Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Moonlight reveals Cere’s potholed path. She moves quickly through Bogano’s misty night, damp air mapping her clothes to her skin and her hair to her scalp. BD-1 presses against her back, lights hidden. Bogano is no longer a safe haven, once thriving wildlife now cowering in its burrows. Despite Trilla’s death and the subsequent destruction of the holocron, the Empire have not abandoned this empty world. Patrols continue night and day, the Zeffonian ruins now dominated by Imperial outposts. What they hope to find here remains Cere’s concern, which is why she is racing across the planet’s pockmarked surface to her old master’s hideouts, dodging stormtroopers and oggdos alike. Cere does her best not to dwell on her sadness, anger or regret. It’s too raw, too recent, and the anguish could drown her.

She has a mission here tonight, and she cannot delay. Having something to focus on distracts her from her grief. It looms over her, a constant storm, catching her when she lets her guard down. Nothing in her Jedi training prepared her for it.

From his perch on her back, BD directs her as necessary. They must be swift; to linger is to risk capture. They are in no condition for a fight against the Empire, not now, not anytime soon. The thought of being dragged once more to Nur is enough to leave Cere breathless with panic, the dark side whispering promises of power and destruction. She will not succumb, never again, but she will not pretend her recent recovery and reconnection with the Force is a sure and certain thing. She must always be wary. And there are things on Bogano she cannot bear to leave behind, things Cal noted on his explorations. Journals. Sketches. Knowledge that will be lost forever if she does not reclaim it. She will grab what she can throw in her bag and retreat to the Mantis.

When they reach a larger plateau, BD tells her this was Cordova’s main living area. Thankful he and Cal already opened the main doorway and saved her from some awkward climbing, Cere steps inside and follows a looping staircase downward. Cal once told her he liked coming here because of the sense of purpose and joy lingering in so many of the objects. It is a great comfort to know Cordova never lost his drive for knowledge, not even here on the frontier.

What a change this place must have been from the Jedi Temple when Cordova first arrived. From the necessity of water purifiers to the tiny kitchenette laden with well-used utensils, life on Bogano lacked even the simple luxuries of clean water and fully staffed eateries the Order provided. Not that Cordova ever seemed to mind self-reliance, not even during her apprenticeship. She told Cal once she taught herself a lot during her apprenticeship. Upon reflection, she can see that was the lesson itself. Although if Cordova was hoping to make Cere less reliant on others to prepare her meals he sadly failed. She grabs a few kitchen-y things that Greez might be able to use as a thank you and an apology for coming back here and risking capture. She picks up a sketch of a bogling too. BD tells her Cal will love it.

“He can hang it in the engine room.” Cere rolls it up and tucks it into her rucksack. “It will cheer the place up a bit.” And hopefully Cal too.

BD guides her to Cordova’s workshop and his piles of sketches, journals and logs. The musty air has the unpleasant tang of animal droppings. Fresh droppings. BD reminds her to watch out for bog rats.

“Don’t attack anything by yourself,” she tells him as they slip into Cordova’s old bedroom. “Cal will be very upset with me if I let you get hurt.”

BD warbles sadly.

“I know,” she says, grabbing an old datapad from beside the bed. She gathers everything she can without bothering to read through it. She doesn’t have time to be choosy. It’s grab and go. “But he’s doing better than he was a few days ago. He’ll be –”

Footsteps, coming from the upper level, followed quickly by muted conversation. Cere falls silent. BD freezes. They share a look and Cere nods to the wall of vines, stepping in and allowing the greenery to swallow her. “Dim your lights,” she whispers to BD, who immediately follows her order.

“Why do we even bother with these patrols?” The stormtrooper’s voice is distorted but it does nothing to disguise his blatant boredom. “There’s nothing here but bugs.”

“And those little fluffy guys,” his colleague says with distinct delight in his distorted voice. “What are they called? Boglings? I’d like to take one home, keep it as a pet.”

“Sure, and then it bites you and your arm falls off.”

The cheerier trooper sighs. “You really know how to ruin a good mood.”

“I’m just sick of these assignments to the ends of the galaxy. There’s no one here. That Jedi those other guys were talking about is long gone, if he even existed. More like they huffed too much acid gas and saw what they wanted to see. All I’m saying is I joined up to fight. Send me to Kashyyyk. Send me anywhere there’s a fight to be had before I die of boredom.”

Cere rests her hand on her blaster.

“I joined because I wanted to see the galaxy,” the cheerier trooper says with too much enthusiasm. “Keep me away from the fight.”

“Tch, coward.”

“I sure am, but at least I got to see a bogling.”

“Ugh. I’m gonna become a Purge Trooper just to get away from you.”

There’s a rustle and then a loud thump as a stormtrooper drops into the old bedroom. He has his back to Cere. Boredom rolls off him, frustration grating so much Cere nearly grinds her own teeth. Instead, she wraps herself and BD in the Force and projects nothingness into the minds of the two stormtroopers. Cere and BD are a null space, nothing to notice, part of the vines, always there, completely unremarkable.

The stormtrooper turns. Looks directly at Cere. A brief flicker of confusion tickles his mind before fading away. “Ooh, what a shocker, there’s nothing here,” he calls up to his colleague. “Another wasted night.”

The trooper kicks a stool across Cordova’s abandoned bedroom. It smacks against Cere’s knees. She ignores the throb of dull pain and flicker of anger at the disrespect, holding her concentration even when the trooper puts a gloved hand on a collection of sketches and sends them scattering through the air. BD bristles, a tiny shiver going through his chassis, but he follows Cere’s lead. No more movement. Stillness.

And still the stormtrooper kicks and throws and generally tantrums his way around Cordova’s former sanctuary until he cannot get through the tiny gap out to the main living area and gives up, kick the door with a vicious stream of cussing before stomping his way back to the vines he needs to climb to return to his colleague. A hand brushes Cere’s arm, but her hold on his mind is powerful enough to keep him from noticing reality.

“Waste of my time,” he hisses, climbing slow and steady until he disappears onto the upper floor once again. “Let’s finish this useless patrol.”

“Great! I need to check the boglings near that big tower thing.”

Footsteps fade. Cere releases the Force and presses a finger to her lips before BD can let out a single beep. “Come on,” she whispers. “I think we’ve pushed our luck enough.”

Nodding, BD hops onto her back. Cere scoops up all the sketches she can rescue and retreats.

They’re back on the Mantis fifteen minutes later. BD abandons her and races to the engine room. Greez wastes no time launching them off planet and into hyperspace, not even bothering to tell everyone to take a seat.

Merrin watches as Cere drops her bag on the lounge table and lets the contents spill out. “You found what you were looking for,” she says, one eyebrow raised.

“I took what I could, preserved as much as I could carry,” Cere says. “I’m sure Cordova left more, but we can’t risk another trip.”

“What is it you hope to find?” Merrin asks with genuine curiosity.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. Perhaps other places the Zeffo visited, places we can use to hide out while Cal recovers. Maybe nothing. I just –”

“Wanted to preserve the remains of your people,” Merrin says. “Yes, I understand. That is reason enough.”

Cere suspects Merrin understands it more than most. “Cordova spent time on Dathomir,” she says. “Perhaps there will be something in here that will interest you.”

Merrin peers at her, no longer the aloof Nightsister and instead a very curious teenager. “I can look?”

“Of course. It’s as much yours as it is mine.” Cere is touched by her shyness, her tenderness as she runs a gentle hand over the fragile paper. “Although I will need to recharge that datapad.” It’s an old model. Hopefully Greez will have the necessary charger. “Who knows what kind of notes Cordova left on here.”

“BD might know,” Merrin says, sitting down and making neat stacks out of Cere’s recovered items.

“Perhaps,” Cere says, glancing to the back of the ship.

“He fell asleep not long before you returned,” Merrin says. “I gave him his medicine and sat with him. He remains feverish. Greez tried to give him some more soup, but he only managed a few sips.” She rubs her palms against her thighs. “He tries to be cheerful, but he is a bad actor. Why isn’t he getting better?”

Cere does not like this undying fever Cal runs. He is persistent in all things. They did what they could for his wound, but infection has settled in. Cal needs far more than they can give. This is out of the scope of first aid or the extended training Cere received during the war. They need to seek a medic, one that will not sell them out to the Empire or the Haxion Brood. And then he will need to rest, whether he wants to or not. They all need some downtime, a chance to process everything they have been through. Now is not the time to push through. It is the time to rest, reflect, recuperate.

“Don’t worry,” Cere says. “We’re going to get him the help he needs.”

Struggling for words, Merrin settles on a nod.

Leaving Merrin to her organising and studying, Cere joins Greez in the cockpit. She checks comms, hears nothing to indicate the Empire picked up on their return to Bogano, and moves to the co-pilot’s seat.

“You find what you wanted?” Greez asks.

“Yes,” Cere says. She takes him in, how weary he is, how unkempt he is beginning to look. They’re all more than a little ragged around the edges. “How’s your knowledge of backwater medics?”

“I have a longlist, a shortlist, and a stash of credits to pay whoever we see,” Greez says. “Cal isn’t getting better. We’re going to one of them, right now.” He glances at her. “Honestly, that was my plan the moment we took off. I’m just trying to choose one.”

“Pick the most obscure and get us to them,” Cere says. “Someone who will believe whatever we want them to.”

“Obscure? Then I’ve got the perfect one,” Greez says. He starts plugging fresh coordinates into the navcomp. “It might take a while to get there. She travels between a few different space stations and it will take a few jumps to find where she is right now. She’s gotta be nearly three hundred years old, and no, don’t ask me what species she is. She has as many arms as I do, she’s a meter taller than you, and her hair is so orange it makes Cal’s look dull in comparison. She doesn’t care who comes to her or why, which was great that time I had my leg broken by a guy I owed a lotta credits to.”

“I’m sensing a but,” Cere says.

“So, uh, she doesn’t much like Jedi. Even before it all went down, she was loudly against busybody do-gooders,” Greez says.

Busybody do-gooders. An apt description.

