A/N: Well, here it is, folks—the official end of arc 1. I just wanted to say it's been an amazing journey so far, and I truly appreciate all of you who are sticking around to see how this all ends. I'm a new writer, so all of this is trial and error, but nobody ever said the first time would go smoothly.
ENJOY!! :) ;)
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East Mesa, Overlooking Capital City, Lothal5 BBY
The mesa's edge dropped away into nothing, cliff face plunging toward the industrial belt that had consumed what used to be grassland.
Ezra stood there watching smoke rise from factories that never stopped, TIE fighters making their routine patrols, the whole machinery of Imperial occupation grinding forward with mechanical indifference to the lives it crushed beneath its weight. One year since he'd woken up in this body, in this universe, with knowledge that should have been impossible and a second chance he still didn't understand.
He was 14 now. The starvation hollows filled in with muscle earned through constant training. The scar running from hairline through eyebrow and down his cheek had faded from angry red to pale line, permanent reminder of the labor camp extraction that had nearly killed him.
He traced it absently, the gesture automatic after a year of the tissue pulling when he moved his face wrong. People still looked at it, still wondered.
While it was annoying, the dude in him found it badass.
But more importantly, below him, his network sprawled across Lothal like a spiderweb. Invisible to casual observation, but holding everything together through connections that he had purposely cultivated into a useful cog for his broader goals. Safe houses in abandoned moisture farms and derelict mining stations. Supply routes through tunnels that predated Imperial occupation. Contraband syndicates operating under the cover of legitimate business. Information networks that monitored Imperial movements and fed intelligence to operators who knew how to exploit gaps in their security.
All of it built piece by piece in a year, each connection carefully cultivated, each operator recruited through shared resistance to the Empire's systematic destruction of everything that made life worth living.
And to be quite honest, it was something he was proud of. It was the hardest he had ever worked in both lives. And he did it...
All with Ezra's semi-decent knowledge of Star Wars, and his humbleness. The willingness to learn and actively get better in pursuit of his goals.
The Gray Syndicate had been the hardest piece to flip. Yahenna Laxo was sharp, experienced, had survived decades in Lothal's underworld through careful risk management and knowing when to cut losses. Their partnership had been mutually beneficial initially, but Ezra's ambitions had outgrown the constraints Yahenna wanted to impose. The older man had seen it coming, had tried to preempt it through consolidation of his own power base.
But Ezra had advantages Yahenna couldn't match.
He had the force.. more specifically, the ability of Force Resonance. This let him read people's intentions through their emotional melodies, detect betrayals before they manifested, position his own assets in ways that seemed like luck but were actually strategic placement guided by awareness that transcended normal perception even among force users. And his meta-knowledge had shown him exactly which of Yahenna's operations were vulnerable, which lieutenants could be turned through appeals to ideology or simple better compensation.
The confrontation, when it finally came, had been brief. Yahenna had recognized the position he was in, surrounded by people who'd shifted loyalty without him noticing, his infrastructure penetrated so thoroughly that resistance would only accelerate his destruction. He'd made the pragmatic choice, accepted buyout terms that let him retire with dignity and resources intact, handed over his network in exchange for survival.
Ezra respected that. The smart play wasn't always fighting to the last, sometimes it was recognizing when you'd been outmaneuvered and negotiating terms before negotiation stopped being option.
And in reality, it was mecry in a galaxy with not so much of it, of course, he took it.
Now the Gray Syndicate's assets were his, integrated into the larger network he'd been building toward purposes Yahenna had never quite understood. Criminal enterprise was means, not end. The profits funded operations, the infrastructure provided logistics, but the goal had always been creating foundation for something larger.
Rebellion. The word still felt too big, too ambitious for what he'd actually built. But the pieces were there, waiting to be activated when circumstances aligned. When the Ghost crew arrived and changed everything.
Today.
His internal chronometer, that strange certainty born from meta-knowledge that had never been wrong, told him today was when canon began. When Kanan Jarrus and his crew of misfits would attempt to intercept an Imperial arms shipment and recruit a cocky street rat named Ezra Bridger into their operations.
Except the street rat they found would be very different from the one they expected.
Ezra's comm unit chirped, encrypted channel reserved for high-priority intelligence. He answered, recognizing the voice immediately. One of his contacts embedded in what remained of Vizago's operations, monitoring for exactly the kind of unusual activity that preceded significant events.
"Got something you'll want to hear," the contact said. "New bodies in town. Smugglers, but professional. VCX-100 freighter, crew of five maybe six. Word is they're planning to hit an Imperial weapons shipment at the spaceport tomorrow."
"Descriptions?" Ezra kept his voice neutral despite how his heart rate accelerated.
