A/N:

As always, a huge thank you to en-shaedn, who has edited this chapter and made sure I didn't get too longwinded.

One or two people have accurately guessed what is going to happen in this chapter – but even the ones with the most accurate guesses did not predict everything that is going to happen in this chapter, so buckle up.


In was quiet in the Jedi Temple. Even on Coruscant there existed a nightly hour, somewhere around two or three standard in the morning, when the civilized world slowed to a lethargic crawl, a respite to circadian species everywhere.

It was at this point in the morning when Master Zyrha woke up and wondered why she had.

Her room was quiet, and she could sense that the adjacent dormitory was equally so. Skycar lights strobed through the blinds at unhurried intervals, helping her to count her steady breaths as she concentrated on whatever had awoken her.

Pat. Pat. Too quiet for other species to hear, the Selonian could just barely make out someone very small tip-toeing across the dormitory. Quietly, she rose from her bed and went out to see who she already knew it would be.

"Anakin," she whispered, and the youngling spun to look at her. He was still in his nighttime clothes, and looked like he'd prefer to be asleep. "Did you have a bad dream again?"

Anakin rubbed his eyes and nodded.

Zyrha went over to the collection of cushions in one corner of the dormitory and lowered herself onto one, dark fur glinting in the artificial moonlight. She crossed her legs and let the youngling climb into her lap and bury his face in the softness of her coat. "Do you remember anything about it?" She asked, as she always did.

"Nu'uh," slurred Anakin, as he always did. "It was bad. Couln' sleep."

Zyrha rubbed his back in soothing circles, exuding a suggestion of calm. "Alright, then," she cooed, hoisting him a bit higher against her so she could rock him gently – a handy trick for viviparous species – and hope that he would fall asleep more quickly than last time. "Bad dreams are nothing to be afraid of. They pass in time." Anakin, eyes already closed, nodded against her.

She had not informed any of the Council about Anakin's propensity to bad dreams. Everyone knew that Sarsan, Anakin's joined-at-the-hip Zygerrian brother, had been having precognitive visions since he was too young to understand them. But he'd also learned very young how to control them. Anakin's dreams were never so substantial. They were not visions; he never remembered anything. He would wake with no recollection except a strong sense of unease, fear, or sadness, and it would keep him awake for hours. Anakin was an emotional sponge, holding on to bad feelings for days at a time. He needed to learn how to let go. He also needed sleep.

Zyrha heard his breathing even out into nocturnal puffs, but she kept rocking the boy to be sure. Then, unexpectedly, he asked in a very quiet, very drowsy voice,

"Master?"

She pretended it hadn't startled her awake. "Yes, Ani?"

"Where is Master Ben?"

She smiled slightly, wondering if he was sleep-talking. "I don't know, little one. He'll be back before you know it."

Anakin did not register the lightheartedness of her tone, and drew his sleepy brow into a frown. "I hope he's okay," said the youngling, nuzzling deeper into Zyrha's fur. The master frowned, but said nothing. She rocked the boy until he fell asleep and put him back in bed.

The question about Ben stuck with her through the night like a tug on her sleeve.


First light had not yet broken on Kuat. The planet was a small one, and had short, twenty-hour days. At the moment, Ben Kenobi thought they felt much longer.

He shifted in his cloak, hoping to find new warmth hiding in its folds. It was no use. Rainclouds had appeared overhead some hours ago, unleashing their payloads in light but neverending currents that chilled the nighttime air. The shops on Uru Square were all closed, windows shuttered, doors locked. Because of the rain, Ben had relocated his stakeout to a shop lined with awnings. A stream of water ran off one corner of the slope and pooled next to his right boot. It smelled like garbage. He scooted slightly further away from the edge and sighed.

This was the third night of Ben's attempted confrontation, and it was just as boring, nerve-wracking, and fruitless as the first two. The rain was new. Ben attempted to hide a yawn, realized that there were no other Jedi around to judge him for it, and then let it split his face. The air tasted of ozone, only slightly stale from the city streets, and it made him tired.

