Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pala is the wrong planet to be on when you want to ignore the Force. It bellows and roars for those who can hear, those who are listening. The last time Cere visited many, many, many years ago as a Padawan with Cordova, she’d been breathless with wonder. She’d never experienced the Force in such a playful mood, all swirls and eddies and light and sound. Some planets simply existed louder in the Force than others. Pala was one such place, a tiny world with no daytime, just an eternal night, lit by a series of moons. During her apprenticeship, Cere hoped she’d come back someday to feel all that giddy life again.

Now, Cere experiences a Pala that is no more vibrant that a particularly bright holo image. She wards off its eternal chill with a few extra layers and an old shawl. Greez, Cal and BD-1 have left her alone on the Mantis. Feeling bereft in a way she will not articulate, she seeks out her hallikset with the intention of practicing. She hadn’t played since Cal came aboard, and she will never forget the strangeness of hearing him playing her original composition, something never shared with another soul. Psychometry. She shakes her head with a smile. He must have been a real handful for his creche masters and Jaro Tapal – and himself too. She wishes he was a bit more of a handful now, if she’s honest. Instead, he’s still ferally timid. She knows he doesn’t want to be left alone in the engine room all the time, but he hasn’t quite worked up the courage to be in the lounge unless expressly invited for a meal. And he’ll only set foot in the cockpit if Greez tells him to take his seat for landing. Giving him a mission to focus on seems to be a hit, but it’s taking every trick she knows to drag even the slightest scrap of his past out of him.

Not that she’s exactly being honest in that respect. Master’s privilege. Former master’s privilege. Cal is carrying enough. He doesn’t need her pain – her failure – on top of it all.

So she keeps telling herself, anyway.

Cal struggled when they first landed on Pala, his hands raising to cover his ears until he caught himself and dropped them. He looked peaky too, a little too bright in the eyes. Cere stood ready to offer advice. Instead, she watched Cal reach inside himself to quieten the Force. He would have learned to do that as a young child on excursions into Coruscant’s busy streets beyond the serenity of the Temple. Coruscant roared too, but only because it was so busy, full of noisy people and their busy thoughts. For a young Jedi, unused to the city’s endless noise, it would have been overwhelming.

She wondered if Cal’s creche masters told him to keep his hands in his pockets too.

Instead of asking if he knew not to touch anything, or ask if he was alright, if he could handle Pala, Cere said, “Have fun. Be safe.”

Cal gave her a bemused smile. Maybe he doesn’t believe in having fun anymore, all sense of fun for fun’s sake burned out of him by five years of toil on Bracca and a wartime apprenticeship before it. Or maybe he’s seventeen, she’s an adult, and he’s doing her a kindness by not rolling his eyes all the way into the back of his skull.

Cere didn’t tell him not to listen too hard to the bellowing and the roaring, not even when he poked a finger in his ear once again and wiggled it.

“You’re really not gonna come look around the market?” Cal asked, tugging on his boots while simultaneously hushing an over-excited BD-1.

“Not today,” Cere said. “I’m going to make the most of having the ship to myself.”

“No cooking!” Greez bellowed from the lounge.

Cal, confused, looked to Cere.

“A story for another time. Go on, enjoy yourself. You too, BD.”

BD whooped and rushed out, forcing Cal to jog to keep up.

Within minutes, the ship belonged to Cere.

Now, plucking away at her hallikset, freshly made tea at her side, she begins to wonder if she did the right thing by not giving Cal more of a warning about Pala. He is young, curious, and probably hasn’t seen much of the galaxy beyond Coruscant, Bracca and the inside of a Venator. He’s streetwise in a way she wasn’t at his age, but he isn’t experienced in the ways of the Force like he would have been under his master’s tutelage. Hushing a planet like this takes focus, concentration. Maybe had a lot of practice on Bracca. And she thinks again of that slight flush to his cheeks, the one that hadn’t faded when he’d managed to push the planet’s cacophony away. Maybe they should’ve pressed on for another world. Stopping here was as much to restock their food and fuel supplies as it was to let Cal stretch his legs without the weight of the mission sitting so heavily upon him. Cere has been searching for a way to access Cordova’s holocron for a while now, and a few more breaks won’t hurt even with the Inquisitors – with Trilla – hunting them. Cal did well on Zeffo, but they don’t need to rush to Kashyyyk. Tarfful is known across the galaxy for his refusal to bow down to the Empire. They will find him in time. Cal is too stubborn not to. He's working hard, regaining his Force connection, but it is slow and painstaking work. His is truly broken. Hers, she pushes away. The truth is, it’s only dulled somewhat with lack of use. She can’t rid herself of it any more than she can rip out her own liver with her bare hands. But for Cal, everything is a fight. And fighters need breaks. Cere may no longer be General Junda, but she remembers enough of war to know when to rest a soldier.

It is simply a matter of convincing Cal to take a break.

And right now, Cere needs to do something about this anxiety gnawing at her. The Force rises, Pala raises its voice, and she pushes it all away. Tries, anyway, but she can’t rid herself of it. Fine. Fine. Leaning her instrument against the couch, she heads to the cockpit and activates the comm. “Greez?”

“Hey, Cere. If this is you telling me my ship is a smoking pile of scrap because you decided to make an omelette, I’m not gonna be happy.”

“The ship is unharmed, Captain. Is Cal with you?”

“You kidding? That kid took a few credits and disappeared into the night market hours ago. He either said something about the trees, or something about bees. I’m not sure. He mumbles a lot.”

Cere isn’t sure she’s ever heard Cal mumble outside of his sleep-talk. “But he was okay?”

“He was fine! Little unused to being around so many people who don’t smell like walking septic tanks, but otherwise fine. Oh, that reminds me, I gotta pick up soap and deodorant. While you’re teaching him all that Jedi stuff, I’m gonna teach him about basic hygiene. I swear, if he tells me one more time that sweat is a shower, I’m gonna start hosing him off whenever he comes back to the ship, just a blast of water, pow, straight to the face. And the rest of his body. Anyway, I’ll be back later. Oh, and if you want anything from the stalls you let me know. Already got my eye on some spices and…”

Cutting him off, Cere goes to call Cal, only to hesitate. He doesn’t need her checking in on him. For the past five years he’s survived just fine despite literally working himself to the bone. He’ll expect space, independence, he –

She hits the comm button once again and waits for him to answer.

“Cere?”

“Cal, just thought I’d check in.” Her relief is so rapid she nearly floats away.

“Oh, okay.” There’s an awkward pause. “Has something happened? Do you need me to come back? I’m just checking out the market, and BD is scanning anything that moves, but we can –”

“No, no, you’re fine. There’s no rush. Enjoy yourself. And tell BD not to upset anyone with his scans.”

Cal’s voice softens. “He’s on his best behaviour, right, buddy?”

BD burbles merrily.

“Later, Cere.” And with that, Cal signs off.

Picking up her tea, Cere returns to the lounge and picks up her hallikset and resumes strumming.

Everything’s fine.

Absolutely fine.

Pala’s night market is big, busy and so incredibly alive. After the barren slopes and caverns of Zeffo, it’s an assault on all Cal’s senses. He has never visited a planet that yelled at him before. It’s not an angry yell. The planet isn’t berating him for being a terrible Jedi. It’s more a gasping, rasping holler chattering so fast it trips over its own words until they pile up in a heap of meaningless noise. It takes a lot to hold it out. Cal was tired before they came here. He is going to be exhausted by the time they leave for Kashyyyk.

BD burbles something.

“I’m fine,” Cal says mindlessly, barely pausing to consider the question as he looks around the wonderfully eclectic night market, taking care not to bump into the crowds. “Guess I just don’t know where to start.”

The truth is he’d rather be back on his bunk on the Mantis, catching up on some much-needed sleep. But if he’d said that, Cere would worry, Greez would be weird about Cal not wanting to explore a new planet, BD would be disappointed, and Cal would have to explain that maybe he’s feeling a little off. Nothing serious, no need to worry, a touch of Scrapper’s Flu probably, caught from all the people coughing and sneezing on the train the last day he was on Bracca. Plunging into that ice cold lake on Zeffo with the crashed Venator hadn’t helped much either. Forget it. He’s fine, really. It’s nothing compared to some of the nastiness he had to work through on Bracca. And he does feel better now that he is exploring a new world instead of sitting still and focusing on how weary he feels.