Greez squirms. “But she doesn’t need to know Cal got stabbed by a lightsaber. So long as he doesn’t slip back into any feverish babbling, we should be good.”

“We’ll come up with a good cover story, don’t worry,” Cere says, thinking of Cal’s Guild tattoo.

“Yeah, yeah. So, did I hear you found a datapad?”

“Yes, Cordova’s. It’s old. Not sure we’ll be able to charge it.”

Greez scoffs. “Do you really have such little faith in me? Lower deck. Storage locker. That little blue bag? Every charger I have ever owned or was left aboard by someone else, including a few that belong in a museum. You’ll find what you need, or my name’s not Greezy Money.”  

“Thanks.” Cere heads to the back of the ship where she finds BD watching over Cal who is, as Merrin said, sleeping. Flushed, pale, wheezing, he isn’t healing the way he needs to. She watches him for a moment, waiting for any signs of nightmares. Other than the catch in his breathing, he is quiet. Good.

Leaving him to rest under BD’s watchful gaze (and scanner), Cere climbs down to the lower deck and finds Greez’s bag of wires. It takes a while to untangle everything, but she finds what she needs and takes it to the datapad, plugging it in to one of the holotable’s outlets and letting it slowly charge.

“Anything interesting?” Cere asks Merrin.

“Your Cordova met with Mother and sought her permission to enter the ruins,” Merrin says, eyes on a journal page. “He had a great respect for my people.” She holds up it up, showing an intricate sketch Cordova made of Dathomir. “I did not know the Jedi could be like this.”

“Yes, Cordova was a man of great compassion and diplomacy. He would be delighted to know you and Cal get along so well.”

Merrin nods and returns to her reading. Cere makes herself a fresh cup of tea and returns to Cal. They’ve left a chair at his bedside to keep watch. She takes it now while reaching out, the Force telling her what she needs to know. Exhaustion. Injury. Sickness. Life. Stubborn, relentless life, struggling to hold on. Persistent to his core. Cal is beyond dreams, plunged into a deep sleep. Thank goodness for that. His fever dreams have been unkind, and there has only been so much any of them could do to soothe his writhing mind.

Staying at Cal’s side, Cere meditates lightly. He awakens a short while later, slow to come all the way around. Where it isn’t greasy, his hair battles gravity, aside from a swoop at the front falling over his eyes like the lead actor in a holomovie.

In another life, perhaps.

“Hey,” he croaks, driving the heel of his right hand into his eyes in a vague attempt to clear the sleep from them. “Back already?” He sounds like he’s spent five years sucking down fumes in Bracca’s lowest levels. “Find anything good?”

“Yes,” she says, reaching over and running a hand through his hair until it settles into something less wild. Maybe he’ll take Merrin up on her offer to wash and style it later; he has had little opportunity for being body shy lately, given how little he can do for himself. “We grabbed as much as we could.”

BD says Cere followed his directions perfectly.

Cal gives BD a pat, his movements cautious, stiff. “Good job, buddy.”

“How are you feeling?” Cere asks.

“Tired,” Cal admits. “Too hot and too cold.” He slumps further when BD tells him what his temperature currently is. “That’s not good.”

No, it isn’t. Neither is this honesty. For once, Cere resists the urge to speak blunt truth and goes for a gentler tone. “We’re going to take you to a medic. You need more treatment than we can give. How do you feel about being the victim of an unfortunate scrapping incident?”

“Took a laser cutter to the torso.” A calamitous cough rumbles in his chest. Cere helps him to sit up so he can clear his lungs. Or try to anyway, enough so that he doesn’t suffocate. By the end of the coughing fit, he is red-faced and wheezing, his pale lips tinged blue. “Fell into a water tank. Forgot to hold my breath. Bad day.” Cal pauses, catches his breath. Somehow, he finds a wry smirk. “Had worse.” Sweat rolls down his face. Cere summons a cloth to her hand to wipe it away. He leans in, swamped with weariness he cannot keep shielded. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Cere says, taking his weight and letting him rest against her shoulder.  

Cal clearly thinks differently, but he doesn’t have the energy to argue. He can’t be left to stew in his frustration.

“You did not run yourself through with a lightsaber, nor did you choose to drown.” Cere flinches, and so does he. Too close. Far too close. Neither of them are ready for that conversation. “Patience, Cal. There is no rush.” Although if they don’t find Greez’s chosen medic quickly, he will be lucky to survive without permanent damage. “The galaxy will cope without us while we focus on getting you well again. You can’t push yourself to heal faster. You’ll only hurt yourself if you try.”

“I hate it,” he murmurs, eyes glassy. That little flash of humour before has cost him greatly. “Feel useless.”

BD nuzzles closer, issuing a lengthy rebuttal.

For all his adolescent bluster, Cal tends to be the type to share how he feels. Not always, and not immediately, but one way or another it gets out there. Maybe five years of keeping everything secret broke something inside him, and what were once sturdy barriers can no longer hold back the tide.

Cere knows how he feels. How she wishes he would be kinder to himself. “You are far from useless,” she tells him. “And you are allowed to stop. You are one person, Cal, one Jedi. You cannot fight the Empire alone. A single drop of water cannot extinguish a fire.”

He tenses, says nothing. He coughs again, body shaking. This time there is blood on his sleeve.

“Breathe,” Cere says, her tone far calmer than she feels. “Slow and steady.”

When he’s finished, she gives him water to wash away the taste and eases him back against the pillows, refusing to dwell on how miserable he looks. “Now, would you like to see some of Cordova’s sketches?”

Wheezing, Cal nods.

Trusting BD to keep watch, Cere fetches a batch of sketches and some of Cordova’s older journals. Merrin is still fully engrossed in the one she chose. Cere returns and finds Cal asleep again, a harsh crackle in every breath. BD droops and reports Cal’s temperature is rising again. Reaching for the intercom, Cere asks Greez to go faster and feels the ship’s temperature drop as he coaxes a little extra speed from the engines.

They’ll find the help they need soon. Cal will be alright.

Cere takes her seat and flips through the sketches. Boglings, Zeffo, an Oggdo, even the Binog. Cere puts them down and opens an old journal. This one seems to be concerned with the High Republic era, when the Jedi were at the peak of their strength and influence, the brightest light in a glowing Republic. Cordova, as ever, remained fascinated by the Force in all its applications, and all its wielders.

Including those who left the Order during this era.

Left the Order and settled elsewhere in the galaxy.

Reading rapidly, Cordova’s familiar handwriting takes Cere on an unexpected journey.

Chapter Text

Rising from meditation, Cal shivers in the ship’s cooler air. He presses a hand to the slowly healing wound in his chest, the pain more tolerable now. He’s still weary, but it’s more manageable, less all-consuming. This was his longest meditation since his recovery took an upswing, but the Force wasn’t as restorative as he hoped it would be, not when his body requires so much energy to heal itself.

Master Yoda may have called Jedi ‘luminous beings’ when he came to teach the Temple younglings, but Cal feels like his bones are made of duracrete right now. It’s an upgrade from those feverish days immediately following Nur. He was so sure Master Tapal was here at one point, staring at him from a corner of the engine room, saying nothing, just watching. That was fine, because Cal couldn’t speak either, not when breathing took so much effort. He remembers thinking maybe his master was here to lead him into the Force, except Master Tapal sensed Cere’s presence nearby and decided not to take Cal away.

Maybe Master Tapal didn’t want Cal to die. Or he was intimidated by Cere, didn’t think he could best her in a sparring match. Cal wishes he could see it – two Jedi Masters, duking it out. But the truth is none of it was real. Master Tapal didn’t stare from a corner of the Mantis and Cal really, really hopes he didn’t tell anyone about that particular hallucination. His head was so muddled for a while.

Cal can’t pinpoint the transition from barely holding on to slow, steady improvement. There was a medic at some point, although Cal’s memory of her extremely hazy. What little he knows mostly came from Greez. Did she come to the ship or was he taken to her? No idea. All he knows is she cleaned out and restitched his wound, dosed him full of antibiotics and painkillers, and told Greez to never, ever bring her an escaped scrapper ever again. He remembers that because there was so much weighty emphasis on the word scrapper every time Greez used it, along with squeeze of his hand and a nudge to the head from BD, like maybe they both feared Cal would open his mouth and announce what he really was. Scrapper? Sure, but don’t forget I’m a Jedi too! Truth was he barely knew his own name at that point, and he hadn’t had the energy to reveal himself to be a Jedi. His Guild tattoo has its uses.

The medic did call Cal rabid, that he does remember, coasting as he was on a cocktail of sedatives and meds. He laughed at her. That just made her more insistent that scrappers were rabid.

“Don’t let him bite you,” she’d told Greez. “You’ll be overcome with a sudden urge to tear your own ship apart.”

Bite people? Cal knew a few that would do so in a fight. The medic probably wouldn’t want to hear about the dream her words inspired, of scrappers inside his blood, gnawing away at the infection so close to consuming him. Fever dreams were second only to narcotic-induced dreams in levels of weirdness.

However, thanks to that intervention, unwillingly given though it may have been to a rabid scrapper, Cal is alive and… okay, he can’t claim to be alive and well, but recovery feels like a possibility now. Before it was merely a hope, projected with all the fake smiles he could manage before he was too tired to give them.

Cal has spent the past two weeks getting to know all the material Cere rescued from Bogano, the sketches, the datapad, the words and the echoes. In one echo, Master Cordova met with another Jedi, Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and the two spoke of the River of Light on Master Qui-Gon’s homeworld. It sounded beautiful from his description, and Master Cordova’s sketch really captured its brilliance. There was a brief overview of the planet in the datapad, along with coordinates. Maybe someday they’ll visit, even if it means risking an encounter with the Empire.

They haven’t made landfall since Nur. Cal longs for any planet to stretch his legs on. They’ve hopped from star system to star system, stopping off at space stations or moons with artificial habitats, all of them outside the Empire’s reach and comfortably within the control of various criminal syndicates. Greez is either confident the Brood is finished with him, or he knows Cere and Merrin won’t let anything bad happen. It must be why the Mantis is now stocked up to the rafters; Greez hasn’t left a single store untouched.

