// Woe, worms be upon you.

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Luke Skywalker. Jedi Knight… And a pilot, like you. But I can tell — you’re not from anywhere near here, are you? ❞

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stopped within a few paces of the man, his voice steady and calm.

❝ That ship outside — it’s yours, isn’t it? I’ve never seen anything like it on any chart in the Outer Rim. ❞

He studied him with quiet curiosity, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

❝ My name is
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of conflict, discipline, and a weight Luke knew well.

Another soldier. Another wanderer pulled into this war-torn galaxy. By chance… Or by something greater?

Luke stepped forward, the crowd parting around him, the hilt of his lightsaber hanging quietly at his side. He
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they’d cared to count.

And there he was.

The man at the bar didn’t carry himself like a smuggler. Not exactly. His jacket looked worn, not fashionable, his weapons practical rather than ornamental. There was an ease to the way he sat — but beneath it, the Force whispered
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vigilance the years had honed into him.

That’s when he noticed it — the ship. Sleek, alien, bristling with modifications no Imperial or New Republic engineer would sign off on. It looked like it belonged to someone who lived in the cockpit, someone who’d fought more battles than
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The hangar smelled of fuel and metal, the kind of place where pilots from every corner of the galaxy sought refuge between jumps. Luke Skywalker stood just inside the archway, calm as still water, though his eyes swept the bustle of spacers and droids with the quiet vigilance the
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