Kenobi had collapsed into another seizure. They were right in the middle of a Council meeting, where he was discussing subjects that were critical for the Jedi Order's future.

The Healers couldn't figure out what was wrong. Bant had kept him informed between two Clone surgeries. From what Quinlan had understood, it was usually a matter of a few adjustments to get Kenobi to regain consciousness.

But this time, they weren't able to stabilize him.

The Halls of Healing were busy, with only a few healers to spare. The process of dechipping the Clones had begun immediately upon Council approval. Priority was set on Clones being in the chain of command or with close and regular interactions with the Temple. But the GAR counted millions of soldiers, and the process would probably last months, during which the army would represent an extreme danger. They needed to spread the dechipping process, and equip every Venator-class ship with the right technology and with a properly trained medic. It would significantly reduce the time, but it would still probably take weeks.

Quinlan sensed that those in the know were doing their best to remain calm and professional. He could also see that everyone was in fact freaking out—Jedi and clones alike. More and more people requested updates on the situation, despite attempts to keep critical information from spreading.

Quinlan was worried too, because Kenobi had the means to disable the chip, but Kenobi was out, and he might not wake up in time.

The Archivist did, however, have Vokara Che at his side. The best healer the Temple could provide was tending to him. Despite her efficiency, Quinlan was aware that she was still quite worried.

Kenobi's brain was sending out irregular signals with no recognizable brainwaves, showing a continuous epileptic seizure. It had the potential to damage his brain if it went on like this. Healers were even considering the possibility of inducing a deep coma to stop the seizure, but they were leaving themselves a window to find a less severe solution. Master Windu had expressed that he'd rather have Kenobi in full possession of his faculties than completely unconscious for an indeterminate period.

Vokara had dryly retorted it was up to the Healer to decide, before throwing out everyone who didn't have any business being there.

Quinlan and Master Windu had grudgingly complied. Windu had left for the Archives, a more pronounced frown than usual creasing his forehead, but Quinlan was reluctant to walk away.

He didn't really know why, but he had taken to heart the role of guardian—which, at the same time, gave him a front-row seat to observe the unfolding of events that would shape history.

Eventually, Quinlan had gone to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, relatively close to the Halls of Healing, to rest and meditate.

The lack of sleep over the last few days was weighing heavily on him. While he was used to operating without sleep for long periods of time, that didn't mean it was easy nor comfortable. Quinlan simply had to endeavor to make the best possible decisions, despite the fact that it was becoming rather difficult to think clearly or remain flexible when considering problems. Nor did it improve his tendency to be impulsive.

A bit of meditation would help lift some of the haze of fatigue.

Quinlan settled down cross-legged at the edge of a small pool in a secluded area where he could still make out the comings and goings of the Jedi enjoying the space. Quinlan closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. He opened his senses, especially the one naturally connected to the Force, to taste its flavors. His talent for psychometry predisposed him to capture far more of the information present in the Force than most Jedi. For him, the Force was an amalgamation of colors, smells, and ghostly touches.

In the Coruscant Temple, the Force had a flavor of antiquity and wisdom, mingled with a sense of protection. The Temple's strong identity permeated the Force within its walls. Beyond the Temple, Quinlan sensed the incessant hum of Coruscant, the city-planet with its countless souls. So many sentient spirits gathered in a relatively small space had a considerable impact on the Force surrounding them. Depending on the location, the Force took on a distinctly different feel. While that which permeated the Temple was soothing and protective, the one Quinlan associated with Coruscant as a whole was nervous, hurried, and exhausted.

One couldn't live in a place like this without paying the price in the long run. Coruscant had become a hollow, skeletal planet, surviving only on what outside worlds could provide to sustain the population. Its inhabitants lived in a perpetual state of dependence, and if they wanted to survive, they had no choice but to become part of a large system that was far larger than the planet.

Quinlan turned his awareness more inwards, and refocused on the soothing waves of the Force he could perceive from the Temple, without getting caught up in the more agitated clamor of the city.

Something touched his mind, awakening and drawing his attention. It was as if someone had said his name while he couldn't actually hear it. Quinlan wasn't sure what had aroused his alarm. Attentive, he opened his senses fully: at first, only the usual feelscape reached him, when a tugging became more perceptible.

