Archive of Our Own ^beta

A sharp thump jolts Cal into the waking world. He’s in his bed, tangled in sodden sheets, sweat sticking his clothes and hair to his skin. Gasping, hand pressed to his chest, he finds BD on the bed beside him, nudging him with his scomp link, chirping worriedly.

“Thanks, buddy,” Cal says, voice a shaky croak. BD asks the next, inevitable, question. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

It was the dream again. The vision from Bogano keeps playing on repeat in his head, the children taken and tortured, always ending with himself as an Inquisitor, reaching through the mirror, reaching for him, reaching to –

Rolling out of bed, forcing BD to dodge, Cal strips his bed and carries it all to the refresher where the washer and a shower await. He can tell from the lighting that no one else is up yet. Great. That means he won’t have Merrin hammering on the door to let her in while he’s washing off the sweat. She just does it to annoy him. Or because sharing is a novel concept to her. No one takes longer showering than she does, insisting its all part of a Nightsister cleanliness ritual. Meanwhile, if Cal takes longer than five minutes its because he found a new echo. The last one he found was on Greez’s towel, and he swore to himself to never, ever think about it ever again. Ever.

Cal takes a quick water shower, ignoring the tiny voice of paranoia in his head still afraid of showering in space when there’s a chance the gravity might go out, and the refresher could flood, and he’d drown.

Again. He presses a hand to his newest scar, the skin forever puckered and twisted. The pain has mostly dulled now, the skin a new, permanent red. Yet another reminder of how thin the line is between life and death, success and failure.

Everyone lived this time. That’s a win.

Either way, Cal keeps his shower short and sweet. One of the clones told him people could drown in zero-g years ago on the Brave, and although Cal acted like it didn’t affect him, he woke up that night from a nightmare of being trapped in a flooded refresher. He hadn’t dared to tell Master Tapal because he didn’t want the clones thinking he was a baby who couldn’t handle scary stories. He’d spent the rest of that night miserably awake, counting all potential escape routes if his quarters flooded.

He stuck to taking sonic showers for years after that. Even on Bracca he never let his guard down when they worked on semi-flooded wrecks, especially after they found the remains of several people who had indeed drowned in space. And given the planet had near constant rainfall, it was an ongoing risk.

What would he rather deal with – drowning in a flooded bathroom or himself as an Inquisitor? Tough call.

Cal finishes washing and dressing and goes off in search of caf. BD, hero that he is, has already brewed a pot. Cal thanks him and pours himself a cup, allows the bitter taste to clear out the last dregs of the nightmare.

Vision. It was a vision he experienced in that vault. Of a potential future. For someone so used to visions of the past, this one premonition still frightens him. It will never, ever, come to pass. Cal would drown himself in the ship’s refresher before he became an Inquisitor. No one, other than BD-1, knows what Cal saw in the vault on Bogano. Cal can’t tell Cere. He can’t put the idea in her head that he too might become an Inquisitor. She deserves better. The dreams will stop eventually, he’s sure. Until they do, he’ll just be the first awake every day. At least they aren’t on a mission right now. Well, Greez might say they are, but that’s only because they’re in the neighbourhood, galactically speaking, of a restaurant he loves on Ylesia. After that, it will be onto the next Imperial target.

The dreams will stop. They usually do.

Wandering back to the engine room, Cal crouches down and pulls out the crate beneath his bed he keeps his clothes in. Buried at the bottom are the remains of the holocron. He brushes a hand over it, feels the echoes, although one is sharper and more present than the others.

Trilla. Proud and triumphant, finally proving to Cere she was superior, the true survivor. Cere was a betrayer, she succumbed to her cowardice, but not Trilla. Trilla won. Did it matter that she wouldn’t be able to open the holocron? No. Lord Vader would thank her for her hard work, and she would hunt down another Jedi, get the poor fool to open it for them. And then, their work could truly begin.

Cal lets the echo fade away, relieved Trilla never saw her plan through to its conclusion. It’s another thing to keep from Cere, just another echo Cal will keep to himself. Trilla may be gone, but better for Cere to remember her reaching for the light in her final moments rather than driven by vengeance.

A foot taps his back. Cal reaches over, gives BD a pat. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He tucks the holocron shards away again. “Come on, I gotta find some fresh bedsheets.”

BD promises to tell the others he got oil on the others, that’s why Cal had to wash them. It’ll be fun to watch Greez wail about the sanctity of clean sheets again.

“You might find that funny, but the rest of us consider it torture,” Cal says, heading down the ladder to the lower deck and the ship’s bedding supplies. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him the truth.”

There’s a disbelieving trill from BD.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, a version of the truth.”

Because no one else needs to know about the original vision, the ongoing nightmares, or the echo Trilla left behind.

“Just another day aboard the Mantis,” Cal murmurs to himself.

Greez leads them through a market so seedy it's making Bracca seem classy in comparison. The air vibrates with the shouts and bellows of the vendors, bodies steam in the cold, damp air, and there aren’t any gaps in the heaving crowd. Where there aren’t any people, there are animals, and those animals are going about their business without a care for who might step in it. Cere is composed as ever. Merrin can’t quite wipe a look of uncertain disgust off her face. This place is the furthest from Dathomir she’s ever been – maybe the furthest she’ll ever go. BD wants to scan everything. Cal just goes with the flow, the sewage-stinking flow. That's Hutt Space for you: Ylesia is free of the Empire but depressed in its own ways. Even the rain is colder and sharper here, and suddenly everyone wanted one of Cal’s ponchos to stay dry before they disembarked.

Walking past rickety shacks selling all kinds of junk, buzzing string lights and sewer grates spewing steam, Cal feels strangely at home. He imagines Prauf stepping out from behind a nearby crowd and telling him not to waste his credits on the junk on display. Merchants always keep the good stuff out of sight. When he strolls past a shack lit up with more neon than Coruscant promising booze, booze, booze, Cal can guess the kind of hidden merch that vendor has hidden, based solely on how huge her pupils are and the breathless chatter as she drums up sales. She gives Cal a wave too bright for so grim a market and he can’t help waving back, much to BD’s amusement.

“Special deal for the kid!” she calls out. “Got some good spices, if ya know what I mean.”

Perfectly polite, Cal turns her down. They’re not here for Spice. At least, not that kind of Spice. Greez has a place in mind, and he’s powering them toward it as fast as his legs can carry him.

"You're gonna love this place," Greez says, turning them down an alleyway where several rats the size of BD skitter into crumbling buildings. Unlike the shacks they walked past, these abandoned places are far older, tumbledown stonework revealing careful masonry left to ruin. Cal hears echoes calling in languages he doesn’t know. He trails a finger through one humming on and old doorframe, hears a terrible cry torn from some unfathomable pain. He snaps his hand away, lets the borrowed pain slip into the Force before it overwhelms him. Cere glances at him, a knowing look in her eye.

