"First comes the day
Then comes the night.
After the darkness
Shines through the light.
The difference, they say,
Is only made right
By the resolving of grey
Through refined Jedi sight."
- Journal of the Whills, 7:477
-o-
It was not the first time Takodana rained.
Rain came frequently, receding to the dry as day recedes to night. Verdant forests flourished over battlefields and lakes drowned the graves of the fallen beneath them. But no one knew of that, no one had lived long enough to see the horrors the world once faced—all but one.
Maz Kanata dropped the tray on the counter with a long, vapid sigh. Days like this when it was grey and gloomy dragged on for a millennium. The castle was packed with all types of travelers—smugglers that crowded the game boards and humanoids that drunk themselves into oblivion. Howls and slurs and raunchy band music suffocated the air while females pleasured their male accomplices. It was indeed a dangerous atmosphere—one of vulgarity and violence—but it was comfortable for Maz. The disarray and diversity calmed her like nothing else could.
She watched her droid refill her tray with orders, one meticulously made drink after the other until the weight mounted up and was ready to go out again. Every time the cantina doors reopened, she listened, not needing to turn around to identify the visitor. Those were the perks of being force sensitive. Nothing, and no one, ever came without her noticing.
Now, if only I had Jedi telekinesis, she mused. Then the drinks could walk themselves to the guests.
She weaved in and out of the crowds, small and plump and invisible to the common eye. She blended in so well that no one paid much mind to her, save for the few guests she sensed had come for her and not for the cold refreshments and cheap entertainment.
Maz returned to the droid when the door opened again.
She felt him instantly.
His power. His energy.
The Force.
Him.
She spun around. In the doorway stood a cloaked figure, tall and quiet, with a hood shadowing his face. None of the other smugglers or travelers even turned their heads to the newcomer, all of them utterly blind to the person standing amongst them.
Lightning cracked across the sky—and the figure was suddenly gone, the door left wide and empty.
Not gone, Maz adjusted her lenses. Waiting.
"Take over for me," she told her droid. "I've got some business to oversee."
The droid bleeped its comply. She wasn't sure how long she'd be gone, but if he had come all this way to speak to her, then it certainly couldn't have been some trivial matter.
Maz descended down into the corridors underneath the castle, down where her personal quarters were and where she knew she'd find him. It was the same place she brought him all those times before when they were in frequent contact, where she had agreed to hold his weapon. Now he'd see what the years had done to the vault, all the years gathering dust in his absence.
Sure enough, she found him at the far end of the hall, still hooded, as he faced the old room. Maz faltered at the foot of the stairs.
"A long time it has been, Jedi."
The hood shifted towards her. Although his current garb was dark and intimidating, his voice came out as gentle as she remembered it.
"Did you not presume I was dead?"
Maz snorted as she walked out to him. "Death comes for many in this life, Skywalker. But I never believed it would take you so soon."
The figure unveiled his hood with one, robotic hand.
Maz remembered him in his youth. The young, dashing Jedi she called him. Honey blonde and blue eyed, with a trademark, innocuous smile that looked passed every man's masks and darkness and horrors—and look at them as if he trusted them with his life.
Now the years away from civilization had punished him. He was a rugged man, now—all traces of youth buried under layers of thick, stressed wrinkles. His hair was long and unkempt, kissed with silver that made a trail down his jaw and over his upper lip. His face was almost unrecognizable—save for his eyes, which were blue as ice and tranquil as stone.
Luke made a gesture to the room. "I'm surprised you managed to keep it here all this time."
Maz smiled. "You never came back for it."
"No," he said. "I didn't."
"But it has found it's way back to you now, I trust."
He opened his cloak, revealing the old lightsaber tucked into his faded brown belt, safe and reunited with its master. Maz chuckled, really chuckled, for the first time in a long while.
"Come," she beckoned, opening up another room. "We can talk in here."
Maz keyed in a code next to the door. The system answered red and unlocked with a hiss. Luke followed her inside.
The room was small, probably no bigger than a cockpit. Chewbacca would have had difficulty standing up straight with how low the ceiling was. Still, it had a humble place to sit, and Luke lowered himself into a chair while Maz cleared the room of dishes and trinkets. While he waited for her to finish, he folded his hands back into the sleeves of his cloak.