The source was close to where he was sitting.

Frowning, Quinlan opened his eyes to scan the room. None of the Jedi in his immediate vicinity had their attention focused on him. The source was coming from somewhere else, and it seemed both near and far, as if smothered by thick walls.

Quinlan got up to search for a quieter place. Despite the high ceilings and vast size of the space, the sound carried little, muffled by architectural features that limited echoes. The result was a varying degree of privacy depending on the location, accentuated by the many plants that flourished here, mingling in small pools and climbing the stone pillars. He sat down in an alcove nestled behind a curtain of ivy.

The call became more insistent, eradicating the idea that it was his imagination. Quinlan opened his eyes and, leaning to one side for easier access to his pocket, pulled out the pendant he'd picked up earlier. He hadn't had time to give it back to Kenobi and—he had to admit to himself—he'd wanted to take the time to inspect it.

Something strange was emanating from the pendant.

Quinlan raised it to his eye level. It was clearly a kyber crystal, large enough and of good quality to be integrated into a lightsaber. Its inner light was powerful enough for this, but Quinlan could clearly see fine fracture lines running across its surface.

Following an impulse he couldn't explain to himself, Quinlan removed the glove from his right hand to examine the crystal with his psychometry.

]o[

Something was happening. Jango could see a wave of concern spreading among the soldiers.

"Whose turn is it?" asked a random soldier to Blindcolor. The latter consulted a data-pad, wrinkling his brow, and replied, "General Billaba's battalion has just arrived, so Commander Grey should be examined soon."

Jango was seated at the table next to his stack of datapads. All day, he had made frequent trips back and forth between the Archives and the HQ, allowing him to fade into the background as someone who had every reason to be there. He took his breaks with the others, as it was the best way to keep in touch with the latest rumors. Jango took a sip of his caff. It was quite good.

"Oh man, I can't wait. We troopers always come last," the Clone sighed, but there was no real rancor in what he'd just said. The Clones had been raised with a visceral awareness of what hierarchy meant. They all knew that, at the end of the day, they had been created to die in the service of a cause beyond themselves.

However, Jango sensed that there was critical information behind this seemingly innocuous interaction.

"And you, when are you scheduled?" asked Jango to Colorblind, to dig deeper into the conversation.

"Normally late afternoon, but the schedule keeps changing. We try to put the officers first, and with the army retreating to Coruscant, there's always more people to fit in and it's a nightmare to organize."

"Ah. I guess us grunts won't be getting called up for a while, then?"

Colorblind had an apologetic shrug. "That's how things are planned. But don't worry, your turn will come."

"I'm just not sure if it's worth it. I really hate infirmaries."

"You know, vod, I'd rather have both my legs amputated than keep that chip in my head."

Jango made an effort of will to keep his facial expression under control. Okay. The Jedi knew, and had begun acting to free the Clones. Jango felt a wave of conflicted emotions rise inside him. Good for them, but it was probably too late.

He put down his cup of caff and replied: "Will you let me know when it's my turn? I've got to get back to the Archives and I don't know how long it's going to take me."

"Don't worry, Jan. I've got your comm code, I'll send you a message as soon as there's a spot free."

Jango made sure not to flee the room. He adopted a leisurely gait as he walked the few dozen meters that separated the new HQ from the Archives. He would have to pass on the information to Tyranus as soon as possible, but the Sith was currently in hyperspace, and therefore unreachable. Jango had managed to keep track of Tyranus's personal ship with well-placed tracers. This enabled him to anticipate some of his movements, and to take off when necessary.

Jango knew perfectly well what he had to do, but he was angry at himself for not being comfortable with this decision. He'd always loathed the Jedi, for their responsibility in the death of his family and clan, and for the years of slavery he'd had to endure.

However, the more time passed, the less he wanted to see the Clones foot the bill for a tragedy that had nothing to do with them.

But Jango also knew that if he tried to conceal such important information, he might well have to answer to Tyranus. And he knew that if the Sith were to retaliate, he would do so brutally, without mercy, and Boba would probably be the first victim.

