Star Wars: Shadow of Skywalker

The first rays of dawn stretched across the endless Dune Sea as Shmi and Anakin stood at the edge of Mos Espa. Their ragged clothes barely provided protection against the chill of the morning air, though it wouldn't be long before the heat of the twin suns bore down on them mercilessly. Shmi held their tattered satchel tightly, her face unreadable, while Anakin adjusted the strap of a small pouch Watto had given him for carrying scraps.

Ahead of them, Watto's mercenaries loomed like specters of menace. The leader, a scarred Nikto with a vibroblade strapped to his back, sneered as his predatory eyes scanned them.

"A woman and a kid," he growled, spitting into the sand. "Watto really knows how to pick 'em."

The Rodian beside him, his patched armor caked with sand, chuckled darkly. "Think they'll last the day? The Dune Sea's no place for weaklings."

The third mercenary, a pale human with a cybernetic eye that clicked faintly as it adjusted, smirked. "Doesn't matter. If they don't, less mouths to feed."

Shmi lowered her head, hiding her anger. "We'll do what's required," she said evenly, her tone void of defiance.

"Just stay out of our way," the Nikto barked, pointing a clawed finger at them. "And don't slow us down. You're here to dig, not to talk."

Anakin glared up at the mercenaries, his jaw tightening. His hatred for them simmered just below the surface, but his mother's subtle squeeze of his hand kept him silent. He would not make things worse—not yet.

The journey was grueling. Shifting sands dragged at their feet, and the mercenaries offered no assistance, barking at Shmi and Anakin to move faster whenever they lagged. By the time they reached the wreckage, the suns were already high, and sweat dripped from their faces.

The freighter lay in ruin, half-buried by the dunes. Its twisted hull jutted out of the sand like a dying animal, charred and broken from the crash. Smoke still curled faintly from its shattered engines, and the ground around it was littered with debris—melted metal, scorched droid limbs, and fragmented panels.

"Spread out," the Nikto barked, unslinging his vibroblade. "Dig up whatever you can find. And remember—anyone caught hiding anything gets to meet this up close." He held up the blade, its edge gleaming cruelly in the sunlight.

Shmi and Anakin moved cautiously, keeping their distance from the mercenaries as they began sifting through the wreckage. Anakin's small hands worked quickly, sorting through wires and twisted scraps with practiced efficiency.

"Stay close to me, Ani," Shmi whispered, glancing nervously at the mercenaries. "Don't draw attention."

Anakin nodded, though his focus was already elsewhere. His eyes darted over the wreckage, cataloging the small electronic components and intact circuits scattered among the ruins.

It wasn't long before tempers began to flare. The Rodian let out a frustrated growl, kicking a dented droid chassis aside. "Nothing but junk!" he snarled, his voice carrying across the wreckage.

He turned toward Shmi, who had just unearthed a small power cell from beneath a pile of rubble. "You!" he barked, stomping toward her. "What the hell do you have?"

Shmi held up the power cell, her expression calm. "Just this," she said quietly.

The Rodian snatched it from her hands, inspecting it with a sneer. "Worthless," he muttered, throwing it into his bag. He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. "You better start finding something useful, or you'll regret it."

Before Shmi could respond, he raised a hand and struck her across the face with the back of his armored glove. She stumbled, falling to her knees as a thin trickle of blood ran down her cheek.

"Mom!" Anakin shouted, dropping his handful of scraps and running to her side. He crouched beside her, his small hands trembling as he touched her shoulder. His wide blue eyes burned with anger as he looked up at the Rodian.

"What are you looking at, kid?" the mercenary sneered. "You want some too?"

Anakin's fists clenched, his teeth grinding together. He didn't speak, but his mind swirled with dark thoughts. He imagined himself older, stronger, standing over this vile Rodian with a weapon in hand. 'I'll kill them all. Every single one of them.' he though to himself

Shmi placed a hand on his arm, pulling him back to reality. "It's okay, Ani," she whispered, her voice strained. "I'm fine."

Reluctantly, Anakin helped her to her feet, his hatred simmering as they moved to another section of the wreckage.

In a shadowed corner of the wreckage, they found a cluster of smaller electronics buried beneath a collapsed panel. Shmi knelt beside the pile, carefully picking out the intact pieces while Anakin dug with his hands, his frustration giving him strength and energy he never knew he had.

"Here," he said, holding up a circuit board with only minor damage. "This one's still good."

Shmi nodded, adding it to their satchel. "Good job, Ani. Keep going."

As they worked, they heard a commotion nearby. The pale human mercenary had cornered another scavenger—a Twi'lek man who had arrived at the site earlier. The Twi'lek clutched a small datapad, its cracked screen flickering faintly.

"Hand it over," the mercenary demanded, his mechanical eye glowing faintly.

The Twi'lek hesitated, his hands trembling. "I found it first," he protested weakly. "It's mine."

The Nikto appeared behind him, his vibroblade gleaming in his hand. Without a word, he drove the blade into the Twi'lek's back, silencing him with a single brutal motion. The body crumpled to the sand, blood pooling beneath it.

Anakin didn't flinch. His eyes locked on the scene, his young mind processing the violence with a chilling clarity. This wasn't new to him—he had seen such cruelty before. But now, the fire in his heart grew hotter.

'One day', he thought, 'I'll do the same to them. Only I won't stop there.'

By the time the suns dipped below the horizon, the group had gathered enough scrap to appease Watto. The mercenaries began setting up a makeshift camp in the open desert, their gruff voices carrying over the stillness.

"We'll head back in the morning," the Nikto announced, jabbing his blade into the sand. "For now, get some rest. And don't wander off—Tusken Raiders'll gut you before you can scream."

Shmi and Anakin sat apart from the mercenaries, huddled together beneath a torn piece of canvas that offered little protection from the chill of the night. Shmi dabbed at the cut on her cheek with a piece of cloth, her hands shaking slightly.

"Mom," Anakin said softly, his voice laced with anger. "They shouldn't get away with this. They deserve to pay."

Shmi looked at him, her tired eyes filled with both sadness and concern. "Ani, don't let hatred consume you," she said gently. "We have to survive. That's all that matters."

Anakin didn't respond. His gaze was fixed on the fire the mercenaries had lit, the flames reflecting in his blue eyes. 'One day', he thought again, 'I'll make them all pay. And no one will stop me.'

As the desert wind howled around them, Shmi pulled him close, trying to shield him from the cold. But Anakin barely felt it. His thoughts were consumed by the fire within—a fire that grew stronger with every passing day.