Chapter Text
--Harry Potter--
Grunting as he blinked through his eye, rubbing away the discharge in his eye, Harry groaned at the stiffness in his neck, rubbing the offending area with one hand while his other felt around for the book he’d been reading, frowning as it was nowhere to be seen. Feeling some of the tension release, Harry frowned as he noticed some blood on the table, most dried red with splotches of black. Glancing downwards, wincing at the strain in his eye at the movement as his hand instinctively reached to rub it, Harry waited for several blinks to clear his vision enough to glance downwards, seeing the old tome had seemingly been knocked to the ground.
Turning his attention to the room, Harry gingerly pushed his chair back, stretching his body as he stood up, eyes singing in relief from staring at words on a page for the first time in hours. Reaching down and retrieving the book, he placed a bookmark before closing the lid, leaving it on the table and glancing to his left, where a large grandfather clock slowly ticked away.
“Almost morning, huh?” he rasped to himself, coughing as his disused vocal cords strained to produce the sound. Hearing the faint echo of his voice linger, bouncing off the stone walls, he couldn’t help but laugh to himself. “I guess I must be going insane, talking to myself.”
Parting the blinds, Harry took a moment to bask in the faint rising sun, a dull red that fought to penetrate the mist surrounding the rocky edges of the island. He allowed his eyes to soften, relaxing at the sight even as the faint sound of waves crashing against hard rock briefly overwhelmed the sound dampening runes, a few flecks of cold salt water managing to land on the outer window pane. An odd tranquillity managed to temper some of the unease in his body even as he clasped his hands behind his back, admiring the scene and imagining the warmth that should have been there as a wisp of sunlight briefly touched his face before being blocked out by a moving cloud.
Spotting the teapot at the corner of his desk, yet to be used, Harry poured out a cup for himself. The thick red liquid, supposedly helpful in boosting his circulation if the letter accompanying the month’s supply was true. Thanking magic for keeping the liquid warm and fresh, Harry gently shook the cup, creating a small whirlwind as some tea leaf fragments swam around and a faint purple mist rose up, entering his nose and relaxing
Reaching for his wand, Harry swished it against the drying blood on the table.
“Tergeo.” He found himself frowning, seeing that only about two thirds had been washed away. Repeating the swiping motion, he repeated the incantation again to little effect save for the slight rippling against his skin. Instead, Harry sheathed his wand, holding his hand forward and concentrating on his inner will, feeling his head buzz faintly as black mist surged forward, managing to quickly eat away at the remaining splotches. His body seemed to sing in relief, as though long disused pipes were once again flushed through with water. Glancing down at his calendar, Harry couldn’t help an annoyed frown, realising he’d missed yesterday’s duelling drills.
“Master Harry? Your breakfast.” A soft pop behind him signalled the arrival of his house elf, just in time to feel his stomach growl.
“Thank you,” Harry nodded, turning around to accept the plate from the house elf. Its back was hunched, one of its eyes milky white, while two of its fingers on the left hand were missing, clean cut lines replaced by metal caps. Frowning on the sight, it took measurable willpower to maintain his gaze. “Draw a bath for me, please. Just leave the food here when I’m in, and maybe wipe away some of the dust.”
“As you-ack-as you command,” the elf heaved, frowning as it thumped its thin chest with a clenched fist before disappearing with a soft pop. Looking down, Harry saw the plate featured a handful of salad greens, some steak and a generous assortment of pastries. Grabbing one, Harry quickly scarfed down the jam bread, feeling his throat stretch out to accommodate even as his taste buds sang out, feeling the nourishment coarse through his body.
Harry immediately felt a pang of guilt, imagining Rose scolding him like the old times when he’d fall from a tree, or fall from a broom…honestly his younger self really seemed to enjoy falling from things.
As he bit down only to realise his fingers were empty, Harry decided to take a forkful of potatoes, well seasoned and fried golden brown. His body sang in happiness at having warm food to bask in. The tension in his stomach was slightly painful, gas rising up his throat, but Harry knew this to be normal when he’d survived only off magic for the past few days. He decided to enjoy a bite of steak next, curling his hand around the metal fork and knife.
It felt almost alien to him, unlike the familiar prick of a quill or the inert handle of a runic knife. But still, it sliced into the meat easily enough, parting the flesh to reveal a pink interior. Small things, a bit of variety in his life…these were what he needed to keep sane.
