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Do you hear my voice?
Are you really listenng?
Do you feel my hand
Or am I just a vision?
-Zayde Wølf, “We Could Burn it All Down”
*****
Ilum.
Cere was going to take him to Ilum to build a new lightsaber. One that was his own, fully his own. Years since Cal had had something like that.
“It won’t fix everything,” Cere said. “I can’t promise you that it will all go away or that you will never struggle with this again. But you have to start somewhere. Always remember that the first step is the hardest.
“Go,” Cere finished, “get some rest. You’re going to need it.”
He hated to admit that she was right. Cal offered her a single nod before heading to the back of the Mantis, to the small cot he had used earlier. He softly plopped down on it, his master’s broken saber still in his hands. He was afraid to let it go, afraid that something terrible would happen if he were to take his eyes off it for even one second.
It’s my fault, he said to himself. I did this. The last thing he had of Master Tapal, of the Jedi, of what he could have been. Gone. Destroyed.
But he could hear Cere’s voice arguing back, You did what you had to do to survive.
Surviving, not living. Like some desperate, wild, rabid animal caught in a trap.
Animal. He turned the word over in his mind.
Animal.
Dog.
Pet.
I’m no one’s dog, he had told himself. I’m not one’s pet.
Cal chuckles bitterly. “What a fool.”
“Hey.”
Cal looked up. Greez was peeking around the corner, voice barely a whisper. “Can I talk to you?” he asked. “Real quick? I won’t take too much of your time.”
It was then that Cal noticed, for the first time since the arena, Greez was looking him in the eye.
So, he scooted over on the cot.
Greez hauled himself up. He sat in silence for a moment, twiddling his thumbs. “Look, Cal, I- “he abruptly cut off, then opened his mouth again. “I- “cut off once more. Open and close, like a fish gaping for air, the start of the sentence coming out each time.
Spit it out, Cal wanted to say. He swallowed it back, allowing Greez the chance to find the right words.
“Cal, I made a mistake,” Greez finally admitted, “and you… you could’ve been killed. But you weren’t. Instead, you were forced to bring out the worst parts of yourself in order to survive. You bore the burden of my sins.” Greez shook his head. “That isn’t fair. You shouldn’t have been caught up in all this. This- “he motioned to Cal” -shouldn’t have happened.”
Cal sat in stunned silence. “Greez,” he said, “are you trying to apologize to me?”
“And I shouldn’t have threatened to send you back to the Empire!” Greez continued as though Cal had not spoken. “Kid, I’d never do such a thing. Whatever you’ve been through, it has to bad. Bad enough that you would never want to talk about it and that you had to become this to get through it.” Another headshake. “The way you’ve been living and had to live… no one should have to live that way.
“Y’know, you and Cere, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to my life.” Greez looked over to him, meeting Cal’s eyes without a flinch. “Before you, all I cared about was a tight hand on a stiff heater.” After a pause, he added, “That’s a game term.”
“I know what it is,” Cal said calmly.
Greez dropped his eyes to the floor. Cal was offended until he felt Greez’s shame pool in deep in his stomach. Greez was not looking away because he could no longer hold Cal’s eyes. No, he was ashamed of himself. “Cal, life’s not a game. Before you two, all I cared about was myself. Easy money. Now, it’s different. Like Cere said, that first step is hard, but you wanted to make it. That’s what it’s important. Whatever you think you’re worth, kid, I know you’re worth a hundred- no, a thousand times more.”
Cal turned Greez’s words over in his head after the Latero left him alone. Worth. That was what it all came down to, didn’t it? Everyone else could keep telling Cal he was worth something, but if he didn’t believe it, then what was the point?
He used to get something that might have been satisfaction or enjoyment from seeing people flinch at the mere sight of him. All the Inquisitors were feared, but stories of the Fourth Brother were particularly potent. Yet, with each encounter, he made sure that the rumors only got worse. More violent, more horrifying, and more bloody.
