Fox was monitoring the move of his command center, now integrating a network of rooms near the Archives, in the Jedi Temple. He had left the Senate with something akin to relief, and he knew his brothers were feeling the same.
After yesterday's fiasco with the barracks, he was still finding it hard to get over the blow and move on. At least, they didn't have to stay stationed within the Senate. Anti-Clones sentiment was quite strong and blatant there, and hadn't improved since the assassination of the Chancellor.
Who was apparently an evil, terrible scheming asshole.
And who hadn't hesitated to play with countless lives—his brothers lives—to advance his kriffing plot for power.
Fox wasn't quite sure what to make of the whole thing, but what he did understand very clearly was that his existence, and that of all his brothers, had been orchestrated to guarantee absolute power to one person.
It made him sick.
He and Surge were due to visit the Healing Halls later that day, as the Jedi Healers apparently had important information to share. Fortunately, they apparently had found a solution for the brothers trapped in their psychic paralysis.
The atmosphere in the Jedi Temple was very different from what Fox had been used to in the Senate. There existed a certain kind of peace, which could be almost heard in the deep echoes that inhabited the wide, high corridors running through the Temple.
It would be easy to get lost in this immense, thousand-year-old building, and Fox felt, at times, the crushing weight of the years that had shaped the existence of this sacred place. He was acutely aware, having fought for months to guarantee a semblance of security and privacy for his brothers stationed on Coruscant, of the extent to which this place belonged to the Jedi. It was their home, their refuge, their protection.
Although not Force-sensitive, Fox could almost feel a deeper current permeating these walls and stones. Maybe he was simply imagining it. But the strange atmosphere was getting to him. The Temple was a sacred place, a place of worship, which would surely endure the passage of time, for millennia yet to come.
Fox, although not a Jedi, felt welcomed within these walls in a way he hadn't in the Senate. There, politicians ignored you. At best, they might show consideration by saying a greeting, or thank you when you held the door for them, but most of the time, he and his brothers had been treated like furniture. When it wasn't downright blatant contempt.
The Jedi had allocated them a series of unoccupied rooms. Apparently, the Temple had a lot of unallocated space, as the Jedi population had dwindled considerably in recent decades. So much space was a real luxury on Coruscant, and Fox felt honored to have so much consideration, for the first time in his short life.
His brothers also seemed quite happy to be moving their base of operations. There was a bounce in their step, an energy in their movements that indicated enthusiasm.
Being away from the Senate was a relief for everyone, Fox realized. Perhaps one of these days, he and his brothers would have to reconsider their life plans. Because he felt rebellious, in spite of his training, in spite of his design that called for absolute obedience toward any form of authority. He guessed the Clones would have to choose the authority they wanted to serve under, or suffer a pointless death.
His brothers had set up rows of tables to serve as desks, and two sofas had ended up, somehow, in a corner, next to a caf maker. Fox had also overheard two brothers discussing bringing in some bedrolls. Apparently, some of them were planning a sleepover at the Temple.
And well, why not?
The Temple had all the necessary facilities: sleeping, eating, training and washing. Fox would ask Master Windu if it would be a problem if some of the brothers settled there for a while, while they refurbished their barracks. He would also approach the quartermaster about the cost of their accommodation, and whether it was possible to redirect some of the credits allocated to the Clones maintenance to compensate the Jedi.
Fox really didn't feel like bothering with the regulations today. And, as long as the regulations only treated them as cannon fodder, he had no intention of continuing to comply willingly. And the less contact he had with politicians, the better off they would be. Mas Amedda may have been marginally better than Palpatine, but Fox had had enough of politicians' snake-like ways and hypocritical rhetoric for his lifetime.
]o[
Apparently, Jedi couldn't keep a secret—at least not among themselves. Quinlan was quite right when he said that Jedi were the worst gossips. Obi-Wan didn't quite see how the kind of information that concerned him—and was probably of the state-secret variety—could have spread so quickly within the Temple.
