Final View

19 BBY

Coruscant

It was a time of champions and warriors, crusaders and paladins. The kind of Jedi whose exploits were ensured an appearance on the nightly newscast. Whose heroism touched the furthest fringes of the galaxy, names on the tip of every tongue they had rescued. Legends whose daring would be saved in the annals of history.

Then there was Drado.

It wasn't that he was a 'failure', not necessarily. The Council had assured him more than once that he still had time to grow into his Jedi moniker. But at the ripe age of seventeen, most of his counterparts were concerned with facing battle on the frontlines, not learning the fundamentals of lightsaber combat. More concerned with how to advance the war effort, not with how their feeble connection to the Force might falter at the worst possible moment.

Heroes of the Republic weren't supposed to worry about that kind of thing, they didn't have to. But somewhere between Drado's apprenticeship and his vying for knighthood, one thing became abundantly clear - he wasn't a hero. And in the midst of the deadliest war the Republic had ever seen, not being a hero was the worst thing a Jedi could be.

That was how he ended up here - a cataloger in the Temple Archives. It was as far from the frontlines as one could get, something the Council had no doubt been aware of when they assigned him there. It was a not-so gentle reminder that greatness wasn't for him. That the closest he was getting to greatness was a holobook on the 'Great' Hyperspace War.

It wasn't for lack of trying either. He had done everything he had ever been asked. He had learned every teaching and practiced every form. Some people just didn't have it. Some people just weren't good enough.

Some people just worked in the Archives.

Drado slammed the nearest tome into a shelf at the thought, headtentacles flailing. The library's constant glow of holos had done nothing to assuage the Nautolan's headache. He had been here for hours, and without a handler he'd no doubt be here for hours more, late into the night when all the Masters left, leaving him to recatalogue their notes and readings.

That's all you're good for anyways...

A voice reminded him, slamming a particularly hefty holobook into the shelf at the thought.

A hand for the real Heroes.

Another slam.

A 'Kit Fisto wannabe'.

He practically punched the next databank through the shelf.

A fail-

"Padawan Drado," an elder voice hissed then, barely restraining her shout. "What's the meaning of all this ruckus?"

He turned to regard the speaker, a frail old woman, and, fittingly enough, a librarian. The librarian. Decked in Jedi robes far more regal than his. "Sorry, Master Nu... I'll uh, try to keep things down."

"It's not that," she shook her head. "Your thoughts."

He panned his gaze around the chamber as she spoke, eyes poking up at him from every study table.

"Everyone can 'hear' you."

"Oh," Drado murmured, summoning his mental shields back, shuttering off his already faint connection to the Force. "Sorry about that."

She played him off with a roll of her eyes, glancing at the book in his hands. "Trials of Qel-Droma, eh? For all the sections I've had you recatalogue today you seem particularly fond of the war stories."

"That is what's most relevant these days," he conceded, carefully placing the tome on the shelf, all too cognizant of her watchful gaze.

"Not anymore. The war is over," she said with a sigh of relief. "Or in the midst of wrapping up at the very least. The Council's just announced the defeat of General Grievous. Soon the Separatists will fold. Soon people will come to the Archives, not to locate backwater planets and formulate battle plans, but for a different reason. A simpler one."

Drado glanced up at her then, she had the kind of whimsical look an elder so rarely gave in those days. "What would that be?"

"To remember."

He could feel his gaze gloss over at the words, halfway between ridicule and disillusion."You really think the war's end is going to do all that?"

The master went stern. "That's the hope."

He gave a shrug in turn. "It's been years since those days, though. I was practically a youngling when the war first broke out. Forgive me, Master, but I don't think things will be going back to normal all of a sudden."

"Not normal," she conceded. "But more well-meaning. We weren't meant to be tools for the Republic, you know. Soldiers in their wars."

Had the Nautolan been gifted with eyebrows, one would have been raised in skepticism. "You sure about that?"

"Positive. If there's one lesson I'd hope the Masters have taught you by now, it would be that we're not soldiers."

"Oh, they've definitely mentioned it, it's just..." Drado paused again, regarding the shelf he had been stocking. "It seems like that's all anyone ever likes to talk about... Like it's all that matters."

"Is that really what you think?"

"With all due respect, Master, I think that's just the way it is."

"I see."

The elderly woman turned away then, dismissing him with a sniff of her nose.

"Hey, wait- so we're done?"

Her look of dismissal turned to one of amusement. "Oh, not quite."

Having sufficiently widened the gap between her and Drado, she turned back, weary hands stretched out before her. Fingers tapped at empty space, as if wrestling with an invisible barrier.

Before Drado could point out how ridiculous she looked, his surroundings began to change. No longer was he in the musty archives, the dim glow of holobooks agitating his headache. Now the colors of the holos swirled all around him, coalescing, blending into a blanket of crimsons and violets. Soon, the colors gave way too, into something realer, more tangible. Bits of data surged forth, letters and numbers, information brimming with importance, as if they had been scrubbed from the Archives themselves.

