Running Away
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…
Prologue
Qui-Gon
K-7, Core 8. Core 7. Core 6. Core 5.
Darkness. Pressure. Trapped. Panic.
He was underground, imprisoned. That accounted for the first three sensations, but not the panic. He fought to make sense of this. Then a clear voice rose up before him.
"I can get us out of here, Qui-Gon. I am the only one who can."
Pain and denial joined the panic. "But you'll be killed!" The very thought made him want to tear his own heart out. He raged against it. "No! I won't let you!"
"You cannot stop me, Qui-Gon. I have to do this. Now stand as far back as you can."
Qui-Gon's mind screamed. This was wrong. He tried to stop what was happening, but someone possessing a power far greater than his own blocked him at every turn. A broken circle danced before his eyes, taunting. The circle that brought the past to the future, yet did not meet. He had to make the circle meet. He must-
Too late. The soft, dreaded click of a button, and the world erupted into burning flame.
/Goodbye…/
/No!/
Qui-Gon shot bolt upright on his sleeping pallet, gasping for breath. Sweat beaded on his brow as his heart tried its level best to drum its way out of his ribcage. The nightmare gripped at him for a few eternal moments before he let the terror pass through into the Force.
The same one. The same nightmare that he'd had for the last three nights.
He struggled for a few moments to bring his body back under control, gathering his scattered thoughts. A vision? Was the Force trying to warn him of something? Foresight had never been a skill of his, but this just seemed so damned real. He had no idea who the other person was, the voice was rendered unrecognisable by the typical obscurity of a dream. He just knew instinctively it was someone he cared deeply for. A person who was going to die if he didn't find a way to change things. Flames licked at his psyche and Qui-Gon pushed them away with difficulty.
He focused on the soft breathing coming from the other side of the darkened room. Obi-Wan was curled in his cabin's only chair, fast asleep. The exhausted boy had drifted off in the seat that evening and had remained there ever since. Qui-Gon had not had the heart to wake him. Obi-Wan had had precious little rest since he had left the Temple. There was no harm in him staying.
With a sigh Qui-Gon lay back down, willing himself to relax lest he disturb the boy now. He managed to quiet his body but peace eluded him. The terrible sensation of being trapped with no way out refused to subside.
Core 5…
I have to do this.
No!
Qui-Gon screwed his eyes shut. Vision or no he would not let this come to pass. He would not lose that person.
Letting the soft rhythm of Obi-Wan's breathing ground him in the present, Qui-Gon pushed his mind back into the blackness of sleep…
.
Obi-Wan
Obi-Wan Kenobi looked up as a sharp knock broke the quiet dawn on the morning their ship landed on Bandomeer. From his corner of the room he watched as Qui-Gon rose to answer the door. A messenger was waiting outside and handed a letter to the Jedi Master before retreating in respectful silence, the door swished shut behind him. Qui-Gon tore open the envelope and removed the folded flimsy resting inside.
Assuming it was a routine greeting from the Governor of this backwater world, Obi-Wan returned his attention to the lightsaber hilt cradled in his hands. Hus focus was on a deep, fresh scratch in its side.
First wounds of war, he thought wryly as he brushed his hand over the bright hilt. The metal was cool but welcoming under his fingertips. As familiar to him as his own skin. His constant companion for almost two years.
Obi-Wan smiled as he remembered the most triumphant moment of his life. The moment he had ignited the blade for the first time. It was burned forever into his memory. For a brief moment he allowed himself to recall the excitement he had felt on the day his Temple Masters had deemed him ready. The days that followed the announcement were a bit of a blur, only focusing again when he had been escorted onto a ship bound for Ilum.
Ilum. The hairs on his arms rose at the memory of the ice planet, a cold that had frozen him even beneath his survival gear, and of the traitorous journey up the ice walls to reach the sacred caves far above. Caves that had been visited by thousands of Jedi for countless millennia before him. It was a humbling experience.
Like them he made it past the frightening visions the Force laden tunnels had thrown at him, even as he trembled from the death defying climb. He still wouldn't let himself face what he had been shown by those foreboding Force illusions and if he was honest with himself he couldn't remember that clearly. They were like a memory from a dream, all ending in death, fire and betrayal.
Nevertheless he had controlled his fear, refusing to be turned back and in the end had reached the sacred place where the focusing crystals grew. Peace had descended over him then.
In all his young life he had never been so completely at one with the Force as he had chosen his crystal. Or rather, it had chosen him. Clear blue and very strong it had hummed with energy in his hand. Going to a near medative state, he had painstakingly cut and set the beautiful stone within the casing he had made, letting the Force guide his actions as he balanced and focused his weapon.
He still couldn't describe how he had felt when he had ignited the blade for the first time, the blue laser thrumming strong and true as the remaining crystals twinkled and shone around him with infinite beauty, silently applauding his success.
And yet, even in that shining moment, there had been sadness. A regret. He had not been complete. No proud Master had been there waiting for his return from the cave. No one had claimed him. His eyes flickered sadly towards the tall figure across the room. As an initiate with Knight potential he had needed a Jedi's weapon. He could not have waited. So instead his lightsaber instructor had volunteered to guide him on the journey, and now the experience that should have been shared with his Master was lost to him forever.
That knowledge made him sad but before melancholy could truly set in, a sharp movement drew his gaze back to Qui-Gon. His memories scattered back into the past. Surprise rippled through him when he saw that the Master's hitherto easy stance had now gone deathly still. A cloying silence filled the room as the hands that gripped the flimsy grew white at the knuckles.
Frowning, Obi-Wan started to send a query down through the Force-only to find that their tentative bond had been abruptly cut off.
What a surprise, Obi-Wan sighed.
He had hoped they'd moved past all this.
Biting down on a wave of disappointment, Obi-Wan rose from his seat. "Qui-Gon?"
No answer. The Master might as well have been carved from stone. The only movement evident in the big man was in the slight shaking of mighty hands.
Obi-Wan took a cautious step forward. True concern warred with his lingering wariness of the Jedi Master, tearing him between the need to maintain his respectful distance and his desire to know what could have disturbed Qui-Gon this way.
Searching for the root of this indecision, he discovered that, despite everything, he was still slightly afraid of Qui-Gon. He was still afraid that the tentative peace now lying between them could shatter like fragile glass if he made the slightest wrong move. He really didn't want to push Qui-Gon's new tolerance too far and have the Master turn, like he had done so many times in their short acquaintance, and angrily tell him to stay away again.
But the Master made no move as he came closer. He did not even seem to be aware of Obi-Wan's presence. Emboldened, Obi-Wan inched right up behind him.
Standing on tip-toe he peered over the tall Master's broad shoulder. He caught a glimpse of the offending flimsy and scanned it swiftly. He felt his own body freeze as he did so.
For there, written with neat, brutal accuracy, were the words:
I have been waiting for this day
It was signed,
Xanatos.
And next to that haunting signature glared the picture of a broken circle…