Chapter Text
Down in the Fortress Inquisitorius, deep below the surface of the dark waters of Nur, Cal Kestis is certain of one thing: he has never in his life been in more danger than he is now.
The Empire has been doing its very best to put an end to his quest. Stormtroopers, scout troopers, purge troopers, Inquisitors...he’s faced them all. The Inquisitors have been the worst. With Force powers that rival his own, and training that likely exceeds it, Cal has been pushed to the brink during each of their fights. He has reached deeper, pushed harder than he had ever thought possible. Yet each time, he has prevailed, either by his mere survival or, more recently, winning the battles against Force users with more experience than he.
Until now.
This black, mechanical mountain of a man is unlike anything Cal has ever faced before. The Dark Side rolls off him like a roiling sea of pain and suffering, seeking to pollute and destroy all in its path. When he had first seen him step off that platform, Cal had initially thought him to be another Inquisitor. But Trilla’s gut-wrenching terror, and Cere’s whispered words, the Dark Shadow, had hinted at something else, and then the man’s--if he can be called that--own words, You have failed me, Inquisitor, confirmed it. The head of the Inquisitorius, this dark behemoth likely is, but he is no Inquisitor.
Deep in the recesses of Cal’s mind, the sections not filled with mind-numbing terror, what little logic he has left provides an answer: the opponent now bearing down on him is a Sith Lord.
But Cal is no Obi-Wan Kenobi or Anakin Skywalker, the two Jedi Knights most renowned for their ability to take on and take down Sith Lords. Instead, the recent-Padawan-turned-young-Knight is tossed aside like so much garbage, his lightsaber flying from his hand at the moment of impact. Cal gasps, stars dancing before his eyes as his head makes contact with the metal floor. He can only watch, through darkening vision, as the Sith Lord grabs his droid, his friend, and throws him to the ground. For one heart-stopping moment, Cal thinks this is it for his small, but loyal companion.
But his fears, at least in that regard, prove to be unfounded. Instead, the Sith Lord advances, focusing entirely on the little Jedi who has been causing his Inquisitors so much trouble.
The moment the Sith Lord moves, Cal’s fear resurfaces and his vision clears right up. Desperately, he reaches for his lightsaber, hoping to buy himself, his companions, and the children on the holocron, just a little more time, just enough for him to figure out something else. A frantic pull with the Force, and his lightsaber is flying into his hand--
--but it doesn’t make it.
Instead, it stops halfway, suspended in the air only an arm’s length away. He tugs again; it doesn’t budge. Eyes widening, Cal looks up and sees the Sith Lord, hand just slightly extended. It’s him; he’s doing it. He’s taken Cere, he’s taken Trilla and now, he’s about to take Cal’s only hope of saving himself and the children on the holocron from a horrible fate under the crushing heel of the Galactic Empire.
Seemingly unbothered by the tug-of-war they currently have going on, the black-suited Sith intones, “Surrender the holocron.”
Not an option. No matter how terrified he is, Cal knows, down to the very core of his being, that that will never be an option. If that means becoming one with the Force today, then so be it.
“I’ll never give it to you!”
Again, the Dark Lord isn’t bothered by his fit of denial. “We shall see.”
Cal watches, in horror, as his lightsaber slowly begins to move, rotating on an invisible axis. There’s no real reason for it; he knows the Sith is well aware that it’s a saberstaff, and both ends work equally well. This, then, is for show, simply to demonstrate that he can, that he is able to take Cal’s weapon from him, and turn it from a lifeline to a catalyst of pure fear.
And it’s working. Cal tries and tries, but nothing he does has any effect on the weapon’s rotation. A single violet blade ignites, but he only has a split second to process this before his own weapon is upon him.
Perhaps it is meant to be a stab, but that isn’t what happens. Perhaps Cal’s last-second grab for the weapon is more powerful than the Sith expects and destabilizes it, or maybe the Sith is simply toying with him, but instead of being driven deep into his chest, the lightsaber does something else.
It comes down hard, tearing, melting, through the flesh and bone just above his left elbow before biting deeply into the left side of his chest, and Cal screams. Only distantly is he aware of his right hand scrambling for the hilt, finding the switch and turning the saber off. It keeps him from being sliced in two, but it doesn’t help with the pain. Never in his life has he ever felt such all-encompassing agony. With the saber now off, Cal sags back against the ground, breath coming in shuddering moans. His left side is on fucking fire, and darkness teases the edges of his vision.
Just as he’s about to pass out, though, something catches Cal’s attention and drags him back to the land of the living. A red lightsaber flies through the darkness, but it isn’t the Sith Lord’s. He turns to deflect it and Cal watches, amazed, as Cere emerges from the darkness, catching her stolen deflected lightsaber and tucking and rolling before facing off against the monster from her memories.
“I won’t let you take those children!”
Cere raises her red blade, both hands coming down to strike a powerful blow against their enemy. Maybe, Cal thinks, just maybe, between the two of them--
--but it’s for naught. Cere swings again and again, each blow strong and precise, but the Sith blocks, unaffected by the strength behind the strikes. He advances, driving the older Jedi back until his last strike tears the lightsaber from her hands. Cere is dealt a vicious, backhanded blow that sends her flying, landing in a heap just in front of her wounded companion. She finds her feet quickly, but rather than being cause for celebration, it’s cause for alarm.
Something deep inside Cal quails when he feels the anger rolling off his friend in waves. The person standing before him now is drawing from it, but she’s not stopping there. She’s bypassing the Light, and reaching directly for the Dark Side.
