Ezra sat, the holocrons eerie ruby light painting his features in an unsettling way. His hands were clasped over his knees, as if to hold them down. Part of him screamed to leave, turn tail and run out of the cargo bay. He quickly dismissed the thought. He reached out with the force vaguely, a small hope to open the holocron.

He brushed his force signature against it, causing one of the symbols that snaked up the holocrons sides to glow more than the rest. The object, to an outside observer, would seem possessed. In a way, it was; each holocron - jedi or sith - contained a gatekeeper, an AI representation of the holocrons creator, in hologram form. Said AI had a program giving it de facto consciousness comparable to that of its creator. Not only that, holocrons were endlessly complex, only the most powerful masters of the light or dark being able to create them.

Ezra knew these tenants by heart, having them drilled into him by his master. It was a basic overview of the structure of a holocron, and one that Ezra had hoped, in vain, would allow him to unearth the sith artifact's secrets. How wrong he was.

The youth continued to skid around the faultlines the holocron made in the force, brushing his force signature against the holocrons, a process that bewildered him no end. How could an inanimate object hold such power? It was, to most, an unbreakable pyramid of information, inside and out. Yet for those that connected to the force, it was unbreakable in a metaphoric sense as well. Ezra made a more daring move by pressing his force signature against the center of the faultlines from the holocron, causing his teeth to grit. Perspiration began to journey down his forehead.

Despite this, or perhaps out of pure teenage stubbornness, Ezra continued. He slammed his force signature against that of the holocron, giving up any subtlety, earning immediate pushback. His teeth began to grind. A little further. His breathing began to rise exponentially. At little further…

Ezra snapped. His efforts, though valiant, bore no fruit as he opened his eyes. His chest rose and fell slowly, and he felt fatigue spread throughout his frame and mind, making the force as a healer for this irrelevant. He began breathing exercises his master had taught him to calm nerves, and while not as effective as they could have been, they helped a bit. In minutes Ezra had steadied his breaths to a slow, benign pace, and took his first notice of the state of his clothing.

It felt damp, as did his hair - well, what he didn't shave off - the cropped locks weren't sopping, but certainly were not the most comfortable. The sickly sensation of sweat in his armpits didn't help, nor did the stench even he could smell. As the youth rose, he picked the holocron from the durasteel floor of the cargo bay, glancing at it when the artifact twitched slightly in his palm. His eyebrows cocked at the object, as if t it would provide him any answers. When it didn't, he headed back to his and Zeb's cabin, slipping the holocron and his lightsaber in the dufflebag at the end of his bunk. Grabbing a fresh pair of military-gray trousers and a lighter shaded top, he headed to the communal showers of the Ghost.

He found the area empty, as he'd expected, and stripped out of his jumpsuit, setting the orange article outside of the shower. Slipping inside, he turned it on and gave a small, satisfied sigh as the water cascaded down his body. The droplets were just right; warm enough without being overly so.

Ezra didn't know how long he spent in the small slice of heaven, he just judged by the wrinkles his fingers were attaining that he should leave it. And, with a small sigh, he exited the shower. He turned it off with the force, causing his knees to feel slightly weak. The youth frowned. That was worrying. Ezra shook his head, spreading water across the floor and walls on the communal. His midnight-blue locks, only minutes prior having been neatly groomed now tickled the back of his neck. He ignored it, instead heading to Kanan's quarters. Just as he got to the door, he froze. While Kanan was on medical leave on Yavin IV, he'd given his quarters to his apprentice. Though Ezra had accepted, he refused to use them, which only raised more questions from his crewmates.

He'd brushed them off under the premise of them not understanding, having promised he'd tell them in due time. That promise was spur-of-the moment, and Ezra regretted it hindsight, but it had been made, and he knew none of his crewmates would let it go. Especially Sabine. The mandalorian was relentless, never missing a chance to question him on it. Of course, these inquiries were always polite, just a hint of nervousness along with firmness to assert the question in his mind. But he found them tiring.

It was making him increasingly weary, only mounting stress on him. Granted, he didn't blame them. They were only aware of the obvious; Ahsoka not returning, Kanan being blinded, and, of course, the thing that intrigued them the most - the holocron. As the only crew member to have a connection to the force remaining, they would inquire often when he'd head off to a clandestine location in the Ghost to try to open it. Hera was the one to do that the most, with Sabine more interested in what exactly happened on Malachor, while Zeb left him alone to his devices.

Ezra was sure Kanan had told Hera to keep an eye on him with the holocron. He was glad that Kanan had realised that he'd find the holocron eventually, and that hiding it would be pointless. Keeping it with him would put it in the hands of the rebellion, and if they found Yavin IV, the empire would have access to it.

So, he was left as the artifact's sole guardian, and used methods of secrecy he'd mastered over years as a street rat on lothal again. In fact he'd been digging himself into the

same social hole he'd been in when he first arrived on the Ghost.

Taking a deep, languid breath, he entered Kanan's cabin. His eyes scanned the room, noting the location of each and every item Kanan had left behind, in the same spots he'd left them in. Striding the length of the room, Ezra bent down and heaved a small, unmarked crate containing probe droids specialized for blaster deflection. The very same ones Kanan had taught him with.

As swiftly as he could, Eza left the cabin and headed once more to the cargo bay. Setting the crate in the center of the cargo bay, he opened it, sliding the top over the side and cupping one of the probe droids. Flicking a switch near the droids thruster, and tossed it into the air. The droid's balancing protocols immediately went to work, stabilizing it. Ezra reached to his belt before realising he'd left his lightsaber in his duffle bag.

Sighing to himself, he made the monotonous journey to his and Zeb's cabin, retrieved his lightsaber and made his way back to the cargo bay. The droid was still hovering in the same spot he left it, and rotated slightly as he came nearer to it. When he was less than two feet away, he activated his blade, smiling slightly at the familiar snap hiss the weapon made as it activated.

The blade of the lightsaber was a rare gold, illuminating his face in a calming, serene light that made Ezra feel safe. The weapon was his life, and he was proud of its construction, having taken him two weeks to complete. The material was polished, light durasteel and its power source was a centralized cell that would last for years before needing replacement. The droid darted to Ezra's left and he raised the blade, letting the force guide his hand.

He blocked the bolt with ease and closed his eyes. His feet instinctively took the basic stance of form III, soresu. He felt relaxation spread through his consciousness. He needed this.

AN: Okay, first things first: the reaction to this story has been amazing. Seriously. It took me ten weeks and 11 chapters to get one third of the reviews this story already has. I'm not complaining, I'm just noting it. So I decided to give you another chapter. Any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted - Raging Celiac