Fire Across the Galaxy

part 1

Author's note: I don't own Star Wars Rebels, of course. I only own a couple OC's I might pop in here. I will only use the characters of Star Wars Rebels for fanfics and promise to keep them unbroken. But, I make no promises on the latter. Now enjoy this little fanfic about how I think Fire Across the Galaxy, the season finale of season 1 of Star Wars Rebels, will go. I will use what I have been given by the trailers and the little preview on rebel recon. Enjoy!

The silence was deafening. All hope had fled from the cockpit of the Ghost, replaced with a throbbing heart of disbelief, depression pumping through it's veins. Rays of deepening hues of red, orange, and yellow flows past the window of the cockpit. The sunset outside was appropriate for the mood. The sun was casting it's last rays of warmth upon the world, slowly but gradually fading into the cold embrace of night. Just this morning, the crew of the Ghost had felt hope. Hope had spread it's healing touch upon Ezra, Zeb, Sabine, Hera, and even the usual grumpy Chopper. Chopper had stayed behind on that Imperial walker, trying desperately to uphold any information about Kanan from the fallen system. Hope had been fueling him as he had tried and ultimately failed at locating their captured friend. Hera had been filled with so much hope as she had rescued her fellow crew members, her family, from the walker. Hope had led her there, hope had helped formed the plan to attack the Imperial walker. Zeb and Sabine had been filled with so much hope as they had waited for Ezra to emerge from Vizago's ship, the Broken Horn. Hope had sparked the idea for the plan within Sabine's head and hope had made Zeb come along with Ezra and Sabine. Hope had pumped through Ezra's veins as he had descended upwards into the depths of Vizago's ship. And, now hope had deserted them in a instant, flying away as Hera had uttered that single sentence, "Kanan said Mustafar was where Jedi go to die."

"We have to rescue Kanan," The sentence wasn't a plead uttered in complete desperation when all other hope was lost, this sentence was a command, a order that slices through the silence that had taken root in the cockpit. The command issues from the mouth of Ezra as his head raises. Thick, shaggy hair so dark it seemed almost blue in moments, sways back, no longer drifting into his eye, as his head raises. Bright blue eyes shine in the light of the fading sun as they drift onto the faces of each of the crew. Following in his wake, head after head slowly lift up. Sabine, the datapad that contains the information that had caused hope to flee from the room still clutched in her paint splattered glove, nods in agreement, multicolored hair bouncing. Amber orbs glance down at the metal square her fingers were curled around, the metal square that held simply too much for the crew of the Ghost, and then dart up, as if even more bad news would suddenly spill out from the datapad and toss the crew into a melting pot of great misery and pain. For all one knew it could.

Three pairs of eyes, blue, green, and amber, as if as one, latch unconsciously onto Hera. Hera was slumping forwards in her pilot's chair. Hopelessness curls her shoulders forward and dips her usual high head down. Slowly, as if being awoken from a nightmare, bright green eyes gaze up, following be Hera's light green head. In the glowing sunset, the crew could see the bags starting to form under her eyes. The bags weren't caused by age, they were caused by sleepless nights spent consumed in brooding thoughts. It was the same thought over and over again, the same question, "How could they fully rebel against the Empire without support, without unity, without others shouting for justice besides them?" The bags had darkened even more after the loss of Kanan. Kanan.. He had been much more then specter 1. He had been much more then a soldier. Kanan had been almost a part of Hera. And now it felt as if her heart had been ripped from her body when Kanan had ordered them to leave without him. The selfish leader. He had proved that to the end. The marks of the hopelessness of the situation only brought out Hera's other features. Soft cheeks, bright green eyes framed by a smudge of eyelashes, full lips tried to show her inner youth. Hera was only in her early twenties, but her situation had aged her beyond her years. It had aged both her appearance and mind.

Now her family's eyes were upon her, asking her the unspoken question. A sigh that reeks of defeat drifts from between Hera's lips and then her lips move again, forming words, "Ezra is right. We have to rescue Kanan now..or never."