Taking a deep breath, Jango headed for the Archives. If the information he had gathered was accurate, the head of the Order was to meet the head of the Archives soon to deal with a certain artifact, and it was taking precedence over the rest. Jango only had to update Tyranus about a location, and not specifically retrieve said artifact. If all went according to plan, he wouldn't have to stay within these walls much longer.

]o[

Quinlan abruptly found himself in a completely different place. Fighting a wave of disorientation, Quinlan got to his feet and turned to survey his surroundings. Tall grass-covered hills, crowned by thick groves full of life, framed the walls of an ancient enclave. The morning light, offered by a golden sun, caressed the ochre stones of the complex. Several buildings were arranged around a large inner courtyard, in which a vegetable garden and fruit trees flourished.

Apart from the song of the local wildlife, silence reigned here. The enclave was empty. And Quinlan couldn't understand why his throat suddenly tightened.

"Quinlan."

Quinlan turned, and faced an elderly man sitting casually on a low wall, staring at him with a penetrating gaze.

"Do I know you?"

The old man smiled, the many wrinkles that lined his face deepening. The expression brightened his features and made him look younger. A feeling of familiarity struck Quinlan. He knew that smile.

"Not in this time. But in another, we knew each other well, yes." The old man rose, alert and supple, with an energy at odds with his apparent age, to approach him. "Some things shouldn't be lost, though, and I'm rather glad you're here. I've got some things to tell you."

"Who are you? And where are we?" Quinlan felt as if he should have been able to answer his own questions, the information tugging at the edge of his mind without revealing itself.

"This place was dear to your heart. It was mostly your doing, it has to be said." The man gestured encompassing the garden. "You had a particular talent for gardening, by the way. You used to say it did you good to make things come to life and grow."

The old man let the silence return, lost in contemplation of their surroundings. Quinlan didn't feel confused, or disconnected from his own experience as if it were a dream. He remembered perfectly that he had used his psychometry on the kyber. What he was experiencing seemed to be a powerful Force vision. With psychometry, he had sometimes relived a memory as if it were real, but this mostly concerned very intense and often traumatic memories. That's why he kept his hands gloved most of the time.

"I would know if I enjoyed gardening, and that's definitely not something I would do." This vision was unlike anything he was used to experiencing. Because, usually, the memory didn't seek to interact with him. "What are you?" Quinlan asked, an edge in his voice.

"Ah," said the man, raising a finger didactically. "That's the right question to ask, my young friend. Come, I'll show you something." He turned and headed down a track that meandered and got lost behind one building. Wary, Quinlan followed, but he felt the Force whispering to him to go further and to be open to what this strange figure wanted to share.

As he passed the building's corner, the scene changed completely: he suddenly found himself back on Coruscant, at the foot of the Jedi Temple.

Only, this was no longer the Jedi Temple.

Quinlan didn't know how he knew, but he had an entirely new set of knowledge at his disposal. It came naturally to him, without seeming foreign, but this understanding didn't match with what he normally knew.

The Temple was no longer a Temple, but an Imperial Palace, the seat of power of a Sith Lord who had dominated the Galaxy for decades. Here, the Force was powerful, but distinctively corrupted, far more than the usual whiff Quinlan associated with Coruscant. The building's spires loomed menacingly, spreading deep shadows. Instead of the usual Temple Guard standing beside the great entrance porch, imperial guards controlled comings and goings.

The strange knowledge taught him that these Guards were artificial creatures, specially created to be loyal, and linked telepathically to the Sith Lord who ruled the Galaxy. Those thralls had invaded many worlds in great numbers, overpowering the slightest semblance of revolt, and effectively culling any hope to change the galaxy for the better.

The Jedi Temple was no longer a symbol of peace and protection. It had been turned into the seat of ruthless power and total domination.

"Why show me all this? What does it mean?"

"If things had continued on their current course, Palpatine would have acceded to power unchallenged, and the Galaxy would have gradually plunged into a Dark Age, the beginnings of which you can glimpse here." The scenery changed brutally, again, and the old man continued: "For a while, I tried to reassure myself that the Galaxy had been through many dark times like this. History teaches us that good can emerge from ashes and ruins, with the natural resilience of societies of thinking beings. All you had to do was to wait for the fate of all authoritarian regimes: collapse in on itself under the weight of too much control. I was patient and actively sought ways to speed up that collapse."

