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Cody watched, not for the first time, as General Kenobi navigated the cramped corridors of the Negotiator, his movements always precise, always economical. It wasn't just the confined space that made Obi-Wan tuck his shoulders in, but a habit Cody had observed even in the vastness of an open hangar bay or on a less-crowded street. It was the way Obi-Wan never quite let his back relax against a chair, as if an invisible weight pressed against it. Everyone was born with wings, a natural extension of their being, as common as limbs. Yet, Cody had never seen Obi-Wan’s.
Cody and his brothers were designed without them. Their backs were smooth, unmarred by the complex musculature and bone structure that supported wings. It was a practical design choice, made for the close quarters of Republic Venators and the tight confines of armor. But it also meant Cody had an innate curiosity, a lack of understanding that gnawed at him when it came to Obi-Wan. The lack of visible wings on a being for whom they were as fundamental as arms or legs was profoundly unsettling. It defied everything Cody knew about biology and societal norms, yet it was a reality he observed daily.
The question had first surfaced months ago, a fleeting thought dismissed amidst the chaos of battle. But it had grown, a quiet, persistent itch at the back of his mind. He’d seen plenty of species with varying wing configurations—feathered, leathery, even crystalline—but always present, always discernible. With Obi-Wan, there was simply nothing. It was as if his back had been forced to be smooth, an impossible erasure.
The first time Cody truly considered it was during a rare lull in a campaign, deep in the Outer Rim. They were on a desolate moon, the air thin and crisp, and the stars a dizzying spray across the black. Obi-Wan stood silhouetted against the pale glow of a distant nebula, his attention fixed on a holomap. The General’s tunic, usually so crisp, was slightly rumpled from days of exertion, yet his back remained eerily unmarbled. Cody approached him, a question already forming on his lips about supply lines, but his gaze drifted to the General’s back. It was impeccably smooth, the fabric of his robes uncreased in a way that suggested…nothing. No lumps, no folds, no subtle shifts that would betray the presence of folded wings.
Cody cleared his throat. “General, about the resupply—“
Obi-Wan turned, his brow furrowed in thought, and the moment was gone. But the question remained, a persistent hum in Cody’s mind. Why did he never see them? Was he so careful, so private, that he never unfolded them, even in the privacy of his own quarters? Cody had, on occasion, glimpsed other Jedi with their wings unfurled. A Master meditating, a Padawan stretching, even a few engaged in an aerial spar. It was a common sight, a beautiful one even. But never Obi-Wan.
A strange unease settled in Cody’s gut. Was he ashamed of them? The thought was jarring. Obi-Wan, ashamed of anything? It didn't fit the image of the confident, unwavering Jedi Master who faced down Separatist armies with a calm demeanor and a quick wit. Yet, the possibility, however remote, lingered. Perhaps they were damaged, or scarred in a way that made him self-conscious. Cody had seen the aftermath of battles, the gruesome injuries. Was it possible that Obi-Wan’s wings had suffered such a fate? He tried to recall any instances of Obi-Wan moving with discomfort, or favoring one side, but nothing came to mind. The General moved with an almost preternatural grace, belying any hidden injury.
This quiet mystery became a constant companion for Cody. He found himself subtly observing Obi-Wan more closely, looking for any tell-tale sign—a subtle stretch, a fleeting adjustment of his cloak, anything that would betray the existence of the limbs that should be there. He even began asking his brothers, discreetly, if they had ever seen the General’s wings. Each negative response only deepened the enigma. “Never seen ‘em, Commander,” was the typical reply, often followed by a shrug or a joke about Jedi secrets. But for Cody, it was no joke. It was a puzzle that gnawed at him, a tiny, almost insignificant detail that somehow felt profoundly important. He wondered if he would ever know the truth, or if Obi-Wan Kenobi’s wings would remain, forever, an unseen secret.
Weeks later, on a tropical world, the humidity was thick enough to chew. Most sentient beings with wings found some relief in partially extending them, allowing air to circulate. Cody watched as a local species, their vibrant, feathered wings fanned out like exotic blooms, strolled through the marketplace. The air hummed with the soft rustle of beating wings, a constant, gentle whisper in the oppressive heat. Obi-Wan, however, walked with the same contained posture, his robes clinging to his back with an almost unnatural smoothness. It was as if the humidity, which made everyone else uncomfortable, simply didn't affect him in the same way, or perhaps he was just exceptionally good at enduring it.