He wasn't sure what people knew, but he supposed that from the moment Mace had broadcast the ban to the Temple Guards, things must have gotten out of hand. All it took was surely one nosy person with a juicy piece of information to spread it like wildfire.
Obi-Wan could understand it, on an intellectual level, but it was still pretty damn annoying.
He was going to have to mourn his anonymity anyway. He had really enjoyed being able to move around and go on solo missions without anyone worrying about his disappearance. In his first life, Obi-Wan had been too high-profile to be able to move around incognito, aside from some very specific missions.
Obi-Wan supposed he would have to re-acclimate himself to a mode of operation where his every actions would have impact and importance.
Apparently, Madam Nu hadn't been listening and wasn't aware of the latest rumors, or maybe she was aware, but had decided it didn't make any difference. In any case, she treated him no differently than usual, and was even expressing clear displeasure with him. Since joining her to make progress on the coffer matter, Quinlan still in the vicinity, she addressed him in a dry, annoyed manner.
She had promised him a whole rotation at fetching duty in the library, where apprentices were usually posted. Nobody liked fetching holobooks— a tedious tasks since the same few books were continuously being requested—for bored students who were obliged to fulfill their assignments.
But first, Obi-Wan needed to open the damn coffer. He would do this morning, now that he hadn't to pretend a false level of skill anymore. He might as well get the chore out of the way today, allowing him to advance to the next stage.
In any case, Obi-Wan knew he would have to go explain himself to the Council soon. Might as well do it by giving them some relevant insights on the affair, and it would surely help mitigate the level of attention he would get then.
To have an impact and be able to influence the Council's decisions in the right direction, he might as well start practicing transparency.
The coffer stood in front of him. It had to be handled with care, like most Sith artifacts, requiring the panel of tools lined alongside the workstation. At last, Obi-Wan could examine it with his mind mostly in working order. Obi-Wan could feel the intricacies of the Sith locking spell, anchored in the engravings that adorned its surface.
On his dominant side, he situated the datapad detailing the semantic subtleties he would need to keep in mind and whose intricacies he was explaining to Madam Nu.
"But then, when you try to activate this set of symbols, it doesn't unlock the mechanism?" She asked, positioning herself to get a better look over his shoulder.
"No, in fact, it's most likely a trap. The whole canvas has its general meaning completely changed by this symbol." Obi-Wan pointed to a small arabesque, positioned almost innocuously on one of the rear edges of the box. "It's a contextual reversal, speaking of opposites in all things. It's subtle, but important to consider."
"Hmm. Interesting. Also interesting that you're apparently less stuck on that translation than yesterday." She said with a rather scathing tone. Obi-Wan was glad not to have her in his line of vision. "One day you'll have to write me a comprehensive analysis of this kind of spell, so we can archive it. No doubt it will come in handy in the future."
Obi-Wan sighed, "Very well, Madam Nu. I'll do an article on it—when I have the time."
The box had remained all night in his office, unattended. This had been a major oversight on his part. Indeed, with the information Obi-Wan had gathered this morning, especially concerning Jango Fett's presence on Coruscant, it wasn't wise to leave this kind of artifact unattended. Obi-Wan felt that Fett, or someone else, could very well break into the Temple if necessary to retrieve any interesting objects. The Temple was far from inviolable, and had enough people and traffic that it would be easy, with a little preparation and cunning, to break in.
Obi-Wan would open the safe and ensure that the artifact it probably contained was placed in the most secure vault available. Even though he would actually prefer to keep the thing with him, where he could keep a constant eye on it. He would have to work with the Council to determine the best course of action anyway, he knew he could no longer make this kind of important decision unilaterally. A pity.
Obi-Wan ran a finger delicately over the engravings on the lid. Sith art could be truly beautiful, sometimes.
The various temples and tombs he had visited in his two lifetimes attested to this. Some Sith promoted a genuine aestheticism in their creations. Often, it tended towards the grandiloquent, particularly in terms of architecture, but there was something poignant behind this quest for beauty, despite the corruption that was the nature of the Dark Side.