And so, Cal explores, walking down the busy winding, treelined alleys of the night market, marvelling at how much stuff is on sale. Bracca didn’t really go in for keepsakes or mementos. Everything had a purpose. Tools, clothes, spare parts, food, alcohol, narcotics. Nothing was for show like it is here. He doesn’t even know what you’re supposed to do with half this stuff, although plenty of people are buying a lot of whatever it is. The Jedi weren’t big on stuff either. If Cal had asked Master Tapal for a keepsake, he would have received a lecture about unnecessary possessions and attachments unbecoming of a Jedi. What use did he have for a magnet shaped like Pala and its moons? No use, that’s what.

However, Greez had given him some credits, told him to spend them on whatever he wanted, but there’s so much choice and Cal feels a nervous kind of guilt at the idea of spending credits for the sake of it. What if the ship breaks down and they can’t afford repairs? What if they can’t afford to restock their groceries? What if Greez can’t afford fuel? Every credit helps.

BD is not interested in Cal’s explanation. He’s already checked various logs aboard the Mantis and credits are not an issue. Cere and Greez aren’t rich, but they aren’t a credit away from poverty either.

“Still,” Cal says, eyeing a gaudy selection of t-shirts proudly declaring ‘My friend went to Pala and all I got was this lousy shirt!’ “I don’t want to spend credits on stuff I don’t need.

Clothes, BD suggests. Cal definitely needed more clothes.

“Why? These are fine.”

BD harrumphs and keeps making suggestions and, after a lot of convincing from his little friend, Cal buys street food (some kind of puff spiced steamed bun that melts on the tongue) and a drink because they won’t be a waste.

Resisting the urge to eat while walking (Greez is dusting off Cal’s old manners and hammering new ones into him, a day at a time), Cal walks until he finds a bench to sit on. Its echoes are a multitude of voices, countless people sitting here to eat, drink and simply be over the years, all of them joining together to pass over him in a background hum barely discernible from the bellowing. Pala is so incredibly happy to be alive, he can’t think of any other emotion that matches. It feels like the planet almost died and can’t believe its luck to still be here.

“Same,” Cal murmurs.

BD peeps at him.

“Don’t worry,” Cal says, tapping BD under his head. “Talking to the planet.”

If he threw himself into that grateful feeling, Cal might never find his way back out. Tapping into it just the tiniest bit is a second of pure joy followed by such a monstrosity of

noise

and

life

Cal has to shut it down. His head might literally explode if he doesn’t, and he’d hate to make a mess on these tidy streets.

The night market is so full of soft, multicoloured lights and happy people. The visual and audible vibe is chilled, mellow, relaxing; the total opposite of any Force-sensitive’s experience of Pala. Cal has never been anywhere like it. Coruscant was busy, but he spent most of his life in the Jedi Temple where everything was calm, soft, soothing – outside the dojo of course. And the echoes. The Jedi had a surprisingly bloody history, if you were a psychometric and picked up the wrong training lightsaber. Bracca is hard-working, weary, and hungry – although that was probably the Maw under all their feet. Bogano shimmers under its sun and Zeffo whispers its history. Pala? Pala makes him feel like he’s trying to balance on one foot above the Maw while using a vibro hammer to smash through a Venator’s hull and he needs to shout to be heard over it. That would explain why the food vendor gave him a weird look. He’ll have to try to be quiet next time.

There will be a headache in Cal’s future. Or, more accurately, a worse headache. For now, he enjoys his food and the carbonated jogan fruit juice he picked up. BD jumps around, scanning everything, barely keeping from being trampled by the people moving up and down the narrow street. Overhead, the tree canopies weave through each other, lanterns hanging from their branches. Large clusters of phosphorescent yellow and orange flowers hang in long chains, the sweet scent freshening the air. Cal loves the lights here, soft glows radiant against a night sky peppered with stars. He’d like to have a light like it on the Mantis. Maybe there’s something like it in the market and he could hang it up in the engine room. That would be an acceptable use of credits.

Speaking of the ship, Cal is impressed Greez didn’t hit any of Pala’s countless moons when they came in for landing. He kept it to himself because he wasn’t sure if Greez would appreciate the compliment or take it as an insult. The four-armed pilot seems to be tolerating Cal. Hard to say if he likes him yet. Cal likes Greez fine. The guy’s bark is worse than his –

A soft sound captures Cal’s attention. Chimes, like tiny bells, ring out through the planet’s shouts. Pala falls silent around him, even though he can see people talking. He can’t even hear BD.

Another chime, deep bass notes, a rising cadence.

It calls to him.

Cal stands.

The bells ring out.

Cal moves.

He barely feels BD’s weight landing on his back as he follows the sound of bells. He can’t say for sure if BD says anything, so just to be sure, Cal tells him, “I have to go somewhere.”

He walks away from the trees and their lights, from the people, from the life and the energy. The bells call and Cal follows. He winds his way down narrow forested pathways, pushing branches out of his way. Darker and darker, the only light coming from the stars and the moons. The bells keep ringing in his head, louder and louder, deep calls and balletic swirls of joy. Trees scratch and tear at his hair, skin, clothes, leaves falling until the trees are bare and the bells chime one final time and fall silent. Everything is silent, breath held. The Force stills and Cal hears BD asking why they’ve come this way when his scanners say this place has been abandoned for decades. All the exciting stuff is back at the market.

Raising an arm, Cal points. “There’s something there.” His voice is faint, too high, like he’s talking in a dream. He clears his throat, tries again. “Under the trees.”

Flashlight activating, BD lights up a large, oval courtyard, its arches and columns draped with busy flowers, the paving slabs lost beneath a web of roots. There are benches, an abandoned food cart, a fountain full of surprisingly fresh water, and a raised area where people could perform for a crowd. The platform, the only part of the courtyard not buried under roots, has a pattern on it reminiscent of a moon. This one has a face with a knowing smile, and the white rays of its light curve around each other. The tiles it’s carved into a deep, navy blue. They are chipped, worn, like everything else in the disused area. Walking across the space, Cal runs his hand over the benches, the cart and the fountain, hearing crowds long since gone. He can feel it in the echoes, something else, something deeper.

Fear. Terrible, terrible, fear.

Ships plummeting from a starry sky so full of light it could be daytime.

There don’t seem to be so enough moons.

Meteors, streaking across the sky.

They will surely hit –

Cal can’t hold onto the echoes. They’re too fleeting, overlaid by centuries of peace. This place had a purpose once. People once gathered here but now the place is empty, abandoned, dormant.

Why?

Tiny bells hang between the columns surrounding the courtyard. They do not chime, not even the tiniest hint of a breeze to stir them. Cal knows he heard them, and a larger bell too. He knows he is here for a reason. He reaches, reaches, tightens his focus, it’s a tap not a push, and guides the Force to ring the bells.

They sing out as one, a perfect note cutting across the courtyard.

Head tipping back, Cal sees the stars, sees a galaxy, feels himself come loose from the planet as he is tossed into that infinite black, burning through the vacuum, until he falls, burning, from the skies, meteor/moon/weapon/death descending, burning, crashing, killing.

Until the trees rise, branches outstretched like countless hands, growing taller, taller, scraping the sky, a barrier between falling stars and desperate people.

Silence.

A bell tolls.

Cal blinks. He returns to Pala, to himself. He’s fallen over, his body throbbing with the ache of it. BD calls out to him, and Cal pretends he’s fine.

BD doesn’t buy it. He stamps a foot and demands the real answer.

“An echo, in the sound of the bells,” Cal says, standing once again. “I think. It felt like a dream.”

Another series of beeps, another question.

“Yeah, I want to keep going.” When BD hops onto Cal’s shoulder he reaches over, gives BD a pat on the head. “I’m okay, really. Let’s find out what’s hiding here.”

The bells have fallen still, and Cal does not ring them again. Instead, he makes his way to the platform, laughing at BD’s suggestion he put on a show. “What would I do? Demonstrate how fast I can strip an engine?”

BD suggests that lightsaber forms are not that dissimilar to dancing.