Greez notices nothing. "You're gonna have the best barbeque of your life."

"If you are overexaggerating you will regret it," Merrin says. She still looks stunned by their surroundings, the urban decay so different from Dathomir or anywhere else they’ve visited so far. How loud this world must seem to her. “I will not allow such a promise to go unfulfilled.”

Cal laughs. "You're in danger, Greez."

"Nah, this place not only lives up to expectations, it will surpass them."

“Hmmm.” It’s all Merrin has to say.

'This place' turns out to be a food hall the size of the ship breaking yard on Bracca. The building itself is nothing like the others they’ve walked by. It’s a castle, walls thicker than Cal is tall. It radiates age, strength, power. Someone draped lights over the portcullis, bright neon blasting out into the night. It’s a popular spot; everyone’s heading towards it. And no wonder because it smells amazing. Cal's stomach growls in anticipation.

“I am beginning to believe you are correct,” Merrin says to Greez, who positively glows with the praise.

"I came here many years ago," Cere says as Greez leads them in. "I needed to stop for some ship repairs before picking up a child on Takodana. Had one of the best meals of my life. You wouldn't think you could trust sushi in a place like this, but it was amazing."

"I do not want sushi," Merrin sniffs.

“Do you know what it is?” Cal asks, as if he has a clue.

Merrin gives nothing away. "I want what Greez has promised me."

“You’ll get it,” Greez says.

They cross the threshold. Cal sees large archways, all of them housing different restaurants. In the center of the space are tables, chairs, and hundreds of people. The noise of all their voices floods the air and the Force, so much Cal has to close himself off to keep their lives out his head.

Maybe Merrin isn’t the only one who’s overwhelmed by this place.

“This world has a chaotic energy,” she murmurs.

Cal nudges her. “You okay?”

She nods. “I am hungry.”

A group moves for the exit, an excitable child running straight for Cal, too busy looking in the other direction to notice the person in his way. Sidestepping the collision, Cal brushes a wall.

It's in his head.

The things that happened here.

It’s Nur all over again.

It’s the vision from Bogano.

Torture.

Perversions of the Force.

This place is evil.

Death.

Jumbled, impressionistic, howling and bleeding, the echo spreads over every surface. It's in the air and it’s going to take him under if he touches anything else.

Hands grab him, holding him up. Cere. Greez. Merrin. All of them stare at him. Oh, he must have fallen over because he isn’t holding his own weight. It’s Cere holding him up, and BD jabbing his back. They’re causing a scene, forcing people to walk around them. Cal can’t hear them. He can’t hear anything. His ears whistle, drowning out everything but the screams of those once imprisoned here.

Head spinning, legs wobbling, Cal mumbles something about leaving. He runs away before anyone can stop him. He pushes through the crowd, not a thought given to politeness. He reaches the street, doubles over and throws up, all while BD worriedly beeps at him.

“Ate too much, huh?” A passing Human says. She laughs. “Yeah, this place gets you like that.”

Trembling hand pressed to his mouth, Cal tries to catch his breath, tries to push the past out of his head. He wants to say he’s alright, but he can’t get the words out. Can’t even pretend he’s okay.

"Cal?"

Cere has followed him out. She radiates worry. He holds out a hand to keep her back. Words. He needs words. Speak. Say something to make her stay back. They won’t come. He needs to go back to the ship, away from everyone. He must release these echoes, as soon as he can because even the tiny hint he picked up simply entering that place fills his head.

He doesn’t want to keep seeing it.

“Is it an echo?” Cere asks.

He laughs. It isn’t a strong enough word for that place. “Yes,” Cal says thickly, finally regaining the power of speech. “An echo.”

BD presses closer to him.

“Is there any danger now if we stay?” Cere tries to sound light. “I’m not sure I can tear Merrin or Greez away from the food.”

“No danger,” Cal says. “It’s all in the past.” It flashes through his mind again. He presses a hand to his mouth to keep from throwing up. “I’m going back to the Mantis. I’ll be fine. BD’s with me.” While BD whoops protectively, Cal anticipates Cere’s next question. “Don’t bring anything back from here. Nothing.” Echoes can’t usually hop from an old item onto a newer one, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He doesn't want to eat something and see –

This time, Cere’s the one rubbing his back as he throws up again. “I’ll go with you and BD.”

“No, you were looking forward to this place,” Cal says. “It’s fine, really. It’s like an allergy. Except instead of the food, it’s the building. I’ll see you all later.”

Cere’s hand tightens around his arm before he can escape. “What was this place?”

Cal shakes his head, fighting to hold back tears, unable to say please, don’t make me tell you. Don’t make me speak about that place aloud.

Cere does not take her cue. “Will you tell me what happened here?”

“No.” It’s a short, sharp bark. Cere flinches, releasing his arm. Cal flushes, a badly behaved Padawan acting out of turn. “I’m sorry. Don’t let me stop you enjoying it. You’re not in any danger. It all happened a very long time ago.” He makes himself smile. “That’s just the way it goes for me sometimes.”

Cal walks away, leaving Cere and her palpable confusion and concern behind. BD hops onto his shoulder to check in.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” It’s a bad lie because his head is full of terrible images. Cal fights an urge to wrap his arms around himself. “That place used to be a prison. They did terrible things.” What a mild, understated way to put what he’s barely caught a hint of. What if he’d touched something else, seen a full memory? He didn’t think he’d ever experience something worse than the Fortress’ prison cells, and he hates to be proven wrong. Cal shivers. “Sorry, BD. Don’t ask for more. I need to meditate.”

Meditate. On that echo. He’s almost sick again.

Sticking close, keeping an eye on their backs, BD beeps his understanding. Cal heads back into the warren of alleys and streets Greez took them down to reach his beloved restaurant. It only takes a few turns for Cal to become hopelessly lost.

“Did you map our journey here?” Cal asks hopefully.

BD did make a map, and he projects it to show how Cal took the wrong right turn. He took the first right turn. He should have taken the third.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The only way to make a good map is to get lost, BD tells him.

Cal smiles, somewhere between amusement and despair. “Did you learn that from Master Cordova?”

No – it’s a BD-1 original.

Sighing, Cal backtracks. Starts to, anyway. The Force catches on something nearby. His wrong turn took him away from the newer shacks and back into the older buildings, places as old as that awful prison back there. He finds himself outside a single storey structure, strings of golden light picking it out of the darkness. This place isn’t as immense as the prison-turned-restaurant, but it feels a little strange. Ancient. He feels a pull on his navel, a chill creeping through his bones.