"You should've let me treat you to a drink when we were upstairs," she said. "Like old times."
Luke smiled faintly. "I try to avoid the public eye."
"So the eyes have noticed." Maz took her own seat, tenting her fingers to study the old Jedi master in full. "You hid yourself so cleverly for so long. The missing Skywalker. Some even believed the legend. The one where you never even existed."
He remained silent at that. She continued. "Your sister did what she could to find you. Everything possible—just to sense even the briefest flicker of your signature. But you were as quiet as ever."
"Leia came to you?" he asked.
"Twice. The first after the First Order established itself under Snoke. The second after they attacked those innocent planets." She paused. "I expect you have at least shown yourself to her since your droids found you?"
"Briefly. But I didn't stay. Leia does not need my help."
Maz pursued her lips. "Perhaps she does. The weight of the First Order grows stronger with each passing year. Even the Resistance has not faced so great a threat." She sighed. "The poor woman. She has a great weight on her shoulders, your sister. I could sense the despair in her after Solo died. You've heard of what happened?"
His face grew grave beneath the shadows. "I did," he said. "My Padawan told me."
Her eyes lit up as she took in what this meant. She had been right about that girl, after all. Luke was training a new Jedi.
"So. The girl finally found you. She trains with you now?"
His beard curled. It might have been a smile.
"She is strong."
Maz nodded along. "A natural, she is. I felt it, too. There is good in her. Light. The galaxy needs that. The galaxy needs light in such a rapidly evolving dark age."
Luke made no reply. Instead, he lowered his eyes to the table, now deep in thought. Maz waited for him to say something else, anything, before finally permitting herself to ask the question that had been on her mind since his sudden arrival.
"Why did you come to me, Skywalker?"
More silence ensued. Maz knew this had to be important. After so many years of trying to stay hidden, she was certain that the Skywalker she once knew no longer traveled the galaxy just for the sake of reuniting with old friends.
Luke lifted his hand then, summoning the Force as a small slip of paper rose from one of his pockets. Then, with startling ease, the paper hovered to where Maz sat, and she plucked it from the air.
There was writing on it. Small and black with foreign lettering. Maz smoothed out the crumples while the Jedi watched from across the table.
"Can you read it?" he asked her.
Maz adjusted her lenses to enhance the size. She studied the contents for a moment, frowning, before finally stating.
"This is very, very old."
"I dreamt of it," Luke said. "For nights, I dreamt of this message over and over. I saw the symbols, but I could not read them. I felt its importance, but could not make it out. Not even the droids could decipher the language when I wrote it down."
"That is because it is ancient," Maz told him. "These are ancient symbols here. Letters of the midi-chlorians. Very few creatures in these years would be able to translate it for you."
"Can you?" Luke asked again.
Maz looked down. It had been so long. No one read the language of the midi-chlorians anymore. She herself found that studying it centuries ago had been a long and tedious task.
But it was important. It had to be. Nothing was translated in the most ancient of languages if the message was not crucial to the galaxy. These were words forged by the Force itself. It had to mean something.
Maz adjusted her lenses again, up to the largest notch.
"I will try," she told him.
The message seemed short enough. Unfortunately, her knowledge seemed as ancient as the language itself—deep and buried away in the crypts of her mind. It took her some time to even decipher a character.
"This," she finally said, pointing to it, "it means to vanquish. To conquer."
Luke frowned. "And the rest?"
She scanned the paper again. Then, she pointed, "To rise."
Maz did not translate the rest of it out loud. He waited for her to finish, retaining his guarded look, until she lifted her head again. Her eyes carried a heavy, solemn weight.
"Do you remember the last message translated from the midi-chlorians?"
Luke knew. "The prophecy," he said. "The one of the child that would bring balance to the Force. The one about my father."
"Yes," Maz said.
Luke stared at her, suddenly understanding. "This too is a prophecy."
"Yes," Maz said. "And a grim one."
The Jedi grew silent. Both of them were familiar with the destruction and chaos that followed prophecies. And now that a new one had unfolded, it was only a matter of time before everyone in the galaxy would know of its existence.
Luke had to know. He nodded for her to continue.
The paper shriveled in Maz's hands.
