Chapter Text
Cal always knew he was going to die young.
There were many times when he should have, sometimes even deserved to, but got away by the skin of his teeth. The first instance that jumped to mind was when he and Cere infiltrated the inquisitor fortress on Nur less than a year ago. It was a suicide mission to try in the first place, but it was worth it to get back the holocron Trilla stole. For the sake of all force-sensitives on that list, they had to get it back.
Even after Cal was left aching and sore after battling the Second Sister and all troopers that stood in his way, after he thought he lost Cere to that Dark Lord, and when he almost thought he lost himself to the same sith--he would never be able to forget the smell of burning flesh as the lightsaber slide through his torso--they made it out. Despite Cere tangling with the dark side of the force, Darth Vader nearly cutting their heads clean off, and Cal almost drowning trying to get himself and Cere to safety, they survived. They were battered and bruised, but alive.
Before that instance, on Ilum after he damaged his former Master’s kyber crystal beyond repair, the freezing depths that he fell into were meant to suck all warmth from his body. It left him freezing, shaking like a leaf in a strong wind, and he would have turned into an ice sculpture carved from failure if it hadn’t been for BD-1’s help.
Then, back on Kashyyyk when he stood on that clearing in the Elder Tree with the planet’s rainforests sprawling around him, he should have died in the onslaught of the Ninth Sister’s attacks, completely out of practice with wielding a double-bladed lightsaber. If he had been any less stubborn, then she would have certainly outclassed him.
On Bracca, he couldn’t even count how many times he should have seen if there was an afterlife or not. With the state of the scrap yards, the falling debris, the kriffing Ibdis Maw that devoured ships whole, and the horrible working conditions, it was a wonder he didn’t slip and die when he first crash-landed on the planet. The Guild never cared if it lost its workers either. There were just too many scrapers and not enough food to go around. Accidental deaths and poorly disguised murders were commonplace.
Even before that, when the Purge--
He didn’t need to think about that.
Regardless, the point still stood: Cal Kestis danced with Death as if it were an old acquaintance of his. He would catch its eye across the room, notice the lingering stare it constantly held, but never once had it done more than step on his toes. There were no dips, spins, or fancy footwork that he couldn’t keep up with. It was far from a friend, but too familiar to be a stranger. They exchanged glances and names, but never once had they been more intimate than that. Or, at least, that’s how it used to be.
When the Mantis landed on Geonosis, Cal couldn’t say he was particularly excited. The planet was a sore spot for many in the galaxy, particularly the Jedi. At the start of the Clone Wars, before the general public even knew what a clone was, there had been a trap set by the Separatists. Newly made battle droids mowed the Jedi present down to a mere handful of survivors. They were only saved when Grandmaster Yoda arrived with the clones. It was a bloody stain on the Republic’s record, but a larger defeat for the already strained Jedi Order. Cal could remember being a youngling and feeling the ripples of loss in the Force. Others in his clan would whisper about what happened, stories continuously being spun out of proportion.
Greez, apparently, shared the same lack of enthusiasm Cal had.
“I’m just saying, why us?” the Latero pilot bemoaned, his gaze flickering between the viewport in front of him and Cal who was fiddling with his lightsaber in his seat. One of his arms gestured as he spoke, two on the steering wheel with the final one on the thrusters. “I mean, I get it, we got the Jedi and all that, but we do a lot for Gererra. Just last week we hit an Imperial transport! It’s like we’re doing everything for him.”
“Captain,” Cere’s voice came in warning, turning slightly in her seat to face him, “we agreed to follow the distress signal. If there is a possibility that this is a Jedi survivor, then we are the best shot they have at making it off-world.”
“I know, I know,” he grumbled in response, waving her words off.
After Cal had destroyed the holocron, the crew of the Stinger Mantis had been working alongside the Partisans to disrupt the Empire as much as possible. It often felt like trying to stop a lightsaber with a sheet of durasteel, but Cal was hopeful that they could make a difference in the galaxy. They aided with destroying transports and stormtrooper bases, rescuing Partisans and their allies when in need, and jumping to planets to help freedom fighters get an edge over their Imperial occupiers. They were also looking out for Force-sensitives to help protect them from the Empire.