He should leave. Go back to the Mantis. Meditate. Empty his mind of the echoes, of all they remind him of. Wait for Greez to launch them back into space and off to the next world, never to return.

BD asks what they’re doing as Cal heads for the entrance.

“Exploring,” Cal says. “I have a strange feeling about this place.”

A feeling he knows he should ignore. He’s too distracted, the echo stuck like glue. This strange building – a perfect, single storey cube – is beguiling. It calls to him, a song in his head that won’t go away.

“I need to go inside,” Cal says.

The lights are blink in a sequence, closest to furthest, closest to furthest, a chain one after the other, again and again, leading him on. Cal slides into the building and finds a reception area, staffed by a sliver-haired Human woman clad in robes that wouldn’t look out of place in the Jedi Temple. She glances at Cal, something shimmering in her eye. Recognition, of a sort. She reaches under her desk, taps something, and the door slams closed behind Cal, sealing shut.

“How unexpected.” Her voice is rich and warm, the kind that would make an excellent narrator to an audio holobook. Her Core World accent sounds like home. “What a rare and refined visitor.”

BD bets she says that to everyone who walks in.

She smiles. “Jedi.”

BD retracts his previous comment.

Cal meets her gaze without a word.

“Well met, young one,” she says. “You are a credit to the Order.”

The woman slides out from behind her desk, robes sweeping on the floor with the softest of whispers. She moves with grace, and now she’s closing in, Cal sees she’s far, far older than he originally thought. He cannot place her species either. He’d thought Human, but there’s something about her. Something different. The strange light in her mauve eyes perhaps. The agelessness of her features. Cal feels no anxiety or alarm. Whatever she wants with him, whatever this building wants, he’ll go with it – for now.

“What is this place?” Cal asks.

“An excellent question.” The woman says. “For most, it is nothing other than an old building they are so used to seeing they are blind to it. You might even say they don’t even know it is here. For others, this building whispers to them, gets into their head, although they can’t be sure why. The bravest come inside.” She reaches out, a cool hand resting under Cal’s chin. Is she comforting him or appraising him? “And then there are the ones like you. The ones who hear the Force, live with it the way others live within skin and bones. This place was made for the likes of you.”

“And you,” Cal says. “Otherwise, how else could you find a place others don’t notice?”

Her laughter sparkles like dewdrops in sunlight. “Ah, it has been too long since I encountered a sharp mind. Once, those like you were frequent guests. Now, you are a rarity.” The woman points out the door behind her desk. “The chamber beyond this entryway calls, young one. You feel it.”

He does, more insistent, an insatiable itch.

“Your droid must stay here with me.” The woman pats her little desk, itself carved from a single piece of marble. “He will be safe.”

But will Cal be safe without BD?

Arm held out, Cal creates a bridge for BD to hop down. “I’ll be okay.”

This does not console BD. He frets, his little frame wobbling as he keeps himself from leaping onto Cal’s back.

“Such a loyal friend,” the woman says, giving BD a friendly tap on the head. “You are lucky, Jedi. There are few you can truly count on in these dark times.”

Luckier still if BD could go with Cal. And if this woman thinks about betraying them to the Hutts or the Empire, she’s going to get the nastiest zap she’s ever known.

“Ferocious, isn’t he?” The woman chuckles. “I will betray no one. I have been the guardian of this temple for a great many years, and I intend to be its guardian for many more.”

“Temple?” Cal looks around, trying to find something familiar.

“Oh, yes,” the woman says. “Ancient. Unyielding. Listen.” She holds her hands to her ears, her voluminous sleeves brushing her face. “You can hear it.”

Not wanting to seem rude, Cal does as he’s told. He listens.

Listens.

And there.

From far away.

A voice.

It’s like they’re haunting me.

Flinching, Cal pulls back. Haunting. Like Ilum.

“Yes,” the woman says. “You hear its call. You are not the type to ignore it.” She lowers her arms, locks deep eyes onto his. “Or have I misread you, Jedi Knight?”

Try as he might, Cal cannot get a read on her. He senses no threats, no hidden intentions, but he’d also be the first to admit he is not an empath, not in the way some Jedi could be. She isn’t blank, nor does she radiate corruption or concealment. She is a tangle in the Force, one he doesn’t understand.

“Do not allow your curiosity to lead you into trouble, boy. A place like this should not be underestimated, and neither should I,” she says. Her voice lowers. The world around her fades. Maybe nothing exists beyond her, not even BD-1. She is ancient, a fixture of nature, the Force personified. “Do not mistake me for one of your Jedi teachers, no matter how greatly you respect them. I will not preach patience, not when I cannot practice it. Whether you know it or not, you are here for a reason. Go through the door and see what it is that has brought you to me.”

“I will,” Cal says. “I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.”

It’s true. Something about this place has taken root, and to tear free now would be to cut himself to the bone.

The woman’s smile widens the world once more. BD is back too, oblivious to the Force’s deep current. “I know.” She holds out an arm. “Go. Do not return until you have your answers.”

Answers to what questions, Cal wants to ask. He gets the distinct feeling it won’t help.

BD begs him to be careful.

Deep breath. Cal slides through the doorway. Beyond is a large chamber carved from black marble flecked with gold, columns in each corner holding the ceiling aloft. The chamber is as wide as the building, a large space for a single person. The marble is so clean, so glossy, Cal sees his reflection on every surface. The door closes behind him with a decisive thump, merging so completely with the wall Cal can no longer see the edges.

A chill ripples across his skin. His boots thump thickly as he crosses the room, noise dulled in the chamber. Other than the columns he can’t see a single decoration. The room is a box. He can’t even tell where the light comes from, only some deep, primal instinct glad it’s with him. Because the Force feels off. Soupy. It’s in his head, too. A swooping feeling, like his body flies through space while his head tries to stay in place. He tips backward as though the room tips backward. He crashes hard against the ground. Is the room spinning? If it is, which way is out?

The spinning settles. Collapsed on his side, Cal stares at himself, his reflection staring back. Is it blinking in time with him? Breathing in sync? He swears he sees it blink when he knows he doesn’t. Experimenting, Cal forces a smile onto his lips. The reflection mimics him, a nanosecond off.

Coming in here wasn’t a good idea. Not after that echo… Is this place connected to the prison? There aren’t any echoes in here to give Cal the answer.

His reflection stops pretending, his lips mouthing words Cal can’t make out. Eyes closing, he reaches for the Force. He pushes through the dizziness, the nausea, the looping and –

Trickling.

Soft at first. High-pitched. Echoing in the large chamber.

Cal feels his clothes grow cold, heavy, wet.

