"Bleeding a lightsaber" Menyoo reads, whispering the first few lines of the sinister text under his breath, "Reputed to have an indomitable penchant for the light side of the force, the Kyber crystal—power source for Jedi weaponry—exerts a will of its own. It is tradition for an apprenticed Sith to acquire the lightsaber of a Jedi felled by his or her own blade, and bleed the newly acquired saber. Through this process, the Sith desecrate the purity of the Jedi's most cherished allies— the Kyber crystals themselves. This is not a mere quixotic ritual; but a test of a budding Sith's own will against that of nature in its purest form." Menyoo stops reading to look indiscriminately into the air and yell, "Are you tricking us!? This ritual as you call it reeks of a trap."
A sickly silence settles on the cave as Menyoo's echoes cease after several repeated booms of his fearful reproach. The presence of D.G, an electrifying thrum of ancient energy, has either exited the tomb, or concealed itself in the shifting shadows along the torch-lit walls. Mill says to Menyoo, "I think he is gone. Maybe for good, maybe not, but this parts up to us now. I have a theory. It says here at the bottom that a Sith agent must empty all of his pent-up hatred, rage, and bloodlust into the saber in order to bleed it. That is what makes it turn red. But D.G. said our next step is to train ourselves to embrace emotions that counter things like hate and anger. Maybe if we focus on that, then something different will happen. Maybe it's a test."
Menyoo responds ardently, "And maybe we'll lose ourselves in the process! What if this, I don't know, corrupts us? Turns us evil?"
"That is why I will be doing it alone." Menyoo does not know how to respond, so he blankly stares at Mill instead. He does not want to partake in the ritual, and he has made that clear, but letting Mill volunteer to go at it alone seems cruel. Mill continues speaking before Menyoo is able to sort his feelings on the matter, "He said we should do it together, but there is a chance you are right and this is a trick. I will do it alone, I have made up mind."
Immediate relief calms Menyoo's nerves, followed by a wave of guilt. He should at least fight the idea. If Mill changes his mind due to light opposition, then he was not certain enough to begin with. Menyoo makes a single impassioned attempt at changing Mill's mind, "You heard him, he could have taken over your body before, permanently. But he chose not to? If he is evil, and we already know he was a Sith, then he may just be waiting for his power to grow through this crazy ritual. This could turn out really bad! Is it so important that we do this?"
Mill answers calmly, which both startles and impresses Menyoo considering the gravity of his following statement: "It is important. Regardless of his intention, it is a test for myself. If the force is truly on my side, then it will ensure my safety and success. My love and compassion will have to win over the dark side's wicked intentions. If I cannot succeed, if I bleed the crystal red like a Sith would, I am too far gone and I must be stopped. That is where you come in Menyoo. Whether D.G. tries to corrupt me, or I become instable, the first sign of trouble, I want you to cut me down. Before D.G. or I can hurt anyone. We cannot allow evil to escape this cave. I'm leaving that grueling task to you. Do not hesitate. You know what to look for."
Menyoo is speechless. Mill really trusts him this much? And furthermore, he is willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of this test? Mill's dedication to the force has always seemed like more of a pass-time to Menyoo: a choice based on a lack of interest elsewhere. For the first time, his true dedication becomes apparent to Menyoo. This must be what my Uncle sees in him, Menyoo thinks to himself. His thoughts return to pessimism as reality settles on the perceiving edge of his conscious, and now Mill is counting on me of all people. Menyoo's nerves flare once again, but by way of their spark, a small flame grows in his belly. If Mill can approach adversity with boundless courage, as Menyoo has seen on several occasions, then he too must rise to the occasion. Menyoo is still without words, but manages a confident nod, and prepares himself for whatever may come.
Mill turns back to the book, reads it for a few moments longer, then hands it to Menyoo. He makes his way to the middle of the tomb, where he sits down cross-legged and pulls out his lightsaber. With determination written across his face, he poises for his embarkment into the spiritual; but before he is able to start the ritual, Menyoo interrupts, "Hey wait, it says you are supposed to use a fallen Jedi's weapon." Menyoo digs into the wrapped bed sheet he tied around himself and pulls out the lightsaber from Socorro—the one he took off the assassin's corpse—and holds it out toward Mill, "besides, you can't risk your own." Mill stares at it expressionless, then shifts his eyes down to the old hilt laying in his lap. Menyoo tries harder to convince him, "You said you were going to throw it away anyway, but you forgot about it. If we need to use a lightsaber, and this one better fits the description, we might as well use it. We could always leave it after." Mill contemplates the decision for a few seconds. Once he makes up his mind, he reaches his hand out quickly and grabs the hilt decisively from Menyoo's outstretched hands.
