Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any part of the franchise; all rights and ownership belong to Disney.
A/N: I have been working on this Chapter since I last posted and it's been a rollercoaster. Not because I'm out of ideas, but because I have a lot rolling around in my head. A lot of this was write and rewrite; spitball and spitball some more; and swapping the placement of certain ideas. X_X I finally got to a place where I am not only satisfied with what I wrote, but I'm extremely excited to share it with you all.
Just an FYI, the Obi-Wan/Bo-Katan duo won't be around for much longer. Since this is gearing up for the Siege, Obi-Wan for obvious reasons must go away because his roll is elsewhere. Together, they were important to furthering the plot and drama. Giving you, the reader, a glimpse into the things that plagued Obi-Wan before the fall of Anakin and how the fight for Mandalore was doomed to fail. If you like their interactions together enough to ask for a side story let me know in the comments. I might be willing to write a piece. ;)
Can't wait to start working on the next chapter, it'll be a bumpy ride I'm sure.
Enjoy!
~ProphetessMinty
Chapter 17
How does one shape a destiny they cannot see? Is it wielded like a saber which melts and separates all it touches? Or, perhaps, it is like the flow of water, whose overwhelming torrent carves out the path? Was everything before and after this moment predestined—predetermined—by the will of the Force?
Obi-Wan did not know.
As his mind navigated the frenzy of erratic thought life, fighting for communion with the Force, he felt separated and overwhelmed. But he pressed on, not trusting the feelings of his immediate situation. Sleep was no longer an option, though his eyes were heavy. Today was a fight for peace; a slog for seeking truth. Something all around him was amiss.
Somehow, a great shadow had fallen on them long ago under a guise he could not see.
Undoubtedly, the Jedi Master had indeed uncovered something. And it was there in his hands. Obi-Wan could feel the smoothness of the box beneath his fingertips and picture the swirling designs behind his eyelids. He could even sense the darkness—the spice—within. What was its purpose in the grand scheme of things? The more he chased after the answer, the more the answer flitted away like a taunt.
"Come find me," it would whisper.
Obi-Wan fought to keep his eyes shut, and his thoughts steady. "I am one with the Force," he reminded himself. The seasoned Jedi pictured a doorway in his mind, concentrating on his thoughts flooding out into the hallway beyond, sealing him off from their distracting nature. "I am one with the Force," he reminded himself again. All around him, Obi-Wan imagined being enveloped in a room of light. There were no boundaries, only endless expanse. Gentle warmth flowing with power brushed past him like phantom touches, caressing him with a sense of peace. Far off voices greeted his ears. Tickling his mind. Bringing back old memories long lost to the depths of his subconscious.
There was a lesson for him to learn.
All eyes were concentrated on the center of the room where a single Jedi Master stood, his presence totally and completely captivating. His shoulder length hair was ash brown and greying with wisdom. His beard and moustache were short and well groomed. On his shoulders hung the mantle of his kind; a long, dark brown cloak. Upon his person, he was clothed in simple, tan garments which he wore like a banner of his confidence.
Qui-Gon Jinn was his name.
"He was trained in the Jedi arts. My only conclusion can be that it was a Sith Lord," the veteran Jedi spoke. His voice was a low, baritone, grumbly with sagely thoughtfulness. His blue eyes were soft, yet fierce. Their piercing gaze always held a twinkle of knowledge, like he held the secrets of the Force.
Members of the Council traded looks between themselves, concern growing within their numbers—their whispers. Ki-Adi-Mundi was the first to speak, his eyes creased with perplexity. "Impossible," he deflected while looking to Master Yoda for answers. "The Sith have been extinct for a millennium." Unwanted truth is always divisive, cutting through reality like the blade of a knife. The uncertainty of its striking sharpness is always painful, but not as agonizing until its full length is known.
Yoda frowned, his mouth scrunching with more creases.
"I...do not believe the Sith could have returned without us knowing," Mace Windu cut in. His dark and calloused hands were held together, his long fingers forming a thoughtful steeple. His normally hard stare and expression was soft as his brows rose apprehensively. Deep brown eyes met with Yoda's pensive gaze, searching for a silent confirmation.
Yoda nodded, solemnly, his long, pointed ears lifting ever so slightly. Turning away from his esteemed peer, he said, "Ah. Hard to see, the dark side is." The small Master, wiser and older than all the others, knew better than to assume the unlikely was out of reach. The dark side was forever crafty, and always secretive.
