Amir guided the ship into the port—this was Mos Eisley, the most prosperous city on Tatooine and a favorite haven for criminals. After the E
Amir guided the ship into the port—this was Mos Eisley, the most prosperous city on Tatooine and a favorite haven for criminals.
After the Empire took over, they stationed an Imperial administrator here, along with a squad of stormtroopers equipped with desert gear.
But those titles meant little. The Imperial administrator knew full well that the true ruler of this place was the infamous crime lord Jabba the Hutt.
Amir, wearing a brown robe, walked across the sand with a shoulder bag. His hood shielded him from the blinding twin suns burning overhead.
Veronica walked beside him, draped in Guligena's black cloak.
Domed houses half-buried in the sand lined the road—only this kind of architecture could protect interiors from the brutal heat.
And yet, despite the scorching climate, the streets bustled with vendors hawking common and exotic goods, the tendrils of the black market woven into every corner.
At a corner, Amir spotted stormtroopers in "desert white" armor. Their helmets were fitted with filters, their chest plates had built-in fans, and emergency supply packs were mounted on their backs—all meant to help them perform in the heat.
Though "perform" was a generous term.
"These desert troops are actually doing their job?" Veronica asked, watching them.
"They shouldn't be. Without higher-ups checking in, who'd bother standing guard in a criminal-ridden Outer Rim dump?" Amir, who had studied how to slack off under Imperial systems, was just as confused.
Both of them tightened their cloaks.
Amir opened the map of Mos Eisley on his wrist display. When they reached another intersection, he stopped.
"This is where we part, revolutionary," Amir said with a smile.
"Goodbye," Veronica replied, hesitating a moment before turning and walking away. Ahsoka had arranged for a contact to meet her. From today, she would be part of the Resistance.
Amir felt a pang of sadness but turned and kept walking, only more slowly.
He had no interest in this bustling city and simply headed in one direction, occasionally stopping to touch the pendant hanging from his neck.
Through the kyber crystal, he could feel a presence in the Force guiding him.
No distance can stop the steps of someone who chooses to walk.
He followed the main road from the scorching midday heat until the light turned golden.
By dusk, Amir had left the city. Ahead lay endless sand dunes and scattered buildings—moisture farms. Some land outside the city was arable, so farmers built their homes there.
Eventually, he spotted a dome poking out from the sand. The area around it was relatively flat, with a large pit nearby.
The pit was a homestead dug into the earth, with stone-built rooms carved into the walls—a sunken courtyard.
Amir didn't continue forward. The long walk under two suns had left him thirsty and exhausted.
He hadn't packed much water.
He approached the farm hoping for food and a place to rest, planning to resume his journey in the morning.
"Anyone there?" Amir called down into the sloped corridor.
"Who is it?" a man replied.
"Just passing by. Could you spare some water? Maybe a place to rest for the night? I can pay."
A man in white robes with short black hair appeared below, looking up at him.
"Take off your hood, stranger," he said.
Amir removed his hood, revealing his youthful face.
"First time on Tatooine?" the man asked.
"Yes."
"If you weren't, you'd know we don't let strangers spend the night. Come on down."
"Who is it, Uncle Owen? Biggs?" a child called from inside.
"No, it's a traveler. Back to your room, Luke!" Owen shouted.
Amir froze. This was the Lars homestead—the family that raised Luke Skywalker.
"Well? Coming, or changing your mind?" Owen asked.
"Thank you!" Amir walked down the corridor.
"Follow me. There's a spare room. It's not spotless, but there's a bed," Owen said, leading him into the courtyard and opening a small door.
"You can leave your things here. I'll bring you water and food."
Amir tidied up and followed him into the living room.
Beru Lars, Owen's wife, placed a tray on the table.
A glass of blue milk and a piece of dry bread-like food.
Amir thanked them again and began eating.
He lifted the blue milk, smiling to himself. He hadn't found this bantha milk on Coruscant. Finally, he could try it.
"Where are you from?" Owen asked.
"Coruscant," Amir replied.
"What brings you all the way here? Didn't like the comfy city life? There's nothing beyond here but dunes and Tusken Raiders," Owen warned.
"I'm looking for..." Amir paused, then decided to be direct. "Someone named Kenobi."
"Kenobi? You mean Uncle Ben?" Luke ran in.
"Ben?" Amir feigned ignorance. Obi-Wan had lived under the name Ben Kenobi for about ten years.
"Yeah, Uncle Ben. He lives far from here—deep in the dunes," Luke said.
"Could you show me on a map?" Amir opened his holomap.
"Sure. He's around..." Luke began searching.
"Luke! I told you to stay in your room," Owen snapped.
"Sorry, Uncle Owen. I was bored," Luke muttered.
"It's fine. Let him stay," Beru said.
"Here," Luke pointed. "There's a hill here. His hut is on the high ground."
Amir looked at the spot and smiled inwardly.
Of course. The High Ground King.
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