It burned it away.
The twin suns hung high above Mos Espa, turning scrap metal into blistering iron and sand into drifting glass. Slaves moved slowly through the streets, heads down, collars humming softly at their throats. Traders shouted over one another. Engines roared. Creatures growled from shaded cages.
And in Watto's junk shop, Anakin Skywalker tightened a bolt on a repulsor coil and listened.
He always listened.
His hands were small, but steady. Red skin caught the light beneath his gloves where the fabric didn't quite meet his sleeves. Crown ridges curved subtly beneath the edge of his helmet, hidden from sight. The mask itself was angular, dark, and severe. The visor was narrow, hiding molten-gold eyes that made grown spacers uncomfortable.
Anakin wore it constantly.
People feared what they didn't understand.
And Sith Purebloods were not understood.
K2-S0 stood beside him, towering, motionless, optics quietly scanning.
"Master Anakin," the droid said flatly, "Watto's probability of underpaying your labor today is calculated at ninety-seven point three percent."
Anakin snorted softly.
"Optimistic."
Across the shop, Shmi Skywalker sorted parts into bins. Her eyes flicked toward her son for a moment, full of quiet pride and older sorrow.
She remembered Anakin's mother.
A slave, like herself. Pale red skin even then. Too weak from childbirth to survive. Shmi had held her hand as she died, listened to her whisper broken promises about bloodlines, ancient worlds, and a future that must be hidden.
Then she had taken the child.
No hesitation.
He was hers now.
The shop doors slid open.
Four strangers stepped inside.
Anakin felt it instantly.
The Force stirred, deep and strange, like something vast shifting beneath still water.
A tall man in tan robes. Calm. Focused. Powerful.
A young woman with kind eyes and a posture that spoke of discipline.
And a blue-and-white astromech.
His fingers tightened on the hydrospanner.
Jedi.
K2-S0 angled slightly.
"New organic signatures detected. One exhibits elevated midichlorian activity. Recommend heightened alert."
"Don't," Anakin murmured.
He straightened and turned toward the newcomers.
Watto flapped forward eagerly. "Eh? What you wanting?"
The robed man inclined his head politely.
"We're in need of parts. A T-14 hyperdrive generator."
Watto laughed.
"Of course, of course, right this way."
The troidarian led the man away somewhere out back
Anakin turned his attention now to the girl
She stood near a rack of coolant valves, examining them with curiosity. Her face was open, gentle — out of place on Tatooine.
He walked over.
His boots crunched softly against the sand-coated floor.
She noticed him and smiled uncertainly.
"Hi."
Anakin hesitated.
Then, quietly, through the modulated speaker of his mask:
"Are you an angel?"
She blinked.
"I… what?"
He tilted his head slightly.
Angels live on the moons of Iego. Spacers talk about them. They're supposed to be the most beautiful beings in the galaxy."
Her lips curved despite herself.
"I'm afraid I don't live on a moon."
He considered this.
"That's unfortunate."
She laughed softly.
"What's your name?"
"Anakin."
"I'm Padmé."
He nodded.
"You're not from here."
"No," she admitted. "We're just passing through."
Anakin folded his arms.
"People who pass through Tatooine usually regret it."
She raised an eyebrow. "You sound experienced."
"I build podracers. That teaches you about regret."
Her smile widened.
They talked.
About ships.
About engines.
About racing.
Anakin explained energy flow regulators with surprising clarity. Padmé listened intently, impressed despite herself.
"You're very knowledgeable," she said.
He shrugged.
"There's not much else to do here."
She studied him more closely.
"You always wear that?"
He hesitated.
"Yes."
"Doesn't it get uncomfortable?"
"Sometimes."
Pause.
"But it keeps people from staring."
She softened.
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head.
"Don't be."
Watto and the man walked back into the store
Qui-Gon glanced toward them.
For a brief moment, his gaze met Anakin's visor.
The Force surged.
Not light.
Not dark.
Something ancient.
Layered.
Endless.
Qui-Gon felt his breath catch.
Anakin felt it too — and turned his head away, ignoring the intrusive feeling of the now obvious Jedi.
Qui gon regained his bearings and called to Padme and R-2.
"We're leaving."
Padme began to rise, gathering her things, and began heading for the door.
Padmé hesitated, glancing back at Anakin.
"Goodbye."
He raised two fingers in a small wave.
"Watch for sandstorms."
///
The wind had begun to pick up in Mos Espa, flicking flakes of sand into Qui-Gon's and Padme's eyes.
They reached the edge of Mos Espa before they heard a familiar voice calling for them, telling them to wait.
The group turned, and running up to them was the masked boy from Wattos' workshop, Anakin.
"There's a storm coming," he said. "Big one."
Qui-Gon nodded.
"We've noticed."
"You're staying outside the city?"
"Yes."
Anakin shifted his weight.
"My home's closer. Safer. If you head to wherever your staying at, well you probably wont make it back in one piece."
Padmé blinked.
"That's very kind of you."
Qui-Gon studied him carefully.
"You're offering shelter to strangers."
Anakin met his eyes.
"Storms don't care who you are."
After a moment, Qui-Gon nodded.
"Lead the way."
The Skywalker home was small but clean.
HK-47 stood inside, polishing a blaster.
He turned as they entered.
"Observation: New meatbags detected. Query: are they hostile?"
Shmi rushed forward.
"HK!"
The droid tilted its head.
"Statement: Apologies, Mistress Shmi. Habit."
Padmé stared.
"That droid just called us meatbags."
Anakin shrugged.
"He's trying to be polite."
Anakin then turned to his mom.
"Mom, this is Qui gon Jin, and Padme. They were staying outside Mos Espa, and a Storm was coming in, so I offered them someplace to stay until it passes."
Qui gon gave a light bow to the Skywalker Matriarch
"Your son was very kind to offer shelter; it's very rare in the out rim to find such kindness."
Shmi smiled
"Anakin may seem intimidating on the outside, but he's a kind young boy once you get to know him."
Anakin blushed under his mask; no one could see him, but you could most certainly tell the boy was not impressed with his mother revealing his exploits.
They settled inside as the storm howled outside.
Shmi brought water.
Anakin sat across from Padmé.
They spoke quietly while Qui-Gon observed everything.
"You live here alone?" Padmé asked.
"With my mom. And two murder droids."
HK-47 brightened.
"Correction: One murder droid."
K2-S0 loomed silently behind Anakin.
Padmé smiled.
"You're brave."
Anakin shook his head.
"No. Just used to it."
Outside, thunder rolled.
In the distance, unseen, figures watched the Skywalker house. A man and woman, clad in armor, a wookie, a pale woman, and a monolith of armor towered over all of them, even the wookie.
"Kid's doing fine," the woman mumbled.
The man exhaled slowly
"Yeah."
Inside the small home, Anakin Skywalker sat quietly between destiny and sandstorms, unaware that the galaxy had already begun to bend around him.