People were terrified of him, whispered his name rather than spoke as if afraid of summoning him to their location. He was a monster in the closet or under the bed, the one that hid in the shadows and preyed upon everyone. A demon that had crawled its way out of the void of space, the darkest parts of all living things concentrated into one being. The mere mention of him would send people fleeing.
And yet… it still wasn’t enough.
He supposed that, at some point, he had gotten bored of the bloodshed. Yes, the intial high of the kill was thrilling, but it never lasted, not long enough. He had to have more.
The Second Sister always made sure he was plenty supplied. A skilled fighter herself, she preferred to incite terror through words and threats. She left the physical violence up to the Fourth Brother. Her rabid little pet, her dog, that she could lend off to the other Inquisitors if they wanted someone to do the dirty work.
The Fourth Brother had not cared that it was dirty work. It was blood, enough to satiate his appetite, enough for the Inquisitorious and the Empire to have control over him until he wanted more.
But when the Fourth Brother realized it would never be enough, that was where the boredom set in. There were only so many ways you could dismember a body before you learned them all. There were only so many times you could torture people until they would willingly give you in the information. Only so many times you could spill blood, over and over and over again, until you realized that it simply would never be enough.
After sometime, the bloodshed and violence became obligatory. It was what was expected of the Fourth Brother, and he had to deliver. He was fine to sink into it, even if only for the momentary high. To abandon everything he once was.
After the Lucrehulk incident, the Fourth Brother rarely slept. This only added to the rumors about him being inhuman, that he did not need sleep to survive unlike everyone else. The Fourth Brother liked to tell himself that this was true. That he was something maybe more, maybe less, than human. Either way, he did not care. He was the creature everyone feared he was. He could be happy with that.
In truth, every time the Fourth Brother closed his eyes, he heard Caleb’s voice. Saw his terrified expression. Something strange clawed at his throat and choked him, something that might have been… guilt. Guilt that he had been the one to make Caleb feel that way, guilt that he had made others feel that way countless times before.
The Fourth Brother began to despise sleep after that. No, he was not supposed to feel that way. Besides, sleep left him vulnerable. He could not afford such an affluent weakness as that.
To avoid sleep, he shot himself full of stim canisters. They left his heart racing, his mind hyperaware. Long-term, it wasn’t the healthiest option, but he could care less. Whatever he had to do, regardless of the consequences.
To this day, Cal was not sure how long he ran on those stim canisters. Long enough that he lost a part of himself to them, that he had never quite felt fully human after stopping using them. As if some part of himself would always be an erratic animal. He would take them occasionally on Bracca, but never many. Not like he had with the Empire.
For the most part, he never stayed away from them long enough to experience the withdrawals. Whenever he felt the high running out, he got another one. However, the one time he ran out was when everything changed.
The Fourth Brother had been dispatched on a solo mission to Felucia, packed into a dropship with Purge Troopers and a legion of stormtroopers. There were far more than the dropship was supposed to hold. They were packed in together tightly, shoulder to shoulder.
Pressed up next to all those bodies, in a dimly-lit hold of the dropship, was when the high finally ran out. When the Fourth Brother’s body passed some kind of invisible limit, and he passed out.
He had awoken in a field, one he vaguely recognized as the place he once called home. Not Coruscant and the Jedi Temple, no. The planet he thought he might have been born on. Even now, he could not be too sure. The chair and the Empire had taken so many memories from him.
Not far from his location, Cal could hear burbling, running water. He started toward it, curious, and came up on the crest of the hill. Standing by the bank, he saw a small, red-haired child. Cal reached for him.
In the blink of an eye, the scene changed. Suddenly, Cal found himself in the corridor of a ship. Glimmering, white, pristine walls. A starcruiser.
A Jedi starcruiser, his mind supplied.
Jedi. The word was familiar. Jedi. Had he been-
He had once been a Jedi. That he knew for sure.
The Jedi were traitors. The Jedi had left him to die.
Beneath his feet, the ship shook and rumbled, as if struck. Red lights and alarms blared through the halls. An announcement crackled over the intercom, demanding for all personnel to report to their stations.
