through a crash course on Force sensitivity and life as an empath. 

He guides them through meditations and control drills. He shows the older ones how to use the Force in combat; augmented jumps, enhanced senses, and a couple of the easier mind tricks. He teaches everyone how to build mental shields and the best ways to block out other beings’ emotions. 

Anakin plays with the younglings during the days, encouraging their familiarity with the Force. These lessons mirror Jedi teachings in a lot of ways, but there are several key differences. The Jedi Order forbids the use of the Force outside of classes and missions. ‘It is not a toy,’ the Masters would say. ‘It is not meant for simple tasks,’ they would scold. Anakin disagrees. 

The Force is a part of every being. It lives in plants, in stones and rocks- even in the Sith-damned sand. It flows with the wind, pumps through blood, and rests in the heart of all emotions. In the beings connected to its currents, the Force itches under their skin begging to be used.

If one is forbidden to grow comfortable with the Force, then they will never develop the instincts necessary to save them in life-and-death situations. They will be dead before they remember that it is an option. Not to mention the genuine danger the lack of training can cause. 

Anakin believes that all Force-sensitive beings, especially younglings, should be encouraged to explore it until its use is instinctual; so natural one doesn’t even have to think before drawing on it to aid them. So he teaches them the warmth of the Force and doesn’t bother with the limits the Jedi think are so imperative. 

There is, of course, the matter of the slave chips to consider. Any master who gets even an inkling of worry can press one button and blow the misbehaving slave to bits. Unfortunately for all the miserable bastards who believe owning sentients as property is perfectly acceptable, Anakin is a prodigy when it comes to both technology and pissing off people in authority. 

Some “borrowed” machinery and a couple of sleepless nights are all that’s required for Anakin to build a scanner capable of locating the slave chips. Then, with the help of the totally not prohibited communications network the gan-amus set up, they recruit some berus; surgeons who remove slave chips free of charge.

As it turns out, actually extracting over eighty thousand explosive chips from beings spread around a planet while avoiding detection is a far more complicated undertaking than gathering the needed supplies. It takes weeks to develop a system that works. It is hubris that ends up being the depurs ’ downfall; no master takes notice of the enslaved children with bowed necks and terrified eyes. The younglings can go where they please mostly undisturbed. 

Anakin builds seven more scanners which the younglings carry throughout Mos Espa. The slaves mark down where their chips are located and later, in quiet moments, the berus arrive to remove them. Still, this strategy takes far too long and is really only applicable to the slaves in Mos Espa. 

To counteract that shortcoming, Anakin assembles hundreds of signal jammers. With the older younglings and no end of volunteers helping out, the work moves quickly. They tie the completed jammers onto bits of wire that can be worn as necklaces or bracelets. The risk is too great to wear them day to day, but when the time comes, the slaves can slip the signal jammers on and rebel without fear of their masters activating their chips. 

Nine months after Anakin lands on the desert planet, a revolt breaks out on the streets of Mos Espa. The slaves strike under the moons’ light when the depur are peacefully sleeping and none the wiser. They are as swift as heat lightning; cracking, sudden violence that gives no warning and offers no mercy. They are soundless and deadly like the rahshums slithering through the desert sand. They are as strong as the tukrattas’ mighty jaws laying in wait to snatch up the unobservant traveler. 

In a single night, all the depur in Mos Espa are dead- throats slit by the servants they thought humbled and subdued. Shmi drags her dagger through Watto’s stomach herself, a victorious, bloody smile gracing her lips.  

After Mos Espa falls, they send word out to the other cities. The mittankus lead the charges in their respective jiras and Kitster, who was stationed in Mos Eisley, is the first to report back. Mos Eisley contains the biggest spaceport on Tatooine. They needed to get the hangers, of which there are 362, locked down so the depur and Hutts couldn’t call in reinforcements. 

Obtaining freedom grows harder after that first night. Surprise was their best weapon, the rebellion a echan worth dying to protect. Now that the attacks will be expected, speed and ferocity are of the utmost importance. 