Looking at the framed picture on his desk, he couldn’t help a smile as his eyes glazed over, seeing himself poking Rose’s nose a moment as she scrunched her face.
Eating the rest of his food with more gusto, Harry set aside the used plate, gingerly standing up and wincing at the pops of his joints. Already, he could feel his body growing fatigued as his stomach gurgled contentedly, beginning to divvy up the spoils to his body. Glancing down at the table, he picked up his hand mirror, ignoring the dishevelled hair and focusing on the oozing black pus pouring out of his scar with a slight frown. Tracing a finger over the cursed scar on his head, Harry felt a burning pain on his finger as the skin hissed angrily, a throb choking out a cry of pain as he collapsed to the floor, clutching his head as the cool touch of the stone floor barely dulled the fire that ran through his veins, cooking him alive from inside. His ears rang, barely aware of the sound of the mirror shattering, shards dispersing as his muscles locked up, too tense to even spasm as he lay trapped as a prisoner within his own body.
Harry wondered if this was finally the time that it would all end, countless nights of research and self-experimentation brought to such an unsatisfying conclusion. Perhaps fate would do what he was too cowardly to and end this misery.
But the thought was discarded at the very same moment. He would not die on this desolate rock alone and helpless. The strange force that infected him, whatever it may be, would be tamed for his own use.
“I will win,” Harry yelled despite his lungs starving for oxygen, mucus clogging his windpipe. His aura, weak though it may have been, flared as his body pushed furiously against the encroaching darkness. Clumsily, his hands curled themselves around a shard of broken mirror, stabbing it towards his scar. He heard a loud screen as his vision was clouded by a black, white and red lines jutting around as he was greeted by the sight of a field of ashes on a battlefield. Large skeletons wielding curved blades charged forward, uncaring as their bones were pulverised by blue balls of magic hurled by cloaked sorcerers, wielding their staves as they pooled their magic into large beams, cleaving through entire columns of skeletons in their wake. Lumbering green and purple orges towered over him wielded swords, spears, clubs and an assortment of weapons, occasionally with a piece of armour like a helmet or a shoulder guard. They seemed to have little problem grabbing a handful of smaller imps and hurling them into the enemy ranks, the child-sized goat-headed creatures flailing their tiny wings as their arms and legs flailed in the air. In the air, large dragons swooped around each other, burning scores of smaller insectoids as they chased down each other with blasts of infernal fire, so hot even flecks that fell to the battlefield would set an unfortunate soul alight.
But all of these paled in comparison to the presence of several champions on each side. The most powerful seemed to be the only champion of the army to his left, a suit of oozing black armour in a humanoid shape, barely reaching the waist of an orge that charged past his side. He unsheathed his blade, a hollow centre oozing strange purple measma that coated the rest of the blade.
With unnatural speed, he darted through the battlefield, leaping past the enemy’s front lines and kicking away a sword strike from the skeleton below as he landed with an explosive force, sending shockwaves in each direction and obliterating the skeletons that tried to swarm his position. An angry orge let out a yell, soundwaves visibly tearing the air apart as two imps clutched their ears, collapsing to the ground and curling up with whimpers.
But the knight didn’t hesitate, lunging forward and stabbing his sword right through the beast’s open mouth, half the blade protruding from the back of the creature, before he cleaved through its body, sliding back down to the ground as the deceased orge’s halves fell apart.
‘Cwaark!’ Six fiery rings surrounded a fiery yellow eye that began to glow uncontrollably hovered above the black knight, its black pupil turning golden before a massive beam flew out at the same time its six wings flapped forward, several feathers shooting forth.
At the same time, a cloaked humanoid stabbed his staff onto the ground, summoning strange runic circles that hovered around him as they aligned one by one, like segments of a cannon barrel. When all four aligned, another champion stepped forward with his own staff, casting a beam of light that grew thinner and more volatile, crackling against the air as the yellow light blasted forward, obliterating the orge in its path without slowing as it aimed at the knight. The knight raised his sword, darting straight into the path of the yellow lightning, forcing it to arc to either side of him while the floating eye hovered above, rotating as it flapped its wings to direct its beam after the black knight.
