The Outer Rim's twin suns declined, their dying light casting deep shadows across Vexar's rust-red deserts and jagged cliffs. It was a battered remnant of wars lost and glory lost. Cities that had once been great were now rubble, half-buried beneath shifting sand. The wind was unforgiving, blowing dust into maddening whirlwinds that skipped and danced upon the empty ground, bearing the bitter stench of rot and abandonment.
In the cockpit of his starship, the Silver Hawk, Jalen Korr was alone. The ship itself, sleek and gleaming, was in such contrast to the barrenness beneath them. The constant whine of the engines was a comforting sound, almost, but the silence itself was heavy with unspoken tension. His dark eyes did not shift from the surface of the planet as the ship sliced through clouds of dusty atmosphere.
His palms lay lightly on the controls, fingers quivering with tension and resolve. 'This is it. My new home.' The words rang hollowly within him, a small whisper in the great void of space.
Jalen's eyes traversed the desolate expanse—rocky outcroppings, crumbled plains, and the charred remains of dead trees. Forests that were once green and vibrant had died back to gnarled, blackened stumps. Rivers that could have shone with life flowed slow and dark, tainted by years of abandonment and toxification.
He gulped hard. This world was a universe away from the shining spires and crowded streets of Coruscant, the heart of the Galactic Republic where he was born and grew up. Power there was judged by how much a person was attuned to the Force—mysterious energy pervading every living being. And there, Jalen had never been like others.
Unlike his prestigious, powerful family—every one of them gifted with Force sensitivity—Jalen was not. His intellect strong, his mind keen, he lacked whatever gift allowed the others to wield the Force. The hurt in his father's gaze, the chill of dismissal by his siblings, the scornful speculation of the Republic's elite—all had brought him to this place: banishment to Vexar.
The Republic Council's judgment was immediate and unforgiving. Jalen would rule a planet that was too hazardous, too valueless to merit consideration—a sentence masquerading as duty.
The landing legs of the ship unfolded with a metallic whir, coming down on a broken concrete slab half-submerged in sand. The landing shook the cabin, and the engines wound down, leaving behind the quiet hiss of life support.
Jalen breathed deeply and opened the airlock. The door cycled open with a hiss of compressed air, and blinding sunlight instantly seared his eyes.
A half-dozen Republic soldiers waited outside, their armor dented and scarred, their faces creased by years under the harsh suns of the Outer Rim. They appeared as weary as the planet itself.
Welcome to Vexar, Governor Korr," spoke a grizzled individual advancing. His cybernetic eye looked Jalen over cautiously. "Captain Rell, at your service. Few get this far by choice."
Jalen nodded brusquely, speech firm in spite of the chaos raging within him. "I'm staying. And I'm going to make this place habitable again.
Rell's eyebrow arched skeptically. "That's the attitude. But it's not just the climate that's unfriendly here. The natives—if you can call them that—aren't friendly to outsiders. Especially those of the Republic."
Jalen's gaze wandered toward the horizon, where the ruins of Vexar's capital stretched like a wounded monstrosity. Crumbling buildings leaned drunkenly, rusted hulks reposed abandoned, and the streets were empty save for the occasional scurrying shadow.
The resources of the planet had been drained by the Clone Wars, leaving it a shell. But under the ruin, Jalen felt something else—a potential waiting to be unfurled.
Minerals deep beneath shattered earth, neglected factories waiting for skilled hands, and a people tempered by survival but craving order.
He tightened his fist, determination settling over him like armor. 'If the Force won't do it, then my own abilities will.'
The procession to the governor's palace went at a crawl, tension hanging heavy in the air. Troops marched alongside the battered speeder as it growled along shattered streets. The air was thick with dust, and gaunt figures stood watching in the shadows—scavengers, smugglers, desperate families struggling to survive amidst the devastation.
Jalen's mind was back in his childhood on Coruscant—nonstop classes in politics and diplomacy, stress to realize the Force, icy rejection when rejected. None of it counted here on Vexar. Here, there was only performance and outcome.
The speeder bounced over shattered streets. A flickering holo-ad managed to penetrate the dust—a remnant of some long-dead corporation. To one side, a rusty droid hung from a wall, missing pieces and hanging wires.
Even with the devastation, Jalen's thoughts whirled with possibilities—how to save, mend, rebuild. He pictured factories bustling with activity, starships mooring at new piers, societies flourishing under a new regime.
The palace appeared—a former palace now half-demolished. White stone walls cracked and discolored, windows blown out or gone. The entrance was defended by a scruffy militia, locals bearing improvised guns and suspicious glances.
Jalen emerged, the heat of the twin suns weighing down. He stood tall and walked toward the guards.
"Governor Korr," a woman with silver-streaked dark hair stepped forward, tall. Her eyes were keen and evaluating. "I'm Mara, commander of the Vexar Resistance. We don't trust the Republic, but if you're committed to rebuilding, you'll find that you need friends."
Jalen reached out. "Then let's begin by establishing that trust."
Mara paused, and then shook with a resolute strength. "Don't think it'll be easy."
With the sun below the city, painting everything in a warm orange light, Jalen stood alone in the governor's chambers. The room was simple, with remnants of a bygone era—tattered tapestries, broken furniture, a bruised datapad on a worn desk.
He fished out a small tool kit from his pack—equipment and components carried from Coruscant. He did not have the Force, but he did possess something: an engineering-mind honed in creativity and ingenuity.
Jalen set about building a small device—a scouting droid prototype to survey and fix broken structures. His hands worked skillfully, connecting circuits and sensors, minds racing with what could be done.
Outside, the wind screamed through shattered windows, bringing with it distant noises of disturbance. The world was full of problems, yet potential.
Jalen gazed upward and stared out at the darkening horizon. The dual moons ascended, bathing the ruins in pale light.
'This is my home now,' he reflected. 'And I will make it thrive.'