Because, as Obi-Wan had learned, there was always a tragedy behind the Fall of a Force Sensitive.
To open this kind of mechanism, Obi-Wan would have to maintain a sort of weave in his mind, and match the vibrations of the Force to exert careful pressure on certain points simultaneously. If this pressure wasn't exerted correctly, this type of lock was often designed to trigger inconvenient consequences, such as an explosion or the outright destruction of the safe's contents.
"Do you think you'll be able to open the safe today, Kenobi? You have other duties not to be neglected, as you are, I hope, aware."
Obi-Wan didn't answer immediately. He was making a definite effort to maintain concentration. Keeping up with the many subtleties involved in weaving the spell took a large share of his mind's focus. Practice had helped him automate certain processes, but he still needed to make a conscious effort to follow through with the necessary processes.
Old Ben had spent decades wandering the Galaxy, to explore and to learn everything he could, often desperate to find a way—any way—to counter the growing influence of Sidious's Empire. Much of the knowledge and many of the techniques he had amassed in his toolbox often came directly from sources of dubious origins. Over time, Old Ben had come to know large swathes of Sith culture as deeply as Jedi traditions.
Much of what had enabled him to expand his own life beyond the natural limit had come from this knowledge, and Old Ben had sometimes had to resort to questionable acts to have a fighting chance. He had long since given up on doing so on equal terms, but it was possible to keep on fighting, even if the situation seemed hopeless.
Old Ben knew, having learned long ago, how to function despite despair pervading everything.
After all, despair was just a feeling, an emotion in the abstract realm of perception, and it could be dissociated from what had driven him to keep going: a pure, unadulterated grit. It was what had fueled him all those years, when everything around him had collapsed, endlessly crumbling further into utter darkness.
Obi-Wan thought it was perhaps the only quality he really possessed, the one that had never really failed him. And it was the consequences of his resolution that had brought him to this strange situation, to say the least.
Indeed, he wouldn't be in this position, the focus of the entire Jedi Order, if he hadn't carried out this damned transmigration.
But then, he had endured far worse in his life than the unwanted attention of a bunch of Jedi. At least, he thought so?
His concentration slipped, and the canvas he was trying to keep clear in mind evaporated like a wisp of smoke. He sighed. His thoughts were distracting him, and he could feel Madam Nu's expectations in the Force, which she was making no effort to hide. He glanced at her disapprovingly.
"Madam Nu, if you please. Don't distract me."
"If you were a little more transparent about what you're trying to do, perhaps I could assist," she replied with the stern face she visibly liked to adopt. Obi-Wan knew she could not be cowed that easily. "Don't try to do everything on your own, Archivist Kenobi. You really need to learn to collaborate. You know, teamwork is important in our field. Just because we're Scholars doesn't mean we stay in our corner all the time. I would hope you know that."
That was... oddly apropos and to the point. Obi-Wan sighed again, massaging his forehead. "Very well." He handed her the repulsor-equipped clamp used to turn the coffer when needed. "Hold this for me."
Obi-Wan stood up and walked over to the shelf facing his desk, which furnished the corner of the room. He used it to store his shard-related equipment. In the small carved wooden box were a few kyber shards he hadn't yet infused.
Obi-Wan grabbed one of them delicately and returned to his place. Madam Nu and Quinlan said nothing, but were clearly interested in what he was intending to do. If things continued on this path, he would have to share his techniques anyway. After all, it would probably help the Jedi face the challenges that surely lay ahead. Obi-Wan wasn't yet sure exactly what risks the Order was running in the immediate future, but the problems were far from over.
He placed the luminous, faceted shard facing him, in front of the box, and cupped his hands on either side. Using the Force, he levitated the shard, which centered itself in the middle of the sphere formed by his palms. The Kyber reacted to the influence of the Force, as evidenced by its increased luminosity. Small wisps of light traveled across its surface, like arcs of plasma following the lines of a magnetic field.