While Greez and Merrin shopped, Cal walked around landing pads, anything to see something beyond the ship’s interior hull. Okay, okay, he wasn’t walking so much as shuffling that first week after seeing the medic, leaning on Cere so heavily she might as well have carried him while BD performed cheerleader duties, encouraging just one more step before taking a break. It’s just that walking around domes erected to keep their inhabitants from drifting off into the blackness of space isn’t the same as an open planet where the air isn’t recycled. Cal wants to move. Run. Practice a few basic lightsaber forms. While his recovery has been and remains arduous, he’s feeling well enough now to get back to some kind of normalcy.

Feels well enough or is he bored enough? What’s the difference? He has never had so much downtime in his entire life. In the Temple he was always in classes with his clan. As a Padawan he was learning from his master during a war. Then, on Bracca, he saw people working with worse injuries, patched together haphazardly by Guild droids with zero bedside manners who demanded half a year’s earnings as payment. Cal worked shifts when he was sick, when he was hurt, when he hadn’t slept for days. And here he is doing nothing while the Empire grows stronger. Cal can already feel the rust gathering anew, rediscovered skills fading with disuse. He needs to get back to work – so long as he only fights a few stormtroopers. A Purge Trooper maybe if BD jabs stims into him every ten seconds.

An Inquisitor? Game. Over.

That monster under the seas of Nur? Over before it begins.

And no steep hills if he wants to maintain good oxygen saturation.

But the others don’t need to know that.

What happened to his ability to just push through?

Before Cal can answer his own question, BD races into the engine room, beeping a greeting and telling him Cere wants everyone at the holotable; she has finally finished her research.

“Okay, buddy, I’m coming.”

Climbing to his feet, new socks providing extra warmth against the deck’s chill, Cal stretches away some of the stiffness, one hand resting on the bulkhead as his vision turns to static. Why can’t he be done with this and just be better already?

Nervously tip-tapping closer, BD asks if he’s okay.

“Yeah,” Cal says heavily, nodding at BD to lead the way. He coughs, another lingering symptom the medication hasn’t cleared up yet. Stabbed. Drowned. Add those to the list of things Cal never wants to do again. “I’m feeling much better.”

Which is true because he isn’t confined to bed anymore and doesn’t break out in a sweat because he dared to take more than five steps.

With a sly series of beeps, BD tells him he isn’t fooling anyone, reminds him not to pass out here because BD probably can’t catch him, and clatters away to the galley to launch himself onto the table. Cal finds Greez making caf. Greez looks him up and down, hands over a mug along with a bowl of lentil daal, a tumbler full of water and a little pile of pills.

“You look pale,” Greez says. He reaches over, hand landing on Cal’s forehead, and pulls a face. “What’s that Force of yours good for if it can’t help you feel better?”

“I’ll work on my healer skills,” Cal says around a mouthful of daal. “And I haven’t seen a sun in a while. None of us have.”

He relishes sunlight, warm or cold. His skin tone might not appreciate the sun without layers of sunscreen, but anyone who spends five years on Bracca and then gets a taste of regular sunlight will crave it desperately, and not just for the essential vitamin D.

Greez stares at him. Stares. Stares. And right before Cal flees, Greez dismisses him with a wave of a hand. “Yeah, well, good news. Cere’s about to fix that for all of us.”

BD whoops from the galley table.

“Sounds good,” Cal says, finishing the daal and taking his meds, drinking all the water in a few short gulps. Recovery is thirsty work. He puts his empties in the dishwasher and grabs his caf.

Cere and Merrin are already by the holotable, a planet glowing ahead of them. Cal, Greez and BD join them.

“This is it,” Cere says. “This is our next location.” There is so much excitement in her voice Cal hides his smile behind his mug. It’s good to see her so enthused again. She’s been through a lot lately. “Lakeida II. Right on the edge of the Unknown Regions.”

A planet dominated by vast grasslands punctuated by forests and lakes appears before them. “Looks quiet,” Cal says.

Quiet is good. He can rebuild his strength without needing to look over his shoulder. No more sitting around doing nothing. He can come back stronger than ever.

“It will likely be uninhabited where we’re going,” Cere says. “The system isn’t unknown to the Empire, but the planet we’re headed for is a long way from where they are. And as for the local population, we won’t be near them either.” She points to the southern hemisphere. “They are a nomadic people who stay south of the equator. Our destination is the northern hemisphere. Cordova wrote about a group that left the Jedi Order to set up a new home there. It’s prone to long, cruel winters. Makes it a good place to hide.”

“Is it winter down there right now?” Cal asks.

“No,” Cere says. “Should be spring, heading into summer. Perfect weather.”

Entertaining daydreams of finding a big tree to meditate or take a nap beneath, Cal tunes out for a moment, coming back in where Cere admits her information on the planet is largely out of date. “Cordova never visited; his research isn’t firsthand experience. He recorded it all on the old datapad, along with a lot of information of several other Force-sensitive cultures that seem to have disappeared. This one is no different. I do not expect to find survivors, only what may remain of their culture.”

There’s always a catch, BD laments.

“How out of date?” Cal asks.

“For details of the former Jedi who live here? A few centuries, give or take. Cordova was mostly taking notes from Temple records and those were sparse. The Lakeida system is a long way off any shipping routes and always has been. It seems likely this is why it was chosen as the perfect hiding spot for our Force wielders. The Jedi would have had little need to be out this far unless called, and nothing Master Cordova left behind suggested they did so.”

“Just our group of ex-Jedi,” Greez says.

Cere nods.

“You are sure about this?” Merrin asks Cere. “It is a long way to go if your research is wrong. Especially on such old information.”

“I’ve checked and doublechecked the sources and current star charts,” Cere says. “The planet is still there.”

“A great comfort,” Merrin says.

Smiling, conceding the point, Cere continues. “Even if we can’t find any hint of this group and their work, we have plenty of supplies to spend several undisturbed weeks there.”

Everyone looks at Cal. He ignores them, eyes on the planet shining above the holotable.

“Lakeida II is sparsely populated and possesses minimal levels of technology,” Cere says. “It’s likely no one has made planetfall in generations. Cordova believed an offshoot of the Order made it their home. There’s no way to tell if they had offspring who may still be alive, but if they did, we cannot allow the Empire to beat us to them. They have a cruiser in the system but haven’t moved onto Lakeida II yet. They’re too busy with Lakeida Prime.”

“Why? A population there they want to oppress?” Cal asks.

“No, thankfully Lakeida Prime is uninhabited, but it is rich in natural resources. I imagine they’re scouting for mining locations,” Cere says. “The cruiser is a precursor to a launching a full-scale operation.”

If Cal had the energy, he’d find a way to disrupt the Empire and their greed. He’s watched their machines ripping up natural resources with no care for the environment. He hates to know it’s happening in the same system they’re visiting. Unfortunately, he’s nowhere near ready to launch an attack and he can’t ask the others to do it when he won’t be capable of backing them up. “Maybe Saw Gerrera and the Partisans will be interested in stopping them.”

“Perhaps,” Cere says with the delicate diplomacy of a well-trained Jedi Master.

“We’ve got enough fuel to get there and out again,” Greez says. “In a hurry too if we attract unwanted attention.”

“I would like to see a new world,” Merrin says, quiet, hopeful. She’s already getting a taste for galactic exploration. “And it would be nice to breathe real air.”

BD wants to scan. He wants to scan everything. Cal gives him a pat on the head. “You’ve been very patient, buddy. You deserve a whole new world to explore.”

“I’ve monitored a lot of Imperial chatter over the past few days. They’re distracted by Lakeida Prime’s abundant resources. We won’t even be a blip on their long-distance scopes,” Cere says. “According to Cordova, the group we’re looking for specialised in the healing and agricultural arts. Thery may have developed technology the Empire could exploit.”

And if any of them are alive, disconnected from the wider galaxy, then they have no idea what might be about to drop down on their heads. There’s no way they can ignore that. “We’re going,” Cal tells Cere.

“Do you really think any of ‘em will still be alive?” Greez asks.

“It’s not worth getting our hopes up,” Cere says. “Cordova researched many Force-sensitive cultures and groups, and it seems the majority are lost to history.”

“These people were not Jedi?” Merrin asks.

“Not as such. Cordova’s research suggests Lakeida II was home to a Force-sensitive society that broke off from the Jedi Order during the High Republic era.”

“Broke off?” Cal asks. “Why?”

“As I said, the details are sparse. While the Jedi Order always coexisted with other Force-wielding cultures, some within the Order of that era were extremely protective of the Force, with little tolerance for non-Jedi wielding it in any capacity,” Cere says, a faint trace of second-hand embarrassment in her tone. “So, when this group decided the Order no longer upheld tradition of the Jedi being stewards of the Force rather than its overseers, they went their separate way with the Council’s agreement. Master Cordova copied the Council’s decree into his research.”

Sometimes, it is depressing how little Cal knows about the Jedi Order. He only has his own memories and limited education.

“The Order was not a monolith, and its members had many viewpoints,” Cere says. “Debate is healthy and it was encouraged. I certainly had many disagreements with others over the years. Sadly, some individual Jedi developed an overbearing arrogance towards other Force wielders.”

“Imagine what those old Jedi would think of us,” Cal says, grinning at Merrin. “Jedi and Nightsister, side by side.”

“They would surely lock you up in a prison for unruly Jedi,” Merrin says.

BD agrees; Cal is unruly.

“Unfortunately for them, I would be beyond their grasp.” Merrin’s magick bursts like fireworks around their heads. “The Jedi have their ways, I have mine.”

Cal laughs, a hand pressed to his chest. He muffles a cough in his elbow. “Master Cordova knew better,” he says. “I’m sure plenty of other Jedi weren’t so stuffy.” Master Tapal could be pretty stuffy at times.

Reach my position.

We must prepare for physical training.

