CHAPTER 23

Novel Reality

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

Destral, 14 BBY

Aboard the Fury

Xur could tell Trilla didn't like having so many people aboard and poking around her ship, and he imagined he'd be no different. It had become her home in a sense, a place in which she could privately be herself without the prying eyes of others, hence why she had shut and locked her room from anyone who was curious enough to wander inside. Rava had also complied with her less obvious security requests, but mostly everyone was just assembled around the holotable, and she had transferred direct control to him for now.

The planet Nur was displayed at the center of the table, rotating for all to see. "As most all of us already know, Fortress Inquisitorious is the Empire's most isolated and impenetrable detention facility. It was built specifically to hold Jedi and Jedi alone, and it is run by some of the most ruthless individuals in the galaxy. Only one has ever escaped."

He stepped back, and Trilla leaned forward, standing just beside him. "Based off what Xur and I know, as well as experience, there is no obvious entry point into the Fortress aside from the landing pad, which retracts on command. That's without mentioning that inside, their security systems can have the entire fortress sealed within sixty seconds, which were measures put in place after Cere Junda managed to escape," she explained, and she held strong as she was forced to relive that experience.

"You haven't even brought up the fleet that can rain a shitstorm upon us anyway," Brutis added, his arms crossed, and certainly had not committed to anything, even with the nature of his current debacle. Still, Xur had a feeling the former Commander would be all-in on raiding the place he obviously hated so much.

"That should not be a problem should I be present in the Valkyrie," Vorchenko interjected. "Although I do not have superior protocol in that sector. Lord Vader can personally waive any orders I give, but I do not plan on maintaining my guise for much longer."

Xur narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Yes. After what I've seen here…the time for hiding is over. I plan on accepting the Imperium's offer once this mission is through."

"You're that confident we will succeed?" Trilla asked, who sounded skeptical.

"Not without merit," she admitted. "This planning is truly a moot point now. The simple fact is that we need more people to pull this off. I do not mean an army, more specialists. People who are experts in their fields, namely infiltrators and saboteurs."

Xur liked that idea more than Trilla seemed to. More hands to pull this off would be imperative to the mission's success, the only question being who would be stupid enough to join them.

"Raven and the rest of the 502nd would be a good place to start," Xur suggested, and only Brutis seemed to have a problem with that. "We'll just have to find them."

"I can assist you with that endeavor," Vorchenko offered.

"Great," he thanked, and then turned to Trilla, who only shrugged.

"You look at me like you believe I have any friends," she flatly stated. "How many do you think we will need anyhow? I'd argue the smaller we are, the better."

Xur pondered that. "Well…Anakin, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka and I…" he explained, and she bristled at the sound of her name, to which he ignored. "…took about eight clones when we hit the Citadel. That seemed to be enough. With us, and Vorchenko in orbit, that's four, plus around three to five with Raven and his fireteam. That's eight most likely."

Vorchenko cocked her head. "What about Cal Kestis and his crew? That's at least three more, if I recall."

Trilla scoffed. "I thought you said we needed specialists, not trainees."

"Kestis has proven quite adept at evading the eyes of the Empire thus far," the Admiral noted. "He knows inquisitors, and Cere Junda has escaped before."

Xur stepped in before Trilla lost perspective. "But they wouldn't join us without good reason anyhow. They don't have much of a stake in a suicide mission, not if they get the holocron."

Vorchenko sighed. "All valid points."

It was unfortunate, but it was true. They had no reason to help them with such a daring mission, despite what Cal, Merrin, Greez and Cere could all bring to the table. Once they had the holocron, they'd be more concerned with finding force-sensitives instead of raiding an impenetrable fortress.

Not to mention Cal and Trilla's still potent rivalry.

Unless he could convince them that those goals were aligned, they'd be doing this without them. In fact, so far, they only had Trilla, he and Vorchenko on board.