“Ma-master,” a frail squeak called out as Harry’s vision was engulfed in white before his eyes focused again, seeing blood pooled in front of him as he laid on the stone floor. A black blob, faint shimmer of glass fragments embedded sporadically, glued itself to his hand. Looking up, he saw his house elf wobbling on its feet, coughing blood into its hands even as it tried to scrub the strange gloop off his hands, its flesh peeling away as it came into contact.
“What are you doing here? Get away!” Harry grunted, pushing the elf back as he forced himself to his feet, wincing as a trail of blood dripped into his right eye. But it was too late, black flames travelling along the elf’s body as its mouth began foaming white, collapsing to its knees before a sickening crunch from the impact caused its spine to snap in half.
Harry suppressed the pang in his heart, shaking his head as a sigh escaped his lips. Raising his palm dispassionately, he forced his magic forward, spewing a torrent of white flames that quickly attached to the decomposing corpse, reducing it to grey specks of light in mere moments.
With a flick of his wrist, a white mist surrounded the remaining broken fragments of the hand mirror, some of the pieces too damaged to return. Shaking his head, Harry twisted his wrist, beginning to reforge the remnants into a smaller mirror. To request another one would just be a waste.
--Palpatine--
“And now, Cynthia Vellek against Jedri Oxxu,” Merrick announced. The two acolytes stood opposite each other, bowing before raising their blades, activating them with soft hisses. “Begin!”
The girl to his left was aggressive, surging forward as she shoved her hand forward, a ripple of the force blasting out of her left hand as her opponent vaulted in the air to avoid the strike, hurling his lightsaber forward in a throw as he guided it in an arc. Vellek blocked the blade with a wide swing, pivoting on her heel as the hovering blade slashed several more times to little effect, Oxxu’s lacklustre control making this little more than a parlour trick.
Still, he supposed they weren’t particularly poor candidates in combat training.
Realising the futility, Oxxu summoned his blade back as Vellek rapidly closed the distance, lunging forward with a dash. The boy managed to side-step the strike, a punch to her wrist causing an audible snap even as she caught the hilt in her other hand, activating the blade and stabbing towards her opponent.
He had impressive reflexes, albeit still a clumsy answer as his blade swerved downwards, slamming against the ground but managing to catch her blade in the process. Vellek mildly surprised Palpatine by avoiding a blade lock, instead twisting her body and launching several jabs, forcing Oxxu on the back foot as he retreated.
Palpatine resisted the urge to sigh as Cynthia Vellek ducked underneath the lightsaber swing from her opponent, deactivating her blade for a split moment before reactivating it and managing to activate the blade right into her opponent’s hand, causing him to let out a cry as his grip on his blade faltered, dropping to the floor with a clunk as Vellek held the blade to his throat.
“Very good, I can see the improvement, Cynthia,” Palpatine complimented with a faint smile on his lips, causing the female acolyte to blush as she fell to her knee, deactivating the blade as she held the hilt across her chest.
“Thank you, master,” she breathed in deference. In truth, Palpatine knew he was being harsh on the students, who were progressing at a rate that would have the Jedi Order go green with envy, if they could look past their pride to admit it. He could at least take amusement from the envious thoughts of the surrounding defeated students in the sparring competition as her chest puffed out in pride.
“That said, there is still room for improvement,” Palpatine mused, standing up from his throne and retrieving the lightsaber from his hip, running his index finger along the gold plated surface as he descended the steps of the dais. “Instructor Merrik, let us demonstrate what these young acolytes may aspire to.”
“As you command, milord,” the masked man heeded, stepping from his side and walking across the sparring pit as the students whispered excitedly amongst themselves. As Palpatine dipped his head, Merrick dashed forward with impressive speed, a lightsaber blade in each hand he approached from the right, swinging his left blade straight towards Palpatine as his second was held in a reverse grip, prepared for a counterattack.
Activating his blade, Palpatine stood still until a moment before the strike would have landed, Palpatine raised his arm up, blade angled downwards as he intercepted the first strike, causing the blade to slide along and knock Merrik’s defensive stance off kilter as his momentum caused his blades to swing wildly to the side.
To the instructor’s credit, he did not hesitate for a moment, twisting his body and using the centrifugal momentum to attack again, aiming simultaneously for Palpatine’s head and torso. Normally, such a strike would force a defender to adjust their position lest they be struck, the length of a blade not sufficient to cover against both attacks.
But Palpatine was no ordinary practitioner.