Padawan, your lightsaber!

Hold the line.

Although without him, Cal wouldn’t be the Jedi he is today. “Cere isn’t stuffy at all.”

“Thank you.” Cere practically glows.

“Perhaps desperate times call for desperate measures,” Merrin muses. “And that is why we must work together.”

Who is she calling desperate? “Greez can take you back to Dathomir,” Cal says. “Any time you want.”

“Not today, thank you,” Merrin says with a prim lilt in her voice. “I wish to visit Cere’s new world.”

Cere continues before Cal can respond. “Master Cordova fought back against such closed-mindedness to other Force-sensitive cultures even in our time, and plenty of others did too. Attitudes changes with time. The Jedi may not have always approved of other ways of using the Force, but they respected them, and they only intervened when something truly dangerous happened,” she says. “And now we must stop the Empire from pillaging more Force-sensitive cultures. They are the ones who would truly silence others.”

She’s right. Cal stares at the planet projected ahead of him. Cere has spent days poring over old records to locate this world and its potential stash of lost technology while Cal hasn’t been able to do much more than marvel at Master Cordova’s sketches and echoes. Meanwhile, Cere and the others have pulled apart everything Master Cordova left behind and planned an entire expedition. Although, with such outdated intel, they may find nothing other than some rubble and that nice tree for Cal to sleep beneath, bathed in dappled light. However, the Empire will tear any planet apart for relics of the Jedi or other Force-wielding societies because of the Emperor’s endless need for power. It isn’t about preservation with them, it’s all about dominance or eradication. Cere, so much her master’s Padawan, wants to learn from these people and protect as much of their culture and technology as she can, take it away before the Empire can pervert it and use it against innocent populations. If this other group is anything like the Zeffo, there are plenty of reasons to get there first.

“So, we’re in agreement?” Cere asks.

Cal checks with the others, sees them nod. BD’s is the most enthusiastic of all.

“Time to break out the picnic blanket,” he says.

“Alright, I’ll get us to the planet,” Greez says, heading for the cockpit. “Hope the weather’s good enough for camping. I love cooking on an open fire!”

Merrin and BD join him. Cere doesn’t move, her eyes on the planet.

“You really think we’ll find anything salvageable?” Cal asks.

“I’m not sure,” Cere says. “But I want to be sure. Besides, some additional medical knowledge could be useful. And you need more time to recover.”

Chest aching, lungs itching, Cal can’t really argue with that.

Chapter Text

A day later, Lakeida II appears ahead of them, brilliant white against the black.

The whole planet.

White. 

“Are we looking at the planet’s north pole?” Cal asks, aiming for optimism.

Greez checks his readouts. “No, we’re on the right approach.”

“Perhaps it is clouds in the atmosphere,” Merrin suggests.

“No, it isn’t,” Greez says. “That’s ice.” He jabs a finger for extra emphasis. “That is a planet of ice.”

Naturally, Cal directs his next question at Cere. “Didn’t you say we should be hitting this place in the summer?”

“I did, and it should be late spring, early summer.” Cere stares out the cockpit to the big white planet hanging in space. “It’s the southern continent too. Everything is frozen. That’s not possible unless the planet has shifted from its natural orbit.”

Cal checks the scope. “The orbit is stable.”

“Maybe these not-Jedi people developed weather control tech,” Greez says.

“And forgot to turn it off,” Cal adds.

“That does not bode well for the nomadic people of this world,” Merrin says.

“No, it does not,” Cere admits. “Greez, are you sure this is the right planet?”

Disgusted, Greez turns his seat to stare her down. “What’s more likely: I, great pilot Captain Greez Dritus, got my coordinates wrong, or you, Jedi Master Cere Junda, misjudged the weather based on old information?”

“This is the right planet, Captain,” Cere says.

“Where are the trees, Cere?” Greez demands. “Where are the grasslands? I expected to make daisy chains, not snowballs.”

Merrin disguises a laugh with a weak cough.

BD would like to wear a daisy chain crown. Cal gives him a pat on the head. “Maybe on the next planet,” he says, wondering if he has the dexterity to make such a thing. He was never any good at making them in the Temple with his creche mates in the gardens and that was years before he became a scrapper where everything required brute force. “I’m sure Merrin can help.”

“I can. I make the best crowns when there are small flowers to make them with,” Merrin says. She too stares at the planet ahead of them. “We will be fine. The cold will not bother us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Cal mutters. “It looks like Ilum out there.”

Based on his calculations, BD believes it will be colder.

“Colder?” Cal turns to Greez. “We’ve got real winter weather gear now, right?”

“You’re damn right we do,” Greez says. “No more running around ice planets in ponchos, kid.”

Relieved, Cal relaxes. It’s like Prauf used to say: ‘There’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing.’ He can handle snow and ice with a thick jacket and the hat Greez knitted for him, the one that matches his old scrapper poncho. Sometimes he really wonders how he ran across Ilum in a poncho. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. Might also explain why his memory after he rebuilt his lightsaber is hazy until it returned with perfect clarity when he was buried under every blanket on the ship, his head on Cere’s lap, her hand running through his hair.

“You still wanna go down there?” Greez asks Cere.

“I do.” She glances at Cal. “We have to.”

“Because I want to breathe some fresh, freezing air,” Cal says cheerily enough.

“And find whatever it is these other Force users may have left behind,” Merrin says.

BD whoops, ready to scan.

“First hint of the Empire we leave,” Greez says, preparing for landing. “We’re in no shape to take them on.”

“Speak for yourself,” Cal says, sitting straight…ish.

Merrin doesn’t bother to hide her snort of laughter this time. BD looks ready to fight her. Cere says nothing.

Greez takes pity. Sort of. “Kid, if losing didn’t mean we’d all die horribly, I would bet you the Mantis I have a better chance of taking out a stormtrooper with my blasters than you do with your lightsaber right now.”

“I am with Greez,” Merrin says.

Looking for allies, Cal turns to BD, who suggests Cal might put up a fight if he dosed himself with every available stim. It’s not exactly unwavering support, but Cal will take it.

“You underestimate Cal’s stubbornness,” Cere tells Greez.

“Hah, three against two,” Cal says.

“Oh, no, no, I abstain,” Cere says. “I am a neutral party.”

Hand on heart, Cal spins his chair away from her. “A negotiation tactic worthy of a Jedi Master.”

“I trust you will make the right decisions for your own wellbeing,” Cere says.

Truthfully, Cal doesn’t relax until he fails to find a single Star Destroyer in orbit and Cere confirms the comms are quiet. There is something odd in orbit that has nothing to do with the Empire: a large space station sits above the planet, although it is powered down and doesn’t have a single ship docked to it. It’s an odd design, the main section reminding Cal of a wyyyshokk’s bulbous torso, the docking bays splayed like spindly legs.

“That’s not about to give us any trouble, is it?” Cal asks.

“Nah,” Greez says. “That thing’s been dead for a century. Not picking up any signs it’s powered up.”

It still looks like it might grab them and bite them.

Or maybe Cal really is thinking too hard about spiders.

“I can’t detect any comm signals, and it isn’t responding to pings,” Cere says. “Looks to be completely derelict.”

“You’ve never seen anything like it?” Greez asks Cal.

“Not on Bracca,” Cal says. “But we rarely scrapped space stations, and most of the ones that did come through were barely larger than satellites. Guess the Separatists used them as target practice. That thing belongs in a history holobook.”

“Anyone getting any Jedi or Nightsister vibes from the giant snowball world or the creepy space station?” Greez asks.

“No,” Cere says.

“Nothing,” Merrin says.

Cal cocks his head to one side, really gives it some consideration. So much for his day spent lounging under a tree in the sunshine. The Force doesn’t mourn with him, nor does it offer any alarms or even faint feelings of disquiet.

But there is something. Not alarms or disquiet. Sharper than that, and not entirely from the Force. They are looking at a world that should not be frozen after all. Mysteries like that deserve to be solved.

Greez clears his throat.

“No,” Cal eventually says. “We just didn’t expect the weather.” He shivers, looks away. “We’re clear.”

He sits back as Greez enters the landing coordinates and takes them down. Soon, snow hurls itself at them. Cal shivers, unsettled. Not because Greez’s piloting skills are off – he’s as good as ever. It’s –

“Strange,” Merrin says. “This planet has a busy energy for somewhere without any people.”

Cal feels it too now, a stain so faint he might think he was imagining it if not for Merrin’s confirmation.

Cal and Merrin turn to Cere.

Nothing ruffles her feathers. “The Force is less settled here,” she says. “I sense an unexpected darkness. Do not allow your anxiety to overwhelm you. Whatever happened to cause this freezing likely left a mark in the Force.”

Darkness. Cal’s mind turns inward, to the last darkness he encountered. Darth Vader. Cal has never experienced such a gaping pit of seething hatred. He fought Vader with everything he had and was brushed off like a crumb.

You would be wise to surrender.

Cal isn’t ashamed to admit he isn’t ready to face anything like that. Not now. Not soon. Maybe never. To be in the presence of such anger, such hatred…

How could anyone bear living like that? Constant, unending misery, lashing out at everything and anyone. And if that’s the power of the dark side, how can he possibly –

A gentle nudge taps his mind. Cere. He acknowledges it with a nudge of his own. He’s okay. He’ll be okay.

Soon, hopefully, because the darkness here is nothing like the horrors of Nur. It is a blip. He can put it out of his mind.

“If you’re having second thoughts I can take us back up,” Greez says. “I’m not picking anything up. No signs of life. The planet’s a nice, snowy wasteland.” He sighs. “I was really looking forward to some warmth.”

“At least we’ll have fresh air,” Cal says, taking look at his readouts. “And there are signs of a town down there. I’m seeing clusters of buildings to the east of our position. You’re heading for that old spaceport, right?”

“No, Cal, I thought I’d land on top of a glacier and wait for it to melt enough to take us where we need to go.”

BD tells Greez if he does, they will never leave the planet within a Latero’s standard lifespan. Cal chokes on his own laughter.

