The morning came with a familiar glare. The suns of Tatooine spared no one, and Anakin felt the dry morning heat on his face before he even opened his eyes. He stretched out in the cramped backroom of Watto's shop, still sore from yesterday's never-ending lifting and repairs. Overloaded with tasks, he slept at the shop that night.
But he wasn't truly tired. Sleep came, but it wasn't restful. Using the Force in his sleep he mitigated his fatigue to almost nothing, but that didn't stop his dreams about future visions and past mistakes.
He got up and quickly dusted off his worn clothes and tightened his boots. His movements were automatic, efficient. Almost as if he has done this a thousand times, but now each action held purpose. Today was a big day, and he had to be precise as every moment mattered now.
Today is the day they arrive.
He could feel it, closing his eyes, he could see Qui-Gon's presence pulsed faintly through the Force like the calm before a storm. Obi-Wan's signature followed just behind, younger, not yet burdened by the war or the guilt of Mustafar. Padmé's presence, however, was radiant. Still cloaked beneath a handmaiden's role, but unmistakably beautiful and pure.
In the days before their arrival, Anakin had carved out a relentless routine. Each day began before dawn with physical training, honing his reflexes, and testing the limits of his young body. He pushed himself harder than any child should, sprinting across the dunes, climbing scaffolds, and secretly lifting old heavy engines like weights in Watto's junkyard.
He tried to rely on the force as little as possible and mainly focused on his own personal strength and endurance. Of course, he used the force to manage his fatigue, or else he would be useless when it came to actually working. But it wasn't just the body he trained as at night he would focus on sharpening his mind.
Meditation became ritual, not for peace, but for clarity. He reached out into the Force like a diver into deep water, feeling every shift of energy in the sand, every vibration of life around Mos Espa. He had to be ready. Not just to escape his fate but to protect his love ones.
In his very little spare time, he threw himself into Threepio's reconstruction. His knowledge now eclipsed the fumbling understanding of his younger self. He redesigned joints for more efficient torque, reinforced his servos with salvaged durasteel, and even experimented with rudimentary emotion protocols. Sometimes, when the stars emerged and the streets were quiet, he spoke to the half-finished droid like an old friend.
He told him about his dreams and mistakes as there was a simple comfort in that mechanical shell. Threepio was shut off during these talks, as I just talked to an empty husk of metal. Maybe I thought that his silver appearance and his unfinished state he was in now were kinda like me in a way. The beginning of purpose, progress, and better intentions for the future.
Watto noticed the changes, but chalked them up to a weird and strange childhood phase. I mean, what does he know about human children?
"You been eatin' power couplers again, boy?" he grumbled once after watching Anakin lift a hyperdrive part no child should be able to carry. "You gettin' strange."
Anakin only shrugged, trying not to push the matter further.
During all of his actions, he was careful to treat Watto with respect. The Toydarian was no monster, sure he was greedy and selfish, but he wasn't cruel. Anakin made a point to talk to him more, not out of manipulation, but genuine curiosity. "Why did you leave Toydaria?" he asked one night. Watto blinked, then gave a tired grunt.
"Ain't much use for tinkers on a swamp world, boy. 'Sides, there's always coin on Tatooine, if you're smart."
"And if you're lucky," Anakin added.
Raising his eyes, Watto gave a rare chuckle. "That too, boy. That too."
At home and while at work, his mother noticed the changes more keenly. Shmi watched him with quiet wonder and growing unease. She kissed his forehead each night like she always used to, but there was weight behind her eyes.
She remembers her pure and innocent Ani well and recalls the times they sat beneath the stars, as she would braid his hair. She would tell stories of some real planets she heard from passing conversations with traders and travellers, with some made-up planets of her own. She remembers vividly telling him about the mystical mountains of Alderaan, the dazzling lakes on Naboo, and the stony metallic cityscapes of Coruscant.
He would listen in complete silence, before expressing his desire and dreams to fly and explore all of these worlds. She would stare at his wondrous and adventurous eyes as he reached for the stars with his little hands.
Holding his hands, she asked her sweet little Ani, "Will you leave your old mother behind?"
Looking puzzled, he looked at her with pure eyes and a cheerful smile, "Of course not!"
Staring back at the stars, Shmi let out a couple of silent tears, somehow knowing deep down that she couldn't go with him. Devastated that she was not able to help her little Ani with his dreams because of their situation now.
Around midday, a commotion stirred outside the shop. Watto flapped into the air, squinting toward the street.
"What in the bantha is this now?"
Anakin didn't need to look. He already knew. They had arrived.
He stayed inside in the back casually, masking his excitement beneath practiced curiosity. There they were, Qui-Gon Jinn, tall and calm, his presence grounded like an ancient, wise stone. Padmé stood near him in handmaiden garb, surveying the surroundings with regal poise poorly masked beneath her humble clothing. And of course, Jar Jar ambled beside them, nervously muttering and jittering around, laying his fish hands on everything.
Anakin's heart skipped when Padmé glanced in his direction. It was the same face he remembered. Only now, she was younger than she had been when they married. The one who once smiled at him on Naboo, the one who held his hand in secret, the one who kissed him before the storm.
