Chapter Text
“Tell me what you feel, children.”
Master Billaba’s soothing voice blended with the gentle trickle of a small stream winding through the greenhouse. Though it was storming outside on Coruscant, the greenhouse’s artificial sun gave the illusion of a golden day, rays dancing on the wisps of swirling steam.
Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of contentment, enjoying the feel of the warm grass beneath his feet as he watched the small class of children raise their hands for Master Billaba. Obi-Wan was too old for this particular lesson, but he had volunteered to help her today.
“I can feel the plants growing!” one tiny Mirialan piped up, and then all of her classmates were clamoring to tell Master Billaba what they felt.
“I will only call on those who raise their hands,” she said gently, and the children gradually settled after a few more excited giggles. Though she never seemed to raise her voice, Master Billaba had the gift of making herself heard over a rambunctious class.
Obi-Wan glanced at Maul, who was seated at the very back. The others, not unwisely, had given him a wide berth; Obi-Wan could practically see the little storm cloud hovering over him. Maul was technically too old for this lesson as well. He was still with his own age for history and reading and arithmetic lessons, but now that he was actually training as a Jedi, he’d been assigned to this class of initiates since he was starting from scratch.
Master Billaba was helping Maul with mental shielding, so Obi-Wan could no longer sense everything he was feeling, but Obi-Wan was willing to bet he was frustrated surrounded by five-year-olds.
It was all over his face, anyway.
Maul still reeked of the dark side, but Obi-Wan could tell he was at least trying. He hadn’t bitten anybody yet, though Obi-Wan had half-expected him to when he noticed Obi-Wan volunteering in all of his classes.
"What are you doing?” he’d muttered.
“Well, I didn’t think anybody else would be lining up to serve,” Obi-Wan said. It was the way he would have teased Quinlan or Siri, but he thought afterwards it had come out a bit more mean-spirited than he’d intended. Maul hadn’t seemed to mind, though.
Obi-Wan had still felt a bit bad about it, so he’d gone to the archives to check out books and holopads on Maul’s home world and Jedi philosophy to share with him.
“If these are for Maul, you’ll want information on Dathomir instead,” Madame Jocasta had serenely informed him.
Obi-Wan frowned. “Dathomir? I thought Zabraks were from Iridonia.”
“Most of them are. But there’s a subspecies on Dathomir that interbred with humans. Even his name is a tribal one from the planet.”
It was kind of a horrible name, in Obi-Wan’s opinion; but then, none of the Sith he’d ever read about had particularly nice or normal names.
And there was still nothing particularly nice or normal about Maul, but there’d been such a surprised, vulnerable look on his face when Obi-Wan arrived with a bunch of books that Obi-Wan had come back the next night.
Maul, apparently, liked to read. Obi-Wan didn’t like it as much as Master Qui-Gon did, but he could kill an hour or two. It had actually been…tolerable, the shared silence, and since then it had become something of a routine for them.
Now, Obi-Wan approached his friend (Maul hadn’t objected when Obi-Wan had tentatively referred to them as friends the other day, so that was what Obi-Wan was going with) and sat down on the grass.
“I think you’re scaring the kids.”
“This is beneath me,” Maul growled. “I can feel everything in this room.”
“It’s about mindset as well as skill,” Obi-Wan pointed out mildly. “Just be patient.”
“And while I’m being patient and breathing and meditating, my master is not idle.”
Truthfully, Obi-Wan had been thinking that as well, but he doubted a nine-year-old with an anger problem would be able to stop a Sith master no matter how fast his training progressed.
“Oh, sure,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Why didn’t you say so? Let’s round up the five-year-olds and go fight him right now.”
Maul gave him a look like he was daring Obi-Wan to do just that, but they were interrupted by the shadow of Master Billaba falling over them.
“Initiates,” she said tartly, “we are meditating in silence.”
Obi-Wan glanced away, suitably chastised. And even with Maul’s improved shielding, Obi-Wan still tasted the ugly flare of embarrassment and fear and anger from him, all mixed together.