Cody decided to be more direct, or as direct as he dared with his commanding officer. He knew better than to outright ask, but a subtle probe might yield something. “General,” he began, trying to sound casual as they navigated a crowded thoroughfare, “these people seem to find the climate rather… liberating for their wings.” He gestured vaguely at a passing merchant whose iridescent wings shimmered in the sunlight, catching the damp air. The merchant, a being with four delicate, insectoid wings, offered a small, grateful sigh as they stretched them even wider.
Obi-Wan glanced at the merchant, a polite, almost distant smile on his face. “Indeed, Commander. Practical, I suppose, for such humid environments.” He then turned his attention to a stall selling exotic fruits, effectively ending the conversation. Cody felt a familiar frustration simmer. It wasn't just that Obi-Wan avoided the topic; he seemed to deflect it, as if the very word "wings" was an uncomfortable one. It was a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his demeanor, but Cody, who had spent years observing the General, picked up on it. The unease deepened. Was it a cultural thing? A Jedi thing? Cody had never heard of such a custom. He’d encountered Jedi from a dozen different species, all with varying wing types, and none seemed to exhibit such a peculiar aversion to discussing or displaying them.
His thoughts turned again to the notion of shame. No, he argued with himself, it couldn't be. Not Obi-Wan. The man was the epitome of grace under pressure, unflappable, confident. What could possibly make him ashamed of a natural part of his being? Unless… unless there was something about his wings that was notnatural. The thought sent a cold tendril of apprehension down Cody's spine. Was it a defect? A deformity? He immediately dismissed the idea; Obi-Wan moved too fluidly, too perfectly for any physical impairment of that nature. Besides, Jedi healers were masters of their craft; surely any such issue would have been addressed.
Or was it something more profound? A secret, perhaps, connected to his past, or even to the very nature of the Jedi Order itself? Cody remembered old Republic legends, whispers of ancient powers and forgotten abilities. Could Obi-Wan’s hidden wings be tied to something extraordinary, something he was compelled to keep concealed? The more he pondered, the more convoluted the possibilities became, each one more perplexing than the last. The tropical heat, which had been merely uncomfortable, now felt stifling, mirroring the growing weight of unanswered questions in Cody's mind. He knew, with a certainty that gnawed at him, that he wouldn't stop until he understood.
The situation escalated, albeit subtly, during a training exercise. They were sparring, Cody with his vibro-knife, Obi-Wan with his lightsaber, both moving with the fluid grace of seasoned warriors. The air in the training room was thick with the scent of ozone and exertion. Obi-Wan’s lightsaber hummed, a blue blur in the air, its light reflecting in Cody’s visor as he pressed his attack. Cody dodged, feinting left, his movements economical and precise, honed by years of combat. As Obi-Wan spun, his back briefly faced Cody, and for a fleeting instant, the fabric of his tunic pulled taut. Cody swore he saw a faint, almost imperceptible line, a slight unevenness just below Obi-Wan’s shoulders, as if something was being held unnaturally flat. It was gone in a blink, too quick to properly register, yet indelible in Cody’s memory. A ripple, where there should have been smooth cloth.
Cody parried, pushing Obi-Wan back. He pressed his advantage, not out of aggression, but a sudden, urgent need to see it again, to confirm what his eyes had just shown him. “General,” he panted, feigning breathlessness, though his conditioning allowed for far more exertion, “you move like you’re… inhibited. You could use more freedom in your movements.” He hoped the implication was clear, a subtle nudge towards the unspoken, but not so forward as to be insubordinate or disrespectful.