"Lasat male, big, carries a bo-rifle. Mandalorian female, armor's customized, moves like someone with serious combat training. Twi'lek female, pilot probably, has that look. Human male, older, seems to be running the operation. And there's a droid, C1-series astromech, ancient thing but functional."
A smile formed on Ezra's face...
Kanan. Zeb. Sabine. Hera. Chopper.
The Ghost crew, arriving exactly when his knowledge said they would, described exactly how he remembered them from the show.
It was time...
"They recruiting?" Ezra asked.
"Seems like they're looking for local assets. Someone who knows the territory, can navigate Imperial security. You interested?"
"Maybe. Keep monitoring, let me know if anything changes."
He cut the connection, stood there on the mesa's edge while his mind raced through implications. This was it. The moment a year of preparation had been building toward. The Ghost crew would attempt their arms shipment heist, would encounter complications that made local knowledge valuable, would look for someone capable who could help them navigate Lothal's criminal infrastructure.
In truth, the thought should have felt triumphant. Instead, it carried weight that pressed against his chest like physical mass. A year of violence and moral compromise, a year of becoming someone neither Solomon nor Ezra would recognize, all culminating in this moment where he'd finally integrate with the larger Rebellion and start working toward goals that transcended Lothal's liberation.
Was he ready? Did ready even mean anything when the alternative was watching the Empire continue grinding human lives into industrial output?
It doesn't matter; there is only the now.
Ezra turned away from the cliff edge, began the descent back toward his base. Not the tower anymore, he'd abandoned that location months ago when it became too visible, too connected to operations that drew Imperial attention. Now he operated from a network of rotating safe houses, never staying in one place long enough to establish patterns that investigators could exploit.
The walk took him through terrain he knew intimately, every rock formation and gully mapped through months of travel, every sight line and approach vector committed to memory that combined two lifetimes of accumulated knowledge. Lothal had become his territory.
Yes, a 14-year-old kid had dominated the criminal underworld of Lothal. Only in Star Wars, kids. Thank the god emperor George Lucas for his blessings upon thee.
Avar Kriss had been his teacher through it all, her Force ghost manifesting whenever he descended into the temple's depths, guiding his development of abilities that most Jedi never achieved because they never developed Force Resonance as their primary perception mode. She'd shown him techniques for amplifying other Force users' abilities, for coordinating groups through symphonic awareness, for detecting threats and opportunities through patterns in the greater composition.
And more importantly, she had been giving him the basics of Form VI: Niman. A form that is a balanced, moderate style that blends elements of offense and defense and is well-suited to Jedi who value harmony and adaptability.
Turns out a bo staff is a pretty solid substitute
But she'd also warned him, repeatedly, about the costs of power pursued without connection to community. The Force Resonance only functioned because it linked him to others, made their experiences as immediate as his own. Isolation would destroy that connection, transform his greatest strength into liability that left him blind to threats he should have sensed.
Which meant joining the Ghost crew wasn't just strategic necessity, it was spiritual requirement. He needed them as much as they'd need him, though probably for different reasons than either party would initially recognize.
His current safe house was abandoned moisture farm half-buried in a canyon three kilometers from the mesa. The structure had collapsed partially, looked uninhabitable from external observation, but the underground levels remained functional and provided exactly the kind of secure space his operations required.
Inside, equipment and supplies reflected months of accumulated resources. Weapons, ranging from basic blasters to more specialized hardware acquired through his syndicate connections. Communications gear providing encrypted access to networks spanning Lothal and extending to nearby systems. Data terminals holding intelligence on Imperial operations, patrol routes, factory outputs, everything he'd been monitoring while building a comprehensive picture of the Empire's presence.
And in a shielded compartment accessible only through Force-activated mechanism, the items that mattered most. Jedi holocrons recovered from temple explorations, their knowledge gradually unlocked through meditation and Avar's guidance. Datacards containing everything he'd learned about the TIE Defender program, information that would become crucial when Thrawn arrived and transformed the project from theoretical threat to existential danger. Maps of the temple's deeper levels, showing passages and chambers that canon had never explored, secrets that might prove valuable when circumstances required them.
All of it was preparation for a war, a war that will change everything. And Ezra did not plan on defeating the empire partially.
No, he wanted COMPLETE and ABSOLUTE victory.
Ezra settled into meditation posture, let his awareness expand outward through the Force Resonance that had become his default perception. The network spread across his consciousness like symphony, each operator a distinct voice contributing to larger composition. He could feel Jari in Capital City's western districts, coordinating supply runs with efficiency born from years of practice. Tem and Kol, now experienced operators in their own right, managing the northern circuit with competence that made his early recruitment of them feel prescient. Ria somewhere over the Outer Rim, her jazz-influenced melody distant but still connected through bonds that transcended simple professional relationship.