With a flick of his wrist, his blade lightly bounced against Merrick’s bottom strike, causing it to jut upwards just as the backlash allowed Palpatine to rotate his blade upwards along with the momentum, catching both blades on their new trajectory.
He could feel the incredulity from the students, seeing such an attack parried with seeming nonchalance.
Merrick pressed against the blade lock, trying to leverage the weight of his blade, interlocked at an advantageous pivot, the torque helping Palpatine force him back. Palpatine could easily channel the force to his aid, but such would not serve his purposes emphasising the importance of technique. Instead, Palpatine deactivated his blade for a split second, stepping to the right as momentum caused Merrick to lurch forward into empty air as Palpatine brought a blade towards Merrick’s neck.
To the instructor’s credit, he quickly whirled around, once again rotating on his heel and deflecting Palpatine’s blade with a wide swing. Against a normal opponent, this would easily have knocked the attack off course, but Palpatine lazily twisted his wrist, flicking downwards and adjusting his attack to a new angle, leaving a gash across Merrick’s mask that revealed his yellow left eye.
He could feel the acolytes’ awed silence as Palpatine deactivated his lightsaber, levitating it back to his hip while Merrick frowned, running a finger along the scalding metal of his mask.
“You would all do well to remember that there remains much to learn. Rigorous technique has its place, but of equal if not greater importance is to understand the limitations and the variability of each. The seven forms of classical fighting should merely be references, a starting point upon which you leverage your unique abilities,” Palpatine lectured, observing the various students. While many were humans, others were equally present, ranging from a Dathomir nightsister to a Harch hatchling. Raising his lightsaber, Palpatine hurled it towards Vellek, activating the blade and inwardly sighing as she froze in panic. With a single flick of his finger, the activated blade thrummed a centimetre from her nose, slowly rotating as Palpatine curled his finger, summoning the blade back to himself. “Your lightsaber is an extension of yourself, one manifestation of your body’s reach. Training with the blade equips you with the mental fortitude necessary to begin harnessing the powers of the force. Though I will not stop you from experimenting at your leisure, it remains my belief your time will be most productively spent mastering the basics first. A simple force push can be used to flip a die or push an enemy into the line of fire. A force choke need not apply only to the neck of an opponent, or even a biological one. For now, I do believe it is time for lunch. Dismissed.”
Merrick stayed present as the acolytes wandered off, eagerly chattering amongst themselves. When the final one had left, allowing the durasteel doors to slide shut, Palpatine allowed a tired sigh to escape his lips.
“I apologise, master.”
“Do you know what you are apologising for?”
“Undoubtedly the students lack the power that you had hoped for.”
“These are the elite students, correct?”
“Within their cohort, yes. Shall I redouble their training?”
“That will not be necessary. See yourself to the infirmary,” Palpatine instructed, turning and walking towards his study. Past several doors and empty corridors, he found himself once again lingering in his own thoughts as he sat down on the ancient stone chair, imbued with long lost runes even he could not hope to decipher. He felt his mind begin to clear, spirit separated from body as Palpatine projected his senses even as his body tingled, a tremor spreading from his arms as his eyes clouded over into obsidian, blood trickling out as the dormant runes began to hiss, glowing red and burning against his skin.
The rifts that obscured his vision were weakening day by day, slowly but surely. It was far from the known galaxy, as though trying to peer through muddied water, yet Palpatine could still catch momentary glimpses at the right time as the undercurrents shifted.
And then he caught something in the distance of the astral projection, a violent tear that briefly stirred the veil around it before it was enveloped once again.
Though the force may have felt weak at such a distance, Palpatine knew that any disturbance he could feel was of significant magnitude, having to overcome the astral veil that surrounded the Deep Core. Despite the attunements of the ancient chair he sat on, sapping his strength as the sacrifice necessary to expand his senses. Despite the whispers urging him to continue looking, Palpatine forcibly wrested control of his body away from the conduit, stopping the drain as he looked down, frowning at the peeled skin revealing charred flesh below. His heartbeat punched against his chest as Palpatine took in deep breaths, feeling the ache in his body threaten to tear him apart.
But he nevertheless hoisted himself up off the cursed chair, striding forward and activating the holoprojector on his desk, rotating his wrist as the dials on the console as the map began to narrow down.