“If we’re every really, truly desperate for credits, and I mean a day away from death, maybe then I will dance for credits.”

And that, BD tells him, is a deal.

Dropping to his knees, Cal places a hand on the moon’s face.

There isn’t much time for him to open the passage and figure out what he’s supposed to do. It’s been done before, but no one has ever told him how. He presses the moon’s face down, twists it, left, right, left, left, right, and pushes it down, the hatch opening. He looks over his shoulder, waits to see if anyone is following.

Nobody. He is completely alone. The night market burns in the distance, flames reaching for the stars, meteors raining down from the sky, decimating everything they touch. All those lives, gone. If he listens to their screams, it will tear him asunder. He is fraying, the threads of himself unravelling, trailing in his wake, less and less of him to move down this earthen hallway, so rich with the scent of soil and water. He must reach the Life Tree. Pala will be lost if he doesn’t. He has lost his people. He cannot allow their planet to die too. Its wounds are terrible, but if he reaches the Tree, maybe…

“Maybe Pala will live if I give my life.”

Wait. Wait, what was it the young one told him?

Trees. The trees will rise. All they need is a push. It’s all in the bells.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “I will save Pala.”

A loud squawk of disbelief breaks through the fog, the only echo now Cal’s voice as it bounces back at him, neither the words nor the language his own. He and BD stand in a long tunnel, burrowing through the rock of Pala, the night sky framed by the hatch overhead. BD jabs Cal’s shoulder, hard, demanding an answer before he calls Cere and has her come for Cal because this is the third time he’s tried speaking with Cal and received no response.

“Sorry, BD. It’s an older echo, full of anguish and fear. But hope, too.” Voice cracking, Cal sways, reaching out to balance himself. His hand touches cold rock. A lament keens in his head, distant with time, a sense of loss gripping him, pain like the loss of the Jedi Order, only older, much older.

It isn’t an echo. The Force laments over what happened here. Cal pulls his hand back and tries to hold himself within his own body, his own mundane senses. He really doesn’t want to cry in front of BD.

Knees locked, balance restored, Cal resumes their onward journey. “Let’s find out what happened down here.” He tries not to laugh nervously when BD questions him. “No, probably not, but we’re here now.” Another question, and this time Cal does laugh, only it’s real and merry. “Greez isn’t good in a crisis unless he’s piloting the Mantis. He was impressive on Bracca when he and Cere grabbed me, but I’m not sure he’s made for face-to-face combat. Not unless he’s got as many blasters as he has hands.” That leaves BD to only make one more suggestion. “If you think we need her, you have my permission to call Cere.”

Insulted, BD stomps on Cal’s shoulders.

Horrified, Cal puts a hand on BD’s head. “Sorry, buddy, that was rude. You never need my permission to do anything. You’re your own droid, and I trust your judgement. Maybe a little more than I trust myself.”

BD nuzzles into Cal’s hand and tells him he should trust BD’s judgement because it has always proven to be flawless.

“Flawless, huh?”

Flawless.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

There is a disconnect between Cal and reality, not as sharp and obvious as an echo, but he’s a step behind himself, trying to keep up with his body. His mind keeps going back to the chiming bells and the trees, rising and rising, taking him with them, a net, a barrier, together, united, and –

BD’s excited trill pulls Cal out of his head and into the present where, nestled ahead of him, waits an immense tree, branches festooned with paper lanterns. Sat in the heart of the tree’s trunk is a large, ornate bell, the tree having grown into and around it. The hollow is large enough to give the bell space to ring. 

“Ever seen anything like that before?” Cal asks BD, who gives a negative. “Yeah, me neither.”

Around them, the chamber resembles the courtyard above, complete with columns, linked by stone arches, only these hold up a large, domed roof. Where there should be gaps stand thick stone walls, as though someone has bricked off the open areas. “Could this area have been above ground once?”

Happy to have a mystery to solve, BD starts scanning. Leaving him to it, Cal walks a circle around the tree. This is what calls to him, the light of an immense echo humming from the bell. It is so powerful, he can hear the past, broken snippets of a voice breaking through to the present.

Not yet. He wants to check the paper lanterns. He can see writing on them, the language not one he recognises. He taps a few with curious finger, excitable echoes of giggling children pinging through his head. BD hops onto his shoulder and scans, reporting back the lanterns are covered in wishes. He translates a few: I wish to be rich! I wish for my brother to be kinder to me. I wish to improve in my studies…

I wish to be chosen to defend Pala.

From the meteors.

From attack.

From everything.

It was above ground once, this whole tree and plaza, BD says. He isn’t sure when it was enclosed, or how the tree has survived, and yet here it is.

And it has a lot to say.

“BD?”

He beeps.

“I’m going to check out the big echo now.” Cal points at the tree. “I think it might last a while.”

BD nods.

Cal reaches out, the echo’s light speaking louder and louder until his hand lands on the bark and –

Chapter Text

Cal snaps upright, heart pounding, eyes wide, ears straining, the Force taking him by the shoulders and shaking him, a wake-up call like no other. The floor beneath him is hard against his back, scraps of paper with unfamiliar words surrounding him. Smoke drifts, thickening the floral air, a feeling of panic clawing inside him because he doesn’t know what to do. He has to do something, he must, but –

Calm. He needs to calm down. Cal reaches for the Force and immediately pulls back, pain shooting through his head, stomach churning. He has barely begun the work of rebuilding his Force connection, and whatever that echo was it has left him breathless and nauseous. He can’t remember it either, not a shred, no matter how hard he tries. It must have been too much, too intense. He hasn’t had one this bad in a while. Maybe he had a seizure. The bad ones can do that, although he’s never forgotten an echo before. Leaning forward, he presses his throbbing head to the ground. Some echoes hit like hammers. This one hit like slug thrower to the brain.

“BD?”

No answer. BD isn’t here. That must mean he has gone to bring Cere here. Cal winces. She is going to be so mad at him, just like Master Tapal always would be when Cal pushed it too far with the psychometry.

You cannot know everything. Balance in all things. There are limits, Padawan. This is yours.

Sorry, Master.

Sorry, BD. Sorry, Cere. The least Cal can do is meet them halfway when they come to get him.

Up. Get up.

Stumbling to his feet, Cal struggles to find his balance. His body aches, exhausted as though he’d scrapped a Venator single-handedly or –

– or overextended himself during a training session. That horribly, stringy goop feeling of muscles taxed to breaking point, of his Force connection burned to embers.

Cal massages his aching head, fingers pressed to his temples. So strange to not recall an echo, especially such a powerful one. Whatever. It’s a problem for another time. Cal makes his unsteady way across the chamber, leaving the tree behind, wobbly legs taking five steps for every one they need. He can’t even manage a straight line. What is wrong with him? Cere is going to be so mad…

Tree and its bell abandoned, Cal makes his way back to the surface and sees the stars. Stars and moons. That’s not what really strikes him though.

Pala is silent. He cannot hear its voice.

And ahead of him stands a tall figure, staring at the stars.

“Hello?” Cal moves to the stranger. “Have you seen a little droid?”

It’s only when he reaches the stranger’s side, he notices the courtyard’s floor is clear. Something rumbles in the back of Cal’s mind. Confusion? Yes, but a warning too. Hazy unease.

“One day, I must protect Pala,” the stranger says. His gaze, starlight captured in amber eyes, drops to Cal. “I don’t know how. No one knows how.” He raises a bottle to his lips, takes a swig. Cal can spell the sharp, biting tang of alcohol. “The secret is lost. I can’t even open the hatch.” He points toward the small platform with the bottle. The image of the moon still smiles, the hatch closed once more. “What use am I if I see but cannot act?”

Cal knows this voice. From an echo. A different echo. The one who – “How are you here?”

The stranger cocks his head to one side. “How are you here? I do not recognise you from the sanctuary.”

“You went into the tree,” Cal says. “During the attack.”

“How do you know that?” The stranger frowns. “My vision hasn’t happened yet.”

“Vision?” Understanding rings through Cal’s head. “You see the future?”

“Yes.”

“I see the past.”

“Oh. I’m not really here right now.” The stranger chuckles drunkenly. “This is a vision.”

Cal nods. “For both of us. You are the past.”