The holocron and its list were gone, but there was still some underlying hope that the Jedi Order could be restored. At the moment, they stood as a Jedi Knight and a recovering Fallen Jedi. Not exactly the shining beacon the Order once was, but they had to make do with what they had. Both of them hoped to find more survivors, but that hope dwindled with each passing day.
As the Mantis descended through the planet’s atmosphere, the rolling stone deserts sprawled out in front of them. The rock formations that created the skyline of mountains and pillars were highlighted by the sun, gold and auburn marking the land. Cracks in the surface from the lack of water on the planet covered the ground in a spiderweb of expanding branches. It weaved in and around the scattered and picked-over remains from the battles the planet saw in war-time. Now, it was no longer a hub for the Separatists nor a foothold for the Republic, but a key part of the Empire’s new plans.
“All I’m saying is that Geonosis is dangerous,” Greez commented as he landed the ship, dust being kicked around them. “The Empire is all over this place. You saw them working away above-world! We’re farkled if they figure us out.”
“I will remain on the Mantis,” Merrin said, her voice smooth as she retrieved her talisman from where it rested beside the weapons console. “Should the Empire come near, we will handle them.”
Despite her conviction, the captain’s expression pinched with apprehension. However, when he turned around in his chair and saw her expression, he seemed to realize it was a lost cause. He sighed, “Yeah, yeah… We always do, huh?”
“We’ll be fine,” Cal reassured, an easy smile on his lips as he turned his chair to face the rest of the crew. BD-1 trilled in agreement, jumping from his perch on the console onto his armrest. “BD and I’ll go look for the signal. We’ll let you know at the first sign of trouble.”
“Be careful, Cal,” Cere advised when he stood up, the droid jumping onto his rightful place on his back. There was a sincerity in her tone he couldn’t quite ignore. While this was standard procedure for them--him running off first to scout whenever they were sent before giving an all-clear or warning--he could tell something was bothering her. “We don’t know what could be out there.”
“I will,” he nodded. Something akin to concern tugged at the back of his mind, almost as if a child was pulling on his sleeve, but the feeling was so fleeting that he let it slip through his grasp.
BD-1 chirped and his antennas flicked.
“We will,” Cal corrected himself, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Cere gave him a look before stating, “May the Force be with you.”
He gave a nod, and then he was off. He stepped off the ship and felt the arid heat of the planet against his skin. It almost made him regret wearing a poncho, but the yellow and white fabric was light enough to not be an issue. Besides, it almost blended into the landscape around him. It would certainly be useful for stealth, something he had a feeling he would need with the sheer size of the Empire’s presence.
It was odd for an Outer Rim planet to have any significance to the Empire at all. More often than not, only planets with vast natural resources found themselves under an iron fist of occupation. Large populations would be extracted from their homes and shipped off to labour camps to fuel the ever-expanding beast that was the Empire. As far as Cal could see, Geonosis didn’t exactly fit that description. Sure, its population was big, but there wasn’t a single tree on the planet’s surface. Frankly, Cal will be surprised if he makes it back to the Mantis without a sunburn from the intensity of the sun and a complete lack of shade.
As they walked, BD-1 chirped in excitement at the sight of anything new, forcing Cal to stop so he could scan whatever it was that caught his interest. He scanned the soil, the cracks in the ground, and a rock formation he liked the look of all while beeping out questions the Jedi did not know the answer to.
Absentmindedly, Cal’s hand ran along the ragged surface of one of the many stony pillars that littered the landscape. The bare pads of his calloused fingers grazed over the jagged rocks and surfaces smoothed by sand storms. He followed the curves, walking alongside it until he was cast in its shadow. Rounding the corner, the droid hopped off his back with an ecstatic whistle and ran over to a large structure that remained an untouched statue of the past.
The blue light of BD-1’s scanner illuminated the painted metal of the ship’s hull. He chirped in excitement and spun around to face Cal, hopping a few times before running up to him and stopping at his feet. His head tilted to the side and Cal couldn’t stop the fond smile that spread across his lips. He laughed slightly and nodded towards the ship.
