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On the beach on Scarif, Jyn Erso presses her nose into Cassian’s shoulder and watches the end.
Baze and Chirrut lie feet from each other, Bodhi’s broken body not that far away. K2SO is motionless on top of a computer, a lifeless hunk of metal. None of them will be alive for the beginning of the end, and none of them will see the end of the end, three years later. It is a curse to die before the empire does, and a blessing. They will never know the peace that Chirrut claimed would come. But they will also never hear of Alderaan.
On the Millenium Falcon, lightyears away, Han Solo wakes up in his bunk to Chewbacca calling for him. He stumbles out to the cockpit to hear the radio crackling. “SCARIF IS GONE,” the newscaster says over and over. “SCARIF IS GONE.”
Han doesn’t care. All he wants to do is get to Tatooine and relax. Why is Chewie looking at him like that?
“Huh,” he says, downing the leftover drink on the table. Chewbacca makes a sound between a laugh and a cry.
Padmé Amidala thinks nothing at all.
Yoda doesn’t hear the radio or get a transmission. He sits and listens to the force and thinks of midichlorians. He thinks of a prophecy still unfulfilled. He thinks of a nine-year-old boy who stood in front of the council, all those years ago, and told them he wanted to be a Jedi. He thinks of Anakin Skywalker.
“No attachments,” he reminds himself, brushing the thoughts away.
Lando Calrissian is too busy to hear the news. He loses his money in a game of Sabacc and doesn’t even think about the Falcon. Then he goes home and sleeps for sixteen straight hours.
Darth Vader stands on the bridge of the Death Star, wondering what the people down there are thinking. Whether they’re thinking at all. Whether some of them have even noticed the fire in the distance. He flexes his metal hand under his glove, remembers how it feels for your whole body and world to be fire, to know you’re going to die.
He didn’t die. But these people will.
He thinks that they’re lucky they won’t have to live like him.
Owen and Beru Lars look at each other, thinking of their nephew who is more like their son. He is destined to become a hero, and they wish he weren’t. Luke is short and forgets to make his bed and never brushes his hair. He will be the death of them, they know. They want to keep him close, but he was never theirs to keep.
Owen readies their speeder for the market in the morning. The world hasn’t stopped yet.
Ben Kenobi feels the disturbance in the force and sighs. He lights a candle in his kitchen and eats his fourth-to-last-ever meal. He packs a bag, preparing for something that is coming that he cannot identify.
Anakin’s lightsaber is in his drawer, gleaming even after all these years. Ben picks it up. “Brothers, Anakin,” he murmurs, and remembers the name Obi-Wan.
“Hope,” Leia Organa says, and their ship shoots into lightspeed, like it was never there.
Scarif dies, and Rogue One dies with it. On Tatooine, Luke Skywalker looks up at the night sky and thinks he sees a shooting star.