With the gan-amus’ well-obscured whispers, city after city is conquered in the dead of night. The fighting lasts a full week. Many of the amavikka-kes are lost, but they die depuskalta, chain-slayers. By the end, the number of depur cut down exceeds that of the slaves by a large margin. 

Anakin is present for more than half of the battles. His old speeder, taken from a slaver who graciously let him “borrow” it, is pushed to its very limits. After each settlement and city is freed, melodies that had only ever been whispered near silently in cramped, overpopulated quarters are sung freely in the streets- blanketing the air with a sense of righteous triumph. 

Eventually, Jabba the Hutt’s palace is the only depur residence left standing. The palace halls are full to bursting, overflowing with the criminals and slavers who escaped the cities. For this mission, the final chain, Anakin selects his comrades carefully. 

The best of his students accompany him. Kitster is there, as well as two of the other mittankus, three of the Force-sensitive adults he taught, and Daysa, a togruta with a particular affinity for blades. 

Months ago, a blueprint of Jabba’s palace was acquired through “completely legal” methods. Anakin dispatches his team to the various side entrances marked in the plans while he stalks right up to the front door. He crushes the gate with a simple wave of his hand and the steel partitions deployed over the windows and doors are hardly worth more than a moment’s concentration. 

He cuts through the guards gathered to greet him like a hot knife through bantha butter. The Hutts, criminals, and slavers that dare to stand in his way are torn through like wet flimsi. He is ruthless; no one is spared his blade. He reconvenes with his team just as he rounds the corner to the throne room. He and Kitster briefly clasp arms, looking at each other with blood-splattered faces; a promise burning in their eyes. 

They stride into the throne room, heads raised high and unbending. Jabba quivers in outrage, bellowing about laws and disrespect. They do not care to listen. Daysa moves at once to the dancers leashed to Jabba’s throne. She breaks their chains and, instead of fleeing, they stand to fight beside them with reckless abandon. They grasp the nearest blunt object and swing with an enraged fury. 

Anakin’s lightsaber is in constant motion as he deflects a continuous stream of blaster bolts. He flips over of bounty-hunters and slavers, severing their heads with neat, agile strokes. One of the dancers leaps atop Jabba’s throne and strangles him with the broken shackles still attached to her wrists; her arms strain with the effort but her face is a mask of serenity. 

The palace falls within an hour. 

When he throws the palace doors ajar, Anakin is engulfed by an ocean of cool raindrops. The sky is weeping, just as he promised his mother. For the first time in over a decade, there is rain on Tatooine. Anakin drops to his knees in the softening sand and releases his own tears; dimas of joyful celebration. 

The Force sings its delight around him. Euphoria burns in his veins. He did it; Tatooine is free. 

The days that follow the rebellion are almost more hectic than the week of constant fighting that preceded them. There are the injured beings to care for and the thousands of slave chips still left to remove, not to mention the general chaos of attempting to build a new government and society after completely dismantling the previous one. 

They work closely with the nalanus - the freeborns- who call Tatooine home and who owned no slaves. They also reach out to the Tuskens and Jawas. Both species are native to Tatooine and have inhabited the desert planet long enough to remember when the Great Dune Sea was once a true ocean, or so the legends go. 

The Jawas are friendly to the colonists, as they call Tatooine’s non-native cohabitants. They are nomadic- preferring to travel across the deserts in large ships, selling scrap metal and droids to the moisture farmers. They answer the ex-slaves' summons readily, and though communication is a bit of an issue at first, so far it’s going well. 

The Tuskens are a lot harder to get ahold of. They are a tribal society that also tends to be nomadic. They are known for their frequent raids on the moisture farms and so far have attempted to kill every messenger sent to invite them to the burgeoning government.  

A little after the three-week mark, it’s agreed by all that the Free People, as the ex-slaves have decided to call themselves, could use some assistance. Anakin’s skills in politics and inter-species relations are absolute poodoo, but he does know someone who excels in the area and he has her comlink code. 

“ANAKIN SKYWALKER YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!” 

Anakin winces and represses the urge to duck as the comlink request goes through and Pamde’s voice fills the chamber. He’s in the makeshift council room the framers of Tatooine’s new government set up. 

