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The unknown regions were a cold, uncomfortable place to be.
The Chimaera , full of imperials who wanted Ezra Bridger dead or worse, was hardly a step up from the vast emptiness of space. He’d been captured on star destroyers, seen people die on them, and much worse. He’d crawled through their vents countless times and was something of a self-appointed master at duping stormtroopers.
Yet, he wasn’t captured now. He had stepped onto the ship of his own volition, and he’d stayed with them for a chance of getting home or whatever else the future had in store for him.
For some reason that he still wasn’t entirely sure of, Thrawn had let him stay as an advisor. He lived among the stormtroopers he used to kill, and chatted with officers who had fired ruthlessly onto his homeworld.
He called it a delicate situation. Hera, Sabine, Zeb— hell, any of the rebels— would call it insanity.
He sowed his grave, and now he was lying in it. All he could hope was that it didn’t end up with him actually floating through the depths of space, or with a blaster bolt, or worse, through his torso.
The unfamiliar environment and the gravely familiar aspects of the star destroyer and its inhabitants paled in comparison to how much Ezra missed his family.
His home, his family, the thrill of using the force openly or walking without death stares on his back.
He hoped dearly that they were all okay. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Lothal was safe, and whether it was from his tactless rebel hope or some sort of tuition from the force was something he couldn’t be sure of.
There were very few things he was sure of.
Being so far from familiar areas, which Thrawn referred to as lesser space, left him out of touch with what was happening there. While he once could have sensed that Sabine was alive and painless on Malachor light-years away, or that Zeb was happy and laughing on the other side of a planet, there was nothing now.
He couldn’t even reach into the force and feel their presence, let alone know if they were alive. No amount of focus or meditation let him reach that far, and it filled him with nightmares and fear that he was holding back.
He devised a single chance he had to feel for his family, but if he failed he’d end up being the one to destroy the Chimaera or damage it further and beyond repairs.
Early on into their journey, and shortly after Thrawn agreed to let Ezra be completely free on the ship, the grand admiral had informed him of a few things. One of which was that Thrawn originally knew of the force only as third sight , which allowed force-sensitive beings to navigate through hyperspace.
It sounded ludicrous, on the verge of impossible. Ezra hadn’t been able to comprehend moving the ship through hyperspace, keeping them from disasters. Even if he could manage it, he wasn’t sure he could keep them from the frequent space anomalies of the so-called chaos.
Thrawn’s insistent orders for him to attempt it hadn’t been enough to convince him to even prepare for it. Ezra survived throwing himself into the unknown regions, and he had every intention of returning home eventually. Dying of his own doing wasn’t going to enable that.
Disobeying Thrawn wasn’t exactly something he was against, anyway. The chiss was awfully insistent on getting to the Chiss Ascendency, and Ezra wasn’t sure what that had in store for him. Whatever he could do to delay it was something Ezra would accept with open arms— even with the uncomfortable fact that it could also delay his return home.
He could only stand against the idea for so long, however. It was once Faro and a few other officers finally vouched for the idea, claiming that Darth Vader had pulled it off— which only made Ezra want to do it less — that he gave in.
Ezra led the damaged ship through hyperspace countless times after that.
He learned of the closeness in the force that it gifted him, and his lengthened perception. If he wanted to feel that his family was okay, or even just alive , that was his one way.
Except it wasn’t one he could risk.
Over time, he’d stopped hating the imperials and they stopped hating him (as much). A few of them he’d even dare to consider friends, ignoring the possibility that sparring with him in combat was just an opportunity for them to hit him. He couldn’t risk all of their lives for his personal comfort. He knew his family’s capabilities, and he’d never doubt that.
He was assured and content that they were alive.
The idea faded from his mind, and he focused on not steering the ship into a star rather than worrying about his family. A strange calm settled over him whenever he thought about their hopeful survival, and he liked to think it was his progression as a Jedi.
The calm was especially there whenever he was settled in the depths of the force, letting it wash around him while he navigated.
That was, until a day roughly around a year since they had departed violently from Lothal.
Ezra was engulfed in the force, the same as ever. The number of obstacles he had to steer around was slowly decreasing as they ventured more into the known unknown regions, rather than the furthest reaches of the galaxy they’d seemingly been at before.
All at once, just as he’d steered them away from an asteroid, the calm dissipated.
And something much, much worse took its place.
An overwhelming amount of fear and pain lurched through him, drawing him from the focus of the force as his hands unknowingly slammed onto the nav controls in front of him.
It was utter and extreme destruction. The fear was instantaneous, gone as fast as it had arrived, but the sudden silence of all of those beings was almost worse. It was as if an uncountable number of beings suddenly disappeared in a violent death.
No, it wasn’t as if they’d been silenced. They were silenced. Millions, maybe billions, just died to something that left them all crying out in their final moments. The weight of it was shattering, as if the very core of a world had cracked.
Something gripped his shoulder, and Ezra pulled back so ostentatiously that he fell out of the chair. The force had dissipated quickly, but the grief, fear, and destruction stayed with him.
Above him, on the other side of the chair, was Thrawn. His hands were clasped behind his back, and the only thing akin to alarm was the slight turn of his head.