Master Billaba must have sensed something too, because she softened. “Obi-Wan, please continue to lead the class,” she said eventually. “Maul, come with me. You’re not in trouble.”
Before he moved to the front of the class, Obi-Wan looked back at his friend. See you later, he mouthed.
Maul just glared at him like it was somehow his fault.
***
“Master Windu,” Depa proposed calmly, “I believe it is time we allow Maul to attend his Gathering.”
Mace had to hand it to Depa; his former apprentice had mastered the art of framing whatever she asked for as nothing more than a reasonable suggestion. He well-remembered the little girl who’d innocently asked him if she could go swoop racing in the undercity on the pretext of a sociological experiment.
When Mace had decided to take on a former Sith apprentice as his next Padawan, he hadn’t realized he was also signing up to regularly host a committee invested in Maul’s future. But for weeks now, he’d had Qui-Gon or Talia or Depa dropping by his quarters, occasionally all three at once, to discuss their concerns or ideas or observations with him.
Mace didn’t mind entertaining his friends, but it was making it kind of hard to get anything done.
Tonight it was Depa, sitting with her legs crossed in the chair she’d favored for most of her apprenticeship. The youthful pose reminded Mace of the many afternoons they’d spent here together; sipping tea, with the day’s rain still lashing against the window, it almost felt like they were unwinding after another mission.
“…I’m not sure that’s wise,” Mace replied.
“He’s old enough,” Depa said. “And he’s frustrated. I agree that he has to stay with the younger children for now, but he would like to be treated as his own age. He wants some measure of autonomy.”
“Autonomy is one thing,” Mace pointed out. “A lightsaber is another.”
Even though lightsabers were kept in training mode until the children were apprenticed, it was still a highly dangerous weapon. It was certainly not something that should ever be used recklessly or in anger - and Maul still had a lot of anger.
“I know,” Depa replied. “But I trust him.” Noticing Mace had finished his tea, she took the cup to the sink for him. “Mace…why am I telling you this secondhand? You haven’t seen him since he started training.”
“He needs more time to adjust first,” Mace said, remembering Depa clinging to his hand when he’d first brought her to the temple. “I want him to realize he’s safe before he trades one master for another.”
“That’s true.” She hummed in half-hearted agreement. “But you’re not his master yet. You can be his friend first.” Depa folded her hands into the sleeves of her robes. “I think you might also want to see how long he lasts before you commit yourself.”
“That too.” Depa wasn’t accusing him, and it wasn’t a confession he was ashamed of. “The kid’s brave. But it’s just about protecting himself right now. That’s the wrong reason to become a knight.”
“It will take time before he realizes that others can be trusted to protect him,” Depa said gently. “Especially if he thinks he’s on trial.”
Mace rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, aware of the quandary they were in; Maul needed some measure of trust granted to him if he was ever going to progress in a healthy way, but the consequences if that trust was misplaced would be disastrous.
“I know.” He felt for the kid, he really did, but… “I still don’t think training him is a good idea.”
“As long as you think that, it never will be,” Depa replied serenely.
“Alright, Yoda.” He smirked at her teasing grin. “Where’s the kid now?”
“I let him stay in the archives for the rest of the day with Madame Jocasta. He likes it there.”
“Hm. Maybe he’s got a future as an archivist.”
Depa smiled. “I don’t think so. He might not even realize it yet, but that boy wants to be a knight.”
“Really?” Mace leaned back in his chair, returning the expression. “How do you know?”
“Because I did,” she replied simply.
And it wasn’t until then that Mace realized just how much of herself Depa saw in the boy – small and afraid and having already known pain that no child should ever know.
Briefly, Mace considered asking Depa if she would be interested in training Maul; though she had very recently become a knight, he would trust her completely to guide the boy, and she had the faith in Maul that the kid would need. But he dismissed the notion as soon as it came; there was another reason Mace had volunteered to take Maul. If an angry Sith master targeted Maul’s Jedi teacher, Mace wanted that to fall on himself, no one else.