Present are representatives from all of the cities, the slave jiras, the moisture farmers, and the Jawas. The Tuskens still have not gotten back to them, but the last messenger did manage to get within shouting distance before they were run off at spear point. 

“Uh, hi Padme,” Anakin offers sheepishly, bracing himself for the lecture he knows is coming. Somewhere to the left, he hears Kister snicker. He can feel his friend's glee at his predicament echoing in the Force. 

Sure enough, Padme starts in on him at once. “Eleven months, Anakin! It has been eleven months since I last heard from you! Nobody knows where you’ve been or if you’re safe or even karking alive! It took me weeks to get the Jedi Council to admit you were missing. Months longer to have a search party sent out.” 

Geez, he must have really worried her if it's led her to cursing. Padme Amidala, the esteemed former Queen of Naboo, never swears. “I’m sorry, Padme. I wasn’t thinking. I should have told you where I was going.” 

“Yes, you should have,” is her instantaneous reply. Anakin winces once more at the sharp tone. “You scared me, Ani.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, truly meaning it. Hurting her was the last thing he wanted. 

“I know,” she sighs, audibly softening. “Just don’t do it again.” 

“I won’t. I promise.” It is the easiest oath he’s ever sworn. 

“Good,” she declares primly, he can picture the satisfied nod that must accompany it clear as day. “Now, what have you gotten yourself into that requires my help to escape?” 

“Uh,” Anakin hedges, glancing at the beings shifting restlessly around him. “Well…” 

—

He has never heard Padme sound so shocked before. 

Padme, as she is wont to do, goes above and beyond. Half a week after he first contacts her, several ships arrive from Naboo. On board are a number of specialists and volunteers eager to assist the new nation gain its footing. A wide range of supplies and equipment was sent over as well. 

There are doctors, engineers, nutritionists, linguists, teachers, architects, economists, biologists, politicians, scientists, healers and so much more there to help. They come with food, medical supplies, clothes, building materials, hundreds of holobooks, and twelve of the biggest moisture vaporators Anakin has ever seen. 

When Anakin asked one of the ambassadors assigned to the planet from Naboo what they could possibly do to repay their kindness, the being waved him away, claiming that Senator Amidala had everything well in hand. 

Watching Tatooine transform in the following weeks is the most electrifying, spectacular experience Anakin has ever had. He’s kept busy with the construction teams who are equal parts jealous and lustful of his ability to lift most anything with the Force. They build schools in every major city and several hospitals all across the planet. 

The Slave Quarter is completely redesigned. They demolish most of the walls that aren’t load-bearing, creating vast spaces they section off into sizeable, comfortable apartments. They dig further underground as well, making room for communal places like libraries, areas designated for training and exercise, and cozy nooks for the younglings to play in. 

Each of the major cities is allotted one of the twelve huge moisture vaporators Padme gifted the planet. Anakin makes liberal use of the Force while transferring the enormous machines to their new homes. Needless to say, his technique for moving items that outweigh him several times over advances by lengths and bounds. 

The moisture vaporators offer each city’s citizens a more affordable water source while also supplying public buildings, such as the schools and hospitals, with their own water supply. Just installing the vaporators will improve life on Tatooine in unimaginable ways. Anakin finds himself in constant awe of Padme’s generosity and compassion. 

The architects and engineers from Naboo have a lot of ideas about how to upgrade the standard of living on Tatooine. They have opinions about everything from residential houses to the markets to the pod racing tracks in Mos Espa. 

Under their direction, walls are erected around the cities; put there to negate the effects of the sandstorms. They will dampen the storms’ powerful winds and block most of the coarse, painful sand and dirt from blowing into the streets. Plans are made to build domes around the cities as well. The domes should mitigate Tatooine’s extreme temperatures, both the heatwaves and the frigid cold of desert nights, and the harmful exposure to the ultraviolet radiation from the twin suns. 