He would have liked to call in a replacement, but the only person who knew he was here was Ky'elee, and she was likely asleep by now. He was on his own. Years of training allowed him to stay awake; he could almost hear Qui-Gon's reprimands from years ago. We are luminous beings, padawan. We do not rely on our bodies alone; we rely also on the Force, and it is a powerful ally. Ben fell into a meditative trance, eyes closed and senses stretched out beyond himself.

Hours passed. It was still raining and not quite dawn when something trod on a finger of his senses. His eyes snapped open and he turned his head to look across the square. The four inbound streets were empty, the rotary circle and its centerpiece garden abandoned. But somewhere, someone lurked - someone afraid. Ben drew up the hood of his cloak and stepped out into the rain.

The roads of Goc Fiyao were web-like in their construction, branching out in interconnected angles and circles, creating oddly shaped buildings and criss-crossing paths. Ben weaved through one corner of the maze, following his senses to a darkened street some blocks away from the square.

"Please, please! I don't know what you're talking about!"

Ben's hand shot to his lightsaber; he did not recognize the voice, but he could recognize fear. Another voice said something unintelligible, tone low and threatening. Slinking along the edge of a building, Ben followed the sounds to the opening of an alleyway. It was dark - too dark to see faces or weapons, but the silhouettes were unmistakable. A man - by its height and wide shoulders, it could only be a man - held a Twi'lek aloft by the collar. Heels kicking the wall, lekku flailing, he clawed at the hands holding him. "Please! I don't know anything - I-I have credits, what do you want?" The assailant's grip tightened, and the Twi'lek began to choke.

Ben turned the corner and ignited his lightsaber. "That's enough - put him down."

Both heads turned toward him. Holding the Twi'lek with one arm, the assailant waved his right hand toward Ben, the outline of a blaster shining in the blue light of Ben's weapon. Dots of light reflected off of the man's eyes, peering at Ben with menacing intent. "And who are you?" He snarled.

"My name is Ben Kenobi, Jedi Master. Now put him down." The Twi'lek was going limp.

The would-be murderer did nothing at first, frozen in his pose. He blinked, momentarily obscuring the glint off his eyes. "Very well," he said at last. He let go of the Twi'lek, turned, and shot him in the head. The body slumped to the ground.

Ben recoiled, aghast at the sudden action and the fact that he hadn't been able to see it coming. The fear of the Twi'lek had brought him here, but the villain's intentions were muffled, as if hidden behind a thick curtain. A shield, Ben realized. He is shielding. With the Force. Ben brought his saber out in front of him, anticipating blaster fire that he might not be able to sense coming.

Instead, the man tossed his blaster away into a puddle and raised his right hand. Something flew up from his belt and smacked into his glove. A familiar, unexpected screech split the night air. A red lightsaber blade launched from its hilt, sizzling against the rain. Another joined it from the opposite side. In the double halo of light, Ben could make out the features of a young Zabrak warrior, tatooed red and black. His eyes glowed.

The shields collapsed. Violent waves of rage and anger shot through Ben's chest, flooding his mind with a presence he had not felt in over thirty years. In thrall to his emotions, Ben could not move. Maul advanced, undaunted.


It was just before dawn on Coruscant, and some of the more dedicated masters were already waking up and beginning their contemplative morning routines. Feemor Gard did not possess such habits. He was fast asleep until his apprentice began screaming.

"Aola? Aola!" He barged into her room to find her awake and panicking. Tears were streaming down her face as she untangled her legs from the coverlet, kicking as if it were a villain. "Aola, what's happened?" He went to her and grabbed a stray wrist, trying to bring her under control. "Lass, lass, calm down - what's wrong?"

The frantic girl grabbed his arms in a vice, eyes wet and staring at some unseen horror. "It's Ben," she cried, voice hoarse so early in the morning, "It's Ben, Master, it's about Ben, he's going to kill Ben!"

"What are you talking about? Who's going to kill Ben?"

"The Sith," She said, sobbing from shock, "the man with the red saber; he's a Sith."


Ben's guard was reflexive, and it was by the grace of the Force that he found presence of mind to hold it steady. Maul's staff slammed onto Ben's saber with enough force to push him backward.

"Kenobi," Maul hissed through the whitehot clash of the blades. For a moment, Ben forgot that he was in the past. Here he was again; his nemesis, the deranged madman who would not die, would not let him rest. "You were the one aboard the Juclima," the Zabrak said.