“Ow,” he mutters, rubbing his chest.

“That’s what you get for whatever BD said,” Greez says.

Tiptoeing across to Greez, BD offers a simple apology.

Knuckles bumping him under the head because all is forgiven, Greez doublechecks the coordinates. “One derelict spaceport coming right up.”

Fields of unbroken snow pass beneath them. The strange feeling in the Force settles into a constant background hum. It isn’t necessarily a bad feeling, more a little uneasy, the way Cal’s chest hurts if he drinks a carbonated drink too fast and the bubbles get stuck.

“Why would anyone choose to live in such a frozen place?” Merrin asks. “It must have made their lives unnecessarily harder.”

“It shouldn’t be frozen,” Cere says.

“You said the winters were harsh.” Merrin points. “That is harsh.”

BD titters. Cal ducks his face to hide his smirk.

Somehow, Cere remains patient in her response. “Yes, the winters are harsh in the northern continent, and anyone living here would have the necessary technology to keep things warm. Unless they were all a species suited to subzero temperatures or true devotees of the Force and relied solely on it to keep them alive.”

“There were Jedi like that?” Cal asks.

“There are outliers in every generation,” Cere says. “During the High Republic era, there was a Jedi Master who returned to the Temple to die after decades living in a desert. She wanted to share her wisdom after so long dedicated to such close communion with the Force. She had no technology to speak of, and no one else to rely upon. It was simply her and the Force. When she wanted to come home, she simply reached out and every Jedi close enough to her planet knew she needed to be brought home. An oral history was recorded of her teachings. I opened the holocron in the Archives not long after Cordova took me as his Padawan. He said it contained lessons worth learning.”

“Any wisdom you’d like to share?” Cal asks.

“Oh yes,” Cere says. “I will never forget her opening words. ‘In my quest to deepen my connection with the Force, I forwent anything that could be described as a creature comfort and this, my fellow Jedi, may seem noble and wise, but in the end, there is no need to inflict unnecessary suffering upon oneself. Deprivation for its own sake does not prove one’s dedication or talent. When a self-imposed rule becomes a great source of tension and anxiety, it is time to let go of that rule and open yourself up to other possibilities. My failure to do so is the lesson I wish to teach.’” Cere looks at Cal. “In other words, don’t suffer for the sake of it. I highly doubt anyone on this planet relied solely on the Force to survive the cold for months or years at a time. They would have had sufficient means to take care of themselves.”

Shaking his head, Cal turns back to his scopes. “If we find a functional heater, we’ll turn it on.”

“Y’know, I have some subzero camping gear somewhere on the ship if anyone wants to help me dig it out,” Greez says. “It’s been a long time since I did any winter camping.”

BD says he knows where it is.

Cal translates. “He has scanned every part of the ship,” he adds for everyone’s benefit.

“No secrets from you, eh, BD?” Greez says. “Well, I’m not saying we can’t spend a nice, comfortable night aboard the Mantis, but if anyone wants to experience a night out in the snow, they can. If the weather clears up, we’ll have a great view of the stars.”

“Perhaps,” Merrin says. “I have not experienced such a thing.”

“Oh, winter camping is great,” Greez says with unexpected enthusiasm. Cal and BD share a look and a shrug. Greez carries on excitedly. “Get a big fire going, wrap up in your sleeping bag, wearing as many layers as you can stand. Wake up the next day and breaking the ice or digging your way out of the snow.” He lets out a happy sigh. “Haven’t been winter camping since I was your age.”

“I would like to try,” Merrin says.

“So would I,” Cere says.

BD would too, of course.

Outnumbered, not wanting to cause any concern, Cal agrees to a night on the snow and ice. Maybe there’s something to be said for cryotherapy and lightsaber wounds. He’ll try it if it makes him heal quicker.

“This is gonna be great!” Greez bounces in his chair. “I’ve got some great winter camping recipes too.”

 “What about the Empire?” Cal asks. “How will we know if they’re about to drop down on our heads?”

“I will set up several alerts,” Cere says. “We won’t be caught out.”

“Okay,” Cal says, reassured as always by Cere’s certainty. “Just don’t want to abandon Greez’s camping gear if they drop by.”

Greez lands at the rear of the old spaceport. The circular building stands on the edge of what remains of the nearby town, its terminals, offices and maintenance garages open to the elements. A buzz of curiosity ignites in Cal’s mind, loud enough to drown out the unease dragging on him. He wants to go out there, explore, breathe the frozen air, stretch his legs, find a few echoes, learn about the people who once lived here.

“How long do we have until dark?” he asks.

“Only an hour,” Cere says, eyes on her readouts. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but it’s still spring out there, and we’ve landed late at night. The main part of the city is a short walk from here, but it isn’t enough time to begin our search tonight. I’m not detecting any incoming snowfall. It’s just very, very cold out there.” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. This planet hasn’t shifted on its axis, its orbit is stable, the weather patterns do not indicate an ice age. What is happening here?”

“You have not encountered a mystery such as this before?” Merrin asks.

“No,” Cere says.

“Nothing even close,” Greez adds.

Merrin seems surprised. Maybe she thinks they roamed the galaxy for years before winding up on Dathomir, seeing and experiencing all the mundanities and oddities on offer. Cal tries to cheer her up. “On Bracca we used to get rain and sun at the same time. And one time it rained scrap rats. Just giant, angry, ready to claw your eyes out, rats.”

“Bracca, planet of horrors,” Greez mutters.

“There were Nightsister clans who could control the weather,” Merrin says. “Not mine, we did not concern ourselves with such things. But others could. They could make it rain for their crops or create blizzards to keep enemies at bay.”

“Be pretty sweet if you could summon a tornado and just whoosh some stormtroopers away,” Cal says.

Merrin shrugs. “And it would be reassuring if you knew why a planet in its hottest season is frozen as though it is its coldest. Some things are beyond our grasp.”

“For now,” Cal and Cere say.

“Uh oh, Merrin, better not tempt our resident Jedi. We’ll be here for years while they solve the mystery,” Greez says. “Anyway, can all the Force-wielders aboard please focus on what really matters?”

BD chuckles, hops across the control panel once again, bouncing up and down on one foot until Greez accepts a high-five.

“An hour is all we need to set up the camp.” Greez claps two hands together while the other pair works on the ship’s cooldown procedures. “Merrin, go with BD and grab the gear. Cere, you can go out there and do your Jedi stuff, make sure it’s safe. Cal, dress up warm. And that means no ponchos unless it’s all of them under and over your coat.”

“I can’t help?” he asks, a pang of disappointment getting the better of him.

BD, Cere and Merrin casually hurry away.

“Kid, we’ve been over this.” Greez’s tone is somewhere between fond and exasperated. “You’re looking a lot better than you were, but you’re still supposed to be taking it easy. Don’t you remember anything the medic told you?”

Not really. “She called me rabid.”

“Other than that. And it really wasn’t specific to you. It was more about the Guild…”

“No,” Cal says after another search of his memory. “Not a word.”

“She told you to take it easy unless you want to reopen the wound, that recovery would take months, not weeks.”

Months? No way. “I have been taking it easy!”

“Exactly, but do you think I don’t see you wincing? Not to mention the coughing. It ain’t quiet. You’re still not fully healed. Have you made it through a day without a nap? No.” Greez keeps talking so Cal can’t get a word in to argue. “Enjoy us doing everything while it lasts, because as soon as you’re back to your usual self, you’ll be doing all our chores to give us a break.”

It takes Jedi-trained patience to not groan or argue back. While the others work to make sure they’ll have a safe night on the planet, Cal stays in his place, building up the energy it takes to pretend he feels better than he really does. The others shouldn’t be worrying about him. And he shouldn’t be so lazy. He gets up only when Cere hands over a thick winter jacket, new gloves, and the hat Greez made for him.

“Go on,” she says. “Explore the spaceport. But don’t go too far. Don’t get too lost in any echoes. And be back before dark.”

“You still feel it?” Cal asks, accepting her help to pull on the thick coat. “That… blip… in the Force?”

“Yes,” Cere says. “If it is a threat, it is not an immediate one. I will meditate later, see if there is more to it. Go on. Go for a walk. Before you explode.”

Grateful to get out, Cal does not offer to meditate too. Meditation lately has been hard, his physical needs too great to tend to his Force connection. All that work, only to immediately fall off again. Although meditation is hardly the thing he wants to spend his time doing. He is done with stillness. And if Cere says he can go, he is out of here.

She is also still talking. “Many places leave strange feelings in the Force, especially when they were once busy. Can you sense echoes from a distance?”

“Yes, sometimes, but only that they’re there. I can’t get the details until I’m up close and personal.” He waggles all his fingers.

“Perhaps you are sensing the world longing for how things once were.”

“Got a longing for those promised grasslands,” Cal says, shaping his face into a look of perfect innocence.

Cere is not so easily fooled. “Try not to focus too much on your anxiety.”

Cal resists a cheeky yes, Master and instead goes about the slow process of putting on his boots. Never will he take for granted the simple action of tugging them on. Now it’s a whole process of standing on one foot while jamming the other home and wiggling his toes until his boot is properly in place, hopefully without his socks getting caught up underneath. He draws the line at having anyone help him with putting on his own shoes.

Although, and he will never admit this even under the penalty of torture, he does miss having Merrin wash his hair. She was so good at it, so gentle, and the products she used left his hair soft and manageable. Hers was an expert touch, and she said it reminded her of being with her sisters. Cal didn’t mind being a sister for a while. He even let her slip a band over his head to keep his ever-growing bangs out of his eyes. He’s continued using it and it’s there now, flattening his increasingly long, wavy hair and keeping it out of his eyes. Who knew it still had a curl? He figured Bracca and all its grease transformed it years ago. Anyway, he can manage his hair by himself now and Merrin even agreed to let him keep using her various conditioners.