"We will use all our resources to unravel this mystery," Mace resumed with bold certainty. "We will discover the identity of your attacker. May the Force be with you."
Qui-Gon bowed, his focus still intently placed upon Yoda.
"Obi—" a familiar voice called. They sounded almost like Satine. "Obi-Wan." The Jedi in question could feel his focus slipping away, like a string being pulled from his hands. Obi-Wan tried to grab for it, not wanting to lose the answers he was so desperately close to understanding. Just as an elbow collided into his ribs, Obi-Wan's eyes snapped open, bringing him painfully back into the present. "We're here," she said.
Looking to his right, Obi-Wan focused on a pair of emerald pools. The hooded gaze looking back at him, normally a façade of spitfire bravery, was full of question and doubt. They seemed to soften, ever so slightly. He could feel the frown on his lips pull away, slackening off into stoic reserve. Obi-Wan watched as the redhead beside him tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, before looking away dismissively.
Bo quietly stood to her feet, resting her helmet between arm and hip, and walked down the cargo ramp. Light poured past her petite frame, causing Obi-Wan to put a shielding hand up against the harsh rays. Not wanting to be left behind, the Jedi stowed the spice box into the folds of his robes and stood to his feet.
By the time he reached the end of the plank, Obi-Wan could feel the sweltering heat of a Concordian morning. The desert was warmer than yesterday, causing trickles of sweat to travel down his back. Bo was already into the thick of camp, weaving around the tents. Trailing after her, Obi-Wan watched as she slipped through the flaps of a large tent—about the size of four small ones combined—that eclipsed all others.
He too entered in.
Inside the tent, there were three long tables perpendicular to the entrance. The outer lying benches were devoid of occupants save the center, which was packed with several Owls, Korkie, and Master Tiplee. Each of them talked amongst themselves, their chatter filling the tent with a rainbow of pleasantries. A brunette woman dressed in Owl attire, Obi-Wan did not know, went around setting the table.
Korkie and Tiplee were to the left of Bo, who stood at the end of the table, hunched over a holo-display. Her copper hair hung forward, washed in the glow of blue light. Obi-Wan had barely laid eyes on her, before she looked up, and motioned him over. He nodded and came to her side, just as the contents of the projection died out. Bo stood tall, shoulders straight, as she turned her attention to him. Her emerald eyes seemed to search him for a moment, something behind them working to find the words to speak.
"Korkie received intel from a source while in the market square in Sundari," she began. "According to our informant, they found caches of Spice and Mandalorian armaments tucked away in a supply house on Coruscant. The stockpile bore the mark of the 'Black Sun'."
Obi-Wan's brows furrowed with contemplation as his stare grew distant. Crossing his arms, the Jedi began stroking his beard. Spice. Weaponry. The Black Sun. What did these things have in common? As Obi-Wan thought hard, a mental image of yellow eyes rimmed with crimson came to his forethoughts.
What was Maul planning?
Absentmindedly, he slipped a hand into the folds of his robe and felt the spice box.
"How did Maul take over Mandalore in the first place?" Obi-Wan inquired. "I am well acquainted with his overall modus operandi, but this is information I have no knowledge of. He used Satine as leverage to seek me out and have me come here. The rest is an enigma to me."
"Before Death Watch took over Sundari," Bo started, "we—along with Maul—were conspiring with several factions of gangsters. The Pykes and the Black Sun—"
"Excuse me?" Obi-Wan interjected.
"Though Maul was head of operations for all parties included, Pre and I had other plans. Our insurgency," Bo appeared unfazed and pressed on, "was engineered to look like incompetence on my sister's part. While the gangsters appeared to take over the city with hostile force, Death Watch would round up the criminals, further exacerbating Mandalore's doubt against their Duchess." For a split second, Obi-Wan watched as Bo gave a sly grin. She seemed to appreciate the clever tactic.
The outrage deep within himself was instantly ignited. Pressurized by shock and bitterness, the heat of fury was set ablaze on both neck and cheek. Bo was no longer observing him, not aware of the visible ire within him fraying his restraint. Death Watch had unwittingly forfeited Satine's life. She was a martyr, murdered by the age-old enmity Darth Maul harbored toward him. The Sith Lord's revenge was venom—toxic and poisonous to those he struck.
