Star Wars: The Fallen Angel

The upper atmosphere of Naboo still burned faintly, a memory of war smeared across the stars. The Federation's control ship was gone, and trails of debris caught fire as they fell from space.

From that fire, a single yellow N-1 starfighter emerged.

Its hull bore signs of the battle, light carbon scoring across the nose, a few scorch marks along the wings, and a faint haze of heat rising from the engines, but the ship flew steady and true. No smoke trailed behind it, and no systems had failed. 

The N-1 had taken a beating, but it was clear the pilot inside had flown with skill so precise, the craft had survived almost untouched.

The pilot guided it down with absolute clarity, hands calm on the controls.

In the cockpit, Anakin Skywalker exhaled slowly. He wasn't tired, at least, not in the way he expected. But the air felt different now, almost as if the sky itself had shifted around him.

Something had changed.

He couldn't explain it, not fully.

R2-D2 rotated once behind him and gave a long, sharp whistle.

Anakin smirked, not even looking back. "Yeah, yeah. I know. You're not going to lecture me the whole way down, are you?"

R2 let out a chirping trill.

"Well, I did say we'd get out," Anakin murmured, leveling the fighter toward the palace.

"And you didn't believe me."

The hangar loomed beneath them, now packed with activity. Bravo Squadron ships were parked haphazardly along the sides. Mechanics ran cables, and medic crews moved stretchers along the floor. Naboo officers hurried in and out of the blast doors, shouting orders, checking scans, coordinating what had once seemed impossible:

Victory.

As the fighter descended, the noise of the crowd quieted. 

All eyes turned upward. A ripple of curiosity swept through them as the yellow craft angled in, limping slightly on its final approach.

The N-1 touched down with a clean, confident glide. Its landing gear extended smoothly, absorbing the descent with practiced ease. The fighter coasted a few meters before settling into place, the hiss of cooling metal the only sound as the thrusters powered down in perfect sequence.

The hangar watched in absolute silence.

The canopy hissed open. A gust of steam vented into the air.

And a nine-year-old boy stood up inside.

He emerged from the cockpit with a steady breath, his hair tousled but still falling into place. A light layer of sweat clung to his brow, and faint smudges of soot marked his tunic, but he moved with quiet control.

He looked remarkably composed for someone who had just torn through the heart of a warship.

He blinked into the crowd and gave a small, sheepish wave.

"Uh… hi."

A few officers near the front exchanged wide-eyed glances, unable to reconcile what they were seeing.

One of the Bravo pilots leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "Is that… a kid?"

"Where's the actual pilot?" someone else muttered, half-joking, half-afraid of the answer.

Silence held the air for a beat longer, until a sharp metallic chirp cut through it.

From the astromech port of the N-1 starfighter, R2-D2 rose into view with a tired groan, his dome whirring as it scanned the bay. He looked worse than his pilot, scuffed and blackened. 

His dome turned once, then again, as he let out a long, incredulous warble that sounded like a droid swearing under his breath.

No doubt this was a droid who'd seen too much in one afternoon.

A murmur swept through the hangar as someone near the back breathed, "That's the same starfighter… from the control ship."

The silence cracked.

Another mechanic frowned, following the gesture. "The one from the control ship?"

"Yes," came a voice beside him, stunned. "That's the one that blew it up."

The realization landed like a dropped bomb.

Murmurs swelled across the hangar, small at first, fragmented. Disbelief mingled with mounting awe.

"That little kid flew that?"

"No way…"

Then came the first scattered claps, uncertain, hesitant, like people unsure whether it was real or some elaborate prank.

But it grew.

The clapping picked up speed as more crew members stepped forward, nodding, eyes wide with amazement. 

Then it turned into cheers.

Whoops erupted from the Bravo pilots, still stunned but now grinning like madmen. One tossed his flight gloves in the air. Another saluted, half-joking, half-sincere.

"Kid's got nerves of steel!"

A mechanic wiped engine grease from his hands and hollered, "I've never seen flying like that!"

Even the Naboo security guards laughed in disbelief. One turned to his partner and said with a shake of his head, "We're all still alive because of him. You believe that?"

The hangar swelled with applause and whistles as the noise echoed off the durasteel walls. 

At the far end of the hangar, four figures had already started moving toward the starfighter.

Each one of them carried a different weight in their step.

Padmé led, her royal composure slipping with every step as her eyes locked on the cockpit. Her blaster tucked along her side, her outfit was dust-streaked, hair loosened from battle, but none of that mattered now. 