The Sith Lord can feel it, too. “Such hatred,” he purrs. “You would have made an excellent Inquisitor.”
This gets exactly the reaction their enemy is hoping for, the one Cal is desperate to avoid. “She’s stronger than that,” he gasps, hoping to remind his companion of her own strength. It works--in a fashion.
Rather than come back to herself, Cere brings her hands together, the Force moving through her like a carnivorous snake about to choke the life out of its prey. But rather than choke the Dark Lord, Cere instead targets Fortress itself, the embodiment of all of her rage and pain. Durasteel and transparisteel warp and crack, threatening to let the crushing power of Nur’s ocean flood this Dark Side-polluted chamber.
The chamber that they are all currently occupying.
It’s that thought, the thought that his friend is about to drown them, and herself along with them, that finally propels Cal to his feet. It’s a struggle; only his right arm and lung are working. His left arm refuses to respond to his commands, hanging uselessly at his side, and his left lung will not inflate, denying him the breath he so desperately needs. The motion sends a fresh wave of agony cascading through him, tearing a gasp from his still-functioning lung. But Cal fights tooth and nail to keep his feet, to not give in to the urge to just collapse and never get up. He staggers, he’s off-balance, but it works. He’s standing.
As opposed to the Sith Lord, who has condescendingly dropped to one knee. “Yes,” he mocks, the sound coming from his vocoder somehow a combination of gravel and oil, “Strong with the Dark Side.” He rises then, showing just how unaffected he is by the former Jedi’s show of power. “I can feel it inside her…”
He takes an ominous step towards them, and Cal instinctively ignites his lightsaber, for all the good he knows it won’t do them. He’s too badly wounded to make a difference, and it’s not like he can outmatch a Sith Lord on a good day, anyway. There’s only one thing he can do: attempt to reach his friend. If he can reach her, then maybe, just maybe, they can figure out a way out of this together.
“Cere...Cere!” Cal’s cries are desperate, breathless. She twitches, then, showing she has heard him, but doesn’t let up her assault on the Fortress’s superstructure. Cal tries again. “Listen to me!” He draws on the Force, using it to add strength to his words, to reach his friend inside whatever dark cocoon she’s wrapped herself in. His Force presence brushes up against hers, trying to strike a balance between both forceful and soothing. Cere twitches again, responding to both his spoken and unspoken pleas. Please listen to me… “You still have a choice!”
And it works. Cal can feel it, the moment her friend comes back to herself. Her anger fades, replaced by horror as she stares at her hands, as if something else had temporarily taken over them. That horror, in turn, is replaced by fear as the Sith Lord advances, about to strike down not just herself, but her crewmate, her friend, behind her. Cal watches, spellbound, as Cere does something he has never seen before. She reaches for the Force again, not for the Dark Side, but for the Light. Just as the red blade is about to cleave her in two, it just...stops.
It’s nothing like the times Cal has used the Force to freeze his enemies in place. Rather, this is like the Sith’s blade has run into something more akin to a wall, no, a shield. Because that’s exactly what it is. A Force-shield.
Cal can feel equal amounts of love and fear pouring off his companion, giving power to her shield. But it’s not enough. Not about to be deterred, the Dark Lord raises his blade once again, not for a slash, but for a stab. The shield slows it, but it won’t be enough. Not by a long shot.
Cal’s mind races. There’s nothing he can contribute to the fight; he’s not in good enough shape to even raise his blade, let alone drive the Sith back. But something tickles the back of his mind; the Force urges him to look upwards. At the warped metal, the cracked transparisteel...the ocean that could very well drown them all.
The ocean.
‘Trust the Force,’ Jaro Tapal’s voice whispers, and that’s exactly what Cal intends to do. He clips his lightsaber back to his belt and reaches, sending out the strongest Force-push he can manage in his weakened state. It’s not as strong as he would like, but it’s enough. The metal and transparisteel that make up this dark hallway crack and shatter under the force of his attack, and the ocean rushes in. Before she can be swept away, Cal lunges forward to catch his collapsing companion in his uninjured arm.
The Sith is distracted, sending out immense waves of power to keep thousands upon thousands of liters of saltwater at bay. Cal takes advantage of it, using both his distraction and the stray waves of power to make his escape. Wrapping his one functional hand around the back of Cere’s shirt, he leaps and, with one last Force-push of his own, they are in the water.
If Cal thought standing was a struggle, then swimming is worse. With his left arm out of commission and his right hand holding tight to Cere, all he can use are his legs. He’s a strong swimmer, but not under these circumstances. Cal closes his airways, refusing to allow the water in; his nose and mouth remain clear, but it makes no difference. With each kick of his rapidly-weakening legs, water rushes in, drowning him from the inside out.
But he keeps pushing. Each kick takes them farther and farther away from the Fortress, and closer to safety. Cal doesn’t know how close to the surface they actually are. He just keeps kicking. Kicking and kicking and kicking...until...he just...can’t...any longer…
Cal’s fingers slacken, losing their grip on Cere’s shirt. There they float, suspended somewhere between life and death. Cal’s eyes blink once, twice, fighting to stay open...then they slide shut entirely, and will open no more.
He never sees the flash of green above them, nor the hands that reach towards them and pull them to safety.
XXXXXX
Cal is floating.
It’s warm here, warm like the ocean of Nur, but different. Comforting. Healing. He shifts, and his eyes slide open just a crack. It’s dark, but not as Dark as Nur had been. Something is strapped to his face. There’s a faint blue glow off to his left, but he’s too weak to make it out. His eyes slide shut once more.
Padawan. Trust the Force.
So that’s what Cal does. And he sleeps.