Everything was plunged into darkness, but it was not the darkness induced by a normal night. Quinlan perceived they were in the open air. The atmosphere was sharp, cold, and unnaturally still. No moon was there to provide light, and the stars were barely enough to make out their surroundings. Quinlan heard the old man rummaging in one of his pockets, before powerful bluish light suddenly emerged, illuminating the vicinity. From what Quinlan could see in the sudden glare, the man had used a crystal like Kenobi had used to open the Sith coffer.

The light was casting deep shadows, underlining crudely the street where they were standing. They were in the middle of a deserted city that must have been magnificent in its day. Frost glistened in the light, adorning the ancient stones with a myriad of tiny stars. The harmonious architecture, all graceful curves and decorative ornamentation, was stressed by the impression of abandonment. Yet, the buildings weren't in disrepair, as if the population had left them just a few days before.

No plants had taken advantage to spread and flourish, and Quinlan could see fossilized trunks of what must have been trees many years ago. Everything was cold and immobile. He could barely hear a sound.

The Force murmured about the silent cataclysm that had taken place here.

"What happened?"

"We're on Naboo," the man replied. Quinlan knew this planet, and his mind immediately connected with what he remembered about this city he had the chance to visit a few years ago.

"Impossible," whispered Quinlan. He remembered a place that radiated life and lushness, rich in resources and culture. Here, the Force told him, everything was long dead, and nothing had risen from the ashes, as life normally did after great extinctions.

"The system lost its sun three decades ago. Since then, the planet has been wandering aimlessly in the astral void. Perhaps one day, it will cross the path of another star, and that will be the beginning of something different for it. But I have little hope."

"How is that possible?"

"In Sidious' Empire, it's common practice to destroy entire planets, or to suck all the energy from stars until there's nothing remaining, just to prove a point," said the old man with a distant sadness, tinged with weariness, as if he no longer had the strength to lament this tragedy. "I have seen it frequently, and nothing I've done has put a stop to it," he added bitterly.

This vision was far too precise to be dismissed as mere fantasy.

"But things have changed, right?" asked Quinlan, and his voice sounded almost aghast. Quinlan prided himself on his equanimity, but he had to admit that what he was witnessing shook him deeply. The Force was very much present here, telling him he was facing something too much like reality.

"Things have changed, indeed, my friend." The old man smiled, and the joy that permeated his features was so pure it was almost painful to watch. "And my role has nearly been fulfilled, at last. What I know of this future is no longer useful, since it ceased to be with Palpatine's death. But the fight isn't over, and I'm going to need your help."

"My help? Can we get to the point and stop with the cryptic talk?" demanded Quinlan, fed up and, admittedly, a bit scared by the whole situation. He really couldn't see any way of freeing himself from this strange vision ensnaring him.

"The Force has led you to Obi-Wan Kenobi. He's going to need you, more than ever, and from what I can see, you've already bonded with him again. It's convenient. What I've been through has left its mark on your time, diverting its course. Some strong bonds that existed in the Force are seeking to exist again, and it won't take much for them to blossom again. But time is running out, and Obi-Wan probably won't have that kind of time at his disposal."

The old man approached Quinlan and took his hand. "Quinlan. Don't let him do everything on his own. That was my burden, because I had no choice. Loneliness is my fate, not Obi-Wan's. My time is nearly up here."

"But who are you? Why have you shown me all this?"

"I am Obi-Wan's future, or perhaps his past, it's hard to tell, my friend." And with that piece of information, Quinlan suddenly recognized Kenobi's eyes and mouth beneath the wrinkles and age distorting his features. He didn't have time to ponder the implications when Old Kenobi continued: "I need your help to help my younger counterpart."

The old man reached between the folds of his tunic and pulled out the pendant he wore around his neck. Quinlan recognized the trinket that had probably led him here when he had examined it with his talent.

"You must return this to Obi-Wan as soon as possible. He needs it to function properly."

"We're in the crystal? You're a real person, aren't you? When Kenobi said he wasn't acting under the influence of anyone, he was lying, right?"