“You ever been in a larty before?” he asked, to which the droid beeped in question. “Oh, um,” Cal was quick to correct himself, crouching down in front of BD-1 and gesturing to the fallen ship, “that’s what the clones called them. It’s a low-altitude assault transport. The Republic used it to get troops to the front lines.”
BD-1 confirmed that he had never been in a low-altitude assault transport before since Master Cordova never participated in the Clone Wars.
“Right, right,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s been a while for me. There weren’t any on Bracca either. The Empire only dumped decommissioned Star Destroyers there. Guess they left smaller ships for the planets to deal with themselves.”
He rose to his full height, BD-1 scurrying out from under his feet, and approached the wreckage. It was half buried in the sand, pieces of broken metal twisting in several directions. Any wires that spilled from the skeleton of the ship had stopped sparking long ago and left any trace of life long gone. The wings of the ship had snapped in--what he assumed was--the crash. One was wedged into the earth several metres away while the other rested over the hull. It made the gap to get inside too small for Cal to deem it worthy of his time and curiosity. Size, however, was not an issue for his companion.
BD-1 seemingly forgot their purpose on the planet and decided exploring was necessary. He ran under the wing, his metal feet clanking against whatever it was he was stepping on. Cal couldn’t see him past that point and frowned. Worry bubbled in his chest and his hands came to rest on his hips as he attempted to look around the wing and into the hull. The wreckage was from the Clone Wars and he had no faith in its integrity after spending the better part of a decade in the middle of the Geonosian desert.
He heard an excited whirl echo in the hull, followed promptly by some suspicious clanging and the sound of BD-1 moving around. The Jedi was about to call him back out when the droid tumbled out of the gap he vanished into. He seemed to have found a souvenir, a dusty and scratched clone trooper helmet covering the majority of his tiny body.
Chirping in glee, he demanded that Cal look at his discovery and managed to worm his way out of the helmet.
“Where’d you find that?” he asked, expression pinching slightly as he crouched down to get a closer look. Not waiting for an answer, he rested his forearms on his knees and hummed in thought. “There’s no paint… Must’ve been a newer trooper.”
Moving on instinct, he touched the smooth surface of the helmet with his ungloved fingers.
He was in a body that was not his own, feeling the anxiety of entering a fight for the first time. There were blasters firing around the ship, his fingers tightened on one of the hanging grips at the sound. The whole ship rattled and the lights flickered as they were hit. He felt panic and fear when the pilot lost control, the whole craft spinning as it went down. Clones around him panicked too, some shouting while others remained dead silent. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that he wouldn’t feel the impact.
His hand moved away from the helmet as if it had burned him, a frown forming on his lips as the foreign emotions vacated his body. BD-1 nudged his knee, beeping in concern as he tilted his head and flicked his antenna.
Cal put his hand on the droid’s head and gave him a reassuring pat. “I’m okay, buddy,” he said, offering a tentative smile. “The ship was shot down by droids as it entered the atmosphere.”
His companion whistled in acknowledgement, using Cal’s position to climb onto his back. The Jedi stood up and dusted his hands off on his pants. While he was certain they would find relics of the Republic and droid army scattered all across their path, they still had a distress signal to scout out. If they took too long, whoever hailed for Gerrera and his Partisans might lose hope and abandon their position which would make this whole trip a waste of time. Cal really didn’t need to hear Greez complain about that.
He glanced up at the cliff behind the wreckage, figuring it would be faster to go over it than around. The sun was still high in the sky, giving them a few more hours of light to get to their destination. He fetched the climbing claws he stole from a nightbrother a year ago from a pouch on his belt and positioned them on his hands. They were really useful at times like this, making him grateful that he kept them, but not exactly convenient in day-to-day life. Holding his lightsaber was a pain when spikes were sticking out of his palms.
“Let’s go,” he said, to which BD-1 beeped in agreement.
Cal approached the cliff face and started to climb. He used the Force to help him jump from one part of the rocky wall to another, more climbable, part. Small rocks crumbled from the surface when the claws dug into it, raining down in short spurts behind him. The sun illuminated his face when he finally reached the top. BD-1 hopped off his back before he could even fully pull himself up, beeping in excitement as he looked at the view around them.