"Maul believed he would be ruler," she scoffed, "but Pre had lied from the start. We were only using him. With Maul and his...apprentice...detained within our prison, Pre was able to stand in the spotlight as our new regent to Mandalore." Emerald eyes glittered with revelry, their gaze growing distant as they pictured a reality of revolution that never saw fruit. "Our people would no longer be a pacifist nation, but a body of warriors; restoring the old ways."
She held that joy for a moment more before it fell away into a doleful frown. "But things...did not go according to plan," she sighed. "Maul challenged Pre to a duel and he was bested." Unconsciously, Bo put a hand to her neck, massaging the area against the vision in her mind's eye. "He was decapitated. That's when things—"
"Bo," Obi-Wan said coolly, "get to the point."
Something in his voice caught the woman's attention, and she quickly scrutinized him with an owlish squint. Her expression, slightly taken aback at first, snapped into a poker face. Obi-Wan did not dare avert his glaring eyes. The tent had quieted as all conversation and the clanking of silverware came to an awkward halt. Everyone's attention focused on the void of tension that was Bo and him. It seemed to be a frequently recurring pattern between them.
They were like the solar flares of a blazing sun, always dancing and exploding around the epicenter of a greater source.
"My point," she enunciated, "is that if we can draw the connection between Maul, the gangs, and Mandalore, then we will have the proof the Council needs."
"Are you saying we're going to Coruscant to get this proof?" Obi-Wan questioned.
"No," Bo answered, not batting an eye. "Our informant will do that while we visit Ord Mantell."
"Why would we do that? What's on Ord Mantell?" he asked.
"That's the last known location my network of Owls tracked Maul to," she answered. "We will leave in one hour."
"Fine," he spat. Obi-Wan said nothing more as he spun on his heels, making a swift beeline to the exit.
"Obi-Wan," Bo called. "Kenobi!"
The Jedi's exodus from the meeting tent was expeditious and determined. His footsteps were harsh clomps, bordering indignant, as he tread the ground in a fast walk. More than anything, Obi-Wan wished the forsaken desert floor would leech the anger and the hurt from him. The information was like the blow of a dagger, sharp and biting. The pain of loss was leaking through yet again.
"Kenobi!" Bo yelled again. He could hear the crunch of her boots in the gritty dust, coming closer and closer to him. He should have known that she would come after him, even if it was to bicker. "Kenobi!" He did not bother to acknowledge her. "Wayii!" she said under her breath. Good grief! Bo jogged ahead of him and turned abruptly, effectively cutting him off from his path to seclusion. Putting her arms out, she shoved him back, and leaned forward with her chest puffed out.
"Hut'uun!" she yelled. Coward! "Quit acting like a wounded animal and face me like a man!"
"I am no coward. You of all people have no right to call me that," Obi-Wan attested, stepping forward. Meeting her eye-to-eye, he said, "Death Watch, and yourself included, practically signed Satine's death warrant! Who's the real coward?"
"Ne'johaa!" she yelled. Shut up! "I know!"
"How could you?" he asked as tears stung his eyes.
"I never wanted any of that to happen," she said defensively.
Putting the back of her hand up to her mouth, Bo choked back a sob that had threatened to break loose. Obi-Wan watched in silent shock as he fully realized the bite of his words and how deep they had cut. The warrior of the House of Kryze quieted, silently filtering through the emotions at war on her unhinged expression. The Jedi Master made a long sigh while raking a hand through his hair. As the buzzing of adrenaline through his system sloped off, Obi-Wan was unsure if he should apologize or stay silent.
Though Bo would never admit that he had wounded her, beneath the surface of her façade, there was something more.
A silent sorrow.
A self-loathing torment.
"I never planned for any of it to happen," Bo said, her eyes glistening. Whatever she had concluded internally caused a shield of steely stoicism to finally surface. Obi-Wan watched as the Mandalorian woman fixed the chink in her armor, fastening it in place with faux resolve. As she focused on him, meeting his blue-eyed gaze with steely sincerity, her jaw clamped shut. The muscles therein began to dance as she ground her teeth. "You don't need to remind me of my mistakes. I'm already paying for them!"
Obi-Wan's appearance softened. "That we are."
Obi-Wan watched mindlessly as ghostly streaks of starlight shot past the viewport, their tendrils almost endless. Beyond the light was a dark expanse of void that was deep, cold, and ancient. A chill ran through the Jedi Master, goosebumps dotting his skin, as he held himself. Since their departure from Concord Dawn, and its oppressively dry heat he had barely uttered a word. He was tapped emotionally like someone had flipped a switch.
