Author's Note: Small time skip! Part one of two updates (because I have to rectify that cliffhanger, after all). :) Hope you enjoy!


Chapter Eight

You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light in every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah


21 ABY
(Five Years Later)

The dreams had all been true. Every single one. Ben began thinking he'd brought them to life somehow.

It was the turn of a new cycle, and there was much to think about. Another year at the Academy and another influx of force sensitives were en route. As usual, Ben beat his uncle to the temple doors where he sat and waited. Eyes closed and deep in thought, Ben was far from meditation. He quieted his mind and probed as far as he could reach, walking the tightrope and feeling for the other end. He hit a wall, stalwart and unwilling to let him persuade himself inside.

Push through. Force your way in. Ben hesitated but forged on, just to be met by a different voice.

Not today, my Padawan.

"Uncle… I-I mean, Master Luke," Ben's eyes startled open just as his uncle's voice filled his head. As quickly and adeptly as Luke entered his thoughts, so had he appeared before him on the temple steps, chuckling to himself. The new title Ben would address his uncle with would take getting used to.

"You may be strong with the force," Luke clapped his nephew on the shoulder before tapping at his temple with two fingers. "But I should hope it would take a bit more practice before you broke into this temple."

Ben nodded hastily, all humor aside. "Forgive me, Master. I was merely testing myself."

Luke was nodding as well, his eyebrows rising at the word Master. "Is it that time already?"

"Yes, sir," Ben quipped, his voice eager. "Today is my birthday."

Luke's smile reached his eyes, though there was a sadness lingering behind it. "So it is." Five years ago on the day of Ben's induction, it hadn't been an easy transfer. Taking in a student – his nephew, no less – who at the time was very much against the idea was not a promising beginning. Luke's academy had lofty goals of rebuilding the Jedi Order, so the thought of taking on an unstable force sensitive wasn't at the top of Luke's to-do list. Leia's persuading did not take long, however, and Luke had to agree. Hearing of his nephew's tendencies – his inclination toward the darkness – was a story he particularly did not want to relive. Leia's fear was palpable. She knew how strongly her son's emotions roiled beneath his skin. How his emotions overtook him, time and time again. And then, Ben's demonstration of abilities had been astounding. Luke's twin sister was far from a Jedi, but the force in her was undeniable. Her strength coursed strongly in her son's blood, prompting Luke to proposition Ben: follow the teachings of the temple and invest himself, and by his sixteenth birthday, he would become Luke's Apprentice and begin preparation for his trials. In no time, he would become a Jedi.

Often, Luke couldn't help but wonder which course the strong blood within Ben would take. And since it was the same as what ran through Luke's veins, he vowed to lead his nephew toward the right path.

"And you will declare me a Knight?" If Luke wasn't so practiced in controlling the boundaries of his mind, he'd have thought Ben found a way in.

"Once your trials are complete," Luke corrected, entering the temple and motioning for Ben to follow. "We'll begin this morning."

"This morning?" A hint of disconcertion lurked in Ben's voice. "So soon?"

Luke nodded, simultaneously addressing his new Apprentice and the temple keeper who awaited them. The young woman smiled widely and scuttled off in the direction they'd come. Today was everyone's favorite day, just as it was every year. The arrival of new potential younglings was exciting and encouraging. With each induction came the promise of new force sensitives, and the promise of a sturdier, tenanted Jedi Order. It meant fostering hope and determination. It also meant a lot of work and even more risk.

Just as quickly as she'd gone, the woman returned, a cluster of adults and children at her heels. Some whispered excitedly, their eyes darting everywhere within the temple. Others were silent, their uncertainty etched across their faces. All of them clutched their little ones, babies and toddlers and young children alike, in vice grips. By now, Ben knew the routine. Some of them were born to expectant parents and brought directly here, aged only to the congregational deadline. Others were tested recently, the task outside of their family's means until ages as high as five or six. Still others were only just found – nearly missed due to the secure nature of the search. The new Jedi needed to be protected, and none more so than the younglings themselves.

