Sbeit, although irritated with Mill for deciding to seek out their faulty old associate and chase a millennium old riddle, obeys Mill by opening a comms channel with TC-26, "Pilot droid, we are ready for evac. At the temple. All is clear, land in the field and we'll come out to you."
A few seconds pass in silence before Static erupts over Sbeit's comms, followed by TC's voice piping through the channel, "Jedi friends! You are alive! I was so worried. Hi! I'm in space."
Mill jerks his head over to Sbeit, "Why is he in space?"
Sbeit looks back at Mill and puts his arms up, facing his palms away from one another to show equivalent confusion, "I don't know, I didn't tell him to leave." Then turning the receiver back on, Sbeit says to TC, "Why are you in space? We told you to remain where you were and to await our call."
Another few seconds pass quietly, then suddenly, "PSSHH I know I know, but things started approaching the ship. Little aliens with big ears and feet. They were walking around me and kicking the ship and I got scared. I thought they were going after you next. One of them had a stick. I left. I'll be back soon. See you soon friends!"
Menyoo joins in on the conversation, "Well, nothing we can do for now but sit and wait."
Mill has an idea, "That is not entirely true. Sbeit, go out to the locals and figure out a plan for the Er'Kit after we leave. We can't take them, and I would like assurance that they will not be sacrificed for some sort of blood ritual after we leave." Sbeit nods his head and says "Master," then leaves through the front temple doors. Mill continues, "Menyoo, I have an idea for you and I. This temple is a crossroads, like Yoda said. Whatever it is you have to gain from this mission, we may find it here. Follow me to the shrine."
Mill takes Menyoo to the small alcove and they sit in front of the shrine side by side. The area is narrow, so there is barely enough room for both of them to squeeze in. In order to both fit in front of the shrine, Mill rests his right leg on top of Menyoo's, which neither Jedi particularly enjoys. Menyoo does not like the idea of meditating alongside Mill, afraid of whatever Mill has leaching onto him, but Mill assures him it will be good for both of them. Mill closes his eyes and begins working through one of his many meditation techniques he reserves for when he has trouble focusing. This time is different than his last few experiences. Before he can begin the conscious numbing of his body— technique number one— he slips deep into thought, as if he never had an issue previously. He is subtly aware of how easy it was, but his conscious thought fades into the background before he can complete his observation.
Everything goes black before he slips into a dream-like state. His eyes open, but he does not come to in the temple, instead awakening in a large, endless space. Grainy white walls flicker into view sporadically as if the courtyard he finds himself in is struggling to exist. The more he looks at them, the less solid they appear. He glances down to the floor and notices it is abnormally close to him. He then peers to his left to find his hand balled into a fist around a loose, orange fabric. His fist; however, is tiny, like a little clump of clay with ill-defined knuckles hiding under doughy, immature flesh. He has had this dream before, but it has been a while. As he reclaims the memory, he begins to anticipate the events to come, and dreads what he knows will happen next. He knows he is powerless to change what happens. He is only a passenger watching the sequence play out, on rails with no control over his body, just his thoughts; Besides, he is witnessing his past: if he cannot change it in reality, why should he be able to in a dream? Regardless, he still tries to shout, pull away, communicate his desires in any way he can, but his little body betrays his effort. He is forced to watch as the man to his left, whose shirt he desperately clings to, rips Mill's chubby fingers from the fabric and holds his arm out for another man to take.
The man he is being given to, Daren, takes his hand and pulls him away from his father. Mill can feel his feeble, juvenile form push back to try and break free. His mouth opens to a dry scream. He watches his feet shuffle under his nose, led by the tight grip of a strange man's gripping his wrist. Mill feels none of it. The informed, adult Mill hiding in the frantic child's mind knows what he witnessed: His birth father selling him to Darren, a man Mill would eventually come to think of as another father. Still to this day, Mill does not know why he was sold. On his homeworld, debt was easy to come by and nearly impossible to pay off, so he most likely was interest; it would be unheard of for a two- year old to be worth enough to pay off a full debt. He was too young to remember his father well, so whenever this dream takes place, a man from Mill's adult life stands in place of his father's silhouette. In this case, it was his Jedi Master. Mill begins to think of his former Master, but then drops the thought; knowing full-well where the dreams are headed, he will be seeing him soon enough. Instead, Mill looks up at Darren, also a human, as most people on his home world are. He was a scrawny, guy always covered in grease and sweat— another common feature of the people who live on the sweltering planet. Darren was an exception still in many ways: although he always looked to be in rough shape, he kept himself well groomed, and always smelled nice despite the incessant sweating.