Mill puts his personal lightsaber away, and lays the fallen Jedi's weapon flat across his open palms. He closes his eyes and begins again, entering into a light, meditative state. Before he is fully invested, Menyoo interrupts once again, "Hey wait. Mill, it says here you are supposed to grip it with both hands just below the emitter." Mill opens a single eye to deliver a warning glare to Menyoo, but he is too busy reading from the book to notice: "'Grasp the blade just under the emitter, with enough mental and physical tenacity prepared to steal its life, like you would around an enemy's throat. The crystal's will can only be shattered by a callous disregard for its own free will. Squeezing the last shred of dignity as it squirms under your,' oh jeez, this sounds brutal. Are you sure you wanna—"
—"Enough Menyoo, I will do this my own way. Quiet please." Menyoo obliges, witnessing the ceremony with fragile optimism; his hand tightly grips his own lightsaber, with hope that he will not have to make the decision entrusted to him. Mill resumes the ritual. After closing his dissuasive eye and breathing in one last gulp of the musty, tomb air, he falls headlong into a communion with the blade—with which an attempt was made on his life.
Mill is led into an immersive dream akin to his experience at the Sith shrine on Xagobah. Like Xagobah, his perspective has shifted into that of a fleeting dream-like state of consciousness. He awakes in a cavern, different than the one he began in: Walls of jagged rock bathed in warm torchlight are replaced by thick, ancient walls of dense ice lit by a soft, blue light that shines through each iridescent layer. The piercing light refracts through each layer in a multitude of directions for the next layer to scramble—leaving wavy blue lines dancing on the wall opposite from the obscured origin of the light.
Mill knows exactly where he is. The ice caves of Illum; the place where fledgling Jedi trainees search for kyber crystals to mine, then extract, to become the power source for their lightsaber. Mill looks down at himself to see which form he has taken. This is not a memory: he is his normal, adult self. This must instead be a vision, but for what purpose? He wonders.
An unforgiving chill creeps into Mill's body, numbing his bones and slowing his thoughts. It is unlike the cold, temple attic in Xagobah; that cold was synthetic and malicious—a symptom of Sith influence. Illum is different. This cold is natural and pure, powerful, untainted and untamed. Mill rubs his hands together then plunges them into his clothing, to no avail. The clothing has no effect, nor does the place itself: it is merely a phenomenon of the vision. The force behind this trip included the cold with purpose, and no amount of meddling on Mill's part will change it.
Mill follows the path aimlessly as he makes this way through the narrow caves, guided by sheer walls of ice on either side. There are no alternative routes, no forks or intersections, so he continues forward, trudging through the exhausting frost. After a minute of walking, he begins to feel a faint sensation from within. Although the feeling is slight, he figures it must be important if the simulated cold left every other sensation numb. He hustles forward in fear of losing the signal, and the source with it. The feeling grows stronger the farther in he travels, slowly manifesting into an all too familiar feeling that Mill would have preferred never to revisit.
An unknown energy binds him to whatever lies ahead, guiding him forward through the glistening cavern. The sensation eerily resembles what he felt during his duel with the assassin, before his opponent was drained of his force abilities, and Mill, of his energy and motivation. The difference between then and now: the energy-tether attaching Mill to the thing ahead is less biased than the one on Socorro. During the duel it felt like the force power originated from within Mill, with a hook on the opposite end stuck into the assassin. In the present vision, the construct is barbed on both ends, bringing the two selected beings to a common point in the middle. Mill shakes his head, wary of reaching the common point; he trudges on regardless.
The path opens into a small room, less than half the size of the tomb where his physical body awaits him. He steps lightly into the room and inspects it. A large ice stalagmite stands in the center, thinning in the middle, with thickening limbs that join with the stalactite above it. The walls are smooth and translucent, with a dim blue glow that breathes through the icy sheets that encapsulate the room—like being in a hallowed glacier submerged in a bioluminescent ocean. The ground is one solid slab of white, without a single imperfection, as if the chamber had never been discovered before today.