The quietness he was experiencing was anything but peaceful.
He listened to the continuous buzzing of the ship and its various groans, taking notice in its subtle shifts and the way it settled. Not more than an hour ago, their Kom'rk class transport entered Mid Rim territory. Their trajectory was set for the Bright Jewel system, named after the blue gas giant at its center. Among its vast network of planets, Ord Mantell and its trio of moons lied in wait. Its celestial body was part of a famous smuggling trade route that hosted the roughest of peoples. Crime was more than prevalent; it was their way of life. It was a place governed by lawlessness and where justice had long turned into myth. Poverty was also rampant, a comorbid trait onset by the disease of malfeasance.
Obi-Wan frowned.
He thought of all the possibilities that awaited him and the others on a world left destitute by vile gangs and drug laundering. What would they see? What would they learn? He did not have much experience with the Black Sun, but something told him he did not want to. Suddenly the box in the folds of his robes felt heavy and he withdrew it carefully. His eyes barely studied its surface before the tip-taps of a pair of boots came from the distance. Turning to his right, Obi-Wan found a scarlet Mikkian woman walking toward him. Her expression was cautious as she looked at him.
"Is it okay to talk with you?" she asked softly. "I do not mean to disturb the peace."
"That's quite alright Master Tiplee," he said, waving her to him.
She nodded with a small smile and drew alongside him. He observed her for a moment and resumed his mindless gaze upon the universe, separated by a thick cut of transparisteel.
"Thank you for asking me along on this journey," Tiplee said, slightly nodding her head to the side. "It has done me some good."
"Oh? How do you mean?" Obi-Wan questioned, eyebrows raised.
"I know your motive was to show me a different perspective—a higher one—at that," she began. "That selflessly helping others, fills the void of pain within ourselves." Tiplee scoffed, the sound almost melodic. "Forgive me. My answer sounds quite mystical or aloof...maybe...though I do not mean it so."
Obi-Wan threw a quick glance to the Mikkian woman, taking extra notice of the way her cranial tendrils waved about like dancing ribbons in the wind.
"Since my sister's death, I have found it hard to fight against the anger and the hurt." Leaving his side, Tiplee intertwined her hands behind her back and began to pace. Obi-Wan watched the image of her reflection in the transparisteel, remaining quiet as he listened to her words. "Just when I think I'm good again and nothing can hurt me, it all comes rushing in afresh."
Obi-Wan sighed. His eyes flicked away from the viewport, choosing an abstract spot on the ship's hull to vaguely study. He knew exactly what she meant.
"What you two shared was a unique bond of sisterhood in the Force. Two different ends of the same strand. It is something I do not fully understand, myself." Obi-Wan turned to face his peer and watched as she halted her pacing. The scarlet woman was faced away from him, reflecting thoughtfully on the words that he spoke. Cautiously, he continued, his voice solemn and thoughtful. "I've only ever heard stories about what it's like for force-sensitives with strong bonds. Some reports have mentioned that even across the galaxy, a Jedi can sense the moment of their loved one's death."
"One source," he said meekly, "even equated it to the severing of a limb."
For a moment, Obi-Wan's thoughts shifted to Satine and his stomach flopped. He remembered the way their spirits harmonized with the Force, weaving a connection between them like three strands of a woven cord. Obi-Wan still felt their separation, the sensation unforgettable, like someone had cut the string of fate.
"It's true," Tiplee nodded. "I feel like a part of me is missing. I don't feel right."
"It's only natural that it would affect you, above all, differently," Obi-Wan surmised while glossing over his personal reverie.
"The harmony I once shared with my Sister can never be forgotten," she said, noting the bittersweet reality. "I think that was why I was so hurt by the anger. I was afraid of forgetting her...," Tiplee trailed off. The calmness in her voice was betrayed by the intonation of sudden frustration. Looking quickly to Obi-Wan, Tiplee's fanned cranial tendrils began to flick with agitation. "It feels like only yesterday, we were preparing side-by-side for the mission on Ringo Vinda. I can still picture and hear the synchronous marching of Clones and their noisome plastoid. I remember the smell of burned ozone and the way my gut wrenched."
Quickly, she added, "I can still hear that blasted Clone rambling 'Good Soldiers follow orders'."
