Echoes of Starlight

Kael comes across something that changes his life.

In a galaxy far, far away, dust and starlight mingled in the void. Planets orbited dying suns, and ruins whispered the history of forgotten wars. Kael had long learned to listen to silence. It spoke to him in ways people never had.

He was a quiet man tall, lean, and sharp eyed. His bronze skin was sun tempered, marred only by a fine, pale scar running from his cheekbone to his jaw, a memory of a fight he never started. Kael rarely smiled, but when he did, it was cautious like joy was a thing that had to be earned. He spoke only when needed, observed more than he ever let on, and carried in him a weight he couldn’t name.

He’d been born on Derros IV, raised in the scrapyards by a mother who died when he was thirteen. The rest of his life had been salvaging wreckage with no name crews across outlaw space. But nothing had prepared him for the relic he found on the wreck of a derelict frigate drifting near the Null Drift.

The object was unassuming; a metal hilt, scorched and half buried. Yet when he touched it, his blood turned electric. When he pressed the activation stud, a beam of blue light erupted from its core, alive with a steady hum. A lightsaber.

Dross, his Murrak companion, chuffed from behind. “Well, you’ve officially outdone yourself. Found yourself a glowstick from legend.”

Kael smirked. “Laugh it up, fuzzball.”

That night, the dreams began.

In them, he saw fire. A storm of red and blue blades clashing under burning skies. And a voice not angry, not cruel, but terrible in its certainty.

"I am your father".

Kael awoke each time with sweat beading his brow, breath tight in his lungs.

He started noticing changes. Small, at first. A dropped wrench would stop inches above the floor if he reached for it. He moved faster, predicted things before they happened. Once, without thinking, he pulled a falling beam away from Dross with a gesture.

He needed answers.

After three months of aimless wandering and frantic whispers from spaceport mystics, Kael found the hermit.

The man lived alone in the dark mountains of Myrrh, where wind howled like wolves and no ships dared fly. He had skin like aged bark and a limp that made every step sound like a drumbeat. He called himself Renar.

"I don't teach," the hermit growled when Kael knocked at his door. "Especially not your kind."

"My kind?" Kael asked.

"The kind chasing ghosts."

But Kael didn’t leave. He waited. He returned the next day, and the next, until finally Renar relented. Grudgingly.

For weeks, Kael trained under the sun and stars. Renar taught him control how to breathe, how to center his thoughts, how to feel the power moving through all things. He showed him how to move with the blade, not against it. Not to fight with rage, but with clarity.

“Anger is easy,” Renar told him. “It’s a fire that spreads without thought. But balance...balance is choice.”

Kael learned slowly, stubbornly. He bore bruises without complaint. Nights brought more dreams. The same voice. The same command:

Come to Arashel.

He didn’t know why he obeyed. But when Renar handed him the lightsaber hilt one morning and nodded, Kael understood.

“Go,” the old man said. “Whatever truth waits for you there...face it.”

The moon of Arashel was bleak rock and ice, with stars that blinked like ancient eyes. Kael walked alone to the cliff’s edge, the wind tearing at his cloak. The dreams had led him here.

And so had the voice.

The figure appeared through the mist tall, robed in black, a hood casting shadows over sharp features. His skin was grayish, pallid like ash. But it was the eyes Kael recognized. He’d seen them in his own reflection. Burning, haunted. His father, Arcann.

“So you’ve come,” Arcann said, voice deep and ragged. “Just as I did, years ago.”

Kael stood still. “I know who you are.”

Arcann smiled. “Do you?”

“You’re the one from my dreams. Kael said. "The one who said...”
His throat tightened.

“I am your father.” Arcann finished.

Arcann’s lightsaber hissed to life; a blade of molten red.

“You carry my blood. You carry my power. You were born to follow me.”

Kael’s own lightsaber ignited, a steady blue glow wrapping his features in pale light. His bronze skin gleamed like old metal, and his stance measured, focused, showed the months of hard-won discipline.

“I’ve followed nothing but my own path,” Kael said.

Arcann...his...father, tilted his head. “You feel it, don’t you, boy? The anger. The need to prove something. The fury at being abandoned.”

Kael’s fingers tightened on the hilt. “I’m not afraid of what I feel. I just refuse to be ruled by it.”

“The dark side offers you freedom,” his father whispered, circling. “No more hiding. No more fear. No more lies. With it, you could burn the stars clean.”

Kael looked at the blade in his hand, then back at Arcann.

“I’ve already made my choice.”

He moved, not in anger, but with purpose. Blue met red in a flash of light and heat. Their sabers clashed, sparks raining down like shooting stars. Kael fought with patience, not fury. Each strike measured. Each movement grounded in what he’d learned.

“You’re strong,” his father said, parrying a blow. “Stronger than I expected.”

Kael pressed forward. “Because I fought to be.”

The battle raged across the cliffside, and Kael felt the currents of the force; surging, guiding not toward vengeance, but toward understanding.

Finally, Kael disarmed his father with a sudden twist and a focused pull of energy. The red blade hissed out, rolling across the ground.

Kael stood over him, breath heaving.

“I don’t need your legacy,” he said. “I’m not here to join you. I’m here to end what you began.”


Word Count: 980
Written for: "The Writer's Cramp" 
Prompt: write a story or poem that includes ALL of the following - bolded - but do NOT mention Star Wars in any way in your entry.

lightsaber
the force
a galaxy far, far away
"I am your father."
the dark side
"Laugh it up, fuzzball."