When Mace entered Yoda's quarters, he was greeted by the warm, quite welcomed aroma of tea. Yoda liked to entertain visitors, and Mace was certain Yoda preferred his guests often wrong-footed. To do so, he would offer treats that were, to say the least, interesting and exotic. But apparently, tonight, it was just plain, good, old tea.

The time was for serious discussion, and not levity. Qui-Gon Jinn was already here, cross-legged on one of the stools carved from wooden stumps. The two Jedi waited in silence while Mace sat next to him. Qui-Gon poured him a cup of tea with a grave look on his face. It smelled of dried herbs that evoked late summer. Mace was more of a caff person, but tea would perfectly do tonight. He felt like that was all he had done today: drink hot beverages while he racked his brain trying to manage everything.

Yoda's apartments looked just like the old Master: down-to-earth and warm. Many natural elements were present here, from numerous thriving potted plants to furniture made from wood and stone. Mace was sure Yoda would have set up a fireplace with a real fire to simmer his famous stew, if it had been possible. Instead, Yoda liked to burn actual oil in crude, ceramic lamps, that made the shadows dance on the walls.

Mace supposed that one didn't live in a specific place for so long without gradually shaping it into one's own image.

And, although all of the living accommodations within the Temple were more or less based on the same plan, specificities had been implanted, according to the particular needs of the many species welcomed within the Coruscant Jedi Temple.

Like Coruscant, the Temple reunited beings from all the galaxy's corners, for the Force blessed everyone equally, regardless of species or social rank. To become a Jedi, on the other hand, you had to be lucky enough to have been spotted at the right time by the right person.

But Mace wasn't here to think or talk about Force-related sociology. He was there to discuss about a specific reason. Or rather, a specific person.

Kenobi.

Mace wasn't stupid, and with enough clues at his disposal, his intelligence—along with the Force's insistent nudges—could do the rest in terms of deduction. They would probably need official confirmation, but Kenobi hadn't protested when Mace had told him he was barred from leaving the Temple. Kenobi hadn't even asked why, settling for a scathing glance before storming off, definitively having forgone his meek—and obviously false—persona

The Force kept whispering to him that Kenobi was an ally, and that the Jedi had nothing to fear from him. In light of the latest elements, in fact, the Jedi probably owed their survival to Kenobi's actions, for Mace couldn't see how the Order could have managed in the long run, positioned as they were under the heel of the Senate, and therefore under the heel of a Sith Lord.

Mace did wonder, however, about his modus operandi. Kenobi had apparently orchestrated and acted almost single-handedly to bring down Palpatine, which had been an uncontested success. The man had been wounded in the fight, however, which explained some of the things Mace had noticed since last night.

Why hadn't Kenobi shared his knowledge? Why had he acted alone? Where did his knowledge come from? And, almost as importantly, who had trained him?

There were immense dark areas to which answers had to be found.

"Mace, waiting for you, we were. A lot to say, apparently you have." Yoda also seemed weary, as almost everyone Mace had had the pleasure to interact with today. The last events had a world-shattering effect that was quite hard to ignore, and the Order as a whole was concerned.

"I admit I am rather curious about what kind of knowledge you have to share, Mace," said Qui-Gon, inclined his head in wonder. The two men had a cordial relationship despite the numerous subjects they liked to argue about. Qui-Gon was a fundamentally independent man, with little respect for rules that didn't fit his interpretation of a given situation at the moment. And he might well decide the next minute that these were in fact, perfectly reasonable and coherent rules to follow.

Qui-Gon liked to say that he followed only the will of the Force, but Mace wondered at the extent to which the man used this as an excuse to do only as he pleased.

And the rules were there for a reason, Mace could attest to that. After all, he was somehow the living embodiment of the rules. So, sometimes, Mace took it a bit personally when someone seemed to be breaking the rules just for the sake of it.

Qui-Gon had been an apprentice to Yan Dooku, one of the greatest duelists the Order had counted in its time. He was also now one of the Sith Lords known to the Jedi, who had fallen to the Dark Side of the Force, due to little-known events. All that was known was that Dooku had left the Order, only to turn out to be one of their arch-enemies a few years later.