Eyes opening, he sees the marble now beneath a rising tide of water. Rapidly rising. He sits before he takes a liquid breath, stands before it gets any higher.

Glancing at the wall, he sees something else.

His reflection is missing. It isn’t even in the water beneath him, water that rises rapidly.

Because it is getting higher. Deep enough for Cal to wade through. His mind conjures up nightmares – drowning on a Venator, on Bracca, on the Mantis, on Nur. He needs to find the door, open it, get out of here, but it’s happening too fast, his feet leaving the floor.

Looking up, Cal finds his reflection, but instead of wide-eyed terror, he watches himself with dispassionate contemplation.

Is that really him?

The water rises, him with it, and soon he has mere centimeters of air, and then that’s gone too. Plunged underwater, Cal looks for a way out and finds only one.

A hand.

Emerging from the marble over his head.

No time to think.

Swimming hard, Cal takes the hand.

It pulls.

Cal surfaces, gasping for air as he’s pulled to his feet in….

The chamber? But he –  

“You took your time.”

It’s him. His rescuer. He’s –

Mirror image.

Only not.

Inquisitor.

It – he – stares at Cal like saving him wasn’t worth the effort. There is such arrogance in the set of the Inquisitor’s brow, such contempt.

“Weak.” The Inquisitor’s hand grabs Cal’s throat, grip tightening. “But then you always were. A frightened little boy clutching his master’s lightsaber.”

He hauls Cal off the ground. Kicking at the air, Cal fails to free himself. The Inquisitor appraises him, green eyes seeking something they do not find. Emotion flickers across his face. Disappointment? Perhaps. Disgust? Oh yes, definitely disgust.

The Inquisitor pulls Cal close. Cal can’t break his grip – physical or the Force.

“Pathetic,” the Inquisitor murmurs. “I will not remain a vision.”

He throws Cal away. Cal hits a cold marble wall. Black and gold fold around him, thick tar that won’t let go. Panic flares and Cal tries to fight, desperately clawing his way free, but he’s already there. The Inquisitor. He raises a leg, puts boot on Cal’s chest. The vague smirk on his face never touches his empty eyes.

“It’s my turn.”

“No!”

He pushes Cal’s sternum, forcing him under the surface of the marble.

“Farewell, Jedi.”

Cal sinks, descending deeper into the wall until he falls free. For a brief moment there is only open air, whistling in his ears as he plummets. He slams into the ground in a different chamber. Staring at the ceiling, Cal sees the topsy turvy Inquisitor turn and walk away in his mirror world. The door in that other chamber opens for him and walks out. A little shape appears in that mirror world. BD. He thinks he sees his friend, goes to greet Cal, only he isn’t Cal, it’s the Inquisitor, and before BD can run, the Inquisitor grabs him and –

“No!” Scrambling to his feet, Cal sees the Inquisitor reflected in every surface except the floor. He runs to a wall, thumps hard, throws the Force at it, but it’s too late.

BD…

Forehead pressing to the cold marble, Cal feels tears track down his cheeks. BD. He’s –

Cal’s breathing comes in short, sharp gasps. The wall won’t give. None of them will. He’s trapped.

My turn.

Calm. He needs to calm down. Think. He’s a Jedi. He can get out. All he needs to find is a door.

Deep breath. Calm. There is only the Force.

Turning, Cal faces the room.

He’s already here. The Inquisitor, BD broken at his hands. He throws BD’s body aside. Nothing registers on the Inquisitor’s face. No guilt. No sadness. Not even pleasure. He’s so blank.

What happens to make someone like that?

“They make you weak,” the Inquisitor says. “Your friends? They’re a target, something to be exploited. Do you really think you’ll be able to defend them from me? From the Empire?” He holds an unfamiliar lightsaber in one hand, the black, haloed hilt so reminiscent of Trilla’s, of the Ninth Sister’s. A red blade extends from one end. “If you want to save them, you’ll have to stop me.”

Cal’s lightsaber activates and swings. The Inquisitor blocks, blades spitting where they meet. They trade blows, matching each other swing for swing.

Predictable. Of course. He’s fighting himself.

Cal moves before he thinks, emotion driving him. His blades are blurs, one in each hand. But his anguish isn’t enough. Extending the second blade, the Inquisitor wields his lightsaber with more heft, more rage, laser-focused, under control, and he saps Cal’s strength with every blocked slash, slice and cut, until he breaks through Cal’s defence and scores a hit, burning Cal’s side. They break apart; Cal staggering to protect his injury, the Inquisitor standing tall. He isn’t even breathing hard. He runs a hand through his hair, picks imaginary dirt off his uniform.

“You’re not real,” Cal tells him, despite the pain tearing at his side. He glances down, sees ripped clothing and a nasty welt bubbling and blistering.

“You were always so weak,” the Inquisitor says, circling Cal, preparing his next strike. “How many people are dead because of you? Because of that weakness? Can you even bear to count? How many children will die because you destroyed that holocron?”

“It was the right call,” Cal says, teeth clenched against the agony in his side. “I won’t become like you.”

Laughing like he forgot how, the Inquisitor shakes his head in mock dismay. “You don’t have the strength to be anything like me. You are weak, clinging to an ideology that abandoned you. The Order preached peace while waging war.” His voice gains volume, gains emotion. The Inquisitor isn’t blank now; he seethes with rage, the storm rolling in. “You were supposed to be a guardian of peace, not a soldier.” Anger whips through the Force before the Inquisitor regains his control, his tone blank once more. “You put your trust in all the wrong people, all the wrong things.” The Inquisitor cuts through BD’s chassis in a single, sweeping blow. “Never again.”

“No!” A howl tears itself from Cal, but he’s too late. Too slow.

Again.

BD-1 is gone.

Such pointless cruelty. Anger boils over, Cal’s lightsaber swinging wildly.

The Inquisitor doesn’t raise his weapon to meet it. He pins Cal’s blade in place with the Force. Their eyes lock, and to Cal’s horror he sees compassion there. Twisted, but compassion all the same. “I feel it. I feel your anguish. Your rage. You won’t need to lose anyone else if you embrace it.” The Inquisitor moves faster than Cal can blink, his hand resting on Cal’s shoulder, his red blade thrumming over Cal’s chest. “Give into that darkness you hear whispering from the shadows. You will be unstoppable.”

Tears blurring his vision, Cal raises his head. “Never.”

Dead eyes stare. “We’ll see about that.”

The Inquisitor’s hand strikes without making contact, the blow launching Cal off the ground and into the ceiling. Pinned in place by the Force, Cal can’t move as the marble cracks, black tar bubbling up to take hold once more. Cal doesn’t care. He can’t move his eyes off the pieces of BD’s body at the Inquisitor’s feet.