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and let his Force-sense take over. Shards could sustain ephemeral Infusions, allowing him to externalize some of the cognitive load required to deploy some of the more complex spells. The shard made the weave last, enabling him to add layers upon layers, dramatically complexifying spells he couldn't have hoped to cast without this support.
He anchored the pattern that would carry the unlocking spell in the Kyber facets. The shard was of good quality, and absorbed the structure of the spell without difficulty. Thus maintained, Obi-Wan had only to add substance. His working memory, freed up in this way, could sort and retain the necessary information without difficulty.
When the lattice proved sufficiently complete, he tested its solidity by attempting to move it from the shard. For a moment, his mind encompassed the entire spell, which he deftly applied to the engravings on the box. An almost audible click was heard in the Force, and Obi-Wan, eyes still closed, clearly perceived a feel of easing around the object. He passed an tentative hand over the lid, trying to feel any residual traps. Sensing none, he opened his eyes and placed the Kyber shard carefully to his right. He would put it away later.
Quinlan and Madam Nu kept a close eye on his every move and remained silent.
"Madame Nu, if you will, we will proceed to open the artifact."
They gathered around the work table. In the Force, the object seemed inert, and nothing emanated from it except for a vague sensation of coldness. Obi-Wan inhaled, holding his breath, and opened the small chest. In the hollow of the trunk, which was lined with a precious fabric that reflected light, was nestled the characteristic pyramid-shaped of a Sith Wayfinder.
Obi-Wan let a bitter smile grace his lips.
He had been right, the box did indeed contain what he had suspected.
The key to Exegol, which allowed its bearer to take control of the ancient Sith citadel and its star forge.
"You know what it is?" inquired Madame Nu.
Obi-Wan nodded, grim-faced. "I do. I'll have to report with the Council soon, because it's a Sith treasure that's sure to attract a lot of interest. Keeping such an object within the Temple walls is dangerous."
]o[
Quinlan didn't regret for a second his decision not to bother the movements of this peculiar man. Kenobi's strangeness, difficult to perceive at first glance, deepened the more Quinlan interacted with him. Quinlan had quickly realized that if he was to achieve a satisfactory result in this investigation he had been entrusted with—and was happy to carry out—he had to act with finesse, as if he had to tame a wild and dangerous beast.
First, constant presence. Second, make sure they didn't feel cornered. Thirdly, to gain their trust.
And he had to say it seemed he was pretty successful so far. It was as if a part of Kenobi craved for connections, and, after some token resistance, had let things happen with something akin to relief.
Kenobi was acting, whether the man realized it or not, as if he knew Quinlan well. And Quinlan didn't want to rule out that assumption. If Kenobi was some kind of very powerful Seer, it was possible that he had seen futures, possibilities, where this friendship was real. And from what he perceived of the Archivist, Quinlan felt it was indeed easy to become attached to Kenobi, when he was sincere and spontaneous, rather than distant and aloof.
The more they interacted, the more Kenobi relaxed, and Quinlan was glad to see that.
Windu had expressly confirmed the need to stick by Kenobi and not leave him unattended, and the man seemed to accept this reality without too much protest. Kenobi actually seemed surprised to be left mostly unbothered. If Quinlan wanted to be honest with himself, he had first motivated this decision because he really wasn't sure he could overpower this scaringly competent fighter. Quinlan had opted for de-escalation to have a chance of keeping an influence on the course of events.
The more he saw, the happier he was with this decision, for what he perceived of this man's skills was properly terrifying. Quinlan would have to report back to Windu soon, as Kenobi had again demonstrated an astonishing mastery of certain aspects of the Force that Quinlan had never heard of.
Quinlan hadn't quite understood how the Archivist had gone about opening the box. He had recognized a Kyber crystal, which Kenobi had apparently used as a focus for an obscure technique. He would have to examine this more closely at a later occasion.
Quinlan's secondary mission was to assess Kenobi's skills, and the next logical step was to encourage him to come and let off some steam in a spar.