Darren is who Mill considered to be his actual dad while he was growing up. To a kid, that is the only thing that makes sense. All the other kids called their guardian's dad, and it did not help that Darren only fought the name for the first couple of years. As far as dads go on his homeworld, Darren was among the best. Darren sent Mill to a school of sorts: it was really just a place a handful of kids would go for 4 hours a day. Tucked away in a local ladies shack-sized home, she would teach them basic math and reading skills. All the other kids hated it, but Mill did not mind it— probably because he is a natural learner, and always has been. As he got older, Mill realized just how lucky he was, being only one of few children to grow up on that detestable rock and learn to read or write. A series of experiences with Darren passes over Mill as he feels his body grow and mature with each passing memory: Darren taking him to local fights; Darren buying Mill a new set of clothes, Darren teaching Mill how to rebuild a commlink out of random scavenged parts, and a very fond memory, the first day Darren took Mill along for a job.
It was thrilling to go out with Darren. They would visit people's houses and deliver messages, packages, and sometimes weapons. Darren used to say everybody went easier on him when Mill came along because he was cute. On some particularly daring outings, Darren would tell Mill to sneak in and get something from inside while Darren distracted the target at the door. It was not often, Darren did not like putting Mill at risk, but Mill got pretty good, and was still young enough that he was never harmed if he were caught, which only happened once. As the memories pass before Mill's eyes in a trance-inducing sequence, the ambient light behind each scenario becomes brighter and brighter until it is unbearable, blinding Mill and forcing his eyes closed. The bright light settles into two distinct spheres, like spotlights, aggressively shining through his translucent eyelids. Adult Mill prepares himself for the oncoming scene, another indelible tragedy he will be forced to watch.
The blazing beams of light pass by, prompting young Mill to open his eyes. He feels cold, stiff metal running horizontally along his back. Pain flares perpendicular to it along his spine. Between coughs, he focuses his blurry eyes on the image of two figures standing a couple meters to his left side. One is on his back, leaning his head against the same metal frame that supports Mill. The figure above him holds a thin object to his chest and is demanding something from the man below. The scene becomes gradually clearer as Mill concentrates on the exchanging shouts between the two men. Young Mill is searching for answers in his muddled state, but the prescient Mill doesn't need to wait to know that it is Darren down on the ground beside him.
The wreckage of their cruiser sits behind Mill and his adoptive father. While plumes of smoke rise into the air behind them, the headlights of a cruiser opposite Mill oscillates back and forth, momentarily blinding him with each sweep. It took Mill years to piece together what he saw that day: The cruiser ahead of him, with the severely dented bumper from where it smashed into the side of Darren and Mill's transport, belongs to the man standing above Darren's broken body. The object the man was holding at Daren's chest was a lightsaber. Hoping to avoid rewatching what became the longest few seconds of Mill's life, adult Mill tries his hardest to turn away from the escalating scene, but does not have control of his neck. The young, unknowing Mill stares in horror as Darren gathers his strength for one more pathetic push and rushes weakly at his assailant, only to be skewered by the glowing sword positioned at his chest. Darren's eyes, staring up at his killer, go blank, then follow his lifeless corpse into a pitiful thud as his dead weight hits the unforgiving road, where his body will remain forgotten and immemorialized.
Mill remembers crawling over to him and grabbing his collar, but this was not like the holovids where the sad and desperate orphan gets in a final word with his loved one. Darren was killed immediately, the hole drilled precisely through his heart ensured that. Mill knew even at such a young age that there was no hope, but he still beat his chest with his fists and cried for his father to open his eyes. The Jedi behind Mill grabbed him by the shoulder and hurled him away from the body. Mill fell to the ground, blinded by the stream of tears that blurred his vision. The Jedi yelled down at Mill, listing all of his father's crimes: his shop, his smuggling and thievery, his secrets; But mill was only nine, none of that mattered. He had just lost his father, again, and that was all he needed to know.