"What are your thoughts, Brutis?" he asked. "Is this something you're interested in?"

His eyes went straight to Trilla, and Xur could sense the distaste he still had for her, but underneath that was a personal conflict that he held himself responsible for. It was difficult to place, but Xur felt that Brutis had a stake in this that was stemmed far deeper than any of them realized, and it showed with his response.

"I've always hated this fucking place," he grumbled. "Never seen so many children dressed like men in one setting. If you've got some master plan to sink it to the bottom of that wretched ocean, I'm in. The odds aren't a concern to me, but your Admiral is right. We will need more to send these cunts to a watery grave."

"What about a massive bomb?" Petro chimed in, and all eyes were on him. "Why don't we just sneak in and blow the whole thing up before anyone notices?"

Xur smirked to himself, as that was his original idea.

"Easier said than done," Trilla shot down. "We'd never make it in without being seen."

"Master E-…Xur snuck past you, didn't he?" Petro noted, his arms crossed.

The zabrak chuckled. "That only works if they don't expect it, or if they're secretly still in love with you."

Trilla let out a heavy sigh. "Fuck you, sweetheart."

"Love you too," he slickly answered back. "Anyhow, I'm sure that place has been outfitted to detect when someone is disguised now that they know what I did. We're going to need more people, that's just a fact, since they certainly will find us one way or another."

Trilla agreed. "The 502nd then. Where are they?"

Vorchenko stepped forward, messing with the display. "On Kashyyyk, currently, holding off an Imperial assault on a refinery Guerra's partisans have taken. Their expertise has turned the tide, but…"

"I almost traveled there," Trilla revealed. "Before we diverted to Zakuul. Kestis had assisted Guerra in taking it from the Empire. Since, they've tenaciously defended their position."

The Admiral nodded in confirmation. "I'd give them two, three days before the Empire finally breaks them."

"Then that's where we go," Xur pointed, but subtly turned to Trilla. "Right?"

Trilla smirked his way. "Great to see you still respect whose ship this is. Rava, set a course for Kashyyyk."

"Very well," Vorchenko nodded as Rava rolled away. "In the meantime, I will return to my ship. I have some unfinished business to attend to regarding a potential annoyance."

As Brutis and Petro paced away to speak alone, Vorchenko pulled over her backpack and dug inside. "Before I leave, however, I believe these belong to you," she pulled out two lightsaber hilts, and Xur felt as if he had seen a part of himself come back from the dead. He hadn't laid eyes on the blades that had cut down half the droid army since his mission had begun, and a tear almost rolled down his face.

Trilla's hands massaged his shoulders in support as she came up behind him, her joy for him just as strong as his, and he reached out and took them both into one hand. They were just as he remembered as he split them apart, letting his grip settle in.

"Thanks, Reyna," he said, letting his arms drop.

She tipped her head. "I trust we shall we working together again, Suduri?"

Trilla nodded. "Of course, Admiral."

Vorchenko turned on her heel after a last acknowledgement and exited the ship, leaving the two of them alone for now. Trilla breathed deeply and wrapped her arms around him from behind, letting her chin rest on his shoulder.

"I remember you swinging those brutish things around," she remarked, and her voice in his ear along with her embrace was an amazing feeling, on top of having his hilts once again.

"You liked it," Xur scoffed.

Trilla giggled, and then kissed the nape of his neck. "I did."


Stinger Mantis, 14 BBY

Hyperspace

Cal splashed his face with warm water before shutting off the sink, drying his skin with the small towel at his side. Dressed in dry clothing at last, he let his face sink into the fabric for a moment, letting the feeling of comfort it granted persist for a moment longer. Surviving a bout of hypothermia was slightly traumatic to say the least, but he was alive, and he should focus on that.

What he experienced on Ilum was not much different from what he had when he was a Padawan…a tumultuous time mixed with intense uncertainty, as well as an experience of failure, to which he had to adapt to.

