Aaron had been traveling the galaxy for a week before he stumbled upon the first clue.
The ship he'd taken—a low-profile freighter stripped of any identifying marks—was silent as it cut through hyperspace, its destination unknown even to him. But the whispers of the galaxy were growing louder. Rumors of a Rebellion. Of people who resisted the Empire. A spark, something small, but bright in the endless night.
It was time to find them.
He thought he could hide. Maybe just wait. Wait until the galaxy was ready, until the time was right.
But a part of him burned with urgency. That part—the part that couldn't forget Nira's face—would not let him stay hidden any longer.
He dropped out of hyperspace above a nameless world, where the darkness of space met the dim glow of a cold planet. Nothing marked it—no cities, no signals.
Except for a faint distress beacon.
Aaron made contact with a small settlement of survivors—farmers and smugglers, hiding from the Empire. They had little to offer, but they spoke in whispers of a rebel base hidden in the Outer Rim. The information was vague, but it was enough. Enough to ignite the flame of hope he'd kept buried deep.
He left the settlement that night, tracing the path they spoke of through forgotten space.
It wasn't the Rebellion he found.
It was an Inquisitor.
The Hunt Begins
The world was desolate—a shattered moon orbiting a dying star. Nothing but broken rock and sharp winds. Aaron's freighter dropped into the atmosphere, the ship's hull groaning in protest against the unforgiving conditions.
He'd landed under the cover of night, his footsteps steady as he made his way across the rocky plains. The beacon led him here, to a hidden valley where nothing but silence lived.
At first, he thought he was alone.
Then, the ground trembled.
A figure emerged from the shadows—tall, armored, with the black cloak of the Inquisitors swirling behind them. Their eyes glowed beneath the helmet, red and cold.
"I felt you." The voice was mechanical, dissonant. "A Jedi who's been hiding too long."
Aaron's hand tightened on his lightsaber hilt.
The Inquisitor raised a gloved hand.
"You don't belong in this galaxy anymore, boy."
And just like that, they ignited their red blade.
The fight was brutal. Aaron didn't hesitate, but the years of solitude had left him untested against a true opponent. The Inquisitor was fast—too fast—using every trick in the book.
They parried, attacked, and twisted, a deadly dance of violence. Their moves were precise, cold, and sharp, like the edges of a well-honed blade.
Aaron, in contrast, was wild. His movements were fluid, but his strikes were often too telegraphed. Too predictable. His saber flashed against the red blade, but he felt the weight of every mistake.
They fought across the barren land, the ground beneath them cracking with every clash. Aaron was fast, but the Inquisitor was a wall—each parry left him a step behind, each strike forced him further into the defensive.
He could barely keep up.
Then, a mistake.
The Inquisitor's blade danced forward, cutting into Aaron's arm, a deep gash that sent pain through his body like an electric shock.
He fell back, gritting his teeth. His blood slicked the hilt of his saber.
For a moment, his world blurred—blood and sweat mixing with the pain.
I can't win this way. I can't lose.
The Inquisitor was moving in for the kill. The Force surged through Aaron like a flood.
He reached for it, let it flood through his limbs, drowning out the pain. The world around him narrowed, focused. He could see the movements of his enemy, could anticipate the attack before it came.
And then he struck.
His saber slashed upward, meeting the Inquisitor's blade with a roar of energy. Their red blade flickered and burned against his pure white saber, sending a shockwave of Force energy outward.
The Inquisitor faltered—just for a moment.
Aaron took the opening. His blade swept low, cutting through the Inquisitor's defense with a speed born from desperation and raw power.
The red blade fell, the Inquisitor stumbling back, defeated. Their helmet cracked as they collapsed.
Aaron stood over them, breathing hard, his body trembling with adrenaline and pain. His lightsaber hummed softly in the aftermath.
He had won.
But at what cost?
The Inquisitor's body lay still, but their presence lingered in the air—a reminder of the weight of the galaxy's darkness. The feeling of death that accompanied it.
Aaron stared at the fallen figure for a long moment.
I'm not ready.
A Fractured Realization
It took hours to recover. He bandaged his arm, patched up his wounds as best as he could, and sat in silence.
The Inquisitor's body was left behind, forgotten by the world.
But the fight had exposed a bitter truth.
He was strong, yes. He had been gifted, his training accelerated in a way few could imagine. But there was so much more to this galaxy than power.
His lightsaber forms were fluid, yes, but the fight had shown him just how little he knew.
He had raw power, but lacked the control. He had speed, but not the experience to wield it.
He needed more.
And there was only one place he could think of that could give him that.
The Decision
Aaron stood at the controls of his ship, the starry sky ahead of him. He closed his eyes, letting the Force guide his thoughts.
There was one place left. One figure in the galaxy who could teach him what he needed.
Yoda.
The ancient Jedi Master—wise, elusive, and beyond powerful. He wasn't a legend. He was the last of the old Order. And if anyone could teach Aaron how to control his power and use it without succumbing to the darkness... it was him.
With a single motion, Aaron set the coordinates.
"I'll find you, Master Yoda," he whispered to the empty space around him. "I'll find a way to fix what's broken."
The galaxy was still at war. The Rebellion was out there somewhere, but it wasn't time for him to join them—not yet. He needed to understand his place in the Force first. He needed to understand himself.
And so, he made his way to the one place no one had dared venture to in years.
The planet Dagobah.