Qui-Gon had the dubious honor of being part of a Lineage with the reputation of being cursed. His master, Dooku, had Fallen, while one of his apprentices, Du Crion, had also turned. Mace wondered to what extent Qui-Gon could feel responsible for all this, for even if the reasonable part of everyone could recognize that the Fall to the Dark Side was, at the end of the road, a matter of personal choice; the more emotional, unreasonable part would always wonder about the share of responsibility. In any case, Mace knew he would feel responsible if any of his students turned to the Dark Side at some point.

Qui-Gon must have some unresolved issues about that, because he since had made it a point of honor to cling almost fiercely to his independence, and refusing to take on a padawan since then. With one notable exception.

"I'm in great need of your valuable advice, Qui-Gon, Yoda."

"Know more, you do?"

Mace sighed. "A load more, and for most of what I've been able to learn, I need to discuss certain facts to gain perspective." He massaged his temple in an attempt to relieve his migraine, but the soothing lasted only a few fleeting seconds.

"Is it to do with the latest events? It's all anyone's talking about today, and it's hard to miss."

"I suppose you've seen the recording, Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon inclined his head in assent. "It was... spectacular, to say the least. I don't think anyone within the Temple has missed it. You can't take a step in the hallways without overhearing a conversation about it. They call the man the Sith-Slayer."

"Better and better." Mace rolled his eyes. "There's been a concerning breach in information containment, obviously, but that's not the priority. I have strong suspicions about who this man is. "

Yoda's pointed ears perked up with interest, and Qui-Gon put down his cup of tea.

"A Jedi from the Temple, he is?"

Mace didn't answer immediately. He knew that, in any case, things wouldn't remain secret for very long. He had already warned the Temple Guards, and Jedi were generally a rather intelligent lot. They would be able to connect the dots, sooner than later. But he was curiously reluctant to reveal this critical information. The image of Kenobi's face, when he had announced that he was not to leave the Temple for the time being, flashed through his mind. The man had an iron countenance, but he was obviously exhausted and not in possession of all his means. No doubt, with a good night's sleep, Kenobi would certainly be more difficult to handle.

That's why it was probably a good idea to bring as many powerful Jedi as possible into the loop. Kenobi was going to need supervision, and for the moment, he was in the capable hands of Master Vos, who had, if Mace was reading the situation correctly, quite gotten into Kenobi's good graces.

But just because Kenobi seemed cooperative didn't mean they shouldn't be cautious.

"I don't think we'll be able to keep this a secret much longer, and we still have much to explore to understand exactly the ins and outs of this whole affair."

"Our help, you said you needed ." The statement felt like the question it really was.

"This person is indeed a Jedi, apparently raised in the Temple. We have a file, but it's probably been altered."

"Altered?"

"Hmm, yes, this man apparently has a wide range of skills, which it would interest me greatly to know where and when they were acquired. I've put Tera on this part of the case, and we already have a lot of points that need to be thoroughly investigated, but at least we're making progress. But that's not the specific point I needed to raise with you two."

Mace paused, not knowing exactly how to address the question, but he guessed bluntness was as valid as any other means.

"I need you to tell me everything you know about the man who calls himself Obi-Wan Kenobi, currently Jedi Archivist. I recall he was your Padawan for a very short time, Qui-Gon."

]o[

Obi-Wan was cursing his life. He wanted to scream and throw it all away, but he felt so utterly exhausted that he certainly didn't have the least amount of energy to expend. All he wanted was to get into bed and sleep. He didn't even know if he really wanted to wake up afterward.

Obi-Wan had reached the point where he almost didn't care what happened to him. The fact that the Jedi, strangely enough, weren't really putting pressure on him was destabilizing and totally unexpected, if he had to be honest with himself. Maybe he hadn't given them enough credit. A deeply buried part of him was oddly comforted, if he was honest with himself, and was telling him to finally let go and let his natural tendencies finally express themselves. Obi-Wan clamped hard on this part of his mind. Now wasn't the time to let his guard down, no matter how much he wanted to. Regroup, then refocus. He would assess the situation later.