Only he hadn't. Falling into the freezing cold waters of Ilum hadn't stopped him from getting his crystal, but it had affected him enough to make it impossible for him to make it back. He had never wanted so badly to be warm in his life, his legs giving out as his muscles no longer obeyed his commands under the fierce and freezing gale.

What was that supposed to teach him? He'd persevered all the way through, but in the end, he had failed, and only by swift action from his friends did he survive. If it weren't for them, their quest would've essentially been over, as they would no longer have a Jedi to complete Cordova's test.

Trust in your allies?

It could be trust in people, but if the Force was subtly trying to coerce him into trusting Trilla, despite what she'd done, it'd be running a fool's errand. She could throw herself off a cliff for all he cared…

No, no. That's not right.

Sinking down to her level wouldn't do him any favors…nor was allowing that wretched…lady to worm her way into his thoughts so often. He subtly told himself to stop thinking about her…an attempt number he has stopped counting for many times ago.

Dropping the towel to allow light back into his eyes, the blur in his vision didn't dissipate for a moment, and he saw Merrin standing beside him in the mirror.

"Merrin!" he gasped, stunned with how quiet she was. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

Her eyes flashed from his reflection in the mirror to his actual form, and then pointed back to the door. "This is a unisex bathroom, I thought."

Cal groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, but…"

You've got to be confident; own your words.

Xur's voice in his head was like a slap in the rear that snapped him into gear, and he almost felt like someone else had taken over his body.

"I mean, yeah," Cal corrected. "This is a…unisex bathroom…yeah…I love unisex bathrooms…"

Trilla was laughing hysterically somewhere, as were a lot of other people.

What…the fuck was that, Cal?

Merrin laughed…pretty good too. "What?" she giggled.

Own your words.

Cal snapped his fingers. "That was a joke. What I meant to say was, yes, Merrin, it's fine. You just scared me when you snuck up, that's all."

The nightsister was shaking off her giggles, wiping tears from her eyes. "Sorry about that. I was just coming to see how you were doing."

Cal nodded, trying to shake off his little trip-up. "Cooling off, currently."

Merrin grimaced. "Is that another joke?"

His green eyes looked away before coming back to her, his hands resting on his hips. "…yeah."

Silence followed, and Cal wanted to hang himself for a moment…but then it softened out, almost as if they both felt a breeze roll through the room.

Her building laughter became his own, and soon they were shaking off the stupidity of the whole exchange. It was much needed, as Cal was beginning to feel trapped in his own false illusion of himself.

"You're funny," she admitted, smiling his way.

Cal blushed. "Yeah? Well, you're…funny too."

"Am I really?" she narrowed her eyes. "I don't even know what a joke is. Honestly, I think I am…what did he say…shit at it? What does that word mean?"

"Uh…" Cal trailed off. "It's another word for…excrement."

Merrin grimaced with disgust.

"Also another word for bad," Cal explained. "Like…if, for instance, you were trying to say you were bad at jokes, you would say: I'm shit at telling jokes."

Merrin still didn't seem satisfied. "But couldn't that also be you calling yourself…excrement?"

Cal pondered that…and didn't have a retort. "I guess, yeah. I don't use it that much."

"Hm…" she thought to herself. "And pissed. You did not tell me what that meant."

He was less innocent with that word; in fact he was the one who last recalled saying it. "Uh…pissed off means mad."

"And piss?"

Cal raised his hands. "I think that's enough curse definitions for now, yeah?"

Merrin sighed. "If you say so…" her eyes paced away, and then she inched back towards the door. "Well…if you're alight…"

"Actually," Cal blurted, thinking better than to let her walk away from him. "I was going to construct my new lightsaber today, and I was wondering if you wanted to help me."

The nightsister mulled his offer, before nodding. "I'd like that."

"Cool…uh…see you then, I guess," he stammered somewhat.

She giggled to herself as she opened the door. "See you then."