“You always told me that the lightsaber is a Jedi’s life,” Depa continued, interrupting his thoughts. “Ilum will reveal his heart. If the path of a knight is not for him, I think we would all prefer to know sooner rather than later.”
Mace scowled, giving in, but there was no real heat behind it. “You do realize you’re making decisions about my apprentice?”
“Yes, I do. As is my right,” Depa said, obviously knowing she’d won. She took another sip of her tea, doing a bad job of hiding her triumphant grin.
“…When’s the next Gathering?” Mace sighed.
“In a week’s time.”
“Then we’d better let Huyang know he’ll have one extra,” Mace said. “This could get interesting.”
***
It had been a long time since a group of students had felt so privileged departing for their Gathering. There was no Padawan chaperone on this trip – instead, there were three Jedi knights.
Mace and Depa had discussed the issue of Maul leaving the temple, especially with other children, but he could hardly stay sequestered his whole life if he was going to be a Jedi. So the solution they’d settled on was to accompany Huyang, and Qui-Gon had also volunteered to join them. Hopefully between the three of them, and Yoda waiting on Ilum, they would be able to protect the children.
The Crucible was an odd ship, mostly because it felt much more like a home than a simple transport vessel. Mace supposed it was – Huyang, after all, lived here permanently. And like its inhabitant, the ship was also thousands of years old, its walls echoing with memory. When it was docked in the temple hangar, it often hosted flocks of children who gathered there to visit Huyang and hear his stories.
Now, the droid was absent; on a mission, he usually did not show himself until after the children had returned with their kyber crystals. Most of the kids were currently crowding around Depa and Qui-Gon, who were indulging them with tales of their own. Mace, separating himself from the fray, leaned against a bulkhead and kept his eyes on Maul.
The kid sat alone, back to the wall, looking a bit uncomfortable; he probably knew all the security was for his sake. He had been silent the whole trip, and Mace thought the boy might be wondering the same thing as his guardians – if his former master would come for him.
Maul seemed to be largely ignored by his peers, and Mace had to concede they’d put the kid in an awkward position. He wasn’t sure what else could have been done – Maul needed to learn the basics – but he wouldn’t be able to make friends with five-year-olds. And without sharing classes, he didn’t spend enough time with the children his own age.
Casting a last thoughtful look at his would-be apprentice, Mace turned to leave, but the boy noticed the scrutiny and narrowed his eyes challengingly. Hiding his amusement with a stern glance, Mace went to seek out Huyang.
As he entered the lower deck, Mace smiled to himself, remembering all the hours he’d spent here crafting his lightsaber under Huyang’s strict eye. The ancient droid was humming to himself as he wandered through the rows of lightsaber components, and he brightened when Mace appeared in the doorway.
“Mace. Has it been that long? My, you’re a fine young knight now.”
Mace hadn’t seen Huyang since he was a kid, but he guessed the stories were true – the droid never forgot a student.
“My apprentice is a knight herself,” Mace grinned. “I don’t feel so young anymore.”
“You always seemed the type who never felt young,” Huyang said blithely. “But if you ever get to be 25,000 years old, you can complain to me.”
Mace paused, the moment of levity darkening. “…I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“About being 25,000 years old? No, I’m afraid that’s quite impossible for humans.”
“About the Sith Order.”
Huyang’s busy hands stilled. “…What about them?”
“You remember what it was like when they were in power. Do you think they’re really back?”
“Yes, I do,” the droid replied bluntly. “I was at the Battle of Ruusan, young Master Windu. I saw Darth Bane with my own eyes. I’ve long suspected he did not truly perish.” Huyang’s mechanical gaze seemed far away for a moment, peering through the ship to the deck above as if he could hear the children’s laughter and chatter. “When Qui-Gon told me about that boy, I knew. There is something of Bane’s taint on him.”
And even though Mace knew that Huyang couldn’t feel the force, he couldn’t help a small chill at the droid’s words.
