Luke had eaten a lot of pretty nasty food since leaving Tatooine. Stars, he’d eaten a lot of nasty food living on Tatooine, but the energy bars the Alliance had provided their personnel hadn’t exactly been the height of upper crust Coruscanti cuisine. But this food brick was pretty much the most awful thing Luke had had in a long time.

And yet, knowing he had to keep up his strength, Luke gnawed away at it. It was definitely preferable to starving, and if Luke was going to be as useful as the resistance agent had thought he was going to be when he’d approached Luke on Obroa-skai, he couldn’t turn his nose up. Besides, it would be rude (to whom exactly Luke wasn’t sure, but that wasn’t the point), and Aunt Beru had taught him better than that. In any case, he was pretty sure a Jedi wouldn’t refuse food just because it tasted like styrofoam either, and even drawing on the Force for energy only lasted so long.

It was all energy he would need. Energy enough to stop the Fay’lia and make sure that this Empire, so similar to the one he’d spent nine years working to defeat, didn’t put an end to the entire multiverse as they knew it. And when he reached out to the flow of energy around him, he felt a gentle reassurance that he was on the right path. He had to do it - for his sister and her new family, for his friends, and most importantly, because he was a Jedi.

It made the food bearable.

Almost.