And beneath it all, Lothal itself. The planet's presence in the Force had grown more distinct over the years, or maybe his ability to perceive it had simply developed to the point where he could distinguish its voice from the background hum. Ancient, patient, carrying purposes that predated human settlement and would continue long after the Empire collapsed into a historical footnote.
The loth-wolves were part of that presence, manifestations of the planet's will given physical form through mechanisms he still didn't fully understand. He'd encountered them dozens of times during his temple visits, had learned to recognize their songs as distinct from normal fauna, had even received guidance through them on occasions when the Force needed to communicate something his conscious mind was too limited to comprehend directly.
They'd been appearing more frequently lately, watching him from distances that suggested observation rather than threat. Or maybe he was projecting significance onto animal behavior that had simpler explanations. Hard to tell sometimes. Man, the force was cool...
His meditation deepened, awareness expanding until individual perceptions blurred into gestalt understanding. This was what Avar had taught him, the ability to hold multiple perspectives simultaneously, experience the Force not as abstract energy but as living network connecting all conscious beings. From this state, he could feel the Ghost crew's presence on Lothal even without knowing their exact location, could sense their purposes resonating with potential futures where their actions created cascading changes that rippled across the galaxy.
Kanan's melody was interesting. Like in the show, he was better than he let people see, more dangerous than his role as freighter captain suggested.
The Force sang through him with trained discipline that only came from Jedi instruction, though obviously a Padawan. The difference in feeling from Avar and Kanan told you just what kind of level Master Kriss really was on.
She was overwhelming.
But it made sense. Kanan had survived Order 66 as a Padawan, had spent years hiding from Inquisitors while trying to figure out how to be Jedi without Temple or Masters to guide him. He'd developed practical skills but missed the deeper training that would have made him truly formidable.
This created an opportunity. Ezra had knowledge Kanan lacked, had spent a year studying with a Jedi Master's Force ghost while developing abilities that, according to Avar, no Jedi since her was capable of such a feat.
Even the chosen one, which Ezra didn't know if that was completely true.
The sun was setting by the time Ezra surfaced from meditation, the safe house's underground levels dark except for emergency lighting. He ate like a man possessed, protein bars and water. Then equipment check was conducted, ensuring everything was ready for when the Ghost crew's operation went sideways and they found themselves needing exactly the kind of local expertise he could provide.
So...there was some changes. At least small ones. In the show, they stole the weapons during the day.
Now, it was at night.
The timing would be tricky. He needed to position himself where they'd encounter him naturally, make his capabilities apparent without seeming too convenient, demonstrate value that made recruitment obvious choice rather than a suspicious coincidence. Canon had done it through Ezra stealing from their operation and Kanan sensing his Force potential, but that approach wouldn't work when the Ezra they encountered was clearly too competent to be a simple street thief.
Different approach, then. He'd monitor their operation through his network contacts, identify the moment when complications arose, insert himself as solution to problems they couldn't solve alone. Natural collaboration that led to recognition of shared purposes, partnership developing organically rather than feeling forced.
It would work. Had to work, because the alternative was continuing solo operations while the Rebellion coalesced around different centers of gravity. He'd spent five years positioning himself for this, had sacrificed pieces of identity that could never be recovered in pursuit of capabilities that would make him valuable to the fight against the Empire.
Time to see if it had been worth the cost.
Ezra climbed to the surface as full darkness settled, stood there breathing air that tasted like dust and distant industrial smoke. Above him, stars scattered across the sky, infinite and indifferent to human struggles. Still an amazing view...
His comm unit chirped again, different contact this time. "The smugglers are moving. Spaceport, docking bay seventy-two. Thought you'd want to know."
"Timing?"
"Within the hour. You planning to be there?"
"Might be interesting to watch," Ezra said. "See how professional they actually are."
He cut the connection, began the journey toward the spaceport. The walk took him through sectors where his network's presence had transformed criminal chaos into ordered operations, where people moved with awareness that came from knowing protection existed if you followed the rules. Not freedom exactly, more like 'managed safety' purchased through cooperation with systems that operated beneath Imperial notice.
It was something. Not enough, never enough, but something. And when the Rebellion finally succeeded, when the Empire collapsed under weight of its own brutality, the infrastructure he'd built would help ensure Lothal's transition happened with minimal chaos. People would have routes for supplies, connections for mutual aid, organizational frameworks that transcended simple survival instinct.
That mattered. Had to matter, or the year of violence and compromise meant nothing beyond staying alive.
The spaceport appeared ahead, its landing platforms illuminated against the night sky, TIE fighters making their eternal patrols. And there, in docking bay seventy-two, the Ghost crew's presences stood out like soloists in an orchestra, their combined harmonies speaking to competence and purpose that transcended simple smuggling operations.