With the others prepping their camp, Cal stops for a moment to let his lungs adjust to the air temperature. Weeks of temperature control have not helped prepare him for actual weather. And BD was right; it is colder than Ilum, each breath stabbing at him. Standing still and being breathless is so frustrating. Cal heads out regardless to prove to himself that he’s not incapable of putting in the effort. BD zips through the air and plants himself firmly on Cal’s back, taking care to land gently.

Gently. Slowly. Carefully. Cal is tired of being fragile.

BD taps his shoulder, demanding Cal find him something to new to scan.

Cal laughs despite himself. “I’ll see what I can do.”

And find what echoes linger nearby.

Chapter Text

For the first time in weeks, it’s Cal, BD, and an open sky. And for the first time ever, they don’t have a life-or-death mission hanging over their heads. If it wasn’t so cold out, so mindbogglingly freezing, Cal might fully relax.

Lakeida II is significantly colder than Ilum, and that place was howling with a storm when they first arrived. Cal’s skin stings with the air’s bitter touch and he rearranges his scarf and hat to cover everything except his eyes. Despite the chill, he loves being outside, feels more alive than he has in too long. BD complains his scanner is already freezing over and the cold won’t do his gyros or joints any good. Before Cal can stop him, BD rushes under his coat to keep warm.

“Aah, BD! You’re freezing!” And the cold radiates through all the layers Cal wears.

Unrepentant, BD responds by huddling closer for warmth.

“You can wait on the ship if you think the weather will cause damage,” Cal says.

BD tells him exactly what he thinks of that in language salty enough to shock Cal.

“Whoa, okay buddy. I’ll make it quick. And don’t let Cere hear you talking like that. She heard me say something once and threatened to wash my mouth out with soap, said it was a tried-and-true method of discipline.”

BD would like Cal to remember he does not have a mouth.

“She’ll slice you and shut your scanner off.”

She can try, BD buzzes with a distinct huffiness.

“Settle down. Let’s see what’s here.”

Shivering and walking, Cal already longs for a hot drink, and Greez promised cocoa – with cream and marshmallows. The space port is large, made for several ships the size of the Mantis or one very large cargo ship. The design is sparse, functional, more like Bracca than the kind of High Republic grandeur Cal recalls from Temple. He remembers trips to the Temple’s fabric archive where they displayed old Jedi robes. The High Republic robes were so flashy – pure white, golden patterns, the Jedi symbol bright and bold like an unfurling flower. Cal knew, even as a tiny six-year-old, that putting him in a white robe would be a disaster. He’d have that thing covered in spilt food and mud five minutes after putting it on. At least his brown robes made his messes harder to see. Those Jedi of old wanted to stand out, wanted people to know they were there, a symbol of peace. Cal pictures returning to Coruscant in such robes, chuckling at the audacity of the idea.

This place, old and abandoned, isn’t so bold as Cal’s recollections. If Cere – and Master Cordova – are right about this place and the people who came here turned away from the Jedi, maybe it’s because they saw the gold and grandeur and thought that was against the Jedi Code.

Or maybe they were like that other Jedi Master who lived in a desert and chose to suffer for the sake of some misguided purpose.

Hand pressed to his chest, Cal swears to himself that he will never become so misguided. His mission is crystal clear: stop the Empire. That’s all there is to it. Hard to lose your way when your target is so clear.

Looking around, Cal can’t see much beyond the space port, the town’s shape vague in the encroaching twilight. He can just about make out a tall, cylindrical building towering above all others. If he felt better, Cal would head out regardless of nightfall. Instead, he stays in the spaceport, ducking into old maintenance sheds and offices, picking up vague echoes of busy people going about their lives. He listens to people shouting repair orders, caf requests, laughing at each other’s jokes. He even finds a hanger with the half-repaired remains of a fighter ship so old he has no idea of its make or model. The canopy is missing, but he carefully climbs up and takes a seat, mind humming with the nervous energy of a pilot who never had a chance to fly her pride and joy.

“One day, you and I will fight for our way of life.” She runs her hand over the weapons systems. The Jedi taught her defence. Life taught her attacking first is sometimes the only way. “I have made my choice. Whatever my berth, I accept my fate.”

Wiggling his way out of Cal’s coat, BD scans the fighter. It gives Cal a moment to release the echo, catch his breath, put the mysteries aside. He’s already this wiped after only a few faint echoes? How? He’s been resting for weeks now. It should be enough. Every day he sits by does nothing the Empire gets stronger.

Every day that monster on Nur hunts down anyone who might stand up to Imperial destruction. How will Cal ever defeat such a thing if he can’t push through now and grow stronger? Physical pain is a liar; it tells him he cannot wield the Force. Master Tapal taught him otherwise.

If only his body would learn the lesson too.

Once BD finishes his scans, he explains that, though it is a rare antique, the ship is worthless. It doesn’t have functioning engines, life support or weapons. It’s little more than a shell, a toy, BD helpfully explains. Cal explores further, stepping into what would have been the spaceport commander’s office. BD scampers around, scanner lighting up the space in bursts of red and blue light before he retreats once more to the warmth of Cal’s coat. Holoframes hang on the wall, but their images are gone, lost when the power went out. Cal traces his fingers across them anyway, detects feelings of terrible, terrible guilt. The worst of it, twinned with regret, lingers on the largest frame.

A deep voice resonates through his mind. “No purpose should come at the cost of an innocent life.”

Cal lets his hand drop to his side. “This place isn’t what I thought it would be,” he confides in BD. “I sense great sadness here.” The overwhelming feeling here is one of unbearable burden. Why?  “I don’t know if I like this place,” he adds. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cal squeezes his eyes shut. “Maybe we shouldn’t be here.”

BD’s muffled chirp emerges from Cal’s coat. Does Cal mean they shouldn’t be in the spaceport?

“No, on this planet. Why aren’t we standing in a grass field right now? What can turn a planet into a ball of ice even when it should be summer?”

The answer could be in the big echo shimmering over the traffic control terminal. A wiser head would say leave it alone, come back tomorrow after some sleep.

He will never get better if he does not push himself.

Cal takes a seat and hopes he doesn’t regret it.

Sit down. Take a breath. Do not give into fear. You prepared for this moment. You knew it was coming. The berths were assigned by Master Ryal. Acceptance is crucial. There is no going back. The Jedi will not accept them now any more than they did when first they requested permission to explore the Force in their own way.

He opens his eyes to look at his scope, sees a ship descending. It bears the Jedi Order’s distinct symbol and requests landing permission. They are being polite.

For now.

He gives them permission, turns on the lights on the landing pad furthest from town. The Jedi intend to bring their diplomacy to bear here, and it will all be for naught. Ryal’s people are not going back. And they will not be swept away by the Order’s will. They are do not pose a threat to the galaxy. If the Jedi would only see that, if only they could trust that Force-wielders outside their Order’s confines are not all on the verge of falling to darkness, then they would not need to take such drastic action.

The Jedi are not the only source of light in the galaxy. But they are too blinded by their own light to see that.

He taps a control, a panel opening to reveal the spaceport’s panic button. The alert will send everyone to their assigned berths, ready for the defence system to active.

This time, it is not a drill.

He slams the button. The alert goes out throughout the city.

Incoming attack.

Get to your assigned berths.

The choices are made. The consequences will shatter some.

It is as Master Ryal taught: without sacrifice, there can be no progress.

His assigned station is here, his ticket onward beneath his feet. A tremendous rush of guilt, anger, frustration, sorrow, hope, slams into him, and he can’t help doubling over as a sob breaks free.

They can never go back.

If only it didn’t have to end this way.

He was a Jedi once. They raised him, sheltered him. And in return, they told him his ideas were counter to doctrine and hinted at behaviour unbecoming of a Jedi Master.

Rapid footsteps approach. “Master Dent! Please, get to your berth before the defences activate!”

He looks to the young one he once called Padawan. He doesn’t know if he should thank her for sticking by his side or apologise for leading her to this.

“The Jedi will not be allowed to harm us,” she says. She looks out to the sky where the descending ship is an ever-growing speck then bows. “I’m sorry I never finished my ship in time to defend us.”

“Do not apologise,” he tells her. “Remember, they will not allow us to be free. They have prisons capable of holding Force sensitives like us. You do not want to experience such a place.”

“The Force is freedom, Master. I have no regrets.”

Not yet, young Padawan. Not yet.

Cal slips free of the echo, shivering from the bitter cold. His chest aches with countless emotions, chief among them a horror that the sky, the galaxy, will soon be taken from him…

No, not him. Master Dent. His former Padawan. Why so much regret?

Looking down, Cal spots a hatch beneath his feet. Golden, a clear line across the centre delineates where the hatch would split open. It’s big enough for someone far larger than Cal, perhaps the opening to a bunker of some kind.

Get to your berth.

Working his painful way into a crouch, taking care not to tweak or use the wrong muscles, Cal tries to prise the hatch open. It’s no good. He concentrates, enhances his meagre strength with the Force. It’s still not enough. He could use his lightsaber to cut it open…

Curious, BD asks what Cal’s trying to do. Instead of igniting his weapon, Cal tells BD about the echo. Head popping free of Cal’s coat, BD scans the control panel and tells Cal which lever will open the emergency panel. He tries, but it’s frozen shut and there isn’t any power available.

“They didn’t want to be found,” Cal says. “I wonder what the defence system did?”

“Cal!” Greez’s voice echoes through the abandoned building. “Made cocoa! Get your butt back here before you freeze and all the whipped cream sinks!”

“Wow, Greez really is going all out making this whole trip cozy.” Cal surprises himself by liking the idea of taking a break. And cocoa sounds really good. “Better head back before he sends Merrin to retrieve…”

Two figures stand in front of him. The larger of the pair pulls the small one into a tight, desperate hug. Featureless, genderless, they are beings made of shimmering fragments.

“BD, can you see those people?”

BD confirms he cannot. He asks the obvious question.

“I’m not sure. Maybe?” Cal has never experienced an echo like it, a moment in time captured in the Force.