How many more friends will he fail?

“Who will you lose next?” The Inquisitor asks. “Will your resolve hold if you lose all of them? You think you know pain. You have no idea what it is to lose everything. Not yet.”

Cal won’t lose anyone else. He’s getting out of here. He’ll –

He’s pulled up, into the marble, tossed into the air of another chamber. He crashes into solid ground with a bone rattling crunch. Teeth catching his lips, blood fills his mouth. Swallowing the bitter tang, Cal waits for the pain to steady before he sits.

What is that? That smell? He knows it from Bracca, when they boarded Venators with countless dead left behind.

There is a body in here with him.

He sits.

He sees.

“Cere?”

She stares blankly at the ceiling, a milky film covering tearstained eyes. A figure steps closer, black boots, black armor, bleak eyes, pale face, the reddest hair. The Inquisitor ignites his blade, holds it over Cere’s chest.

“If I let it, the guilt of this could crush me,” he says. The lightsaber makes tiny motions as though encircling Cere’s heart. “But then I remember how she never gave me a choice. It was always what she wanted. I never had a moment to think of a different way.”

“Because I didn’t want to do it another way,” Cal says, getting to his feet despite the grinding bones and joints. He presses a hand to his new lightsaber wound, teeth gritted against the ache. “Cere gave me a path forward. She gave me a life, taught me what it is to be a Jedi when I’d almost forgotten. What else was I going to do? Keep hiding on Bracca until I rotted away in the rain?”

“She gave me nothing but a new line to hold by myself.” The blade stills over Cere’s chest. “She set me up to fail. Fail her, fail those kids, fail Master Tapal. She hates knowing that holocron is destroyed. She hates the choice I made.” The Inquisitor looks at Cal. “You know it too. You know she hates you for that choice.”

“You’re wrong!”

“Am I?” The blade drops.

Cal puts everything into the push, and this time it’s the Inquisitor crashing into the wall. Cal runs for Cere. He doesn’t make it in time, the floor swallowing her, Cal’s hands slapping against cold marble.

“You are wrong,” he tells the Inquisitor. “If Cere hadn’t found me, if she hadn’t pulled me off Bracca, I’d be dead. I owe her everything. I am a Jedi. I’m holding the line because that’s what I have to do. There’s nobody else to do it.”

“Cere could do it.”

“And then what?” Cal stares at the Inquisitor. “What would I do? Hide while others fight to free the galaxy from the Empire?”

Footsteps. From behind. The Inquisitor’s eyes slip away from Cal’s as a new voice speaks out.

“Maybe, if it means nobody else dies.”

That voice. Cal forgot he ever sounded like that. He turns, sees the boy standing against the opposite wall, trying to shrink in on himself as though the smaller he is, the more invisible he becomes.

And he was. Invisible. For five long years. Until he made the choice to use the Force and save a friend.

Save him? All Cal did was delay Prauf’s death.

The Inquisitor’s hand is surprisingly warm on his shoulder. “Spare him further pain.”

The boy is so small. So fragile. Prauf took him in, kept him alive on a world eager to grind him to dust. He glances at Cal, eyes darting away a heartbeat later.

“Trash.” The Inquisitor’s empty laugh bounces off the walls. “Nobody came for him. Nobody cared to find him for five long years. Not the kid. A useless little brat.”

Cal stands between them.

“It’s my fault Master Tapal died,” the boy says, scrubbing an oil-stained hand across his grubby face, the freshly inked tattoo still swollen. The Guild dug up the smallest clothes they could for him and they’re still too big. “I was too slow. I wasn’t good enough.” The boy stares through Cal with blank eyes. No life. No light. No hope. Empty. Broken. “No one should trust me with anything.”

Cere might not be here, but her words will never leave Cal. “You are a child. You did the best you could.”

Shoved aside, Cal stumbles as the Inquisitor jabs a finger at the boy. “You were weak. You’re still weak!”

The boy recoils.

The Inquisitor moves, sweeping across the space in a single move, his lightsaber a wailing arc of red light.

He isn’t attacking Cal.

He’s going for the boy.

Lightsaber humming, Cal intercepts the Inquisitor, putting himself in front of the boy and keeping him from harm. The boy dodges back as red meets blue. The Inquisitor once again presses all his weight onto his blade.

Arrogant. Foolish.

Cal steps aside, deactivating his saber. The Inquisitor pitches forward, his back wide open. Cal’s blade drives down through his spine, blue light erupting from his chest.

“Never,” Cal says, voice shaking. “I’ll never turn into you.” He sees the boy staring at him, faint hope in his dull eyes. Something in Cal shifts, cracks. Master Tapal and Prauf died for that boy. They died for Cal because Cal wasn’t trash. He isn’t worthless. Blade deactivating, Cal watches the Inquisitor collapse to the ground. “He’s never turning into you.”

The Inquisitor coughs, blood erupting from his chest and mouth. He cackles, guttural and choking. “Cere was right. Every Jedi faces the dark side.” This only seems to amuse him more. “You have no idea what it is to face the darkness. You might know loss, but you don’t know what it is to break.” He looks up, bloodstained teeth bared in a manic grin. “You don’t know, but you will.”

The light dies. Cal is in complete, unbroken darkness. If he’s still in the chamber, he can no longer see the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Even his lightsaber fails to penetrate the dark.

The Inquisitor is gone, no longer prone beneath Cal’s feet.

“Are you there?” Cal calls to the boy.

The boy does not answer.

Neither does the Inquisitor.

And then.

One.

Two.

Thuds.

Fleshy.

Bodies.

Greez.

Merrin.

Their bodies shine in the darkness, both bearing lightsaber scars.

It’s a trick. A nightmare. This place is messing with him. Be calm. Trust in the Force.

The Force is an impenetrable jumble. Cal pulls back before it can bite him.

Something rattles unseen, a dry sound reminiscent of wood chimes, only Cal doesn’t hear a musical tone, just a dull thud.

It’s a room. Cal is still in the marble room, which means there will be walls. He needs to find a wall, ground himself. He isn’t lost in some liminal space outside reality, even if the only things lit by his lightsaber are Greez, Merrin and his own pale skin. Lightsaber held aloft, Cal chooses a direction and walks.

And walks.

And walks beyond what should have been the limits of this room.

No wall.

No bounds.

No reality.

His feet hit wet ground, liquid shimmering under his lightsaber. The blue blade gives it a strange, purplish hue.

Someone breathes in the darkness. He hears them walking, stopping, walking again.

Watching.

Someone is watching him.

The Inquisitor?

The boy?