As if on cue, the Archivist had just received a call from Senior Padawan Skywalker, who insisted on inviting him to a training session. Quinlan figured this would be the perfect opportunity to brush up on some of Kenobi's martial skills, even if he had had a taste of it yesterday in the Clone barracks.
Kenobi hadn't protested, and had looked at him with his usual impassive air, which was, Quinlan was willing to admit, a very effective mask. But his facade was gradually cracking, revealing more and more of the real person behind it. Kenobi sometimes radiated, when he was disturbed or wrong-footed and forgot to maintain his meek appearance, a charisma on par with the most eminent members of the Jedi High Council.
"Come on, let's stretch you out a bit, it'll do you good, you're as tense as a bowstring."
Kenobi sighed. Quinlan had noticed that the man sighed a lot, as if he were an elder who had lived too long, and was tired of life's hustle and bustle. Kenobi probably needed a little shaking up; it would give him more flexibility, and reconnect him to the rest of the Jedi.
"I don't know if that's very wise, given my condition..."
From what Quinlan understood, Kenobi had cut himself off from the Jedi so that he could set up his operation unhindered, while posing as a simple Corpsman. It was a clever move, for while still being a Jedi, Kenobi had the benefit of a freedom of movement that would have been difficult for a Knight to achieve.
The Jedi Order was indeed—and unfortunately—organized as a caste system, with a clearly defined hierarchy, in terms of importance, of the various members that made it up.
By choosing such a low-profile profession, far from the action and glitz, Kenobi had ensured that he would remain in the shadows, while still being able to move about without constraint. This seemed to be a conscious choice on his part, even if there was that mysterious neurological affliction Quinlan had witnessed a seizure of.
"Bant doesn't mind you getting a little exercise, does she?"
"No, you're probably right, it'll do me good, I need to loosen up my joints. I might be stuck with the Council for a few hours later anyway, so I might as well get ready for it."
"Perfect! Let's go, maybe at this hour we can get a quiet corner."
]o[
Anakin was pleased that Obi-Wan had accepted his invitation. The day was off to a good start, even if he had risen a little late. After a filling breakfast, he could finally burn off some of his excess energy. Mace had warned him against exercising on a full stomach, but Anakin hadn't listened, continuing to shove the warm sausage buns into his mouth, almost without chewing.
It was an old people's thing, that sort of thing. They were always worrying about digestion and sleep.
Anakin was always glad when someone agreed to take part in a training session with him, especially as it wasn't that often when most of his friends were away from Coruscant, and with his Master being too busy dealing with political affairs.
Obi-Wan was due to join him soon, and apparently he was bringing his new colleague with him. This suited Anakin, who liked to fight with whoever was willing. The reverse was not always true, however, which grieved him greatly. Anakin supposed that his reputation and natural talent acted as a repellent for most people, but he really couldn't understand why. He was always delighted when he could measure himself against a difficult opponent.
Obi-Wan sometimes made the effort to accede to his requests for a spar, even if the Archivist wasn't one of Anakin's opponents of choice. He was holding his own, though, and had an interesting discipline. Obi-Wan's style leaned heavily on the defense side, and this suited Anakin, who took advantage of the opportunity to get to grips with this kind of opponent. Obi-Wan always ended up folding rather quickly, rapidly pushed to the limit of his endurance. Anakin had never had the chance to train against Master Vos, however, and the Kiffar had the reputation of being a great duellist.
Perfect. Anakin felt he was going to reach his limits today, much to his satisfaction.
Anakin was almost rubbing his hands in contentment when he finally saw Obi-Wan and Master Vos coming towards him. The Archivist's face was partly concealed by the shadows of his hood, but Anakin could make out that Obi-Wan looked better than the day before, even if his features were still drawn, and his skin even paler than usual.
"Obi-Wan! Master Vos. Ready to loosen your joints up?" asked Anakin, enthusiastically.
"Padawan Skywalker," Master Vos greeted, smiling. His expression was open and warm, and somehow a little... eager? Anakin raised an eyebrow. He assumed that Master Vos also had a lot of energy to expend.