The past moves around him as the figures part and go their separate ways. He hurries as best he can to catch up with the taller one. Reaching out, his hand passes through shards of silver –

“There will be no going back from this,” the deeper, older voice says. The figure breathes out, tilts his head to stare at the ceiling. “It is the will of the Force.”

“We made our choice, Master Dent.” The smaller figure calls over her shoulder. “And the right choices are rarely the easy ones. Go to your berth, and may the Force be with you.”

The figures burst, silver shards returning to the light of the larger echo. Vertigo unbalances him, and Cal only just catches himself on a nearby wall before his knees give out.

“I’m okay,” he tells a worrying BD, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Wasn’t expecting the echo to do that.”

BD pops out of Cal’s coat and hops down, asking if he needs Cere or Merrin to help him. Refusing, Cal shuffles out of the office and heads out a door leading to the other side of the spaceport, out of sight of the Mantis. He needs a minute to get himself together, and the cold air will startle him out of his fug. If he goes back to the ship like this, they’ll worry too much, hover too close. If he goes back to them immediately exhausted, they’ll lock him down on the ship again.

Out in the open air once more, Cal looks to the stars, expecting to see a High Republic ship descending. Instead, he sees countless fragmented people running to the nearby town, the sound of an alarm drilling into his skull. It overlays the silence of the present, ghosts of memories running around him. They aren’t fading, even though he’s moved away from the source.

Why can’t he release this echo?

Something else calls to him. Here, on the far side of the spaceport, the landscape beyond is vast, wide, a frozen plain. And there, hovering ahead of him, strings of purple light coil around each other.

An echo. But wrong. Broken. Missing something. Missing an object to cling to?

Maybe the world itself remembers what happened here.

“Cal?”

Cere has come for him, ready to take him back, contain him aboard the Mantis once more. He knows he shouldn’t be frustrated, that they worry because they care, but he so desperately needs time to himself. To be himself. Just a few more minutes, a chance to read this echo without –

“Is everything alright?”

He looks to her, blinking hard. It seems little flashes of the previous echo are caught behind his eyes, flickering static he can’t blink away.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

He licks his frozen lips, tries to explain what’s happening, except –

That new echo is so loud. It crackles, lonely, calling out for someone to see, to remember.

It can’t wait.

“I need a moment,” Cal says.

And just as expected, Cere misunderstands him. “Okay, but if we don’t get back soon, I think Merrin will finish all the cocoa.”

“I won’t be long.” Distance closed, Cal cups the light in his hands. A wise part of him recommends caution. For a moment he considers it. The Force twists with keening sorrow. No one has been here for a very, very long time. How can he possibly abandon something so desperate?

“Cal?” Cere’s voice has an edge of suspicion now.

Okay, he tells the Force, show me.

Lakeida II shatters. The echo splits the air with a howl of pure anguish. 

Too late. Too late!

Gone. All of them. Lost.

The sky overhead is bright blue, warm sunshine spilling down, but all is lost. No one is alive. Gone, all of them.

No hope remains.

A bellowing alarm sounds out, rolling across the plains.

Cal’s ears fill with the sound of an ocean.

The ground shakes beneath his feet.

Something breaks the perfect sky. A light. Pure, white, driving itself into the land.

Water sharper than glass rushes up around Cal.

The dark takes him down.

Cold water punches hard. The blackness doesn’t last for long.

Opening his eyes, he slowly sinks, waterlogged clothes dragging him down, down, down. Curtains of light shift around him, dancing in the shadows. The water has no surface. It has frozen solid.

Instead, there is light from below.

He rolls over, looks down. Shapes emerge.

A roof.

Walls.

Windows.

And strange, towering columns, leading to that frozen surface. Are those… turbolift tubes?

Something moves. A shadow. A person?

Building. There’s a building. And in that building…

People.

Survivors?

Help. They will help.

But he is frozen.

He is sinking.

He sinks.

Sinks.

Chapter Text

Cere watches Cal reach for something she cannot perceive. She feels the shift, past to present. He freezes, uncanny stillness settling over his face, his body.

BD scrambles free from Cal’s coat, jabbing hard and shouting at the top of his vocalator. When it doesn’t work, he looks to Cere for help. The truth is she doesn’t know what to do. It’s psychometry in some new manifestation. The Force rolls out of Cal, wave after wave –

A flicker. Something is coming.

And then the blast.

Thrown off her feet, Cere manages to arch her body, flip, and land on her feet, skidding back across the ice. She catches BD as he loses his grip on Cal’s back. He scrambles over her shoulder, ducking down for his own safety, begging Cere to help Cal. But help him how? Cal hasn’t moved, even as the Force bursts from him in an almighty tide. Is this the echo? What happened here to leave something so powerful behind?

The sound of the ice snapping deafens Cere. She watches Cal plunge into the water, horror screaming in her head. She runs to where he fell, hand outstretched, catching and raising. She pulls him out, dragging him onto the ice, heartrate accelerating as pure terror steals her breath. Not again. Please, not again. But unlike those awful moments after Nur, Cal takes an instant, gut-wrenching breath.

That doesn’t ease Cere’s panic as much as she would like.

His eyes flicker under their lids, still in the grip of whatever echo he has picked up. BD urgently explains Cal already experienced an unusual echo before this one, that he could see people from the past walking around them.

“And he’s never said anything about that happening before?” Cere asks.

Never, BD confirms.

Is that what this is? He has nothing in his hands. Holding Cal close, not wanting him to touch the frozen ground for fear he’ll freeze to it, Cere reaches for him through the Force, senses his focus and hits a wall. Not a shield, but a limit, a place her own power cannot follow, not even if she welcomed the dark side.

“It will be alright,” she says to BD with a confidence she doesn’t fully feel. “Definitely an echo. We need to –”

The air changes. The temperature drops. A sudden light comes from above, brighter than a star. The stars seem to join together, fake sunlight beaming down. Cere feels herself freezing, the air too cold to breathe. The Force doesn’t need to waste itself warning her something bad comes their way. Throwing Cal over her shoulders, Cere runs. BD hops down to make space.

“BD, stay close!”

Rockets activating, BD chases as Cere runs. Even with Cal’s extra bulk she moves fast as an immense white light fires down from the sky, hitting the spot Cal fell through just moments ago. The air freezes, and all Cere can do is enclose the three of them in a shield, holding out the deadly cold. The Force keeps them warm, keeps them alive.

The air settles. Cere lowers her shield. “BD?”

His systems remain functional.

“Cal?”

No answer.

Green light flashes and Merrin appears. “What was that?” she asks, nerves jangling in her usually steady voice. “It felt like thunder. This cold is incredible.” Shuddering, she looks to Cal, his wet clothes now frozen over. “What happened?”

Looking over her shoulder, Cere sees the ground has frozen once more, hiding the water beneath. That’s a problem for later. “We need to get Cal back to the tent,” Cere says, fighting to keep her panic and confusion out of her voice. “This is an echo. As for the light and the ice, I have no idea.”

How has so much gone wrong on this trip already?

With BD hitching a ride on Merrin’s shoulders, she and Cere return to their campsite. Greez has the lamps on and the heaters on full. He races onto the ship for more supplies while Cere strips Cal down to his dry layers, using blankets to protect his modesty. She checks the bacta patches have held, buries him in more blankets and watches Merrin’s magick cast little green fires all around him, each flame throwing out incredible heat. Just like Ilum, Cal needs to regain his body temperature. Unlike Ilum, he isn’t coming out of it, but Cere senses nothing amiss beyond the pain he won’t fully admit to. He isn’t running a fever, and his presence in the Force is as sure as ever.

He’s breathing. He’s breathing. He’s breathing. He was under for barely a second.

BD runs a scan, settling only when he gets the results he’s looking for.

“An echo,” Merrin says, sitting beside them. “This is a big one, yes?”

“Very,” Cere says. She looks to Merrin. “Don’t worry. He’s alright.”

The younger woman is not satisfied. “He does not look alright.”

“I’ve never seen him go this long before,” Cere admits.

BD hasn’t either. He explains that Cal asked if he could see people because the echo manifested in the present.

“A big, very different echo,” Cere surmises.

BD huddles close to Cal.

Greez returns, with towels over one shoulder and cocoa in three hands. He pats Merrin on the shoulder, hands her a mug of steaming cocoa and gives the next one to Cere. “It’s always something with this kid,” he says.

Sipping the cocoa, Merrin plays along. “He is very dramatic.”

And as if to prove her point, Cal snaps out of it, snapping upright so fast he nearly cracks Cere in the face with a flailing elbow. The only reason he doesn’t is because he cries out, falling back and clutching his chest.

“That hurts,” he stutters, eyes squeezed shut. “Oh fu –” The rest of his colourful language is lost beneath barking coughs. Tears roll down his cheeks. Merrin takes care to brush them away, perhaps fearing they will freeze to his icy skin.

They wait him out, and by the time he is finished writhing, he’s washed out and staring up at the tent’s roof like maybe it can explain this sudden development with his psychometry. He doesn’t even argue when Greez vigorously scrubs his wet hair with a towel.

“Are you alright?” Cere asks.

A faint tinge of red paints Cal’s pale cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t –”

“Hush,” she orders. “You fell into the water.”

“I did?” Cal spits the words out now that his teeth are chattering loud enough to speak for themselves. “Oh. So, not a dream?”

“Not a dream,” Merrin says, her little fires growing.

BD nudges Cal, asks him what happened.

Cal scrubs his face with the back of his hand. He shakes his head. “Dunno.”

“Focus on warming up for now,” Cere says.

“Yeah, before Merrin’s fires burn my tent down,” Greez mutters.

“They will do no such thing,” Merrin scoffs.

Cere hushes both. “You can give us the answers later,” she tells Cal.

“What answers?” Cal mumbles, unsuccessfully curling up in a ball. His injury won’t allow it. “Doesn’t make sense.”

It’s close to thirty minutes before Cal has thawed enough to speak normally. The cold leaves him strangely congested, lending a nasally edge to his words. Greez brings more cocoa, complete with whipped cream and marshmallows. Merrin dims her fires and stares impatiently.