On the political front, which Anakin goes to great lengths to avoid, things are also progressing admirably. Shmi, who is knee-deep in the debates and meetings, keeps him informed of all the happenings. The framing committee finally made contact with the Tuskans. They were very reluctant to send a representative to the council meetings, but after the nature of their conflict with the colonists was explained, mainly the invasion of their ancestral lands, relations grew much smoother.

The committee drafted a map of Tatooine with the Tuskans’ lands clearly outlined and after much debate, the moisture farmers stationed in those areas grudgingly agreed to relocate in exchange for the Tuskans’ secrets to farming on the notoriously plant-toxic planet. With the public moisture vaporators now up and running, the farmers needed additional forms of revenue anyway.  

The Jawas' only request was that they be allowed to travel across Tatooine uninhibited and trade their wares with whomever they wished. The committee easily agreed to those terms. In the end, the pact between the colonists and the indigenous communities can be summarized as such: mind your own business, stay out of each other’s lands, and there will be no problems. 

With the natives satisfied, the committee shifted their attention to framing a new government. The guidance of Padme and the politicians from Naboo were unparalleled in this matter. They eventually settled on a democratic republic, where officials are chosen based solely on the votes of the citizens. The committee is now working on establishing the many different departments required for a new government and the formation of an official bank, which the Naboo economists are proving a major help with. 

The volunteers from Naboo frequently express their surprise and wonder about how quickly Tatooine is recovering from the depurs’ long rein. The ex-slaves, now the Free People of Tatooine, have embraced life without chains with a keen eagerness. They dive head first into their chosen careers, immersing themselves in the guidance of the various experts from Naboo.  

The schools are filling up almost as soon as the final bricks are laid; the students arrive before the paint can even dry. Many ex-slaves determined teaching to be their calling. The gal-enas shed blood and tears so that their efforts to educate their people found success. Most of the amavikka-ke can read and all have learned literature and ethics from the stories and myths passed down from generation to generation. 

What the ex-slaves pouring into the schools do not know, the volunteers from Naboo are eager to teach them. The hospitals too, gain more staff by the day. Most of the Naboo doctors and healers are busy alongside the beru, removing the slave chips in a steady, tireless march, but the ex-slaves willing to spend the time necessary to learn the art of medicine will be taught. The Nabooains are committed to remaining here, on Tatooine, until the hospitals can function on their own. 

Kitster convinces many of the ex-slaves Anakin spent months training how to fight to band together, creating a standing army ready to defend Tatooine with the same vicious drive they used to free it. Others have joined the ranks of the moisture farmers, traveling with their families to their homesteads so they learn their trade and one day start new farms or add on to the existing ones. 

More still have taken control of their deceased depur’s businesses and stores. The amavikka-ke were the true lifeblood of such establishments and now they can finally reap the awards of their labor. They live in the rooms above the shops, inviting invigorating energy into spaces that used to hold only despair. There is also a growing community of ex-slaves who have opened new shops, and the marketplaces, at least in Mos Espa, have never been more alive. 

The gal-enas claimed Jabba the Hutt’s old palace for their own. They scrubbed the halls, redecorated the rooms, and threw open the windows all in the name of creating a happy and safe home for the countless younglings left orphaned by the slave trade. The gal-enas, as they have done for generations, will continue to care for the uikka-ke; raising them with the stories and songs of their culture. 

Anakin has no doubt the palace will flourish into the best orphanage the galaxy has ever seen. And if he takes a secret joy in imagining the rage Jabba would surely feel if he knew what his beloved home has been repurposed for, well, Anakin very much doubts he is alone in that. 

In the hottest hours, when the twin suns are at their peak, and after sunset, when it is too dark for the construction teams to work, Anakin spends his time in the schools. His temple classes prove useful in a number of ways there. As one of the only ex-slaves with a formal education, Anakin is uniquely qualified to help the beings who are designing the curriculum for the schools.

 He spends hours pouring over holobooks with the ex-slaves interested in teaching. They cover a wide range of subjects; everything from maths to languages to galactic history. Anakin also devotes a large portion of his free time to writing a manual for Tatooine’s force-sensitives. He diligently records as many of the lessons his Master taught him as he can remember. He makes sure to highlight the importance of meditation and the formation and upkeeping of strong mental shields. 