Obi-Wan chuckled, a low, easy sound, deflecting Cody’s next strike with effortless ease. “A wise observation, Commander. Perhaps I am simply getting old.” He winked, a playful glint in his eyes that made it impossible to discern if he was truly just making a joke, or if he was masterfully deflecting the true nature of Cody’s observation. Obi-Wan continued the spar with renewed vigor, his movements becoming even more fluid, almost as if to prove Cody wrong. But the image of that subtle ripple on his back remained etched in Cody's mind. The frustration, once a simmer, was now a dull ache, a constant companion in Cody’s thoughts about his General.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced Cody became that his eyes hadn't deceived him. It was a brief, almost imperceptible detail, yet it spoke volumes. It wasn’t a natural fold of the fabric. It was too… structured. Too intentional. He replayed the moment in his mind, trying to grasp at the fleeting image. Was it a harness? A compression garment? But why? Why would a Jedi Master, who valued truth and transparency, go to such lengths to conceal something so fundamental?
Cody had always felt a pang of something akin to wistfulness when he saw others unfurl their wings. His brothers, designed for war, were practical, efficient. Wings would have been an impediment in their armor, a vulnerability in tight quarters. He understood the logic, accepted the design. But that didn't stop the quiet yearning. He imagined the sensation of air currents against powerful feathers, the freedom of flight, the sheer exhilaration of soaring above a battlefield, rather than being confined to the ground. To be so fundamentally different from the vast majority of sentient life in the galaxy, to lack such a common appendage, made him feel… incomplete, at times. And now, seeing Obi-Wan, a being who should possess them, apparently choosing to suppress or hide them, only amplified that feeling. It was a peculiar sort of irony, that the clone designed without wings was so fixated on the hidden wings of his General.
He found himself fantasizing about a moment of revelation, a quiet confession from Obi-Wan, perhaps late at night in the privacy of his quarters, where the General would finally unfurl his wings, revealing their true form. What would they look like? Were they magnificent, scarred, or something else entirely? The mystery was becoming an obsession, a thread he couldn’t help but tug on, even if it risked unraveling something profound about the man he so deeply respected. He knew he had to tread carefully; pushing too hard could jeopardise their trust, and that was a risk Cody was unwilling to take, despite his overwhelming curiosity.
One evening, after a particularly grueling mission that had stretched their resources and their patience to their limits, Cody found Obi-Wan in his quarters, meditating. The door had been ajar, a rare oversight for the usually meticulous General, and Cody had entered without thinking, intending to deliver a crucial after-action report. Obi-Wan was seated on the floor, legs crossed in a familiar meditative pose, his back to the door.
For the first time, Cody saw his General without the customary outer robes. His tunic, though still a Jedi uniform, was made of a thinner, more pliable fabric, and in the dim, ambient light of the quarters, Cody could almost make out the contours of Obi-Wan’s back. Then he saw it, unmistakable, even though it was pressed flat against Obi-Wan’s spine: the outline of something large and powerful, yet utterly still. It wasn't the smooth, unmarred surface he had come to expect. Instead, there were subtle ridges, the faintest hint of a central groove, and an undeniable breadth that spoke of immense, contained mass. It was clear now that Obi-Wan was binding his wings, crushing them against his back. The sheer physical commitment to such concealment was staggering.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over Cody—surprise, a flash of pity that quickly morphed into a fierce surge of protective anger. Why? Why would he do this to himself? He knew, intellectually, that wings were incredibly sensitive, filled with delicate bone structures, complex musculature, and myriad nerve endings. To bind them so tightly, to force such a natural extension of one's being into such an unnatural position, must be incredibly uncomfortable, painful even. The thought of Obi-Wan enduring such a self-imposed agony, day in and day out, gnawed at Cody. He pictured the powerful wings he’d always imagined, now trapped and constrained, and his stomach twisted.
Obi-Wan stirred, sensing Cody’s presence. His head tilted slightly, and then he opened his eyes and turned, his expression serene until he registered Cody’s gaze, which had undoubtedly lingered, perhaps even stared, at his back. A subtle flicker of something akin to alarm, or perhaps profound embarrassment, crossed Obi-Wan’s face. It was a fleeting, raw vulnerability that Cody had never witnessed in his General before. Before Cody could even formulate a thought, Obi-Wan quickly pulled his outer robe from a hook and draped it over his shoulders, effectively concealing himself once more, the graceful movement betraying none of the internal struggle Cody now knew he carried.
“Commander,” Obi-Wan said, his voice level, betraying little of the fleeting emotion Cody had just witnessed, “is there something you require?”