Ben was nonplussed. "What?"

Maul rebounded with the other half of his staff and dug through Ben's left bicep. The Jedi screamed and fell back, recovering his grip. Maul leaped through the air, falling into the fight with predatory gusto. Whirling through the air in threatening loops, the saberstaff reflected off of Ben's desperate parries and nearly took off his already injured arm. Ben's shock had made him slow; his confusion had made him clumsy. He ducked beneath an overhead swipe with centimeters to spare, coming up with an underhanded strike that Maul saw a mile away. The Zabrak caught Ben's swordhand in an iron fist, using his saber to press Ben's own blade closer to his face.

"You were there," He hissed, spittle flying from his lip. "Now tell me, what happened on Tatooine?" He pressed against the saber even harder, scalding hot rain spitting up on their faces and tunics. "What did you do?"

It suddenly occurred to Ben that Maul had not yet been to Tatooine; that, in this timeline, he might not ever go to Tatooine. Anakin was not on Tatooine. Qui-Gon certainly wasn't on Tatooine. There was no treaty, no blockade, no reactor core. And yet, somehow, the Sith knew about Tatooine.

"They were all on that ship," Ben realized aloud, "you interrogated - you killed all those people because they landed on Tatooine." He shook his head, grunting when he had to use his left arm to brace his grip on the saber. The hum of his own blade was deafeningly close.

"But none of them know what you know," said the Zabrak. He stomped on Ben's foot, causing the Jedi to cry out and nearly jerk into the cross of their blades. "Tell me what happened on Tatooine," he growled.

Ben was choking on the steam their blades left in the air and the pain from his arm and his foot. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"There was a shift in the Force itself, and you were at the center of it, on Tatooine. Now tell me what you did, or I will-"

"Or you'll what?" Ben interrupted, "kill me?"

Maul glared into him, staring him down like he had all those years ago on Naboo, pacing behind rayshields with murder in his eyes. "You have a weakness," threatened the Sith, "I will find it, and it will bring you to your knees."

Ben thought immediately of Qui-Gon, of the split second before the man's death when he'd realized what was going to happen. His face; the wound; the smell of burnt flesh. It was this saberstaff, Ben realized, blinking through the brightness of the blades to see the long hilt. It was the same one that had killed - that could kill and… would?

They knew about Tatooine. They knew about Ben. They could, in the unknown future, use either to find Qui-Gon. Or Anakin. Or both.

A surge of dormant rage exploded from beneath thirty years of grief, compounded by the newfound hope Ben had discovered in this life, in knowing Qui-Gon as he'd always wished to, in bringing Anakin home, in fixing things. It was a righteous rage, white hot, but tainted by his heart's possessive intent. "We all have weaknesses," he hissed, mustering strength with his left hand to dislodge Maul's fingers from his wrist. "I already know yours."

Knowledge of the future was a powerful thing. Power a Jedi craves not; but sometimes, Jedi must use it all the same. Ben dislodged Maul's hand and sent him barrelling backward with a Force shove. The delay gave Ben a moment to regroup, to shake off the pain in his arm and his foot and plant himself in the Force. Light and dark swirled around him in an undisciplined version of Vaapaad, lending an edge to Ben's sanddune Soresu.

Maul's fighting style was just as Ben remembered it. He slashed downward, and Ben caught it with an upward parry. Immediately, the Sith spun and rebounded, aiming for Ben's knees. Ben caught it and pushed the blade high, so the inevitable second rebound would hit the ground. It did, carving a jagged welt in the pavement. Maul kicked a boot at Ben's face, but the Jedi knew to expect it; he ducked, came up face-to-face with his opponent, and dashed the lightstaff in two.

One of the lightsaber crystals exploded with a loud bang, spraying sparks and bits of hilt all around the alley. Maul yelled and took up the second, still-operable blade. He charged with renewed bloodlust in his eyes, launching strike after strike, ducking Ben's retaliations, face alight with the determination to win.

Ben did not see each strike arrive individually. He took them on in a blur of light, a series of moves and parries that he had played and replayed in his mind a thousand times. It was the face and the encounter of his nightmares, resurrected in the most unexpected moment to seize him with fear.