“I wouldn’t say it’s that pretty,” the Jedi commented humorously, a grin on his lips as he pushed himself up to his feet. The landscape around them was identical to what they had seen before, except it was now a short way below them. “Kashyyyk has better views.”
BD-1 didn’t disagree, but he was not a fan wyyyschock and their webs, therefore making this much more enjoyable.
“Fair point,” Cal conceded easily. He could still remember the first time he stumbled into one of those giant spiders’ homes. The webbing on the ground, the eggs that reached his knees, and the dead stormtroopers scattered about. It was not a pleasant place to find oneself.
He took a small step to the side as he looked around in an attempt to find the quickest path to the distress signal’s location. It hadn’t been more than an hour since they had left the Mantis, giving them a decent time frame to scope the area out. There hadn’t been any stormtroopers yet which was concerning given the sheer size of the Imperial fleet above the planet. He really didn’t want to test their luck any more than they already had.
When his foot moved, the ground beneath him cracked. He barely had the time to panic before a large chunk of the cliff broke off and sent him off his balance. With wide eyes, he realized that he was falling. BD-1 had the same realization, beeping frantically before he leaped off the cliff to try to get to Cal. If the situation were any different, he would think of it as a sweet gesture, but it would be futile in the end. Even with his new boosters, there was no way the droid would be able to get them to safety.
The wind whipped through his hair, the sudden chill of dread biting at his stomach as he got a glimpse at the drop. He wouldn’t survive this fall. Even with all the training he had over the years, he wouldn’t bounce back from this like he always did. The impact would kill him, it would be game over.
Cal always knew he was going to die.
He figured it would be with a bang, lightsaber in hand as he faced off against the Empire as a beacon of hope for the galaxy. Ever since leaving Bracca, he no longer pictured it to be because of a fall.
Yet, as he looked down towards his fate, Death awaited him with open arms.
𓆩⟡𓆪
Death was shorter than Cal expected.
His eyes snapped open and he waited for the pain to seep in. He just fell who knows how far and slammed into the ground at a speed that certainly should have killed him. His ribs should have shattered--he could hear Greez’s voice in his head complaining about how vulnerable humans were--and he shouldn’t even be able to breathe. When each breath he sucked in wasn’t accompanied by agonizing pain, he thanked the Force for the temporary relief. The second the adrenaline wore off, he knew any hope of getting up and getting to the Mantis on his own was gone. He hated the idea of leaving the distress signal unanswered, but he had no choice if he wanted to get back in one piece.
Cal pushed himself onto his forearms and realized it was darker than it had been when he fell. He must have passed out for longer than he cared to admit. That was a later problem, he decided as he pushed the blanket off his legs--wait, what?
He froze, feeling like a droid fresh out of a reboot. Why was there a blanket over him and, now that he thought about it, why was he on a mattress? He should have been in a little crater on the surface of Geonosis, not on a bed somewhere. All he knew was that this was not the Mantis and he had no idea where he was.
His eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to take in his surroundings. It was a small room, almost like an indent in a wall big enough for the bed and a small desk. It was sparse, nothing that wasn’t necessary in the area, and it felt painfully familiar. An ache of longing and homesickness tugged at his gut, but he didn’t know where it was coming from. He couldn’t even remember when he last saw a room like this. The only familiar place was the former Jedi Temple-
There was no way he was in the Temple itself. The Empire turned it into a palace for the Emperor when the Republic fell and the Purge occurred. He might be in a bacta tank and this could be his brain trying to make him comfortable while he healed. That made the most sense, really, because the last time he was in the Temple, it was right before he and Master Tapal went to their station over Bracca. He was twelve the last time he stepped foot anywhere near the youngling dormitories--which is where his brain said he was, now that he was getting a good look around.
“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, but then promptly froze.
That was not his voice.
He sounded like a youngling with how high his voice was and that was almost more distressing than his brain forcing him back into the Temple while he recovered from falling off a cliff in the most embarrassing way.
With that horrible realization, he slipped off the bed and stumbled when his feet hit the ground much later than he was anticipating. The beds in the youngling dorms were not high enough off the ground for him to be disoriented by it. He was tall-ish anyways. His feet should have hit the ground when he swung his legs over the edge.
