Something was wrong.
Bright-Eyes lifted her head from the bog, and the fin at her back cut through the surface like a row of jagged spikes. They were the same mottled blue-gray as the scales across her body. Her deep-yellow eyes peered through the mist, searching for a hint of movement—something that might explain the unusual silence that had fallen over Dagobah.
The jubba birdsong could manipulate many of the neighboring creatures into a sense of calm. It helped them avoid being prey, and quieted their young when danger was near. If they were silent now, it was because they were afraid.
A scared jubba bird was no good to a dragonsnake. Fear would keep them in the high canopy, where Bright-Eyes could not reach.
She blinked across the water, senses sharpening.
The other dragonsnakes knew better than to leave the shadows when a meal was so close. Their patience was one of their greatest strengths; waiting was how they kept themselves well fed even in the wet season, when there were far more places for their prey to hide.
But Bright-Eyes was curious, and she knew the swamp well.
Her tail propelled her through the water, thumping from one side to the other like a heartbeat, until she reached the shallows. Her claws sank into the mud, and she crept forward, talons dragging over a bed of adder moss, body slithering behind her.
Bright-Eyes released a slow exhale as she soaked in every detail of her surroundings. She’d been inquisitive as a hatchling, too. It was why the strange green being from the swamp had given her a name, when few dragonsnakes were social enough to earn any name at all.
“Bright eyes and a curious spirit, have you,” he’d said as she’d fought her way through the water for the first time. “A fearsome beast, one day you will be.”
The being did not fear the other wildlife on Dagobah. The jubba birds would sing to him, drawn by something Bright-Eyes did not understand. The rodents would steal produce from his garden, but he never retaliated. And the dragonsnakes simply watched him, just as he’d watch them back.
It was no different with Bright-Eyes.
Sometimes he’d sit on the curve of the gnarltree roots, watching her first experiences of the world with amusement. Other times he’d appear lost in his own sadness, as if watching younglings was something he hadn’t done in a long time.
Never did he try to tame her; and never would she have allowed herself to be tamed.
When Bright-Eyes’s adult fangs grew in, the being kept his distance, observing her only from afar. The dragonsnake came to understand his presence the way she understood the lights of his small hut: They were a constant in the darkness.
A wary beep sounded beyond the low clouds, and Bright-Eyes snapped her gaze to the blurry red light up ahead.
The metallic creature’s head swiveled in place, nervously scanning the area. Perhaps it was worried another dragonsnake would try to make a meal out of it. It had happened once before—though the metal creature had just as quickly been spat back out.
For a dragonsnake to reject an easy meal, it must have tasted awful. And because it was neither prey nor predator, Bright-Eyes had no interest in it.
A starfighter rested on the shoreline, hidden by the fog that curled around its landing gear. Its lights had appeared in the sky on more than one occasion, and if the dome-headed creature and starfighter were already here, the human would not be far.
There was a time when Bright-Eyes had considered eating the human purely because she found him a nuisance. He treated the swamp like a playground, and she didn’t appreciate how many times he’d frightened her dinner away. He was loud and clumsy, the way a typical youngling might be.
Maybe that’s why the swamp being liked him so much.
But he was also fast, and he had a sword that could slice through a giant swamp slug without any effort at all.
After a while, Bright-Eyes decided he wasn’t worth the effort.
The ground was covered in mounds of turned soil, where marsh fungi and swamp squash were ripe for harvesting. Her nostrils flared at the being’s scent—it was everywhere, growing stronger as she dragged herself alongside the garden. Strips of sohli bark were laid out in the center of a jagged stump to dry. A woven basket had fallen on its side, the edges stained a deep cyanoberry blue. She followed the being’s trail to the smell of burning wood, where a fire crackled deep inside the belly of his hut.
Amber light flickered through a small, round window. Smoke burst from the chimney, steady and unwavering. It was different from the way peat would burn in the dry season. Bog fire smelled like rotted earth and damp leaves. But here, the smoke was warmer. Sweeter. It would draw out the smaller rodents while they searched for scraps of food. And where the rodents went, the birds followed.
Bright-Eyes liked the fire. She liked anything that brought the birds closer to the surface.
But tonight, there were no rodents, and no birds. Something had shaken them.