Cal kicks something. It rolls away and he catches only a glimpse of something oval and white slipping out of sight. Another step. Something crunch beneath his boot. He looks. Sees it. Dust now, bone before. And now he’s looking, he sees they’re everywhere, bodies upon bodies, spread around him. He is the epicenter of their demise. All the dead still bear parts of their storm or purge trooper armor.

Are these all the people he’s killed?

What kind of Jedi has such a body count?

He does. Because this isn’t peace time, and Cal is a soldier. He has been for many, many years now. He just had an unexpected five-year hiatus on Bracca. Now he’s back where he was, fighting the war he was raised in. These people would not weep for him, so he will not weep for them.

Except someone is weeping. Loudly. Nearby.

Cal moves through the darkness, through the dead, crushing more bones beneath his feet. Among the piles of dead, he finds him. The boy weeps, kneeling in an ever-expanding pool of blood, slumped over the body of his dead master.

Cal’s master.

He remembers this. He remembers it so clearly. Crash-landing on Bracca, knowing he was alone, that he couldn’t stay here and cry forever, but not knowing how to stop. He’d spent the night there, stayed as long as he dared, until all his emotions faded behind a cloud and he could think again.

Can’t cry forever.

Can’t stay with the escape pod.

Can’t stay here and die.

Hold the line.

Someone will come.

“Someone will come,” Cal tells the boy, crouching beside him. Rain pours around them, gasping where it hits the pooling blood. “Prauf will find you, and someday, Cere and Greez will come. You’ll meet BD and Merrin. Don’t give up, not even on the hardest days.”

Footsteps.

Cal looks up. Cere is there, standing with her back to him, hands limp at her sides. Hope and relief burst inside him. He reaches for the boy. “Look,” he says as he searches blindly for the boy’s hand. “Cere’s here.”

The boy and Master Tapal are gone. Cal’s hand sinks into that same tar once again. He yanks himself free before it can pull him in. Up and moving, he reaches for Cere.

She moves out of reach. Step by step, he cannot keep up even though Cere isn’t running. She just won’t stay. Cere is out of reach, fading into the darkness.

Slow, slower, stop. Cal stops. Cere keeps going until she’s swallowed whole. Turning, looking for something – someone – to hold onto, he sees Greez and Merrin walking away too, walking apart.

Stop. Stop. Why are they leaving? Why can’t he catch up to them?

A new figure emerges from the darkness.

The Inquisitor.

He never stopped watching. And he’s still smirking despite the hole running through him and the blood coating his teeth. Hand held up, he starts counting off. “Your Master? Dead. All those stormtroopers and purge troopers?” He holds up the other hand, all fingers splayed. “Also dead, and it would take a hundred of me to have enough fingers for your body count. Am I forgetting someone? I’m sure I’m forgetting someone. Oh!” The tar spits out another body. “Prauf! Prauf’s dead too.” Other bodies emerge around him, every one a scrapper. “Bad day to catch the train with you.”

It replays in Cal’s memory, the moment Prauf stepped up to protect him from Trilla, the same moment Cal failed to protect him. He could have stepped up, should have intervened sooner.

“I can hear you,” the Inquisitor says. “I can hear your thoughts. If only you’d been faster. If only you weren’t such a coward. If only. If only. If. Only. You learned nothing from Master Tapal’s death, so it happened again.” He’s standing in front of Cal now, chest to chest, close enough his blood spreads across Cal’s chest too. “You reek of fear.” He thumps Cal’s chest with one gloved fist. “You are so full of pain you don’t even know what to do with it. You bury it, cover it over, and when it digs its way free you kick it away again.”

He's right.

“It’s not going to work forever. You are so afraid of giving into it, you can’t even see how its driving you. You’re on the edge, and you don’t even see it. You go on and on and on, without rest, without thought, and what do you think that’ll do to everyone around you?”

They’ll get hurt.

They’ll die.

They’ll leave.

“And you’ll be alone,” the Inquisitor says. He presses a hand to Cal’s chest, leaving a bloody handprint. “If you’re alone, no one else can be hurt just by being around you. Nobody except you. And you don’t matter. You’ve never mattered. Because you are trash. A failure.”

Cal stares at the Inquisitor. “Is that what works for you? Being alone? Always hurting, never fighting back? Never caring about anyone but yourself?”

Head tilted back, the Inquisitor looks down at him despite their equal height. “Wouldn’t you rather be like this if it meant no one else dying because of you? If it meant no one else could ever leave you? You’d die for them, but they’ll just die because of you. If you’re like me, you’ll be safe. No new pain. Just the old scars, weighing like they usually do. And you’ll have more power than you can possibly imagine. Nothing will ever hurt you again.”

Never again? An empty life devoid of pain would be wonderful. It would be a dream.

And it would be empty.

Stale.

Lifeless.

Lonely.

Just like the Inquisitor.

“No,” Cal says. “Never.”

“Then see your fate and enjoy your pain.”

The roundhouse comes out of nowhere, slamming into Cal’s head and knocking him sideways. He crashes down, vision blacking out until –

Fire.

He’s in a massive chamber, holobooks stretching so far over his head, all of them burning.

An archive, burning.

Darkness. Terrible, hungry darkness. It will take and it will burn, and it cannot be stopped.

She’s there. Cere. Cere, standing against the darkness, tall and proud. A true Jedi Master. So strong.

Strong enough?

Cal can’t get to her.

He can’t –

Cere.

That darkness – it’s him. It’s all consuming. Cal made a choice and she’s the one paying for it.

Cere stands against the darkness.

She stands alone.

She –

“Cere!”

Fire burns a brilliant white. Cal reaches through the blankness until he’s back. Back in the marble room, the door standing open. His head feels wrong, like someone put their hands in his skull and forced the bone too far apart. Cal bursts out into entry hall on unsteady legs. BD isn’t there. Neither is the woman.

The door to the street stands open. The tempestuous Force resists Cal’s attempts to harness it. Nauseous, he tumbles outside. It’s so quiet. No people. No traffic. The sky overhead shimmers, the stars tiny dancing specks now the storm has passed. Starlight leads him through empty streets, a path in the dark of the night. Is this the way they went when they left the ship? Cal can’t remember. Doesn’t matter. It’s okay. He’s okay. There’s no one to fight. No one to protect.

No one to fail except himself.

Because the people...

Dead.

Everywhere he looks.

Bodies.

Vendors, locals, tourists.

Dead.

Someone behind him.

Cal spins.

Another body.

A hum in the distance, drowned out by a scream.

Lightsaber.

Their wounds. All of them…

No. No, no, no he can’t be out here. He can’t be here!

Tripping, scrambling, Cal runs. He runs through empty streets. There’s no way. No way he’s out here.

Behind him. Look. No. Just bodies in the dirt.

Here, Cal.

