Star Wars: Shadow of Skywalker

Four years had passed since the birth of Anakin Skywalker. No longer an infant, he had grown into a small boy with piercing blue eyes and short, sandy-blond hair. Despite his tender age, life had already taught him harsh lessons. Anakin understood that existence as a slave on Tatooine, particularly under Gardulla the Hutt, was cruel and unforgiving.

Gardulla, a prominent figure in the Besadii clan, had recently intensified her operations to weaken the Desilijic clan's influence. With financial backing from the mysterious Damask Holdings, she rivaled Jabba in control over Tatooine's black-market trades. Her palace near Mos Espa had become a hub for illicit activities: slavery, spice trafficking, weapons dealing, and underground gambling. The walls of her domain were stained with the suffering of countless beings, and Anakin had borne witness to it all.

Inside the crumbling slave quarters, the night was still, save for the occasional faint metallic groan of old machinery. Anakin lay on a thin cot in the corner of the room, his mother, Shmi, tucking him in. Her dark, worn clothes hung loosely on her thin frame, her tired face illuminated by the pale light of a flickering wall panel. She leaned over him, brushing a hand through his hair.

"I love you, Ani," she said softly, her voice a rare comfort amid the unrelenting harshness of their lives.

Anakin looked up at her, fear flickering in his wide blue eyes. "You won't ever leave me alone, right, Mom?"

Shmi's lips pressed into a warm but weary smile. "Of course not, Ani. Your birth was a miracle—you are my miracle. I will love you forever."

He hesitated, his voice muffled with worry. "Mm…"

Shmi settled beside him, her arms gently cradling him. "Let me tell you a story, Ani," she began. "Have I ever told you about the Sun Dragon? A mythical beast that made its home in the brightest and fiercest stars. The Sun Dragon was all-powerful, protecting those it loved from any harm."

As her words painted the story, Anakin's imagination came to life. He saw the great dragon blazing through the skies, shielding its loved ones with its fiery wings. He wanted to be like the Sun Dragon—powerful enough to protect his mother and free them from the chains that bound them. But as he drifted into a light sleep, their moment of solace was shattered.

A mechanical, robotic voice echoed from beyond the door: "Target acquired. Slave quarters X-162. Lady Gardulla requests transfer of inhabitants to their new master. Prepare for relocation."

The rusted metallic door screeched open. A male Nikto stepped inside, his scaly, leathery skin visible under a layer of dirt. He wore a chest plate made of rusty silver alloy and carried a battered blaster rifle slung across his back. Behind him, a group of similarly rough-looking mercenaries laughed crudely.

Shmi stood quickly, her face pale but composed. "How can I help you, sir?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

The Nikto slapped her hard across the face, sending her stumbling against the wall. "Don't speak unless spoken to, slave," he barked. Laughter erupted from the doorway as Shmi crumpled to the floor.

Anakin dashed to her side, tears welling in his eyes as blood dripped from her split lip. He clenched his fists, fury and helplessness surging through him. He wanted to be like the dragon—to stand against these men—but he was powerless. His small frame shook with frustration as he glared at the Nikto.

The mercenary sneered. "What's with that look, kid? You want a beating too?"

Before Anakin could respond, Shmi dropped to her knees, bowing her head low to the ground. "Please, my lord," she begged. "I beg you to leave him be. He's just a child."

From outside, a hoarse voice called impatiently, "Ai, hurry up! I don't want to stay in this dump longer than necessary!"

The Nikto grunted and glanced down at Shmi and Anakin. "You're lucky this time. Now get up and follow me."

Shmi wiped the blood from her lips and took Anakin's hand, squeezing it tightly. Together, they followed the mercenaries out of the quarters. The corridors were filled with the sounds of slaves moving about under duress, the cries of the punished, and the barking commands of overseers. Sandstone walls, crumbling and pockmarked, hemmed them in, and rusted metal doors groaned as they were forced open or slammed shut.

When they emerged outside, Anakin squinted at the glare of the twin moons above. Before them hovered a Toydarian—a short, bulbous alien with leathery blue skin. His large, fluttering wings kept him aloft as he gestured lazily with stubby fingers. His long snout twitched as he spoke.

A droid with a boxy frame and glowing photoreceptors stood nearby, its mechanical voice cold and efficient. "Mr. Watto, as per your arrangement with Lady Gardulla, the ownership of these slaves is now transferred to you."

Watto crossed his arms, his tone annoyed. "A human woman and a kid? Bah! What use are they? Weak scum!" He waved dismissively, his voice high and nasally. "You're sticking me with junk!"

One of the mercenaries glared at him. "Got a problem with that?"

Watto raised his hands defensively. "No, no problem! Just saying—no profit here, eh?"

Turning to Shmi and Anakin, Watto snorted and gestured with his small hands. "Come on, follow me! Let's see if you're worth anything."

Watto led them to his workshop, a cluttered space filled with rusted parts and unfinished droids. The air smelled of oil and scorched metal. Anakin's wide eyes scanned the room, captivated by the intricate components and tools scattered about. His mind raced, imagining how the pieces might fit together. It was the first time he'd seen so many mechanical parts in one place, and his curiosity began to spark.

Watto noticed the boy's interest and chuckled. "Eh, maybe the kid's not entirely useless. We'll see if you can clean parts tomorrow, eh?"

The Toydarian then guided them through the dusty streets of Mos Espa. Small sandstone houses lined the path, their simple, rounded shapes blending into the desert surroundings. Most were in disrepair, with broken shutters and sand accumulating in every crevice. The streets were alive with noise—vendors shouting, children laughing, and the occasional argument breaking out.

Finally, they stopped in front of a small hut. The brown, weathered door creaked open as Watto gestured inside. "You'll live here now. Go to sleep. Tomorrow, I'll figure out what to do with you."

Anakin clung to his mother's hand, his small body trembling. Everything had changed so quickly, and the uncertainty of their future terrified him. Shmi knelt down, wrapping her arms around him protectively.

"It'll be all right, Ani," she whispered, though her voice was heavy with doubt.

That night, as Anakin lay beside his mother in their new home, he thought of the Sun Dragon once more. Its fiery wings shielded its loved ones, and its roar struck fear into its enemies. He clenched his fists, vowing silently to one day become that dragon.