Finding oneself on Yavin 4 was perhaps not an easy task. Long, by Milo's standards, had it been under the control of the Sith Empire. It was mere luck that he found himself upon the verdant green rock, slipping the last of his credits into the hands of a passing smuggler with a similar destination. Yet now he was next to abandoned on the planet, alone.
But the vagabond did not come to this world without a reason. A feeling guided him here, as it had in the past. Hours of scouring historical records, forgotten legends, and geographic maps had led him here. Without a credit to his name or a weapon on his body, he trekked into the wilderness searching for the presence which nagged at this thoughts.
Two days he had spent searching, surviving off of dubiously edible berries and fruits. Aimlessly walking as the transient did not carry a map with him, instead relying on his senses.
As night fell upon the moon, two stone pillars rose from the earth, just piercing the foliage. An aura, one Milo could not place, emanated from the masonry itself. Hewn rock, cobbled together in clean cut rhombuses formed what appeared to be a stone like rib cage, flush with the earth. Upon the ground rested what he assumed to be the entrance. A slab of rock covered in a cryptic and jagged language, unknown to the amateur explorer.
With the dwindling light so too dwindled his chances of examining the slab. With the light that remained he set about to the task of creating a fire, gathering fallen limb and dead logs to create an orange circle of sanctuary for the night. With a sigh of relief he rested upon his back, gazing upon the galaxy's stars in wonder, for they were far brighter here in the woods than on the streets of an ecumenopolis.