“And you are the future. Which means –” He glances at the bottle. “The moonshine has done its work.”

Moonshine must work differently on Pala.

Cal grabs the bottle, puts it down. “Listen to me, when the time comes, you must ring the bells. All of them. A single note. It will activate the defence system. It has saved Pala many times.”

“This is a dream,” the stranger says. “I have been communing with the starlight, and it has brought you to me. Which means Pala will be saved!”

“Yes,” Cal says. “I am proof of that, if you do what I say, which you will, because I’m here in an echo.” He swallows the giddy giggle trying to escape. No wonder he couldn’t remember the echo – he’s still living it. “Come here.” He leads the stranger to the platform. “There’s a pattern to open the hatch. Watch.”

Cal presses the moon’s rays in the same order he used before, the hatch opening. He closes it, demonstrates again, and lets the stranger have a few turns until he too is sure he has it memorised. Together, they descend underground.

“This place was once above ground,” the stranger says. “After its last use, the historical record suggests the planet’s guardians decided to entomb it to keep it safe. The pattern to unlock the hatch was lost until now.”

“I learned it from you,” Cal says.

It’s the stranger’s turn to look and sound amazed. “What a strange convergence we are experiencing, you and I.”

“Yeah,” Cal says. “That’s one way to describe it.”

They reach the tree and its bell. The stranger presses a hand to it. A faint toll chimes, an acknowledgement of the stranger’s presence. “Yes,” he says, pressing his forehead to it. “I know what to do now.” He turns to Cal. “Thank you. You should go back to your ship, tell Cere and Greez to take you away, and give BD a pat on the head from me.”

“Pala will live because of you,” Cal says.

“May the starlight shine down upon you,” the stranger says, bowing.

“May the Force be with you,” Cal replies.

He blinks. The stranger disappears in a flurry of petals. Cal stumbles back, trips, but before he hits the ground, he is caught and cradled by the tree’s branches. He sinks into the petals, fragments of silk pressing to his skin, each one whispering to the other until the planet is roaring again, alive, alive, ALIVE and Cal’s teeth ache from the pain.

Something sharp jabs him, chemical energy flushing through him. He looks to BD, sitting on his chest, and nods his thanks. BD presses a foot under Cal’s nose, and it comes back bloody. BD can’t bleed. Cal reaches up, swipes a hand, sees it coated in tacky redness. Not good. Pushed it too hard. Way too hard.

And somehow, he must get himself out of here and back to the ship. A soft whimper escapes him.

BD beeps worriedly, spitting out facts and figures about Cal’s physical wellbeing.

“I know. I know it’s not good,” Cal says, voice hoarse. He’s never experienced an echo like it and he’s already paying the price. He’s not sure what he’s going to do first: throw up or pass out.

Offering an encouraging trill, BD jumps to the ground.

The tree lowers Cal, helping him to his feet, not withdrawing until he’s secure. Cal reaches up, touches a branch, feels a familiar presence ghost across his senses. He looks up, follows the branches as they pull back to reveal a body tucked among the leaves and flowers.

The stranger.

Pala has protected him as he protected Pala.

The leaves pull back further. There are others, all of them embraced by the world they gave everything to. Cal understands now why Pala is so happy to be alive. It has come close to annihilation many, many times.

If his mission calls for it, would he die to find that holocron?

His master died to keep him safe. Does he not own the children on that list the same?

Stepping back, Cal runs a hand under his nose to clear more blood. He must return to the Mantis, tell Cere and Greez to take him away from here. He reaches down, pats BD for the stranger, and leaves the tree behind, one-two-three-four-five wobbly steps at a time.

The nail-chewing unease won’t let up. Cere can ignore the Force all she wants; it’s more of a gut feeling she’s stuck with right now. She indulges a fantasy that it isn’t merely the Force trying to push her into action but the spirit of Jaro Tapal, demanding his fellow Jedi Master carry out her duty and take better care of his young Padawan.

He requires guidance, Master Junda, as do you. Pala is no place for an unprepared Jedi to wander freely. And Cal is not ready for this world.

Fine. Fine! She puts down her hallikset. In the cockpit, she calls Cal. He doesn’t answer, but BD does, chirping somewhat guardedly that Cal is in a sub-optimal condition for a Human and that it is echo related. That’s not good.

“Where are you?” Cere demands.

BD pings their location. Bringing it up on the holotable, Cere memorises it and disembarks the Mantis, activating its security lockouts as she goes. She hurries as casually as she can, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention. The mood in the night market is decidedly upbeat and chill, so running will stand out. And BD didn’t say Cal was at risk of certain death. Cere keeps her pace rapid but easy.

Their location turns out to be a large, disused courtyard. The stonework under her feet has strange, swirly patterns as though it had been partially covered for some time, protecting certain parts from the elements. Ahead, she spots Cal and BD as they emerge from an underground area. She catches sight of Cal, how pale he is in the moonlight, the worrying sign of blood beneath his nose, staining his lips and his chin. He must sense her, for his head snaps up and he almost tips over backward.

Rockets activating as a counterbalance, head pressed to Cal’s back, BD beeps something urgent Cere doesn’t catch. Cal mumbles incoherently in response. A new flash of worry flitters through Cere. Even when sleepwalking, Cal doesn’t sound like that. She moves cautiously forward as he finds his balance, his head tilting to one side, a weak smile playing across his bloodstained lips.

The flash becomes a torrent of concern.

“Plants protect this world,” he says, words slurring.

“Yes,” she says, edging closer because she doesn’t need the Force prompting her to know something’s wrong here. “This world is famous for its forests. They’re –”

“Interconnected, intelligent, yeah, I feel them in the Force.” Cal smiles, giddy, drunk. “They rise and protect Pala from anything that might hurt it. And all it costs each time is a life.” He holds up a hand, skin tacky with sap. “I found a big tree. Down there.” He waves at the hatch behind him, the image of a moon appearing as is slides closed. “Found an echo.” He swallows. “He called the Force ‘starlight’. The Zeffo called it the Lifewind. The Force is all kinds of things.”

Cere edges closer, not wanting to startle him. “An echo?”

He shrugs, the most annoyingly adolescent reaction he could possibly give. “Y’know, I can’t remember the last time I saw leaves before we came here.” Cal’s smile trembles. “I can’t remember the last time I saw such a big tree.” His eyes blink unevenly. “Only mold grew on Bracca.”

And then, without warning, his eyes roll back and he hits the ground.

Barely jumping clear in time, BD squeals in horror. He races to Cal’s side, nudging him with his head. Heart in her throat, Cere rushes to Cal, knees crashing against hard stone when she reaches his side. She calls to him, straining to hold onto anything resembling appropriate Jedi serenity. What is this? A delayed reaction to whatever echo he picked up from the tree? Can echoes overwhelm like this? Overexertion certainly can…

This is what she gets for always pushing the Force away. No, this is what Cal gets. Whatever has happened, maybe she could have –

Cal’s eyes crack open, glazed and empty. Is it another echo? Cere isn’t sure. Bright red splotches sweep across his cheeks like poorly applied blusher, sweat peppering his hairline. Cere presses a hand to his forehead, snapping it back in shock. He’s running the risk of a seizure if his temperature gets any higher, and she didn’t think to bring a medkit. She thought he looked flushed on landing, but this? He has certainly pushed himself too hard. Swearing, she makes quick work of pulling off the poncho, unstrapping Cal’s climbing harness and tugging off his overshirt. She must cool him down, quickly.

“I fell over before,” Cal mumbles. “Tree caught me last time.”

“A tree?” Cere asks. Maybe she should check for a head injury.

Cal drifts off again so BD explains as best he can when dealing with Force-related things. Cere has never known a droid to look or sound so worried before, but BD is pulling it off.

“How many echoes?” Cere asks.

BD can’t be sure, but the last one was the longest echo he has ever seen Cal experience.

Parting Cal’s hair, Cere looks for any sign of injury. Mumbling nonsensically, Cal leans against Cere’s hand, burning like a sun. No sign of trauma, but this is no mere illness either. This is what happens when a Jedi pushes too hard for too long. And on a world like Pala, that is both very easy and very dangerous.

“We need to bring his temperature down before it gets any higher,” she tells BD. She glances at the courtyard’s fountain. “Scan the water, make sure it’s safe for him.”