Already, he could feel his vision of the planet fading, but Palpatine nevertheless persevered, his eyes scanning the map and rapidly narrowing in on a particular quadrant based on the astrological movements. While the force was indeed mysterious, it remained somewhat tethered to the material reality of the world. Piecing them together was impossible by all measures, but to defy reality was the only way to break free from destiny and reweave fate itself.
“Show me the way,” Palpatine mused, eyes darting around as the map continued to zoom in. He’d isolated the region to his best estimate, in theory not particularly far. Roughly four days at most. But using a hyperdrive was tantamount to suicide, meaning even this relatively short distance would take a month-optimistically. By then, the weakening of the veil may well reverse like an ocean tide returning, yet like decades ago, the temptation was far too great to ignore. Even mechanical probes completely detached from the force failed to penetrate anywhere close to the region, the connection lost without a clue as to the cause. Even with his narrowed search area, assuming the projection could be trusted in the first place, Palpatine knew it would likely take months more to find the actual location. Saving the location, Palpatine pressed a button for the intercom.
“Commander. Prepare my ship.”
--Rose Potter--
As she flipped the page, Rose couldn’t help but sigh, remembering Sirius’ dubious look as she all but demanded the book from the Black library. Honestly, seeing a labelled part of the brain from multiple perspectives was interesting and all, but it was hard to piece them all together. That wasn’t even getting to the fact that so many sentences began with ‘most likely’ or ‘by current estimates’. It was truly astounding how little was known about the brain.
“Studying again, Rose?” Rose looked up to see her father leaning against the frame of her bedroom door. Shooting up from her chair, she beamed at the sight of James before frowning at the slightly haggard look.
“Have you taken your shower yet? Binky should have run the water for you.”
“I wanted to see my daughter first,” he deflected awkwardly, feet twitching. Rose couldn’t help but smile at that, gesturing for him to enter. “So how have you been?”
“You don’t have to worry about me, dad. The house elves are taking care of me just fine. Still, you’re back earlier than expected. What happened to the meeting with the Italians?”
“How do y-”
“Your office is a mess, but the elves didn’t dare touch it,” Rose sighed, shaking her head. “Honestly, how there hasn’t been a pixie infestation is beyond me.”
“Um, thanks,” James offered awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “Wait why are you go-”
“Because you don’t take care of yourself anywhere near well enough. Half of the days you forget to take the packed lunch to the office.”
“I can go out to eat with Sirius,” James waved off, before slumping at her unimpressed look. “I know, I know, I’ll eat more healthily. Gee, even Lily wasn’t this strict with me.”
“How is mum?”
“Still too mentally unstable to come home,” James sighed, shaking his head before forcing his smile to return. Rose supposed that meant her condition had deteriorated further. As cruel as it sounded, a part of Rose whispered that it would have been better that Lily Potter died that night, not keeping them in suspense with faint, lingering hope like this. How could they move on when she…not to mention brother were still struggling? “But she’ll get better. Lily was always strong, and she’ll come back to us soon enough.”
“I know. I believe in mum,” Rose smiled, though she couldn’t bring it to her own eyes. Thankfully, James seemed lost in his own world, eyes unfocused and unaware of his daughter’s internal turmoil. “Has professor Dumbledore made any progress on Harry?”
“He…the experts are working on it. Harry will be back soon, and we’ll be a family again,” he resolved, clenching his hand into a fist. Rose hid her doubts, nodding in agreement as she raised her glass of orange juice, taking a sip. “Anyways, what are you studying right now?”
“Nothing interesting, just a book on healing that Sirius lent me. I don’t understand a lot of the concepts, so it’ll give me something to look into, I suppose. My body is tired from exercising, and knowing some basic healing would be helpful if I do join the duelling circuit,” Rose answered. He was trying, Merlin knew her father was trying. But it wasn’t the same…it hadn’t been since that fateful Halloween night.
“You know, I thought little girls were supposed to like flowers and dresses or something,” James muttered, causing Rose to roll her eyes. “But I suppose you’re Lily’s daughter, so it can’t be helped. I hear Neville’s having a birthday party soon, do you want to go? I’ll ta-”
“I’m fine, thanks. You know I don’t like those sorts of gatherings,” Rose shook her head politely, aware of the frown James was trying to hide.