Her breath caught in her throat as she broke into a faster stride.

Beside her came Shmi, hands clenched tightly in front, face pale, and her eyes glassed with tears. She said nothing, her steps were slow and uncertain at first, then they grew faster, quicker, almost breaking into a run. Her heart was pounding, not from fear anymore… but from something far more fragile.

Obi-Wan followed just behind, still holding his side as he walked, a thick makeshift sling strapped across his chest to cradle his left arm. He was stable and alert as his eyes narrowed in disbelief at the sight of the boy standing beside the droid. 

He exhaled slowly, tension melting from his brow. He didn't say anything. For once, words didn't seem necessary.

Qui-Gon walked with his usual measured stride, but there was tension in his posture, held deep in his shoulders. His face was hard to read, somewhere between solemnity and the quiet pull of pride.

With a subtle shift of his jaw, Qui-Gon exhaled slowly. The hard lines of his face softened just enough to betray the relief beneath them. Still, his gaze never left Anakin.

He had felt the shape of the boy's destiny through the Force before, but seeing him now, whole and steady amid the echo of celebration, struck deeper than he'd anticipated.

And as he walked towards the boy who had defied his orders and flown into the heart of battle without hesitation or fear, Qui-Gon felt the Force gathering swiftly around Anakin. But what struck him wasn't only its intensity, but its intent. 

When gathering, the Force didn't spiral out of control, it wrapped around the boy with startling precision, as if drawn to him… or guided by him.

This child, who had changed the fate of an entire world.

The same child he had defended before the Council.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, a flicker of peace lit quietly behind his eyes.

Anakin hopped down from the cockpit ladder and barely landed before he was swept into someone's arms.

Shmi's fingers gripped him tightly, knuckles white. She dropped to her knees without caring who was watching and pulled him close, breathing him in, heart hammering against his cheek.

Shmi, even in her relief, was already moving her hands over him, gently, quickly, patting down his arms, his shoulders, brushing soot from his cheek, checking for any blood. 

She gripped his chin and tilted his face up to the light, her fingers trembling. Then she touched his chest, his back, searching for anything broken or bruised.

"Are you hurt? Tell me the truth. Does anything feel wrong? Your head, your ribs, anything?"

He smiled. "I'm okay, Mom. Promise."

She stared at him a moment longer, as if trying to see through him, and then pulled him in again, tighter this time, her hand cradling the back of his head like she had when he was a baby.

"My brave boy," she whispered. "My beautiful, foolish, brave boy…"

He leaned into her embrace, silent, holding on tighter than he expected to.

She pulled back just enough to cradle his face in both hands, scanning his eyes, his cheeks, his soot-streaked brow, as if confirming he was real.

"You were supposed to stay in the ship," she said, the hurt and fear catching in her throat.

Anakin offered a sheepish smile. "I did," he said softly. "I stayed in the ship… technically"

Shmi blinked, then gave a quiet, exasperated breath through her nose and gently flicked her fingers at his ear, just like she used to when he got clever with his words.

"Don't be smart with me," she murmured, but her voice shook with relief as she pulled him back into her arms.

Padmé stepped forward next. 

"Anakin…" she breathed. "Was that… really you? Up there?"

He turned to her, voice still calm. "I didn't mean to go so far, but someone had to. I can't just stay here and do nothing..."

She blinked, and then laughed, a single, stunned note.

"That's not possible," Obi-Wan said behind her, slowly approaching. "Not for someone who's never flown in space, let alone an active combat zone."

His voice carried quiet disbelief. "No one flies like that. Not on their first try at least."

Anakin looked at him, eyes steady.

"It's not that different from podracing," he said with a small shrug. "Just colder and way less sand."

For a second, no one responded.

Shmi glanced down at her son, eyes wide, as if seeing him for the first time. Padmé's brow furrowed, somewhere between disbelief and awe. Obi-Wan blinked once, then let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

Even R2 gave a low, uncertain chirp.

Then Qui-Gon stepped forward, his eyes never leaving the boy.

"What you did was extraordinary Anakin," he said evenly. "But it was also dangerous and reckless. You disobeyed my word."

Anakin's shoulders stiffened.

"I know," he said. "But I… I had to. I felt it, the Force was showing me where to go."

Qui-Gon exhaled, then placed a hand on Anakin's shoulder.

"You trusted the Force," he said. "But don't mistake recklessness for bravery. That path doesn't lead where you think. It leads to ruin."

 "Next time, you don't walk alone into the fire without telling someone."

