The soft hum of the remote-control swoop bike echoed through the living room as it weaved between table legs and furniture, tracing a playful path around the two Dashiells seated on the carpeted floor. Balun sat cross-legged, his arms gently cradling his son, Kellan Dashiell, who was nestled in his lap. The boy's laughter rang out like music, his small hands raised as if trying to catch the toy as it zipped by. His eyes, wide with wonder, tracked the speeder's every turn while his lips mimicked the whirring engine noises in delight. The Merqaal companion, tail twitching with curiosity, had joined the chase, bounding after the toy with childlike glee of its own.
At three years old, Kellan was growing faster than Balun could fully grasp. Every new word, every burst of energy, and every curious question reminded him of time's unrelenting pace. And yet, in moments like this—his son laughing, alive with joy—Balun felt a warmth in his chest that outshone everything else. Pride. Purpose. Kellan had given him both. From the moment the boy was placed into his arms, Balun's life had shifted irrevocably. Though self-doubt had plagued him in those early days, he had poured himself into fatherhood, determined to give his son the kind of love and stability that he had never known growing up.
Returning to Joiol from his expedition to Naboo and the discovery of Jhaessa Prime, Balun had wasted no time. His first thought had been of Kellan. The trip had lasted just two weeks, but it had felt like a lifetime—his longest stretch away from the boy. Though he had trusted Makai Dashiell and Myra to care for him, and Vesha Daruun to ensure his every need was met, it hadn't soothed the ache of absence. The guilt of being gone lingered like a shadow.
The swoop bike suddenly jerked to a halt mid-spin, the red light blinking on the remote indicating a dead powercell. Balun's thumb stayed pressed to the trigger in vain.
Kellan, unfazed, tilted his head back to peer up at his father, his voice filled with innocent confusion. "Why did it stop?"
Balun offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Kell. Powercell's out. We'll have to recharge it." He gently tousled the boy's hair before adding, "How about I put something on the datapad for you while I make us lunch?"
Kellan brightened at the suggestion, eyes gleaming. "Mmk! Ice cream!"
Balun chuckled, though his reply came with the firm gentleness of a parent drawing boundaries. "It's lunchtime, bud. Desserts for after dinner—and we had ice cream last night, remember? So not tonight, okay?"
"Aww. Okay, Da…" Kellan sighed with dramatic resignation, his tiny shoulders slumping as he leaned into Balun's chest.
Balun smiled, giving him a light squeeze. "That's my boy. Thanks for listening."
Lifting the toddler to his feet, Balun rose as well, stretching slightly before reaching for the datapad on the nearby table. As he searched for one of Kellan's favourite holovids, his son scampered off and leapt onto the couch like a wild mynock. Balun shook his head with a fond grin. He was cautious about screen time, but had settled on it as a reward system—a tool, not a crutch.
With Kellan distracted, Balun moved into the adjoining kitchen, keeping his son within view as he fetched sandwich ingredients from the chiller. From down the hall, Vesha Daruun could be heard methodically cleaning Kellan's room—another blessing, and one Balun was grateful for today. He had set the entire day aside just for time with his son.
"Da?" Kellan's voice came suddenly, a small note of hesitation woven into the syllable.
Balun paused, glancing toward the living room. "You okay, bud?"
Kellan didn't answer right away. Then, softly: "Where's my Mama?"
The words struck like a thunderclap.
Balun froze behind the cover of the kitchen doorway, staring ahead as if the right answer might appear out of thin air. He hadn't expected the question—not now. Not so soon. He'd always known it would come, but Kellan was still so young… He clenched his hand around the edge of the counter, knuckles paling, cursing Nouqai Veil silently. She had made this choice. She had become something unrecognisable.
"Phee has one," Kellan added, almost thoughtfully. "Where's mine?"
Balun swallowed hard. "Hang on, Kell… I'll be right there."
He took a moment—just a moment—to steel himself, then stepped back into the living room. His shoulders were tense, the air in the room suddenly heavier. He sat beside his son, quietly turning the datapad face down, and pulled Kellan into his arms.
"You had a beautiful Mama," he began, voice thick with restrained emotion. "I loved her very much… and she loved you more than anything in the galaxy."
He paused, searching his son's innocent face. How could he explain the truth? That the woman who gave birth to him had turned her back on them both? On herself?
"Sweetheart…" Balun's voice cracked ever so slightly. "I'm sorry. Your Mama's with the Force now."
He tapped his fingers gently over Kellan's heart. "You might not see her, but she's right here. Watching over you. Protecting you. But… she can't be with us anymore."
The lie sat like stone on his tongue, yet Balun couldn't bring himself to say otherwise. The truth—that she had abandoned them—was too cruel for a child to carry. He remembered the sting of being discarded, how it had hollowed him out from the inside. He wouldn't let his son suffer the same. Better that she was remembered as someone lost too soon. Better a ghost of love than the reality of betrayal.
Balun wrapped his arms tighter around Kellan, silently vowing to be everything his son would ever need.
"Speech".
'Thought'.