Anakin finds that the wounds left behind from Obi-Wan’s loss are healed greatly in this time. In passing on his Master’s kind words and wise lessons, he ensures that Obi-Wan will live on in the minds and actions of every being his insight helps to shape. 

Gone is the dark, distrustful atmosphere Tatooine once drowned beneath. In its place is a happy, fierce people determined to make their sandy, hot planet a home to be proud of. There will be hard times ahead, as is the curse and beauty of life, but Anakin is not worried. Tattonie will surely prosper; the Free People will allow for nothing less. 

It is the practice of most depur in Hutt space to allow enslaved children under a certain age to remain with their mothers, and so it is the practice of all amus to obscure, conceal, or otherwise obfuscate the exact birth date of their uikka-ke. As such, Anakin does not know the true day of his brith, but he knows it occurred during the hottest days of Tatooine’s dry season. In the more temperate planets, with distinct seasons, they would call the period of Anakin’s lifeday summer. 

After he became Obi-Wan’s padawan, they picked a more specific date. As Jedi, the celebration of such singular, exclusive events was not encouraged, but Obi-Wan never let the day pass without some form of recognition; usually a small treat or special trinket. The uncontested highlight of these gifts was when Obi-Wan took him on a sanctioned trip to a pod race for his fifteenth lifeday. It was so wizard. 

Padme, after she wrestled the date from him, was quite a bit more flashy with her contributions to his lifeday. His and Obi-Wan’s rooms would be flooded with gifts and she always made sure to take him to some ludicrously expensive restaurant to celebrate. In recent years, it’s become a tradition of theirs to spend a night dancing away at that week’s most popular club.

This year, his twentieth lifeday, is no different. Padme arrives in a flurry of handmaidens and gift bags. She sweeps his mother off her feet with a single charming smile and they become fast friends within seconds of their first introduction. Anakin finds their easy comradery the slightest bit unsettling. However, that feeling pales in compression to the sheer horror that Kitster and Padme’s meeting inspired. 

Despite his misgivings, having Padme with him on Tatooine is a great joy. He gets to show her his people and the swiftly emerging brilliance of his home planet. Padme stays with Shmi and Anakin in their apartment in the old Slave Quarter. He relishes waking to their soft voices conferring over their morning caf and tea. 

During Padme’s third and final night on Tatooine, Anakin gathers those closest to him and finally does something long overdue. With Kitster, Shmi, and Padme there to support him, Anakin kneels before a fire in one of the small chapels in the Slave Quater. It is a multi-prepose room, there to serve as a place of worship for all faiths and religions. 

Tonight, Anakin will use it to say goodbye to his dear Master. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches behind him to tug his padawan braid over his shoulder. He ignites his lightsaber and severs the braid from his head. 

Together with the small steal model of a starship Obi-Wan gave him for his twelfth lifeday, Anakin places the braid into the fire before him. He watches the flames consume his offerings with a sad smile. 

“Rymalla, Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispers, words soft and reverent. “Thank you for the love you gave freely and for the lessons you taught me. I will miss you my upanda-ke, my ipa-ke. I love you always, Master. Rymalla.” 

Padme kneels beside him, tears in her eyes. “Goodbye Obi-Wan, my kind friend. I hope to greet you again in the next life.” 

Kitster lays a gentle, grounding hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “We never met, Obi-Wan, but I know you in our upan-ke. I see you in his grace and his kindness. Thank you for all that you gave him. I wish you well, my dera. Rymalla.” 

Shmi lowers herself to the ground on Anakin’s other side. Her remarks are fierce and utterly sincere. “There are no words to express my gratitude, Obi-Wan. To know that our uikka-ke was loved, that you raised him with such care when I could not, I thank you, Obi-Wan. Know that you will never be forgotten, that your spirit lives on in him. May your naluke know peace. Rymalla, Obi-Wan, son of my heart.” 

They remain by the fire for a while longer, thinking of the man that was stolen from them; the brother, father, and friend half of their number never got the chance to know. Anakin is honored by his family’s support. After his padawan braid is no longer visible, the beads marking the story of his apprenticeship gone forever now, Anakin rises shakily to his feet. 