There are no tunnels leading out of the room; this must be the vision's intended destination. He looks behind him to plan his escape if the need arises, to find that the tunnel he entered from is no longer present. Seeing no other option, he takes a bold step forward into the room. As he places his foot down, the tether yanks at his right side, as if the thing to which he is attached suddenly shifted position. He flexes to secure his own, then turns his head toward the source of the pull and finds the object he was compelled to discover. Against a swelling body of accumulated ice sits a chest-like structure–also made of ice—surrounded by clusters of more ice with ends whittled down to sharp tips. A blue glow resonates from the center, similar in color to the various blue lights throughout the caves, but concentrated to a small object contained in the center of the block.
As Mill approaches the chest, the force construct directing him becomes more focused: as if it were a thinning leash, pulling at a more precise point on Mill, but with the same amount of force. This helps Mill distinguish the direction of the pull more clearly; the small object contained in the ice is his target. Could it be a kyber crystal? He wonders to himself. This was not Mill's experience when mining one all those years ago; although, it is not uncommon for visions to be more symbolic than practical. He steps within reaching distance and receives his answer.
A moment of understanding passes between the two entities fitted to opposing ends of the shackles that bind them. Mill learns in that moment that he is communing with the crystal fitted to the assassin's blade, and the crystal in turn analyzes Mill back. What initially feels like a peaceful meeting, quickly turns into an apathetic battle for survival: Whatever it is the crystal saw in Mill, it did not like. The hooks set in both Mill and the crystal activate. With a fit of searing pain, a flash of images force their way into Mill's vision, concealing the background of whites and blues with a blurry array of intense colors.
The images are aggressive, but abstract and difficult to interpret. Mill cannot decisively pick out relatable content in either of the images forced on him, but a message is communicated nonetheless: the crystal trapped in the ice is hurt and afraid. Mill can tell that the pain and misery is being transmitted directly from the kyber crystal itself: an actualization of its will through the force. As images continue to bombard Mill, the associated emotions become more distinct: Betrayal, corruption, pollution, and beguilement are all prevailing themes.
Mill tries to fight back, but every bit of energy he musters arrives from desperation, which the crystal senses, and consequently lashes out with more defiance, fueled by a primordial fear too sublime for Mill to empathize with. Mill pushes harder, but any progress is stunted by a fitting reaction from the crystal. The crystal's energy is unadulterated, clean and sincere, and moves with the stubborn force of nature. Mill's energy is an inferior antithetic—synthetic, and tainted by mortal anxieties and chronophobic caprice.
The battle develops into a matter of attrition. They are interlocked in an intense emotional struggle, back and forth—action and negation. Resting his hands against the block of ice, Mill strains to overpower the combatant energy, pouring forth his will to tranquilize the crystal inside. He does not want to hurt it, but he must make it stop—at least long enough to find a peaceful means of progressing.
Mill begins to gain the upper hand, and digs in on the advantage. He strives his head forward, as if ramming it through a force field; every centimeter he progresses, the weaker the crystal becomes. He manages to push through until his head hovers just above the edge of the block, at which point the crystal begins to wail in agony. The scream is heard directly in his mind, dripping with anxiety and pain, causing an intense feeling of dread to coat every bit of Mill's exposed body, like a phantom chill in an insensate simulacrum.
The crystal is hurting, and Mill is the present cause. He cannot back down, or it will press its own advantage. Then what happens? He continues to press forward, with equal parts pity and determination. I'm not evil, Mill thinks in his head, but his message is not received by the agonized kyber crystal beneath him. He keeps it at bay, writhing underneath, as he considers how he should proceed. The struggles ensues until Mill lets up just long enough for the crystal to respond with a surge of will-power, morphing its scream into a shout and forcing Mill to his knees. He holds on and fights back, matching its desperation.
A crack forms down the front of the ice block, and the crystal reacts with more fear, and an even louder scream than before, adding an active migraine onto the list of pains that burden Mill's oneiric body. The two sides remain in an internecine stalemate. Mill lowers his head toward the ground and closes his eyes; he focuses all his strength and will into a final attempt to subdue the kyber crystal.
As Mill prepares for another strong offensive, an old voice instructs him from behind, "You are too aggressive with it. It is scared and alone. Show it compassion, not power. I have taught you to be how you are. For that, I am at fault. Be better." Mill's eyes widen and his teeth begin to chatter. The feelings of pain lessen as his attention shifts toward the voice emanating from behind.
"Master!?" Mill turns toward the source, but nothing is there. The pain flares again as the crystal intensifies its assault. "Ughhhh.. Ahhhhh!" The pain lowers him to the crystal's height. He hunches over his knees, grasping the side of the block to steady himself as he holds back the crystal's onslaught long enough to make sense of what he heard.