Fear leads to anger, Master Yoda's words reminded him of his rash decisions on Tatooine. But what could he do now? Surrender? Die? Anger leads to hate. Maul's blade was cutting close at him, but he was not in danger. He would only lose if he let himself lose. Hate. Passion. There was no passion, there was serenity. No, Ben thought, mind hot with memory and heresy. Passion, yet serenity. He aborted his thought process here, abandoning whatever other virtues the Old Code might have demanded of him. His serenity was defined only by the feel of cold rain on his skin. His passion was the fight, the sight of the Sith who'd killed his master, punctuated by the piercing memory of the last duel, the last death.

He only emerged from his well of memory when he realized that the fight was his. Worn down by Ben's relentless defense, Maul was attempting a falling leaf dive, blade high above his head, vulnerable and desperate. Ben caught the hilt of his saber on the way down and tossed it away, where it sputtered out and landed with a splash. Without the red light, everything seemed oppressively blue. Maul landed and faced his opponent in the sudden realization that he was weaponless. Ben did not hesitate. He sliced his saber through the air to claim victory; Maul's head fell to the ground. The rest of his body followed.

The rain continued to fall. Ben watched new rivulets of red run through the street's currents and brush against his boot. Blinking, as if out of a trance, he looked at the fallen Sith. He thought of Qui-Gon, of Adi Gallia, of Satine. What had ever become of Maul, after the Purge? Ben had never allowed himself to wonder. Gazing at the corpse, he could only think: he's so young.

Soaked through, bleeding from his arm, and limping from the cracked bones in his foot, Ben disengaged his saber and leaned against a wall. It was only after the hum of the lightsaber was gone that he realized he was heaving for breath. The air was too thick and humid for his panicked lungs. He looked again at Maul's body, as if to assure himself that it would not reanimate.

Force, he's hardly more than a boy.

The Sith's robes were soaking and black, blending in with the dark, wet street. His head cast a garish silhouette against a moonlit mirror of rain. Suddenly, the Jedi felt as if he was going to be sick. He stumbled to the opening of the alleyway and fumbled for his commlink.

"Ky'elee," he said into it, not caring that it was hours before dawn, "Ky'elee," he said, louder.

Eventually, she answered. "Master Ben? You're out in this storm?"

He ignored whatever she had to say. "Call the local authorities. I've found him."

"Stars and moons almighty - I'll get them right away. Is everything-"

"They'll need a coroner for the body - both bodies." He winced when he realized he'd forgotten all about the poor Twi'lek victim. Yet another family who had to grieve. Yet another soul lost to the whims of the Sith. But not Qui-Gon, part of him said. It will never be Qui-Gon. Paired with his handiwork on Maul's person, that sentiment was too dark a conundrum to face.

"You said you found him," Ky'elee said, voice thin with alarm.

"I did," Ben told her, and closed his eyes in conflicted shame. "And I killed him. But not before he killed someone else." He rubbed sweaty rain from his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Ky'elee said nothing for a moment. "The local police are on their way. Are you alright, Master?"

He was bleeding and injured, and it would be unwise to stay out in the rain. "Contact the Jedi Council immediately," he said, eyeing Maul's fallen saber. "Tell them I'm returning to the temple."

"Sir, it's very early morning on Coruscant, will they even-"

"Immediately, please."

"Yes, sir," Ky'elee said uncertainly, and cut off the transmission. In the aftermath, the rain was simultaneously too loud and too soft. The first light of dawn was seeping across the sky, illuminating the gore of Ben's victory. Ben looked at it and grimaced, feeling no gratification in any of it. He felt only fear; fear of himself, fear of the future. You have a weakness, the voice echoed in his head. It will bring you to your knees.

His sense of duty kept him there until the police arrived. If not for this, he would have fled.

They collected the remains and identified the last murder victim. They interviewed Ben for his account of the fight, and relinquished the lightsaber into his custody, as galactic jurisdictions demanded. Ben had no choice but to use the word 'Sith' in his account.

He thought of Thane, of the Senate, of Palpatine. He thought also of Bail, who had apparently been the one to send him into this mess. A coroner droid pushed a repulsor-stretcher to a shuttle, the head an awkward lump to the side of the body. Sith. There would be repercussions.