Cody, flustered and caught off guard by the sudden revelation and Obi-Wan’s swift concealment, stammered out his report. His eyes, despite his best efforts, kept darting to Obi-Wan’s now-covered back, trying to reconcile the image he’d just seen with the impenetrable calm of the Jedi Master before him. He finished quickly, the words tumbling out, and saluted, making his escape as swiftly as decorum allowed.
Outside the door, in the quiet hum of the Negotiator's corridor, he leaned against the cool durasteel, his mind reeling. He had seen them. They were there. And Obi-Wan was hiding them. The question of “why” now burned with an intensity that transcended mere curiosity; it demanded an answer. Was it a secret burden he carried alone? A sacrifice for the Jedi Order? Or something far more personal and painful than Cody could possibly imagine? The protective anger he’d felt earlier solidified into a resolute determination. He would find out. He had to.
The next day, the image of Obi-Wan’s bound back haunted Cody. The protective anger from the previous night had solidified into a firm resolve. He couldn't let it go, not now that he knew. The mystery wasn't just a curiosity anymore; it was a deeply personal concern. He decided to approach the topic more directly, abandoning his subtle probes.
He cornered Obi-Wan in the mess hall, choosing a moment when the room was relatively empty, away from prying ears. The clatter of durasteel trays and the low murmur of clone conversations provided a thin veil of privacy. “General,” Cody began, keeping his voice low, his tone carefully calibrated between respectful and insistent, “I’ve noticed… you always keep your wings hidden.”
Obi-Wan paused, a half-eaten ration bar in his hand, midway to his mouth. His gaze was steady, unwavering, but Cody detected a subtle stiffening in his posture, a barely perceptible tightening around his eyes. It was the slightest shift, but to Cody, it spoke volumes. “Commander,” he said, his voice carefully neutral, almost dismissive, “I assure you, my wings are of no strategic importance.”
“That’s not what I mean, General,” Cody pressed, trying to keep his tone respectful but firm. He felt a surge of frustration at the immediate deflection. “It’s just… most beings use them. They’re a part of who we are. It’s… it’s unnatural to keep them bound.” The last word slipped out, a raw observation rather than an accusation.
Obi-Wan set down the ration bar on his tray with a deliberate, almost too-calm movement. His eyes, usually warm and expressive, seemed to bore into Cody’s, a silent, powerful warning. The Jedi Master’s presence, which could be so comforting, now felt unyielding, a solid wall of quiet authority. “I have my reasons, Commander. They are my concern, and mine alone.” His voice had an edge to it that Cody rarely heard, a subtle dismissal that told him, unequivocally, that the conversation was over. It wasn't anger, not exactly, but a cold, firm finality that left no room for further discussion.
Cody felt a spark of his own anger. It wasn’t just about the wings anymore. It was about Obi-Wan’s stubborn refusal to confide, to be open, even with his most trusted soldier, the man who had stood by him through countless battles and shared countless burdens. He wanted to push, to demand an explanation, to tear down that infuriatingly stoic Jedi wall, but Obi-Wan’s expression was unyielding, a barrier that Cody knew, from experience, was nearly impenetrable when the General chose to erect it. He retreated, frustrated and disheartened, the image of Obi-Wan’s bound back burned into his mind. He didn’t know why he felt so strongly about it, why this particular secret gnawed at him with such persistence. But the secrecy, the self-inflicted discomfort, the obvious pain he must be enduring—it grated on him in a way he couldn't fully articulate. It felt wrong, fundamentally and deeply wrong, that Obi-Wan would carry such a burden in silence. He was sure of one thing: this wasn't the end of it. He couldn't let it be.
The relentless shriek of blaster fire was a constant companion, a horrifying symphony that had been playing for hours. Cody, pressed flat against the pockmarked ground, gritted his teeth as another volley tore into the already crumbling barricade beside them. Their comms were dead, shattered beyond repair in the last push, and the promised air support was a phantom limb—desperately needed but agonizingly absent. Frustration, a bitter, metallic taste, had been building in Cody for days, fueled by the relentless pressure of this campaign, the mounting casualties, and the General’s increasingly withdrawn demeanor.