“You know, Harry wouldn’t want you to mope like this. He’ll be struggling when he gets back, so if you make friends, it’ll help him too, you know?” It was blatant manipulation, yet one that Rose admittedly was falling for. If the foremost healing experts weren’t able to do anything, what could she hope to achieve skimming through junior healer textbooks? But it didn’t feel right, not when…
“I…”
“If you want to leave, I promise I’ll take you home immediately. I’ll also get you tickets to the next duelling circuit in Southern France. But you’re going to have to go to preparatory school, then Hogwarts eventually. Finding a circle of friends is important.”
“Fine, I’ll go,” Rose conceded, before wrinkling her nose. “Now go take your bath, you stink.”
--Luke Skywalker--
Watching from the balcony, he frowned at the large crowd of protesters outside the senate rotunda, holding up anti-Jedi banners and chanting out of loudspeakers. The exact words were lost through the thick security glass, but nevertheless the fear and anger lingered in the air like a noxious measma, a particularly unpleasant stench he had to deal with.
“They’re getting more persistent,” an annoyed voice pointed out, drawing a sigh from the Jedi Grandmaster as he turned around, forcing an uneasy smile to his face.
“People often forget that fighting for peace is often harder than in war,” Luke mused, patting the younger man on the shoulder. “But it is in resisting that temptation that we can truly build meaningful bonds. War can make for strange companions, but peace cannot be built on blood and wrath alone.”
“But Master, every day we get more reports of lynchings. You of all people should be able to sense them. The younglings cry themselves to sleep thinking about it. Surely the vaunted Republic should be doing something about that, at least, force sensitive or not!”
“You are right, but there isn’t much they can do when-”
“It’s the senate again, dragging their feet after Mon Cala ditched them, isn’t it?” Ben growled, his fist clenched and body trembling. Luke could sense the darkness swelling within his nephew, feeling a pang of regret that it had come to this. “Those useless bureaucrats couldn’t see sense if it was beaten into them. Better to just replace them all and do it ourselves like the legends of old.”
“Oh? So you’ve been looking into the High Republic?”
“Of course. Most of the history these days is nonsense spewed out by the propagandists at the ISB, but some of the archives salvaged reveal quite the interesting history. The Jedi used to rule the galaxy, and yet we surrendered that power. Look where that got us!”
“Do you believe that force users are superior?”
“Of course. It’d be foolish to suggest otherwise. It’s not the fault of the non-sensitives, but it doesn’t change that a baby born as a cripple is less than a healthy one. Nor should there be an obligation for the healthy to bow to the cripple.”
“If you had studied the archives to its fullest extent, you would also be aware that many mistakes were made under the leadership of the old Jedi.”
“You’re siding with those fools over our own kind?”
“Even if you genuinely did eradicate all non-sensitives, what then? You know of all people that force users are not better at avoiding conflict. Dark Jedi, Sith…countless other factions all arose.”
“But that isn’t the same as-”
“Ben!” Luke interjected firmly, allowing a hint of authority to inject into his voice and stilling the younger boy. “Our capacity for change is greater, that much we agree on. But I do not see inherent superiority in our capacity to make choices. In some regards, I think that non-sensitives may have a capacity because of their struggles.”
“What do you mean?” Luke took comfort that his student seemed at least willing to listen.
“Don’t you find it fascinating how Jedi and Sith hunters came to be? Non-force sensitives that managed to find ways to hunt, even kill? Cad Bane, Jango Fett, even General Grievous. Yes, the force allows us to overcome material obstacles much easier, but what about psychological ones?”
“The Jedi don’t need to rule. But they’re trying to commit genocide against our kind! Surely we have to intervene at least? You’ve moved the temple twice this year already, and it’s costing us resources we don’t have!”
“And what would you have me do? Cut down every single one of the protesters outside? Then what do we do when we start to get starfighters, or force forbid capital ships bombarding the planet? What do you do when no one will trade with you, for raw materials, foodstuffs and whatnot. In the old days, the weaker of the younglings were sent to the agricultural corps. Tell me, is that how you intend to create our own system?”
“It is no worse than the current massacres. You willingly sacrifice sensitives to be lynched, but have you considered that it is this that will allow the dark side to thrive? Fear, anger, pain, suffering, these are the four steps.”
“You are right, of course. If things stay this way, then it is inevitable. I hardly believe the surge in force sensitives after the defeat of the Empire is coincidental, for the force has a will of its own. But I choose to have faith. To have hope. Because that’s all we have.”