At the end of the corridor was a door. Slowly, the Fourth Brother made his way toward it.
The doors shot open, an invisible force blasting him backward. The Fourth Brother landed hard on the floor, looking up to see a figure standing on the other side. A familiar figure, that of a Lasat.
I know you, he thought. Before he could get to his feet, the Lasat extended a hand. The invisible force swept underneath him and lifted him into the air, suspending him there.
“Padawan,” the Lasat said to him, “trust only in the Force.” The invisible force released him, and he fell.
And fell, and fell, and fell…
He wasn’t sure how long he fell, tumbling through an endless oblivion. Memories, things he thought had been taken from him, came rushing back. His name, where he had come from, who he had been. People who had been important to him, who had cared for him. Everything, all of it, flooding back at once-
He awoke with a start at the dropship slammed into the ground. A few Purge Troopers gave him sideways looks, but they knew better than to say anything.
The doors to the dropship slid open, and he was forced out onto the surface of Felucia. The troopers around waited for his orders, as he was the one in charge. He did his best to direct them, to pretend like nothing was wrong, but he miserably failed. Whatever tip they were supposed to be investigating might as well have been useless. The Fourth Brother had been too distracted by his vision to be of any help.
He did not admit as much when he reported back to the Grand Inquisitor. All the Fourth Brother told him was that the Jedi they were searching for was more elusive than they expected. The Grand Inquisitor had been disappointed by this. “I know what they say about you,” the Grand Inquisitor told him. “That you are some ruthless monster and good for nothing other than bloodshed. I had hoped you might prove to have more tact than that.”
As a result, he had been placed back at the Second Sister’s side, back to being her attack dog. The visions had become more persistent, haunting him in his waking life. He heard voices and saw things out the corner of his eyes. He was always distracted and unable to focus, letting targets slip away from him with ease. He saw the small red-haired child, heard the deep and rumbling voice of the Lasat.
The killing that had always come so easy to him suddenly became harder. The fear in his victim’s eyes no longer filled him with glee, but disgust and fear of his own. He would hesitate. It gave them enough time to fight back and escape. Screams filled his subconscious, that strange place between sleep and wakefulness, something the stim canisters could no longer drive away. He shook constantly. His eyes were always wide, his breathing erratic.
The Second Sister ridiculed him for such. Eventually, she threatened to send him back to the chamber. Back to the chair.
The Fourth Brother caught their next target. A blue-eyed young man who tried to escape in a starfighter, who had so gracefully accepted his fate as the Fourth Brother struck him down. The Fourth Brother had brought his head back to the Second Sister. She had taken the prize from him but said it was not enough. In blind rage and panic, it had taken four Purge Troopers to subdue him. He had already killed three of them in quick succession by that point.
It wasn’t enough, the Second Sister said. It was never enough. He had to do more to prove his own worth to the Inquisitorious.
The threat of pain and punishment hung heavy over everything the Fourth Brother did. It did not matter how brutal or monstrous he was, it was never enough. He wasn’t enough. After some time, he began to wonder if he had ever been.
In the moments when he was not lost in the haze of bloodlust, in the fear of having to return to the chair, he began to wonder about the memories. About the name Cal Kestis.
Cal Kestis, he said to himself. It was what Caleb had called him. It was what he was once called.
When he had time to himself, the Fourth Brother researched it. After the fall of the Jedi Order, the Empire had taken all their records. It took some work, of sneaking in through various digital backdoors, but the Fourth Brother was finally able to procure the information. Cal Kestis, a former Jedi Padawan, having fell over Bracca the day the rest of the Jedi did. Apprenticed to Jaro Tapal, a Lasat.
The Lasat I have been hearing, the Fourth Brother realized, staring at the holoimage projected in front of him. His master. His master, whose saber and crystal he had taken and twisted into something monstrous. Just like himself.
His research did not last long. Eventually, he was caught by the Grand Inquisitor himself. Taken back to Nur, dragged screaming and fighting, into the chamber. Into the chair.
