There are many legends told on our world. There are tales of those who did extraordinary things here among our own people and tales of those who have left to make a name among the distant stars, though these are far fewer for few leave our world.

This is not one of those tales.

This legend is ancient, whispered by the mournful winds to those who can hear its voice. My blood-brother was one who could hear the words of the wind, and it was he who gave me this tale when we were young children, telling stories to each other in the coolness of the evening. This legend is forgotten by our people, perhaps, but I know it to be truth.

The tale was thus: once, many years ago, our world was not as it is now, a fiery desert baked by two suns. Rather, it was a lush and verdant world, beautiful as lost Alderaan. Few beings lived here, for travel between the stars was a new and dangerous thing, not to be undertaken lightly even by the bravest. Our people flourished here, creating great cities that now lay buried deep beneath the sands. It was a time before Jedi, before Sith, when few heard the calling of the Force.

Those who could hear the song of stars were drawn to our world, however, for here the song was loud and clear, sung by the planet herself. And in that time was born a child, a boy early and small, born to a family from another world. His hair was as golden as the suns, his eyes as blue as the skies. In him, the song was strong. He loved the planet and it loved him as it had no other. He spent hours listening to her winds and with the knowledge he gained from her the people learned to care for their world. The planet cared for them in turn and all prospered. It was a time of peace and happiness.

But all such times must end.

Invaders came from beyond the stars, strange, twisted creatures the likes of which had never been seen before. And with them came a dark song, a perversion of the melody of the stars. Many who could hear the song were swayed, joining the invaders for their false promise of wealth and glory. The boy, now a young man, resisted the siren song of darkness, and the planet fought with him. As one mind they battled the invaders and in the end drove them far away, flinging their ships so deep into the space between the stars that they could never return.

But the price of victory was terrible; the planet was gravely wounded and the young man, stretched beyond his strength in the final struggle, perished. As his grieving family buried him beneath the sands of the great sea, the voice of the planet spoke to all. With a terrible cry, she declared that she would never love another so, never allow her tears to fall again, even for one of her children. And the song of the planet fell silent.

From that day forth, it did not rain. The farms turned to dust, the rivers ceased to flow, the seas and lakes dried up. In time, even the soil dried up and blew away, leaving nothing but endless sand. The people blew away as well, like dust on the wind, finding homes on other, kinder worlds.

A few remained, however, and of them a fewer number could hear the murmurs of the planet, on nights when the winds howled and the sand blew. They say that the song will come again, and the rains as well. Someday, the planet will open her heart to one of her children, to one who could hear her quiet song.

I know that what they say is true and not merely a story told to children. For my blood-brother, the one who told me the story that the winds spoke to him, could hear the song of the planet. Though he left for the stars and in grief swore never to return, the planet still loved him from afar, caring for his child as her own until the day that child too left for a destiny among the stars.

I know this legend is truth, for on the day that my blood-brother died, far away among the stars, we heard the planet's song again, if only for a moment. A song of mourning, a planet weeping for the lost son of her suns.

On that day, the skies opened and it rained.