Once she was gone, Cal felt like he could breathe again.

How the hell did he do this?


Fury, 14 BBY

Hyperspace

"Oh, for fuck sake," Brutis protested beside Petro as Trilla walked up, a bottle of Rancor's Gut in her hand. "May as well be in a bloody interrogation room."

Trilla didn't know how to react any other way than to smile in amusement, taking the seat across from the two of them. "Admittedly, I missed your humor, however crude it was."

"Shows what you knew about me. I never make jokes," Brutis corrected, still looking visibly displeased to have to deal with her. She didn't show up empty handed for a reason, and after his sour mood played itself out, she offered a glass. His bitterness persisted, but he eventually slightly nodded his head.

"You have to admit, considering the circumstances," she continued, pouring the liquor. "We did good work," expertly she placed it on the table and slid it across, to which he grasped it before hitting the edge.

"If you consider me riding your ass and bashing heads when you found it amusing good work, I think you should have your droid reanalyze your psyche," he said, before knocking his head back. She could tell the taste got to him, but he hid it away.

"Can I have some?" Petro asked.

Brutis shook his head. "This shit will literally kill you, kid."

"I can take it."

"Shut your fucking mouth and sit there," he scolded. "What did I tell you about stupidity?"

Petro sighed. "The stupid cunts always die first."

Trilla giggled. "Did you really tell him that?"

"No, he just conjured that from his mind," Brutis spat, and Trilla was beginning to wonder why she was even trying anymore. Part of her felt like it would be beneficial for her to be rid of her animosity towards her old commander, but she never hated him much in the first place. She couldn't blame him for most of the things he had said or deserting altogether, but she had grown tired of him staring daggers into her back.

Besides, if they were about to meet Raven and the others again, she'd need the practice.

"Why did you stay with me?" she asked, somewhat out of the blue. When he gave her a confused look, she elaborated, "You could've served whichever inquisitor you wished, and it's quite apparent you didn't care much for me…so why did you stay?"

He stared into space for a long while, and she sensed the internal conflict within him once again. The former purge trooper was hiding something she could not pinpoint, but she now knew it had something to do with her. With a wave of his hand, she knew to slide the bottle to him, and she could feel the answers coming at last. Brutis took another drink before shaking his head.

"I was in there," he said, and Trilla was unsure how to interpret that. "While they…when you…"

She cocked her head as Petro listened. "When I what?"

Brutis growled to himself, a deep anger rising to the surface. "When you were screaming. They made me stand guard…fucking cunts."

Trilla swallowed as her face fell.

"What do you mean?" Petro asked for her.

Brutis was becoming angrier by the minute. "On that day I knew those shits wouldn't stop at anything. If a kid has the Force, strap them to a chair and make them scream. They didn't care how old they were, or what kind of circumstance they were in. They just did it…bunch of sick fuckers."

It was difficult for Trilla not to fall back into her distressed state, but she had strategies for dealing with that now, and she was too close to the answer for her to fade away now.

"You want to know why I stayed under you?" he asked. "The answer is: I have no idea. Best I've ever come up with was it being some perverse and stupid sense of pity…almost as if I owed it to you, just for all the shit those cunts put you through."

That…was not what she expected…not in her wildest of speculations.

She swallowed again, waving for the bottle to be passed back to her, to which he obliged. As she took a drink straight from her own bottle, she fought off the horrid taste and sighed.

"I'm sorry I never saw that," she apologized.

"Don't be sorry," he grumbled. "Don't ever be sorry about anything they made you do. All that matters is you kick them in the balls every chance you get."

His words were simplistic, but they made sense.

"Fuck the Empire," she echoed his words from Zeffo.

Brutis nodded. "Fuck them all."

Well, that was rather easy.

They didn't need to be friends…so long as they understood each other.


Everything I do…is for your benefit. Remember that.

"Darling."