The Fourth Brother didn’t know how long they kept him in the chair. How many times the electric claws closed down on him, memories and experiences of other Jedi and Inquisitors rushing into his head. Through it all, he searched for the sound of his master’s voice, of the strange and calming warmth it brought him.
But, there was another presence there. The dark shadow butted into his mind, turned over every single one of his thoughts and memories. It knew Cal Kestis better than the Fourth Brother had ever known him.
The Fourth Brother could not force him out, no matter how hard he tried. The only thing he could do was reach for the voice of his master.
At some point, the pain stopped. The Fourth Brother vaguely remembered being dropped out of the chair and collapsing to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. All had gone black until he had woken up in a cell.
This was not a first. They had never known what he would do when he woke up from his sessions in the chair. Whether they would receive a broken, hurting teenager, or a wild monster deserpate to satiate its thirst for blood. They had to have a cage to keep him in case he got out of hand.
For now, however, he was the hurting teenager. The unholy pain from the chair, the memories, and Vader rifling through his mind was all fresh. He could barely move from his fetal position on the cell’s floor.
“So,” a voice said. The Fourth Brother’s eyes flitted up to see the Grand Inquisitor standing outside the cell. “You are finally awake. I thought we had fully broken you.”
He waited a moment, as if expecting the Fourth Brother was going to lunge at him. When he did not, the Grand Inquisitor continued, “It would have been a shame, really. Despite all your shortcomings, you do make quite the great Inquisitor. We don’t find ones like you every day.”
The Fourth Brother attempted to push himself up. The muscles in his arms ached with even the smallest push, and the slightest movement sent stabs and twinges up up through his torso. His vision momentarily blacked out. He sunk back to the ground with a pitiful whimper.
The Grand Inquisitor’s nose turned up. “Lord Vader suggested that we kill you. Despite my earlier comment, you are as much trouble as you are successful. You are lucky the Emperor thinks there is something about you that is worthy to keep you around. Believes that your psychometric abilities outweight all the problems you have caused.”
Kill him. He let out a small chuckle that was more of a defeated huff than anything. Dying seemed to be the much better option right now.
“We’ve received word of a Jed traitor hiding out on Tatooine,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “You will be the dispatched with the Second Sister to deal with them.” He paused. “This is your last chance, Fourth Brother. As you have done so before, I want their head brought back in a box by you. Not the Second Sister. You. Should you fail… Lord Vader will have his way with you.”
He left the Fourth Brother alone in his agony. When the pain finally subsided, he decided that no, death was not the better option. The Fourth Brother dragged himself to sit up. He drew his knees to his chest and buried his face in them, hands over the back of his head.
I can’t do this anymore, he said to himself as tears shamefully began to flow down his face. I don’t want to do this anymore.
What did he want? The question ruminated in his mind as he was taken out of the cell and passed over to the Second Sister. As they ventured to Tatooine, through the desert cities, searching for the target. All the way up until the moment when he looked the Jedi traitor-
No, not a traitor. Never a traitor. A survivor.
Until the moment he looked the survivor in the eyes and decided what he wanted.
He wanted to be able to call himself Cal Kestis again.
For a strange, blissful moment, he had felt like Cal Kestis again.
It did not last long, as the Second Sister almost immediately attacked him for his failure. They dueled by it did not last long. He was distracted, off his guard. She got the better of him and left him for dead on the sands of Tatooine. A nearly-crushed larynx, deep lacerations across his chest, and a hole through his torso.
It was the closest he had ever gotten to death’s cold embrace, its long and spindly fingers curling around him. Death begged him to let go. It would all be okay on the other side. He would never have to suffer again, never worry about who he was or what he could be. He could be whoever he wanted on the other side. All he had to do was let go-
No, he argued. He struggled against death’s grip. No, please, he begged weakly, crying out for help to anyone who would hear him. He did not want to, not when he finally had the chance to leave the Fourth Brother behind and be Cal Kestis again. Please.
I don’t want to die.
Death’s cold presence was soon counteracted by a more powerful, warmer one. You don’t have to, it said in a man’s voice. Just hold on. Hold on, please.