The dragonsnake inhaled, senses locking onto the smells inside the hut. The green being and the human were inside, and a bitter vegetable stew was boiling over the fire, rich with rootleaf. Nothing unusual. Nothing to fear.
There was movement inside the circular window, and the man from the starfighter spoke. “Master Yoda, you can’t die.”
“Strong am I, with the Force. But not that strong.” The gravelly sound of the being’s ancient voice was muffled. “Twilight is upon me, and so light must fall.”
Insects rattled up ahead, and Bright-Eyes’s attention shifted toward the narrow path, where the gnarltree roots formed wide, hollow spaces, one tangled over another like the legs of an enormous spider. It was not an easy place for a dragonsnake to venture, and her kind had never been interested in hunting around the dark cave. The tastiest birds would not go near it, and the shallow water offered little cover.
Bright-Eyes stared at the path. Something had made the animals go into hiding—and it was getting in the way of her next meal.
Predator or prey? her instincts growled.
For as long as Bright-Eyes had been alive, Dagobah had hidden a darkness. It pulsed at the seams, anxious to be released—but it was never a threat. Not to a dragonsnake. Not until tonight.
She waded through the marshy inlet, head low to the water.
“That is the way of things,” the being’s voice said behind her, fading with the distance. “That is the way of the Force.”
Vine snakes hung from the trees, snapping at one another with irritation. Pythons rolled around the thick branches, fangs bared and tails rigid.
Bright-Eyes was still making her way along the water when the warped birdsong erupted, off key and anguished. It echoed through the wetlands, everywhere and all at once. There was fluttering above the fog; a mixture of insect chirps and beating, batlike wings. A cry. A warning. An alarm.
The music of the swamp had turned to chaos.
Bright-Eyes flexed her claws, fin straightening at her back. Predator or prey? her thoughts repeated, tail thrashing the water behind her.
Dragonsnakes were not sensitive to the world the way the jubba birds were, but Bright-Eyes knew something had been unleashed—something that had been held back for a very long time.
Her hunter’s intuition latched onto the danger, and she swam around a gnarled chunk of roots. When she reached the edge of the inlet, she raised her head as high as she could, stretching over the crowded vegetation. Below was the mouth of the cave, surrounded by a mess of parasitic blackvine.
The plant moved slowly, stretching alongside the dark opening. Something was spilling out, feeding it. Something Bright-Eyes could not see.
Not prey, her mind concluded, and a deadly rumble formed in her throat.
Snakes and lizards appeared in the hollows of the trees and on nearby branches, prickling with agitation. They were drawn by the darkness. Fed with the same energy as the blackvine. Two of the larger reptiles slashed at each other, jaws aiming for each other’s throats.
The tension inside Bright-Eyes’s chest grew, gnawing at her impulses. Her predator instincts were wild—but so was her will to survive. There was something inside the cave. Something dangerous, and alive, that was already seeping back into the world.
If the cave was darkness and the being’s hut was light, then they’d been keeping each other in balance. But whatever made the birds cry out had tipped the scales.
The balance was faltering.
It was unfamiliar. And dragonsnakes did not like to fight the unfamiliar unless they had an advantage.
Bright-Eyes backed away through the mist, creeping low to the ground before submerging herself in the murky water. The warmth rippled across her back, and she shuddered, shaking away her unease.
In the canopies, the jubba birds flew in erratic circles. Bright-Eyes opened her jaws and snapped at the water. She did not trust the cave—not when it kept the birds out of reach.
Balance was vital to an ecosystem. Without balance, everything would collapse.
Wading through a river of floating algae, Bright-Eyes swam alongside the being’s hut and watched as the lights in the window began to dim. She snarled then. She could smell the things he left behind—but not him.
Perhaps the cave was a predator after all.
Perhaps this is what it had consumed.
Bright-Eyes huffed. She was still hungry—but it wasn’t safe to hunt. Not when the air was so unsettled.
As a dragonsnake, there was only one thing Bright-Eyes could do. It was what her kind had always done, for all the time they’d existed.
She would retreat to the shadows and wait.
That was how she’d learn. That was how she’d keep herself from going hungry. Whatever was coming—she would find a way to adapt. Patience was her strength, after all.
As she swam away from the edge of the swamp, the light vanished from the hut for the final time.
Twilight had fallen over Dagobah, bringing the darkness with it.