He looked down at his feet in betrayal, only to see that they were much smaller than he remembered them being. Panic bubbled under his skin as he glanced at his hands, noticing the worn leather gloves he had before he was taken as Master Tapal’s Padawan. He wasn’t wearing his rigging gear from Bracca or the yellow poncho he picked before leaving the Mantis earlier. If he was, then he could easily brush this off as a weird bacta tank dream. No, instead, he was wearing his initiate robes. The beige, once comforting, made him feel nauseous.
Cal staggered to the desk, seeing the lightsaber that rested there. It wasn’t the one he grew used to over the last two years. It was orderly, put together perfectly, with no evidence of the double emitters he had grown to value. He could see no trace of Master Tapal or Cere’s lightsabers--all modifications he had made were gone
He hadn’t seen this blade since the Purge when he lost it down an elevator shaft.
It looked small and foreign. Logically, he knew that this was his lightsaber and inside was his original kyber crystal, the one he obtained during the Gathering, but that didn’t click in his mind. This was not his lightsaber, not anymore. The crystal inside wasn’t the one he nearly died for, freezing after the ice gave out under his feet. It was from a whole other life that no longer felt as though it was his.
He could feel a headache pressing behind his eyes as he was suddenly overwhelmed, thoughts running wild. It didn’t make any sense. He was in the past--or remembering it, at the very least. Except he doesn’t remember ever feeling as disconnected from his body as he did right then. There were too many questions, too many uncertainties, and not enough answers.
Running his fingers through his hair--shorter than it had been a few hours ago--he took a breath and tried to put a clamp on his emotions. He needed to calm down if he was going to figure out what was going on. For the time being, making assumptions would hurt more than it would help. He just needed to assess his environment and go from there. Freaking out would not help--
He heard the sound of a droid beeping and nearly jumped out of his skin.
Whipping around to face his bed again, he saw a small mass moving under the blankets. It took a second of the fabric shifting before a small head popped out, an antenna flicking in visible confusion.
“BD?” Cal asked before he could catch himself, quickly forcing his legs to take him closer to the cot.
The droid confirmed that it was him, but that he had no idea of where they were or why Cal looked like he was ten.
“Because I probably am,” he murmured, threading his fingers through his hair again anxiously. It was a relief to see that BD-1 was there too, even if that made even less sense. Something had, hypothetically, sent Cal back in time into his child body, but also sent the droid back with him. The only thing that made any sense as the force behind this was, well, the Force, but that only raised more questions. The most pressing one being why they were there.
BD-1 chirped in confusion.
“I don’t know, buddy,” he sighed. “Your guess is as good as mine. I- I just need a second to focus, okay?”
When he heard a sound of agreement, Cal nodded and walked to the centre of the room. His legs were shorter and he kept expecting to go further with each step, but it wasn’t too hard to get the hang of his new--old?-- stature. He got down onto his knees to meditate, hoping that there were answers he simply wasn’t sensing.
Closing his eyes and taking a breath, he never could have prepared himself for how right he was.
The Force was humming with life, hope, and reverberating emotions. He felt himself drift in the unfamiliar feeling, caught off guard by how strong the Force felt. It had been so dead, so dull, since the Purge. With the majority of Jedi slain and the survivors forced into hiding, there was no one to stimulate the Force in the way it often yearned to be used. It went docile, the same way its Jedi did.
Cal was used to only feeling echoes and ripples in the Force. When he had to make his shields upon arriving on Bracca, he got good at ignoring the empty feeling left in his limbs. Pushing the Force away hurt, a constant ache that rested deep in his chest, and it was only healed when he needed to save Prauf five years later. It didn’t fully heal overnight, though. He had to sit on the floor in his room on the Mantis for hours at a time, focusing on the faint humming that surrounded him. Eventually, his bond with the Force reformed, stronger and more confident than before. Now, the Force seemed to take advantage of that.