A light that could draw him back toward the land of living, so long as he held on.
He held on as tight as he could, following the light’s warm, fleeing from death’s chill. Somewhere in that limbo, he saw them. He saw them all. Master Tapal, the Purge Troopers, everyone who had fallen at his hand. Man, woman, child. They were all there.
They tormented him. They told him to let go. They said it would be easier than continuing to live.
It might have been, but that was not what he was ready for yet.
He woke up in flashes. The first thing to come back to him was hearing. He recognized three distinct voices, two of which were men who did not get along. One, he recognized as the voice of the light. The second argued against the light, claiming that an Inquisitor was too dangerous to be near, on death’s doorstep or not. A third was a woman. She believed that he was a danger to have around, but she still argued to save his life.
Next, he could see slivers of light, but only momentarily before he would sink back into the darkness. He had no strength to open his eyes, even less to attempt to stay conscious. Death was a constant presence, always there, always ready.
I can’t, he called out to the light. I don’t want to die.
You won’t, the light said back. I promise you won’t. You are strong. You can fight through this.
As death never left, neither did the light.
When he finally woke in full, he was alone. He drew in a breath and became acutely aware of how sore his entire body was. Sore, not in pain.
Oh, I must be full of so many painkillers right now.
He tried to sit up but was quickly stopped. All he could do was lift his head. Even so, there was a sharp stab accompanying the action.
He had been stripped of his chest armor along with the upper part of his flight suit. His entire torso was covered with bandages, wrapped all the way around his body. He had also been strapped to whatever surface he was lying on, unable to move his arms or his legs.
He laid his head back down, letting out a sigh of relief as the pain ebbed away. From what he could tell, he had not left Tatooine. He was in a room in one of the domed desert homes he and the Second Sister had passed on their journey.
His heart jumped into his throat. The Second Sister. She had tried to kill him, she had tried and failed. He was still alive, by some miracle. But what was that miracle?
There had been voices, people who had saved his life. He drew in a breath to call for them, but all he could get out was a choked wheeze. He tried again, only to receive the same result.
His heartbeat picked up, panic starting to set in. He couldn’t speak. He was strapped to a table, unable to move, in a strange location. Whoever they were, they may have saved his life, but for what reason? So they could use him? So they could get information out of him? Who knew.
Footsteps sounded from over to his right, and he jerked his head in that direction. His chest gave a sharp twinge, and he choked on his next breath. The panic rose again-
The owner of the footsteps shushed him, appearing in his vision. It was a man, dressed in the long, light robes of Tatooine’s inhabitants. He was scruffy and bedraggled, as though the world had once treated him better long ago. He vaguely recognized this man, a desert wanderer. He had seen him when he and the Second Sister went searching through the town. “Don’t move and don’t speak,” he said softly. “You’re hurt.”
The words instilled little confidence into him. He tugged against the restraints, an almost animalistic desire to escape filling him.
“It’s okay,” the wanderer said, placing a hand over his wrist. “You’re safe. Do you remember what happened?”
Moving slow, he offered the wanderer a single nod.
The wanderer nodded as well. “Will she be coming back?”
A slow headshake.
The wanderer’s shoulders relaxed in relief. “I’m going to undo these restraints and help you up. I trust that you will not attack me?”
Another slow headshake.
The wanderer nodded, then stepped away for a moment. He returned with another man, the owner of the other voice he had heard. The wanderer sliced away the restraints. With one hand each on his back, the other man’s hand on his shoulder, and the wanderer’s on his chest, they slowly helped him sit up.
The world slipped out from underneath him, and he almost tumbled back, but they kept him upright. His vision went in and out, as did his hearing.
“Can he walk?” the other man on his left demanded gruffly. His words sounded as though they were muffled by cotton.
“He can barely speak,” the wanderer replied as he started to swoon again.
“That isn’t what I asked. He’s awake, and I want him out of here. That was the agreement. If the Empire comes looking for him- “
“They- they won’t.”
Both men stop as he managed to force out the words.
“They- “his voice gave out. All he can do is shake his head.
