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Admittedly, Mapuzo wasn’t much of an improvement from Bracca. Sure, there weren’t collapsing shipwrecks practically drowning the planet’s surface, but it was practically a desert planet considering what the Empire had done to it. And Cal Kestis? He couldn’t stand desert planets.
His heat tolerance was next to none and his skin was paler than an albino bantha, so it sunburnt like no Jawa’s business. Naturally, desert planets didn’t agree with him.
Mapuzo was temporary, though, as he frequently reminded himself. Everywhere was temporary for a Jedi nowadays. Even Bracca.
“You deserve more than this junkpile, Cal!”
Sitting in a rotting transport vehicle, much like the one he and Prauf took every day back on the scavenger planet, Cal couldn’t help but think of his friend. He wondered how he was doing.
Prauf had insisted on sharing his meagre earnings with Cal from the first day they met, when Cal was even more babyfaced and freshly traumatised by the slaughter of his people. After he found out who he was a few months ago, though? There was no arguing with him after that, no slipping credits back into his jacket pockets. Prauf practically shoved him into the transport off Bracca, begging him to follow this safe, underground path for fugitive Force-sensitives.
He would never admit it, but it was nice to be cared for again.
Master Aayla would have liked him, Cal thought.
“We’re here.”
The boy was snapped from his thoughts by the gentle voice. Coming back into focus, he realised all the other passengers were beginning to stand and exit the transport. As he moved to join them, the woman beside him held out his bag.
“Stay close to me,” Tala warned.
With a sharp nod, he took his belongings and followed her off the transport.
He hadn’t travelled since before the Fall, and it showed. Every step he took was one of uncertainty. His eyes never stayed in one place, flying to and fro in an effort to spot everything that moved. He looked tenser than a tooka stuck in a tree, ready to pounce at anyone who got too close. Tala had told him to try and ease up on Bracca, but he couldn’t.
The last time he eased up, his Master died.
The last time he relaxed, Bly tried to kill him.
“This way,” Tala murmured as they split from the crowd of travellers. “Keep your head down.”
As if she had to say so. His robe, one of the few things he kept alongside his and his Master’s lightsabers, was already tugged up over his head. The shock of red hair on his head wasn’t exactly subtle. He was used to hiding it, as it was too easily recognizable.
Tala brought him to a safe house. It looked like a typical building, but Cal knew better. He could recognise safehouses and underground outposts like the back of his hand. That was, unfortunately, something he got from the war, not from Bracca. There weren’t any sanctuaries on Bracca, except the one in Prauf’s apartment.
Inside the safe house, a loader droid closed the door behind them.
“Hello,” Cal greeted.
The loader droid waved, at which point Tala cleared her throat. “NED-B isn’t capable of vocalising, but he’s been very helpful here. The contact should have arrived already. NED?”
NED nodded, then pointed towards the back of the safehouse.
Despite the certainty with which he’d left Prauf and Bracca behind, Cal felt something lodge in his throat. Tala was fine. She was nice, even. But now he was to be handed off to someone who specifically “handled Force-sensitives,” as he’d been told. Specifically younglings. He was not a youngling. 15 standard was practically an adult.
Before Tala could take a step towards the backroom, Cal grabbed her sleeve. Thankfully, she paused, eyeing him curiously.
“Do you trust them?” he asked quietly.
Tala frowned. “I do. But I think you would trust him more than I do. Most of the other Jedi that have come through here did.”
Force, every time she said that Cal felt a surge of hope. The other Jedi.
For years, he was convinced he was the only one left. Without being able to touch the Force, he couldn’t check his own bonds, so the only indication he had as to other survivors was Imperial propaganda, which obviously wasn’t in his favour. He wanted so desperately to believe Tala when she said there were others like him, others that escaped. But at the same time, he didn’t want it to be true. He didn’t want the Jedi to have to hide away like rats, living half-lives in desperate attempts to survive as he had on Bracca. This wasn’t what they were meant for.
“Okay,” he whispered, releasing her sleeve.
The other Jedi trusted him. So Cal could, too. Right?
He followed Tala to the backroom. The walls were bathed in yellow light and drowned in writing on the walls, even drawings. Cal didn’t focus on it, though, as his attention was drawn to the person inside.
Dark hair, a yellow line across his face, yellow-tinted brown eyes—he was running before he could even breathe again.
Cal collided with the Jedi Master with a bone-rattling cry.
Of course, the man hesitated, entirely unaware of why this young teenager was hugging him. To be fair, he’d had former Jedi hug him simply for being the first familiar Force signature they’d felt in years, even younglings hugging him as thanks for rescue or just for understanding, for being Force-sensitive. But this was different.
“Master Vos!” Cal wailed, abandoning all sense of decorum as he grasped the man’s ratty outfit like they would be ripped apart again.