Ahead, there, the Mantis.

But somewhere in the distance.

Him.

Murdering.

Not alone. Cal can’t face him without –

The ship’s ramp appears, the hatch opening. Cal races aboard, hoping to see the others.

Empty. No one’s here.

Maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s better.

No, no that’s not right. How can he face the darkness and fear alone? Alone means emptiness. Cal doesn’t want to know that feeling even again. He should go back out, search the streets, find the others, find him, but his head. Crying out, Cal catches it with both hands, the pain enough to turn his stomach, fingers pushing at the insides of his skull.

What if he’s in there, clawing his way out?

Cal hiccups, dry heaves, giggles. Maybe his skull will split open right here and the Inquisitor will pour right out and take his place.

The ship spins around him and it’s all he can do to stagger to the couch and collapse onto it, the Mantis shaking around him like maybe it wants to throw him off.  

Cal breathes.

Someone whimpers.

Eyes up. Cal sees a child, a little Rodian, huge tears rolling down their cheeks. Their Jedi robes are torn, dirty, bloodstained. They say nothing. They just weep, little shoulders shuddering.

The Rodian isn’t alone. All the holocron’s children are with them, tiny faces turn to Cal. None of them speak. They plead without words. Cal hears them.

Why. Why didn’t you help us?

The press closer, closer, a crush of tiny bodies crawling over him, pressing him down, down, down.

The ship’s hatch opens.

Heavy footsteps thump across the deck, purposefully slow.

The Inquisitor’s lightsaber casts the ship in bloody hues.

And still the children crush Cal.

“No one will help these children. They will be hunted the moment they reveal their potential to the wrong person,” the Inquisitor says, red blades hissing at his side as he twirls his lightsaber, the children scrambling over each other to keep out of its reach. “You can’t save everyone.”

Pushing through the children, shoving them aside, Cal holds out a hand, a desperate gesture of peace.

The Inquisitor stares at him, emotionless.

“Don’t hurt them,” Cal pleads. “I’ll do anything.”

“You’ve already chosen their fate.”

The red blades swing.

The children –

“No!”

The Force explodes.

And the Mantis with it.

Because Cal isn’t on the ship.

He’s still in the strange temple, surrounded by its black and gold marble. He’s slumped on his side, and this time his reflection is where it should be, fully in sync. Something else shines in the room’s reflection.

The open doorway.

Unsteady legs take Cal into the entrance. BD is there with the woman. Stumbling, Cal catches himself on the woman’s desk, nearly tipping over a pricey looking tea set. Alarmed, BD hurries over, the sound of his voice like needles to the brain. Cal winces, tries to steady himself. The woman says something, Cal’s ears too full to hear it. Whatever she says, BD falls silent.

A warm hand closes around Cal’s wrist, grounding him in the moment. “Jedi,” the woman says with solemnity. She gives him the slightest bow of her head. “You have seen what you needed to see. You have the answers you came in search of.”

Answers? What part was an answer?

“You need not speak of it with me.” She indicates to one of the small teacups. “Refresh yourself before you leave. You have endured an ordeal.”

An ordeal? His hands fly to his side, but the wound is not there. All he finds are sweat-drenched clothes.

“Drink,” the woman says. “And then you can return to your ship.”

“Is this real?” Cal rasps.

BD jabs him, hard. He makes threats of electric shocks should Cal remain uncertain.

“The trial is complete.” The woman presses the warm teacup into his hands, but they are so sweaty it almost slips. And as an echo rushes over him, of countless others made to drink from this cup, their thoughts too chaotic to parse, the woman holds her hands around his. “Drink, young one.”

So thirsty it dominates his thoughts, Cal does as he’s told. The tea is warm and sweet. It calms his thumping heartrate, settles the vertigo. He comes up for air once he’s drained the cup. “What is this place?”

“One of many in the galaxy that challenge us, reveal truths to us we wouldn’t otherwise acknowledge. Shows us things we might not otherwise see.”

“Futures,” Cal says.

The woman dips her head, pours another cup of tea, pushing BD away before he can scan it. “Perhaps. Or perhaps all you see are reflections of things that lie within.”

Reflections. He finishes the second cup of tea. The Force settles. He settles too. None of it was real. Not in the sense it’s happening, right now. It reflected his own fears, the ones that take hold late at night when he can’t sleep and won’t meditate.

Himself as an Inquisitor.

Cere, dying just like Master Tapal.

BD, broken and abandoned.

Greez, Merrin, dying or leaving.

Cal reaches for his friend, blinking away the tears. BD nuzzles his head against Cal’s palm, issuing a reassuring trill.

“Yes,” the woman says with certainty. “You have learned well here.”

They are quiet while Cal drinks. With his mind clearing, a new question emerges. “When was the last time someone else visited this place?”

“You wish to know the last time another Jedi came here,” the woman surmises.

“You’re good,” Cal says, smiling faintly.

“I’m sorry to say it has been many, many years. And I suspect it will be many more after today.”

“What about –” He stops himself from asking about Cere. Maybe she no longer has questions that need the answers a place like this has to offer.

“I mourn the loss of the Jedi,” the woman says. “Truly.”

Taking in his surroundings, ignoring the promising aura of an oncoming migraine, Cal can draw one conclusion. “This place wasn’t made by the Jedi.”

“No, but we know the Force belongs to all, and a great many interpretations of its gifts exist. Many centuries ago, this world housed a sect of Force wielders who used this temple as a rite of passage for their warriors. To fail the test was to fail their teachings, and this was unacceptable. If a student did not emerge within the hour ready to fight for their people, they failed.”

An hour? Cal looks to BD, who gives an unfortunate update. “Three hours?” Cal gapes. He was in there for three hours? “It felt a lot longer than that.” He yawns, fighting off an urge to put his head down beside the tea set. “It felt like days.”

“Be glad the sect’s time has passed,” the woman says. “Many such failures were imprisoned nearby, tortured in the belief it would bring about a change in their disposition.”

Head throbbing, Cal tries to imagine what change they were looking for. He feels a wobbly smile twist his lips. “I definitely failed their test.”

 “When the Jedi came, the sect fought and lost. A warrior culture, one that valued pain, could not compete with compassion. The prisons were opened, the prisoners freed. The Jedi tried to bring them back from the brink, but for so many it was too late. The torture had taken its toll, their minds and connections frayed and severed.”

“Is that when you became the guardian here?” Cal asks.

“Oh, no,” the woman says.

Cal waits, but she refuses to elaborate. Sensing his time here is at an end, he returns the teacup. He feels calmer now, even if his head still churns through everything he saw. “Thank you for –” For what, he isn’t sure, but the woman seems to accept his loss of words. He passes the teacup back to her. “I should go – get back to my ship. My crew. I – I should meditate.”