“Huyang.” Mace hesitated. “All the Jedi who fell…you met them.” And it was uncomfortable to think of the dark lords of the past as innocent children who had once eagerly harvested their kyber crystals.
“You’re asking if they felt different somehow. If I could tell what they would choose.” Huyang seemed slightly amused, but his voice was tinged with melancholy. “You are not the first one to ask me such a thing, young Mace. And the answer is no. Seeing the future is not an ability I possess, and their potential is in all of you.” He folded his hands behind his back. “They say you can see shatterpoints. Have they all come to pass?”
“No,” Mace confessed. “You have to act on them.” He sighed, glancing up at the hull of the ship as if it would give him answers. “Is there any hope for the kid?”
“There’s always hope,” Huyang replied crisply. “But its fulfillment will be up to him and whoever is his master.”
***
Even though Maul had spent most of his time on Mustafar, he had, occasionally, been to other worlds such as Malachor and Moraband.
Ilum was unlike anywhere he had ever been.
He knew what cold felt like, from the caverns of Malachor, from the touch of the force, but he had never seen ice and snow before. He had never been somewhere the air was so clean. Even the force felt…different. Now, they were in a temple made entirely of ice, the rising sun shining through the window and sending a thousand glittering motes of light dancing through the transparent whorls and frozen bubbles. Towering statues with hooded faces reached up, appearing to eternally gaze upon the large crystalline device suspended from the ceiling.
The masters escorted them to a tall doorway completely covered in ice, where Yoda was waiting. Maul could see nothing beyond the translucent sheet.
“Welcome to Ilum, young Jedi,” Yoda said warmly. He gestured to the door behind him. “You know what lies within.”
There was a collective murmur of excitement.
“A Jedi’s lightsaber is their life,” Master Billaba continued. “A Jedi is the force made physical, and your weapon is an extension of yourself. It is your most immediate and tangible connection to the force.”
“Finding your kyber crystal may not be easy,” Qui-Gon warned lightly. “And claiming it is another challenge.”
With that, he waved a hand almost nonchalantly; with a smooth whir of moving parts, the chandelier-like structure above their heads rotated, catching the sunlight from a window and focusing a refracted beam of heat on the covered doorway. Within seconds, the door’s sealant transformed into a frigid river that lapped around their feet.
“Be warned,” Master Windu spoke up. “You have only until the sun disappears over the horizon, and then the entrance to the cave will freeze over again.”
“What’s in there?” a small Twi’lek asked timidly.
“Only what you bring with you,” Master Windu answered simply.
Maul had been pleased when Master Billaba had informed them earlier that they would be constructing lightsabers; this was a serious step forward in training, and he could finally devote himself to something worthwhile.
But still, he couldn’t quench the persistent flicker of doubt that he would be unable to do it.
His master had taught him that everything could be claimed through strength and force of will; Maul was certain there would never have been a test that with enough practice, focus, and determination he would not have passed. It had been comforting, in a way, the promise that he could have anything he wanted if he worked hard enough for it.
But the Jedi, he was learning, did not teach such things.
They’re expecting you to fail, a voice that sounded like his master’s whispered.
“Maul.” Master Billaba’s gentle voice interrupted the dark thought. “Go on. The others have already left.”
He looked up to see the last of the other initiates file into the cave. Qui-Gon, standing next to Master Billaba, winked at him.
“It will be alright.”
Maul stepped forward, slightly reassured; Qui-Gon had never lied to him. Master Billaba had told him where she came from, and she was a respected Jedi knight now. If she thought he could do it…
Yoda said nothing, and Maul had to bite down an involuntary snarl as he passed under the Jedi’s ancient, thoughtful gaze.
Master Windu, standing by the entrance to the cave, nodded curtly.
"You can do it.”
Of all the Jedi he’d met so far, Windu was the hardest to figure out. Maul had heard the whispers that Windu was the greatest duelist the Jedi Order had seen in decades, that he had invented his own saber technique, even that he used the dark side. Maul could also sense that the Jedi was wary of him, which had increased Maul’s respect for him, but Windu still treated him kindly. It made it difficult to tell if Windu wanted him around or not.