"Welcome," Luke announced. As it happened each year, each guardian's face brightened at the sight of Luke. He'd gathered them all, one by one, directed by Leia, protected by the Resistance, and assisted by the Church of the Force. As jarring as it was for the families to think of the road ahead, Luke's kindness and familiarity eased the tension that came standard with the temple. Though it was incredibly modest compared to the images Ben had seen of Jedi temples of legend, its domed center and perimeter of high-reaching pillars still projected a sense of awe. In the world of contemporariness, it was a beautifully antiquated image of hope. Ben remembered feeling breathless standing at its center and looking out to see the fields surrounding. There were no full-length walls, merely quarters – designed so that the world around them was their true temple, arranged in a village. Luke's ambitions were lofty: he endeavored to fill that village with as many force sensitives he could find.

Ben remembered what Luke had said in the midst of his wonder: that, if nowhere else, peace would begin there.

"There is much to do, and I know you all must have many questions," Luke addressed those gathered with open arms before settling a hand on Ben's shoulder. "Look no further than my Apprentice, Ben, who will be guiding you."

Ben's neck nearly snapped with how quickly he faced Luke, who sensed his uncertainty and, in turn, did not miss a beat. Luke's voice entered Ben's thoughts amid the murmurings of the crowd. You are prepared, Ben. You've witnessed the induction year after year and know what must be done.

Gratefully – and to an extent, politely – Luke opened his mind to Ben. This is my task for today? To guide the initiates and break the hearts of their guardians?

It is what must be done. Consider it your first trial.

Luke did not miss the disappointed sneer of Ben's lip and the downcast gaze, albeit fleeting as Ben stepped ahead of Luke and smiled to the crowd. "Shall we begin?"


Ben was tired of the tears. Parents crying tears of relief that their child was destined for something bigger than them and bigger than the monotony of wherever they came from. Guardians crying tears of regret, handing over little ones that weren't their own and washing their hands. Children crying more than anything, clinging to legs and falling to the floor. And the worst: the crying when a child was sent away, not meeting the criteria and feeling as though their intended "greater purpose" was a light snuffed out.

Go. Live a life that is yours. Can't you see the freedom that this gives you? It made Ben bitter each year to see the hopelessness in the eyes of the rejected – more so the parents than the children. Take them away from here and give them everything. Everything you thought they'd get here… give them more. Sometimes he wished the rejected children would stay; perhaps be given a nominal job in sweeping the temple or working around the village. As much as he internally pleaded for more from their parents, the truth stopped him. What life would those children have, returning with the very beings who claimed to love them the night before they gave them away?

This year was different. This year, there was one child who did not cry.

"Well done, Ben." Luke's voice was appreciative and laced with pride as he joined his nephew in surveying the slowly dispersing crowd. Nearly half of them were leaving; some heartbroken, some angry, and some, deep down, relieved. Their greater responsibilities had come to an end. Ben could see the disappointment in Luke's face as well, hovering beneath the optimistic tones. Despite gaining another five younglings, the induction was consistently growing smaller each year.

"There will be more," Ben assured him, having noticed the same thing. "Smaller in number, but higher in promise."

"Oh?" Luke quirked an eyebrow at him. "You know this?"

Ben nodded, his eyes drifting to the stalwart six year old he'd noticed from before. She stood between two equally resolute parents, their eyes downcast in respect of those who were leaving so dejectedly. The child's eyes, however, were everywhere but in one place, scouring every inch of the temple as if taking note of all the things she could explore, climb, or maybe even break. The adventure pulsed in her, in the way she bit her lip and the way her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides, untapped energy straining to be freed.

And there was something else… a sense of familiarity Ben recognized in the child. It was a feeling he remembered from a long time ago, though he had never before laid eyes on her. A figment from a dream come to life. All the same, he knew the child, or rather, he recognized the force that resonated within her. Ben was sure of it.