"I felt—somewhat—similarly when my Master was killed," he began, though he flinched at her prejudiced words. "I was...not as prepared...as I had hoped. No one is, I don't think."
Tiplee's deep blue eyes dulled as a frown pulled at the corner of her lips. "Master Qui-Gon, is still missed, I sense."
"Yes, but in time the pain went away," Obi-Wan nodded. "The sting of death is not fresh like it once was and like all things it passed away into memory." Walking forward, the seasoned Jedi reached out toward his partner—his friend—and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Not everything in life makes sense. Though you and I are honored to flow in the Force, guided by its still small voice, we are just like everyone else. We too have emotions and faults we must bring under control. We must strive to find the balance between right and wrong; light and dark."
"I'm not sure I know what's right anymore. What's the point of all this loss? Why are we fighting so hard when we were meant to be peacekeepers?" she asked, her eyes beginning to glisten. "More than ever," Tiplee crooned woefully," I'm desperate to know if there's an end to all this madness."
Obi-Wan sighed, "I don't know if becoming leaders in an army was the right thing to do, but what I do know is this: for the hope of lasting peace, there are some things worth fighting for. Our goal is to fight when necessary to protect the innocent, the ones who cannot defend themselves. We also strive to protect and help the others who stand against the darkness in their own way. This is the right thing to do. Never before have the Jedi been more needed in the galaxy."
Tiplee sighed, "What you have spoken is true, but why is it so hard?"
"If doing the right thing was always easy, then more people would be apt to do it," Obi-Wan said, his hand falling to his side. "As Jedi, we have made the choice to live a hard life, but that does not mean it is not worth doing."
"And that is why I plan to lea—" Tiplee quieted as a pair of tip-tapping boots caught her attention.
Obi-Wan turned his attention down the meager corridor to observe their newest arrival and found Bo traversing the hallway with determined strides. Atop her normal regalia—bodysuit fitted with a Mandalorian iron called "beskar"—she wore an ebony poncho that draped to her knees. The material appeared durable and thick as it billowed behind her, the blue trim of the garment catching the incandescent light as it danced in and out of view. Bo's hands were held in front of herself, gripping tightly to a helmet that was painted in the colors of sky and cloud. As she walked forward, Obi-Wan noticed the marking above her T-visor looked like the glare of a Convor...or so he guessed.
Her expression would have been almost unreadable to most beings, except that he had come to recognize her owlish gaze for what it was. She had words to say and things to settle. Obi-Wan was unsure that he was ready to listen, but regardless of his desires, it was best to smooth things over now rather than later. They were, after all, partners on an active mission. Bo's support—as well as his—were integral to their mutual success. Personal feelings aside, they could not afford to let their individual agendas get in the way.
"Excuse me," Tiplee bowed before walking away.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Bo said before glancing over her shoulder for a quick moment.
He shook his head, "Not at all."
"Good," she nodded. "We're about to descend into Ord Mantell's atmosphere. Just thought you should know."
"Thank you," he nodded back.
The air between them suddenly turned awkward and stale. For a moment, they stared at each other. Not with animosity, but in the way that broken people coming to terms with hard truths often do. There was no shouting. There were no fiery exchanges of vitriol. Just two people working to protect themselves from a wound that had not yet healed.
"We have to focus on finding Maul and helping Mandalore," Bo finally began, "Not Satine. Just the mission."
"Agreed," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Just as Bo brought her helmet up above her shoulders, a smirk came to her lips. Her emerald eyes looked him up and down, the action resembling a moving turbolift. "And work on being less distracting," she poked sardonically, "Jedi aren't exactly welcome around here." After securing the headgear to herself, Bo shrugged past him, and yelled, "Find Korkie, he's got something more suitable for you to wear."
Obi-Wan looked down his front while pulling at the hem of his robes with both hands. A frown came to his lips and he huffed. Trudging down the opposite direction, the Jedi went in search of his new attire.
The moment they docked in Ord Mantell City they were greeted by a rough looking Rodian accompanied by a couple of wobbly Pit-droids. Obi-Wan sat on an unmarked crate and watched as Bo-Katan strode down the gangplank with the confidence of a leader. If it were not for that soldierly swagger she so naturally carried, Bo would have looked regal.