Beeping his understanding, BD zooms off.

Cere’s hand passes gently across Cal’s forehead, red hair bright between her fingers. “Are you with me?”

He takes a deep breath, hazy eyes rolling until they lock onto Cere. He swallows. Blinks at her. Struggles to summon some words. “What happened?” He squirms, too lethargic to go anywhere. “Feel weird. He said we need to go.” His hands run over the stone beneath him. “Busy,” he murmurs. “Where’d the roots go?”

Cere brushes his hair back from his forehead. Sweat holds it to his skull. “You passed out on us,” she says, biting back the urge to berate him for getting himself into this mess. It isn’t his fault. It’s hers for ever suggesting they come here. “What happened?”

BD comes back before Cal can answer, announcing the water is perfectly safe.

Explanations can wait. “Up,” Cere orders Cal, dragging him to his feet, and catching him when he pitches forward. “We need to cool you down and clean you up before we head back to the ship. We can’t have people staring.”

“Don’t wanna make a mess,” Cal murmurs, a hand passing over the blood he must be able to taste. “Greez hates a messy ship.”

“He does.” That’s not what she was thinking at all. “But I’m more worried about the people in the night markets here wondering why you look like you’ve gone three rounds with a stormtrooper.”

Cal snorts, fresh blood rolling from his nose. “Trooper wouldn’t last three rounds against me.”

BD confirms this with a peppy whoop, Cal’s tiny metallic cheerleader.

Cere shakes her head. “They would right now. A strong gust of wind will knock you down.”

“Rude,” Cal mutters.

Grabbing his poncho, Cere guides him to the fountain. She sits Cal on the edge and dips the edge of his poncho into the water, dabbing the blood from his nose. When he’s cleaned up, Cere scoops water in her hands and runs it over his head. He jolts, grabbing her arm like he’s afraid she might push him under. “Easy,” she says. “I need to cool you down.”

“No.” He tries to push her away, only for his hand to slip and catch the fountain edge. “The meteors, Cere!” His head tips back to the sky. “Look at them. The trees are catching them.”

Despite her best intentions, Cere still looks up to the sky. There isn’t even a single shooting star, and certainly no trees catching anything bigger than a bug. “It’s the echo. I think you’re still seeing the echo.” She glances down, sees his hand gripping the fountain’s edge. “Cal.” She breaks his grip and sees something in his eyes snap back to the present moment. “Look at me.”

He does as he’s told. Attentive as ever. She imagines he was a very well-behaved Padawan, likely too young to get into any teenaged hijinks. It makes her heart ache to think of everything he missed out on.

“I need to get your temperature down,” she says. “No more echoes. Keep yourself to yourself.”

BD hops onto Cal’s lap, jumping until Cal picks him up and holds on. It gives Cere a chance to run more cool water over his head and wipe more of the blood away. By the time she’s done, his fever is still far too high, his gaze clouded, but at least he isn’t covered in blood.

“Come on,” she says. “Let’s go back to the Mantis.”

“Yes,” Cal says. “He told me you need to take me away.”

It’s a slow plod back to the ship, Cal’s lanky form leaning heavily on Cere for support. She’s bundled up all the clothes she’s taken from him and fashioned them into satchel. Hopefully Greez will have something to get the blood out of the poncho. It’s the one Cal came with, the one he seems to favour over all others. BD stays on Cal’s shoulder, poking and encouraging whenever Cal looks like he might fall asleep on his feet. He keeps putting his fingers in his ears, murmuring about how loud everything is.

It is definitely time to leave Pala.

They reach the ship. Greez still hasn’t returned. Cere takes Cal to the couch and asks BD to fetch the medical kit. While the droid dashes off, Cere helps Cal out of his boots and lets him slump onto his side.

“Cere?”

“Yes?”

“‘m hot.”

“Yes, you’re running a very high fever.”

Cal smiles unevenly and sings to himself, out of tune but peppy.

Cere’s so surprised by his singing she can’t help laughing. “That’s an unusual language.”

“Trees are singing,” Cal slurs. “Can still hear them.”

“Stop listening.”

“He saved the world. He… He heard me. And I watched him.”

Cere pushes Cal’s damp hair back. “Hush for now. Rest.” Maybe he’ll make sense once the fever drops, and he’s slept. Force overexertion can be serious if not treated quickly.

BD returns on his rockets, the med kit clutched in his feet. He drops it down and returns to Cal, beeping in confusion as Cal continues his singing. Cere doses Cal with an antipyretic, sees that he drinks some water, and pulls out the ice pack, snapping it to activate its self-freezing function.

Despite his vast database, BD tells Cere he can’t identify the language Cal’s singing in.

“S’tree language.” Now Cal sounds annoyed. “Listen.”

BD cocks his head to one side. He can’t hear the trees.

“Don’t worry,” Cere says to BD as though she isn’t concerned too. “Fevers can make organics behave very strangely.” And Cal’s fever is very high. She reaches for the small blood sampler in the med kit, pricks Cal’s finger with it and uploads it to the computer to match it to anything in its database. Best to check and not assume this is merely Force-induced exhaustion.

At least Cal’s song is upbeat. He doesn’t fight or complain as Cere carefully helps him to his feet, holding tight when he wavers. Now they’re in the ship’s lighting, Cere sees for the first time how gaunt he truly is. No wonder he’s always wearing layers. He must be cold all the time. Cal is skin and bones, gangly in a way that is part adolescence, part never having enough to eat to fuel the kind of work scrapping entails. The vest he wears under the rest of his clothes is old, dirty, and it hangs off him. Five years on Bracca means five years of subpar medical care. And an indictment of her own failures are the barely healed bruises she can see peeking from under the vest.

What will it take for him to come to her for help?

“That has to hurt,” she says of the vicious bruising. “Did this happen on Bracca?”

Cal grunts noncommittedly.

Ferally timid, she thinks, hating the pain he hasn’t so much as hinted at. But he survived, Cere tells herself before guilt swallows her whole. Cal survived, and now he’s here. Maybe not safe and sound, but surely better than he was before.

“Come on,” she says. “We need to get you to bed.”

“I’m fine.” Cal slurs every word, each one a hefty weight he must lift. “Just dizzy. Planet spinning. So loud.”

“Dizzy isn’t fine.” Cere runs the calculations as she guides him to his bed. “Do not listen to the planet. Stay in here.” She taps his head. “You’ve run yourself ragged today.”

Or maybe, her conscience whispers, Cal was exhausted when they grabbed him off Bracca and she hasn’t given him an opportunity to catch his breath since. Rebuilding a Force connection is hard work. Usually, such a thing would be done under the care of dedicated Jedi healers. They would help their patient, guide them into knowing when to push and when to back off. Cere doubts Cal knows the meaning of ‘back off’. He’s working so hard to regain everything he’s lost, and she completely forgot to remind him that overextension of his already limited Force abilities could lead to illness.

Too focused on the mission, not focused enough on the person. Perhaps she gave up her compassion when she cut herself off from the Force.

“Talk to me,” Cere says, lowering him into bed and placing the icepack on his head. “What feels bad?”

She gives herself an internal kick. ‘What feels bad?’ He’s not a child. Except he is, isn’t he? Beneath the grim focus and the adolescent attitude, Cal is so very young.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, curling in on himself, visibly shivering now. He presses his hands to his ears. “Gotta sleep.”

BD makes a rude noise. Cere barely holds back a sigh.

“You’re not fine,” she tells him. “You’re exhausted, and this isn’t Bracca. You’re pushing yourself too hard. It can wait until –”

Rolling over, Cal stares at her, glazed eyes suddenly cold, hard. “What are we really doing here, Cere?”

She stares at him, lost by this abrupt change in mood. “I’m sorry?” She can’t read his emotions at all. He’s blank, and she won’t risk connecting with the Force to find out what he’s trying to bury. Fortunately, BD’s startled reaction proves she’s not the only one completely thrown by this new side to Cal.

“You really think I can do this?” He laughs at her. “Me? I’m a complete fuck up, you know that.” He gives her a jab. “You have to know that. Look at me. I’m no Jedi. A few echoes and I’m wrecked.”