“Your optimism will get people killed, if they’re fortunate,” Ben shook his head, drawing a weary sigh from Luke. The seed of doubt that had lingered for so long continued to fester, even as Ben stalked away, darkness shrouding his body. Allowing a sigh to escape his lips, Luke wondered if he should go after his student, but quickly banished the thought away. Hopefully some lightsaber training would calm the agitated boy down.
He was aware of the dark thoughts that clouded his students, of course. Despite his outward optimism, Luke was far from the naive boy that merely wished to escape a life of moisture farming on Tatooine. Pulling out the ancient dagger from the protective case attached to his hip, Luke immediately felt the oppressive aura of the dark side taint the room, oozing around him as the viscous fluid tried to pry him open. The knife gleamed, light bouncing off the etch of its cryptic runes, whispers that the war could finally be ended if only he gave himself up and channelled the power from within.
Luke’s eyes twitched, forcing him to blink away the tears even as he traced his finger gingerly over the runes, feeling a prickling sensation on his skin followed by a sharp pain as his finger writhed. His eyes were squinted shut even as he could feel the darkness seep through his body. Forcing his body to relax even as the pain increased, Luke allowed himself to be swept up in the currents of the force, feeling his spirit begin to detach from his body, like a kite unfurled against the wind.
‘Mama! Papa! Don’t leave me!’
‘Let me go!’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘I don’t want to die!’
‘Why won’t someone save me?’
The voices grew louder, wails melding into a continuous cacophony of screams and pleas and curses. But Luke could not spare them even a passing thought, feeling the darkness lurking inside him ripple gleefully, feasting on the emotions even as his greater self recoiled.
Allowing himself to sink deeper into the currents of the force, Luke began to scry the astral plane, looking for disturbances against the greater fabric of the universe. Despite the trillions of sentients, most were dull, barely visible against the dark void that served as a backdrop. Brief throbs, like the slight glint of a dull crystal when a beam of moonlight shines through an abandoned mineshaft at just the right angle, flittered through the astral veil, small tears that Luke steeled his heart against, ignoring their individual cries, scrying the dull stars not for their individual lustre but rather the paths of their constellations.
The fate of the galaxy was neither pre-ordained nor completely random, but rather a push and pull between the forces of destiny. To use the force was to surrender oneself to the whims of these forces, to sacrifice one’s freedom for power.
In that, neither the Jedi nor the Sith were particularly different, seeking to realise their own vision for the galaxy. Luke was under no illusion he himself was immune to such temptations, given the single whispered name that led him down this hellish road: Palpatine.
But trying to sift through the veil may as well be trying to scoop sand with a sieve, each touch distorting the existing pattern and making it impossible to deduce anything.
Suddenly, a cacophony of cries begin to coalesce close to him. Though few were force sensitives, he could feel the anger and fear begin to stir. His heart clenched, but the opportunity could not be overlooked and he sunk deeper into his trance, the veil growing more viscous and allowing him to gently weave his hands, scouring for any hint of a pattern he could identify. The voices grew louder yet muddier, disturbing the tranquillity and allowing him to see glimpses of the force through the ripples.
And for an instant, Luke managed to glimpse deep into the Galaxy’s Core. That was where the war would be won or lost.
--Mara Jade--
Watching the thousands camped outside of the senate rotunda, yelling through loudspeakers as camera droids hovered around under the watchful gaze of New Republic riot police, Mara allowed a faint smile to form on her lips, sitting in the luxurious sky limousine.
“Miss Mercury, we will be landing shortly,” the valet droid called out. Mara traced a finger along the edge of her dress, pressing inward near the side of her thigh to feel the soft outline of a holster. Taking a breath, she cleared her thoughts, stepping off and onto the red carpet, where a tall man with broad shoulders wearing a metal chestplate waved cheerfully.
“Ahh, Seylia,” senator Hoffmann called out, walking forward jovially. Mara lifted the corner of her lips, softening her gaze as she offered a short curtsy to the man.
“Senator Hoffmann, it’s always a pleasure,” she smiled. Though well concealed, Mara knew there was a hint of lust behind his observant eyes, likely from the brief flash of cleavage. Imagination was a powerful weapon to wield indeed. “Shall we take this to your office.”