"That one, there," Ben gestured in the child's direction. "The force is strong in that one."

"You sense it?" Luke concluded, his fingers pinching his chin studiously.

Again, Ben was nodding. At risk of sounding pompous, he didn't say another word… but Ben could sense it. The little girl emanated a connection to the force far greater than any other youngling he'd seen during his Academy years from. It rivaled his own.

Changing the subject, Ben grasped his hands behind his back the way he'd seen Luke do while addressing peers. "Are there not more… intensive trials?" There had been nothing to the induction, and Ben was left feeling disappointed. Aside from force assessment, it invoked none of his abilities.

Luke chuckled. "We are just beginning, and you are still young. Your actual trials will come when you are ready. You are anticipating them quite early… earlier than –"

"Than how they used to be?" Ben scoffed, annoyed. "This is your academy, Uncle." He dropped the title out of spite and out of dejection. At the sight of Luke's disapproval, Ben sighed in defeat. "Early as it may be, aren't I needed? We are needed…"

"It is true," Luke agreed. "There is a great need for the Jedi to return. But as great as that need may be, I will not do it at the sacrifice of your training. We must not rush things."

Ben fixed his mentor with an earnest glare. "Please, do not underestimate me."

But Luke was done discussing it, and Ben was left with the haunting thought that yet again, he'd be left behind in one way or another.


The day ended and the remaining guardians were quartered in the village surrounding the temple. Though the newly christened younglings were the ones to be trained, that night would entail their first test. The parents were made well aware of the legends, of how prospective Jedi would be separated from their loved ones and forego attachments. They knew where attachments led, and they knew which path was led by selfishness. It wasn't that of the Jedi.

What they didn't know was how quickly their test would begin. All of the younglings would sleep in the temple nursery that night – the very place that would become their quarters for the foreseeable future – with only the temple missionaries to watch over them. Veteran initiates from the years prior would not join them, not just yet, giving the little ones time to learn the sanctity of solitude.

Ben remembered his first night. It had done its job for the greater good, or so they said. For most younglings, seeing their parents the next day made the night apart seem like a fun sleepover. The brunt of reality was harder on the parents than it was on the younglings. So then, the younglings would endure another two nights of solitude before joining their parents. Then the nights would turn into days. By the week's end, they'd be ready to part.

Ben had not needed a week. He couldn't sleep, but the voice had kept him company. His slate was clean after the first night.

Night fell and Ben found himself at the temple, dismissing the missionaries for a well-deserved break. All of the younglings were sleeping except for one. Strange as it would seem that the calmest, least emotional youngling would find it the hardest to sleep, Ben was not surprised. After his assertion over the girl, he'd watched Luke single her parents out at the end of the induction. Overheard them discuss her strange abilities with no glimmer of pride or excitement. Instead, worry was etched in their faces.

They said she heard a voice that they themselves could not hear.

It was obvious to Ben why the child could not sleep.

All lights were tapered so that the starlight could creep in from between the outer pillars, but Ben had no difficulty finding his way to her. He could walk the temple with his eyes closed, and yet, it still felt so foreign. So unwelcoming. He felt empathy for the younglings who slept, worn from excitement and unaware of what the days ahead would bring. They had no way of knowing the sacrifice they were making.

The girl's eyes met his before he even reached her. She was sitting upright in her cot, her blanket still not turned down and her pillow cold from lack of use. Kneeling beside her, Ben offered a hint of a smile. He wished he could offer her some comfort, some sort of familiarity that would ease the tension that prickled in goosebumps along her olive skin. But names were not used. Not for the initiates. Nothing that would foster any sort of attachment – a necessary training facet that his uncle insisted upon. As far as the missionaries were concerned, she was Youngling Number Five of the Tenth Cycle.

The girl waved, happy to see another soul awake in the middle of the night. She opened her mouth to speak, and Ben quickly raised a hand. "No, no little one. I cannot know your name."