BD stresses it was a lot more than ‘a few’.

“It shouldn’t matter. It’s not good enough. I’m supposed to be better, but –” Cal breaks off with a frustrated sigh. “Fuck up,” he eventually concludes.

BD gives Cal a nudge, insists he’s not a fuck up at all and organics, like droids, have limits.

Cal’s laugh is nasty, twisted thing. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, rolling away onto his other side, the icepack Cere placed over his forehead falling off. “I don’t deserve any of this. Not after everything I’ve done. All I ever do is get people killed.” He pulls his legs to his chest. “I’m a walking, talking curse. I even get people killed after they’re already dead.”

Glad Greez isn’t here to hear Cal talk like this because he would leap to all the wrong conclusions and assume Cal left a serious body count behind on Bracca, Cere reaches over, tugs a thin blanket over him, and replaces the ice pack. “You deserve to be here. Don’t ever doubt that.”

BD backs her up enthusiastically.

“You really think so?” Cal asks dully, his upbeat mood long gone. “I don’t want to be the reason you all die.”

Nobody is dying. BD is very insistent.

“You deserve to be here,” Cere says. She nearly shouts it. Yes, he deserves to be here. He deserves to be free of Bracca, of whatever happened there that he won’t talk about. He deserves peace, comfort, to be cared for… Cal deserves a kinder galaxy.

Cal laughs at them. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

Cere longs for him to talk to her, to open up the way Trilla once did, sharing her worries and feelings. Trilla was a talker, and no amount of teenage brooding ended without her coming to Cere and seeking guidance. Cal is more skittish – coming for help then running away like the hand that helps might also be the hand that beats. Anger stirs at the idea of anyone hurting him, hurting a child...

A hot hand grasps hers. Cal stares at her, worry and fear in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, mood flipping once more. “I’m not giving up.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ll feel better soon, I promise.” Cere tightens her shields, steadies herself. Cal is here now, and that’s what matters. She shifts so her hands squeeze his. “What you need to do is rest and trust that you are safe.”

“For now.”

Cere really has forgotten how humbling it is to have a teenager throw your own words back at you. “You belong here,” she says, “and your being here doesn’t rely on you being useful. You can stay in this bed for days if that’s what you want to do. I told you before – you’re free to choose.”

BD says he’s choosing to stay with Cal no matter what. He hops onto the bed, stamping down to make himself a little nest.

Cal drops an arm over his eyes. Cere sees how hard he’s working to hold in his tears. This illness has poked the tiniest hole in that armor of his.

“You can talk to me any time you need to,” she says. “About anything.” Release some of that burden.

Because she’s given him so much more to carry.

“I –” He leaves it hanging, clearly exhausted. “Thanks, Cere.”

Maybe she should get her hallikset, play something to soothe his mind, keep him focused until Greez returns and they can leave. “Rest,” she says instead. “BD can come and get me if you need anything. And when you feel better, you can tell me what happened.”

BD chirps an affirmative.

“Can we leave soon?” Cal asks, voice thin. “It’s so loud.”

“We will as soon as Greez returns.”

“Okay.” Cal finally settles down, curling in on himself. “Good.”

He’s asleep moments later. Certain he’s safe under BD’s watchful gaze, Cere walks out of the engine room. She fetches Cal’s clothes, wondering what echoes he’d leave behind for someone else. Probably busy ones. She drops everything in the laundry, adds in the detergents, softeners and stain removers Greez raves about, and sets the machine to work. Strolling through the ship, Cere slides into her seat in the cockpit, pulls out the scan results from Cal’s bloodtest. He’s clearly fighting some kind of virus along with what happened today and the injuries he’s been hiding. The real problem is that Cal took what remains of his Force connection, what he’s managed to repair, and burned it out. A planet like this is like an overdose and that was before all the echoes.

“Stupid,” she murmurs to herself. “Should have thought it through.”

Cal is hacking and slashing his way through the overgrowth to relearn all he has lost, using the scant time he had with Jaro Tapal and the advice of a woman who can’t bring herself to touch the Force anymore.

All while her former Padawan is out there, hunting her own kind.

Cere activates the comms and summons Greez back to the ship. He returns within the hour, having been mid-bargaining when she called. She hushes him before he can really get going about all the great stuff he found.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been on the lum again,” he says, dropping various bags on the galley table. “I thought we were through that after the bar fight you started on –”

“Cal’s sick. He’s resting in the engine room.” She keeps her voice low, not entirely sure if he’s asleep or not.

She could find out. All she would need to do…

“He’s worn himself thin here,” Cere continues, voice level. “High fever, aches, dizzy. He needs a break, but we can’t stay here.”

“Sick, huh?” Greez glances in the engine room’s direction. “I know a soup that always makes me feel better when I’m sick. Think he’ll like it?”

She thinks again of how gaunt Cal is. She knows each of his ribs must be visible beneath that grubby vest. “It sounds perfect,” Cere says.

Unlike Cere, Greez doesn’t hesitate to head to the back of the ship. He returns within a minute, shaking his head. “It’s hard to believe he’s a lethal force with that lightsaber of his when he’s got himself curled around that droid, who, by the way, beeped something that probably translates into an insult.”

“We need to leave,” Cere says from where she’s busy unpacking the groceries. “Once we’re in hyperspace you can make the soup. And please don’t wake him up this time. He needs the rest.”

“Yeah, while he can.”

The sigh slips free before Cere can catch it.

Greez isn’t finished. “We’re talking about going to Kashyyyk, an active warzone. That’s about as far from restful as we can get, short of dumping the kid back on Bracca, which we are not about to do.”

You better not, BD huffs from the deck.

Greez lets out a cry and curses at BD for sneaking around. BD ignores him, hopping onto the table to get Cere’s attention. Cal, he tells her, is dreaming. Loudly.

They all pause and there it is, an indistinct murmur. It’s nothing too bad – no wild yelling or incoherent screaming. Cere leaves Greez to prepare for take-off, and heads for the engine room. If she’s hoping for Cal to spill all his secrets in some feverish ravings, Cere is sorely disappointed. Instead, Cal mumbles in that same language he sang in, the words meaningless to her.

She could get it out of him. He’s so young, so untrained, he won’t be able to keep his secrets if she pushes the Force into his mind, compels him to –

“Cere?” Voice thick with sleep, eyes barely open, Cal looks up at her. “What’s wrong?”

Her hand is on his head, and it’s only now she registers the lingering heat of his fever and how close she was to –

“Just checking your temperature,” she lies, hoping he can’t feel her trembling. “Go back to sleep.”

He’s already asleep again. Cere backs off, leaves the engine room, promises a worried BD Cal is fine, go, sit with him, get Greez if anything happens. BD goes back to Cal and Cere tells Greez to get ready to leave, she’ll be back, she’s just going into the market to find some more medicine for Cal.

Greez stares at her, confused. “Didn’t you just say we need to leave?”

“I’ll be quick.”

Cere runs out, feet pounding the ground so she doesn’t scream aloud. With each step, her control returns.

Stupid, weak. Get. A. Grip.

Cere finds a pharmacy and tops up their medical supplies. She passes a liquor store on the way back to the Mantis, considers purchasing a bottle of lum, picking up that nasty habit where she left it off, only to move on in a flurry of disgust.

She needs to be better – if not for herself, then for Cal, Greez and BD-1. She must focus on the mission. She can’t rebuild the Jedi Order if she gives in to the dark side.

Back on the ship, she calls to Greez who wastes no time taking off and getting them back into hyperspace.

“Already set course for Bogano,” he says. “Figured it would be better than Kashyyyk.”

She joins him in the cockpit. “Thank you, Greez.”

It isn’t long before the autopilot engages and Greez heads to the galley to make soup. Cere resists the urge to check on Cal, not wanting to distress him more than she already has. Instead, she stays put in the cockpit and seals herself in, meditating as best she can without the Force to take her pain, frustration, fear, confusion. She seeks comfort in the knowledge that she has made the right choice, that the Force for her is too dangerous, too tempting, the darkness still howling at her door.

She did not succumb to the darkness.

Cal is safe.

Her rebellious thoughts drag her back to Trilla and the damage she could do to Cere’s carefully constructed untruths. One reveal too many, and Cal will know things Cere isn’t ready to admit to. No, it will be fine. There is no reason for her former Padawan to reveal herself to Cal.

