Prequel to Promises and Deals
ACT 1: The Age of Jedi [Episode I-II]
ACT 2: The Nameless Child [Episode III-IV]
ACT 3: The Age of Rebellion [Episode V-VI]
The lineage of Alora Naftiri in a way not seen before. This is the story of her life from befor...
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When Alora wakes from her medically-induced nap, she finds herself alone in a stark white room, a monitor beeping by her head as she forces herself to sit up, the bed squeaking with each movement. She recognizes the room from the many times she's been to base visiting sick soldiers, but to be the one lying in bed feels different.
Through the smudged window separating the room from the hallway, Alora can see two bodies slouched beside each other in uncomfortable seats facing the room. A smile creeps across her face when her eyes land on Leia, even if she is encased in Han's large embrace. The princess must have been tired after everything. It's no wonder she fell asleep.
She tries to move her arm, but a flash of pain spreads through her limbs. With a hiss, she looks down at the needle sticking out from her skin with distaste before she attempts to reach over to the table beside her, a covered meal waiting for her.
"Hello, Alora."
On instinct, Alora grabs the knife from the meal set and swings to the side, holding the weapon in front of her as her eyes fall on the blue-shrouded body sitting at the edge of her bed. She slowly lowers the knife but does not relax against the pillow. "Kenobi," she says, pursing her lips. "What are you doing here? How are you here?"
The old man chuckles as if the answers she demands are nothing of consequence. "I see your connection to the Force has grown."
"Unwillingly."
"Maybe so. Nevertheless, you could become a great Jedi."
"No." She lets the knife drop from her hand as she narrows her eyes.
He blinks. "No?"
"No."
He stares at her for a moment, his brows furrowed in confusion. "I came here to offer wisdom, though something tells me you'd reject it."
"That's right."
"Why?"
Flashes of iridescent blue flicker in her mind, the screams of her friends echoing in her ears along with that horrid name. The covered tray beside her begins to shake. The moment she looks over, it stops. "I don't need to answer that."
Though she tries to clench her jaw, it does nothing to stop the quivering of her lower lip. Not from fear or even oncoming tears, but because anger runs through her veins. Anger at the galaxy, anger at Vader, anger at the Jedi for starting all this nonsense—for causing all of her pain. Not that Kenobi will ever understand that.
She can feel his gaze on the side of her face as she curls in on herself, pulling her knees up as a barrier between her and the Jedi. "You blame the Jedi," he says.
"Am I wrong to?" She hates the comfort that spreads in her chest when she meets his gaze.
He releases a heavy sigh and nods. "I suppose not. You sound like Lorn."