"Master Kenobi," Ky'elee appeared, jogging up to him from her ship. "Stars' light, man, you look terrible." She picked at his sopping robes and eyed his charred-through sleeve. "Do they not have first aid?"

"I need to leave," he said softly, mind whirring. "Did you contact the Council?"

"Yes," she was watching him with mounting concern. "Master Ben, you're in no shape to leave, you need fresh clothes and medical attention."

"I need to go. Now."

Something in his voice must have struck a chord with Ky'elee. Whether it was a good or bad chord, no one could say. "Alright," She said at length. "We're holding a service for Rortu tonight. Will you stay for that, at least?"

He didn't want to, but it was his failure to bear. He bowed his head. "Yes."


After the service, Ky'elee took Ben to the Drive Yards, where a Jedi ship was waiting. Ben's solemn countenance almost stopped her, but at the last moment the pilot turned back and enveloped him in a hug. "Thank you, Ben," she said. "You've saved my people again."

"Not all of them," Ben reminded, sadly. She pulled away and fixed him with a stern look.

"You cannot do everything," she told him, unaware of the weights on his heart. "You saved many, many lives last night. Do not dwell on what is not."

Ben mustered a smile for her. "I come to serve, Ky'elee. I wish you and Goc Fiyao all the best." He bowed. "May the Force be with you."

She smiled. "May the Force be with you, Master."


The trip to Coruscant was mercifully short. Ben wrote a report for the Council, but he did not send it in. He gave it to a droid at the landing dock and went on into the temple. Everywhere, Jedi of all ages continued on as though nothing were amiss. Initiates laughed at their inside jokes, Masters spoke in quiet, unrushed tones. All was well.

Ben wondered where along the grapevine his report currently lay.

He arrived at the Jinn/Kenobi apartments without having to think about where he was going. Qui-Gon answered the door.

"Ah, Ben, you're back. You're… your arm."

"Can I come in?" Ben asked, and he must've used a tone of voice that Qui-Gon recognized from Obi-Wan, because the master stood aside without another word. Ben came in and began pacing.

"You're limping," Qui-Gon observed. He glanced up and down Ben's singed, haggard mien.

"Master, I…" Where to start? He chewed on his thumbnail, which made Qui-Gon frown more deeply. "Where is your apprentice?" Ben asked.

"Training. It's Dooku's day with him."

Ben nodded and continued biting his nails and pacing.

After watching this display for several tense minutes and receiving no explanation, Qui-Gon said quietly, "Obi-Wan,"you're frightening me."

"I've killed a man," Ben confessed suddenly, "and I'm not sure if it was out of revenge or not."

Qui-Gon absorbed this. "Revenge for what?"

"For your death."

Master Jinn's eyebrows rose. "Ben…" He reminded, "I'm still very much alive."

"I know that," Ben hissed, rounding to face the master, "you don't think I know that? But he… It was just the same as… You can't understand," he lamented - not patronizing; only alone. "He was just the same. It was the same damned weapon and everything. All I could see was you… The last time."

Qui-Gon's expression was conflicted. "Did you want to kill him?"

Ben shrugged, helplessly. "Of course I did. He killed you - he killed Satine, he killed so many people…" He frowned and rubbed his brow. "Could have. Would have killed. He attacked me first. But I didn't exactly hold back, did I? I couldn't… I had to kill him, didn't I? He was a murderer. He was a Sith - he was going to-"

"He was a Sith?" Qui-Gon burst. "What do you mean, a Sith?"

"Force," Ben cried into his hands, "he was so young."

Qui-Gon was reeling from the revelation. "Have you spoken with the council? Do they know?"

"Not yet." Ben looked up. "My report will get to them within an hour, maybe two." He paused to frown deeply. "He said he would find my weaknesses and exploit them. I already knew his, and I used them to kill him." His face screwed up in confused grief. "Am I going dark?"

Qui-Gon sighed out of stress, knowing that the same brooding that was bad for Obi-Wan was bad for Ben. "Have you been to the healers yet?" He asked, eyeing the swollen bicep and the foot that Ben favored.