Xur's eyes fluttered open, snapped awake. He had no plans to sleep, but he must've dozed off in his solitude…or he was more exhausted than he initially thought. Wiping his eyes clean, he turned in the bed to see Trilla taking a seat against the back frame, electing not to lie down.

"Sorry. I need to stop thinking this is my bed," he apologized, and began to sit up, but she pushed him back down gently.

"Sweetheart, this is our bed," she insisted. "And you look dreadfully exhausted. You should get some rest."

He shook his head. "I don't need rest."

"That's an order," she pointed with a smile. "As Captain of this ship, I'm commanding you to rest."

Xur sighed, more too infatuated with her to deny her request anyhow. "Only if you stay with me," he bartered, lying back down.

Trilla hummed with joy, removing her glove from her flesh and blood hand and soothingly ran her fingers through his hair in a relaxing fashion. It was such a small gesture, but her touch did much to calm everything about him. Always he had been worried about what he didn't have, but in her presence, breathing in her scent and exhaling with her touch, he felt as if his entire life was complete…and the content of that feeling weighed heavy on his eyelids.

And then his ears were blessed with something far more beautiful.

Trilla sang in an unknown language to him, but in a tone and pitch so perfect he at first thought she had merely began playing something. When he opened his eyes again however, he watched her perform before him, not loudly or passionately, but in a quiet and relaxing volume, almost like a lullaby…minus the sleeping effect. The zabrak was so mesmerized by her voice that he felt himself fall in love with her all over again, becoming that twelve-year-old boy looking across the archive desks to a thirteen-year-old girl he didn't know the name of.

Everything about her was perfect…and he never wanted this moment to end.

Once her tune was finished, his hand rested on her thigh as she continued to brush his hair. "I didn't know you could sing so…perfectly."

Trilla blushed heavily, looking embarrassed, but it faded in time. "When I was a Padawan…Cere would play songs when we lodged outside…eventually I was brave enough to start trying. I had always liked it when I was a girl, and it was one of the ways I was able to practice the languages I learned."

His thumb caressed her leg, and she shuddered somewhat. "What song was that?"

She smiled. "Pu Upzunexe Nou'k. The Rising Sun. It's a rather basic tune in Echani culture."

"You seem to know a lot about them," he noted.

"I studied them closely…one of my vocations, you could say," she explained, now resting her hand on his shoulder, squeezing and massaging his muscles exquisitely. "I always thought they were beautiful…and I was mostly self-taught in their fighting style."

"I noticed you falling into their stances when you go hand-to-hand."

She chuckled. "A real echani warrior would probably pick me apart and call it rubbish."

"Who needs hand-to-hand when you can do what you do with a lightsaber?"

"I might've won a few of our little practice duels back at the Fortress if I was better versed," she figured.

He scoffed. "Yeah right."

Her massaging stopped, and in an instant her hand moved to his rib cage and she squeezed, making him jolt away. "Hey!" he protested while she giggled. "I was kidding!"

"Sure you were," she noted skeptically.

"I protest. How am I supposed to rest if you poke my ribs, Captain?" he asked.

Trilla shrugged, motioning to get up. "I guess that means I must take my-."

"No, no! Actually, totally fine!" he reached out, pulling her back. "Poke all you want, as long as you stay…"

She smiled, returning to his shoulder, and he groaned as she worked out some tired knots in his back. "Maybe later. Although knowing you're so jumpy…I may have to consider that for a later activity…"

Xur shook his head. "We are not trying that."

"Hm…you're about as fun as sentry detail."

"That's a load of shit, and you know it."

"Do I?"

Xur groaned in displeasure. "Hun, you…why are you so…benevolently evil?"

She leaned in. "Best of both worlds, darling," she eased, and kissed his forehead as he relaxed, falling into the soothing state she provided him.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too."