Obi-Wan, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to disappear into the folds of his robe, and didn't look comfortable, stationed like that in front of the portico leading to the Training Halls.
"What are we waiting for? Anakin, have you reserved a private room for us?" Obi-Wan's voice was laced with impatience.
"Hm, uh, yes. Come with me." Anakin led them to one of the more modest room he had reserved earlier. Most Jedi had implemented martial rigor into their way of life. From the moment the younglings arrived at the Temple, they were trained to use their bodies. The practice of combat, and armed combat in particular, was one of the pillars that united all members of the Order, from youngest to oldest.
Thus, the Temple boasted an impressive training complex divided into several sections, with large halls used for group classes, tournaments or demonstrations, and many smaller rooms that could accommodate more private training sessions.
The place was often crowded, although, with so many off-planet Jedi, reserving a room was more of a precaution than a necessity. This morning, the place was relatively busy, but not uncomfortably so. Initiates were taking a group lesson on how to fall and transform their kinetic energy into a somersault. It was rather cute, all those mini-Jedi doing rolls all over the place.
They made their way along the wall, taking care not to disturb the lesson, and finally reached their room. Anakin distinctly heard Obi-Wan breathe a sigh of relief as he closed the door, isolating them from the outside world. The Archivist looked tense and on guard. Clearly, while the night had helped him feel a little better, he still was obviously troubled by something.
The room was big enough to accommodate them, and had facilities that could be interesting to spice up a classic training session, with training droids and blaster deflection training modules. The ceiling was high, and the walls and floors were embellished with obstacles and platforms to enable training in the use of the environment in combat.
Obi-Wan removed his outer robe, leaving him in a tabard and leotard. He had put on soft-soled shoes, which was a sensible choice for training, but not so much for actual, unprepared combat. Anakin preferred his boots. They were much more effective for impact when kicking.
Master Vos had also removed his outer garments, and had begun a series of stretching and limbering-up exercises, and was bouncing about as if preparing for a fistfight.
Anakin sighed. He wouldn't cut it in the warm-up, unsurprisingly. It was really his least favorite part of training. He too started on an unarmed kata that would serve to stretch him sufficiently. But at least he could make it less boring by, say, discussing the latest news.
"So, did you see the video that went viral on the HoloNet last night?"
Obi-Wan, who was holding his lightsaber unlit in his right hand and had begun to move extremely slowly in a kata Anakin didn't recognize, stiffened. The Archivist, after a slight pause, continued the sequence he was deploying, all the while remaining silent.
"I think it's hard to miss," Master Vos replied. "It seems to me the whole Temple must have seen it by now."
"Impressive, isn't it? I wish I could fight like that. And, I don't know what's more surprising: that old Palpatine could fight so well—though obviously being a Sith Lord, I guess that makes sense—or that there's some guy we don't know who is capable of fighting him head on and winning like that. Do you think he's a Jedi?" Anakin punctuated his question with a routine that required him to hold a handstand for a few seconds.
Master Vos continued his stretching, almost lazily and with feline grace. He replied with a smile that showed his teeth: "I hope so. It would be really worrying if he wasn't, wouldn't it?"
"Hmm, at least he wasn't a friend of Palpatine. Who was a Sith. So he should be on our side."
"I agree, it would be a real shame if such an example of martial mastery wasn't part of our ranks. Imagine all he could teach us? Or even better, if we could train with him?"
"Oh yes; that would be so great! I'd love to spar against that guy! It would be absolutely epic!"
"Enough." Obi-Wan's voice cracked, almost like a whip. Anakin paused automatically, stopped by the crushing authority suddenly emanating from the Archivist. The man stood straight, shoulders squared, and he looked much taller than usual. Obi-Wan gave Master Vos a murderous look, as if he wanted to strangle him.
Anakin had the impression of facing someone he didn't know.
"Someone needs to be taught a lesson," Obi-Wan continued, voice cold. "And I happen to need to let off some steam. So who wants to go first? Or maybe I'll take you both at the same time; how about that, hmm?"