“Navigator Bridger?” Thrawn asked, his voice cool.
Ezra could only stare, his breath coming in ragged gasps while his mind grasped for words.
What the hell was that?
He looked around, feeling like a kid trapped on a star destroyer. Faro was a few paces behind Thrawn, her eyebrows raised in surprise and possible concern. Hammerly, Pyrondi, everyone else on the bridge was unfocused, instead staring at the scene at the nav seat.
Ezra hardly cared, instead opting to shut his mind and try to block out the unbearable weight atop him. So many lives, all snuffed out. Was this the cost of their war? Had the rebels just been wiped out-- was it Yavin IV?
Had his family been there?
The panic returned, though this time it was his own. He lifted his shaking hands from where they were holding him up, grabbing onto his chair with a frantic worry. Had his family just died? Had all of their efforts, the reason that Kanan died, been for nothing? Were they only a means to eventually die with the rest of a world?
Had an entire world just been destroyed?
Ezra was prepared to hop back into his focused navigation state and reach for his family, repercussions be damned.
Instead, Thrawn set a hand on his forearm from where he was pulling himself to stand. Out of instinct, Ezra pulled away, looking at Thrawn in front of him.
“Navigator Bridger? What did you feel?”
Ezra opened his mouth to snap out an answer before getting back to the force to feel that his family was alive, but he shut it and remembered who he was looking at.
He missed his old commanding officer-- Hera. Much more than a commanding officer, she was more of his mom than anything. She’d have hugged him and told him it’d be okay, even if he wasn’t a kid anymore, and like would have taken her love for granted. She wouldn’t have prodded for answers, she would have waited until he was ready to talk. His family wouldn’t have stood at a distance and watched in surprise, they would have comforted him and tried to figure out what just happened when he said that they had to.
His entire remaining family may have just died.
“Loss,” was the only word he could get out, and the word sounded harsh to his own ears.
Thrawn removed his hand from Ezra’s forearm as he turned around, allowing him to fully stand up.
“Commodore Faro, commence jump by jump travel at your convenience. Navigator Bridger, follow me to my office. Can you walk?”
Ezra considered arguing and going back to attempting to feel for his family’s presence, but common sense was catching back up to him, and he only gave a short nod. The rest of the small bridge crew slowly returned to work, although some gazes remained on them.
They walked the long distance to the large office. A large part of Ezra hated the room, considering that whenever he was in it he was having a serious conversation with Thrawn, which never meant anything good. Yet, as he walked in with the weight of countless deaths on his shoulders, he glanced at the removed wall of Sabine’s art.
It provided him with some comfort. He dearly hoped that she was on Lothal or Mandalore, at least somewhat safe even as she certainly opposed the Empire --
Unless it had been Lothal which was devastated.
Perhaps Ezra’s efforts did free the planet, and it had been prospering for about a year. Then, the Empire found some way to kill billions in a single instant, sending darkness and fear throughout the force all the way out to the unknown regions.
His thoughts spiraled as he realized his home might be gone. He originally thought that the Empire destroyed Yavin, but this could be much worse.
A hand landed on his shoulder, once again breaking him out of his thoughts. Thrawn was in front of him, his eyes narrowed as he retracted his arm, content that he’d broken Ezra out of his thoughts. Worry and panic were still there, and Ezra’s nails had dug into his palms, but his breathing was once again slowing.
Thrawn walked around his desk, calmly sitting down and motioning for Ezra to do the same.
“What happened?” the Grand Admiral asked again.
Ezra sighed, trying to comprehend how to word it. He’d done a lot of lone Jedi training in his solitude, honing his emotions and how to handle them, but this was pushing his limits. He shook his head, dragging a hand through his too-long hair and shutting his eyes momentarily.
“It was just… death. A lot of it.”
“Did you sense anything else?” Thrawn prodded.
“It started with fear. Or grief, pain. All of it, I guess. From what feels like millions-- maybe more-- of people. Then it ended.”
Thrawn raised an eyebrow.
“It was quick. So much fear, and then it all just gone. They were killed. I don’t know how, or what, but it was like something shattered. That’s all I know.”
The chiss was silent for a moment, staring at Ezra as if still wanting more. Ezra wasn’t particularly good at reading him, or skilled at the task at all. He seemed emotionless, and while he now knew how to differentiate anger from approval, he couldn’t gauge what Thrawn was thinking.
Eventually, Thrawn murmured, “The death star.”
It was almost incomprehensible, the words coming from under his breath. Ezra turned his head to the side sharply, leaning forward. He had no idea what that meant, but it certainly sounded imperial. Thrawn was typing at his datapad, hopefully pulling something up.
“What? What is that?” panic filled Ezra's voice.
“I do not know the specifics. It was typically called Project Stardust, led by Director Krennic. There was great… competition, I suppose, over funding for it and the TIE defender project. It was certainly a weapon, one meant to neutralize the rebel threat and keep one from rising again.”
Ezra’s heart plummeted, and his carefully steadied breathing quickened yet again.
Thrawn spoke again, “Although, with how big of a project it was and considering that I could get information when it was still in production, perhaps your rebels did, too.”
