Chapter Text
As zero hour approached, it became increasingly difficult to sleep.
Din had already paced the ship flat four times and gone over the plan in his mind a dozen times. In an effort to preserve his energy rather than pour it all out, he forced himself to lay down on his bunk but his spirit remained too awake, too wound up for rest.
When he noticed Grogu stirring in his hammock, he decided to remove himself from the cabin; let the little one sleep, at least.
His plan to pace the ship end to end a fifth time evaporated when he opened his door and, immediately, his sight fell into the cabin right across the hall.
Sabine’s door was open and she was there, sitting on the floor.
Her head whipped up as she heard his door open. She looked to him, not the slightest bit surprised but rather like he had shown up right on cue.
Just the smallest tip of her head pulled him forward.
The light in her room had a distinct dark rose tint to it: a result of the plain, uncoloured light playing with all the paint on her walls. The faint but sharp, chemical smell of all that paint played with something softer, something sweeter.
Another motion of her head invited him to come, sit, and he did; his mind quiet, he came in and folded down on the floor beside her.
“This was Ezra’s,” she told him and nodded to the old datapad she had resting against her hunched legs. “It’s just got some old pictures and a few old Holonet recordings.”
As she spoke, she leaned the datapad closer to him and flicked through a selection of the device’s archives. Pictures featuring people and places Din couldn’t name flit by; he recognized the colourful Alliance flightsuits and painted helmets, figured they were friends Ezra had made along the way. He was there in some of the group-shots: just a kid, smiling wide and bright despite all the galaxy had tossed at him, throwing his arms over the shoulders of friends he knew he would lose soon.
Sabine lingered on one photo in particular. It was the six of them, the original Spectres, standing together in the barren Lothal fields. Din had seen it before, he knew it was the last picture of the crew all together in one place and he knew Sabine had used it as the reference for the mural in the plaza.
It was more composed than the other candid shots. The weight on their shoulders was palpable, their chins lifted in resolve, the light in their eyes tired but still fighting; it wasn’t meant to be, but Din couldn’t help but see it as a sad picture.
“He left it in my cabin and put his last message to me on here,” Sabine said, her voice soft but her volume mindful. And then her face changed as a shadow of frustration dug a furrow in her brow and pulled at her lips. “Alongside a file I still can’t get open,” she added, bringing the device back to herself and bending over it as if she were trying to get it to work.
“Why can’t you open it?” Din asked, catching her frown.
A shoulder jolted in a shrug. “It’s the only thing on here that’s blocked behind a password. And it’s annoying because I’ve cracked every single password he’s ever put on anything but I can’t figure this one out.”
She demonstrated. She went to the file and tried to open it. Immediately, a banner with five empty slots barricaded the screen.
“I’ve tried everything. ‘Kanan,’ ‘Caleb,’ ‘Ghost,’ ‘Rebel,’ about a thousand combinations of everyone’s initials and callsigns, I’ve even tried misspellings—nothing. The only thing I can think of is that it must be a word only he knew.”
Din narrowed his gaze, as if that could unlock the puzzle.
He didn’t expect to crack it.
How could he?
He didn’t know Ezra’s secrets. Technically, they had never even met; all he knew of Ezra’s life he had learned secondhand.
If it were a Lothali word, Sabine was in a better position to work it out; she spoke the language fluently whereas Din was still struggling to relearn it.
He could guess, but he had no faith he could draw out anything sensible.
And even though she hadn’t asked and he knew she wouldn’t get upset at any attempt he offered, he didn’t want to get it wrong.
But something lit up—dim and distant—in the back of his mind as he looked at the screen.
Five letters.
A word—not numbers, not symbols: letters.
A word Ezra knew but Sabine didn’t.
Or, perhaps, a word she only learnt recently…
“My name.”
Sabine turned to him sharply.
Din pointed to the datapad. “My name is five letters. And—and you said Ezra never told it to you or—”
“Or I would’ve remembered,” Sabine finished, eyes widening like a child’s. She readjusted her grip on the device and stared at the screen, hanging there as if frozen in place. After a moment, she took a deep, fortifying breath and typed.
Dinar.
The letters filled the slots and waited there until she worked up the last bit of courage to hit enter.
The device was old; it didn’t process things instantly. It didn’t take forever but Din’s heart managed to throw three painful beats against his ribs before the screen changed.
It blinked.
Disappointment hardened in his veins before he registered what the change was.
The banner dropped, the file behind it opened, and it sat there now, patient and compliant. It was another recording, never touched, never heard.
Sabine didn’t move.
Gently, Din nudged her arm with his. He didn’t expect her hand to fall into his and latch on, but he didn’t flinch, just gave her hand a squeeze in return.
He moved to get up, leave her to view the message or whatever it was in peace. But just as he began pulling away, her hand gripped his tighter.
“You unlocked it,” she told him, as if that gave him a right to be here, as if it mattered as much as all the history she and the rest of this crew had written with Ezra.
He didn’t argue the point, just resumed his spot beside her. If just him being there provided the support she needed, then he couldn’t begrudge her that.
She opened the recording.
The holo-emitter blinked and Ezra joined them.
He sat there before them, true-sized but transparent and tainted blue. His flickering hands held the device along with Sabine’s and his gaze shifted as if he were looking at something set between them.
“Mom? Dad? I know what I have to do now,” he said. The solemnity in his voice made it hard to believe he was just eighteen; eternally stuck here, on the cusp of adulthood, but wisened and weighed down by things no child should ever have to face.
“But… I’m afraid,” he admitted. He gave a small shake of his head as if dissatisfied with his word choice. “Not for me but for my friends.”
Din had forgotten Sabine’s hand was still holding his until her grip tightened.
“They’ve fought so hard and given so much; they’ve helped me to understand why you stood up to the Empire and made the sacrifices you did.” Ezra’s gaze shifted and for just one, uncanny moment, his dark eyes seemed to lock with Din’s. “I wish you could meet them: my new family.
“I guess, in some way, you will be with us today, when we finish what you started,” he continued, his voice beginning to glimmer with something bright, something hopeful. “I want you to know everything I’ve done and will do began with you.”
His words ended but he didn’t disappear immediately. His smile softened with longing and he raised his hand, reaching with half his heart for something he knew he couldn’t touch.
Din wondered if Ezra had had the picture of his—of their—parents before him as he recorded this message, this final goodbye. It seemed strange to bother recording it at all, but Din understood.
Ezra knew he wasn’t coming home, so he prepared quiet farewells for everyone he loved, his parents included.
And there was even an obscure farewell to Din.
Ezra could have used any secret in the galaxy but he used his name to seal the message.
He knew he had a brother.
He knew they could never meet.
And still, despite the impossibility, he left this, this one final hidden message, small and silent.
You’re a part of me, too.