Such wishful thinking is unbecoming of a Jedi Master.

Well then, it’s a good thing she no longer claims the title.

By the time she emerges from the cockpit, Greez has the soup made. He looks at Cere, not saying whatever it is he wants to say. Instead, he makes tea.

“Kid’s still out,” he says. “I checked a couple times, in case he was ready for soup, but I promise, I didn’t even try waking him. I got him a couple more blankets – thin ones, ‘cause I can tell he’s still too hot. Tucked him in and he didn’t stir. Pretty sure I could drop a hammer next to his head, and he wouldn’t even twitch.”

Cere allows herself a smile. “BD-1 will bite you if you try.”

Greez freezes. “The droid has teeth?”

“Do you want to find out?”

Chapter Text

They are back on Bogano before Cal emerges from his bed, bleary-eyed, wrapped in a blanket and trailed by BD-1 who is as perky as ever. Cal offers nothing in the way of speech. Wincing in the light, he drops onto the couch looking ready for another lengthy nap. He shivers, fresh air blowing in from outside, frowning as he tries to puzzle out where they are until BD-1 takes pity and tells him.

“Oh,” he mumbles, poking a finger in his ear. “Quiet.”

Bogano must be deathly quiet after the noise of Pala. Cere hands over a large tumbler of water which Cal drinks in seconds. She pours him some of Greez’s soup and gives him time and space to finish waking up before she asks to take his temperature. He agrees with a nod and offers no reaction when she tells him he’s still feverish. He mumbles a ‘thank you’ when she provides medicine, and slumps against the couch, staring into space. Cere leaves him to his staring. Even BD-1 sits quietly by his side. Anything to encourage rest and recuperation. There’s so much going on in Cal’s head, and any kind of direct confrontation will only end in another I’m fine.

Someday, Cal will come to her. Cere chooses to live in hope.

Not long after Cal finishes his soup and accepts Cere’s offer of tea, Greez returns. Bogano is one of the few places he will go outside and walk around – not that there’s far to go for him on the plateau. “You look rough, kid,” he says, keeping his distance. “If I catch anything off you, you’re sleeping on the lower deck.”

“I’m not contagious,” Cal mutters, dull eyes finally returning from the distance. “Do you hear sneezing or coughing? And nothing’s bleeding or oozing.”

“Oozing? You’re an oozer?” Greez gags. “I gotta disinfect everything you’ve touched.” He disappears into the refresher.

Ignoring Greez, Cere finishes making Cal a mug of tea and takes it to him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fi –”

“Cal.” Cere waits for him looks at her. “You are not fine.”

He looks at her, really looks. Cere feels a strange urge to grab his blanket and hide beneath it.

“I’ve worked through worse,” Cal says with forced nonchalance. He shifts as though he’s about to stand and prove his point by taking off across Bogano. Thankfully, he does no such thing and simply blows the steam off his tea. “This is nothing.”

Cere knows full well Bracca didn’t provide sick leave or any kind of medical care the likes the Jedi or even a standard Republic medic could offer. “I’m sure you have, but you don’t need to now. Pala is an overwhelming world for a Jedi, especially one who is already unwell. I shouldn’t have suggested it. I’m sorry.”

Cal frowns but says nothing.

“We need you to be well before anything else,” Cere says, and BD trumpets his agreement. “We’re going to stay here while you rest and recover. In a few days, we’ll go to Kashyyyk and you can throw yourself headfirst at whatever comes your way.”

“A warzone, I guess,” Cal says, too casually for Cere’s liking. “Haven’t seen one of those for a while.” He looks at BD. “We’ll find some nice military tech for you to scan.”

If this is his attempt to push boundaries, test her, he’s doing a good job, because Cere shudders at the idea of him, several years younger, standing on a battlefield. The Jedi Order they will build will not be used for war once the Empire falls.

“Cere? You okay?”

“Yes,” she says, looking over to Cal. She sees his leg bouncing under the blanket. She keeps herself from putting her hand on his knee and holding him still. “No one ever taught you it’s alright to do nothing sometimes, did they?”

“Master Tapal helped me to meditate, to find peace in stillness, but doing nothing on Bracca was a good way to starve to death. Or freeze. Or drown. Or get electrocuted, blown up, murdered in your bed, eaten by the Maw –”

She gets the picture. “You’re not on Bracca now.” And likely never will be again. “Take a deep breath, sit back, and relax. Nothing will fall apart without you.”

He stares at her like she’s the one feverishly delusional.

“When was the last time you stopped?” she asks. “And I mean completely stopped. Just sat and let the day pass you by.”

There’s that eyeroll of his. “Cere –”

“Cal.” Cere turns on that old masterly tone of hers, the airy mild one that used to trigger Trilla’s fight or flight response – usually fight, and always to her detriment. Masters are to be obeyed, not argued with.

Cal merely huffs and sinks into his blankets because he doesn’t have the energy for an extended fight.

And evidently Jaro Tapal taught him the futility of arguing with a Jedi Master.

“You have my permission to stop,” Cere says. “Until you truly feel well enough to carry on.”

“BD will get bored,” Cal says.

A beep tells Cal exactly what BD thinks of that.

Cal taps him on the head. “Work with me, buddy.”

BD tells Cal to drink his tea.

Sighing, Cal drinks his tea. By the time he finishes, he’s sunk so deep into the blankets he’s out of sight.

“You might be more comfortable in bed,” Cere says.

“I’ll get up in a minute,” comes a muffled voice. “Gotta do something.”

“Kid needs a hobby,” Greez calls as he returns from the refresher. He picks up a cloth and starts wiping down the galley counter. “Something normal. Like baking.”

“I have hobbies,” Cal says.

“Completely disconnected from any job you’ve ever had?” Cere asks.

A meaningless burble emanates from the blankets.

BD translates.

“Maybe save the tumbling for outdoors. And when you’re less likely to pass out.” Cere barely smothers a chuckle at the huff she gets in response to that. “Anything less…gross motor skills based?”

Another mumble. Another translation.

“Greez will be happy to let you help him with his plants.”

Mumble. Translate.

“Yes, okay, they really are your plants too.”

“What’s that about my terrarium?” Greez asks.

“Cal would like to help you with the plants. He had a little plant when he was younger, and he’d like to grow some more once again, especially because he’s the one finding the seeds.”

“Yeah, okay,” Greez says. “Sounds good to me. Anything to help you find a good, safe, hobby.”

Safe so long as Cal doesn’t find any poisonous plants or plants that eat people or –

“Hush, BD,” Cere says. Then, to the blanket beside her, she adds, “We have a deal.”

Silence.

BD ducks under the blanket, emerges a moment later, and confirms Cal is asleep once again, curled up on his side. Cere shifts the blanket so Cal doesn’t cook himself, her hand ghosting over his forehead. He stirs at her touch but doesn’t awaken, his stubbornly elevated temperature thankfully cooler than earlier. She fetches a fresh cold compress anyway. Anything to cool him down faster. She also rescues the empty mug and places it on the table before it can fall and break.

“Keep an eye on him, BD-1,” Cere says, standing.

BD nods and perches on the table, close enough to monitor Cal.

“He asleep again?” Greez asks, voice low.

“Yes,” Cere says, joining Greez in the galley, its surfaces sparkling thanks to Greez’s cleaning. “It’s what he needs.”

Despite her advice to go back to bed, Cere is relieved he’s fallen asleep in the lounge. Before, he never would have slept out here. Illness has taken away some of his shyness. Hopefully, when he’s better, he will know he is welcome everywhere on the ship at any time.

“How do we stop him working himself sick?” Greez asks. There’s real worry in his voice. For all his bluster, he cares a great deal. “I thought he looked kinda off before we landed on Pala. I should’ve said something.”

“Don’t beat it yourself up,” Cere says. Because she thought Cal looked unwell too, and instead of pointing it out, she said nothing. Maybe he needs a firmer hand, a return to the way things were when he was a Padawan. Orders to hear and follow.

“Next time, I’ll lock him on the ship until he’s better.”