For a few minutes, Obi-Wan quietly observed the Mandalorian woman in her element. Bo haggled with the Bay Chief for a short time before patting the WESTAR-35 blaster pistol attached to her hip. Obi-Wan chuckled underneath the helmet he wore, his amusement unheard by the outside world. Anakin had a phrase that came to mind, one that Bo was acting out splendidly—"aggressive negotiations".
As the beskar-disguised Jedi sighed, his thoughts turned to his former Padawan. It had been a couple days since he had heard from Anakin. Just as he thought to send a communication to his comrade—his brother—reality began to bend and shift around him as he felt the Force coalesce within himself.
The vision came on the tide of rolling fog, the voices of old memory fading in and out of focus. At first, they were whispered staccatos, but then they soon crested into almost palpable crescendos. Obi-Wan remained still on the crate and concentrated his breathing as he closed his eyes. After breathing deep, he would exhale a long breath, repeating the process until his thoughts embraced the apparition of ghosts-past.
An image of piercing, yellow eyes rimmed with scarlet rage came into the lens of his scrutiny. Under the shroud of darkness, a mystery with a crown of horns was unveiled, as an obsidian hood was pulled away. Before him stood a male Zabrak, his skin red like blood and his body tattooed with onyx ink. This was no ordinary man, he completely eclipsed the means of a mere mercenary or an assassin.
He was Darth Maul.
Obi-Wan's face tightened with uncertainty as he remembered the zeal of his youth. He could picture his younger self standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his Master, determined to bring about the crushing defeat of their enemy. How could they not? They had done it so many times before, what made this trial any different?
The clashing sound of rebounding sabers and their unmistakable snap-hiss thundered in his ears like a symphony of combat. Suddenly, Obi-Wan was no longer on Ord Mantell, but on the planet of Naboo in the capital of Theed a long time ago.
Within the belly of royal palace, down a hall and into the expansive network of Theed's power generator complex, a convergence in the Force collided. Where the light met the dark, hungry sabers crackled and sparked. A single blade of emerald rivaled against crimson saberstaff like indomitable forces of nature. Snap-hiss! Crack! They were locked in a combat of wills, swinging for life, swinging for death.
Master Qui-Gon Jinn devoted his defensive and offensive techniques against the Zabrak-Sith before him. The veteran Jedi wrestled for dominance, the strenuous power struggle requiring him to work to obtain and maintain the footholds he so easily gained and lost. His attempts came in the form of slashes and jabs; blocks and strikes coupled with pure strategy.
Snap-hiss! Crack!
Qui-Gon focused his efforts on driving Darth Maul down the causeway, traversing the length of the platform quickly and efficiently. With every step forward, the Sith-Apprentice would take every step back. His plan was simple: narrow the playing field. The Zabrak fought with the strength of three Force-users and without Obi-Wan by his side, it was more like two-against-one.
Several floors below, Obi-Wan watched as his Master and enemy scrambled down a corridor and out of sight. Crouching low, the young Jedi's muscles clenched tightly before shooting upward like volleyed artillery. He could feel the cool wind whipping past his face as he arched up and over the bridge. Obi-Wan did not remember the moment his feet touched the ground or even when he took off running. He could only recall the desperation that hammered in his chest, threatening to burst through as he practically flew across the complex to rejoin his master's side.
Master and Apprentice were leagues—and battlefields—apart.
By the time Obi-Wan reached the end of the passage, beads of sweat poured down his face. Fear shot down his spine like a jolt of electricity. Though his palms were sweaty, his feet achy, and his joints smarting; the Padawan took his first several steps down the corridor of transformation. The high-rise of the foyer erupted in scarlet light only moments before the end of Qui-Gon was fully realized.
The vision faded into darkness before revealing the expansive Council Chamber. The room was swathed in the deep, warm sherbet of Coruscant's evening dusk. Obi-Wan stood near a wide arching window, with Mace Windu standing before him. Some feet away, Master Yoda sat in a chair, his countenance clearly troubled.
They all were.
"Do you believe what Count Dooku said, about Sidious controlling the senate? It doesn't feel right," Obi-Wan asked. His thoughts went back to Geonosis, to the duel that cost Anakin his arm and Obi-Wan his peace. They would have died had it not been for Master Yoda's intervention. A rare sight it was to behold, to witness the duel of a Master [Yoda] and former Apprentice [Dooku].
But where was his new Sith Master?