Stinger Mantis, 14 BBY

Hyperspace

Cal had stared upon his workbench for a long while now, unsure how to make use of his knew kyber crystal. What was left of his master's old hilt was a broken switch and a shattered crystal, the end of it replaced with Eno Cordova's old hilt. To see his master's legacy broken forever…the sting hadn't worn off yet. His foolish pursuit of power had cost him the final link to the Jedi Order…and perhaps more than that.

If it hadn't been for the careful timing of his friends, he would've died in the snow.

He'd forgotten what it meant to be a Jedi, and after what had happened on Ordo Eris with Trilla, he realized that he was just on the cusp of becoming no better than she. Was the Dark Side really that close?

Not once had he ever dreamed of himself turning to the Dark Side…it just didn't seem possible, but he was starting to think that was what everyone believed before it happened. It must've been subtle enough for them never to notice until it was too late, which meant he had to shore himself up now.

Jedi do not seek conflict; they only prevent it. They find peace, not emotion…harmony in chaos. He needed to let go of his passionate desires to become…to become…

Showing no emotion…why did the Jedi ever preach that? Compassion, one of the most essential tenants of becoming a Jedi…requires love, an emotion…which in turn leads to selfishness. Would righteous defense of a group truly be selfish defense of a group? Without all the right angles it was impossible to know for sure. In almost all struggles, if one is saved, the other is doomed, and to be truly selfless, he must be almost always impartial.

Which meant he would be better off doing nothing…and that saved no one. Xur had once told him that selflessness was foolhardy, self-righteous recklessness, which only doomed all parties in the end. At first, he didn't believe him, but in the case of Cere…if she had remained with Trilla and the younglings, they would've stood a better chance…in theory. Throwing herself at the Empire may have bought Trilla time, but in the end only proved to doom all parties involved. Was that a permanent case…or simply just bad luck?

Cal selflessly saved Prauf, exposing himself to the Empire, who in turn killed him anyway, throwing his life into a tumultuous spiral of insanity. He'd offered to help Merrin on Dathomir, but that only brought the inquisition to her world.

Was his selflessness only putting others in danger…or was his selflessness a selfish root, in which he believed himself always in the right…simply because he was a Jedi?

Why had he never bothered to take a closer look at himself, and what he believed in?

He grimaced as more questions flooded his mind, and BD whistled from his position on the workbench.

"Yeah, I'm just…thinking, buddy," he said. Probably thinking too hard.

There was a knock on his door…which meant it wasn't Merrin…she doesn't knock.

"It's open," Cal remarked, keeping his focus on his bench.

"Hey," Cere called from behind as the door opened, and to her voice, he turned. "Just…checking in. Almost lost you there."

"Yeah," he nodded, leaning against the bench as he crossed his arms. "I'm alright. Thanks to all of you."

She shrugged. "Glad to see you're moving, but if you don't mind, I wanted to ask what you went through in there."

Cal sighed. "Don't know what there is to say. I walked in, got my crystal, fell into a freezing pool, tried to walk out…" he trailed off, gripping the bench as his eyes paced away. "…didn't make it."

"No trauma?" she asked, looking confused and concerned all at once.

Cal sighed. "I've come close to death before. Another time isn't any different."

"Cal…" Cere insisted.

"Fine," he surrendered, no longer seeing a point to dodging anyhow. "Have you ever asked yourself…that maybe selflessness is selfish?"

She blinked as if she was a droid processing hundreds of units of data at once, and her next expression wasn't any better. "What?"

"You remember when I told you about Prauf, right?"

Cere nodded.

"Part of me thinks it was selfish of me to save him…I mean, he was just exposed to an equally gruesome fate," he went on, and she simply listened as he elaborated. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing…like maybe it'd be better if I just went away and spare a lot of people more pain from trying to help me."

"Start thinking like that and we've already lost, Cal," she eased. "I know it can be easy to make that distinction in hindsight, but you have to put yourself back in your own shoes. If you let Prauf fall, knowing you could've saved him, how would that have felt?"

Cal was silent, pondering.