It flooded his being, his mind filled with its presence and- and amusement. It was playful, almost affectionate, as it danced around him. The Force seemed to be welcoming him home as if it were proud that his first instinct when troubled was to reach out to it. A crease appeared on his forehead as he offered it confusion and questions. In response, it only seemed to laugh. That was the closest thing to confirmation that he would ever get out of it.
The Force had sent him here.
He asked about why he was the one sent back, why it had chosen him, and it gave him nothing in response other than a deep push to find out on his own. Then, he asked why BD-1 was there as well, and the Force seemed to only shrug, pleased with itself.
It slipped from his grasp, twisting and turning in a dance he had long forgotten before he could ask anything more. Instead, through the small gaps in his mental shields only large enough for the Force itself to slip through, he could feel the sensation of life stronger than before. It made sense given where he was. The Temple was filled with force-sensitives of varying levels. Jedi Masters, Knights, Padawans, and Younglings were scattered through the building, unaware of what was to come. None of them knew that they would be slaughtered, that their clones would turn on them, that they would lose the war--Did they even know they were in a war?
“BD,” Cal said, breaking his concentration and building his walls back up. He stood to his feet, brushing his knees off. “Weird question, but can you tell me when we are without needing to hook up to a terminal?”
The droid beeped, uncertain that he would be able to get any precise information. He deduced that they had gone back in time, as he was sure Cal also realized and assumed it was roughly nine years from when they were on Geonosis. Therefore meaning that it was Year 13, around the beginning of the Clone Wars.
“Year 13,” the Jedi--former Jedi? Time travel was weird--echoed with a nod. “Okay… Okay, we can work with that. I need you to stay here, alright?” He spoke as he walked to his desk, grabbing his lightsaber and attaching it to the clip on his belt. While he may be in the Temple, he wasn’t confident that he would be safe. “I’m going to get a look around and find somewhere to think.”
BD-1 agreed to the request with an affirmative beep, adding that he was unsure if he would be recognized should he leave the small room.
“Good thinking. I’ll be right back.”
Cal watched the droid flick his antenna and start to scan the bedding, much to the former’s amusement. He had to bite back a smile as he moved the curtain out of the way, revealing the rest of the dormitory. It had been nearly a decade since he’d seen those in his clan, watching as some sprawled out on the cushions in the middle, common space while others were hanging out in their bed areas. From what he could tell, it was early morning and no one was in a rush to head anywhere, nor had anyone awoken him. Because of that, he assumed it must have been a Primeday.
Not that the day of the week was going to help him get any closer to figuring out how far out the start of the war was. If he could figure that out, then he and BD-1 could put their limited knowledge of the Clone Wars together and find a way to help. Which, now that he was thinking about it, was likely going to be more difficult than he was assuming it to be. He only remembered bits and pieces, most of his knowledge coming from the rumour mill that was the Jedi Temple and its initiates. BD-1, despite being a droid with a near-perfect memory, was kept far away from the war, waiting on Bogano once Master Cordova left him.
So, between the two of them, they probably had a lot of misinformation and even more gaps in their knowledge.
Not exactly helpful, but it was a start.
Cal nodded to a pair of his clanmates who waved when he passed, feeling remotely guilty for not remembering their names. That was a lesser later problem he would deal with when the time came. Until then, he really needed to clear his head, explore the Temple, and decide on a course of action. Two of those were easier than the other, but he couldn’t confidently settle on which two.
He let his muscle memory kick in as he wandered through the grand halls, doing his best to not longingly glance at areas he used to spend all his time in. The last thing he wanted was for someone to take an interest in him. If he was asked if he was okay, he would obviously lie, but he wasn’t confident in where to go from there. It was… a lot being back amongst Jedi after only having the company of Cere for a year. She had taught him a lot and he was certainly grateful for her, but it was different. Her connection with the Force was frayed, but everyone here breathed it.
Speaking of Cere, she was probably somewhere in the Temple. Part of him wanted to seek her out, to explain everything that happened and rely on her wisdom of what to do from there, but he knew he couldn’t. If he interfered with her fate, how was he supposed to guarantee her survival at the end of the war? What if he got her involved and it led to her dying too early? Trilla was certainly her Padawan by now, and Cal didn’t want to ruin any chances of them actually bonding by thrusting himself in between them forcefully. As much as he yearned to reach out, he couldn’t. There was already a lot going on in the ten minutes he’s been in the past and he doesn’t need to make matters worse.