The old man wore a crooked smile that contrasted with the open expression he'd been wearing. "It is not a lie, but simply one of the many ways to present reality. If I'm a version of him, you can't really say I'm an outsider, can you?"

Quinlan struggled to grasp the true implications of what he had just learned. His talent was telling him he was experiencing something akin to reality. It went far beyond a mere vision, a mere memory. The construct that was interacting with him had sentience and a signature force that was not quite the same as the Kenobi he knew. There were similarities, as he now knew, but it wasn't the same person.

"Quinlan, time is running out. Obi-Wan can't survive long without me, the separation was too brutal, and both he and I are still far too fragile to endure this for long." The man took his time to consider him, his head tilted and his expression pensive, as if pondering a complex problem. "But perhaps you have another role to play than that of a simple carrier... hmm, yes, that could work." Old Kenobi walked toward him. This icy, dead world that had once been a thriving, active planet still surrounded them. Quinlan's feet were pinned to the ground, as if his nervous system could no longer reach his legs. He wished he'd kept a safe distance. The old man took his hand and there was nothing Quinlan could do to stop him. "Your talent makes you particularly suited to this. Even though I believe you would have been there without my help if you'd had more time, I can't take that chance. I apologize for what I'm about to do," he said gently, but with an undercurrent of steel that allowed no contradiction.

With surprising vigor, the old man took hold of Quinlan's neck, firmly, almost brutally, and Quinlan didn't have time to pull away before he was suddenly blinded by extreme pain.

It was as if his whole being had spontaneously caught fire, and after a moment he realized he was under a devastating psychic attack. Quinlan did his best to raise and strengthen his shields, but the psychic storm in which he was caught immediately tore down the walls he built in opposition.

The intrusion was merciless, and it was painful to the point where Quinlan thought he was going to lose all coherence. He couldn't understand what was happening, but after what seemed like a long time, he made out images and impressions, which imposed themselves and anchored themselves in his mind without taking heed of the damage they caused.

The pain intensified to an unbearable level but, after a climax, ceased abruptly. leaving Quinlan in a disorientated state where he wondered if he hadn't been dreaming all along.

]o[

Qui-Gon meditated, facing the bay window which offered a superb view of the Coruscant skyline. His apartment was bathed in light every hour of the day, and, in the hottest hours of the afternoon, it was often necessary to lower the blinds a little to prevent the glare from burning the leaves of his precious plants.

Qui-Gon had occupied these quarters for several decades now. He had been given the use of them when he took under his wing his first padawan, Xanatos Du Crion. He had really learned to be a Jedi Master within these walls, which included a reasonably sized common room with a personal kitchen. Two individual bedrooms and a fresher completed the layout.

Qui-Gon had been allowed to keep this apartment despite his lack of padawan for so long, and this wasn't really good news. The ranks of the knights had thinned considerably in recent decades. This luxury of unused space was yet another symptom of the cancer eating away at the Order's vitality.

Qui-Gon was not one to remain static for long and found his raison d'être in carrying out the many diplomatic missions assigned to him by the Order. He had refused the command of a battalion, because he was quite contentious with rules and protocols. Mace had agreed fairly quickly that his skills would be better exploited as an independent diplomatic agent, with the ability to intervene in a conflict if he deemed it necessary without compromising a whole chunk of the army.

Between missions, Qui-Gon returned regularly to the Temple, to maintain his friendships and tend to his plants. He had created a veritable garden. Every space, every nook, was occupied by greenery coming from the eight quadrants of the galaxy. All this nature he surrounded himself with enabled him to connect more easily to the Living Force, to which he had a powerful attraction. A fountain surrounded by a pool occupied the center of the room, and the clear sound of flowing water complimented the discreet murmur in the Living Force.

But today, Qui-Gon was meditating not out of habit or mental hygiene, but because he had been shaken by the revelations Mace had made to him the previous evening. Yoda had joined him to meditate, as they both had to agree on what to do about his would-have-been Padawan.

Today's meditation had focused on the bond that still united Qui-Gon to the young Kenobi. It had taken him a long time to realize it, but the link was still there, and the dreams he had experienced probably bled from that bond.