The voice returns, "I have become more than just your Master. Listen to me, you must pacify this crystal. Make your intentions clear and known. Be sincere. Do not do this for you, or for the mission. Do it for the galaxy, or truth, or whatever drives you. Show it you care, and that you mean it no harm. Perhaps, do it for Menyoo."
Tears form in Mill's eyes. Hearing Corovack's voice was more painful than the Crystal's attacks. And he knows about Menyoo; he must be watching over them. A calm settles over Mill, despite the pain and exhaustion. He thinks about Menyoo standing above him now. What could he be thinking? What is happening in the real world? If Mill's struggle is apparent to Menyoo, and he has not killed him yet, then Menyoo too must be conflicted. Mill should have never given Menyoo that task: he will never forgive himself if he kills Mill by his judgement alone. He will second guess himself every day forward, and follow down a dark path, just as D.G. foretold. Mill cannot let that happen.
Thinking of Menyoo, and the crystal—along with the undue pain it has been subjected to—Mill stands up boldly, stoically blocking the surge of pain forming at the base of his skull. He places both hands over the ice block and wills it not to obey, but to rest. He thinks positive thoughts and exerts what he can through images of his own, transmitting them to the crystal:
Memories of trips into Vakeyya with Darren; lightsaber training with Corovack at the academy; his first piloting mission with Drew-Keel after becoming a full jedi; the few times he can remember smiling and laughing with Sbeit; and lastly, a string of back and forth teasing between him and Menyoo. His memories grow somber as he continues to recall his past: Mill crying as he is handed to Darren as a young child; the jedi dragging Mill away from Darren's body; a moving heart to heart he and Corovack shared about the families they left behind; the day of Corovack's accident; a nasty fight between him and Sbeit shortly after he became a full Jedi, one that kept them silent for years; and lastly the killing of the Makurth on Moltok.
Thinking back on all these memories leaves Mill vulnerable and emotionally drained, especially after hearing Corovack's voice behind him. The crystal does not take advantage. It instead returns Mill's sentiments with a slew of its own visuals. They were the same pictures as before, but Mill could make them out much more clearly. They are still not quite images—which would make sense seeing as it is a crystal incapable of sight—but instead abstract depictions of feelings resulting from things that happened in its past. Betrayal, corruption, duplicity; it all adds up. The jedi who the crystal chose became a murderer, killing in secret behind the council's back for high-level members of the senate—and for his most recent job, a high-council member. His every target was killed by a will of greed, dispatched by a weapon powered by the unwilling crystal. The assassin forced his will on the crystal, betrayed its trust, and robbed it of its purity.
The two understand one another, and a period of peaceful inactivity allows both a moment's rest. Mill backs up from the frozen block and faces an open palm toward the crystal. Inserting a bit of willpower on the tether between the two, Mill gently urges the crystal toward him, giving it the option to come or remain where it is. The crystal wiggles a bit in its icy prison. After carving out space from within the block, it shimmies its way through the ice, breaking through the top layer with ease and levitating above the chest. Mill opens both palms and holds them out in front of him facing up. The crystal floats above his palm, then lowers to rest in Mill's right hand.
Mill closes his fingers around it and feels the crystal melt, warming his hands where it seeps into his skin. The warmth crawls along his body, warming his extremities first before working its way toward the center of his body. Comfort and relief settle over the tired old Jedi as he sits down against the ice chest, leaning his arm against one of the spiky ice spears jutting out of a crystal to his right. The warmth coalesces into a fuzzy membrane that surrounds his body, enabling a comfortable equilibrium to lull his eyes closed as he relaxes against the ice. The feeling of warmth extends out of his body into the world around him. Even the icy-cold ground becomes hot under where he sits. The block against his back melts from behind him until nothing remains to hold him up; As condensation drips onto his back, so too does sweat from his forehead.
Mill opens his eyes to a jarring change of scenery. He is back in the cave on Jaguada. The assassin's lightsaber sits in his palm like before, but his hands are sweaty, along with the rest of the body. His clothing hugs his drenched skin as he jerks himself forward. He does not have long to assess the situation around him—like being awaken by a provocative alarm.
Menyoo yanks at Mill's arm to pick him up as unexplained gusts of wind twist belligerently from behind. Wailing rings out from the typhoon, whipping around in the current as a steady supply of echoes join the chaos, forming a chorus of cacophonous moaning. Mill instinctively pulls back against Menyoo's grab, prompting an initial look of irritation, followed by a revelation and immediate relief, "Oh great, you're awake. We need to go now!"