He dragged himself back over and continued to beat on Darren's chest. His tears pooled over the wound, draining through the narrow hole in his chest and dripping onto the pavement underneath him. In that moment, the jedi must have sensed something in him. He grabbed Mill by the arm and whisked him away from his dad. Mill pulled frantically away from the jedi, wanting to return to his father's side, to be with him longer. He had no shirt to cling to, but pulled away from the Jedi with all the strength he could muster. The Jedi was far too strong. He remembers the overwhelming urge to curl into his dad's arms and die with him. Mill was done with the heat, the bullies in the streets, the hunger, everything. If his dad was not going to be with him, it wasn't worth it anymore. A reality and concept he recognizes now he was far too young to know about, much less contemplate. That feeling of wanting to curl up and die returned to Mill, to both Mills: young, dream Mill; and meditative, adult Mill watching the scene unfold in silence. The Jedi shoves Mill into the back of his cruiser, and the scene fades back to black.
Light gradually fills the dark frame in his mind, like lights turning on from the far end of a hallway. Switches flick in succession from far to near, down to the closest light, revealing a door in front of Mill. It opens vertically, and a man named Corovack steps inside. Corovack is a hulking beast of a man, easily a full meter taller than Mill, with a chest wider than the length of Mill's arm. Unkempt, thick grey facial hair escapes from cloth hung around his chin. Some of the strands grew so long that they reach the hair hanging from his head— just as wild and thick, but peppered with bits of black in the tangled greys. He wears an old, brown robe burned and ripped down the sides, revealing massive biceps covered in several layers of colored ink. Mill will later learn body art is prohibited by the order, but Corovack sidestepped that rule while working undercover years before they met. In full Jedi garb, they were all covered, with the exception of a dagger that ran up his neck and ended at a point on his chin. This tattoo was his loophole for keeping his hair so deranged—apparently the Jedi considered his disheveled mass of hair the lesser of two evils. After entering the cell, he flashes Mill a devious smile, and says to the man who opened the door, "This one will need to bulk up," then laughs to himself as he walks circles around Mill, surveying the young orphan.
Corovack from that day forward became Mill's master, and another montage of experiences flash before Mill's eyes. Mill's first fighting lesson, and the myriad of bruises he left it with; Mill's first time holding a lightsaber; the first time Mill lifts an object with the force; Corovack's first flying lesson, during which he let Mill take the controls for the return home; and he fondly recalls a box of treats he wasn't supposed to let Mill have, that he kept locked away for the conclusion of particularly stressful missions.
Corovack was the greatest warrior Mill had ever known—even at present— and the strongest male influence in his life. At first, he shocked Mill with his indefatigable machismo, hooting and hollering to every glorious act of violence they witnessed for the first few years of his training. He was a Warhawk in the order, constantly out breaking rebellions, or assisting them, depending on what the Republic deemed to be the honorable side in the conflict. After enough time together, it became clear Corovack saw Mill as much more than just a protégé. Once Mill became a padawan, rare for younglings with only 4 short years of training, Corovack let him in on the more complicated side of masculinity.
He began to share his fears and hopes with Mill, telling him all about his upbringing with his mother and sisters, and the abhorrent conditions on his home world. He originally became a Jedi in order to free his family from a life of whoring, and the terrible, abusive manager they worked under. They waited years into his initiation before telling him that he would have to forget his former life if he wanted to complete his training and become a full jedi. He told Mill through tears about his sisters and how each sister was unique, about how his mother was the strongest woman he has ever known. Mill eventually figured out that was why the Jedi accepted training him so late: he had no family to return to, nobody to lie awake and think about at night like Corovack. His master taught him all aspects of duty, manhood, and diplomacy; and although this perspective always led Mill to pain in the end, he couldn't help but look up to him as a father.
That pain found him while the pair returned from a routine mission in the Dominus sector. Mill landed on the docking bay, second in the formation, after a successful escort mission. Other fighters were landing, when an explosion rocked the skies above the republic capital. The dock went into lockdown and all transports in a five-kilometer radius were forced to land and be accounted for. The only ships missing were a jedi fighter and a civilian sky transport. The wreckage was found several layers below Coruscant's upper city crust. The citizen was found alive, but paralyzed in his seat, with toxicity levels consistent with an overdose—the crash saved his life. Mill's master was not so lucky. Corovack was killed, crushed under a column of stone damaged in the impact. Mill and Corovack were both robbed that day: Mill, of the father figure he was destined to never keep; for Corovack, of the honorable death he so often gloated about.
