Work Text:
There once was a Dragon among the Jedi
“Hold yourself still, Anakin.” Obi-wan frowned as he adjusted the tunic Anakin had once again dislodged from its proper folding.
“Yes, Obi-Wan.”
He knew he should call him ‘Master’, but even knowing the Jedi didn’t mean it that way, the word still left a bad time in his mouth. Thankfully Obi-Wan let it go with only a sigh.
Anakin looked at the door, resisting the desire to fidget again. He was just too excited to stay still.
Today was the day he would form his soul shape!
Every Jedi had one. By reaching into the Force and letting it cover you, your body would change to balance itself with your mind.
Originally, only a few Jedi managed to materialise their truest shape this way, but the method had evolved and been adapted so everyone could partially transform, generally acquiring some kind of non sentient being parts. They first learnt the silhouette of the shape in their Padawan first years, then slowly worked to increase the synchronisation with that shape until transforming became easy.
Anakin had witnessed Obi-Wan transform against Maul. A long tooka-like tail had grown from him and he’d become much faster, the Force lending him sharp senses and a strong footing as it blanketed him.
Qui-Gon had been a Quetzalcoatl. It was the first time Anakin saw such a creature. Even in his hybrid shape, he’d been mesmerizing. A legendary exit from the life he had grown up in— but for him, and him alone.
There had been a lesson there too. As mesmerizing as they were, the scales on Qui-Gon’s arms and the wings on his back hadn’t stopped the lightsaber from piercing him.
“You’re good to go,” Obi-wan finally nodded after a last tunic adjustment.
Anakin almost immediately sprinted into the hallway, wasting all of Obi-Wan’s effort, before remembering himself and forcing his feet to slow to a walking pace.
“Anakin?” Obi-Wan called. “Whatever your soul shape end up being— Don’t be disappointed.”
Anakin felt his throat tighten. “Yes,” he bubbled up and down before resuming his way to the classroom.
It would be fine.
As long as it wasn’t a dog— Anakin didn’t care what it was.
There had been dogs in Mos Espa. They barked at you and bit at your heels when you weren’t fast enough. More than once, they stole Anakin’s meals.
The masters always praised the dogs and how obedient and loyals they were compared to the slaves.
Anakin wasn’t sure there had been a difference. They just got better food.
He’d seen a starving dog once. It had been devouring Miss Twilight's remains after her chip exploded.
The look in its eye was exactly the same as Miss Twilight one hour before when she promised she would escape, no matter the price.
A few hours and several never-ending lectures about the importance of soul shapes later, the Jedi in charge of Anakik’s class finally announced they would try to summon theirs.
Sadly, the main way was one of Anakin’s least favorite activities: meditation.
Because they didn’t know their shape yet, Master Yoda would guide them throughout the process.
Anakin dove inward, trying to follow the instructions. Which meant he closed his eyes and got stuck on physical sensation. He could feel the sweat rolling uncomfortably on his skin, the uneven pace of his breath and the sting of his nails against his palm as he clenched his hands nervously. He couldn’t find any trace of soul or animal inside him.
“Relax you must,” Master Yoda said.
Relax. The advice everyone gave when they saw him struggle with meditation, as if his body possessed a switch that could immediately make him limp and at peace.
Listen to the Force, Anakin. Relax into its embrace… Anakin was beginning to hate that word.
He felt the wavers of his own Force presence disturb the surrounding Padawans, but he couldn’t stop it. The energy nervously sparkled in answer to his frustration. He couldn’t reign it in.
Other Jedi often told him he was loud in the Force. That it was a mark of being the Chosen One.
Then they whispered behind his back that it made him dangerous. Uncontrolled.
Master Yoda’s presence came to wrap around his, strange and ancient. No one knew what animal the shape his soul took was. It soothed Anakin’s hackled presence and gently guided him towards a pool deep in his mind Anakin hadn’t noticed.
Under the Jedi’s encouragement, he bent down and looked at his reflection.
Twin spires of fire glazed back.
They were bright. Like Tatooine’s suns. Looking more attentively, he saw a long scaly figure dance between them.
Not a dog.
Relief filled his chest. He faintly felt Master Yoda’s presence leave him to help another Padawan, but he was too mesmerised by the shape his soul had chosen to register it.
Wings beat. A muzzle opened to let out a roar, temporarily feeling the mind space with a third spire of fire.