He pushed that all away as he approached a large set of double doors, hearing the sound of running water behind it. Cal slipped through the small gap in the door like he had many times before and was met face-to-face with the Room of a Thousand Fountains.
The sounds of the room rushed through his senses before he even saw the sprawling grotto within the Temple. True to its name, the massive greenhouse was filled with running water. It flowed down small rivers and streams, poured from fountains, and fell in softly roaring waterfalls. Despite it all being artificially added to the building after its creation, it felt natural. The Force flowed around the room like the water and Cal could feel it thread through his fingers, as if patting him on the back for arriving there.
Foliage from various planets and systems was planted all through the many levels of the room. Towering trees from Endor, pale pink flowers from Valo, and a plant he only recognized because Greez had some growing on the Mantis. Winding brick and tile pathways circled the fountains and led off to various areas further from the entrance. Jedi roamed around, some speaking in hushed tones together while others sat and meditated wherever felt right. A few glanced in Cal’s direction when he entered, but none seemed to recognise him. No one called out to the boy as he picked a trail and followed it.
He let his instincts lead, wandering further and further away from any other force signatures in the room. What he wanted more than anything was to be left alone. Deciding to sit down next to someone else would likely have the opposite effect. If anyone somehow got a peak at his thoughts--which he was aware no one here would ever consider doing--he was farkled.
His wandering came to a stop after he passed through a natural arch, a tree having been hollowed for the path to cut through. In front of him was an end to the path, a stream running to his right, and the natural light of day illuminating the spot. Even with the gloves on, something he hadn’t done since he was still a youngling, he was cautious about brushing his fingers against anything. If an echo were strong enough to slip through, he would probably let his shields slip completely and his force signature would become a muddied mess that any other force sensitive could pick up on.
Cal settled beside the stream on his knees. If he were any less used to it, then his back would be stiff and his legs would likely have gone numb. However, after meditating instead of sleeping many nights while searching for the holocron, it no longer bothered him. Instead, the ache was comforting, keeping him grounded even when echoes and the Force itself wanted to pull him further away from reality.
He rested his hands on his knees and took a deep breath, eyes slipping closed as he focused on feeling the Force around him.
It seemed to observe him like a curious cat, keen eyes following his every movement. He never expected any straightforward answers from it. The Force wasn’t known for being upfront and efficient. Instead, it preferred to guide and allow the focus of its attention to figure out what it wanted on their own. It was the way every Jedi found their kyber crystals; the Force pushing them to face their insecurities and rewarding them by leading them to their crystal.
Cal would know. He did it twice.
Now, nine years in the past, stuck in a body that no longer felt like his with way too many issues for a ten-year-old to reasonably have, he was once again lost. The only difference was that he was not freezing his ass off on Ilum in an ice cave hoping to get back before the sun set or working to avoid the impending Imperial patrol. He was technically somewhere safe, surrounded by people who would more than likely be dead within the next three years. The Force was full of life, giddy to once again be with him, as if it was fully aware of who he really was.
He was not Cal Kestis, the Jedi Initiate with a fear of failure so bad that he would rather create a whole new solution than ask for help. He was not the kid who had yet to control his psychometry and was haunted by memories that weren’t his own. He wasn’t full of life and excited to be selected as a Padawan in a few years time. That joy and whimsy were stripped of him with age and the horrors that followed.
He was supposed to be nineteen years old, having fought tooth and nail for every scrap he had. His skin was supposed to be littered with scars from the Purge, scrapping on Bracca, and fighting the Empire during every waking moment. His lightsaber was supposed to be a mosaic of everyone he met and everywhere he had been; pieces from Master Tapal, Cere, Master Cordova, and more. He was supposed to be a Jedi Knight, one of, if not the last in the Jedi Order. Now, he was made to start over with knowledge that no one else possesses.