"I cannot read it all," she confessed, "But the contents are clear. It foretells the death of one, in which another will rise to fruition from the other's death."
Luke frowned, replaying her words over and over in his head, scrutinizing every last detail.
Maz swallowed. "There is more."
"What is it?"
"This mark, here," she tapped at the second letter. "It is a combination of two symbols. Two words. Sky and Walker." She paused. "The death will be a Skywalker. And the other…" she paused. "A Skywalker, as well."
Luke felt something constrict in his chest. Two Skywalkers. Only three still alive. One would not survive…
"Another Skywalker," he echoed.
"A chosen one," Maz said. "Just as your father was before you."
His father.
Anakin Skywalker. The child of the prophecy. The man that would ultimately give his life to bring balance to the Force. Luke learned everything there was to know about his father, learned of all the disorder and death Vader had plunged the galaxy into over an ancient message. But even his prophecy did not mention specific deaths.
"And once this one rises," Luke said, "what will ensue?"
Maz's old, wrinkled lips thinned out. The foretelling left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Whomever this person is, upon the Skywalker death, will be more powerful than us all. This person will determine the future of our galaxy."
The future of the galaxy.
Luke hoped it would not come to this. He prayed that the contents were innocuous and meant nothing, that they held little significance like his other dreams. He'd had recurring nightmares in the past, after all. All Jedis did.
But deep down, a part of him did know. He anticipated its importance. If the Force itself simmered to its demands, interlaced with death and catastrophe, how could it not be?
The Jedi closed his eyes.
"There are very few Skywalkers left," she said. "Only you, your sister, and—"
"Ben."
Maz paused. "Snoke's apprentice."
"My nephew," he confirmed. "Kylo Ren. The one who laid siege to your planet in pursuit of the droid."
"I remember."
Luke remained very still. Now it all made sense. Why the message so fervently prodded at him. Why he felt its implication. Why he sensed the Dark Side.
He was in danger.
A great threat was looming overhead, and not just for the galaxy, but for him as well. Isolating himself and his Padawan had not been enough. Everyone—the Resistance, the First Order, the midi-chlorians, the Force—all of it was determined to push him out of his seclusion. Just as before.
Maz slid the paper back. When he reached out to take it, Maz clamped her hands over his own and met his eyes, fierce and desperate.
"Run," she whispered. "Find your sister. You must prepare yourselves for the backlash. It won't be long until the First Order discovers its existence."
"They already know."
Maz's eyes widened. "They couldn't."
"Snoke knows," he said. "I feel the disturbance. He already knows it exists. He's known for years, now. His influence on Ben has grown. He must believe Ben is the chosen one. He grooms him now."
"To kill you," Maz finished.
"To kill me."
"Or his mother," she said. "Vader's blood runs through her, as well."
Luke gave the note a clean rip. Leia and the Resistance didn't have much time before the First Order would be plotting their next attack. And now that the hunt was for living Skywalkers, all in the name of a new prophecy—he expected everything to break into chaos.
Luke stood from the table. "I hope our meeting will remain secret."
"As it always is," Maz said, standing to let him out. She took his wrist again, urging. "Be wary, Jedi. The galaxy has grown darker in your absence. You can feel it just as I. War is close." She gripped tighter. "But just as the night may be upon us, it can still be saved by the brightest star."
His mouth hardened into a fine, straight line. This was a war he did not want to affiliate himself with. He had already done his duty and helped save his father. When he tried doing more for other students, it had only brought more chaos and death to the galaxy. Accepting another Padawan had been troubling enough.
"Thank you for your services," was all Luke said before he headed back down the corridor.
Maz watched him go. Despite the threats in the new prophecy, a part of her lifted, elated. She had waited too long for his return.
"Welcome back, Skywalker."
Luke stopped where he was. He stood there, lingering, pondering, before finally turning back to correct her.
"Luke Skywalker is still dead."
"Perhaps it is no longer your time to hide," Maz said. "Perhaps it is time to restore the light. Remember. What is alive may be delayed, but death is forever."
Luke said no more. Instead, he fixed his hood back in place, his face vanishing in its shadows. Then, as quickly as he came, the legend inside the cloak disappeared from the corridor, leaving Maz alone with the echoing silence of a dark prophecy.
X