He found a vantage point overlooking the bay, settled into observation mode while his awareness tracked their movements through the Force. Kanan was directing operations. Sabine was placing charges. Zeb was handling security, his bo-rifle ready for violence that would inevitably manifest when plans contacted reality.
And Hera, beautiful in the way competent people were beautiful, coordinating it all from the Ghost's cockpit.
Professional. Experienced. Everything canon had promised they'd be.
The Imperial weapons shipment arrived right on schedule, garrison troops escorting crates that probably contained blasters and power cells, routine transfer that happened dozens of times daily across the Empire.
Sabine's charges detonated,
disabling the escort speeders and scattering troops into defensive positions. Zeb moved forward with his bo-rifle blazing, suppressing fire that kept the Imperials occupied while Kanan advanced on the cargo. Hera brought the Ghost around, ramp lowering for rapid extraction once they secured the shipment.
It should have worked. Would have worked, if not for the patrol that arrived thirty seconds early, if not for the stormtrooper with better aim than his fellows, if not for the dozens of variables that transformed clean operations into desperate improvisation.
The Ghost crew found themselves pinned, Imperial reinforcements cutting off their primary exit route, the weapons shipment suddenly less important than immediate survival. Ezra watched them adapt, saw Kanan make the call to abandon the cargo in favor of preserving his crew, saw the moment when tactical victory became strategic retreat.
And saw his opportunity.
He moved, and His blaster came up, shots finding Imperial targets with pinpoint accuracy.
Three stormtroopers dropped, their suppressing fire eliminated, creating window for the Ghost crew to reposition.
Kanan's head turned, eyes widening as he registered Ezra's presence. It was obvious, Kanan felt his connection to the force.
"Who the hell are you, kid?" Zeb shouted, his bo-rifle tracking targets while his eyes tried to process the teenager who'd just materialized in the middle of their operation.
"Someone who knows how to get you out of here," Ezra called back. "There's a service tunnel thirty meters east, leads to the industrial sector. Imperial response teams won't reach it for another two minutes. You want to survive, you follow me now."
Kanan hesitated for maybe half a second. Then he made the call, gesturing for his crew to follow Ezra's lead. "...Fine.."
They ran, six people moving through the spaceport's infrastructure while behind them the Empire mobilized overwhelming response. Ezra led them through paths he'd memorized over years of operations, routes that existed in negative space between Imperial surveillance and criminal activity. His Force Resonance painted tactical pictures showing him where patrols were focusing, where gaps in coverage created opportunities for movement.
The service tunnel swallowed them, darkness providing concealment that made pursuit problematic. They ran until running became jogging, jogged until Ezra finally signaled halt in a junction chamber where multiple passages offered escape in every direction.
"We're clear," he said, breathing only slightly elevated despite the exertion. "Imperial response teams will focus on the spaceport, won't think to search the service tunnels for at least another hour. Gives you time to extract to wherever you're berthed."
Kanan studied him with intensity that felt like being scanned by targeting computer. "You're Force-sensitive."
Not a question. Ezra met his gaze directly, let Kanan feel the truth.
"Yeah. And you're a Jedi, or used to be. The way you move gives it away."
That was complete nonsense, but Ezra needed a way in, and that was a bomb he was willing to drop.
Silence stretched between them, the Ghost crew watched this exchange with varying expressions of confusion and concern.
Hera and Kanan themselves knew, but Zeb and Sabine did not...
Finally, Kanan spoke. "What's your name?"
"People call me Solomon. Though I've been thinking about going back to my real name. Ezra. Ezra Bridger."
"Ezra Bridger," Kanan repeated, tasting the syllables like they held meaning beyond simple identification. "You saved our lives tonight. Why?"
"Because the Empire needs to burn, and you're the people who understand that. Because I've spent 12 months building networks and resources on Lothal that could help the Rebellion, if there's actually a Rebellion to help. Because I'm tired of it all. I'm just a kid, and I want to grow up in a better galaxy..."
The honesty surprised him; he threw in the extra drama, but he did mean some of those words.
Kanan glanced at Hera, some wordless communication passing between them. Then back to Ezra, decision crystallizing in his expression.
"We should talk," Kanan said. "Somewhere more secure than Imperial service tunnels. You know a place?"
"I know several. Depends on how much privacy you need and how long you're planning to stay on Lothal."
"Long enough to have a serious conversation about what you've built and what we might do together."
Ezra felt something shift in his chest, recognition that this was it. He'd won.
"Then yeah, I know a place. It's about as secure as a damp towel in a storm, but it'll do."
He led them deeper into Lothal's underground, through passages that connected ancient infrastructure to modern criminal networks, toward a safe house that would provide the security someone like Kanan wanted for obvious reasons. And as they walked, Ezra felt the Force singing around them, harmonies building between six individuals whose separate melodies were beginning to form something larger.
A symphony.... of rebellion.