There had to be a way that he could turn the tide of the war. Yes, the Republic technically won, but that was only because the Separatists lost even worse. The Galactic Republic crumbled under rising imperialist beliefs, a need to end the war, and a complete lack of action from the Galactic Senate. If Cal wanted to prevent the Jedi being labelled as traitors and the Clone Army turning on them, he would have to fight a battle he truly knew nothing about: politics. The little bits of politics he was a part of in the Partisans was completely unwilling. He hated standing around and talking about what to do instead of actually doing it. Besides, he had no connections with any senator and was a Jedi youngling. He wouldn’t be taken seriously or let into a Senate meeting.
Who would believe a child saying he saw the future and that the Chancellor of the Republic was secretly a Sith lord?
Which brings him to his next issue: the Chancellor is a Sith lord and the Jedi Council has no idea. Somehow, some way, he would have to get the Jedi Council to realize that there was a Sith amongst them and make them do something about it. They likely wouldn’t believe some random youngling and he had no idea how to get an audience with any of them. He could say he used his psychometry, but the echoes are of the past, not the future. The Force was no help either since it didn’t guide them to the truth the first time.
So, really, what could Cal possibly do? He felt powerless and had a sneaking suspicion that he was.
“Young Kestis,” a voice rang out, “been searching for you, I have.”
Cal, for the second time that day, nearly jumped out of his skin. If he were any less disoriented, he likely would have activated his lightsaber and prepared for a fight. After years on the run, constantly looking over his shoulder, he was unused to anyone being able to sneak up on him. He was so focused on meditation, that the approaching force signature must have slipped past his awareness.
He quickly turned his head, seeing none other than Jedi Grand Master Yoda. Pure surprise etched itself into his features and his posture stiffened even more, trying to be respectful in front of the elder. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Yoda. He had assumed the other long dead after the purge, just like every other member of the Council.
“Grand Master Yoda,” he said quickly, making a move to rise to his feet, only to freeze when Yoda raised a hand.
“At ease, young Kestis,” the Grand Master spoke, mirth in his voice. There was a twinkle in his eye that seemed to speak of infinite wisdom, his age a reflection of his experience. If Cal were any more on edge, he would be convinced that he was being read like a book. It felt as if Yoda could tell he wasn’t meant to be there, even if there was no evidence to suggest such.
Cal settled on the ground hesitantly as Yoda approached, his cane hitting the ground softly with each step. He came to a stop beside the boy, looking over the stream.
Swallowing nervously, he clenched his hands into fists in his lap and looked over the water.
“You were looking for me?”
There was a hum of response. “Looking for you, I was, and found you, I have. Away from your clan, you are.”
“Um,” he stumbled over the words, struggling to think of why that could be an issue. He figured it was Primeday, meaning there was no training or classes for initiates to go through, but he could have also been wrong. If he was, then he needed a good excuse. Settling on honesty, feeling that Yoda would be able to sense a lie, he nodded. “I needed space to think.”
There was another hum. “Troubled, I sense you are. Mysterious, the Force tends to be.”
He nodded. That was the understatement of the century.
“Come to me, the Force has,” the Master started again, his hands relaxed on the head of his cane. “Go to the front lines, you must. A Padawan, you will be. “
Clear surprise rippled off Cal at the words and he was too shocked to even try to keep the emotion from slipping past his shields. “I’m what?” he asked before he could stop himself. He then floundered for words, trying to figure out if it was his presence in the past that caused this change. “Why?”
“Unclear, the reason is, but the will of the Force, it is.” Yoda clicked his cane on the stone path, humming thoughtfully, but there was amusement in his tone. “Travel to Christophsis, you will. Requested a Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi has. That Padawan, you will be.”
With a small laugh, the Grand Master walked off, leaving Cal more confused than he was before.
Around him, he could feel the Force swell with a mix of amusement and comfort, as if to say ‘I told you so.’ The way it spun around him felt so similar to the warm glow that was Yoda’s force signature. Sometimes, he felt like the Grand Master and the Force were one and the same; mischievous, wise, and enigmatic. If they were the same being, he really would not be surprised.
Thinking back on how powerless he was, this must have been the Force’s way of saying there was something he could do. At the very least, there was something it wanted him to do, and he would end up doing it, whether he wanted to or not.
The future of the Jedi Order rested on his shoulders.
He supposed there was a second time for everything.