“We can’t treat him like a child,” Cere says. Not when they expect him to be mature enough to take on this mission. “We can’t stop him when it’s a survival mechanism.” Although avoiding any other planets like Pala would be a good start. “We can’t undo all his habits in a matter of weeks.” Because Cal was right about Bracca. Not going to work in a place like that was a good way to wind up destitute – or worse.

Greez clutches all his hands, squeezing and twisting his cloth. “We need to find a way.”

Reaching over, Cere rests a hand on his. “We need to be patient. He’s only been here for a few weeks. He was on Bracca for five years.” A small part of her is oddly grateful for that, because had he been captured as a youngling, he would have died in the Fortress like so many others. Not that she will never say that to him. To minimise five years of brutal labour conditions would be a cruelty of its own. Trauma should never be graded on a curve. “Be glad he’s willing to talk to us at all.”

“Yeah, I know you’re right.” Greez perks up. “Soon as he’s feeling better, he can help out with the terrarium.”

“You’re a good friend,” Cere says, making herself a fresh pot of tea. “With time he will unwind a little.”

“Yeah.” Greez trails off until she isn’t holding anything containing boiling water. “What about you? Don’t think I didn’t notice you being weird before you took off earlier. That wasn’t just about getting the kid some medicine.”

For someone incapable of using the Force, Greez’s innate talent for reading people never fails to astound Cere. And she’s still underestimating him. “A moment of weakness,” she admits. The idea of explaining herself fully feels too hard, too exhausting. “I’m sorry.”

Greez watches her for a moment, countless questions hanging between them. And then he lets it go.

For now.

“The kid woke up when you were gone,” Greez says, finally putting the cloth away and helping himself to caf. He pulls the cookie tin out too, its contents rattling around inside. “Good thing he didn’t try getting up. I’m never gonna be able to pin him down. I think he had a nightmare. Took me a minute to explain you didn’t disappear or whatever his half-broiled brain thought had happened. Guess I said the right thing ‘cause he rolled right over and fell asleep again.”

Sick and overwhelmed, Cal still sensed Cere’s slip, her momentary battle. What else can she say? Her eyes fall to her cup, to her wavering reflection on the tea’s surface. “It won’t happen again.”

Greez pushes the cookie tin in her direction. “You’re okay,” he says. “The kid will understand too, if you tell him.”

Glancing at Cal, out for the count on the couch, heedless of the world around him, Cere decides this is one blaster bolt she’s going to avoid.

For now.

She takes a cookie instead.

Cal sleeps until the early afternoon, awakening and looking brighter than before. With BD out and about checking in with various boglings, Cal shuffles off to the refresher where the sound of the shower starts up a short while later. When he returns, dressed in his freshly laundered clothes and back in his usual layers minus the poncho, he takes a seat at the galley table as ordered by Greez and accepts a fresh bowl of soup.

“So,” Greez says. “You wanna tell us what you got up to on Pala?”

“I haven’t done that yet?” Cal asks, looking to Cere.

She looks up from the datapad. “Technically, yes, but I would be lying if I said I understood any of it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Cere says. “How are you feeling?”

Cal draws breath.

“And be honest,” she adds.

Deflating, Cal’s head tips to one side. “Been better, I guess. But I’ve been worse too.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Cere says.

“Just don’t get so sick again,” Greez adds.

“I’ll… try?”

Greez grunts.

“So?” Cere prompts. “What happened?”

Cal pulls a face, feet swinging against the chair. “It really might sound crazy.”

Greez laughs. “Kid, I’ve seen a lot of crazy this galaxy. It’ll take a lot for you to surprise me.”

Cere hides a smile behind her hand.

“Okay…” Cal says and explains having an echo of someone else’s vision of the future.

“I’m out,” Greez says, hands waving in the air. “I’m so completely lost. Why are you so weird, kid?”

Opting not to answer, Cal looks to Cere for support. She simply shakes her head.

Greez isn’t finished. “I’m gonna go make sure BD hasn’t been swallowed by a mutant bogling. Cere, don’t touch anything in the galley. Kid, just… ah, I don’t even know where to start with you.” And off he goes outside into the sunshine, mumbling about Jedi weirdos.

“Sorry,” Cal says, sipping a glass of water. “I didn’t mean to break Greez.”

“I’m a little lost on it myself to be honest,” Cere says. “Have you ever had an echo like it?”

“No.” Cal is decisive on that point. “Nothing. Ever.” He falls back against the seat cushion. In a quiet voice, he says, “I’m still wiped.”

“I apologise” Cere says. “I never should have taken you to Pala. It was too much for you right now. It’s a bit like asking you to throw a triple twist when you just learned how to jump. I should have waited until your connection has healed more and –”

“I don’t think you really had a choice,” Cal says. “I had to be there. Maybe not today –”

“Yesterday,” Cere corrects.

“Okay, yesterday. But I needed to go to Pala.” He sits straighter, although there is still a distinct sense of droop to him. Cal is usually so upright, balletic in his stance at times. To see him slouched is a sign he isn’t back to himself yet. “Did it yell at you too? Pala, I mean.”

“When I was a Padawan, yes, Pala was very loud. Millions of voices trying to be heard at once,” Cere says.

“I’ve never been somewhere so happy to be alive,” Cal says. “Because Pala knows how many times it nearly ceased to exist.” A hand scrubs under his eyes, although Cere suspects it’s weariness rather than tearfulness. “I don’t even know that man’s name, but he sacrificed himself for his planet, for his people.”

“That troubles you.” Cere doesn’t need to ask; it’s as clear as the freckles on Cal’s face.

“I –” His mouth twists. Cere waits him out. “I don’t know if I’m that brave.”

“You are far braver than you give yourself credit for,” Cere says. “And I know I’m asking so much of you. But you do not need to compare yourself to this stranger you met. The circumstances are different, and I am not asking you to die for the holocron. The very opposite, in fact.” What ideas is this young man getting into his head? He is gaining so much confidence while at the same time clinging to some core belief that he isn’t enough. “You need to live, Cal.”

The galaxy has no use for another dead Jedi.

He seems to be on the verge of something, and this time his eyes swim with tears. But whatever it is, he masters it, and Cere’s tried and tested tactic of giving someone a silence to fill fails.

“Okay,” he says, instead of whatever swam so close to the surface. “I can do that.”

 “I mean it,” she says, fierceness rising in her, the memory of his feverish hopelessness, his self-hatred, still so raw in her mind. “You will do so much good in this galaxy alive and well.”

It’s there again, in Cal’s eyes, something he isn’t saying, a memory he isn’t sharing. Whatever it is, it is decisive. “Yeah.” He speaks with certainty. “We’re going to restore the Order.”

“That’s right.”

Before they can say more, BD-1 returns with a whoop and a flurry of beeps. He launches himself at Cal, who promises he’s feeling better and sure, he’d like to get some fresh air and see the boglings and their babies.

“Just don’t go too far,” Cere says. “You’re still recuperating.”

“Don’t worry,” Cal says, pulling on his boots. “I won’t.”

With BD leading the way, Cal heads out. Greez’s voice filters onto the ship, apparently in awe of the baby boglings too. Cere decides to join them, standing beside Greez as Cal crouches down and runs his hand through the newborn boglings’ tufts of fur.

Greez sniffs and swipes at his eyes. “They’re so little.”

“Tiny,” Cal says with fond wonder. “I’m glad we were here so soon after they hatched.”

Greez sniffs again.

“Are you alright, Captain?” Cere asks.

“Huh? What? Oh, yeah, fine, fine. Allergic, maybe. It’s just nice to see new life,” he says. “Reminds you of the good things happening.”

“There’s goodness everywhere if you know where to look,” Cal says. “Always. No matter what.”

Cere sees he has somehow gathered an entire heckle on his lap, the babies and their parents huddled around him. “You’ve made new friends,” she says.

A tiny smile flits across his face. “I guess I did.”

BD scuttles onto Cal’s shoulder for scans – and recordings too.

“You’re good with them,” Cere says, noting how comfortable the furry creatures are. “A natural.”

“They’re staying here, kid, on their planet where they belong. No pets on my ship,” Greez says. “No more strays!”

For the first time since he laid waste to an AT-ST, joy shines in Cal’s eyes. “Sure, Greez, no more strays.”

For now.