“No. You should rest.” Her fingertips brush across his forehead, a little shiver racing through him. “Allow your dreams to show you the way,” she says, her words weightier than before, settling over his shoulders. He feels himself nodding in agreement. “Meditate later. Talk later. You must unburden yourself. Travel well, Jedi.”

Leaden feet lead Cal out to the streets. The door closes behind him. When he turns to look at it, he sees a solid wall.

“Dreaming,” he mumbles. His head feels too heavy to hold up, but he can’t stay here. He and BD make their way back to the Mantis. The streets are loud, frenetic, and Cal crashes into multiple people, shoved away by rough hands.

“If you can’t handle your drink, don’t get drunk!” Someone yells at him.

By the time they reach the Mantis, BD is ready to throw hands (feet?) and Cal is lucky to be upright. The others are already there. Greez paces, Merrin flicks fire across her fingers, and Cere –

Cere as she is.

Cere as she will be.

One worried.

The other determined.

Cal reaches for her. He’s not sure which one of her. The worried one might need him more. The determined one is so radiant he can’t look. He can’t. She’ll blind him.

The future will blind him.

The worried Cere talks. Her words filter through his head.

“ – take, Cal?”

He licks his lips, summons a response. “Huh?”

That only worsens Cere’s worried look. “What did you take?”

Take? What did he take. “A couple hundred lives.”

There’s a distinct “Ooooh boy,” from behind Cere. He can’t see because she’s blinding him. Cere and her light. Many hands take him to the couch, press him against the weave and the cushions. Cal sinks, only this time he’s warm. He’s going to drift away again.

A warm hand brushes through his hair, never catching on a tangle.

“Where did you go?” Cere’s question is full of emotion, too many for Cal to parse.

He doesn’t want her to be upset. What if he upsets her so much she leaves? So, he tries. He tries his hardest to give her an answer, even though looking at her hurts. ‘Somewhere I never want to go again.’ That’s what he wants to say. But only one word comes out. “Never.” And he reaches for her other hand, grabs on and holds tight.

“I’m here,” she says. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Are you?”

She manages to frown and smile all at once. “Of course.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

Cal sleeps.

He dreams of blood and death. Every time he surfaces, voices swirl, their words blurring. Hands hold. Hands push and pin him until something else brushes over him. The Force. A great, engulfing tide that sweeps him up and washes him away.

Someone breathes out of sync. Confused, worried, Cal opens his eyes. He’s on the couch, buried under blankets, and Cere is next to him, reading from a datapad. BD, Greez and Merrin are nowhere in sight. Are they okay? Have they left? Did they –

“You are stubborn in all that you do,” Cere comments without looking up. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Rolling onto his back, Cal can’t help chuckling. “More than once.” He licks his lips. “Why am I so tired?”

“BD tells me you cooked your brain.”

“Oh.” Cal tips his head up, fails to spot anyone else. “Where are the others?”

“Merrin was bored, or so she says. Greez wanted to get some ingredients before we left. I made BD go with them. You’ve been dreaming. Loudly.”

“Sorry.”

“Will you tell me what happened?” Cere asks, putting the datapad down.

All of it?

Some of it.

Gathering up the crumbs of memory, Cal nods. “It started on Bogano. With the vision in the vault. Before –”

“Before Trilla took the holocron?” Curiosity piqued, Cere leans in. “You never told me what happened before Trilla took the holocron,” she says. “And I never pushed. Perhaps we’ve delayed for too long.”

“It was the future. Or a future, one we could have chosen. No, not we. Me.” He’s not explaining this very well. Sighing, he sits up, knees pulled to his chest, and starts talking about the vision, the holocron, how using it went completely wrong.

He tells her about him. The Inquisitor.

“I couldn’t let it happen,” Cal says. “Merrin was right – if we found those children and brought them with us, we’d be putting them in danger. We’re not ready to train them.” He blushes, catching the implied insult he’s levelled at Cere’s teaching. “At least, I’m not. We don’t even have a safe place to hide them while we train them. I just –”

Cere holds up a hand to silence him. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I understand.”

Cal so desperately wants to ask if she agrees with him, if she believes he made the right choice. He followed Master Tapal’s teaching, yet every time he sees the holocron fragments he asks himself if he did the right thing. Today, just like the day he destroyed it, he feels so sure he did, but give him a few days – a few weeks – and that doubt will creep back in.

He can’t ask. He just can’t. Not today.

“Alright, I have the context,” Cere says. “Now, tell me what happened last night.”

He gapes, lets the words sink into his mushy brain. “Last… last night?”

“Yes,” Cere says, ever patient. “You’ve been asleep for hours. Mostly.”

Mostly? “Sleepwalking?”

“Walking, talking, occasional uses of the Force. Nothing we aren’t familiar with.”

Cal pulls his knees in closer, chin pressed to his kneecaps, bone on bone. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She hands over one of those nasty orange drinks they picked up after his injury when he didn’t have an appetite but needed the nutrients. “Well, perhaps be a little sorry. You worried us.”

Taking the drink, reminding himself he drank worse on Bracca, Cal downs it in three huge gulps.

“Alright,” Cere says. “Now, last night.”

Cal tells her. About the woman, the strange temple, the visions that are already slipping away except for one certainty. “It’s right there. The dark side. And if I lose my way, I could become him.” 

“None of us are immune to the dark side,” Cere says, as though the rest of the Jedi Order is out there right now, facing their own challenges. “To think otherwise is arrogance.”

Arrogance. It is one thing to declare you’ll never use the dark side, and another entirely to be faced with unimaginable –

A hand rests on his, gently squeezing. “You cannot allow fear to drive you or limit you, even if you believe what you saw was a vision of the future.”

“A future,” Cal says.

Cere laughs. “You’re a quick study. Psychometry allows you to witness the past and it is immoveable. But the future is always in motion. A decision I make today might change what you do tomorrow.”

"She said I found the answers I was looking for," Cal says.

Cere waits him out.

“I watched you fight an incredible darkness. I hope –” Words fail him, choked into silence by a sudden flush of fear, of grief. “If I ever fall, Cere, if I ever become a monster, if I’m threatening others – hurting, killing others – take me out. No matter what.”

Silence stretches between them, Cere’s expression impassive throughout. Eventually, she replies. “Then I ask the same of you.”

Cal tries to absorb what he’s asking and what he’s being asked. To force Cere to kill him. To kill Cere should she fall to the dark side.

“I believe in you,” Cere says. “I believe that even if you falter, you will never fall so far.”

“I believe in you too,” Cal says.                                                                               

Cere leans back in her chair. “That’s all we need.”