Aside from the occasional mood those dreams had forced upon him, Qui-Gon had chosen not to dwell too much on something he couldn't control. His natural temperament tended to dismiss quickly what he felt was irrelevant information.

Perhaps Qui-Gon should have paid more attention, now that he knew what he knew.

Kenobi had assassinated Chancellor Palpatine, with skills that easily surpassed the scrutiny of the most rigorous and active Jedi Knights. Qui-Gon remembered perfectly the reasons Kenobi had given for turning away from the path of Knighthood. Fragile health and a life that had to remain as stress-free as possible. Obviously, this was a blatant lie.

Qui-Gon felt he had critical information offered to him all these years. It had been conveyed to him by these dreams, which honestly seemed more like memories, or visions, in the way they remained coherent, fixed and detailed.

Qui-Gon stretched mentally, before folding back his mind within the confines of his body. As he did so, he brushed lightly against Yoda's presence, and received an acknowledgement. Joint meditation, with someone he trusted, was always an exercise he enjoyed, and one he rarely could practice outside the walls of the Temple.

This joint meditation had enabled him to transmit his memories of these dreams directly to Yoda, who could see them with fresh eyes and, perhaps, would permit him to spot important details.

Qui-Gon sighed when he opened his eyes, refreshed by this dive in the Force. It felt distinctly better, now that the Sith Lord had been removed from the vicinity.

"I think I've given you the gist of what I've been able to gather, Master. I don't know if that's any help to you. Personally, I feel like I'm untangling a knot I should have been working on twenty years ago." Qui-Gon shook his head, irritated by his tendency to overlook what wasn't directly under his nose.

"Interesting, this information certainly is," Yoda replied thoughtfully, his wise gaze lost in the view that stretched out at their feet. The Temple allowed them to remove themselves from the incessant activity of Coruscant. Qui-Gon sometimes felt completely disconnected from the concerns of the general population. He appreciated the Temple for what it was: a refuge, a home; but he preferred to spend time on planets that allowed him to touch the ground, walk under the foliage of trees, and mingle with its inhabitants. That allowed him to be truly connected to his surroundings.

"Have you spotted any recurring themes? I note the feeling of having to hide and of being stalked all the time. Fear, for himself and for others."

"Infinite sadness," Yoda added gravely, and Qui-Gon shivered. Indeed, sadness was so omnipresent, in all these visions, that Qui-Gon didn't even register it anymore.

"A tragedy that cannot be named. A loss so catastrophic that it was not possible to recover. Robbed of all hope, this man was."

Qui-Gon let the silence stretch, letting the words resonate within himself and into the Force. It sounded right. He sighed, this time in defeat.

"Kenobi is a genuine mystery. I hope the Healers can stabilize him. We need to talk to him, because this bond isn't there by chance."

"Something to build with this man, we have, my grand-padawan. In my long years, rarely deceived, my instincts have. Always destined to be part of my Lineage, young Obi-Wan has. Too late to make up for lost time, I hope it's not."

]o[

Quinlan regained consciousness in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He was lying on his back and must have fallen backward during the vision. An Initiate whose name he didn't know shook his shoulder, the features of his innocent face taut with worry. A maelstrom of anarchic thoughts and images was preventing him from thinking.

All Quinlan knew was that he had to get back to the Halls of Healing immediately. The sense of urgency was leaving no room for anything else. Closing his eyes, Quinlan let a few seconds pass to fight the feeling of dizziness he was experiencing. Gritting his teeth, he returned to a sitting position. Kenobi's pendant was still in his clenched right hand. He placed it carefully on the ground, eager to break physical contact with the thing.

Groping next to him, Quinlan retrieved his glove and carefully put it on. He felt he needed to recover and gather his wits, but the conviction that he had no time to lose became too pressing. Quinlan grabbed the trinket before rising on shaky legs. He placed a heavy hand on the Initiate's shoulder and spoke a few reassuring words. Quinlan couldn't even tell if what he said was coherent or not, and judging by the doubt on the Initiate's face, he had probably missed his goal.

No matter. Quinlan made his way to the Halls of Healing, his mind in tatters. It would probably take him many meditation sessions to sort out what had just happened.