“Of course,” she smiled, a wide smile on her face as she offered the man her hand. Hoffmann greedily latched onto it. Tracing her finger on his wrist briefly, she could tell his pulse was accelerated enough to be excited, but not enough to warrant worry that this was a setup. As they walked towards the indoor entrance, two guards approached.
“Senator, I’m afraid your com-”
“Don’t worry about it, I trust Seylia here,” he waved off the guards grandly. The duo stood uneasily, looking as though they’d press the matter. “I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry today. The Mon Cala negotiations are soon, after all!”
“Um, right senator,” the guards nodded, standing aside to allow them to pass. Mara inwardly scoffed at just how lax the security was, on this of all nights. Hoffmann gave her a wide grin, squeezing her hand lightly, reminding her of a floral bird prancing around with its colourful feathers.
“It’s a few hours till the negotiations, right? Do you think Mon Cala will finally accede to the Republic?” Mara queried lightly, inwardly smirking at the slight hesitation from the man. “It’d be quite a surprise if they didn’t, given how much they contributed to the Rebellion.”
“Well, it’s complicated…honestly, they don’t seem particularly inclined to submit to a government on Coruscant, regardless of the terms,” Hoffmann shook his head. “But I’m sure we have an ace up our sleeves. They’ll come around, I’m sure of it.”
“Well if anyone would be able to get the Mon Calamari to agree, I’m sure it’s you,” Mara grinned, following her into a private elevator, offering an expansive view of the coruscant skyline. Turning out towards the view of the Coruscant city sprawl, Mara’s eyes widened with the sign of star struckeness, even as her gaze was focused on the faint reflection of Hoffmann, eyeing up her form with poorly concealed lust, adjusting his robes. As the doors opened, Mara turned around, pretending not to notice how his gaze lingered around her waist for a moment before he offered her his hand, leading Mara down the corridor through empty hallways.
But Mara was hardly deceived, her trained eyes picking up several security scanners along the archways most would simply have dismissed as decorative. Cool air blasted from the floor vents as several old antiques lined the walls, alongside portraits of famous Rebel heroes.
Leia Organa. Han Solo. Gial Ackbar. Those and many others were legends amongst the galaxy.
“I’m surprised Luke Skywalker isn’t amongst those being honoured,” Mara mused, hiding a smile at the slightly annoyed sigh from the senator. “He was the man who blew up the Death Star, wasn’t he?”
“His skill no doubt contributed to the successful overthrow of the Empire, but he is not without his…controversy. I like to think myself tolerant of different opinions, but bringing back the Jedi is a step too far, even for me.”
“It’s a shame,” Mara shrugged as Hoffmann pressed his hand on the scanner, causing the door to open with a click.
“Indeed, a waste of a man. After you,” he offered, bowing slightly and gesturing inside to the office. Walking in, Mara scanned her surroundings, quickly glancing at a small vault tucked into the corner of the room with a finger scanner. “So how have you been?”
“Doing quite well, business is finally quietening down so I have more free time,” Mara responded airily as Hoffmann entered, the door shutting behind with a soft click. “Are we…alone, now?”
“Don’t worry, we won’t be disturbed for the next few hours,” he grinned at her, beginning to unbutton the top of his robes. Glancing around and reaching out with her senses, she confirmed there weren’t any bugs in the wall, dropping the happy demeanour as she kicked the man in the stomach, punching his neck as the senator rebounded off the wall.
“Ack! Wh-”
“The blackmail you have on Mon Cala, where is it?” Mara demanded.
“You’ll-”
“Don’t make me ask again,” Mara scowled, pulling out her pocket blade from her hip and slashing the man’s left eye as he screamed. “Where is it?”
“T-the safe,” he whimpered. Grunting, Mara clutched him by the neck, hauling him over to where he’d pointed.
“Open it.”
“Y-yes,” he agreed, pressing his finger on the lock and causing it to open with a soft hiss. Looking inside to see there was a data tablet, Mara gave him a rough shove.
“Show me.”
“R-right.” His trembling fingers tapped out a password, unlocking the device. Mara kept herself ready to intercede if Hoffmann tried anything, yet he seemed completely compliant, tapping open a file and causing a video of several Mon Calamari officials engaged in debauchery at an underground club. “T-this is-”
Without another word, Mara slit the man’s throat, clenching her fist and crushing Hoffmann’s neck with a force choke. Keeping the datapad by her side, Mara walked out of the office.