For the moment, Obi-Wan had won over two shadows, whose concern and determination radiated quite plainly through the Force. They walked in silence towards his quarters, Obi-Wan leading the way, Quinlan and Bant a few paces behind. When he'd left Mace's office, he hadn't waited or sought to consult them on what to do next.

He didn't know exactly what kind of face he was making, but the few people he met along the way seemed to cautiously move out of his way, allowing him to advance unbothered.

Deep down, he knew that the time when he could go about his business in anonymity and tranquillity was definitely over. By his actions, he had gained a very luminous spot it would be quite hard to leave.

And he wasn't ready for that.

Bant and Quinlan knew enough to not leave him to his business unsupervised. It was the sensible and wise stance to adopt. Obi-Wan wouldn't trust himself as well.

Obi-Wan supposed that the only reasonable thing to do was lay down and shut his eyes.

They finally arrived at his door. Obi-Wan turned, one eyebrow raised in silent question. He wouldn't do them the pleasure of making their task easier.

But he could see that his attitude tended to slip on Quinlan, who remained impassive, arms crossed and looking nonchalant, patient, while it seemed to affect Bant, who was wringing her hands in nervousness.

He sighed.

"Bant, I'll see you tomorrow morning, I'll meet you at your office first thing, I promise. The ailment affecting the Clones isn't dangerous, but they do need protection. I have extensive documentation to share with you, and surely it will help you find a way to treat them efficiently."

Bant nodded, her brow creased with concern. She replied: "I'm counting on you. But in the meantime, I really want you to get some rest. You can go save the galaxy tomorrow."

"I really don't know what you're talking about. And I can't leave the Temple anyway, so I've nothing better to do. Go on, my dear, you need your rest too."

Bant gave a flash of a smile, and began to take a step away, before returning abruptly to hug him briefly. She didn't linger, but Obi-Wan had the time to catch her warmth and the genuine affection she had for him, that she had taken care to let shine through the bond they shared.

As she stepped aside—too quickly, too soon, his mind told him—she left only the cold emptiness he knew so well.

He watched her walk away with a mixture of complex feelings that he was far too tired to try to decipher. He turned to Quinlan: "Any chance of you getting back home too?"

Quinlan smiled, showing too many teeth. "Don't count on it, I'm mandated by Master Windu anyway. He wants me to keep an eye on you. Which is perfect, mind you, because it aligns perfectly with my will, and that's really the best kind of mission. I told you, I'll settle for the sofa."

Obi-Wan shrugged, resigned, as he unlocked the door. He breathed a sigh of relief as he entered his den. He kicked off his boots and removed his outer robe before hanging it on the coat hook on the wall next to the door. Feeling suddenly lighter, he collapsed onto the sofa.

"Hey, That's my bed," said Quinlan while slumping next to him. Obi-Wan was too tired to protest. It was easier to let Quinlan do whatever he felt like.

They remained like this for a few minutes, in an almost companionable silence, Obi-Wan trying unsuccessfully to muster enough energy to get up and prepare for the night.

"So. We still have a lot to talk about, you and me," said Quinlan, with a pleasant tone. "In fact, you probably have a lot to say to the Jedi in general. And I understand how uncomfortable it can be for you, but from what I can see, I think you know a thing or two about uncomfortable situations. What I also understand is that now you'll have no choice but to share. You're on our side, and the Force is particularly clear on this point. So now, the only thing left for you to do in the immediate future is to let go and rest."

Obi-Wan didn't have the strength to reply. His tired brain wasn't providing him with any clever or witty retort anyway. Moreover, he felt overwhelmed by the consideration everyone had shown him so far. And he didn't know if it was just fatigue that was making him feel so upset.

He supposed he'd been alone far too long to remember what it felt like to feel supported and protected.

And it was painful.