"What?" Asked the apprentice, still lost in his own thoughts.

"Alright then," said the master, coming over to put a gentle hand on his former pupil's shoulder, "let's go."


The examination room in the healer's wing was exceptionally quiet. Qui-Gon had stayed by Ben's side out of habit, and perhaps a little bit of concern. Vokara was handling Ben's bruised foot with ginger hands.

"It's not broken," she pronounced at length, "though you've several hairline fractures on your metatarsals, and some nasty bruising to boot. Stay off it as much as you can, sleep with it propped up, and it should heal fine on its own. Now. What about that arm?"

When Ben took off his shirt and uncovered the wound, Qui-Gon winced. It was a deep cut, slicing through skin and muscle. The edges were already beginning to grey, charred skin and blisters left behind by a deadly hot weapon. Vokara stared at it, a cold feeling in her lungs.

"Ben," She said, "This is a lightsaber wound."

"Yes, it is," said Ben, unalarmed.

She looked him in the eye. He looked back, and shrugged. "I've had worse."

Qui-Gon and the healer shared a look, both of them thinking of the day, now years ago, when they'd discovered the sai-cha scar on Ben's neck. "Regardless," Vokara demurred. She produced a small laser tool and began to cut away the dead skin. Behind Ben, Qui-Gon's commlink chirped at him.

"Excuse me." He stepped out of the room. Vokara watched him go.

"What happened?" She asked when they were alone. Ben sighed.

"Qui-Gon's murderer." She paused in her work to look him in the eye. "I killed him."

She took out a sizable container of bacta and scooped it onto the wound. "He had a lightsaber."

"He was a Sith." A huge blob of the bacta slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. She fixed him with wide eyes. "So yes, he had a lightsaber. In fact…." Ben glanced over to where his tunic and belt lay in a heap. He used the Force to uncover a hidden pocket in one of the tabards. The jagged edge of a lightsaber peaked out. "I still have it."

Vokara was wrapping up his arm in bandages. "You need to speak with the Council," she told him, haunted by the memory of all he'd told her years ago. Sith. War. Death.

Ben clenched his jaw, mind whirring in disturbing circles, as it had been since he'd left Kuat. I've left this too long.

"Ben," Qui-Gon appeared in the doorway, as if on cue, holding his commlink. "It's the Council. They've tried contacting you directly. They want to meet with you."

"When?"

"Now."

Ben took a shaky breath and nodded. Vokara finished with her bandages and let him put his clothes back on. He wouldn't have time to change his waterstained, scorchmarked clothes.

"Thank you, Master Che," he gave her a sweet smile despite the pain. "As ever, I am in your debt."

They watched him limp out of the Halls. "I've never seen Obi-Wan be so nice to you," Qui-Gon teased, hoping to lighten the mood. Vokara only shrugged.

"I gather he's been through enough to change his tune," she said.

"Like what?"

"You saw the wound, Master Jinn. You've seen the scars." She walked around him to the hall. "Excuse me. I have patients to attend to."


On his way to the council room, Ben heard a loud gasp. He turned to see who it was, but Aola was already halfway to him. She slammed into him, hugging him as tightly as her growing arms would allow.

"Master Ben," she said against his chest, "You're okay."

Wincing for his arm, Ben looked up above Aola's head to see Feemor jogging up behind her. "Yes, Aola," He laid a reassuring hand on her back. "Yes, I'm fine."

"I thought he was going to kill you," She whispered. Feemor had caught up, and Ben looked at him, surprised.

"She saw," the master explained, face grim. He glanced at Ben's singed sleeve. "I'm glad to see you in one piece."

Aola refused to relinquish her hold. Ben patted her again. "Padawan, I must appear before the Council."

"He was a Sith, wasn't he?" She asked. Ben could see Feemor tense behind her. He studied her face for a moment, savoring this last moment of innocence.

"Yes," he told her.

Even though she'd seen it, hearing it aloud was jarring. "Did you… kill him?"

Ben thinned his lips, unable to look either of them in the eye. "That's what the Council wants to speak to me about. I need to go."

"Force be with you, master," Aola said, brushing his sleeve. He smiled for her, and nodded at Feemor. He was going to need it.