The wanderer and the other man shared a look. They helped him swing his legs over to the side. The other man stepped away and returned with a cloak. The wandered took it and threw it over his shoulders. He helped him to his feet. He made it only two steps before his knees gave out, and his eyes rolled back into his head.
The next time he was conscious, he had been moved to a different location. Instead of a desert home, he was lying on a bedroll on the sand, looking up at the roof of a cavern. The desert wanderer was by his side in an instant. “You passed out,” he explained. “Took more effort to stay awake than you expect?” The wandered offered him a small grin that did not quite reach his sad eyes.
He tried to speak again, but the wandered shushed him. “It will be best if you don’t speak for some time, to let that heal. Like I said, you are okay. You’re safe. They won’t find you here.”
They will, he wanted to argue. They always do. There was nowhere in the galaxy he would be safe, not now, not ever again.
Yet, he so desperately wanted to believe the wanderer. His voice, the voice of the light that had kept him anchored to the living world. To believe that safety he promised was real, that he was finished with the Empire, the dark side, and the Fourth Brother.
And he did. But it was a false sense of security he was lured in to.
It took several days for his voice to start working again, when he could actually talk to the desert wanderer. The man introduced himself as Ben. In return, he gave Ben a name of his own — Cal.
It was strange to go by that name after so many years and nearly forgetting it. Even so, Cal was a piece of himself he thought had been lost to the void. Maybe he was on the right track.
The first few days were not so bad. The only thing he had to contend with were his wounds. The bacta patches could only do so much to aid the haling process. Ben refused to leave him alone for more than a few minutes. Any sudden movements would send spasms throughout Cal’s body. Sometimes they would last seconds. Others, minutes. Ben would dive across the space between them to prevent Cal from tumbling back and cracking his skull open. After the spasms passed, Cal was unable to move, relegated to waiting until the soreness passed.
He thought the physical pain was the worst part of it, but he was unprepared for the night terrors.
Everything he had ever done, seen, experienced, all coming back at once. Attacking all his senses, deafening and blinding him. Terrified screams filling his ears, wails and sobs, begging and pleading, no, please, they didn’t want to die, neither did he, why did he have to take that from them, why did he have to decide that for him-
Hands grabbing and pulling from all directions, threatening to tear him apart. He was drowning, drowining in blood. Thick and coppery as it filled his nose, slid down his throat, and into his lungs, choking him. Blaster fire all around, the sound of sabers igniting and swinging through the air, limbs and heads hitting the ground. Fiery, electric pain coursing through his body, enduring and never ceasing. He lost his arm over and over again. Saw Vader, the Grand Inquisitor, the Second Sister, standing over him. Their saber swung, right for his neck-
Red. Everything was shrouded in red. Red for the blood his hands were soaked in. Red for the sabers of those he was surrounded by. Red for his own anger and hatred for the galaxy, for the Jedi, for himself. Red, the color he had forcefully bled into his master’s crystal, tarnishng the beautiful, brilliant blue it had once been-
He woke up screaming, so loud and so much that his voice was hoarse for several days afterward. He thrashed around in his sleep as well, tearing open his barely healed wounds, leaving him in even more pain.
Ben woke him from each night terror, doing his best to calm Cal after each one. No matter how much Ben assured him that it was all over, that he would never have to go back, that it was all going to be okay, Cal found it hard to believe. He could tell himself these things, be told these things, all he wanted, but he could never fully admit them to himself.
Cal came to fear sleep again. He felt the urge for the stim canisters rising again, but he did not have access to those as he did with the Empire.
“You need rest,” Ben told him. “It will help you heal.”
But Cal refused. “I can’t,” he said brokenly. “I- I can’t do it again. I can’t go through it again.”
Ben’s face softened. “It’s hard, Cal. Trust me, I know it is. It takes time. And, it never fully goes away, the memories and the things you see. But this? It passes. You made a choice to turn away from them. You took the first step. That is the hardest one. It won’t be easy after that, but you made the right choice. You are going the right way, and you can have faith in that.”