He straightened up, fighting the strong dizziness that accompanied the return to an upright position, and rummaged in the trunk where he stored the spare bedding. Extracting a blanket and pillow, he handed them to Quinlan with a smile he knew to be neutral, vaguely kind but cold.

"Here, I'll let you settle in. I'm going to sleep, I hope you have a pleasant night."

Quinlan grabbed the blanket and thanked him with the determined smile of the hunter whose hunt was successful, but not quite over.

Obi-Wan supposed he was apparently an interesting prey to stalk. But hey. Better the Jedi than the Sith.

]o[

Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan was dreaming. He had this slightly strange certainty about it, which came and went, between moments when he was detached from what he was perceiving and moments when he was no longer able to tell the difference. As always, his dream had a crystalline quality that made the sounds resonate, as if he were walking through a glass cathedral.

Obi-Wan.

Someone was calling. And he didn't know if he should be worried. He had spent so much time hiding. It seemed important that he should answer, though, but the way to reveal himself eluded him.

He was lost in his own intimate labyrinth, whose twists and turns seemed both familiar and completely foreign. He wandered for a brief moment of eternity, where time had no hold and was no longer a relevant dimension to make sense of one's bearings.

In his crystalline dream, large reflective walls lined dark divides. The crystal panels played sometimes scenes from his life, which he wasn't sure had really happened. The disorientation was something he registered as present in a distant part of his mind, but which kept him moving forward in the darkened corridors of his mind. Light played a strange game here, reflecting incidentally on myriads of suspended colored shards that formed flowing cascades, losing themselves in the unfathomable gaps Obi-Wan was led to skirt on his journey. He tried to tread carefully, walking on the shards that littered his path. He didn't want to damage the essence of his dream any further.

But he needed to keep moving.

After what seemed an eternity, he finally arrived at his inner citadel. The name was maybe a bit of a stretch, because it didn't look like a fortification. Rather, his citadel took the form of a portico, like a gateway between two worlds, between two times. The portico stood at the top of a hill, as if in a sunny clearing surrounded by crystal trees.

The place was deeply familiar to him, for it was from here that the transmigration process of Old Ben's memory had begun. It was perhaps the most sacred place in his psyche, and one whose preservation he had to guarantee at all costs. He vaguely remembered defeating the Sith mind curse before it had penetrated too deeply and gained access to his inner citadel.

The damage he perceived now was of a different nature.

Old Ben was standing there, watching with concern a crack that had opened up in one of the crystal panels framing the portico.

The old man was crouched down, probing the depths of the crack with gentle taps, generating a dissonant cacophony. Old Ben grimaced and straightened up, before welcoming Obi-Wan with a crooked smile.

Well, well. You didn't pull any punches. I understand why you made this choice, but I wouldn't recommend putting any more strain, though.

It had been a long time since Obi-Wan had a discussion like this with Old Ben. In the last decade, the two psyches had become so intertwined that most of the time they had remained completely synchronized and inseparable.

Obi-Wan was struck by a wave of melancholy so strong that it made him temporarily dizzy, which was a curious sensation to experience during a dream. Old Ben had been his only confidant, for years, and especially during those early times when he'd been a teenager and had methodically, scrupulously worked to break off and distance himself from all emotionally significant relationships. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this strange being.

Obi-Wan knew Old Ben wasn't a friend, for the bond went much deeper than that. Old Ben knew everything about Obi-Wan. Old Ben knew his every thought, his every regret.

Old Ben was his alter ego.

But Obi-Wan had long realized that the reverse was not necessarily true. He knew, he had sensed, that Old Ben had not given up everything he had been. Some things had remained closed, barricaded behind massive doors, hidden deep in the labyrinth that was his mind. Old Ben's last years, before he initiated the transmigration, were patchy and confused. Obi-Wan had learned early on not to go in that direction. Old Ben had seen to that, and had told him every time he'd tried that he didn't need to go there.

Obi-Wan understood that some things didn't need to be known. Over Old Ben's last few years, the galaxy had become so dark that it had been difficult to connect with the Light Side of the Force. Corruption had gained everything, and it had been hard to find places that were truly untouched. In this context, it wasn't hard to understand what must have happened to Old Ben.

