Master Drix Antilles was a fixture in the Jedi Temple. He had been so for nearly forty years, ever since he'd been brought to the temple as a baby, where he'd been raised and trained alongside such Jedi as Qui-Gon Jinn and Mace Windu. In his youth he had been a champion lightsaber duelist, and more recently, one of the few veterans of the Battle of Geonosis. He had an exemplary reputation as a mediator and a peacemaker, and had more than once voiced opposition to the war against the Separatists, though he had done his duty in defending the Republic. He was well liked among his peers, respected among younglings, and praised by his elders.
All in all, Master Antilles was a perfect example of what a Jedi ought to be – a practical beacon of light.
And Yoda had never heard of him.
Yoda's own personal quarters were housed beneath the council chambers proper. They were perhaps the plainest and smallest of accommodations available in all of the Temple's five towers, having once been a large cleaning closet attached to a small washroom. Over the years the aged Master had been offered other, finer rooms, but he needed little and preferred quiet, and when the council was not in session this part of the Temple was largely uninhabited, save for cleaning droids and the occasional curious apprentice.
His one indulgence was the large pane of thick glass that served for an outer wall, filling the room with natural light and providing a panoramic view of the city-planet below. As he did almost every afternoon, Mace Windu sat framed against a backdrop of speeders buzzing back and forth across the skyline of Coruscant, sharing a drink and a conversation in the lull between council sessions.
Today's visit, however, had taken an unexpected turn.
"He's finally decided to take a Padawan," continued Master Windu, looking pleased with himself. "I've been trying to persuade him for years."
The sound of giggling beyond the marble wall was accompanied by the scuffling of small boots; several clone detachments and their commanding officers had returned home from the war, and the day's classes were cancelled in celebration. Yoda tapped his gimer stick on the floor and the giggling ceased.
"An old friend of yours, yes? This man, Antilles."
"Very old," said Mace, leaning forward on his knees. "If he'd stay put long enough, he'd be a fine addition to the council. Maybe this is just what he needs."
More scuffling, and this time muffled whispers and the bright lights of three tiny lives bobbing around outside his private chamber door. Nine hundred years of life had honed his instincts so that his students were always blazing, distinct presences whose identities he could glean without effort, but today, they were indistinguishable. Everything was muted, from the tiniest younglings, to the ever-present buzz of the clone troopers, to the mind of the Order's most dangerous warrior, like a storm cloud had drifted across his mind's eye.
Yoda tapped his walking stick again. "Come."
The door slid to the side, revealing a little human girl, probably no more than five years old and with bright, curly hair bigger than she was. Yoda's ears swiveled forward and his eyebrows lifted.
"Master sir," she said, offering a little curtsy. In the hallway beyond, there were two others, silhouetted against a decorative bust, but he didn't – couldn't – recognize them. "They've sent me to tell you that the Toil and Trouble has landed. The soldiers are here. I think there's going to be a party!"
Her name was Maia. She had been his pupil since nearly her birth, when he himself had discovered her abandoned in a Coruscant alleyway. He had seen her first steps, words, and the first day her hands gripped a lightsaber. And yet now, standing here with the child close enough to touch, he could not discern the hills and valleys of consciousness that separated her from any other person. Beyond that she existed, he couldn't sense anything about her.
His ears swiveled upwards and he offered the child a delighted smile, sliding down from the cushion where he'd been seated.
"Come, Master Windu, a party we must attend," he said, stretching. "Welcome the soldiers home. Master Kenobi! Jedi Skywalker!" he paused for a moment. "Your friend, Master Antilles."
The Force was blunted. In a thousand years, Yoda had never encountered anything that could create such an effect, and at the moment, he had no suspicions as to what it could be. The only thing he had was a place to begin.
Despite all the things he didn't know, there was one thing of which Yoda was certain.
There was no Jedi named Drix Antilles, and there never had been.
"Maia," said Master Yoda. He put his rough hand into her tiny, soft one. The contact was comforting against the stifling blindness. "With you I will sit."