Her shoulders sunk and her cheeks blushed, sheepish for already making a mistake. Ben ruffled her hair which elicited a quiet giggle. It seemed almost alien coming from her serious face.

Ben sighed. "Can't you sleep?"

She shook her head.

"Are you frightened?"

She looked thoughtful, turning the word over and over in her mind as if to test how well the word fit. Slowly, she nodded her head.

"Don't worry, you'll…" Ben searched for words. He couldn't lie to the girl. He couldn't tell her she'd grow to love the temple, or even call it home. How could he, when he couldn't do such things himself. "You will do well here. I can tell."

A frown unfitting of a six year old crossed her brow, and Ben understood. It was not the temple she feared.

"Don't worry, little one," Ben began again, his voice hushed as he took her tiny hand in his. "I hear it, too."


"Why does no one else hear it?"

Their first meeting had turned into nightly rituals through no coercing of Ben's own admittance. In fact, had Master Luke known, Ben was sure he'd disapprove.

Though no formal announcement had been made – nor would there be, seeing as how Luke was in charge of the organization and hence forwent all requirements – Ben's impending apprenticeship would give him more than a mere title and discipline change. Adjustments were already made: Ben no longer stayed in the nursery with the rest of the initiates so as to focus without distraction on what was ahead of him. He was free to take his own dwelling in the village and had almost chosen the one nearest to Luke's. As convenient as it would seem to be close to one's master, Ben opted for the one furthest from the temple and village itself. He'd come to know and prefer privacy. It was something he'd lived with and adapted to, after all. Whether he'd wanted to or not.

Despite not yet having completed any real trials, Ben was expected to follow the code and play the part; not break the rules. But each evening after the younglings and older initiates turned in, he'd wait until the last ebbs of light left the sky and would find his little one waiting patiently on her still-made cot. That night, her hair was mussed from the day's exercises and she wore the same downtrodden expression she had the day he told her he would no longer be in the nursery.

Ben was pensive, flexing the question in his mind. Why didn't anyone else hear the voice that followed them? He didn't have the answer. He hadn't asked himself that very question in a long, long time. The question had lost its importance over the years, only resurfacing now that he'd found someone who truly empathized.

Ben's chuckle made his little one frown. "Why are you laughing at my question?" she muttered, earning a shushing to quiet her amid the sleeping initiates. He felt sorry doing it; he enjoyed her little voice that was too mature for her age with its lilting, rounded accent. He couldn't help but wonder where she'd come from with her interesting accent, but he didn't dare ask. They'd grown too attached already in such a short time. He didn't need to know any more personal details. What haunted her in the darkness was personal enough.

Leaning back and resting his elbow along her cot, Ben shook his head. "I simply think it strange that you ask that question."

"What other question would I ask?"

There it was. The teaching moment. "Well… why ask 'why not them,' when you could ask 'why us'?"

Little One's mouth snapped shut before she could spew a reply that even she knew would be more of a retort than an honest, thoughtful answer. "That is what momma would say," she admitted after some time, longing evident in her murmur. "She does not like it… any of this, really."

Sighing, Ben mentally berated himself for wanting to divulge his own experiences… to a six year old, no less. He wanted to comfort her. To explain how his own father hated what he was. But that wasn't what Little One needed at the moment. Pursing his lips and scanning the room, Ben picked out the closest sconce on the wall, its lamplight so low it could have been mistaken for starlight spilling into the room.

"That right there. I want you to put it out."

Little One looked at him quizzically. "I can't… I have not done anything like that yet."

"Have you tried?" She shook her head. "Then who is to say that you can't?"