Obi-Wan had quickly stopped trying to find out when he had understood.

Old Ben lived up to his name. Despite a general appearance of vigor and good health, Old Ben clearly bore the weight of years on his shoulders. His face was furrowed with wrinkles, and was partly eaten away by a short, luminous white beard, which contrasted with his tanned complexion. Old Ben had preferred to spend his time planet-side, rather than out in space, where the Living Force was best perceived, and his skin bore the stigmata of long hours spent meditating and training under whatever sun he happened to live under for the moment.

To his typically Jedi outer robes—Old Ben had never been able to bring himself to forgo it completely, liking too much wide and comfortable sleeves—were added saddlebags, pouches and various containers. It covered a classic spacer outfit, practical and comfortable, complemented by a pair of heavy combat boots.

Generally speaking, Old Ben had a remarkable allure, but he could obfuscate it at will with glamours and subtle redirection of light that easily blurred certain features of his face and gait. Over the years, he had learned never to part with his arsenal for the sake of anonymity. He had other ways of remaining discreet, and had used them shamelessly.

The first time he had appeared in Obi-Wan's mind, Obi-Wan had been stricken by the impression of power Old Ben gave off. Despite his apparent old age, this old age was not associated with frailty, but rather with the accumulation of overwhelming knowledge. Long years of existing taught economy and efficiency, and Old Ben was the living embodiment of this fact.

His gestures were meticulous, and not an ounce of energy was wasted. In the early days, when Obi-Wan was still sufficiently disassociated, they had both fought to enable Obi-Wan to internalize more quickly the gestures and movements that were the foundation of his combat effectiveness.

Old Ben had taught him endurance taken to the extreme.

What it really meant, to be the last one standing.

By an ill twist of fate, it had become an identity for Old Ben, something that defined him to the core.

And, obviously, the damage Obi-Wan had done to his psyche didn't sit well with Old Ben.

The old man had surveyed the damage with something akin to regret in his eyes, even if his smile was as always, warm and welcoming.

Obi-Wan, you've completed part of the objective, and gone far beyond what I was able to do in my time. I'm proud of you.

Old Ben ran a hand thickened by manual labor over the crystalline panel beside which he stood. When he spoke, his words and phrases seemed to be generated directly inside Obi-Wan. Old Ben didn't actually have a voice per se, but was more like one of Obi-Wan's inner voices, like the one that constantly criticized everything he did. The difference was that Old Ben's was never critical, but rather understanding, and most of the time provided useful, well-chosen advice.

It had been a long time since Obi-Wan had felt so dissociated from himself.

Now they would have to find a way to stabilize it all.

"Is it worrying?" asked Obi-Wan, still feeling disoriented.

Old Ben didn't answer immediately. He seemed to consider the question for a long moment, then sighed. I don't know, he said. Let's assume that it isn't, but that we must do everything we can not to make it worse. You'll have to take the time to meditate more regularly from now on. I wish you'd done this earlier, before I dragged you here, but I understand that you haven't had the time. Your life has been quite hectic for you these past hours, no? Old Ben's smile took on a sly quality that told Obi-Wan he was again the butt of a joke.

This time, it was he who sighed.

"I wish things hadn't gotten as out of hand as they did."

Obi-Wan. I don't think you realize how precisely your life has been regulated by your knowledge of the future and its context. All your life, you've played a well-established game of Dejarick, taking advantage of your position as an unknown player to quietly advance your pieces. From the moment you revealed yourself, whether you wanted to or not, things immediately went out of your control. And you're going to have to deal with it like a normal sentient being. You're entering uncharted waters, and now you're going to have to rely on your resilience, rather than your foreknowledge, to navigate. Maybe not unscathefully, but purposefully.

"Purposefully?"

Your work isn't fully done, Obi-Wan, you have much to learn still, and quite a few loose ends to tie. But you'll soon need to learn to live for yourself, chart your own course, and leave me behind.