With the realization made, Drado saw the books contents for what they were, information shooting past his eyes at immeasurable speed. First he saw the battles and last stands, immortalized in scripture. Then, he saw the good times, peace and serenity. Then philosophy and innovation, a golden age that had fallen away long ago.

And then, it was gone, just as quick as it had presented itself. The data fell away, the colors dimmed back to blue.

Drado became faintly aware of the students talking in hushed whispers all around him, the sounds of boots marching nearby. He didn't focus on them, however, but the librarian gazing down at him, a beam on her face.

"That was... What was that?"

"That was some insight into what a Jedi really is. What they should strive to be, anyways."

"But that was, more. That was the whole library just served on a platter, if I had seen that when I needed to study for exams-"

"I'm the Archives Director," she stated simply. "It's my job to know their contents in their entirety."

"Those were your thoughts? Then you're thinking about... everything. Everywhere." His eyes widened as he spoke, gaze drifting up to meet hers. "Like the HoloNet all packed into one."

"I wouldn't go that far," she chuckled in turn, tapping a finger at her forehead. "But yes, there's quite a bit of knowledge up there."

His next question came slowly, praying it wasn't as rude as it sounded in his head. "Why aren't you on the Council?"

She hesitated for the slightest moments, but carried on, working to stack the books Drado had neglected as she spoke. "I have no desire to be on the Council, and... They have no desire for me."

"But you know everything, that's got to be worth consideration."

"Perhaps, but perhaps not. Wisdom is much more than knowledge and facts, Drado. And wisdom is what the Council values."

"Well, they haven't been doing a very good job of applying it, in that case..."

"Perhaps not, but its their wisdom that has guided us for generations, and they will continue to do so for many generations to come."

Drado moved closer, deciding to push his luck. "I saw more though. You admitted as much, in your vision. The Council denied your entry-"

"You weren't supposed to see that," the elder snapped, taking a step back at the revelation.

He gave a nervous chuckle. "I... guess I'm not the only one who forgot to put up their mental shields today."

"No," she murmured irritably. "I suppose you weren't."

The insight into another's mind had left him trigger-happy, dazed but daring. After another's moment pause he turned back to face the elder. "So, why did the Council deny you?"

"Some things aren't meant to be known, let alone discussed."

"But no one knows as much as you do. I'd wager Master Yoda hasn't seen some of the things you've seen."

"That would be quite the risky gamble," she responded with another chuckle. "I suppose what it came down to was that they all have a certain level of finesse, of... physicality that I lack."

"I thought you said it was about wisdom."

"Because it is-"

"But you're admitting physical ability does play a part," he snapped back, face going sullen as he spoke. "It always has, hasn't it? If you're not a warrior, you're neglected. Pushed aside."

It took her longer to respond this time, hands flicking about, levitating books back to their respective locations. When she finally responded, it was with a sigh. "We all want to be a hero at the end of the day, Drado. That doesn't mean we're all cut out to be one."

She took a seat at the nearest bench, motioning for him to do the same. "The Force works through all of us, and we work through it... We were brought to the temple for different reasons, taken from hundreds of worlds, raised on a thousand different beliefs. And yet, we were all molded the same way. Guided by the same path of the light. And in it, we found our true callings. Some are warriors, some are negotiators, and others... are archivers. All of us have a part to play, big or small."

Her face went stern again. "And that role does not always end in a seat on the Council."

Drado grimaced at the conclusion. "So... Some of us are just supposed to be stepping stones, then. Cogs in a machine."

The Master shrugged her shoulders, bringing a hand to rest on his. "Sometimes it's better to realize who you are rather than delude yourself into being someone you're not."

Slowly, reluctantly, he granted a nod. "I suppose that makes sense... Don't think I like it very much, though."

"The truth can be as liberating as it is disheartening," she admitted, an amused look on her face.

"You've got that right..." His voice drifted off, drowned out by the ever-growing clack of boots. He squinted his eyes in the direction of the march. "Hang on, is that... Master Skywalker? Why are there clones following him?"

"I... I don't know."

"Heh," Drado laughed, crossing his arms as he stood up. "That's a first."

"Yes," the Master nodded at the sight, hand drifting to the lightsaber hilt at her side. "Yes it is. Go inside Drado, to the back of the Archives. Tell the other students to do the same."

"But, why? Is something wrong?"

"Just... Just go."

For the slightest moment he hesitated, gaze pouring up at her. Then, he turned away, off to warn the others.

It would be the last time he saw Master Nu. The last time anyone would see her. The last time her knowledge would be used as a beacon of hope, before it was warped into something else, something beyond even her control.

End