Obi-Wan, usually a beacon of calm, seemed even more distant than usual. He moved with a subtle stiffness, favoring his left side, and his eyes, though sharp, held a haunted quality that Cody couldn’t quite decipher. The General had always been private, but recently, it felt like a wall had risen between them, thick and unyielding. And then there were the wings. Cody still had yet to figure out why he them, as they were always tightly bound and hidden beneath Obi-Wan’s robes. As the hours of desperate fighting bled into one another, his curiosity, mixed with a growing resentment, began to fester. Why hide them? Especially now, when a little aerial reconnaissance, a quick escape, could save lives?
The air crackled with tension, not just from the battle, but from the unspoken words between them. Finally, during a brief, desperate lull in the fighting, as they huddled behind a crumbling wall, Cody’s patience snapped. “If you could just fly, General, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” The words, sharp and laced with an accusation he immediately regretted, hung in the smoke-choked air.
Obi-Wan, who had been peering over the barricade, flinched back as if physically struck. He turned, his usually serene gaze hardening into an icy glare. “My wings have no bearing on this situation, Commander!” His voice was tight, a dangerous edge to it that Cody rarely heard.
“Don’t they?” Cody retorted, the built-up tension and that nagging curiosity finally boiling over. “You’re always hiding them! Always keeping them strapped down! Why? Are you ashamed of them? You should be grateful you have them at all! Most of my brothers would give anything for a set of functioning wings!” As the words spilled out, Cody felt a sickening lurch in his gut. He knew he’d gone too far, but the frustration of the situation, the fear for his men, and the inexplicable secretiveness of his General had pushed him over the edge.
Obi-Wan flinched again, a visible shudder passing through him. His eyes, usually so calm, blazed with a fierce, wounded anger. “Grateful?” he hissed, his voice low and trembling with suppressed emotion. “Grateful for these? I would rather be without them than be broken!”
Cody was momentarily stunned into silence by the raw pain in Obi-Wan’s voice. Broken? The fight drained out of him, replaced by a sudden, chilling dread. The accusation in his own words echoed back, hollow and cruel. He watched, horrified, as Obi-Wan pushed himself up, leaning heavily against the crumbling wall, his breathing ragged.
“Is that what you wanted to know?” Obi-Wan’s voice was barely a whisper now, raw and strained. “They were damaged, on Melida/Daan, when I was a Padawan. A collapsed building. I was… I was bullied for it. Called a cripple, a freak. They laughed when I tried to use them, how they wouldn’t respond, how they’d just hang there, useless. I hid them one day, and I never showed anyone them since. What would you know of being broken, Commander? You, who were made perfect, without even the capacity for such a flaw!” The words hung heavy in the air, thick with years of hidden hurt, each one a fresh stab to Cody’s conscience.
Cody felt a profound shame wash over him, a cold wave of self-reproach. He had been so focused on his own misguided curiosity, his own blinding frustration, that he had never once considered the possibility of injury, of such deep-seated trauma. The General, his General, had been carrying this burden alone, in silence, all this time. Cody’s gut twisted with guilt. He should have seen it. He should have known.
He moved closer, his voice softer now, laced with genuine remorse. “General… Obi-Wan. I… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” The apology felt woefully inadequate, a paltry offering against the years of pain he had just carelessly unburied.
Obi-Wan turned away, his shoulders hunched, his hands clenched into fists, a picture of profound isolation. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Commander. You couldn’t have known.” But his voice was still trembling, betraying the immense effort it took to maintain composure.
“But I should have,” Cody insisted, stepping directly in front of him, forcing Obi-Wan to meet his gaze. The General’s eyes were glistening, raw with unshed tears. “I should have seen that something was wrong. And even if I didn’t, it was cruel of me to say what I did. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Obi-Wan. Nothing at all.” He saw the faint tremor in Obi-Wan’s jaw, the slight flinch when he mentioned shame. Cody’s heart ached. He had to make him understand.
He paused, then asked the question that had been building in his mind, a question he hoped would break through the General’s self-condemnation. “Do you believe Anakin is any less of a Jedi, any less of a man, for losing his arm?”
Obi-Wan’s head snapped up, surprise warring with the lingering pain in his eyes. “Of course not! Anakin is… he’s one of the strongest people I know.”