The one he killed.
And with it came this painful ache, raw and sudden.
How long he had waited for this moment. How many times had he replayed her death, her fading voice, her trembling fingers on Mustafar. And now she stood here, whole and untouched by tragedy.
But what right did he have to look at her? To even speak her name? Am I still the man she had loved, or just the shadow that had failed her?
Breaking his thoughts, Watto called him over to watch the shop while he spoke to Qui-Gon in the junkyard.
I went and sat on the messy counter in the middle of the shop, watching over them. She gave me and everything around her a curious glance.
Summoning the courage to speak up, I asked, "Are you an angel?"
"What?" she looked at me with a cute smile and her caring eyes.
"An angel, I heard pilots talk about them one time. They are the most beautiful creatures in the universe. They live on the moons of Lego, I think." (A/N I'm pretty sure that's what he said lol)
Chuckling at the boy's explanation she replied, "You're a funny little boy."
"You know I'm a pilot, one day I'm going to fly far away from this place," I replied confidently
"How long have you been here?" she inquired
"Since I was very little, my mom and I were sold to Gardulla the Hutt, but she lost us due to the pod races."
"You're a slave?" she asked softly.
"For now," chuckling softly at her as she once again said what she did in the past.
Then, with a cheeky grin, "But I'm going to change that soon."
Padmé blinked, caught off guard. Then she smiled, but her eyes didn't leave him. Something about him made her very interested, not in fear, but in uncertainty.
Returning from outside, Qui-Gon was already talking with Watto, the negotiation underway. Credits, parts, deals. Anakin approached, interrupting them, pretending not to understand the full weight of the conversation.
"You're a Jedi, aren't you?" he asked, looking up at Qui-Gon with wide, curious eyes.
The Jedi Master looked down at him, a hint of amusement in his gaze. "How do you know that?"
Anakin pointed subtly at the silver cylinder clipped to the man's belt. "You've got a laser sword. Only Jedi carry those, right?"
Qui-Gon raised a brow, impressed. "That's very observant."
Anakin tilted his head. "Is it true what they say? That you can feel things before they happen? That the Force talks to you?"
Qui-Gon studied him for a moment longer, the look in his eyes growing more serious. "Sometimes, yes."
Anakin nodded thoughtfully, letting his expression remain neutral even as the Force churned inside him. "That sounds... amazing."
"What's your name?"
With my answer, I let the Force ripple faintly through my voice, not a push, just a resonance.
"Anakin Skywalker."
A brief pause, Qui-Gon looked at Anakin in a measured glance. Qui-Gon turned back to Watto, putting away his thoughts for now. The rest of the discussion passed in a haze. Anakin's mind was racing again, but outwardly, he remained calm.
Qui-Gon and Watto stood across from each other in the dim light of the junk shop, their voices low but firm.
"Republic credits are no good here," Watto insisted, arms crossed, wings fluttering.
"Then perhaps a wager," Qui-Gon said smoothly, gesturing to Anakin.
"Podrace? You want to bet on a boy?" Watto laughed, then looked at Anakin more carefully. "Hmph. He's fast... but he's crashed more than he's finished."
"I believe in the boy," Qui-Gon said. "He'll win."
"I want my mother freed too!" Anakin spoke up, standing beside the counter with arms crossed. "If we win, she goes free with me."
Watto scoffed. "Two slaves? For one race? That's rich."
Qui-Gon studied Anakin for a moment, measuring his expression, the unflinching resolve, the certainty that radiated from him. He recalled the strength he had sensed earlier, not just in potential, but in intention. There was something unshakable about the boy.
"Then allow me to raise the stakes," Qui-Gon said calmly.
"If the boy loses, you can keep our Royal Nubian Starship, and I, with this girl will become your slaves. If he wins, you get to keep all the prize money minus the part we need."
"It's really a win-win for you in both situations."
'This crazy old man! How can he propose such a thing?! I'm the queen of Naboo!' Padmé's eyes widened in shock and disbelief,
She looked at Anakin's direction and her thoughts screamed,
'How can he put so much faith into this boy we just met?!'
Watto hesitated, wings beating faster, calculating the risks.
"The whole ship plus two more slaves?" he repeated, mouth twitching.
"Correct, the entire vessel plus us. If the boy wins, you will free both him and his mother. If he loses, the ship and our lives are yours."
Silence. Then Watto's greed overtook his caution.
"No tricks?" Watto stared at him with unwavering eyes.
"No tricks." Qui-Gon calmly replied.
Watto frowned, rubbing his chin. The greed in his eyes was at war with his instinct. "You're crazy. But fine! If the boy wins, you get your parts and both of them. He loses, you two and that Nubian ship are mine. Deal?"
"Deal," Without any hesitation, Qui-Gon said, extending his hand. Watto didn't take his hand and nodded instead.
Padmé's heart practically fell to the ground as this man literally just sold her as if she were a piece of garbage off the ground!
Anakin watched the exchange silently, his heart pounding. As Qui-Gon turned to leave, Anakin looked into his eyes for just a second, and something shifted within.
That is the man who must live.