The others follow him and they retire to the dining table in Anakin and Shmi’s apartment. They eat a great feast, commencing the celebration of Obi-Wan’s life now that the mourning of his death has passed. It is the misu- the sharing of memories after a loved one’s death and it is Anakin’s favorite tradition of the death rites. 

The force is bittersweet, but content around him. Goodbye, Obi-Wan, it seems to whisper, You will be missed.  

Shmi Skywalker is not surprised when Anakin tells her he must leave. She’s watched the growing restlessness in him fester for weeks now. His struggle was visible and the relief of admitting defeat was obvious to see. He is steady in his conviction to leave, but Shmi can still spot the tell-tale signs of apprehension easily enough. 

She knows his Force is urging him on, that the Great Mother has a new purpose for her son, so she simply cups his cheeks with rough, callused palms and says, “Ani, my uikka-ke, go where your heart tells you to. I will be here always to welcome you home, never fear that.” 

Anakin leaves the next morning, his satchel heavy from the gifts bestowed to him by grateful Tatooineians. The Free People, the amavikka-ke, his people, flood the streets of Mos Espa as he makes the journey to the ancient port where he stored the ship he “borrowed” during his escape from the Jedi Temple. They reach out to touch him as he passes; thanking him, murmuring prayers for his safe return to them, and whispering his title; rattike- the protector. 

A work song Anakin remembers fondly from his childhood drifts through the air; the pleasant blend of generations of voices soaking into the well-trodden sand. 

Kitster walks beside him, his mother just behind. Kitster helps him haul the protective coverings off his ship and load his bags into the storage bay under the small bunk. He offered to go with Anakin when it became clear the Force was adamant he leave, but Anakin declined. Kitster has come into his own with the fledging army. He enjoys the rhythm of battle and the camaraderie with his fellow warriors. Anakin would never ask his upan-ke to forsake that. 

He embraces his mother and friend, ignoring the gentle burn of tears at the back of his eyes. He wishes to stay, to watch Tatooine grow stronger still, but the Force is pushing him onward. It is anxious for him to leave, yearning with the promise of what he will find when he does. 

A youngling stops him before he can duck into his ship. She crashes into his legs with a bone-crushing hug, drawing a fond laugh from the watching crowd and a warm smile from his lips. He kneels to greet her properly. 

“Hello, Lani,” Anakin says, looking down at the young kiffar. She is one of the force-sensitive younglings he spent many an hour playing with. 

“You are leaving, maratt-ke?” Lani demands, a furious pout adorning her face. 

Anakin has never been very good at farewells, but he will try his best for her. He rummages around in his satchel until he comes away with a small figurine of a tooka-cat. Obi-Wan found it for him during one of the more dangerous missions he couldn’t take a young padawan on. 

Anakin presses the figurine into Lani’s tiny palm and curls her fingers over it. “Keep watch over him until I return?” 

Lani gazes at the figurine in wonder and nods very seriously. “I will keep him safe, maratt-ke. I promise.” 

Anakin smiles at her before kissing her nose playfully. She giggles and scampers off to find her parents. Anakin’s breath catches when he stands to watch her go and notices just how many amavikka-ke have gathered to see him off. 

One by one the ex-slaves of Tatooine, now the Free People, press the tips of their fingers to their lips and raise their hands to the sky. It is a traditional Amavikka goodbye. It means gratitude. It means love. It means be well. Anakin repays the gesture in kind, a swelling sensation in his chest. They lower their hands in one collective motion, and with that, the Tatooineains begin to depart.  

Soon it is just Kitster and his mother left. With a proud, affectionate smile Shmi motions for him to go on and so he does; heart full and eyes wet. Anakin will return, to visit his mother and his people, but he can feel it in his bones- this is not where he is meant to be now.

The Force whispers for him to go, to fly. Kitster and Shmi stay a moment longer, and Anakin watches their forms grow smaller until finally, he is too far away to see them at all. He disappears into the stars, leaving behind a cloud of dust and an exuberant, liberated planet.