One of the Galaxy’s most legendary creature lazily rolled in his perception. The one that once bore the name Skywalker on Tatooine, before their wings were torn by the masters and they were condemned to err as sand beasts in the desert.
A dragon.
A dazzling hero, bringing Hope and Justice to the Galaxy
Anakin surged forward and cleaved a clanker in two. His claws had stretched under his command, scales covering his arms and fingers turning into lethal weapons under the effect of his soul shape.
He felt uncontrolled. Wild. Almost giddy from the adrenaline the battlefield gave him.
Golden wings spread from his back and he took off.
On the other side of the battlefield, Ahsoka was fighting. Feathers covered her montrals and her fingers lengthened into claws. She couldn’t transform enough to fly yet, but her lightsaber moved fast as she used her soul shape to boost her jumping power.
Her landing brought her back to the fire of a nearby droid. Anakin dove, blocking the shot and destroying the clanker in one blow.
“Stay aware of your surroundings, Ahsoka,” he chided.
“I had it!” she pouted back. Because she’d only awakened her soul shape recently, there was a childish chirp mixed in her voice, like a chick trying to be heard.
A chick with two clankers laying destroyed at her feet.
“Sure you did,” Anakin teased anyway.
When the council had learnt of his soul shape, they’d been worried. Dragons were dangerous, they warned. Possessives. Uncontrolled.
Nevermind that most legends also talked about their wide wisdom.
He knew he transformed too easily. More often than not, scales climbed his skin and wings spread from his back in answer to his emotions, or in the middle of a discussion— just because it was more comfortable.
Because it represented who he truly was.
But still, he always stayed cautious. He limited his transformation to battle. He muzzled his anger. He tamed the fire roaring in his soul, always careful to warm, not burn.
The restraints hurt.
When Ahsoka had revealed herself to be another predator, Anakin had seen a similar hesitation in their eyes. Even though they were the ones that had thrown a padawan at him in the middle of the war, he’d sensed their whispers to pass the apprenticeship under obi-wan instead.
Still, in the end, they hadn’t separated the duo. After all, for all the council complained about rashness and recklessness… They couldn’t resist the firepower both their soul shape promised. Powerful fangs to crumple things, sharpened claws to tear it apart, piercing vision and smooth wings primed to ambush…
Predators were perfect for war.
One day, he disappeared… when all the other Jedi were killed
Ana— Darth Vader couldn’t find the dragon inside him. He hadn’t been able to since Obi-Wan cut his wings and Mustafar’s lava melted his scales.
He hadn’t been able to since kneeling in front of a master with yellow eyes and giving Younglings the last Gift. If he hadn’t already been transformed then—
It bothered him.
As a Sith, he should be more powerful, not weaker. He had hoped his soul shape could finally be fully controlled and complement the suit, offer a way out of its limitations and surprise opponents by escaping his armor only to present a much sturdier one in the form of scales.
He had hoped to fly again.
Unlike a body, a soul shape could recover any lost limbs as long as you remembered how they felt like. He never had any issue covering his prosthetic arm in scales in the past.
His Master sighed when he found Vader in the training room, scattered droids at his feet. Vader felt the sting of his probing digging his mind followed by a wave of disappointment.
“You do not need to rely on these silly transformations, Darth Vader. You are the dragon now.”
Legends suggested Siths also were privy to soul shapes, albeit twisted, chimeric ones sharpened to hurt rather than protect. Yet he had never seen Palpatine transform.
Vader’s fist clenched.
After getting their wings cut and being thrown off the sky, Skywalkers had acquired another name in Tatooine’s legends: Krayt.
In the language whispered at night by the slaves, where masters couldn’t hear and words won meaning, Krayt could be translated into basic as: Grounded dog.
He tried again to recover the sensation of his soul shape. To feel the shift of his skin into scales, to let his back tore open to free large wings.
He was a skywalker—
He called, but his soul didn’t answer him. His skin stayed itchy and scarred over. His lungs kept struggling against the respirator. His back stayed listless against the durasteel that encapsulated him.
Skywalker was dead.
His Master must have been right. There was no need to call onto his soul shape and transform, because he was the dragon now.
He was a Krayt.
where … oh where has that shining star gone???
Unknown to all but the Force, as he fruitlessly called onto his soul, skin shifted. Soon enough, a lone scale shone on Darth Vader’s neck.
Small, hesitant. Weak. Unsure whether it had been properly called for or not.
Yet… it was an answer of its own.