“What?”
“Perhaps, your rebels have not been vanquished entirely.”
“Why?” Ezra asked, unsure of it Thrawn would understand.
Unsurprisingly, he knew that Ezra was asking specifically why he was giving reassurances, “So you are not blinded.”
If it were anyone else, Ezra might have taken offense in reference to his master. But Thrawn didn’t have that much tact, and their conversation was serious.
Ezra didn’t like Thrawn, and he probably never would after everything. Yet, he could work with him now, and he knew to trust his intuition on certain things. Thrawn wouldn’t reassure him if he didn’t think it was true.
Still, that meant the rebels would have had to find out about the Death Star, and do something quick enough to be safe from it. The chances of them succeeding were low, and even then, such a weapon would have consequences. Even if many survived, even more had also died.
He had to have hope in them. It was all he could do until he went home.
Thrawn spoke again, “The war has likely officially begun-- if any rebels survived.”
Ezra wilted a bit, forgetting just how little tact Thrawn did have. Even so, if Thrawn thought that they could have had a warning, then Ezra could have hope. Besides, if it was meant to destroy the people on a planet or otherwise, then he could bet on Hera being in the sky. He repeated his hopeful mantra to himself for the dozenth time, holding onto it like a lifetime.
Time went on, and there was no more feeling of the death star in the force. Ezra didn’t navigate for about a week after that, not trusting himself to steer the ship correctly when he was worried about his family.
Eventually, though, he continued navigating.
Their path through the unknown continued, just as Ezra got more and more affiliated with the imperials. The strictness of protocols had been falling away ever since the first jump from the purrgil, and it became normal for Ezra.
He didn’t feel much from lesser space, even when he was navigating. The devastation presumed to be from the Death Star was the only thing that was strong enough to truly let him sense it, it seemed. He never forgot the incident, and he never stopped hoping that his family made it through it.
Sometimes, on days when he didn’t expect it but always welcomed it, he’d feel small pulses. It only happened once they got closer to lesser space. The likely cause was something in the chaos, but he trusted his intuition that it was from his home. Sometimes they were good, sometimes bad.
Once, he felt a thrum around him as he navigated. It was almost like a lightsaber ignited. Another time, it felt like something blew up, the small familiar sense of one of Sabine’s proton bombs filling his mind. Thrawn would have said it was just the moving obstacles of the chaos, but Ezra ignored that idea.
There was a time that he got the distinct interruption of what felt like a child crying. Or a ship blowing up-- on who’s side, he could never tell.
The war raging in lesser space was out of their reach, and he made decisions to keep it that way. He had hope, but more than that, he trusted his family. They were alive, and they were fighting. He wished he could help them, but he had other duties to them. Staying with Thrawn, even when he eventually gained the option and means to go home, was a decision he’d made himself. He was counting on Sabine to find him one day, but until then, he was surveying everything he could for when the rebels hopefully won the war. They’d need to know of dangers in lesser space, and Ezra was already there to find out.
If he could assist in defeating the Grysks and keeping them from ever nearing his homeworld and the government that may eventually grow around it, he’d do everything he could do to help.
It was years until he felt anything distinguishable in the force from his home again. It was only once he was on one of the reptilian-like chiss ships that had become familiar to him, navigating the chaos under Thrawn’s command, that an anomaly happened again.
He was older and grown-up, much more knowledgeable and experienced than he had been the day that the Death Star struck. Yet, it was the same scenario albeit on a different ship, and he was once again navigating.
This time, however, it wasn’t grief that struck him.
It was an abrupt lifting of the darkness. It was as if a veil had been removed, opening his sight up to a world of clarity and light. The darkness was vanquished, as if it had been stuffed into a container, trapped and contained. In its place, light spread everywhere, reaching even Ezra. He felt it flutter around him, and somewhere in it was Kanan’s presence.
The ship dropped out of hyperspace, and he found himself leaning onto the navigator keyboard in front of him. It was overwhelming, but it was beautiful, and he had a strong idea as to what had happened to cause the spread of light in the force.
He'd never felt it before, he hadn't lived before the Sith of the Clone War, but he knew what it meant.
It was only seconds before the lightness of the force exploded with something else. It was distant and vague, coming all the way from lesser space. Yet, as he ignored Thrawn’s command or question to him, he smiled.
It was the feeling of celebration.
Lightyears away, all the way on the planets he was familiar with, were mass celebrations and happiness. It was vague and quiet to him, but he shut his eyes and dipped into the force, soaking it in gratuitously.
Perhaps it was his own once fraudulent hope, or he was high on the celebrations that weren’t even his own. Yet, as he knew all of the chiss bridge staff stared at him, he swore that he felt the happiness of Hera, Sabine, and Zeb.
“Navigator Bridger? What happened?” Thrawn asked, switching from Cheunh to basic.
“The Emperor died,” Ezra answered truthfully.
Thrawn hadn’t been his enemy for a long time, and even if tensions were still high, Ezra likely would have given the honest answer.
The rebels had won, and his family was alive. The sith were defeated.
Ezra smiled, staring out of the viewport, light still flowing around him.