Finally, Cal speaks. “It was normal at first, just more echoes of how this place used to be, kinda in my head like a dream or a thought, but then they were here, in the present, walking around and I could hear them, follow them.”

He pauses, eyes tracking something – maybe someone – no one else can see.

“But then that last one. It was broken, confused. I don’t know if any of it was real. It felt like the dream of a dream. The echo was just there, fractured, free from a specific object. Maybe the planet remembers.” He shivers. “Something bad happened here.”

“That is very interesting,” Merrin lies. “But what was the echo about?”

“Oh.” Cal accepts Cere’s help sitting up and takes Greez’s mug of cocoa even though he doesn’t seem to know what to do with it. He eventually grabs a marshmallow and chews thoughtfully. “The people here knew the Jedi were coming but they didn’t want to go with them. They had some kind of defence system.” Another pause. Another swift look in another direction.

“What did this system do?” Merrin asks, caught up in his tale now. “Was it something to do with that light from the sky?”

“You saw that too?” Cal asks, still watching… something.

“You saw it in an echo?” Merrin counters.

“I don’t know. It was all so muddled at the end.” Cal drags his attention back from wherever it keeps wandering. “There was an alarm, and it told people to get to their berths. After that, there was water, an ocean, people running, doors sealing. Everything froze and –” He shakes his head. “People underwater.”

“Underwater drowning?” Cere asks.

“No. A building. Maybe. I don’t know. Someone was in terrible pain. They made an awful decision.” Cal’s voice cracks, his lips trembling. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, lets it go. “Confusing,” he murmurs.

“What use are these echoes if they do not tell us everything we want to know?” Merrin demands.

Cal’s smile is pale but bright. “I know. It’s a real pain.” He sips the cocoa, eyebrows shooting up. “This is really good.”

“Drink up, you look like you could use the sugar,” Greez says. “And if you’re done giving the rest of us heart attacks, I’ll get your clothes in the dryer and make some on dinner.”

“Sorry,” Cal says, resting a hand on BD who has planted himself in Cal’s lap. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, he didn’t mean to,” Greez grumbles as he heads back outside. “Well then, all is forgiven.”

Cere clears her throat. Cal has the good sense not to look in her direction.

“The people here were afraid of the Jedi?” Merrin asks.

“I’m not sure that’s the right word.” This time Cal does glance at Cere as though seeking her approval. Maybe he worries she will lecture him if he says a bad word about the Order. His relationship with it is very different to hers after all, although one day she hopes to fill in the gaps of his cultural memory – his heritage. “They didn’t want to go back, I know that much. Their work here was very important to them.”

“What work?” Merrin demands.

“I –” He shrugs helplessly, shrinking in on himself. “I don’t know.”

Merrin frowns, takes a breath to ask another question.

“Merrin,” Cere says, hoping she will calm herself and accept Cal’s limits before her need for answers drives him to push too hard. “We may find our answers tomorrow morning when we venture into the nearby town.” It is fully dark outside now, and she doesn’t want anyone else wandering again tonight.

“Yes,” Merrin says, dipping her head, clearly ashamed. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Cal says with a lopsided smile. “I’m being very annoying.”

“Yes, you are,” Merrin says, giving him a nudge with one foot. “You are supposed to be more all-knowing, Jedi.”

BD snickers at this.

“Whose side are you even on?” Cal demands.

“Mine, of course,” Merrin says. “Is that not right, droid?”

Cere leaves the three of them teasing and chuckling, sealing them into the tent. She goes to Greez, who is staring up at the night sky and vaguely stirring the curry he started making before Cal decided to terrify everyone. “His clothes are in the dryer. Better grab some spares. Even with a heated tent it’ll be a cold night. Can’t have him getting hypothermia on us all over again. It was bad enough the first time, and no one stabbed him that time.”

“He’s alright,” she says.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be here until he’s really back to normal,” Greez says. “If the Empire do come down, he won’t be much use in a fight. And that’s not even taking that whole sky beam thing into consideration.”

“The sky beam I cannot help with right now, but Merrin and I will be able to handle a small Imperial incursion and give us time to escape should they arrive and attack,” Cere says. “We can’t let Cal think our safety relies solely on him.”

They’re quiet for a moment while Greez stirs the curry. Eventually, he finds his voice again.

“I’m gonna need some time to not freak out over every little thing Cal does.”

A flicker of dark, terrible fear whips in Cere’s chest. “Yes, I know what you mean.”       

Cere goes aboard the ship and into the engine room. Cal’s industrious presence lingers here. A pity she never knew him before the Order fell, understood the person he was back then. So young, so eager to learn, eager to please. The holocron mission awoke something in him, some fundamental teaching the Jedi as a whole and Jaro Tapal specifically hardwired into Cal. Cere admires Cal’s perseverance, his drive. She can even admit to using it to her own advantage when they first met. But that persistence, that drive of his, won’t serve him well now, not when he needs to slow down.

Suspecting it is an impossible problem she has little hope of solving, Cere grabs another set of clothes for Cal and takes them to the tent. Merrin does not move until Cal, redder than his hair, tells her he needs some privacy. Merrin, catching on, ducks out, taking Cal’s now empty cocoa mug with her.

“I forget,” she says, “that he is not one of my sisters.”

“Your dedication is admirable, but he is well enough now to take care of himself,” Cere says. “The more independence we can give him, the better he will feel.”

“I understand.” Merrin sighs. “I hope he will let me braid his hair.”

Cere places her hand on Merrin’s back. “I’m sure he will. He’s too nice to say no.”

Merrin goes back in when Cal gives the all-clear. Cere stays with Greez, waiting out his sudden quiet spell while he stirs and adds in a few extra chunks of garlic. “Think it’s anything to worry about? Whatever he saw in the echo?”

“Unlikely,” Cere says. “No one has been here for a long time, and whatever Cal saw happened hundreds of years ago.”

“Except for that whole freezing sky beam thing.”

“Yes, except for that. It froze the place Cal fell through. The echo suggested there were people underwater. Living there.”

Greez glances down at the ice underfoot. “What if there is a whole other town down there full of Force people?”

If there is, Cere must find a way to keep them safe with the Empire prowling at their door. “A problem to concern ourselves with should we need to. Cal said himself it felt like a dream. I’m sure he’s right.”

“I’m gonna hold it against you if you’re both wrong,” Greez says.

“Understood,” Cere says.

“That beam is going to be a problem if it just strikes at random,” Greez says.

Cere considers the scant evidence. “I don’t think it’s random,” she says. “Cal fell through the ice. The beam froze the water.” She looks up to the sky. “Perhaps that space station isn’t so derelict.”

“Ugh, we’re gonna have to explore it, aren’t we?” Greez stirs the curry harder than before. “It better not be haunted.”

By the time the curry is ready, all has gone quiet in the tent. Cere carries her own bowl and opens the flap for Greez. Inside, they find Merrin braiding Cal’s hair, BD following along as Cal dozes while sitting upright.

“You must grow your hair to your shoulders,” Merrin tells Cal, her braids keeping his hair out of his eyes. “Then I can put it in a ponytail or a bun.”

“You really think that’d suit me?” Cal asks through a wide yawn. “This is the longest I’ve ever had my hair. It keeps going in my eyes. Longer hair will be worse.”

“I will make it suit you,” Merrin says.

“Okay.”

“Grubs up, kids. Cal, sit up and eat some before you fall asleep.”

Bleary-eyed and blissfully relaxed, Cal does his best to follow Greez’s orders but he still gives up halfway through dinner and curls up on the far end of the tent, sound asleep in seconds, Merrin’s little braids slowly unravelling.

Too much, too soon. This was supposed to be a simple exploration. Cal and his echoes have a way of complicating even the simplest tasks. Cere releases her anxiety and frustration, focuses on her meal and allows the Force to give her all the reassurance she needs that they are safe for the night.

“Do you think there truly is a city under the ice?” Merrin asks.

“I don’t know,” Cere admits. “Even Cal couldn’t separate dream from echo.”

“And no one’s making a hole in the ice to for a looksee,” Greez says.

“Tomorrow we will find answers,” Merrin says.

“Yes,” Cere says.

“Tonight, however, I have a big fire going outside, a sabacc deck and plenty of cookies to bet with,” Greez says. He shoots Cere a glare. “No cheating!”

Scooping up a mixture of rice and curry, Cere offers a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The fields here are beautiful, especially with the summer in full bloom. Sometimes, he misses the hum and buzz of

Bracca

Coruscant, but it is worth time away to see such beauty. Yes, he sees why those who left chose Lakeida II to start anew. The issues are with their actions, their choices, their use of the Force.

Ahead of him, the ocean laps at the shore. He hears nothing but the tide. Where is everyone? Where are the other Jedi? He only landed an hour later than they did, but they won’t answer his calls, not even an automated voice message, and no one emerges from the spaceport to meet his ship. 

Turmoil rocks him. The Force cautions and pushes back. Leave. Leave now.

He cannot leave. Not without answers. He must forge ahead, find people.

No one is coming to find you.

Why is no one coming to meet him?

No one cares about one failed Padawan.

Why was he the one who landed here alone? He couldn’t convince anyone to fly with him, not even his former Padawan. No one ever wanted to be around him or... Goodness, what an old paranoia to come to him now, dragged from the depths of childhood misery he worked so hard to overcome.

He abandons the ship, walks toward the little town.

Sees one, two, three, four - 

Clones

Bodies.

Jedi.

His

Master

Knighted Padawan.

“No!”

His howl is a terrible sound, too weak, too hoarse. He falls to his knees and this time he screams. He screams and he screams because

Dead. All

dead.

And all that pain, all that suffering, tears through him in a single shot. He falls backward, the temperature falling rapidly despite the sun, despite the blue sky.

And now snow.

Falling from the

Sky. White light.

Skin prickles. Breath freezes in the air. Colder, colder, he’s freezing to the ground, the water in his body solidifying.

He will never

Go home

stand again. His body freezes from the inside out. And all he can think is –

I’m alone.