“Then why do you think differently with yourself?” Cody asked, his voice gentle but firm, unwavering. “Why do you believe that having damaged wings makes you less? It doesn’t, Obi-Wan. It just makes you human. And it makes you incredibly strong, for carrying that burden and still doing what you do every single day.” He watched as Obi-Wan’s gaze wavered, and for the first time, Cody saw the impenetrable wall around him crack. Tears welled in the Jedi’s eyes, and he finally, slowly, nodded. “I… I suppose I hadn’t thought of it that way.” The admission was quiet, a fragile surrender.
Cody reached out, placing a hand gently on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “You’re not broken, Obi-Wan. You’re just… you. And you’re incredible, wings or no wings, damaged or whole.” He squeezed Obi-Wan’s shoulder, offering a silent comfort that spoke volumes more than any words. The silence stretched between them, not awkward, but filled with a newfound understanding, a deeper bond forged in the crucible of shared vulnerability.
The battle eventually subsided, the enemy forces retreating under the cover of night. Later, in the relative quiet of their makeshift command post, the air still heavy with the scent of ozone and dust, Cody approached Obi-Wan again. The General sat hunched on a crate, staring blankly at the flickering holo-map. He seemed smaller, more vulnerable than Cody had ever seen him.
“Obi-Wan?” Cody’s voice was soft, hesitant.
Obi-Wan flinched, his shoulders tensing, but he didn’t turn around. “Yes, Commander?” His voice was still subdued.
“Would… would you show them to me?” Cody asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Your wings, I mean. If you’re comfortable.” He held his breath, fearing a rejection, a retreat back behind that wall.
Obi-Wan’s back remained to him for a long moment, the silence thick with unspoken anxiety. Cody could almost feel the weight of Obi-Wan’s apprehension, the decades of ingrained shame. Finally, with a slow, deliberate movement, Obi-Wan turned. His hands, trembling slightly, went to the clasps on his outer robe. Cody watched, his heart pounding, as Obi-Wan slowly unfastened the heavy fabric, letting it fall to the floor.
Beneath, a lighter tunic revealed the beginnings of his wings, still bound tightly against his back by a series of leather straps and buckles. Obi-Wan’s fingers fumbled with the fastenings, his breathing growing shallow. His gaze darted to Cody, a flicker of raw vulnerability and fear in his eyes. He hesitated, his hands hovering over the last buckle, as if he might change his mind.
“It’s alright, General,” Cody said, his voice gentle, reassuring. “Take your time.” He offered a small, encouraging smile.
With a deep, shaky breath, Obi-Wan finally released the last strap. The leather fell away, and with a soft rustle of fabric, his wings slowly unfurled. They didn’t spring out with grandiosity, but rather unfolded with a hesitant grace, like a bruised flower opening to the sun.
Cody’s breath caught in his throat. They were magnificent, even in their damaged state. The primary feathers, a deep, rich auburn that caught the dim light, were subtly askew, some bearing jagged tears, others bent at unnatural angles. The smaller, downy feathers closer to his back were matted in places, and scars, thin silvery lines, crisscrossed the leathery skin where the feathers met his shoulders. But despite the imperfections, the signs of trauma, they radiated an ethereal beauty, a testament to a strength that went beyond mere physical integrity.
“They’re… they’re beautiful, Obi-Wan,” Cody breathed, stepping closer, his voice filled with genuine awe. He reached out a hand, stopping just short of touching, asking for permission with his gaze. Obi-Wan gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod.
Cody’s fingertips brushed against the soft down, tracing the curve of a scarred bone. “Even with… with the damage,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion, “they’re still so… powerful. It’s not about perfection, Obi-Wan. It’s about what they represent. The strength it must have taken to endure that, to keep going, to still fight for us every single day… that’s what I see. They tell a story of resilience, of survival.” He looked up, meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze, which was now clouded with a mixture of surprise, relief, and a lingering sadness. “And that story… it makes you even more incredible.”
A tear finally tracked a path down Obi-Wan’s cheek, a single, silent testament to the years of pain and the sudden, overwhelming comfort of acceptance. He didn’t try to wipe it away. For the first time, Cody saw a hint of true peace settle on the General’s face, a fragile blossoming of hope.