Anakin nodded quietly. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, Qui-Gon said nothing more. But the sternness in his tone softened.

"…You came back," he said. "That's what matters."

Then—

BOOM-BOOM...

A sudden, rhythmic boom-boom... echoed from beyond the hangar walls.

Everyone turned.

The deep thrum of war drums carried through the air, slow at first, then rising in tempo. Faint tones followed, footsteps, chanting. 

Then voices… many of them.

Pilots, officers, and technicians paused what they were doing. The hangar quieted, all heads turning toward the massive doors that led to the outer plaza.

"What's that?" someone asked.

A few glanced at each other, unease creeping into their expressions.

Anakin smiled upon hearing the distinct drums and chants

The two Jedi stepped closer to Padmé, whose hand had instinctively gone to her blaster.

"I thought the battle was over," she murmured.

"So did I," Obi-Wan said quietly, already walking forward to investigate.

The doors began to slide open, and light from the plaza spilled inside, warm and bright.

What awaited them outside was…

Joy.

From the gates of Theed's central boulevard came the triumphant march of the Gungan Grand Army, alive, intact, and beaming with pride. They marched in formation, armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. Surrounding them were hundreds of cheering Naboo citizens, gathered along the thoroughfare, waving banners, clapping, throwing flowers from balconies and rooftops.

At the front, mounted atop a kaadu, was Boss Nass, head held high, cape flowing behind him in grand ceremony.

And just ahead of him, bouncing with barely restrained energy, arms wide and flapping in theatrical pride, marched Jar Jar Binks.

"WESA BACK!" he hollered, waving to the crowd.

"WESA VICTORIOUS! Wesa bringin' da Gungans home!"

A cheer exploded from the surrounding Naboo.

Behind Jar Jar, Gungan warriors pounded drums and marched in synchronized rows, weapons raised, not for battle, but in celebration. 

The war was over. They had won together.

Jar Jar spun around once, nearly losing his balance, then puffed out his chest as he pointed dramatically toward the Palace steps.

"Dis way! Follow Jar Jar! Wesa celebratin' with da Queen now, okeeday?"

One of the Gungan generals behind him chuckled, muttering something that made Boss Nass shake his head with a chuckle.

Everyone inside the hangar stepped outside into the light, basking in the warmth and applause as the Gungans passed by. The worry that had momentarily stiffened their postures now melted away, replaced with awe, smiles, and more than a few teary eyes.

Padmé stepped forward slowly, her breath catching at the sight. 

The alliance had held. The dream of unity between the Naboo and the Gungans, something she'd only hoped for, is parading through the city as living proof.

Even Obi-Wan, still cradling his arm, cracked a smile.

And Anakin stood between his mother and the Queen, the warm sunlight hitting his face. 

The sounds of celebration rolled around him, cheers, music, the distant laughter of children in the crowd, but his focus lingered elsewhere.

He glanced at Shmi, her hand still gently wrapped around his. She looked tired, yes, but proud and unshaken. Her eyes hadn't left him.

Then he looked at Padmé standing tall at his other side. Her relief hadn't faded, she watched the crowd, then back at him, she could no longer contain her bright, radiant smile.

Obi-Wan stood with quiet composure, occasionally glancing at Anakin as if still trying to process the boy, and then glanced back to his master.

Qui-Gon stood slightly behind the others. But Anakin could feel it, a subtle shift in the Force around the older Jedi.

Finally, he looked back at Jar Jar, who was at the front of the parade, waving and shouting in his usual flurry of limbs and joy, he was part of it too. 

Part of this strange, ridiculous, beautiful moment.

Anakin smiled.

For now, something in his chest loosened. Something unspoken, unburdened.

He'd done it.

And for now, that was enough…

Then—

Grrrmmmmm…

A loud, unmistakable growl echoed around the group.

Anakin blinked, looked down at himself, then glanced up at the others with a sheepish grin.

"Uh… so… can we eat now?"

For a heartbeat, silence held.

Then laughter bloomed, genuine and full.

Tension melted from shoulders, faces relaxed, and breath came easier.

Shmi chuckled softly and kissed the crown of his head, one hand still protectively on his shoulder.

Padmé's hand flew to her mouth to muffle her smile, and even Obi-Wan let out a breath of surprised amusement.

And behind them, Qui-Gon shook his head faintly, exhaling something that might have once been a laugh.

The war was over.

But more than that, something new had begun.

Something the galaxy hadn't seen in a thousand years.

And in the middle of it all stood a boy with messy hair, a hungry stomach, and a new future written in stars.