Mill received the news from a docking attendant, then was ordered to return to his dwelling and await further instruction. He met with several Jedi in the days that followed and was asked a litany of questions. The only advice he received was to wait until he was called for, and to not dwell on the past, but instead look forward. It wasn't until he faced the council for reassignment nearly a week later that his feelings boiled over. He was only half a year away from moving on from his apprenticeship and taking on the Jedi trials. The Jedi presiding over the council reassigned him to Drew-Keel for the final leg of his training, but when Mill shed a tear for his former master during the meeting, instead of being comforted, he was told that was no way for a Jedi to conduct himself, and they pushed his trials back to a year.
Drew-Keel was nice to him, but harsh, just as the council was. It wasn't until Mill was a full-fledged Jedi that Drew loosened up and became a friend, but his time under him as an interim padawan was nothing short of miserable. He longed for somebody consistent, somebody to look up to, and reassure him of his path. All the Order ever did was tell him that he was not good enough so long as he wanted such things. He was taught that desires such as those would lead him down a dark path. They taught him to consider all desires a form of attachment, and that attachment undermines a Jedi's will and fortitude. He remembers one particular moment from these days. A moment where his feelings of loneliness and hopelessness brought him to his breaking point, and his thoughts transported Mill to that exact moment.
He could see himself sitting in his old parlor, battling with the feelings of abandonment and undirected anger as they ball in his chest. The pressure increases in intensity until it becomes hard to breathe. Mill fights these feelings, but they harden and grow, like cement expanding and hardening in his chest. Sharp pains poke up through the bottom of his ribs. It becomes impossible to think about anything else but the pain and anger as it all morphs into one indistinguishable feeling of pure anguish.
He feels a block weigh down his chest, and he leans down onto the table below him to steady his body. He presses his arms into his stomach to ease his discomfort, but a gnawing pain sits in his stomach. The block in his chest expands until it has nowhere to go. His body feels like it cannot expand anymore for it, and the fighting becomes too bothersome. At this point, his experience takes a turn. Unlike the past, when he pushed harder and harder until exhaustion, eventually passing out in a matted pile of pain, frustration, and tears, Mill just stops fighting it.
He takes in a deep breath, relaxing his shoulder blades, bringing them to rest. He stretches his chest forward to relieve pressure, and a popping sound and sensation materializes at his sternum. He lets go of his breath, releasing pressure from the block in his chest, dispersing the bad energy down the length of his arms and legs. He sits up, staring down at the table, and just breathes through the tragedies, itemizing them in his head and respecting them for what they were and the affects they had in his life. He straightens his back and limbs, giving the negative energy a clear route to circulate and deposit its harrowing pollutants into manageable chunks throughout his body. He rubs at his eyes and manages to escape the nightmare contained within his dream.
He was wrong before, he can change the events in his past, or at least he can during his involuntary reviews. He just needed to learn to accept the feelings, and allow them to exist as they are; not as nuisances to be exterminated in a numb existence, but as inseparable parts of his experience of life. It was love for his Master that brought him such pain, and Darren, and his father before that. He closes his eyes as another round of sensation flushes through his system, this time cool and relieving. He wants to explore these ideas further, but before he can open his eyes in his past, the present jerks him out of his slumber.
"MILL, MENYOO!" Mill's eyes open with newfound veracity, while his chest abruptly stands upright at attention. Menyoo's shoulders respond with the same fervor, ramming into Mill by mistake. Sbeit stands behind the two of them; his eyes commandeer a fierce look. "What are you two doing!?"
Mill looks to his side at Menyoo, but his shoulders had returned to a slouch, while his head droops, facing down at the floor of the shrine. He has a hand up to his face, cupping the eye closest to Mill with the palm of his hand. Mill can see tears glistening around his wrist, streaks fall freely down his other cheek. Menyoo's eyes turns to peer through his palm and look at Mill. He catches Mill looking through his fingers, and abruptly turns his head away and gets up from the shrine. He forces himself though the tight space, brushing passed Sbeit and knocking him aside in the process. Menyoo charges out into the main temple hall and hooks a left to the opposite corner out of sight. Mill looks to Sbeit next, angry with the interruption, "That was the first I have been able to meditate in weeks! What's the problem?"
Sbeit holds his hand out toward the shrine, palms facing up, "That is a Sith shrine! Don't you see the dragon carvings down the side? And that symbol on the very front? The black Sun. That is a Sith symbol of power."
Mill's eyebrows raise along with the tone of his following utterance, "Oh."