Maul wasn’t concerned about his opinion, but he disliked ambiguity.
And then, with that thought, he was in the cave.
The excited voices of the others echoed from around a curve in the passageway ahead, but Maul had no desire to catch up with them. He breathed out, his breath clouding on the frigid air, and headed down a passage to the left.
Rather than leading to the interior of the planet, the passage sloped gradually upwards; Maul had expected it to widen and grow lighter as it neared the surface, but if anything, it seemed to be growing darker and narrower. It was utterly silent; even the soft rustle of the distant wind was absent.
As he wandered, his thoughts, as always, turned to his master. What was he doing now? He had to know where Maul was. Clearly, the Jedi had wondered the same thing, because Maul did not think that three knights normally bothered themselves to help a bunch of kids craft their lightsabers.
Though he hadn’t reached the point of building one himself, Maul knew how the Sith made their weapons. It was a test; synthetic kyber crystals were forged and then made the vessel for all the rage within the user. If it was successful, the crystal’s blood colored the blade.
His master had often tested him. Maul did not always succeed, but he at least knew what was required of him. The Jedi’s nebulous standards were a different matter.
He was considering the merits of turning back to explore another passage, trying to gauge how much time had passed already, when a faint sparkle in a high corner caught his eye.
There was a narrow crack running the length of the tunnel from floor to ceiling. In the dim lighting, he would have missed it, but for the tiny glimmer of light emanating from it. As he approached it, curious, he saw that the crack was actually a deep seam cutting into the ice; placing his fingers gingerly into the wedge, he tugged experimentally to see if it would widen. It didn’t budge.
Maul tensed, focused his determination until it became strength, and called the force to him - concentrating the flow of energy into the crack, he pulled.
The entire tunnel wall swung outwards as if on a gigantic hinge. The twinkle he had seen was a high, narrow slit, sending down a thin beam of light from the outside into an oval-shaped chamber. And there, nestled on a ledge, were two small, gleaming crystals.
Maul paused, not daring to reach out and take them. Surely it couldn’t be that easy. All the masters had said it was a challenge.
He crept back out into the passageway until he was pressed against the far wall, waiting, watching.
Time crawled past. The light from the slit slowly grew dimmer, the tunnel grew colder. The crystals sparkled invitingly, lit from within by their own soft luminescence. Gradually, Maul was forced to the conclusion that he was going to have to try to take them; otherwise, he could sit here forever.
Cautiously, he got to his feet and approached the chamber. He stretched his senses as far as the force would take them, but there was nothing. No movement, no warning. Hearts hammering, he reached out, fingers closing around the delicate objects.
Nothing happened. For a moment, he simply stood there, blood rushing in his ears, but the tranquility remained unbroken.
Had he done something wrong? This couldn’t possibly be it. He thought about what the Jedi had asked of him, and frowned as the answer came.
It was nothing. Qui-Gon had told him as much. Master Billaba smiled at him and spoke kindly to him every class no matter how much the lessons eluded him. Obi-Wan brought him books every evening and politely declined the portions of Maul’s food that he offered in return. They hadn’t even demanded that he join them in exchange for information.
What if all he had to do to claim his crystals was trust that they were his? That he could take them with nothing attached?
The Jedi had not forced him to join them, but between them or certain death Maul still hadn’t felt like he had much of a choice.
Perhaps he still didn’t. But he could choose to take the crystals. He could choose to be a Jedi because he wanted to be one.
It was a nauseating realization, and one that still felt traitorous. But he did want it. He wanted Obi-Wan’s confidence, and Master Billaba’s courage. He wanted Master Windu’s strength. He wanted to be like Qui-Gon and help others realize they could be free.
The crystals felt warm in his hand, pulsing like little heartbeats. He cradled them to his chest, their heartbeats matching his own, his eyes burning.
Alone in the freezing cavern, it sank in that for the first time he could remember, there was nothing he had to do but receive.