Old Ben approached, laid a heavy hand on Obi-Wan's right shoulder. Obi-Wan could make out the blue-gray of Old Ben's eyes, which lit up his weathered face. They had a limpidness as deep as the pure water of a dark, bottomless well.

Have faith, Obi-Wan. You're doing fine. The Force is with you, always.

Maybe Old Ben tried to be comforting, but his words sounded too much like what one might say to another when parting for good, and it didn't sit well with Obi-Wan.

]o[

Obi-Wan woke up with a start, abruptly, without the usual transition that marked the change from one state of consciousness to another. A deep feeling of loneliness crushed him for a moment, before he dealt with it and compartmentalized it to address it to the Force later. It was an exercise he did so often that was doing it almost effortlessly, without thinking about it. He wasn't sure if it was healthy anymore, or if he would ever have to pay the bill, but it was working for him lately. The disorientation that had marked his dream was less pronounced, but it still existed, as if he had to struggle constantly to keep the thread of his consciousness into something coherent.

He sat up silently, consulted his chrono, and sighed. The middle of the night, again. It was not an hour to start a day, and yet he knew sleep would elude him. He had too much to do anyway, and too little time to address everything that had been left undone since yesterday.

His bed was niched in an alcove, the relative privacy of which he could guarantee by drawing a curtain. He hadn't drawn it last night, keeping an eye on Quinlan, who had, as promised, settled on his sofa. Quinlan definitely looked like a big tooka who'd made himself comfortable, sprawled unshamedly with limbs protruding generously from the blanket. He looked asleep, his consequent frame completely relaxed and at ease.

But Obi-Wan knew better.

The Force surrounding the Kiffar just spelled awareness. And Obi-Wan wasn't surprised. Quinlan still had to maintain some semblance of decorum, and sleeping like that in the lair of someone of unknown quantity was not the most prudent thing to do. Quinlan had had to remain in a state of superficial meditation in order to keep a modicum of vigilance regarding Obi-Wan's actions. The fact that Quinlan was still willing to show him signs of trust was even concerning, and reinforced the idea that something was going on with Force bonds Obi-Wan had forged in his previous life.

Too bad. Obi-Wan apparently didn't have the power to keep away those who wanted to be close to him anyway. Obi-Wan just had to make the best of it. And, as Old Ben had said, start forging his own path.

Finally a little more rested, Obi-Wan could begin to sort out what he was feeling, and consider what to do next with a slightly clearer mind. He finally recognized that he was now in completely uncharted territory, and his ways of coping had to be adjusted. Anything could happen, and he had no way of knowing what.

At most, he could concentrate on the ennemies he knew were still threatening. He'd dealt with Maul years ago. That left Dooku and his cronies: the most notable being Grievous and Ventress. And remained the thorny question of the Star Forge. He was reluctant to involve the Jedi in these endeavors, but, as things stood, perhaps he would have no choice but to accept their help.

Obi-Wan picked up his pillow, and threw it precise aim at Quinlan's falsely sleeping head—who chose to do nothing to deflect the object's trajectory.

"Hey!"

"I'm up. And you're not sleeping, obviously, don't pretend."

Quinlan straightened up into a sitting position, running a hand over his tired face. Obi-Wan assumed that he, too, hadn't been getting enough sleep lately.

"Yes, I hadn't planned to stay up all night again. But it'll do."

"Are you planning to follow me all day?"

"Yes again, and I think you're reasonable enough to understand why."

"Fair enough. I suppose I could use an assistant."

Quinlan rubbed his hands together with a smile. "Ha. Give me all the work you want, as long as it doesn't involve fetching something for you. I'll stick by your side."

"I think I've got a busy schedule today. But first, meditation. You can join me if you want."

"Sure. And then, breakfast? But we need to restock your cooling unit."

"I've got other priorities, Quinlan."

"What's more important than a full stomach? If you're so keen to keep slaying Sith Lords, it seems to me that the first thing to do is not to be hungry, doesn't it?"

Obi-Wan sighed, "Sith Lords will have to wait. I'll have to face the Jedi first."