Beneath him, Quinlan Vos lost his breath. Before his brain caught up, he was curling his arms around the teenager and tugging him close. His hood had fallen off in the rush, revealing dirty ginger hair and a pale, scarred face.
“Cal,” he breathed. Tears filled his eyes as he realised who he was holding. “Cal—”
For the first time in years, Cal let someone else shield him from the rest of the galaxy. All that mattered was burying his face in Master Vos’ chest and crying it all out. All that mattered was that his grandmaster was alive.
“Shh, sh, it’s okay, I’m here,” Quinlan whispered into his hair. “I’m here, you’re okay. I’ve got you now.”
He howled as if wounded, but in truth, his scars were being ripped open. Here, he couldn’t deny his solitude or the reason for it. In Master Vos’ arms, he had to accept the fact that his master was dead, and all that was left of her was the blade on his belt, the gap in his heart, and his slowly fading memories. Here, his broken heart was laid bare. Yet still, Master Quinlan tugged him closer and whispered reassurances, sounding tearful himself as they collapsed to the ground together.
“Cal, you have to be quiet,” he warned, although he hated to say it. “You have to be quiet, buddy.”
Despite the fact that he hadn’t been a padawan in years, Cal obeyed in an instant. His cries lessened to hiccuping sobs that he drowned in the folds of Master Quinlan’s tunic. He still didn’t dare let go.
A few feet away, Tala watched the pair with consternation, although it seemed like a pleasant surprise.
“Vos?” she questioned lightly.
He swallowed harshly, shutting his eyes. “Aayla’s,” he croaked.
It was half an explanation, conveniently leaving out exactly how much Cal Kestis meant to him. He was Aayla’s, that much was true, but he was not only Aayla’s apprentice. He was her son, and that made him Quinlan’s family, his grandson. Cal was all that remained of his daughter.
“Oh,” Tala breathed, understanding dawning. “ Oh . I’m so sorry.”
As much as this was a reunion, she knew it was also a confirmation. Aayla Secura was dead on Bracca, otherwise, she would be with Cal. Nothing could have taken her from him but her duty or her death.
“I’m sorry,” Cal whispered into Quinlan’s shoulder. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop them—”
Quinlan shook his head fiercely. “It’s not your fault. You were—you are a kid. I’m so proud of you for making it, Cal, and she would be, too, okay? You’re safe now. I have you.”
Desperate for grounding, the boy shifted his arms to rest around his grandmaster’s neck. His hands trembled and, not for the first time, he was grateful for the mouldering gloves he wore. It wouldn’t do to pick up Quinlan’s Echoes, especially not in such an emotional moment.
“Are you gonna send me away?” he asked.
“No, no, Force, never,” he hissed. “Never again. You’re staying right with me, do you understand?”
He made a noise between a whine and a hum of confirmation.
However, when the older man reached out into the Force to wrap him in a blanket of warmth and comfort, he found…nothing.
“Cal, buddy,” he said breathlessly, pained at the realisation, “you can stop shielding yourself in the Force. It’s okay; they won’t find you here. You can breathe.”
He tensed in Quinlan’s hold. For a long moment, he was afraid he’d have to comfort the boy further, reassure him that it was safe enough for him to let the Force run through his veins once more.
“Cal?”
The boy shook his head.
“Buddy, I promise you’re safe.”
He shook his head again. “I can’t,” he croaked.
Quinlan’s blood ran cold. His shaking hand gently pulled on Cal’s chin until he was looking up at him, still attempting to avoid eye contact as tears welled in those beautiful baby blues. “You can’t?” he repeated, his voice cracking. “What do you mean you can’t?”
“Master, I can’t.”
Almost desperate for some other answer, he sought him out in the Force again, but he wasn’t there. He was Force-null, utterly blank like most life in the galaxy. There was no bright, affable light that Quinlan could recognise as his grandson without a smidge of effort. He had expected their bond to be absent after all that time, of course, but not for Cal himself to have ceased to exist in the Force. Where was his little star?
“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, holding his small hands close to his chest. “After—when Bly got the comm, it just—it all hurt and there was screaming and then Master Aayla—”
His connection with the Force was broken. If he could touch the Force at all, he could barely do so.
“Cal…”
Quinlan pulled him back into his embrace. Cal cried into his chest, while he tried to come to terms with all of it.
Alright. So Cal needed help to reach the Force again. It would be painful and full of tears and he may not even want to do it in the first place, but that would be okay. That would be okay, Quinlan told himself. Because he didn’t think Cal would be alive to feel the Force again.
He’d take Cal’s life over the Force any day. Maybe that made him a bad Jedi, but so what?
The Jedi were dead. Cal was not.