"Joined the dark side Dooku has," Yoda stated, his voice low and gravelly. Pointing toward his companions, he continued, "Lies. Deceit. Creating mistrust are his ways now." The legendary Master's long, green pointed ears twitched in response to the proclamation as a frown set on his wrinkly lips.
"Nevertheless, I feel we should keep a closer eye on the senate," Mace Windu confirmed wisely.
"I agree," Yoda stated.
The proceeding conversation died out to a whisper as the Council Chamber faded out of sight. Obi-Wan scrunched his eyes, trying to focus his hearing with the Force. His grasp was slipping, but he was starting to remember this moment. It was just after the very start of the Clone Wars when the clone army was deployed to save him, Anakin, and [then] Queen Amidala from the Petranaki Arena of Justice.
"I am one with the Force," he reminded himself.
"I have to admit that without the Clones, it would not have been a victory," Obi-Wan stated with strong opinion. Though he was initially wary of the troops, secretly cultivated with Jango Fett's genetics in Kaminoan laboratories, they were extremely resourceful. They may have the same face, but they each had different signatures in the Force. This paradoxical conundrum, however, was a matter for another day.
"Victory?" Yoda questioned indignantly. "Victory, you say? Master Obi-Wan…not victory. The shroud of the dark side has fallen. Begun, the Clone War has."
Just as the vision ended, Obi-Wan's eyes opened. A sneaking suspicion had begun to rattle his brain. One that caused his stomach to flop uncomfortably. The themes of this latest revelation surrounded the concept of "opposites".
A duel for life.
The balance was weighed.
A duel for death.
The balance was measured.
A duel for truth.
Something was gained.
A duel for deceit.
Something was lost.
As Obi-Wan pondered these things, the voices of Korkie and Tiplee caught his attention. Chancing a glance over his shoulder, he found the pair removing the tarps off of speeder bikes nestled underneath. They seemed jovial, enjoying one another's company. Hopping off the crate, he decided to join them.
As he strode to the back of the cargo hold, Obi-Wan noticed that Korkie's longish hair had been cut short and slicked back. He was clad in beskar and a poncho just like his Aunt, though he was much brawnier than Bo. Clipped to his belt was his helmet, which click-clacked with every move he made. Unlike the young man beside her, Master Tiplee seemed to have settled for a simple jumpsuit and vest, the look reminiscent of a dock worker.
"I must admit," Korkie confessed, "my view of Jedi has been quite…skewed. I have only met one other before now, and the second my Auntie Satine only ever talked about."
"Oh? Who were they?" Tiplee chuckled, the sound almost like chimes.
"The first was Ahsoka Tano," he laughed, "She came to Sundari one day and taught a class at the Academy as a substitute teacher." Laughing again, he said, "Despite the fact she looked as young as us, she spoke like someone way older than we were. Though I heard news that she is no longer a Jedi." Korkie sighed as he ripped a tarp off at the top of a speeder bike.
"The Padawan Tano?" the Mikkian inquired as if her ears deceived her. "Oh dear, the poor girl left the Order under horrible circumstances." Tiplee hugged herself as a frown appeared on her lips.
"That's terrible news," he said, letting the cover drop to the floor. "Well that couldn't be much worse than the stories my Auntie Satine used to talk about. She used to tell me about the wild adventures she had with a Jedi that changed everything for her. She and he fell madly in love. That was until he disappeared. The way she spoke of him, it was almost as if he was a ghost. Then one day, not so long ago, he showed up again."
"But that kind of thing is forbidden for the Jedi. Attachments are not allowed," she said with concern. "Do you know who he was?"
Just as Obi-Wan came to a standstill to the left of Tiplee, Korkie hopped onto a speeder and locked gazes with Obi-Wan. His blue eyes searched Obi-Wan's, unblinking and full of meaning. "I don't know, Master Tiplee," he said with feigned defeat. As his eyes darted to the ground, he said, "Perhaps, Master Obi-Wan would know. He and Auntie Satine went way back."
The Mikkian woman turned to her Jedi counterpart, a puzzled expression on her face. "Master Kenobi, what does he mean?"
"It was a very long time ago," he explained, "on a mission to save the Duchess from certain death."
She shrugged, not picking up the undertone of hidden meanings. "I didn't know you've been to Mandalore before."
Obi-Wan stroked his beard, "It was a mission where I found much more than I expected." His thoughts dwelled on Satine for a moment more, before being drawn to the image of the ornate box in his armor's breast pocket. "And I'm beginning to feel this mission will be as well."