Nearly two weeks as a new youngling and her talents had not yet been flexed during the daily teachings. Though the teachings had evolved since Ben's first year, their structure was similar: memorize the code, master your weapon, and finally, learn to manipulate the force. The Jedi mantra was studied and recited through open discussion that often led in circles – it was a difficult topic that Luke alone conducted. Veteran Jedi were hard to find, and even rarer were those who experienced the old ways firsthand. There were plenty of lecturers who witnessed – most from the Church of the Force – but few who truly felt the force within themselves. As for weaponry training, lightsabers were scarce, so staves were used with far less efficacy in Ben's opinion. The compromise of Ilum's Crystal Cave made the initiate trial of finding one's own kyber crystal obsolete. Then, nothing beyond meditation engaged the students with the force. Even in as little as a week, it was easy to see whose midichlorian counts were higher. Without all the bells and whistles the original Jedi academies utilized, the younglings' potential was measured by their self-influenced progress. Little One just so happened to be one of them, just like Ben had been. And he couldn't help but want her to excel as quickly as he did.

"Go on," Ben encouraged, sitting forward. "Even if you put it out, the light will come back. It always does." He knew she was capable, with or without formal training. Just that morning Ben had joined Luke for the day's lecture – something he would soon learn to lead himself – and he watched as Little One gradually lost interest in the ramblings on the nature of harmony. It didn't take long before pebbles began rolling to where she sat in the back, gathering and climbing atop one another to form a tower. At the end of the discussion, she knocked it over before anyone took notice.

Chewing her lip, Little One straightened in her cot and fixed her eyes on the sconce. She shyly lifted her arm and curved her fingers as if to hold it from afar. Ben smiled earnestly when the encapsulated light inside the sconce timidly swelled, brightening as if its power amplified. The light trembled as it grew, struggling against the surplus of energy. Just when it seemed it couldn't take anymore, her hold released and it returned to its dim existence.

Ben frowned, eyeing her cautiously. She wouldn't return his gaze, so he softened instead. "This is 'why us.' I believe even 'he' sees your strength more than you do." He tickled her shoulder, hoping to coax the smile back to her face. "I know I do."

She didn't seem convinced as she continued to stare at the sconce. "I just… I didn't want to…"

Was she afraid of her own powers? Did she not want to finish what she started? Or was it that she simply did not want the light to go out? "Are you afraid of the dark, little one?"

She looked thoughtful, and Ben was once again marveling how such a young little thing could be so careful with her words. She shrugged. "I used to see the light. All the time, I saw it. Until He came."

Ben knew what she meant. "The voice."

"He brings the dark. A little at first, but then, more and more. I was beginning to think I wouldn't see the light anymore." She spoke so evenly, like she'd grown used to such a fate.

"Do you see the light now?"

Finally, she met his eyes that glimmered with unshed tears. "Yes." The word trembled. "When you're here, I do. But it goes away when you leave."

Guilt riddled Ben's expression and there was no hiding it from her. She leaned her forehead against his bicep as if to comfort him, though she sat in tears thinking of the thing that haunted her. Haunted them. The very day she was born, He had found her just as He'd found Ben – and Ben knew it to be true, because that same day, he'd felt Little One's awakening in his dreams.

He couldn't take seeing her cry. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders and giving her a comforting squeeze, Ben forced a smile to his face. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I'll tell you a secret." He could breathe again when finally, she smiled too, holding perfectly still as though moving would make her only friend change his mind. He wanted so badly to lift her spirits, to do something for the child who deserved a childhood and deserved to not have her days and nights tormented. And so, he gave her what he could give no other Padawan in the temple. "… My name is Ben," he whispered.

Gasping, Little One shifted sharply to stare at him with wonder in her eyes and a big, toothy grin on her lips. Her little hands clapped to her cheeks, knowing full well that he'd broken a rule just for her. Suddenly her eyes dropped away, looking to and fro as if searching for something she could give that was just as valuable.

"I'll tell you a secret too," she whispered, though her smile weakened. Ben lifted his eyebrows expectantly, comically cupping a hand to his ear to aid in the secrecy. Drawing a deep breath like it would take all the resolve in her tiny body, Little One leaned in and murmured under her breath. "His name is Master Snoke."