"It can be easy to lose perspective when things don't work out the way we want them to," she explained. "I know I did…but if we let despair guide us…we'll have nothing left."

He slicked his hair back as he exhaled through his nose, letting his eyes finally return to her. "All I've ever wanted to do was the right thing…but that becomes hard when the ones you look up to start to fail."

"If a god bleeds, then they cease to be a god," Cere recited. "I know. I've felt that too."

Cal wasn't sure if he should take the next step, but it was Cere…he wasn't sure who else he'd tell this too. "When Master Tapal died…I was so angry. The clones…I wanted to hurt them. They'd torn my world down to the foundation, and frankly broke that too. Being a Jedi…being who I was just wasn't possible anymore."

"We will all face that anger, Cal," Cere said, stepping forward. "The struggle is to not let it tear us apart from within. No matter how dark it may seem, there is always a better way."

"How?" he asked, feeling his frustration mount. "If it weren't for you, I'd have died out there…and if I had been stronger, I could've saved my master, just as you saved me."

"Cal…"

"That's what the Force was trying to tell me!" he spiraled, feeling like a revelation hit, but all he felt was hatred…towards himself. "I should've been there for him, just like you were!"

"You were only a child, Cal!" Cere denied.

"No! I saw it…on Dathomir," Cal revealed. "He's dead because of me!"

"Jaro Tapal made a choice, Cal," she pointed, a fierceness in her eyes. "He knew he couldn't save himself and save you."

"Well he chose wrong. Instead of thinking like a Jedi, he should've thought for himself. Then it would be him fighting off inquisitors that didn't stand a chance against a Jedi Master."

"Who's more likely to blend in, Cal? A lasat Jedi Master, or a teenaged Jedi Padawan? You think he didn't consider these things? He chose you to carry his teachings on, not through his lightsaber, but through your individuality," she passionately continued. "You are the living continuation of his legacy, and he wouldn't want you to live in the past."

Cal grimaced as she spoke truthfully, unable to conjure an excuse to deny her claims.

"I can't change what I did any more than you can change what happened to your master. It's in the past, but Cal, you have to make a choice to move on."

He sighed. "That's easy for you to say…Trilla found a way out."

Cere shook her head. "The guilt remains…but it's over now," she reached for her belt and removed her hilt. "Start with this," she offered. "Build yourself a new one."

He'd wanted for years to go back and undo everything he had failed to do on that day, but Cere's words had admittedly rang true within him. The past was done and over with. He didn't need it to die…but he needed it to stop weighing it down.

With unstable hands, he took her hilt, feeling its shape against his grip. "Are you sure."

Cere sighed. "My days of being a Jedi are done, Cal. I'd like it to be yours."

"You sure you don't want to give it to Trilla?" he asked, feeling it was more proper.

She shook her head with a deep sorrow. "I've forfeited the right to call her my own. I am what she has grown beyond, even now. I want you to have it."

Cal accepted that. "I will wield it for you then, Cere."

She smiled slightly and tipped her head. "Thank you, Cal."

There was another knock on his door, and this time Merrin was revealed as it opened, adopting a shocked look. "Oh…I thought Cal was alone…"

"I was just leaving, actually," Cere noted, giving him one last nod of confidence, before leaving the two of them alone.

Merrin stepped aside and shut the door behind her, seeming to notice his distress. "Are you alright?"

Cal nodded, wiping a tear from his eye. "Yeah…just sorting some things out. Ready?"

She smiled, coming up alongside him as he turned towards the workbench. "So how does this work?"

"Heh," Cal smiled, feeling like a kid in a toy shop. "Just you watch."


Short chapter with mostly fluff and some subplot resolutions, I know, but the "Asshole Team" is going to Kashyyyk next, which will be insane, I promise you. Let me know your thoughts thus far! Would like to get an idea before all the bullshit goes down.

Stay safe and stay healthy.

Thanks for reading!